A/N – Friendly reminder to reread chapters 1-11, if you haven't already! There's a lot of new content/changes that will impact the upcoming story. Thanks for reading!
The moon loomed overhead – the sole witness to her questionable deeds – as she held her keycard up to the door's lock. With a high-pitched beep, the indicator turned from crimson to turquoise. She grasped the handle and stole into the building. It was a side entrance, one that couldn't be seen from the main road. The reception hall beyond sat vacant and she threw back the hood of her cloak with a sigh.
She shouldn't be here. Not at this hour. But the morning would be too late.
Ether lamps threw low light across the floor, just enough that one could navigate without bumping into the furniture. Deep shadows lurked in the corners. Anyone could be standing there, concealed from view, watching her. She suppressed a shudder and continued on. Her heart beat out a hasty rhythm. If there were someone following her, she doubted she'd hear their footsteps above the pounding in her chest, the ringing in her ears. A glance over her shoulder revealed nothing aside from her own frayed nerves. She cursed under her breath, weaving her way through utilitarian metal chairs. No cushions, no comfort.
Sweat beading on her brow, the back of her neck prickled as she froze at the gaping maw of a darkened hallway. And she was only a mouse before the beast. Her legs ached with the urge to run. Foolish – so foolish – to let unfounded fear dig its claws into her skin. Though her actions were morally ambiguous, they were legally sound. Or, at the very least, in enough of a grey area that no harm could come to her.
With a soft exhale, she reached into the ether. Lightning sparked around her fingertips, illuminating her path and making the shadows dance. As she crept down the corridor, she passed a series of shallow alcoves, each one housing a transporter. After-hours, the transporters were disabled to conserve energy. But, with a tap of her keycard against the wall sensor, she activated the one she needed.
A flash. Then she stood before a single door, made of thick, expensive wood. Imported by Nopon merchants from the lower Bionis. She held herself utterly still, listening. Nothing, aside from her own treacherous heart. She cracked the door open. And only noticed the faint light beyond when it was too late to retreat.
"Princess?"
Minister Fannar hunched over his desk, working by the dim light of an ether lamp. He straightened at the sound of the door and his sharp eyes picked out her features in the dark with an ease that made her skin crawl. She smiled, edged into the office.
"Forgive me, minister," Melia said. She hovered behind the chair opposite Fannar's, fearing her reluctance cast a glaring spotlight on her guilt. Yet she couldn't make herself sit.
His office was just as austere as the rest of the Ministry of Investigation. Metal chairs, skeletal bookshelves laden with law books, and the desk. No decorations or other personal effects. The only luxury he allowed was the Volff hide carpet, but even that had its practical uses. Insulation from the winter chill, for instance. Little good it did when the cold came from within Melia's own body.
"Where is your guard?" he asked, voice weary. He studied her for a moment over the curved frame of his reading glasses. Then his gaze shifted to the door. She'd closed it by reflex. "Excuse my forwardness, Your Highness, but, without a chaperone, this meeting may be considered… indecent. Especially on the eve of your wedding."
Heat seeped into her cheeks. "That—" She stopped herself, scrambled to regain composure. "Your concern is appreciated, however unfounded. I'm here on official business."
"Of course," he said evenly. "That explains why you stole into my office like a thief."
The sarcasm stung but she held herself still. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the reaction he wanted. Ice in her eyes, lips set in a hard line. Like she'd done countless times before, when faced with the more caustic ministers. She was no stranger to their disrespect. Their pushing of boundaries. Kallian was better at handling them – he'd played the game far longer than she had. What would he say in her position?
"A thief would be wasting their time here," she said, making a show of surveying the room. Before Fannar could reply, she swept the topic aside. "In any case, your dedication to your work is convenient. I would rather ask you plainly than search the documentation myself."
He raised an eyebrow in lieu of a verbal response. His shoulders tensed, despite his effort to appear relaxed. In control. He hadn't expected to meet with the princess's dry humor. The exact opposite, actually. He'd assumed she would be as flustered as when he'd implied she'd come for an illicit liaison. She hid her emotions well – as she should, given her circumstances – but the blush couldn't be denied.
"Lucio. Did your men apprehend him?"
"You needn't worry about that, Your Highness." Fannar gave a dismissive wave then passed her the file he'd been reviewing before her arrival. "He's securely in our cells, pending charges from the crown."
Melia scanned over the file. Fled the scene. Later turned himself in at the Lower Precinct. Very cooperative. She raised her eyes to meet the minister's.
"I'd like to see him."
"I must advise against—"
"Forgive me," she said, voice cold, "I wasn't aware you'd been promoted to royal advisor."
Fannar pressed his lips into a tight line, eyes as round as his reading glasses. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself out of his chair. "Very well. Follow me." He dug his keycard out of one of his desk drawers then led the way out of the office.
Their walk wasn't a long one. At the opposite end of the hall, across from the transporter she'd used to access this floor, was another transporter. This one was smaller than the usual model, intended for personal use. Only two people could fit on it at once. But even that was a bit of a stretch. Her arm brushed against the minister's as they stepped onto the dimly glowing platform. It didn't teleport them until he swiped his keycard over the nearby sensor. Which only gave her more time to feel unease, a lump forming in her throat. Her heart beat a little faster.
Then they were plunged into absolute darkness.
Even the transporter had lost its light after serving its purpose. Fannar shuffled away from her, finally breaking their contact, leaving her without an anchor. She breathed in deeply. The air was heavy with moisture and the faint scent of mold permeated the room. Something scraped the wall to her left. Metal against stone. An ether lamp hissed to life then, illuminating the minister's stern face. The ring of light only extended a few feet, just enough to proceed safely.
As far as Melia could tell, they stood in a single room. Black stone walls curved around them, gave the impression of an embrace. The Tower of Investigation? She'd never visited the Tower before; she had no reason to until now.
Fannar lit more ether lamps as he passed them. Each new light revealed another feature of the chamber. A tray of spoiled food, half-eaten. The metal cot adorned with threadbare blankets. She suppressed a shudder of sympathy. It was cold up here, cold enough that she almost thought she could see her breath on the air. Those sheets would do little to protect anyone. They were purely decoration, a false comfort.
Lucio huddled against the wall nearby, so still she could've mistaken him for another piece of furniture. He lifted his head as they approached, squinted at the harshness of the lamplight. It glinted off of his manacles, drawing Melia's eyes to them. Short chains connected them to the wall. So, the bed was only for appearances, as well. Bound as he was, he wouldn't be able to move much from his current spot on the floor.
A trickle of dried blood reached from his swollen lip down to his chin. His headwings were disheveled. As if they'd been grabbed, yanked, bent. Her own wings pressed closer to her skull, sent a phantom ache tingling through her scalp. But aside from those minor injuries, he appeared unharmed.
"Does this satisfy you, Your Highness?" Fannar asked, swinging his lantern in lazy circles.
Lucio stiffened at the title, but he didn't speak. From the way he was squinting, rubbing at his eyes, Melia suspected he still couldn't see. Who did he imagine was visiting him? What had they done to warrant such a reaction?
"Leave us."
"I will not endanger your safety by—"
"Danger?" Melia scoffed. "You have him chained to the wall. He should be more afraid of me than I of him."
The minister smirked. "So, that is why you came here. Take out your frustrations on him if you must. Although, I'd recommend you keep your hands clean." He turned on his heel, retreated before she could reply.
Melia stared after him for a moment. Nausea twisted her stomach in knots, the words replaying in her mind as she analyzed their implications. She waited for the flare of the transporter then crouched at Lucio's side. He didn't react. Now that she was here, she didn't know what to say. She'd planned, she'd rehearsed. And it all came to nothing. His despondence left her shaken. The man he'd been at the rehearsal dinner didn't exist anymore; the thought struck her like a fist.
"Lucio?" She spoke his name tentatively.
His eyes flicked to hers then dropped.
"I didn't mean what I said to the minister. You have no reason to fear me." The words slipped from her lips before she could think them through. But they felt right. Even if she felt foolish for saying them, for treating a seasoned soldier like a wounded animal.
"Good to know," he said, cracking a faint smile. His voice was hoarse, a sound that grated on the ears. He shifted as much as he was able – which was only enough to draw himself up onto his knees – and tried to maintain eye contact with the princess. But his gaze kept sliding away. "I'm sorry. For ruining your dinner. I should have… controlled myself."
Sympathy rose like bile in Melia's throat. How many times had she said the same to her father? But while her crimes were limited to a careless word, she couldn't let herself forget that Lucio's were more severe. She swallowed hard and steeled herself against his plight.
"What is your relationship with my stepmother?"
He cringed at the sharpness of her tone, the forwardness of her question. A minute passed, then another. Several times, his mouth opened to answer before he caught himself and clamped it shut. When he finally spoke, his words were slow, cautious. "I was her guard."
She stood, took a step away from him. As if an extra inch of distance could relieve the discomfort his confession had inspired within her. He was just another piece in Yumea's game. He always had been. Yet, at the same time, the use of past tense stood out to her, the way he'd reacted to the First Consort at the rehearsal dinner… Was it all some elaborate plot? A way to get her to lower her defenses? No. Something must have happened between the two.
Her mind buzzed with all the things she could say to him. All the questions, accusations, insults. Decades of suppressed hurt surfaced, each instance tempting her to lash out. But she remained composed.
"You must know a lot about her. More than I," she said. Her voice held the barest tremble.
"She… has confided in me, yes."
Melia paused, considering the situation as a whole and how to proceed. Dunban had warned her that Lucio's imprisonment would not stop a second marriage. At least, he didn't think so. The emperor could easily find yet another consort. For all they knew, there was already a third choice – a backup – being prepared for the wedding. So, they'd have to stick to the original plan. Even if it meant exposing herself to another assassination attempt.
Which, frankly, seemed likely. She'd been backed into a corner and, should Lucio and Yumea be working together, almost every conceivable solution would hand them a win. If she helped Lucio clear Yumea's name, she would give her stepmother another chance to have her killed. But if she married him, he'd gain the leverage he needed to… To what, exactly?
The two options whirred around her head as she attempted to make sense of them, walk down each potential path. Then there was the other choice, the one she didn't even want to entertain. Do nothing. Walk away from Lucio and face her fate. They can't hurt her if they're both imprisoned.
"I haven't spoken to her in decades," Lucio said, as if he'd read her mind. "So, I'm afraid any information I may have is out of date."
Melia made a show of checking her nails, neatly clipped. "Many are under the impression that you can't be trusted." She sighed and dropped her hand back to her side. The closer she got to giving her ultimatum, the sicker she felt. Her stomach churned, her pulse thundered beyond her control. It's necessary, isn't it? "If you wish to see sunlight again, I suggest you convince me otherwise."
Lucio bowed his head, shoulders rounding, but he didn't outright refuse her offer. That was as much of an agreement as she could expect. "All I have is my word, Your Highness. I'm already a liar in your mind. Nothing I can say will change that."
And, to some extent, he was right. After all, he surely possessed some imagination. He could invent any story about the First Consort without much thought. She trusted herself enough to know the difference, of course, but why waste the time? To get anything close to honesty, she'd have to catch him off guard. She pursed her lips.
"Tell me something about you," she said at last. "A secret you would only reveal to those closest to you."
He hesitated, lifting his head to scrutinize her. As if any deception would be written across her skin for him to read. She met his gaze evenly, kept her body language open. If the gesture pacified him, he didn't show it. His demeanor remained weary like one who'd been traveling too long.
"You get me out of here… and then what? We marry tomorrow?" He paused, gave her a chance to respond. When she didn't, he continued. "In that case, I decline your offer."
"Do you hate me so much?"
She didn't know where the words came from and she regretted them instantly. Why should she care what he thought of her? Until his inclusion in the wedding, she'd scarcely noticed him. His opinion shouldn't matter. But, for a moment, it wasn't Lucio who was chained before her. He was only a stand in for Yumea. And perhaps that caused her lapse in judgement, her indiscreet words.
Confusion crumpled his brow. Then the expression smoothed itself out, replaced by a softness that she'd never seen in him before. He reached out for her but the chain caught long before he could make contact. The metal bit into his wrist. He grimaced and retreated back to the wall. Back to safety.
"If it was only my heart at risk," he said, avoiding her eyes, picking at his restraints, "I would marry you without hesitation. Because the emperor asked me to and I am his loyal servant before anything else." He hesitated then looked to her once more. "I know you feel the same."
She turned her face away. Of course he would say that, appeal to their supposedly shared sense of duty. Had she not been blinded by her own pain, she would have seen the ploy even through the depths of Eryth Sea and the dense foliage of Makna Forest. Then, the gall of him – stringing her along with vague snippets of information. Predictable. He'd never give her the answer she sought.
"I have nothing more to say to you." She extinguished the ether lamp closest to her and cast Lucio's face in shadow.
"Very well, Your Highness."
The tremor in his voice was unmistakable. Still, she pretended not to notice it as she smothered each light. One by one. At the last lamp, the one beside the teleporter, the sharp jangle of Lucio's chains broke the silence. She hesitated, peered into the dark. But it was too thick to see through. Her shoulders tense, she awaited another sound, a sign. It came in the form of a series of dull thuds, followed by a shuddering breath. Then nothing more.
Melia activated the transporter and retreated, leaving the final lamp untouched. Let him have that singular beacon of hope. He would need it in the coming days.
The sun stung as Melia pried open her heavy eyelids. Sleep clung to her, as if her dreams wished to drag her back down to nothing. Her limbs ached, her mind was foggy. After her conversation with Lucio, she'd spent most of the night training. Until her muscles protested and her fingers could no longer grip her staff. If she had the luxury, she would've indulged in another few hours of rest. Surely, she'd earned it. But alas, she had no choice. There was too much she still had to do and very little time. She shot a lidded glance toward the timepiece on her bedside table. Only a few hours left…
She would have to forgo her usual comforts. No breakfast, no tea, no peace. With a sigh, she slipped out of her nightgown and haphazardly put together an outfit. It didn't matter what she wore, really. Not when she'd soon be donning her wedding dress. Dread nestled in the pit of her stomach, giving her a sense akin to fullness. And she was almost thankful for it – at least it would lessen the blow of skipping a meal.
Hasty fingers tied her hair up in a bun, left several strands precariously secured. A light breeze could knock them loose, but she didn't have the time nor energy to brush out the tangles. The illusion of composure was important, of course. But that was all it was. A mask she wore to keep her people content. Who would follow her if they knew the truth, if they saw the cracks?
As she passed through her sitting room, a mirror on the wall captured her reflection. The movement in her peripheral vision made her heart leap into her throat. Then she realized her mistake. Her pulse eased, as did the tension in her sore muscles. She took a moment to survey herself. In spite of the shock and sleep deprivation, she thought she looked alright. Most brides would be grateful.
Still, she turned the mirror around before leaving her suite of rooms.
Catlaina had returned to her usual duties after having been absent for the past two days. There was something… different about her. Melia couldn't place it. Perhaps it was the rigidity of her shoulders. Although there was no doubt that Catlaina took her position seriously, she was typically much more relaxed than the other royal guards. Like having a friend that just happened to also protect her. She tried not to think of their relationship as one-sided. Just an obligation that the older girl had sworn to fulfill before she even understood what such vows meant. But deep down…
"Princess." She bowed, hand clenched around the sword in her scabbard. Her knuckles strained white. "I trust you slept well."
Melia forced an airy laugh. "Not at all."
She paused. Was she allowed to ask where her guard had been? The thought almost made her scoff. She was the crown princess; she could do and say whatever she pleased with little consequence. And yet… It had never really felt that way. She'd always had to be careful in her interactions. Even with Kallian.
"I am sorry to hear that."
Everything about Catlaina was stiff, not just her shoulders. The tightness in her voice, the stiltedness of her words, made Melia feel like she was talking to a stranger. She put her plans on hold for a minute and looked at the guard. Really looked at her.
Her silver hair no longer gleamed like polished metal. Her eyes had lost their spark. Everything about her was pale and dull and grey. Shivers raced down Melia's arms.
"What happened?" she asked, eyes wide.
"I don't know what you mean, Your Highness."
After such a flat denial, Melia couldn't push the issue. She'd had no right to pry in the first place. They weren't really friends; it was all just a fantasy. She cleared her throat.
"Ah, forget I said anything then." She turned her back to her guard, facing the transporter at the end of the long hallway.
Without another word, she set off towards her first objective. Catlaina padded along behind her. The woman's footsteps were nearly silent and she had to fight herself not to glance over her shoulder. Listening close enough worked. There was no need to confirm with sight. Even if their friendship was fake, she could trust her. Couldn't she?
To be honest, she wasn't sure who to trust anymore. Her father had betrayed her. Kallian was unreliable. Dunban's motivations were unclear. And her stepmother may have arranged for her to be assassinated, for Bionis's sake.
Yet she tried to appease all of them, fought for them. Why? It did her no good. Every day, she lost another piece of herself to their demands. She should be angry. They took all that she offered and more. How could Dunban ask her to do this?
Her footsteps faltered as she reached the transporter. It wasn't fair to have her compromise her safety this way. If Yumea wanted her dead… She cut the thought off before it could overwhelm her. Without anyone to comfort her, reassure her, it was too dangerous. And with the rush of wedding preparations, she hadn't had the time and space to heal. Both physically and mentally. Any more pressure could be disastrous.
She continued onto the transporter then marched to Kallian's door. As if she hadn't just been doubting her mission. Shoving aside the unpleasantness brewing within her, she took a deep breath.
"My lady, what are you—"
She interrupted Catlaina's question with a series of sharp knocks. The guard didn't try to ask again. They waited in silence until the door eased open. An older guard appeared in the gap. Melia was relieved to find that she recognized him. Though her mind couldn't find his name in its records. Perhaps she'd never learned it.
"His Highness is not accepting visitors at present," the man said.
He tried to shut her out but she grabbed the edge of the door. There wasn't a set punishment for crushing a princess's fingers and he definitely didn't want to find out how creative the emperor could be. He held up his hands in surrender. Then he stood aside, allowing her passage into the prince's apartments.
She found Kallian in his sitting room. Surrounded as he was by guards and servants, she could barely see anything of him. Just his head – bent forward – and the occasional flash of a teacup or fork.
"Leave us."
His head snapped up at the sound of his sister's voice. The servants scurried out of the room but the guards hesitated. He rolled his eyes. "You heard the princess. Out."
They didn't budge.
Kallian set his plate down on the coffee table and rose from his armchair. He clasped his hands behind his back. Even in his nightclothes, he cut an intimidating figure. Jaw set, eyes gleaming. A few of the guards shared looks before scurrying out the door.
Two of the younger guards lingered. Perhaps it was arrogance that led them to disobey. Or perhaps, if she tried not to be so cynical, they were merely concerned. Their motivations didn't matter to Kallian. His anger flared. At the same time, wind gusted through the chamber, strong enough to send Melia staggering into the wall.
Her eyes scanned the area for a source but all the windows within sight were closed. What?
The longer the guards struggled to stay, the fiercer the gale became. Catlaina yanked Melia down to the floor, sheltering the princess with her body. Around them, vases shattered, paintings were ripped from the walls. Debris hurled itself towards the remaining guards. Even after they'd fled – or rather, been thrown out – the winds continued. Stronger and stronger. Sucking the air from her lungs.
Kallian still stood, eyes closed, breathing easily. As if it was only a light breeze that floated through the window. Melia stared at him. It… No, it can't be… But when she reached out to the ether and traced its threads, there was no other explanation.
Then it was over. The windstorm died out faster than it had materialized. Kallian fell to his knees. One hand pressed into the floor for stability. The other clutched at his chest, which now labored under the force of his panting.
Catlaina released Melia and rushed to the prince's side. "Your Highness!"
He raised his head, hair hanging in his eyes. His fingers shook as he wiped a line of blood from the guard's cheek. "I… hurt you."
"I have survived much worse." She pulled away from him and side eyed Melia.
The princess had kept her distance. "What was that?" She pronounced each word with care. As if she thought that would prevent the fear from seeping through her neutral façade. She pushed herself back onto her feet. Ceramic crunched beneath her slippers as she took a step forward. Then she thought better of the action. Returning to her original position, her arms crossed over her chest.
As his breathing slowed, he struggled to stand. Catlaina rose with him and helped him back into his armchair. When she was sure Kallian was alright, she retreated to the door. But she didn't exit the room. Neither of the royal siblings took notice.
"Please, sit."
Melia swept a hand through the air, gesturing to the remaining chairs. They were all covered in rubble and dust. "It would seem all seats are taken."
In happier times, her brother would've laughed. Not now. Not when they both knew what was coming. That didn't stop her from waiting, wishing to hear his approval. But the only sound he made was a sigh as he bowed his head.
"I don't understand," she said at last. "Father said you had no talent for—"
"He's right." Kallian lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. There was something there, in the blue of his irises, but she couldn't identify it. "Even the best instructors couldn't teach me control. It comes when I call and just… takes over." He picked at the bandages around his wrist. Thoughtless. Like he didn't realize he was doing it. "Father was so ashamed."
The adrenaline that once rushed through her veins vanished, leaving her cold. She should be scared or angry. Both Kallian and their father had kept this secret from her. This terrible secret… Her brother was dangerous and it was only a matter of time before he hurt someone. Or worse. Perhaps he already had. Perhaps that was why his lessons had ended and the truth was hidden from all of Alcamoth. The very idea sickened her.
And yet, she couldn't help but be sympathetic. She'd lost control of the ether too, let it use her as a conduit for its destruction. Most recently when she faced the Telethia in Makna Forest. Any negative emotion she felt for her brother would have to be directed at herself as well. Else, she would be a hypocrite.
She remembered when she first began learning how to manipulate the ether around her. Even as a child, she took to it naturally. Simple as breathing. That's what she told herself, anyway. Denial overwrote the true memories, but couldn't erase them. A shudder rippled through her, bringing with it the moments she'd repressed. She'd paid a steep price for her mastery. Endless scolding and little arms gripped by bruises and so many tears. Now she knew why. Kallian had already failed; she wasn't allowed to.
A pressure formed in her throat, threatening to choke her. If he'd been subjected to the same treatment…
"I can teach you," she said before she could stop herself.
"No, you can't. No one can."
"Would you wager on that?" She cracked a mischievous smile, ignoring his self-deprecation. "If you don't improve after five training sessions, I'll attend an event of your choosing. And I'll pretend to be happy about it."
He picked up his cup of tea, plucked out bits of debris. Then, changed his mind and set it back down on the table. "Why did you come here?"
Though his voice was scarcely more than a mumble, she flinched. Did he have to be so callous? She knew it was the guilt that made her react so strongly, but still… If only he would have indulged in her teasing. If only she didn't have to do what she'd planned. She clenched her fists at her sides for the briefest moment. With any luck, her brother wouldn't notice her unease.
"I'd hoped to ask you about the statement you gave to Investigation."
"Melia…" A note of warning sharpened his tone.
"Don't I deserve to know?" she asked, straining to keep her emotions at bay. "They targeted me, attacked me in our sacred Tomb. I realize that you wish to protect me. But it's too late now."
His fingers curled into the arms of his chair. A flash of pain crossed his features and he grit his teeth against it. Then he relaxed into the overstuffed cushions. For a moment, Melia thought he might not say anything at all, just wait until she inevitably ran out of time. He had the obvious advantage. With her wedding mere hours away, all he had to do was stay silent.
"The night before your Trial…" He cracked his knuckles as he considered his next words. One by one, savoring the feeling of release in each finger. "I went for a walk in the gardens behind the Villa."
He told his story with excruciating detail. Like he knew exactly why she'd asked to hear it. From the way he'd ditched his guards to the moment he'd spent at the memorial for Melia's mother and every word he'd spoken to the ghost of her.
"Perhaps you'll think me sentimental, but I couldn't help myself," he said with a fragile laugh. Then his expression turned solemn. "She would be so proud of you."
Guilt churned in Melia's stomach. "I am… glad to hear you say that."
As her brother continued recounting his experience, she stifled the feeling. She had to do this. For herself. It would be the first time she'd ever forsaken her duty in favor of her own selfish needs. And probably the last. She hated how intently she listened, how she picked out all the details she could make use of. He'd been alone – no one else to verify what he'd seen. And, as she recalled, he'd still been suffering from ice blight. Mind foggy from the medicine. That was the reason he'd needed fresh air, was it not?
"Before I could return to the Villa, I heard voices approaching. My mother's and one I didn't recognize. I was naturally curious and I… well, I hid. Behind a topiary." A faint blush settled in his cheeks but he pressed on through the embarrassment. "They stopped at the memorial for several minutes – I couldn't discern what was said. Then the other woman turned to leave and I noticed her mask. At the time, I didn't think much of it, but…"
She waited for Kallian to speak again. When he didn't, she gathered her thoughts. If she wasn't careful, her entire plan would fall apart. And there was no time to craft a new one.
"Were you feeling well?" she asked, knitting her brows into a perfect replication of concern. "It seems odd that Yumea would have such a conversation in public."
A flicker of emotion crossed his face before he reverted to his practiced façade. The calm that could almost fool even her. And perhaps it would have, if not for his eyes. They glistened like wet stone under the light of an ether lamp. "You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that." Her words came too quickly to be comforting. Even though all she wanted to do was grimace at her mistake, she offered a sad smile. "It's no secret that your health has been in decline. With the ice blight and your injuries… Well, no one would fault you for experiencing further symptoms."
The following silence lay heavy over them, a blanket that had been set aflame. And, as she suffocated on its smoke, Kallian sat in perfect stillness. A detached observer. Then he stood – wobbling on weakened legs – and swept his gaze around the room. Taking stock of the damage.
"You are right to be worried," he said haltingly. He stooped to pick up a leatherbound book, replaced it on the mantle above the fireplace.
"Yes…"
Looking on as her brother tidied up caused her anxiety to spike higher. How could she just stand there, idle? But to join his in his efforts would be futile. The wreckage too great to be cleared by their hands alone. The wounds too new to simply forget what she'd seen. Yet, she had to do something. So she set to work rehanging the paintings that had been dislodged by the wind.
"I've done things I'm not proud of," Kallian continued. "But I'm certain my mind is not so fragile as to invent false memories."
"Of course, no one likes to admit when their mental faculties are… compromised." As long as she kept her hands busy, they wouldn't shake. They wouldn't give her away.
He turned to face her, frowning. Then the expression morphed into something more familiar, a softness. The muscles of his forehead – usually tense with concentration – relaxed. Just as they always did before he slipped into the role of doting elder brother.
"For a moment, you almost had me."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Your attempt at manipulation," he said with a short chuckle. And somehow, though it only lasted a moment, the sound made Melia feel warm, safe again. Even when her plan was falling apart. "A decent attempt, I should say. However, you were too insistent. It takes patience to instill such doubt and a subtler touch than yours."
Her face burned with the humiliation. She'd done the best she could, but it still wasn't enough. How could she be expected to rule when she couldn't even do something so simple? After all, ruling over Alcamoth required a certain knowledge. A knowledge that kept ministers in line and the common people happy. Her father never taught her. Perhaps he'd considered it a waste of precious time before the Tomb proved her worth.
But Kallian had learned. The signs of her guilt were likely impossible for him to miss. And now, rather than be angry, he offered her advice. She didn't deserve this kindness.
"To be honest," he said, returning to his armchair, "I can't blame you for trying. I didn't want to believe Mother would hurt you either, but… Some things are beyond coincidence."
"Then you're certain."
Melia freed a portrait from its broken frame. All the other paintings she'd seen of Yumea were the same. Stiff and scowling and cold. But this one depicted her in a way Melia had never experienced. She was smiling – actually smiling – with her arms wrapped around a young Kallian. Her chin rested on the top of his head, pressing down his unruly hair.
What happened to that Yumea? Melia set the parchment carefully on the coffee table. Face down. Her trembling fingers had resisted the urge to crumple it up, throw it away. But she couldn't stand to look at it any longer.
It wasn't fair…
Kallian lifted his gaze from the table, meeting his sister's gaze. "I'm sorry. If there was any other way—" He cut himself off with a cough. "There's no use dwelling on it. All that matters to me is your safety and, should my mother endanger that, she must be condemned."
"The timing is unfortunate," Melia said, a bit guarded.
"Is that all that bothers you?" He laughed but, when she did not join him, his expression turned grave. "What?"
She didn't know what came over her. Surely, she shouldn't burden her brother with her troubles. Not when he already had so many of his own. And they were more severe than hers – he'd tried to take his own life for them on multiple occasions. She could hold on longer. Yet here she was, finally sinking down into a dust covered settee, revealing all her worries. At least, the ones related to the wedding.
As she spoke, he moved from his armchair and sat at her side instead. At the mention of Sorean's plan for a double ceremony, a faint redness flooded his cheeks. No other emotion broke through his calm mask. She imagined he intended to ease the awkwardness. After all, they were both guilty of falling back on old court habits in times of turmoil.
"Lucio has been arrested, but I've no doubt Father had other options." Her shoulders slumped as she finished her rant, energy spent.
Kallian folded his hands in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was measured but strained. Like he was holding something back. "One forced marriage is enough. I will head to the Ministry of Investigation at once and recant my statement."
He leapt to his feet, made for the door, then froze mid-step. The energy that had propelled him from his seat dulled. For a moment, he lingered in place, as if he'd lost all sense of direction. Or purpose. Melia suspected the magnitude of what he promised had finally registered. But if he felt any dread, he concealed it well.
"Mother has schemed for too long," he said, voice soft. Without his eyes meeting hers, she couldn't be certain the words were meant for her. But still, she listened. "Freeing her from her rightful punishment only encourages—" He whirled around to face his sister once more. In spite of the movement's abruptness, his features settled into an eerie calm. "Are you prepared for what she'll do next?"
"No." She gave a light shake of her head. "But surely, she wouldn't ruin a party she planned. That will buy me enough time to… strategize, I suppose."
A feeble smile flitted over his lips. Then the wariness drowned out whatever humor he'd found in her response. "Petty pride can only shield you for so long. Once the last guest leaves, she'll have no qualms about striking."
"I will be mindful of the possibility. Thank you."
Melia rose from the settee and brushed the dust from her skirt. If she stayed any longer, she feared what else she might say. Or do. She'd already been embarrassingly vulnerable. Her eyes flicked to Catlaina. The guard, face blank, remained by the door. As if she hadn't heard the entire conversation. But Melia knew she had. With her recent sour mood, perhaps she would take advantage of— No. Catlaina would never betray the crown.
"Well, that was a productive chat," Melia said, shifting her attention back to Kallian. "Are there any other concerns you'd share with me before I go?"
He hesitated a moment too long. "No."