Page 68 of The Prince's Mage

What else could be true as her hands hovered in the air, ready to take Gavril out and abscond with Nikias?

The peace brought by that would by no means be as true and lasting as the one Gavril was championing.

Nikias staggered to his feet, picking up the cloth again and pressing it to his side with his good arm. He sighed and shook his head. “I fear there will be no peace for some of us.”

Gavril’s face fell, and Marcella readied her hands once again. Her peace she could ensure without Nikias’ consent.

But then Nikias said, “However… maybe the ones who come after us will never know the difference. Unfortunately, I am not king—our parents—your display or your words…” Nikias looked between him and Marcella. “But if it was not your display and they did not know they were your words, but her display and my words, we might have a chance. She will have to learn and perform one of our runes. I will—parents. If we can accomplish that, surely we will—demon she resembles.”

Then Nikias’ eyes narrowed in on her hand, still at the ready to cast, and she quickly shifted into a shrug and rolled her shoulders as Gavril looked at her. She spoke in their tongue, “Casting two hand can only be easier than one.”

She could barely cast with one. But she was the only option. She was the only Sordes.

The weakest of them before and even more diminished now.

Gavril laughed, and before she could even finish rolling her shoulders, he had swept her up again and was crushing her to himself, whispering with both of their languages, “Mea spes,pulchra puella, you are a miracle. We can do this.”

Marcella wrapped her arms around him and looked over her shoulder at Nikias, whose eyes were still narrowed in on her hands. She sank her fingers into Gavril’s chiton and held him tighter.

They would figure out how to surpass her failings. Her option was not one anymore.

She did not want her peace.

She wanted his.

In his, she got to keep him.

Chapter24

MARCELLA

Marcella sat on her bed as Gavril sat behind her, helping her remove the ridiculous number of pins Aimilia had used to hold up Marcella’s thick curls in the shape she’d manipulated them into. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Nikias had agreed to help them, not even after Nikias went back to hide the burn by changing clothes and Gavril pulled Marcella back into the palace and her opportunity to kidnap Nikias slid through her fingers.

She let it go wholeheartedly.

In the glow of the dim runes that always lit her room slightly at night, she looked at Gavril through the mirror and softly asked, “Who was Faustina? And what happened between Nikias and Hypatia?”

Gavril sighed as he pulled down a braid and started to gently untangle it. “She was—Aimilia and I—as you called her, she was ‘my girl’ before—”

Before Marcella.

He cleared his throat and continued, “The reason was because tradition. You know I have only been a commander and gone from theacademiefor roughly a year. Aimilia and I were in the same class—eventually she became my closest friend too, but she never stopped being the fiercest competition for a command position.”

Now that Marcella could see. Well, Marcella had felt it in the matches against Aimilia. She did not envy anyone who got on the girl’s bad side, and she was particularly grateful not to be on it anymore despite the messiness of the situation.

“She’s a good commander too, at least, she placed better than me in the tournament. She was first. I was sixth, and only because the judges took pity on me and gave me more points than they usually do for those who favor illusions. Probably didn’t want to enrage my parents and catch any blame if I passed last, or worse not at all. There are twelve spots each year.”

As much as she loved hearing about this… “What does this have to do with Nikias?”

“I’m getting there,” Gavril said, shifting the hair he’d now freed to drape over her shoulder as he started pulling more pins out. “It is tradition for our royals to pick theirsponsa—oh um, in your tongue, promised. The one they will promise themselves to and… in your tongue… not bond… what is it? Join?”

Sponsa. She felt certain she’d heard him say it before but she couldn’t recall exactly when. It wasn’t one of the words Aimilia had been drilling into her head. Maybe when he’d been asking her about Hypatia’s betrothed when he thought she was Hypatia? Or maybe he’d said it not to her but to Commander Cyprian about Aimilia or to Aimilia herself?

“Marry?” Marcella looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was distinctly focused on her hair and not looking at her face at all in the reflection.

“Yes. Marry,” Gavril said. “The royals pick from their class. If we do not have a particular affection for one of the other mages who won a spot, it is expected to choose the woman—or man, in a princess’ case—who ranked highest. Aimilia ranked first and everyone knew of our friendship from years of her accompanying me when I had to come back to the palace—she figured out…” Gavril’s hands shook for a moment and Marcella stayed perfectly still. She wanted to turn around and still his hands with her own, but she knew if she acknowledged what he was failing to work up the courage to voice, he’d only be more humiliated. “What… um… she figured it out. She insisted on coming because she knew—it wouldn’t happen with eyes around. Um… Anyway…”

Gavril’s hands still shook but he continued on unbraiding her hair. “Even if she hadn’t ranked first, everyone assumed there was something between us. Aimilia was the expected choice by every measure. So I did… but I did not—That is to say nothing was official. Everyone called her my promised, but legally, she wasn’t yet. It was expected. There were other traditions to follow I did not do because I could not bring myself to. But that is to explain the tradition.”

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