There’s some shuffling as everyone gets into position. The King’s four advisers find a place to hold onto me, but one of them grips my arm with such force, it’s like she’s afraid of losing her hold.
I offer her a small smile. “You may feel a little seasick, but it passes quickly,I promise.”
The woman gives me a wavering smile as Arlon calls out, “Is everyone ready?”
There’s a murmur of affirmations. Arlon gives my hand a squeeze, and I let out a long breath as I close my eyes. I’ve been thinking so much about Marikadar the past few days that summoning the image of it is easy.
The palace is large, walled in, and lavish, with a wing for each of the five Shykhdars and their families for when they’re in attendance. A grand courtyard rests at the center, and its manicured trees and vibrant flowers provided a much-needed refuge when I was young. I think of the shady pavilion at the center, surrounded by rose bushes and shrouded by vines of star jasmine. I can almost smell the flowers, feel the heat of the sun, the crunch of the marble chip path underfoot.
“Everyone hold tight,” I say as the magic blooms between mine and Arlon’s hand. He and Alix release their spells as I do, and the swell of magic surrounds us before there’s a sudden tug behind my navel. The attendants holding onto me gasp in shock, and as the dizzying wave of vertigo follows, I take a wide stance, trying to provide an anchor for the people surrounding me.
It’s as intense as it is brief. The sudden motion comes to a stop, and my head spins, stomach roiling. Then, hot, humid air caresses my skin. The delicate scent of roses reaches my nose. I let out a breath as I open my eyes.
The pavilion is exactly as I remember it, nearly unchanged after six years. It’s disorienting. As if the entire palace has been frozen in time since I left. But the illusion is broken when I see my father’s face.
He stands out among the crowd that’s gathered around the pavilion. In just six years, he’s aged decades, his skin sagging and sallow. And as his rheumy eyes find mine, a flurry of emotions pass behind them, too quick to read.
I steel myself, meeting his gaze with a glare. It’s a bit vindicating when he looks away first. Instead, he puts on a diplomatic smile as he turns to King Thermilious and gives a polite bow.
“The Shykhdar welcomes you and your delegation, King Thermilious,” he says, his accent thick over the Strae words. “I pray that the talks we host here will facilitate continued peace across the continent.”
His eyes float back to me, and there’s a cold sort of determination on his face that I know well. It’s that same look he’d give anytime I refused him. The look that would be followed by a swift and sometimes painful rectification of my attitude.
And in that moment, I know he isn’t planning on letting me return home to the Crux.
I grit my teeth, hands clenched in anger. He used the threat of war to get me here, but he had best be ready for the one I brought with me. Because I won’t be forced by him ever again.
One Thing At A Time
Queen Tramella is a lovely woman, so long as you are on her good side. Gods help you if you get onto her bad side.
From the journal of Grandmaster Fawn Maitre, previous Grandmaster of the Crux.
IT FEELS STRANGE TObe in Arlon’s office without him. I’ve done it before, but now, with the knowledge that he won’t be back for some time... it feels less welcoming. Colder, somehow, and not just because the temperature has taken a dip this morning.
I hug my sweater a little closer around me as I go to examine the papers Arlon has left on his desk. He tried to clean things up for me. Organized the remaining spell sheets that need to be logged, stacked the accounting information for the winter requisitions. But as I circle around to his side of the desk, I see that one of the drawers is cracked open.
It’s the one he normally locks his spells in, but now it’s empty aside from a single focus, and a small, folded note. Curiously, I pull both out, only to nearly drop the magiline marble in surprise.
Ithumswith energy, but just rolling it through my fingers, I can’t tell what school it is. Can’t even fathom what it could be for. I set it on the desk before I open the note to find just two sentences in Arlon’s hurried script.
In case of an emergency.
Prove them all wrong, doldora.
Tears unexpectedly well to my eyes. I smile as I fold the note, storing it in my pocket before I string the focus onto my necklace. Even though the delegation has only just left, I miss him already.
“You alright, Gal?”
I look over to see Garrett in the doorway. No doubt he and Bridgette spent the night last night. That theory is confirmed when I catch sight of the dark gray hickey on his neck, just over the collar he wears whenever he’s in the Crux’s walls.
“I’m alright.” My smile is fragile when I say, “Just feels very real all of a sudden.”
Garrett hums as he steps into the office. His big hand lands on my shoulder, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around his waist. He returns the embrace, one hand smoothing down my back.
“I’m gonna miss him, too,” he says. “But Bri and I are here to help in whatever way you need.”
And I know he will, too. He was my corpimancy mentor when I first started pursuing the school, but it wasn’t until I started working alongside him at the clinic that I saw just how much of a helper Garrett is. It’s a strong calling for him, and I’m grateful that he and Bridgette are here.
