Page 5

Talysse

I jump over hedges and avoid angry dogs and vigilant townsfolk. Completely out of breath, I make it to the boarding house, where Myrtle is renting a narrow, humid room.

She is dozing off over a bottle of white wine and two empty cups, the single candle on the table nearly burned out. She has washed away the blood and cleaned her wound; only a red line across her skin reminds her of her ordeal. She wakes up with a start when I gently touch her shoulder.

“Talysse,” she whispers, her dark eyes darting to her son. He’s sleeping peacefully on the narrow bed in the corner, clutching the rag dragon I made for him. “I was worried sick! Ran to Red Moon, but you weren’t there! They are looking for you everywhere. That bastard called the guards and now they are combing the city, searching for an unlicensed mage. What should we do?”

It takes me some time to realize which bastard she means. The Fae or the merchant at the stables?

Cold sweat rolls down my spine despite the summer heat. This must be some bad dream. To be hunted when I’m so close to my goal. I drop into the unstable chair and try to steady my trembling fingers when I pour myself some wine.

Taking a generous swig of sour wine, I glare at her. “I’m leaving, Myrtle. I cannot put you and Stebian at risk. Practicing magic without permission from the Unseelie is punishable. Just as harboring an unlicensed mage.” Another swig and the desperation is slowly replaced by cold, sharp determination. “I am getting Tayna out of that cursed house tonight, and we’ll hide until things settle down. Then we leave with the first caravan heading out.”

It all sounds too simple, but all my belongings—and my money—are beneath that loose plank in the stables. The first place they’d look. To the hell pits of Atos with all Fae, guards and merchants! I rub my neck, feeling the noose around it tighten.

“Or—” Myrtle clears her throat and lowers her voice, leaning closer, “you could volunteer for the Trials. They’re looking for mages in all of Satreyah. Did you see the posters? How you sent that prick flying! It was glorious! Your magic is strong, Talysse. You will win! And then you can save this whole gods-forsaken place. Tayna, me, and Stebian included.”

Shaking my head, I down another glass of cheap wine. We’ve been through this so many times before. The issue here is that Myrtle’s opinion of me is too high. I am not the fair maiden with a selfless heart the bards are singing about. Breaking curses, slaying dragons, saving cities—those are things I’m not even remotely interested in. In fact, I try to avoid them as the plague. Like everyone in this backwater town, I just want—for once—the juicy part of the meat pie. I want Tayna to go back to school instead of marrying and becoming a toy to some lunatic; I want to have a job where I can look people in the eye without fearing that they would get the city guards. After everything this life has taken from me, it’s fair.

“You know that I just want to get away from this place, Myrtle. There is nothing but bad memories here for me. No future. And as soon we’re settled in the Free Cities and I am earning some coin, I’ll send for you and Stebian. But don’t make me feel like I’m responsible for this gods-forsaken shit hole.”

She shakes her head, throwing a look at the door. “But you are, Talysse. Magic is rare, and you’ve been chosen. So don’t talk to me about responsibility—someone else has made this choice for you. This ship has sailed. The Elders think that you’re good enough. And I do, too. If I know a person who can do this, it is you. You are not a pampered mage from some fancy castle or some nobleman who can swing a blade. You are resourceful; you have survived out there, and it hasn’t broken you or stained you. It has made you stronger—”

“Oh, but it did, Myrtle. My dead parents are still with me; they speak to me every night, accusing me of being unable to protect Tayna.” These words come out too loud, and we both look around nervously.

“You have done your best to keep her safe.” Myrtle slams the table with a fist then immediately regrets it.

“I have not done enough. With every single minute she remains in that cursed house, her doom is coming closer.”

“You are wasting the blessing the Elders have bestowed upon you—” she hisses.

“And you don’t know what you are talking about,” I snap. “Do you think that weaving some illusions or throwing someone against a wall can help me defeat Unseelie-trained mages? Do you know what kills most contestants in the Trials? It’s not the Wastelands or the Shadowfeeders. It’s the other contestants.”

We sit in silence, reining our emotions in, drinking more than we should. My eyes rest on Stebian, so small and vulnerable and so unaware of it. Watching a child wander the Dreamlands is the most calming thing. How many nights back in the Blessed Dawn orphanage have I curled up against the tiny body of Tayna, her quiet breath and the scent of innocence drying my tears?

“Winning the Trials means money and fame. You and Tayna will never have a worry in your life. You will become a Protector just like mage Eloysse. Think of all the possibilities, Talysse!” Her hoarse whisper fades, and the shadows in the room grow thicker. There’s a desperate, unspoken plea in her words—one by one, the Unseelie are calling off the Protectors of the neighboring cities, leaving them unprotected. Without their spells to power the Beacons and keep the Shadowfeeders at bay, the cities were overrun and corrupted. Waves of refugees flooded Tenebris, and many didn’t live to see the dawn.

I respond with a question, and the conversation takes its usual dark turn. “Have you heard of any humans winning the Trials, Myrtle? Any humans surviving? You realize only the winner gets to live, right?”

“There is one in the Free Cities. They say that she is taking a bath in a tub of gold—”

“You’re better than believing this nonsense, Myrtle.” I throw my hands in the air and immediately regret my too-harsh tone. It’s been a hell of a night. “You know how these Unseelie are—” we both look around because speaking ill of our masters is a crime punishable by exile in the Wastelands, “—they are murderers. They killed all Seelie, their brethren, and now they’re looking for ways to thin our numbers out. Why do you think there’s no new mage coming to Tenebris? They want to see the city fall. And you know what they did to my parents. They are tricky, and they do everything for their own gain.”

She looks around, as if the thin wooden walls have ears. This sort of talk is dangerous, though most of the townsfolk have similar thoughts.

“You should stop seeing death and evil in everything, Talysse. You have the rarest commodity in Phyllesia. You are gifted by the Elders, and you can help many. You just need to believe in yourself, for once. Then you can change all our lives.”

Our usual bickering is draining me. How to convince her that the orphan rejected by all adoptive families for being a troublemaker, the one who saw her parents hang, the one who was not good enough for anything, cannot save anyone? Not even her loved ones.

“Tayna had another suitor today. It’s the worst one yet.”

Myrtle’s face softens immediately, and she takes my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Yet another reason for you to sign up for the Trials. I heard some important Fae have arrived with the caravan—”

I lock my jaw, realizing that my decision has been made. “I am leaving, Myrtle.”

Enough of this. I push my chair back and head to the door. Exhaustion is already dulling my senses, but I cannot risk being discovered here.

“May your night be short.”

She opens her mouth to say something when mayhem erupts, and our little world comes crashing down.