Page 2

Chapter two

Marked

“ A elia, you’re late. Though the seers did say you would be.” Chef didn’t spare me a glance as she took my basket. “Wandi, get over here. Stop admiring your mark, girl. It’s not going to fade.” Chef called to the washer at the sink as she rifled through my finds. Tossing the lot into the water basin, Chef heaved the now-empty basket back into my arms, finally taking in my filthy, oily—and likely horrifying—appearance. “Caught in the storm, aye? Bad luck. Even worse luck was your disappointing find.” She gestured to the soiled plants. “Wandi, salvage what you can.” The girl, perhaps a few years younger than my eighteen, pulled some water from the basin and wrapped tendrils around the leaves and roots. She was careful to flash me the light tan star-shaped mark on her wrist, her hand rubbing it periodically as she worked. Though her cheeks were bunched by her beaming smile, I recoiled.

That was a bond mark. Someone out there had a matching mark on them too—marking their potential to soulbond. If they met again, the mark would expand in various designs, and the bond would knit them together. Forever. Trapped.

How awful.

Wandi beamed at me when she noticed me staring. I tried to smile back, but I suspect it looked more like a grimace by the way she winced and turned away to manipulate the water around the herbs. Chef eyed me, shaking her head slightly. We had disagreed over the marks before.

She sighed, then tilted her head for me to follow her. “Were there no racerbristles?”

Turning away from the doomed servant, I wiped my hands on a towel. “I found the bush from last time, but it was dead. Brittle. I don’t think it could withstand all these storms.” I withheld my thoughts that, though the Shade was bad, the heat was worse for the plants. Prince Leon’s magic made it hard for anything to grow in the castle gardens—so close to his fire. Racerbristles were uncommon in the wild and only bloomed every few weeks. Unfortunately, their roots, leaves, and flowers were components of the only healing potion able to keep the queen alive. The gardeners and washers worked under the canvas awnings day in and day out to keep the few bushes we did have alive—barely. But the cultivated racerbristles weren’t enough, so I searched endlessly for more. The bushes preferred the edges of the forest and moist, windless air—hard to find when the canopies were charred crisps and the air heated by flames.

Chef grimaced. “The healer and king will not be pleased to hear this news. The queen fades even now.”

I ducked my head, feeling the weight of the queen’s dependence on herbal cures and my efforts to obtain them.

Noting my guilt, she patted my shoulder, then casually brushed away the crumbs she’d accidentally left behind. “Maybe we’ll have you look on the other side of the mountain… ”

“Yes, Chef,” I murmured.

She sighed heavily as her curls wrapped around her round, weathered face. Chef’s worry lined her features for a moment longer before she stiffened and regarded me again. “Go now, Aelia. Get cleaned up. Don’t be late for dinner. Prince Leon is honoring the Mastersons tonight before their bonding ball.”

“Yes, Chef.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled as she batted at me with a towel. She hated it when I deferred so much to her, given my station. I smiled back and raced to my room. Pulling the tacky clothes off, I filled the tub with hot water—a luxury thanks to the lesser washers and inferni employed by the castle. I scrubbed at the oily shadows until my skin was pink and raw and my white hair had returned to its natural snowy shade. The water had turned as gray as the storm as I stepped out. I considered my soiled clothes and tossed the lot into the tub. A good soaking would be useful for the stains I would have to try to get out myself.

By night, I was Lady Aelia, a noblewoman; by day, Aelia, the magicless—and therefore useless—working woman. I’d save this mess for later when I had more time since I had no maids to assist me.

Tapping my lips, I stood before the wardrobe and reached for one of my nicer gowns. The green would look fine with my hair. It’s not like anyone looked at me anyhow. I pulled out my mother’s necklace, with its curling, sweeping rays of the sun. It looked pretty against the shining fabric, though the slight glow was soon too overpowered by the castle’s luz lamps to be appreciated. It was still a small comfort if I had to celebrate a soulbond.

Soulbonds were a highly valuable cage that romantics honored, seers tried to matchmake, and all the other girls dreamed about. I knew better. A soulbond had ruined my father, killing him as decidedly as my mother, even though he was still here, walking and breathing. Poor Wandi. Given the details and distinctness of the unnatural mark, she would undoubtedly find her match soon. She must have seen him and touched him in order to trigger the magic…or rather, the curse. Couples could work their way out of the relationship, of course, if it didn’t suit them. But the seers all claimed that bonds were the mark of one’s true love and everlasting happiness.

Right. My father. The beacon of joy.

I struggled with the ties on my dress and swept up my white hair in the only style I could quickly do myself so I wouldn’t arrive late or be embarrassed. King Harold, the regent, technically, let me and my father stay in the castle since we were useful to his queen, but as I had no magic of my own, I was a source of judgment and derision to both him and my father. The nobles always had the strongest magic. Except for me. So, I was in no man’s land—too noble to be out in the city, too weak to deserve a lady’s maid.

Slipping into my shoes, I dashed down the corridor, arriving as King Harold entered the hallway. I dipped into a curtsy, ignoring his scowl, and gracefully, meticulously minced into the room toward my seat. King Harold was announced amid trumpeting fanfare a few moments later, and we stood until he waved for us to take our seats. The room fell into murmurs, polite laughter, and warm remarks, all of which roared to a cheer when Prince Leon entered the room.

King Harold threw out his arms, greeted his son in a back-beating embrace, then pulled back to regard him. “Oh, my boy, what a wonderful display today. You are an asset to our nation and our lands! Keeping that filth away from us—a true hero!” The king turned Leon toward us, grasping him in a sideways embrace.

“The prince and king lead the nation with light and hope!” the table guests chorused.

King Harold continued, “Day in, day out, light or dark, you defend our great city and these very walls. Your magic is immense, and you use it for your people like a true leader. Prosperity requires sacrifice, which you demonstrate daily to our people.”

Prince Leon dipped his head and beamed at us with a radiant smile. Radiant like his fire. Radiant like my face as I ducked to obscure my blush. It should be illegal for talented people to be attractive—worse yet, he was also powerful and charming. He was dressed in red attire, his sleeves capped with yellow flames that climbed down his arms artistically. His blond hair swept toward the sky in small spikes. The nobles’ daughters rose and flitted to his side, twittering in their pastel way, each speaking the language of eyelashes and coquettish fan-waving fluidly. I rose in greeting, as did the men, but found my seat more quickly than the rest.

He rounded the table, greeting the nobles and congratulating the Mastersons on their match. Lady Marva Keller had a zigzag on her forearm, while Lord Henty Masterson’s mark was on the back of his hand—their skin stained by the curse of the magic. Both looked flushed with excitement and regaled Prince Leon with stories from their courtship and their anticipation of the completed bond tomorrow. The prince moved with such confidence and ease, celebrating them as expected. His gaze caught mine, and his smile brightened a fraction. It was all I could ask for.

The prince and I had been friends since childhood, when Father and I had moved here. We were close in age, but as he grew up, our friendship grew apart. Ours was a subtle friendship, quiet and out of the view of our peers. I didn’t need his public acknowledgment of our closeness. I knew who he had been as a child and the depths of our friendship outside of the court. He had his reputation to preserve, and I didn’t want to tarnish it with my weakness .

“Lady Aelia.” Lord Brynett’s quiet words startled me, and I dropped my fork. I quickly gathered my composure as I turned. “Your father, is he well? He has missed several of the last dinners.”

I glanced toward my father’s seat, empty beside me. “Indeed, my lord, he just needs rest from his studies. He endlessly searches for ways to aid Her Majesty.” The lie was well practiced, and no one ever sought to clarify or seemed bothered by the same answer stated a hundred different ways.

“Lady Aelia,” King Harold called. “Won’t you move down a seat so Lord Turnblat can sit beside Lord Brynett?”

I stood quickly, tucking my hair behind my ear in my surprise. I curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.” I shifted down to the end of the table as Lord Turnblat and Lord Jerrund moved up into my father’s and my seats. I pulled the strands of hair I had left down in front of me, stroking them twice for comfort. I could eat here as well as there. My role was to serve the kingdom.

When I glanced back up toward Prince Leon, however, I was surprised to find Lord Brynett still staring, his jaw slack and his gaze fixed on my neck…or my ear. Did I miss something?

“My lord?” I asked, shifting in my seat as I bunched a bit of fabric between my fingers beneath the table. But he just pointed at my head with a furrowed brow. I brought a napkin to my chin and dabbed at my lips.

Lord Jerrund, who had just seated himself, turned sharply, acknowledging my existence for the first time in several months. “Egads, lass, are you sick? Cursed?”

My lips parted. Lord Jerrund was always a bit gregarious, but this was surprising. “I…no? I’m not cursed. What is it?”

“Your neck. What did you do? It looks like it’s rotting away!” Lord Jerrund leaned away, standing to gain distance. The entire table was now staring. Placing a hand upward, my fingers followed my collarbone up to my jawline, where I felt residual evidence of the shadow magic behind my jaw by my beauty mark.

I pulled my hand away, studying the blackness on my fingers, my throat tight. “Forgive me, my lord. I was in…in the garden…when the shadows fell.”

Lord Jerrund sniffed haughtily as he straightened his jacket and resumed his seat, unembarrassed by his outburst. “Your lady’s maid should be put out on the streets for missing such a thing. The inattention!”

Prince Leon cleared his throat, and the table fell to a respectful silence. “Perhaps so. Lady Aelia, go tidy up. Discuss this with your maid, or I shall have to.”

My cheeks flared as hot as a sunburn under the weight of his gaze. I rose, curtsied, and swept out of the room. Yes. Me and my maid. The prince knew I had no maid, but no one else did. My father and the king regent were convinced that I would be fine on my own. Fine indeed. I paced back to the room and studied myself in the mirror, turning my head unnaturally to find the spot. Of course, I had missed it. I had a small mark tucked into the natural shadow below my ear, a mole that arrived when I was seven. The mark had been covered by a smear of black acid rain and was now irritated. I closed my eyes, clenching against the wave of shame. So much for being quiet and unobtrusive. How could I embarrass the prince in this way?

Grasping a cloth and dipping it in the cold, sudsy bathwater, I leaned toward the mirror to scrub away all evidence of my foraging. The cloth darkened, and I rinsed it again, but a thin line, swirling around the dark center circle and up toward my ear, remained. How much shadow goo could hide behind an ear? The skin around it turned red as I scrubbed, but it persisted. I cleaned several more rounds but made no headway; the cloth no longer darkened, but my skin refused to release the last bit of grime. With a grunt, I threw the cloth at the mirror. It was hopeless. Or maybe I was cursed, and Lord Jerrund was right all along.

It appeared I would not be returning to dinner, so I slipped down to the kitchen through the servant passages to grab some food and some help. The bustling form of Chef was kneading the bread dough for the morning. With dinner well underway, the room bustled with staff carrying new dishes, leaving soiled ones for the washers, and rushing around in a frenzy. Chef’s hair danced to and fro over her forehead as she kneaded. I hated to disturb her. “Forgive me, Chef, do you have any oil I could use, please?”

Without turning, she pointed to a shelf. Grabbing a tall glass bottle, I doused a clean cloth and began rubbing anew. Her clomping steps warned me of her arrival. “Child, child, you have to leave the ear attached! Give the thing to me.” Taking the saturated napkin, she pushed my head, tilted it to the side, and threw my hair behind me. Then she froze.

With a frown, I turned toward her, but her face had paled to the shade of the flour that dusted her cheek. Shaking herself, she dabbed the area twice, then stepped back again. She coughed. “It’s only an irritated beauty mark.”

“So I’m not cursed?” I said, smiling to lighten the tension. Chef stumbled and nearly knocked against a nearby pot.

“What?” she laughed with too much air. “Who would say such a thing? It’s only a mark, like the one on my arm. Hard-earned and lovely, they are.” Her eyes pierced me as she turned back. “All the same, better leave it alone. Let it heal.” She tapped her hands against the table. “Is that why you left the dinner? ”

Nodding, I twisted the rag. “Lord Jerrund and Lord Brynett saw that I missed some of the shadow filth from earlier. Made a scene.” I tossed the rag into the laundry basket. “And Prince Leon told me to get my maid to fix it.”

Her face softened with empathy. “Ah, dear girl. Prince Leon has a hard job, you know. Saving face in front of his father and people. I’m sure he didn’t want to upset the Mastersons.” She took some food from the ready dishes and made me a plate, wrapping the rolls before passing it back. “You’ll be alright. But head back up to your room for now. Tend to your da when you’re done. Keep your hair down so you don’t go messing with it.”

She paused and placed a hand on my cheek with a confused expression before turning me bodily and pushing me out the door. “See you in the morning, lass.” The door clicked shut behind me.

I stood on the other side of the door, reeling, blinking into the shadows of the spider-filled servant hall. My necklace glowed weakly in the dim light. What in the sunny lands was that? Returning to my room, I sat at my bureau, staring at my reflection and wondering what kind of beauty mark could cause the steady chef to stumble.