Echoes of Silence
Author: Elana Johnson
Date: 2016-05-03 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Romance
Description: Her voice could unleash a war. Twenty-three-year-old Echo del Toro doesn't know about the bride-choosing festivities the tyrannical Prince of Nyth has planned--until she's taken from her home by five armed soldiers. She's led under the cover of a magically produced storm to an opulent compound to join hundreds of girls, each vying to be chosen as the next Queen of Nyth. As she plays the charade of falling in love with the Prince, Echo realizes three terrifying truths: He is hungry for her song-magic, he has a secret plot to dethrone his father, and he is not wholly unlikeable. Faced with the s
Publisher: Kindle Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016

A Kindle Scout selection

Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Other books by Elana Johnson

About Elana Johnson

One

Grandmother taught me that silence never goes to waste.

“One need not talk all the time, Echo.” Her voice, rough from age and little use, spoke to me even from the grave. I pictured her rocking in her chair as she dispensed her wisdom. For twenty-three years I had absorbed everything she’d said.

Now, a year after her death, I stood silently in the foyer belonging to a wealthy aristocrat in the city proper of Umon, far from my beloved village of Iskadar. He didn’t wish to pay the agreed upon price, though my sewing did not bear a single mistake. Every stitch resided in its precise spot; the flowering vines along the hem of each tablecloth took my breath away, and a slithering power rose through my throat as I listened to his wife.

“It is beautiful work,” she whispered, her voice vaulting to the ceilings where it rebounded to my ears. “Pay the girl.”

“If I pay her the full amount, we will not have need for the tablecloths,” her husband argued. “I cannot afford the party if I pay full price for these.”

I waited, silent. I inhaled deliberately, the way Oake, my song teacher from Iskadar, had taught me. As if oxygen alone could calm the storm escalating inside. As if air could push out the anger. As if breathing was easy.

But nothing came easy without Grandmother. For magic was a powerful being, formed by two people, as bonds, uniting their voices together. Each sound joining with the other, weaving counterparts and harmonies that tamed their energies into a source of great power. Singing with a bond created a cocoon of magic, where I had felt safe and loved.

But alone, the magic had no stopper and the user no protection. Some people searched for years to find a bond, while others bonded with family members in childhood. Grandmother and I had been bonded as long as I could remember, but death bore a sharp knife that even we couldn’t escape.

I clenched my fists at my sides, pretending I could squeeze back the pain. Or the magic.

I knew I couldn’t perform a spell-song here, not inside this particular house situated so near the Prince’s palace.

The hope that he’d do the right thing faded as the aristocrat and his wife continued to argue. Helplessness crowded my throat. My sister and I needed the full amount from this job if we had any hope of keeping our modest living quarters in the West Tower.

My seam stressing work, while steady, did not provide much money. Olive worked long hours in the market, but sometimes she wasn’t able to sell her flower arrangements before they wilted. When that happened, we lost wages, supplies, time, hope.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, returning to the foyer. His wife lingered out of sight, and the idea further infuriated me. Magic coursed through me, desperate to be released through songs, and chants, and rhymes. I clenched my teeth to keep it inside.

“We are not satisfied with the work,” he said. “We’ll only pay half.” He held the lesser payment toward me, but I didn’t move to take it.

“Your wife said it was beautiful work,” I said, finally releasing my voice. Olive often criticized me for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but I felt sure she would want me to fight for the full payment in this instance. I’d found my sister thirteen months ago, living in a hovel with three other girls. Together, we’d worked hard enough and saved long enough to move into private quarters in the West Tower a few months ago.

I would not lose it now, not when the alternative was a room with only three walls, and beds stacked to the ceiling.

My mind raced through the possibly of reclaiming the tablecloths and selling them in the market. How long would that take? Could I get the amount this man had agreed to pay?

Uncertain, I steadfastly shook my head at his still-offered payment. “I must insist you pay the full amount.” The beginnings of a melody that would bend his will to mine floated through my mind.

Magic left an imprint, something that could be detected and possibly traced back to me. I stifled the spell-song, my jaw tightening. I could not release my magic carelessly, as I didn’t want to become a magician in the High King’s court. I would not subject my power to the whims of senseless men. “Please.”

He truly looked shamed as he said, “I’m sorry. I cannot.”

A sob worked its way through the contained magic in my body. If I forfeited this income, Olive and I would default on our rent. I remembered her dirty hair, her hollow face, when I found her after I had journeyed from Iskadar. Though we hadn’t bonded magically, as Grandmother had hoped, Olive and I shared a sisterly bond that would not allow me to accept defeat. I wouldn’t send her back to that lean-to.

I dug my fingers into my palms, drew a shallow breath, and hummed a charm that would soften his mind, allowing me to suggest his actions. The notes barely met my own ears, and I felt certain that his wife would not hear me. The imprint I would leave with this simple music would not be noticed by anyone.

Unless that person could detect magicians. I had never met a magician who could sense the power in others, and Oake had not either. But the High King of Nyth seemed to have unlimited resources at his disposal and his magicians had learned—perhaps forcibly—to play by different rules.

I exhaled the last notes along with my fear, fury, and desperation, feeling more in control of my emotions as I gave voice to my magic. I hadn’t used a spell more advanced than the childhood songs Olive and I once sung while we peeled turnips and planted pole beans, because I didn’t truly know what would happen if I performed powerful magic while unbonded. Now, with this stronger, persuasive spell, the rich wallpapers spun, and the light from the elaborate gas-fueled chandelier sharpened into white light as bright as glinting diamonds.

“I must have the full amount,” I managed to say in a strong, sure voice.

The aristocrat turned without a word and moved on stiff legs into the room where his wife waited. As soon as he left my sight, I reached for the grand piano to steady myself.

Thankfully, the room settled to stillness. Such startling side effects had happened when I’d hummed a detection rhyme on my journey to the city. It was simple magic, but used without a bond, every note felt like an attack instead of relief.

A whispered conversation began between the man and woman, and a moment later he returned. This time, he dropped the full payment into my hands without a word. I disliked the glazed look in his eyes, but I couldn’t dwell on it. He had agreed to the price, and Olive and I desperately needed the income.

I hastily spun in my well-worn shoes and fled the premises. Outside, the sun beat down on the city, hinting at the promise of a hot summer. The light felt blinding, the heat oppressive, due to my use of magic.

I stuffed the money into my satchel, and casting a glance down the street to the Prince’s palace, nearly lost my footing on the steps.

A man stalked toward me, his black uniform screaming of his military standing. He had dark hair, Nythinian molasses-colored skin, and a well-placed scowl.

I hurried down the steps, looking over my shoulder as I met the street. I cursed myself as I forced my eyes forward again. I couldn’t appear to be so shifty, like I had broken a law and did not wish to be caught.

Though I had done exactly that. Oake had educated me on the history of Nyth and the High King’s rise to power. He ruled his people through ruthless spell-songs and fear. He’d driven the magicians from his land, at least those he couldn’t use for his advantage. Those who couldn’t escape he forced into servitude.

I would not let him take me, nor would I stop my voice from unleashing its full power if I was ever caught. I worked hard to live as inconspicuously as I did, and I increased the speed of my flight in the hopes of maintaining my anonymity and freedom.

I couldn’t believe I had used magic to secure money. My goal these past thirteen months had been to conceal my powers in a city devoid of magicians, keep the quarters Olive and I had obtained, and continue to work hard so we could improve our situation further.

I expected a shout in the northern language of Nyth, which I still hadn’t learned, or the grip of the soldier’s fingers to clamp around my wrist. Instead, I heard only the wheezing of my breath as I flew toward safety.

At the corner, I ducked around a hedge guarding another aristocrat’s beautiful home. I leaned against it, catching my breath and hoping the man was simply militia and not magician.

I gathered my courage and peered around the corner. The man stood at the door of the aristocrat’s home, listening to the noble. From this distance, I couldn’t hear their words, but the soldier looked directly at me. He held my eyes for several long seconds before entering the aristocrat’s house.

I didn’t wait for him to emerge, to send his guards after me, to follow me home and arrest me there. I hurried toward the towers located on the edge of the walled city.

#

My arrival at the cramped residence I shared with my sister came much earlier than usual. Olive looked up in surprise, and the emotion in her face morphed to fear. “What’s wrong?” She paused her arrangement of a wedding bouquet. She had secured the job the previous week, but took only half of the commission up front. She had used nearly all the money buying the flowers she needed for the event, but we’d also purchased another chicken for our balcony. We now had two, and we each enjoyed an egg at breakfast every day. I didn’t miss the flatcakes I had been consuming for so many months before.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied, unwilling to tell my sister about the situation in the nobility sector. She valued my anonymity above all, and she wouldn’t appreciate that I had used song-magic to secure payment.

Frustration skated through her expression, and her fingers pinched too tightly on the rose stems. “What are you doing home, then?” she asked. “Do you not have work to do?”

Looking at my sister, I was once again reminded of Grandmother’s counsel. Sometimes you have words, Echo, that do not need to be said.

I wondered what she would tell me now. She had given no instructions for how to survive in Umon, how to live without singing magic into beauty. Her parting words, after giving me a letter for Olive, had been, “Do not use your magic near the city. I love you, Echo.”

I had wondered then, as I did now, how she thought I would use my magic at all without her.

Olive finished the bouquet and moved into our small living room. I stayed rooted to the spot just inside the door, watching her. She gave me an exaggerated sigh—her lead-up to a lecture—as she fiddled with the drapes and adjusted the few trinkets we owned on the shelves.

Olive knew how to make a space beautiful, where to put a vase of flowers so that all would notice it, how to dress a window to get the best light in the winter and yet keep the sun out in the summer. While I noticed clothing and thread, she remembered people; their faces, their voices, their tastes.

Her long, earth-colored hair cascaded over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen and retrieved our lunch from the oven. My stomach yearned for something of substance, but the scent indicated that Olive had made hash—once again. She said potatoes stretched our limited supply of beef, but we had run out of the meat last week. The thought of choking down more dry hash made me ill.

She slammed the oven gloves on the counter. “Tell me what happened.”

I looked at my shoes, which provided the answer she sought.

“Echo, tell me you didn’t.” Her voice ghosted between us, heavy with fear. “You cannot use magic here!”

“He was only going to pay half,” I said, still unable to meet her gaze. “I had to do something.”

“Like you had to do something to persuade the coal master?” Desperation tainted her voice, and I appreciated her concern for me.

“Yes, exactly like that.” I finally raised my eyes from the floor. “That spell-song provided us with heat for a week—during the coldest month of the year.”

“Even so,” she said. “I fear for you. You cannot—”

“We would have frozen to death,” I interrupted. “And this song made it possible for us to pay the rent.” I dropped the satchel containing the money on the counter, a river of fire flowing beneath my skin. “Almost.”

“A few extra coins are not worth using your voice.” Her words came from a genuine place of concern.

“This is a lot more than a few coins.” I pinned her with a pointed look. “I will not allow you to go back to that pit.” I moved to the window in the living room while she spoke about the High King and his magician hunters. I’d heard the stories from Oake before coming to the city. Whispered rumors told of hunting parties with magicians gifted with the ability to detect their own kind. Stories of orange-eyed magicians who chanted until the trees sharpened their limbs and stabbed holes through the hearts of men.

“It was a simple melody,” I said, tearing my thoughts from Oake. “I barely felt faint.” I sank onto a ragged chair, wishing I could eat and lie down, for though the song had been simple, I didn’t call on my magic often enough to be able to use it without extreme fatigue.

“Echo, please,” Olive said, the fight leaving her body. “What happens when you are caught? I cannot watch you get stripped of all freedoms, hung upside down, and bled out as the High King steals your power.”

She moved to sit next to me. “You cannot imagine the horrific things he would do for power like yours. Please.” She held me at arm’s length. “Please do not give voice to another song, no matter how simple.”

How easily we slipped into the roles we had shouldered. Her as my protector, always worrying about concealing my power from the Nythinian soldiers, and me as the financial administrator, worrying over whether or not we had the means to maintain our inconspicuous life.

“I want more for you,” I said.

“I simply want you to be safe,” she said. “That is why you came here.”

I thought of Iskadar, of the eight-day journey that had brought me to the city just twenty-four hours after Grandmother’s funeral. Rumors of Nythinian hunting parties in the village had made Oake concerned, and he had all but packed my bag in encouragement for me to flee to Umon for safety.

“Please,” Olive said again, drawing me into a hug. “No more magic.”

“I will try,” I said.

“That’s not good enough. You simply cannot let everything you think come out of your mouth.” She stood, reclaiming her position over me. “If you won’t do it for yourself, consider the danger you’re causing for me.”

I hung my head. My sister had a special gift to invoke guilt, even if doing so was meant to help. In this case, she was right. “I am sorry, Olive.”

Grandmother had said Olive had left Iskadar to find someone to bond with, but she never had. She had few skills, and she felt frustrated that she couldn’t provide for herself. She felt as caged in her life as I felt in mine. I was unable to do magic; she was unable to buy enough meat and milk.

There was precious little either of us could do to change our situation, so we stuck together, bonding in a nonmagical way, as we worked to make the best life for ourselves, even if it wasn’t the life we truly wanted.

“Please,” she said. “The dangers of using magic are too great.”

“I understand,” I said. “I won’t use magic again.” The statement seeped like poison into my bloodstream.

Two

Grandmother taught me to evaluate a situation before acting.

“Look and listen first,” she said, her wise eyes noticing details in Oake’s magical puzzles that, even after she had pointed them out, I couldn’t seem to find.

And so I always looked and listened whenever I went to the market. Most of the merchants I dealt with for my sewing supplies knew me, and were fair. Still, I didn’t trust them, and we constantly haggled over prices.

My stomach growled at the tantalizing smell of pork kabobs and honeyed carrots. I had left home after choking down as much hash as I could—which was only a handful of bites. I feared I would faint if I ate nothing, though I’d flirted with the prospect.

I passed the food booths, heading for the notions stall in the back corner of the market. I adored buttons, and lace, and jeweled threads. I allowed myself a few extra minutes to look over all the wares in the booth, before selecting the sensible threads I needed for my work.

“These three,” I said, handing the merchant butter yellow, silver, and coral thread of medium weight. The colors would work well together against the navy fabric the duchess had selected for her new apron.

He glanced at the threads. “Forty.”

My breath stalled in my chest. “Forty?” I repeated. “I paid twenty for this much thread only weeks ago.”

The merchant curled his fingers around my would-be purchase. “Prices have gone up. Heona has increased the importation taxes.”

I looked southward, though I could not see beyond the walls of the market. I imagined the hills which rose in the distance, separating Umon from Heona and the ocean. Heona controlled all the ports, something both Umon and Nyth, which lay to the north, paid for dearly.

The Queen of Heona did not know magic, but was a master in economics. Oake insisted I keep up with the movement of rulers and their philosophies, claiming that a magician living in our uncertain times, and in a country stuck between two others, needed to know whom she could trust.

And right now, I couldn’t even depend on the price of thread to be stable. I looked at the merchant helplessly, then focused on the materials I needed. “What can I get for twenty?”

He considered the spools and held up the silver thread with a question in his eyes.

I simply couldn’t monogram the duchess’s apron in a single color. I’d never get hired again. I thought about the funds we still needed for rent, how bare the pantry had been, how Olive needed additional flowers to complete her arrangements.

I looked over my shoulder, remembering my promise to my sister. Worry seethed inside my bones as frustration built into a lump in my throat, one I could not swallow away. The market lay in the center of the city, filled with people. A simple persuasion rhyme would not be noticed.

Yet I stalled. I did not wish to take what I couldn’t pay for, but stitching the duchess’s apron in monotone simply would not do. I would suffer for this mistake for years, something I couldn’t afford. The merchant could absorb a small loss—and I vowed to make up the difference over time.

So I opened my mouth as if to speak, barely giving sound to the spell-song. I felt my power rush out of me, and I quickly stoppered it. My magic buzzed beneath my skin, making me itch.

The merchant took a step backward, his fingers releasing the thread. He studied me with blank eyes. I blinked and his face twisted, flickered, and became someone else’s.

My father’s face.

I had seen his kind eyes and gentle smile hundreds of times in the only portrait of him that Grandmother owned. Although he was familiar to me, I had never looked upon his face in person, as he had died when I was just four days old.

He couldn’t be here, now, in the marketplace of Umon. I couldn’t draw a proper breath as the merchant spoke with a voice not his own.

I closed my eyes, forcing reason into my mind. When I looked again, the merchant had morphed back into himself. Familiar ginger beard; watchful hazel eyes.

“Twenty?” he offered. My spell-song had worked. The thought brought me little comfort. I paid what he asked as my magic cleared from his eyes. I caught the distrustful look he gave me when he saw the lesser amount in his hand, and I quickly turned away from the notions stall.

Fear escalated through me as I navigated the crowd. I needed to get away from the merchant before he called for the guards. I needed to escape from the press of all these people, get out from behind this city’s walls. My legs shook with every step, and each face I saw bore my father’s midnight eyes.

I tried to erase his image from my mind, but it wouldn’t go. My power writhed within me. I worried that my footprints would shine with magic, and that I might not make it home without fainting.

I stumbled and collided with someone, who steadied me with his iron grip. “Are you well?” a man asked, but I dared not seek his face. I didn’t wish to see my father in him, could not bear another hallucination caused by my foolish use of singing spells while unbonded.

I leaned on the stranger for a mere moment, though I wanted to clutch him until the ground settled and people once again wore their own skin. “I am well.”

The man released me, and I chanced to look at him. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I didn’t see my father’s face. But horror snaked through me when I recognized the Nythinian soldier who had entered the aristocrat’s house immediately after I had left.

“You should head home and rest.” His words curled with the slightest of accents. His eyes were the color of murky water; his hair dark and short. This time, he didn’t wear a scowl, but a watchful glint in his eye, like he knew something I didn’t.

Anger rushed through my head. “Don’t tell me what to do.” I turned and melted into the crowd before he could respond. I felt spent as the fury faded, and walking became a chore. I leaned against the outer wall of the market to catch my breath. I didn’t believe this particular soldier’s presence at the market was a mere coincidence. How much he knew about me, I couldn’t fathom. But he certainly knew something.

#

When the merchants began closing their shops, I eased into the flow of people leaving the square, taking care to stay out of sight of any soldiers. I dreaded returning to the apartment, where I faced another argument with Olive.

A thunderous crash ripped my thoughts from crafting the excuses I could provide for my sister. A jolt of magic froze me to the path, and the magically purchased thread fell from my fingers.

“No,” I whispered, but the power I kept carefully contained did not obey my command. A strange grinding noise tore from my throat as I tried to stop the song-spell from joining the escalating storm.

A note burst from my mouth as an arc of blue light whipped above my head and into the atmosphere. It cackled with the other magic already formed, and as the magicians calling up the storm continued their songs, the sky foamed with dark clouds.

I silenced my voice and sucked in a breath, remembering Oake’s teachings. He had warned me never to underestimate the power of proper breathing when working magic. But I didn’t want to work with magic right now. Able to move again, I slowly backed into the wall as the evening sky flashed cyan and then violet, and white lightning lit the rooftops. The magic-spun storm clouds seeped a magenta glow, and a voice, booming like thunder, shook the fragile ground beneath my feet.

The magic in my body tried to respond to the arches clawing into the sky. I suppressed the urge to stride through the streets, find the magicians producing this storm, and twine my voice with theirs.

My deep breathing did nothing. The pulsing in my gut sped; the need to release my power built toward a crescendo I feared would have to be satisfied.

Voices rained from the sky, bellowed in the language of the northern kingdom of Nyth. I didn’t understand a word, just like I did not understand why the High King had unseated our king, or how he had stayed only long enough to introduce his soldiers to Umon’s streets. I did not understand why he sent his son to control affairs in the city, just like I couldn’t comprehend enslaving magicians simply to produce colorful storms.

But what I didn’t understand was not important. The tingle of magic had reached my fingertips, and I turned quickly down an alley leading to the tight circle of towers in the residential sector. I couldn’t stay in the street where the imprint of my magic now existed.

Too many questions would be asked, questions I couldn’t answer. I ducked my head, forcing my feet to move faster over the rivuleting paths. I needed shelter, not only from the storm but also from myself. Every second outside urged me to release my power to the skies.

If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to hide this time. And if I cannot hide, I’ll—I cut off the thought, refusing to imagine what songs I would sing to escape. Olive had been quite detailed about what the High King did to his magicians to coerce them to obey his will. I’d become just as vile as he if I used my magic to inflict pain, even if only to remain free.

“This way,” a man’s voice said, the sound emerging from the stones of the surrounding buildings. His words curled with a Nythinian accent. I faltered, my pulse and my magic pounding. Had he seen me release my magic? Heard my voice?

At the corner, a man gestured to me, his face cloaked by a hood. I continued forward, my steps sure, but my mind screamed at me: Wait!

At the corner, he linked his arm through mine, turned his face away before I could identify him, and steered me down an unfamiliar side street. I yanked my arm out of his grip, but kept moving, anxious to put as much distance between myself and the magical imprint I’d left in the market.

“Who are you?” I hissed out of the corner of my mouth. “Why are you helping me?”

The man walked faster. After a few minutes, we emerged into the quad across from my tower. He delivered me to the door just as the clouds turned from magenta to black. “You should not be out in such a storm.”

“Neither should you,” I replied.

I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I felt him smile beneath the darkness of his hood. “Until next time.” He bowed his face against the wind and started across the street.

Next time? I stood in the protective archway of my tower and watched him. He continued across the quad to the neighboring tower, where he ducked into the second doorway. As he did, his hood blew back, revealing his face. A face I had come to know well today.

I didn’t know this man’s name, but I’d first seen him marching toward me as I left the aristocrat’s house just this morning. He’d broken my hallucinations in the market this very afternoon. I couldn’t comprehend why he had given me yet another pass.

Amid a tremendous clap of thunder, I spun and shoved open the door to my tower. By the time I passed the sixth floor, my heart pounded more from exertion than fear. Still, I knew that man was watching my building.

I wondered how long his silence had bought me the simple life I’d led in Umon. Because he must know what I was, what I could do. Surely it was his job to find and arrest the magicians in the city, but he hadn’t taken me. As I continued climbing, my footsteps in the stairwell rang with a single question: Why not me?

#

Olive sat in the stuffed chair, her fingers working flowers into beautiful centerpieces. “I need more flowers,” she said, which did nothing to soothe my constant financial worries. I escaped her questioning eyes in favor of our bedroom, where I unwound my scarf and dropped it to the dresser. From the twenty-third floor of the tower, I could see across the city, past the wall, and into the surrounding land. The thick sky bled to the ground, but the northern mountains separating Nyth from Umon appeared darker than everything else.

Rain pelted against the glass, needling the window the same way confusion pricked my mind. The High King from Nyth had only stayed in Umon for a few weeks, and he was gone by the time I had arrived in the city. His soldiers kept the peace, and his magicians took orders from his son, the Prince, who had arrived a week after me. I wondered why he needed the cover of darkness tonight, why he would waste his magicians’ talent to conjure such an annoying storm.

The sound of knocking penetrated my thoughts. I turned to answer the door, snatching an apple off the counter along the way.

Five soldiers stood in the hall, their hats ramrod straight, their black-gloved fingers clenched into fists at their sides. The apple fell from my hands. I tore my eyes from the unsmiling faces of the guards to watch the fruit roll in slow motion across the uneven floor.

A guard spoke in the swirling, vibrant language of Nyth. I caught “king” and something that I believed translated to “wet.”

“We don’t wish any trouble,” I said, cursing my stumbling tongue. My language sounded so harsh against their lilting words. I scanned the guards, and when my gaze landed on that oh-so-familiar face, I stifled a cry of recognition as I took the tiniest step backward.

Had he delivered me to the safety of my tower, only to gather his soldiers and arrest me?

Now, as before, his green-brown eyes searched mine, and they seemed to hold a message. I couldn’t quite decipher it, but I did my best to regain my composure and tear my gaze from his. I felt it important not to give him away, to repay the multiple favors he’d already given me.

“It is time,” he said, which made about as much sense as his Nythinian words. “Perhaps you’d like a cloak. It’s raining outside.”

My feet moved to the kitchen table where I’d left my cloak, my power building toward a peak I must release at exactly the right moment.

Olive stood near the stuffed chair, her fingers now worrying around each other. She shook her head, but I wouldn’t simply accompany these soldiers to my imprisonment—or my death.

With trembling hands, I pulled the hood over my hair and turned. Before anyone could so much as blink, I unleashed my voice, belting a powerful, high note that sent the five soldiers away from me.

The door slammed closed as I changed the music into a spell-song to bewitch objects. The lock slid into position even as my vision blurred and then became crowded with silver starbursts.

I cut off the note still flying from my throat. My knees met the floor, though I tried desperately to stand. I needed to get to the window in our bedroom, climb out, and use the fire chute to escape from the soldiers. “Olive.” The name came out as a moan. She helped me stand just as the sound of singing came from the hallway. “We must go.”

I stumbled with unseeing eyes, hands outstretched, toward the back of the apartment. A voice came through the haze in my head. Low and insistent, it sounded like a woman.

Grandmother. The thought came unbidden, and sourness accompanied the vertigo cascading through my core. Grandmother couldn’t work her half of the spells from the other side of death, no matter how much I wished it.

The apartment door crashed open; the baritone singing became louder. My vision cleared just enough for me to see the depth of the storm beyond the glass as I fumbled with the lock on the window.

I had just gotten the window open when a soldier barked out a Nythinian order. I sang an old chant Grandmother had woven for me, a song to make a man fall into a deep sleep.

“Not endless,” she had admonished when I’d asked. “We do not use our power to harm permanently. Remember that, Echo.”

Right now, to get away from these armed guards, I couldn’t restrain my power. The guard at the door slumped to the floor, as if dead, and Olive cried out. “Hurry, Echo,” she said. “I will hold them as long as I can.” She secured the bedroom door as I flung my legs onto the platform outside the window.

My whole world tilted as I finished the spell-song. A sharp ache pulsed behind my eyes. “Olive, no,” I said. “You’re not safe here either.”

Not here, not here, a voice whispered through my head. I didn’t recognize the woman’s voice, though it felt familiar.

The voice rang in my ears so loudly, I expected to see a woman with dark, curly hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a serious set to her mouth. I expected to find my mother, someone I had only seen sitting next to Father in the portrait my grandmother owned.

Though I had not seen Mother in my lifetime, I knew the voice belonged to her. She continued to babble and I clapped my hands over my ears to drown out the sound. Father had died just days after I was born, and Mother had wandered the lands looking for a way to reclaim him.

The legends said that the magicians in the country of Relina had ways to fulfill such a need. Immortal chants; songs entwined with hope and magic. Bits of sky that held swatches of clouds that could make a blind man see, and a deaf child hear, and bring the dead back to life.

Whether any of it was true, I didn’t know.

“Echo.” A man’s voice interrupted my mother’s vibrating words. I spun toward the new sound, and my brain felt like it had knocked into my skull. Black spots appeared, but not before I recognized the soldier who had spoken my name.

“Come back inside,” he said kindly. “Olive is safe. You’re unwell.” He reached for me as my mother’s voice recycled through my mind, as I wondered how he knew my name, as I lost my balance.

His fingers gripped my forearm, and I sang a melody to get him to release me. I’d barely produced three notes before he covered my mouth. “Stop that.”

I wilted into his arms, unable to see anything but blackness. He called for the other soldiers as I sank into unconsciousness.

Three

“We cannot delay much longer,” a man said somewhere beyond me.

“We cannot carry her through the storm,” a second man answered, and this time I recognized the calm, deep tone of the soldier who’d assisted me three times in one day. “Think of how that will look.”

“There’s no one looking.”

“She’s awake.” A third man entered the conversation, and I sensed movement about me.

I took a few moments to center myself, to find my own core of magic and listen to it, just as Grandmother would have cautioned. I found nothing sinister. My neck ached, and a sharp pain radiated through my body from front to back. I tried to sit up, but a magical power not my own compelled me to stay down. I didn’t recognize this magic, but it felt calm, and solid, and flowed through me as if it belonged to me. I sighed into its comfort and opened my eyes.

The bedroom—my bedroom—appeared lighter than it should have, what with the raging storm battling the glass to my right.

“Echo.” The soldier leaned over me, his eyes warm and inviting. His voice sounded like the wind playing through the plain grasses outside my village. “Please come with us. I promise no harm will befall you.”

When he spoke, I believed him. I didn’t fully understand why, but I wondered if the goodness of his magic still swirling with mine had something to do with it.

The soldier reached toward me, but thought better of touching me and pulled back. He regained his sophisticated posture a safe distance away, his hands clasped behind his back just as I’d seen him on the aristocrat’s stoop.

“Can you walk?” he asked, and this time I found his unflappable demeanor maddening.

“Of course.” I slid to the edge of my bed and the room swayed as I found my footing. Determined not to show any weakness, I straightened my back and met the soldier’s steady gaze.

“My sister—”

“Will be cared for.” He nodded to another soldier, who came forward with my cloak. “We need to keep to the schedule.”

“I don’t care about your schedule.” I looked past him to the closed door. “Where’s Olive?”

He remained passive; no one spoke.

“I find that I cannot walk.” I collapsed back to the bed. “I cannot accompany you—”

“You’re coming.” The soldier’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but his voice sounded firm.

I raised my chin. “My sister—”

“Is waiting to say good-bye.” He gestured toward the door. “Perhaps if you can manage the few steps to the living room, you can see for yourself.”

I ignored the sarcasm swimming in his words. Brushing past him, I yanked open my bedroom door to find Olive pacing in the living room. Her eyes met mine, and I saw fear in hers. I moved on sure feet to embrace her.

“Go with them, Echo.” Her whisper sounded like a shout. “I’ll be fine.”

“You won’t be able to keep these quarters.”

She gripped me tighter. “I’m not as weak as you think.”

“I don’t think—”

“I know.” She stepped back and held me at arm’s length. “Go. See what you can do for us inside the palace.” She smiled, and though it felt timid, I also detected a trace of hope, of happiness. “We will see each other again.” She took my cloak from the soldier and handed it to me with a steady hand.

I fastened it with trembling fingers, the hope of a better life needling my mind. I mouthed I love you to Olive and she repeated it back to me before I turned to the soldiers. I needed to eat and then sleep until the sun met its zenith the following day.

The soldier gestured toward the door, and I stepped in front of him, glad when my legs held my weight. I kept one hand on the railing as I descended the twenty-three flights of stairs. My skirt draped low over my boots, which kept out the rain and cold as I stepped into the street. The wind snaked down the canyonous alleyways and howled around us in dangerous crossroads.

We were the only living things braving the storm. The lamps that usually winked in the darkness had been extinguished. The heavy doors set into the walls, through which I had entered the city, had been closed and locked.

Between the weather and my sheer exhaustion, I could barely see my tower beyond the guards, and I wanted to glimpse it one last time. The idea that I couldn’t sing strongly enough to defend myself, that I didn’t know where I would end up, sent fear skating through my mind.

I gripped my coat closed at the throat. “Where are you taking me?”

The guard cast me a glance, and I thought I caught a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Ah, my beauty, the Prince wishes to—” He swallowed, and I caught the nervous movement in his throat. “—speak with you.”

My beauty rang through my ears, battling against the howling wind, which sucked at my skirt, pulling it tight against my left side.

The Prince wishes to speak with you howled with the words which had followed. Beautiful—a ploy? Genuine?

I glanced around, finding the sky an unsettling shade of dark green, which seemed to shriek a silent warning. I needed to run. Escape. I felt certain I wouldn’t like what I found behind the palace walls.

“A tornado is approaching.” The guard stepped closer and linked his arm through mine as he had in the market. I realized I’d stopped walking to consider my options. “Please come with us, and we’ll get you to Our Majesty’s safe house.” The low, soothing quality in his voice assured me that I was safe as long as I stayed with him.

I shook my arm from his to clarify my thoughts. I felt as if I could trust him, yet I did not even know his name. I fought against the magic surging through my core and followed Grandmother’s lesson to look and listen first.

The tornado siren swallowed the answer from my mouth. A guard with a spitting oil lamp took the lead, and we slopped our way through the mud.

#

We burst into the dry warmth of an archway on the edge of the city, and somehow that made the angry lantern go out. In the darkness, only the sounds of labored breathing—my own included—met my ears.

I wanted to open my mouth, pull on the magic, and sing my way free. I knew of spells to produce ropes and limericks to quench fire. I’d once been taught to hum a tune that would make a sane man mad, and the words necessary to flee on winged feet.

Of course, unbonded as I was, these songs could just as easily unravel my own mind, impose hallucinations of men that were long dead, or make me so weak I wouldn’t wake for days.

Wet footsteps squealed against the stone floor, followed by a loud scraping sound. My teeth chattered while the wind screamed for us to come back outside and play.

“This way, please.”

I moved two steps further in the darkness, pocketing my magic for the time being, as another scrape produced fire. I shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness as a torch caught the flame, and the guard beckoned me forward into an endless tunnel.

Grandmother’s voice visited me again. “When in doubt, my lovely Echo, just put one foot in front of the other.” She often said that when I would ask what would become of me once she passed.

The familiar ache blossomed inside my chest as I tried to get the world to settle around me. I allowed myself to feel the papery texture of Grandmother’s hands against my cheek; I heard her saying, “I love you, Echo,” the way she did that last time. Her voice had been more pained than usual. It lingered in my memory and caused a fresh wave of grief to settle over me.

“This way,” the guard said.

I followed, putting one foot in front of the other, as Grandmother had told me.

Four

Just when I thought I could not take another step, our party arrived at an intricately carved door. The golden wood bore an owl; his majestic wings spread wide, eyes slanted and wise. His beak gaped, as if warning off anyone who dared to approach this door with a silent scream.

Along with the owl, a gorgeous orb sat in the top right corner of the door, perfectly carved and stained a dark yellow. A harvest moon, I thought, and wondered what had inspired this scene. I had witnessed many harvest moons in the village of Iskadar, and a familiar pang of homesickness accompanied the rising fear in my stomach.

The guard stepped forward to knock. His fist looked and sounded insignificant against the greatness of this door, only fueling the jittery feeling dancing through my body.

What lay beyond the door? A squadron of magicians, ready to bind me with songs? A lifetime of servitude?

The guards around me seemed perfectly calm; no one so much as twitched a finger. Inside, I wanted to scream, to infuse sound into this silence and let the tension flow from my body.

The door opened right as I decided to sing, no matter the cost. My soprano voice filled the tunnel, increasing the brightness of the torch-flame until I could no longer see. Another voice joined the melody, but only a few notes flowed from the woman’s mouth before I realized she was undoing my spell-song.

The whiteness darkened, bringing the picture before me back into focus. A woman stood in the doorway, her gray hair tightly woven into a bun at the back of her head. She sang a countermelody that allowed the guards to regain their senses and retake their positions beside me.

The fire that had been burning on the torch transferred to her face, making her skin seethe with golden flames. I ceased my song-magic and stumbled back. The flames licked up her throat for another heartbeat before dissipating. Her song continued, her skin blemish-free and pristine.

I shook my head, wondering what was real and what wasn’t. Had I really seen her shimmering with fire? Or had my use of unbonded magic riddled holes into my mind? I pressed my eyes closed to keep the tears contained. When I felt confident that my emotions had been sufficiently concealed, I looked at the woman.

She examined the six of us in front of her. When her eyes landed on me, she held out one hand. I couldn’t help feeling a small measure of relief that I was to be passed off to a woman, though she could sing me into death as easily as anyone else. The memory of her spell-song rambled through my mind. I stiffened and made no effort to move toward her.

Her nails were immaculate, and her clothes starched. She glanced at the guard who carried the torch. “Thank you, Matu. I trust everything went well?” I noted that she spoke without a foreign accent.

“Indeed, Helena.” He switched his gaze to me for a heartbeat. “Echo believes she’s here for—”

Helena produced a clucking noise, silencing Matu and still reaching for me. “Come, Echo, I will tell you what you’re really doing here.”

A pit opened in my stomach. She knew my name. They all knew my name. I took a step backward, and two guards moved to stop me. The soldier from the market looped his arm through mine again, shushing me as he would a frightened animal. I found the way he kept latching on to me annoying, much like the soothing effect he seemed to hold over me. I narrowed my eyes at him, removed my arm from his, and looked back to Helena.

She wore a kind smile now. It probably should have calmed me more than it did. “Come, child,” she said. “I’m here to help you.”

“Echo, no harm will befall you,” the soldier said again, placing one hand on my shoulder.

“She will need proper attire, and probably a bath, before meeting His Majesty,” Matu added.

Helena shot him a glare. “Do not suppose to instruct me in my work, Matu. I know exactly what this poor creature needs.” She directed her attention toward me again, and the anger in her face softened. “Come, a hot bath first.”

I felt much like a pig being fattened up before the slaughter. For I knew the Prince wouldn’t exile me, nor make me one of his servants. No, once he discovered what I could do with my song-magic, he’d steal it from me.

I pressed my lips closed, adopting Olive’s role of magical secrecy.

Helena still reached for me, and I hadn’t the strength to fight five guards and a magician. I figured I had a few more hours to find a solution to my problem if I agreed to a bath before seeing the Prince. Besides, nothing sounded better than warm water, so I stepped away from the guard. Before I crossed the threshold, I half turned back to Matu. “Thank you,” I said, remembering another of Grandmother’s lessons—one I’d failed to follow in the market earlier. Shock traveled across his features before he gave a brief nod.

Helena took my hand in hers and heaved the carved door closed. The lamplight glowed dimmer inside the room, but color still assaulted my eyes. Having grown up in a plain cottage in the country, I wasn’t used to so many hues on the walls.

The room where I now stood seemed to be a receiving room, with three of the walls bursting with a burnt orange tint. Tiny patterns that alternated between flowers and flourishes adorned the top of the wall, painted in bright blues, purples, and greens.

Helena led me through the room, which contained a single, blindingly blue settee, and into another chamber. Here, the sand-colored walls held one terrifyingly huge mirror and tapestries done in beige and gold, red and silver, green and brown. A rich chocolate-colored carpet stretched from the middle of the room toward a closed door, where two maids waited at the ready, one fair and close to my age, and the other dark and closer to Helena’s.

“Echo, this is Lucia and Greta, my right and left hands.” Helena gestured to each girl as she said her name. “We will be here to assist you in all things.”

I wanted to tell her that I didn’t require their assistance, that I was more than capable of drawing a bath for myself, though at the moment I needed rest and something to eat almost as much as I needed oxygen.

Before I could speak, the younger of the two maids, Lucia, curtseyed low. Her golden hair hung in a braid over her shoulder, and when she smiled at me, it felt genuine.

Greta lifted one of her veined hands in greeting and nodded. Her black uniform seemed pale in comparison to her deep, dark skin. Her hair had been shaved close to her head, and made her look more frightening than she would have otherwise.

“Do you wish to bathe?” Helena asked, but already she herded me toward a darkened doorway on Greta’s left.

“I wish to know what I’m doing here,” I said, taking a step only because I couldn’t resist the pressure of Helena’s hand on my lower back. I met the eyes of all three ladies, trying to appear confident. Truthfully, I felt like crying. Perhaps I could hide the tears among the bathwater and no one would know of my weakness.

“My dear, you’re here as one of His Majesty’s guests. He’ll be choosing a bride at the close of summer and your application was selected.”

The glittering tapestries suddenly spun into the sandy color of the walls. Helena’s grip on my elbow intensified. I blinked a few times and inhaled deeply to infuse reason into my mind. But reason did not come; only the confusing scent of flowers and fresh paint.

“Choosing a bride?” I managed to choke out. “Application?”

Helena reached into her apron pocket and extracted a sheaf of thick parchment. “Are you not Echo del Toro of Iskadar village?”

“I am,” I said, wondering at how she knew such things. “But I didn’t apply for marriage to His Majesty.” The thought sickened me. Why would anyone from Umon want to marry the person who had invaded our country, changed our way of life, and restricted our freedoms? Who hunted magicians, caged them, abused them?

My breath caught in my throat. Olive. The soldier had said she would be well taken care of. She’d counseled me to see what I could do to improve our situation from within. Could she have submitted the application in exchange for a large payment, or simply to find another solution to our troubles?

“Well, someone did,” Helena said, neatly stuffing the paperwork back into her apron pocket. “Lucia, Greta, and I will do everything in our power to make sure His Majesty chooses you for his bride. It would bring us great honor.”

I could only nod resolutely at her sincere smile. My body felt numb as the maids stripped my common clothing and helped me into the steaming water. Their forms blurred, sometimes showing me six sets of hands, and sometimes twelve.

Helena sang a calming note I instantly recognized. Grandmother had once sung this beautiful piece of magic into my bathwater after I’d contracted the walking plague. Her spell-song rocked me on calm seas, renewing my energy and strengthening my mind. Helena’s magic, though slightly different, accomplished the same thing.

I sighed into the bubbles as Helena massaged my shoulders, feeling the life return to my magic-weary body. Perhaps Olive has done me a favor after all, I thought just before Lucia began washing my hair.

Five

“Such beautiful hair,” Greta said as she plaited strands into a crown around my head in my dressing room.

My hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, and Grandmother often said I’d have to keep the suitors at bay by shaving my head. I also possessed unusually colored eyes—halfway between amber and brown, much too light to be exotic and too golden to be considered normal. A smattering of freckles across my nose told of mixed heritage, for those in Umon typically bore unblemished skin and light-colored eyes. It was the Nythinians that had deep, dark eyes, hair as black as night, and freckled, molasses-colored skin.

I’d only met a few people that hailed from Heona—diplomats who lived near the Prince’s palace and needed the odd sewing job done. They were fair-skinned and strong, accustomed to living in a land tasked with loading and unloading ships and battling thick ocean winds.

Combined, my features forced me to stand out in a crowd no matter how much I wanted to hide. I looked into Greta’s dark eyes as she brought out makeup pots and fine-tipped brushes. She watched me with eyes filled with wisdom, much the same way Grandmother used to.

I once listened to the rasp of her voice as I washed the dishes. Her ancient rocker creaked forward, splintered back. Creaked forward, splintered back. I scrubbed a plate, the faint sound of soap bubbles popping in the silence.

She cooked. I cleaned up afterward while she told stories. Outside, the wind battled against the glass, as if angry it could not witness Grandmother’s story, too.

“When the world needed structure, the magicians of Relina brought it,” Grandmother said. “With their power, they put order to the chaos. They made life simple again with their spell-songs.”

Grandmother paused. I finished my chore and unstopped the sink. Wiping in a pattern, I washed the counter and then the table. As I hung the towel from the rack near the icebox, Grandmother began again.

“They removed the distractions from our lives. The unpredictabilities. I remember my mother telling stories about the way magicians used to be revered. Her mother spoke of golden-haired women who could sing comfort to an entire village, and men who chanted seven years’ worth of crops into storage, and those who searched for the broken-hearted and healed them.”

A smile formed on Grandmother’s weathered face. “Such stories my grandmother used to weave.”

“Could you weave one for me?” I settled on the hardwood floor next to her creaking-splintering chair.

“No, dear Echo, I cannot.”

The wind moaned with me. “Why not?”

The wrinkles around Grandmother’s eyes seemed to grin with her. “Oh, all right. I may be able to remember one or two tales.”

Now, here without her, a sob shuddered through my chest. Greta paused in the application of my makeup. “Are you all right, child?”

“Yes,” I murmured, trying desperately to box up the memories of Grandmother.

“No crying now,” she scolded. “You will ruin your perfect eyes.” She smiled at me, meaning it as a playful jest, and a swell of gratitude warmed me.

“Tell me what His Majesty is like,” I said.

Greta tapped the applicator brush against the lip of the blush container. “He is very handsome,” she started. “And tall, and his holdings increase by the day.”

None of this interested me, as handsomeness was subjective and I didn’t need a large palace to be comfortable. “What of his favorite food?”

“I do not know, my lady.”

“Does he like animals?”

“I do not know, my lady.”

“How does he take his coffee in the morning?”

At this, Greta stalled completely. “I do not know, my lady.”

I allowed her to finish my makeup without another question. Lucia and Helena had disappeared into the bedroom, and Greta escorted me through the doorway. A canopied bed sat in the center of the room, with a rug peeking out each side. The carpets blended nicely with the deep eggplant color of the walls and the dark mahogany of the hardwood floor. A small contingency of plants guarded a wide glass door, beyond which I saw only darkness.

The navy blue draperies had been pulled back, and I imagined the effect they would have when released. They would block all light, turning the purple on the walls into shadows, and the browns in the rugs into blacks, and the creams of the linens on my bed into kohls.

“The tornado has passed?” I peered through the glass door.

“No, dear,” Helena said. “Beyond that door lies a protected courtyard. The winds will not reach down here unless the tornado travels directly over this house.” She moved to the window and released the drapes so I could no longer see outside. As predicted, the room felt closed off from life outside, devoid of color, existing in only gray and ecru.

“What is to say the tornado will not pass directly over this house?”

“His Majesty has his sorcerers casting protection spells.” Helena smiled in a way I thought she meant to be comforting. It only increased the pressure in my stomach. “The tornado won’t bother us here.”

I wondered whom the tornado would bother as a result of the spells, but didn’t voice this thought. I wished these servants would leave me so I could cast a song of my own, perhaps discover what the Prince was like. Knowing I couldn’t risk it, not with all the other magic I had already used, I remained silent as Lucia held up dress after extravagant dress, merely nodding if I wanted to try it on or dismissing it with a shake of my head.

I finally selected a dark blue dress made of thick, yet somehow flowing fabric. It stuck to my chest in what Greta called, “all the right places,” and flared outward around my waist and hips. For this, I was grateful. I’d given no thought to my figure for some time, and while I was not corpulent, I certainly didn’t fall in the desirable category.

What was Olive thinking? A squeeze of the old fear returned. Where did the losers go after they were dismissed? Surely the application would’ve outlined what would happen to the girls the Prince didn’t choose. Thoughts of servitude mingled with the familiar fears of death at the hands of a tyrant.

For a brief moment, I considered trying to win the role of the Prince’s bride. I wouldn’t need to stay up late at night embroidering. I could send bags of money to Olive in Iskadar, where she could tend to Grandmother’s garden, and grow fields of roses, and arrange beautiful bouquets.

As quickly as the fantasy had come, it vanished. Surely I wouldn’t win this contest, if only because I couldn’t allow anyone to use me or my magic for their own purposes.

If I won, Olive would be—

“Echo.” Lucia brought me out of the useless spiral of my mind with her soft voice. She supplied a pair of strappy shoes with a small, pointed heel and instructed me to circle the room. I felt wobbly, certain the ground would simply vanish beneath me, but I managed to make the circuit.

She took the shoes and disappeared into the closet. When she returned, she bore a pair of silver sandals with jewel-encrusted straps. The heel gradually wedged upward. Again, she asked me to walk around the room.

This heel gave me little trouble, and I felt more secure walking in the sandals. Lucia smiled shyly at me and ducked through the doorway, leaving me alone. I thought about the suite with its magnificent carved door and delicious, healing water. I wondered who had lived in these rooms before me. Did the Prince have a bride-selecting ceremony in every country he conquered? Did he have wives all over the world?

I could discover this room’s secrets with a few notes. I dared not perform the spell-song, not in my current situation. I hoped a time would come where I could release my voice, uncover the secrets of this palace, and find my freedom.

But that time was not right now, with my stomach growling and a slight ache behind my temples still throbbing from my previous magic usage. As if bidden by my appetite, Helena, Greta, and Lucia entered the room.

“Your escorts will be here in minutes to take you to your dinner with His Majesty.” Helena said.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel so hungry after all.

Six

Matu arrived with the same soldier I’d seen throughout the city. Helena shooed me into a different hallway, and out a different door, saying, “Take care of her, Castillo.”

I shot a glance at the guard named Castillo, trying to learn something about him just by looking. The same easiness I’d experienced on the street and in the tunnel comforted me now, but I didn’t welcome it. I’d have to be extra vigilant to figure out what his role was, and why he influenced me so easily.

“Good evening,” Castillo said, bowing slightly at the waist.

I nodded, staring into the bright light of the gas lamps lining the hall. Matu and Castillo stared openly, their eyes skating from my ridiculous shoes to the top of my head. My skin burned like fire, and just when I thought I couldn’t take them looking at me anymore, they both turned and started down the hall.

I followed in their wake, my wedged heels clunking against the stone. Every so often, we passed a closed door. Nervousness struck me as I tried to keep track of the doors and hallways and turns. I’d never be able to find my suite without casting a location song, something I couldn’t do easily and keep my abilities concealed. Though no one had warned me against using magic, I knew I should not.

I stumbled, either from fear about finding my way back to Helena or because of my continued exhaustion.

“You’re not to be alone.” Castillo spoke over his shoulder, his voice sounding deeper and wider than it had in the street. “Either Matu or I will escort you within the compound.”

“Compound?” I asked, even though I’d meant to say thank you. “Like a prison?”

“No.” Castillo slowed his step. He turned and pinned me with that same intense stare that found me from darkened doorways and across crowds in the market. His eyes shone like a lantern on a dark country night, and his hair curled slightly over his ears. His skin glowed under the gaslight, and I couldn’t look away from his face. If the Prince looked anything like Castillo, becoming his bride might not be so bad.

Immediately, I recalled the idea. Olive would warn that such thinking testified of my childishness as well as my country upbringing. Back in Iskadar gossip flew like swift crows, and my girlfriends and I used to twitter over the boys in the village.

I’d left Oake with an empty promise that I’d write. He’d taught me many spells and chants over the years we’d worked together. He told me I needed to find my voice, and he hoped to be around when I did because it was going to be spectacular, but never once did he tell me how to survive inside palace walls.

“This is just a very large house,” Castillo explained. “We call it a compound because it is a bit hidden from the public. That’s all.”

I accepted his answer with a nod, noting that I needed to figure out how hidden this compound was. “Is His Majesty as handsome as you?” The moment the words left my mouth, I covered it with a hand. My eyes stretched wide and breathing became difficult.

Castillo leaned away from me for a moment before the edge in his eyes melted into something softer. “You’ll have to tell me after you meet him.”

I shot a look toward Matu, who stood in the hall watching us. Castillo followed the glance, and the guards exchanged a tight-lipped smile at my expense. The unrest building inside of me rose to my throat.

I lowered my hands and folded them over the too-tight bodice of my dress. “Good looks don’t make up for overthrowing a country and imprisoning young women in compounds.”

“I never said they did,” Castillo replied. He gestured down the hall behind him. “Perhaps you can judge for yourself whether His Majesty is worthy of your attention.”

Matu strode forward, his pace matched by Castillo. I scurried after them, feeling much like I had when I’d left Oake and fled Iskadar. Like I had no other choice.

#

His Majesty sat too far away for me to tell if he matched Castillo in handsomeness. My face burned at the memory of my troublesome tongue. Why must my every thought fly from my lips?

Olive often criticized me for such things, but she had no idea that I agreed with her—and that I was no closer to a solution than she’d been.

The grand ballroom in which I stood held at least four hundred other young women, and seemed to stretch for miles in every direction. Ornate chandeliers dripped golden gas-produced light from the peaked ceiling. The amount of fuel required to simply light this room for a couple of hours would have kept Olive and I in heated quarters for years. Intricately carved tables filled most of the space, with the Prince and his entourage seated at the far end on a raised dais.

I wobbled on my wedge heels just inside the door where Matu and Castillo had left me. Castillo had whispered, “Table forty-two, princess. We’ll be right here when you finish,” before disappearing into the hallway and sealing me in this massive ballroom.

The girls nearest me cast sideways glances as I began making my way toward table forty-two. My dress clung to my body just as theirs did; our makeup had been painted on similarly. But my hair shone like black gold, and I wished for something to cover it.

A flutter of excitement stole through me as I remembered what Greta had said about my hair ensuring His Majesty would notice me above the hundreds of other bridal candidates. Then I remembered that I didn’t want to be noticed, that I had spent the past thirteen months in Umon perfecting invisibility.

At long last, table forty-two came into view. I stood halfway toward the dais, and yet I still could not properly glimpse the Prince. Curiosity burned in my blood. I’d never seen royalty before—tyrant or not.

I found a placard with my name elegantly printed in dark purple ink and took a seat in the carved chair. The china on the table gleamed in a blindingly white assortment of cups and saucers and plates. The yellow gold around their rims matched the striking candlesticks standing as centerpieces. The cloth spilled across the table in a deep red the color of pomegranates, and the liquid in our crystal goblets matched perfectly in both taste and color.

I sipped my nectar nervously, casting glances at the other girls at the table. Though idle chatter rang through the hall, no one at my table spoke. I replaced my goblet and twisted to look at the girl seated next to me. “I’m Echo del Toro.”

She looked at me with wariness in her eyes. After flicking her gaze back to the dais, she said, “My name’s Gazelle.”

I smiled, letting it spread across my face. “Nice to meet you.” I looked pointedly to the girl next to her.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said with just a little too much dryness in my tone. She glared harder, but the girl next to her reached across the space between us. I shook her hand.

“I’m Mariana Ekelenes.”

“Nice to meet you.” I repeated the sentiment several more times as I met girls with names I couldn’t possibly remember. The nameless girl sat with her arms crossed during the entire exchange. She stared at us all, her anger growing more evident on her face. I wondered if someone had submitted her application too, and that had caused the furious tremors in her fists.

Just when she opened her mouth to speak, the loudest bell I’d ever heard sounded. I clapped my hands over my ears the way I’d done when I was eight years old and had snuck into the belfry to try my hand at ringing the village emergency bell. That noise sounded like a whisper compared to the gong still reverberating through the hall.

I felt foolish for only a moment before I noticed that every girl at table forty-two had done exactly as I had. Even Ms. Nameless.

When the ringing stopped, a man stood on the dais, wearing long charcoal-colored robes. He was too far away to note hair or eye color, but the set of his jaw indicated that he was not any more pleased to be here than I was.

“Welcome, ladies,” he boomed, his voice magically amplified. “His Majesty welcomes you to the opening feast.” He held up his right arm as part of the spell to make his voice carry through the huge room.

“He will speak to each of you this evening, and individual and group gatherings will begin in the morning.”

My throat seized, and emotions warred inside me. First, hope that perhaps I could improve my situation in ways I hadn’t imagined. The more defiant part of me vowed that I wouldn’t speak with the Prince—now or ever. I felt torn, my thoughts switching from one camp to the other every other moment.

“But first,” the robed man said. “Please eat.”

Servers emerged with platter upon platter of food. The air filled with the smells of freshly baked bread, long-stewed meats, and garlic-roasted vegetables. When the plates arrived, I ate with gusto, hoping to reclaim the energy I’d lost during my earlier magical releases—and to calm the squirmy feeling in my stomach.

#

I deliberately kept my focus on the happenings at table forty-two so I wouldn’t track the Prince as he made his way through the ballroom. Unfortunately, the girl behind me at table forty-three provided a running commentary for everyone within twenty feet.

“He’s looking everyone in the eye.” She paused and gasped dramatically. “He’s not speaking to every person. Rather, he’s saying hello to entire tables and moving on. Table two . . . three . . . four . . . ”

And on and on. Though I didn’t look up from my china, I always knew precisely where the Prince stood. When she said, “Table forty,” I sucked in a breath and held it for a moment.

I pressed my eyes closed and told myself to calm down. He was just another man. I had bought thread from a man this afternoon in the market. I had sewn for them, bargained with them, kissed them even.

The Prince wasn’t a god; he was no different than the merchant. I told myself these lies, trying to eradicate the fear of losing my power to the songs of his magician hunters, of helping Olive by somehow winning him over.

I felt, rather than saw, his presence at table forty-two. When I raised my eyes to his, I was wrong. He was, in every way imaginable, different. He held his shoulders with dignity; his polite smile revealed full lips, and strength and confidence radiated from him without so much as a word. He clasped his hands in front of his body, completing the stunning image of sophistication. I wondered how long he’d worked to perfect his image.

“Good evening, ladies. Thank you for joining me.” His voice oozed over the table, causing several girls to erupt into giggles. I could do nothing but stare. His hair fell in chocolate-colored waves, short yet splendid at the same time. His eyes pierced each person he looked at, telling them that he was the one in charge, that his word would decide things in the end.

He nodded from girl to girl, complimenting their hair or their dress or asking them if the meal was satisfactory.

The part of me that wanted to impress the Prince had the idea to stand. As I did, the Prince’s gaze gravitated toward me. “And how did y-you—” His eyes caught mine as he tripped over his words. The girl behind me at table forty-three gasped so loud, it sounded like a shout. The Prince blinked, which seemed to allow him the moment he needed to fold himself back into his tight box of perfection.

“What is your name?” He drew closer to me.

Though I needed to respond lest he think me slow, I simply stared as he approached. My stubborn half told my body to sit down! but it did not obey.

The Prince flicked his wrist toward his scribe, who immediately made a note on a scrap of parchment. Probably of my idiocy.

His Majesty stopped directly in front of me and held out his hand. I numbly put mine in his, surprised to feel the warmth in his skin thaw my vocal chords. He wore a tailored navy suit, the color almost identical to my dress. Red stripes adorned the chest, an indicator of his royal status. Gold glinted at his wrist and rimmed every button in his jacket.

“Your name?” he asked again, raising my hand to his lips. His kiss sizzled against the inside of my wrist, sending heat up to my shoulder.

“What’s yours?” I asked, the pomegranate wine swimming in my head. A moment too late, I realized my mistake. Of the hundreds of salivating girls here, only I could be so brash as to ask the Prince his name.

A hush settled over the room as if a magician had uttered a silencing poem. One, two, three heartbeats passed while everyone absorbed the weight of my question.

The Prince broke the spell with his laughter, filling the ballroom with a thunderous sound. Instead of joining him, tears pricked behind my eyes. I blinked quickly, pushing them back.

He turned to his scribe. “Oh, yes. First, please.”

I had no idea what he meant, but the black-robed man scratched another note.

“Perhaps you will tell me your name tomorrow.” The Prince released my hand and turned to table forty-three. I sat down clumsily, replaced my hands in my lap, and stared at the intimate spot where his lips had been, imagining a bruise blooming and snaking around my wrist like a bracelet.

Embarrassment kept me from participating fully with the other girls. The word tomorrow kept parading through my thoughts, drowning out the mindless chatter about the Prince’s good looks.

My irrationality fled, and reason settled into my mind. I couldn’t stay in this compound until tomorrow. The jittery feeling in my stomach and the weakness in my legs, however, told me I couldn’t plan and execute an escape before then. As the girls were dismissed, I vowed I would get myself out of this situation as soon as my strength returned, no matter what Olive and I could gain financially.

I flowed with the crowd as we left the ballroom, and Matu gestured for me to follow him. I stumbled after him and Castillo, all sound melting into a dull roar. Before I knew it, Castillo swung open the door leading to my suite.

“So, His Majesty is quite handsome, no?” His soothing voice chased away the disbelief of what I’d just done.

My head snapped up; feeling rushed back into my limbs and life back into my mind. Castillo held his head cocked to the side, a contemplative grin on his face.

“Are you mocking me?” I asked.

He shook his head no, but his green-brown eyes said yes. Matu stood next to him, his face devoid of all emotion.

“I heard you made quite an impression on His Majesty.” Castillo took my arm and gently guided me into my suite. “Good night, princess.”

Before I could tell him to stop calling me that, or ask him how he’d heard anything when dinner had only just ended, he retreated into the hall and closed the door behind him.

Seven

Sleep was a luxury for girls who lived in towers with their sisters, who hemmed trousers for nobles, who knew exactly what would happen when the sun rose.

I was not that girl now, so I didn’t sleep. With Helena’s replenishing, magically infused bath water, the large dinner I’d eaten, and my solitude, I had felt mostly whole again. Certainly well enough to sing a simple detection spell, as only a little magic was needed. A complicated spell-song to aid my escape, on the other hand, would require more magic than I had at the moment.

I waited until I felt certain the entire city slumbered, and then I crept into the courtyard beyond my room. Darkness blanketed everything, but I didn’t need light to sing. Above me, the wind still whistled around the rooftops. I listened to it, warring with myself about whether I should sing my magic to life or not.

Worry gnawed at my innards. I risked detection by using song-magic so near to those who could seize me, imprison me, drain me of my power.

But somewhere in the compound behind me, the Prince lived. I wanted to know where, and I wanted to know if he had personal guards I would meet the next morning. I needed to know what his true motives were, and I had to confirm that Olive had submitted my application. Perhaps the song would even rebound with a reason accompanying the vision.

A chill emanated from the stones as I drew a cleansing breath. The silence felt absolute, buried under so much darkness, but I broke it with my melody. The notes flowed seamlessly from low to high and back again. The magic left my body, swirling away into the depths of the night.

A rush of dizziness made the ground sway beneath my bare feet. I opened my eyes wider, hoping the vertigo would pass quickly. It did, but I still sank onto a wicker chair near a small table.

Minutes passed, and my skin pimpled in the cold. My impatience started to get the best of me, and I began humming the spell-song again, but quickly cut it off when the image from the location spell appeared in my mind.

The Prince’s windows faced west, and the view of the river suggested his quarters enjoyed a top-floor location. Behind my closed eyes, the vision faded, leaving me free to launch into the next song. This time I didn’t weave the Prince’s image into the song, but only the rebounded images of his living quarters. This would show me who else resided in the Prince’s suite.

The rebound came much quicker this time, probably because I’d already located the Prince. A face appeared, with a square jaw, deep-set eyes, and a shaved head. His shoulders looked like he was strong enough to pull a wagon. I recognized him as the Prince’s scribe; the crier at dinner.

His unsmiling face faded into another, this one tanned like leather and with black eyes filled with malice. The rebound brought the tang of magic with it, and because of that, I knew this man was also a magician.

The image winked away as quickly as it came. My shoulders shook with oncoming exhaustion, but I thought I had strength to sing one more spell.

This time, I wove a motivation charm into the song before sending it to the Prince. While I waited, my legs felt shaky and fire bursts popped in my peripheral vision, forming into the shapes of people. I closed my eyes to keep myself from trying to recognize them, knowing they weren’t real.

My breath left my body in a slow hiss, and I felt so, so tired. Finally, the magic I’d sung filtered back, with only a feeling, not a full-blown conversation as had happened in the past. People most often revealed their true reason for doing things to those closest to them.

But I was surprised to find the Prince didn’t have advisors who knew every detail of his life. Or even one trusted friend. He must have a true motivation for being here in Umon, for filling his compound with hundreds of girls—and I didn’t think it was to find a bride. The feeling I received from my spell-song ran deeper than that, maybe along the lines of proving himself. I also felt a strong tie to Nyth, which might indicate that his motivation was connected to his family. I knew he would feel no obligation to his people, for they feared royalty above all. Their kings had used magic against them for years, and those who stayed in Nyth were those who could not afford to leave. Or those who supported the harsh treatment of hardworking villagers.

This Prince held his motivations close, but I felt it had something to do with his father . . .

The vertigo returned in full force, and I moaned at the tightness radiating through my muscles, at the rising nausea. I would have to find out why Olive submitted my application another time.

I stumbled back to my room, those fiery shapes of people following me, and fell into bed.

#

I didn’t pry my eyes open until midmorning. Even then, I felt spent before I entered the courtyard, where I discovered I couldn’t see beyond the red-tiled roofs of the compound.

The outdoor area settled some of the disquiet raging inside me. I loved wide-open spaces and miles of greenery. The plant life in Umon differed from Iskadar, and the foliage here in the compound was different still. Leafy palms and whiskery ferns lined one wall of the courtyard. A breeze whispered down from above, and the storm from last night had blown itself out. The bleak sunshine that remained was enough to relieve some of my nerves.

I looked up from my place at the table as Helena joined me. “Echo, we need to begin preparations for your outing with His Majesty.”

“Outing?” The word caught in my throat, making it sound like, “Awwtghn?”

Helena simply dragged me inside and began ordering Greta and Lucia about what my makeup should look like, what color of silk I should wear, and how my hair should be pinned.

“Silliness, these appointments,” she breathed as she helped Greta. “As if the people here expect such formalities.” She pointed a pin at me. “He should be establishing his own protocols. I’ll have to mention it to him.”

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. Surely Helena didn’t have the status required to mention anything of consequence to the Prince.

“Lucia!” she called. “Bring the shoes.”

I breathed through the ordeal, but only because the action didn’t require specific instruction from my brain.

#

Matu and Castillo once again met me at the door to my suite. By then, some of my senses had returned, and I managed to greet them with a proper “Good morning,” before we set off down the hall. The three of us could walk shoulder-to-shoulder if we wished, but I trailed behind. Standing side-by-side felt too intimate, especially after my blunder about Castillo’s handsomeness.

This time, Castillo opened a door not far from my suite. Beyond it stretched another hallway, this one with windows installed in the ceiling. The light here fell unevenly, shifting with the clouds and wind.

Matu moved into the narrower hall first, leaving me to walk beside Castillo. All too soon, Matu turned down another passageway and said, “I’ll return to escort you to lunch, Echo. Castillo will take you the rest of the way to meet His Majesty.”

A fist of fear squeezed my stomach. “I’m to go with him alone?”

“He’s quite capable of navigating these halls on his own,” Matu said, without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. He moved away, leaving me alone with Castillo.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing down the endless passage with one arm and offering me his other.

“I don’t think the Prince is handsome,” I blurted out. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry. I tend to say too much, and never after thinking.”

I waited for Castillo’s mocking laughter, but it never came. When I dared to look at him, I found kindness in his face, the same quality I’d witnessed in the market when he said I should head home and rest.

I should have followed his silent lead. Instead, as I matched my gait to his long stride, I kept speaking. “I don’t understand what he wants with me,” I said. “I don’t know him, and I didn’t apply, and what in the world are we supposed to talk about?”

I glanced at Castillo for help, but he kept his eyes focused ahead and his mouth shut. He led me toward a magnificent staircase, one that coiled around itself like a serpent ready to strike. Instead of steps, though, the hall sloped upward in a ramp. The floor shone with white marble, and if I hadn’t been gripping Castillo’s elbow, my shoes would have slipped.

“What does he like?” I asked as we twisted toward the upper floors. “Food? Drink? Literature? Theater? Anything?”

Castillo remained silent, and for a moment, I considered demanding he tell me. But he didn’t take his orders from me, so I resolved to keep quiet until we reached our destination.

Once at the top of the spiral, and upon meeting a single door at the end of yet another hallway, Castillo slowed to a stop. “Magic, princess.”

I peered at him, but he refused to return my gaze. “He likes magic?”

Castillo bobbed his head before reaching for the door handle. “Matu will retrieve you for lunch.”

“And you?” I spoke quietly, like someone in this deserted corridor might overhear, as if we were secret lovers about to reveal details we didn’t wish others to overhear. “Where will you lunch?”

“I have other obligations.” He rapped on the door three times before pushing it open. As I made to squeeze past him, he murmured, “Beware of the Prince’s scribe, Bo, my raven-haired princess.”

My heart raced as the door closed behind me. Not from standing in this new foyer on an upper level of the compound, not because I already knew who Bo was, and not because I had no idea what I could say to the Prince that could hold his attention until lunch.

But because Castillo had called me his raven-haired princess.

#

Bo turned out to be as abrasive as his name. He wore the same standard soldier uniform as Castillo, but his indicated special training. Probably the kind that required him to deliver death with a single blow. The fabric flowed like dark water over his muscular body. His shaved head caught the light, and his gruff voice ordering me to follow him without so much as a simple hello set my nerves on edge.

His boots barked against the stone, obscuring the tapping of my low heels. He led me down yet another passage and through a garden. I stalled among the plants, admiring their vibrancy. I fingered the leaves of a potted strawberry before Bo snapped at me to, “Hurry up.”

I quickly followed him into a sunroom filled with white, wooden furniture. With the garden behind glass, and a wall of windows in front of me with a view of the Burisia River, I paused. I’d seen this picturesque scene in my momentary vision last night, but this real-life version stole my breath.

I’d never seen the river from this height. Its movement mesmerized me, flowing from north to south, with eddies running across and around the water. In the distance, the paths to the river carved wrinkles in the earth, and I picked out people as they moved along the scars.

Blue sky stretched down to meet the river, and so captivated was I with the scene that I didn’t notice anything else in the room. I’d somehow moved to the windows and had both palms pressed against them as I surveyed the scene below.

“You love the outdoors,” a voice like velvet spoke, and while I felt nothing but relief that it wasn’t Bo’s harsh snap, a tremor of unease swept through me.

I turned to find the Prince grinning at me from a seated position at an oblong table. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and sipped it as he lounged against a row of plush pillows.

I raised my chin and tried to appear ladylike. “I do love the outdoors. Do you, Your Majesty?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I breakfast here every morning so I can watch the river.” He stood, joined me at the window, and settled into a posture of sophistication. “There’s just something . . . magical about it. Don’t you think?”

Indeed there was. Water possessed a powerful magic, and few there were in this world who could control it, or so Oake’s tales claimed. Castillo’s revelation about His Majesty’s love of magic weighed heavily in my mind as I considered how to respond.

“It’s lovely, yes,” I said. “But not magical. True magic resides in the life the river sustains.”

The Prince examined me. I felt like he was trying to peel back my brain, layer by painful layer. I held his gaze for a few seconds before I realized I wasn’t breathing. I looked away and drew a deep breath as slowly as I could. I swallowed hard, wishing for an icy sweet tea to drink. Heat raced across my skin as the silence lengthened.

“True magic resides in life,” he repeated.

I watched a flock of black birds land in a distant field. “I believe so, Your Majesty.”

“Cris,” he said. “You may call me Cris.”

“Oh, I may, may I?” The words caused the Prince to choke in surprise. “I mean, I’m sorry, Your Highness. I think I—” That was just it. I did not think. Regretfully, I turned away from the window. “Excuse me.”

I’d taken two steps when His Majesty latched onto my arm. “No,” he said. “Don’t go. I find you . . . refreshing.”

“Impossible.”

The Prince laughed again. “That’s the second time you have made me laugh,” he said. “And that is something that hasn’t happened in a very long time. Come, sit, eat.”

He gestured to the table, which was now set with breakfast foods. I hadn’t seen a servant enter or exit, hadn’t heard anything but the pounding of shame in my head. I forced my body to the table. I plucked a raspberry scone from the basket and nibbled on it.

His Majesty—Cris—poured a cup of coffee for me and chattered about springtime in Nyth. “The tulips will be out by now. I miss the yellow blankets of them. Are there any flowers like them here?” He looked at me for confirmation.

“No,” I said, delighted to have found common ground among the flowers. Wild tulips grew along the forest edges near Iskadar, and Grandmother’s rose bushes had been the envy of every widow in the village. “The city proper doesn’t have many bulb flowers, but the bushes flower. The bleeding heart is my favorite. It’s more of a summer bush though.”

“Bleeding heart,” he repeated. “I shall remember that. Do you have a bleeding heart in your garden . . . ?”

“Echo,” I say. “My name’s Echo.”

He took my hand and clasped it in his own. His fingers were long, warm, the spaces between them filled with mine. He led me away from the table, away from the delicious breakfast foods, away, away, away.

And I went. I went because I wanted to be near him. I wanted to know more about his name, and about his homeland of Nyth, and why he wore such a suffocating jacket on such a fine early summer morning.

Out on the balcony, behind the glass that protected me from the river, he stopped. Somehow, he held two cups of coffee in his free hand, and he offered me one.

I took it without looking away from his face. His cheeks seemed hollowed now that he was away from the crowds and gas-powered light in the ballroom. His jaw was square; his teeth straight and white; his hair the color of the rich brown rug in my bedroom.

“Echo is such an unusual name,” he said.

“Strange, I know.” I wrenched my gaze from his face to look over the water, suddenly thinking of Grandmother. Before I could stop it, a sigh escaped.

“Let me guess. You named yourself when you were five years old and . . . screaming for help at the bottom of a canyon.”

I didn’t answer as I sipped my coffee. I didn’t normally tell complete strangers how I named myself, a village custom in Iskadar most outsiders thought primitive. But Cris eyed me, his expression open, unassuming, despite his sarcasm.

“My grandmother let me play outside a lot,” I started, testing him. His attention remained on me. His eyes danced with life; he listened eagerly.

“We had a large garden, and I would follow her out there. As she worked, I filled bucket after bucket with dirt and dumped it out. When I laughed, the sound got caught in the metal.”

I broke eye contact as I lost myself in the memory. I heard Grandmother’s throaty laugh, smelled the earth on her fingers, the pollen in the air. I missed her beyond anything imaginable.

I swallowed a mouthful of scalding hot coffee so I could continue. “When she heard me, she told me it was an echo. That was when I chose my name.” I wondered what Grandmother’s garden looked like now, desolate and unattended as it had been these past many months.

“How old were you?” Cris asked.

“Two.” I cleared the emotion from my throat. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is Cris a family name?”

“Something like that,” he said, his words fading and his mouth turning down. He reached out and brushed a curl of hair off my face. “Your hair is lovely.”

I stepped back, and his hand dropped to his side. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Cris,” he corrected.

“Cris,” I said, wanting to put more distance between us until I better understood his motives. The silence stretched, and everything I could think of to say seeped into dangerous territory. My stomach squeezed tight.

Finally, Cris said, “Tell me, Echo, what you know of magic.”

My heart struggled against my ribs. My thoughts spun with stories of Nythinian hunting parties, the rumors of orange-eyed sorcerers who hummed hedges into warriors, and the realities of Princes who brought hundreds of young women to his compound in order to choose a wife.

What kind of wife? A magician-wife? I didn’t know and found it impossible to replace the fear coiling through my system with frustration.

I tried desperately to play his question off as nothing by waving one hand nonchalantly at the river. If he could sense my pulse, though, he would find it galloping. “Nothing of consequence.”

Cris nodded, but a new edge had entered his eyes. One that spoke of mischief, of little boys who had buckets of ribbiting frogs in their mother’s kitchen sinks. “I know a little magic.”

A smile sprang to my lips, surprising me. Ten years seemed to melt off his face when he spoke of magic. “Oh? Royal tutors, I suppose.” Nyth kept its magicians closely monitored, and surely the High King would only allow the best to teach his son.

He drained the rest of his coffee as the youth left his face. “Yes, they tried. But most of what I was able to learn, I gained from trial and error.”

I waited for him to continue, to tell me how powerful he was, but he didn’t. He studied me, as if I might snap my fingers and send a funnel cloud into the sky. I’d accomplished elemental magic in Iskadar, but I didn’t want him to know that.

I suspected he knew already—after all, I’d fought his guards when they’d come to collect me—but I wouldn’t confirm it. If he was in Umon to find and control magicians the way his father did in Nyth, he was just as dangerous as the High King’s hunting parties.

Yet the silks I wore testified that as the Prince’s wife, I would never want for anything. I didn’t know if I could truly marry him simply for his money. It felt much the same as him marrying me for my magic. Neither option felt genuine, or remotely right.

I glanced at him, but found him admiring the river in the distance. I couldn’t make the pieces of Cris fit together. Here from Nyth, a country that had been expanding its empire through magical means, yet the Prince admired the landscape of Umon. The High King of Nyth had a reputation as dark as night, polluting magic and using it against his own subjects, but the Prince discussed magic as if it was normal breakfast conversation.

“Why are—?”

Bo interrupted my question with his harsh voice. “Your Majesty, your next appointment is here.”

Eight

“Sit here.” Bo pointed to a straight-backed chair and left. I’d been rushed out of the sunroom, down a hallway and into this closet of a room. It held a bare desk with a cushioned chair on one side and the hard one Bo had indicated on the other. Drapes held the sunlight hostage, casting the room in shadows and fear.

I barely had space to turn around, let alone smooth my skirts to sit in the chair.

“Sit, sit,” Bo said again as he re-entered the room. Another man followed him, and I wanted to shrink into the wall to avoid the sight of him. He wore a uniform that spoke captain instead of soldier, and his dark eyes broadcasted so much coldness I actually shivered. He was the second man from my rebound.

“You have made the initial cut,” he said. I supposed he could have been congratulating me, but it sounded more like an execution order. “His Majesty has appointments with several girls today, so after we take care of a few of the finer details, you’ll be free for the day.”

Free for the day sounded fantastic. I sat up straighter and pasted on a smile to show that I’d do anything to cooperate.

“My name is Gibson, and I make sure we know everything about the girls.” He sounded like he’d been through this process several times before, and my suspicions about the Prince and his bride-finding excursions reared. Gibson dropped a thick sheaf of parchment on the desk in front of me. “I’ll need you to fill this out.”

I flinched as he flicked a quill in my general direction. He waved his hand and a pillowed recliner sprang into existence. The sizzle of his magic set the silence in the room on fire.

I felt a ribbon of magic tying him and Bo together. Bonds?

Gibson settled into his recliner, leaning away from Bo in a subtle yet distinct manner. I glanced at Bo, catching a scathing glint in his eye as he glared at Gibson. If they were bonds, they were definitely not friends.

Dangerous drifted through my head now. Bonded magicians who disliked each other usually meant one thing: They’d only bonded to gain power. They didn’t love magic, didn’t want to use it to heal the lands the way the magicians of Relina had intended, or bring relief to the weary the way the weavers of Relina did, or introduce calmness into the chaos the way the ancients expected mages to do.

They simply wanted to possess as much power as possible and climb the ranks in the High King’s court. If magicians didn’t act as Bo and Gibson did, they were imprisoned. Living in the Prince’s suite surely outranked the dungeon.

Since magicians couldn’t choose who they bonded with, I didn’t need to cast a song to know why Bo and Gibson had paired up. They were bonded magicians simply to advance their careers—and yet they were enemies. Dangerous now screamed through my mind as I scratched out answers on parchment.

#

An hour later, with my stomach rumbling and my nerves raw from the silent interrogation of Bo and Gibson, I walked toward the exit. The desperation to leave clouded my thoughts, but when Gibson leaned in close enough for me to smell his breath, I seized on the threshold.

“If I find that you have lied in the slightest, girl, you will have me to answer to.”

His breath smelled like he had eaten raw meat for breakfast, and I had no doubt that he would hunt me to the edges of the lands if it meant he could advance to the next level.

A vein of tension stretched between us, his eyes growing angrier. I struggled with what to say, though Gibson clearly waited for something.

He motioned to the door, a fast flap of the hand that said Get out now! I fumbled for the door handle behind me, and when I found it, I spilled into the hallway.

I stood there for a moment, collecting my thoughts. I expected Matu to emerge from behind the tapestry and take me to lunch. When he didn’t, every instinct told me to find a way out of this place. I’d taken three steps down the hall when someone came up the spiraled ramp.

Castillo appeared, his arm linked with a platinum-haired beauty with her head thrown back in silent laughter. As they advanced, she whispered in his ear, her lips much too close to his, and his face showed a hint of a blush while his eyes sparkled with laughter.

“Here you are, Athe—oh, Echo. You’re done early.” He disentangled himself from the exotic Athe and glanced nervously over his shoulder before meeting my gaze again. “Has Matu not met you?”

“As you can see,” I said, trying to decipher this raging storm inside my chest and the guilty hint in Castillo’s eyes.

Something churned in my stomach, that same something that had made me trust him in the market just yesterday. The magic between us felt like a physical link, like it could become a bond. I took a step toward him, dangerous hope beating in my chest.

He shook his head, a clear warning that an exchange in mixed company could prove fatal. I forced my feet backward, my mind reeling from the possibility of bonding with Castillo.

#

“Free for the rest of the day” turned into a nightmare. Castillo dropped off his giggling girlfriend and made a hasty exit. I barely knew him, but I somehow felt abandoned in my moment of greatest need.

Much to my relief, Matu showed up moments later to escort me to lunch. He didn’t say anything as an explanation for his tardiness, and he didn’t offer me his arm. I didn’t want to take it anyway, but it still felt like a personal slight. The suffocating storm inside my chest hadn’t lessened, and I couldn’t identify the true cause of it: A possible bond with Castillo, or seeing him with another girl hanging on his arm.

As Matu and I reached the bottom of the ramp, a chorus reached my ears, weak at first, wafting like a feather carried on a warm summer current. It stirred into a haunting melody of sadness mingled with hope. A magical song meant to infuse comfort into the soul of one and encourage dying in another. In Iskadar, I’d participated in only one such ritual after an accident at the granary had crushed a man’s legs. His wife benefited from the comfort; he died with a smile gracing his lips.

Now, I stood frozen in the hallway. The melody rose into a glorious high that caused a spark of contentment to flare within my breast. In the next moment, it fell, straining for a high note that the casting magicians couldn’t quite reach. If my voice added to theirs, the song would be complete, that high note recognized, the holes in the harmonies plugged.

The music called to me, urging me to come forward and weave my voice around the alto register, through the notes, and establish myself as what I truly was.

My muscles seized as I took a jerky step in the direction of the song. I couldn’t open my mouth and let my magic fly. If I did, the Prince’s guards would confine me, extract my voice for their vicious spells, and force my magic into bottles and trinkets.

I groaned, my body hungry to tread the path toward that magical song, but my mind screamed at me to flee. My skin felt stitched on wrong and I squeezed my eyes shut as if I could quiet the music that way. The need to join my voice to that song nearly crippled me. I gritted my teeth as a low, guttural growl escaped my throat.

“Echo?” Matu placed his hand on my elbow, but I remained rooted to the spot.

I shook my head, now humming to myself in an attempt to drown out the spell-song. I opened my eyes and managed to take a few more steps before I had to reach for Matu’s arm. “I need—I cannot—”

He cast quick glances up and down the hall. “Just breathe,” he instructed. “I’ll get you back to your suite.” His touch brought strength where I had none, and though he kept swiveling his head, searching for spies, he moved with steadiness. Even with the distance and the closed doors, the melody never left my head. My voice knew exactly where it would fit, the gaps in the song obvious and glaring, even in silence.

Matu knocked on the door as he opened it, calling, “She heard the singers.”

Helena took my hand, but I could barely feel it. Pressure, no true touch. I moaned, knowing I needed to release the magic building in my body.

“Helena, Matu,” I said. “Don’t tell him. Please, you cannot tell him.” By the time I finished speaking, my words wisped to the rafters like ghosts.

“My dear child, come lie down.” Helena pressed her hand on the small of my back and guided me to the bed. I sank onto it, my breath coming quick and irregular. Helena said something to Matu, who replied in a hushed tone. I couldn’t hear them over the memory of that magical singing.

Rebounded images from spell-songs I hadn’t sung streamed through my head. They displayed people I’d never seen, information I did not want. Though I hadn’t voiced a single note, I felt sure my magic was going to tear me apart, unraveling my mind one image at a time.

The only way to purge myself of the haunting melody was to release my power. But I couldn’t use it, not without a bond, a way to control it. An image of Castillo burned into my mind. If he were here, could he help me tame the magic?

Helena stroked my hair. “Let it out, child. You have to let it out.”

I struggled to keep the magic from consuming us both. Oake once told me he’d emptied his magic into the river when he was without his bond. “Any element,” he’d counseled. “But water works best. It is the life blood of the earth.”

Last year as I journeyed to Umon, I’d buried my fingers in the earth to help bleed the magic from my body. The hunters had been so close, I could hear their voices twining together to locate any magician within ten miles. By ridding myself of the magic, and with the help of several dense blueberry bushes, I’d managed to elude them.

Here in the suite, I felt the same way, with only one option to avoid detection. “Help me to the bathing chamber,” I managed to say. Helena half dragged me to the small room and filled the tub, both with hot water and her soothing spell-songs.

I waited until she helped me ease into the water before I began to sing. My voice echoed clear and loud, like it had so many years ago inside that empty bucket. Now, the beautifully carved stone floors and tiled walls received my voice with gladness. The magic raced out with my words at first, sending multi-colored sparks up to the ceiling. The water heated like a kettle about to boil.

Helena massaged my shoulders and whispered grandmotherly comforts. The door opened, and someone joined us. I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes, though much of my power had ebbed away. The remaining magic faded into nothing, as if someone was siphoning it away, shouldering it, bearing it with me as Grandmother had once done.

“I will see that no one knows about this,” a man said, and I had just enough awareness to recognize Castillo’s voice. The door closed, leaving the traces of remaining magic to settle on me again.

No one could know of this most recent lapse, especially here in the compound. Not with Gibson nearby and the Prince’s hunger for magical power so apparent.

“They cannot know,” I said.

“They won’t,” Helena promised, causing me to wonder why she would protect me, why Castillo had just run to cover my magic again. “Come, you need to rest.”

I nodded and let her dress me in my nightclothes though I still hadn’t eaten lunch. A knot of worry seethed in my stomach, for I didn’t know if I could trust Castillo or Helena. They knew about my capabilities, possibly for quite some time. And if they did, perhaps my secret was no longer mine to keep.

I sighed as I closed my eyes and journeyed toward unconsciousness.

“How is she?” I heard through the film of slumber.

Instead of answering, Helena asked, “Does the Prince know?”

“No, no one saw her. And I took care of Cris,” Castillo said. His fingers brushed against mine, and he lifted the magical load from me, the way Grandmother had once done. The way bonds could.

My mouth curled into a smile as I drifted into the darkness of sleep.

Nine

I dream of magic, of faraway lands where magicians roam freely and spells entwine with the dust in the atmosphere. My mother walks resolutely from person to person, clutching Grandmother’s aged portrait of my father, rattling it in everyone’s face.

They shake their heads sadly and paint on frowns. She begins to sob, and I see her hair has changed from the rich color of freshly dug earth to spider web gray. She falls to her knees, and I wish to do something to comfort her.

When I’ve felt like that, Grandmother wraps me in a hug and whispers exactly what I need to hear. I rush to my mother’s side and place my arms around her.

She shoves me away, her eyes wild and her fingers clawing like talons. “It’s your fault he died!” she yells. “It’s your fault!”

#

I lunged into consciousness, my mother’s words shaking the room the same way they’d rattled the sky when I’d tried to climb down the fire chute. Darkness pressed against me, except for a faint glow of a trimmed lamp near the bathroom. Sweat made the bedclothes stick to my body, and I pushed the blankets away. The rug sheltered my feet from the cold, but I had to step onto the chilled stones to get to the bathing chamber.

In the corner of the room, light seeped through a crack beneath a door I hadn’t noticed before. I crept toward it and placed my hand on the knob. When I heard voices, I drew back, confused as to whose room would connect so intimately to mine. The voices ebbed and flowed, never staying in one place long enough for me to identify them.

My stomach rumbled for food. I’d devoured everything in sight when Helena had brought dinner to the room. Soon after, I’d fallen asleep again. With a proper bond this physical debilitation would decrease.

Judging by the depth of the darkness, I guessed night ruled the sky. But the people belonging to the voices spoke as if it were midday. Their volume increased, fueling my curiosity. I twisted the knob and let the door settle open. Two inches of light spilled into the bathing chamber, and I shrank back into the shadows along the wall.

Helena’s voice met my ears. “She will be chosen. You must be sure to assign Matu as her guard.”

My heart seized on her words, denying outright that I would be chosen as the Prince’s bride. How could she possibly know that?

“Her magic is too great. Cris cannot resist it. She uses it without even knowing!” Scuffling noises punctuated Helena’s words, and I realized she was pacing beyond the door.

“You must talk to her,” came the second voice, and this time I recognized Castillo. “She speaks without thinking, which is dangerous business, especially around Gibson and Bo. But they know nothing of her abilities, nor does Cris. I made sure of that.”

I wondered at his casual use of the Prince’s name, and remembered the last thing I’d heard before losing consciousness. Castillo’s voice. I took care of Cris.

“Did you use the memory charm on him?” Helena asked, her voice low and tight.

“Just as you taught me, Mother.” He sounded on the edge of annoyance, and my insides iced at the revelation that Helena was Castillo’s mother. I also realized that Castillo had rescued me—again. How many times had he done so? Three I could name. Surely there were others I could not. Bringing me to his mother certainly fell under the category of protection.

Castillo said something I couldn’t hear at which Helena gave a snort of disbelief. He continued in the same unwavering tone. “It’s true, Mother. Cris suspects her to possess fantastic magic. In fact, the small amount of magic he possesses was brought to life during their exchange.”

Helena groaned, a displeased, sad sound. “Tell me he didn’t touch her. Surely she would not let him within—”

“He held her hand. She was captivated instantly.”

Anger flooded my veins. So His Majesty had bewitched me through his touch. I remembered wishing to follow him anywhere he went, simply to be near him. The thought infuriated me, and a thread of foolishness wound its way through my system.

“It’s not because she’s childish or stupid,” Castillo said. “It’s because she’s desperately lonely.”

I flinched from the truthfulness in his words, wanting to dispute them, to tell him that I had Olive. But I spent so much time trying to keep my voice hidden, trying to ensure we had enough to eat and a stable roof over our heads. Olive and I didn’t speak about anything of consequence; all of our conversations revolved around our work, our duties, our fears for the other.

“She has us now,” Helena said, a dose of self-importance in her voice. “Greta, Lucia, and I will make sure she wants for nothing. Is everything in place otherwise?”

“As soon as he chooses, our artillery stands at the ready. You’re absolutely sure he will select Echo?”

A long silence followed. I peeked around the corner and glimpsed a twisting, rising hand movement. I recognized those perfect fingernails. Helena could cast spells without a voice—a skill all third-class magicians learned. Oake had never instructed me in such things, claiming my power exceeded the hand gestures lesser-talented magicians used.

I sucked in a breath and dipped back into hiding. I prayed that Helena would be wrong. That her spell would tell her that someone—anyone—but me would be chosen as the future queen.

“I’m sure,” Helena said then, and my heart dropped into my toes even as the promise of never being lonely again stole through my mind. I wondered which was worse: Living and dying alone, or living and dying at the side of someone who loved me only for my magic. I didn’t know, but as I leaned against the wall with a galloping heart, a new prospect tiptoed through my mind.

If I became queen, I could introduce light back into magic. I would have legions of magicians at my command, and I could free them, making magic lovely and respected, as it once was. A smile stole across my face, though my bones felt hollow with terror. I didn’t truly know the High King, only what I’d heard through rumors, but something told me he wouldn’t simply step aside and let me purge his country of the magical hatred he’d so tirelessly built.

Each beat of my heart testified that I had to try. Perhaps I could grow to love Cris, or at least appreciate him for what he was—a prince.

Faintly, and from far away, another door opened and closed. I eased the adjoining door back into position and scampered to bed.

Sleep would not come. Castillo had an artillery at the ready. His Majesty could bewitch people through his touch, and Helena prophesied my marriage to the Prince. Why me? Would I impress his father? Or was he aiming to prove something to someone else?

Everything swirled inside me, causing my head to pound. I wondered if I could truly be his queen, someone who others listened to, someone who issued orders and had them followed.

The rest of the night passed with impossible fantasies running through my head.

#

“Princess.”

The word lodged in my head. I wanted Castillo to repeat it endlessly in his smooth voice; the one that calmed the ache in my soul, something that hadn’t happened since Grandmother died.

I kept my eyes closed and breathed in deeply. The scent of fresh air and wet stone came with the oxygen. I committed it to memory, identifying it as uniquely Castillo. I wondered if the soothing quality of his voice settled me, or if it was his magic.

“Princess, we’ll be late,” he urged, a vein of amusement snaking through the annoyance in his voice.

“I don’t care,” I mumbled into my pillow.

“His Majesty will notice if you’re absent.” Castillo’s persistent voice wouldn’t be denied. I rolled over to find bleak sunlight streaming through the open drapes.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly noon, princess. Your presence is required at lunch.” Castillo stood straight and tall, his hands fisted into his pockets.

“Lunch?” With the question, my stomach roared with hunger.

“The others have had their second appointment,” he continued. “But we begged his forgiveness, due to illness.”

I shot into a sitting position, stricken. “He must not think I’m ill,” I said, remembering my new plan to play the right part so Cris would choose me as his bride. If only he knew the plots I kept in my pockets, the one to join Umon and Nyth under an umbrella of cleansed magic. “Why did someone not wake me?”

“We tried, princess.”

I threw back the covers before I realized I had no idea how to ready myself—and that it was highly improper for Castillo to be in my bedroom alone. I yanked at the blankets to cover myself.

I didn’t even know where Lucia found the dresses she held up for my examination. I stared at Castillo with wide eyes and a throbbing pulse in my throat.

“I’ll send in Helena,” Castillo said, a small smile on his lips.

#

I arrived last to lunch to find one empty chair, eleven radiant girls, and His Majesty sitting at a large, round table.

I slipped into my seat while the Prince—Cris—slid his eyes over my hair to my scarlet dress. He smiled, seemingly pleased to see me, and stood. “Welcome, ladies.” His voice oozed with warmth. A few girls wilted before him, and I had to look away for fear of laughing, whether from their reaction or my sudden hysteria, I wasn’t sure.

“You have been selected from hundreds,” he said. “Over the course of the next several weeks, we’ll get to know one another. There will be group outings and personal appointments.” A wide smile graced his lips. “At the next harvest, I’ll select my bride from this group.”

Two girls across from me turned to each other with giddy grins. From my position three seats away from the Prince, I did nothing. When I looked at the girl next to me, my breath rushed out in a sigh of relief. “Hello, Mariana.”

“Echo, right?”

When I nodded, she smiled. She leaned toward me as if we could be conspirators. “He’s handsome, do you not think?” She kept her voice low, a glimmer of excitement riding in the whisper.

I studied the Prince, who now wore a suit of the deepest purple. Silver thread stretched up his arms, clearly the work of a master tailor, and a stiff white collar encircled his throat. When he looked at me and lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement, heat rushed through my stomach.

He hadn’t touched me, so it couldn’t be some sort of trickery. I ducked my head after holding his gaze for only a moment. I leaned toward Mariana. “He’s handsome.”

“I think he likes you,” she whispered.

I shook my head. “No more than you.”

She sipped her water and cast me a sideways glance. “He refused to allow lunch to begin until you arrived.”

I swallowed quickly and met her eyes. I knew apprehension lived in mine, but in Mariana’s I found friendship mixed with anticipation. “What should I do?”

She gave a half shrug. “He is handsome.”

All the side conversations ceased when Gibson muscled his way through the door. He bent low to the Prince, whispered something, and gestured to the door, as if the Prince should come with him. A frown creased the Prince’s eyebrows, and he whispered furiously back. But Gibson would not be swayed.

The Prince wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood. The fluidity with which he moved surely required hours of practice. I wondered how many etiquette lessons he had endured. “Ladies, I hate to cut this wonderful occasion short, but I must take my leave.”

Some girls smiled, some moaned. I shoved a piece of bread into my mouth, afraid I might not be able to finish eating if the Prince left.

I’d just speared a broccoli floret when he exited, taking his sophistication and all propriety with him. The girls around me visibly relaxed, and I did, too. At least until Gibson’s heavy, callused hand landed on my bare shoulder. “Come with me,” he hissed, and a spike of terror shot through me.

Ten

I choked on the food I hadn’t quite swallowed yet. The other girls at the table shifted, casting their eyes between me and Gibson. I gulped from my goblet to clear my airway, wishing his touch did not make me feel so nauseated. By the time I swallowed, Gibson’s glare could have burned holes in my face.

“Me?” I asked.

“Why her?” Athe asked, her eyes narrowed.

Gibson didn’t look away from me. “Yes, you.”

I glanced at Mariana, who wore her fear in the lines around her eyes. The Prince had gone, and everyone left had fallen silent or found something else to look at. Even Athe. I mourned the loss of another meal as I stood and smoothed the lap wrinkles from my dress. “Very well.”

Gibson held his hand out to keep me from crowding him in the doorway. He glanced left, then right before waving me forward. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, my legs bore my weight as I squeezed past him and into the hall. Everything about the man sent creepers across my skin, and he certainly was not treating me like his future queen. Perhaps he had been through this process before and knew nothing would come of it.

I shot him a glare as I turned to find the hallway empty. I’d half expected the Prince to be there, waiting to comfort me. I felt abandoned as Gibson took the lead, which suited me, because I had no idea where to go and didn’t wish to smell his meat-scented breath wafting behind me.

Uneasiness skimmed beneath my skin at the possibilities for our destination. My fingers ached from the way I held them in fists. My lungs wouldn’t expand properly, and I wanted to send a discovery spell down the corridor.

We turned down this hall and that one until we arrived at a corridor filled with natural light. We passed several glass doors before Gibson stopped in front of one. He gestured for me to step onto the veranda first, and then he followed me.

I stood on a balcony without a railing, scanning to take in my surroundings as fast as possible. The southern hills rose in the distance, and I thought of Queen Bargout of Heona. If the whispered rumors in the marketplace were to be believed, she hadn’t taken kindly to the Nythinian invasion of Umon. Surely she’d sent ambassadors to assess the situation, possibly discover if Nyth planned to steal her country in the dead of night with song-magic and another prince.

Forest and meadow alike filled the space from the rolling hills to the city proper. The brilliant blueness of the sky dazzled me.

Instinctively, I stepped back, but in the small space, bumped into Gibson. I recoiled, noticing the courtyard below. It might have been a cheerful place to waste an afternoon, what with the potted ferns and palm fronds decorating the low, cobbled walls. However, the people clustered in the center ruined the quaint atmosphere.

Three men and two women huddled together, their legs bound and their arms securely roped to their sides. No less than a dozen soldiers surrounded them, with their weapons aimed at the captives.

I sucked in a breath. My heart raced as fast as my mind as I tried to figure out what was going on, why I’d been brought here, why Cris had been forced to leave lunch prematurely. My throat tightened when I thought, Perhaps he knows of your magical abilities.

I was just about to look away from the prisoners when I recognized one of them. The baker’s wife. Even after a year away from Iskadar, I knew her face. She’d been badly burned as a child and mottled, purple skin ran the length of her face on the left side. Her name was Basil, and I’d purchased many a sweet bun from her on Sunday mornings.

I stepped forward again, searching each face and finding them all familiar. Every person tied in the courtyard hailed from Iskadar. The terror tearing through me couldn’t alleviate the weight of Gibson’s eyes on me, and I suspected these people I knew and loved being here, now, was no coincidence. My vision tunneled, and everything felt too far away.

I forced my eyes to roam the circular courtyard to find Umon’s finest in attendance. I surmised that each glass door I’d passed led to a veranda identical to the one I stood on, and each held people dressed in their royal best. One woman fanned herself with an intricate jeweled lattice, as if she were attending the theater. The little I’d eaten churned in my stomach, though I hadn’t seen Cris anywhere.

“These people are innocent.” The bellow echoed through the sky, filled with remorse.

I located the man who had spoken with little difficulty. Bo stood on a balcony about halfway around the circle from me.

“One of you has the power to save them.” He spoke as if he truly wanted one of us to help them as he waved toward the captives. I glanced at the other verandas, finding the nobles utterly bored. Some of them didn’t even seem to notice the people in the courtyard.

Suddenly I knew why Gibson had brought me here, why he’d sent Cris somewhere else. He wanted me to save these people—my countrymen. He wanted to see what my voice could do, which meant he knew it could do something.

I cast a frantic glance at him as if I could find answers on his face. He glowered at the small crowd in the courtyard, and I followed his gaze, feeling a similar anger, but tinged with more horror and frustration. One soldier swiveled his head toward us, as if he too knew why I’d been summoned from lunch. Every eye followed. I squirmed in my skin, realizing they’d gotten dressed up to see me perform.

I took quick pants of air to quiet my mind. “Gibson,” I pleaded, not sure what to say next to save the people in the courtyard.

A muscle in Gibson’s jaw worked against itself. He squeezed his fingers so tightly, they turned white. All at once, he relaxed and met my gaze. A lazy smile crossed his face, but his eyes remained hard as coal, dark as midnight, the magical power therein glittering and cruel.

Time slowed as he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

A gunshot rocked the courtyard.

I yelped, the cracking sound ringing and cascading through my ears, my head, my soul. I didn’t want to look into the courtyard, but I couldn’t stop my head from turning. The brick mason lay on the cobbles, his blood seeping into the stones. I thought of his children at home in Iskadar, probably crying for his return.

A sob started in my stomach and inched up through my throat. These people—my people—were innocent! And Gibson had killed one of them with a single snap. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I wished to let them fall. I wished to leave this place and never return.

Most of all, I wished to open my mouth and make everyone standing on every veranda pay. Sing them into such pain they would never stand by and watch as weapons were aimed at innocent people, never snap their fingers and achieve such terrible things.

I stood there, my heart banging against my bones, looking at Gibson, seeing him as if for the first time. I turned away, my stomach rioting against my muscles, screaming at them to move.

“Will no one save them?” Bo wailed, snapping me back to reality.

Only silence responded. I could save them. The song that would still those soldier’s hearts throbbed beneath my vocal chords. The chant that would release the bindings on Basil’s legs came unbidden to my mind.

I could save them, I could save them, I could save them. But then everyone would know. I took one step—

Another gunshot blasted me back to my spot of safety. A woman screamed, and I couldn’t be sure the sound didn’t rip from my own throat.

Before I registered who’d fallen this time, Gibson stepped next to me, right into my line of sight. “Stop this.” The challenge only held hunger and greed. He watched the scene in the courtyard with eagerness. My heart twisted, especially when I saw the fallen woman was Basil, her eyes still open, staring blankly at that azure sky.

“How many innocents must die today?” Bo pleaded.

I blinked back tears. I’d failed to save two people. Two of my own people. Two people I knew from my childhood. I would not fail again. I would use my magic. Everyone would know, but I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not again.

I opened my mouth to sing,

To reveal myself,

To seal my fate.

Before I could voice a note, a rich baritone filled the air, plowing through the tension in the courtyard. Magic lilted and swirled with the words, looped and cascaded upon me, filling me with the sweetest assurances. My magic leaped, the way it had for many years in Iskadar. The way it did whenever Grandmother began a spell-song. The way it did when I was bonded.

In time with the music, the bloody ropes from the two fallen bodies flew up and wound themselves around the soldiers’ arms until they couldn’t use their weapons. The song ended just as a fresh set of guards entered the courtyard and ushered the three remaining prisoners away.

I fell to my knees in relief, shocked. My body trembled with unshed sobs, both in gratitude that I hadn’t had to sing, and with hope that finding a bond here in the compound was possible. I hadn’t experienced magic that intimately since Grandmother. I’d forgotten how perfect it felt, how secure in both myself and my power being bonded made me.

I needed that magician, and I vaguely recognized his voice. I prayed he didn’t already have a bond. I heard the swishing of expensive fabrics as the others left their balconies and the call of a nightingale in the distance.

So I wouldn’t have to look at the bodies of my people any longer, I searched for the magician who’d saved them. He stood to my right. He wore the black pants of a soldier but the tunic of someone who could weave magic with life.

While I watched, he removed his shirt and replaced it with a soldier’s jacket. “Stay there, Echo,” he called. “I’ll be just another moment.”

That speaking voice belonged to Castillo.

“Hold on,” he said, but I no longer had an anchor, and every handhold had vanished.

Eleven

“The point was to make the girl sing,” Gibson growled when Castillo stepped onto the veranda. I stayed on my knees, still in shock, but with my ears wide open.

“Perhaps the girl does not know any songs,” Castillo replied in a cool tone. “I cannot stomach your magic-seeking experiments.”

“Cris approves.”

“Cris doesn’t always know what he approves of.” Castillo cast a glance at me. “This discussion is over. No more of these experiments, Gibson. I said I’d find what you wished to know, and I will.” He reached for me, took my elbow, and helped me to my feet.

“Come, Echo. I’m sure you didn’t have time to eat much.” Castillo held my arm tightly as we walked down the hall. He checked behind him several times and hesitated at more than one corner. The further we moved from the balcony, the more settled he became. My knees ached, right along with my heart. Those people—

His voice—

My magic—had responded to his in a way it had only done for Grandmother.

I focused on the turns Castillo took in an attempt to stall my circular thoughts. I didn’t recognize the corridors, and the air held a heavy chill in these passages. Finally, Castillo opened a door and stepped through it, ducking slightly to accommodate his height.

I followed him to find a narrow bed against one wall, a desk, a rocking chair, and a basin. The rocking chair brought instant memories of Grandmother. Creak forward, splinter back. I wondered if Castillo sat there in the evenings, reading or polishing his boots.

He used two fingers to pull me further into the room so he could close the door. I moved numbly, letting him guide me to his bed. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

I accepted the glass of water and drank it greedily. The coldness of it jolted me back to life. Castillo sat next to me, close enough to be friendly and far enough away to be proper. I itched to move away from him, yet I felt desperate to remain close. The rational part of my brain knew I shouldn’t be found in his intimate quarters without an escort, knew that him bringing me here put us both in further danger.

“Your voice is beautiful,” I said, hoping I hadn’t given away too many of the raging emotions I felt inside. “Your magic wonderfully obedient.”

I couldn’t remember bonding with Grandmother. It had happened at such a young age that it seemed that it was always so. My insides felt shaky with fear and anticipation of what bonding might feel like. “Are you bonded?”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I have never wished for such a thing.”

“Why not?”

“In Nyth, using magic comes at too high a price.”

I studied him, wondering where his loyalty resided. He didn’t speak fondly of Nyth, and the guarded tone in his voice testified to the cruelty of Nythinian magicians. Perhaps Castillo had witnessed horrific things like that scene on the veranda, where magicians showed their superiority by withholding their help.

He faced me again before dropping to his knees in front of me so that we were the same height. “I would let you look.”

I swallowed, tracing the contours of his face with my eyes. I nodded and reached for him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scratchiness of his facial hair, against my palm just moments before singing the intrusion melody. Because of his willingness to let me inside his mind, the images came after only the second note.

The High King stood before me, with orange eyes and fisted hands. His mouth opened in a soundless wail, and magic flew through the dark sky toward an approaching army. Bodies flew. Horses reared. Lightning flashed.

That image flipped to another.

Castillo as a child cowering before the High King.

Another.

Cris and Castillo running through the fields surrounding a magnificent castle. Cris—the taller of the two boys—looked over his shoulder and said something that was only silence.

Castillo ran faster, but he couldn’t catch his brother.

The image blinked to the two boys sprinting again, this time years had passed, and Castillo was as quick as Cris. This time, they didn’t frolic in meadows, but ran with grim faces. This time, Castillo took the lead, singing his way free of a pair of giant golden gates while Cris stood back and watched.

The rebound ended, but energy zipped through me, alive and free. I couldn’t remember the bonding with Grandmother, but this magic felt like falling feathers. A soft touch along my neck, a whisper of movement against my side. My entire being swelled with magic, Castillo’s and mine. It danced together, twirled and united. He breathed and began to sing the opening notes of the bonding ceremony.

I twined my voice with his, and without gaps in the melody, the result became a rich duet that filled the rafters with beauty and gold light. The magic lilted upward, rocking me as if on soft seas. I cradled my head against Castillo’s shoulder, and sang until I thought I’d burst.

This magical release didn’t hurt, and it didn’t disable me, or bring hallucinations, or introduce voices of those long dead. It quickened my soul, and I finally understood why Mother would abandon her newborn child to follow her bondsmate to the edge of death.

The song ended, and I opened my eyes to look straight into Castillo’s. Instead of comparing them to murky water, as I had previously, they shone like copper.

“I did not realize you and Cris were brothers,” I whispered.

“Half brothers,” he said, and I focused on the movement of his mouth. Kissing him right now felt like it might be natural, but it might also prove disastrous. “My mother was the High King’s mistress.”

“Your father is not a nice man.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Castillo stood and moved away from where I sat on the bed. “You see why I didn’t wish to bond in Nyth.”

I nodded, replaying the rebounded images. The High King would have used Castillo up, tossed him aside, and still not been satisfied.

“What does he want?” I asked, sure it had something to do with my magical abilities.

“There’s only power for my father. He fears any who possess magic. That’s why he cages magicians.”

“So they don’t become his competition.” Perhaps the High King viewed his sons as competition and had thus sent them here. “Did he send you and Cris here?”

“Cris is in desperate need of help,” Castillo said, his voice soft as melting butter yet filled with urgency. I remembered the rich quality it held as he entwined it with magic.

“My father only recognizes one heir, and he’s determined that Cris—” Castillo cleared his throat and paced away from me. I frowned, riddling through his statement. If the High King only recognized one heir, where did that leave Castillo?

In Umon, I thought, and the idea rang true in my heart.

“We must know if you can wield magic, and how much and how well, because my father insists Cris’s wife be a magician,” Castillo continued. “That’s why you were brought to the verandas.”

Though I had suspected as much, his words struck fear in my chest, right where my heart struggled to beat against it.

“Though, you should know,” Castillo said. “That Gibson conceals the magic-seeking experiments from Cris. He knows nothing of captives and dungeons, of soldiers and weapons.” He sighed as he kneaded the back of his neck. “Certain unpleasantries are rarely discussed.”

“How much does the Prince suspect about me?”

“Enough,” Castillo answered. “Echo, I fear he has already chosen you for his bride. He’ll likely go through the courting charade, but his mind is made up.”

“Because of my power.”

“I’ve never met a first-class magician as powerful as you. Besides my father.” He examined me, like he might find my magic on the outside. “And your heritage certainly helps.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re from the village of Iskadar, yes?” he asked, but he didn’t pause for my answer. “The outer villages are in open revolt against the High King and the Prince. Where do you think Gibson got those prisoners?”

I stood and refilled my glass from the basin. I drank the water to buy myself time to think through Castillo’s words. I didn’t doubt that the outer villages had rebelled. Oake had spoken of such things for months before I’d left. But I’d heard nothing of a village revolution here inside the city, not even in the dark corners of the marketplace.

“So he thinks if we are to wed, my being from Iskadar will pacify the outer villages.” When I turned, our eyes met. A stirring in my stomach spoke of his attractiveness and kindness, and something beyond our bond. I tried to stifle the feelings, because if Cris chose me as his wife, I would be leaving Umon—and Castillo. Still, I couldn’t choose to bond with someone more convenient, and the peace and comfort of a bond outweighed the possibility that Castillo and I would be separated in the future.

Castillo nodded. “At least enough for the negotiations to resume.”

“He wants to use me.” My voice came out wispy, but my fists clenched in anger.

“You saw the image of us running as men?”

“Yes,” I said. “You opened the gates . . . ” Castillo had sung because Cris could not. Cris didn’t have the magical means to accomplish much of anything. I remembered the spell-song I’d cast to find out his motivations.

“Cris is desperate to please the High King,” I said, defeat in every syllable.

Something like a smile graced Castillo’s lips for the briefest of moments. “Our father is a tyrant of the worst kind, and yet Cris seeks only his approval.”

Suddenly, I had another person to blame for the deaths that had happened so senselessly in the courtyard. The High King of Nyth.

“Have there been other princesses?” I asked. “Other bride-choosing ceremonies?”

“No,” Castillo said. “Cris has been instructed to choose well, and he’s determined to do so only once. But the High King has surrounded his son with personal guards who are only interested in helping Cris if it helps themselves.”

I thought of the greed and excitement on Gibson’s face as he gazed upon the carnage in the courtyard. My fingers shook, and I clasped my hands together to contain the tremor. I thought of Cris being herded away from the verandas, sequestered somewhere he couldn’t hear the gunshots. I thought of Castillo and his spell-song that wrapped around me, and the way he stood up to Gibson. Surely the High King would hear of that, too. I narrowed my eyes, hoping to see Castillo as the bastard son of an evil tyrant, but he remained as steady as ever.

“Be mindful of Gibson,” Castillo warned. “He does not know kindness.” He seemed finished, and my stomach simultaneously rumbled with hunger and tightened in fear.

I placed my glass in the basin, my mind churning. I wanted to test this new bond I had formed, but I also desired to remain protected. “Will anyone discover our bond? Gibson or Bo? They’re bonded magicians.”

“How do you know Gibson and Bo are bonds? Can you detect magicians?” He took a step closer, his eyes sharpening.

I thought of him striding toward me just days ago, his eyes narrowed. He’d known magic had been sung at the aristocrat’s house. “No, but you can.”

Resignation flashed across his face. “Not quite,” he said. “But I can force them to reveal themselves.”

“Interesting,” I said, though I found it more disturbing than anything else.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I raised my chin, as if daring him to challenge me further. “I surmised that Bo and Gibson were bonds.”

“Interesting,” he said, cocking one eyebrow. “I think if we’re careful, no one will discover our bond.”

If we’re careful. I heard the words he didn’t say. He must not become anything more than the guard assigned to escort me in the compound.

“Maybe you can bewitch your suite,” he suggested. “Sing to the moon, perhaps.”

The image of the round harvest moon carved into my outer door sprang into my mind. He’d probably already begun a protection song, and I merely needed to finish it. I studied him while he watched me unflinchingly.

“Can you get into my courtyard?” I asked.

“Your courtyard?”

“Tonight, after midnight.” I shrugged as if I didn’t care if he came or not, but I desperately hoped he would.

“Whatever for?” He took a step closer.

“If we work together, we can investigate a bit.”

“Investigate?” He folded his arms. “What might you be looking for?”

“Everything,” I said. “If I’m to be the Princess, I need to know everything.”

Twelve

As I walked beside Castillo on the way back to my suite, I told myself to simply put one foot in front of the other, as Grandmother had counseled so many years before. I thought of my mother and wondered how many steps she’d taken over the course of the last twenty-four years, looking for Father.

I couldn’t imagine loving someone with the fierceness that drove my mother to abandon me and Olive, to wander the earth in search of someone she might never find. I wondered if she had traveled to the ancients in Relina, begged for their assistance, cried for their immortality. The lore Oake had divulged during one of my lessons said that while our fragile bodies age, wither, and die, the intelligence of the ancients in Relina could be transferred to a new host—a new body. One with the complete logic, wisdom, and knowledge of its previous host.

He said that was how the magicians of Relina remained alive to this day, though they should have died long ago. They still governed and watched the lands as the people worked with song-magic, fell in love, and endured life.

I felt as though I could use some of their endurance now, for each step fueled the anger building in my chest. I feared I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue when I next saw Cris. He needed to know the horrors Gibson carried out in his name. Surely he didn’t want to be responsible for the senseless murders of innocent people.

Entrenched in my thoughts, I didn’t notice where we were in the compound. The whole thing was a hopeless maze to me anyway, but I’d like to think I’d been learning how to get back to my room. So when the siren started, I became disoriented.

Castillo’s hand covered mine, and if my heart hadn’t already been racing from the wailing alarm, his touch would have done it. Inside, my magic leaped, ready to obey whatever my voice might command.

“This way.” He pulled me in the opposite direction we’d been moving.

The hallways flooded with people, most of them wearing service uniforms. At the next corner, Matu met us, his eyes bright and alert. “Advancing army from the eastern villages,” he said. “His Majesty has requested Echo accompany him.”

Castillo nodded. “He must meet them at the wall.”

“I don’t think it’s time to reveal our full hand,” Matu responded, completing a conversation I didn’t understand—yet. Castillo had let me into his mind willingly once. I could get in again, even without his permission.

“Nevertheless, he must meet them at the wall.” The three of us clustered together, moving swiftly through the chaos in the hall. I caught a glimpse of the door to my suite ahead, complete with Helena’s waving arm and frantic expression.

Matu and Castillo tumbled into the room after me, their faces tight with tension. My maids stood ready in the doorway, Lucia holding a traveling cloak and Greta waiting to attack me with the hairbrush.

Helena whisked me toward my ladies, all the while chattering at Matu and Castillo in that blasted language I couldn’t understand. They responded in one-word monotones while my hair got shined, and my shoes switched to more sensible riding boots, and glinting silver pins fastened my cloak.

It certainly seemed as though I’d be leaving the compound. “Castillo, what—?”

“He’s coming,” Matu said, barely loud enough to hear over Helena’s chastisement. Somehow, everyone heard, and Castillo glared in my direction.

“Please, Echo,” he said at the same time the door creaked open. All stood silently, watching either me or Cris.

“Your Majesty,” I said, dipping into a curtsy. “Are we going on an outing?”

His eyebrows crept up, and he cast an annoyed glance toward Helena. “I was told she would be informed of the situation.”

“There has been no time, Your Majesty,” Helena replied in an even voice. “Surely you remember that lunch only just ended.”

I watched the Prince as Helena’s words slapped him. She delivered them with perfect accuracy, and his face tightened, his lips creased into a frown, and a flush entered his cheeks.

“Perhaps you will have time to speak with her on your journey to the wall,” Castillo added.

His eyebrows turned down in a way that said, “I will certainly not have time.” Then he turned to me, and the disapproval melted away into a smooth smile. “Come, my dear Echo. It’s not safe for us here at the moment.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Not safe? Cris?” I felt the weight of his name on my tongue, and surprisingly, it wasn’t that bitter.

“A village uprising,” he said. “We must seek to resolve it.” He hooked my arm through his elbow and steered me toward the door.

“Do you mean to use murder as a means of resolution?” I studied him for the slightest indication of displeasure. A small flinch, as if I’d flicked water in his eyes, was his only reaction.

Around us, the air seemed to evaporate. Even Castillo watched me with a mixture of disbelief and horror written across his face. His mouth had opened into an O, and he no longer blinked.

“I don’t wish there to be bloodshed,” I continued. “Surely you have diplomats, Your Majesty. Someone who can reason with the villagers?” I tightened my grip on Cris’s arm, more to settle myself than to communicate anything to him. In the hall, someone hissed as they exhaled.

He drew me closer to his side as we exited my chambers. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to protect me or as a clear indication that he owned me. “Yes,” he said quietly, his mouth bent only inches from my ear. “I have diplomats.”

“Excellent.” My pulse bobbed in my throat at the closeness of the Prince, at the dancing of my magic in my bloodstream. The halls had cleared and the siren had quieted. Yet my steps became unsure as we followed Gibson and Bo. Matu and Castillo brought up the rear, but neither of them made the slightest noise. I had hoped Castillo would have the sense to stay close, in case our combined power as bonds would be necessary.

We exited to the street, where a double-long carriage with a single team of horses waited at the ready. Unmarked, the carriage bore nothing to reveal who it carried. The six of us piled in, and the driver set off at a brisk clip. The jarring motion of the vehicle did little to calm the raging storm in my stomach. There were so many details to sort through, and not enough time to give them the proper attention.

“Echo,” the Prince said after a few minutes. “I need you to be the diplomat.”

#

I’d attended school at the foot of Grandmother’s rocking chair. She’d taught me to sew, to cook, to clean, to take time to run freely through the fields. She’d instructed me in reading and math, in life, in love.

“Look for opportunities to love,” she had said. “You will be happy if you do. You will one day love someone so deeply, you will wonder how you functioned without them.”

I’d wanted to ask her about Grandfather, and if she missed him. But I didn’t need to. She wore the missing in the lines along her eyes, in the way she sighed before bed without him to kiss goodnight.

She certainly hadn’t taught me the ways of diplomacy. I hadn’t even mastered the art of censoring my thoughts before they burst from my mouth. Or the laughter that sprang from my throat now.

I didn’t mind that villager uprising bounced in the empty spaces of my laughter. Or that I was the only one making any noise. Until Castillo coughed. The sound ricocheted inside my head, somewhat like the gunshots I’d heard only hours earlier.

I cut off the laughter and cradled my face in my hands. I suddenly felt ill from the jerking motion of the carriage, and the meals I’d been forced to skip, and the thought of acting as the Prince’s diplomat before his bride.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to erase the horrific images from the courtyard and quiet my increasing fears about what I might find waiting at the city wall. Greta would be so disappointed I’d ruined her makeup.

A hand touched my back, light and hesitant. When I didn’t jerk away, it rested there. Feelings of peace flowed through me. The Prince’s magic could apparently be used for more than lust.

I straightened, and his hand dropped into his lap. I appreciated the gesture and told him so. He flashed a tight smile before pulling back the curtain and peering through the dirty window.

“Cris,” Gibson snapped, and the Prince dropped the curtain with a glare in his guard’s direction, but the fight in his expression sank into my mind. If he knew everything Bo and Gibson did, I was sure he’d stop them.

When the carriage came to rest, the Prince remained seated while the others climbed out. I stayed with him, seized with the sudden thought that I shouldn’t exit the carriage as the guards did, that I was more than a servant girl now.

I was the Prince’s . . . sweetheart did not seem like the right word. He had twelve girls to choose from. I hadn’t been chosen yet, so fiancée or queen didn’t fit.

“Princess.” Castillo’s voice carried through the partially open carriage door.

I exhaled. That’s what I was. A princess. Castillo’s princess? I glanced at Cris, wondering if he could hear the vein of emotion under Castillo’s words, wondering if Bo or Gibson had noticed that Castillo and I had bonded. The Prince caught my eye, and the musings morphed into worry for the situation at hand.

“Don’t think,” the Prince counseled. “Just speak. You’re one of them. Tell them what they want to hear.”

“I’m not a liar.” I gripped the fabric of my dress in too-tight fists.

“I didn’t say to lie.”

“You also didn’t say not to.” I climbed out of the carriage. The sun hovered on the edge of the horizon, flirting with the approaching darkness. People clogged the road before me. Castillo, Matu, Bo, Gibson and an additional dozen armed guards created a bubble that extended fifteen feet around the carriage in every direction.

Fire flickered in front of me, illuminating the faces of angry men. Their clothes seemed ill-fitted and worn, definitely homespun from thick fibers. Dirt marred their hands and boots and everything in between. These were working men, here to defend their families from an unknown—and unwanted—ruler.

I scanned the group as if I’d see a familiar face from Iskadar. Perhaps I’d see the butcher or the stable master. Perhaps Oake. Hope flared at the thought of him.

“My people,” I began, and immediately knew it was the wrong way to start. Teeth clenched, and the crowd closest to the carriage shifted uneasily.

I cleared my throat and began again. “My name is Echo del Toro, and I hail from Iskadar.” My voice rose into the air, confident and authoritative, but nowhere near loud enough.

Whispers raced through the crowd. Men strained to see me. Torches lifted higher.

Castillo, who stood closest to me, half turned at my touch. “I need to climb on top of the carriage,” I whispered. “Can you help me, please?”

“Of course.” He offered me his hand. My fingers in his shook like the magicians had cursed them with ancient melodies. At least climbing up the wheel to the seat and then to the roof of the carriage was easy in my comfortable traveling boots.

My cloak rippled in the breeze as I surveyed the crowd. They seemed to stretch from here to the mountains, though surely they couldn’t fill so great a space. Still, their faces created a sea I’d rather not view.

“My name is Echo del Toro, and I hail from Iskadar,” I repeated, this time in a voice that would carry across the expanse. “His Majesty has appointed me the diplomat between he and thee. Who speaks for this group?”

Waves of conversation swelled through the crowd. A disturbance broke the rows of men to my left. Someone strode forward. He wore a hat of curious workmanship, and I knew him before the crowd parted to let him through.

Oake also wore his magician colors and had pinned his wizardry flag to his left lapel. He stood gazing at me with more emotion in his eyes than I’d seen previously, even that last time when he’d urged me to leave Iskadar before the rumored hunting parties arrived, claimed my power, and left me disabled.

My breath stalled at the sight of him. He looked well, and I wondered if he’d held his ground in Iskadar, or if he’d been forced into the forests. I wondered if he was disappointed I hadn’t written. I’d meant to, but found that I couldn’t find happy words, and I wouldn’t burden him with my disappointments and discouraging news. He hadn’t sent any correspondence either, but perhaps he’d been too busy organizing uprisings.

I found my fingers clutching at the throat of my dress, and I forced my hand to my side, the emotion flowing thick between us. How I wished to speak with Oake alone!

“I speak for the group.” The sound of his voice reopened a crack inside that I’d previously sealed. The one that longed to let my caged voice fly, the way he’d so often encouraged. The one with Grandmother inside. The one that housed my past.

I wished I could send him a subliminal message. Please do not reveal my magic, please do not reveal my magic.

“What are your grievances?” My tone came out smooth, something for which I thanked the stars above.

“The Prince wishes to tax us. We will not pay tribute to someone we have never met nor have any interest in supporting.”

“What is the tax?”

“One half.”

Fury boiled in my stomach. What a classless oaf of a prince. How dare he think he can take half of what these people work day and night to earn? And for what? So he could wear purple silks sewn with silver threads to dine with a dozen girls?

The anger fueled my courage. “That’s clearly too much,” I called out loudly, to ensure Cris would hear me inside the carriage. “What do you think is fair?” I couldn’t tear my eyes from Oake’s.

“Zero,” he said.

“The outer villages in the eastern sector support themselves, do they not?”

“They do,” Oake answered. “We’ve always supported our own.”

I didn’t miss the way he enunciated “supported our own.” Did I still belong in that group? How many more in the crowd recognized me? I wondered how different I looked in fancy dresses and makeup and with a solid year of hard living behind me.

I studied each face, each line of exhaustion carved around their eyes from hours of farming and sewing and blacksmithing. Each spark of devotion to their families. Each squared shoulder determined to stay and fight until this matter was resolved.

I longed to join them. To drop my royal silk dress and exchange it for the calico print I’d loved as a child. To feel the earth between my fingers, and the swell of the summer breeze as I ran through the emptiness of the sky.

A dangerous idea entered my mind. I wondered if it would push Cris to his breaking point, if Helena’s spell had foreseen my loose tongue. I clutched my hands tighter against each other for strength. No matter what the consequences, I couldn’t stomach the taxation of my people.

“You may go on your way,” I announced, just as the tension reached its breaking point. “You have no obligation to this prince. Support one another. Love one another. Go, and peace go with you.”

Cheers erupted from the men, and Oake became swallowed up by the sound before I could meet his eyes again. I had much to say to him, but before I took another breath, Castillo captured my hand in his. I was shoved into the carriage, and the jolting journey back to the compound began.

Silence reigned for a moment before I sternly said, “And I hope all village prisoners will be released.”

Thirteen

I allowed my ladies to gush over my diplomatic victory as they unpinned my hair and unbuttoned my clothes. My skin felt alight with fire, and I sat resolutely, determined to keep my emotions concealed behind a mask of stone. Inside, I couldn’t tell if I was angry, or frustrated, or elated. I felt only the turmoil of feeling so much at once.

Lucia tried to engage me in meaningless conversation, but I simply shook my head. I didn’t even know why I couldn’t speak. Was it because I had succeeded in calming the crowd? Because I’d seen and spoken with Oake for the first time in a year? Because the Prince had neglected to hold my hand the entire way back and now I craved the tranquility of his touch?

Whatever words he held inside, they would not be pleasant. I’d contradicted his tax policies for the outlying villages and presumed to tell him what to do with his prisoners. Neither would pass without consequence—either from him or his father—but I found a curious satisfaction among the emotions I felt. He’d seen what he would get from me if I became his queen. I could only hope I had appeared strong enough, for I needed to show him courage meant as much as magic.

When a single tear escaped, Helena sent Matu for a draught of tea and calming herbs. She supervised while I drank it, and I had no choice but to swallow the bitter liquid. I had much work to do, from discovering Castillo’s remaining secrets, to completing the protection spell on my door. Such spells could only be hummed under cover of darkness, for which there was plenty. But the draught forced the fight from my body, and I succumbed to the numbness, the beautiful emptiness, of sleep.

#

The following morning, my stomach woke me with loud protests of my negligence from the previous day. I found blueberry muffins and weak tea on the table in the courtyard and ate the first pastry in a matter of seconds. I licked my fingers clean while I paced from one end of the courtyard to the other.

The sun hinted at rising, but full light had not yet brightened the sky. I turned as the sliding door hissed open. Lucia emerged from the suite, a smile already in place on her face. “Echo, you rise so early.”

“Old habit,” I told her. “My grandmother said the best time for gardening came before the sun crested the mountains.” My smile wobbled on my face, but I kept it there, determined to relish the memory of Grandmother rather than push it away.

Lucia held her hand toward me, a gesture Olive used when she wanted to show me one of her bouquets. “Come with me,” she said, her tranquil voice almost calming the squeezing of my heart at the thought of Olive. What had become of her? “I will show you what we do before sunrise here.”

“Intriguing.” I placed my hand in hers and let her lead me through my rooms and into the hall. She took the first door on our left, talking about Helena and Greta as we went. I agreed with whatever she said, focusing instead on what spell-song I might be able to sing to discover Olive’s well being.

The hall opened up into an enormous sewing room, and my thoughts stalled. I stopped to take in the bolts of fabrics, silky and shiny, which encompassed the entire wall to my left. Four rows of sewing machines filled the space, and each had a woman working cloths and threads into stunning dresses.

“Oh.” I moved to the notions wall on my right. Tiny drawers held buttons, and ribbons, and petals.

“Since I’m your clothing matron,” Lucia said, closing the drawer of ebony beads I couldn’t tear my eyes from, “When I’m not attending to you, I spend most of my time here.”

“It’s wonderful,” I said. “I’ve never seen so much fabric.”

“You’re talented with a needle?” Lucia asked, though she wasn’t really asking. “Perhaps you’d like to spend your early morning hours here.”

I turned my attention back to her, a rush of gratitude filling me. “Could I?” I certainly needed an escape from my new worries inside this compound. “Thank you, Lucia.”

“Perhaps you would like to begin a dress today,” she said. “I saw this challis and thought of you.” She fingered a drape of black fabric adorned with flowing pink and mustard-colored flowers.

“Nothing like a ball gown, or something you would wear to dine with the Prince. But for lounging around in the suite.” Lucia handed me the cloth, that sisterly smile on her face.

I wanted to seize her in a hug, the same way I would Olive. “Thank you,” I managed, and followed her to an empty machine. While sewing, the nagging worries about becoming a queen and cleansing the magic faded.

#

Back in the courtyard, I nibbled on another muffin as I sorted through the returning unease inside. I felt much the same now as I had in those first hours after Grandmother had died.

Alone. Frightened. Too old for my years. I didn’t want for food then, as the neighbors had brought me loaves of bread and pots of stew before her death. Now, I didn’t even consider where my next meal would come from.

Then, I had been surrounded by those who cared about me. Now, here in the compound, I had the attention of three devoted assistants, as well as two guards who seemed to know everything about me. They possessed kindness and knew exactly how to give it.

I’d felt hollowed out at Grandmother’s burial service, despite the weight of Oake’s hand in mine. My life had been wrapped up in Grandmother’s. It had purpose with her. Without her, I’d wandered, lost in a land I didn’t understand and couldn’t navigate.

The glass door slid open, and Castillo appeared in the courtyard. He could possibly restore understanding to my life. “It is after midnight.” A playful smile curled his mouth.

“That it is.” I strode over to him and stopped inches from throwing myself into his arms, surprised by how much I wanted to.

He cleared his throat, moved to the table, and plucked a muffin from the basket.

“What of the prisoners?” I followed him to the table. “Did the Prince release them?”

He slid me a glance that I was learning to interpret meant you said too much. “He did. He’s quite anxious to please you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Castillo pinched off a corner of his muffin and chewed it slowly. Finally, he said, “Sometimes kings must make unpopular choices.”

I frowned. “Killing innocent people is hardly a popular option. Especially when he doesn’t even know it’s being done.”

Castillo bowed his head. “True.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“Did he seem upset that I—?”

“I cannot speak for him.” Castillo wiped his mouth. “I thought you performed brilliantly with the villagers, though your mention of prisoners caused quite a stir. Cris didn’t know of them.” He cleared his throat. “So, you said you wanted to investigate. What did you have in mind?”

I blinked at his rapid change of topics, and took a deep breath to center myself. “A detection spell. I need to know everyone who can do magic.”

Castillo took another bite of his muffin before nodding. “A detection spell it is.”

I’d sung with Oake countless times. Working song-magic with him had felt natural—even when I made mistakes I didn’t feel out of my league.

I felt none of that ease and naturalness now, with Castillo looking at me out of the corner of his eye and the first note of the song at the edge of my upper register.

“Will you start, or shall I?” he asked.

“I will.” I could control the rebound if I began. I cleared my throat before letting the first note fly free. Castillo didn’t have to be prompted to insert his voice into the melody, and suddenly the awkwardness of singing together evaporated.

I should’ve expected to be able to sing with my bond free from worry. I’d never troubled myself over what Grandmother thought of me, and she possessed decades of experience over me.

We sang the spell through once, entombing the power in the compound. I’d forgotten how exhilarating working magic was. I’d been doing it under a heavy umbrella of worry and extreme side effects for over a year. But now, bonded to Castillo, I felt only the magic, and it was light as a misty rain, and warm.

Halfway through the second cycle, the rebounded images began to appear. People I didn’t know, most of them looking worse for the wear. I realized I was seeing the High King’s caged magicians. They appeared as if they could all use a good bath and a hot meal. I paused on one, a girl with earth-colored hair like Olive’s. But her eyes were the wrong color, and her skin disfigured with small scars. Relief flowed through me, though I hadn’t realized how worried about Olive I was until that moment.

I released each image to Castillo, seeing no reason to keep this information from him. It occurred to me that he probably knew all the magicians in the compound anyway.

Matu’s face popped up next, catching me by surprise. Helena followed him, as did Castillo, Bo, Gibson, and Cris. One of the girls, Mariana, also appeared, causing a frown to tug at my lips. I couldn’t decide if the storm in my chest was borne from jealousy or relief.

I sang the next note down a third, and the song changed to allow me to see what the magicians could do, and to what degree.

Bo, Gibson, and Castillo were all first-class magicians, with powers untold if trained and used with a bond. It made sense for Cris to be surrounded with his father’s most powerful magicians, though Castillo’s proclamation that he’d never met anyone as powerful as me paraded through my mind. He possessed first-class power, and now we were bonds.

Oake had told me that my power couldn’t be matched as long as I cultivated it properly. He’d challenged me in Iskadar, experimenting with elemental magic, and healing spells—Oake had been particularly talented in the healing arts—and earthen remedies. He called my training classical, and explained that I’d need to continue learning throughout my life.

Of course, that had all happened before the High King invaded Umon and it became dangerous to even hum to the peach blossoms. I hadn’t been cultivating my magic for a long time, but I could still remember every one of Oake’s lessons as if they were yesterday.

Matu and Helena were third-class magicians, and unbonded as indicated by their pictures coming in isolation. Helena’s image showed her performing that lifting, twisting hand gesture, and I recognized her as a future-teller. The hand gestures had been added centuries ago to give the general population something to look at while the magician hummed under their breath and entered their minds.

Matu opened his mouth, and a spell-song spilled out, though I couldn’t hear it. He didn’t look particularly graceful; his tongue didn’t know its way around a language. Suddenly he jerked his head to look at something beside him. He muttered, his lips barely moving, and pressed his eyes shut.

“Caster,” I murmured, recognizing the behavior of one who sent spells to find out how many people were approaching and what their temperament was. Or rhymes that brought light to darkness, or limericks that made a person see things that didn’t exist.

Perhaps I’d casted my father’s face into my own mind after persuading the merchant to sell me that thread for a lower price.

Mariana, an unbonded mage, was simply a fourth-class magician with talent that could be stretched and liberated should she find the right instructor. Oake could work her into a talented spell-caster.

I skipped over the sequestered magicians, and finally focused on Cris’s picture. He stretched one hand outward, indicating that his power came only through touch. I already knew he influenced emotions, though I didn’t have a label for a magician such as him.

“Find what you need?” Castillo asked.

I kept my eyes closed, still examining the image of Cris. His eyes radiated pain as he continually reached for something he would never grasp.

A pang of sadness spiraled through me.

“Don’t go feeling sorry for him,” Castillo said. “Don’t forget who allows Gibson to run things.”

I opened my eyes, effectively erasing the solemn image of the Prince. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

He held up his hands, and I noticed a long scar running across his left palm. “My mistake.”

My anger deflated. “I’m sorry, Castillo. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

He moved closer, almost near enough to feel the heat from his body. “I know you’re under stress,” he said. “I can help.” He held that scarred palm out to me, and I slid my hand into his. The contact somehow felt more intimate than two bonds simply trying to keep each other grounded.

He hummed a song of comfort, and I leaned into him, burying my face in his shoulder. I added a trill at the end of his spell, successfully entering his mind. I only saw one image—me walking toward him with my hair streaming behind me like black ribbons curling in an early spring breeze. I recognized the dress I wore as one of my market day dresses, and I carried the bolt of cloth I’d purchased to make aprons for a chef.

The image flew violently from my mind. Castillo dropped my hand and stepped back, his eyes brimming with fury. “If you want to know something, you need merely ask.” His voice sounded like needles against cement.

“Why do you have that picture in your head?” I’d made those aprons months ago, perhaps near the beginning of winter.

“I’ve kept up with your doings.”

I sensed he had more secrets to share, and unless I knew the right questions to ask, I wouldn’t discover them.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, the fire dimming in his eyes.

“Yes,” I said, only telling half of the truth. I desperately wanted to trust Castillo, but until I knew everything I didn’t think it wise.

“Good, because I trust you, Echo.” Castillo leaned down and skated his lips across my cheek. “I must go.”

Before I could process the heat spreading from my skin to my core, he turned and exited through the sliding glass door.

#

The Prince didn’t call on me that day, nor the next. I secluded myself in my chambers, afraid to venture too far lest a spying pair of eyes found me. I felt the rumors and danger pressing against the closed door like a fog. I pushed back, first by completing the protection spell on the door to my suite.

Then I retreated to the courtyard and murmured a poem that would find my application and replay all who had touched it. Helena’s manicured nails gripped the edges of the paper first. She possessed my application in the present.

As the poem progressed, I saw a pair of rough hands seize the paper. Perhaps Bo or Gibson or whoever had assigned me to Helena’s care. Before that, a series of hands traveled across the paper, some simply holding it, some splashing ink and scratching quills through boxes.

At length, I saw the hands that had filled out the application. I expected to see my sister’s slender fingers, her well-kept nails, for no one else could’ve known the details required.

Instead, I saw a man’s hands. Clean, strong, and printing in an elegant scrawl. He knew all my personal details, including my date of birth and tower location. He knew my previous residence, and the full name of Grandmother.

He knew everything.

My heart pounded against the poem, but I didn’t stop. He smoothed the parchment down and then flipped his hand over to hold the corner as his quill caught.

His left palm bore a slanted scar.

My breath leaked out of my body as the fury seeped in. Castillo certainly had been keeping up with my doings—for a lot longer than I’d thought. I’d never noticed him before the incident at the aristocrat’s house, and my stomach boiled at the thought of what he saw in me that would prompt him to submit my application.

I ended the song-magic and looked into the ink-stained sky, wondering what kind of spells I’d need to sing to discover Castillo’s secrets.

Fourteen

The next morning, I finished my dress and modeled it for Lucia.

“Gorgeous,” she said just before hugging me. I held on a beat longer than normal, imagining her as the sister Olive could’ve been had we not been so focused on eking out a living—and keeping my magic concealed. I allowed myself several moments of frenzied worry over my sister. I’d been so busy, I had not had time to truly discover if she was well.

Soon, I vowed as I left the sewing room with Lucia, only to find Matu waiting in the hall. “Good morning.” He scanned me. “Lovely dress, Echo.”

I spun for him, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

“I came to invite you to the gardens,” he said. “They’re splendid this time of year.”

Lucia nudged me toward Matu as she slipped into the suite. I took his offered arm and made note of the multiple turns he made, but there were too many to keep track of by the time we finally stepped through a door leading outside.

“Matu,” I breathed in the heady scent of flowers and sunshine. “It’s beautiful.”

He led me through the garden on a meandering path, allowing me to exclaim about the mini-roses and fawn over the mountain lilacs.

After a few minutes, I gathered my courage. “Matu, tell me, how’s Cris?”

“He’s well, my lady.” Matu maintained his grip on my arm, steering me toward a bench carved out of the wall of the compound. “He has much business he’s attending to.”

I couldn’t fathom the enormity of issues Cris must have to deal with on a daily basis, yet I still worried over whether he was displeased with how I’d handled the villagers. He hadn’t called on me, nor had I received any invitations to outings or dinners since that day.

The shade brought relief to my sun-warmed skin. “What of Castillo?” I’d not seen him since the morning before, when I’d invaded his mind without his permission.

Matu sighed, the barest of sounds, but here in the silent garden, I caught it easily.

“He’s stubborn,” Matu said. “You should know that up front.”

“I’ve figured out that much,” I said with a smile. I studied the nearby flowering shrubs as I wondered how far I should push this line of questioning. Surely it would get back to Castillo, who would likely be upset.

I dismissed the thoughts. I didn’t care if Castillo became upset. He’d submitted my application; he’d been spying on me for months, perhaps longer.

“He’ll tell you most anything,” Matu said. “I don’t wish to break his confidence.”

“Of course not.” I squeezed his arm. Before I could ask him what he used to do before coming to Umon, Lucia appeared, carefully stepping between the flowers.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But Echo has received a lunch invitation to dine with the other girls, and Helena’s insisting she return at once to make preparations.”

#

Lunch began in five minutes, and Helena still bustled about me, unsure about which necklace I should wear. I didn’t tell her that I knew what truly lay ahead, and that her son had made sure I would have a part in it. I let the words simmer inside, saving them for Castillo. The three-minute walk down the hall held the promise of another argument with him, and I actually welcomed it.

With the right jewelry finally in place, Lucia opened the door. Mariana stood next to Castillo in the hallway, beaming. “You look beautiful.” She stepped forward and hugged me.

“Hello, Mariana.” I felt a rush of relief—and a measure of disappointment—at her presence.

Her eyes were unassuming and kind. Her cheeks shone with a rosy tint. “I have the best gossip.” Just like that, her arm slipped through mine and she chattered about Athe sneaking into the Prince’s private chambers in the middle of the night.

“Why would she do that?”

“Rumors are everywhere,” Mariana said. “But I heard she was mad with jealousy. She wanted time alone with His Majesty. She kissed him!”

I gasped, but my mind churned on the information. Did the other girls not get time alone with the Prince?

“Gibson came running when His Majesty yelled, and Athe has been sent home!” Mariana’s eyes flickered with delight. “Now there are only eleven of us.”

I gripped her arm tighter against my body. “He sent her home?”

“Apparently he doesn’t want a bride who is so clingy,” Mariana said. Castillo sniffed, but I didn’t turn around. “We’ve all been talking about how we should act more like you.”

“More like me?”

“You act like the last thing you want is to be chosen. And His Majesty fawns over you for it.”

I definitely heard Castillo sniff this time, and I yanked my handkerchief from my pocket. I twisted to face him and dangled the slip of cloth in his face. “Need this?”

Something urgent flamed in his eyes, and I fisted the handkerchief. I stared steadily back, wishing he’d sing the notes he needed to see inside my mind, hear the angry words I’d saved for him.

Mariana watched us, waiting. But I wouldn’t concede. Not to him.

Finally, she tugged on my arm as she pushed open the door to the room where we dined. Feminine chatter met my ears, and the smell of yeast filled the air. I started to turn away from Castillo, determined to keep my thoughts to myself until they could truly be unleashed.

“Princess, may I speak with you?” Castillo sounded kind and respectful. He cast Mariana a glance. “Alone?”

I waved her into the room and folded my arms. “Yes?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, a gesture I’d never seen from him. “I wish—would you like to join me this evening for an outing?”

Surprise shot through me, along with a heavy dose of fear. We shouldn’t be seen sneaking off alone together. Again, my mind spun around what could be so important that he’d take such a monumental risk.

“An outing?” My voice strayed into the too-high range. An invitation was the last thing I’d expected from him. A warning, maybe, about Mariana. Or a stern word about keeping my magic undetected around the other girls. But not an invitation that would take me away from the problems of this place; certainly not when the sole reason he had brought me here was to be courted by another—much more powerful—man.

I studied him and found an unreadable puzzle staring back. “Where shall I meet you?”

“You need not meet me,” he said. “I’ll come collect you, just as I always do. Be . . . cautious at lunch.” He turned and moved down the hallway on graceful legs. I watched him go, wondering when I’d started noticing the gentle curve of his biceps beneath his uniform or the way his voice slipped into a lower pitch when speaking to me.

That spinning feeling started in my stomach, but this time I had a name for it. Attraction. The combination of his magic and good looks was as dangerous as accepting his invitation, especially when I still felt a thread of fury reserved for when we could honestly converse.

#

When I entered the room, several girls watched me with calculating eyes, but Mariana kept them at bay. I noticed the whispers and the glares, but thankfully, the food came only moments after I did.

During lunch, I shoved away the memory of the crackle of warning in Castillo’s eyes for the fifth time. I struggled to pay attention around the other girls, because I didn’t want to give them any more fuel for their gossip circles. I already felt as if the compound had eyes and ears where it shouldn’t, this room included.

When I tuned into the conversation, I wished I hadn’t.

“Those alarms sent my maids into a panic,” a girl named Gazelle said. “And then I couldn’t leave my room until the next morning.”

“None of us could,” Mariana said. “I told you to save some of your breakfast pastries for emergencies.” She playfully waggled her fork toward Gazelle.

I smiled while the other girls laughed, hoping that counted as participation so no one would notice how rigidly I sat, or that I couldn’t seem to swallow my salad.

A strange pulse rippled through the group, causing the edges of my vision to vibrate. I tasted magic on the back of my tongue, thick and sweet—a memory extraction spell. Someone somewhere knew something and was concealing it from a powerful magician. I envisioned the greed and hatred in Gibson’s eyes, and a shiver ran the length of my spine.

I sucked in a breath and examined the other ten girls at the table. No one seemed to notice anything peculiar. My eyes strayed to Mariana, the only other girl who possessed the ability to work magic.

Mariana still giggled with the rest of the group. Her eyes caught mine, and I laughed, but it sounded too forced and much too loud. I focused on Gazelle and Kenya, who had their heads bent toward Laisa. I listened and added my own suspicions about what the alarm could have meant.

Everything felt wrong. When the servants came to collect the dishes and serve the main course, I jumped. Did they see? Did they notice the clenching of my jaw? The darting of my eyes from girl to servant to goblet? The magic grew stronger; I could almost hear the song. When the servants sealed us in the room again, dulling the magic, relief spread through my body.

I spent the rest of the meal ignoring the lingering magic and gossiping about what the Prince might look like in the morning, fresh from bed.

#

After lunch, Matu returned me to my rooms and I collapsed into the recliner next to my bed. If lunchtime would be that exhausting every day, I’d have to find an excuse to dine elsewhere. I felt like I never shook the watchful gazes of the other girls, and that they’d followed me here, to my bedroom, still observing my every breath.

I reminded myself I’d completed the protection spell on my door and managed to put the thought of constantly being watched from my mind long enough to entertain Lucia with impressions of Kenya—the girl who had taken up Athe’s role of tormenting me. I never could get the right amount of disdain in my voice, and I couldn’t make my nose turn up the way hers did.

Too soon, Lucia’s work demanded she leave. She patted my hand as she did, and I stood and grabbed her in a hug. “Thank you, Lucia,” I said. “You’ve made being here bearable.”

“Oh, I’m sure that handsome prince helps a bit too, my lady.” She laughed as she exited my suite.

I wandered to the sliding glass door before turning back to the closet. I’d seen Lucia come out with gowns in shades of lilac and tangerine. I managed to select a gown the color of fresh-churned butter and slip it over my hips. It was then that I realized the buttons were situated on the back, and that they were the size of pinheads.

Lucia found me a moment before I ripped the delicate notions. “Let me help you.” Her fingers brushed mine away.

“No, I can do it. You have other work.”

“It’s what sisters do,” she said, swatting my insistent hands away. My arms fell to my sides, and I burned with emotion because Olive had indeed helped me on many occasions. I felt so much guilt over trying to ready myself for an event that shouldn’t be on my social calendar at all.

“Did I miss an invitation?” Lucia asked, her voice cool and soothing.

“It’s simply . . . ” I squashed the twinge of shame that I shouldn’t be looking forward to an outing with Castillo. I should be looking for volumes that would detail the song-magic I needed to become a valiant queen, or singing spells that would detail Cris’s motives and plans.

“No matter who it is, I’m sure he’s a worthy reason to want to look your best.”

Greta arrived and painted golds and browns over my eyelids and made my skin glow like the moon, never pushing to know more about my appointment—appointment—with Castillo. Another twinge of guilt turned into a stab, but Castillo had information I needed, and he had invited me.

Lucia twisted my hair on top of my head, pinning it in place and adorning it with decorative sticks. She said it looked like it could hold stars, deep and radiantly dark.

Helena remained strangely absent. When I inquired after her, I received a vague “Don’t worry, Echo. I’ll help you get dressed.” Lucia disappeared into the closet and returned with a pair of shoes in gold and one that appeared to have been dipped in bronze.

“It’s not about needing her help.” I pointed to the gold flats. “I wish to ask her something. Where can I find her?” I had a few minutes before afternoon melted into evening.

Lucia helped me into the shoes, her nimble fingers just as steady as Helena’s. “She has gone to her daughter’s house for a few days. Don’t worry about her. She will be back soon enough, and then you won’t be able to get rid of her.”

“She’s gone?” Unrest clawed at my insides. Had she left willingly?

“She’ll return soon enough.” She smiled, and the way it shaped her face reminded me of Grandmother. My lips straightened as a wave of loneliness washed over me. It was ridiculous; Lucia standing before me was every bit the friend I needed. I’d bonded with another. I shouldn’t feel so isolated.

Yet I was lonely for Grandmother, the one person who had wiped my tears, and bandaged my knees, and attended to my every need in the middle of the night. She loved me through hard times and good and taught me how to look for the best in people. Something must have shown on my face, because Lucia’s smile slipped, too.

“She’s still here with you,” she whispered. “She’s proud of you.”

“Who?” I choked back the tears.

“Whoever it is you’re missing.” Lucia finished fussing with the pleats in my dress and stepped back. She looked at me closely, all traces of sadness gone. A fierce determination burned in her eyes. “Be strong, Echo.”

Lucia reminded me of Olive—someone who cared about me, and only wanted what was best for me. I nodded and reached for her hand. It felt dry and papery between mine. I wondered what task I’d delayed her from completing. “Thank you, Lucia.”

Before she could respond, a knock sounded on the door. I frowned. “It’s too early for Castillo.”

Lucia’s doe-eyes found mine before she unlatched the door and opened it. The Prince appeared, looking bold and regal in his navy blue suit and a pale yellow shirt. “Good evening. May I come in?”

Lucia stammered a greeting and stepped back to allow him space to enter my suite. My hand fluttered to my throat like I needed something there to anchor me.

“Echo.” Cris moved closer to me. “Did you get my message?” He seemed perfectly at ease here in my chambers. He didn’t gaze at the furnishings or acknowledge my maid. I realized that she’d melted out of sight as effortlessly as raindrops in the sun.

“Message?”

“Castillo’s taking you beyond the compound tonight, is he not?”

I tried to find any hint of displeasure in his eyes, but found only open curiosity. It reared into confusion, and finally what I recognized as frustration. He pursed his lips and adjusted his suit coat, something I catalogued as a sign of his nerves.

He scanned me from head to toe. “You certainly look lovely.”

Saving me from having to answer, Gibson opened the door and bent to look at me around the Prince. “Only a few more minutes, Your Majesty. We must not be late for—” Gibson cut himself off, glared at me, and pulled the door closed again.

“Late for what?” I asked, hoping to divert his attention from me.

Cris waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing. I’m most concerned about you.” His tone lingered on the edge of hurt, though he’d managed to erase the emotion from his face.

“Concerned, Your Majesty?” I forced my hands to my sides and a small smile to my lips.

“You have not attended the last two events to which you have been invited.” This time, his words sounded like an accusation.

“I’ve received no such invitations.” I stepped toward him. I saw the rebounded image of him with sadness in his eyes, with the weight of the world pushing against him. I knew he wanted me to be his wife only to impress his father, but at that moment, I would’ve gladly said yes if it meant erasing the haunted look from his face.

He exhaled and raked his hands through his hair. He finally cast his eyes about for the maids. “That’s odd. I’ve sent them here. The message about your adventure with Castillo, too.”

I frowned and joined him in looking for Lucia or Greta. Only shadows stared back. “Perhaps the invitations have been intercepted.” I didn’t know by whom. My maids wouldn’t do that—would they? Perhaps Bo or Gibson had made sure the invitations didn’t reach me.

“I—I’m sorry. I haven’t been ignoring you on purpose,” I said. “I thought . . . Well, I thought you did not wish to see me.”

He took both my hands in his. “Now why would I not want to see you?”

His touch sent nervous energy buzzing through me, but after only a moment it dissipated into nothing. I pulled my hands away gently, so as not to upset him, but I didn’t want him using his magic to calm my senses. “Because, Your Majesty—”

“I wish you would call me Cris,” he murmured.

I swallowed back the emotion gathering in my throat. “Because, Cris, I told the villagers they didn’t have to pay your taxes.”

He regained his royal stance, displeasure dancing amid the sparkle in his eyes. “Ah, yes, that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, more urgency in my voice. “I did what I thought best at the time. Those villages support themselves. They’ve never paid tribute to the city; they shouldn’t have to start now.”

“Where do you think this extravagance comes from?” He gestured to the rich carpets and fine hardwoods of my room.

I met his steely gaze with one of my own. “I didn’t ask for such opulence.”

“You applied to be my bride.”

I did not, I wanted to shout.

“Someone has to pay taxes,” Cris said gently.

“Not the villagers.” I raised my chin. “Tax your citizens here.”

“I already do.”

“Then that should be enough.”

“If it isn’t?”

“Examine your spending habits,” I countered coolly. Though I couldn’t see Greta or Lucia, I definitely heard one of them suck in a shocked breath.

“Echo, I find you . . . ” Cris studied my face with a mixture of anger and awe on his. “Fascinating.”

“In a good way, I hope,” I said before I could think. Sudden mortification struck me. Was that my attempt at flirting? I swallowed hard and hoped it had worked. I didn’t want Cris to think I wasn’t interested in him. The other girls definitely were, and they probably acted like it.

Quick as a blink, he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss lasted only a heartbeat before he drew back. “A very good way,” he murmured, the heat of his breath brushing my cheek.

I stood there with my eyes closed, tasting him in my mouth. I could scarcely breathe, and I wondered briefly if his magic had somehow caused me to abandon all reason. “Thank you,” I said, and immediately regretted it. I opened my eyes as he remade the distance between us.

Cris smiled down at me, the silence expanding into an awkward substance between us. Finally, he snapped out of it, checked his watch, and frowned.

“I do hope you will join me for dinner tomorrow,” he said, looking at me and smiling in a way that erased the frustration from his eyes. “Consider this your personal invitation.”

Thank you rang in my head. What a stupid thing to say after receiving a kiss, especially for one hoping to be a bride. Thank you?

“You will come tomorrow?” He reached to open the door but waited for my answer.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated. At least it wasn’t thank you.

He ducked his head as he opened the door. On the other side stood Castillo, his soldier uniform replaced with a fine suit of charcoal. He wore a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, under the jacket. I had time to wonder how he knew what color I’d be wearing while the three of us stood there staring at one another.

I glanced into the hallway behind him. Gibson and Bo couldn’t be seen, but the slithering feeling in my stomach told me they lingered nearby.

“Take good care of her tonight, Castillo.” Cris clapped him on the shoulder as he left. Apparently Cris didn’t see Castillo as a threat to our relationship, something for which I should’ve been grateful. Instead, it added a weight to the stone in my stomach.

“I will.” Castillo turned to watch Cris saunter down the hall. Then he turned back to me. “Are you ready?” He folded his hands behind his back, the quiet amusement that usually danced in his eyes absent.

“You only asked me because he wanted you to.” I wiped my mouth uncomfortably, unsettled about the lingering tingle from Cris’s lips and hurt that I’d thought this outing was Castillo’s idea.

“Your lipstick is a bit smudged.” Castillo closed the door behind him after he entered. He leaned closer, and now something sharp accentuated in his eyes. Maybe anger, maybe not. “Cris apparently favors the same shade as you. I didn’t know my brother was fond of wearing makeup.”

Fifteen

A few seconds passed during which one of my ladies coughed quietly. I looked at Castillo as embarrassment raced through my veins. My cheeks warmed even as my fingers curled into a ball.

“I didn’t know you had been following my every move for months.”

“Echo.” He sounded tired, which only infuriated me further.

“You filled out my application.” I delivered my words with just the right amount of cold anger.

He glanced into the shadows. “Can we discuss this later?”

“No, we cannot.” I moved into his personal space. “What has become of my sister?”

He stared down at me, almost a challenge. “She’s safe, cared for.” His voice barely carried between us. “Please, let me explain further outside of these walls.” He cocked an elbow for me to slip my arm through.

I hesitated for a moment so he’d know this conversation hadn’t ended, that he’d have to explain everything. He seemed relieved when I finally slid my hand along his arm. My magic reacted to him upon contact, and a fluttery feeling fogged my thoughts.

We didn’t speak as we left my suite and meandered down the hall. This time, Castillo didn’t cast furtive glances behind us or double-check around corners. My brain whirled, first from the way my body felt spongy after Cris’s kiss and then to the way Castillo had looked at me with that strange glint in his eyes.

I stopped walking, forcing Castillo to pause with me. “I know what that was.”

“What?”

I met his gaze. “You’re jealous.”

He dropped my arm like it burned him, and I cursed myself for being so foolish. “I mean, of me—” I covered my face with my hands, hoping that would erase some of the horror at having said something so ridiculous.

“Of you?” His laugh came out high and strained.

A burning sensation crept up through my throat, and I knew I was going to say or do something insane. I looked down at my hands as they twisted around each other. “Castillo, I’m—I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

I jerked my eyes up to his and he quickly held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean that. Well, I did, but I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, you should have.” I nodded. “I say whatever I want. You should be able to as well.”

He leaned closer. “No, you don’t say whatever you want. You say what no one else is brave enough to say.”

I leaned into him, far enough that if he would just take me into his arms I could easily step into them. My magic roared upward, spiraling through my chest and making my breath catch somewhere in my mouth. He shifted his feet, cleared his throat, and the moment broke. “Shall we continue?” He gestured down the hall while I regained my footing.

“Of course,” I said, but I couldn’t prevent the sting of disappointment at his rejection. At the same time, I knew I shouldn’t kiss him, especially not here in the hallway where anyone could see. Probably not at all, judging by his reaction. And definitely not after Cris and I’d just shared something along the same intimate lines. This time, I shot a glance behind me to make sure no one had witnessed the exchange. The hallway was clear, but I felt the eyes of many on me, and a measure of relief filled me when we finally escaped the compound.

The air outside held the heat of the day, but it was much easier to breathe than the stifling currents inside. I inhaled deeply and turned back to Castillo. He stood watching me, his hands tucked behind his back.

“We are without the walls.” I raised my eyebrows, a clear invitation for him to start explaining.

Castillo studied me, almost like he could see beneath the decorative makeup and fancy ball gowns to the true me underneath. I both appreciated it and didn’t like it at the same time.

“You really are too smart for your own good,” he said. “Detection spell? Reversal?”

I ignored his questions. “Where’s Olive?”

He continued away from the compound before speaking. “We bought her out of your tower agreement—for twice what you paid. We gave her options, but she decided to return to Iskadar.”

Fierce jealousy reared inside me, though I knew I couldn’t return to my village, even if I had the means. It sat too close to Nyth, and I’d left for my safety. Returning would be suicide, though living here in Umon for the past year, unable to perform magic, had been just as tortuous.

“Will she be safe there?” I asked.

“She’s travelling with the royal guard. She should be arriving tomorrow, and she agreed to send word to you with one of the guards.”

I narrowed my eyes. “When were you planning to tell me?” I had learned that Castillo had a plan for everything.

“When the letter arrived.”

My anger deflated into frustration. “Why did you fill out my application?”

His shoulders lifted slightly. “I don’t wish to tell you right now.”

“Too bad.”

“We have a reservation I don’t want to miss.”

I considered him, remembering Matu’s warning about Castillo’s stubbornness. I didn’t wish to ruin our outing, and I could persuade him for answers after our reservation.

“Where are you taking me, Mister de la Fuenta?”

Half a smile quirked his mouth. “You’re a difficult lady to entertain, Miss del Toro.” He circled me, a mocking glint in his eye. “Matu takes you to the gardens, so I cannot do that. You and Cris speak of the river and flowering bushes, so the Burisia is out. I didn’t think you would want to wander through the market, as you never seemed overly fond of that.”

My grin slipped at the reminder that Castillo had been stalking me while I thought I was living inconspicuously. “Then, where?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see.” He hadn’t arranged a carriage, and we walked the length of the street before I realized our location. I’d come into the nobility sector several times for my work, but the government buildings and King’s palace overlooked the Burisia. The compound had been constructed next to the royal square, and as we advanced west, my surroundings became more familiar.

He played the perfect gentleman as we went, making small talk about the weather and the state of affairs in the city. He answered my questions about Nyth, which I had expected him to dodge.

“Nyth is an interesting place,” he said, turning me south toward a section of the city that housed specialty shops and eateries. I hadn’t spent much time in either, for my sewing salary didn’t permit such luxuries. “The people there are colorful, and vibrant. My father hates them.”

“Vibrant?” I asked. “I’d think your father would extinguish that fairly quickly.”

“He has a policy for everything.”

“And I’m sure you know them all,” I teased.

“Of course,” Castillo replied, without a trace of sarcasm. He didn’t joke about people or policies. Where Cris enjoyed discussions centering on the lakes of Nyth, which he’d said were clear all the way to the bottom, Castillo adored politics and state affairs. I doubted whether he even knew what kind of forests existed in Nyth.

“So you drafted policies for the High King. Why did you leave Nyth?”

“My work for my brother has taken me many places.”

“Most recently to Umon,” I commented, pausing with Castillo as he turned toward an ice cream shop.

“If there has ever been a country that needs my political help, it’s Umon.” He smiled when he said it, and familiar heat splashed my neck.

“Tell me what you’re doing here,” I said. “What you’re really doing here.”

He pushed open the door to a shop, causing a bell to sound. “We’re making ice cream.” He gestured for me to enter the store ahead of him.

I stepped right into him in the doorway. “You will tell me.”

“You need to be sweetened up first.”

I couldn’t help my laughter, and the shop owner rushed us as soon as Castillo let the door close behind him. “Thank you for coming, Your Majesty,” he gushed. “Right this way.”

He hurried away as I gaped at Castillo. “Your Majesty?”

“I rather like it,” he said. “Don’t spoil this for me, Echo. He need not know he has the bastard de la Fuenta in his shop.” Castillo’s charming smile was the only convincing I needed.

#

I licked the last of the mint ice cream Castillo and I had made from my spoon. I’d only crushed my finger once while pounding the mint leaves, and only a little of the mixture had splattered my dress.

Castillo, of course, hadn’t injured himself, nor had he soiled his clothing. He was almost too perfect in his grace and sophistication. I thought he might be playing his part of a prince a bit too well for the sake of the confectioner.

We exited the shop to a sky full of stars and the coolness of darkness. The closest lamp lay thirty feet to my right.

“Had I known we were going to be cooking, I would have worn something more casual,” I said as I moved toward the orange light. Castillo followed, catching me quickly and lacing his arm through mine.

“Did you enjoy your time outside the compound?”

“So far,” I said. “I’ll never look at ice cream the same.”

“Let’s not go back so soon,” he said. “I know a park on the next lane. Perhaps you’re not tired of roses yet?”

“Never.” I allowed him to lead me to the park, the fragrance there immediately bringing images of Olive to mind. Every arrangement she made had at least one rose. They were her favorite flower.

Despite missing my sister, I’d never felt so normal as I did strolling with Castillo down the streets of Umon. His soft voice kept the conversation going, and though he spoke of procedures and policies, I didn’t find the topics boring. I noticed other couples in the streets, other girls in fine dresses, other men leaning in close to speak. Life beyond the compound continued, something I’d forgotten.

Once we found a bench, Castillo let the conversation die. I knew he wouldn’t initiate the one we needed to have, so I steeled myself to speak. “Tell me why you and Cris are here, in Umon.”

“Cris is searching for the perfect bride to please our father.” Castillo stretched his legs out and leaned back. “Someone who can make him the most powerful ruler in the land. He believes it might be you—and I do, too. I knew you wouldn’t know about the bride-choosing ceremony, and I knew you needed to be here. So yes, I filled out your application. I made sure you were selected, and I made sure you knew nothing until the night of the opening dinner.”

The intricacy of planning such details spun through my mind. His actions testified of his beliefs—and I held my magic tight, determined not to release my power inside the compound again.

“Gibson will try to force you to reveal the range of your abilities,” Castillo continued as if he knew I was gathering my magic closer. “He’ll do whatever it takes to know for certain, for he won’t allow the High King to take chances with who Cris chooses.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Will you do whatever it takes to make sure I’m chosen?”

Castillo placed his hand on my arm and squeezed gently. “Like I said, simply ask. I’ll tell you.”

I nodded and steadied myself by taking a deep breath. “Why are you here, Castillo?”

“I’m here to make sure that Cris gets what he wants, yet fails to become the greatest ruler in this land.”

I thought on his words, but they didn’t make sense. “How?”

Castillo picked at his fingernails.

She will be chosen, warped through my mind in Helena’s voice. You must be sure to assign Matu as her guard.

“You want me to marry him,” I mused. “You want me to become his all-powerful princess so that he succeeds in pleasing his father. And then . . . ” I squeezed my eyes closed as I tried to riddle it out.

“I don’t wish to see Cris suffer through any more pain,” Castillo said, not really telling me what I wanted to know. “He’s one of my oldest friends, and I would do anything for him. Our father is a wicked, cruel man, and I will not watch Cris take any more abuse from him.” He spoke with extreme conviction. I felt his magic begin to stir inside his core, but he subdued it.

“So if you marry him and he succeeds in proving to our father that he can be the type of king that Nyth needs, I won’t have to stand by while Cris suffers further torment. But he cannot become High King.”

“That’s quite the conundrum.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to understand. “You want him to be worthy to be King, but not actually become King.”

“Exactly.”

I looked openly at him. “Then who would rule Nyth?”

Even through the shadowy night, I saw the answer flicker across his face, flame to life in his eyes.

“Oh, no. I cannot rule Nyth!” I sprang to my feet and paced away from the bench. This park was quite deserted, something which only made my stomach writhe with greater intensity. Though I’d hoped to infuse goodness back into magic, as the ancient magicians of Relina had done, ruling Nyth had never crossed my mind.

“I’m a seamstress from Iskadar, a tiny farming village on the eastern edge of a land that has long opposed Nyth and her practices. I wasn’t born to be a queen, and certainly not their queen.”

“But you were,” Castillo said, his voice husky and fervent. He stood and placed both hands on my shoulders to stop me from moving. “You were. Cris suspects as much, and I’ve seen it.”

“Why did you come here?” My lower lip shook and my skin felt clammy.

“We came here because of the prophecy. Someone predicted that Umon would birth a queen that could unseat my father and start a new royal bloodline. Pacify the gods of magic and the gods of man; someone who could bring harmony to both worlds.”

“Who predicted that?” I asked, though I already knew. “How do you know it’s me?”

Castillo pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. “Helena. And she’s never wrong in her predictions.”

My heart stuttered with the finality in his tone. My stomach felt too heavy, my feet too light. “Why did you not just whisk me away from my tower in the dead of night?”

“It takes time to plan something of this magnitude, Echo. First the application process. Acquiring the servants twelve girls require. The construction of the compound.”

“It’s all a hoax,” I said, making my thoughts a reality. “A carefully crafted lie so you could get me into the compound and Cris could choose me.”

“It was Cris’s idea,” Castillo said. “He’s desperate to please our father. There are many desperate to help him do so, as well as bring the right person to the position of power.”

“Many?” I asked, as the faces of my servants—of Lucia—radiated through my mind.

“Yes, many,” Castillo whispered, as if saying it too loud would make it worse. “Lucia, Greta, Helena—and a great deal of others.”

I pressed my face to his chest and found comfort in the steadiness of his heartbeat, unable to ask any more questions.

“I didn’t wish to lie to you,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but there were things that needed to be done first.” His breath warmed my ear as he dipped his mouth closer to it. “At some point, you’ll have to show Cris what you can do magically. Then we’ll all know.”

Except the other girls. I straightened and stepped out of Castillo’s comforting embrace. “I assume the other girls know nothing of this?”

“Nothing.”

“I will not watch those innocent girls get hurt,” I said, feeling very much the way I had when I’d declared the villagers free from paying the Prince’s taxes. Powerful. In control. “In any way.”

Castillo smiled, but it held only sadness. “Of course you won’t.”

“I’m serious, Castillo. What happens to the girls when they’re dismissed?”

“I left those details to Cris.”

“You lie,” I said. “Cris doesn’t dictate how things go. You said I only needed to ask. I’m asking. What happens to the girls when they’re dismissed?”

Castillo moved away from me, as if the answer would require space. “Cris has tasked Gibson and Bo with their removal.”

“Removal?” My voice strayed into a higher pitch. I thought of Athe, and how she’d been sent home. “What does that mean?”

“I truly don’t know. I suspect Cris doesn’t either.”

“Then there will be no more cuts,” I said. “Bo and Gibson cannot be allowed to ‘remove’ anyone. The other girls must continue to believe this charade.”

He nodded his agreement, though the hardness in his eyes told me he wasn’t pleased at being ordered around.

“I won’t let the Prince use me as a pawn,” I said.

“We’re bonds now.” He stepped toward me again, his shoulders losing their stiffness and his mouth softening. “We can protect each other.”

Something cracked inside me from the intense way Castillo looked at me. His eyes held hunger and compassion at the same time. My heart raced. I wanted his arms around me again, wanted his lips to whisper that everything would be all right.

“Tell me what to do,” I said, forcing away the thought of his lips. “And I will do it.”

“Watch,” he said. “And wait. There will come a time to show Cris everything. And Echo.” He stepped close, close. “No one knows of our bond. Not even Cris. We need to keep it that way for as long as possible.”

Sixteen

I noticed Castillo cast a quick glance left, then right, as we re-entered the compound. I wondered whom he found lurking, because I could definitely feel someone’s watchful eyes. The air felt lodged in my throat, and Castillo’s confessions paraded through my mind.

I searched for the strength that had coursed through my body as I’d stood on the roof of the carriage. Had it really only been last week? There, the fight in my body had forced my mind to make quick decisions. My mouth had spoken with authority.

Inside the compound, the battle felt just as urgent. I didn’t have an angry mob with weapons brandished and torches burning. My life didn’t lie in immediate danger. But it was threatened nonetheless.

I drew a deep breath for strength. “Thank you for this evening.” My voice didn’t waver, much to my great relief. Castillo stood silently in front of the closed door to my suite, a steady strength behind me. I borrowed his courage. “Castillo, promise me one thing.”

“Anything, my raven-haired princess.” He twisted a stray lock of my hair around his finger and examined it. I felt as if I could ask him for the moon, and he’d retrieve it for me.

“I’m interested in knowing everything about you. Promise me there will be time for that.” Again, the boldness of my voice surprised me. My breath wisped out in shallow gasps, matching the pattering of my heart.

Shock traveled across his features, then regret, then something akin to joy, and finally sadness. “Perhaps,” was all he said.

“That’s not a promise,” I teased, trying to make light of the moment.

“It’s one I don’t know if I can keep,” he replied. “Though I’d like to very much. And I always keep my promises.”

I tightened my arm against his, then removed it. I stood on my tiptoes and embraced him. “Castillo—”

“I’d like to kiss you right now,” he whispered as my stomach swooped from the emotion in his voice. Or perhaps because of the twining of my magic with his. “I’d like to kiss you and never stop.” He broke the embrace and looked at me. The intensity in his eyes almost scared me. “But I’m afraid I will ruin Greta’s masterful work.”

“It’s already ruined.” I felt a mess, as I had such turmoil raging inside.

“Hardly.” He dipped his head toward mine, and I thought he would kiss me no matter what would be ruined. He pulled me closer and closer until an empty space couldn’t be found between us. His mouth bypassed mine and skated over my neck. A trail of heat accompanied his touch, sending fire through my system. My eyes drifted closed so I could capture the fresh smell of him and the feel of his lips against my throat.

“There,” he whispered. “Your face is still as perfect as always.”

I opened my eyes, feeling wobbly and weak. We studied each other in the dim light, the newness of our relationship blooming between us.

Finally I smiled, and the half grin I received in return erased my lingering self-consciousness.

He reached behind me and opened the door, where Greta and Lucia waited to receive me. He bowed his head and backed away, only turning when Greta began to swing the door closed. My hand fluttered at my neck where he had kissed me.

“Ready for bed?” Lucia asked, breaking the trance I’d fallen into.

“Yes,” I said, though sleep didn’t linger on the immediate horizon. I let her remove my dress and unpin my hair. “Lucia, you haven’t received invitations from the Prince, have you?”

“No, Echo. No such invitations have come.”

“I thought not.” My mind churned on what had happened to them as I slid between cool sheets and bid my maids goodnight.

Sleep stayed far from my thoughts as I began the location chant for Athe. I didn’t know her last name, but I felt I must find out where she’d been sent. I held onto the hope that the rebound from my spell-song would show me a lavish home on the banks of the Burisia River, with Athe taking a midnight stroll before retiring.

I pictured her platinum hair, her dark, exotic eyes. I poured the image into the song, and waited for the rebound. It came quickly, but it didn’t paint a picturesque view of the water.

Athe’s eyes were closed. Her shiny hair lay in straight strands and looked like tarnished gold next to her gray skin. Her lips were blue.

She was dead.

#

Half an hour later, a powerful magic roused me from my state of worry. I sat up in bed, pressing my palm over my pounding heart as I struggled to make sense of the song-magic surrounding me.

I was reminded briefly of Oake, for this magic felt ancient and huge. I knew it was not Oake, for his power didn’t play dangerous games and whisper in tongues I couldn’t comprehend. I felt an urgent need to be in the same room with this newly arrived magician; my magic craved to be near his.

I quickly changed into an aqua gown that had a zipper—no blasted buttons in sight. I sang a silencing spell, grateful beyond words that I could voice my magic without the earth swaying or voices plaguing me. The door closed behind me with a puff of air instead of a click, and I stole down the hall toward the spiraling ramp.

Ten minutes later, I stared at Cris’s door, wondering what age-old spell-song had lured me here.

Seventeen

Gibson emerged from the hall that led to the personal rooms in the Prince’s apartment. I’d been waiting nervously on an elegant leather couch for the past fifteen minutes, not quite sure why I’d come, but knowing I needed to be here. I couldn’t erase Athe’s rebound from my mind.

“His Majesty is sorry this is taking so long,” he said, but he did not sound apologetic. “He has asked me to offer you a drink.”

“Water would be lovely,” I said, dodging the thought of alcohol at this late hour.

“Water,” Gibson grumbled as he disappeared around the corner. When he returned, Bo accompanied him. They leaned against the wall, a barrier between me and Cris.

I sipped the water, not fully committed to drinking it outright. I nearly choked when I thought perhaps Bo or Gibson had poisoned it. I put the glass on the table in front of me and ignored the hostile glares of His Majesty’s personal bodyguards.

In the resulting silence, voices carried from down the hall. Terror struck me full in the chest. Cris wasn’t alone. I couldn’t place the emotion in the voices, and my magical abilities were unlike Matu’s, who could’ve felt if it was a man or a woman.

“I’m interrupting,” I said, pushing myself to standing. “Will you kindly let Cris know that I’ll come by tomorrow morning?”

Bo’s eyes narrowed and a growl rumbled in his throat. “Do I look like your messenger?” He blew out his breath and folded his meaty arms over his chest.

“How dare you call him Cris?” Gibson demanded. Quicker than I thought possible, he crossed the room and shook a finger in my face. “You will show more respect than that.”

I took a step back and met the couch. “I will likely be your queen one day. I would be careful if I were you.” I fell into the sofa as if my words had sapped my strength.

Gibson bent down so he was still level with me. “You are nothing to me, girl. I have been by His Majesty’s side long before you came along, and I shall still be here long after you have gone.”

I focused on his yellow teeth. They foamed with spittle and clacked against his words. I nodded, my breath coming quicker. I wanted to sing one high note and sew his lips shut, but I hadn’t been lured here to reveal myself to Gibson.

A whistle sounded and just as quickly as Gibson had jumped down my throat, he retreated. Bo cut off the sound, made an angry slashing motion with his hand, and glared. Gibson returned the hostility in the form of a hiss and regained his position against the wall as if nothing had happened. I longed to call for Castillo, and together we would unite our voices until Bo and Gibson begged for release.

I lunged for the water and gulped it, suddenly not caring if it was poisoned or not. The coolness slid down my throat, extinguishing the heat of embarrassment flaming in my face. My hand shook as I replaced the glass on the table.

“Echo,” Cris said, and I cried out. He didn’t pay his bodyguards a second glance as he approached. “What is it? Are you all right?” I let him draw me into an embrace. Over his shoulder, Gibson and Bo wore identical looks of hatred, but whether for me, for Cris, or for each other I knew not.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “What took you so long?”

He held me at arm’s length, his hands warm on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Echo. I was not expecting you tonight, and I had another appointment.”

“A woman?” I asked, though I didn’t know why I cared. Perhaps I held onto the hope that he would fall in love with me, that our marriage would be more than a power play for both of us.

At the same time, I toyed with the idea that Cris would choose someone else. That Castillo was wrong about Helena’s prediction, and we could somehow escape this compound and live the rest of our lives getting to know each other, weaving our magic into a bond that could survive the sharp claws of death. I quickly dismissed such ridiculous thoughts. I wasn’t in love with Castillo. Making ice cream and strolling through the streets of Umon as we laid sinister plans didn’t equate to love.

Infatuation, I thought, even as I gazed upon Cris’s handsome face. I reminded myself that he was touching me and likely influencing me with his magic.

Cris planted a kiss on my temple. “Not a woman,” he said. “Come, I suppose you’ll have to meet him sooner or later.” He slipped one arm around my waist and led me toward the hallway that snaked further into his apartment. “Though I would prefer it be later.” When we passed Bo and Gibson, a subtle growl ground through Bo’s throat.

Every sense sharpened as Cris pushed open a door to reveal a sitting room fit for kings. Black leather couches and chairs sat next to gold-and-glass tables. Crystal dripped from the ceiling, from the sconces on the walls, from the drapery hardware. The curtains were drawn and gas lamps glowed, giving the room a muted feel.

I stopped breathing altogether when a man separated himself from a lounger, and stood. I volleyed my gaze back and forth between him and Cris, placing the long nose, the dark eyes, the square jaw. They were practically mirror copies of each other.

“Your father.” I hoped my voice carried more awe than fear, though both coursed through me. “The High King.”

“You must be Echo,” the High King said. His voice could paint pictures. I lost myself inside the tonalities of it, at once realizing the magical qualities swirling within. No wonder he was disappointed in his son’s limited abilities. My understanding of Cris clicked into clarity. “My son said you were busy this evening.” He pierced Cris with a look that spoke of his extreme displeasure.

“She was,” Cris said feebly. The reason Cris had arranged for Castillo to get me out of the compound tonight made perfect sense—he’d been protecting me.

I squeezed Cris’s arm, crossed the room, and extended my hand to the High King. Anxiety bubbled beneath my skin. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“My son speaks very highly of you.” He spoke with a Nythinian accent, subtle yet pronounced. He took my hand and raised it to his lips. No sizzle accompanied his touch, as had happened when Cris kissed my wrist. Now, only an extreme coldness seeped toward my elbow.

I let my hand drop after he released it. “Cris speaks compliments about you as well.” A lie, but his father need not know that. I smiled like there wasn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than trapped with the High King of Nyth, the man who would steal my magic just as easily as smile at me. I wondered how many hunting parties he’d sent to Iskadar. I wondered if his eyes burned orange in the dark.

“You call my son by his first name.” He said it as a statement of curiosity, not a question. He didn’t look at me but at Cris. The expression on his face spoke of challenge. “Why does she call you by your first name?”

Terror sang through me. I stepped between Cris and his father. “We’re quite friendly,” I said, needing to lessen the tension choking the room. “Your son is quite the champion at cards.” My head felt too light and my limbs too heavy, but I kept talking. “We also share a love of horses, of flowers, and of watching the sun set over the river.” I sounded like an idiot—and Cris and I had never discussed horses or played cards.

The High King yanked his gaze back to me, and I didn’t like him looking at me with such malice any more than I liked him glaring at Cris. I migrated back to Cris’s side, and as I did so, I noticed the supreme surprise in his eyes. They screamed a single question: Why?

I brushed my fingers across his eyebrows, willing them to lower. Thankfully, he complied, and when I tucked my arm in his and we turned back to his father as a single unit, I was certain we looked every bit the happy couple falling for each other, though I couldn’t help but swallow hard.

“Perhaps you should introduce me properly to your father,” I whispered. I wanted to know the High King’s first name, too.

“Echo,” Cris said, his voice gravelly and strained. “This is my father, High King of Nyth, Javier de la Fuenta. Father, Echo del Toro, of Iskadar village.”

“Iskadar village?” the High King asked, too much interest in his voice to be friendly.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I buckled my knees into a curtsy.

“The girl is from Iskadar,” the High King said to Cris as if I weren’t present and did not deserve to be called by my name. “Iskadar! Do you know what kind of people hail from Iskadar?” He raised his hand as if he might strike his son, but the High King stopped himself.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth, not sure if my annoyance stemmed from his insults of my village or because he was willing to hit Cris in my presence.

Cris said nothing, though the irritation in his eyes spoke volumes.

“I believe we discussed the proper heritage for your wife,” the High King said, continuing to ignore me. “Though I’m not sure why I believed you’d be able to get it right.” He cast a sour glance in my direction.

I transferred his disdain of Iskadar to all Umonians, and the fact that he’d taken reign of our land angered me. My magic rose within me, a spell-song swelled in my throat. A small voice in my mind whispered, I will liberate my countrymen.

I suddenly had new purpose in becoming Cris’s wife. I imagined the power I would have to set precedents and establish new laws. I could ensure the outer villages remained free. I could separate Umon from Nythinian rule. Perhaps I could rule Umon.

I would restore beauty to magic, re-establish magicians as valued citizens of a flourishing society, and ensure freedom for everyone now currently under the High King’s reign.

Such thoughts and visions were dangerous to have in the High King’s presence, but in his seething fury he didn’t seem to notice how my shoulders squared and my chin lifted. I quickly forced myself to appear more like Cris—subservient.

“My grandparents aren’t natives of Iskadar,” I blurted in an attempt to appease the High King.

He blinked. “Do you think that improves your station?” He rolled his eyes. “If anything, it stains your heritage further.”

“Father—”

“Our people require a specific type of ruler,” the High King barked. He scanned me from head to toe and definitely found me wanting. “She—”

“My ancestors hail from Relina,” I said.

The silence that followed doubled my anger. How had this man reduced me to a puddle so effectively? I would’ve said anything to please him, and I couldn’t find fault with Cris and his naivety any longer.

The High King stared at me like I should continue the story. I didn’t speak of Grandmother’s travels across the sea when she was a little girl, of the brother she lost in a magical typhoon a wicked sorcerer had conjured. He had been exiled by the ancients for an act Grandmother did not detail. She’d rarely spoken of her immigration, though I remember it being a fantastic tale.

When it was clear that the High King wouldn’t concede, I took a deep breath. “Well, I won’t keep you from your family evening.” I extracted my arm from Cris’s and took a few steps toward the door, thinking I’d go straight to Castillo and tell him of my plans to restore magic and liberate my countrymen.

“I’m the one who’s leaving,” the High King said. “Cris and I are done here.”

I pressed my eyes closed and inhaled deeply. I turned around and pasted on a smile. “Well, once again, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

The High King didn’t spare me a glance. He paused next to his son, leaned in close, and whispered. If Cris wasn’t already standing straight and tall, he did then.

I stepped to the side to let the High King pass and only then did he pin me with his gaze. “You are a beautiful girl.” A dangerous edge sat in his obsidian eyes, and his voice hissed with barely contained venom. “I’m sure you will make a wonderful princess for my son.”

Before I could respond, he pried open the door and left.

#

I sat nursing another drink, this time something much stronger than water. A few sips of thick red wine had soothed my nerves ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t release the crystal goblet. Cris stood at the window, staring into the darkness. Every few minutes he threw back a tumbler full of amber liquid, moved to refill it, and repositioned himself at the glass. We hadn’t spoken.

I worried for Castillo, and if his father would seek him out tonight. I didn’t want the High King anywhere near Castillo without me acting as a buffer between them. I didn’t want Cris to go through that either.

The High King despised anyone who was not Nythinian, that much had become clear. But, oh, how he’d reacted when I’d mentioned Relina . . . The ancients there possessed great magic, even more brilliant and powerful than the High King’s. Surely they knew of his tyranny; surely they had sent a convoy across the seas to let him know the way he’d polluted his magic did not conform to their guidelines.

I shook my head and gulped my wine. I hadn’t made it through a whole glass yet, but I still felt woozy and too warm. I slapped the goblet down on the end table, cringing with the resulting clack of glass on glass.

“I should go.”

“You should not,” Cris said, but it didn’t sound like a command. It was a plea.

“It’s very late.”

“And you have nowhere to be tomorrow.” Cris joined me on the couch, not too close, not too far away. It reminded me of how Castillo and I had sat on the bench in the park. I didn’t fear Cris, yet I dreaded what he might know about me.

“My maids—”

“Are used to being called out of bed to attend to their superiors.”

“I’m not their superior.”

He laughed and swept his arm across my shoulders. “You should amend that thinking, Echo. Queens think they are superior to everyone.”

“Then I will never be a queen.”

Cris quieted his laughter and studied me. “You truly do not think yourself better than Greta or Lucia.”

Surprise warred with horror. He knew my maid’s names. He knew Helena had left. “I do not. I’ve been in their position. I’ve washed another’s hair and blushed their cheeks. Are you suggesting I’m different now?” I gestured to his immaculate apartment. “Because I’m here and someone else isn’t? Because I wear silk and someone cooks my meals?”

“Such fire,” he said, running his fingers lightly through my loose hair. I didn’t wholly dislike it.

“Do you think you’re better than other people?”

“Kings must,” he said simply.

“Why? So you can treat the soldiers with indifference? So you can order the execution of your chef if he serves the steak too rare? So you can look the other way when innocent people are shot?”

Anger flared in his eyes. “You know nothing of what you speak.”

“Neither do you!” I stood up, the wine clouding my movements. “Do you think you’re better than other people? Better than Castillo, or Matu, or any of the others who labor to support you?”

“I am a king.”

“Do you?”

He gazed up at me, halfway between admiration and fury. “Echo, I don’t know what you wish me to say.”

“I wish you to speak candidly with me. Do you or do you not think you are better than your servants?”

He swallowed the last of his liquor, and his eyes drifted half-closed. “I do.”

Disgust clawed at my stomach, already ripe with the sloshing wine. “That, Your Majesty, is why you will be a weak king.” I hated myself then, for saying such things to him. His father surely verbally berated him at every opportunity—even when they weren’t alone, as I’d just witnessed.

“You’re right,” he said, stopping me in my flight toward the exit. He stumbled as he caught my arm.

“Excuse me?”

“I will be a weak king.” Cris turned and motioned me back to the couch. I stayed rooted to the spot, too tired to reason through his riddles. “It’s why my father thinks I need a bride with more backbone than I possess.”

Seeing him drunk and broken by his father softened my heart. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I don’t think before speaking.”

“It’s one of your best qualities,” he said, the words slightly slurred. “Don’t stop, please. No one tells me what I need to hear.”

“What’s going on here?”

“Here in this room? Or here in this compound?”

“Both.”

“Come sit down, and I shall tell you.”

I made my way over to the couch on numb legs. I sat farther from Cris than I had previously.

“I’m choosing a bride. I need someone with strength at my side, for as you so eloquently pointed out, I’m weak.” A half smile danced across his lips. “Right now, in this room, I’m learning how strong you are. It’s incredible.”

“Don’t patronize me, Your Highness. There’s more going on here than that.”

“Not for me.”

“What did your father say to you before he left?”

“What he always says. ‘Don’t mess this up, son.’” Cris pitched his voice slightly lower to imitate his father. “I’m a complete disappointment to him.” He raised his glass to his lips and lowered it with a frown when he realized it was empty.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my shoulders drooping with the memories of Olive’s occasional disdain. “You don’t need my disappointment heaped on top of his.”

Cris leveled his gaze at me. “The difference, my dear Echo, is that I actually care about what you think.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A simple servant girl? You just said you thought yourself better than people like me.”

“Not you,” he said, frowning. “Echo, I want you to be my wife. If I didn’t think of you as an equal, that would never work.”

Maybe the wine had muddled my brain, or maybe my mouth really had a mind of its own. “If I believed you, which I don’t, I might say that was a romantic thing to say. But, Cris, all the evidence points to the contrary.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you treated your servants as equals, you’d be a much stronger king; a stronger person and a force to be reckoned with. Your father wouldn’t dare to breathe threats down your neck, because he’d know you had two magicians waiting to sing him into the dregs of death if you asked them to.” I lifted my half-full wine glass to my lips. The liquor buoyed me up and gave me the courage to keep going. “If you treated Gibson and Bo as equals, they wouldn’t be the ones giving soldiers the go-ahead to murder people. They wouldn’t be terrorizing the very girls you’ve brought here to be their next queen. They wouldn’t be planning to overthrow you behind your back.”

I hiccupped and put my glass down. The color drained from Cris’s face, but mine felt hot.

“Bo and Gibson threatened you?” He spoke much too soft for one with so much anger harbored in his face.

“They did. I doubt I’m the only one.”

“You think they have a secret plot to dethrone me?”

My chest squeezed, realizing I’d said too much. “I don’t know. But I do know they’re looking out for themselves. Enemies don’t bond for any other reason. They like working for you, because you’re the future king. What they do, they do for them. Not for you. Never for you.”

He bowed his head and fiddled with the fabric of his suit coat. “I didn’t know about the situation in the courtyard. If I had, I would’ve stopped it.”

“Yet you didn’t. A strong king who didn’t underestimate his enemies would have known about it, and would’ve stopped it.”

“I will be stronger.”

“You will try.”

He glanced up at me. “Curse that mouth.” He smiled and put his hand on mine. “Yes, I will try. For you, dearest Echo, I will try.”

“Good,” I said. “Now I need you to do one more thing for me.”

“Name it.”

I took the empty tumbler from his hand. “It’s about the other girls . . . ”

Eighteen

Several mornings later, I found Castillo in the courtyard along with breakfast. He sat at the table, wearing casual clothes I hadn’t seen before. I hadn’t seen him once since our outing, since he kissed me, since I’d snuck down the hall and met the High King. As far as I knew, that secret still belonged to me.

“Good morning.” I sat across from him, glad I’d changed from my nightclothes into the house dress I’d finished the morning before. I enjoyed his company, and while Matu made a friendly escort, happiness filled me at Castillo’s return.

“You slept late.” He handed me a plate with an already rolled crepe.

“I was out very late.” I’d dined with Cris, and afterward, he’d taken me to the edge of the compound where the Burisia River touched. The slivered moon didn’t lend much light, and in order to tread without falling, I’d clutched his hand. I didn’t find it terribly disconcerting. In fact, there was little about Cris I did not like, a thought that had kept me awake long after Matu had escorted me back to my suite.

“Ah, yes, another one of your midnight rendezvous.”

I froze with the crepe halfway to my mouth, finding Castillo’s eyes and seeing the accusation within.

“I thought we’d agreed to wait, and watch.” He folded his arms, one eyebrow cocked.

I took a large bite of my breakfast and looked away. His sigh said it all, and none of it was nice.

I swallowed. “Who told you?”

“No one had to tell me,” he said. “I know everything that happens in this compound.” He leaned forward. “I know everything that happens to you—including meeting the High King and then getting drunk.”

My breath seized in my throat for a moment. “So, the High King,” I skipped over the drunk accusation. I’d barely finished one glass of wine. “What did he say about me?”

Castillo’s mouth quirked up in the fastest smile I’d ever seen. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if praying for patience to deal with me. “He said aqua isn’t your color, clashes with your hair.”

I threw my napkin at him but I really wanted to toss the entire crepe at him, witness how he’d handle wearing raspberry crème on his pristine shirt.

He laughed, perhaps the first time I’d heard him do so. “In all seriousness, Echo, you shouldn’t have gone alone. I would’ve accompanied you.”

I appreciated the sentiment, even if his voice also carried a dose of disappointment. “I asked Cris to make certain that no more girls were sent home. I don’t wish anyone to get hurt.”

“Did he agree?”

I nodded. “But I don’t think he fully believes me about Bo and Gibson’s harshness.”

Castillo fiddled with the napkin. “Cris doesn’t see things the same way you do.” He studied me to make sure his words hit their mark. “He’s petitioned our father for an early wedding, so perhaps your plan is working.”

“Perhaps.” I ducked my head as his gaze steadied on me. I hadn’t discussed my new plans with Castillo. He thought me willing to ensure Cris would rule behind me, while I’d refocused on purging the darkness from Nythinian magic and liberating Umon.

“I’m sorry I went without you.” I swallowed my confession about my new goals. “I felt lured there, by a power beyond my control. I didn’t know it was the High King. I thought I could handle whatever—and whoever—I found.”

“Echo, you’re always in danger,” he said. “Do you not see this?”

“I can handle Bo and Gibson.”

“Perhaps,” Castillo said gently although he meant, “No, you can’t.” He might be right, but I wouldn’t concede.

We ate until the crepes were nearly gone, as was his frustration and my indignation, until I couldn’t stomach the soundlessness between us. “How long have you been here?”

“Since seven.”

All the shyness between us came rushing back. “It’s nearly eleven.” My words caught on themselves as they left my lips.

“I know what time it is.”

“You don’t have duties today?” I nodded toward his blue collared shirt and brown trousers.

“Not in the compound.” He sipped from his coffee mug, and his cool demeanor, his declaration that he’d been waiting for me to wake for nearly four hours, brought a rush of frustration I couldn’t explain.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

I swallowed my tea—and my smile. He knew his charm could win wars, and I saw no need to fuel his ego. I repeated my question.

“I’m leaving, Echo.”

I dropped my fork. “Leaving?”

Castillo looked away, his jaw clenched.

“For how long?” I picked up my fork and squeezed the metal as if I could reform it with my grip.

“Until the job is done.”

“What job?”

He answered by standing and smoothing down his perfectly pressed shirt. The summer sky color suited him better than the all-black soldier’s uniform. His eyes hinted at more gold than they had previously, but they harbored secrets I wanted to know, the same as always.

“I cannot tell you.”

“Castillo—”

He pinched his eyes shut. “Please do not say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

He moved closer to me, and I stood to meet him hoping that he couldn’t leave without kissing me.

“Like you need me.”

“I do need you,” I whispered.

“Cris wasn’t wearing lipstick this morning.”

A lick of heat shot to my face. “We haven’t—”

He caught my fingers in his, and I thought for sure he’d kiss me. Instead he said, “I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me when you look at the sky.” I shoved the gathering emotion back down my throat. Grandmother had fed me this fairy tale whenever I felt anxious about doing something without her. “Look to the skies, Echo,” she’d said. “You will find me there.”

“I suppose we will share the same sky,” Castillo said.

I nodded and looked away, inhaling deeply to gain control. Castillo was my escort and guard. A friend I was only beginning to know. My bond. I felt certain his path led into something dangerous, and I didn’t know if I could survive another severed bond.

His face darkened. “Echo, while I’m gone, don’t say anything you will regret. Promise me.” He smiled, and the sadness in his eyes went out.

“I cannot make that promise.” I stretched up to find his mouth. If he wouldn’t kiss me, I would kiss him. He let me for only a moment, and then he tucked his chin down, resting his forehead against mine.

#

Lucia found me brooding in the shady courtyard, my knees tucked to my chest and my dress swaying in the slight breeze from the rooftop. I’d promised Castillo I’d stay out of trouble, and the courtyard felt like the safest place to keep such a vow.

“You have a visitor, Echo,” she said. “Shall I show her in?”

I swung my attention to her. “Does she have a name?”

“Mariana, miss. I didn’t ask for a last name. I shall—”

“Sorry, Lucia.” I sighed. “Mariana is fine to come in. Thank you.”

She ducked her head and made a hasty escape. I would need to apologize again. My foul mood over the departure of Castillo should not transfer to my ladies. “Lucia, truly,” I said when she returned with Mariana. “I apologize.”

“No need.” A small smile accompanied her reassurance before she made herself scarce.

Mariana stepped into the courtyard. “So here’s where you have been hiding out.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“I haven’t seen you for over a week.”

I stretched my back and threw a prayer to the skies. “I’ve had other appointments.”

She squealed and gripped my forearm. “With whom?”

Everyone special, I thought, remembering the meals and outings and strolls with Cris, the one with Castillo, even a time or two with Lucia or Matu. “No one special,” I said. “Sometimes the Prince, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Am I that transparent?” She smiled without a trace of malice.

Yes. “Not at all.” Maybe thinking before I spoke wasn’t as hard as I thought. “We’re all scrounging for time with His Majesty.”

She plucked a flower from behind me and twirled it by its stem. “You don’t seem to have trouble with that.”

“Of course I do.”

“I haven’t seen you at any of the group activities.”

“I have not received an invitation for them.”

“Then you’ve had individual time?”

“Sometimes.” I hedged away from admitting that I could see Cris whenever I wanted, even in the dead of night.

Mariana frowned and glanced around my modest courtyard. “So you’ve just been hanging out here, with your servants?”

“Not entirely,” I said, annoyed. “I’ve been eating lunch with the girls. And my guard and I go walking in the gardens. And . . . ” I couldn’t tell her about the conversations about magic, or the carriage ride out to the wall to subdue the uprising. I couldn’t tell her I’d sewn three dresses, including the one I now wore, or that Lucia and I had already begun designs on a wedding gown.

I couldn’t tell Mari about the hours I spent in this exact location musing on those very things, or worrying that I hadn’t yet received a letter from Olive, or how I was planning something dangerous with Castillo. I couldn’t tell her about making ice cream with him, the kiss in the hall, or the one we’d shared a mere hour ago, before he left, never once looking back.

“Yes, I’ve spent most of that time here with my maids.”

Mariana leaped to her feet. “Well, let’s go then.” She took my hand and pulled me off the wall. “You’re not even dressed!”

“This is my house dress.” It was a striking pattern of gold and black—anything but plain. “And where are we going?”

“I’m assuming you have not been to the pools.”

The excitement on her face made me smile. “Not yet.”

“They’re wonderful. All the girls love them. Ask your clothing matron to get you a bathing suit. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

#

The mere thought of wearing a bathing suit made me cringe but I didn’t want to disappoint Mariana. When I asked Lucia if I had one, she produced seven. I selected a black one-piece that Grandmother would have approved of. I had no need to impress anyone at the pools.

I soon learned that Mariana’s five minutes meant fifteen. She returned with curled hair, rouged cheeks, and a billowing pink cover-up whipping behind her as she strutted down the hall. I stood in my open door, with a modest robe covering my suit and a towel clutched in one hand.

Greta had offered to touch up my makeup, but I’d waved her away. My face would likely get wet, and the artwork would be ruined anyway. But now that I saw Mariana, I wondered if maybe I should’ve taken fifteen minutes to get ready, too.

Mariana took my towel and together with hers, handed them to her escort. “Echo, this is Solis. Sol, this is my friend Echo.”

“One hears great things about you, Miss Echo.” Solis took my towel and allowed me to walk next to Mariana while he trailed behind. My feet slid in the sandals Lucia had provided. I could only imagine the horror of them when wet.

“One does?” I asked, still trying to recover from being introduced as anyone’s friend. I was not sure how I felt about Mariana—were we friends? Yes, I tried to sit next to her at lunch, but only because the other girls speared me with unkind glances and whispered words of hatred. I listened to Mariana’s gossip and gasped in all the right places. Yes, I suppose we were friends.

“Great things,” Solis repeated. I wanted to ask him what exactly, but Mariana clasped my arm and started talking.

“Gazelle doesn’t know what she’s going to do. His Majesty hasn’t invited her to his suite once for individual time. She’s beside herself that she’ll be cut next.”

“She won’t get cut,” I said. “There are no more cuts until the harvest. His Majesty is not eliminating us one by one.” My words held a jovial note, but as soon as I spoke I wondered if I’d revealed too much information.

“I know, I know,” Mariana said, and I breathed a soft sigh of relief. “But poor Gazelle. She’s beautiful, but that’s about all.”

“Mariana,” I admonished. “I’m sure she’s smart enough.”

“No, really, she isn’t. I’m not saying it to be cruel.” She turned down another hallway, and these corridors were long, straight, and made of gray stone. Some had windows and some tapestries. Some bore doors of glass and some had been carved into archways. Some sloped upward, and some down. The one we worked our way along now held a slight downward tilt, but the sliding sandals made it hard to tell for certain.

“I’ve never been here,” I said. “Where are we?”

“We have gone down a level,” Mariana said. “The pools are beneath His Majesty’s suite. They’re fed by the Burisia. Have you seen the river?”

I couldn’t determine how we’d gone down a level. The floor hadn’t seemed that sloped.

“Echo? Have you seen the river?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.” I remembered last night, the cool summer air, the not-quite there moon, the soft rush of water.

I remembered the nearness of Cris, the steadiness of his breathing, the warmth of his hands. A blush crept into my neck as I listened to Mariana gush about the beauty of the water.

“I love the multi-colored qualities of water,” Mariana said with a happy sigh.

I jerked my attention back to her. My heart simultaneously sank and hammered at this new direction in the conversation. How could she talk about magic so carelessly? I narrowed my eyes, wondering if she was setting a trap for me, trying to get me to reveal my powers. “Multi-colored qualities of water?”

She waved a hand and laughed in a trilling manner. “No one else can see it! But I can. I hope you can too, Echo.”

I suspected I might be able to, but I’d need to pretend as if I didn’t. I’d only heard of one other person who could see multiple colors in water, and she had once been one of Iskadar’s greatest magicians.

My mother.

I hadn’t thought so much of her in a very long time. I frowned as I pushed her into the safe compartment in the back of my brain.

Mariana turned down another hall, and the sun shone hot and bright through a sea of glass. I shielded my eyes with my hand as we drew closer. The heat licked my bare arms, and I drank it in greedily.

“Here,” Mariana said. I followed her a few paces down the hall to the left. I stepped from stone to vegetation and felt the worries of my soul lift away, much the same way they did whenever I left this compound.

A sigh escaped my lips and Mariana giggled. “I knew you’d love it here!” She bounded away from me toward a boulder where she deposited her shoes. She turned back toward me, and even through the blinding sunlight, I saw the wonder etched on her face.

“Wow, Echo,” she called. “You’re glowing.”

At Mariana’s words, a story Grandmother once told sailed to my memory.

“Long ago,” she begins, her rocking chair squeaking forward and splintering back. “The magicians of Relina sent twelve weavers across the lands.”

I hurry to finish drying my hands and then practically sprint to my spot in front of her chair. Her long, white hair sways with the motion of her rocker, and I trace the veins in her arms until they disappear under her sleeves.

“Beautiful women,” Grandmother continues. “Who could repair the wounded heart and weave broken earth back together. They traveled together, righting the wrongs and binding the human race back to their motherlands. Until one day . . . ”

Her voice fades as her eyes drift closed. She hasn’t finished, but I know better than to encourage her to continue. She will, when she’s ready. Or rather, when the story is ready. One of Grandmother’s gifts is language. She can speak seven, and they all roll beautifully off her tongue.

I envy her that. My mouth can barely form words in my native tongue. Even Oake does not have much hope for me in linguistics. Singing is another matter altogether. Oake claims the magic streams from my every pore with a single note, and I just need to “find my voice.” I feel different when working magic through song, so I believe him, though I’m not sure about finding my voice.

“You glow, Echo,” he says to me. “It’s beautiful.” I enjoy feeling like I’m beautiful. As beautiful as the moon that glows on a deep winter night. As beautiful as the fire that dances through the depths of the forest, providing warmth and light to the worn and weary.

“The twelve weavers came upon a group of refugees who had been traveling through the lands for some time,” Grandmother continues. “Many had died and every heart held cracks. The weavers had never known such sadness for they had never encountered the tragedies of war. Their magic could not repair the damage done to the refugees.”

Grandmother’s voice warps together with the wind, with the creaking and splintering, until I cannot separate the sounds.

“The weavers cried to the ancients of Relina for help, but none came. You see, Echo, the magicians had created the weavers for such things. They’d poured all their compassion and healing power into the women. They had nothing left to give.

“The weavers wished for success. They prayed for it. When it didn’t come, they let their frustration poison their hearts. One by one, the weavers left. They set out to travel on their own, healing what little injuries they could. The lands call out for their collective power but do not find respite.”

Grandmother opens her eyes. “Your mother needed one of the old weavers, child. Her hurt could not be healed here in Iskadar. Do not trouble yourself with her absence.”

“Has a weaver been able to help her?”

“I doubt it, child. They have lost their power,” she says. “Given it all up to the lands, though it is still not enough. They wander, lost and forgotten, among men.”

“Is it possible to meet one?” I sit up straighter and decide to discuss weavers with Oake.

“Oh yes, Echo. You can meet one. They seek out the wounded and weary, and offer what little comforts they can.”

“How will I know when I meet one?”

“They glow, child,” Grandmother says. “They glow.”

Nineteen

I recoiled from the pools, bumping into Solis as I did. “Excuse me.” I continued my retreat, but couldn’t escape the direct sunlight. I felt foolish, even as the memory of Grandmother’s story washed through my mind. I couldn’t be a weaver, though I knew the ancients of Relina could transfer their intelligence, so it was possible for my body to house the mind, will, and soul of someone who’d lived centuries before.

Nevertheless, my limited intelligence hadn’t been roaming the earth for hundreds of years. My soul, my mind, wasn’t created from tendrils of magic and remnants of dust by the first magicians of Relina.

I turned and flew on legs of lead down the hall. Behind me, Mariana called, but I pressed on until I gained the corner. Still, the sunlight assaulted me. Why would it not go out? I gulped at the air and couldn’t get enough.

“Echo!” Mariana burst around the corner. “Whatever is the matter?”

I couldn’t order the words for an excuse fast enough. The gray walls pressed in on me.

“Perhaps she isn’t feeling well,” Solis said. “I could escort her back to her suite and return for you, Mari.”

“Echo?” Mariana asked.

“I’m not feeling well.” I seized Solis’s words and used them as my shield.

She smiled then, something I least expected. “Let me heal you.” Before I could stop her, she placed her hand on my cheek.

Magic rushed into my body, mingling with what I possessed. I moaned as though in pain, her magic swirling within me. My power played with Mariana’s, but it remained separate. Not at all like the complete meshing of magic I felt when I joined my voice to Castillo’s. The memory of our bonding should’ve been enough to calm me.

But this magic felt different than any I’d experienced before. One thought invaded my mind: Mari isn’t from Umon.

I wanted to ask her where she came from, but the raging stream of magic coursing through me ignited a pain so deep, all my muscles spasmed. I would have to release this magic. Soon.

Now, now, now. My mother’s voice returned, truly driving me toward madness.

Mariana removed her hand, which turned down the lightning skating through my bloodstream and erased my mother’s voice from my mind. I couldn’t see what she was doing, because I’d clenched my eyes shut.

“Solis, wait for me at the end of the hall,” she commanded. The guard moved away on sure feet, leaving us alone in the corridor.

“Come, Echo,” Mariana said. “You will need to release that magic.” I let her take my arm, let her guide me into the glorious sunlight, let her help me into the nearest pool. I let her, because every movement decreased the fire in my veins. I let her, because Castillo had left and I had nowhere else to turn.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she cupped water and dripped it over my face. “I didn’t know you were a magician, too.”

Twenty

Castillo’s face dominated my thoughts as I released my magic into the water. The curve of his cheekbones. The strength in his jaw. The softness in his lips.

Mariana exclaimed at the color staining the water, marveling that she’d never seen such a deep orange before. I did my best to ignore her, though she siphoned off some of the energy leaking from my body. Soon enough, I finished.

In a smooth motion, I released my hair. I hid behind it while Mariana relaxed against the stones. “You must be very powerful to hold so much magic for so long.”

Had she not just witnessed my breakdown? Though it wasn’t nearly as painful or as long as what had happened on my first day here, I’d barely been able to walk. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have to come here every day to rid myself of the magic. You said you haven’t been here once.” Her tone didn’t sound accusatory, but curious.

“I didn’t know about the pools.” I spoke the truth, grateful I didn’t have to say anything about how I’d been singing spells since I arrived, or that I’d bonded with a guard, or that I didn’t need these pools to release my magic. “How did you learn of them?”

“The Prince’s guards gave me directions the day I arrived.”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t cry out. Panic raced through my body. I stumbled to my feet, though they felt waterlogged. I had to get back to my suite, behind the song-spun moon-door of protection.

I didn’t wish Bo and Gibson to discover the range of my abilities this way. I’d rather be standing in a gale-force wind, singing my heart out as theirs exploded, when they learned I could bend magic to my will. My heart beat with helplessness, sure they already knew what I was desperate to keep hidden.

“I need to leave,” I said.

“You do not have to,” Mariana protested. “No one ever comes here.”

“But you said the girls love it here.”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared at me. “I lied.”

“Then why did you want me to come with you?” My stomach clenched.

“I’m tired of spending all day by myself, and you’re by far the most interesting girl here.” A playful glint entered her eyes. “Now I know why.”

I stepped out of the pool and reached for my towel. “You cannot say anything about this, to anyone.” My voice came out harsh. “No one knows. No one can know.”

Mariana’s eyes widened. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” I said, almost sinking to my knees in relief. “I really have to get back to my suite. After a release I must eat right away.” I thought of the theater performance I had scheduled with Cris, which was fast approaching. “I’m sorry. I must go.”

“Solis will take you,” Mariana said, turning to call out for him. “And you know, Echo. If you came to the pools every day to release your magic, it would take seconds and you wouldn’t be in such pain.”

“Maybe you’re right.” But I didn’t want to find out. I didn’t want to return my magic to the lands each day. I never knew when I might need it, especially here.

“Thank you, Mariana.”

“Call me Mari.”

“Thank you, Mari. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She nodded, and I cast the cascading pools a farewell glance before accepting the arm Solis offered me.

#

Lucia woke me with an apology. “I’m sorry, Echo. His Majesty is at the door.”

I sprang to a sitting position and immediately regretted it. My head pounded as if my brain had come loose and had knocked against bone. “Show him in,” I managed to croak.

Moments later, I hadn’t thought past the fact that I was lying in bed, wearing inappropriate attire to entertain royalty. Cris appeared, his face drawn with lines of worry. “My dearest, are you all right?” He moved quickly to my side and stroked his fingers over my eyebrows.

“I’m not,” I admitted. “I’m sorry I cannot come to the theater.”

He waved dismissively. “I’ve canceled the event.”

“You cannot do that.”

“I can do whatever I want.” He flashed a mischievous grin that almost conjured a smile from me. “If you’re up to it, I’d like to bring the entertainment here.”

“Yes, thank you.”

He ducked his head and looked over his shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and enjoy it with you.” He caught my eyes again, and I found a hint of redness in his cheeks.

“Can I get dressed first?”

“If you must.” His mouth rose in a smile, he planted a kiss on my forehead and retraced his steps out of my room. Heat spread through my body at his flirtatious words.

Greta came in, her face pale. “He says he’ll be back in fifteen minutes with another guest. Someone you’ll love, he said.”

“I wonder who that will be.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, hoping I could make it through this private impromptu event without embarrassing myself.

“I’ll get my kit,” Greta said.

“No,” I said. “Not tonight.”

“But His Majesty—”

“Has just seen me without makeup.” I softened my tone. “Thank you, Greta, but not tonight. I just need something simple to wear.”

It turned out that such a thing could scarcely be found in my closet. Lucia tossed yet another dress on the bureau with a declaration of “Too dark.”

“What about that peachy thing?” I pointed toward the left corner, where a hint of light fabric rose above the others.

Lucia pulled out the garment and held it up to her body. Greta clapped her hands. “That’s the one,” she said. “Let’s get her into it, Lucia.”

The dress felt like gauze, light and airy. I felt like I wore nothing, but upon inspection in the mirror, all the proper parts were covered. Lucia ran a brush through my hair twice before knocking sounded on the door.

“Just a touch of lip gloss,” Greta begged as Lucia went to welcome the Prince.

“Fine, lip gloss,” I conceded. Greta smiled as she swiped it on, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you, Greta.” I clutched her in a quick hug, the kind I’d given to Grandmother before leaving for lessons with Oake.

“Good luck, my lady,” she whispered.

I needed it.

#

I breezed into the entryway, where Cris stood next to an older woman with hair the color of brass. Her weathered face bore many wrinkles, but her eyes shone with kindness. She reminded me of Grandmother, and she hadn’t even spoken yet.

Cris hadn’t taken his eyes off me and they’d traveled the length of my body several times already. “I cannot wait to hear what you have to say tonight.”

I laughed, but I appreciated that while he obviously liked what he saw, he could also look past the beautiful fabrics and painted faces. He reminded me of Castillo, and I hastily pushed that thought away. I didn’t want the two of them mingling in the soft places of my heart.

“I’m sure you won’t like it,” I said as I took my seat in the recliner.

“You look lovely without makeup,” he said, following me. “Women wear entirely too much of it, don’t you think?”

I stared at him. “Well, look who’s saying inappropriate things tonight.”

A second recliner had been brought in, and Cris settled his tall frame next to me as he laughed. He let his arms hang lazily over the edges, and for once he didn’t cross his legs. He looked casual and calm, comfortable, here in my personal suite. The idea brought warmth to my chest.

“Echo, this is Abigail,” Cris said by way of introduction. “She’s one of Nyth’s finest crooners. She was to perform in tonight’s musical, but since we couldn’t attend, I asked her to personally entertain us.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Cris smiled as he reached for my hand. Abigail began to sing, her voice unpowered by magic, but fueled with a passion and intensity that tugged at my heart all the same. She spoke of unrequited love in one song, of revenge in another, of forgiveness in a third.

I lost myself in the timbre of her voice, letting its richness melt over me until I’d utterly relaxed. Abigail sang several more tunes, each beautiful and lilting. I found myself wishing my ceiling had a way to capture the music so I could replay it time and again.

“I have one more song for you tonight,” Abigail said, her speaking voice barely loud enough to hear. I opened my eyes quickly, lest she think I’d fallen asleep.

She began the song, the first few notes unfamiliar. But as more and more sounds connected together, I realized I’d heard this particular song before. Grandmother had sung this tale of Relina one Sunday during our last winter together.

I shifted in my recliner and removed my hand from Cris’s, suddenly keen for Abigail to finish and leave. My eyes felt tight and hot, my throat too narrow to swallow.

My breath shook through my chest, and when Cris touched my arm it nearly became my complete undoing.

“What’s wrong, dearest?” He removed his fingers, though I hadn’t felt his usual calming magic.

I shook my head, forcing the tears back. “Nothing.”

“Echo,” Cris said. “I want to help.”

This man puzzled me. I’d been prepared to dislike him, hate him even. I wasn’t prepared for the warmth I felt in his smile, or the easiness of being with him. Everything felt new and strange, and with the lore song of Relina as background music, my magic expanded until he had space to carve a place in my heart.

“How did you know I enjoy the old lore songs?” I asked, mortified that my voice wavered.

Cris shot me a shifty look. “I know many things about you, Echo.”

My heart pumped harder, but whether from the breathy way he said my name or from what Gibson might have told him, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m trying to make you happy,” he said. “Don’t you like the song?”

I swallowed. “You’re making it worse.” The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him. And that would make everything down the road harder. Or easier, I thought. If we’re to wed, it wouldn’t be so bad to like him, would it?

“Making what worse?” His voice came out strained. I hated that my behavior hurt him, yet I wanted to push him away.

I shook my head again as Abigail finished her song. I applauded, and she bowed her way out of my suite.

Cris remained in his recliner, his eyes trained on me. “Echo, say what you want.”

“I cannot.”

“It’s never stopped you before.”

When I still didn’t speak, Cris reclaimed my hand. “Hey, look at me.” The gentleness in his voice pulled at the edge of my frayed nerves. The idea of loving Cris and the pain at losing Grandmother mixed inside me, a lethal combination against my composure. I looked at him, intensely grateful I hadn’t let Greta brush me with makeup for I thought I might cry.

I seized on the thought of Greta and how she’d wished me good luck. I took in the kindness in Cris’s eyes. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Let’s go into the courtyard,” I said, desperate for fresh air.

Cris offered me his arm, and we moved through my suite to the glass door in my bedroom. Once outside, the darkness made it easier to pluck up my courage to speak. He slipped his hand into mine, and I enjoyed the warmth from his skin and the perfect amount of pressure he exerted. Memories of last night’s excursion to the river flowed through my mind, and I was afraid of the feelings rising through my chest. I recognized them—I’d briefly felt this way with Oake before I’d fled Iskadar.

“Cris, I’m afraid.”

“Of what, dearest?”

“Of falling in love with you.” My eyes had adjusted to the dark, but I couldn’t see more than a profile of him. The width of his shoulders narrowed into a trim waist. His hands engulfed mine, making me feel safe. Making me feel that whatever the problem, he would fix it.

Maybe Cris was smarter than Castillo had given him credit for. Maybe he wasn’t simply seeking a magic-rich bride, but was looking for love.

Cris formed his mouth to mine, and this kiss was so much more than our first. That had been nearly platonic, with stiff lips and lasting only a heartbeat.

This kiss felt round and whole. He took his time, but didn’t hang on too long, and when he pulled back, the magic inside me stirred.

“I’m afraid of what I need to show you.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. I stepped out of his arms, opened my mouth, and sang.

The music flowed out of me in a series of low, almost guttural, notes. The gas lamps in the courtyard flared to life, burning bright with the heat of my magic. In the resulting light, I clearly saw the shock on Cris’s face. Immediately following that, hunger invaded his expression. And just after that, the only thing I found in his eyes was love.

I finished the song and stood there, under extreme scrutiny from the future High King of Nyth.

“Magnificent,” he breathed, stepping close and tracing his fingers down the sides of my face. “Simply magnificent.”

#

The middle of the night found me in the courtyard where I’d huddled after Castillo had left. The corner provided exactly the escape I needed. I couldn’t erase the need I’d seen in Cris’s eyes. Though it had lasted only a moment—seeing that expression and being free from his touch—I’d realized he was playing a game too, one with dangerous consequences.

I couldn’t allow myself to think what I felt was real, though tonight, I’d believed his words, heard his concern in the way he said my name. And none of that had happened while he was touching me.

I wished I could tell him that he was second to my desire to re-establish magicians as valued citizens, that I was using him in the same way as Gibson or Bo. If I had to become Queen of Nyth to achieve my plans to cleanse magic, I would.

I wished these thoughts didn’t hurt so much. Cris had kissed me again before leaving, and I’d retreated to bed. But my stagnant bedroom didn’t hold my worries half as well as the courtyard. I wondered if Castillo was watching the same sky, and if so, which constellation he admired most.

Twenty-One

Cris didn’t come by my suite the next day; I didn’t receive any solicitations for dinners or activities. The time alone refreshed me, though a pin of worry kept pushing into my heart.

I wondered if I’d done something wrong, though I hadn’t said anything too terrible, and he’d kissed me before leaving. I finally forced the anxiety from my mind by reminding myself that he was a prince, and certainly couldn’t lounge around with me all day, doing nothing.

The second day found me sewing at dawn and bent over sketches of wedding gowns at breakfast. Lucia sat with me, adding lace to the bodice and intricate beading on the gloves.

“No word from the Prince?” I asked her after returning from lunch with the other girls.

Lucia shook her head. “Sorry, Echo. I’m sure he’s simply busy with the affairs of Umon.”

“Of course.” I let her take out my hair, and then I convinced her that we needed to swap places, the way Olive and I used to. Having Lucia so close had helped some of the anxiousness that pressed against my pulse whenever I thought of my sister.

I still hadn’t received word from her, and I worried she hadn’t made it to Iskadar as safely as Castillo had assured me she would.

I hummed a soft detection spell as I swept Lucia’s golden hair into braids and brushed shadows onto her eyelids. A rebound did not come, and I determined the distance between this compound and the outer village was simply too great to traverse. A thread of unease pulled through me, and I had no one to question about Olive’s well being.

Greta came in at dinnertime, stopping short at the sight of us playing makeover. “Lucia.” She set down the dinner trays and put her hands on her hips.

“Its fine, Greta,” I said, setting aside her makeup pots. “I swear I didn’t ruin your system.” I’d been careful to put each color right back where I’d gotten it.

“Lucia has much work she has neglected,” Greta said.

Lucia stood quickly, brushing her hands on her apron and ducking her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

I stopped Lucia before she could leave. “Have I gotten you in trouble? Who must I speak with to set things right?”

“No trouble, Echo,” she said. “Greta knows I’ll get my work done.”

“Greta.” I rushed toward her. “Please don’t be angry with Lucia. I begged her to stay. She was attending to my childish whims.”

Greta’s stony exterior cracked. I pressed on, sensing victory. “Please, Greta. I’ll help Lucia with her tasks if that means you won’t be cross with her.”

Beside me, Lucia giggled. “It’s more sewing, Echo. You probably want to do it.”

“Yes!” We both looked to Greta for forgiveness.

“Oh, go on then,” Greta said. “But not tonight. The dresses can wait until morning.”

Lucia and I cheered, and even Greta grinned—something I’d never seen the elderly woman do.

Later that week, I asked Matu to take me to the gardens. The bushes vibrated in glorious colors of pinks, reds, and yellows. Matu led me down the cobbled paths, pointing to delicate roses, bleeding hearts, and poppies. He let me do most of the talking, his standard method of operations.

After an hour, I dragged him to the bench in the far corner. “Sit and talk to me.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Everything. What have I missed these past few days?”

“I don’t wish to upset you.”

“Life is upsetting,” I said. “Have you . . . have you any word on Castillo?”

Matu sighed and rubbed his palms along his pants. “Yes. His job is taking longer than he anticipated.”

“Where is he? What’s the job?”

“I cannot say. But he hopes to be back by week’s end.”

I breathed in the cloying scent of the wildflowers nearby. “Matu, can you find out if my sister is safe in Iskadar?”

He gazed at me with brotherly love and concern. “You have not had word from her?”

I shook my head, my vocal chords suddenly mute.

“I will find out, Echo.” He placed his hand over mine, and I stole a measure of comfort from his touch.

I took a deep breath. “What of the marriage approval from the High King?” I feared this answer the most, and Matu’s silence confirmed those worries.

“He’s withholding.” I clenched my hands into fists. “Am I correct?”

“We believe he’s searching for Helena, so he’ll know more about you, know everything about who he’s up against.”

I sincerely hoped Helena had found a refuge far from the High King. “Surely he doesn’t think Cris capable of dethroning him,” I said. “Or that I am.”

“He’s careful in all things,” Matu said, twisting toward me. “Please, Echo, don’t upset Cris with this. He must play his part, too.”

“Upset him? He is . . . he is . . . ” I could not find the words to adequately explain. I had received no word from him in the six days since I’d revealed my magic to him, since he kissed me like he truly meant it. “He would never choose me if not for his father.”

Matu’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.” He looked out into the foliage. “And that’s precisely why we need you as our queen.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why don’t you just make him into the king he should be instead of trying to turn him into a puppet? He’s teachable.” I remembered how I’d lectured him about being stronger. He had said he would try. Of course, Gibson was still his personal guard, so maybe Cris hadn’t tried at all.

Or maybe Castillo and Matu were right. Maybe Cris just wasn’t strong enough.

#

One week bled into two. By then, so filled was my mind with worries over Olive’s continual silence and fears for Castillo and where he might be that I barely had room to fret over why I’d received no invitations from Cris. I wondered if perhaps his messages had gotten intercepted again, but I dared not approach him and ask in case I was wrong.

Lucia and I were sewing in the afternoon when I heard Mariana’s voice, shrill and demanding. “No, I will see if she will see me myself.” The door crashed open, and Mariana clicked on her heels toward us, her face filled with righteous indignation.

“So this is where you have been.” She strode toward me, her red robes flowing behind her like fire. “This is not dignified.” She fingered my limp hair and clucked her tongue. “No, this will not do. Greta!”

“Mari, I—”

Greta stood from a machine in the second row. The look in her eyes scared me into silence. “Yes, my lady?”

“Echo needs a bath.” Mari looked me up and down. “A fresh dress. Makeup. We’re going out.”

“Out?” My hopes rose at the prospect of leaving this wretched compound, abandoning all the cares I’d been carrying these past weeks.

“I have scheduled a meeting with the Prince. He’s expecting us in one hour.”

“One hour?” Greta exclaimed, as if a person could not possibly get ready in such a short time. “I’ll get the water hot.”

#

It took over an hour to get me presentable. Mariana paced as Lucia worked wonders on my hair and Greta painted me into someone with a beautiful face. I modeled a violet gown for Mariana, who finally formed her face into something friendly.

“His Majesty will be most pleased,” she said. “Now, where’s Matu?”

The door opened on cue. “Here, ladies. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Mariana latched onto me, and I couldn’t squirm away. I went with her into the hall, and then I stepped away and took Matu’s arm. He cast me a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything, for which I was grateful.

Mariana, however, had plenty to say. She filled me in on the happenings of the compound, claiming that she’d been chosen for several individual dinners with Cris. My breath quickened at that news, and I squeezed Matu’s arm a little too tightly. Was that my show of jealousy? Why could I not determine how I felt about Cris?

“Then he told me, ‘Mari, I think you’re one of my favorites.’ Can you believe that?” She sandwiched me between herself and Matu, and kept talking with hardly a breath. “I didn’t know what to say, which apparently he likes, because then he said that he adores girls who use their mouths to smile more than talk, and then.” She paused for dramatic effect. My head spun with the words.

“He kissed me!” She squealed, and all the patience I’d acquired over the past few weeks drained out of me.

I gasped, but not in support of Mari, as I had in the past. Cris likes girls who only use their mouths to smile? Cris kissed Mari?

This raging feeling slithering through me could only be identified as jealousy. I recalled I had blood inside, and marrow in my bones, and nerves reaching to the end of my fingertips. Oake had taught me about using those very nerves, and to listen to the rhythm of my pulse pushing the blood through my body in order to harness my magic. He’d taught me about my brain and how to block out unnecessary distractions in order to produce the results I wanted.

I didn’t hear another word Mari said. Before I knew it, Matu raised his hand and rapped on a door in that gentle way of his. Gibson opened it and took a step backward when he saw me. He barely paid a glance to Mari or Matu, and instead raked his cold eyes over my body. “Come in.” It sounded like a command.

Mari slinked past him, smiling in an alluring way and trailing two fingers over his bicep while I stared in horror. Matu nudged me forward, and I stumble-stepped after Mari. Cris’s suite looked exactly as it had the last time I’d been here, but now everything felt different. I couldn’t help wondering how many other girls he’d kissed, and what lies he’d told them. Perhaps I was the one who heard only lies from his lips.

Gibson ushered us through the foyer and out onto the balcony. Cris already sat at the table, and he put his coffee cup down as we entered. He embraced Mari in a friendly way, but I watched his eyes. They closed for a moment, and then they caught mine. I wasn’t able to tell if he liked Mari more than me or not.

He helped her to the table and encouraged her to try the bagels before he turned to me. He took me in with a mixture of guardedness and joy. “Echo, it’s lovely to see you.”

“Cris,” I said, my voice hoarse from disuse. “May I speak to you privately?”

“Absolutely.” He turned back to Mari. “Dearest, we’ll be just a minute.”

My ears rang with the word dearest, loud and heavy. I wanted the stabbing pain in my chest to stop, but it hindered my breathing and continued to hurt me, hurt me, hurt me.

Mari waved us away, all the while slathering jam onto her scone. I retraced my steps into the apartment and waited while Cris followed me. I could feel him very close behind me. He brushed his fingers against mine, and his magic spread through me. The jealousy slipping through me almost disappeared, but I quickly pulled my hand away as I faced him.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Are you well?” His hands hovered inches from touching me. He looked like he wanted to examine me to ensure I was whole under the layers of makeup and silk. I couldn’t tell if his desire came from true concern for my welfare or because he craved my magic.

“I’ve—I have been better,” I admitted.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see you,” he said. “My schedule’s been overflowing with a fresh round of negotiations with Heona.”

I nodded. I couldn’t fault him for being the acting Lord in Umon. “I’m surprised to hear you’ve been dining privately.” The accusations hid inside the words, but Cris heard them.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Mari waited on the balcony. “Echo, you made me promise to make sure none of the girls would be sent home.”

I started nodding and could not stop. “I understand. I understand now.”

“I had to carry on the charade.” Something in his eyes spoke to me, said Please, Echo, not now. I blinked, and the conversation ended.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” I headed for the door, and Cris didn’t stop me.

#

That night, an urgent voice shook me from sleep. It was Cris, and he begged me to come with him.

“Can I get dressed first?” I threw the quilts back and slid from bed. I hoped for another flirtatious answer.

“No,” he said, and I noticed the redness in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I flung my arms into my robe.

He urged me to hurry as he sprinted from my rooms. My maids didn’t wait near the door; Matu didn’t stand at the ready in the hall. I padded after Cris, wondering what time it was and what was going on.

He led me toward his suite. I only needed to take one step through the door before the scent of blood met my nose. I stopped, searching for its cause.

A moan emanated from the couch, where Mari knelt and Bo and Gibson watched with masked faces. I suddenly didn’t want to be in that room, or see who writhed on that couch.

“Echo, I need you to heal him.” The agony in Cris’s voice propelled me into motion. I strode toward the couch, the magic already infiltrating my bloodstream and the lyrics I needed building behind my tongue.

Blood stained Mari’s hands and arms, and she looked at me with pure helplessness on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. “I cannot—he’s still bleeding.”

I looked down at the man on the couch. My heart stopped at the broken sight of Castillo. “No,” I cried, dropping to my knees. “No!”

Twenty-Two

Castillo’s eyes were puffy and closed. Blood oozed from his ears, nose, and mouth. He wore very little clothing, and his lean body bore bruises and knife wounds. He struggled to breathe, and his fingers and feet twitched in pain.

I asked Mari to move, and I took a position in front of Castillo. Then I shut out everything and focused on the spells, and songs, and chants I needed to make Castillo whole again. My voice started out soft, but grew in strength and intensity the more I sang. I drew comfort from the words, and I directed the magic to enter Castillo’s body and ease his suffering.

His body quieted, and he reached one hand toward my face. I took his hand in both of mine and concentrated my magic there. The song in my throat changed to a chant, and I felt the breaks in his bones. Four fingers, six ribs, three toes. His pain swept through me, but I shoved it to the back of my mind, the way Oake had taught me.

The chant lasted minutes, but finally, his bones mended. His breathing steadied, and I switched my chant to a lullaby. One that would send him to the confines of sleep so I could continue to assess the damage from the knives.

His face relaxed as he settled into the depths of slumber. I closed my eyes, and called upon the magic to heal his surface wounds. My chant morphed into a song, which flowed from my mouth, accompanied with delicate flicks of my wrist and pressure from my palms over the wounds.

I pushed away the increasing tightness in my stomach. I swallowed back the overwhelming desire to throw up. I focused on saving my bond.

Sometime later—with magic, time held no meaning—I sat back on my heels. The lights in the suite burned too brightly. My head hurt like nothing I’d experienced before. Blood drenched my nightclothes, and my legs had fallen asleep during the healing.

I moaned, the only thing I had energy to do, before I fell back and allowed the pain I’d held at bay to sweep me away.

#

“Long ago,” Grandmother begins. “The ancient magicians of Relina sent kings to take care of the lands and rule the people. They chose leaders who exhibited kindness and weren’t afraid to make hard decisions. They spoke their minds and the magicians listened.”

I hang on every word as Grandmother squeaks forward in her chair, and then splinters back. I’m already seated on the floor, my knees tucked into my chest. I’d been unusually quiet during dinner, because during my lesson, Oake had told me he’d heard concerning tales from the north. He whispered the rumors of wicked magic, of magician hunters, of kings who’d forgotten kindness.

I hadn’t told Grandmother, knowing she’d simply say to focus on my training and leave politics to the politicians. Yet my mind wanders around Oake’s words, seeking their weight, and how they can impact my life here in Iskadar, which sits so near Nyth.

So today, a Saturday, she’s settled into our normal Sunday routine. I love her for it; for noticing the disquiet in me, and offering me an anchor to hold.

“The magicians divided the lands into kingdoms, and gifted peoples, and acreage, and riches to each king, with the specific instruction to rule them well. Kings are held to a higher standard, the standard of the magicians. But one king, King Gustus, didn’t do as counseled.”

She pauses again and I close my eyes to better imagine what color evil magic would stain the sky. Dark green bleeds over the backs of my eyelids, and I wonder what scent would accompany such sorcery.

I force Oake’s words from my mind and allow myself to get lost in the rhythmic rocking of Grandmother’s chair. The summer breeze moans around the corners of the house, a dry sound to which I am accustomed.

“Throughout the ages, the kings of the world have, for the most part, ruled honorably. In the cases they have not, the ancients have removed them from service. For that’s what a king does: He serves his people. King Gustus forgot this priority and made his people serve him. That was the beginning of his end. For the magicians want people to work in harmony with the lands, and with one another.”

“Did they give King Gustus another chance?” I ask.

“Yes, child. The magicians are the epitome of kindness and longsuffering. They will give a king many chances to rule properly.”

I feel warm at this assurance. The magicians of Relina are kind, and surely my mother has found what she seeks. “Will Mother come home soon, then?”

Grandmother’s chair squeaks to a stop. “Why would you think that?”

I open my eyes to find her studying me. “Well, if the magicians are the epitome of kindness, surely they have granted her wish to be reunited with Father.”

The lines around her eyes tighten. “You’re right, Echo. She probably is with your father again.” The squeaking and splintering picks up again. “But I don’t think either one of them will be returning to us.”

Her words cut deep, reopening an old wound, but I don’t let her see that. I pinch my eyes closed to keep the tears from falling as she continues her story about the ancient magicians, and how they painted the skies violet in their faraway lands, how they bewitched the winds to whisper magical melodies to those who know how to listen.

Though I hunger to know everything about the birthplace of magic—a place from which Grandmother hails but rarely speaks of—I feel hollow inside, knowing for certain that my parents will not return. It isn’t until I’m lying in bed that night that I realize what Grandmother has told me. The ancients did not bring Father back to Mother.

They took Mother to meet Father.

#

I opened my eyes to sunshine in a blue sky, not purple as Grandmother claimed existed in Relina. I remembered that she spoke of days on a ship, “crossing waters as endless as time,” she said.

Though she’d been only a handful of years old when she left Relina, Grandmother wore the sickness on her face for her homeland. She said the magic didn’t speak nearly as loudly here as it had in Relina, that though people in Iskadar were kind, gracious, and forgiving, they paled in comparison to the order and unity of Relina’s population.

I’d questioned her about returning to the land of her birth, but she claimed such things were not possible. “Those lands are lost. It takes a special ship, with a captain of the proper birthright, to find them.”

“Surely we can simply look to the sky,” I had said, repeating something Grandmother had often told me. Look to the skies, Echo, she would whisper. You’ll find me there.

She shook her head, lost inside her thoughts.

Sighing away the memories, I sat up and found my bedroom empty save for the scent of freshly baked bread. A platter of it sat on the night table next to my bed. I chewed through a piece while I stretched my muscles and exercised my joints.

Satisfied that my body worked the way it always had, I went into the courtyard.

Castillo stood abruptly and eliminated the distance between us. He took me in his arms and breathed in the scent from my hair. My maids had removed all traces of blood from my skin; my nightclothes had been replaced; my hair washed. I wondered what Lucia had done when she saw me. I would weep for her, as she was my closest friend.

I melted into his embrace and clung to him with worry in my grip, my insides suddenly swimming.

“Thank you,” he breathed into my ear.

I pressed my fingertips into his shoulders, then his back, then I explored down his sides, confirming that he was unbroken. “You’re alive,” I whispered.

“Thanks to you.” He drew back and looked down into my face. “You’re a remarkable healer.”

“Mariana—”

“She did nothing,” he said. “Her magical ability is only a fraction of yours.”

“I think she panicked,” I said. “How did you come to be so injured?”

He frowned and leaned closer. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Castillo.” Clear warning laced my voice.

“I went home, to Nyth.”

Images of the High King singing until Castillo’s bones split ran through my mind. He could wound with his voice and his fists—I’d already seen him raise his hand as if to strike Cris. The thought of the High King even looking at Castillo the wrong way made me sick.

“Nyth,” I mused. “I’m glad you’re well, then.” My words melted his stoic exterior. He pressed his lips to mine. I drank in his smell, the taste of him, greedily, thinking this might be the last time I could experience him this way. I feared the Prince would be making his selection soon, and I knew Castillo wouldn’t do anything to hurt his brother—which included kissing me.

Twenty-Three

The next day, I sought after Mari. I found her sequestered in her suite, her eyes bloodshot and her chest heaving with hiccups. “Mari.” I sat next to her on the bed. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Wrinkled handkerchiefs littered the bedspread where Mari lay, and I began sweeping them into a pile for her clothing matron to launder.

“I couldn’t heal him,” she said between hiccups. “I tried, and my magic was so weak. I’ve been releasing it every day at the pools.” She covered her face in her hands and sobbed.

I patted her on the back and smoothed her hair away from her face. “You tried. That’s what matters.” When she didn’t quiet, I began humming the lullaby Grandmother had sung for me the day Olive left. I felt the magic flare through me, and I urged it to go.

Mari’s muscles relaxed and her cries subsided. I signaled to her maid that we needed food, and minutes later a tray arrived. The lamb chops made my mouth water and my stomach roar.

“Come eat,” I said to Mari and “Thank you,” to her maid. The young woman ducked her head and backed out of the room. “You’ll need your strength.”

Mari joined me at the table, her hair a tangled mess and still gasping for a proper breath. “What would I need strength for?”

“For speaking with Cris.”

She brightened considerably at the mention of the Prince, and I suddenly wondered why she’d been in Cris’s suite so late at night. “You’re in love with him,” I blurted, hoping they had simply been finishing their date.

She jerked her eyes to mine. “You aren’t?”

I supposed some of the feelings I’d experienced over the past couple of months could be classified as love. At the very least, they weren’t hatred. I remembered the last kiss we’d shared, and a hot iron flared inside my chest.

“No.” My voice sounded strained. “I’m not in love with him.”

Mari flashed the tiniest of smiles. “I think he’ll choose you now,” she said, the nasal quality returning to her voice.

I chewed slowly, hoping to give Mari the impression that I was considering her words. “He doesn’t love me.”

I didn’t want to give Mari the crown, even if I didn’t love Cris, even if I didn’t want to be rule Nyth. I wouldn’t be able to do anything to help my countrymen—or magicians—if I didn’t become Queen. “He does not have to.” Mari pushed her food around on the plate. “He needs someone who can wield magic.”

I looked up at her, wondering how she knew such things. Had Cris told her, or did she have a guard who shared information? “Mari, can I trust you?”

“Of course.” She put down her utensils and studied me. Even without makeup, she was beautiful and now that she’d stopped crying, she seemed very confident.

“Castillo doesn’t think Cris will make a very good king.”

Mari leaned closer. “My guards say the same thing. Solis, especially.”

“Castillo would like to see Cris with someone who can protect him from his father.”

“I would like that, too,” Mari said. “The man is simply awful to Cris.” She crossed her arms as her eyes took on a furious quality. The chill in her expression caused a shiver to slide over my arms.

“Well,” she said. “I’ll advise you to be aware of Castillo.”

“What do you mean?”

She peered at me. “Castillo wants the throne.”

I laughed, because the absurdity of such a statement required it. “That’s not true.”

Mari remained stoic. “It is true. Though nobody in Nyth acknowledges his royal status, everyone knows Castillo should rightfully be the next king—and that he wants to be.”

“The next king?” I had the sudden urge to get back to my courtyard so I could sing the songs I needed to discover Castillo’s birth. Though I was weary of such intrigue, I didn’t want to learn this sensitive information from Mari.

Before I could excuse myself, she said, “He’s four days older than Cris, and the first son of Javier de la Fuenta. He should be High King of Nyth.”

“Even though his mother was not Queen?” I knew enough politics to know Castillo was the bastard son of the High King, and bastards were never in line for the throne.

“Castillo has long petitioned for equality when it comes to the royal bloodlines.”

“Meaning . . .” My mind leaped in circles, and my hands twisted around each other while I thought. “He doesn’t believe it matters if you come from one or not. You don’t have to be royal to be royalty.”

Castillo’s goals sounded a lot like mine. All he wanted was to establish a practice that allowed all people to be treated fairly. It was exactly what I desired for magicians. If he succeeded in his plans, he should be the next High King of Nyth. He could be living in luxury instead of a one-room bedroom that doubled as a dining room and a bathroom. His plot to ensure Cris didn’t rule Nyth made much more sense now.

I wondered what Castillo had been doing in Nyth these past few weeks. Was he truly on an errand for Cris? Or one of his own?

I wondered why he’d leave out this important detail and if I could really trust him at all. The thought made me hurt. More than I had when I’d taken his pain into my own body. More than when I had fled Iskadar, leaving Oake behind to face the hunting parties alone.

“I must go,” I managed to say through a throat too thick to swallow. Mari walked me to the door and hugged me goodbye. Thankfully, Matu waited in the hall.

#

That night, as I stood over a sleeping Castillo, an invasion song confirmed Mari’s accusations. Cris and Castillo grew up together under the motherly eye of Helena, but Castillo was born first. I leaned over him as images from his childhood rebounded in my mind.

I left before I found out if he wanted to be High King or not. I couldn’t stomach the thought of him using me that way. I felt so foolish, and that lent itself to anger.

Luckily, Castillo needed to rest more than usual because of his recent injuries, the cause of which I still didn’t know. I wanted to sing another invasion song, but I feared the sharp edges the answers would carry.

I spent hours in the gardens with Matu, and many more in the sewing room with Lucia. With the machine running or our drawing pages out, my thoughts didn’t tangle the way they did in the soft minutes before I fell asleep at night.

Cris and I spent hours together eating, and talking, and midnight strolling. I found that I could easily fall in love with him, and I didn’t entirely blame him for perpetuating the charade of courting the other girls.

“Father has finally approved my selection,” Cris said one evening as I settled in our favorite spot next to the river. He sat next to me and loosely took my hand in his. “Do you wish to know who I chose?”

I cut a glance at him and found a rare smirk on his face. “Surprise me.”

He leaned close and kissed me, a short, chaste union of our mouths. “A surprise it shall be.”

#

The next morning, Bo magically amplified his voice and made an announcement through the compound. “His Majesty has made his selection. He chooses for his bride the lovely Echo del Toro of Iskadar.”

Twenty-Four

I’d been summoned to an engagement party that evening, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. I imagined Mari prostrate on her bed, surrounded by cried-through handkerchiefs. The thought brought an ache to my skull that the strongest medicine couldn’t relieve. And Lucia had brought me three doses.

I still hadn’t spoken to Castillo, and the words piled inside, almost ready to come surging out. I didn’t know if I’d be able to control them—a danger, considering I’d be meeting Cris in less than a half hour.

I knew Castillo would be waiting in the hall. I didn’t assume he’d allow anyone else to escort me to this occasion for which he’d so carefully planned. I sat in front of the mirror, watching as Lucia braided and wrapped my hair into an elegant knot. Greta brought out the highlights in my skin and made my lips as red as blood. My eye makeup was dark and striking, with a hint of gold in the corners, like wings. She was truly masterful with a brush, and I told her so.

She smiled and continued dabbing at my lips until they shone. Lucia helped me into a dress that hugged my chest and hips and flared to the ground around my bare feet.

“Lucia,” I breathed. “When have you been working on this?” The silver fabric reminded me of a bolt of lightning, hot and unpredictable. Uneasiness scorched my insides, so the dress complimented my mood.

“I haven’t been sleeping enough.” She smoothed her hand over the cloth at my waist. “Which would be fine if you didn’t wake so early.” She stepped back and grinned at me.

“You’ve been keeping secrets!”

She laughed, a devilish twinkle in her eye. “I have others, too. You have not seen all my work, ‘dearest.’”

“Lucia,” Greta admonished, but I simply laughed at her impression of Cris.

All too soon, Greta and Lucia disappeared, leaving me with my thoughts. The door opened, and Castillo entered, wearing a suit of charcoal and a ruby colored tie. He looked every bit as handsome as Cris, every bit as regal, every whit as kingly. My heart pushed blood through veins that had constricted at the mere sight of him.

I stood and watched as he closed the door and moved closer. “Echo,” he murmured, and my chest squeezed a little tighter. “You are stunning. Congratulations on your engagement.”

I noted the formality of his words and the careful way he stopped a safe distance away. I suddenly wondered why he’d stayed away for so many days. Perhaps he, like me, had realized the folly of our budding relationship, and knew we couldn’t become more than bonds.

“I will miss you,” I whispered.

“I will be with you.” He stepped closer to me. “We’re bonds. We’ll always have that.” He embraced me, and I breathed in the wet stone smell of him.

I moved away. “What were you doing in Nyth these past few weeks?” I slipped my arm into his and tugged him toward the courtyard.

“I cannot tell you.”

“Cris will tell me then.”

“No. You mustn’t ask him.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me. This shouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

He exhaled in an exasperated way. “I do not wish you to know.”

“Does it have anything to do with your agenda to equalize the royal bloodlines? Then you would be first in line for the throne.” I folded my arms across my chest.

He stepped back, his face a mixture of anger and shock. “Who told you?”

“You should have told me.”

“I did not—”

“—wish you to know,” I said with him. “But why, Castillo? You realize this makes me doubt you in every way.” I paced to the end of the courtyard and spoke to the stones. “I doubt whether your plan for me to rule is altruistic or not. I doubt whether you want what’s best for Cris at all!”

“That’s smart, I suppose,” he said quietly. I spun to find that he now faced the palm fronds in the corner. “When I went to Nyth, my father wasn’t pleased to see me. I begged him to release Cris of his kingly duties. He doesn’t wish to be High King. I said I’d do it. I could be a noble king.” He cleared his throat. “My father knows Helena hails from a royal line, albeit obscure and unrecognized. He beat me and then he sent his guards to finish the job. I only survived long enough to return to Umon because of the personal magic I possess.”

My hands shook at the memory of Castillo’s pain, the blood leaking from his ruined mouth. He must have chanted a slowing spell to keep his blood loss at a minimum. Or perhaps he’d sung a spell to keep his body from feeling pain.

“Castillo, I’m sorry.” The words sounded inadequate, because they were.

“It’s not your fault. My father is not an honorable king. He won’t step down, nor will he allow Cris to do so. He will kill me before he allows me to expose his cover-up of my mother’s heritage. He will never allow his bastard son to be more than a soldier.”

I lightly touched his shoulder and turned him toward me. “Maybe instead of fighting for a recognized bloodline, we should focus on grooming Cris to become the king he should be. My grandmother said the ancients give kings many chances to rule honorably. He deserves that much.”

“The ancients don’t have as much sway as they once did.” Castillo’s eyes grew stormy. “They have abandoned these lands across the seas.”

“I refuse to believe that,” I said. Grandmother had bragged of their kindness, their utmost care.

“It’s called lore for a reason, Echo.”

I squinted at him. “The stories are not foolish beliefs. The ancients of Relina are real.”

“They’ve done nothing to interfere with my father, nor his many years of poisoning their power.”

A sharp sensation tugged at my stomach, yet I refused to believe the ancients had abandoned these lands.

Castillo swayed to a melody only he could hear, the fight leaving his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. My father has spent over two decades shaping Cris into a weakling. He did it purposely, Echo, so that by the time Cris takes the throne, my father’s power-hungry magicians can use him as a puppet. It is they who will truly rule.” He dipped his mouth closer to my ear. “I would rather you guide Cris than them.”

The thought of the High King ruining and using magicians to satisfy his will brought a fire to my core. Before I could answer, a bell rang. It sounded musical, not like the emergency bell we’d used in Iskadar, nor the siren from my first week in the compound. I’d never heard anything like it, and I turned toward my suite in alarm. “What’s that?”

“Cris is summoning the citizens.” He laced his fingers in mine and squeezed. “To introduce them to their soon-to-be princess.” He led me through the glass door and called for Greta to ensure he hadn’t smudged my makeup.

#

I stood with Cris behind a closed door, my heart thundering in my chest like a herd of wild horses. My dress felt too bright, my hair too black. I felt haphazardly stuck together, with too many pieces that didn’t belong in some spots, and not enough essential parts in others.

“I cannot breathe.” I gasped, and Cris reached for my hand. His magic flowed into me, calming me from the inside out. “Thank you.”

“I meant to tell you about my magic immediately,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t disclose my full abilities.”

“We’ll have to start being more honest with each other,” I said, thinking of Castillo and our bond.

Before Cris could answer, the double-wide doors crashed open and sunlight streamed into my face, along with a deafening chorus of applause. Cris pulled me forward into an unknown I couldn’t see. I raised my hand to wave, as Gibson had instructed me.

On the balcony, I smiled and did my best to look the part of the happiest girl in these lands. I held the hope that Cris could become a king the magicians of Relina would approve of. I may not be able to undo decades of training from the High King, but I wouldn’t let anyone take him down without a fight. I may not love him yet, but that potential existed.

Cris leaned in and kissed my temple, and the crowd went wild. The anger that had surged at the thought of the High King faded, but I couldn’t fully get the image of Castillo bleeding and broken from my mind. I couldn’t erase the fear in Cris’s eyes when he introduced me to his father. I heard the High King exclaiming, “Iskadar!” as if I was unworthy of being in his presence.

I didn’t want to rid myself of those memories. I would use them to dethrone the High King and bring to power the person who belonged at the helm of Nyth. I would use them to cleanse the magic, and release the caged magicians, and make Grandmother proud.

As I stood in the sunshine, smiling and kissing Cris, I imagined what it would take to scour the corruption from the royal line.

I knew exactly where I’d start: Bo and Gibson.

Twenty-Five

After the friendly reception of our engagement, Cris dictated an announcement for his messengers to take to the villages surrounding Umon. He sent a royal decree to the land of Heona.

“The queen won’t be pleased with this union,” I said from the lounge chair on Cris’s deck. “She’ll view it as a threat.”

“I am aware.” Cris sent another servant out the door. “Castillo and I have discussed it at length.”

“Oh?” I couldn’t mask the annoyance in my voice. “And what have you two concluded?”

“The queen of Heona has granted her royal approval for our union.”

“She has?” I asked. “What did she require of you?”

“She knows we have no interest in unseating her.” Two more servants entered. He gave them directions while I refocused on the Burisia River. I couldn’t imagine Queen Bargout sitting idly by while another country doubled its holdings, pressed in closer to her borders. I knew little of the queen and her temperament, but certainly understood her trade embargo. Her approval had come at a price.

Cris dismissed his servants and called me over. “I need your help on wedding preparations.”

“Ask Lucia.” I refused to tear my eyes from the river, wishing Olive was here to construct my bouquet. “She knows what I like.”

Cris instructed several more people, and they scampered out of the room. I gazed into the distance and sipped my grapefruit juice. Only then did I realize how quiet it had become. I glanced toward the suite to find Cris leaning against the wall, studying me.

“I will ensure the other girls return home safely,” I said. “Remember, you said—”

“I remember my promises,” Cris said. “What are your plans?”

“I’ll ask Matu to escort them back to their homes.”

Cris nodded as yet another servant entered and inquired after musicians for the dance that would follow the ceremony. I turned away when he looked to me for confirmation. I wished I had an explanation for my disinterest in our wedding that I could share with Cris. “Why did you choose me?” I asked. “And don’t say it is because I’m beautiful.”

“Well, now I don’t know what to say,” he teased, joining me on the deck. He settled into the chair next to me and loosely held my fingers in his.

“You love someone else,” I prompted.

He didn’t speak for the longest time. The sun turned the sky gold and pink and then settled into the color of a bruise before he so much as moved.

“I don’t love someone else,” he said. “I’m certainly not as fond of anyone the way you are.”

My throat closed at his words. I hadn’t professed my feelings for Castillo, because I didn’t fully understand what vibrated inside.

I cleared the emotion from my vocal chords. “I could probably love you,” I admitted. “If—”

“If it were not for Castillo,” Cris interrupted.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” I pulled my fingers from his and folded my arms. “I don’t love Castillo.” I should hold my tongue. But I couldn’t contain my thoughts. “I could probably love you if you were the kind of king your country needed.”

Cris exhaled as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry I disappoint you so completely, Echo. I fear I always will.” He left, his absence only adding to my guilt.

#

I found Matu in the small rose garden that had become a favorite of ours. “There you are.” I sat next to him on the only bench, relishing the heat of the sunshine on my bare arms.

“Hello, Echo,” he said. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

A muscle twitched in my jaw. “Thank you.” I forced myself to relax. I couldn’t understand why I was struggling with the idea of marrying Cris. I’d known about the imminent engagement for weeks. I placed my hand on Matu’s arm. “I have a request.”

“Speak it,” he said, “and I’ll do the best I can.”

A rush of love for Matu overwhelmed me, and tears sprang to my eyes. I swiped at my face and cleared the emotion from my throat. “It’s the other girls. I do not wish to see any harm come to them.” I composed myself and sat up straighter. “Cris has promised me that I can ensure their safe return home, and I need your help to do it.”

“Why would they not return home safely?”

“Athe didn’t.” I frowned at the memory of her blue lips. “And Gibson was charged with her removal. I don’t wish to see any more of these girls die.”

“Athe is dead?” The genuine surprise in Matu’s voice would’ve been hard to fake. He watched me with clear confusion on his face.

“She is.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how Gibson planned to return the girls to their homes, but I don’t wish them to end up like Athe.” Surely the deaths of ten girls would be noticed. Perhaps Athe had died of an accident, or perhaps she’d done something more heinous than sneak into the Prince’s bedroom.

Either way, I wasn’t willing to risk the remaining girls.

Matu put his hand over mind. “Of course not, Echo. What do you need?”

“I’m hoping you can get their addresses from the High Secretary’s office while I gather them together and . . .” I waved my hand. “Ask them to pack.”

“They will have nothing to pack,” Matu said. “They all arrived with nothing, same as you.”

“Surely they won’t be required to leave here with nothing. Perhaps they would like to wear a traveling cloak, or some sturdy boots, or . . .” I thought of the sewing room, with its hundreds of custom-made dresses. “Something.”

Matu suppressed a smile as he stood. “I’ll get their addresses and meet you in the ballroom in half an hour.”

Thirty minutes later, I arrived last in the ballroom. The other ten girls sat around one table, silent, while Matu waited at another with a sheaf of parchment. All eyes swiveled to me.

“Hello.” I found my mind held nothing else to say. I shuffled a few steps closer. I looked at Kenya, and Gazelle, and Mari, and seven other girls whose names I couldn’t remember. I imagined myself at that table, and I’d want to be told the truth.

“I asked to be charged with your dismissal.” I inhaled deeply. “Because if it were left to Gibson, you’d all be dead by nightfall.”

Mari stood, her fists shaking and tears spilling down her cheeks. “That’s not true. Athe was sent home. She—”

“She’s dead.” The other girls volleyed their gaze from me to Mari. “I performed a location spell and saw her—she’s dead.”

Mari looked like she might argue again. “Mari, you’re more than welcome to seek out Gibson and request he take you home.” My words sounded final, and I couldn’t believe I’d spoken them. My only friend in the compound, and I was willing to let Gibson have her?

Please sit, I thought, staring at her with desperation building in my chest.

One of the girls pulled on Mari’s arm, and she sat. I looked at Matu. I couldn’t tell if his steady expression held more awe or more horror. “I’ve asked Matu to retrieve your addresses, and he will personally ensure you arrive at your home safely.”

Matu stood, rolling the parchment and sliding it into his back pocket. “Echo has done you all a great favor. Come, ladies, I have carriages waiting.”

#

It seemed the entire compound had been quietly preparing for the royal wedding for many months. Upon our announcement, the servants switched into high gear. A florist brought three displays for my choosing, and I felt a wave of homesickness for Olive. I wished to see her nimble fingers craft my wedding bouquet while I listened to her stories about her life in Umon before I arrived.

Matu had not been able to find her in Iskadar, though the royal guard insisted they’d taken her all the way to Grandmother’s yellow front door. I’d begged him to continue the search, but word hadn’t reached me yet.

“Table arrangements,” the florist said, tearing my thoughts from my sister. Without thinking, I pointed to one with pink bleeding hearts, surprised he’d been able to put together such a beautiful arrangement in only a few hours. When I inquired, he said, “The designs have been ready for weeks. I’ll return to discuss your bouquet.” He then scooped up his creations and left me staring after him.

Weeks, I mused as Lucia entered the suite. “My lady, we have your dress selections prepared.”

In another circumstance, I might have smiled. But she’d called me “my lady.”

“You and your many secrets,” I said. “Lucia—”

“Echo, this is what you want. This is what you have worked for—what we have all worked for.” She drew closer to me. “Why are you upset?” She glanced over her shoulder and back to me. “Is it Castillo?”

As far as I could determine, I enjoyed Cris’s company more than Castillo’s. Cris didn’t keep secrets from me the way Castillo did.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’m just overwhelmed. Maybe I’m not ready to be married; to be a princess.”

Lucia hugged me, holding me tight for several long seconds. “Perhaps you’re letting fear rule your emotions.”

“Perhaps.” I certainly couldn’t tell her of my bond, and the powerful emotional tie Castillo and I shared, even if it wasn’t romantic.

She moved toward the door. “Come, you’re going to adore the dresses I’ve been hiding.”

“Lucia? Will you come with me to Nyth?” My question stopped her progress. She turned back to me, her eyes wide and filled with gratitude.

“I would be honored, my lady.”

I linked my arm through hers. “If you start calling me ‘my lady’ again, forget it. You can stay here.”

That solicited a laugh, and I felt lighter than I had since the engagement announcement. I went with her into my bedroom where three white gowns hung from the canopy frame. The first looked like it would adhere to my skin and never come off. It appeared straight from shoulder to knee, and far too small by the looks of it. The second dress boasted of a beaded bodice, with short sleeves and a flare in the skirt. The third looked more like a collection of bandages than a dress.

“The middle one,” I said. It looked the most like the designs Lucia and I had drawn and redrawn.

“Do you wish to try them on?” Lucia asked.

“Now? I, well . . . ” A knock on the door saved me. A man walked in without waiting for an answer. He wore a white chef’s jacket and carried a stack of parchment squares.

“We must talk about the menu,” he said.

I sighed as a pulsing pain started behind my eyes. “No duck. Other than that, I don’t care.”

A sour expression developed on the chef’s face as if I’d just insulted his mother. “No duck?” He shuffled the pages he held.

“No duck,” I confirmed. I’d never harbored grandiose dreams of what my wedding would be like. I’d never given much thought to marrying at all.

“Wines?” the chef asked.

“Whatever you think is good enough to serve the High King.”

Lucia cleared her throat, and I glanced at her. She motioned with her hand, like a normal bride-to-be would care about the beverages at her wedding.

“I mean, what do you recommend?”

The chef listed off the names of wines, which meant nothing to me. I asked him more clarifying questions about what might pair well with the main dish, and we decided on a wine together.

After he left my suite, I made for the courtyard, but didn’t make it two steps before Lucia said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Torture,” I joked, but secretly I agreed. Another knock sounded on the door. A man entered, again without waiting to be greeted, and when he saw me, his face split into a grin.

“Hello, darling.” He tossed his long hair over his shoulder.

Taken aback by such hair on a man, all I could do was stare at him.

“I’m Lionel, the royal musician. I was told you would direct me in all things musical for the blessed event.”

“Told by whom?”

“The Prince, of course!” He twirled before looking at me again. I couldn’t seem to form my thoughts into words.

“You and His Majesty will dance, correct?” Lionel asked.

My legs turned to pudding at the thought. Grandmother had never taught me to dance, and Oake didn’t think my magical power resided in the movement of my limbs.

Lucia squealed. “Oh yes, there will be dancing.” She turned her joyful gaze on me. “I have the perfect gown for that, too.”

I was eternally glad she was here with me, and I hoped I could convey as much to her with a simple smile. “Is there someone who can teach me to dance?”

Lionel had the audacity to laugh. “I’m sure there is, Highness, but you won’t have time. The wedding is in three days!”

Having someone say it so flippantly brought a twist to my stomach that even Lucia’s enthusiasm could not undo.

Three days.

#

On my wedding day, I knew the exact moment the High King arrived. The very compound seemed to hold its breath, and a chill pressed under the cracks in the doors and bulged against the closed windows. I was lying in bed, waiting for dawn, and I sucked in a breath as I sat up.

I felt pulled toward his magic, and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t imagine growing up under his watchful glare, his constant displeasure. I saw the way he raised his hand as if to strike Cris, and fury burned bright in my heart. I thought of what Castillo said about his father being cruel, and my determination to protect my bond solidified.

“Echo?” Greta asked.

I turned, realizing I stood at the door, one hand on the knob, ready to leave.

“Where are you going, my lady?”

I shook my head to clear it of the High King’s dangerous magic. “Nowhere,” I said, moving quickly back to bed.

Only mere hours later, Lucia and Greta zipped, and buttoned, and tied me into my wedding dress. It felt more like a straightjacket. I wore nothing on my feet, and I’d asked Greta to tread lightly with the makeup. Lucia washed and curled my hair and formed it into inky ringlets that flowed over my shoulders.

The florist had brought the bouquet. It was passable, but my sister could’ve done my marriage justice in flowers alone. The chefs had been baking day and night. The musicians had tuned their instruments. I had not had time for dancing lessons, as Lionel had predicted. Even Lucia hadn’t been able to find a few spare minutes to instruct me.

I swallowed back the emptiness in my stomach. I hadn’t been able to eat anything but salad for two days. Apparently I couldn’t digest anything more significant than lettuce.

“It is time.” Lucia drew me into a hug and squeezed me tight. “It has been a pleasure serving you, Highness.”

“Stop,” I choked out. “I’m not a Highness of anything.” At least I wouldn’t be losing Lucia. I truly felt like we shared a sisterly bond. “You’ll be at the wedding, yes?”

Lucia nodded before joining Greta near the wall, where they waited silent and still. A moment later, Matu came to the door. He wore his finest suit in black, with a silk tie of pale pink. I noted that the roses in my bouquet matched the tie’s color exactly. At least someone had attended to the details of this event.

“Echo, you’re beautiful.” His eyes shone with emotion, and my heart longed for one more afternoon to wander through the gardens. “Are you ready?”

“No.” I moaned, but I reached for his arm anyway. Together, we left my suite and headed toward the ballroom where I’d eaten on my first night in the compound only a few months ago.

I knew I wouldn’t be returning to these rooms, or that courtyard. I mourned the loss, and not only because of the loss of my privacy. I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on where I would sleep tonight, and with whom. The mere thought caused my chest to tighten and my throat to narrow.

All too soon, we stood before the double doors of the ballroom. I imagined the hundreds of people crammed inside. If I strained my ears, I could hear their chatter. They would quiet as soon as I entered, and I suddenly needed more than Matu’s steady arm to keep me upright.

“Castillo will take you down the aisle,” Matu whispered. “Cris will be on your left. I may not see you again, dear Echo. You take care.” He started to remove his arm and reach for the door, but I stopped both movements.

“Of course we’ll see each other again,” I said. “You’re coming with us to Nyth, aren’t you?”

“Only the Prince’s Guard will accompany you to Nyth.”

“You are not in the Prince’s Guard?”

“No, my lady.”

“Who do you serve?”

“I serve you, or at least, I did. Now that this is over, I’ll get another assignment.”

“You will still serve me. I’m the Princess, or at least I will be, and I need guards I can trust.” The words I didn’t say—I cannot trust Bo or Gibson—hung in the air between us.

Finally Matu nodded. “And Castillo?”

“He’s coming too, of course,” I said, tasting the lie in my mouth. I knew Castillo couldn’t come to Nyth. I’d known it since the night we bonded.

“Where’s the High King seated?” I whispered.

“Front row, on your left.” Matu squeezed my hands. “Good luck, my lady.” He kissed my cheek and opened the door, slipping behind it so the crowd gathered in the ballroom could only see me.

As predicted, a hush settled over the people. I walked forward on legs that didn’t seem to bend properly, and just when I thought I couldn’t continue, Castillo arrived.

I smiled at him in what I hoped was a proprietary way for one about to marry someone else. He didn’t return it, and the knowledge that we’d kept our bond a secret made my step surer.

We moved down the aisle, where Cris waited with the brightest look of hope on his face. He kept cutting his eyes toward Castillo, but I refused to look anywhere but at him. If we were to be married, we’d have to start relying on only each other.

Forever later, and yet too soon, I stood next to him. The royal pastor spoke. My finger was pricked and bound. I recited something in the Nythinian language. Cris and I kissed. The crowd erupted and the musicians launched into their wedding march.

The High King sat back wearing a smug smile across his face. I dared only glance at him for a moment, and I noted that Cris didn’t look at him at all. I admired the strength Cris had to do that. I felt the High King’s flickering eyes watching my every step. Finally, we moved past him, and white rose petals started to shower over us. I faked a smile for the people as they raised their voices in congratulations.

Everything whirled around me. I had no time to process anything, no time to truly taste the masterpieces the chefs had prepared, no time to admire the beauty in the flowers on the table and miss my sister’s presence. The wedding banquet felt stuffed full of words, of people, of expectations. The High King sat in the middle of the dais, with Cris to his immediate right, and me beside my new husband. We both sat straight and tall, and not only because of the heavy crowns on our heads.

I dared not speak lest the High King overhear. Thankfully, he left as soon as he finished eating, carving a wide path toward the exit. Gibson and Bo went with him, and every muscle in my body relaxed. Beside me, Cris exhaled, and I reached for his hand under the table.

My eyes narrowed when I spied Mari. She wore purple silks and danced with her guard, Solis. I remembered that she didn’t hail from Umon. Perhaps she was never here as a real candidate for Cris. Or perhaps Matu had simply not been able to ensure her safe return and get back for the wedding in time.

After an hour of smiling and nodding and accepting good wishes, Cris led me through the ballroom and we burst into the emptiness of the hallway. Cooler air surrounded me and I took lungful after lungful of it. Because by the time Cris closed the door to his quarters, caging me inside with him, all the oxygen had vanished.

Twenty-Six

The room felt too large, but as the High King stood his presence seemed to cause everything to shrink. Including Cris.

“Father.” He strode forward and embraced him with tension in his shoulders. “Thank you for coming to the wedding.”

“I shall expect you both in Nyth very soon,” the High King said, switching his gaze from Cris to me.

“Of course.” Cris returned to my side. I couldn’t read the look in his eyes before he turned to face his father. I fumbled for his hand and when I found it, I squeezed. “We plan to leave in only a day or two.”

The High King exhaled, but it sounded like a hiss. “Now, where did Gibson get to?”

“He was standing guard outside. I sent him to his personal quarters,” Cris said without a tremor in his voice. Relief swam through me when he didn’t justify his actions.

The High King frowned as if Cris had no authority over his own guards. “You made a beautiful bride, Echo,” he said stepping toward me.

I sucked in a breath and managed not to edge closer to Cris. “Thank you, Your Excellence, though I’m sure you only thought so because of my magic.” The words came from my throat, but I hadn’t thought of them before giving them voice. Both the High King and the Prince stiffened.

Fury flashed in the High King’s changeable eyes. His magic reared into a dark and powerful being. It swelled to the edges of his person, straining against his control to be unleashed. I’d never felt something so vicious, so huge. Oake had taught me little of sorcery, citing that if I encountered someone who practiced dark magic to get as far away as possible. I couldn’t do that here, and Cris and I couldn’t sail into the horizon, never to return to Nyth.

I didn’t know the many thoughts streaming through the High King’s head, but I had only one in mine: Do not back down. You are the Princess! I raised my chin and linked my arm through Cris’s in a show of unity. Whatever the High King did to one of us, he did to the other.

“Father—” Cris started.

“I’ll see you in Nyth very soon. We have much work to do.” He spun on his heel and stormed away. His magic stayed a moment longer, threatening and whispering in a language I couldn’t understand. When the door to Cris’s suite slammed, the High King’s power flew after its master. Cris and I both deflated, and I noticed that he clung to me just as tightly as I to him.

“Well, that could have gone better,” I commented.

Cris went to the bar and poured himself a drink. I stood in the doorway, wondering where I was to sleep and who’d packed my nightclothes. Cris sipped his liquor while looking out the window into the darkness.

“Do not be afraid, Echo,” he said. “I will never do anything you do not wish me to.”

“I’d like to rest,” I said, my voice much quieter than it ever had been.

“A room has been prepared for you. Come, I’ll show you.” He moved down the hall without looking at me. He walked as he had been trained, with his shoulders strong and his step sure. He stopped outside the first door on the left and pushed it open.

Darkness yawned behind it, and I almost didn’t want to enter alone. But inviting him in wouldn’t serve me well. “Thank you,” I murmured as I slipped past him.

He caught me at the elbow and turned me toward him. “I would love you,” he said. “If you’d let me.”

“Perhaps.” I gently extracted my arm from his grip.

“Echo,” he pleaded. “You said yourself you could love me.”

I looked at him, really looked. He wore an expression of guilt and pain, with a bit of need glowing within the depths of his eyes. It was a look I knew well, because it captured every feeling that had raged through me these past three days.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” I reached up to cup his cheek in my palm. “If we are to be married, we should at least get to be ourselves.”

He closed his eyes and relaxed into my touch. “I could love you.”

“You could,” I said. “But right now you don’t.” I stepped away, into the darkness of my room. “Thank you for the beautiful wedding. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, I closed the door and shed my wedding dress.

Clothed in my familiar pajamas someone had laid on my bed, I found solace in the window seat. I searched for Grandmother in the skies, hoping she’d be proud of me. After several minutes, my thoughts wandered to Castillo. I wondered if he was still awake, contemplating the stars as well.

#

Dawn found me curled in a lounge chair on the veranda. I’d managed to doze in the window seat, but true slumber never claimed me. Unable to breathe in the empty room, I’d come to the balcony with the hope of clarity and fresh air.

When I heard timid footsteps slinking down the hall, I knew immediately they didn’t belong to Cris. Surprise more than anything caused me to turn and see who was there.

Mari didn’t see me as she moved into Cris’s small kitchen. She grasped nervously at her dress—the same purple silk she’d worn to the wedding ceremony—with her back to me.

A raging storm sprang to life inside my chest. It mingled with the magic sizzling through my veins. The two sensations battled with each other as I took in her disheveled hair, her wrinkled clothes, the guilt that radiated from every inch of her exposed skin.

Even if I’d wanted to speak, I couldn’t. Anger and shame had closed my throat. The thin sheet of transparent glass that separated us would never be thick enough.

Before I could do anything, she scurried out the door. The resulting slam rattled more than my teeth, and I sank to my knees, staring down the hall toward Cris’s rooms. Seconds or minutes may have passed while I knelt there, too numb to move.

Soon enough I regained my senses. I got to my feet and stormed down the hall, bypassing my room for his. I didn’t knock, but I did slow my breathing and pause outside the closed door.

I listened for any movement or sound and heard nothing. I stepped away from the door, aware that this situation could turn ugly. My fists clenched against my nightclothes, balling the fabric up and then releasing it.

Before I could decide if I should enter the room and rouse Cris from sleep to discuss the issue of his mistress, a series of locks clicked and the door opened. A cry of surprise escaped my lips as I took in the man before me.

Cris grunted and took a step back, but he didn’t attempt to cover his bare chest. The skin, brown as molasses, was marked from shoulder to hip in long, snakelike scars. Two dozen, three, I couldn’t count. The lighter ropes of healed skin striped his entire torso.

The fury inside deflated, leaving only a phantom of helplessness in its place. “What happened to you?” I finally managed to wrench my eyes from his disfigured body.

He stared back at me, resigned to whatever judgment I declared. “My father is not a kind man.”

Again, my fists clenched. “He’ll pay for this.”

Cris glanced over my shoulder down the hall. I immediately thought he was checking for any sign of Mari, but I kept that accusation to myself. It seemed that secrets were power, and I wanted as many in my pocket as possible.

He tugged me into the room and sealed us inside together. “He pays for nothing.”

I could scarcely breathe inside his room. It smelled like wood smoke and thick linens, two things that embodied Cris. I found myself leaning into him, and my fingertips danced over his scars. “For this, he will.”

“He’s a dangerous man, Echo. You should do all you can to stay out of his way. There’s only so much I can do to protect you.”

I digested his words for his sake, but I would do whatever I could to protect Cris—and make the High King answer for his misdeeds. Once again, the forcefulness of my feelings surprised me. “When do we leave for Nyth?”

“Tomorrow.”

I nodded and separated myself from Cris so I could take in the majesty of his room. Cris seemed to favor burgundy and navy, two colors I’d seen him wear on multiple occasions. Other than the customary plush rugs and fluffy blankets, his room was surprisingly sparse. The walls bore no mirror or artwork, no personality.

“How long have you been living here?” I asked.

“Just over a year,” he said. Plenty of time to accumulate a trinket, a portrait of someone who mattered to you, something. Yet Cris had nothing to suggest that this room belonged to him.

When I turned around, he’d pulled on a shirt to cover his scars. “Why were you standing outside my door?”

My eyes flew to where he’d settled himself into a love seat. He wouldn’t look at me, but picked something invisible off the sleeve of his shirt, then his pant leg, and finally the chair.

“I don’t know.” My voice practically screeched out.

His eyebrows crept toward his hairline, but he remained silent. The merry lights flickering in the oil lamps seemed foreign and far away. My fingers twitched at my sides.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” I said, my voice settling into its normal register.

“Get used to it,” he said, finally looking at me. “There’s very little rest to be had when many wish you were dead.”

Twenty-Seven

“Use your voice for good, dear Echo,” Grandmother used to say. “Don’t succumb to the dangerous dark power of song, but live in the light. Help others find their way.”

Across from me, Cris looked so lost. Grandmother may not have meant for me to use magic on him, but I could at least employ my voice.

“Have you heard many tales about the ancients of Relina?” I asked.

Cris looked at me warily. “Several.”

“Have you heard the one about King Gustus?”

“Yes.”

“How did the story end? My grandmother told me how it started, but she died before she could finish.”

Cris considered me a moment longer. “You might as well sit, for this is a long tale.”

I crossed the rich rug and sat near him in the love seat. He followed my movement with his eyes, without as much as moving a muscle. “King Gustus was a cruel leader,” he began. “He laid heavy taxes on his people. They loathed him, and he decided to expand his empire to feed his own ego.”

If he noticed the similarities between King Gustus and his own father, he didn’t acknowledge them. He continued the story, weaving a great tale about the wickedness of Gustus and how he went into lands he ought to have avoided, used song-magic to harm the lands, sang the spells to transfer his intelligence so his reign could be prolonged.

“The ancients sent messengers to plead with Gustus, to help him see the error of his ways. He would repent for a time, pull his soldiers out of the countries he’d invaded, sing chants to heal the lands, give relief to his people. But his greed proved too great, and in the end, he always reverted back to his unlawful and perverse methods of gaining and keeping control.”

“He was a tyrant,” I said, interjecting my voice into the story.

“Yes,” Cris said. “He was.”

“What happened to him?” I leaned toward him, trying to read the flickering emotion in his face. I couldn’t.

“It is said that the founders of the spell-songs, the magicians of Relina themselves, came to the land of Dynalia to offer one last treaty to the king. When he rejected it, they executed him with his own sword, extinguishing his intelligence forever. The legends say that the many lives he controlled and the numerous people he killed sang with joy the day he died.”

I thought of the High King, and how huge his magic felt, how ancient. I wondered how long he’d been in power, and if his intelligence had always resided in the body it now did.

“Grandmother said the magicians of Relina are kind.”

Cris regarded me for a moment. “My father doesn’t think so, but he still holds Relina and any who come from that land in high regard. He claims those who know the song-magic from Relina cannot be defeated. He traveled across the sea once, where he stayed for a few years, to learn their spell-songs.”

I frowned as I remembered the darkness in his power. Surely such songs didn’t come from the birthplace of magic, from those who counseled magicians to use the power of song to heal, to help, to restore.

I kept my thoughts quiet, still pondering about a land I’d only heard about through Grandmother’s limited stories.

“Anyway,” Cris continued. “At King Gustus’s death, magicians saw a shift in public opinion. You see, he was a sorcerer as well as a king. And when he abused the power, many began to believe that magic had no place among society. That, I’ve heard it told, is why the ancients were so angry.”

“Because they created magic for the benefit of mankind,” I supplied. “To work together between flesh and land.”

Cris nodded. “You know your lore.”

“My grandmother loved to tell the old stories.” My mouth turned up at the thought of her.

Cris ducked his head slightly. “I would’ve liked to have met your grandmother.”

I didn’t expect the kindness in his tone to strike me so powerfully in the chest, and I grappled for a response.

“You are radiant when you speak of her.” He cleared his throat and reverted back to his story. “The opinion of magic has been declining since the days of Gustus. My father is determined it stay that way, so he can maintain his control over the magic.”

His eyes took on a faraway quality as he relived some personal nightmare between him and his father.

“Here’s a thought,” I said, unsure if I wanted to continue or not.

“I cannot wait to hear it.” Cris smiled, and I found myself on the verge of laughter.

I put my hand on his. “Have you considered overthrowing your father?”

Cris sat back, a sudden look of seriousness on his face. “Many times,” he said, his voice soft and strong at the same time. “But I’m not strong enough.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “You were not strong enough before. You are now.”

His gaze settled into mine, bright and burning, and filled with fear. “It will be difficult.”

“I know.”

A wicked smile curved his mouth, and he said nothing more. We sat together in companionable silence for several minutes.

My stomach growled, and I felt as though I could lay in a hot bath forever. I stood and moved toward the door. I paused with my hand on the knob. “I’m sorry about your father. I’ll do what I can to help you.”

#

I spent the day in the gardens, wishing Matu were with me, and lying in the grass near the bathing pools, wondering how the sun had the energy to shine day after day. Because after only one day as a true princess, the weight of the world pressed into my shoulders.

Lucia and Greta arrived that evening to help me pack for the journey to Nyth. I was unsure how long we would remain in the northern country, but I left the details to my trusted ladies.

After dinner, I gauged Cris’s mood. He seemed the same as always: Quiet yet attentive. Burdened but determined not to transfer those troubles to me.

“I was thinking about my personal guards,” I said lightly. “Perhaps we can take a walk along the Burisia and discuss who they might be.”

He rose, grinned, and offered me his arm. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

I felt strong and content as Cris and I maneuvered through the halls, bypassed the pools where Mari had taken me, and exited the compound toward the rushing water of the river.

I exhaled, and it sounded like I’d finally been able to release my breath.

“You’re tense,” Cris said.

“I dislike the compound,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll feel better once we are in Nyth.”

Cris didn’t confirm nor deny my statement. He spoke of Nyth’s mountains, the crystal clear lakes, the grandiose castle where we would live. I enjoyed the conversation and asked him questions about his childhood, his summer cabin, his favored vacation spots.

The river was a gray, jagged highway in the dark landscape when the conversation hit a lull.

“Personal guards?” Cris asked.

“Yes,” I said, glad he had brought it up—something Castillo never would have done. “You have Princes’s guards. Surely the princess needs guards, too.”

“Surely.” He held up his hand before I could speak. “I already know who you want, and I’d like to give you both Matu and Castillo.”

I held my breath, surprised that he had guessed my wants, anticipated my needs. He exhaled as he examined the horizon. “You may only have one of them. Though I wish to provide you with the best personal guards—and Castillo is the best—he is committed to duties here in Umon.”

I shot him a glance through the gathering darkness, wondering when he’d started troubling himself with my guards. “Matu is a very good guard.”

“I’ll find you another who can equal Castillo’s skill.” His tender voice testified that he truly cared about me, that my personal safety meant a great deal to him. “My brother has much to do here, but he’ll come to Nyth as soon as he’s able.”

“Thank you, Cris.”

He slipped his fingers through mine, the corners of his mouth lifting the slightest bit. Perhaps I should tell Cris of my bond with Castillo. But I couldn’t without discussing it with Castillo first. “I wish to discuss your guards also.”

“Go on.”

I didn’t like the edge in his voice, but I carried on undaunted. “Bo and Gibson terrify me. I don’t wish to be around them day after day. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“They are most loyal.”

“To your father.”

He whipped his gaze to mine as he stopped. The river raged beside us, a dull roar compared to the frustration Cris harbored in his gaze.

“You know I’m right.” I spoke as gently as possible. “They don’t live and die for you; only for him. We must cut them loose before we leave for Nyth. Here in Umon.”

The scared little boy Cris hid so carefully came forward. Naked fear shone in his eyes. “They won’t go quietly.”

“As long as they go.”

“They’ve done things for me,” he said. “Things I’m not proud of.”

My stomach twisted. “Such as?”

“I would rather not discuss it,” he said. “To dismiss them, it is very likely that we’ll have to involve my father.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, Cris, this is exactly where you need to exercise your authority. Why should your father get to decide who your personal guards are? They’re your guards!” I squeezed his hand and calmed my rising temper. “No. We will make this decision, and we will handle it. We are the future king and queen.”

Cris stared at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging down. “I will be the King.”

“You will be the King!” I said. “You will decide. Not your father. Not anymore. This is the first step in regaining a measure of your power.”

“The first step,” he repeated.

“I’d like Castillo to be present,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask why.

Cris nodded, still living inside his scared-child skin. Dismissing Bo and Gibson would greatly displease the High King of Nyth—and neither Cris nor I knew if we could shoulder the consequences.

#

The next morning, Bo and Gibson arrived at the suite before the sun—before Castillo. I’d requested him to arrive at seven. I’d been up for an hour and wore my traveling clothes when I answered the door. “Oh, good morning.”

“Is His Majesty ready?” Bo growled.

“No,” I said. “We’ve decided to leave closer to noon. Cris had some business to conduct this morning.” The lie sounded convincing enough. “But while you’re here, I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

The two men crossed their arms as if they were one person, their movement identical. Though they stood apart, their quiet dislike evident, they were also united. Their bond strengthened them, and I had no doubt they would use their combined power against me. They glowered at me, and I felt as though my skin might burst into flames from the hatred in their eyes.

“Your services are no longer needed,” I said as calmly as I could, which meant my voice wavered ever so slightly. I forged ahead. “His Majesty has selected new personal guards. Your new appointments are waiting in the High Secretary’s office.”

I started to swing the door closed, but Bo’s foot shot out and prevented me from doing so. “Our new appointments? Who do you think you are? You cannot dismiss us!”

“I didn’t dismiss you,” I said. “You still have jobs. They’re just not with the Prince.”

“Has the High King approved this?” Gibson asked.

I leveled my gaze at him, feeling the first inklings of magic shooting up my arms. “This is not his decision.”

Before I could do or say anything else, Bo shoved the door with his meaty hands, knocking me backward into the suite. I screamed out of anger, but the air was pressed from my lungs by one very large knee.

I morphed my scream into a high-pitched note. Immediately, an electric current sparked from my body and the pressure left my chest. I coughed and gasped for breath, trying to regain my footing. A heavy blow landed on my shoulder blades, sending me back to the ground.

I flipped over, catching a glimpse of the red-faced fury of Gibson before he unleashed a spell on me. A puff of black smoke rose from his hand, a sign of sorcery. Fear blasted into terror and then pain as his shattering spell ricocheted through my body.

Only lightning existed, in my head, behind my eyes. I’d never felt such pain in all my life. Not when I’d found Olive in her dreadful living conditions; not when Grandmother died; not when I’d stepped in the beaver trap and almost lost my right foot when I was seven years old.

I heard a bellow of outrage, followed by knocking and slamming and yelling. I hummed to myself in an attempt to chase the wicked song-magic out of my system and stitch my insides back together. It worked, though my voice seemed to come from outside my body. The sharpness in my back faded, and the fire in my veins cooled.

I stood up, taking in the scene in snatches.

Bo lay slumped against the door. A black char mark disfigured his throat and jaw.

Cris sat on the floor, bleeding from the head. Bleeding. Bleeding.

Gibson wiped his mouth, and his hand came away red. All I could see was his sneer, that redness, Cris’s blood.

“You won’t leave here without me,” he said, taking a step toward me.

“Don’t come any closer.” I held my hand out as if I alone could stop him. I prayed Castillo would feel the panic in my magic and arrive to assist me.

Gibson laughed and mimicked me with his hand movements. “I can do magic, too, girlie.”

My body already knew that much. It screamed at me to put distance between Gibson and myself. But I stood rooted to the spot, the magic roaring through me. I didn’t know if I could overpower him. Dark magic carried a weight all its own, and he’d been training for much longer than me.

I started a guttural rumble in the back of my throat to weave a protective spell around myself. I wished I stood closer to Cris so I could envelop him in the shield too, but he’d fallen closer to Gibson.

Gibson lunged forward with a maniacal cry, thrusting both hands toward me. I opened my mouth and sang.

A rush of magic swept past me from behind, gaining strength as it flowed by. I hurled every ounce of energy I possessed into the song, which should cause extreme discomfort to Gibson’s ears. His magic sizzled against my protective shield, which exploded into a cloud of dark mist. When it cleared, I found Gibson doubled over with his hands covering his ears. Behind him, Castillo stood in the doorway, his eyes hooded and his jaw clenched.

I dared not stop singing to instruct him. I waved my hands in the air and switched the song to a chant just as Castillo lifted his voice to fill the empty spaces. Combined, our magic would make Gibson nauseous. If Castillo continued to sing, we could rupture his intestines with such a spell.

Gibson screamed in agony, one hand still cradling his head and the other moving to grip his abdomen.

The power coursed through me now, flowing out and up and down. Oake had taught me to allow the magic to work through me. Let it guide your chants, direct your hands, free your voice.

The colors in the room brightened. My hair whipped around my shoulders. My hands moved. My soprano voice rose and fell in melodies and motifs, creating the most terrifyingly beautiful music. I heard the empty spaces for split seconds before Castillo’s voice knitted into harmonies.

Gibson writhed on the floor. He screamed. He progressively clutched different parts of his body as the magic assaulted him. He begged for a release, and by the time I ended the spell, he lay on the floor absolutely still. A trickle of blood edged out of his ear, crawled over his cheek, and dripped onto the floor.

My voice faded to silence and I dropped to my knees, unable to stand. I blinked and a dark ring stuck to the perimeter of my sight, blocking Castillo’s concerned expression. The blackness crept further in, obscuring more of the room. It covered Bo’s unconscious form and blocked out Cris’s bleeding face.

“Shattering spell,” I managed to whisper. I blinked again, and this time the ring of darkness haloed Castillo’s panicked face. His mouth moved, but I heard only static. I willed the blackness to smother Gibson’s dead body. I did not wish to accomplish my plans through murder, and my heart twisted at what I’d done. Even Castillo’s gentle ministering and angelic voice didn’t ease the horror coursing through me at having killed a man. When the darkness finally took me, I gratefully sank into it.

Twenty-Eight

Castillo’s magic woke me long before anything else. It curled into ribbons around my face, whispering softly against my skin. It healed me with its songs and chants, and wrapped me in a protective layer.

I sensed a parade of people coming and going, but after weaving me a magical blanket, Castillo had disappeared. Cris came and stayed for hours. He’d been fully healed, for which I was grateful.

Sometimes he read in the chair next to my bed, and often he told me the stories from his books. I liked that. It helped pass the time where I thought I was awake but everyone else believed differently.

Finally, the glow from the magic dimmed, and I opened my eyes as Cris read a tale about the ancients and how they’d sent ships across the waters to discover new lands.

“The ships didn’t return.” Cris’s voice reminded me of his father’s, full of tonalities that could produce beautiful music. “Kings were commissioned, and the new lands flourished. The ancients—” Cris glanced up, saw me awake, and stopped reading.

He abandoned his book in favor of kneeling at my bedside. His face shone with admiration and what I could only guess was love. “You’re awake.”

“I’ve been awake for a long time,” I said. “No one seemed to notice.”

The lines around his mouth tightened. “Really?”

“I think so.” My joints felt rusty and my muscles misused. “Have I had any medicine? I didn’t notice anyone bring me anything for a few hours.”

“You have really been awake.”

“Yes.” I tried to push myself into a sitting position, and my muscles protested with a sharp twinge of pain. “And I hurt.”

“I’ll get Lucia to bring you a tonic,” he said, rising. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep.”

I groaned in response as my head began to throb. Cris returned moments later, and Lucia followed with a steaming cup soon after.

They watched me with solemn eyes as I drank. Whatever medicine swam in the tea, it worked. My muscles relaxed and the pounding behind my eyes faded. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Just over twenty-four hours.”

“Are we still in Umon?”

“We couldn’t travel.”

I didn’t like the cautious tone in his voice. I cupped my hands around the warm mug and waited for him to continue.

“Heona, it turns out, is not fond of our union,” he said. “They’ve sent an army to voice their displeasure.”

“But you said the queen had given her approval.”

“She had,” he said. “Before.”

“Before what?”

“Before she learned of Helena’s prophecy that Umon would produce someone that could overthrow Nyth,” he said. “She’s now worried that if you rise to power, it will unseat her authority as well. She wished to meet with you, but as you were incapacitated, I went in your stead.”

“And?”

He clasped his hands in his princely posture. “She has agreed to call back her arms until she can meet with you. I put her off, claiming we had to return to Nyth.” He sighed. “But she’s cunning, and she insists you meet with her before the first snows fall.”

He had been busy while I had been recovering. Meeting and satisfying queens sounded like such a kingly thing to do, and flash of pride stole through me. “Thank you.”

A frown creased his forehead. “For what?”

“For buying us more time.” I took a sip of my tea. “Surely we could use Queen Bargout and her displeasure with your father at some point.”

A half smile graced his mouth. “I’m counting on it.”

“So when I meet with her, I’m allowed to say whatever comes into my mind?”

He glanced away, trying—and failing—to contain a chuckle. “Maybe not whatever comes into your mind.” He sobered quickly. “And Queen Bargout is not one to be trifled with. If I can postpone your meeting with her until spring, I will.”

“She would hurt me?”

“Not if I have any say in the matter.” He looked fierce, protective, and I realized he actually felt that way about me. I also appreciated that he stood before me, involving me in the affairs of his country, creating a place for me inside his life.

I gave him a small smile. “So we’re to go to Nyth, and hope for an early snowstorm.”

“Yes,” he said. “A convoy leaves at dawn tomorrow, with the royal coach in it.”

“A decoy?”

“Yes. Everything’s prepared.” His eyes softened. “I wish we could’ve left as scheduled.”

A bitter twinge coated my tongue. “Is Bo . . . ?”

“He survived,” Cris said. “He’s been removed from the compound, and will accompany the army back to Heona.”

“Is that wise? Sending him to our enemies? What if he reports to your father?”

Cris took my hands in his. “Echo, he’s blind and dumb. In my latest correspondence with the High King, I reported that both Bo and Gibson revolted and were killed. I’ve charged Helena as Bo’s watchman.”

The tea turned cold in my stomach as I remembered that Gibson actually had been killed. I recoiled from the word. And what had I done to Bo? How did an electric shock render someone blind and dumb? My hands shook at my crimes.

“Please don’t worry about what happened,” he said gently. “You saved our lives.”

“What of our guards?” I needed to steer the conversation into safer topics.

“I’ve asked Matu and Solis to stand as Prince’s guards.” He released my hands and settled himself into the chair next to my bed. “Castillo has already taken over as acting Lord here.”

I fought against the desire to tell Cris of our bond, that I needed Castillo nearby to truly protect us.

“We’re going to Nyth by an alternate route to avoid detection and a possibly hostile situation with Heona.”

“When do we leave?”

“Now that you’re awake, we can depart at dawn when the convoy leaves, though my father doesn’t expect us until I send word.”

“So we’re leaving at dawn, and going . . . ”

Cris folded his hands. “Through the outer villages. I’d like to gain some support there.”

I froze. “The outer villages?”

“Yes. My thought is that if it comes to a conflict with Heona, we’ll need the support of the villages. I believe you might be able to secure that support. We’ll travel inconspicuously.”

“What, with only four servants instead of eight?” I swore I heard Lucia cough, but Cris didn’t find anything amusing.

“Just you and I,” he said. “With Matu, Solis, and Lucia.”

#

That night, with only hours until my departure, I arrived outside Castillo’s door with my heart pounding in my throat. I knocked softly, and the door opened immediately, as if he’d been waiting on the other side, his hand already on the knob.

“Echo.” He ushered me in and cast a glance into the hall. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to say good-bye.” I’d known this day would arrive. Still, actually doing it caused me to swallow hard as I lingered near his basin, a healthy distance away from him. “And I’d like to discuss our plan before I go.”

“Our plan?” His right eyebrow quirked up.

“We need a plan for what I’ll do in Nyth, and what you’ll do here.”

“Princess, I already have a plan. Many, in fact.”

Annoyance shot through me. “Care to enlighten me, the person whose magic you will likely need to carry out your well-laid plans?”

“I thought Cris had told you.” He sank onto his bed. “You’re traveling to the outer villages to gain support. We’re building our defenses, our armies. That’s what I’ll be doing here.”

“And once I arrive in Nyth?”

“I’m sure the High King has plans for you.” He looked at me meaningfully.

“I’m to gain favor with him,” I mused. “Do what he asks; yet somehow find a way to manipulate the situation so that I’m also building our allies—from inside the castle.”

Castillo smiled. “Smart.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “What else do I need to know?”

“Need to know?” he asked. “Nothing, Princess. You’re as informed as you need to be.”

Which meant he had schemes he did not wish to share with me. I contemplated singing my way into his mind, until I remembered I had secrets about how I might spend my time in Nyth. And Cris seemed willing to tell me anything; I could simply ask him. Castillo and I watched each other, each waiting for the other to crack first.

It wouldn’t be me. I sensed the fight leave him as I squared my shoulders and crossed the room to the bed. I settled next to him and folded my hands in my lap.

“I haven’t had time to see you over the past few days.” His voice came out raw and wounded.

I trained my eyes on the carpet, too weak to look at him and see the pain in his face. “I know.”

“I’ve worked my entire life to be something different from my father. Anything different.”

I glanced up. His eyes searched mine wildly, and for the first time since I’d met him, a tremor of fear crept across my skin. He exploded into a standing position and paced away from me. His magic quickened with shadows, and mine reacted violently to it. I leaned backward, startled at this darkness in him.

“I do not wish to take what isn’t mine,” he said without turning around. “I do not wish to be like my father in any way.”

I crossed the room toward him, and he allowed me to embrace him. I held on to him a moment longer than necessary before breathing in his ear, “Take care of yourself, Castillo.”

“Our bond is secure,” he said, holding me at arm’s length and looking into my eyes.

I nodded, knowing bonds were all we could be. “Our bond is secure.”

He bowed his head, and I left his quarters. We would be apart, but we were still united in purpose.

#

Our escape happened under the drape of darkness, with Cris rousing me from sleep very early in the morning. Lucia stood ready at the door, and the three of us wound down endless hallways toward the exit.

Matu met us at the outer door and ushered Cris to a completely ordinary carriage, the kind I’d seen rambling through the countryside as I’d made my way from Iskadar to Umon last year. Solis shuttled into the carriage after Cris, and the door shut.

Lucia and Matu joined me in a second carriage. We settled ourselves inside with Lucia and I on one seat and Matu across from us. Including the two drivers, we made a party of seven. I wondered where we would sleep and what we would eat, but I knew those preparations had been made.

I also knew that a king and a queen never rode together. If one was attacked and killed, the separate nature of the convoy preserved the other. But we only had two carriages, not a convoy, and I thought we might as well have all crammed into one.

Until, through the tiny window, I noticed Cris’s carriage turn south down a dirt road. I expected our driver to follow, but we kept to the eastern course. “Why are we separating?” An edge of hysteria rode in my voice.

Lucia covered my hand with hers. “His Majesty will meet us in Chonal.”

Chonal was the last village in which to rest before the three-day walk to the outer limits of Umon. It would take all day to get there by carriage, and the thought brought me some comfort. “What are we to do in Chonal?”

“I’ll stable the horses,” Matu said.

“I’ll make dinner,” Lucia said.

Neither one of them would look at me. When I demanded they tell me what they knew, Matu leaned forward with an angry glint in his eyes.

“There’s more at stake here than any of us know,” he said. “Cris has asked you to visit the villages in the hopes that you can help them feel more connected with the city. That a unity can be forged, as they have been self-sustaining in both government and goods for many years. He’s wise to ask such a thing, for the strength in the villages may be the only way to oppose the High King.”

I leaned away from him, stung by his tone.

“Cris knows that his beloved Nyth is nothing more than a tyrannical empire. He has accepted the challenge to purge it and start anew. He’ll need your strength—and the might of Umon—to accomplish such a thing.”

“You’re upsetting her.” Lucia pushed lightly on Matu’s shoulder so that he settled back into his seat.

“No, he’s not.” I was pleased to hear Cris had purposes of his own. “Please, continue.”

“We want to integrate magic back into society, and the High King wants it all for himself,” he said. “We’re recruiting these villages to our cause, asking them to declare rebellion against the High King. We’re talking war, Echo. That is what we are doing in Chonal.” He looked out the window and resumed his usual stoic demeanor.

I copied him, my mind churning. As the carriage wheels ate up the miles between the city proper of Umon and the village of Chonal, I watched the river curve away from us in the distance. Sage and dirt replaced the floodplains, creating a landscape where nothing grew and nobody survived for long. It gradually gave way to smaller trees with trunks no thicker than my wrist. They created their own kind of beauty against the blue sky. When the trees thinned, the fields began. I recognized hay and corn, potatoes and wheat.

We didn’t stop for lunch. Lucia reached under the bench and produced a basket filled with fruits and breads and cheeses. We ate in silence, which had prevailed after Matu’s proclamation of war.

That afternoon, I felt nothing but mental exhaustion. I dozed briefly, dreaming of fiery horses, with great blazing hooves and glowing metallic eyes. The High King’s magicians had bewitched them, and they stampeded toward Cris and me as we cowered at the edge of a great abyss.

We held each other tightly, and when it seemed like all was lost and we would be trampled to death, he took my hand, and together, we leaped.

#

Dusk hadn’t quite claimed the day when we rolled to a stop on the outer edge of the village. I didn’t waste any time getting out of the carriage. I limped on stiff legs toward the water pump at the edge of the square. By the time I reached it, my muscles had remembered how to work. I washed my hands and smoothed my hair away from my face.

As I swallowed at mouthful of water, I realized the eeriness of the silence. A quick glance around confirmed it: The streets lay barren, the air held no whinnies of horses or idle chatter as people made their way home from the market.

Chonal was deserted.

Twenty-Nine

Cris watched me as we settled into an abandoned house with only a single, guttering candle for light. Matu, Solis, and Lucia quietly discussed the finer details of traveling, dividing up the assignments of food, clothing, and husbandry between the three of them. The two drivers had disappeared to attend to their carriages.

“Echo, may I have a word with you?”

“Certainly.” I stood and joined Cris in the corner.

Shadows obscured most of his face. “I’m uneasy here, in this place no one thought fit to stay.”

The abandoned village cast a certain web of terror over me as well. “What should we do?”

“I’ve stirred the villagers to riot these few months,” he whispered. “I sent word that I’d be coming to continue negotiations.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise at his initiative, but I quickly smoothed them down. “Perhaps the villagers aren’t interested in negotiating?”

He sighed as he wove his fingers through mine. “Should I have done something differently?” He kept his eyes on our entwined hands.

“You’re asking me?”

“Of course. You’re my wife, the Princess.”

I inhaled deeply, appreciating Cris asking for my opinion, for making me feel important. “Matu said we wanted the villagers to rebel against the High King. So we just need to help them understand that’s exactly what we are doing also.”

“Which is impossible if they’re not here.” Cris released me, and I immediately felt the absence of his touch. “There are many who would be glad to see us both dead, including my father. If he discovers where we are or what we’re doing . . . ” He left his unsaid words hanging in the air, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stalked further into the house.

I turned toward the window, trying to find a way through the difficult maze of the political climate in Umon. I wondered what Cris could’ve done differently, and my simple village mind came up with nothing.

“Perhaps they feel like they are being used,” I mused to myself, my voice little more than breath.

“Come, Echo,” Lucia said, breaking into my thoughts. “It’s time for bed.” She led me into a bedroom and helped me into a narrow bed that had been pushed against the wall. “We’ll be on our way in the morning.” She left, promising to return soon.

I lay in the darkness, listening to the soft whinny of a horse and the distant scrape of wood against wood. I thought maybe it was one of the drivers, reshaping one of the carriage wheels that had been bumped out of roundness.

I was nowhere near a solution to our problems when the door creaked. I opened my eyes, but could only make out the form of a person drawing closer. When Cris’s lips came gently against my forehead, I closed my eyes again and listened to his steady breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I pressed myself into the wall and opened the blankets to welcome him to bed. He lay down beside me, taking me into his arms with a sigh. “I just want—I don’t want my father to find out we didn’t come straight to Nyth. I want you to be safe.”

“I know,” I said into his chest. The thumping of his heart pulsed against my cheek.

“I’m not a risk-taker, and I definitely don’t like risking you.”

I pushed away from him and planted a kiss on his cheek, too close to his mouth to play off as friendly. He kissed me like a man who was falling in love, slow and easy, like he didn’t want to miss anything by going too fast or not holding on long enough.

“Do you think we can succeed?” I whispered, pulling back enough to find his eyes in the semidarkness.

“Together, we can.”

“You will counsel with me?” I thought of Castillo, and the many secrets he harbored. I didn’t wish such walls to exist between Cris and I.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he promised. “It’s my goal for you to trust me, to want to be my princess.”

With him looking at me with those liquid night eyes, I believed him. I put my cheek against his heartbeat, hoping we could become everything he spoke of.

Thirty

Cris hummed a lullaby as he stroked my hair. The melody, if sung by a powerful magician, could send anyone into slumber. As it was, Cris’s limited magic simply made my eyelids heavy. Sleep edged my mind when the door crashed open. “Your Majesty,” a man gasped. “The Heonan army approaches from the south.”

I sat up, blinking into the firelight coming from the hall, as Solis emerged from the woodwork. “The south?” he asked. “Impossible. They would need to bypass the entire city of Umon to do that.”

Cris stood slowly, looking back and forth between Solis and the driver. “Are you certain it is the Heonian army, Kiev?”

“It’s impossible, Your Highness,” Solis insisted. “They would not have dared to break your agreement—or your brother’s.” He pressed in closer to Cris, partially shielding him with his body. I was shocked to hear Castillo had also struck a bargain with Heona. One of his many plans I hadn’t been informed of.

I climbed out of bed and migrated closer to Cris, groping for the magic inside of me that had meshed with Castillo’s. It felt cold, and distant, perhaps because I wasn’t confined in the compound with its swirling magic. Or perhaps because of the many miles separating us.

Cris took a step back without looking away from Kiev. “Who’s coming?”

Kiev snarled and his face twisted into a mask of extreme hatred. He lunged forward at the same time Solis unsheathed his sword. A whistle rent the air. A primal yell echoed through the bedroom. The thump of a body followed.

I didn’t see the blood from the wide, smiling wound across the driver’s neck because Cris pressed my face to his chest and walked me backward. “Shh, shh,” he whispered into my hair. “Solis,” he said louder, and that seemed to be enough for the guard to take care of the necessities. I held tightly to Cris’s body, imagining I could feel the scars on his chest through the thick fabric of his suit.

He moved me down the hall and into the kitchen. “I shall be back in a moment,” he said. “Wait here.”

“Cris.” I shook my head. “I have no doubt Kiev saw something, and that it was not the Heonian army. He has betrayed us.”

A fire lit Cris’s eyes. “I’ll fetch Lucia. Stay here.”

Magic tickled the back of my throat as I stood in the kitchen. It unsettled me, as my magic had never itched to be released this way. I wanted to hurt Kiev for betraying us. Hurt him worse than Solis had done with his blade.

Torture him the way I’d tortured Gibson.

The thought scared me, and I pushed it away. But I couldn’t erase it completely. I feared the wicked magic Gibson had used against me had in fact infected me. I’d never felt the urge to hurt someone with my magic.

My power surged just as Lucia rushed into the room. “Come. We’re leaving.”

I followed her out the back door and into the darkness where Solis manned one of the carriages, nodding as he got an impromptu lesson from the second driver. The fierce look on his face told me that, if needed, he would confront an army by himself.

Cris threw our suitcase in his carriage where Matu stood loading baskets of food and traveling bags filled with clothing. “Get in the carriage, Echo,” Cris said. “Lucia, Matu’s coming with me. Can you manage?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lucia gestured toward the carriage, urging me to seek shelter. The thought that Lucia could manage my defense scared me. I strode toward the carriage, but my magic pulled through my body, yanking back the other way. I stood still, trying to decipher the meaning of it. It felt bad to go that way, yet my magic had never led me astray.

I hummed a protective song, casting the spell around the two carriages. I forced myself to move toward the carriage. “Cris.” I suddenly didn’t want to be separated from him.

“Get in the carriage, Echo. Please.” He tossed in the last of our baggage and looked at me desperately. “I’m dangerously close to loving you,” he said. “I’ve given you the most expert driver, and I have the two best guards in the country. Please, get in the carriage.”

We held each other’s gaze for one, two, three heartbeats before I got in the carriage. Worry seethed beneath my skin, and I kept the protective rhyme buzzing through my vocal chords. We jerked to a roll, moving much faster this time. I peered through the windows into the darkness, seeing nothing from my limited perspective.

“Don’t look,” Lucia said. “You won’t like what you see.”

But I couldn’t look away. Mere minutes passed before fire lit the sky behind us, with smoke finding its way toward the heavens. The air took on a muddy green color, similar to what I’d imagined years ago after Oake’s warning about Nyth’s rumored wickedness.

I dropped the curtain, sealing us in the midnight murkiness inside the carriage.

“Matu said their intentions for us aren’t good,” Lucia said. “But that we’ll outrun them.”

“Who are they?”

Through the darkness, I felt her penetrating gaze. “Your village countrymen.”

Fear like I’d never known struck me full in the chest, leaving me gasping for air. “Cris said he sent word regarding negotiations. Why would they wish to hurt us? Have we been betrayed?”

I didn’t need Lucia to answer; her grim glance was confirmation enough.

“The driver?”

“Matu suspects Kiev was a native of Chonal, and that he’s told falsehoods about your true intentions.” She adjusted herself and opened her arms to me. “Let’s talk no more. Keep that protective spell going, but rest your mind.”

#

Morning found us pausing near a small stream in an area of the land I’d never seen before. Red rock towered above us, through which a stream carved its path. The horses drank greedily, and our driver muttered to himself about the lack of grass. He unhitched the teams and took them further along the stream to where the rocks gave way to grasslands.

I watched him do all this through the tiny window of the carriage. Lucia told me we couldn’t get out, that we had only stopped to rest the horses. She handed me my breakfast—an apple and a slice of dark bread. I nibbled on the fruit, knowing my knotted stomach wouldn’t be able to handle much more than that.

“We’ll separate now that day has broken.” Lucia ate with gusto, seemingly undisturbed by the events of the previous night.

“Our carriages will be recognized anywhere.”

“Yes,” she said. “We’re going directly to Nyth. The High King will dare not kill his only recognized heir inside his own borders.”

Her words brought little comfort. The High King had many ways to torture that the public couldn’t see. The scars on Cris’s chest testified of that.

#

I didn’t realize until later that I hadn’t once looked at the sky. I pulled back the curtain, but could hardly make out the stars from the dirt on the window. I hummed a location spell, inserting Castillo’s face into my mind. The rebound took a long time to come, but the vision showed him standing in my old courtyard, his eyes heavenward.

I switched the image to Cris, and found his face edged in moonlight as he rode in the carriage. My heart squeezed at the determined look in his eye, the strength in his expression.

Perhaps he can be the king his country needs, I thought, ending the spell, but unable to erase my husband from my mind.

Thirty-One

We didn’t stop once the next day. I slept on and off and ate whatever Lucia put into my hands. By evening, I wished for nothing more than to get out of the vibrating carriage. I hurt from sitting all day, from the constant jarring of my bones against my muscles and my teeth against each other. The curtains remained drawn tight, and I hadn’t seen the sun for over twenty-four hours.

When we slowed to a stop, relieved tears pressed behind my eyes. Lucia got to her feet unsteadily and crawled out of the carriage. Regret shot through me. Clearly her joints ached, too. She straightened and took a few steps away and then back. Her face gave away none of her discomfort. She extended her hand to me, and helped me down the steps to the dirt below.

“Where are we?” I saw no village, no lamplight in the distance, no second carriage.

“Somewhere safe.” Lucia joined the driver in setting up our camp. He’d pulled two traveling bags from beneath the carriage and already had one of them open. Lucia tugged on the fabric, and to my great astonishment, they proceeded to set up a tent.

“We’re to sleep out here?”

“There isn’t room in the carriage for all of us,” Lucia said. “Vené and I will sleep out here, leaving you the carriage to yourself.”

I set my mouth into a tight line and got to work. The remaining travel bag held two sleeping rugs and two pillows. I laid them out and when the tent took its shape, Vené took them inside. Lucia returned to the carriage and retrieved the basket. We ate another cold meal of cheese, bread, and red grapes.

Immediately afterward, Vené disappeared into the tent, leaving Lucia and I to bathe in starlight. I lay on the ground, my head cradled by my arms as I looked into the night. My thoughts worried for Cris, and where he was.

“Do you trust Vené?” I asked to chase away the thoughts of Kiev’s betrayal or Cris’s torture at the hands of his father.

“I must,” Lucia answered. “He’s the only one who knows how to drive the carriage.”

“What if he’s taken us somewhere dangerous?” Once the question left my lips, I couldn’t hold back the others. “What if we’re supposed to be with Cris? What if we’re not safe here after all? Do you even know where we are?”

Lucia did me the favor of remaining quiet for a few moments, as if seriously considering my questions. A lesser friend would have chuckled at my rapid-fire questions and immediately reassured me that my fears were unfounded.

“I don’t know all the answers you seek,” she said. “But Matu assured me Vené had no ill will toward us.”

“But—”

“Either way,” Lucia continued, “It will do no good to fret over him. Either he will take us to Nyth, or he will not.” She sat with me a while longer, and then she ushered me into the carriage.

Vené had taken the cushions from the benches and formed them into a mattress on the floor. A thick blanket lay over the top. Lucia made sure I was snug before closing the door. Another click told me that she’d locked it.

I lay awake for a long time, thinking about her words. Either he will take us to Nyth, or he will not. I appreciated her candor, but it only tightened the knot in my stomach.

#

Grandmother’s voice wraps around me, whispering my name. I jolt awake, blinking to find my bearings. My farmhouse bedroom comes into view, and Grandmother beckons to me from the doorway. In her hand she bears a flickering candle. Before I leap from bed, she moves down the hallway.

The light goes with her, casting pools of fire against the wooden planks. She pauses for nothing as she exits the house through the back door. She practically skips down the steps and continues into the large garden behind our house. I follow quickly, my breath steaming before me in the chill of the night.

“Grandmother,” I call. “Where are we going?”

She neither answers nor turns. Her purpose seems to be singular, and it’s to flee. The candle gutters in the wind, and Grandmother cautiously cups her hand around it. I follow her for what feels like miles. My legs are younger and stronger, and I should be able to keep up. But I find myself falling further and further behind.

When I can take it no longer, I call, “Grandmother! Can we not rest?”

She continues on without so much as a backward glance. I press on after her until my foot comes down on something sharp. I cry out, expecting Grandmother to come running to see what has happened. She doesn’t. She’s so far ahead of me now that the candle provides no light.

I look down at my foot and gasp. My blood pulses from my body, lighting the sky with a beat of crimson every second. I stumble backward as if I can escape my own limb.

I recognize the light surrounding me, bleeding from me as song-magic. Every step I take will leave a magical imprint behind. My trail will be easy for the hunters to follow.

“Come, Echo,” Grandmother whispers, and I jump to my feet, expecting the pain to come now that the shock has faded. It doesn’t, and I take a tentative step. The blood-light is gone and so is the wound. I marvel at it as I sprint after my grandmother.

We march for days, through grasslands, past the city walls of Umon, and into the southern hills. The candle never burns out. Grandmother never stops; in fact she seems to gain strength the further we go. But I’m tired beyond words. We board a ship with violet sails and begin to cross waters so wide that I cannot see the other side.

A power calls to me, an ancient strength I recognize. The magicians of Relina, their songs and authority stemming from ages past, send their influence reverberating through the sky, which lightens the further we go. It turns from navy to eggplant. This magic feels like home, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

When we dock on the sandy shores of a jungle land, a man waits to greet us. “Ski’i,” he says to my grandmother, who suddenly looks forty years younger. “Welcome home to the land of your birth.”

Grandmother weeps and steps onto the sand. She embraces Grandfather and together they journey up the beach without me. I scramble after them, sure they’ve forgotten to include me due to the joy of their reunion. The sand gives way to brush and trees as they walk arm in arm.

Eventually they come to a village hidden among the towering trees. They weave through the structures, neither looking right nor left. The largest dwelling bears a doorknocker of exquisite gold, and the door looks as though it will break from the pressure of pure magic contained behind it. There is no doorknob.

Grandfather knocks on the door, his hand pale in comparison to the brightness of the gold. The door creaks open, and he and Grandmother’s faces are bathed in the most beautiful light. Soft and pale pink, it welcomes them with a song of gladness. They step into the rosy light and vanish from my sight.

I blink away the spots in my vision only to find the door closed and the magic gone. I run toward it and pound my fists against the wood. It isn’t so brittle now, and I cannot produce even so much as a dent.

I sob against the door, unwilling to accept that Grandmother led me to her native land of Relina only to forget me the moment she arrived.

Her voice whispers my name, and I silence my crying.

“Echo, you must unlock the door,” she says. “Use the key.”

“What key?” Rising desperation threatens to unseat me again. A shape forms to my right, and I spin toward it. “Mother.” She turns and races into the hulking trees, disappearing as fast as she came. In her place, a man forms. My father.

People I have only seen in paintings and envisioned through stories haunt me. Surely this place has turned me mad. That, or my exhaustion from following Grandmother for so many days without rest conjures illusions. I shake my head to rid it of such things.

“Unlock the door,” Grandmother whispers again, her voice more urgent than before. The smell of smoke joins her voice, singeing my nose and causing me to shrink against the door.

“I cannot,” I cry to the indigo sky. “There is no doorknob. I have no key!” The crackle and snap of flames meets my ears. The fire advances quickly, devouring the trees and houses in the village. Smoke clouds reason. Do I even own a key?

“Relina is a magical land,” Grandmother says over the roar of the flames. “Unlock the door.”

Heat assaults me. Smoke chokes my throat, and I cannot sing the spell I need to splinter the lock. The door behind me is solid; solid, and without a doorknob.

“Echo,” Grandmother cries now. “Unlock the door!”

#

I sat up, my heart beating wildly against my throat, Grandmother’s words lodged in my mind. Only a moment passed before I realized I was living in the nightmare I’d just experienced. My next breath filled my lungs with thick smoke, while the edges of the carriage felt like liquid fire.

I lunged for the door, burning my hands as I gripped the latch. It wouldn’t swing; Lucia had locked it. Grandmother’s plea made sense now.

Unlock the door.

But I had no key.

Relina is a magical land.

I sang a low note, weaving it into a higher melody. An unbinding spell. The door latch lowered, and I tumbled out of the carriage just as the bottom fell through and fire licked inside. The air outside was clouded with smoke so dense I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. I pressed my cheek to the grass and took a cool breath.

When I opened my eyes, I stared into the unmoving face of Lucia. Panic etched the lines around her nonblinking eyes, and her mouth stretched open either in surprise or a scream, I couldn’t tell. I clawed my way backward, strong grief singing through me at the sight of her lifeless body. I heard her laughter, saw the excitement on her face at the prospect of dancing at my wedding, remembered the strength of her fingers as we sewed together.

A sob burst from my lips. I took her hand in mine, feeling like I was falling and could not catch myself. “Lucia.”

The threatening pop of fire filled my ears as I composed myself. I certainly couldn’t stay here, and I knew of no song-magic to call back the dead.

I inched toward the tent. Ragged flaps of fabric burned; the rest had deteriorated to ash already. I couldn’t spare time to search for Vené’s body—I wondered if I would even find it.

I wove an enchanting charm—one that would cause the smoke to remain longer than usual—with a protective song that would conceal me until I found somewhere safe to hide.

Trembling, and with the soles of my feet feeling raw, I plunged my fist into the earth. I sang under my breath, asking the magic to guide me.

An uncomfortable tug began in my gut and pulled into pain. I twisted on the ground until the strain of magic ceased. I stomach-crawled in the direction the magic had turned my feet, hoping that the seeds of wicked magic Gibson had planted were not ripe enough to influence me.

After an agonizingly long time, I touched the smooth bark of a tree. I staggered to my feet, leaned against the trunk for support, and looked back the way I’d come.

A great inferno reached into the sky. Anything under it was already burned and gone. The tent. The carriage. The food. Lucia. Everything.

I turned and ran into the night.

Thirty-Two

I kept the magic at the back of my throat, never letting it fully settle into my body. It pushed and pulled, directed and corrected as I chased shadows through the forest. I desperately needed something to eat to replenish my strength, and a soft bed sounded wonderful.

But I had neither, and if I valued my life, I couldn’t pause to lament such luxuries. My bare feet stung, but I didn’t slow my pace. I imagined myself leaving magical footprints, the same way I had in the dream. I realized the dream depicted real-life places, people, events. I remembered the vastness of the magic I’d felt in the land of Relina; it felt as imposing as the High King’s power.

When the day breathed life into the night, I allowed myself to stop. I fell against a thin tree trunk and sank to the ground. I lay there, taking stock of the parts of my body I could feel. My heart pounded in my chest and head, proving I still lived.

My leg muscles knotted and twitched, angry at being abused for such a long time. My back stole the chill from the forest floor as it pressed into the solid ground. My breath steamed into the fall morning. My stomach growled, unhappy it hadn’t been fed properly before this escape.

When my breathing calmed and my heart stopped throbbing, I pushed myself up. Five more paces and I’d emerge into a clearing. I crawled to the edge of the trees and examined the landscape. A patchwork of streams crisscrossed each other, flowing across the clearing away from me and deeper into the forest on the other side. Over there, the trees started out wiry and thin like the ones barely sheltering me now, but they soon grew to become black, needled things that hulked over the land.

I’d heard tales of this place as a child. The river that flowed through Iskadar ran this way, meeting several other tributaries as it continued north. They converged at a place the hunters called The Last Hope, because it was their final chance to find game. Beyond the forest sat a mountain range.

Past the mountains spread the country of Nyth.

#

I stepped lightly with shoeless feet, making hardly a sound. By the time the sun shone overhead, I’d left the rivers far behind and had been winding through the tall pines of the forest between Umon and Nyth for hours. The ground had been inclining steadily for a while now.

I’d thought briefly of breakfast, and I had a vague idea of what would be safe to eat among the forest foliage, but I didn’t stop. I felt an urgent need to get out of my country before another day passed. Though Nyth didn’t seem like a safe haven, right now, it was my only option.

My middle felt painfully hollow as I wandered in the direction my magic took me. I listened to it, like hearing the sighing of the breeze through the trees. The farther I walked, the more nervous I became. I kept telling myself to take one more step, one more step, and I’d find food. Finally, many steps later, I came upon some blueberry bushes. I gathered as many as I could in the apron of my dress, popping them into my mouth as I went.

When I’d eaten my fill from the bushes and had picked as much fruit as I could carry, I turned around to get back on track. I stopped immediately at the sight of another human being.

A man stood between two trees, weaponless but wielding a hard look in my direction. “Princess,” he said, both syllables filled with threats.

I held up my purple-stained fingers, clutching my outer skirts with my other hand. “I’m gathering fruit for the harvest celebration pie.”

“The High King wants you alive, Your Majesty. I won’t hurt you.” But his smile suggested otherwise. The sound of approaching footsteps met my ears as the man turned. I dropped my berries and opened my mouth to song. The man flew backward with the force of the wind I magicked into existence, and I ran. I pushed through the blueberry bushes, running blind in this forest where the trees looked identical.

My muscles could not keep up this pace for much longer. They hadn’t had proper rest, and a few handfuls of blueberries didn’t give me the strength I needed. Using a strong dose of elemental magic only brought me nearer to unconsciousness.

Help me find somewhere to rest, I pleaded, sending my prayer to the skies, to Castillo, to Grandmother, to anyone who might be available to hear. The trees grew right up to a sheer rock wall, and I pivoted toward Nyth and pressed on. I scanned the rocks, high and low, searching for somewhere to hide. My steps slowed; my breath grew ever ragged. Still, I saw nothing that could conceal me from those hunting me.

A sob gathered in my throat as the rock bent slightly east. I followed it, limping now, and spied what looked like a cavern about two thirds of the way up the wall. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve and my shrinking advantage, I chanted an elemental spell and rode the wind up to the ledge to see if I could find shelter there.

I fell to my knees and reached out into the darkness. My fingers met only air, and I scooted forward, searching for the end of this cave. I found the wall and twisted until my back pressed against it. I used my remaining breath to seal the cavern’s entrance and for good measure, I hummed a protective spell with the last of my energy.

Thirty-Three

When I woke, Cris’s welfare weighed heavily on my mind. Despite the reason, I was pleased he was my first thought.

Darkness loomed beyond the entrance to the cavern, and the cold stone cut into my body. My head pounded, and I wished for one of Lucia’s tonics, which only served to remind me that she’d never prepare such things again. I wished for the opportunity to sing her safely into death, wrapped in a comforter of magic and peace.

I dared not leave the cavern in the dark, yet I couldn’t fall asleep again. I spent the remainder of the night wishing I could see the stars, and planning how I could make it to Nyth without food.

The thought of walking made my throat tighten. My power gurgled in my body, almost gone. I wouldn’t be able to perform another spell, no matter how simple. Gradually, the darkness turned gray, and I worked up the strength to force my body to move. I managed to scoot myself to the entrance of the cavern, where I dangled my legs off the edge. The fall would hurt. I might even meet my death in just a few short moments. That, or I’d starve to death in a day or two.

My fingers clutched at the unforgiving rocks. I sucked in a deep breath, and hesitated a moment longer.

A noise I couldn’t quite place met my ears. I slid back into the cavern, took shallow breaths, and exercised all my control to keep my voice from throwing the last dregs of magic into a spell.

The steady clomp of horses’ hooves mingled with the muted footsteps of the stranger. I didn’t possess Matu’s powers; I couldn’t tell who approached or what their intentions were. I hoped they would pass quickly, so I could get onto my death.

The footsteps stopped. I heard nothing for a few seconds. Then a male voice called, “Who’s up there?”

I inhaled and held my breath.

“I can tell you are two breaths from dying,” he said.

“Do you have any food?” My voice scratched against my throat on the way out. I hoped he would have water, too.

“Echo?”

I lunged toward the overhang and peered down. A strange laugh bubbled through my throat. “Matu.”

He took a pack from the horse and scaled the wall. He peered into my eyes. “It is you.”

“How did you get here? What happened to Cris? Is he all right?” I took in his peculiar riding coat, his whole boots, the bulging pack. My head felt so light, and when I blinked, a white edge formed around my vision.

“You need to eat.” He opened the pack and shifted a few things inside. He handed me something, but when I dropped it, he brought it to my lips with his own hands. “Eat, Echo.”

The meat he offered tasted too salty and took a long time to chew. After that, he made me eat dried apples and then he offered me his canteen of water. With every bite and every passing second, my strength returned. “Tell me what happened to Cris.”

“He and Solis arrived safely in Nyth,” Matu said in his quiet manner. “The High King was most pleased. He sent a search party to look for you. Cris asked me to find you first. He’s most concerned about your safety.”

A surge of fear reminded me that a great deal of my strength had returned. The rumors of hunters with orange eyes ran through my mind.

“I don’t possess the ability to determine their intent,” I said. “But the search party didn’t appear friendly.”

“That they are not,” Matu said.

“How did you come to be here?”

“I’ve been wandering this wood for a couple of days, just moving wherever the magic directed me. I think the horse wondered what in the world I was doing.” He produced a rare smile, and I returned it.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Where’s Lucia?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I didn’t have to speak for Matu to understand. He placed one hand on my leg. “I know she meant a great deal to you.”

I related my experience with the fire. “I don’t know if we were betrayed. Vené wasn’t there that I could see.”

Matu sighed heavily. “Our drivers were chosen specifically, yet somehow they had both been poisoned in their allegiance. Cris and I didn’t discover Vené’s treachery until we arrived in Nyth.”

“What did he tell the villagers?”

“That the Prince had brought his magician-wife to punish them.”

I swallowed down my fear. Vené had stirred up the villagers in order to kill me. I started to speak, but Matu held up his hand and cocked his head to the side. “We cannot hide the horse. Come, Echo, we must fly.” He helped me to the edge of the cavern and wove his fingers through mine. With a song pulsing in the back of his throat, he jumped, pulling me with him.

We fell for only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. After landing softly, he helped me onto the horse, and then saddled up behind me. He whispered something to the horse in Nythinian, and the animal took off at a gallop through the forest.

Matu kept the horse at an insane pace throughout the morning. I couldn’t tell if we were going up a mountain or down, because I had to keep my body bent close to the beast’s neck to keep from falling off.

Matu slowed the animal and stopped it near a trickle of water coming down the mountain. “Behold your country, my lady,” he said, sweeping his arm across the horizon.

We stood about halfway up the mountain, looking down into a valley. Dense forests extended down from where we lingered. When they ended, farmland began and continued to the sprawling city of Nyth. The roads meandered, some dead-ending and others creating a thoroughfare through the city. Trees lined some streets and clumped together in other areas, the leaves already turning glorious shades of orange and red. The buildings had no order to them. Some towered, some squatted. Beyond them gleamed a white castle with three spires piercing the sky.

The High King’s palace. I shivered in the blowing wind, because even from this great distance, the wicked magic of Nyth called to me in a way no other power had before.

Thirty-Four

“They’ll know you immediately,” Matu said as we left the farmland behind and entered the first inklings of the city. “The High King has magicians everywhere, and they’ve all been trained to recognize another with power. Yours is too strong to conceal for very long.”

He had been breathing instructions and warnings for the past few hours as we came off the mountain. I’d never heard Matu speak so much.

Do not let them know how strong you are. Subdue as much magic as you can.

Allow the High King to believe that you are in his debt. He is vain and seeks approval wherever he can find it.

Try to speak as little as possible. He’d said this with a wry smile on his face that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Do not show too much emotion when you see Cris. He’s fine.

The last one troubled me. Matu hadn’t related anything that would indicate that Cris was anything but safe. But fine and safe didn’t mean the same thing. With Cris’s scars fresh in my mind, I didn’t have to stretch my imagination to come up with a new horror for him.

The narrow street where Matu and I rode would barely accommodate a carriage. We passed derelict buildings that appeared abandoned. Squat houses with clotheslines out front also dotted the lane. Thin alleys ran between the structures, filled with overflowing garbage bins and stray cats.

Matu guided me down another street, one that curved further into the city. The buildings increased in height and cleanliness, children played with sticks in tiny front yards, and flags of red and black flew at intervals along the sidewalks.

A group of men rounded the corner, coming directly toward Matu and me. It reminded me strongly of the soldiers that had knocked on my apartment door that fateful day months ago. A hesitant pause filled my step as I took in the official Nythinian crest on their jackets, which were knee-length and black. Their boots rose to the hems of their coats, and red scarves adorned their necks. They wore military caps on their heads, complete with a red feather and a band of gold around the rim. Swords hung on their belts, slapping against the fabric of their coats as they moved down the street.

They didn’t spare us a glance. Children abandoned their games and retreated to front porches as they passed. An eerie quiet filled the street, which had been filled with laughter and the rumble of life a few moments before.

“Come.” Matu pulled on my elbow. I realized I’d stopped walking and turned to follow the progress of the soldiers.

I made haste to join him. “Who were they?”

“King’s men,” he said. “Not magicians. Don’t draw their attention.” He scanned me, and a distasteful look crossed his face. “You look worse than I thought. We should get you cleaned up.” He turned abruptly down a side alley, this one cluttered with several bicycles in various stages of disrepair. I’d ridden a bicycle only once, on a dare from Oake. He hadn’t disclosed that the contraption had no brakes, and I’d ended that ride upside down in a pile of garbage. Oake had laughed and laughed. I remembered the firmness of his hand as he pulled me from the banana peels and broken eggshells.

Matu maneuvered to the back of a building and went down four steps before knocking on a dark green door. A woman answered it, wiping her sudsy hands on her apron. She regarded Matu with surprise in her eyes and silence on her lips. She glanced at me before stepping aside to let us enter.

Matu lowered his head in gratitude, inspiring me to do the same as we passed. She secured the door behind us. “This way,” she said, her voice much higher than I anticipated. Her hair reminded me of Olive’s, a brown the exact same shade as my sister’s. This woman had braided the earthen strands and then wrapped them into a knot.

She moved with purpose down a hall, opened another door, and ushered us inside. From the cabinets lining one wall she plucked towels and linens, ribbons and brushes, soap and perfumes. She set them all on the vanity in the corner. “I will send Lydia.”

“Thank you, Britta,” Matu said.

“Where are we?” I whispered once she had gone. “Does she know you?”

“I usually have an appointment,” Matu said, a completely maddening answer. “I’ll take my leave, Highness. I must—”

“Do not call me that.” At the shock on Matu’s face, I sighed. “Sorry. It’s . . . ” I did not want Matu to think poorly of me. But when he said “Highness” I heard the sarcasm that had come from the man in the woods.

Matu stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace of comfort. “You have been through much. Stay strong, Echo.” He released me and took his leave.

I stood in the room, drinking in the sterility of it. The cupboards and walls had been painted clapboard white. Dark drapes sheathed the window. Next to the vanity, a well-worn recliner beckoned to me.

I’d no sooner sunk into the cushions before a girl entered the room. Her hair was pulled back so tightly, it stretched her face too thin. She didn’t smile nor introduce herself. “This way, please.”

Her tone held no friendliness, and I jumped to follow her. “Shall I bring these things?” I paused next to the vanity where Britta had piled the supplies.

“If you wish to use them,” she said, and I couldn’t decide if coldness made her voice so hard or if it sounded that way naturally.

I swept the supplies into my arms. Lydia didn’t wait for me and had already gone further into the building by the time I reached the hall. I caught a swish of her dark skirt as she turned the corner up ahead.

I ran to catch her, a rumble of annoyance creeping through me. “I can bathe and get dressed myself,” I said to Lydia as we ascended the stairs.

She snorted and walked faster.

“I can, I’m from Iskadar, and have spent many days in the service of my fellow men.”

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up, and she cut me a glance out of the corner of her eye.

“If you have other work,” I said. “I don’t mind taking care of myself. I don’t wish to be a burden.”

“Iskadar, you say?” she said, and I sensed a crack in her icy exterior.

“Yes.” My stomach twisted slightly. Perhaps I’d given away too much. Perhaps the High King had warned the entire population of Nyth to be wary of foreigners, especially young women from Iskadar.

“How came you to Nyth?”

I scrambled for an answer she would believe. The men in Iskadar often traded the spoils of their hunts with the merchants of Nyth. “My father is a hunter. He—”

“Lydia, can you spare a moment?” Britta leaned against a doorway further down the hall, and she gestured Lydia forward.

I exhaled my lie. Never had I been so happy to refrain from speaking.

“Right here.” Lydia pushed open a door and then strode down the hall toward Britta.

I dashed into the room and closed the door behind me. This room rivaled my bathing chamber in the compound. Gentle curtains hung in the windows. Each surface had been meticulously scrubbed. The air held a hint of floral. The tub sank into the floor in the corner, easily large enough for six people. Steam billowed from it, and I wasted no time stripping my filthy and smoky dress and easing my body into the water.

A soft sigh escaped my lips, and I allowed myself to relax for the first time in days.

The bath only provided relief for a few minutes. All too soon, the uneasiness returned, urging me to be on my way. I finished pinning my hair back and smoothed the cotton of my new skirt. Though not up to royal standards, the provided clothes were well sewn and gloriously clean. I’d be presentable, at the very least.

I slipped out of the bathing chamber and retraced my steps downstairs. Matu sat in the recliner, supporting his head with his hand. He jerked to attention when I entered, and stood while I quickly replaced the soaps and perfumes on the vanity.

Something seethed under my skin, making it feel tight and itchy. “We must go,” I said, not entirely sure what to make of this new sensation.

“There are magicians nearby,” Matu said, his eyes on the window. “Perhaps we should wait a few minutes.”

I paced with nervous energy, unable to sit still. “I think they’ve already sensed me,” I said. “I don’t think we should wait for them to find us here.”

Matu whipped open the door and together we made for the exit. I didn’t want to be contained by walls, and I suspected that he didn’t want to endanger this place. He’d probably brought many refugees through this safe house. We didn’t return to the street through the bicycled alley. Instead, Matu led me deeper into a labyrinth of narrow passages.

Outside, I was surprised to find the sky fading into darkness. I did my best to keep up with Matu, who moved like a shadow. We came out of the alley into a torch-lit street lined with trees. Matu took my arm as he had so many times before and strolled the way he did when we moved through the gardens.

We blended into the crowd of couples, all linked at the arm. The men wore hats, and gold chains dangled from their suit coat pockets. The women carried purses or umbrellas, and their shoes made clicking noises against the pavement. I wore no shoes, the only sign that I didn’t belong with this crowd.

No one paid us any attention as we navigated the street. The buildings glowed with oil lamps and stretched to the heavens. I wanted to see the tops of them, and I couldn’t help craning my head back to try.

Matu led me gently, though his muscles tensed and his grip felt firm against my side. His anxiety seeped into me, and I pulled my focus from the wealth of the neighborhood. Just as I did, Matu stopped. “Bury what magic you can.” His gaze never wavered from the line of men in front of us.

I forced back my fear and my magic, though both desperately wanted to be released. They raged inside, nearly ripping me apart.

The men in front of us carried no weapons and wore no uniforms, only thick robes of the deepest black.

Magicians.

Behind them, the palace of the High King loomed, the spires now glowing with the help of gas-powered spotlights.

Thirty-Five

Matu and I were separated. The magicians jostled him up the road toward the High Castle, bumping into him in what looked like a deliberate attempt to knock him off his feet.

In contrast, not a single person touched me. A strange satisfaction soared through them with the knowledge that I scared them. I thought this must be how the High King felt all the time. The sensation wasn’t entirely unwelcome, and that truly frightened me.

I continually shoved wicked magic away from me, noticing how dense and persuasive it felt. Completely unlike the airy, gliding magic I’d experienced after following Grandmother to Relina in my dreams.

Both magic forms felt commanding, as if they each could consume the atmosphere and still need additional space. Both felt ancient and immortal, with an intelligence I had never known.

The magicians marched us straight to the palace. Great double doors of gold rotated open slowly, powered by a team of soldiers cranking on each side. They wore stoic expressions, not the least bit friendly, as we crossed into a cavernous courtyard. A set of black iron doors beckoned one hundred yards away. In between, benches, potted plants, trees, and statues broke the straight path into a maze I couldn’t find my way through simply by looking.

Balconies similar to those in the compound lined the courtyard, and soldiers prowled them with bows strapped to their backs.

Apparently the High King had need to worry about an invasion. He’d certainly taken every precaution.

The magicians wove through the courtyard in single file. Matu and I scurried along with them, like ants blindly following their leader. My heart had settled back into a normal rhythm, but that only allowed the anger I’d repressed to burn into existence.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, and I swore Matu groaned in front of me. “I’m the Princess. I need not be treated like a criminal. And my guard deserves more respect than you’ve shown him.”

The magician a few feet in front of me broke the formation by turning right instead of left. Those in front of him, along with Matu, had stopped. I refused to move also, watching the magician who’d removed himself from the group.

He leveled his gaze at me, his mouth stiff and stubborn. “The High King has given us instructions to escort you to the throne room.”

“I will gladly go,” I said. “But I will not be treated in such a disrespectful manner. Nor will I allow you to herd my trusted guard like an animal.” I held my chin high and watched the surprise flit across the magician’s face.

“My apologies,” he said. “We didn’t know of your willingness to cooperate.”

“You never asked.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s your name?”

He turned his head to the side, but I didn’t miss the flicker of fear in his expression. “Quinn.”

“Quinn,” I repeated. “I will be discussing you with the High King. I hope I can say something of benefit.” Everyone present recognized the threat. I was the Princess, whether by choice or not. They knew not what had transpired in Umon; they knew only what I showed them.

I wove down the new path Quinn had blazed. “Lead on, Quinn, but tell your men to at least pretend like they don’t want to sing us into oblivion.”

A murmur ran through the magicians behind me, but I didn’t turn to challenge them. Quinn signaled to the magician leading Matu’s party and together we advanced toward the second set of doors.

I dared a glance at Matu and found him beaming in my direction.

#

With every step, I felt further confined to the lion’s den. I did my best to ignore the opulence of the palace, with its thick woven tapestries and gleaming wood on the floors, and walls, and stairs. Gold, and silver, and brass framed the art, which oozed with royal exorbitance.

We moved through a room filled with marble statues and one with plates of china hanging on the walls. We passed through a large foyer with a grand staircase leading up to darkness and ducked behind the stairs to a long hallway illuminated by oil lamps.

Our footsteps echoed off the walls, and a chill seeped into my skin. Only thoughts that Cris had likely made this walk kept my feet moving. Castillo had likely trod this path many times as well. I’d be brave for them, even if my courage fled at the sight of the guarded door at the end of the hall.

My mind seized on everything anyone had ever told me about the High King of Nyth.

My father is not a kind man. Cris.

The High King has little patience. Castillo.

King Javier is a vain man. Matu.

The very palace seemed to hold its breath. Then the doors creaked open, and we entered the throne room.

“Welcome,” the High King said in a voice that reminded me of silk: Beautiful and flowing, but dressed up to hide something darker underneath. “Son, your wife has come.”

I searched for Cris, but not until he stood did I find him. He moved carefully, like it hurt to do so. His face appeared flushed in the dim lamplight, but the smile he wore buoyed my spirits. Terror gripped my heart and lingered in the back of my throat as I bowed before the High King.

When I looked up into his eyes, I gasped. They flamed like orbs, bright orange with vertical slits of black for the pupils.

Thirty-Six

The breath lodged in my throat burned with fury. In the depths of the High King’s eyes, I saw Castillo’s broken and bleeding body. I saw the ropy scars along Cris’s chest. I saw Lucia’s wide, unseeing eyes. Inside, that needling wicked magic stirred again, bringing evil thoughts to my mind and a tune to inflict pain to my vocal chords.

I silenced it before it could betray me, before the High King caught an inkling of what I truly thought of him.

“Your Excellency.” I masked the true emotion behind a quiver of fear that was entirely too real.

The High King blinked, a sticky and slow movement. When his eyes came open again, they’d normalized into deep pools of obsidian. His lips curled as I played to his vanities, and his eyes never left mine as he flicked his fingers for one of his servants to bring something forward.

What life must be like to simply lift two fingers and have someone come running with breakfast, or water, or a fabric the color of ripe tomato skins.

“Your royal cape.” The High King gestured to the pile of silks the servant had draped over his arm. Another flick of the High King’s wrist brought Cris stumbling forward. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t move properly because of his haste to obey his father or because his legs had been wounded.

Cris took the scarlet silk and flung it around my shoulders. As it settled into place and he pinned it closed at the throat, the air became easier to breathe. The color in the room brightened.

I’d need to remove this cape as soon as possible. Through magical interlacing, my senses were subdued, though it seemed quite the opposite. Grandmother had warned me of such tricks.

“Beware of potions or dressings, which seem to enhance that which was dull before,” she’d rasped while we worked in the garden. The sun had been so hot that day, and everything had felt too bright.

Now, in the depths of the High King’s castle, a place where shadows prevailed, it seemed as bright as that intense summer day with Grandmother.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice unable to achieve the desired regality and importance I’d been attempting. I held my hands still against my sides, hoping to show the High King that he didn’t scare me.

I glanced at Cris and found him looking at me with wide, little-boy eyes, the way children did when hoping their mothers would buy them hard candy at the market. I stepped forward and placed my hand in his, squeezing as I did. My magic fluttered at the contact. He wore a cape identical to mine. It flowed down around his ankles, covering a suit of deep navy. Everything about him spoke of his usual sophistication, but I knew him well enough to know something was wrong.

Perhaps it was the vicelike grip he inflicted on my fingers. Or the nervous side-step that made us touch at the hip. The High King watched every movement, his expression excited and cruel at the same time.

“I’ll show Echo to her wing, shall I, Father?” Cris didn’t sound nervous, but the way my magic thrummed beneath my skin sang a different story. I couldn’t wait to take my leave of the High King, couldn’t wait to get this cape off, couldn’t wait to address what new horror Cris had endured.

“She’ll need an assistant.” The High King’s teeth clacked against themselves as he spoke, and I focused on them so I wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. “I believe a girl has just returned from her service in Umon.”

Cris’s hold on my hand sharpened into pain, and he paled. “I’ll send for her.” His jaw twitched in a way I’d never seen before.

“We’re meeting in council tomorrow morning,” the High King said. “Don’t be late.”

Cris had been scared a moment ago, but now anger raced across his face. The High King and his son seemed locked in a silent battle of wills. They glared at each other with such hatred that I was reminded of Bo and Gibson and how they’d been bound by magic but not brotherhood. With a start, I wondered if Cris and his father were bonds. I quickly dismissed the notion, remembering that I’d sung a spell at the compound to discover all the magicians, and Cris’s image rebounded individually.

Finally, Cris nodded once. “Come, dearest.” He tugged on my hand and led me away from his father. I didn’t want to turn my back on the High King, but found I couldn’t walk sideways very well.

Our capes fluttered behind us as Cris and I crossed the hall. At the back wall, he held a tapestry to the side, and I ducked into the welcome darkness of a corridor. When the fabric dropped back into place, I immediately extracted my hand from his and fumbled with the clip at my neck.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“This cape is bewitched,” I hissed back. “Yours is not?”

Though darkness bathed the corridor and I couldn’t make out his features, I felt him frown. “Yes, but my father thinks I do not know such things.”

“I’m going to take mine off.” I finally got my fingernail under the clasp and the clip released. My breath shuddered in my chest as the silk slipped from my shoulders. I felt like I’d been doused with chilled water, and the corridor grew twice as dark as before.

Cris cursed and I felt his silk pool at my feet. “I hadn’t realized how much this cape accomplished.”

“Trickery.” I reached for the wall I knew to be on my right. My fingers grazed the stone, which felt as cold as the air breezing around my body. “Which way?”

“Down and right,” he said.

“I can sing an enchantment to light the way,” I said. “Shall I?”

His arm snaked around my waist and brought my body close to his. “If you’d like. Do not feel like you cannot use your magic here. My father already suspects what you can do. Gibson’s reports were always extremely detailed.”

“I can only imagine,” I said. “I wish you’d dismissed him long ago.”

“I wish a great many things,” Cris said. “Let’s not get started on my failures so soon.”

“That’s not—”

Cris silenced me with a groan. He stumbled, leaning his whole weight on me. “I need that cape. It soothes my wounds.”

My chest squeezed at the thought of him being hurt. “Put it back on and let’s get to my wing.” I waited while he collected his cape, then I shrugged his arm higher so it rested across my shoulders. I took my first steps into the unknown.

#

By the time we had turned right, and right again, climbed a flight of stairs, and wound around the circular courtyard, Cris’s skin had paled and sweat beaded his forehead.

“Don’t you have servants to help you?” My back ached as I continued to bear most of his weight. “Magicians trained in the healing arts?”

“Father has forbidden them to provide relief from this.”

“From what?”

He simply gritted his teeth and took another step. Once we’d come out of the corridor and up the stairs, the castle had dressed in its splendor. The walls stretched like tall marble soldiers, their faces gleaming and swirled with graphite. Thick rugs adorned the floor. The doors we passed had been handcrafted by those with exceeding skill.

We exited the building and walked along a breezeway between two towers. The wind whipped through the tight space, and I hummed a spell of strength in my throat. Within one step, Cris’s head lifted, the color blooming back into his cheeks.

“Your wing,” he said when we left the breezeway. He carried his cape over his arm, not fully using its protection.

“This is all mine?” My sense of direction could be wrong, but it appeared I had an entire tower to myself.

“Mine as well. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“Of course there is,” I said. “Let’s get you to your bedroom.”

“My father has given you access to every room in the castle,” he said as we curved toward the back of the spire. “It’s been a long time since a princess has lived here.”

“I’m not sure a princess does live here.”

“She does.” Cris’s voice sounded heavy and sure. He stopped in front of a carved door that depicted a stag emerging from the forest. It held its head high, looking bold and cautious all at once. It fit Cris perfectly.

Once inside his room with the door locked, I took his cape and, together with mine, tossed it on a settee. “Let me see.”

“See what?” He labored to breathe now that I’d stopped the strengthening chant, now that his cape no longer touched him.

“What he did to you. Let me see.”

“I cannot.” Cris collapsed onto a couch.

“Why not?”

“I cannot lift my arms to take off my shirt,” he said. “And I cannot bend to lift my pant leg.”

Fury reared inside. “Then I’ll do it.”

Cris began to weep, fat tears slinking over his cheeks. “Please, don’t.” He didn’t attempt to cover his face or hide his shame. “I do not want you to see me like this. I do not want this to be what you imagine when you think of me.”

I knelt in front of him and took his face in my hands. “When I think of you, I see a man who called for a magician in the middle of the night to heal his brother. I see a man who does not want to use magic to accomplish wickedness.”

I swiped my thumb over his eye, smoothing away an errant tear. “I imagine a king when I think of you.”

A sob choked in his throat and he shook his head, releasing himself from my grasp. “You do not have to lie.” He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, completely without energy to lift his arm and cover his face.

I sat back on my heels. I desperately wanted to help him. I wished to save him from the injustices of his life. Protect him from the cruelty of the one person who should love him unconditionally.

I stretched my arms above my head and rotated my shoulders. Cris’s chest rose and fell in a steady pattern, his emotion spent.

With sure fingers, I rolled up his left pant leg. He stiffened and sucked in a breath through his nose, but he didn’t stop me. Holes pierced the circumference of his calf, some the size of a pin and some deep and oozing from what looked like nails.

I yanked up the other pant leg to examine the carnage there. The same puncture wounds decorated the calf.

I began a healing haiku without thinking, tracing my fingertip lightly around one of the deeper wounds. In seconds it healed shut, leaving a trickle of blood speckling his skin. I switched the poem to a midrange healing note that floated through the room on snow-silent wings.

“Echo, stop,” he pleaded, and though I heard him through the music, I didn’t obey immediately. I breathed as the song faded, and the silence sounded loud in the absence of the healing magic. I stood, humming a tale of comfort and easiness as I searched the room for a door to a bathroom.

There I found a cloth, wetted it, and returned to Cris, who hadn’t moved. I cleaned the blood from his skin, keeping the lilting melody vibrating in the back of my throat.

“Echo—”

I silenced him with a cutting look and began unbuttoning his jacket. He wore a pale green shirt but splotches of blood seeped through in spots, especially along his shoulders. My fingers trembled as I released the buttons on his shirt and carefully peeled it away from his skin.

My fingers skimmed over his scars lovingly, as if they were things to be treasured. “I can erase these,” I whispered, very aware of the intensity of his gaze.

“No,” he said. “They remind me of him, of what I don’t want to become.”

I nodded, impressed by the strength he drew from the tragedies of his life. I hadn’t heard him speak such things before, and I wondered where this new courage stemmed from. The wounds on his upper body had sealed, though they looked like knife wounds. After several minutes of healing song magic, and a few trips to the bathroom and back to rinse the cloth, and Cris was good as new—at least physically.

I leaned in the bathroom doorway, having left the bloodstained cloth in the sink. I closed my eyes in a long blink, spent from using my magic and the confrontation with the High King. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten, and a jolt of vertigo made the darkness swim behind my eyelids.

My eyes flew open when a knock sounded on the door. Smoothing my hair back, I straightened out of the doorway and darted a glance to Cris, who hadn’t moved from the couch. He sat there, half-dressed, looking as panicked as I felt.

Had his father come to punish me for healing him?

The door swung open and a feminine voice said, “Echo?”

Cris snatched his jacket and draped it over his bare chest as Mariana entered the room. She kept her eyes unnaturally trained on mine. “The High King said you needed an assistant.”

My heart thumped in a strange rhythm as pieces clicked into place. Mari hailed from Nyth.

“What are you doing here?” I flashed on the time I had seen her sneaking out of my husband’s bedroom, shoes pinched between her fingers, guilt laid open for all to see.

But only I had seen her, and I hadn’t spoken of it to anyone. Somehow it felt like the High King knew her appointment would bother me. Perhaps he’d sent her to spy on me—both in Umon and here in Nyth.

Another woman walked through the door, and all worries about Mari evaporated.

That earth-colored hair.

Those nimble fingers.

Those beautiful blue eyes.

“Olive?” I whispered.

Thirty-Seven

I pressed one hand to my heart, hoping to calm it through the layers of skin and bone. It leaped against my palm, beyond relieved to see Olive alive. As the days passed, and Matu hadn’t been able to find her, I’d presumed her dead. But there she stood, in the flesh, alive, breathing, her eyes trying to tell me something.

Cris could hide his bare skin beneath the jacket, but he couldn’t conceal the bloodstained shirt or his tear-stained face. Mari said something to him I couldn’t hear through the roar in my ears.

Olive hadn’t looked away from me, and I found myself trapped between being a princess and being a little sister. I didn’t know how to act, what to say, or where to stand so that I commanded the room. Those were lessons provided to men like Cris, who always dressed the part and knew what to say and how to say it.

Olive broke the straining band between us by striding forward and grasping me in a tight embrace. “Echo.” Her voice came softly, and I squeezed my eyes closed and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry.” I clutched her, afraid to let her go and see disappointment in her eyes. But when she stepped back, I found only love and relief in her expression. “I thought you’d returned to Iskadar, but when I sent for you, no one could find you.”

Mari gestured to us, saying Olive’s name loudly. My sister turned toward my husband, trepidation now shining in her face. He smiled—such a kingly thing to do—and stood in his regally graceful way. He shrugged into his jacket, pocketing his hands and bringing them together in front of him to hide himself as much as possible.

She still saw his scars. She glanced between us, her eyes narrowed like we were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. “So you are Echo’s husband.”

Though I needed to eat and nothing sounded better than collapsing into a pile of sheets, I strode across the room and linked my arm through Cris’s. “Yes.” I forced my voice to stay neutral. “He’s mine—” I wanted to shoot a glance at Mari, but refrained, instead choosing to keep that secret to myself, should I need it later. “He’s my husband.”

I increased the pressure on Cris’s arm slightly. “Cris, this is my sister, Olive del Toro.”

“Ah, of course,” he said, ever the perfect diplomat. “Echo has spoken quite highly of you and most often.”

It was a complete and utter lie. We’d never discussed my sister, for like Grandmother, I kept her closely guarded. But his words made Olive blush, and she dipped her chin in a subservient way.

“We’re to be your ladies’ maids,” Mari said. “When we didn’t find you in your rooms, we thought we’d find you here.”

I pinned her with a look I hoped would convey the thoughts of my heart. I bet you wished you would find Cris—and only Cris—here.

“Did my father send you?” Cris asked, his tone much too light.

“Yes,” Olive said. Mari simply nodded, and I got the message. Forcing Mari to attend to me was a way to punish Cris—and he did know she served the High King, not me, and definitely not him. No wonder he’d paled in the hall earlier.

I extracted my arm from Cris’s and managed to separate Olive from Mari. I glanced down to her feet and back, looking for outward signs of abuse. “How did you come to be here?”

She glanced over her shoulder to where Mari stood with Cris, watching us. “I did return to Grandmother’s house.” She spoke so quietly, I had to lean closer to hear her. “I sent you a letter. Did you not receive it?”

I shook my head, a pressing heat beginning behind my eyes. My sister’s word surely would’ve helped me endure my time in the compound.

“I’d just gotten the garden cleared and planted when I received a summons to come to the High Castle of Nyth. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” Her eyes stretched too wide, her voice stayed too hushed, for this to be a casual conversation.

True terror flowed through my bloodstream. “What have you been doing here? Why were you summoned?”

I hummed the first few notes of a detection spell, and Olive’s magic—limited as it was—reacted violently. She took a step back as if I’d struck her. Naked fear shone in her eyes. She simply shook her head, her gaze focused behind me.

New worries ate their way through me. “Come, you can show me to my rooms. I haven’t been there yet.” I returned to Cris and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. “Something is wrong here,” I whispered. “Send for me in a few minutes.”

“Of course, dearest,” he murmured. I felt his eyes on my back as I left his rooms with Mari and Olive. The door clicked closed, and I mourned Lucia more strongly than ever.

#

My suite matched the grandeur of the compound with its rich rugs of brown and blue, cream-painted walls, and thick quilts. The difference here came in the windows. In the compound, I only had the sliding glass door for natural light. Here, glass composed entire walls, and when I went out on the balcony, the sky yawned so wide over my head that I felt small and insignificant.

I breathed in the scent of the early fall breeze and leaned on the railing of the balcony. I looked down into garden, now in the late stages of harvest. Fat pumpkins lounged among brown spider-leg vines and red ripe tomatoes bulged on bowing stems.

Nothing had been said in the few minutes it took to walk from Cris’s rooms to mine. Olive had opened the door and stepped back to wait for me to enter—very maidlike.

Mari had waited, her face masked of emotion. I stared at her, a clear warning for her to stay away from Cris, and we’d entered the apartment with thick silence between us. She refused to leave Olive and I alone together, and I’d escaped to the balcony.

I stayed outside as long as I dared. Finally I had to return to the safety of a room with four walls. Due to my healing of Cris’s wounds, I felt weaker by the moment and didn’t want to fall over the railing and become like the stalks of corn in the garden, broken and spent.

“Are you ready, Echo?” Cris asked at the same time he opened the door. He’d changed into a fresh suit of navy with silver stripes. His hair had been combed and glistened with water. Any evidence of his weariness had been erased, and he graced me with a small smile. “I had your meal sent to my rooms.”

Mari and Olive didn’t melt into the woodwork the way Lucia and Greta had. They stared at Cris, and then volleyed their gaze to me. They hadn’t prepared me for dinner. There wasn’t a dress in sight, no makeup pots to be seen, not even a fresh cloth had been offered.

I stepped past them, desperate to escape their scrutiny and to get something substantial in my stomach.

“Fetch her nightclothes,” Cris said to Olive. “She’ll be staying with me tonight.” He put his arm protectively around my shoulders and guided me into the breezeway.

#

Cris scarcely waited for the door to lock behind us before he asked, “What’s going on?”

I stepped further into the room and headed for the table bearing our dinner. “Mari is one of my maids,” I said. “Does that need an explanation?”

Cris frowned, causing a line to appear between his eyebrows. “I’m sure she wouldn’t do anything—”

“I’m sure she would. Without me, who would you have chosen?”

“Not her,” he said, strongly enough for me to pause in the unfolding of my napkin.

“What does that mean?” I’d seen her sneaking from his room.

He settled across from me and removed the lid from his plate. “I knew my father had sent her, and . . . ” He looked at me with frustration. “Remember how I told you I’d asked Gibson to do certain things for me?” He waved his hand in a general gesture. “That was one of them.”

“What was one of them?”

Cris took a gulp of his wine. “Gibson made Mari fall in love with me. I had to do something to make her reports to my father . . . favorable.” He pushed his food around on his plate. “I’m not proud of using her in that way.”

I watched him as I ate, not quite sure if I felt relief that he didn’t love Mari, or horror that he’d preyed on her emotions.

“Echo, please, don’t be angry.” He finally glanced at me, a pleading look in his eyes.

Angry wasn’t the right word. Wounded might work, for my heart felt desperately small inside my chest, and I could do little about it.

“Did you have Gibson influence me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Only her. She hails from a fishing township at the northern tip of Nyth. My father planted her in the compound as another means to collect information on me—on Castillo, too.”

“I saw her, sneaking from your room on our wedding night.”

“No.” Cris shook his head, his eyes ablaze with determination. “I kept my door securely locked that night. I suspected she might come, and I—” He cleared his throat and leaned toward me. “I am not my father, Echo. He had several mistresses. I’m determined to have only one lover.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as I lowered my gaze to the tabletop. I couldn’t undo the knot of emotions in my chest. “My grandmother used to say that to truly live, one must love deeply.”

“Your grandmother was a wise woman.” Warmth radiated through Cris’s words. “Tell me what else she said.”

“Many things.” I didn’t wish to discuss Grandmother now. “Too many to discuss.”

“I see.” Cris’s words carried a hint of hurt. To show him that I meant no disrespect, I let him take my hand and guide me to the settee where I’d addressed his wounds.

“What of Olive? What isn’t quite right with her?”

“Her magic is strange.” I frowned at the memory of the detection spell. “She doesn’t have much power, but it has never fought with mine.”

Cris’s eyebrows creased together. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” I sighed and laid my head against his chest. “When Castillo said she was returning to Iskadar, I felt relieved. She had friends there once, people who love her for who she is, no matter that she cannot wield magic.”

Cris circled his thumb along my palm. “Echo, I do not wish to upset you.”

I looked at him and found worry burning in his eyes. “Upset me?”

“Olive would not be here if she couldn’t wield magic. My father wouldn’t waste his time on someone like that.”

My blood seemed to be moving too fast through my veins. My heart picked up the pace to keep time with the increased flow. “What are you saying?”

“I believe he brought her here to spy on you.”

Thirty-Eight

Everything Cris said fit together, no matter how I wished it wouldn’t. “No,” I said. “She would never betray me.” I could not, would not, believe it. “He’s using her for something else.”

Cris’s grip on my fingers increased. “I’ll find out what.” He cleared his throat and looked away, uncomfortable inside his own skin. He stopped rubbing my hands and the fight deflated out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m not the prince—or husband—you deserve. I’m weak. I’m—”

“Stop it. Those are your father’s words, and I don’t want to hear them.” I cupped his face in my palm and lifted his chin until his eyes met mine. Unsaid assurances streamed between us.

I nodded and allowed Cris to show me to his bed and tuck me under the down quilts. After he’d returned to his private study, I lay awake, listening to the darkness speak stories of wicked magic and corrupt kings.

I got up and went out to the balcony. The sky was huge, dark, frightening. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I spun and padded down the hall to Cris’s private chamber. His door was unlocked, and I silently pushed my way in.

His breathing fell evenly against the air, and I hummed the first notes that would allow me to enter his mind. He wasn’t dreaming, which made the invasion much easier.

I pictured Castillo in my head, and the first image that came from Cris’s slumbering mind stole my breath. Castillo bent over an unmoving Cris. They looked to be young teenagers, with barely the beginnings of facial hair.

Castillo wept, fat tears sliding down his youthful face and landing on Cris’s. “You cannot be dead.”

I’d never heard sound during a rebound before, but I was exceedingly glad I could now so I could get a complete picture of Cris’s past.

His chest was a bloody mass of flesh, but I made out a mark from a cord—a wound when healed, would look like ropes of scar tissue across his bronze body.

“Stop sniveling,” a cold voice said, and ice ran through me at the High King’s biting comment. “You’re now free to bond with another. I did you a favor.”

Castillo pressed his eyes closed and bent his forehead to Cris’s. He began a spell to follow his brother into the afterlife, and suddenly, I got yanked into another vision.

This one followed Cris, who had indeed died. He stood on the edge of a spire of red rock, watching the vast sky before him flash images of his life.

He saw his mother’s funeral, while being held by a younger version of Helena. He cried, and then he sang, but his mother didn’t rise from the sepulcher. The next scene showed him and Castillo as young boys, maybe five years old, bonding as their shrill voices sang together.

Images passed through the sky, each depicting them performing an act of song-magic—great spells that swirled in colors, and barred doors, and held their father’s cruelty at bay.

I dared not blink, lest I miss the next secret. Castillo and Cris had been bonds. Cris could once sing wonderful and powerful magic into existence.

The sky darkened, and a woman appeared in front of him. Her dark hair blew in a magical wind, and she reached toward him with one pale hand. “Cris,” she said, and he stumbled toward her.

“Mother.” He cried into her hair as she gripped his shoulders.

“We don’t have much time.” She held him at arm’s length. “You have a choice here, Cris, a terrible choice.”

“Am I dead?”

“Not quite,” she said. “But the pathway is open before you.” She waved her hand to the sky behind her, which flashed with golden light. “You can also return.”

He looked over his mother’s shoulder and then behind to where I stood, unseen. His face held fear and indecision.

“Castillo can sing you back to life,” his mother said. “But it will come with a great price. A price, Cris, you will have to pay.”

“What will become of Castillo?”

His mother shook her head. “I think you know, my dearest.”

My throat squeezed at the endearment Cris so often called me. The vision tunneled, spun into the first image until Cris awoke coughing and gasping for air as the last notes of Castillo’s song echoed against the marble walls of the High Castle.

He’d sung his bond back to life, but only because Cris chose not to leave his brother alone in this world.

The vision faded, and I sucked at the air much the same way Cris had.

But the rebound didn’t end. One last image came into focus, this time without sound, as Cris stood next to Castillo, his mouth open in a spell-song. He pressed his lips together and turned to his brother with tears in his eyes. He shook his head, and Castillo pulled him into a tight embrace.

I pushed the rebound out of my head. I couldn’t stand another second of this agony, of seeing Cris full of power, and magic, and light, and then watching him fail at a simple spell-song.

I looked down at him, slumbering through my magical invasion. I saw him as a once-great magician, as Castillo’s first bond. I saw the greatness he could become as High King.

He’d paid a price, certainly. His magic, for his life.

His magic, to spare his brother from facing their father alone.

#

The next day came, because even magic couldn’t force time to slow for long. I didn’t wish to get up and attend the council meeting with the High King, but I had a part to play. I readied myself in Cris’s suite, sending Solis to my rooms to request a proper dress.

Mari and Olive arrived with burgundy silks. As my sister buttoned me into the dress, I asked her, “Are you sure you’re well?”

She caught my eye, and I saw the fear therein. “I’m better than if I had ignored the summons from the High King.”

I nodded, puzzling through the riddles of her answer. I concluded that she was still alive, that was all.

“What did you do before I arrived?” I cut a glance at Mari, who stood at the bureau preparing the makeup pots.

Olive brushed something invisible from my sleeve. “He wanted me to train with his royal militia; his magical militia. He was most displeased when he discovered I possess very little talent.” She spoke in a whisper, the words tumbling out so fast I could scarcely make sense of them.

“The dungeons are dark and cold,” she continued. “I’m glad to be out of there.”

“Olive,” I started but cut off when her eyes widened at something behind me. I turned, and found Mari’s gaze heavy on our hushed conversation. She raised her eyebrows and continued her work.

I swung my attention back to Olive. “What can I do?”

She adjusted the neckline of my dress, unable or unwilling to look at me. “He wants power, and you have more of that than anyone. You can protect me.”

Understanding dawned, and I fell back a step even as I nodded. “Of course, Olive.” The High King had summoned Olive to Nyth as a way to threaten me. He’d use her to keep me in line, knowing that I wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger. I gripped her hand. “Of course I will protect you.”

“Echo?” Mari spoke, and Olive looked me up and down, smiled hesitantly, and retreated. Mari watched her every move, and I realized she was here to spy on Olive, not me.

#

The council chambers were situated in the heart of the castle, in an area most impenetrable. The room connected to the High King’s personal living quarters, with guards stationed at every corner.

Cris and I arrived together and mingled with the others who had the courtesy to be on time. Cris kept a running commentary of which dignitaries were in attendance, and what they did in Nyth. Agriculture, weaponry, surveillance, water distribution, blacksmithing; the list went on and on.

After fifteen minutes, the High King appeared, adjusting his cloak. He speared me with a glance as he took his place at the head of the table. Cris and I moved to join him, as did everyone else.

“The situation in Umon has hardly improved,” he began. Talk of village uprisings, Nythinian policies for war, and Heona’s agreements and supply issues filled the next hour. I had no idea why I had to be present. Cris barely supplied any opinions, though I knew he had strategies of his own, plans that included keeping the situation with Umon at its most perilous.

I tuned out of the discussion until Cris spoke my name.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

Every dignitary in the room studied me. Some watched me with weariness in their eyes, others with fire.

“I have heard you hail from a long line of magicians,” he said. “Stemming from the ancients of Relina, if I’m not mistaken.”

I had admitted as much to him previously, so I couldn’t deny it now. “I am.” I was unsure where Cris wanted this conversation to go.

The High King flicked his eyes from Cris to me. “My father has a militia of men who need training.”

I frowned, remembering Olive’s hushed words. “I cannot wield a sword.”

“My master magician-at-arms has fallen ill.” The High King glanced at another man, and I doubted very much that the man of whom he spoke was still alive. “I would teach them myself, but with my time tied up with the diplomats from Heona and dealing with the uprisings in Umon, I cannot do it. I need someone who can teach my magicians to sing.”

“I can barely carry a tune,” I lied, sure Gibson’s reports had claimed quite the opposite.

Cris watched me, his fingers twined tightly together. “Father, Echo can do it. I watched her heal a man who was very nearly dead.”

I felt like he had slapped me. My eyebrows rose, but his expression didn’t change.

“She can achieve elemental spells as well,” the High King said. “My hunters have testified of it.”

“That was an accident,” I argued. “In situations of intense fear, sometimes—”

“She can pull magic from the earth,” he continued, speaking to the room instead of to me. He wouldn’t look away from me, and I found challenge in his eyes. I returned it, though my heartbeat rippled through my chest. I’d pulled magic from the earth to direct myself after the carriage fire—but I thought I’d been alone in that instance.

I squinted at the High King, wishing the gas lamps lit his face more fully. I wondered who had seen me use magic during that tragedy. Him? Or yet another spy?

“Defenses,” I said. “Not offense. I cannot train your militia in magical warfare.”

Cris smiled as though he’d been waiting for me to say those words. “Defensive spell-songs would be fine. Right, Father?”

I shook my head. “I cannot train your magicians.”

The High King stood as if the council was over. “Echo can begin tomorrow morning.”

Cris rose too, casting me one smug look before he followed his father past the guards and into the High King’s personal chambers. I had no idea what had just happened. Cris obviously wanted me to train the magical militia, though I couldn’t fathom why.

Matu returned me to my tower, where I spent the afternoon hours gazing at the sky, thinking of Castillo. Loneliness enveloped me, the same way it had the night Grandmother died. The separation of bonds wasn’t healthy, and the magical withdrawal from Castillo and his calm energy washed over me in waves.

Cris returned at nightfall, his face hollow. He leaned against the closed door, exhaling heavily as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Echo,” he said. “I should’ve discussed the council meeting with you prior.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I wanted your reaction to be as real as possible.” He moved further into the room, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Why do you wish me to train the militia?”

He stepped closer still, strength and intensity burning in his expression. “Please, Echo. Think of it as a favor for me, not as a favor for my father.”

“It’s both; no matter how you twist it.”

“You can control what they learn,” he countered. “Teach them only the better part. Weed out the wickedness in them. Replace the evil with good.”

I didn’t know why he was so desperate for me to train the High King’s magicians, but when he spoke of overriding the evil with the good, my magic burst inside me.

“You say it will help our cause?”

“Very much,” he said. “Just think of it. You’ll have access to every magician he wishes to control, and you can influence them.”

“I can influence them,” I repeated, thinking of rooting out those most loyal to the High King and teaching the rest song-magic that could dethrone him.

He reached me and brushed one of my curls away from my face. “You’re radiant when you speak of magic.”

He kissed me, holding me tight as if he really wanted me near. I felt something new in the way his lips moved against mine; in the way he stroked his fingers along my lower back. “I’m in love with you,” he murmured against my mouth. He kissed me like he meant his words, and I’d never been kissed like that before.

“I—” I swallowed back the desire to say it now just to make him happy. Serving someone brought feelings of love, and if Cris and I continued relying on each other, the day would come when I could tell him I loved him, and mean it.

Cris watched me, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in his eyes. “I understand.”

Thirty-Nine

I didn’t know what time training began. I lounged in bed while Cris scratched his quill against a thick piece of parchment at a desk across the suite. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and until I bolted to a sitting position, he didn’t pay me any attention.

“What is it?” he asked.

I cocked my head to the side and closed my eyes. I hadn’t felt magic like this since leaving Castillo. This energy sang to me, though my ears heard no sound. I heard Castillo’s rich baritone singing that binding spell. My magic surged through me the way it had when we’d bonded.

“Castillo is here,” I said, though I didn’t wish to explain how I knew such a thing.

“Impossible,” Cris said. “It hasn’t been long enough to achieve our plans.”

I flung off the blankets and stood up. “Come, we must get ready to receive him.”

Before Cris could move, a booming knock sounded on the door. We exchanged a glance before he went to answer it. Once again, I found myself wishing I had Matu’s magic and could sense who stood in the hall.

“Open the door!” Fury pitched the High King’s voice into hysteria. Cris murmured something placating in response.

The High King’s face purpled in his rage, yet Cris stood strong against him, not allowing him entrance. Castillo’s magic lingered close, so close. I used every ounce of willpower to keep from running into the hallway and demanding to see him.

I moved closer so as not to miss any more of the exchange. As I did, Cris increased the volume of his voice so I could hear better. “Father, I don’t care anymore. The price is too high.”

I wasn’t sure what old argument this was, but the tension in Cris’s shoulders bled into me.

“For us to control the chaos, some have to die.” The High King’s eyes deepened in color and that flicker of orange fire breathed life into his face.

“No,” Cris said. “I don’t want to control the magic that way. It’s too dangerous.”

I muscled my way next to Cris. “That is what this is about?” I couldn’t stop the surge of magic as it painted my voice. Castillo was so close. If he were to speak, I wouldn’t be able to stop my voice from joining his. “Power over me? Over others? More magic? Is that what you promised my sister to get her to come here?”

The High King switched his sharp gaze to mine, his lip curling into a sneer. “Your sister acts on her own accord.”

“What did you do to her?”

“I did nothing.” The High King leaned away from me.

Cris slid his arm along my waist and murmured in my ear, “Don’t listen to him, dearest. His voice has a way of muddling the mind.”

“So does mine,” I whispered back. I returned my attention to the High King and his entourage in the hall. “I must beg for one more day. I’m not feeling well enough to begin the training today.”

Cris started to bring the door closed, and I tore my gaze from the High King’s to look for Castillo’s face among the crowd. His magic called to me, sang notes in my head. I took a step back into the bedroom to keep from rushing into the hall and calling his name.

“One day,” the High King threatened when only a slit remained in the door.

Cris returned to his paperwork. He labored nonstop, but I had nothing to fill my time. I longed for the days in the compound, when Lucia and I would scurry into the sewing room. My chest tightened at the memory of her friendship and the knowledge that I’d never see her again.

I retreated to my suite and sang a protective ward on the door so I wouldn’t be interrupted. I hummed a location spell, weaving my sister’s image into the notes. The rebound came quickly, and showed Olive arranging Nythinian blossoms. Her attention to detail remained unmatched, and she looked as content as I’d ever seen her.

Still, I didn’t trust that the High King hadn’t poisoned her, somehow, and I promised myself to find out all I could about why he’d really brought her here.

#

That afternoon, after I’d finished cleaning up, I went to Cris’s side of the tower. He stood to greet me, a smile spreading across his face. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “I would like to discuss Mari with you.”

Cris remained impassive. “Oh?”

“I don’t wish her to be my assistant.”

He blinked several times. “Who would you like for an assistant? I don’t think we can trust anyone in my father’s house.”

“She is in your father’s house.” I sighed. “I think the best way to get rid of her would be to claim I don’t need her.”

Cris looked at me a moment before glancing toward the door. “Meaning?”

“I don’t desire an assistant.” I crossed to him and slid my arms around his waist. “I know how to dress myself. I did it for many years. I can manage my own hair. Now, as for the makeup, I’m not skilled with a brush the way Greta is.”

“I don’t like much makeup anyway.” He smiled down at me, and a fluttering started behind my ribs. “I love you,” he said, the smile fading into seriousness.

It felt like the moment to say it back. But I wanted to mean it when I said it. Did I mean it? When looking at Cris, what wasn’t to like? His kindness? His compassion? His good looks?

I loved the way he protected me. I loved that he counseled with me, included me in decisions, and made me feel his equal. I loved that he paid attention to what I liked, knew what I wanted, and went to great lengths to provide me with what he could.

Cris watched me, waiting for me to say something. “I’m dangerously close to loving you,” I said, hoping it would be enough for now.

He smiled and accepted my answer. “I’ve discovered where Castillo is, and why he’s here.”

I raised one eyebrow at his blatant topic change. “Oh?”

“It’s my job to know who my enemies are and what they’re doing.”

“Is Castillo your enemy?” I disliked the turn in conversation. It felt like the ground might vanish at any moment, and we’d be falling into the unknown.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“What of Castillo?”

“He has come back, begging the forgiveness of the High King and seeking a place on the magician’s squad.”

My mind riddled through this news. Castillo wouldn’t return to Nyth unless he thought it absolutely necessary. He certainly wouldn’t beg forgiveness unless the situation was dire.

“We must speak with him,” I said.

Cris clasped his hands behind his back, showing nothing but a stoic exterior. “I agree. He has accepted an invitation for dinner this evening.”

#

Olive’s deft fingers worked my hair into an ebony crown ringing my head.

“Tell me what you’ve been doing here,” I said. Mari hadn’t shown up to help prepare me for dinner, and I wondered if Cris had already arranged her reassignment.

Olive pulled another strand into place. “When I first arrived, and the High King learned of my limited power, I spent some time in the dungeons. I didn’t receive an explanation as to why I’d been summoned or what I was needed for.”

I ached to ask her about Grandmother’s house, if the yellow cabinets had weathered the neglect, but I held my tongue.

“A continual stream of men came and asked many questions about you.”

I sucked in a breath, but Olive didn’t seem to notice. “Then, one day, a girl took me from the pits, saying I could work in the gardens, make the arrangements for the castle’s décor. I didn’t argue.”

“Who came for you?”

“Mari,” Olive said, her voice much cooler, more closed off. I recognized the tone she took when she was nearly finished speaking.

My heart skipped a beat. “Why would she do that? Did she say?”

“She said the High King had approved my release, that I was under her supervision, and that in addition to my new florist duties, I’d be helping her attend to a noble.”

I mulled through her answers as she painted color onto my cheeks and added a diamond clip to my hair. When she finished, she drew me into a hug, something I returned in force. “You are lovely, Echo. Look at what you’ve done for us.”

I swallowed hard, worrying over exactly what I’d gotten us into.

#

When I returned to Cris’s rooms, the dining room table had been set with four places. Crystal goblets held amber liquid, and the white china glinted with candlelight. Fresh roses sat in the middle of the table, white with red weaved along the tips.

I trailed my fingertips along the tablecloth and jumped when Cris said, “Hello, dearest.”

I turned to face him, noting that I wasn’t the only one who had paid particular attention to my appearance tonight. He wore his finest black suit, a white shirt with a pale yellow tie. His hair had been combed, and silver glinted at his wrists. My heart pounded at his good looks, his sophistication.

“You take my breath away,” he said, edging ever closer. He soaked in the crimson of my silk dress, the blush on my cheeks, the gem-studded crown on my head.

I remained silent as Cris continued his advance toward me. He stopped in front of me and took my hand in his. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning to look at him fully now.

Cris leaned toward me just as four raps landed on the door.

“Matu?” I asked, recognizing the knock.

“I invited him as well. You did wish him and Castillo to be your guards, correct?”

Surprise shot through me as I acknowledged the lengths Cris had taken to please me. I smiled before he turned to welcome our guests.

Forty

I watched Castillo as he and Matu entered the room. Castillo startled when he saw me, moving much the way I felt I was—like I was trying to walk underwater. His magic washed over me, singing through my system with such comfort and grace that I thought of the majestic sunsets Grandmother and I used to watch in the evenings.

“Good evening, Echo,” he said as he drew closer to where I stood next to the dining table.

“Good evening,” I replied, turning my attention to Matu and extending the same greeting. I stepped into his embrace, relieved to see him whole and alive.

“Thank you,” I whispered into his ear.

He held me at arm’s length. “For what?”

“For saving me in the mountains of Nyth.” I’d never thanked him properly, and now seemed like a good time. Cris remained near the door as if he were the guard trying to blend into the background.

Matu smiled his gratitude, and I swept over to the door and linked my arm through Cris’s. I tugged him across the room toward the table. “Thank you both for coming.” I nudged Cris toward my chair so he would pull it out for me.

Ever the picture of perfection, he played the part, even leaning down to plant a kiss on my forehead before he settled next to me. Matu sat across from him, and Castillo sat last, a dozen questions burning through his dark eyes.

I smiled, more out of nerves than anything else. The tension between Cris and I stretched, and the silence and distance between me and Castillo felt bottomless. I couldn’t wait to excuse myself and lead him to the balcony where we could truly talk about everything that had happened in the past two weeks.

During dinner, we tiptoed around topics, never talking about anything of substance, yet filling the spaces in the silence with our voices. Cris seemed to have more to say than usual, and he caught Castillo’s eye more than once. Unsaid words passed between them, setting me on edge. Finally Cris tossed his napkin to the table. “Castillo, may I have a word?”

“Certainly, brother.” Castillo pushed away from the table and followed Cris toward the balcony without a backward glance for me. Something struck me in the chest, something that spoke of secrets I needed to know.

Matu exhaled as he stood. “Care for a midnight walk in the gardens, my lady?” He offered his arm, but his eyes held more seriousness than amusement.

I didn’t wish to leave, but I couldn’t deny the invitation. I worried that Castillo would depart before I returned, that I wouldn’t get to speak with him in confidence, that I didn’t seem to be the one he wanted to strategize with.

Still, I stood and took Matu’s offered arm. “I’m without shoes.”

“We won’t stray off the path,” he promised, and led me out of the suite.

The autumn night in Nyth stole my breath away. The air held a crispness I’d missed in Umon, where the tall buildings and suffocating numbers of people kept everything too warm for too long.

The air went in easy, clearing my discomfort over leaving Cris with Castillo. “How long has Castillo been here?” I asked as we entered the garden and my feet found the cool comfort of grass.

“He arrived last night,” Matu replied. He didn’t seem interested in conversation, but I had more questions than time.

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s here to advance his magical training.”

I frowned into the night, the only place that would receive my displeasure without judging me or glaring back.

“Why is he—?”

“Echo,” Matu said, his voice firm. “Are we going to discuss Castillo all evening?”

A hole opened in my chest, and I struggled to find something with which to fill this wide-open sky.

“I’m sorry,” Matu said. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I simply don’t wish to discuss Castillo all the time. We used to talk about other things, you know.”

I nodded, still trying to find my voice among the chirping crickets and whispering breeze. We continued through the hedges and flowers, the petals shining silver in the moonlight. I blinked and swallowed, swallowed and blinked, trying to regain control of my raging emotions.

Matu finally broke the silence. “How well do you know Castillo?” His voice settled back to its usual timbre, quiet and soft, among the foliage.

Castillo and I had bonded after a short time, but even before that the magic had clouded everything about him. Most of what I knew had come through magical means, things Castillo hadn’t told me himself.

“Not well,” I managed to choke out, though I knew he loved policies, and politics. I knew he would do anything for Cris. I knew he possessed beautiful magic, and anyone who could get it to transform the way he did couldn’t be bad.

“He isn’t one to be tied down,” Matu said, the words coming too casually to hold only their weight.

“Has he had the opportunity to bond previously?”

“Yes,” Matu said.

“And he didn’t.” I wasn’t asking this time. I didn’t blame him. The broken bond with Cris must have been terribly painful.

“Cris has changed in the short time he has known you,” Matu said. “For the better, my lady.”

I felt warm with his words. I’d seen the changes in Cris, had felt them in myself. “Thank you, Matu.”

“Of course, you must also find a way to work the bond with Castillo.”

I wondered how he knew of our bond, but I didn’t ask. Castillo could explain why, when he insisted we keep our bond a secret, suddenly Matu knew of it.

#

Back in the suite, Castillo waited in the shadows, his face a blank mask. He stood stiffly, his shoulders square and his hands fisted at his sides, the way he had the night he’d arrived on my doorstep.

“I’ll be right outside,” Matu said, slipping back out the door.

I didn’t move further into the room, and Castillo also seemed content where he was. “Did you enjoy the gardens?”

“They’re lovely.” I squared my shoulders.

“Is our bond secure?”

I held my chin high and looked straight at Castillo. “If you consider Matu secure, then yes.”

“I didn’t tell him. He has a way of knowing things about a person whether they speak them or not.”

I desired to see him, truly see into his soul. “I’ve heard you have had many opportunities to bond, and haven’t taken them.”

“I said I’d release my magic for you, and I meant that.”

I nodded, swallowing back the emotion in my throat. “Where’s Cris?”

“He stepped out for a few minutes,” Castillo said. “What’s been happening here?”

“Not much,” I admitted. “We only just arrived a few days ago. Why have you returned so soon?”

“The villagers aren’t willing to back down so quickly,” he said. “I’m afraid I cannot say more.”

“You never can,” I said. “I dislike these secrets between us.”

“Some of these secrets protect you,” he said. “And they’re simply policies anyway. Which you also dislike.”

“Some of them merely cause me to act without adequate information,” I replied. “And all of them annoy me.”

He stepped closer, his face darkening. “You hold many secrets yourself, princess.”

“What is it you always say? Just ask; I’ll tell you.”

He didn’t speak for several long seconds. “Cris said he’s spoken to you about the necessity of the training.” His voice sounded rich and deep, the same singing voice I’d heard as we worked magic together.

I heard what he didn’t say: This is your chance! A legion of magicians at your fingertips.

I nodded. “He has.” I paced away from him. “Is the militia dedicated?”

He caught my eyes. “Some of them.”

Classic Castillo. Always speaking only half of what I needed to know.

Forty-One

The next morning, Matu came for me before dawn. He brought official magician robes from the High King as well as a plate of blueberry muffins and crisp bacon. I ignored the charcoal robes and tried to quell the jittery feeling in my stomach with the food.

“You must get dressed,” he said after my third muffin. “Street clothes will do. The robes go over everything else.”

I didn’t know if I had street clothes, or what such things would look like. But Mari entered carrying a pair of black pants and a short-sleeved black tunic. She set them on the bed without a glance or a word to me. She locked eyes with Matu, and I saw heat in her expression before she spun on her heel and left me to dress myself.

Matu followed her, raising his eyebrows at me before bringing the door closed behind him. I put on the pants and shirt, feeling very much out of my element and wondering if Mari and Matu were better friends than I knew.

I hadn’t worn pants since becoming a teenager, when I’d graduated into skirts and dresses. They fit well, and when I shrugged into the charcoal robes, I couldn’t feel their weight at all. The fabric had substance to keep the wind and rain at bay. “Enchanted,” I murmured, wondering if the weaver threaded the magic into the garment at its birth, or another magician bewitched it afterward. The fabric reminded me of the cape I’d been given my first night in the High Castle, and a shudder squirreled down my spine.

The robes bore an insignia over the left breast, done in black and red twine. I couldn’t quite make it out until I viewed myself in the mirror. Then the dancing flames became apparent. I traced the crimson points with my fingertips, wondering what the High King saw in fire that I didn’t.

“Destruction,” I said to myself as I braided my hair into a circlet on the nape of my neck. Satisfied by my preparations, I looked in the mirror. I wore no makeup, and a few errant freckles splashed across my cheeks and nose. Grandmother used to say they were angel kisses, and when I lay in the sun as a child, they multiplied because the angels were smiling down upon me.

I’d never believed her, because if angels existed my father wouldn’t have died and my mother wouldn’t have left to bring him back.

I watched my eyes widen and blink; watched the rise and fall of my chest. I didn’t seem like someone qualified to train legions of magicians. My pale skin made my hair appear dark as midnight, but that wasn’t a desirable quality in my experience. Greta was forever adding color to my face, not trying to take it away. Beauty was not found in skin the color of bleached bone, nor in too-light eyes and lips as pale as moonlight.

Oake had said my features spoke of great power, but I hadn’t believed that either. His hair shone like gold, and his eyes rivaled the spring grasses in their depth of greenness. He didn’t appear washed out, faded from view, transparent.

“My lady?” Matu’s voice sounded from the bedroom. “The magicians are assembled in the outer courtyard.”

I turned away from my reflection and went to find what awaited me in the outer courtyard.

#

Matu left me on a set of cement steps at one end of the courtyard and took his place at the end of the first row of magicians. He stared straight ahead, like the others who’d gathered. Ten rows stretched before me, each with ten men or women, all with identical charcoal robes with the fiery insignia.

“We’ll begin with a test,” I called, my voice bouncing off the smooth marble and cobbled stones in the courtyard. No one responded, though my words sounded threatening to me.

I opened my mouth and sang one clear note low in my register, mixing the sound with a mental chant that would induce complacency. Anyone too weak to ward off a simple passivity spell shouldn’t be performing magic until their mind was sufficiently strong enough to combat such attacks. Grandmother had taught me this before sending me to Oake for lessons, so I figured it would be a good place to start here as well.

More than half the magicians sank to the ground, their eyes half-open, a dreamy smile plastered on their faces. It pleased me to find both Castillo and Matu still standing, though Castillo wore a nasty glare to broadcast his displeasure.

I quieted the note, feeling a rush of vertigo as I did. I breathed through the side-to-side movement of the courtyard until it stopped. “If you’re sitting on the ground, you’re dismissed.”

The magicians on the ground simply got up and wandered away, smiling or exclaiming about the brightness of the sun as it crested the mountains and bathed the High Castle in daylight.

“Those of you who remain, tighten in, please.”

After they had reassembled the box, this time eight rows of five people each, I descended the steps and maneuvered through them. No one seemed frightened of me. None moved. None spoke.

I returned to the steps and gestured to the sun-drenched cement. “Come, sit. We will sing.”

Forty-Two

Castillo acted as if he hadn’t met me before, that we hadn’t bonded. Even when I walked directly in front of him, he let his eyes slide over my face without truly acknowledging me.

I’d never been happier than when the session ended. I’d felt strengthened by Castillo’s magic, used it as I spent my own. His snubbing of me stung, but I found I didn’t care as much when I saw Cris waiting for me outside my door.

“You look like you could use lunch.” A genuine smile graced his lips and the autumn sun added auburn to his dark hair.

“Lunch sounds fantastic,” I said. “Let me get rid of this robe and change my clothes.”

“No need for that,” he said, reaching for the robe as I shrugged out of it. He held it toward my door. It opened and someone took the robe and closed the door. “Shall we?”

He offered his arm, and I took it, feeling very self-conscious in the black tunic and trousers. “Where are we lunching?”

“I asked my chefs to set up the stage.” He led me away from our wing, back through the outer courtyard, where two or three magicians lingered in conversation, and up the steps into an orchard. Trees stretched as far as my eye could see.

“How far is the stage? I’m starving.”

“Starving? I heard you ate quite a few muffins at breakfast.”

“Hey!” I elbowed him, sending my body away from his. He grasped me as he laughed and pulled me back to the safety of his side.

“Singing is hard work.”

“It’s not far.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek. He let his lips linger longer than necessary, and I turned my head and met his mouth with mine. A thrill shot through my core, awakening a sleeping store of magic.

We broke apart and leaned our foreheads together. I kept my eyes closed as I tasted him on my lips, breathing quickly through my nose.

“I love you, Echo,” Cris whispered.

It felt like the right time to say it back, whether I knew for certain if I loved him or not.

So I did.

#

The last person I wanted to interrupt our peaceful orchard luncheon was the High King. Yet he stomped through the trees, causing me to drop my fork.

“Echo?” Cris asked.

“Your father.” I peered at the High King, just beyond the makeshift stage. We’d eaten and had a lovely lunch complete with glorious sunlight and conversation about my grandmother.

Cris laid his napkin on the table in a carefully controlled manner. “I’ll go with him.”

“Go where?”

“He’s been summoning me since the council meeting.” He pushed away from the table and stood. “The Heonian ambassadors wish to meet with me, as they believe you to be too ill.”

“Do they know I’m here, in Nyth?”

“Yes.” He smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his jacket as I stood. “But they believe you to have the walking plague, which will take several weeks to recover from. They believe that’s why we didn’t arrive together.”

“What does Heona want?” Twisting fear made my insides feel like jelly. “Why shouldn’t I meet with them?”

Cris leaned in until his cheek pressed against mine, and whispered so no one could overhear. “We’re trying to steady the situation between Nyth and Umon before dealing with Heona.”

“You shouldn’t go.” I moved to position myself between Cris and the approaching High King. His black cape billowed behind him as he all but ran forward.

The High King stopped a few feet away. His demeanor testified of storm clouds and unhappy endings. “Cris! There you are. I must speak with you.” His gaze flickered to me and back to his son. “Alone.”

“Now?” I asked. “We’re just finishing lunch.”

He squinted at me, his mind working hard. “When you train my magicians, we can discuss the timing of my private discussions with my son.”

I lifted my chin to look down on the High King. “I spent four hours with your magicians this morning. Some of them have never had a day of training in their life.”

“That’s why you’re here.”

“Wrong,” I said, snarling out the word. “I’m here because your son asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”

“Echo, I’ll be back for dinner.” Cris put both hands on my shoulders and turned me away from the High King. “Now is not the time for your mouth.”

“You’ve never had a problem with it before,” I whispered.

“And I don’t now,” he said, just as quietly. “But he does, and this doesn’t play into our plan.”

I studied him for a moment, seeing the depth of our plans in his eyes. I nodded, realizing there would come a time when I could use my mouth against the High King.

Cris nodded. “Sometimes a distraction is needed, and I know exactly how to orchestrate such a thing.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“Cris,” I started, but he shook his head.

“Echo, do not worry. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.” He buttoned his suit coat and embraced me one last time. “Train the magicians. If I don’t return, search for me. I’ll always come back to you.”

A lump rose in my throat as he stepped off the stage and followed his father into the orchard. He didn’t look back.

#

I waited alone in Cris’s suite until night fell. I sat on the balcony in my mauve silk, wondering if something had gone wrong. I’d seen very little of Nyth, and even less of the castle. I doubted I could find my way back to the council chamber without singing a spell to make it so. Worry gnawed at my insides, and I kept swallowing in the hopes that it would cease.

Nightingales sang joyful songs to one another, and still Cris didn’t return. Dinner sat on the cart, untouched and cold. My heart raced, and then slowed into an irregular rhythm that felt funny in my chest.

The moon arced through the sky. Cris didn’t return.

My eyelids grew heavy. Still, Cris did not return.

I fell asleep alone, on Cris’s balcony, in the wee hours of the morning, when even the nightingales had returned to loved ones in their nests.

#

I woke just before the sun, returned to my suite, and scrubbed my face back to its usual paleness. Olive handed me set of black clothes and helped me pin my hair back.

“You need to return to Iskadar,” I said. “I worry for you here.”

She gave me a timid smile, looking more exhausted than I’d ever seen her in Umon, though our hours had been long and our rewards sparse. “I’d like to return to Grandmother’s house.”

I nodded like I could make it happen. “I’ll find a way.” I slipped into my clothes just as Matu knocked on the door. Donning my magician’s robe, I greeted him silently by stepping into the breezeway and taking his arm. Upon arrival in the outer courtyard, I found all one hundred magicians—as well as the High King.

He lounged in a recliner opposite the steps, sipping from a golden goblet. My first thought was to sing him into oblivion and then piece his particles back together and demand he lead me to Cris. My second thought focused on why he’d come at all.

I shelved all matters regarding the High King and focused on the magicians in front of me. “A test,” I called, and sang the same note as the previous day. Many of the same magicians were dismissed, despite the High King’s narrowed eyes and displeased scowl.

I invited the remaining magicians to the steps and we warmed up by singing scales. When we finished, I said, “I think we’ll start today with protective rhymes. How many of you know this line of poetry?”

After I had recited the stanza, only Castillo’s hand rose.

“Perhaps you can help us,” I said to him. “How do you start the spell?”

He kept his attention on a pebble at his feet. He opened his mouth and sang the opening line, his tone rich and powerful. He stopped and regarded me with eyes filled with fire.

I strode toward him, my robe trailing behind me on the cobbles. “The rhyme should grind in your throat before you give it true voice.” I clutched his throat with my cold fingers. “Hold onto that first beat for as long as you can, and then hold it a moment longer. That’s how you draw the power from the earth.”

I clasped my hands behind my back the way I’d seen Cris do a hundred times. “Let me hear it.”

I moved through the group, giving advice and correcting the note. So absorbed was I in my work that I didn’t notice the High King had ventured closer. I’d just set the range for a girl who couldn’t find the right note when I looked up and found him studying me.

“Yes?” My voice came out blunt and cold—an inappropriate way to speak to royalty.

“That’s too low,” he said.

“For someone with a soprano voice like hers, the lower she starts, the more magic she’ll be able to draw from her core.” I turned back to the girl. “That’s the right note. Start there and pull the magic through you as you move into the upper register.”

I faced the High King again. “Let me hear yours.”

Shock colored his face and moved through his eyes with a flash of anger. Then he parted his lips and emitted a note that would begin a very strong protective ward. I wished he wasn’t quite so good at magic.

“Well done,” I said. “Will you stay for the whole lesson?”

“No,” the High King said, already turning back to his recliner. “I don’t have time for defensive songs.”

Annoyance flooded me. “I don’t have to train the militia.”

“Someone in authority must,” he said. “And my other advisors are busy with political necessities.”

“Where’s Cris?”

The High King waved his hand in response, as if Cris existed in the sky and could land nearby if he so chose. The High King reached his recliner and snapped his fingers. The chair vanished, and the High King bowed with a smirk on his face before leaving the courtyard.

I continued the lesson, but I still felt the High King’s presence everywhere. Afterward, I made sure I stood next to Castillo when I dismissed the magicians. “Have you heard from or seen Cris?” I spoke through mostly closed lips.

“No.” He looked at something over my left shoulder as if we were not talking. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“He said he could cause a distraction. Would that put him in danger?” I asked, giving up the pretenses and looking straight at Castillo now that most of the magicians had left the courtyard.

Castillo swallowed, a nervous gesture that increased the pressure in my stomach. “He was the distraction. I suspect he’s gone to the villages.”

Forty-Three

The next morning, I arrived in the courtyard much too early, having slept badly the night before. I couldn’t locate Matu, and I hadn’t been able to find a way to release my sister back to Iskadar without involving the High King. I had enough authority to make her assignments, so I changed her duties to my full-time maid. She might wish to work with bouquets, but I wanted to keep her close to me so I could protect her.

The High King rested on the steps, the recliner gone.

“Where’s Cris?” I asked, not expecting an answer—and not receiving one. The High King stared into the orchard beyond the courtyard, clearly disinterested in speaking with me.

“Can I see him?”

He swung his gaze to mine, licked his lips, and returned his attention to the sun rising over the eastern mountains. “When you train my magicians.”

I frowned. I was training his magicians. They arrived in clumps, all within a few minutes of each other. I attempted a few more questions, but the High King reverted to muteness. I fumed through the lesson, especially because Matu adopted Castillo’s treatment and wouldn’t look at me. I swallowed back my emotions and tried to fight through the feeling that I was being completely left out of everything important.

I assigned the trainees to a partner. I taught them to sing notes and twine them with mental chants to increase the magic. As I moved past Matu, who seemed to be struggling with the spell, I caught sight of the High King murmuring with a pair several paces away.

When I arrived on-scene, I found him instructing a hook nosed magician to start the chant before the note. Not only that, but the pitch of the man’s voice was wrong—much too low—yet I’d taught him the correct note earlier.

“You’re wrong,” I blurted, turning to the magician. His eyes widened and his lips quirked up into an amused smile. “Don’t listen to him. Do as I instructed, and the spell will be what it should be.”

I spun back to face the High King. My fingers curled into fists. “Why are you forcing me to do this? It’s obvious you find me incompetent.”

He glared at me, a slow blush creeping into his face. “You’re extremely powerful,” he said with far too much control for me to be comfortable. I had no idea what he was getting at.

I took a deep breath and pictured Cris by my side. I heard him whisper warnings in my ears and saw that look of adoration when he said, “Curse that mouth.”

“You’re not required to be present during these trainings.” Movement to my right caught my eye. I turned to find Olive observing us, a bouquet of flowers clutched in her fists.

“Excuse me.” She glanced between me and the High King, something anxious in her expression. “Someone summoned me?”

A shout drew my attention away from my sister. I turned and found a magician had lost consciousness. Two of his friends supported his head.

“Castillo!” I called for my bond as I hurried away from Olive and the High King.

We roused the fallen magician, and I stood. “Dismissed,” I said, though the lesson was far from over. I turned and found Olive huddled with the High King near the edge of the courtyard.

I sidled up to them in time to hear the High King say, “Dinner is at six o’clock.” He spared me a withering glare before departing.

“Olive?” I asked.

My sister looked teary, but when she met my gaze, the water in her eyes turned glassy. She straightened. “The High King has invited me to dinner.”

“Why?” Such an invitation surely equated to something terrible.

Fear crossed her face, and her fingers shredded the delicate petals of the arrangement she held. “No servant has been seen after their private dinner with the High King.”

I threw myself into her arms, instantly wishing we’d bonded, that our voices could weave a protection spell. “I’ll protect you,” I whispered in her ear as we separated.

Olive wiped her eyes, spun on her heel, and left me standing in the courtyard with trembling fingers.

#

After lunch, I stood on the balcony watching a ribbon of smoke lift over the southern mountains. Something in Umon was burning. I sang a detection melody, but I couldn’t extend the magic past the walls of the castle.

I chanted a location poem, inserting Cris’s image into my mind, but the rebound returned blank and useless. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was in the darkest confines of the castle, or if the magic hadn’t worked because he’d gone beyond the gates. I’ll always come back to you, he’d said, and I held onto the hope that the song would rebound when it found Cris.

The song did rebound an image of Mari, who I’d reassigned to the laundry facilities. With my dirty training clothes tucked into a bag, I went to find her.

I moved toward the castle with ease. When people saw me, they stepped to the side and let me pass with a courteous nod and a quick smile. Several people offered to take my bag, and each time I assured them I wanted to go to the laundry myself.

The main castle bustled with life. People wearing bright capes in various colors entered and exited the rooms along the perimeter of the great hall. Even inside, plants dominated the scenery with hanging vines dripping from the ceiling and potted trees guarding stairwells.

I watched the activity, wishing I could blend in as seamlessly as I once did. But here, everyone knew me as the Princess, and everyone averted their eyes and paid their respects. A respect I hadn’t earned.

“Have you seen the Prince?” I asked the next person who offered to take my laundry, a man wearing spectacles and sporting a blue cape.

The man leaned closer. “Rumor has it that the Prince has gone mad.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’ve also heard that his father has sequestered him.” The man leaned away and cast his eyes heavenward. “One hears many things inside these castle walls.”

“Why would the High King sequester his son? And where?”

“The Prince lived here for many years before anyone saw him. There are many places to hide one man.” The man’s voice took on an odd quality, almost like he was speaking underwater.

I moved away from him and took a deep breath. With the distance, my head cleared. I blinked and when I opened my eyes again, the man in the blue cape had moved halfway across the wide hall.

The magic here confused me. I uttered a protection spell to keep the dangerous energy out of my head and continued toward the laundry facilities.

#

“I need you to get me into his dinner,” I repeated. Mari stood before me, her arms folded and a thoughtful expression on her face. She’d refused me twice already. “Just for tonight. I’ll do whatever it takes to be there. Cook, clean, serve.” The thought of Olive and the High King alone together brought snakes to my stomach. I reached out and placed two fingers on her forearm. “Please. I—I will allow you to erase one of my memories.”

She finally looked me in the eyes. “Oh? Which one?”

“The one where I saw you sneaking out of my husband’s bedroom on our wedding night.”

Her mouth rounded and she took a step back. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Nothing happened. I—I promise you, Echo. Nothing happened.”

I regarded her coolly, still needing her assistance. “Perhaps you’d like to take the memory, so we don’t have it between us.”

She narrowed her eyes for split-second. “What makes you think I can get you into his chambers for dinner?”

She’d gotten Olive out of prison. I didn’t know how, but her actions testified that Mari had some measure of knowledge and power here. “Just the fact that you know where he dines speaks volumes.”

She sighed, sinking her weight onto one leg and sticking out her hip. “We’ll have to do something to disguise your face.”

Three hours later, my patience was razor-thin, as was Mari’s. She’d painted my face a deep bronze color, applied so much eye makeup my lids took longer to reopen after blinking, and had arranged and rearranged my hair half a dozen times.

She wound a scarf around the bun and let the ends drape over my shoulders. “You’re doing clean up only,” Mari instructed. “You can be in the suite, but shouldn’t be seen until the High King leaves. Then you’ll have to stay and clean up after.”

“I understand,” I said.

Before our conversation continued, a knock sounded at the door. A severe-looking woman stood outside Mari’s room and barked at me to follow her to the High King’s chamber.

I did so, trying to keep my eyes focused on the back of the woman’s head as we drew to the High King’s personal chambers. I hummed a low tune, hoping it would conceal my identity further from those who wouldn’t appreciate my pressence.

“Stop that,” the woman said. “The High King will be able to detect you. He can sense a magician from ten kilometers.”

“Ten kilometers?”

“Yes,” she said. “Do you have a song to erase your magic? Because that’s what you will need in this case.”

“What should I do?”

“Pray he’s having an off day,” the woman said. “Even he has them, High King or not.”

#

The High King didn’t appear to be having an off day, though he paid me no mind when I slipped into his chambers and disappeared toward the food preparation area. His voice filled every crevice in the room; his laugh bounced around in my head until I thought I would never rid myself of it.

Olive arrived a few minutes after me, and though I couldn’t see her, the wafting scent of perfume told me she’d gone to great lengths to make herself presentable for the occasion. Her delicate voice tinkled among the High King’s boisterous tone.

They dined slowly, taking their time with salads, and soups, and small talk. Servers moved in and out of the prep area, but I stayed with the woman who had brought me, washed the salad plates as they returned, and waited for the end of the meal.

I continually edged my way closer to the partitioning wall separating the prep area from the dining table. When I stood on the cusp of being seen, I could hear quite well as long as the High King wasn’t cackling and dishes weren’t clacking.

“My son is anxious to stop me,” the High King said, but Olive’s answer and the High King’s response were wiped away by the return of soup bowls Mari sent clattering into the sink. I needed to wash them, but I stalled another moment at the corner.

“—Grandmother said it could never be so.” Olive practically choked on the word Grandmother, and a surge of emotion made my breath burn in my throat.

“Your grandmother dabbled in mere country magic,” the High King said. “I’ve seen your sister’s lessons.”

“Echo knows a great deal of magic, Your Excellency,” Olive said. “And my grandmother was twice as powerful.”

Someone jostled me at that moment, but the swell of pride I felt for my family ballooned inside. And to hear Olive defend me and speak softly about Grandmother made my chest constrict.

“Echo.” Mari motioned to me urgently from the sink. I joined her and scrubbed the soup bowls as fast as possible.

Dishes kept coming, and by the time I finished, I couldn’t hear echoes of conversation from the dining room. I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried to the partition. I caught sight of the tails of the High King’s suit as he disappeared down a hall.

“Echo!”

I ignored Mari’s whispered plea as I ran across the room. My heartbeat pulsed irregularly, and I didn’t dare breathe too deeply for fear someone would hear as I stole down the dark hall after the High King. The high pitch of Olive’s voice met my ears, and I followed it, turning left at the end of the hall.

The moon cast clawing, silver light through a window. It beckoned me forward, though every instinct screamed at me to retreat. I hesitated, searching for Olive’s faint magic, cursing that I wasn’t Matu and couldn’t feel it.

“What do you think?” the High King asked, and I turned right down another shadowed hallway. I desperately wanted to know why—and for what—the High King needed Olive’s reassurances.

“I believe it will work,” the High King said, drawing my attention to the left this time. A doorway led to a dark room where oil lamps produced low light. I could just make out the tall form of the High King and the more delicate build of my sister. He reached toward her, and I sucked in a breath involuntarily.

Nothing happened beyond a quick brush of his fingers against her arm. He gestured to something behind him and they moved further into the room, where darkness swallowed them.

I waited a few seconds before I darted after them. The orange light felt strange, as if it shouldn’t be this color naturally. My stomach quivered with unease, and my feet stumbled over each other. I dared not sing a melody to call Castillo to my side, for fear the High King would sense my presence.

Gas lamps suddenly flared to life, lighting the room Olive and the High King had entered. I crept to the door and peered in. I swallowed at the sight of two dozen magicians circling the room wearing their charcoal robes.

The freaky light didn’t quite reach the center of the circle where Olive stood, her head held high. Despite her proud presence, she couldn’t completely erase the raw fear in her eyes.

The world around me shrank and disappeared until all that existed was the guttering firelight painting the circle of magicians.

A chant began, though I couldn’t tell which magician started it. One by one, voices joined the song, causing it to grow in pitch and volume. The magic stirred within me, my music longing to burst forth. High notes mingled with low ones. Harmonies and melodies intertwined with a precision I hadn’t witnessed before from the High King’s magicians. I closed my eyes, lost in the power of this magic.

Beneath all that, the chant marched on, sucking power from the song and transforming it from beautiful to dangerous. That underlying vein of dark magic discolored the whole spell, and my eyes snapped open.

“No,” I whispered. My gaze flew around the magicians in the circle, searching for the High King. I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t stand here and watch Olive, couldn’t seem to open my mouth and sing the notes to break this song-magic that would kill my sister.

The magic rose and fell, the melody ebbed and flowed, the song silenced and crescendoed. Oake had not taught me the spell-songs that would rob others of their magic, drain them until they couldn’t breathe.

Grandmother had told stories of corrupt magicians who did such things, though the ancients of Relina had forbidden it.

“Why would anyone want to use magic to murder?” I’d asked.

“Immortality,” she’d answered.

I remembered the way my chest seized, the same way it was now. “But the magicians of Relina are immortal. Did they—? Have they—?”

“They transfer their magic and intelligence to another body,” Grandmother explained. “Then their host body passes from this life as it normally would. They only transfer to a willing host. Never once have the ancients used wicked magic to achieve immortality.”

As the spell-song continued, it drowned out my memories. Something Cris had said filled my mind. Father, I don’t care anymore. The price is too high. I don’t want to control the magic that way. It’s too dangerous.

For one who was unable to control magic, such as Cris, this spell would allow him to siphon power from another and consume it as his own. One paid the price with their death; the other enjoyed the reward of prolonged life.

My magic responded to the evil song surrounding me. That power called to me, sang for me, drew me in the same way Castillo had on the veranda. I sang for him to come, infusing the song with desperation so he would arrive quickly.

Olive started to shake. Her eyes squeezed shut. She opened her mouth, and the note she produced sounded more like a screech than anything else.

The High King stepped into the doorway, his eyes blazing with the orange light, his pupils vertical slits from the wickedness he infused within himself. The spell-songs he’d used to steal the lifeblood of others had transformed him.

He smiled wide, revealing a mouthful of hungry teeth. “Hello, Echo.” My name in his voice sounded so wrong against the song still reverberating through the room.

“This won’t work,” I cried over the sound of the magic.

“Then stop it.” The High King threw his head back and laughed. He spread his arms wide, indicating his powerful magicians.

I searched for the break in the music, the crack where I could insert my voice and shatter the spell. The bass line was as solid as a cement foundation, and I detected nothing in the melodic line either.

Behind the smug form of the High King, Olive screamed. I tried to move past the High King to break the circle and stop the magic. The High King stepped in my path, impossibly tall and wide. “With your voice, Princess. My son claims you can reintroduce magic into the world without fear.” He raised his chin. “So use your voice.”

It sounded like both a challenge and a threat. My throat felt too dry to speak, let alone sing. My eyes widened. My heart pumped impossibly fast. I felt wild and trapped, the same way I had just before killing Gibson. I swallowed, trying to reign in my panic and re-lace my control over the seedlings of wicked magic with which he’d infected me.

“Stop it, Echo,” the High King taunted. He stepped to the side to reveal that Olive had fallen to her knees. She held her head in her hands, and convulsed. I glanced behind me, seeking any sign of Castillo. The hallways remained empty.

I turned back to the circle before me, found the hairline crack in the middle register, and opened my mouth to prevent this influential, old magic from destroying my sister.

I hesitated on the cusp of the note, feeling the wicked magic rush into me. It swirled with the dark power I’d been harboring since Gibson’s attack. I pushed the magic away, but it tangled, caught inside my eardrums. If I joined my voice to this wicked song-magic, there would be no return.

I looked from my sister to the High King, furious. “You planned this.”

“We all have our secrets.” He cackled again before joining his rich tenor voice to the spell-song, filling the empty spot and completing the melody that would sing Olive into the afterlife.

Forty-Four

The wicked magic within me strained to come out. I fought against it as the most powerful voice I’d heard since arriving at the High Castle pierced my defenses. The High King knew how to use his voice to achieve the most complicated melodies.

I stood and watched, humming a protective spell to keep his evil magic at bay—and stop the magic spiraling through me from bursting out. But my song didn’t erase the sight of Olive writhing on the floor, or the sound of her screams as the wicked spell-song wove around her.

“Curse that mouth,” I heard someone say in Cris’s voice, but this time it wasn’t because I’d said something I shouldn’t have. Instead, it was because I couldn’t use my voice at all.

I searched for Cris among the magicians in the circle, but he wasn’t there. Castillo hadn’t arrived. No one was coming to help.

I couldn’t watch my sister suffer for another second.

I opened my mouth and sang. The discordant song surrounding me faltered under the influence of my golden spell-song of safety. Olive quieted in the center of the circle. The magician nearest me took the tiniest step backward, nearly breaking the circle. His eyes flickered to mine and held.

I increased the tempo of the music, trying to insert my protective magic before the damning notes of the destructive song could sound.

The magician steeled his gaze and kept his position, sending my safety song up into smoke. Tears pressed up my throat; Olive screamed again; somewhere, the High King laughed.

I began a chant Grandmother had sung to me while I suffered from the walking plague. It had eased the pain, chased away the fever, and wrapped me in comfort. My voice rose above the harmonies, swelled through the melody.

The High King’s spell-song changed with the addition of the chant, and this time half a dozen magicians turned to look at me. No one broke the formation, but awe and fear shone on their faces.

Sing!

I couldn’t tell if the thought existed inside my own mind, or if the High King had shouted the instruction to his magicians.

I sang, turning the chant into a refrain that wrapped around the rafters, circled through the wicked magic, looking for a way to save my sister. She stilled again, lifting her tear-filled eyes to mine.

I reached for her at the same time she stretched her hand toward me. I knelt to extend my hand past the circle of magicians, but I still couldn’t reach her. Olive’s tears fell; she sat back.

No, my mind shouted as I continued to sing. Don’t give up!

If the High King killed her with his song, the years of her life would be added to his; his wicked way of reaching for immortality.

Her mouth moved: I love you. Let me go.

I couldn’t. I kept singing, though my chest felt too tight, my head too light. I must save her, save her, save her.

Around me, the light dimmed. The multiple melodies wafting through the room melded and echoed in my head. Another voice joined the fray—Grandmother.

I couldn’t make out the words, for she sang them in a language I hadn’t learned. I recognized the magic though—I’d felt it in my dream when I stepped onto the beach in Relina. I had felt it pulsing behind the locked door even as Grandmother cautioned me to find the key.

Her magic ballooned into something huge, a power that filled the room until it centered on Olive. She sighed and sank back, a smile gracing her lips. The sight of her relaxing into death stole my breath and stalled my chant.

The High King’s song continued; Grandmother’s magic faded; Olive’s chest rose and fell, rose . . . and fell one last time.

Go! Grandmother’s voice in my mind sounded like a gong before her presence withdrew. I turned away from the ceremony and ran as fast as my bare feet would carry me. I burst out of the High King’s suite, my breath cutting through my throat in hard gasps.

Outside, the night sky held silence, but I could still hear the High King’s spell-song so loud, so clear, so dangerous. The harmonies swam through my head, the low notes colliding in my ears, sounding much the same as carriage wheels grinding against the earth.

The thought of the lands calmed me. I sprinted down the breezeway and into the gardens. I dropped to my knees and knotted my fingers in the grass. The cool strands provided just the anchor I needed to clear the damaging music from my head. The last strain to leave was the High King’s voice, singing the final, condemning note.

I sucked in a breath as silence descended upon me. My sobs shattered this new quiet, and after a few minutes a song of comfort filled the air. Something soft and feathery entered my mind, and I didn’t resist it.

A moment later, someone touched my shoulders. I looked up through tear-filled eyes to find Mari clutching me. “Come now,” she said with such compassion in her gaze my heart pinched. “Let’s return to your suite, Your Highness.” She helped me stand and gently nudged me in the direction of my wing.

“I miss my sister, too,” she whispered. “She’s why I’m here.”

Though my heart struggled to beat in a world where Olive didn’t live, I felt the pain in Mari’s words. “Tell me of her.”

“She got involved in some bad business, and I ended up coming here to protect her.”

“I-I’m sorry.” I hiccupped.

Mari gripped my hand. “You’re almost like a sister to me, Echo.”

Her words brought on a fresh wave of tears, and all I could think about was watching Olive’s chest rise and fall that last time.

#

Though the night ended, when I looked out the window the sky remained dark. Smoke clouded the air, and the chill of winter felt near. My insides raged as dark and cluttered as the weather.

I stood at the balcony door, fogging it with each exhalation. I reached up and ran a finger through the condensation. Cris’s face filled my mind, his kind brown eyes, his quiet strength, his care and concern for me.

I blinked and focused on the glass. I’d drawn a heart while thinking of Cris. I smudged it into nothingness as I sang a desperate location rhyme. As before, the rebound brought a blank image. I sang for Castillo, but he remained absent. I wondered what I expected him to do anyway.

I couldn’t stand to be alone with myself. I hummed a calming tune, which drove the pain from my soul long enough for me to fall asleep.

Forty-Five

Cris sits next to my bed, his lyrical voice weaving the lore stories into vivid pictures that swim around me. He glances at me from time to time, concern and affection riding in his eyes. When I don’t stir, he returns to his book; his voice picks up where it left off in the tale.

When he grows tired of reading, he climbs into bed with me, holds me tight as he strokes my hair. I recognize the music he hums, though he gives no voice to the lyrics. It’s a melody of peace, of healing.

“Wake up, dearest,” he whispers.

I long to hear him sing fully, to feel the power he can wield. When I remember that he’s lost his power, a new hole widens in my already weakened heart.

Castillo enters, drawing Cris’s attention back to political matters. He joins his brother near the door, and they whisper about the village uprisings. The thought of Cris in the hands of men who wish him dead brings a sourness to my stomach I cannot swallow away.

He turns back to me for a moment, presses two fingers to his lips and holds them toward me in a good-bye. I try to wake, to tell him not to go, that he’s in much danger. I cannot move nor speak, and Cris leaves with Castillo.

#

I jerked awake to the sound of the High King’s song. It took me a moment to realize he was not actually here, singing in my suite. I didn’t know how long I had slept, or what time of day or night it was.

Though I only heard silence, a wisp of magic touched my mind, luring me toward the door. I stepped into midnight on the breezeway and strode toward the courtyard where I trained the High King’s magicians.

Moonlight was the only trespasser. I stole across the square quickly and vanished into deeper shadows among the garden, which separated the main castle from my spire.

The tickle of magic danced around me, brushing against my ankles and teasing my hair. I couldn’t quite make out the song, but I realized I must have sung it at some point and it was ready to rebound. It urged me forward, through the grand hall with its staircase and the throne room behind, where I had been received upon my arrival in Nyth. My feet took me back out into the entryway and wove me through the maze toward the gate.

Two guards stood in front of the massive, closed doors, straight and tall and utterly unmoving. I wanted to stop walking and quickly retrace my steps, but the rebound of the spell-song pushed me along.

“I need to go out,” I said upon arriving at the gate.

Neither guard moved.

“Is it unlocked?” I took a step to move past them, and the left guard shot one hand out into my path.

“No one goes out at night.”

“I came in at night,” I responded, my voice strong and true. “The gate was open.”

“The situation in Umon is dire,” the guard said. “No one goes out or comes in at night.”

I lilted my head to the side and tried to see in through the guard’s eyeholes in his helmet. “Situation in Umon?”

“Village uprisings.”

The spell-song pushed against my back, wrapping around me and entering my ears. I recognized it as the location spell for Cris. The image that had previously remained blank flickered with light, showing Cris’s face with his eyes closed.

“I desperately need to go out.” My heartbeat spiked and my voice cracked. “I believe the Prince is out there.” I stood on tiptoe, straining to see through the solid gold gates.

“If he is, that’s his problem,” the guard said, drawing my attention back to him. “No one goes in or out.”

“He’s the High King’s son,” I said. “It’s everyone’s problem if he’s captured or killed.” I glared at him, making my face as unmoving as his, hoping the pulse pounding in my throat would go unnoticed.

He didn’t move to crank open the gates, yet they began to swing inward. My eyes widened as the gates did, as the guard spun with his sword raised. His partner edged closer to him, raising his right arm in a magical attack stance.

“Stand down,” a man said, squeezing past the opening gates. “I’m Castillo de la Fuenta.”

“Castillo,” wisped past my lips, more of a moan than anything else. He looked at me for a long moment before reaching for my hand. When we touched, safety engulfed me.

“The King is in need of your assistance,” he said, his voice a calming influence in my life. Castillo motioned the two guards through. “Come, the King needs you.”

“Lord, we’re to stay here,” the guard said. “No matter the reason.”

“You would let your king die?” Castillo challenged. I edged toward the open gate, afraid it might suddenly suck closed, trapping me inside while Cris remained outside.

“Well, no, we—” the guard stammered. “Our orders are to stay here, no matter the reason.”

“Come on.” The second guard lowered his hand and strode toward Castillo. The sword-bearing guard grumbled, but followed, and I slipped into the night behind them, driven by the rebound of Cris, unmoving and cold.

Castillo slid into step beside me. “Stay close, princess.”

“Oh, so you’re speaking to me now?” I asked, unable to stop myself. Right now, the magic led me in the same direction as Castillo, and so I went.

“Circumstances are not always what they seem,” he murmured. “You should know that.”

“Of course I know that.” A squirm of foolishness snaked through me. I followed the magic to the right, surprised when Castillo curved with me. “Where are you going?”

“To the King.” He seemed to be dragging his left foot. “Where are you going?”

I noticed he did not say the High King. “To Cris.”

“Then we’re going to the same place.” Castillo definitely favored his left foot, though he tried hard not to.

“Where is he?” The words felt stuffed in my throat, clogged and coated with alarm.

“Steady.” Castillo linked his arm through mine in much the same way he had in the compound.

I knew in that moment, that single moment with Castillo touching me and my emotions spiking with worry over Cris, that I was truly in love.

With my husband.

Forty-Six

I couldn’t erase the smile that sprang to my lips at my realization. I knew Castillo and I could be bonds without being lovers. I glanced at him and found him looking at me, too. He raised one eyebrow, but I shook my head. Focusing ahead again, I saw a fallen form. I cried out, pushed away from Castillo, and ran to Cris.

“Cris.” I smoothed his hair off his forehead. His skin felt waxy and too cold. “Wake up,” I pleaded. “Please wake up.”

His lips were parted and looked much too blue and much too dry. His chest rose and fell in the barest of movements, and everything about him appeared too small.

“What happened to him?” I demanded when Castillo knelt next to me.

“The villagers happened to him,” Castillo whispered. “Remember he was to be the distraction? The reason the High King continues this conflict with Umon?” Castillo’s soft pressure on my arm increased. “Don’t worry. They did only as he instructed, and we can heal him.”

Castillo slid his fingers in between mine. “I’ll start.” He used his free hand to trace Cris’s jawline, and he began the healing spell with his rich baritone.

My magic leaped, yearning to join with his. I waited, listening to his beautiful voice weave life back into Cris’s body. How different Castillo’s magic was from his father’s. His was joyful and light, rather than greedy and dark.

I joined my higher voice with Castillo’s when he began the second spell-song. The notes flowed from my body filled with love. Color rushed back into Cris’s cheeks, and he drew a deep breath.

“Echo,” he gurgled before coughing.

“Don’t speak, dearest,” I said, breaking out of the song for a beat. “We’re trying to heal you.”

Castillo and I worked together, united in purpose, the way bonds should be.

#

“The armies of Umon truly stand at the ready?” I asked, hours later, standing in my suite with Cris, Castillo, and Mari. She’d helped me immensely, first by getting me into the High King’s dinner, and then last night when I was so broken over Olive’s death. Things Cris would’ve done for me previously, things that brought two people together.

Cris closed the distance between us and slid his hands along my waist. “Castillo?” He looked at me but spoke to his brother. He blocked my view of the rest of the room, and I lost myself in the depth of his eyes.

“The armies of Umon are camped two hours away,” Castillo said. “They’re awaiting word regarding the attack.”

“The High King suspects nothing,” Mari reported. “I’ve been his personal maid this last week.”

“Surely he doesn’t say everything in front of his maids,” I argued, stepping next to Cris so I could see her.

“Something of this severity would be up for discussion at all hours,” Mari said, and Castillo nodded his agreement.

“The guards at the gate said Umon’s villagers were in open revolt,” I said. “Why would they know about it and not the High King?”

“I’m crafty with a lie,” Castillo said simply, and I couldn’t argue with him. I simply wondered whom he’d lied to—the guards or his father.

“Does the High King have a bond?” I asked, looking at Castillo.

Cris shook his head. “He’d never rely on someone else like that.”

While being bonded would increase his magic, it meant he had to trust someone else explicitly. Depend on them in dangerous situations. It made sense the High King wouldn’t subject himself to such things.

I waited for Castillo to reveal our secret. I’d told him on the way back to the castle that we’d have to disclose everything to ensure the best chance of overthrowing the High King.

He didn’t speak, but watched me with a slight frown marring his lips. I glared. He’d agreed that we’d tell Cris about our bond.

I opened my mouth—

“Echo and I are bonded,” Castillo said.

Cris’s grip on my hand became painful, and Mari gasped. “True bonds?” she asked.

“Yes.” Castillo tore his angry gaze from mine and focused on his brother. His eyes softened as he said, “And nothing more.”

Cris turned me back toward him. “Nothing more?” His lips hardly moved with the words.

“Truly nothing more.”

He accepted my answer and focused on Castillo again. “Should we tell her of our plans?”

“Yes, you should.” I turned to find Castillo glaring once more. “Castillo, I can simply enter your mind while you sleep tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight.”

“Cris,” I said, but it sounded like a whine.

“You won’t like it,” he said. “Which is why Castillo does not wish to tell you.”

“She’s powerful,” Castillo said, as if I were not standing right in front of him. “I’m afraid of her.”

“You are not!”

He quirked a smile. “Still, I’d prefer you find out at a time when you cannot do anything to stop us.”

“It’s that bad?” I tried and failed to imagine what they could have possibly done.

“Well, he traded his mother in an agreement with Heona,” Mari said.

The breath left my body. “You did?” I stepped toward Castillo.

Castillo exhaled angrily and clenched his fists. “There is little I would not do to ensure our victory against my father. Helena understood the risks. She agreed to help.”

Cris cleared his throat. “We’re wasting time. There will be plenty of time for anger and revelations later. Let us focus on the approaching army and what we’ll do when they arrive.”

“So what should we do?” I sifted through the spell-songs I knew for one we could use against someone unbonded like the High King.

“You will do nothing,” Cris said.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Castillo and I can work the magic together.”

“I don’t want you doing anything dangerous,” Cris said.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Everything I do is dangerous, including sneaking through the gates in the dead of night to heal you.”

“She has a point,” Castillo said in barely more than a whisper. “Don’t argue with the girl, Cris. She’ll do what she wants anyway.”

I shot him a daggered look, half-grateful and half-annoyed. “Curse your mouth,” I said, and that caused a chuckle to leak from Cris.

“Fine,” he said. “But you are to stay here and work your magic.”

“I must be with Castillo.” I squeezed Cris’s hand. He looked at me and I begged him with my eyes. Please, I thought. Please don’t deny me this chance to use my voice for good. Please see that this is what your kingdom needs, what you need.

“I must be crazy.” Cris released my gaze and turned to the others. “We’re all insane. My father possesses magic we know nothing of.”

“He’s not immortal yet,” I said.

“That we know of,” Castillo amended. My eyes flew to his.

“You will tell Matu the plan?” Cris asked, and Castillo nodded before turning and leaving. Mari followed him, leaving Cris and I alone.

“Castillo told me about Olive. I’m so sorry,” he said, his head as low as his voice. “My father will pay for the crimes he’s committed.”

I didn’t say that it was fine; it wasn’t. But her death didn’t belong to Cris, so I simply pulled his mouth to mine and enjoyed the taste, feel, and heat of him next to me once again.

#

As I watched the sky lighten in varying degrees, I sang a few notes, the beginnings of a spell that would unravel Castillo’s secrets. I stalled on the last note, wondering if I should simply leave him alone. I’d discovered so many things through my songs, things I might not even need to know.

I cut the song into silence and turned my thoughts to my mother. Her love for my father had driven her to leave me behind, a mere baby.

I thought of her combing the Earth to find the magic to bring him back to the living. I thought of the desperation she must have felt. I thought I might’ve tasted a small portion of it when I saw Cris crumpled on the cobbles. I would’ve used any spell to heal him, any song or rhyme to make him whole again.

I sighed at the emptiness of the bed beside me. He had stayed with me, the warmth of his bare skin beside mine welcome, until he thought I’d fallen asleep. Then he’d slipped from bed and disappeared into his private study. I missed him more now that I knew I loved him.

“Echo, breakfast is here.” Mari spoke from the doorway, but by the time I rolled over she was gone. I hurried to pull on the magician robes she’d laid out and joined her in the dining nook.

“Thank you, Mari.” I looked at her with new eyes and found a loyal friend. She hadn’t told anyone about my magic in the compound. She’d helped me here, especially after Olive’s death.

“I’m sorry about my infatuation with the Prince.” She fiddled with her napkin. “I think there were some foul spells at play.”

“What do you mean?” I hoped my voice didn’t give away that I knew of this trickery already.

“I felt . . . compelled toward him.” She shook her head as if dislodging something painful within. “It doesn’t matter. My behavior is inexcusable.”

I blinked and saw her with her shoes pinched between her fingers as she slinked from Cris’s rooms. “I believe you were going to take one of my memories.”

She met my gaze. “I was sent to Umon to spy on Castillo, at the command of the High King,” she whispered. “But I failed. I didn’t know what he was doing, or where he’d gone. I couldn’t heal him. I was so distracted with Cris.”

“Mari,” I said. “Please. It—”

“I intercepted Cris’s invitations meant for you. I’d never felt such jealousy.” She looked out the window, as if the glass replayed her misdeeds in the compound.

I put my hand on her arm to break her from the trance. “Truly, it doesn’t matter; as long as you are with us now.” I narrowed my eyes. “You are with us, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good.” I smiled. “Now let’s take care of that memory.”

Forty-Seven

The following morning, the High King stood in the courtyard, barking orders at the assembled magicians. I stopped, only able to stare as my heart battled and raged against my ribcage.

I could only hear the notes of the spell-song that had killed Olive. My fingers curled into fists, and my vision sharpened. Energy flowed from me, causing the High King to turn.

His eyes narrowed as his lips spread into a smile. He folded his arms, and I wanted to fly forward and knock him senseless, perhaps sing a song that would shatter his smile and darken his eyes.

“Not yet,” Castillo hissed as he bumped into my left shoulder. He didn’t say anything else, nor look back at me, as he continued into the courtyard. He bowed his head to his father and took his position among the magicians.

I focused past the High King, where dozens of people waited for the lesson to begin. They all watched me with various expressions. Some wore wonder, some expectation, others confusion.

Matu caught my eyes, his imploring me not to give away too much. I thought of Olive, of her last words to me, of the peace she’d worn on her face as Grandmother welcomed her home.

“I’m ready to begin training.” The words stuck in my throat, and I refused to look directly at the High King as I brushed past him.

He laughed, but it sounded like a cackle. “Your students.” He waved his arm across the group before settling on the steps. I wanted to say many things to his magicians, but I certainly couldn’t teach them a song to sing him into death if he hovered during my lessons.

I caught Castillo’s eye, and he lowered his chin a fraction of an inch. Enough for me to know that he approved of the way I’d schooled my emotions—and that he’d call back the armies until I could properly instruct the magicians to overthrow the High King.

The opportunity didn’t come the next day, nor the next. Frustration boiled inside my veins, making me irritable and tense.

“Patience,” Cris counseled one evening. “He won’t attend lessons every day.”

“But he just loiters there! I don’t understand it. He said he didn’t have time to teach his militia.”

“He has time for what he deems important.”

“And magic is of utmost importance to him.” I sighed. “What should I do? Refuse to teach? Cause an uprising that will draw his attention away from Nyth?”

Cris drew me into an embrace. I breathed in the warmth of him, letting some of the annoyance and helplessness flow out of me. I began a cleansing song, one that would drive the disquiet away, at least for a little while.

I sang into Cris’s chest as he held me close and joined his voice to mine. The timbre to his voice felt like rich honey, and though he possessed little power, it was beautiful and kind. With our voices acting together, my negative emotions and worries about the High King floated away.

I stopped singing then, enjoying the warmth of Cris’s arms around me as we blocked out the world.

“I’ll distract him,” Cris murmured.

#

The next morning, Cris departed before I awoke. Mari helped me ready myself for lessons, as I’d reassigned her to be my maid after Olive’s death. Her quick smile reminded me of Lucia’s quiet strength and unwavering loyalty.

“Thank you, Mari.” I paused near the door as she tossed me a friendly smile.

I slowed my steps as I approached the courtyard, searching the stairs for the High King. He was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn’t feel his magic nearby either.

“Today,” Castillo muttered as I passed him, but I didn’t acknowledge him. My heart crowded my throat. Today rang through my head. Definitely today.

“Come in close, please.” I centered myself in the courtyard. I needed proximity to influence the magicians. As they gathered, I hummed a detection tune to find those most loyal to the High King.

I found thirty or so magicians glowing with a red aura. I asked them to come forward and then I examined them, as if searching for something important. I looked straight into the eyes of the one who’d very nearly broken the circle during Olive’s death ceremony.

My breath hitched, my throat narrowed. I looked away quickly, deemed those with the aura still confused, and sent them away. Dozens of magicians remained in the courtyard, unattached to the High King, and possibly willing to go along with me.

“Thank you for putting forth your best efforts these past few weeks,” I said. “Today, I have a new kind of spell I want to teach you. An offensive song. The power is in the melody.” I took a deep breath before singing five low notes that ascended up a minor scale.

“Repeat it with me,” I instructed, and together we sang. I dropped out after the second note to listen. Their combined voices brought the power of the lands rushing toward me. As the sound died down, a smile crept across my face.

“Excellent,” I said. “For this spell, there’s no power in words, only music.” I sauntered through them, looking each one in the eye. “This spell erases all others. It cages wicked magic and forces it back into the sorcerer who has corrupted it.”

I cleared my throat and cast a glance toward the orchard. “Now, who can tell me what happens when a magician holds too much magic?”

“Their bond can help them hold it,” someone said.

“And what if they’re unbonded?”

“They must release it,” Matu said. I looked at him and found understanding in his expression.

“Yes,” I said. “They must release it. Where will that magic go?”

“Into the surroundings,” said the magician next to Matu. I focused on him and found green eyes and a smile on his face. “And the magician who released it can no longer control it.”

“Exactly.” I returned his mischievous grin. “Tonight, my friends, we’ll be using this spell. Please meet in the entrance courtyard at dusk.” I swept my gaze through the crowd. Some seemed confused and some accepted my assignment without question. Others looked at me with knowledge in their eyes, and of those, several smiled and nodded.

“Dismissed,” I said.

#

I didn’t see Castillo or Cris that afternoon, but I couldn’t rid myself of Matu or Mari. They stayed in my rooms all day, and I witnessed them exchange several glances and once, Matu hooked Mari’s pinkie finger with his.

I paced in front of the balcony window and occasionally escaped their mindless chatter to stare over the mountains at the dark sky hovering above Umon. Magic sizzled in the air as Castillo had sent his proclamation of war through the outer villages.

I heard Grandmother’s voice and what she might say if such an appeal had come while she was alive. “We will not go, Echo. Let Nyth tear itself to shreds.”

Oake hadn’t seen eye to eye with Grandmother, and if a call had been made, he would have answered it. I warred with myself. I wished to see Oake, look into his eyes, and tell him how grateful I was for his tutelage, maybe even show him that I’d found my voice. But I didn’t wish to see him on the battlefield. I didn’t wish to watch him die.

For many would die tonight. The sky foretold it; the wind lamented it with a mournful song. I felt it in my very core. Death was unsettling, even before it happened.

“Come inside, Echo,” Matu said, and I loosened my grip on the railing and followed him inside, where the stench of death didn’t waft so strongly.

That night, I still hadn’t seen Cris. “Where is he?” I complained to Matu.

“He has many things to prepare,” Matu replied in that steady way of his. “He’ll be where he needs to be, when he needs to be there.”

I wrung my hands and forced them flat against my clothes, pretending to smooth away the wrinkles in my robes in an attempt to calm my nerves.

“Come, we should be where we need to be also.” I opened the door and ushered Mari and Matu out. We moved silently down the breezeway, the night air absorbing the minuscule sounds we made. I stuck to the shadows behind Matu as I crossed the courtyard, and I managed to bite back a cry when the sky flashed with cobalt light beyond the gate of the High Castle.

The entrance courtyard gleamed with moonlight, silent and still. I didn’t see a single magician—nor did I spy a guard. Panic clawed at my stomach. I stumbled on the smooth rock path as my imagination ran wild. Matu looked over his shoulder and placed one finger over his lips. The action calmed me for some reason, perhaps because he didn’t seem disturbed by the absence of the magicians.

Then I wasn’t either, for suddenly a man appeared near the wall. “Castillo,” I breathed and quickened my pace. As I drew nearer to the gate, I found it lined with robed magicians. My eyes hadn’t detected their dark clothes among the shadows, and they blended in seamlessly with their hoods covering their faces.

“We stand ready,” Castillo whispered when I reached him. I squeezed his hand as Mari and Matu took their places in line, bringing their hoods over their heads to conceal themselves fully in the darkness.

The sky flashed blue again, now much brighter and much closer. The armies of Umon were nearby, and they were ready.

“Open the gate,” I said in a loud voice. “Mouths closed until I give the signal.”

Forty-Eight

The marching of boots against stone sounded like thunder. The army of Umon moved through the widening gate and into the entrance courtyard without care for who might be alerted to their presence.

They went over benches and rock walls, trampling everything. Fifty, one hundred, two hundred soldiers marched past, and with each step, a spark of hope flared in my heart.

At the rear, a squadron of magicians followed the militia of Umon. Upon entering the courtyard, they scattered left or right and joined the shadows. Our magical numbers swelled by five dozen.

Perhaps this crazy plan was possible. Perhaps we could dethrone the High King with a small army and the element of surprise.

A door swung open on the veranda at the far end of the courtyard. A shout sounded, and within seconds the army of Umon had fallen to one knee, weapons pointed toward the balconies. In those same seconds, the archers of Nyth converged, shooting arrows from unseen places. None of the arrows came near the shadows lining the gate. I clenched my fists to remind myself not to let my voice fly and drop those weapons before they found their marks.

I must not reveal our position. The High King would use his magic to protect himself. He just needed to be convinced he was in danger.

Three minutes became ten, and many of Umon’s army lay on the ground, arrows protruding from shoulders and necks. Finally, the last Nythinian archer fell, and a great cheer rumbled the earth as the army of Umon celebrated.

Magic whizzed forward from further within the castle, and it stank of greed and darkness. It reminded me of Gibson’s breath; it reminded me of how I felt when I had killed him. Powerful and fearsome; deadly and destructive.

The army of Umon vibrated with the magic before the screaming started. I reached out involuntarily and latched onto Castillo’s arm. He pulled me closer, moving his mouth near my ear. “Now?”

I shook my head no, mouthing the words Not yet.

Men careened around the courtyard, clutching their faces and falling without catching themselves. The sounds reverberated in my soul, and my magic reacted violently. My sister’s stricken face flickered through my head. The way the soldiers convulsed and wailed reminded me of the way the High King had stolen her life force and claimed it as his own.

The magic suddenly zipped away, being called back by its owner, soaring over the rooftops and toward the orchard. I watched it, drawing a deep breath in the absence of dark magic.

“Next time.” I glanced down and found my fingers entwined with Castillo’s. When I met his eye, he nodded grimly.

Movement in the courtyard caught my peripheral vision, and I turned away from Castillo. A man strode through the fallen soldiers, touching the shoulders of some, and leaning down to speak with others. Magic flowed with him, vibrant and alive, seeping up through the cobbles as he called it forth from the lands.

“Oake.” My heart squeezed too tightly, much too tightly. I turned to Castillo. “You brought Oake?”

Horror warred with relief in Castillo’s face. “He’s been planning this rebellion with us for over a year. Cris knew he was important to you and begged him to stay behind in Iskadar, but he refused. I’m sorry.”

My heart beat faster with every word, and not only because his explanation was quite possibly the longest one I’d ever heard him give. “Over a year?”

“Before you left Iskadar, even.”

A flare of anger licked through me before I turned back to the courtyard. My eyes met Oake’s across the expanse, his blazing with emerald fire and mine widening as I watched a plume of magic soar over the High Castle.

“Watch out!” I shouted, throwing my hands up as I spun. “Now!” I yelled to my magicians. “Now! Sing now!”

Their voices circled each other as some started singing and others didn’t join in fast enough. I flew forward with the impact of an explosion behind me. Rain began to fall like cold needles against my skin as I lay on the fiery hot cobbles.

Someone helped me up, and I turned back to survey the scene in the courtyard. “Sing!” I called once more before the sky pulsed and everything froze.

My chest wouldn’t expand properly as the High King soared toward me. He landed close to me, and still I hadn’t been able to do so much as blink. His eyes looked almost feline, with vertical slits among a bright orange pupil.

“Well done, Echo,” he said. “I truly didn’t think you could turn my own magicians against me.” He flicked his eyes left-right, right-left, and looked back at me. “No matter what you have taught them, they’re no match for me.” He moved, and spoke, and breathed in real time, yet I, and everything around me, didn’t. Next to me, Castillo reached for me, but his hand barely moved.

The High King switched his attention to him. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a son.” He licked his lips with a serpentine tongue. “But even you are better than Cris. He cannot even throw off a charm.”

“Where is he?” I tried to ask, but the first word got stuck in my throat. The thought of Cris in his father’s clutches brought sourness to my stomach. My mind seemed to be working at the correct speed, and I began a mental chant.

The High King shot his eyes back to mine. “You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth.” He thrust one hand toward me, and I soared backward, away from his evil eyes, away from Castillo, away from Oake.

Away,
away,
away.

Forty-Nine

My feet ache endlessly; my back does, too. Around me, a strange swirl of lights blends into the deep navy darkness. Ahead of me, a figure moves with precision despite the shadows decorating the ground. They hold a lantern, searching for a choice spot of earth.

Seemingly satisfied, the person drops to their knees and begins to cup dirt in their hands. Long, white hair flows over their shoulders, and their hands are gnarled and veined.

“Grandmother?”

She spares me a glance before returning to her task. I start toward her, noting the stabs of pain from my ruined feet and the jolts of hotness in my limbs. I have been hurt, and badly, but I don’t remember what happened.

I drop down, exhausted, next to Grandmother. She works with a determined look in her eye, one I often admired. “What are you looking for?”

“Your father.” Her voice creaks like her rocking chair.

My breath shudders out of my body as a new pain explodes in my stomach. “I’m hurt, Grandmother. Can you heal me?”

“Not me, not me,” she says, scooping dirt with more intensity.

I lie down, relishing the damp earth against the lightning hot pain in my back. I blink, and when I open my eyes it takes too long for the world to come back into existence. The sound of Grandmother digging fades into silence; the stars overhead go dark. I think this would be a nice place to die, and I drift.

A handsome face fills my imagination, and he watches me with kind eyes. He says things that make me laugh. He dresses my unseen wounds and reads to me while I sleep. I try to reach for him, but I don’t have the strength to lift my arm.

His face twists into another. This man wears a soldier’s hat and slides me a glance from under the brim. I’ve seen him before in the market and across the street from my tower. His magic plays with mine as if they are friends.

I find myself smiling into the afterlife, longing to say goodbye to those I’ve grown to love. To Cris, who chose me for my magic but grew to love me for me. To Castillo, whose bond brings compassion and charity to my soul.

Another man fills my mind, this time quite a few years older than Cris and Castillo. I have seen his smile in the mirror a thousand times.

“There,” Grandmother says, erasing the man—my father—from my mental sight. “Look, Echo.”

I whimper in response, trying to tell her that I’m injured and cannot look.

A hand presses against my chest and a cooling numbness seeps into my body through the healing spell-song. This magic feels powerful, masculine. A man sings the magic into my body, but I’m not afraid.

A seedling in my memory whispers that I’ve heard this voice before. I cannot place who it is before color explodes from my limbs in a blinding array of silver, gold, and rose. I draw a deep breath, cleansing my body and clearing my mind.

“Look, Echo,” Grandmother says again, and I have the energy to sit up and turn my head toward her voice. “Your father saved his power for you.”

She stands, holding the lantern in front of her so the light drapes in a wide arc. Next to her is the man I have only heard stories about, the man I have only seen in a portrait, the man my mother left to find twenty-four years ago.

“Father.” I stand to embrace him. “You healed me?”

He nods as he strokes my hair and speaks in the musical language of Nyth. I push away from him, startled to hear such song-words from him. I didn’t know he hailed from Nyth. “Father?”

He taps my temple. “Live,” he says, this time in a language I understand. He taps my collarbone, indicating my heart. “Love.” He releases me and steps away. Grandmother and the lantern are nowhere to be found. Only midnight blueness surrounds us. The High Castle and the High King are worlds away.

“Where are we?” I ask my father, but he’s taken another step backward. “Where are you going?” My voice pitches into hysteria. I don’t want him to leave, not now. He possesses powerful magic to be able to bury himself for Grandmother to find. I need him to locate Cris, to defeat the High King of a country I didn’t know I belonged to.

“Echo, you hail from Nyth,” he says, and I love the powerful qualities of his voice. “Fulfill the prophecy.” One more step, and the shadows claim my father.

I move forward to go with him, a fist squeezing in my chest. I strain to see through the murkiness, and I watch him link arms with a dark-haired woman. My mother. Grandmother takes the place on his right side, and Olive emerges on his left. Together, the four of them stride toward the horizon.

“Wait!” I yell, running now.

“Return,” my father bellows, and I’m yanked through the air in the opposite direction from my family.

#

The iron gates of the High Castle shone like oil in the moonlight. Everything that hurt before had been healed by my father. My father, who was Nythinian nobility, who possessed such powerful magic he’d saved it for me to use twenty-four years after his death, who I desperately wished I’d a chance to know.

My heart struggled against the memory of my parents, happy and together. Of sensing Grandmother’s magic. Of seeing Olive reunited with everyone and knowing she’d finally found peace.

Beyond the gates, the entrance courtyard bore no evidence of battle. I couldn’t see a single magician or the fallen soldiers of Umon. I strode forward on strong legs, surprised to find a billowing, white robe hugging my shoulders.

Through the gates, I found my legions of magicians clawing at their throats. Castillo’s eyes bulged, his face purpling with the lack of oxygen. I flicked my wrist and pealed one loud note to clear the suffocation spell. Gasps and coughing filled the courtyard.

“Where’s Cris?” I called into the courtyard, knowing the High King had magical means to hear me. “I want my husband, whole and happy. You have two minutes to deliver him.”

I turned my attention to the magicians recovering from the spell. “Friends,” I said. “Do you remember the notes? The assignments and pitch with which to begin?”

Someone pressed through the crowd and broke into the open. “Oake.” I ran to him and threw my arms around him in a fierce hug. He held me tight, but only for a moment. He gestured to his throat, his lips moving but no sound coming out.

“You cannot speak?”

He shook his head and gestured to the two groups of magicians on either side of the gates.

“None of them can speak?” My fingers felt numb. I stepped back, not able to feel the ground beneath my feet. Someone touched my shoulder, and I turned in that direction. Castillo slipped his hand into mine and mouthed one word: Sing.

“I can’t,” My voice fell from my lips, heavy and defeated.

Castillo covered his heart with his free hand, his meaning clear. I will help you. Watching him, I felt my father touching my collarbone and telling me to love. I heard him speaking in the native language of Nyth. I felt a stirring in my stomach as my magic reared. I’d never felt displaced in this northern country—because a Nythinian’s blood ran in my veins.

I squeezed Castillo’s hand,

I opened my mouth,

I sang.

Fifty

My voice rang through the still night, filling the spaces between the cobbles and soaring over the rooftops. I held each note longer than necessary, drawing life from the lands and infusing it into my voice. After the fifth note, I paused to breathe, and when I started the scale again, Castillo opened his mouth to sing with me.

Only the sound of my singing echoed against the balconies, but the power of Castillo’s silent voice filled the sky. My magic danced inside, the same way it had when we bonded, the same way it did when he and I sang spells together.

I moved into the notes again, pressing my eyes closed and feeling for the magic in the High Castle. Behind my eyelids, green light sparked. When I looked, the sky smoked, the gray mass marring the clear night. I glanced down the row of magicians and found them all singing with silent voices.

My heart skipped a beat as we ended the chorus and the courtyard vibrated with echoes of silence. I swallowed, unsure of what to say or do next. I glanced at Castillo, and he shook his head. Next to him, Matu stared straight ahead, watching the tallest spire as if it might explode.

I followed his gaze back to the High Castle, horrified as the spire morphed into a metallic cobra and lunged toward us. I screeched a note from the depths of my gut, and the snake shattered into shards of light and smoke. I held the note through the explosion, raising one hand to speed the magic in its debilitating effect.

I found Castillo’s arm up too, and I muttered a removal spell and sent it through the magicians in the courtyard.

“Well done, princess,” Castillo said, his voice slightly lower than normal.

“Now what?” I asked. “I caged his magic, but it wasn’t enough. He still possessed enough power to form a spell.” A hole formed in my heart, and I suddenly knew what needed to be done. I’d used my head to live.

Now I needed to use my heart to love.

“I need Cris.” I shook my hand out of Castillo’s. “I’ll be back.” I took off at a run, the white robe flying behind me.

“Echo!” Castillo yelled.

“Hurry,” Matu called as I leaped the first bench. “Hurry!”

#

Hurry, Echo, hurry, Echo, hurry, hurry, hurry.

I used Matu’s warning to feed my adrenaline, to guide my feet. I uttered direction spell after location spell, turning down halls when it felt right and climbing a steep set of stairs hidden behind a corner. A door sat on a landing, and my heart pumped into overdrive. I knew Cris was concealed inside the room.

I also knew the door would be locked, and the High King had taken it one step further and removed the doorknob. I stood on the landing, my chest heaving, my fingers twitching, without a spell in my throat.

I knocked. “Cris?” I pressed my mouth into the crack along the doorjamb. “Are you in there?”

“Echo?”

My stomach flipped. “Can you open the door?”

“No, you must leave.”

“I need you.” I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the wooden door.

“My father will kill you.” Cris sounded louder now, closer. “Please, you cannot be here.”

“Step back from the door.” I sang a song to produce fire, and I pressed my hand to the middle of the door, where the wood smoked and caught the flame.

I retreated down the steps while the door burned, and a minute or two later, the smoke thickened to the point where I had to drop to the floor to keep breathing oxygen. Crackling flames and snarling pops filled the air, and the heavy scent of fire seared my throat.

“Cris!” I called.

He materialized out of the smoke, reaching for me and pulling me with him down the stairs. “You’re insane.”

“The spells aren’t working without you.”

“They certainly won’t work with me, dearest. Have you forgotten I possess no magic?”

I stumbled after him as he made precise turns and led me down unfamiliar hallways. “Have you forgotten that you once did?”

He stopped in a deserted corridor and faced me, his eyes unreadable but a muscle in his jaw working overtime. “How do you know such things?”

“I entered your mind, curious to know why you and Castillo were so close. I saw the day you died and he sang you back to life.”

“Did you see my mother?” he whispered.

I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“That magic has been all used up.” He swallowed hard. “And there’s no way we are getting close enough to my father for me to touch him.”

“Yes, there is that,” I said, waving his concerns away. “But I meant the magic you possess simply because you come from him.”

“What?”

I pulled him after me, noting the hotness of the stones against my bare feet and the way Cris favored his right leg. “I cannot explain it, but I need you in the courtyard for the spells to work.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You do have some power, because you are the High King’s heir.” I didn’t know what would happen once we returned to the courtyard. But I knew I came from a powerful Nythinian magician, and so did Cris. Our blood would fill in the cracks. It had to.

Each breath stuck in my throat, each step brought me closer to an unsure end. I simply wanted the confrontation to occur so I could stop worrying about what might or might not happen.

So when the High King materialized in front of us, blocking our exit from a torch-lit corridor, a strange sense of relief swam through me. The High King stood strongly, his face obscured inside the shadows of his hood but his identity undeniable because of the royal cape he wore.

Silence pulsed down the hall, a sure sign that the High King had performed a nefarious spell. I quickly established what protections I could, weaving them around Cris and I and sending a song to Castillo.

The High King lowered his hood to reveal his half snake, half cat eyes and a supreme glare of displeasure. The glimpse of the doors that led back to the courtyard vanished as black-robed men filed in behind the High King. His magicians—the two dozen who’d sung Olive into death.

“Where are your subjects, Princess?” he asked.

I sang my response, not answering his question but sending a confusion spell at him. Tension radiated from Cris, and I fed off it, trapping it in the next chant to use against the High King.

My spell-songs seemed to have no effect on the High King or his magicians. I quieted my voice and hummed the torches along the walls into infernos. Perhaps Castillo would feel the desperation in such a spell; perhaps Matu could sense where we were and that we were surrounded; perhaps Oake could voice a song to debilitate the High King.

I didn’t have a plan beyond retrieving Cris, and now that we couldn’t get back to the collective power of my militia, I didn’t know what else to do.

Live.

Love.

I heard my father’s words in my head, but they didn’t paint a proper picture for escape. Grandmother had taught me to love life because of singing. Oake had fostered my voice, allowing me a glimpse of what love could be.

The High King flicked his fingers at someone behind him.

I opened my mouth and sang.

The force of my spell hit the advancing magicians full force and drove them back. My voice echoed off the walls, and I sang my way through the harmony of a binding spell, adding it to the melody still ringing in the air. Ropes sprang forth and strangled the legs and arms of the High King’s magicians.

He moved his mouth, warding off my spell. He alone remained untied as the magic began to fade. I didn’t let the song sink all the way to the floor before calling on it again, begging it to extract the power from the High King’s voice.

I sang the five notes backward, urging my power to overwhelm his. That tickling wickedness bloomed inside, and I knew I could sing the High King into death—if I’d just give in to the same brand of magic he used.

I started the backward scale again as the High King’s magic streamed from him. He sang a spell to reclaim it, only adding fuel to my cause, only draining himself further with each note. He finally clamped his mouth shut—and I reversed the spell.

He wanted his magic back? He could have it—but now it belonged to me, and it glowed with violet and cream light, no darkness in sight. I forced it on him, feeling the floor beneath my feet begin to vibrate.

The door across the great hall burst open and magicians streamed through, led by Castillo. The High King spun, twisted his hands, and shot a spell toward his son.

Castillo ducked and rolled, avoiding the destructive spell. I clutched Cris’s hand as I watched the power strike Matu in the chest. He fell slowly as though through water, his face frozen in shock, his eyes empty before they disappeared from my view. Mari screamed, slicing the spell with her anguish, as she dropped to the ground next to Matu, already waving her hands to begin a healing spell.

My chest felt like someone had punched the air from my lungs. Tears streamed down my face and yet I started the scale again. A chorus of voices joined mine, causing the echoing in the great hall to reach deafening proportions. The High King bent under the weight of the sound, but he managed to send another spell, which disabled several magicians.

We began the scale again, and I squeezed Cris’s hand in a silent plea for him to raise his voice in spell-song. He turned and looked at me, his eyes wide. I nodded, still singing.

He needed to sing, too. The spell against his blood wouldn’t take root without his voice bridging the way.

The dozen bound magicians burst into ribbons of cloth and feathers with the strength of our spell.

My legs felt weak. My voice hoarse. Still, Cris did not sing.

Black feathers drifted to the floor, landing on the empty bindings where the magicians had been. The High King tilted his head back and bellowed into the great hall, but the powerful light magic I’d sang into his being didn’t respond to such wickedness.

I breathed to begin the scale again, and this time Cris fitted his voice into the spaces between mine.

The High King spun toward us, his eyes wild and huge. Saliva, dark as tar, dripped from his mouth. His lips moved, and before we could finish the fifth note, he funneled into himself and vanished.

Fifty-One

The sound of the spell-song reverberated through the rafters while I pressed my face into Cris’s chest. He’d cut off his singing and spun toward me, gripping my arms like his life depended on holding on to me, when his father fell.

Whispers reached my ears of the High King’s death, of the missing pulse in his neck, of the multitude of others who’d fallen.

“Shh,” I said to Cris, trying to quiet the shaking in his shoulders. I gently extracted myself from his arms and stepped away. “Stay here.”

“No,” he said, a quiver in his word. “I’ll come with you.”

We met Castillo kneeling over the robes of the High King, complete with the purple cape. He glanced up at us. “He’s definitely dead.” He wore no emotion in his face, though I suspected he must be feeling something. “No pulse.”

“A body?” I asked.

Castillo nodded and moved the robe to reveal the High King’s cruel face.

I slipped my hand into Cris’s and tugged him away from his father’s body and toward the doors of the great hall. I found Matu there, his eyes closed now and his hand clutched in Mari’s.

She hiccupped. “I couldn’t heal him,” she said. “Just like I could not heal Castillo.” She looked at me with puffy eyes, tears leaking out of the corners. “Remember that, Echo? I couldn’t save him. But you could. You can save Matu, too.” She reached for me, drawing me to the floor beside her.

“I cannot heal him.” The crack in my voice betrayed my grief.

Mari shook her head, crying harder. “You can. I’ve seen you weave magic. I’ve heard your voice. You can save him.”

Her words needled me, the way she kept saying save instead of heal. A pit opened in my stomach. I couldn’t do what she wanted me to do, and I wondered how many more would think I could.

I glanced around and saw many watching me with open curiosity. I had my answer.

“He’s dead.” I stormed away, my white robe billowing around my ankles.

#

I barricaded myself in Cris’s rooms, where once again, we took comfort in each other. He seemed content to brood in silence while I couldn’t stop talking. I asked him many things about Nyth, about the progression of kings, about his lineage and the other noble bloodlines. I discovered that the del Toro line had ended with Father, when he’d chosen to leave Nyth and settle with Mother in Iskadar.

I told Cris about the spell-songs I’d spun, and the rebounded images, and how much I knew of his previous magic.

“Did you know Oake would be at the uprising?” I asked.

Cris tucked my hair behind my ear. “I asked him not to come, but he’s as stubborn as Castillo.” He smiled. “He said he wouldn’t stay behind, that he hadn’t worked for fifteen months to hear about the uprising from someone else.” Cris took a moment to breathe deeply. “Even when I said you’d be most displeased, he didn’t sway in his decision.”

“When did you first speak with him?”

“Several weeks before the hunters arrived in Iskadar.” Cris’s eyes grew wistful, then fierce. “Castillo and I have known about the prophecy for years, though we didn’t know who to search for. Only when my father discovered it did he send hunters to the villages, looking for anyone stemming from the dead-ended nobility lines. We knew it was only a matter of time before he found the girl spoken of.”

Cris slipped his fingers through mine and squeezed. “I did not know it was you until I met with Oake in Iskadar.”

“Did you ever see me in Iskadar?” I asked, wondering how far back this ruse went.

Cris shook his head. “No, but I wish I had. I would’ve simply whisked you away and avoided the much planning, secrecy, and danger the bride-choosing charade caused.”

“Why didn’t you know it was me?”

“Oake said he thought he knew who it was. He never gave me a name. He said he needed a few days to check some documents. By then, the hunters were in the forests, and you’d left.”

“He insisted I go to the city.”

“He’s wise, for he saved you by sending you away from Iskadar and the hunters.” He sighed. “But then Castillo and I had to find another way to achieve our desires.”

“You started a war with your own country.” I admired him for being so proactive, so detailed. “What else? Did you arrest the brick mason? The baker’s wife?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, Echo, you must know I didn’t know those arrests had happened. I didn’t.” He motioned me to sit on his lap. “Castillo told me as soon as we returned from the wall. I made sure all the prisoners were released, just as you requested.”

I joined him in the recliner, the images of my fallen friends still vivid in my mind. “I watched them die.”

“I wish I could’ve spared you that.” He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?” When I nodded, he sent for sweet buns and tall glasses of orange juice. Cris slid me a faint smile as I ate.

I spent many hours bundled against the wind as it howled out of the mountains, announcing the true beginning of fall and the promise of a long winter. I watched the clouds move through the sky, contemplating whom the High King would choose to possess.

He couldn’t be dead. He’d simply left his body behind, the way the ancients of Relina did when they transferred their intelligence. The difference here was that the High King had stolen years from his subjects, using them to prolong his life until he found another physical host.

I told Cris I needed to see Castillo, and he said, “He is in my father’s chambers.”

I set out to talk with my bond. I found him in a cavernous room, seated at an ornate desk. He looked so small among so much luxury.

“Echo.” He stood to greet me. “I hope you haven’t come to berate me about Oake.”

I stopped and crossed my arms. “About Oake? Perhaps later. First, I wish to discuss your father.”

“My father?”

I shared my suspicions with Castillo about his father merely finding another host for his intelligence, and he managed a half hour of speculating whom it might be.

I listened, trying to remember the names of royals and dignitaries from here to Heona. No matter who he chose to possess, I knew Javier de la Fuenta would return.

“I think we should air our secrets,” I said after the conversation about his father died.

“I have no more secrets.”

“How did Cris die?”

Castillo blinked in surprise. “That’s something you should ask him.”

“Why didn’t you mention you’d been his bond?”

He returned to the desk and sat. “It brings up painful memories. I’m sure you understand why I wouldn’t wish to discuss it.”

I could, yes, and I nodded as much. “What of Helena and Heona?”

“My mother is a stubborn woman,” he said with a sigh. “She knew Heona would not approve of a union between Umon and Nyth. She counseled me to visit Queen Bargout, tell her our plans, and offer a ransom to allow the marriage to proceed.”

“She was the ransom.”

“My mother is Nythinian nobility,” he said. “She made a very good ransom.”

“But she left before you did.”

“She’s very impatient,” he said. “She went without me, and when I discovered what she had done, I followed.” He ducked his head. “There’s one more thing.”

“Are you going to make me ask questions until I land on the right one?”

He looked up, that familiar fire in his eyes. “My father didn’t beat me. I didn’t even come home to Nyth. Those wounds were inflicted by Queen Bargout’s guards.”

I took a step back while I processed his words. “Why would she do that?”

“To prove she could,” he said simply. “It was a warning, a clear message that she’d do worse if I dared defy her.” He stood and came around the desk again. “Don’t worry, Echo. We kept our end of the bargain. Queen Bargout has no grounds to hurt anyone.”

I watched his eyes for any sign of a lie, and found none. I had to meet with Queen Bargout—soon—and I didn’t wish to return from that meeting the same way Castillo had.

I cleared my throat, the memory of my father healing me fresh in my mind. “You know of the obscure noble bloodlines, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know of mine?”

The right side of Castillo’s mouth lifted. “I didn’t until Oake provided us with your name. Then I did the research.” He sauntered back to his desk, opened a drawer, and removed a sheaf of parchment. “The del Toro line.”

He extended the file toward me, and I took it and clutched it close to my chest. “Thank you.”

Castillo nodded to the papers. “You should know that Cris pursued every lead we had until he found you. It’s good to see him so in love.”

I detected no hint of jealousy, and I couldn’t contain the small smile tugging at my lips. I had one more question to ask, but it suddenly stuck in my throat.

“Go on,” he said. “You won’t be able to breathe properly until your curiosity is satisfied.” He smiled as he spoke, softening his words.

“You have been touched by tainted magic . . . How do you rid yourself of it?”

He jerked his gaze to mine, his look piercing, all traces of joviality gone. “How do you know I’ve been touched by such magic?”

“I felt it in you.” I dropped my gaze to the floor. “The day I left Umon.”

“It’s difficult to cleanse the darkness once it is inside,” he said, his tone much softer than usual. “But as bonds we can help each other, keep each other on the right path.”

I raised my eyes to his. “So you’ll help me?”

“If you will help me.”

I left him to his father’s chambers, satisfied that we were to be bonds for a great long while.

#

I spent that night mourning the loss of Matu. He’d been a calm influence in a stormy place, a steady reassurance that I wasn’t ever alone or forgotten. His absence weighed heavily in my heart, and I couldn’t bear to believe we’d never walk arm in arm again.

A day later, I looked down into the garden, knowing Matu would find beauty in it even now, barren and dying as it was. I touched my fingertips to my lips and then pressed them to the cold metal of the balcony railing as he was lowered into the earth. I recalled the day Grandmother had met her final resting place, and this ceremony felt just as solemn.

Castillo wiped at his eyes, and Cris tightened his hold on me while the songs of comfort rose from the assembled magicians below.

“He was a good friend,” I said.

“A true guard,” Cris added, just before a knock sounded on the door. He turned to answer it, leaving me to watch the first shovelfuls of earth drop onto Matu’s casket, something I hadn’t had strength to do for Grandmother.

“Dearest,” Cris said from the bedroom. I cleared my throat to erase the emotion gathering there and turned to find him wearing his diplomatic face.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?” Only Mari and Castillo had been allowed in, and only to discuss the most vital matters. Castillo had insisted Cris take the throne, and he’d been making preparations for a coronation ceremony set for later in the week.

“Oake Ravendell.” Cris smiled and kissed me before I went into the living area to meet Oake, who looked wild among the plush carpets and paneled walls. His rainbow-colored tunic definitely hadn’t been seen in Nyth before.

“Oake.” A smile stretched across my face at the familiar sight of him.

“Echo,” he said, embracing me with a grin. He breathed in deep, the way he’d so often done. “You finally found your voice.”

I held him tightly, the way I had just before fleeing Iskadar. “Is it spectacular?” I whispered, still desperate for his approval.

“Your grandmother would think so,” Oake said, and I could only agree.

Other books by Elana Johnson

The Possession series (YA dystopian)

—Possession

—Resist

—Surrender

—Regret

—Abandon

The Elemental series (NA dystopian)

—Elemental Rush

—Elemental Hunger

—Elemental Release

YA Contemporary Romance

—Elevated

—Something About Love

About Elana Johnson

A speculative fiction author under the name Elana Johnson and an inspirational adult romance author under the pen name of Liz Isaacson, her work includes the young adult dystopian romance series Possession, published by Simon Pulse (Simon & Schuster), Elevated, the Elemental series, the Redwood Bay romance series, and the Amazon bestselling Three Rivers Ranch Romance series.

She lives in Utah, where she teaches elementary school, taxis her daughter to dance several times a week, and eats a lot of Ferrero Rocher while writing.

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