The Half King

23

The hunting party returned with a mule deer slung over each of their saddles, along with a new appreciation for Blue’s predatory instincts. General Petros said that Blue had scented not only the deer but two rams that had escaped capture. Blue seemed to sense the praise. He held his head high as he proudly loped to Cerise and then dropped a lifeless jackrabbit at her feet. The dried blood around his mouth hinted that he had already consumed several rabbits of his own.

“You saved one for me?” Cerise asked. She rewarded him with a hug and a well-deserved scratch behind the ears. “Thank you, my sweet boy. You’re still my hero.”

While Blue curled up in the shade to take a nap, the rest of the group worked together to carve the sand melon, butcher the deer, and hang the thin strips of venison over a low fire to smoke. Father Padron cast a protective enchantment over the camp to block the scent of meat from carrying on the wind, and right before sunset, Cerise cast the runes. She had just read the rune’s instructions when Kian vanished into the shadows and took half of her heart with him.

At dinner, Cerise pretended to drink her usual sip of arrowroot syrup, but she had no intention of falling asleep. When she retired to her tent, she sat on her blanket pallet and waited as the hours passed, listening to the quiet chatter and the scrape of utensils, then to the rustle of canvas that told her Father Padron had returned to his tent. She waited until she could hear his soft snores before she untied her tent flaps and crept out into the night.

The moon hung in a sliver against a backdrop of stars. The evening air was cool and crisp, scented by the cook fire, which was still smoking. Cerise peered around the darkened camp and found that all but two sets of tent flaps were tied shut—hers and Nero’s.

It had to be tonight. There was no time to waste.

She signaled for Blue to stay, and then she strode around the fringes of the encampment to look for Nero. She detected a whiff of burning herbs and followed the scent until she found him sitting against a tree stump, puffing on a wooden pipe and staring beyond the protective enchantment.

With a glance at her, Nero offered his pipe and whispered, “Hoya leaf. Calming to the nerves, if the general’s drink wasn’t strong enough.” He sniffed in amusement. “Though it won’t make you drunkenly profess your love for the world.”

She sat down beside him and waved away the pipe, but then she changed her mind. Her Claiming Day seemed like it had lasted for a year. And yet time was still running out, even faster now that they had to go back to the palace to break the curse. If her nerves had ever needed calming, it was tonight. She sucked in a mouthful of smoke and let it roll over her tongue. It tasted sweet, but it burned her lungs when she inhaled.

She coughed, her eyes watering as she returned the pipe to Nero. She imagined what the Reverend Mother would say if the woman could see her now: sitting on the cursed ground of the blighted mountain, dressed in pants, sweat-dried dirt on her face, blood beneath her fingernails as she smoked herbs with a heretic.

Most unladylike.

“Why are you awake?” Nero asked. “Is it bad dreams? My aunt taught me how to interpret dreams…or she tried. I’m not very good at it.”

Cerise shook her head. “I want to talk to you about something. But first, can we go inside the mountain like we did before?” She darted a glance at Father Padron’s tent. “Time passes slower there. We can stay gone for as long as we want, and no one will hear us.”

“The Below,” Nero said. He chewed his pipe in thought. “Yes, there’s a way inside near here. But if someone wakes up and finds us both gone… together in the dark?” He slanted her a look. “What would your Half King think about that?”

Cerise resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nero almost sounded jealous. “Considering we’ll only be gone for a few moments, the king would probably think I’m disappointed.”

Nero tried to stop from smiling, but a smoky laugh broke free. “Then let’s not get caught. No man wants a reputation for that.”

He stood up, offering his hand, and then he pulled her to standing as easily as the wind lifting a feather. He set off with his pipe tucked between his teeth and led the way out of the protective barrier. They continued for a few more paces to a cluster of trees that half concealed a stone wall. Unlike other slabs of stone, this one bore a streak of exposed mineral that sparkled in the moonlight. Anyone else might mistake it for ordinary crystal, but Cerise recognized the distinct shimmer of the Below.

Nero held aside a branch for her, jutting his pipe at the stone as if to say, You know what to do . She waited for him to explain. It didn’t bode well for his teaching skills that he expected her to know something she’d only experienced one time.

“You’re umbra sangi ,” he reminded her. “You can do this on your own.”

“But how?”

“Your blood is the key.”

“How much blood?”

“A few drops,” he said. “A few more if you bring someone with you.”

She thought back to the first day of the journey, when he had transferred her out of the cave and into the secret cavern. She remembered him cutting his palm and pressing it to the wall as he grabbed her by the wrist. She also remembered the sick sensation of falling afterward. This time, she would be prepared for that.

“One other thing,” Nero added. “You have to envision where you want to go. The Below is a vast place with many chambers and passages to explore. Do you remember where I brought you? What the cavern looked like?”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“Then take this,” he said, giving her a small dagger. “And we’ll go together.”

Cerise worked up the nerve to nick the tip of her middle finger. She returned the knife to Nero, and they joined hands. Then she imagined the cool, dim cavern where he had taken her before, picturing its glowing walls and its moss-carpeted floor, recalling the babble of water in the background and the electric scent of magic in the air. She held the sensations in her mind and pressed her finger to the stone wall. Gravity gripped her stomach, and one heartbeat later, she and Nero were standing in the cavern.

She smiled as she caught her breath. “I did it!”

Nero took another pull from his pipe. He didn’t seem impressed.

The cavern was brighter than she remembered. The walls flowed with turrets of glowing liquid that collected into a stream and followed the downward slope of the mossy floor to somewhere out of sight.

Cerise dipped a finger in the water and smoothed it against her thumb. The droplet was warm, with a slippery consistency that reminded her of the congealed chicken plasma she had once fed to Blue.

“Shiera’s blood,” Nero said.

“Hmm?”

“This is the mountaintop where she was stabbed. Her wrathful side blighted the Above, and her merciful side created the Below.”

“You mean this is her actual…”

“Blood? Yes.” Nero teasingly flicked a glowing droplet at her. “It won’t bite. It’s inside you.”

Not so long ago, she would have dismissed the words as superstitious nonsense. Now, she gazed in awe at her hands. “This is what I want to talk to you about. I think the fire in my blood lit up today.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“I received a Claiming Day gift,” she admitted. “I have magic.”

The transformation on Nero’s face put her in mind of a tight bud instantly opening to full bloom. “A woman with resha ?”

“Does resha mean magic?”

“You call it energy.”

“Then yes,” she told him. “That’s what I have.”

Nero grinned as he shook his head. “My grandfather—the man who tested you—said magic might come to you, but I didn’t believe him. I thought your gift would be different, like my aunt who reads dreams.”

“My magic is different,” she said. “I can’t disobey an order from the king. In that way, I’m like the priests. But I can leave my body in dreams. That’s my second gift. My spirit can go with the king into the shadows. So I think I have the magic of umbra sangi and the magic of priests. That means you and your grandfather were both right.”

“I can’t wait to tell him.” Eyes sparkling with excitement, Nero bent to her height. “He’ll assign someone to train you. Maybe my uncle in the city.”

“Are there umbra sangi in other lands?” she asked. “Like Calatris or Solon?”

“Of course,” Nero said. “Shiera’s descendants are spread across the world.”

“Do they always live in hiding? Or do they mingle in society?”

“I imagine both. Why?”

“I think my father is umbra sangi ,” she said. “My family won’t tell me anything about him, except that he’s dangerous. But if I can find out where he met my mother—whether it was in Solon or somewhere else—I might be able to narrow down who he is.”

Nero frowned. “He could be anyone. Many men are dangerous.”

“So I’ve learned.”

“I’ll ask my uncle,” he said. “He has contacts in other lands. We’ll talk to him about it when I take you there for training.”

“Actually…” She trailed off and gave him a hopeful look. “I want you to train me.”

“Me?” Nero touched his chest. “I’m no teacher.”

“I don’t have time to be choosy.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “Sloppy instruction is worse than none at all. You would have to unlearn everything I taught you. My uncle would flay me.”

She shook her head. “I need help now, not a fortnight from now. I already lost control once. What if I use magic in front of Father Padron? He’ll brand me a sorceress and have me executed. At least show me how to turn my magic off.”

“There is no off .”

“See how much I have to learn?”

Nero sucked an extra-long pull from his pipe as if drawing fortification for some great test of patience. After two more puffs, he nodded. “Fine. Tell me what happened when you used your energy.”

“The first time was an accident,” she said. “I was watching the sunrise this morning, and then magic came up through my body and broke the rock I was leaning against.”

Nero wrinkled his forehead, but luckily he didn’t ask for more details. The last thing she wanted to do was share the events of her sensual awakening with him.

“And the second time?” he asked.

“The second time was on purpose,” she said. “I tried to lift a sand melon out of the ground, and it exploded. After that, I had to take—”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Go back to the sand melon. How did you try?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think,” he said. “Explain your steps to me.”

“I sort of…stared at it really hard.” She balled her fists and strained in demonstration. “Then I used my mind to—”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That was your mistake. You felt tired after, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I thought it was because I killed a living thing.”

His answering chuckle made her feel like a fool. He lifted an apologetic hand to fend off a glare. “If melons had beating hearts, you would be right. It takes more energy than anything else to stop a heart. You were tired because you used your head to channel your power instead of letting it flow from here.” He tapped his chest. “That’s like walking on your hands instead of your feet.”

She massaged the joining of her ribs. If there was a hidden power within her, she didn’t feel it.

“It’s easy.” He passed her the pipe. “Easier if you relax.”

She puffed once, twice, three times. A gradual calm descended over her, unwinding muscles she hadn’t known were clenched.

“The power is there, ready and waiting for you to use it. You simply”—he exhaled—“let it out.” He took back his pipe and resumed smoking it as he continued the lesson. “Energy isn’t a muscle to be flexed.”

She had a hard time believing it was really that simple.

“Think about your temple priests,” he said. “Have you ever seen them struggle or strain when they cast enchantments?”

“No.”

“If it feels like work, you’re doing it wrong.”

“I’ve seen them struggle afterward, though,” she pointed out. She thought of Father Diaz, who had collapsed after killing a badger at the temple. And the city priest whose knees had given out after he’d calmed the angry crowd. Even Father Padron had fallen off of his horse after he’d dispatched the titan hyena pack. “If the energy is there and using it doesn’t take work, why does it make the priests weak?”

Nero nodded as if to say, Good question . He removed the waterskin from his hip and poked the tiniest of holes in it before cupping the leak in his palm. “Your magic is like this skin. The energy is there, but you can’t use it all at once. You can only draw from what’s in your cup.” He slurped the water from his hand and flashed a damp palm. “To drain the whole reserve will exhaust you.”

She pointed at the leak. “Does it drip that slowly for everyone?”

He gave a casual shrug, but his gaze faltered, and his ears reddened at the tips. “It does for me. That’s why I save my energy for important things.” He passed a hand over the leather and used his magic to mend it. “For some, it flows quickly. And for others”—he peeked up—“like your high priest, the energy is a torrent of floodwater gushing through the gaps of a broken dam.”

Cerise hugged herself. She didn’t want to talk about Father Padron. “Show me what to do. Something simple, so we don’t drain our cups.”

“Motion,” he decided, gesturing toward the water that trickled down the wall. “To generate the force to move something light uses almost no magic.”

She nodded. “I’m listening.”

“We’re going to redirect one of these streams.” He pointed at a downward rivulet, and the water changed paths right before her eyes.

“See?” he said. “Easy.”

“I don’t taste any energy.”

“That’s how little I’m using.” He braced himself, planting his feet wide apart. “You’ll notice this.”

Copper coated her tongue. She tipped back her head to watch the liquid converge into a single glowing waterfall that rippled in luminescent waves and misted her face. The effect lasted for another moment or two before the waterfall vanished and the liquid resumed a scattered dribble.

Nero stepped aside as if giving her the stage. The color in his cheeks showed how much the act had cost him. “Your turn.”

She moved closer to the wall and repeated what Nero had done, pointing to a trickle and trying to sway its path. Nothing happened. She imagined her energy as a beam of light escaping her chest and shining at the wall. When that didn’t work, she stared hard at the water. Energy filled her mouth. A charge lifted the hair on her forearms. And then the moisture in front of her boiled into steam, forcing her to stumble back from the heat.

“You cheated.” Nero pushed her forward. “Do it right this time. Turn off your thoughts and picture what you want.”

She did as he asked.

Nothing happened.

“Try exhaling,” he suggested. “And when your lungs are almost empty, imagine that the last trace of breath carries your wish.”

Shaking out her shoulders, she prepared to try again. She softened her gaze as if searching for a hidden image in the contours of the wet stone. She released a slow breath, and in the last moment, when her lungs could give no more, she envisioned several streams plaiting together like braided hair.

Something warm touched her ribs, as though she had tucked a freshly baked bun beneath her shirt. Focusing her gaze, she found with delight that she had not only succeeded but used so little energy that all she tasted was pride. She smiled, watching the water lace together in a mesmerizing dance. Nero was right. It was easy now that she understood where her energy was and how to let it out.

Giddiness overtook her. She felt like a child with a new toy. She wanted to do more.

She lifted her hands and drew all of the water into a sphere that swirled high above her head. She divided the glowing sphere into two, and then three, and then divided each of those again and again and again until the cavern ceiling resembled a starry night sky. With a sweep of her fingers, she set the stars in motion, orbiting one another. She lowered the clusters to a hundred points throughout the room so they were spinning all around her, the cosmos in motion, and she laughed with the thrill of it. As she raised her hands and face to the heavens she had created, for the first time in her life, she could understand how it felt to be a god.

It was that thought that sobered her.

She waved the water back to the wall and willed the warmth to fade from her chest. She would not— could not—forget her purpose. No matter whose blood flowed through her, she was not a goddess but a servant of one.

No false idols.

Now and always, her heart belonged to Shiera.

Brushing the moisture from her cheeks, she turned to Nero, expecting him to reward her with a smile or a nugget of praise. Instead, he fixed her with the same disbelieving stare he had worn the day his grandfather tasted her blood.

His mouth worked mutely before he asked, “Did that tire you?”

“No,” she said. “Should it have?”

He didn’t answer her, which was answer enough.

The silence between them turned thick in a painfully familiar way. Cerise had stood in the temple and looked at the other girls with the same envy that filled Nero’s eyes. She knew it well: the resentment of wanting a power she would never have. If she hadn’t tasted that bitterness for so many years, she might not have taken Nero’s hand and given it a comforting squeeze. But she did.

“You’re not as terrible a teacher as I thought,” she said.

Several moments passed, but eventually he smiled. “You’re not as slow a learner as I thought.”

“I’d like to learn more from you, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Have you had enough for one night? Do you want to go back to camp?”

“And leave you disappointed?” Something impish gleamed in his eyes. “I already told you. No man wants a reputation for that.”

…

Cerise returned to her blankets feeling cleaner than before, her hands and face washed by the blood of the goddess, her spirit polished by the joy of accomplishment. Curled on her side with Blue nestled in the bend of her knees, she fell into a blissful sleep and awoke the next morning with the taste of sweet herbs lingering on her tongue.

Eyes closed, she arched her back and reached out to stretch. When her elbow thumped against a warm, solid chest, she grinned because she knew whose it was. She couldn’t think of a better way to wake up than sandwiched between her king and her dog. Careful not to disturb Blue, she rolled onto her back and blinked at Kian. He lay facing her, his head propped up on one hand, his black waves tucked behind his ears. He gave her a smile that crinkled the skin around his thundercloud eyes.

“I love to see you happy,” he whispered. He stretched out beside her and gathered her in his arms. “Am I to assume your lessons went well?”

“Very well,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest and snuggling closer to fill the empty spaces between them. “I only wish I could show you. I learned so much from Nero. And the whole time I was practicing, I never glowed. He said the fire in my blood flashed when it came to life, and now it shouldn’t happen anymore.”

“That’s a relief.” Kian kissed the top of her head. There was love in his touch, but there was something more as well—an emotion she couldn’t read. His arms tightened harder around her as though he was afraid she might slip through them. “I missed you last night.”

“I missed you, too.”

“But our time apart gave me a chance to think.” His heartbeat thumped below her cheek. “I came to a decision, and I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it.”

She propped her chin on his chest, delivering a questioning look.

“I told you that I don’t want your obedience,” he went on. “But that’s not entirely true. There’s one command I have to give you.”

She held her breath. She didn’t like the sound of that.

“I order you,” he said in a firm voice, “to preserve your life by any means necessary. You won’t sacrifice yourself to save me.”

Reeling, she tried to process the gravity of what he’d said—what it might mean for breaking the curse. His command could restrict her in any number of ways, none of which she could predict. She didn’t know the goddess’s plan. What if Shiera meant to call her home? What if that was the price required to free Kian and Daerick and Nina’s baby? Or the price for keeping the Order off of the throne?

“Kian, you can’t,” she told him, sitting up. “Too many people are suffering. I have to be able to do whatever it takes to break the curse. I don’t know what that is, but if the goddess wants my life—”

“No,” he cut off. “She won’t have it.”

“So you would punish the world to save one person?”

He sat up and took her hand. “Sacrificing lives is part of my duty as king. More people have died in battle throughout the ages than the number who are alive today. But in war, there’s always a limit to how much you can lose before you surrender.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re my limit, Cerise. You have an uncommonly pure soul, and I don’t want to live in a world created by any deity who would demand you as a sacrifice. I would rather surrender. I would rather let the world end.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your place to decide that.”

“It is my place,” he corrected. “Your goddess made sure of it when she gave me dominion over her priests…and over her priest ess . Shiera put this power in my hands. And I command you to live.”

“Take it back.”

“I won’t.”

“At least change your wording so I have more freedom.”

“I won’t,” he repeated. He fixed her with a gaze that promised he had given this a great deal of thought and wouldn’t be swayed.

Cerise sat there for a while and stared at her lap, her fingers growing limp in his grasp. His decision would haunt them in ways neither of them expected. She sensed it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

She drew away her hand. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”