“Are you ready, Echo?” Cris asked at the same time he opened the door. He’d changed into a fresh suit of navy with silver stripes. His hair had been combed and glistened with water. Any evidence of his weariness had been erased, and he graced me with a small smile. “I had your meal sent to my rooms.”
Mari and Olive didn’t melt into the woodwork the way Lucia and Greta had. They stared at Cris, and then volleyed their gaze to me. They hadn’t prepared me for dinner. There wasn’t a dress in sight, no makeup pots to be seen, not even a fresh cloth had been offered.
I stepped past them, desperate to escape their scrutiny and to get something substantial in my stomach.
“Fetch her nightclothes,” Cris said to Olive. “She’ll be staying with me tonight.” He put his arm protectively around my shoulders and guided me into the breezeway.
#
Cris scarcely waited for the door to lock behind us before he asked, “What’s going on?”
I stepped further into the room and headed for the table bearing our dinner. “Mari is one of my maids,” I said. “Does that need an explanation?”
Cris frowned, causing a line to appear between his eyebrows. “I’m sure she wouldn’t do anything—”
“I’m sure she would. Without me, who would you have chosen?”
“Not her,” he said, strongly enough for me to pause in the unfolding of my napkin.
“What does that mean?” I’d seen her sneaking from his room.
He settled across from me and removed the lid from his plate. “I knew my father had sent her, and . . . ” He looked at me with frustration. “Remember how I told you I’d asked Gibson to do certain things for me?” He waved his hand in a general gesture. “That was one of them.”
“What was one of them?”
Cris took a gulp of his wine. “Gibson made Mari fall in love with me. I had to do something to make her reports to my father . . . favorable.” He pushed his food around on his plate. “I’m not proud of using her in that way.”
I watched him as I ate, not quite sure if I felt relief that he didn’t love Mari, or horror that he’d preyed on her emotions.
“Echo, please, don’t be angry.” He finally glanced at me, a pleading look in his eyes.
Angry wasn’t the right word. Wounded might work, for my heart felt desperately small inside my chest, and I could do little about it.
“Did you have Gibson influence me?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Only her. She hails from a fishing township at the northern tip of Nyth. My father planted her in the compound as another means to collect information on me—on Castillo, too.”
“I saw her, sneaking from your room on our wedding night.”
“No.” Cris shook his head, his eyes ablaze with determination. “I kept my door securely locked that night. I suspected she might come, and I—” He cleared his throat and leaned toward me. “I am not my father, Echo. He had several mistresses. I’m determined to have only one lover.”
Heat flooded my cheeks as I lowered my gaze to the tabletop. I couldn’t undo the knot of emotions in my chest. “My grandmother used to say that to truly live, one must love deeply.”
“Your grandmother was a wise woman.” Warmth radiated through Cris’s words. “Tell me what else she said.”
“Many things.” I didn’t wish to discuss Grandmother now. “Too many to discuss.”
“I see.” Cris’s words carried a hint of hurt. To show him that I meant no disrespect, I let him take my hand and guide me to the settee where I’d addressed his wounds.
“What of Olive? What isn’t quite right with her?”
“Her magic is strange.” I frowned at the memory of the detection spell. “She doesn’t have much power, but it has never fought with mine.”
Cris’s eyebrows creased together. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” I sighed and laid my head against his chest. “When Castillo said she was returning to Iskadar, I felt relieved. She had friends there once, people who love her for who she is, no matter that she cannot wield magic.”
Cris circled his thumb along my palm. “Echo, I do not wish to upset you.”
I looked at him and found worry burning in his eyes. “Upset me?”
“Olive would not be here if she couldn’t wield magic. My father wouldn’t waste his time on someone like that.”
My blood seemed to be moving too fast through my veins. My heart picked up the pace to keep time with the increased flow. “What are you saying?”
“I believe he brought her here to spy on you.”
Thirty-Eight
Everything Cris said fit together, no matter how I wished it wouldn’t. “No,” I said. “She would never betray me.” I could not, would not, believe it. “He’s using her for something else.”
Cris’s grip on my fingers increased. “I’ll find out what.” He cleared his throat and looked away, uncomfortable inside his own skin. He stopped rubbing my hands and the fight deflated out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m not the prince—or husband—you deserve. I’m weak. I’m—”
“Stop it. Those are your father’s words, and I don’t want to hear them.” I cupped his face in my palm and lifted his chin until his eyes met mine. Unsaid assurances streamed between us.
I nodded and allowed Cris to show me to his bed and tuck me under the down quilts. After he’d returned to his private study, I lay awake, listening to the darkness speak stories of wicked magic and corrupt kings.
I got up and went out to the balcony. The sky was huge, dark, frightening. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I spun and padded down the hall to Cris’s private chamber. His door was unlocked, and I silently pushed my way in.
His breathing fell evenly against the air, and I hummed the first notes that would allow me to enter his mind. He wasn’t dreaming, which made the invasion much easier.
I pictured Castillo in my head, and the first image that came from Cris’s slumbering mind stole my breath. Castillo bent over an unmoving Cris. They looked to be young teenagers, with barely the beginnings of facial hair.
Castillo wept, fat tears sliding down his youthful face and landing on Cris’s. “You cannot be dead.”
I’d never heard sound during a rebound before, but I was exceedingly glad I could now so I could get a complete picture of Cris’s past.
His chest was a bloody mass of flesh, but I made out a mark from a cord—a wound when healed, would look like ropes of scar tissue across his bronze body.
“Stop sniveling,” a cold voice said, and ice ran through me at the High King’s biting comment. “You’re now free to bond with another. I did you a favor.”
Castillo pressed his eyes closed and bent his forehead to Cris’s. He began a spell to follow his brother into the afterlife, and suddenly, I got yanked into another vision.
This one followed Cris, who had indeed died. He stood on the edge of a spire of red rock, watching the vast sky before him flash images of his life.
He saw his mother’s funeral, while being held by a younger version of Helena. He cried, and then he sang, but his mother didn’t rise from the sepulcher. The next scene showed him and Castillo as young boys, maybe five years old, bonding as their shrill voices sang together.
Images passed through the sky, each depicting them performing an act of song-magic—great spells that swirled in colors, and barred doors, and held their father’s cruelty at bay.
I dared not blink, lest I miss the next secret. Castillo and Cris had been bonds. Cris could once sing wonderful and powerful magic into existence.
The sky darkened, and a woman appeared in front of him. Her dark hair blew in a magical wind, and she reached toward him with one pale hand. “Cris,” she said, and he stumbled toward her.
“Mother.” He cried into her hair as she gripped his shoulders.
“We don’t have much time.” She held him at arm’s length. “You have a choice here, Cris, a terrible choice.”
“Am I dead?”
/> “Not quite,” she said. “But the pathway is open before you.” She waved her hand to the sky behind her, which flashed with golden light. “You can also return.”
He looked over his mother’s shoulder and then behind to where I stood, unseen. His face held fear and indecision.
“Castillo can sing you back to life,” his mother said. “But it will come with a great price. A price, Cris, you will have to pay.”
“What will become of Castillo?”
His mother shook her head. “I think you know, my dearest.”
My throat squeezed at the endearment Cris so often called me. The vision tunneled, spun into the first image until Cris awoke coughing and gasping for air as the last notes of Castillo’s song echoed against the marble walls of the High Castle.
He’d sung his bond back to life, but only because Cris chose not to leave his brother alone in this world.
The vision faded, and I sucked at the air much the same way Cris had.
But the rebound didn’t end. One last image came into focus, this time without sound, as Cris stood next to Castillo, his mouth open in a spell-song. He pressed his lips together and turned to his brother with tears in his eyes. He shook his head, and Castillo pulled him into a tight embrace.
I pushed the rebound out of my head. I couldn’t stand another second of this agony, of seeing Cris full of power, and magic, and light, and then watching him fail at a simple spell-song.
I looked down at him, slumbering through my magical invasion. I saw him as a once-great magician, as Castillo’s first bond. I saw the greatness he could become as High King.
He’d paid a price, certainly. His magic, for his life.
His magic, to spare his brother from facing their father alone.
#
The next day came, because even magic couldn’t force time to slow for long. I didn’t wish to get up and attend the council meeting with the High King, but I had a part to play. I readied myself in Cris’s suite, sending Solis to my rooms to request a proper dress.
Mari and Olive arrived with burgundy silks. As my sister buttoned me into the dress, I asked her, “Are you sure you’re well?”
She caught my eye, and I saw the fear therein. “I’m better than if I had ignored the summons from the High King.”
I nodded, puzzling through the riddles of her answer. I concluded that she was still alive, that was all.
“What did you do before I arrived?” I cut a glance at Mari, who stood at the bureau preparing the makeup pots.
Olive brushed something invisible from my sleeve. “He wanted me to train with his royal militia; his magical militia. He was most displeased when he discovered I possess very little talent.” She spoke in a whisper, the words tumbling out so fast I could scarcely make sense of them.
“The dungeons are dark and cold,” she continued. “I’m glad to be out of there.”
“Olive,” I started but cut off when her eyes widened at something behind me. I turned, and found Mari’s gaze heavy on our hushed conversation. She raised her eyebrows and continued her work.
I swung my attention back to Olive. “What can I do?”
She adjusted the neckline of my dress, unable or unwilling to look at me. “He wants power, and you have more of that than anyone. You can protect me.”
Understanding dawned, and I fell back a step even as I nodded. “Of course, Olive.” The High King had summoned Olive to Nyth as a way to threaten me. He’d use her to keep me in line, knowing that I wouldn’t do anything to put her in danger. I gripped her hand. “Of course I will protect you.”
“Echo?” Mari spoke, and Olive looked me up and down, smiled hesitantly, and retreated. Mari watched her every move, and I realized she was here to spy on Olive, not me.
#
The council chambers were situated in the heart of the castle, in an area most impenetrable. The room connected to the High King’s personal living quarters, with guards stationed at every corner.
Cris and I arrived together and mingled with the others who had the courtesy to be on time. Cris kept a running commentary of which dignitaries were in attendance, and what they did in Nyth. Agriculture, weaponry, surveillance, water distribution, blacksmithing; the list went on and on.
After fifteen minutes, the High King appeared, adjusting his cloak. He speared me with a glance as he took his place at the head of the table. Cris and I moved to join him, as did everyone else.
“The situation in Umon has hardly improved,” he began. Talk of village uprisings, Nythinian policies for war, and Heona’s agreements and supply issues filled the next hour. I had no idea why I had to be present. Cris barely supplied any opinions, though I knew he had strategies of his own, plans that included keeping the situation with Umon at its most perilous.
I tuned out of the discussion until Cris spoke my name.
“I’m sorry. What was that?”
Every dignitary in the room studied me. Some watched me with weariness in their eyes, others with fire.
“I have heard you hail from a long line of magicians,” he said. “Stemming from the ancients of Relina, if I’m not mistaken.”
I had admitted as much to him previously, so I couldn’t deny it now. “I am.” I was unsure where Cris wanted this conversation to go.
The High King flicked his eyes from Cris to me. “My father has a militia of men who need training.”
I frowned, remembering Olive’s hushed words. “I cannot wield a sword.”
“My master magician-at-arms has fallen ill.” The High King glanced at another man, and I doubted very much that the man of whom he spoke was still alive. “I would teach them myself, but with my time tied up with the diplomats from Heona and dealing with the uprisings in Umon, I cannot do it. I need someone who can teach my magicians to sing.”
“I can barely carry a tune,” I lied, sure Gibson’s reports had claimed quite the opposite.
Cris watched me, his fingers twined tightly together. “Father, Echo can do it. I watched her heal a man who was very nearly dead.”
I felt like he had slapped me. My eyebrows rose, but his expression didn’t change.
“She can achieve elemental spells as well,” the High King said. “My hunters have testified of it.”
“That was an accident,” I argued. “In situations of intense fear, sometimes—”
“She can pull magic from the earth,” he continued, speaking to the room instead of to me. He wouldn’t look away from me, and I found challenge in his eyes. I returned it, though my heartbeat rippled through my chest. I’d pulled magic from the earth to direct myself after the carriage fire—but I thought I’d been alone in that instance.
I squinted at the High King, wishing the gas lamps lit his face more fully. I wondered who had seen me use magic during that tragedy. Him? Or yet another spy?
“Defenses,” I said. “Not offense. I cannot train your militia in magical warfare.”
Cris smiled as though he’d been waiting for me to say those words. “Defensive spell-songs would be fine. Right, Father?”
I shook my head. “I cannot train your magicians.”
The High King stood as if the council was over. “Echo can begin tomorrow morning.”
Cris rose too, casting me one smug look before he followed his father past the guards and into the High King’s personal chambers. I had no idea what had just happened. Cris obviously wanted me to train the magical militia, though I couldn’t fathom why.
Matu returned me to my tower, where I spent the afternoon hours gazing at the sky, thinking of Castillo. Loneliness enveloped me, the same way it had the night Grandmother died. The separation of bonds wasn’t healthy, and the magical withdrawal from Castillo and his calm energy washed over me in waves.
Cris returned at nightfall, his face hollow. He leaned against the closed door, exhaling heavily as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Echo,” he said. “I should’ve discussed the council meeting with you prior.”
“Yes, you should have.??
?
“I wanted your reaction to be as real as possible.” He moved further into the room, his eyes shining with happiness.
“Why do you wish me to train the militia?”
He stepped closer still, strength and intensity burning in his expression. “Please, Echo. Think of it as a favor for me, not as a favor for my father.”
“It’s both; no matter how you twist it.”
“You can control what they learn,” he countered. “Teach them only the better part. Weed out the wickedness in them. Replace the evil with good.”
I didn’t know why he was so desperate for me to train the High King’s magicians, but when he spoke of overriding the evil with the good, my magic burst inside me.
“You say it will help our cause?”
“Very much,” he said. “Just think of it. You’ll have access to every magician he wishes to control, and you can influence them.”
“I can influence them,” I repeated, thinking of rooting out those most loyal to the High King and teaching the rest song-magic that could dethrone him.
He reached me and brushed one of my curls away from my face. “You’re radiant when you speak of magic.”
He kissed me, holding me tight as if he really wanted me near. I felt something new in the way his lips moved against mine; in the way he stroked his fingers along my lower back. “I’m in love with you,” he murmured against my mouth. He kissed me like he meant his words, and I’d never been kissed like that before.
“I—” I swallowed back the desire to say it now just to make him happy. Serving someone brought feelings of love, and if Cris and I continued relying on each other, the day would come when I could tell him I loved him, and mean it.
Cris watched me, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in his eyes. “I understand.”
Thirty-Nine
I didn’t know what time training began. I lounged in bed while Cris scratched his quill against a thick piece of parchment at a desk across the suite. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and until I bolted to a sitting position, he didn’t pay me any attention.