Page 20 of Ruby & Onyx

I swallow the lump bulging in my throat. “My hand acted with a mind of its own. I couldn’t control it, no matter how hard I tried to pull back. Did they do that?”

“Don’t worry, Radya. All of this sounds very strange and new,” she explains with a lilt so soothing that it could calm a stormy sea. “But yes, they can force obedience when necessary. That’s what makes them such great guards.”

The king breaks his scrutinizing silence to add, “They’ve been with you for years, ever since your parents smuggled you into Mendacia.”

Smuggled? What does that mean? Why have they been watching over me for so long? I don’t understand any of this.

As if sensing my confusion, the queen adds, “They were always watching over you, making sure that you grew up safe and protected.”

“Excuse me? Why do you care about my safety and protection?” I’m too anxious to care that I just nearly barked at the Queen of Mendacia.

“Let me be frank.” The king places his elbows onto the table, leaning forward in a hardened manner as someone well-accustomed to having difficult conversations. “When your parents fled from Umbra, they had nothing. The aftermath of the war left them hungry and desperate. With no family left to turn to and nowhere to go, they sought refuge in Mendacia, which I was happy to grant… for a price. In exchange for their safe passage into Carcera, as well as a home and employment for your father, they agreed to an arrangement between you and our son, Prince Allwyn.”

“What kind of arrangement?” I blurt out, my tone edging closer and closer to hostile every time I open my mouth.

“A marriage arrangement. You are betrothed to our son.” He doesn’t mince words, and yet it feels as if each syllable sliced me open.

“What?” I yell, shattering any remaining sense of reserve. “Why would my parents agree to that? Actually, don’t answer that. You can’t speak for them. But what you can answer for me is why you would agree to it? Aren’t princes supposed to marry the high ladies of the court? Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents, but they were as plain as they come.”

And, as an extension of them, I am as plain as they come.

The queen seems to hold all of the patience in the world, barely allowing a flicker of annoyance to shine through her twinkling eyes. She is a beacon of unfaltering grace. “You are nothing if not extraordinary, my child. When you were young, we learned of your particular gift. The likes of which we haven’t seen in… quite some time. Such a gift is only granted by the gods once in a millennium, at most. So, when we heard of your parents’ dilemma, we offered them safe passage into Mendacia, in exchange for their promise of your betrothal.”

Laughter bursts out from deep within me, bubbling and bursting at the absurdity. It’s impossible. Every part of it. How could they expect me to believe that my parents traded me to the king and queen of Mendacia?

“You’re mistaken! I don’t have… ” The laughter gets stuck in my throat, and I begin to choke. They’re insane if they expect me to believe this. “I don’t have any gifts!” My voice strains as the tears begin to sting. At this, Moose jumps into my lap, nuzzling his nose against my neck. I pull him into a tight hug, seeking comfort in his embrace.

“You are special, Radya. These gifts may not be immediately perceptible, but they are certainly there. We are sure of it,” the queen explains, though her body stiffens as if a tiny thread of doubt is tugging at the strands of her confidence.

“Do you mean magical gifts? If so, I don’t have any. I’m so sorry that you went to all of that trouble for nothing, but I can return –”

“That’s not necessarily true,” the king interrupts. “The barrier that protects you in Carcera had the unintended effect of stifling magic. We found a way to work around that blockage for a limited few. But truthfully, we don’t yet know the extent of your magic.”

The ring that Lord Myles showed me flashes in my mind. He must be included in the ‘limited few’ since the entire mesa is filled with his enchantments.

“If what you’re saying is true, then everyone in the village who was magic-born willingly agreed to forfeit their magic?” This doesn’t add up. “Who would forgo their magic and agree to a life in Carcera?”

“Those old enough to remember the wars would agree that the benefits far outweighed the costs. They agreed to the terms in order to receive the highest level of protection known to this kingdom. Those were dark times, Radya. And Carcera is so close to the border that the people feared for their lives, and rightfully so with the Mad King nipping at their heels. We had to protect your land. To keep you, and the rest of Carcera, safe.”

“Oh, great! As long as my freedom and livelihood were surrendered in exchange for safety!” I’m caught somewhere between disbelief and rage. It’s tearing me apart from the inside, clawing at my lungs, my head, my throat. “And why did you choose today to pluck me from my cage?”

“We promised your parents that we would shield you from all of this until your twenty-fifth birthday. But after Lord Myles informed us of your recent encounters, that promise would only serve to endanger you. With the Mad King lurking at the border, we expect an attack to come soon, and delaying your homecoming even a moment longer would render you vulnerable. If those wards fail, and we fear a great possibility that they might, then the carnage would be gruesome. We couldn’t allow you to get caught in the crossfires.”

My ears are ringing.

I hear them continuing to talk, but my brain cannot comprehend their words.

Paul’s warning – if that’s what it was – is ringing in my ears like an incessant chant.

The time for your homecoming nears.

Your throne shall be returned to you.

The nations will bow to you.

Return!

If his words were, in fact, a warning, then was the knife jabbed into his chest a consequence?

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