* * *
Lucia couldn’t—wouldn’t—break the curse. Not now. Not knowing what she knew. Which left two choices—escape, or stay to face the consequences the king had promised.
She didn’t know how to make the flight spell work. But what was the alternative? To sit and wait? She still had a little time before dawn. Maybe, if she left for her rooms right away, she would have enough time to figure it out.
She stood, then tucked the journal under her arm as she tiptoed back into the bedroom.
Without her consciously willing it, her gaze traveled down to the sleeping prince. To the twisted form he had inflicted upon himself in a desperate effort to gain control over his own life.
The king wouldn’t give up. He had brought more girls here before her, and would bring more after. Sooner or later, one would get past Rikkan’s defenses, and the curse would end—and with it, this pale excuse for freedom that Rikkan had carved out for himself.
She took another step toward the door that led to her bedroom. And stopped.
She couldn’t do it.
For those nameless girls’ sakes, for Rikkan’s sake, she couldn’t do it.
Still clutching the journal, she knelt beside the prince’s bed.
“Rikkan,” she whispered.
The prince’s eyes flew open. The yellow slits narrowed as he saw her. With a jerk of his arm, a wall of force sprang up between them, so close it left a raw burn across her nose. She stumbled back.
Rikkan bared his teeth. A low growl of fury emitted from his throat, slowly forming into words. “How dare you—”
Before, Lucia would have trembled in fear. Now that she understood, her heart didn’t give the slightest quiver. “I know what you did,” she interrupted.
Rikkan stopped. His body went still, every muscle taut, every scrap of his attention focused on her.
“The curse,” Lucia continued. “You did it to yourself. You did it so you could study magic, didn’t you?”
The tension left the prince’s body all at once. His lips drooped; the fire went out of his eyes. He sagged, the picture of defeat.
“I should have known it couldn’t last.” The whisper of his ruined voice was like wind stirring leaves. “Once my father learns the truth, once he discovers that I’m not a victim of his enemies and that lifting the curse won’t end my defiance, he’ll have me killed and find himself another heir. He’s threatened it often enough. And I won’t harm you to keep you from telling him. He calls me a mindless monster, but I do not, and will never, kill. I couldn’t kill him when I had the chance—I certainly won’t kill you.” He twitched his hand. The wall between them fell. “So do what you came here to do. Kiss me and be done with it.”
She didn’t move. She would not break his curse; she would not aid in his defeat. But something deep within her stirred, urging her to step forward. To take him into her arms, heedless of the fur and scales and fangs, and bring her lips to his. Like two pieces drawn together into a single whole. Like eggs into dough. Like wind into wind, sending them soaring through the air. Like longing into longing, forming a wall against the world.
A wall against the world…
The new knowledge within her swelled and sparked as she held up the journal, a new plan—a better plan—taking shape in her mind. “The curse wasn’t the only thing I found in your notebooks.”
She walked to him. Hardly noticing the claws, she took his hand in hers.
And she began to speak.
“Adi nu’um vit nara—”
She stopped. Closed her mouth. She would do this Rikkan’s way.
Haltingly at first, she let the symbols float across her vision, one morphing into the next. The air gathered around her, rustling her dress as it spun in circles of increasing power. She gave a small gasp. It was working, it was working…
The symbols wavered. The air wavered.
Closing her eyes, she pushed aside all sensation, all awareness of the outside world. Anything that threatened to break her focus.
She added the symbols she had seen in Rikkan’s other spells, scribbles she had only half-noticed at the time but that now flared in her memory as brightly as if she had studied them for years. The wind changed, settling more tightly around them.
“It’s the spell,” said Rikkan in a throaty murmur. “The flight spell. The one I couldn’t figure out. You did it.” A pause. “But… it’s different. You changed it somehow. What did you…” His voice trailed off. She could feel him, in this strange state of awareness—could feel his mind examining the structure she had built, testing it with symbols of his own.
She ignored it. She kept building.
And then her mind stumbled.
So close to done, so close… but something had gotten out of sync somewhere. Some crucial bit of symmetry had jarred loose. She didn’t know the right symbols, didn’t know the right words… The air rippled, the magic nearing the edge of collapse. She bit her lip to hold back a scream. She had almost done it—but an almost-success wouldn’t help her. It wouldn’t help Rikkan.
And then Rikkan’s mind settled around hers. The symbols flashed into her vision, his symbols, as though they shared a single consciousness. The air shuddered, then went still—but the spell hadn’t collapsed. The power hung quiescent all around them, ready to reawaken at a moment’s notice.
She had done it.
No. They had done it.
She opened her eyes to see Rikkan patting the air in front of him, squinting as if his vision could reveal what the spell had done. “Whatever it is, it’s working. The air is charged somehow, but I can’t see what… there’s no movement, so it can’t be for flight…” He poked at nothing, then did it again. His wolfish mouth twisted in an expression it had never been intended for—a look of curious joy.
She wished she could sit down with him and explain the changes she had made. Ask his advice on how to make it smoother. Share her ideas for further variations and listen to his own. But if the sun hadn’t risen yet, it would soon, and at any moment the servants would discover her empty bed. They had no time.
She cleared her throat, interrupting his murmurs midsentence. When she had his attention, she spoke. “You placed the curse on yourself so you could be free. But your father treats you as a prisoner. You’re confined to this set of rooms, confronted with daily attempts at a cure. And you said it yourself—it can never last. Whatever this is, it isn’t freedom.”
All happiness had fled the prince’s face with her first words. His shoulders sagged again, the joy of their experiment already forgotten. His ears flattened against his head. “You don’t need to tell me this. I understand. But what other choice do I have?”
“What would you do for real freedom?” she asked. “The freedom not to be prince, not to be king? The freedom to conduct your research in peace? The freedom to never see your father again?”
His face contorted in pain. “Anything.” His answer, though quiet, sent whispers of yearning echoing from every wall.
She held out her hand to him. “Then walk through that door with me.”
The tufts of fur along Rikkan’s cheeks quivered as he shook his head. “I tried to leave the palace the day after the curse took hold. My father’s men brought me back here before I could reach the first flight of stairs. The locks mean nothing—they learn that lesson every time I destroy another door—but their weapons do as much damage now as before the curse. I could overpower one soldier, maybe two, but ten swords pointed in my direction work better to keep me here than any number of locks.”
Lucia started to speak, then hesitated. She extended her mind out to feel the power around them, to feel the air waiting to be called into service. Would it hold? If it didn’t—if she made him a promise, and the spell didn’t hold—she would have led them both to their deaths.
But it would hold.
If she had done it on her own, she would never have said so with such assurance, not even to herself. But she had felt the strength between them. She h
ad felt the way his power melded with hers, strengthening the fragile structure, sealing the gaps.
So she spoke, and spoke with confidence. “Their weapons won’t touch us.”
She left her hand outstretched between them, a question.
He hesitated. “The windows… the flying spell… we could—”
This time Lucia was the one to shake her head. “I could escape on my own that way. Possibly. If none of the palace archers spotted me. But if you disappear, your father will hunt you forever.” She knew the truth of it as she spoke, as she called to mind her brief meetings with the king. “He could accept losing you if he were the one to order your death. He would never accept your leaving him.”
Rikkan gave a reluctant nod. “All the time I tried to perfect the spell, I knew it wouldn’t free me from him forever. But it was the best chance I had.” He looked at her hand, but didn’t move.
After all this, would he refuse? After all this, would she have to make her escape alone after all, and leave Rikkan—and all the girls who would replace her—at the mercy of the king?
Outside the door, the clank of armor. The sound of the first lock opening.
They had no more time.
Carefully, ensuring his claws didn’t scratch her skin, he placed his hand in hers.
Together, they walked to the door.
And when it swung open, they stepped through, hands clasped, straight between two gape-mouthed guards.
“My lady,” one of them choked out. “Get back—quickly—” He drew his weapon. The other followed suit. From either side, they stalked forward, blocking Rikkan from the corridor that led to the stairs.
Rikkan’s hand tightened around Lucia’s. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end as he gave a growl that rattled Lucia’s bones. He tensed, ready to attack.
Lucia didn’t know how to handle a boy. She didn’t know how to handle a wild animal. But Rikkan was neither. Rikkan was a creature set apart by choice and circumstance, driven by strange passions, belonging nowhere.
Rikkan was just like her.
So she spoke to him as she would have spoken to herself. “The spell will hold.” She didn’t let him pull his hand away. “The life you’ve dreamed of is ahead of us. They cannot take it from you. Keep walking.”
The hair on his neck lowered. His lips settled over his teeth.
He walked. And Lucia walked with him.
They walked straight for the guards. Straight for their swords.
The guards’ hands shook, but they stood their ground. “Prince Rikkan,” one of them called in a voice made too loud by false confidence. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Return to your rooms and leave the girl unharmed.”
As they drew closer to the blades, Rikkan tensed. Slowed.
Lucia squeezed his hand. “Trust me,” she whispered.
They kept walking.
Lucia held her breath and prayed his trust had not been misplaced.
As one, the guards made their decision. With a yell, they charged Rikkan, swords extended. One guard swung at Rikkan’s furred arm, the arm that held Lucia’s hand. The other went for his knees, aiming to disable him.
The air stirred.
The weapons bent backwards against their owners’ hands. As if they had taken on a life of their own, they flew free to clatter against the stones of the corridor.
“Yes,” Rikkan breathed. “The layers… the currents…”
“Later,” Lucia promised him.
They kept walking.
The panicked yells of the guards followed them, echoing through the palace, calling others to attention. As they walked, more guards rushed at them—three, then five, then ten. Each time, the wind came to life around them. Each time, the guards’ weapons dropped uselessly to the floor.
Each time, Lucia and Rikkan walked forward, as serene as if no one in the world existed but them.
At last, they reached the outer gate. And stopped.
An army stood before them—not the palace guards this time, but the king’s own soldiers. Lucia couldn’t see the gate through the lines of armed and armored men. Ahead of the soldiers stood the king, his face no longer jovial.
Rikkan quivered.
“They cannot take it from you,” Lucia repeated under her breath. She eyed the men standing between them and freedom, and hoped she hadn’t lied.
The king’s gaze, filled not with anger but with bewilderment, rested on Lucia. “What have you done?” he demanded almost plaintively.
“I’ve done what you asked,” Lucia answered. “I’ve freed your son.”
“No,” the king protested with a frantic shake of his head. “No. You’ve unleashed a monster. You don’t understand what he’s become.”
“And you’ve never known him,” she said.
When the king had ordered her to break Rikkan’s curse, she had knelt before him. Now she stretched herself to her full height, meeting his eyes with a level gaze. “Find yourself a new heir. There is no Prince Rikkan. Not anymore.”
The king shook his head again, harder this time, so fast the flesh of his neck wobbled. “If he walks through that gate, the curse will never end. Every girl in the kingdom will flee from him in fear. Do you understand what this means? You’re taking the kingdom from him! The palace, the luxury, the thrill of conquest, the knowledge that every knee bends at his whim!” He took a step toward them, hands extended in supplication.
With his free hand, Rikkan made a sharp gesture. A gust of wind shoved the king back. He landed on his backside, his mouth open in a shocked O.
Rikkan’s rough voice rang through the courtyard, strong and confident. In that moment, he sounded every bit the prince he would never be again. “Mage Rikkan has no need of such things.”
Two soldiers rushed forward to help the king to his feet. He accepted their help, avoiding Rikkan’s eyes.
This time, Rikkan took the first step. Lucia followed.
Would the spell hold? Against two guards, against ten, she had barely doubted. But against an army…
Eyes to the ground, the king spoke. “Let them pass.”
With clanking and shuffling and mutters of surprise, the soldiers stepped to one side or the other, clearing a path for Rikkan and Lucia.
The king moved aside last. As Lucia and Rikkan passed, he looked away. Rikkan kept his head held high, sparing no glance for the father who would have ordered his death, who at the last moment had allowed him his freedom out of cowardice rather than decency.
At a wave of Rikkan’s hand, the gate opened before them.
They left the palace. And kept walking.