Sweet Beauty

Part Sixty-Three

The white walls of the temple rise high around me, the vines wrapping the columns in a kind of peaceful decay. I pad quietly across the stone, my head lowered in the last kind of reverence I am capable of. Magic sizzles on my skin. This has always been a special place, under the beech trees and beautiful white pines. And it is more than magic that makes it special.

I know I have come here before. I see myself, younger, my face unlined, platinum-blond hair swirling around my face as I sat upon a fallen pillar. The child lay in my arms. He had promised to come to me, to our own special place. He had promised me so much, had offered so much, had taken so much. Out of all his promises, I had thought he'd be true to this one.

But the hours had passed and passed, and the sky had drawn dark. And at midnight, I had stripped off my jewelry. The golden chain with the Sonnan coin, the golden bracelets shaped to keep my powers in check, his grandmother's emerald broach. I left them on the baby, kissed the tuft of newly-grown hair, the same color as mine, and left. As I walked away, I felt one more weight on my finger—a ring with the Handriell seal. I ripped it off and threw it back at the child.

Today, even more decay covers the temple. It is no longer a secret hideout for lovers, or a refuge for mothers. It is where the bitter crone comes to seek her revenge on the man who loved her, lied to her, and betrayed her. Her golden boy, her beloved prince, her feared, respected, and distant king. Her Wadrethar.

And the darkness seizes me once more. I tumble over and over, lost in the current of magic and minds. I am Azra, the brokenhearted enchantress, lost in shadows and heartbreak. I am Isamar, the princess, alluring and radiant. I am a girl from Bellsbury, running, reaching for the edge of an older boy's tunic. I am the queen that never was. A mother with empty arms. A girl burning for her magic. I am the beast that comes forth where such things prosper.

"Isamar?" whispers a familiar voice. Is that my name?

Rough hands shake my shoulders. "Isamar!"

My eyes fly open. I am lying in my bed, Beth and Tinara standing above me. Was it all a dream? No. My head hurts too much for that to be true. Every part of me swims in a sea of pain, and my magic is worn down to the barest ember. A thousand things flood my head, among them what I saw these two doing during the ball. But that doesn't matter now. Only—

"Kyle!" I gasp out.

"He wasn't with you in the tower," Beth says. "When they found you, Master Iettin cast a spell to locate him. He wouldn't share the results with anyone, but—"

"Did they send soldiers to look for him?" I demand, hoping against hope she'll say yes. Kyle's a royal enchanter, but neither a skilled one nor one with an important name. And the king's been so desperate to keep this mess hidden that he did next to nothing to save Dom. Why would he send someone to save Kyle?

"Actually, a whole regiment just marched into the royal wood," Beth says. "They left only an hour ago, and Master Iettin said they could rescue him if they hurried."

I exhale. "Thank the . . . gods." I am about to say the Cat, but stop myself. The patron of magic is clearly not on my side tonight.

"Why so worried?" Tinara says, accusingly. "I thought Kyle was just your friend." There is bitterness in her voice. I know her secret, and now she knows one of mine in return. But secrets are no currency.

"She has good reason to worry," Beth says. "After all, it's Domerik's regiment. He and Donarius have ridden off together to stop the enchantress who's hunting their family."

Dom. My heart stops for an agonizing moment.

I close my eyes and sink back into my pillows. No. It's too much. The thought of Kyle in that monster's hands enrages me. The thought of Dom anywhere near her makes my blood run cold. Is one feeling stronger than the other? I don't know. But I would be broken at the loss of one, and killed by the loss of both.

Especially since neither one knows how much I love them.

Hot tears fall from my eyes. I throw my blankets aside, undaunted. I will not risk losing Dom and Kyle. Such a thing would turn me madder than Azra. "Beth, did any enchanters go with the regiment?"

"One," she says. "Master Crane."

I groan. Crane's knowledge is all books and theories, his power not even equal to a fraction of Master Iettin's. But I suppose the king does not care if the man succeeds, or perhaps even wants him to fail. Master Iettin and Wadrethar would have let Dom stay curse forever to keep their secrets safe. Maybe they wouldn't mind letting him and Donarius die. After all, if Winifred bears a son, Donarius will be redundant anyway.

Dom will need another magic user. One with the rage and power to match an enchantress.

I slide out of bed and realize I am still dressed in the golden gown. No matter. Mechanically, I pull on the sturdy boots I brought from Bellsbury, not the silver slippers I wore to the ball.

"What are you doing?" Tinara asks. I ignore her, focusing with all my might on a single goal. I can re-cast Kyle's portal spell—I doubt Azra will detect it now, busy as she must be with her ritual. But I will need to know her location, since I don't have the seeing spell to guide me. And only one person knows where she might be now. The place her heart was broken, the place she forever gave up on the power of lover.

"Isamar!" Beth criesas I run for the door. "You can't run out on us like this! Let us help! We'reyour friends!"