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Still…I took the thorn. I’m holding it now.
So maybe I’m wrong.
I could be goaded into doing it, couldn’t I? I could do anything, if I was certain I could get away with it.
Is it only the fear of punishment that’s stopping me?
Does killing, like lying, get easier after the first time?
I remember it was King Emilius who taught me how to prophesy for an audience.You are not merely a receiver of prophecy, he told me, but a translator of it. The manner in which you describe what you see is as important as your gift itself.
In my early years as Seer, my only audience was the king. I would tell him of interesting dreams I had and he would act accordingly: preparing aid if I saw a calamity, or seeking out a person if I saw an important destiny.
The first alteration I made to my foretellings was a small one: after I dreamed of dragons roaming the countryside, King Emilius had me announce to his court that dragons would wreak havoc specifically in the Thirteenth Dominion. That way, he could send more Dragonsguard to that area of the border.
Afterward, I waited for the lightning strike, for the accusation, foranyconsequence at all—and it never came. I changed the truth and the stars didn’t fall. Later on, I’d realize the king wanted to send Dragonsguard there to intimidate the Balican side of the border. By then, so much time had passed, my guilt was stale as well.
My dreams didn’t always show Auveny in the best light. I also glimpsed the threads of less savory work—bribes and double-dealings done in the very halls of this palace, the silencing of dissenters. For these, King Emilius told me to keep quiet. This was another way I could translate my prophecy, by saying nothing about them at all. Bynotinterfering.
Even if these slights felt wrong, what would I gain through disobedience? No one’s goodwill is as important as the king’s, and my word couldn’t outmatch his.
But there’s a hidden cost to this thinking, too:
I will always be beholden to kings.
Once Cyrus is crowned, I will likely serve him for the rest of my life. If I stay. If he lives. We can’t change our history and—as much as I resist the thought—I have doubts we can change our future. Every vision is worse than the last, and I see no end to our volatile dance.
The voice licks my ear, so close in memory, I’d swear they’re standing in this room:This place does not deserve you. Neither does your prince.
I turn the thorn over and over in my hands. Did I grow too comfortable, settling for scraps of power? Nothing lasts in this world, least of all our lives. What is Cyrus’s life really worth when his threads are placed against the endless weave of time? When the mourning is done, we will all move on, myself especially.
I know this is a dangerous path for my thoughts to stray along. I know everyone says it’s wrong to think these things—but it’s true. How much blood do kings shed in their wars? Conquerors write history and destroy historiesin one triumphant swoop. How small is my evil in comparison, if I ended one prince’s life for my own?
There are no rules to play by, there is no sympathy from the stars. Maybe any softness planted in my heart is the part that’s wrong.
They will never love you as you wish them to.
Maybe cruel is the best thing I can be.
I put the thorn back in the box and lock the box in the cabinet, but my thoughts have spilled open.
When I lie back in bed, I dream of blooming briars crawling up my tower, red like blood, then turning black with rot.
Couriers arrive from the borderlands. The news is grim: beasts have begun their march.
King Emilius calls me into the smoky Council Chamber to discuss the reports along with the lords; I’m one of the few to know before the rest of the court. The palace has been downplaying the scattered sightings of beasts for as long as possible, at least until the wedding. But these recent developments are on a different scale.
Nearly overnight, dozens of the rose-horned monsters emerged from the Fairywood in the Eleventh, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Dominions at once, overwhelming the nearest villages. Some damage was curbed by the extra Dragonsguard units nearby, stationed after I warned the king of my visions, but the reports included casualties. The paths of the beasts seem to trend northward, toward the Sun Capital.
“We are dispatching more soldiers, of course, but we must understand these beasts’ origins,” says King Emilius at the head of the table. His eyes are dark with lack of sleep. “A transport will be arriving soon with one caught alive. Wewill redouble our efforts to eradicate the Fairywood in the meantime.”
Alive.A sudden weakness bows my knees at the thought of a beast in the Sun Capital again. I straighten myself before anyone notices.
“What of Lady Raya Solquezil?” Lord Ignacio of the Thirteenth flicks his cigar. “Will she be our salvation or will she continue to shuffle from tea party to tea party until our hospitality finally thins?”
Outside of polite company, the words for the Head of Lunesse have become harsher. Encouraged by the princess’s relentless distaste for her, the court has begun picking at everything about her—her fairies, her etiquette, her dress.Our future Queen of Blunders,Lady Ziza Lace writes in hernewsletter. Camilla’s scandalous blood necklaces have been making the rounds as well.
“Seer.” Attention sweeps toward me upon the king’s address. “You have investigated Raya’s threads. Do you suggest a course of action?”
