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But if I confess to the lie right now, the royal guards will beat Prain and take back the bride-price. After that, Dom Echelin’s men will probably thrash Prain to death and then come after me to settle his debt—which must be a huge one. If it was a manageable sum, Prain would have asked me for the money.
It’s too late to back out now. The guards are upon me already.
Gloved hands close on my arms, and I’m escorted through the crowd toward a tall wagon I didn’t notice before. There’s a chain across the door, and its exterior is covered in symbols. I’m not well-versed in magical lore, but I think the symbols are wards, probably intended to keep the passengers from using their abilities to escape.
One of the guards shoves his palm against my spine, urging me forward.
I could speak up now. I should speak up.
But if I do, Prain could die.
I have to believe he wouldn’t do this unless he was desperate, unless there was absolutely no other way he could save himself.
If I go along with the royal guards, at least Prain will have some time before the lie is discovered. Maybe he can run—get out of this town, flee somewhere else. I have a little money stowed away that he doesn’t know about—he can use that to start over somewhere new.
I wrench against the firm hands of the guards. “At least let me say goodbye to my brother.”
They glance at the captain, and he nods. “One minute,” he says warningly.
When I beckon to Prain, he approaches me warily, with a forced smile. His hands are empty—Dom Echelin’s men already took the bag of gold, the price of my freedom.
Wrapping my arms around my brother, I whisper in his ear. “The leftmost stone of the hearth. Pry it up and you’ll find enough to get you away from this town. When they discover I don’t have magic, they’ll come for you. You have to run.”
“You hid money from me?” he hisses.
“I had to.”
“Jules.” He squeezes me tighter. “I’m so sorry about this. Things got out of hand—”
“I’ll figure it out. Just take care of yourself and for gods’ sake, don’t gamble anymore!”
They’re empty words. I know it even as I speak them. This compulsion is too strong for him to defeat it alone. He needs more guidance than I was ever able to give him.
“Find someone to help you,” I tell him, as the guards pull me away. “Please.”
Prain is smiling, tears in his eyes. “My heart goes with you, Jules.”
The guards hustle me into the wagon. Once inside I spin around, scanning the crowd, desperate for one last sight of my brother.
But he’s already gone.
Stricken, I sink onto one of the benches as the guards slam the door and draw the chain across it.
The windows of the wagon have been sealed over with a sort of mesh that permits light but prevents a clear view. Along the walls at intervals, there are metal loops where chains might be attached. No chains are visible, but the message is clear—this wagon was built for prisoners.
Four women are in the wagon with me. Three of them sit silent in the gloom as we rattle through the streets. One is scrunched in the corner on the floor, between the bench and the wall. She’s sobbing quietly.
After several minutes, a woman with ebony skin and long braids clears her throat and shifts on the bench. She looks at me with wide, clear eyes, dark and soft. Her voice is low, cautiously friendly. “I’m Shenya. I can sweeten any drink with a touch, no sugar required.”
“I’m Juliette,” I say. “I, um… I’d rather not share my gift.”
“Smart,” says a sharp-faced woman with freckled skin. “We’ll be rivals at the palace. Best not to give each other too much information.”
The girl in the corner sobs louder.
The fourth woman sighs, crosses her legs. I can’t help admiring her sleek features, angled eyes, and flawless bronze skin. She’s easily the loveliest among us, and her scarlet irises and lavender hair make her even more striking. She also wears countless pieces of jewelry, whereas I possess only two: my mother’s gold necklace and my father’s wedding ring. Prain used to wear our mother’s wedding ring on his little finger until it disappeared one day. He claimed he’d lost it, but I suspect he pawned it or gambled it away.
“You’re all acting like this is a punishment, or a death sentence,” says the bejeweled woman, her tone sharp. “I’m from a noble family. I actually have something to lose. But as for the rest of you, this is the best chance you’ll get to make something of your pathetic lives.”
