4

I woke up later in my own bed with the sun streaming through the windows, where someone had pulled the curtains back. It was oddly quiet. I clambered out of bed and found that I was still dressed as I was the previous night, and there was a crick in my neck from falling asleep in the chair. I wondered who, and when, moved me here.

As soon as I stepped out of my room a maid scurried up, obviously waiting for me. She dipped a quick curtsy – she's new – but began almost before she had finished, saying, "You're to go directly to the Dining room as soon as you're fresh. Breakfast is waiting for you."

I nodded my thanks and stepped back into my room. I checked my hair and was about to change when I realized she did not tell me to go to the Formal, where we generally ate. The only time we used the smaller Dining room was when it was only the four of us…

Which meant that either something very strange was going on, or Father was home. Curiosity overcame me. I patted my hair once more and then left for the Dining room.

I stepped inside, nodding my thanks to the guard who opened the door for me, and saw that I was right: Father was home. He and Mother looked up at the sound of the door, and he stood up when he saw me, motioning Mother to stay seated. I hugged him and kissed Mother's cheek before sitting down beside them. "You're home," I said.

"Aye," he said. "We got in late yesterday evening. Apparently we were unexpected, although we did send advance messengers…" He frowned.

"I'm sorry," Mother said anxiously. "He probably came and went, but I've been so busy I haven't had time to get to-"

"Don't worry, my dear," he replied soothingly, and his glance at me said he had noticed the lines on her forehead and the circles under her eyes. "I was not implying any fault of yours. I was only wondering if the enemy is closer than we think, and my messenger did not get here at all."

"Only?" I said bitterly, raising an eyebrow.

He ignored my remark. "I met with your mother and some others last night. She told me about Gary – the parts I hadn't heard already, from her letters – and we came in to see him around midnight. We found you alone with him, asleep."

Somehow I felt a slight reproach in his words: I alone had been in charge of the prince, and I had fallen asleep. I hung my head slightly; he touched my shoulder.

"No matter. I carried you back to your own room."

That answers that question.

"Tell her your news," prompted Mother.

"Ah," he said, and leaned back in his chair expansively. "Well, Ciena, it looks as if we might win this war after all. We had a major skirmish about a month ago and we've hardly seen them since."

I just looked at him. "You think it's going to be that easy?" I asked incredulously after a pause. "You've been fighting all this time and one day they just – disappear?" My chest was beginning to hurt, and I realized I had not been outside in eighteen hours.

He sent me a warning look; my mother massaged her temples. "Ciena," he said quietly, "it has not been easy. No one said it was easy. My soldiers and I have seen – things – sights – that gave us terrible dreams and made us ache for our families. It has been very, very difficult, and all the more so because we are not used to war."

We are not used to war. I put my hand on my chest, trying to soothe the insistent, angry pains. I changed tactics. "So once, as you say, the enemy vanishes, will it be enough for you? Or will you send more men off to vanquish any left behind, and leave Mother to do your work? How many is it now? How many dead?"

He exchanged a look with Mother, who nodded once and closed her eyes. "I did not send him off to die," he said softly.

I pressed my hand closer against my chest, but it did not help; the pain was getting worse; I had not had this problem in quite a while, and I was sure it was not this bad the last time. "How many is enough? Enough to do the dirty work of a man who doesn't even believe his opponent is magic because he can't bear to think of someone with powers greater than his own!" I threw this last one at him knowing it was only partially true and ran almost blindly to the door.

"Ciena!" he said, iron in his voice, the voice that would stop me except that I could barely breathe and the thumping pain had expanded to fill my torso. With shaking fingers I opened the door and heard him saying, "We tried. Ciena, you do not know how hard we tried."

I ignored him and ran down the hallway, trying to find my way outside. The roaring in my ears filled my head and I could not tell if anyone is following me. My whole world was pounding – and then I burst outside, into the clean air, and collapsed on the ground a few steps from the stairs. My breath was ragged and slow, painfully slow to return to normal.

I was in the garden on the other side of the castle when they came. It was overcast, and I was planting carrots. We had heard them come in the gate on the other side, of course, but I thought nothing of it. I knew Mother would call me if it was important.

So I was surprised to see the messenger step outside into the garden. I stood up, wiping the dirt from my skirt, and looked at him questioningly. "Princess," he said, then hesitated.

"Yes?" My heart was beating faster, although I did not know what was coming, even then.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such news," he said bluntly. "The Queen thought I ought to tell you personally. Jason is dead."

I sunk to my knees with excruciating slowness, and then rested my palms on the fresh soil. My mind was completely blank and no thought formed in my head, but I felt a ripping sound and a greater pain, an emptiness and grief and horror, than I had ever imagined. I can still recall it perfectly, and feel it on occasion, and then I collapse and can do nothing until it subsides.

I heard somebody behind me, and to this day I know not if I made any sound, because I have never talked about that day to anyone. I remember little after that, except for my mother's arms around me on the ground, and walking around without knowing what I was doing. I remember – that day, or another – standing outside in the rain, face upturned, hoping it would fill me, fill the hole I still carry inside. Alas, it helped only little.

I sat outside, taking forced breaths, and my face was wet. I had not looked Father in the eye since that day. Luckily he had not been home, and I was able to slowly reassemble some pieces of my life, with the shaking hand of a tiny girl, or at least jam them together to form a brittle shell. Alongside Jason's father, I became less of a ghost, and learned to smile on cue. But every smile felt, and still feels, sometimes, like a betrayal.

"Ciena." Father stood behind me. I was surprised he followed; it should be beneath his dignity. I did not respond.

"Ciena," he said again, more sternly. "Look at me."

I stared defiance in his eyes, half wild still in fear from whatever it was that afflicted me. The other half was buried grief, dragged out of its safe spot by the sight of my father. For Jason did not die of normal battle. No, he died at the hands of Mortha's magic. And if Father had chosen to believe in that magic, Jason would be beside me today.