Page 17 of The Prince's Mage

MARCELLA

“Up! Up! You!”

Someone was speaking in Marcella’s tongue, but it wasn’t Gavril. Or even a man’s voice at all. It was a woman’s. A familiar one.

Hands were on her shoulder, viciously shaking her.

Marcella was lying on something soft, and when she opened her eyes to the blinding light of the dawn, she hissed and the woman was grabbing her and hauling her up. Blankets fell off her and pooled around her waist.

“Stupid, worthless girl! Up!”

Marcella blinked to see obnoxious red hair and she realized why the voice was so familiar. Aimilia.

The Inimicus girl was dragging her out of the bed—she was in the room Gavril had brought her to after he’d gotten her off the table. How’d Aimilia get into the room. Wait. Gavril. Where was Gavril?

What was Aimilia doing there? Why was she dragging Marcella to her weak, shaky feet?

Marcella tried to shove the other girl away, but the attempt was laughably feeble. “Get off me. I’m up! What do you want? Where is Gavril?”

Aimilia’s brow was furrowed until Marcella said Gavril’s name. She opened her mouth, frowned, and then said, “Stupid. Your fault. You stop him. Come!”

Marcella switched to the Inimicus language as Aimilia started physically hauling Marcella behind her as fast as possible. Marcella stumbled and said, “Your tongue. Understand some. Tell me in your tongue.”

Aimilia wrapped her arm around Marcella and took on her weight to get her to move faster. She said, “Because of you, GavrilprovoccoNikias—Oh—wouldn’t know what that is. They are fighting. Gavril wants—laws Nikias broke. If Gavril wins, he will kill Nikias.”

This was because of her?

Marcella stumbled after Aimilia faster but she didn’t fully understand. “Stop Gavril? To save Nikias? One who put me on table?”

Aimilia made a noise in the back of her throat and glared at Marcella. “Stupid girl. No! Do you—care about Nikias—rot—need to stop Gavril to save Gavril.”

Marble hallways she’d never walked before flew by, but at least Aimilia knew them by heart. Marcella said, “Gavril… not strong enough to win?”

Aimilia’s brow pinched and she gritted her teeth. “—Gavril sees—you above me—never know. No. Gavril has—chance at winning—Nikias and killing him. Nikias doesn’t want to fight Gavril—holding back—wants to be dead—Gavril wants him dead—enough. What do you think—happen to Gavril—kills his brother—throne? Think their father—let Gavril become heir? No—Gavril willprovoccohis father or his father willprovoccohim, immediately—Gavril is good—not good enough to beat Nikias and then beat his father.”

Marcella had to process what she understood for a moment to piece it together. Nikias wanted to be dead? She had a vague recollection of him saying something that fit with that while she was on the table.

If Gavril killed Nikias, his father would kill him. But that—

“Father will kill own son?” Marcella gaped.

Aimilia sighed and her annoyed air disappeared as she was completely solemn while still rushing Marcella through the halls. She spoke quietly, “This father will this son—long as I have known him—than you—Gavril is not—not like them—loss does not matter to his father—He’s not like any of us. That’s why Iamohim, why I’ve always wanted him. Is it not the same for you?”

There was a word Aimilia used.

Amo.

Gavril had used it before, but she’d never figured it out. She’d heard it and variations of words that sounded like it somewhat often. She felt like she should know it, especially since Aimilia was accusing her of it.

“I—” Marcella pushed her confusion away to focus on what mattered. “How do I save?”

Aimilia turned her down another hallway and picked up speed. “—law my people cannot intervene—matter of honor—you are not one of us—You can intervene without—laws. And Gavril—he will listen to you. He is doing this for you. Heamatyou. When you—between him and his brother—stop, he will. He has neveramavitanyone the way he—you.”

That word again.Amo. Amat. Amavit.

Different forms of the same word. She’d heard them before.

“Amo. Amat.I do not know,” Marcella said.

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