“To fight, not to die,” he shot back.
I laid a hand on his cheek. “Brom, I taught a class of little girls today. One of them was seven. You know what they did? They giggled at the idea of kissing a beast’s snout. That’s what they should be doing—giggling and playing, not picking up a shield or learning spells to kill monsters. Maybe going after this dragon is a step toward that future.”
Bromley sighed. “I just…I just don’t want it to be you. Does it have to be you?”
My heart swelled, and I threw my arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. For a moment, he was stiff, but then he melted into the hug.
Brom was more than my page, or even my best friend—he was my brother. We’d grown up together. What I felt for him was like the bond I shared with my sisters. Romantica would call it Familial Love, and though we refused to use the word “Love,” Royals believed in the bond between families quite deeply. It was this bond that had allowed us to come together and rule—knowing our bloodlines and where we came from was everything.
Even though Brom wasn’t related by blood, that didn’t stop me from treating him and caring for him like an older sister would.
“It has to be someone,” I whispered, “and I want it to be me.”
Brom leaned away. “Your severing ritual is in a few hours. Do you want me to be there?”
“No, I— It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” My shaky voice betrayed my confidence, but I gave him a smile anyway. He frowned but didn’t push further.
A few hours later, I knelt next to Kellian’s body, gripping his hand but unable to look at him. Holding on to him was like holding a marble statue—cold, lifeless, stiff.
Ulfia was with other patients, and only Master Gelloren sat with me now. No one else needed to be here. Unlike a partnership bonding ritual, a severing ritual was not something anyone wanted to witness.
Gelloren stared at Kellian’s face. The Master Mage looked two hundred years old in that moment, ancient and tired. He murmured a prayer to Myriana and Saevalla then looked to me. “Are you ready, my dear?”
I squeezed Kellian’s icy hand and brought it to my lips, whispering, “I’m sorry, my friend.”
I nodded numbly, and Master Gelloren started the spell. I couldn’t hear the words—it was like he was speaking from a great distance. But it didn’t matter what he was saying. All that mattered was that I’d failed Kellian.
Purple flames ignited around our hands. They burned just enough to make me suffer for leaving him.
Now it was my turn. To sever the bond of partnership, I had to let go of his hand. It sounded easy, but the truth was the pain was insurmountable. Beads of sweat gathered at my temples as I gritted my teeth and groaned, releasing his hand. As our hands separated, the marks on the backs of them burned away in the fire.
The back of my hand was now blank. I was partnerless once more.
The flames fizzled out, and I gasped, cradling my burning hand to my chest and rolling over onto the floor. For a few dizzying moments, I hoped that was the worst of it, but it never was. I grabbed the bucket next to me and emptied my stomach. I retched and coughed and ached all over.
Gelloren handed me a damp cloth and helped me to a bed next to Kellian’s. I buried my face deep in the pillows, the cloth cool against the back of my neck, and let my body scream in pain.
The priests and mages had theories about why the severing ritual was so painful. Some said the link forged by magic was like a physical limb that was being severed. Others said that it was just the release of magic that caused our bodies to weaken to the point of exhaustion. I had my own theory. I believed it was a punishment. It was like Myriana was punishing us for being the survivor, or not being strong enough to protect each other, or for simply…giving up.
Master Gelloren gently laid his palm on my back. “It is as the Holy Queen would have it, Princess Ivy. She can see you are meant to move forward.”
He was trying to console me, but I didn’t like the idea that Queen Myriana would let Kellian die simply because I was meant to move on. The very idea of it made me want to cry and scream and stab things.
I rolled over, away from Kellian, and stared at my blank hand. Already the pain was receding, and soon I’d have another’s mark. One I hoped to keep for much longer, if not forever.
What would Zach’s mark look like?
The Saevallan Royals had traveled all night to arrive in the morning, so they had eaten breakfast, then slept half the day, and now were back at the dining hall for supper.
While they’d slept, the castle had exploded with gossip. And all of it had to do with Prince Zachariah. Or Zach, as everyone had started calling him. Most princesses seemed smitten by him—apparently his rugged appearance and mischievous smile made him daring and…enigmatic.
It almost made me wonder if there were two Zachs. How could one person be so many different things?
After sleeping the rest of the afternoon away in the infirmary, I had managed to shake off Ulfia, who’d wanted to check me from head to toe, and headed down to supper. I sat with Tulia and Minnow, our gazes occasionally flitting to the table where Zachariah, Prince Weldan, and a few other Saevallans sat.
“So what do you think, Ivy?” Tulia asked. “Is he partner material?”
“I think he’s gorgeous.” Robin slipped onto the bench next to me, her eyes glued to Zach.
“Is your name Ivy?” I elbowed my sister, then shrugged and said, “I’ve barely talked to him, but he seems…” Our brief interaction, the way he’d smirked at me from across a plate of strawberries, came to mind. “Tricky.”
Robin, Tulia, and Minnow stared at me.
“Tricky?” Tulia raised an eyebrow.
“Just…more than what he seems. I can’t get a read on him.” There was his Romantica lineage, but I wasn’t sure if that was something I was allowed to tell others yet. And I wouldn’t add to the gossip pool.
“I agree. He’s mysterious and rather intimidating, isn’t he?” Minnow said.
“I don’t know about intimidating,” I muttered, thinking of the suit of armor incident.
“Well, I mean, he hasn’t had a princess and is still so powerful? So legendary. If that’s not intimidating, what is?”
“Exactly!” Robin leaned forward. “There’s even a story going around about a time he took down a chimera—no battle magic at all!”
Recalling Zach’s words about rumors, I frowned. “Robin, I keep telling you—”
I was interrupted by the banging of a heavy wooden door. Amias burst through the doors, a sword at his side, looking broad-shouldered and as imposing as ever. The black hair that fell into his eyes made his appearance even more striking. “Out of the way!” he roared to a few younger Royals. Amias stormed to the table next to us, where Zachariah sat calmly eating his dinner.
“Oy!” he shouted, planting his boot on the table and sneering. “You’re the legendary swordsman, are you?” The other Saevallans moved away from the table, rolling their eyes, as if this kind of thing happened all the time with Zach.
Zach didn’t look up.
“Oy. Oy! Up, you bastard.”
“Prince Amias!” I shouted, standing. “You will treat our guests with respect!”
“Respect? Ha! Don’t make me laugh, Ivy. Respect for this heretic? For this son of a Romantica hag?”
There was a collective intake of breath throughout the dining hall, and a stunned silence followed. Like I suspected, him being a Romantica had not been one of those rumors flying about. More than likely, the Saevallans hadn’t been keeping Zach’s mother a secret on purpose, but it probably wasn’t something they advocated, either. So, assuming that no Saevallan Royal had told Amias, then who had?
As all eyes locked on him, Zach simply kept chewing his tarrow-spiced duck.
“That’s right.” Amias raised his voice even louder. “The one the Council has chosen to partner with Princess Ivy Myriana, a direct heir of Queen Myriana, is a Romantica.”