Chapter 10

"Arija," Arefi said, stepping forward to kiss his daughter on the cheek as she entered his private tent. She went willingly into his embrace; she struggled to remember the last time she had been this intimate with her father. Not since she had reached womanhood, she was sure.

"What was it you wanted of me, Father?" she asked, pulling the veil off her head. She hated wearing it, but now that so many men lived on and around the oasis, it was a necessity. The last thing Arija needed was to fall further from her father's good graces.

"Come sit, love," Amira said from further within the tent, patting a cushion beside her. Arija went eagerly to her mother's side.

"I wished to speak with you, Daughter, about certain financial matters," Arefi said, joining his wife and daughter on the cushions.

Arija's eyebrow shot up. Arefi, discuss finances with his daughter? Such a thing was unheard of.

Arefi smiled. "Do not be so surprised, Daughter. Are you not the most intelligent of my children? Have I not often wished you could be a son, to aid me as I grew old?"

Arija smiled, flattered her father thought so highly of her. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Arefi sighed and leaned back. "To be honest, Daughter, I had never intended this contest to go on for so long. Nor did I expect so many men to compete. We are already expending more than we have the money for in hospitality. We cannot afford to keep this up."

Arija bit her lip. She might have known her father would want only her confession. "Call off the contest, then," she said, a hint of her anger remaining unsuppressed in her voice.

"I cannot do that until I know where it is my daughters go at night," Arefi replied matter-of-factly. Amira stiffened at Arija's side.

"I cannot tell you that."

"And why not?"

"It is not my secret to tell."

The tent was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then Amira spoke.

"Arija, your father did not lie earlier. He believes everything he told you. Please, Daughter, just tell him."

"If it were up to me, Mother, I would have told him long ago," Arija said quietly. "But that is a decision that my sisters and I must make all together, and many of them refuse."

"I shall force them to tell me!" Arefi cried, jumping up to begin pacing the tent. "They are my daughters, are they not? Is it not my right?"

"Arefi—" Amira reached her hand out to calm him, but he batted it away.

"Father, you must not," Arija said. "They will not tell you. Not even if you beat them senseless."

"I thought you, of all my daughters, would respect me enough to speak the truth."

"We are cursed!"

Amira and Arefi's eyes locked on Arija's, and for a moment she did not breathe. What had she just told them? And for the love of the gods, why?

"Cursed?" Arefi repeated after a moment. "How?"

Arija shook her head. "I cannot tell you. I can only say that we must do this, or we will be punished horribly. Please, Father, call off the contest. Let us complete our task, and we will return to you willingly."

Amira laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "When did this happen, my daughter? Who has done this to you?"

She shook her head again, more forcefully. "I cannot," she whispered. "Please believe me."

Her mother pulled her against her chest and looked expectantly up at her husband, who had begun to pace still more furiously.

"I cannot call this off now," Arefi said, his tone clipped. "I would look a fool. How much longer must I bankrupt myself, Daughter?"

Arija met his eyes, tears in her own. "Six months more," she told him. "I promise, at the end of six months, all will be as it was."

Arefi bit his lip and looked away. "My wealth is spread thin enough as it is. But we can last six months more. My daughters must abandon hope of a dowry, however."

Arija stifled a gasp, reminding herself of the fortuneteller's promise, that at the end of the year they would each have a husband. Surely her father would be able to understand that. She nodded tearfully and pulled her veil over her head as she was dismissed.

You acted well. Perhaps you should become a player. Lahleh's words from all those months before echoed in her head as she walked back to the weaving tent, and her mouth was filled with the taste of betrayal.

"I brought you a gift," Godric said, holding a small wrapped parcel out to Castor.

Curious, he took it and pulled off the paper, only to reveal a silver cloak made of air and starlight.

"This is—" he began, but Godric cut him off.

"I know."

"I can't take this."

"You'll need it. I saw it."

Castor raised an eyebrow suspiciously at his brother. Had he, too, been making use of nightflower?

Godric laughed at the question in his brother's eyes, but the sound was weak. "I had a dream three nights past. I saw you use the cloak to follow the girls through a trapdoor."

"Godric—"

"It's a royal heirloom. You're a royal. You have every right to use it as necessary. I guarantee you'll put it to better use than Grandfather used to."

Castor smiled at the memory of his grandfather's frequent absences at state functions. He was surprised he remembered at all: he had been little more than an infant at the time. He stuffed the cloak into his satchel and slung it over his shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Godric said as he embraced Castor tightly.

"I know," Castor replied. "But I do have to."

Godric shook his head. "Father wouldn't care whether you wed her or not. He wouldn't stake your happiness on a political alliance. And neither will I."

"I care whether I wed her or not. I have to."

"Not simply because the nightflower showed it."

"Not simply because of that. She needs me, Godric. I saw it."

Castor turned to leave, his small satchel a burden on his back. The gangplank before him seemed impossibly long and narrow over the water beneath it, but the entire crew was waiting on him, so he hurried up.

"Castor!" Godric called after him when he reached the top. He looked back at him. "Be careful," his brother said.

"I will," Castor replied, too late realizing he had spoken too quietly for his brother to hear. The king raised a hand in salute, and Castor returned the movement. As he stepped onto the ship the waiting men pulled up the gangplank, while three others raised the anchor. It wouldn't be long before they were out at sea.

Castor went to find his cabin. It was a tiny room, with a bed that looked like it wouldn't fit him and a desk barely large enough for a sheet of paper. He sighed and sat down on the bed. It creaked loudly, and he shifted his weight, only to hear it creak again. He suddenly realized how very long two weeks was.

With a sigh, he got up and opened his satchel. It was filled with last minute items, those he had forgotten— or purposefully neglected— to put in his trunk. A dog-eared notebook came first to his hand, its leather worn soft to the touch. Within he recorded his visions, lest they fade from his memory. It had been filling up faster lately.

Beneath it he fingered the silky, sheer fabric of the cloak his brother had given him. He was filled with a sudden desire to try it out, but a glance about his cabin unearthed no mirrors. He was hardly of a mind to test it on the crew before they had even left port. He needed their trust and support until they docked in Pynterre.

He would not be wanted on deck for some time. He fingered one of the many small packets that weighed his satchel down, considering. Would he be missed if he sought the future now? He decided he wouldn't be, and unwrapping the packet pulled out two leaves of nightflower. He lay down on his bed, hoping the creaking wouldn't attract the attention of the crew, and placed the leaves on his tongue. As he chewed and released their bitter flavor, he felt himself drifting away.

He was in the palace, and Godric was dancing with a beautiful brown-skinned woman he didn't recognize. His brother's face shone in a way he had never seen before, and he realized Godric was in love.

He saw armies march across an unfamiliar countryside, burning as they went. He saw a castle in a tree covered completely in thorns and two men, nearly identical, facing each other with swords in hand.

He paced anxiously outside his chamber, listening to the screams within as Arija delivered their first child.

In a tiny hovel, a blonde woman smiled at a man who played the fiddle for her, but her eyes were shadowed with tragedy. Outside a kingfisher sang.

A man took a swan's egg into his hand and cracked it open, and within lay a human child.

Arija leaned in close to him, her hair falling over her shoulders, and promised him victory as he fell back into sleep…

Castor's eyes flew open. He was back in his cabin, though he had no idea how long he had been gone. He sat up slowly, as he had long since learned to do, and ran his fingers through his matted hair. As he washed his face and straightened his clothes, he wondered what possible significance his visions could have.

"Arija, it is time. Take him the drink!" Kíraz giggled.

Arija shook her head. "I cannot," she said. "One of you must take it."

"He will only take it from you! Arija, what is wrong with you?"

"I have lied enough today." She refused to say any more, and finally Roshanara, whom everyone agreed most resembled Arija, took the drink instead. When she returned, Arija lifted the trapdoor beneath her bed and followed her excited sisters down the stairs. She was so tired of this. Tired of the lies, the subterfuge. She wanted nothing more than for her life to go back to normal, to marry that Mariginese prince she had once been betrothed to and never think again about fortunetellers or dancing princes.

Lahleh slowed until she walked at Arija's side. "What happened?" she asked. "What did Father want?"

"He wanted a confession."

Lahleh's eyes widened. "What did you say?"

"I told him we were cursed and could not speak of it. He believed me." There was no need to burden Lahleh with her father's financial worries. Her sister would only concern herself with her own future.

Lahleh stopped and pulled her sister into an embrace. "I am sorry," she said. "But I thank you also. Not all of us would have been strong enough to lie to our father."

Arija pulled away, not meeting Lahleh's eyes, and continued down the path to the docks. Never before had she felt such shame, but as soon as she saw her prince waiting beside their tiny boat, it was replaced with fury. Fury at him for being so complacent, fury at the fortuneteller for putting her in such a predicament, fury at her sisters for refusing to back out when they had the chance. She had lied for them; why was she the only one suffering?

She seethed in silence for the entire trip across the lake. Only once she and her prince were spinning gracefully on the floor did she let her anger out. She purposefully stepped on his feet, watching his face for an expression of pain, but he remained as impassive as ever.

"I hope you know what we are doing for you," she said finally, her voice barely audible above the music.

At last his face reacted. He met her eyes and cocked an eyebrow, inviting her to say more, but remaining silent as ever.

"My father bankrupts himself to discover our secret. My sisters and I drug worthy men who seek only to know what we do at night. This very afternoon I lied to my father to protect our secret. All this to free you from your curse. I hope you are grateful."

For the first time since she'd known him, he broke his pattern. He took her arm and led her off the dance floor, out of the pavilion to the gardens she had barely explored. He sat on a bench beside her and mimed a question. What is your name?

Bewildered by his sudden change in behavior, Arija found herself unable to speak for a moment. "Arija," she said finally.

He rose immediately, found a long piece of wood on the ground, and scratched several shapes in the sand at her feet. She recognized none of them.

"I am sorry," she said. "I have never learned to read."

He snorted in frustration, then scratched another set of symbols. This time she recognized one: the "X" she had been taught to use in place of a signature.

"X," she said. "Is that your name?"

He seemed frustrated, but he nodded as though to say Close enough. With a swipe of his foot, the symbols vanished, and he sat again at her side.

I'm sorry, he mouthed at her, and for the first time she wondered if perhaps he did not want this either.

"I was supposed to be married by now," she said, a half-hearted continuation of her earlier rant. "Married with the beginnings of a family. Instead I am here, helping my sisters. Helping you."

He gently took her chin in his hands and drew her eyes back to his.

Thank you, he mouthed at her, and she realized that despite his demon eyes, he was human, just as she was.

So this update was a lot longer in coming than I expected, mostly because I kept forgetting to do it. Hopefully the next chapter will be here a little sooner.

To clarify: Arija and her sisters are not under a curse. This was mentioned in an earlier chapter, but that was well over a year ago. The fortuneteller offered them a chance to break the spell on her sons by dancing with them every night for a year. They agreed in the hopes of all having husbands at the end. It was their choice to do so, and their choice not to tell their parents. I feel like this may be a little vague; hence the explanation.

Drop a review, s'il vous plaît !