[ Asterion ] Book One, Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Finley kept her arm stretched out towards the dull crystals. She could not tell whether she trembled with her own strain, whether she felt the princess’ exhaustion rattle through her, or both.

Before the princess could bring herself to call for help, the chamber doors opened. Finley and the princess’ gaze shot away from the chandelier and its traitorous crystals, and saw Rydal closing the door softly behind them.

They stood with their hands on their hips, staring up at the pair of them. Finley supposed it was quite the sight to behold: Princess Alexandria, stood on a coffee table, struggling to hold up the gardener-turned-foil swiping uselessly at the chandelier.

“Sir Mazur. What fortuitous and utterly suspicious timing. What are you doing here and how did you get past my guards?” Princess Alexandria asked.

“Told them you were expecting me,” Rydal said. “Want me to leave?”

Finley laughed. It was enough to make the princess almost drop her, but she couldn’t help it.

“No, Sir, I do not want you to leave. I want you to come here, stand on my coffee table, and take my foil off my hands,” the princess ordered, short of breath.

“Sure,” Rydal said.

They unlaced their boots, stepped out of them, and climbed onto the table. The pair of them manhandled Finley, and Finley grabbed blindly at shoulders, princess’ and knight’s alike, and more than once tugged on someone’s hair. She found herself on Rydal’s shoulders as they gripped her shins, keeping her steady. Princess Alexandria abandoned the table, crossing the room not to make her escape, but to find something to drink.

“Well, there we are. Sir Mazur is much better at this than me. Surely you can reach now, can’t you, Finley?” Princess Alexandria asked between gulps of water.

Finley desperately clung to the top of Rydal’s head. They remained steady, even with the threat of hair-pulling, and Finley promised herself that this was a dire situation, not a prime opportunity for embarrassment.

She reached up and hooked a hand around one of the chandelier’s curved arms. Trusting Rydal wouldn’t drop her, she removed her other hand from their head and snatched the first crystal from its sconce. There were five to retrieve, not including the one now in useless shards, and Rydal kept a firm grasp on her legs as Finley collected crystal after crystal, placing in her lap.

“That’s all of them,” she breathed, heart in her throat.

Rydal tilted their head, summoning the princess closer. Slowly, they began to crouch, and Princess Alexandria placed a hand on Finley’s back, keeping her steady. Finley’s thighs ached from the exertion of keeping herself balanced, and for a terrible moment, she could not work out how to swing her legs free of Rydal’s shoulders.

She gathered the crystals in her arms, but it did little to help.

She freed herself inch by inch, first standing on the table, then lowering herself to the floor. Finley held the crystals close to her chest, feeling their points through her shirt, knowing they could not explode so long as held them; terrified that they would slip from her grasp, roll across the floor, and finish their uproar of song.

“It’s alright, Finley. Breathe. Injuries were kept to a minimum,” Princess Alexandria said, gesturing to the broken glass, reflecting slivers of the room from the floor. “Now, we need only—”

But her voice melded with the music she did not hear. Behind her, the great crystal, the one so much larger than those that had gone awry in the gardens, poured its light through a crack, splitting from the centre.

Finley darted around the princess, charged towards the crystal, and tripped. Her knee and elbow collided with the floor, the crystals went scattering, but her fingers brushed the giant crystal.

Three of the chandelier crystals remained within her influence. The other two burst to shards, embedded in the walls, shattering table legs, ruining books.

 The silence that followed was interrupted only by the guards at the door, certain they’d made a fatal mistake in letting Sir Mazur into the princess’ chambers. They held their weapons out, barking orders, demanding an explanation; making things worse. They’d thought themselves deterrents, utterly unprepared for disaster, despite all their daydreaming.

“Everyone stop,” Princess Alexandria demanded. “You two, out of the room. Now. It isn’t safe. Sir Mazur, move very slowly and get the last of those crystals to Finley.”

The guards did not comprehend what they were seeing, though the palace had thrummed with talk of nothing but exploding crystals for the past week. Princess Alexandria took a step towards them, brow raised, and only then did they remember how to follow orders.

Finley closed her eyes. Her vision was blurred, clouded over by exhaustion, and the adrenaline rushing through every inch of her body did not appreciate her complete loss of momentum. The princess’ voice, loud and commanding, was a blessing. So long as she was in control, Finley’s powers wouldn’t fail her.

Someone knelt close by. Finley opened an eye as Rydal placed a hand on her back, easing her into a sitting position. She leant against the giant crystal, holding it together along its fault lines, and Rydal placed the three smaller crystals in her lap.

They were bleeding. A shard of grey, clouded crystal was buried deep in their upper arm. Finley reached out a hand but Rydal pushed it aside, returning to their feet.

“There. We have almost salvaged this sorry state of affairs. If you would be so good as to fetch Luna, Sir Mazur, we may all be able to get to bed in a timely fashion,” Princess Alexandria said.

“Sure,” Rydal said.

They did not reach for the wound on their upper arm, did not give into the temptation of prying the chunk of crystal free. Their countenance had not changed, but that did not mean their heart was not pounding, shock protecting them from the pain that would blossom the moment they were all truly safe.

“Now that is much—” the princess began, interrupted by the door clicking open. “Did I not dismiss you both?”

But it was not either of the guards. Sir Kiln cut an impressive figure against the crystal-studded room, immune to the princess’ authority when there was a real threat to her life.

“Sir Kiln. How nice of you to arrive now that the danger is over. Perhaps you could keep my guards company,” Princess Alexandria suggested.

“The danger is not over, Princess. Look at your chambers. Look at your foil!” Sir Kiln said, and it was possible there was more exasperation than real fear in her voice.

“She’s doing a rather good job, isn’t she? Had I returned to my chambers alone after dinner, dismissing her at the door, I expect I would be bleeding from every extremity.”

“I wish you wouldn’t speak like that. You have faced real danger thrice already, but you will not take the threats seriously. Must everything be a joke to you?”

“A joke! Why, Sir Kiln, you should’ve arrived but a few minutes sooner. You would’ve seen precisely how seriously I’m taking this. I leapt straight into action, and quite literally at that. I was on the coffee table, if you’ll believe it, hoisting Finley up to the chandelier. Isn’t that right, Finley?”

Finley’s mouth was dry. Her blood pounded in her ears. This would be a stupid way to die: impaled by crystal shards while a princess and her knight used the current situation to argue about something long since passed between them.

“R-right,” Finley managed.

“Oh, for the love of—Kiln, you are terrifying my poor foil. Leave,” the princess demanded.

“I apologise, Princess, but I am your knight. I am sworn to keep you from danger,” Sir Kiln said, bowing at the waist.

“Fine. Fine. Go stand in the corner, at least. Stop looming. You’re scaring Finley.”

Sir Kiln argued no further. She retreated to the far side of the room, though her eyes did not leave the princess.

Princess Alexandria began pacing the room, stopping only to discern where the rapid sound of chattering was coming from. Finley too wondered, and they seemed to realise at the same moment that it was her teeth, jaw trembling uncontrollably.

With only a hint of mild annoyance, the princess knelt at her side.

“You shouldn’t—shouldn’t be here. Sir Kiln is right. It isn’t safe,” Finley said. “You should let her take you somewhere else.”

“Nonsense. Where could be safer than by a foil’s side when every crystal in the palace seems intent on turning against me?”

“But—what if these ones, what if they…”

“What if you decide to throw the three crystals in your lap across the room and then sprint away from the one you’re sitting against, you mean? Admittedly, that would be a problem. I’d have to fire you.”

Finley, teeth still chattering, laughed. The princess placed a hand on her shoulder, tilted her head, then let her fingers hover over the right side of her face.

“Oh. You’re bleeding, Finley. Only a little, mind. One of those shards must have nicked you. Here.”

The princess produced a kerchief from one of her pockets and began attentively pressing it to Finley’s cheek, focusing just below her temple. Her teeth ceased their chattering, the breath rushed out of her, but the fear tightened its grasp on her heart.

It was impossible to believe that her powers would not wane or fade. It was absurd to think this was an incorporeal, ever-present part of herself, not a skill she had honed; not something that could evaporate, like all the heat in her body, save the trickle of her blood and the touch of the princess’ kerchief.

“I say this in confidence, Finley,” Princess Alexandria began in a low whisper. “Sir Kiln is correct about the danger. There is something to fear here, but it is not anything we cannot overcome. So long as we know where the crystals are, so long as they are within your reach, you and I are perfectly safe.”

“I know. I know. But if you and Rydal hadn’t helped me reach the chandelier, I would’ve stood there, muting the crystals, waiting for a witch to arrive. And when this crystal started to shatter, I would’ve had to choose between the two, and the way those crystal shards went flying, it could’ve…”

Finley trailed off, shaking her head.

“Indeed. That would’ve been terrible, likely fatal, but it absolutely did not happen. I could have been kicked in the head by Hound yesterday, yet I was not,” Princess Alexandria said. “All this shaking is very unbecoming of you, Finley. Come. Let us discuss something else; let me distract you while Luna takes her time getting here, hm.”

Princess Alexandria had tucked her kerchief back into a pocket but continued to pet Finley. Idly, without any thought to it, almost with the same absent-minded fondness she’d stroked Hound. This close, Finley could make out the tiny, golden specks in her brown eyes.

“Are you—are you going to have a baby?” Finley blurted out.

Princess Alexandria laughed, little crinkles forming around her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“It’s just that Queen Briar was saying it was your royal duty, and that you’d given your word,” Finley said, not knowing when the princess would tolerate such questions again.

“I have told her time and time again that I would think on it. I have given it a great deal of thought, in fact, and my position on the matter has not changed. It is a ridiculous notion, wanting to keep the royal bloodline pure. What weight can that hold? I, the daughter of the old king, was usurped before I ever held the throne. It is as ridiculous a concept as everything relating to the monarchy. I believe I mentioned the terrible trouble childbirth brings to our pure, noble bloodline; my own mother died in childbirth. If Briar wants an heir, she is more than welcome to adopt one.”

Finley laughed. It wasn’t funny. It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t funny.

“Your father and Queen Briar’s were identical, weren’t they? Doesn’t that mean she can continue the royal bloodline?”

“Exactly. You are more astute than my cousin would give your credit for; she doesn’t expect me to come to that conclusion. But as I said, it comes down to our family’s difficult births. My aunt likely wishes to spare her from that.”

“That’s not fair on you. I’m sorry, Princess. You don’t deserve that.”

Princess Alexandria gave a hum of agreement.

She was still stroking Finley’s hair and it had grown quite soothing.

It didn’t last. The princess was on her feet the moment Luna and Rydal rushed through the doors, bloodstain darkening the dark fabric of Rydal’s tunic.

“How good of you to join us, Luna,” Princess Alexandria said, and swept an arm out towards Finley. “If it wouldn’t inconvenience you terribly, do make it so Finley doesn’t have to spend all night sat on my floor.”

Luna’s face was flushed. She’d ran there, but she took no time to catch her breath. She pulled the princess back, gently urging her towards the settees, and took her place before Finley.

“Finley, we really need to stop meeting like this,” Luna said, gaze darting between the crystals.

Finley found she was almost calm. The chandelier crystals had not exploded in the same way the illusionary crystals on the grounds had; there was no smoke, no tinge of magic in the air. These crystals had simply burst, fragments sent flying. This might all yet end in disaster, but it would not be the exact disaster that had befallen her before.

The world brimmed with variety, if nothing else.

“Sorry to drag you all the way here,” Finley said, hoping her tone was light. “Rydal’s hurt their arm. Do you need to see to them first?”

“Oh, Sir Rydal is far too brave to let something like a little blood loss stop them from saving the day. They’re going to be just fine. And so are you! It’s not going to be like last time, Fin. I’ve come prepared,” Luna said.

She grinned as she retrieved something from her back pocket. It was impossible not to trust her, impossible to doubt her power, even with it doused in Finley’s presence.

Luna held out a crystal unlike any Finley had seen before. It was shaped like a simple hook and fit in the palm of her hand. Its sides were worn down, leaving it perfectly smooth, without a single facet to call its own.

“What’s that?”

“This is a very useful tool. If you’ll indulge a little bragging, it’s my own creation, and it’s become quite popular amongst witches. It’s a sort of conduit between witch and crystal. When we pour magic into a crystal or drain it, it requires a lot of focus, and a good deal of magic ends up evaporating in the air. With this, all that magic rushes straight back to its source.”

“So the crystals won’t explode?”

“The crystals won’t explode! I’ll start with the smaller ones, if that’s alright with you.”

Finley nodded. She held out one of the chandelier crystals to Luna, but her grip was so tight Luna had to gently pry her fingers back. Sir Kiln took the princess’ arm, dragging her to the furthest corner of the room, and made a shield of herself.

Luna held the crystal and hook in one hand and took careful steps back from Finley. Power fluttered into witch, crystal, and tool in the same breath. The crystal blazed with light, soon snuffed out by the hook, magic funnelling back to Luna. Her hair lifted about her shoulders, and it was not only her eyes that were aglow with the power.

But as soon as she was at Finley’s side again, all that faded.

Luna repeated the process twice more. Rydal hovered at her side, curious. Each time, the magic grew within Luna till the clearest crystal would be dull by comparison. She was no vessel for magic but the very source of it, and Finley could only marvel at her beauty and power from a distance.

Luna seemed hollowed when she knelt at Finley’s side.

“And now for the big one,” she said, placing the hook against the crystal behind Finley. “All you need to do is get to your feet and all this excitement will be over.”

“Is there no chance of salvaging that crystal? I rather depend on it,” Princess Alexandria called across the room.

“Not now, Lexi!” Luna said, waving her off. “I’ll make you another one, once crystals stop exploding around you.”

Rydal offered Finley their uninjured arm. She wouldn’t have made it to her feet without them. She touched the amulet of Deimos through her shirt as Rydal hoisted her to her feet, letting them guide her halfway across the room.

Magic roared within the crystal, a splintering sound filled the room, but the magic within returned to its source. The crystal slid apart, great, useless chunks falling to the floor.

Luna laughed, placing a hand on the windowsill for balance. She’d absorbed no small amount of magic and it left her unsteady, jittery. Finley understood how she felt; she was as empty as Luna was full, and only they two shared that exhaustion, true opposites as they were.

“Hey,” Rydal said, taking hold of Finley by both her elbows. “You in there?”

Finley stared up at Rydal. She had been so close to so many people today, personal space a thing of the past, but only now did the air seem to crackle, charged. Rydal narrowed their gaze, one eye brown, the other grey, both boring into her; they blinked and their irises switched places, pupils blown. Finley stepped back, having not known Rydal long enough to say for certain which way around their eyes ought to be.

“Finley?” Rydal asked.

Finley shook her head, murmuring that she was alright. She let Rydal take her arm and guide her to one of the settees, where Luna soon joined her. Sir Kiln acted quickly, bringing in the guards to have the chambers searched, each and every crystal removed from the service they had undertaken for so long. Candles were lit, lanterns brought in. The fire was built up, soon crackling in the hearth, and tea was served.

Soon recovering from her work, Luna set about cutting Rydal’s sleeve at the shoulder and carefully removed the crystal shard. It was the last fragment that remained in the princess’ chambers, and with a deep, focused breath, Luna filled it with healing magic and had it repair the damage it had done.

Sir Kiln gathered that final crystal and said, “I shall dispose of this, then speak with Her Majesty on your behalf. I’ll inform her that you wish to remain undisturbed after such an ordeal and see to it that the guards do not let anyone else in.”

Princess Alexandria could not remain entirely neutral, much less displeased, with the suggestion.

“Very well,” she said. “You are dismissed.”

Sir Kiln departed. Only the four of them remained in the royal chambers, Finley and Luna on one settee, Princess Alexandria and Rydal on the other. None of them spoke. Princess Alexandria poured the tea, mixed in plenty of sugar, and placed a cup in Finley’s hands. It was good. Hot and sweet. It pulled her back to the moment, heat spreading through her chest and reaching her extremities, and along with the gentle crackle of the fire, the room was almost peaceful.

Almost, save the damage strewn around the room. The shattered mirror, the ruined upholstery, the splintered wood that could so easily have been someone’s skull.

“Do you know, Luna, this is only the second-worst part of my evening,” Princess Alexandria said, in time.

“Oh, god. Let me guess! I heard your aunt was back from her little trip to Iterae, so I’m sure it involves you’re her meddling,” Luna said. “Don’t tell me you actually spent more than five minutes in a room with Briar.”

“Indeed. I took Finley with me to a family dinner, thinking we could discuss her heroic exploits. I wouldn’t have minded spending the evening discussing increasingly outlandish crystal conspiracy theories, but Briar ever brings our conversations around to one point,” Princess Alexandria said, sighing.

She placed her tea cup on the table and began using her fingers to neaten her hair.

Leaning towards Rydal, Luna said, “Briar wants me to shove a crystal up Lexi’s—”

“Thank you, Luna. I don’t know why I tell you these things. But enough of that. I believe we can safely conclude that I, personally, am being targeted by these untoward crystals. Prince Iyden was nowhere near the vicinity this time, and I was not filling in for my cousin at the last moment. Any information is good to have, I’ll allow that, but it doesn’t fill me with much confidence. The best I can do is to avoid crystals for the immediate future, which, admittedly, is somewhat less inconvenient than dying in a horrible accident.”

Princess Alexandria looked past Finley, over the back of the settee, mesmerised by the fire.

“You would think having actual, burning kindling in one’s room would be the more dangerous option, but these are strange times indeed. I shall learn to endure the inconvenience of candles and lanterns, forced to live like some sort of—” she continued, waving a hand in the air.

“Foil?” Finley asked.

The tea had put the strength back in her voice.

The princess clicked her fingers.

“Like some sort of foil, exactly. I could only conjure the word peasant, which did not quite fit. Well, Finley, your work will be twofold, starting today: not only will you protect me from any crystals we cannot rightly avoid, but you shall have teach me all your primitive ways of life. How do you refrain from knocking candles over and setting the carpet ablaze?”

“We don’t have carpets downstairs, Princess. And I take care to be very careful,” Finley said.

Princess Alexandria leant back in her seat, pondering.

“Does she always talk to you like this, Fin? You didn’t ask for any of this, but anyone listening in wouldn’t be blamed for thinking Lexi has decided this is your fault,” Luna asked, nudging her side.

“Oh, stop that, Luna. You don’t need to win Finley over by insulting me. She’s my foil, not yours, and I shall speak to her as I see fit,” the princess said.

“She’s your foil? Did Briar finally die and make you queen?”

Leaning forward, Princess Alexandria plucked a sugar cube from a small dish and threw it directly at Luna’s forehead.

“Princess Alexandria has been kind to me. Mostly,” Finley said. “She’s going through a hard time. Anyone would be on edge.”

Rydal leant against the arm of the settee, quiet and amused. The warm, dancing light of the fire lit up their eyes, and there was nothing frightful in them, nothing shifting beneath the surface.

“And what’s all this Princess Alexandria business! Finley’s stuck with you, Lexi. At least let her save herself a few syllables,” Luna said.

Princess Alexandria tilted her head a fraction, as though she had never paid heed to how Finley addressed her.

“She’s welcome to call me what she pleases. You certainly do,” the princess said. “Well, within reason. Finley, if I ever catch you echoing Luna, I shall have you locked away for treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Pri—I mean. Yes, Alexandria?” Finley tried.

Suddenly, she wished Luna and Rydal weren’t in the room. Heat prickled the back of her neck, as though her tongue had tripped on the name she’d spoken so many times. It felt strange without its title. She had been lured across a line, thinking it like chalk on stone, gone with the next rains, but felt the impossibility of her situation all at once.

Anyone in that room could so easily have died this evening alone. A few inches to the side and the crystal shard would’ve embedded it in Rydal’s heart. There had been panic, motion, and then all fell still, tense; the princess of Thisia had touched Finley’s face, wiping blood away, and now she did not even call her Princess.

 “Much better,” Alexandria said, pouring herself more tea. “If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it is needless formalities. Now, tell me, Sir Mazur: why did you appear at my chamber doors the moment disaster struck?”

“Rydal. No formalities.”

“Yes, yes. Rydal, Luna, Finley, Alexandria. Now we’re all on the same page, would you please answer my question?”

“Hm.” Rydal rested their head on the back of the settee, searching for the answer theirself. “It’s Prince Iyden. He was discharged from the infirmary. Sent back to his chambers.”

It was good news, there was no doubting that, but it did not seem pertinent, after all that had unfolded.

“That’s it? You were coming all the way to my chambers, this late in the evening, to tell me something my maid would have no doubt reported to me over breakfast?” Alexandria asked, swivelling on the settee to face Rydal.

“Hm,” they agreed. “Probably.”

Sir Kiln returned soon after, alone. Finley had not expected Queen Briar to rush to Alexandria’s chambers, but Alexandria’s aunt had given the impression of genuinely caring for her niece. Strange though it was that Alexandria’s family had not come to her side after what Finley was beginning to realise had been a very near thing, all in the room seemed relieved Sir Kiln brought nothing but condolences.

“The first point of action is to put together a list of suspects. We need to know who had access to my chambers. We can figure out the motives from there, though regicide tends to be the beginning and end of that conversation,” Alexandria said.

“I’ll question your guards, Princess,” Sir Kiln said.

“See that you do. And have them replaced with people you deem more trustworthy. They let Sir Mazur, a foreign knight, into my chambers without so much as asking if I wished to speak with them. If they are not treasonous, they are undoubtedly ill-equipped for such a tediously simple job. They did not even knock.”

“I’ll see to it immediately. I’ll make regular patrols myself.”

Alexandria nodded. Something remained charged between the princess and her knight, something acerbic, an old wound that forever scabbed over, but it was clear Alexandria trusted Sir Kiln at least in this.

“See that you do.”

“And I will remain here tonight, Princess.”

“No need,” Alexandria said. “We have removed all the crystals, I do not intend to leave my chambers before dawn, and your time would be better spent finding competent guards. Besides, Luna shall stay with me tonight. If the most powerful witch in Thisia cannot keep me safe, my assailants deserve a fair stab at me.”

Luna’s face brightened. This was no imposition, and not an unusual turn of events for the pair of them. Finley expected Luna would’ve demanded to stay, had Alexandria not suggested it herself. Sir Kiln frowned but did not argue, and that alone was a testament to the might of Luna’s magic.

“I shall arrange for your repairs to start on your chamber first thing in the morning,” Sir Kiln said.

“You most certainly will not. I am bolting the doors and will not allow a soul in until noon. Until an hour after noon. If there is anything that will help me, it is sleep,” Alexandria said. Sir Kiln bowed, accepting the princess’ demands. “Finley. Take the morning off. And should you see Rosa, pass the message along to her.”

Finley did not argue. She was bone-tired. Flashes of magic burnt behind her eyelids with every blink, and each time someone adjusted themselves on the settee, she was convinced it was the groan of a crystal splitting.

Sir Kiln made her exit. At Finley’s side, Luna had nestled into the corner of the settee, exhausted by her own exploits, the rush there and the draining of the crystals. Finley wondered if her presence was a balm, if a foil at Luna’s side, muting all her power, gave her space for her own thoughts, time to rest her body. 

“Rydal. Would you be so good as to ensure Finley makes it back to her quarters?” Alexandria asked.

The gentle dismissal gave Finley the strength she needed to get to her feet. Rydal nodded their assent and joined Finley, glancing around the room one last time before making for the doors. Luna offered cheerful goodbyes, promising to see them both soon, and Alexandria merely nodded.

Finley did not linger. She left Alexandria and Luna to their night together, wondering vaguely what sort of relationship they had; knowing with an unsearched for confidence that anyone who could get away with calling the princess by such a nickname must be very dear to her indeed.

Rydal walked silently at Finley’s side, knowing the layout of the palace better than she did.

“How’s your arm?” Finley thought to ask, once they stepped out into the night.

Rydal held it out, examining it by the amber light spilling from the palace windows.

“Doesn’t hurt. Ruined my tunic, though,” they said, pulling at the loose threads hanging from the hastily cut material.

The wound had closed over. A smear of blood remained on Rydal’s arm. The crystal had formed a barrier, keeping back infection. The wound was not healed, not yet, but the magic lingering under Rydal’s skin would see it slowly knit itself back together. A day or two and it would be as though nothing had happened.

Finley’s palms itched.

Nothing about it felt natural to her.

They walked through the dark, towards the servants’ entrance. Finley did not need an escort but was glad of the company; she knew hardly anything about Rydal, but accepted the gentle tug she felt towards them and the devotion at their core.

Her life had changed so much that past week, but Rydal, a stranger to the palace and her kingdom, was like an anchor, mooring her to all that came before and all she would soon return to.

Rydal stopped in the shadow of the hedgerow that hid the servants’ entrance from view.

“Temple?” they asked.

Finley was exhausted. Her eyes begged her to let them close, and even standing upright was a challenge. She stared at Rydal, drifting towards the hedgerow for support. She’d tensed every muscle in her body, rigid with fear, and could not unravel the ways she needed to relax. Alexandria had offered her a full morning to recover, but every minute Finley wasted was like a bruise denied the chance to heal over.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Finley settled into her favoured pew. Rydal lit two candles and placed them before the monolith, letting out just enough light to make out the blocky shapes of the temple around them.

It was freezing. Finley longed for the warmth of the princess’ fireplace, the weight of her own thick, heavy blankets. Rydal sat close to her, arm and thigh pressed together. Finley leant in, amulet in hand, and rested her head on Rydal’s shoulder.

They held their pendant in their palm, candlelight illuminating the soft edges of Asterion’s face.

Finley closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to. Distantly, she realised her ribs still ached from that first explosion, so few days ago. This new role was nothing like gardening; there, patience was key. She could not drag the seasons closer, could not demand the flowers bloom the day their seeds were sown. She worked to a rhythm, to nature’s whims. She rarely met anyone new.

The sound of crystals cracking still burrowed into her mind, but there was peace enough in the temple to breathe through the unsettling sensation.

She fell asleep. She must’ve, because the light touch of Rydal’s hand on her knee jerked her back to consciousness.

“Hey,” they said. “I know what’s making the crystals explode.”

Finley, mired in the dregs of a half-dream, tried her best to conjure up something more than a groggy, “What?”

“The crystals. I know what the problem is,” Rydal said.

Finley had grown used to their heavy accent. She understood all the words they’d spoken yet could not make sense of them. She had thought they’d brought her to the temple for her companionship alone, for their unspoken shared faith, and could not comprehend fitting any more information in her head.

“What do you mean? You know who did it?” Finley asked.

The temple no longer felt secure. The wind rushed in under the closed door, and Finley lifted her feet from the floor, resting them on the pew beside her. Anyone could lurk in the shadows. Anyone could overhear what Rydal was about to admit to.

Shaking their head, they said, “What, not who. It’s down there.”

Rydal pointed to the temple floor.

“Huh?”

Finley was too tired for vague gestures.

“Down there. In the labyrinth,” Rydal clarified.

“In the labyrinth?”

“Sure.”

Finley had gained absolutely no information from the secrets Rydal was so reverently sharing with her.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Rydal.”

“The crystals come from underground, from your labyrinth. Your Beast’s power, its divinity, makes Thisia what it is. The crystals don’t forget where they came from. The labyrinth wants them back.”

Rydal did not speak with confidence. Confidence spoke through them.

“But why? This has never happened before, and Thisia has been mining the labyrinth for crystals for hundreds of years.”

Rydal shrugged.

“I’m not a witch. Not a foil. Doesn’t make sense to me,” they said. “But it’s connected.”

Finley held their gaze. In the dark of the temple, both of their eyes were a perfect black. She pictured them changing, reversing, and felt in the hollow of her throat that magic would never fill, that Rydal had been brought to her by Deimos or Asterion, by any deity cast in stone and prayer.

“Then how do we stop it? Surely you should be talking to Luna about this, not me,” Finley said, though she did not want Rydal to drop her gaze.

“I will. But she won’t understand. Not like you do,” Rydal said, pressing the amulet of Asterion to Finley’s palm. “But I’m going down there. I need Luna, and I need a foil, too.”  

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