“It’s getting quite late,” said Talvi, peering up at the wall clock. “I’ll see you in the morning. I wish you all luck. Barring that, I wish you peace.”
Demelza said her goodbyes and went straight to her room. As she closed the door, she heard Ursula let out a low whistle.
“That was awful singing,” she said. “If she goes, do you think I could take her room and make it a second practice kitchen? I can’t fall asleep smelling food, it just makes me hungry…”
Inside the room, Demelza gasped as a warm feeling snuck through her body. The feeling of home was uncanny. It was like she had known this room all her life.
It was no secret that Prava had constructed Rathe Castle, but now she could feel her father’s magic in the very stones. As Demelza ran her hand along the walls and looked at the quaint, cozy bed beside the large window, she marveled at her father’s magic. Because of him, Rathe Castle was a living thing. She wondered what request had been made of it that allowed the Castle to extend itself into the roots that ran beneath the ground, tangling and fusing andgrowing into the lovely mushroom towers where they all slept. The room even smelled of her parents’ library in Hush Manor, and when Demelza closed her eyes, she imagined the library wyvern hopping on her desk and leaving paw prints and poems across her research. Demelza did not wish to think of how much time she had spent on that research. How many hours she had spent wishing to be useful. Important.
Demelza pressed her hand against the stone wall. “Do you know me?”
Perhaps it was her imagination, but she imagined the stones warmed beneath her palm. Demelza glanced at the clock upon the mantel of her small fireplace and nearly cursed. It was almost midnight. She listened at the door for a while to make sure that Talvi and Ursula had gone to bed. She did not look back at the part of the wall that she had touched. If she had, she might have noticed the strangest glow within the stone.
As if it were waking up.
Demelza found the prince by the shores of the lake. The glass wyvern boat was gone, and the still lake was a mirror reflecting the cold stars. Prince Arris was lying on his back and for a moment Demelza imagined him asleep. But then he sat up and turned to look at her. He shook his head and smiled.
“You’re real,” he said. “I thought you might have been a bizarre figment of my imagination.”
The prince was wearing long-sleeved navy pajamas. He looked as if he had bathed since the last time she saw him, for his hair was wet and brushed away from his forehead. Slowly, the buttons of his nightshirt came undone and the sleeves rolled up to show off rather sinewy arms and Demelza had never noticed that someone’s arms could look… like that.
“Stop that!” said Arris.
Demelza blinked. “I didn’t mean to—”
“My apologies, I was speaking to my pajamas. They are terribly willful,” said Arris, sitting up and fixing his buttons. “Every time they notice a girl is looking, they start coming undone.”
“Oh,” said Demelza.
Once he had adjusted his buttons, he cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry if I seemed rather forward in our first meeting,” he said. “Your truth song shocked me. I didn’t even know veritas swans really existed. I mean, it’s as if the stars themselves conspired to bring you here to this tournament—”
“I take it we’re in agreement, then,” said Demelza. The prince seemed long-winded and she was in no mood for conversations about the impossible nature of her existence when it was this late at night and she’d had no food and no rest in who knows how long. “What I need from you is a ranking of contestants so I know where to spend my time investigating. I’ve already started making some mental notes on who appears to be the most popular choice for a future regent but then there’s the matter of getting them all alone and—”
The prince shushed her. Demelza had not been shushed since she was a chick. She glowered at him, but Arris had lain back down and was staring up at the moon. He looked positively giddy.
“I really think we should take a moment to acknowledge our great fortune here. You know, they say the moon is Wrate’s clear eye and the sun is his lusty gaze and since we are both in need of clarity, it seems only right that we take a moment and look up at the moon,” said Arris. “At least that is what I intend to do. You’re welcome to join me.”
Demelza remained as she was.
“I think I can actually hear you standing in an angry manner,” said Arris. “It’s impressive. Would you please sit?”
Demelza grumbled and then sat down. The moment she sat, it seemed as though the world slammed into her. All the fear that she had folded away, all the exhaustion she had kept at bay for the past ten days as she moved over the moors, scrabbled up river banks and trudged through valleys snuck into her limbs. Her mother’s parting words found her.You do not need wings to fly, my Demelza. Use your wits, find a way to live and above all… guard your heart.Demelza had done so. She had made her way to Rathe Castle. She had struck a bargain with a prince.
The whole of her life, she had never seen or spoken to so many people. But now she had done just that. She had never left the serenity of Hush Manor and its friendly mists, and suddenly she was in a castle that was ablaze with color and noise and unfamiliar smells. She had only ever spoken to her parents, her sisters and the wyvern. She had neverspoken to a boy, let alone sat with one in the moonlight. Demelza had no idea what she was doing, but she was doingsomething. And she should be proud. Perhaps even excited. But she had never been so far from home, nor had she ever been so far from the moon. In the nesting tower, the moon always seemed to be within arm’s reach, and now it seemed as distant as the past.
“Are you all right?” asked Arris.
“Obviously,” said Demelza.
Arris sat up. The moonlight silvered his hair. He looked even younger in the dark. The prince reached for something beside him and Demelza tensed. He could be reaching for a dagger, a charm—
But all he drew out was some kind of pastry. It was orange and studded all over with pieces of candied ice pear. Demelza’s belly rumbled.
“Here,” he said, holding it out. “My own recipe. The flour was milled with crystallized sunbeams, and I added some saffron too. It’s meant to be—”
Demelza seized the pastry, gobbling it in two bites.
