“Only those with the deepest respect for the flowers, who do not wish to use their power for personal gain, are able to pick them. It sounds like you were most suited to do so.”
His words are meant as a compliment, but my heart sinks.Morgana couldn’t have collected the flowers herself. She’d said in the physician’s room that she’d been impressed I had found the Odyssa. That most usually…perished. That I’d done what they needed me for. Gods, they’d used me knowing I’d be betraying the thing I love most.
“So what do they do? Together? If you use them?” I ask, my head buzzing.
“Simply put,” Keeper Einar says, “the Feiyan, Odyssa, and Lunarie form a cycle. They’re a sequence, a rhythm that represents the movement of time—of the day.”
“I felt that,” I say. “The Feiyan is daytime, the sun. The Odyssa grew in a pair and felt like…like the in-between, like dawn and dusk, sunrise and sunset.”
The Keeper nods, and if I’m not wrong, purses his mouth, impressed.
“And the Lunarie?” he prompts.
“The night. The moon’s glow. The energy that lies in darkness.”
“That’s correct. Put together in order, the Feiyan in the north, Odyssa to the east and west, and Lunarie in the south, they create a forever moving circle, an unbreakable loop, just like the cycle of days. Circles are often used in magic to amplify, as they’re an incredibly powerful conduit. A spell with those ingredients certainly would be impressive, dangerous even. You say they will be used at the prince’s wedding tomorrow? Hmm…”
He pauses, deep in thought.
“I wonder…The flowers and the ceremony…I suppose the queen has always been extremely perturbed about her son’s curse. Perhaps that is connected somehow…”
There’s a beat of silence where I think Will stops breathing.
I grip the arms of my chair.
“I’m sorry, did you just say Bash is cursed? Prince Bastion?” I ask.
Keeper Einar nods.
“Oh…” Will exhales.
He turns to me, pale, awash with shock.
“That’swhat they meant,” he says. “My parents always said the wards around our house were so the queen couldn’t find it. It makes sense now—the queen wanted Mum to try and remove Bash’s curse, and after what happened when she tried to remove yours, Mum must have refused.”
“I thought you and the prince used to be friends, Willoh,” Keeper Einar says. “With your level of magic, couldn’t you feel it?”
Will slumps in his chair. He’s drawn out, a world away, eyes flickering like he’s scanning a library of memories. “I just…I didn’t think…”
“So, what is it? His curse?” I ask.
“The prince’s curse renders him unable to use magic of any kind, not even the most basic of hedge magic. In Calla, even those who are born with a low level of magic ability can study and improve their skill if desired, so a complete absence of magic is highly unusual—near impossible, in fact. When the prince was an infant, he failed to display the early signs of magic intuition often found within the royal line, so the queen sent for me. Upon examination, I discovered a strong—and unremovable—curse blocking and repelling any use of magic, fixed in chains around his wrists. I told the queen my results, but I fear my assessment of her son offended her. Since then, communication between Alrick and the Library has diminished greatly. Even when we sent inquiries about the situation developing in the kingdom’s northern forest, the queen prohibited any of our researchers from investigating.”
I blink away the spots in my vision.
“The tree,” I say, recalling the flash of green I’d seen around Bash’s wrists in Will’s memory. “Bash tried to gain a boost of magic from the oak tree, and it backfired. It didn’t work because of his curse.”
Ruth’s words echo in my mind: Curses cannot be broken easily, least of all without significant sacrifice. Her bid to heal my curse damaged her eyesight.
For Bash, the north was the payment. The health of the forest and the livelihood of Pigeon’s family. That was the consequence of his failed attempt.
If the queen and Morgana plan to use the flowers to remove Bash’s curse at the ceremony tomorrow, what will be the price? What will be sacrificed this time?
“Now, I’m not personally familiar with any specific spells, especially not dark magic ones, that the flowers are used for,” Keeper Einar says. “Lady Morgana is the expert on such subjects. Luckily for you, she got back from Berian yesterday, but she never stays long, so you’ll have to try and catch her before she leaves.”
My blood runs cold. An ice bath of fear.
“S-Sorry,” I stammer. “Morgana is here? Now?”
