Shit.
I once overheard someone explaining illusion magic. They said it had to be based on something, you couldn’t just will it into being. Therefore, for Grayson to change my hair like this, he would have had to base it off something—orsomeone—he’s seen before. Standing there before him in his sister’s dress, it’s no great surprise where he got the inspiration from.
“How did she die?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I see his steps falter for a second, but he quickly recovers. I regret asking as his face darkens. I feel him pulling away from me, but just as I’m about to tell him not to answer, he clears his throat.
“She was my shadow.” I almost don’t hear him, his voice low. A lord dressed up in a smart suit strolls down the corridor towards us and Grayson pauses, dipping his head inacknowledgement as the lord bows in respect. We continue walking through the castle in silence as the man passes, our steps slow because of my unsteady gait in these unfamiliar shoes. “As soon as I was accepted into the Magician’s Academy, that was what she wanted to do too,” he continues quietly, surprising me. “She was just about to attend her choosing ceremony and I’d managed to get leave approved so I could come back to see it. I was just a regular magician at the time.” Hiding a smirk, I nod my head. Something makes me think that Grayson was never just aregularmagician. “She travelled to the border to meet me, I told her not to, that it was too dangerous, but she did it anyway.” My heart sinks, knowing what is coming next as I hear the pain in his voice. “There was an attack. The elves had been waiting for me. I don’t know how they found out I was coming back, but they were there to intercept me. When Opal came through, they ambushed her carriage. I was rounding the corner and saw them attacking, but I was too late. She didn’t stand a chance.”
“What did you do?” I’m almost scared to know, but according to Grayson, I’m somehow a crucial piece to this war, so I need to know what I’m up against.
“I killed the first one with a bolt of power so strong it threw me back ten meters. As soon as they saw the smoking remains of their comrade, the others fled.” A smile twists his lips, but there is no happiness there, only anger and pain. “I tracked the others down and killed them.” He stops walking, pulling me to a stop next to him. “I wish I had taken my time, made them hurt. Instead, I ripped their hearts from their chests like they did to me when they killed Opal.” His voice is dark as he tightens his grip on my arm, almost to the point of pain. “Do I scare you? Does it bother you that I killed those elves with my bare hands?”
This is a completely different Grayson to the one who had knelt down in front of me in his rooms, who told me anembarrassing story to make me feel better, and who rescued me from the executioner. This Grayson is one of the high magicians, who gained his position with magic, strength, and blood. I should be shaking, fearing for my life, bowing and grovelling for him to spare me, but I don’t. I see beneath his mask because that’s exactly what it is—a shield to protect him from what he’s seen and had to do in the name of his king. I don’t answer him, but whatever he sees on my face makes him frown before blowing out a large breath and brushing his hand through his hair.
“Let’s go, or you’ll miss your ceremony.” He sounds resigned but straightens his shoulders and offers me his arm again. We walk the last few steps to a large door that leads out into one of the grand courtyards, the Queen’s Courtyard. I’ve been here many times as a slave to collect fresh water to clean with, and have always admired the fountains with their bright, ceramic tiles and the exquisitely manicured flowers. However, seeing it now and being able to openly admire it is something different altogether.
The courtyard is made up of three castle walls and a fourth wall with a large, open archway that leads to the main courtyard at the front of the chapel. The main courtyard is a harsher place, made of cold, grey stone arches—a place of judgement—whereas this courtyard was created for peace and beauty. They say that the king crafted this courtyard for his love, so she would have a place to go to mourn the passing of a loved one. Although, if you believe the rumours, this loved one was more thanjusta friend. Not that anyone would dare say that, other than in the hushed whispers of the palace gossips.
The side door to the chapel stands open and I can hear the murmuring of nervous voices as the acceptees prepare for the ceremony. Fear lances through my core and I pull Grayson to a stop as I shake my head. He can’t seriously make me do this.Why can’t I have a private ceremony? He’s one of the high magicians, for Mother’s sake, can’t he pull some strings?
“Stop.” His firm voice cuts through my panic before he reaches for my shoulder and spins me around to face him. “Stop panicking. You’ve faced far worse than this.” I can’t look at him, my eyes frantically darting around in case anyone’s watching. The courtyard is empty now, and the noise coming from the open door of the chapel is rising. The ceremony is about to start.
“They’ll know, they’ll see through me.” My voice is quiet, but even I can hear the fear there.
Afraid they’ll work out who you are, or that Grayson’s wrong and you’re not special after all?the dark little voice whispers, and my fear transforms into anger. But that soon falters. What if Graysoniswrong?
“They won’t,” he replies, shaking me gently until I finally meet his gaze. The mask is gone, and in its place is the young man I’m beginning to know. “Trust in the Mother. Trust in me.” Staring into his eyes, I come to a shocking realisation. I don’t trust him, not fully, not yet, which is no surprise, but I realise that Iwantto trust him.
That’s a dangerous thought, but I don’t have time to worry about that right now. Taking a deep, shaking breath, I nod sharply, cataloguing the slight look of shock that crosses his face before his mask slides back into place. Linking our arms, he strides towards the chapel, my skirts billowing out behind me as we hurry inside.
The inside of the chapel is beautiful, but in a cold, gothic way with tall stone arches and twisting columns. There are rows of chairs filled with finely dressed nobles and parents facing towards the altar where the high priest is watching us all with a stern expression. Behind him, a huge, stained-glass window depicting the Great Mother shines down on us, the only colour built into this otherwise dark and oppressive space. The sun hasalready begun to set, but a beam of light shines through and lands on us, bathing my pale skin in colours. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and imagine that I can feel the sun’s warm rays on my flesh, taking strength from the heat.
“Clarissa.” Grayson’s irritated tone calls me out of my bubble of calm, and from his frustrated expression, and the amused looks from the people around me, I get the feeling it’s not the first time he’s called my name.
“Sorry…Grayson.” I stumble over his name, aware of the eager expressions and listening ears around us. Jayne explained to me that while I was Clarissa, I would be expected to call him by his given name. A close friend wouldn’t call him a high mage in public unless in a formal setting, but the words feel hot on my tongue, like I’ll be struck down for uttering them.
“Relax. Look, the princes have arrived,” he comments, and I welcome the distraction, following his nod toward the thrones that sit just to the left of the altar. There are five of them in total—the king’s in the centre is the grandest, with the queen’s throne to the left, and the three thrones to his right belonging to his heirs. All of the seats are empty save for the last two, and I see that Grayson’s right, as the two youngest princes, Jacob and Michael, take their seats. The ladies that were standing closest to me must have heard Grayson’s words as they eagerly look over at the thrones before turning to giggle and gossip with their neighbours. Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I study the princes.
I’ve seen them around the castle, but never had the opportunity to actuallylookat them. The youngest, Jacob, is the tallest, and looks completely out of place in his smart, double-breasted uniform as he pulls at the neckline of his jacket. His hair is just slightly too long, and he keeps having to shake his head to keep it from hanging in his eyes. If rumours are true, Jacob prefers the company of books over people and has causedthe queen many sleepless nights as he rejects all of the potential marital prospects she presents him with.
Michael, on the other hand, is the complete opposite—all charming smiles and dimples, not a hair out of place on his head. His ceremonial uniform fits him comfortably and he sits on the throne like it’s his favourite place to be, not a hard, cold, marble pedestal.
A hush falls over the gathering people and heads turn toward the back of the chapel. Frowning, Grayson does the same, only for surprise to light up his face.
“The queen has chosen to attend,” he tells me quietly, and I glance over my shoulder to see he’s right. Her black dress flows out behind her as she strides towards her throne, her face tight with an emotion I’m struggling to place, her guards following closely behind her. “That’s a bold choice of clothing to wear.” At my confused expression, Grayson lets out a small sigh before explaining, “The queen has been in mourning since her…friend died. She always wears something black, usually a band on her sleeve, but for her to dress completely in black to the ceremony…” My eyes widen in understanding. Whatever reason the queen has for attending today, it’s not for the ceremony.
I continue to watch the queen. She subtly nods to the lords and ladies who bow their heads to her, but she doesn’t stop until she reaches her sons. Her blank expression cracks slightly as she bestows a smile on them both before taking her throne.
From what Grayson said, I get the impression the queen rarely attends the ceremony, so why would she choose to come today, and why in full mourning? Questions start to rise inside me, but before I can even think to voice them, haunting music fills the chapel, a single woman’s voice joining in, her beautiful singing calling out melodious words that are not our own. Whatever language she’s singing in just adds to the melancholy beauty of the song.
Grayson starts to move away and panic laces through me and, without thinking, I grab his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Frowning, he looks down at my hands on his uniform before raising his eyes to my horrified ones. I just grabbed a high magician, my life should be forfeit. However, he surprises me once again as he leans forward, his face pulled into a look of concern.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” His voice is low as he steps toward me. When he flicks his gaze over my shoulder, I’m reminded that we’re not alone.
“Where are you going? What do I do?” Even though I try to keep my voice equally as quiet, I can’t help but wince when my voice comes out high and panicked. I get some looks from the people closest to us, their hushed whispers making me blush. Grayson frowns at them and they instantly fall silent, the thought of having a high magician’s displeasure far outweighing their need to gossip.
“I keep forgetting you’re…” he trails off as his face pulls into a frown again, stopping on the word.
“A slave,” I reply bluntly. I have no idea where my audacity has come from. For twelve years I’ve followed the rules, stayed silent, completed their manual labour, but something has been awakened within me and it’s not content to remain quiet anymore. Some emotion twists Grayson’s features and he grabs my shoulder before pulling me towards the little side door we entered, moving me farther away from listening ears. I’m sure he’s going to tell me off for speaking to him like that, especially when we are around other people, but he runs his eyes over me and something softens in his face.