Past the long stretch of gardens and the labyrinth of houses beyond the palace wall, tall mountains loom in the distance, the same mountains where the Great Oracle is rumored to live. I’ve always hated those mountains, always felt like she must be up there watching us, wondering why we haven’t lived up to her prophecy—of making Lagonia prosper.
An early spring snow still rests on the highest peaks, but down here, temperate air drifts in from the sea on the other side of the palace. I look away from the mountains and breathe in the salty scent to calm my mind.
We walk down the steps toward the maze of hedges. Morning light casts shadows on the pathways, which lead to several small courtyards containing fountains and benches. In between these courtyards are corridors lined with newly blooming roses that lazily bob their heads as morning dew drips off them.
My father’s prized birds chirp in cages hidden throughout the garden. For a few moments, that’s the only sound, as Duke Wystlinos is yet to speak.
I prefer the silence. When my first suitor arrived, I’d foolishly harbored hope that I’d finally have someone to talk to. But, like the others after him, all he’d wanted to discuss was my father’s gold. So rather than hope for the best, I mull over any number of topics I could bring up to scare Wystlinos away. My father’s curse. My curse. The gold. The empty treasury. But I don’t—not yet. He’ll inevitably ask about each subject on his own sooner or later, and that way, when Uncle Pheus asks, I can pretend I tried to give this suitor a chance.
“Your uncle told me you like to read books on sailing,” Duke Wystlinos ventures.
This is a new tactic. “Yes.”
I answered. That counts as trying, right?
“I’ve sailed extensively,” he replies. “Is there any place that particularly interests you?”
“Jipper,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. But it doesn’t matter. In fact, mentioning a fantasy island that no one has ever set eyes on and is rumored to move around the sea might even help.
When I’d asked my second suitor, the merchant’s son, about Jipper, he rushed off to respond to the imagined call of his father. Apparently, mentioning an island most of the world doesn’t believe exists has that effect, so I steel myself for the duke’s response.
He doesn’t laugh or run away. He just looks at me, smiling slightly. “To my knowledge, no man has ever set foot on Jipper.”
I almost sigh. A typical diplomatic answer. Neither an agreement nor a disagreement that might upset the other party, just a simple restating of a fact. He must’ve studied under my tutors after they abandoned me.
It’s probably better for everyone if I end this now. I reach for the edge of my veil.
“But I wouldn’t mind being the first,” Duke Wystlinos continues.
My hand stops. “Really?” I pull back on his arm and study his face, waiting for a mocking tone that simply isn’t there.
His gray eyes are intense and focused. “Just because something’s rumored to be enchanted doesn’t mean we should dismiss it. In fact, I think that makes it worth pursuing all the more.” He squints and stares at the sun as if he’s trying to remember something. “I think the closest I’ve ever been to where Jipper’s rumored to have been sighted is Halpen.”
“Halpen,” I groan with envy. What I wouldn’t give to see that coast. Its white cliffs are said to reflect the colors of the sunset and look prettier than any tapestry ever crafted.
Duke Wystlinos becomes more animated as he talks. “My crew and I once fought pirates off the coast of Halpen Cove.” He grabs a stick from the hedge and begins jabbing it into the foliage. “The cutthroats thought they could get the best of me, but I set them straight.” He gives the bush one final thrashing before ramming his makeshift sword into it as a deathblow.
I stare at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter. Any servants who may have seen him fighting a bush will likely think him as crazy as they do me. In some small way, that’s comforting. In fact, this could be the first time since being turned to gold that I feel like someone might understand me.
The duke looks a little embarrassed, but he’s grinning. He drops the stick back into the hedge and tugs down the sides of his coat.
“How noble of you,” I say. “Vanquishing pirates is no small feat.”
We would know. We’d been trying to get rid of the ones that took up residence during the Orfland Wars, not to mention the ones that started the war itself. Orfland ships, under the guise of seeking to destroy pirates that had targeted their choppy coastline, were allowed to sail through our territory, but they used their access to attack the Tiberian Isles—the islands that served as the resupplying port for almost everyone who crossed the Seraph Sea—claiming them as their own. From there, they used the isles as a base to start attacking other nearby locations, cutting off our merchant supply and trade routes with many of our allies. We’d known it wouldn’t be long before they came for us. They’d always wanted a closer port to the rich Seraph Sea. It had taken all our resources to drive Orfland’s ships back to their own territory and force them to accept the terms of our treaty.
But defeating Orfland didn’t mean we’d beaten the pirates, who flourished while the Royal Armada was away and we struggled—still struggle—to rebuild it. Uncle Pheus recently traveled to several of our port cities to investigate the rumored return of one particularly cruel pirate, Captain Skulls. We’d thought he’d died during the war, but no one was sure. And Captain Skulls’s obsession with collecting the skulls of his victims—the one that had earned him his name—made finding witnesses quite impossible. Thus, no one Uncle Pheus talked to could confirm if the pirate was alive or if the one we’d learned of was a copycat. We prayed it was a copycat because no one wanted to believe the alternative.
I swallow down the thought and turn my attention back to Duke Wystlinos.
He smiles at me as we pass under a canopy of hanging flowers. Long vines nod and sway amongst climbing roses above our heads.
“Well, when you’re as familiar with the sea as I am, it’s easy to take care of pirates, and I have the fastest ship on this side of the ocean.” A faraway look overtakes his face.
He doesn’t say it to impress me. His tone is the same one I used in the past whenever I told my father about all the books I was reading, which was years ago now.
“I’ve fought pirates several times,” Duke Wystlinos continues, “most recently during the Orfland Wars, when they took an important document from me. I hunted them down to get it back.” He plucks a rose from one of the nearby trellises and hands it to me. “Have you spent any time at sea?”
I twirl the rose between my gloved fingers. Its sweet perfume lingers in the air. As a child, I used to wear a rose in my hair every day, in memory of my mother. But after being transformed, I didn’t want any reminders of the garden, of what had happened there.
“No, but I would love to,” I say.
“We’ll have to make that happen, in that case,” he says, then pauses. He slides the rose from my fingertips.
As he leans forward, I’m lost in his gray eyes for a moment. There are hints of dark blue streaking through them.
His face stops mere inches from mine. His breath pulses through my veil.