“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s very rare. It happens whenever a gifted Lunar chooses not to use their gift for an extended period of time. The only cure they know of is … well, to start using the gift again.” Jacin’s jaw was tight as he swiveled the holograph one way and then the other. “It doesn’t come up very often, though, because why would a gifted Lunar forgo using their gift?” He glanced at her, and he seemed concerned, but not judgmental. He had never once, since Winter had told him of her conviction, tried to persuade her to change her mind.
“And what will it do?” she said, leaning back against the sofa. “This Lunar sickness?”
His shoulders drooped. “It will make you go crazy.”
She tilted her head to one side and refrained from laughing, but only barely. “Well, I’m already crazy, so that doesn’t sound so bad at all.”
His lip twitched, but the smile was halfhearted at best. “I’m serious, Winter. People who suffer from it have frequent hallucinations. Sometimes bad ones. Being chased or attacked. Seeing … monsters.”
Her playfulness drooped and she inspected the brain diagram, but it was just a brain. How frightening could that be?
“I already have nightmares and I survive them just fine,” she said. “I’ll survive this too.”
Jacin hesitated. “I just want you to be ready. And…” He fixed his eyes on her. “If ever you change your mind, I’ll understand. Everyone would understand. You don’t have to do this, Winter. You can manipulate people without being cruel, you know.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think I was being cruel when I pulled that woman back from the ledge.”
Jacin lowered his eyes.
“It has to be this way,” said Winter. “I will accept this side effect. I will accept any amount of monsters my mind wants to give me, but I will not become a monster myself.”
*
She was beginning to think that Jacin had only been trying to frighten her with all that sickness and psychosis talk. Five months had passed and she felt more grounded than ever—more in control of her decisions and willpower than she’d felt her whole life. Her thirteenth birthday was on the horizon, and her choice to live only by the skills that did not require manipulation had made her more aware of what those skills were.
Politeness, it turned out, was almost as effective when you wanted someone to do something for you. And kindness went further toward lasting admiration than any amount of mind control.
Word was spreading, too, about her lack of a gift. Though no one could call her a shell, it was becoming apparent that her Lunar abilities were inferior to the other sons and daughters of Artemisia’s families. Some thought it a shame that their beloved princess was turning out to be so weak-minded, but others, she sensed, weren’t so easily fooled by Winter’s failings. The servants had started to give her appreciative smiles whenever she passed them. The looks of fear that she noticed in her stepmother’s presence ceased to exist around Winter, and this alone made her happier—and stronger—than any amount of tutoring had ever done.
There were changes, too, in how members of Artemisia’s aristocracy acted around her, though Winter sensed it had less to do with her gift and more to do with the growth spurt that had finally arrived, forcing the seamstresses to work overtime to keep her in hemlines that reached the floor and sleeves that didn’t ride up her forearms.
“Her Highness is growing into a fine lady indeed,” she had heard one of the thaumaturges say in court, and though the queen had snorted her disagreement, Winter had seen multiple conferring nods before she bashfully lowered her head. “Of course, no beauty could ever compete with yours, My Queen,” the thaumaturge had continued, “but we will all be proud to have such a beautiful princess in our midst. She does our court proud, I think.”
“She will do our court, and this family, proud,” Levana had said derisively, “when she learns to control her glamour like a proper member of the gentry. Until then, she is nothing but a disappointment.” She’d cut a glower at Winter. “To me, and no doubt to her father.”
Winter had squirmed in her seat, embarrassed.
But it had not changed her decision.
Besides, Winter’s instincts told her Levana was wrong. Her father would have been proud.
As for Levana herself, Winter couldn’t help but wonder if it was jealousy that had prompted her to lash out. Except, jealousy of what? That someone had called her beautiful, when everyone knew that Queen Levana was the most beautiful of all?
Absurd.