Bloodleaf (Bloodleaf 1)

“Things have changed since then, I’m afraid. Now she can’t wait to see me off and away.”

“And who can blame me?” Mother scowled. “I’ve asked Simon to be your escort into Achleva. He knows the best route for travel. He will take you across the wall and—?finally—?to Valentin’s side.”

At the mention of my future husband’s name, I lowered my eyes. About Valentin I knew precious little outside of the handful of stilted, stuffy letters we were forced to exchange when we were still children.

Simon said, “You’re nervous about it, aren’t you? The marriage.”

The questions came out of my mouth in a torrent. “Is he really sick? Bedridden and half-blind? Did his mother lose her mind trying to care for him?” I tried to reel the words back in. “No, no, I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive.”

If the bluntness of my questions ruffled him, it didn’t show. “I know the prince very well,” he said carefully. “I’ve known him his whole life. I hold him in high regard, the same as if he were my own son. Valentin has not had an easy life, to be sure. But he’s an honorable, determined person. His infirmities are hardly noticeable when compared with the scope of his character. He will make a good husband for you, and someday a good king.”

“Then he is not ill? Not mad like his mother?”

A shadow crossed his expression. “My sister had a difficult life and she left us too soon, but she wasn’t mad. Let me assure you, her son is a worthy soul. And these anxieties you have . . . don’t be surprised to find that he shares them. It may be that you have more in common than you think.”

My doubts were not assuaged. “Yes, of course. I can only imagine what they say in Achleva about me.”

“They hardly know anything about you except your name and that you will be their queen.”

“They don’t think that I’m a witch?”

“A witch?” His face blanched. “Your Renaltan superstition . . . claiming to worship the Empyrea and yet damning anyone with gifts that could only ever have been given by that Divine Spirit.”

“‘The arcane, polluted power of witches, who use animalistic rituals and blood sacrifice to commune with the dead, is in direct conflict with the Divine Light of the Empyrea,’” I recited.

Simon gazed at me for a long moment. “That came straight from a page of your Founder’s Book of Commands, didn’t it?”

“It’s the truth.” Even as I said it, I hoped I was wrong. I’d sullied my hands with enough blood and magic that if it were true, I was already certain to be damned.

He took a seat beside me and leaned forward in earnestness. “No. No, the truth is that there is power in our world and it has many forms and many faces but no designation of good or evil outside of the intent of the person wielding it. Look at me. Do I look evil to you? Because I am a practitioner of blood magic.”

My eyes darted to his palm, where it was easy to see the scars crisscrossing it.

“Enough of this,” Mother said. “We haven’t time for lessons or arguments right now. Thank you for coming, Simon. I know you must be confused by this furtive meeting when you deserve a royal welcome, but I saw a rare window of opportunity and hoped we could use it to make good on the offer you extended us all those years ago. Do you know of what I speak?”

“I remember the offer.” Simon was grave. “And it still stands. But things have changed quite a lot in seventeen years, Majesty. I was younger and stronger. As were you. And your husband was still alive. We need three willing participants. Myself and two more.”

“I would be one, and Onal has agreed to be the other.”

“Agreed to what?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother wants me to work a spell on your behalf,” Simon said, “One that, while not guaranteeing your safety, would ensure you a better chance of long-term survival.”

“We have an hour,” Mother said. “Is that enough time?”

“It should be.”

“You can’t be serious. Spellcasting? Even just talking about it is dangerous,” I said. “If word got out, it could get you—?all of you—?killed. The Tribunal—?”

“Doesn’t know.” Onal lifted her chin to peer at me from beneath her spectacles. “Nobody knows about this except the people in this room. Of all of us, you should be the last to take issue with the use of a little witchcraft.”

I chewed my lips. Everything I’d ever done, I’d done alone. The consequences if I were caught would be mine and only mine. “It isn’t worth it,” I said. “Not for one person.” Not for me.

“I need a piece of cloth,” Simon said. “Something that is tied to Aurelia. Do you have a kerchief, my lady? A scarf??”

“Can you use this?” Mother went to her desk and pulled out a square of silk, bordered on one side with a silver, embroidered vine. It was fabric from the cuff of my wedding dress. With a guilty pang, I realized she must have taken it apart after the hundredth time I’d told her I hated it.

“That will do.” He spread the fabric out in front of him and slowly began tracing a pattern across it with his finger.