The Half King

2

Cerise descended the marble staircase from her quarters on the second floor, having donned a fresh gown and scrubbed her face and arms until they glowed. She brushed a hand over her pleated skirts, and as she did so, she admired the subtle shift in tone from stark white at the bodice to midnight black at the hem. The shades blended so seamlessly that she couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. Like all of her clothing, the gown reflected her status as a Seer in training—less elaborate than the Reverend Mother’s gilded robes but finer than the gray linen of a servant. The satiny fabric was as smooth as glass and rustled when she moved, but mostly she loved what the shades represented: the balance between darkness and light, like the goddess Shiera herself.

Cerise dreaded the day when she would have to surrender it.

When she reached the atrium at the base of the steps, she glanced left toward the garden room and caught herself clenching her shoulders. She practiced her calming exercises, one slow breath after another, and while her muscles unwound, she turned her gaze to the domed ceiling, where murals painted in animated oils acted out the history of her people.

The first scene depicted Shiera crafting four land masses and setting the world in motion around the sun. Those four lands—Calatris, Mortara, Solon, and Petros—bore all known life, each ruled by a dynasty of corresponding name. As for Shiera, no one knew her true form. Her only visit to the world of men had been a thousand years ago during the Great Betrayal, and accounts from that time varied widely. Here, she was depicted as a fierce beauty, her limbs battle-strong and her face divided into equal halves: one beaming with mercy, the other contorted in wrath. That was how Cerise liked to picture the goddess, though the dark half would give her chills if she looked at it for too long.

A shiver passed through her, and she turned away.

She swept across the atrium toward the adjoining garden room. The sweet scent of moon blossoms greeted her before she reached the doorway. Once inside, she pushed through a wall of humidity to find her parents seated on a velvet divan, teacups in hand, their brunette heads—nearly identical in shade to her own—tipped close in conversation. They looked up, and she offered a tentative grin.

“Darling,” called her mother, at once setting her teacup on the serving table and striding forward with her silk-draped arms open wide. Her amber eyes, which Cerise had inherited, were so bright with excitement that Cerise nearly forgot her worries. At least until after the embrace, when her mother pulled back with a silent question lifting her brows.

“Nothing has changed,” Cerise admitted.

Her mother took an abrupt interest in the floor. Her father had dropped his gaze as well. Their disappointment was nearly as thick as the heated moisture in the air.

Still looking down, Father cleared his throat. “There’s plenty of time, my dear.”

“That’s what the Reverend Mother says,” Cerise told him.

“Well, she’s right,” came a new voice, and a lady’s form stepped out from behind a vine-covered lattice near the rear wall. Tall and slim, the woman was dressed in silk finery and wore a dark veil that concealed every inch of her hair and face. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Cerise gasped. “Nina!”

Temple rules forgotten, Cerise bolted to her sister and threw both arms around her neck in a running hug that knocked their bodies into the latticework. Nina didn’t seem to mind. She drew Cerise more tightly against her and whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Cerise muttered around a mouthful of veil. Now she understood why her parents had come: Nina was visiting. None of them had seen Nina since last spring, when she married a wealthy fourth-born Calatris gentleman and moved away to live on his estate.

“How long are you here?” Cerise asked.

“Long enough to visit you one more time before I leave.” Nina stood back. “Now let me look at you.”

“No, let me look at you .” Cerise reached for her sister’s veil. When Nina stiffened, Cerise glanced over her shoulder to ensure their family was alone. “No one will see.”

“All right.” Nina sighed. “But only for a moment.”

Bouncing in anticipation, Cerise lifted the veil from her sister’s head—and then promptly forgot how to breathe. Her blood refused to flow. Words lay dormant on her tongue. All she could do was gaze in wonder at the flawless contours of her sister’s face because Nina was that stunning. She always had been. Nina had inherited their father’s chestnut hair and emerald eyes, but she wore them in a way that made it impossible not to stare. No one could turn away from Nina, and no one could resist her.

That was her firstborn curse.

Not that destructive beauty seemed like much of an affliction. It was also rumored that firstborn Solons were unlucky in love, though couldn’t the same be said of most people? Either way, Nina claimed that her appearance caused nothing but trouble, but the Solon allure was certainly preferable to the Petros bloodlust or the Calatris delirium. Firstborns in those families would eagerly trade places with Nina. And then there was the Mortara curse. Theirs was truly chilling.

“That’s enough.” Nina let the veil fall back into place.

Cerise protested, causing their mother to intervene.

“Come and sit down, both of you. The Reverend Mother will be here soon.”

As if on cue, the noise of swishing robes approached, and the Reverend Mother glided into the room wearing the polite smile she reserved for nobility. As High Seer, she outranked Cerise’s father, but noble families had deep pockets, and the temple couldn’t thrive on taxes alone.

“Welcome,” the Reverend Mother said. “May Shiera’s light shine upon you.”

Everyone dipped their heads, chanting in response, “And may her wrathful eye look away.”

Cerise sat in between her parents on the divan while Nina took the chair opposite the Reverend Mother. When everyone had settled, Cerise waited to hear the usual report regarding her progress or lack thereof. But as the Reverend Mother opened her mouth to speak, she gave a grunt of pain instead. Her posture slouched, both hands falling onto her lap as her head lolled forward.

Cerise extended her arms in front of her parents. “Don’t touch her,” she warned. “You’ll break the trance.”

“This is no ordinary trance,” Nina whispered, watching the High Seer begin to tremble.

Nina was right. Any force powerful enough to drain the Reverend Mother had to be a revelation, an incredibly rare gift. Cerise had lived at the temple since birth, and she had only witnessed the phenomenon twice. The process was more delicate than a soap bubble—one errant move and the spiritual connection would pop.

The Reverend Mother drew a raspy breath and spoke in a guttural voice that raised the hairs on Cerise’s arms. “As above, so below. The flame you seek to dampen will consume you.”

As Cerise leaned forward, eager to hear more, her mother gripped her hand and squeezed it hard enough to grind her bones. Cerise wrenched her hand free. Glancing at her parents, she noticed they had paled. A revelation was a frightening thing to watch, especially for the first time.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered.

As abruptly as the trance had begun, it ended. The Reverend Mother snapped to attention in her chair, her chest heaving and her eyes wide with an emotion Cerise didn’t know how to read. The Reverend Mother had always been so perfectly composed that any display of feeling on her face seemed foreign.

“Your Grace,” Cerise said. “Are you all right? Do you want me to fetch a healer?”

The Reverend Mother peered back at her in an odd way, moving her gaze over Cerise’s features deliberately, like an artist trying to memorize a vanishing subject.

“Your Grace?” Cerise repeated.

“Come,” the Reverend Mother commanded, waving Cerise toward the exit. The Reverend Mother stood from her chair and told the others, “Please stay here and enjoy your refreshments. Cerise and I will return momentarily.”

Her parents traded a look of confusion but said nothing.

After Cerise followed the Reverend Mother out of the garden room and into the adjoining atrium, she lowered her voice and asked again, “Your Grace? Are you well?”

“Oh, do be quiet,” she dismissed. “I need to think.”

Cerise pressed her lips together. She should have fetched a healer without asking for permission. If she summoned one now, she would be guilty of disobedience and thus barred from the supper hall.

“Listen to me,” the Reverend Mother said. “I have an opportunity for you.”

At that, Cerise inclined her head. She had only received orders until now, never opportunities.

“You may remain here with me at the temple,” the Reverend Mother said. “But I do not believe this is your place. Today I learned that my oldest and most trusted servant has died. I believe your purpose is to replace her as the temple emissary to His Majesty Kian Hannibal Mortara.”

“The Half King?” Cerise blurted. At once, her cheeks heated. She shouldn’t have called him by such a vulgar nickname. “I mean, the king?”

“Is there another?” quipped the Reverend Mother.

No, there wasn’t. That was why the Allied Realm sat on the brink of war. The king was the last surviving member of the royal line, and all priests were bound in service to him. But he was a firstborn noble and carried his bloodline’s curse. Every night at sunset, he turned to shadow. Every dawn made him whole again. Eventually he would lose his daylight hours as well, until he vanished forever, like all of the Mortara firstborns who had come before him. When that happened, the Allied Realm would be without a ruler for the first time in recorded history.

“But why me?” Cerise asked. “I don’t understand.” She flinched as she said it, waiting for the inevitable rebuke.

But it didn’t come. For the first time in nineteen years, the Reverend Mother looked torn, as though she were fighting an invisible battle inside her mind. Her indecisiveness scared Cerise more than the woman’s temper ever had.

Finally, the Reverend Mother admitted in a quiet voice, “I have Seen more than the death of the king’s emissary. I have foreseen a possible end to the curses.”

Cerise gasped. “That’s a miracle, Your Grace!”

“No, it is not,” the Reverend Mother snapped. She glanced around as if to ensure no one was listening. “Not yet. That’s why we must be discreet. The path for this outcome is narrow—more narrow than a strand of hair. To break the curses, the goddess must be appeased through tests and trials and sacrifices.”

“ As above, so below ,” Cerise repeated. “ The flame you seek to dampen will consume you . Is that what you meant by the flame? Is it one of the trials?”

“I do not know.” The Reverend Mother exhaled heavily through her nose. “I could not See any of it clearly. The details of this future are clouded because its path is entwined with yours.”

Cerise felt her eyes go wide. “Mine?”

“Yes. And now more than ever, you confound me.”

“But…” Cerise shook her head. None of this made sense. Had she somehow muddied the Reverend Mother’s revelation? Even if she was a complete failure as an oracle, surely she didn’t have the power to affect holy visions.

Did she?

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

The Reverend Mother arched an eyebrow. “You tell me, Cerise. Have you?”

“No, Your Grace,” she promised, though that wasn’t entirely true.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” the Reverend Mother said. “The goddess has allowed me to See precisely one clear vision of you.”

Cerise perked up.

“In my vision,” the Reverend Mother whispered, “you were seated at a desk in the palace, studying the notes and the journal entries left behind for you by the former emissary. You were learning her role—quite dutifully, I might add.”

Cerise waited to hear more, but apparently, that was the end of it. She tried her best to hide her disappointment. She had hoped the vision would reveal something exciting, or at the very least help her understand why this “narrow path” intersected with hers.

“Is that all I’m meant to do, Your Grace?” she asked. “Is that my only role in breaking the curses? Being an emissary?”

“Is that all ?” the Reverend Mother repeated, leveling her with a glare. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Oh, no . She’d said the wrong thing. Again.

“Have you forgotten your lessons?” the Reverend Mother went on. “Every element of a path—down to a singular insect—is critical to its outcome. We may not understand the insect’s role until the future comes to pass. A hornet might sting a beast and spur the animal into a hunter’s range, providing nourishment, sustaining the journey of dozens of men who might have otherwise starved. Your duties as emissary may lead you to uncover a critical detail, make a new ally, or inspire a discovery that results in breaking the curses. Whatever your role may be, it is no more—and no less—important than that of the hornet. So how dare you ask me is that all ?”

The fire of ten suns blazed in Cerise’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean it like—”

“Oh, save your excuses. You infuriate me.”

The last thing Cerise wanted to do was ask another question. But there was no alternative. She raised her hand like a youngling seeking permission to visit the privy…and hated herself for it. If she only had the Sight, she would know the answers.

“Please, Your Grace,” she said.

“What is it now?”

“May I ask what I would be expected to do as emissary?”

The Reverend Mother nodded. “Nothing beyond your scope. Your duties will include attending meetings with the king, advising him on matters of faith, and representing your goddess properly by conducting yourself as a lady of the temple.”

That didn’t help to clarify the role. Cerise couldn’t visualize any of her proposed duties except for the last one. She knew how to behave like a lady, at least most of the time.

“So?” the Reverend Mother asked. “Do you accept?”

Cerise pushed down the fear that had risen in her chest. She couldn’t possibly say no , not if there was a chance, however slim, that her role at court could end a thousand years of suffering. She had no idea how to be an emissary, but her predecessor had left behind notes and journal entries to guide her. That was a start.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said.

“Good. There is one other thing.” The Reverend Mother leaned closer. “In my vision, I sensed enemies of the goddess—nameless, faceless men who serve false idols. It may not be easy to tell them apart, so be careful who you trust. And even within…” She cut off, seeming to consider her words.

“Even within…?” Cerise prompted.

“Even within our own Order,” she whispered, her voice barely discernible, “there are overzealous servants of the goddess who believe that suffering is the only path to atonement. They may not want the suffering to end for the noble houses. The vision was fractured, incomplete. I could not discern what the goddess’s will is in this, only that there is a chance. We must protect this fragile thing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Cerise didn’t need the Sight to know exactly what kind of priest the Reverend Mother was describing. Most priests were calm and gentle. Then there were others—men with sharp, cold gazes who seemed to enjoy nothing more than catching a novice breaking a rule. She already did her best to avoid those men. And until the will of the goddess was clear, it was her sacred duty to protect the vision, much like a rabbit kit in her palm.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Keep the revelation to yourself,” the Reverend Mother said, “until you know who your allies are.”

“Yes, Your Grace. When do I leave?”

“At once. I will order a carriage to take you to the harbor. The journey to Mortara will last several days, and there’s not a moment to waste. Go and say goodbye to your family. I’ll fetch a team of servants to help you pack.”

At once? Cerise reeled. This was happening too quickly.

In a daze, she returned to the garden room to share the news with her family. She barely registered what she told them. When she had finished speaking, no one replied. Her parents sat frozen with their lips parted. Nina’s expression was hidden by her veil, but she had gone unnaturally still, too. Cerise understood their shock—she felt it herself—but she had expected a hint of excitement from her family, or at least pride in her sudden rise in station.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” she said. “But to serve at court is a great honor.”

Her mother blinked as if waking from a dream. “Oh, my dear, of course you deserve this honor and a thousand more. The king would be lucky to have you. We’re just…”

“Concerned,” Father finished.

“That’s right,” Mama said. “The temple is the safest place for you.”

“For anyone ,” he interjected.

“Yes, for anyone,” Mama agreed. “And it’s close enough for us to visit you.”

“The palace is too far for us to travel,” Father said. “You should stay here.”

Cerise shook her head. The time for making choices was over. “I’m supposed to say goodbye. The Reverend Mother told me I leave right away.”

There was a collective silence, followed by an exchange of loaded glances. Then Mama forced a smile and patted the cushion beside her. Cerise sat down in between her parents, and Mama retrieved an object from her silk satchel.

“Take this.” Mama pressed a smooth, flat disc into Cerise’s palm. “Father has the other one. You can use it to talk to us while you’re away.”

Cerise glanced at the object and found it was a heartrending mirror, named for its use by parted lovers to communicate in secret. She had never owned one before, but she knew how it worked. Holding up the mirror, she saw the tan lining of Father’s pocket. His fingers became visible, and then his face as he pulled out the mirror and delivered a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You were never allowed to have one of these before,” he said into the glass. “But now that you won’t live in the temple…”

Cerise didn’t hear anything beyond the words you won’t live in the temple . She couldn’t conceive of such a thing. It would be easier to imagine wearing someone else’s skin. She had never left the temple grounds, except for trips to the market. Now she would leave for an entirely new land. Part of her life was ending, and she hadn’t even Seen it coming.

Moisture blurred her vision.

“None of that,” commanded Nina, who had stayed silent for so long that Cerise had nearly forgotten she was there. “Mama? Father? May I say goodbye to Cerise in private?”

Their parents nodded and strode out to the atrium.

“Listen to me, because we don’t have much time,” Nina said as she sat beside Cerise on the divan. Reaching beneath the neckline of her dress, she retrieved a golden chain, which she pulled over her veil until it was free. The chain bore a misshapen, tarnished link that looked like it might once have been a ring. “I want you to wear this for protection.”

Cerise took the chain and inspected its battered pendant. She had little experience with enchanted relics, but nothing about this one seemed particularly special. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because some magic is bound by secrets. Now put it on.”

“But how does it work?”

“Never mind that.” Impatiently, Nina looped the chain around Cerise’s neck, then shoved a hand down the front of her temple dress and proceeded to stuff the ugly pendant between her breasts.

“Nina!” Cerise batted away her sister’s hands.

“Bloody crows, Cerise. We have the same body parts.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you touching mine!”

“Fine.” Nina held up her hands. “Just promise you’ll never take it off.”

“Not even to bathe?”

“Not even then. And don’t let anyone see it—not the king, not his priests, not the Reverend Mother—no one.”

“What about Mama and Father?”

Nina flipped back her veil and showed her face. That was how Cerise knew her sister was serious. “No one. Promise me.”

Lost in the haze of Nina’s beauty, Cerise heard herself say, “I promise.”

Nina lowered her veil at the precise moment the Reverend Mother reentered the room. “Come, Cerise,” she ordered. “Your carriage is here.”

“Already?” Cerise glanced in the direction of her bedroom. Surely she owned more possessions than a servant could have packed by now.

“It’s done. Now come, girl. Don’t make me tell you again.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As Cerise made her way out of the garden room and noticed the luggage waiting for her on the other side, a thought occurred to her. She wondered what type of clothing the servants had packed for her. Would she continue to wear the gown of an oracle in training? Would she change into the robes of a novice Seer? Or would the king expect her to dress for court in the same silk finery that Mama and Nina wore? None of those roles fit. Cerise wasn’t an oracle—at least she didn’t think so—and her status as a second-born meant she belonged in service to the goddess, not to the world of men.

What was she now?

She wanted to ask, but she had already tested the Reverend Mother’s patience too much to broach a topic as frivolous as clothing. So she remained silent and exchanged goodbye kisses with her family. After they left, the Reverend Mother settled a hand on Cerise’s shoulder and said her own goodbye.

“This is where our paths diverge, my girl. I will miss you, even though you confounded me to the end of my wits.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back someday, Your Grace.”

The Reverend Mother shook her head. “I do not know where your path ends, but you will never return to this temple.”

Cerise chose not to point out all the times the Reverend Mother had been wrong about her path. The future could change. She had to believe it was possible to come home to her temple. Any other outcome was too frightening to consider.

“Remember, my girl, calm and compassion will guide you. Do not be afraid. Keep the vision alive, even if it means keeping it to yourself.” The Reverend Mother turned her eyes to the animated murals on the ceiling. “The goddess has plans for you, Cerise.”

When Cerise looked up, her gaze found the wrathful side of Shiera’s face—one eye blazing, half an upper lip hitched above a lethal incisor. A chill skittered down her spine. She had no doubt the goddess had redirected her path.

But which side had plotted the course?