Chapter 8 – Tragedy Often Leaves A Trail

As a wain, my magical abilities did not fully emerge until I was somewhere between nine and ten. I vividly remember sitting in our private dining chamber wanting a chocolate soufflé for dessert rather than the flan everyone else was having. My mother declined to call the servants on my behalf, saying I needed to grow out of my shyness and learn to ask for things myself. Before speaking I rehearsed it quietly, imagining the kitchen maid standing right beside me. “I would like a chocolate soufflé, please.” “I need one, please.” “Could I have some, please?” I settled on the last as the most polite. The moment I opened my mouth, the kitchen maid appeared with vacant eyes at an unnatural speed, placed three plates of chocolate soufflé before me and said “Do you require anything else, my mistress?” That is how we discovered my primary magical ability was placing anyone in a thrall through words and visualisation alone.

— Princess Uliya Van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall Of Learning

~ Uliya ~

An intense black light bleeds in from behind the curtains of my pastel pink room, painting all four walls with it. “Oh crap,” I mutter as I wake, covering my eyes with my arm. “Yer, what is all this?” No lightning quick response comes. I drag myself out of bed, making out objects by touch, calling her name again and again until I feel the light seeping through my closed eyelids. I try to reach for my power and find nothing there. So I open my eyes slowly, met first with pitch black, then with a deep and revolting red that stretches as far as I can see.

Then I hear breathing.

Followed by the voice I thought I had buried long ago. “Uliya my love, why don’t you come play with me?” My body locks up, a strange sensation crawling all over it at once. No. No. It cannot be. Apateus. His voice seems distant at first, then — “I can always be closer than you think” it is no longer a whisper and it is coming from directly behind me. I feel warm tears streaking down my face. “Let go of me!” I demand, met only with vicious laughter that pierces my eardrums and makes my heart collapse entirely. And then like a phantom wind he is right in front of me, wide eyes meeting the curve of his mocking smile perfectly. “I said let go of me, or I will rip your eye socket out. You filthy piece of scum.” I say it through clenched teeth. The colour drains from his face. The smile falters and he steps back. It takes me a moment to realise he is not looking at me at all, but at something behind me. I turn halfway and am met with an intense yellow light and Apateus’ deafening cry of fear reverberating all around me.

Before I can process it, I wake up in my own bed. Sweating through my clothes, panting. Yer hovers over me immediately, a wet cloth napkin held in her beak, cooing “You are fine, Ul. You are fine.”

I cannot stop panting but sit up and grab the water tumbler to my left, pouring it straight into my mouth without bothering with a glass. Once hydrated and fully aware of my surroundings — my bright, cosy bedchamber with the pink accents, I finally let the panic go.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, settling casually on top of the left footpost.

“Yes,” I practically whisper.

“That is peculiar. You have not had one in six years. Your first night back and this happens.” She cocks her head to the side.

I sigh and get off the bed, ringing the bell for Agatha, the new lady in waiting assigned to me. I was sad to learn yesterday that old Esmeralda had died of a plague that took many poor Fyrges last year. “Maybe it is my body adjusting back to Citrindally’s air.”

“Fair enough. What was it about? I could only catch flashes of bright golden light in my mind.”

I stop walking and turn to face her directly. “Nothing. Can we speak about this later? I do not want to start my first morning home on a dull note, Yer.”

“Of course! Do you want me to fetch your correspondence? Agnes told us a great many citizens have written to welcome you back.” She squeals and I laugh, giving her a small nod before she disappears through the window.

I stretch to shake off the last of the anxiety, interrupted by two quick knocks at the door.

“Come in,” I answer. The door creaks open and a meek looking female steps inside. Her hair is a beautiful flame-kissed shade, gathered into a large fishnet bun behind her head. She is petite, dressed in a drab white collared silk dress paired with a sea green lace apron — the usual attire of the ladies in waiting at the royal palace, unless they wish otherwise, as Fyrges hold a superstition about certain colours being unlucky for their health.

She greets me with a prolonged bow, the kind reserved for a first meeting between a lady in waiting and her princess, then says, “Your Royal Highness, if I may introduce myself?”

“Please do. And try calling me Uliya when we are behind closed doors. Being addressed as Your Royal Highness at all times might make me an even worse royal than I already am.”

A small smile escapes her before she schools it. “My name is Agatha. Starting today I will be at your service for all matters, official and unofficial, that a lady in waiting should attend to. I also excel at sewing, altering and customising garments.”

“Perfect, you can assist with the seamstress work as well then, Agatha. I would like breakfast in my antechamber this morning — please let my mother know. And bring a couple of gowns for me to choose from for lunch.”

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

I start to shake my head and stop. “Actually yes, one urgent matter. Could you stop by and give Prince Zir a message on your way? His companion is not around today.”

She nods and moves to the desk, lifting a piece of paper and the ink-dipped feather.

“I am certain his Royal Highness would be pleased to hear from you. What is the message?”

“Tell him that the first thing I thought of this morning was that specific time eight years ago when he picked up Mama’s sword for the first time, could not handle it, fell straight into the fountain, and I could not stop laughing. Also tell him he is a prick.” I say it with complete seriousness.

She raises an eyebrow slightly, then immediately bows when she realises I mean every word.

“It is fine, he will know it is from me.”

I smile and dismiss her with a casual wave and she is gone.

Later that afternoon,

I am the last to arrive at our private dining hall. My mother and father are already seated at their respective ends of the rectangular table, making conversation with Zir and Kushiana, who sit opposite each other and are very clearly attempting civility.

The moment I take my first step inside, all eyes turn to me — scanning for whichever emotion they have learned to expect from me. Anger. Sadness. Nastiness. Indifference.

“It is essential for a princess to respect the timing of supper, Uliya,” my mother says, firmly but politely, by way of greeting.

I hastily pull out the chair beside Zir, next to her. “Sorry. I could not sleep at all last night.”

“It is alright, child. I am simply glad we are all eating together.” Father smiles and rings the bell with a flick of magic, sending the servants into motion around the room.

We eat in the silence considered appropriate for royals. Demiurge help me, I am going to miss chatting with Yer over meals. The food here may be better but it is doing nothing for me when she is not at the table. My family is perfectly tolerable but nothing compares to her.

I unenthusiastically carve up the baked seasoned potatoes on my plate when I feel Kushiana’s gaze settle on me. “What?” I mouth. Her eyes move deliberately to the untouched pile of vegetables beside them, then back to mine. A silent question.

I sigh. Then spend the next few minutes slowly burying the ash-like food in the depths of my mouth.

“If you do not mind,” Zir says suddenly, setting down his fork, “I have an urgent matter to attend to. May I take leave?” As usual, Mister Busy has somewhere to be. This is the same man who faked employment for years in the human lands. Nothing surprises me anymore.

“I certainly mind. What is this urgent matter pertaining to, Ziruth?” Father’s voice carries the weight of a king this time.

“It is Zir, so probably something to do with abandoning his family and kingdom.” Kushiana adds in that feather-light voice of hers, the one that appears reliably after two glasses of blackberry wine. I sometimes wonder if she would need that many drinks if she stopped shouldering responsibility for everyone around her.

Zir tilts his head slowly, smiling like a feral cat. They are absolutely going to start.

“Is that what you are wishing on? So you can keep fishing for another opportunity to self-sacrifice?”

Her answering snarl splits something in my chest. A small crackle of lightning flickers from her fingers. Father exhales deeply.

“Enough.” Mama’s voice is sharper now, carrying real weight. “Need I remind you both who you are seated before?”

Both of them straighten immediately, eyes dropping. So completely at odds with the argument they were building toward seconds ago.

“Good. Zir, you may go. But let us avoid abrupt departures during the limited meals we have together as a family. We must learn to stay together.”

He nods. “Yes ma’am. I will see you both in court this evening.” He rises and leaves.

Mama extends a finger toward Kushiana. An invisible thread attaches to her half-full glass and lifts it smoothly across the table into Mama’s waiting hand.

“I was still drinking that—”

“Yes, and look at the state of you already. It should have stopped after the first glass. Drunk is not a flattering look on a queen.”

Kushiana bursts out laughing, clearly out of spite. “And dead is?”

Father coughs. Mother’s eyes register as much shock as they allow themselves.

I stand and take my older sister firmly by the arm. “Up. We are getting some fresh air.”

“I do not want—”

“Now, Kushiana.” I say it in the rare assertive way I rarely do.

She yields.

~ Zir ~

I had written back to Syveline the same night, while still in the human lands, asking her to describe Nivun’s ailment in detail. She responded the next morning and I immediately sent Cecil in search of Noorani, our family healer who gave up her practice to focus on teaching children. She could not be found. Cecil has gone to Tyutir again today, to her kin’s place, still looking.

Until then.

I have just escaped a painfully prolonged supper with my family. They take unusually long to eat and it is unbearable. How hard is it to finish soup? No chewing required.

I head directly for the eastern wing’s second floor and knock on the large heavy oakwood door. The smell immediately stirs up childhood memories.

“Hello, who can I expect?” Lume’s deep voice answers from inside.

“It is me, Zir. Open up.”

The door swings open by magic and I step into the antechamber. The eastern wing bedrooms are considerably more airy than the rest of the palace. Luminara’s in particular is the finest, her antechamber leading into a large bedchamber connected to a generous hanging garden balcony for her herbs.

The scent of rosemary and dill drifts around me as I take in how the antechamber has been remade to reflect her grown interests. Several neatly organised shelves hold glass beakers, vials and containers of herbs in careful rows.

Her adjoining bedchamber and private dining hall have minimal furniture — a large blackwood canopy bed with lavender vines falling from it and wrapping around white curtains beautifully. Her study desk sits in front of it, covered in correspondence written in cerulean blue ink. A large triple armoire of whitewood faces the bed and contrasts beautifully against it. A single green velvet sofa with a round coffee table, books stacked in piles underneath. Tiny lamps are mounted across the ceiling. No chandelier like the rest of us. I feel uneasy for a moment registering that, then swallow it down and push open the double doors to the garden.

The semi-circular ground is covered in trimmed grass. Large and small plants crowd every surface, flowers and herbs blooming to the point of overlapping in places, making the stone boundary of the balcony nearly impossible to locate.

It takes a moment to find Lume somewhere in the middle, her head popping up from where she has been kneeling, working a new plant into a round mirror-glazed ceramic pot.

She has her hair in two long braids falling over her shoulders and has chosen black overalls over a green tunic, white rubber gloves and thick boots.

“Hey, I was not expecting you until this evening. Is something wrong?” She asks, nonchalant, attempting to push stray strands of hair back from her sweat-beaded forehead with her elbow. Her gloves are covered in dry soil.

I move toward her and push them back behind her ear.

She lets out a quiet sigh of relief, shoulders dropping. “Thank you. It was driving me mad.”

I smile. “I need your help, Lume. Could you come back to this later?”

“Of course. Give me a minute.”

I nod and settle onto the sofa, pouring her a glass of water while she cleans the soil from her hands and tosses the gloves into a corner.

“Tell me,” she says, sitting on the settee across from me and drinking.

I lean forward. “Alright, so—” and stop, realising the balcony and antechamber doors are still open. As if every soul here doesn’t have better things to do than suspect their prince of casual treason.

She catches where my eyes go and snaps both doors shut with a flick of her fingers.

“I have already sealed all my chambers with sonancy magic. You can say whatever you need to.” She adds the reassurance because she knows my wariness extends to even locked doors. 

I wink. “I knew having a smart friend would pay off eventually.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you were that calculative even in your first decade. Now go on, princeling. I have healing herbs waiting to be bound.”

“Alright. I cannot get hold of our old healer Noorani, and I need medicine made without my parents learning of it.”

She leans back and crosses her legs. “What kind of herbs?”

I bring out the paper describing the ailment and the medicine name and hold it out to her. Or so I think.

She raises an eyebrow and holds up what is actually in her hand, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“I do agree with Uliya that you are a prick, and I cannot wait to hear more about this sword incident, but—”

I realise I have handed her the message Uliya sent to torment me through her maid earlier. I snatch it back, shove it into my pocket and produce the correct paper.

She keeps laughing but skims through it quickly and nods. “I can make this. But it will need sun-dried salted aloe vera which takes two days to prepare. Three days in total.”

I do not argue about the timeline. I already trust she has found the fastest way.

“That works. Thank you, Lume.”

“A thanks will not cover it. I need five tiny rubies in exchange.”

I scoff. “Do not be absurd. That would barely make a bracelet. I will get you twenty.”

We look at each other seriously for a moment before she laughs. “You need to learn to negotiate, princeling. Anyone could take advantage of you. I was joking anyway.”

I stand. “Negotiation is for dealings with others. Not the friend who never asks why I need something. I suggest you start asking for more.”

She pauses before she rises. And when she looks up I notice her eyes are a little glassy.

“I missed you, you know.”

I feel my own emotions rise. “I did too, moonbug.”

~ Kushiana ~

I regain consciousness at the cost of a throbbing headache that ascends to the crown of my head and then descends again in nauseating waves. I manage to open my glassy eyes. I am in my bedchamber but not alone.

“She does not even listen to me without snapping. What am I supposed to do?” Zir mutters to Uliya from the leather armchair in front of my bed, gazing thoughtfully out the window.

“Well she needs to listen. And you are older so you have to say it.” Uliya says, arms crossed in the adjacent armchair.

“Ah, no? Where did that rule come from suddenly. Especially from someone who breathes to talk.”

She tosses her hair back, the portrait of manufactured innocence. “I am the youngest. I involuntarily have the least authority.”

“You had our mother build a staircase from my balcony to yours by lying that you were scared. She did not even ask me before imposing.” Zir seethes.

Uliya laughs. “That was purely to annoy you actually. I am proud of that one.”

“If I could strangle you and get away with it, I would. You live to create trouble for me.” He delivers it in the sweetest voice, as though reciting poetry.

“Cry to Demiurge about it later. Now listen — when she wakes up.” Uliya points in my direction and I close my eyes immediately, feigning sleep. “Tell her she does not have to do this. Our parents cannot force her to sit on that throne and would ultimately be more worried about her wellbeing than anything else. That is all.”

These two worry about me so much. Now I feel guilty.

“Fine. But she is not going to listen easily in a thousand years. So if she does not, you better produce those deceptive tears and cry like your life depends on it. And if you do not, I will make you.”

“That is so mean, Zir. I am barely seventeen. How could you say that about me?” She suddenly bursts into tears and I am about to sit up and end this circus when—

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Exactly like that. Well done.”

Uliya drops her hands from her face. Dry-eyed.

These two happen to be exceptionally gifted at scheming and theatrics. I need to put a stop to their antics today. Caelen would withdraw his help the moment he sensed political danger, so I can afford to be honest while withholding certain details. That way I will not feel guilty either.

I sit up slowly and they both immediately rise and come to settle at opposite ends of my bed.

“What are you two doing in my room?” I ask, frowning naturally while rubbing an eye.

“When I brought you back here after supper to talk, you passed out the moment you lay down,” Uliya says carefully.

“And?” I gesture to Zir for water. Uliya says nothing until he fetches it. They are really committing to their respective roles.

“And we thought — instead of fighting, the three of us should do something fun together.” Zir adds pleasantly, handing me the glass.

I drain it before looking at them both.

“Fine. But let me say something first.”

“Oh,” they say in unison, visibly thrown. Probably expecting a threat.

I sigh and snap all doors and windows shut with my fingers. “I am not going to sit on the throne. I know how to get all of us away from it. But that is all I can offer you right now. The curse is very real, I believe in it, and I will ask for help only if I need it before the crowning. I have it handled. Please do not push me for more.”

I look up. They are both staring at me.

Silence for a moment before they erupt simultaneously.

“You had a plan the entire time and said nothing while we worried ourselves sick?” Uliya shrieks.

“What do you mean we cannot push for more information. This affects the whole family, not just you.” Zir says in that quietly disappointed tone he reserves for occasions like this.

I roll my eyes. “Do not make it my funeral now. Can the two of you not simply trust me? Have I not handled things before when I said I would? Is that what you think of your eldest sister?”

I resort to my own theatrics, layering in a few well-placed sentences. I even briefly consider attempting Uliya’s fake cry, but it is too risky. I do not have the practice or her emotionally expressive face. They would see through it instantly.

It works beautifully regardless. They both pause, let the words settle, and when they speak again the temperature has changed.

“Fine. But do not do anything that puts you in danger. I refuse to watch you die for something stupid.” Uliya says, clicking her tongue, arms crossed again.

“I will not interfere. But find a solution quickly because I am not letting you sit on that throne under any circumstance. That is not negotiable.” Zir says flatly, rising from the bed.

“Thank you for trusting me. And I should not have to say this, but this stays between us.” I add with a small smile they reluctantly return.

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Do we still have anything fun planned for the three of us?” I emphasise the last three words, poking gently at their terrible intervention opener.

“Do not act smart,” Uliya mutters and walks out.

“I will still be watching out for danger,” Zir says. I nod. That seems fair.

“Also, unrelated but can I borrow some of your lightning beads in a couple of weeks? It is for—”

“Of course. I do not need the full explanation. I trust you.” I cut him off before he can finish.

He nods and disappears with a steady hand of magic.

Crisis averted, for now.