This morning I was in the bedroom, plating the pillars, practicing making the gold reach up in swirling patterns and then sinking back into my skin. I’m getting better and better at it, and there’s some pride in that, which is something I’ve never been able to have when it came to my magic. It’s a quiet thing, soaking through my spirit and reinforcing the changes I’m trying to make, the confidence I’m trying to build.
After a couple hours, I decided to go outdoors to get some fresh air. I spotted the gardens from the roof, and now that I’m here, I think it might be my new favorite place. It’s protected by a high ashen wall on the east side of the castle, so it feels private, especially with the mountain standing watch just beyond.
There seems to be only one guard that passes by on his rounds about every thirty minutes. Even so, I’m careful, which is why I like this little spot, where I’m mostly obscured by the shrubs. Since the rumors about me stealing Midas’s gold are so fresh and rampant, the last thing I want to do is make a spectacle of myself or give anyone cause to fear me.
Plus, I like working out in the sunlight.
There are divots of glass stonework in the grass, like flat blue marbles bigger than my foot and spread a step apart. They trail from the doorway, past the first row of flowers, curve with the twisting turns around the bushes, and lead past the walls of shrubs all the way to the very center of the garden where there’s a fountain and a wrought iron bench.
Though the ironwork is pretty, the bench isn’t the most comfortable, so I sit on the grass instead. With my back against the base of the onyx fountain, I work with my gold, experimenting with different textures. I ball it up like dough, roll it around in my hand, and then liquefy the pliable sphere.
Slade’s been busy with his Premiers, with his Wrath, and with his army, so I’ve been trying to use all my spare time to work on my magic. Meanwhile, Digby has taken on helping me with the physical training part of it, since Judd has been busy and is set to leave on a mission for Slade. Digby doesn’t do anything physical since he’s still healing, but he instructs me on my stances, helps me run through strengthening drills, and has taught me a few blocks.
I haven’t even had Slade alone for more than a few minutes at a time since our ride in the carriage. I can’t truly comprehend even a sliver of the amount of responsibilities he has as a king, but I can tell that he handles things much differently than Midas.
The biggest difference for me personally though, is that he tells me all about what he’s doing. He keeps me involved. Answers my questions. Encourages them, even. It’s strange to get used to.
But tomorrow, he’s supposed to give Manu his final answer. Already, the mandatory rationing has been put into effect. Even here in the castle, where Digby and I have been sharing meals alone together, there’s smaller portions, simple ingredients. But even with these segmented servings, my stomach still churns with guilt, and I try to leave more behind to be saved.
Every night this past week, I’ve woken up in a cold sweat, my nightmares returned. Sometimes, the dreams are about the shanties, of the frozen poverty kept in the crooked cracks of Highbell.
Other times, it’s my ribbons.
The sound of the sword swinging down. The slice of agony as it tore through me, silken limb by silken limb. I dream about falling, without any ribbons to catch me.
But last night, my nightmare changed. It wasn’t Highbell I was seeing, but Brackhill. The same streets I rode down with Slade, except the people were crying. Bone-thin. Rabid with starvation. And Queen Kaila stood at the other end of the street, my voice caught around her like a babbling breeze that only she could control.
That dream stayed with me all throughout breakfast, turning my stomach sour. It stayed with me during training with Digby until he crossed his arms and told me we were done for the day because I was too distracted.
Now, it’s still clutching at me, tugging at my shoulders like an incessant beggar.
I feel like I need to do something, but Slade won’t hear of it. The few scraps of moments I’ve gotten with him are spent with his insistence that everything is going to be fine. That his plans will work and the rationing and extra food production will be effective.
But what if it’s not?
I press my fingers over the bracelet he gave me. It now shines solid gold, though I kept the black gemstone in the center and braided a chain of gilded pattern around it.
I lean my back against the fountain, listening to the soft trickle of the water. It’s calming comfort, as is the feel of the cool grass beneath my bare feet and the warmth on my scalp. If I could, I’d strip down naked, just so every inch of my skin could feel the kiss of the sun.
But that would probably be frowned upon.
I pluck a small flower from the grass and spin it between my fingers. It’s a purple blossom, the yellow center reminding me of the color of Judd’s hair. I draw up a tiny bit of gold, making it coat the greenery, delicately sinking into the veins of the leaves.
Dropping it, I lean back, letting my bare feet sink further into the grass. I feel my magic press against my arches and toes, wanting to come out. I let it slowly pool, the warmth of the gold competing with the coolness of the grass.
When I drag my feet back to spread the gold, I blink down between my feet, pausing. I lean closer to get a better look, brows falling together.
At first, I think I’m seeing a reflection or a speck of dirt, but I see that’s not the case. It reminds me of when a piece of bread has been left too long over a fire, its crust singed from the flames. There’s just one splotchy edge around my gold that’s darker than the rest, making it look charred.
Frowning, I dip my fingertip in it, watching the dark blot dip down, but then it just mixes with the rest, going away completely.
Strange.
Shifting over, I tuck my legs beneath me, hovering my palm over the spot of the gilt grass, calling the gold back to me. I rub my hands together and tilt my head up to the sun with a content sigh.
“Lady Auren?”
My eyes flash open and see Manu approaching. He’s dressed in a teal vest with a softer blue shirt beneath and a matching cravat, his long black hair loose around his shoulders. “It is good to see you in such an...informal setting,” he says as he looks down at my bare feet with a smile that lights up his whole face and reminds me of the Manu I met back in Ranhold.
I quickly snatch up my shoes, slipping them back onto my feet as I stand. “I didn’t expect to see you out here,” I say.
He looks around, his expression easy and open. “I found this garden the first day I arrived. It’s my favorite place here. I spend hours out here day and night,” he confesses. “The warmth has been a nice break from Fifth Kingdom. Though, not quite as warm as it is back home in Third. I have to say, I do miss the beach.”
That makes one of us.
Manu might be easygoing right now, but I’m on edge.
He must see it in the way I’m holding myself, because he lets out a small sigh. “Look, Doll, this business with the Conflux, it’s nothing personal. I like you. But monarchs have their own laws to follow, and when two die in one night...”
“You know I had nothing to do with Prince Niven,” I say. “That was Midas. He wanted to take over Fifth. He told me so himself.”
Manu’s face grows contemplative as he picks off a leaf from one of the taller shrubs and twirls it between his finger and thumb. “Then that’s exactly what you’ll say at the Conflux, if you choose to go.”
“Slade—King Ravinger,” I quickly correct myself, “won’t ever agree to that.”
He cocks his head. “Do you know what a Conflux is?”
I falter for a moment, because Slade hasn’t told me much about it. “I know that it’s some sort of trial that the royals call during special occasions.”
“Yes, but if you look throughout history, it’s not really a trial. It’s a spectacle.”