His breathing settles. Though his eyes are dark, determination has hardened them. The smile he flashes is nearly enough to melt me to the floor, warm and rich and brilliant. “Then if that’s what you decide to do, let’s not forget that I’m a bachelor, too. And I’m very, very eligible.”
As the shock of his words settles in, I find I can barely move my lips, let alone form words. Sweat coats my palms, and I wipe them by pretending to smooth out my dress. My mouth is dry and my cheeks hot and flustered. The last thing I want is for him to notice, though the attempt is useless. This boy can feel my very soul.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I turn away before my thundering heart can betray me to him and the entire kingdom. “I have to prepare for this evening.”
The last thing I see from Bastian is that he bows his head. There’s a smirk in his voice as he calls out, “You won’t be able to ignore me forever, Princess.”
But until I can sort out these emotions roiling within me, I’m sure as stars going to try.
CHAPTER FIVE
My boots sink into blood-red sand as Casem and I lead the advisers to the prison beneath the cast of a silver moon. Only two have showed up—Lord Garrison and Lord Freebourne. For the others, I’m sure the grotesque rumors of my magic have outweighed their curiosity.
Growing up, Father and I journeyed into these prisons once every year for a single purpose—to rid Visidia of its most dangerous criminals, by using our magic to execute them. Back then I’d thought I was protecting Visidia with my magic, as my kingdom still wrongly believes. The soul magic that Father and I practiced was corrupt and grotesque, but until this past summer I didn’t know any better. Our magic is the result of a curse on our bloodline to punish my ancestor Cato, who originally tricked everyone into believing they could only practice one magic for their protection.
Once I break both the Montara curse and my curse to Bastian, my soul magic should return to the way it was always intended to be used—as something peaceful and protective that allows its users to read souls and the intent of them. And though I’m excited to get to know that version of my magic, I can’t help but acknowledge the sliver of fear.
Grotesque as my magic may have been, I’d always believed I was using it to protect others. And for that reason, I grew to love it.
“Are you feeling okay about this?” It’s Casem’s whisper that breaks our silence, pulling me from my thoughts. This isn’t the time to feel mournful.
“Now is as good a time as any,” I tell him. “Let’s get this over with.”
I guide the others up a steep cliffside and deep into a thicket of rainbow eucalyptus, inwardly pleased by Lord Garrison’s huffing and stumbling. Unlike him, I need nothing more than starlight to guide me through this island I know so well. This island that has etched itself inside my soul. In my lungs. In the salt that burns the cracked skin of my palms. I could close my eyes and still lead the others through Arida without missing a step.
Built like a cavern into the cliffside, the prison’s exit is guarded by three skilled soldiers—two Valukans with an affinity toward earth and air, and a Curmanan with mind magic, skilled with levitation. As they step aside to let us through, even more guards wait within the prison.
Typically, Father would send them away for our executions. But whether it’s because I’m new to doing this on my own or because they’re suspicious of why I’ve avoided the prisons for so long, several guards tail us from a distance, as if expecting me to give the command for them to leave at any moment. But it’s good that the guards are here. The more people who witness this, the better.
Sweat beads my temples as we journey through the dank tunnels, taking the musty dirt path that leads to the section of the prison that hosts the worst of the criminals. As we arrive, nerves seize my chest as I peer into the tiny window carved into an iron door.
A willowy, blond-haired woman glares back at me. Her skin is pale and eyes hollow; on her neck is the familiar black tattoo of an X—the mark of someone charged and tried for premeditated murder. Her hands are bound tightly before her, covered with a thick burlap sack. Every inch of her skin is covered with cloth, and on her feet are irremovable metal boots that tell me she’s a Valukan with an affinity toward earth. Without being able to connect her body with the earth through touch, her ability to control the element is nonexistent.
There are others behind her—five total, bound by chains to the wall. All of whom are to be executed tonight.
I hold my position outside the cell as the guard opens the door. Curiosity is ablaze within all the guards’ eyes. The majority of them stand to the side as I enter, arms folded behind them as they watch with hawklike focus. The advisers stand with them, and Lord Garrison watches expectantly as the woman’s gags are torn from her.
“I was beginning to think you’d never show up.” She keeps her voice playful even when her eyes flit this way and that, searching for the nearest exit. With as many guards as there are patrolling the prison, it’d be pointless for her to run. But that hasn’t stopped prisoners from trying.
I close the remaining space between her and pluck a hair from her scalp. When she flinches away from my touch, I see the mark I’m looking for. On her bound hands, just above the edge of the burlap that’s meant to be covering all of her, is a faint lilac tattoo on her inner forearm—two skeletal fish forming crossbones beneath a skull. It’s tiny, nearly impossible to see, but it gives me all the courage I need to press on. Clutching the hair in my fist, I say a silent prayer that this will work.
“I need fire,” I tell the closest guard.
Soul magic is based upon equivalent exchange; if I want to take a bone from someone, I must offer a bone and something of their person—usually a hair. If I want their tooth, then I offer a tooth in return. And if I want to kill them, I must use their blood.
However, there’s no one way to use soul magic; everyone who has ever wielded it has done so in a unique way. My father used water for drowning, my aunt swallows the bones and uses the acid in her stomach to destroy them. I use fire to burn the blood and bones of my victims.
Likely anticipating my request, a Valukan guard obliges by drawing a powerful breath from her gut. When she breathes out again it’s with an extended palm. In it, a tiny flame flickers and stretches to life, building each time the Valukan exhales. She sets the flames upon a small pit built into the cell, created for exactly this purpose, and it flares brightly. I open my palm and dangle the hair above it.
“What’s your name?”
The prisoner’s easy demeanor falters. Her expression becomes tart as she attempts to rise to her feet, but the heavy boots trip her, and there’s nowhere for her to go. Only bound prisoners wait behind her, and a handful of Visidia’s strongest magic wielders before her.
“Don’t try it,” I warn as her eyes flick toward the single exit. “I’ll ask you one more time—what’s your name?” I reach for the satchel on my hip, relishing the way my skin buzzes against the burnished leather, missing having a reason to reach for it. From it, I draw a single tooth and wind the prisoner’s hair around it.
For me, teeth are the most humane way I know to get the amount of blood I need to end a person’s life. While uncomfortable, it’s fairly painless.