“Or what?”
“Or they’re not bothered by the prospect of being arrested and tried for treason.”
Aurora’s brow furrowed. “Treason? For buying little baubles and jars of magic that might not even be real?”
“It’s real, though far more is bought and sold on the black market than just storm magic. One bauble is more than enough to ruin your life if you’re caught by the wrong person. I was shocked the prince would visit such a place. His family is rumored to be ruthless with lawbreakers in Locke. At least here, the worst people face is banishment.”
Perhaps she’d been trying to scare the princess just a little, enough for her to grasp the gravity of the situation. But Aurora shook her head. “No. That can’t be. These must be exaggerations to scare people off.”
Nova tangled her fingers, curling and uncurling them in agitation. “The only reason you can’t believe it is because you live in a different reality from the rest of us.” Aurora started to protest, but Nova continued: “You are a Stormling. You never knew of the market’s existence because you do not need it. When the storms hit, you have a spacious shelter. You know that the palace where you live will be protected at all costs. You needn’t fear the cold or heat or hunger. You don’t have to worry about the finite number of jobs in the kingdom or take lower and lower pay to keep from losing your position to someone willing to do the work for less, only to then worry you won’t have enough to pay the taxes required to remain a citizen. The rest of us are always keenly aware that we could not survive outside these city walls, and must do everything to maintain our livelihoods within them. So treason might seem absurd to you, but for the rest of us, it’s a fact of life.”
The princess stood still and silent, and Nova feared she had gone too far, been too blunt. Aurora began to shake her head slowly, and her muttered words were soft. “You are right. I thought I understood what it was like to be ungifted, but I realize now it’s about more than lacking magic.”
Nova shifted uncomfortably. It was true … the majority of people lacked magic altogether. But there were some, like her, who were neither Stormling nor ungifted, born with the gifts of the old tribes. She did not know why. Neither of her parents had magic, nor had any ancestors as far as she knew. Nova was unlucky in that her elemental connection was the hardest to control and hide. She knew that other witches even studied magic beyond their element, using incantations for spells outside their natural ability, but most days it was all Nova could do to keep her volatile fire from spilling out.
Aurora continued: “If there’s one thing I know it’s that freedom shouldn’t feel like a noose around your neck. Nor should the gift of magic be wielded as a weapon. Forgive me for my ignorance, Nova. I have lived too long isolated in my own private world, and there is much I do not know.”
Nova winced. “No. It’s I who should ask forgiveness. I should never have spoken to you in such a manner. It was—”
Aurora scooped up Nova’s hands in her own and squeezed tightly. Nova waited for the fire to rush to where their skin touched, but it stayed caged. She never realized how little human contact she had these days until she experienced it again.
“Never apologize for being honest with me,” Rora said. “No matter the differences between us, I will always count you a friend. I would rather you offend me a thousand times than hold the truth from your tongue.”
Nova blinked in shock. Kindness from the princess did not surprise her, but a promise of friendship did. Nova thought that possibility had ended long ago.
“I should see what he wants,” Aurora said, gesturing in the direction they’d left Cassius.
The princess moved to the door, hesitating with her hand on the knob. Her back was rigid, and her head tipped up to the ceiling as if she might find some answer there.
Nova did not know what had happened the night she found the princess crying outside her room, but she knew from watching Aurora that such a display of emotion was rare for her now. Whatever had happened … it was the prince’s fault. Nova had been on the receiving end of his intimidation, and it had taken all of her concentration to keep her fire from slipping free in the face of that man. She did not envy Aurora’s fate as his bride.
*
Rora took a few moments to gather her composure before stepping out into the sitting room, leaving Nova behind. A small part of her felt better knowing that she was there. Not that she thought Cassius would purposely hurt her. But having him here in her rooms was akin to turning her back on one of those big cats that stalked the grasslands southwest of Pavan. In fact, he was pacing like one when she opened the door to the hallway. He did not immediately sit after he entered, walking instead along the bookshelf that spanned the entire length of one wall, occasionally stopping to peruse the spines of the books.
“What was it that you wanted?”
Rora sounded weary to her own ears, and he studied her carefully before replying, “Why don’t we sit down? We have a lot to discuss.”
She sank onto the corner of a settee, and exhaustion swept over her. Even though she slept after fainting at the market, she still wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for another day. Perhaps two.
My apologies, Pavan. I cannot do my sacred duty and help fight the first storm of the Rage season. I will be too busy with my nap.
Cassius sank onto the settee beside her. The piece was built for two, but she imagined the maker envisioned her and another girl sitting here, talking away about whatever it was that normal princesses were supposed to talk about. Cassius was very much a man, and to fit, he sat close enough that their sides pressed together.
He reached over and plucked one of her hands from her lap. Lacing their fingers together, he rested the back of her hand on his hard thigh. A lump formed in Rora’s throat, and she casually leaned her upper body away from him.
“You said you spoke to my mother.”
“Yes, she came to see my father early this morning.”
That made Rora sit up straighter. “About?”
He pushed her hand flat against his thigh, circling his callused thumb over her sensitive palm. “Are you well? Your injury?” His thumb dragged from her palm up the length of her middle finger. She considered making him feel guilty for the knife incident but knew it was smarter to put him at ease. “I worried when you weren’t in your rooms.”
“The wound was minor.” He certainly did not need to know she had fainted from blood loss after following him to an illegal market.
“I cannot … I am not certain I have ever even made an apology. It’s not something my father believes in. But I am sorry. I promise I will never risk you again.”