“You are so very welcome, Astrid.” She smiles at her and shoves the other half of the biscuit in her mouth.
“She’s right,” her mum adds. “We know you can cast. I’ve learned firsthand there’s no point locking or warding anything when you’re around.” Not that it stops her mum from trying, she thinks bitterly. “But the block is obviously around battle casting, which is understandable after what… happened.” Her dad, she means. When she killed her own father because she couldn’t control a defensive spell. “But, Astrid, it is essential you overcome this before the duel.”
Astrid doesn’t need to be told this: she is painfully aware of that fact. Sometimes she wonders if her inability to battle cast is a punishment from the Stars. Magic is about balance, and all magic—whether Casting, Brewing, or Gift—has a cost. Casting is a tax on the body, using energy just like running or dancing would; Brewing is a tax on Nature herself, as she sacrifices her bounty for potions and poisons; and a Gift is a tax on the soul—a witch’s Gift feeding from her familiar’s soul, while a familiar’s Gift feeds off its witch’s. Of the three forms of magic, only brewing can bring about death, and even then, there are few concoctions that would kill the drinker, and fewer witches still with the skill to brew them.
The day her father died, the cost was too great. She couldn’t control her casting and now she is paying a debt, she’s sure of it.
Jessa rises from her chair, clapping her hands together. “Right, then, let’s stop talking about it and actually—”
She’s cut off by shouts from outside. The boat rocks as footsteps sound along the roof of the cabin. Astrid is up and out of the door in a heartbeat, Jessa on her heels, running to the front of the boat, where an Ulven, his serpent familiar wrapped around his wrist, is pointing to the first glimmer of sunlight they’ve seen today. Her mother’s craft magicis powering the boat, meaning their journey through the mountain has taken a day rather than two.
“Finally,” Jessa says. “I was getting claustrophobic in those tunnels.”
Astrid doesn’t share the sentiment. Thoughts of her father have lodged in her mind, and all she can think about is what happened last time she was out in the real world. What it used to be like for her. Back then, the constant threat of imminent death was the norm. Unease winds through her, plucking at her chest.
“Are the defenses up around the boat?” It was an arrow that killed her dad, fired from thirty yards out by a Metallurgist who’d used her Blooded power to guide it straight for Astrid’s heart. It would have struck true if it hadn’t rebounded off Astrid’s poorly cast shield. The arrow had hit her father instead.Useless.She was useless.
She blocks the memory out.
Quincy sidles up to Astrid, rubbing a wet nose in her palm.
“Your mum’s protections have been reinforced the entire time—she didn’t risk lowering them, not after that assassin made it through,” Jess says.
Astrid squints as they emerge from the darkness of Stor Isfjell, the great mountain the canal weaves through. She averts her eyes from the brightness.
“At least we have the light for training now,” Astrid says, slipping her wool sweater off and tossing it on the deck. She faces her friend, but Jessa’s distracted, her eyes wide and focused on something behind Astrid. “Jess? What’s wrong?” She whirls around to see what has Jessa so spooked.
And rears back.
No, this isn’t right. It can’t be. They’re still too far north—it should still be winter here. She was expecting snow-covered riverbanks and evergreens, not this. Sun-beaten earth and withered pines, muddied canal water and brittle yellow grass. Jessa grips her wrist so hard Astrid knows it will bruise.
“The Blight,” Jessa chokes out, her face chalk white. “I hadn’t… I didn’t…”
She doesn’t need to finish her sentence for Astrid to understand. They knew it was bad, but it’s different seeing it. The hand grippingher wrist tightens, and she gently prizes Jessa’s fingers off. “Look at me, Jess. Deep breaths. Nice, deep breaths.”
Jessa inhales and blows out slowly. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She isn’t fine. Jessa is from Lofojen in the south, where the Blight has hit the hardest. Flash floods wiped out her entire hometown when she was nineteen—and almost all of the two thousand people who lived there, including Jessa’s family. Her parents and two younger sisters lost to the turbulent waters while Jessa was away training with the Ulvene. They never found the bodies.
This is why Astrid has to defeat the prince. This is what’s at stake. The Blight is getting worse, and it has to be linked to the Heart. Anger curdles in her stomach. It’s all the Vatran king’s fault, she’s sure of it. He’s interfering with the Heart’s ambient magic, somehow preventing it from reaching Arturea; and without it, the environment is collapsing. Her people are suffering. Dying.
Astrid hugs Jessa tight. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“You know you don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I know, and I never would.” Jessa pulls out of her arms and smiles sadly. “It’s just a shock.”
She looks back to the shore, and Astrid follows her gaze. They’re coming up to a village, and as they follow the canal through the center, it’s apparent it’s been abandoned. Paint is peeling from the doors of the dilapidated chalets, and smashed windows open into empty rooms with no sign of life inside. The farmland they pass doesn’t fare much better. Rows of crops, once tall and golden, stand wilted and discolored, their leaves curling inward. The air is thick with a musty, decaying scent that turns Astrid’s stomach.
“Where did they all go?” Jessa whispers.
“A lot have gone to the capital, or to family living elsewhere,” Astrid’s mum says, coming to stand beside Jessa. Her arm brushes against Jessa’s in comfort. “Hekselm is able to manage the extra numbers, and we’ve a lot of displaced people living in the Moon Palace.”
Their home, before they had to leave. The palace is named for the pearlescent white marble it’s made from and sits high on its own island at the center of the River Heks. It used to be her favorite place inthe world. She’s glad it’s not sitting empty. That it’s being used to help people. This is why her mum is away so often—battling the Blight. Saving her subjects.
“How? How has it gotten so bad?” Astrid asks.
