Chapter One
BLOOD DRIPS FROM THE end of my mother’s finger. One. Two. Three. Red drops bloom on the surface of the water, and she sets her athame on the table beside the bowl.
“This will protect you on your journey.” She dips her finger into the potion and mixes her blood into the water.
“I don’t want to go,” I reply. “My place is here.”
Mother gives me a stern look. “Auradale no longer needs you. Your brother and I have everything under control, and the time has come to meet the terms of your betrothal.”
I stare back at her. She is Queen, and I should not question her. But if given the choice, I would not leave. I wish she would be my mother for a moment, instead of Queen, and give me a say in the matter.
“I still don’t want to go.”
“There are many things we must do that we do not want to, Aria.” Mother turns back to the bowl and looks into the potion.
Not only is she Queen of Auradale, she is a highly skilled witch, able to cast spells and brew potions I would have no hope of accomplishing. If I had not been born with the ability to control the air, I would have no magical power at all.
“How is sending me away from my home a good thing?” I ask. “I’m better off here where I can protect our people. I want to remain loyal to them. Would that not be best?”
“You are not smart enough to know what’s good for you or for our people,” Mother replies. “That’s my job.”
I hesitate, because even though I know I seem like I’m off with the fairies sometimes, I’m not really. Over the years, it has become far easier to play the part of Silly Little Princess than to have an opinion about things.
Until now.
“I’m smart enough to know I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met,” I finally say.
“You were betrothed at birth. You will go. And you will marry Prince Bryson.” Mother dips her finger into the potion again. “The safety and happiness of our kingdoms depends on this alliance.”
“What about my safety and happiness?” I cross my arms in a huff.
Wind whips around the room, ruffling the curtains and my mother’s gown as it rushes past. Her hair blows back from her face.
She stares at me with pursed lips. “Aria, behave yourself.”
“Sorry. I’m a little flustered.”
Mother sighs. “Your elemental magic is strong. Aligning with Rivergate is the best course of action.”
“Marrying me off still doesn’t account for my happiness,” I mumble.
“Enough. No more complaining.” Mother studies my face. “Ah, this will do.” She plucks a pin from my hair and drops it into the potion. “Joceline,” she calls to my maidservant.
I glance to the other side of my chambers where Joceline sits at a small desk, working needlepoint.
She quickly sets her work down, then stands with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes facing the floor. “Yes, Queen Almyra.”
Joceline is beautiful, so much so she could have been a princess in a past life with her golden hair and alabaster complexion dusted with just the right number of freckles. I often tell her not to bow her head so much. She should wear her beauty with pride, even though it will never get her past the station of lady-in-waiting when I’m Queen.
“Have you finished the handkerchief yet?” Mother asks.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Joceline curtseys, turns to the table, then gathers a folded piece of cloth in her hands. She brings it to where I stand with Mother and curtseys again before presenting it to her.
The Queen takes the handkerchief and inspects the needlework. “Lovely, Joceline. It’s perfect.”
Joceline backs away and busies herself with straightening my chambers, even though she has already done so. I never like it when Mother is here for extended periods of time. She makes Joceline nervous, and I miss her usually carefree and chatty manner.
Mother lays the handkerchief on the table beside the bowl, takes the hairpin out of the potion, then wraps it up, folding the cloth neatly. She waves her hand over the small parcel, mumbling words under her breath. She dips her fingertips into the liquid, then sprinkles the droplets onto the cloth.
“There.” She picks the parcel up and unwraps the hairpin. “Make sure you wear this at all times.” She turns to me and slips the pin back into my locks. “And keep the handkerchief on you as well.” She hands it to me.
I fold the small piece of fabric and tuck it into my corset. Mother holds my stare, and I press my lips together. I want to protest again about leaving, but anything I say will fall on deaf ears. She has made up her mind, and I must do as the Queen says.
Mother turns to Joceline. “I trust the carriage is ready?”
Joceline curtseys. “Yes, Queen Almyra. We’ve loaded Aria’s glory box, with her dowry tucked away safely inside.”
“And the horse?”
“Falada isn’t happy about leaving either,” I say. “He’s old for a horse. His legs hurt.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Mother says. “He’s a fairy horse. His lifespan is hundreds of times that of a normal steed.”
I scowl. “He’s not pulling the carriage. I won’t allow it. If he’s being uprooted as well, I’ll at least give him that courtesy.”
Mother closes her eyes longer than a blink, then opens them and stares down her nose at me. It’s the expression she uses when she’s trying to stop herself from yelling. I call it her composure pose.
“You don’t have to take him,” she finally says.
“The only way he’s not going is if I stay here.”
“We have two of the other horses ready to pull the carriage,” Joceline says. “Falada can walk behind us.”
“Very well. But you’re to give him strict instructions to stay out of trouble,” Mother says. “No mischief.”
“I plan to ride him. And I’ll make sure he stays in line, Mother.” I smile sweetly. “He doesn’t get up to as many tricks as he used to.”
The Queen takes a long, deep breath. She and Falada have never seen eye to eye. He was a gift from my father when I was little, and the fairy horse has been somewhat of a thorn in Mother’s side ever since. But she doesn’t know how to handle him or how to take his sense of humour.
“I’ll leave you to finish dressing.” Mother sweeps towards the door and opens it, stepping into the corridor. “I’ll see you in the courtyard.” She leaves without looking back.
She will probably do the same when we set out on the road. As much as I love her, we have never had a strong connection. I was close with my father, and when he died two years ago, it’s as though his death drove Mother and me farther apart. He was our glue, and now that he’s gone, there’s not much left to hold us together.
“I’ll finish lacing you,” Joceline says, coming to my side.
I sigh. “Not too tight. I want to be able to breathe.”
She offers me a small smile, then sets to work adjusting the laces on my corset before helping me don my travelling cloak and boots.
“I suppose I’m really doing this.” I walk to the door with Joceline.