Original Work The Princess Exile (Schooled in Magic Stand-Alone Spin-off)

Hi, everyone

This probably requires some explanation.

If you have been following my work for some time, you will know that I created Schooled In Magic - a cross between Harry Potter and Lest Darkness Falls in which the heroine is transported to another world, goes to a magic school, and start introducing semi-modern ideas, innovations, technologies that eventually create a steampunk world in which magic and technology not only coexist but enhance each other in a number of surprising ways. It is a world where airships and guns face witches on broomsticks and wizards with magic wands. At this point in the saga, the pace of change is picking up and nothing is certain any longer, from the limits of magic to politics and just about everything else.

Naturally, you can download the first book in the series from Kindle Unlimited here (it will be free between 8/1/2025-12/1/2025):

Amazon.com

And you can see the other books in the series here:

The Chrishanger

The Princess Exile is a stand-alone book set in that universe. You do not have to know much more about the universe than what I said above to understand it, as pretty much all the characters in this book are new. Some locations are not, but I will try to fill in as much detail as possible as I go along. I’ve also attached the recap I used for earlier books below, which gives you some idea of just what happened and why.

And now I’ve got your attention …

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Thank you for your time

Chris

Schooled in Magic Recap

It is, of course, difficult to summarise twenty-four books (and six novellas) in a handful of pages, but I’ve tried to hit the high points.

Emily grew up in our world. Her mother was a drunkard. Her father a mystery. Her stepfather a leering man whose eyes followed her everywhere. By the time she turned sixteen, she knew her life would never get any better. She lost herself in studies of history, dreaming of a better world somewhere in the past. And then everything changed.

Shadye, a powerful necromancer on the Nameless World, wanted to kidnap a Child of Destiny to tip the war in his favour. He entrusted the task to sprites, transdimensional creatures with inhuman senses of humour, who yanked Emily out of her world and dumped her into Shadye’s prison cell. Unaware he’d made a dreadful mistake, Shadye proceeded to try to sacrifice Emily to dark gods in a bid to gain their favour. Emily would have died if she hadn’t been saved by Void, a sorcerer on the other side. Void took her to his tower, realised she had a talent for magic and arranged for her to study at Whitehall School.

Emily found herself torn between the joy of magic - she had something she was good at, for the first time in her voice - and the trials and tribulations of living in a very difficult world. Befriending a handful of people, including Imaiqah and Princess Alassa of Zangaria (and the older students Jade and Cat), Emily started introducing innovations from Earth to the Nameless World. Shadye, catching wind of how changes were starting to spread, assumed he’d been right all along about the Child of Destiny. Mounting an attack on Whitehall, Shadye nearly killed Emily before she managed to weaponise concepts from Earth to beat him.

That summer, she accompanied Princess Alassa to Zangaria and discovered her changes were not only spreading, but unleashing a whole new industrial revolution. This didn’t sit well with many of the local aristocrats, including King Randor - Alassa’s father - and a number of his courtiers. The latter mounted a coup, determined to take control for themselves before the commoners got any more ideas. Emily helped Alassa to retake control, at the price of seriously worrying King Randor. He had to reward her, by giving her the Barony of Cockatrice, but he feared her impact on the kingdom. The seeds were sown for later conflict as the king’s concerns started to grow into outright paranoia.

Emily’s second year at Whitehall was just as eventful as the first. Emily’s research into magic, including discovering a way to create a magical battery, nearly got her expelled. She might have been tossed out, if events hadn’t overtaken her. The school was plagued by a murderer, later revealed to be a shape-shifting mimic. Emily figured out the truth - the mimic wasn’t a creature, but a spell - and discovered how to defeat it. She also learnt enough from the spell’s final moments to, eventually, duplicate it as a necromancer-killing weapon.

Worse, however, she was starting to attract interest from outside the school. One of her roommates - Lin - was revealed to be a spy, hailing from Mountaintop School. Another nearly killed her, quite by accident. It was a relief to find herself spending her summer on work experience, in the Cairngorm Mountains. She saw, for the first time, the grinding poverty of people living on the fringes - and just how far they’d go to save themselves. It was sheer luck - and a piece of spellwork that triggered a small nuclear-scale explosion - that saved her life from a newborn necromancer.

Planning her return for third year, Emily agreed - at the request of the Grandmaster and Lady Barb - to allow herself to be kidnapped by Mountaintop School. There, she met the Head Girl - Nanette, who’d posed as Lin - and Administrator Aurelius, a magician with plans to reshape the balance of power once and for all. She also met Frieda, a girl two years younger than herself who was supposed to be her servant. Unimpressed with the classism running through the school, and grimly determined to find out its secret, Emily sparked off a rebellion amongst the low-born students and discovered the grim truth. Mountaintop had been sacrificing the low-born students for power. Breaking their spell, she left. She took Frieda with her.

That summer, Emily made a deadly enemy of Fulvia Ashworth, Matriarch of House Ashworth. Calling in a favour, Fulvia arranged for Master Grey - a powerful combat sorcerer who’d been appointed to serve as a teacher at Whitehall - to manipulate Emily into challenging him to a duel. Unaware of this, Emily’s discovery that Alassa and Jade had become lovers (and her first real relationship, with Caleb) took second place to a series of weird events taking place in the school, eventually traced back to a demon that had escaped Shadye’s fortress and slipped into the school’s wards. Backed into a corner, Emily risked everything to free the school from the demon, offering the creature her soul in exchange for letting everyone else go. The Grandmaster stepped in before the deal could be concluded, sacrificing himself so that Emily might live. Pushed to the limit, unwilling to run, Emily faced Grey in the duelling circle and won. The victory nearly killed her.

Her magic sparking, nearly flickering out of control, Emily returned to Zangaria and discovered that the kingdom was plagued by unrest. King Randor hadn’t kept his word about granting more rights to the commoners, prompting trouble on the streets. Worse, the rebels - including Imaiqah’s father - were being aided by a mystery magician, later revealed to be Nanette. Alassa nearly died on her wedding day, shot down by a gunpowder weapon that had grown from the seeds Emily had planted. Furious, King Randor demanded that Emily punish the rebels. Horrified at his demands, unaware the king didn’t know what he was asking, Emily fled. She was not to know that the king’s paranoia had become madness.

She was not best pleased, when she returned to Whitehall, to discover that Grandmaster Hasdrubal had been replaced by Grandmaster Gordian. Gordian was progressive in many ways, including a willingness to open the tunnels under Whitehall and determine what secrets could be found there, but he neither liked nor trusted Emily. She had to balance his concern with her growing relationship with Caleb as she worked with one of the tutors - and a new friend, Cabiria of House Fellini, to explore the tunnels. The tutor pushed too far and nearly caused the school to collapse in on itself. Luckily, Emily saved the school using techniques she’d devised with Caleb, only to find herself steered to the nexus point and hurled back in time ...

Emily rapidly discovered that the stories about Lord Whitehall had missed out several crucial details. The Whitehall Commune was on the run, fleeing enigmatic monsters - the Manavores - that seemed immune to magic. Their bid to take control of the nexus point nearly failed - would have failed, if Emily hadn’t helped them. She ensured they laid the groundwork for the school, before figuring out a way to return home. In the aftermath, Emily and Caleb consummated their relationship for the first time.

She was not to know that Dua Kepala, a powerful necromancer, was about to start his invasion of the Allied Lands. Having crushed Heart’s Eye, a school very much like Whitehall, the necromancer intended to invade the next kingdom and take its lands and people for himself. At the request of Sergeant Miles, Emily joined the war effort, fighting alongside General Pollack and his son Casper, Caleb’s father and brother respectively. Separated from the rest of the army, Emily and Casper attacked Heart’s Eye, reignited the nexus point under the school and found themselves locked in battle with the necromancer. Dua Kepala killed Casper and would have killed Emily, if Void hadn’t stepped in and fought Dua Kepala long enough to let Emily gain control of the nexus point and swat the necromancer like a bug. She found herself in sole possession of the nexus point and thus owner of the abandoned school. She and Caleb would later start developing plans to turn Heart’s Eye into the first true university, a place where magic and science would merge for the benefit of all.

Reluctantly, she accompanied General Pollack and the remains of his son to Beneficence, a city-state on the borders of Cockatrice. There, she met Vesperian, an industrialist who wanted her to invest in his rail-building program. Emily barely had any time to realise the problem before the financial bubble Vesperian had created burst, unleashing chaos on the streets as the population realised their savings and investments had simply evaporated. Worse, a religious cult, bent on power, took advantage of the chaos to secure their position, aided by what looked like a very real god. Emily, plunged into battle, discovered it was a variant on the mimic spell, one dependent on sacrificing humans to maintain its power. She stopped it, at the cost of sacrificing her relationship with Caleb. They would remain friends, but nothing more.

Emily returned to Whitehall, at the start of her final year, to discover that the staff had elected her Head Girl, despite Gordian’s objections. She didn’t want the role, but found herself unable to refuse it either. She found herself clashing with Jacqui, a student who wanted the post for herself, as her relationship with Frieda started to go downhill. The younger girl’s behaviour grew worse and worse until she nearly killed another student and fled the school, forcing Emily to go after her. She was just in time to discover that Frieda had been manipulated by another sorcerer, too late to save Frieda from a murder charge brought by Fulvia.

Stripped of her post as Head Girl (and replaced by Jacqui), Emily threw herself into defending Frieda from Fulvia. She rapidly worked out that Jacqui had been subverted by Fulvia long ago, to the point where Jacqui was prepared to risk everything to do her will. Scaring hell out of the other girl, Emily triggered off a series of events that led to Fulvia’s defeat and eventual death. However, her position at Whitehall was untenable. Realising the school no longer had anything to offer her, with an apprenticeship promised by Void, Emily choose to leave.

Unknown to her, events in Zangaria had moved on. King Randor had discovered that Imaiqah’s father had plotted against him, that Emily had chosen to keep this a secret and that Alassa and Jade were expecting their first child. In his madness, Randor imprisoned Alassa and Imaiqah in the Tower of Alexis, intending to take his grandchild and raise him himself while leaving his daughter to rot. Jade sought help from Emily and Cat, launching a bid to free the prisoners from the tower. During the plotting, Emily and Cat became lovers. The bid to free Alassa worked, at the cost of Emily herself falling into enemy hands. Randor sentenced her to public execution, but she was rescued by her friends. As they fled to Cockatrice, Randor - desperate - embraced necromancy and prepared himself for war to the knife.

A three-sided civil war broke out, between the king, the princess and the remaining nobility. The king crushed the nobility, only to be outgunned by the princess’s faction (as it had embraced modern weapons and ideology). Desperate, Randor mounted a bid to kill his daughter - nearly killing Imaiqah, who was stabbed with a charmed dagger - and use magic to crush her armies. Horrified, Emily and Cat planned to kill the necromancer king before he killed the entire kingdom. Their plan went horrifically wrong, forcing Emily into a point-blank fight with a necromancer. She won, barely, but Randor’s dying curse stripped her of her magic.

Seemingly powerless, plunging into depression, Emily threw herself on the mercy of House Fellini, the one magical family with experience in dealing with magicless children. She rapidly found herself dealing with a mystery, from Cabiria’s seeming lack of power to just what happened when the family performed the ritual that unlocked her magic. However. It seemed futile. A clash with Jacqui revealed just how powerless she’d become, leading to a fight that ended her relationship with Cat. Emily wasn’t in the best state to discover that the family had a deadly secret, or that Cabiria’s uncle wanted to claim Heart’s Eye for himself. It took her everything she had to gain access to the nexus point long enough to undo the curse blocking her powers and kill him.

Still reeling from the near-disaster, Emily joined Caleb and a handful of her other friends in preparing Heart’s Eye for its new role. As they explored the school, they discovered the mirrors had been part of an experiment that had gone horrifically wrong. The school was linked to alternate timelines, including one with a surviving Dua Kepala and another dominated by an evil version of Emily herself. They eventually figured out that the school’s original staff had been fishing in interdimensional waters, catching hold of a multidimensional creature that was trying to break free. As reality itself started to break down, Emily managed to let it go.

After briefly returning to Zangaria to meet her namesake - now-Queen Alassa’s daughter, Princess Emily - Emily started her apprenticeship with Void. Pushed to the limits, forced to comprehend levels of magic she’d never realised existed, she found herself preparing for a greater role. Testing her constantly, Void eventually sent her to Dragora with an unspecified objective (seemingly to find out who murdered the king before the regent was appointed). She eventually discovered that the king had been killed by his daughter, who’d been pushed into developing her magic before she could handle it. Unwilling to kill the daughter or let her wreck havoc, Emily took a third option and used the magic-blocking curse to save the daughter’s life and give her time to grow up. Her instincts warned her not to tell Void what she’d done.

Several months later, Emily found herself going to war again. Three necromancers had banded together to invade the Allied Lands, using vast armies of slave labour to cut through the mountains and flood into the lowlands. Working out a plan, Emily used the bilocation spell to ensure that she’d be with the army raiding enemy territory and trying to sneak into the necromancer’s castle to reignite the nexus point (as she’d done earlier at Heart’s Eye). After a shaky start, and the decision to share the battery secret with a bunch of other magicians, she used a mimic to take out the final necromancer and then reignited the nexus point. Unknown to her, the nexus point was the linchpin of the entire network. Reigniting this nexus point would reignite the remainder, frying a handful of necromancers who’d been too close to the drained points when they came back to life. Between the nexus points and the batteries, the threat of the necromancers was gone ...

... And, with their defeat, the glue that held the Allied Lands together was also gone.

It did not take long for trouble to begin. In the aftermath of the war, old grudges flared to life. Kingdoms battled for power and position, armies warred over patches of land, commoners demanded political rights and freedoms from their aristocratic masters and magicians started plotting to separate themselves from the mundane world or set up new kingdoms in the formerly Blighted Lands. And, with the White City no longer wholly human and the White Council scattered, it was only a matter of time before the fragile peace was shattered beyond repair.

In a desperate bid to save what they could, the Allied Lands planned to hold a conference at Laughter Academy to settle the questions frozen in time by the seemingly-endless war. But all was not well in the witches school. The girls were growing increasingly reckless, increasingly out of hand, preying on the mundanes below the mountain school while their tutors plotted and schemed to take advantage of the chaos. No one knew why.

Recovering from the trials and tribulations of the war, and eager to resume her apprenticeship, Emily was in no condition to intervene. But when Lady Barb, her former tutor, asked for her help, Emily could not refuse. Heading to Laugher, she took up a teaching position as she searched for the truth. Dragged into a deranged plot to resurrect a long-dead witch, assisted by shadowy figures from outside the school, Emily discovered that the real purpose was to disgrace the school. She was barely in time to save the girls from certain death.

However, she was unaware that - now the war was over - powerful magicians felt they no longer needed her. And, as she left Laughter for the final time, she found herself surrounded by enemies and placed under arrest. Realising they intended to kill her, she tried to escape - fighting a bunch of combat magicians, led by Master Lucknow, to a standstill. Void arrived - summoned by Jan - in time to insist they gave her a proper trial in front of the White Council. It went badly - for them. Queen Alassa and a bunch of Emily’s old friends and allies arrived to speak in her defence. In a bid to save face, Master Lucknow put forward a proposal.

The Kingdom of Alluvia had been rocked by revolution. The king and queen were prisoners, the crown prince and his brother leading an army to put down the rebellion before it spread out of control. The White Council proposed that Emily should meditate between the two sides, in hopes of ending the conflict peacefully. Agreeing, Emily travelled to the kingdom in the company of Prince Hedrick, Lady Barb and Silent, her maid. She arrived to discover that the king had already had his head chopped off.

The mission rapidly proved impossible. Neither the Crown Prince - now King - nor the rebels wanted to agree on terms. Worse, Emily became aware that an unseen force was manipulating both sides, a force using magic. She investigated, all the while trying to convince the two sides to lower their demands, but it was impossible. As matters spiralled out of control, she discovered the worst possible news. Nanette, her old enemy had been posing as Silent. And that meant that it was Void who was pulling the strings.

Hurrying to Whitehall, where the White Council was gathering to discuss the future, she discovered she was too late. Void had already claimed the nexus point for himself, using a combination of Emily’s own spells to take control of the school and declare himself the new ruler of the Allied Lands. He tried to talk her into joining him, pointing out that the White Council were incompetent and the kings and patriarchs self-interested. Emily refused, only to be held prisoner by a spell targeted on her name. Lady Barb saved her, buying time for Emily to escape at the cost of her life.

Unknown to Emily, as she and a handful of companions fled, she was chased by two sets of enemies; Void’s enhanced troops and the remainder of the White Council’s forces, which blamed her for the chaos. Emily was forced to run deep into Alluvia, where she forged an uneasy alliance with Prince - now King - Dater and then into Rose Red, where she joined forces - briefly - with Princess Mariah, Dater’s promised bride. Leaving the newly-married Dater and Mariah behind, holding a nexus point against Void, she and her companions kept moving, encountering rebels - one of whom claimed to be her - and, eventually, being taken prisoner by the White Council’s forces.

Held in Resolution Castle and threatened with the complete loss of her magic (again), Emily was forced to escape, destroying what remained of the White Council’s enforcers in the process. Making it to Zangaria, she was confronted by Void and captured by Nanette, who risked the displeasure of her master to avenge herself on Emily. Helpless, Emily took the risk of opening her mind to Nanette, showing her rival that it hadn't been her who’d killed Aurelius, Nanette’s former master and father-figure. Convincing Nanette to join her, they made their way back to Zangaria and planned a counterattack. Mustering Emily’s allies, they went on the offensive and eventually won, defeating Void at the last moment.

But it was too late to save the old order. Many kings and aristocrats had been killed in the first terrible moments of the war. Others had been forced to flee and fight for their lives. The old White Council had been destroyed, while the magical communities had been infiltrated and turned against each other. And rebels and revolutionaries want to reshape the world according to their ideals …

The war is over. The peace has yet to be won.

And with new enemies making their appearance, Emily’s life is as dangerous as ever …

 

Prologue

The most frustrating thing about Princess Anastasia, Circe had discovered over the last two years, was that she didn’t have any idea how lucky she was.

She was the only child of King Arthur and Queen Marion, the acknowledged heir to the Kingdom of Rockfall. Her kingdom was not inherently opposed to a woman taking the throne and ruling in her own right, and there were no suggestions she should marry a good man and let him rule the kingdom in her name. She was young and beautiful, with long dark hair, a pale face and a well-developed body that had the poets writing sonnets to her beauty, sonnets that were not in any way exaggerated by crawlers hoping for Royal patronage. Her beauty owed nothing to the magic flowing through her veins, nor a small collection of cosmetics the castle staff kept on hand for older and far less secure aristocratic woman. The Princess truly was a lucky girl.

She was also lazy.

She had the very best of tutors, from a father who ruled his kingdom with a combination of a firm hand and practical politicking to experts in everything from magic to reading, writing, and numbers. She was very far from stupid, and she could learn a great deal about anything that interested her with remarkable speed, but she had little interest in making use of the resources around her to broaden her mind. Her father found it hard to convince her to attend court, her tutors found it harder still to make her pay mind to her lessons. She had mastered the basics - she could read and write and few would deny her calligraphy was the equal of her father’s - but showed no interest in learning more. She spent more time riding her horse than she did behind a desk, learning the skills she would need when her father passed on and left her the kingdom.

Circe found it outrageous. She had climbed out of the gutter through a combination of magic, ruthlessness, and sheer dumb luck. If she hadn’t found someone willing to school her in magic, and so many other skills denied to a lowborn guttersnipe, she knew it was unlikely she would have survived to reach adulthood. She had made a devil’s bargain, trading her body and her mind for lessons the Princess was offered for free, and it was hard not to feel anger and resentment at how the Princess disdained the learning that would likely save her life. She had so many opportunities and she declined them all, to her own detriment. The Princess was too intolerant to pay attention to politics, but Circe was not. Her father was holding the kingdom together through sheer force of will and bloody mindedness. It was unclear if his daughter could master the arts of government in time to take the helm when he died. Circe would not have cared to put money on it. Rockfall was in for some rough times.

The worst thing of all, she reflected in the privacy of her own mind, was that it was hard to hate Princess Anastasia.

The Princess was lazy, and intolerant, but she wasn’t a bad person. Circe had seen aristocratic girls and women treat their maids like slaves, lashing out at them physically or verbally every time they were even slightly displeased. She had heard tales of far worse, from young women who took service the households of the great and the good to maidens who found themselves seduced and then abandoned by their aristocratic paramours, and compared to many others life in the Princess’s tiny household was surprisingly pleasant. If Circe had been a genuine Lady’s Maid, she would have lit incense in thanks for such a caring mistress.

And if Circe had been less driven to attain power, by any means necessary, she might have had second thoughts about what she intended to do.

It would have been easier, in some ways, if her mistress had been truly unpleasant. Circe would have had no qualms about displacing a horrible person, and anyone who noticed the swap would likely keep their mouth shut for fear of the original returning. She knew better than to allow sympathy, or even guilt, to distract her - she had already gone too far to stop now - but it was still a little harder than it should have been to take the final step. She told herself that she was doing the Princess a favour, giving Anastasia the sort of lesson her parents should have given her a long time ago, but Circe doubted Anastasia would feel the same way. The hell of it was that Circe herself would have been delighted, if someone had made her the same offer.

But the Princess did not know how lucky she truly was.

The bell rang. Circe stood, brushing down her dress. It was time.

Hardly anyone noticed her as she made her way to the Princess’s chambers. She had always taken care to dress as drably as possible, to make no attempt to exploit her position as the Princess’s maid, to do as little as possible to draw attention to herself. A handful of castle servants, more observant than their masters, had wondered at her willingness to remain in the shadows, but none had realised the truth. Being unseen gave one a kind of freedom, a freedom she had ruthlessly exploited. It had taken months of effort to subvert the castle wards, to allow herself a degree of access and control that would have shocked the court wizard if he ever realised what she had done, but it was about to pay off.

She stopped outside the door and centred herself. Once she stepped inside, she was committed. She could still stop herself …

No. That wasn’t possible. She had committed herself long ago.

And now it was time to make the final move and reap her reward.

 

Chapter One

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Princess Anastasia said, firmly.”I’ve had quite enough.”

The Royal Tutor blinked owlishly at her. He was younger than most tutors, with an air of grim determination that was oddly subverted by the way his tutoring robes hung oddly around his body. The appearance of an elderly man of letters, a person of great knowledge and practical wisdom, was difficult for a young man to project, no matter how well he knew his material. He’d yet to master the skill of making his lessons interesting, no matter how boring the subject matter, and it cost him. There were few other ways to keep a young woman of noble blood, let alone a princess, focusing on her work.

“But Your Highness …”

“You are dismissed,” Anastasia said. She picked up the textbook, the latest – and probably already outdated – tome on political developments since the end of the Necromantic Wars and passed it to him. “I’ll send for you when I am ready to resume the lessons.”

The tutor bowed, moving far more spryly than most of his peers could hope, and backed out of the chamber. Anastasia watched him go, somehow resisting the urge to point out that his wig was crooked, on the verge of falling off. Whoever had designed the poor man’s robes had a great deal to answer for, particularly the insistence that their wearers should either dye their hair grey or wear a grey wig. It might give an elderly man a sense of dignity, but it made a young man seem a fool, a child wearing his father’s clothes. They just didn’t suit him.

She sank back into her chair, feeling a twinge of envy. The tutor – it dawned on her, not for the first time, that she honestly didn’t recall the young man’s name – had chosen his life, devoting himself to studying politics, the New Learning, magitech and a dozen other subjects that interested him, even though he had little hope of ever practicing them personally. Her future was fixed, as sure as the sun rose in the east and sank in the west. She was the Crown Princess of Rockfall and she would be Queen, when her father passed into the realm of the dead. There was no competition, no sibling or cousin who might make a bid for the throne themselves. She would be Queen. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

And I can’t even pass it on to someone else, she thought, numbly. It is my fate.

She rang the bell and leaned back in her chair, waiting. Patsy materialised a moment later, entering the room so silently it was hard to notice her until she announced herself. Anastasia almost envied her maid’s talent for remaining unnoticed, her dress and demeanour so subtle that she was often invisible in a crowd, without even a hint of magic. She had no interest in building a power base of her own, exploiting her position as the Princess’s personal maid to enrich herself or even find a good husband from the lower ranking aristocrats or merchants. It was hard, sometimes, to describe her. She was so bland and boring, carrying out her duties without drawing attention to herself, that Anastasia had to think to recall the colour of her maid’s eyes. Her outfit was just … bland.

“Your Highness,” Patsy said, dropping a neat little curtsy. She hadn’t adopted the modern custom of showing too much flesh, or even wearing something that drew attention to her curves without showing anything below the neckline. “What can I do for you?”

Anastasia stood, brushing down her dress. “I feel like going for a ride,” she said, shortly. If she left now, she’d be well away from the castle by the time her next tutor arrived. “Send someone to alert the stablemaster, then help me get into my riding clothes.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. “You have an appointment with the Court Wizard at eleven bells, then lunch with your mother at one …”

“I’m sure they’ll get on just fine without me,” Anastasia said, waspishly. The Court Wizard expected her to memorise volumes of magical theory before he taught her more than the basics, her mother veered between lecturing Anastasia on her duties and moaning about events in Alluvia. It might be Patsy’s duty to remind her, but Anastasia had no intention of going. “My mother hasn’t had a single new thing to say for years.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” Patsy turned to the door, opened it to summon a messenger boy, and sent him on his way with a few short words. “Do you intend to ride far?”

“Far enough not to be found,” Anastasia said. She strode into her bedroom, cursing the fashion that made it hard to get out of a dress without help. “It’s going to be one of those days.”

Her maid made no comment as she helped Anastasia to undress, then presented her with a set of riding clothes. They were so much more convenient – breeches, a jacket, boots – that she had determined she’d wear them all the time, when she was Queen. The dresses might show off her family’s wealth and power, just in case one of the courtiers had forgotten where he was, but they were uncomfortable and irritating. It wasn’t as if anyone was likely to forget she was the princess. Her face adorned the wall of everyone who was anyone, who wanted to be. She’d certainly sat for enough portraits over the years.

She stood, studying herself in the mirror. Long dark ringlets of hair framed a tinted olive face, dark eyes and lips that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Everyone said she was beautiful and she knew for a fact they were telling the truth, although it would be a rare courtier indeed who suggested their princess was anything less than stunningly beautiful. Rockfall had fewer courtiers trying to outdo their peers by singing the praises of the Royal Family, if Queen Marion was to be believed, but … Anastasia shook her head. Her father had cautioned her to be wary of taking such crawlers seriously. They would change their tune in a heartbeat if they felt it wise.

“You need a cloak, Your Highness,” Patsy said. She’d changed too, into a riding outfit that was as drab as her regular dress. “And you should take your amulet.”

Anastasia snorted, but reached for the amulet and placed it around her neck. Patsy was right. The golden design was surprisingly simple, compared to the jewellery showered on her by everyone who wanted to buy her favour, but the charms woven into the metal were designed to protect her against almost any threat, at least long enough to buy her time to escape. Her father wouldn’t be pleased if she left the castle without it, and she didn’t want to upset him. She loved her father. And yet, he never had enough time for her.

“We’ll go down the back stairs,” Anastasia said. “We wouldn’t want to be stopped along the way.”

“No, Your Highness,” Patsy agreed. “That would be most inconvenient.”

There was a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice. Anastasia ignored it. Patsy’s job was to do as she was told, while serving as a maid, chaperone and woman-of-all-work. Anastasia knew little about Patsy and that was how it should be. She did her job well and that was all that mattered. She certainly didn’t have the kind of relatives or connections that would press her to take advantage of her position, or try to influence their princess. Anastasia wasn’t looking forward to assuming the throne. She would have to take the young ladies of the kingdom as her handmaidens then, enduring their presence in her most private moments. Her mother had often complained about the custom and Anastasia didn’t blame her. She had little privacy of her own too.

The back stairs were supposed to be secret, although Anastasia was fairly sure everyone knew they existed even if they didn’t have access. Her skin prickled as they stepped through a handful of wards, designed to keep out intruders, and walked down the thin stairs to the bottom. The stables, located at the rear of the castle, teemed with activity, young boys mucking out the stalls while the stablemaster strode from steed to steed, checking their work with a gimlet eye. He showed no hint of surprise as he saw her, merely bowing low and motioning for two of the newer stableboys to bow too. Anastasia pretended not to notice their hesitation, then uncertainty over how deeply they should bow. She hadn’t enjoyed her etiquette lessons either.

“Champion and Lady are ready, My Lady,” the stablemaster said. “I’ve taken the liberty of adding a picnic to your saddlebags.”

“Thank you,” Anastasia said. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it.”

She allowed the man to lead her to the final stall, Patsy trailing behind her like a shadow. Her horse looked pleased to see her, whinnying as Anastasia put her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. A sudden pang of guilt shot through her – she’d been too busy to come down and see him – and she made a promise to herself that she’d make sure to rub him down and muck out his stall personally, when they returned. It was good for bonding with her steed, her father had said, and besides, it would provide a good excuse for being late for dinner. Or taking her meal alone, in her chambers. Eating in front of the entire court, every eye on her, was never pleasant. And right now, she didn’t have the power to make up for the inconvenience.

“Come on,” she said, to Patsy. She didn’t wait for assistance, merely scrambled into the saddle and took the reins. “We have to be on the move.”

Patsy’s face didn’t change, but Anastasia had the impression the normally imperturbable maid was irked as she clambered onto Lady. Patsy could ride reasonably well, yet she was no horsewoman and clearly wasn’t particularly comfortable on horseback. Lady was as tame as any horse could be, the kind of beast small children would be seated on to learn the basics before they graduated to more frisky steeds, but Patsy had never quite reached the point where she could try a better horse. Anastasia wouldn’t have begrudged her the lessons, if she’d wanted to improve her horsemanship, yet … she shook her head, dismissing the thought. Patsy was her maid. She could easily remain behind …

But I have to be chaperoned, Anastasia thought, with a flicker of irritation. Her mother’s prudish insistence on maintaining her reputation at all times, on ensuring her virtue could not be questioned let alone drawn into disrepute, was just … irritating. No one questioned her father’s conduct, no one raised their eyebrows if he had private meetings … she told herself, not for the first time, that things would be different when she took the throne. I’ll do whatever I want and to hell with anyone who says me nay.

She put the thought out of her mind as Champion trotted out of the stable and through the rear gate, the guards bowing or doffing their hats as she passed. The cold air slapped her across the face, shaking away the lethargy of a morning spent being bored to death by tutors who never used one word when a dozen could do. Lady followed, Patsy so quiet it was easy to forget she was there. Anastasia felt a flicker of dark amusement as they cantered through the streets of Caithness and out into the Royal Forest. The sense of sudden freedom was overwhelming. It would be easy, she told herself, to dig in her spurs and make a run for Rumbling Bridge, the nearest pass through the mountains that surrounded Rockfall, protecting the kingdom from her larger and more powerful neighbours. Or even to just lose herself in the forest. It would feel good to make a choice for herself, even if it were a poor one.

Champion neighed as she pulled on the reins, commanding him to slow and turn. The castle rose up above the city, the largest structure in the kingdom. Caithness was small by the standards of many other kingdoms, but it was still large enough for her. She felt a twinge of bitter regret as she spied a handful of caravans making their way down the Northern Road, carrying trade goods through the passes and in and out of the city. The kingdom was far more progressive than most when it came to women’s rights, and there were plenty of female traders travelling from kingdom to kingdom, but she was trapped. She would spend the rest of her life in Rockfall, both ruler and prisoner of her kingdom. Lady trotted up, Patsy seated uncomfortably on her back, and Anastasia gritted her teeth. Her maid didn’t know how lucky she was. She could leave her post at any moment and find somewhere better, somewhere more suited to her talents.

“Your father is expecting you to read the latest trade agreements this evening,” Patsy reminded her. “We have to be back for dinner.”

Anastasia shook her head, curtly. The king was supposed to be the ruler of the kingdom, but Parliament did much of the work while he sat on his throne and looked regal. Anastasia didn’t pretend to understand how her father could spend so much time in committees, chairing meetings and letting everyone have their say; she wondered, sometimes, why he wasn’t the absolute monarch she knew him to be. Her mother didn’t help, grumbling about her father’s willingness to compromise rather than lay down the law. She had come from a kingdom where the king had lost his grip and faced an outright rebellion, one that had cost him his head. It didn’t help that far too many people wondered what sort of political ideas she’d brought with her …

“You also have to receive a messenger from a foreign suitor, asking for your hand in marriage,” Patsy continued. “He’s supposed to arrive, spontaneously, this evening.”

“This must be an entirely new definition of the word spontaneous,” Anastasia muttered, sourly. The bards had hundreds of songs about princes who left their kingdoms to play at being suitors to a princess, winning their hearts by coming hundreds of miles to press their suits in person, but the real world was rarely so obliging. Any spontaneous visit was planned in advance and no one thought otherwise, save perhaps children too young to realise the truth. A prince turning up in disguise, without warning, would be a major scandal. “Do you think his portrait will look like the reality?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Patsy said.

“Parliament will have its say,” Anastasia said. It was true. She couldn’t be allowed to make such a choice for herself, not when the kingdom was at stake. “And so will my father.”

She turned her horse and galloped onwards, cantering to her favourite part of the woods. A small lake, so well hidden within the trees that she could pretend she was truly alone. She knew better than to believe it, but … anyone within the Royal Forest without permission would be careful to remain unnoticed, not when a poacher could have his hand cut off for trespassing. Or worse. She pulled Champion to a halt and scrambled off his back, leaving him to nibble the grass as she stepped towards the lake. The horse was too well trained to run off, not unless something happened to her. Lady arrived a moment later, Patsy dropping herself to the ground with a thud. Anastasia didn’t turn. Her maid might not be a good horsewoman, but it was difficult to imagine anything putting her down for long.

The thought faded as she stared over the lake. It was oddly quiet, the normal sound of birds flying through the trees and small rodents darting through the undergrowth almost inaudible. A twinge of unease ran down Anastasia’s spine, banished almost at once. It was a cold day and most of the forest’s wildlife would be nesting, trying to stay warm. She lifted her eyes to the distant mountains, noting the snow on the peaks. It had been a long time since she’d been so far from Caithness, and she’d never be allowed to travel beyond the mountains.

Patsy came up behind her. “A Crown for your thoughts, My Lady?”

Anastasia surprised herself by answering the question. “I’m trapped in a gilded cage.”

There was a hint of … something … in Patsy’s voice. “There are many who would wish to be in your place, My Lady.”

Anastasia blinked. It was rare for anyone to reprove her, let alone scold her. She was the Princess. No one could ever forget that, not even her mother. Certainly not a Lady’s Maid who could be dismissed at any moment, without so much as bothering with an excuse. Anastasia had dismissed maids before. She could certainly do it again.

“You can have it, if you like,” she said, snarkily. It wasn’t going to happen and they both knew it. Anastasia could no more surrender her birthright than she could cut her own throat. “It’s not a blessing.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Patsy said, her voice tinged with dark amusement. “I believe I shall.”

Anastasia turned, quickly. Patsy looked different, in a manner Anastasia couldn’t quite place. She looked … as if she wasn’t trying to be unnoticed, unnoticeable, any longer. Her stance was firmer, drawing attention to her in a manner she normally shunned … she looked, suddenly, very dangerous. Anastasia’s father had a regal presence, one that made it very hard for anyone to disobey his commands; Patsy, now, had a presence of her own. The shock was so great it was hard for Anastasia to think clearly, let alone speak. Her thoughts were spinning helplessly. Everything was just … wrong.

“I …”

Patsy jabbed a finger at Anastasia. Her entire body froze.

 

Chapter Two

Anastasia’s mind went blank.

No one, absolutely no one, had ever cast a spell on her. It was forbidden, effectively treason, to cast spells on the Royal Family, no matter the motive. Her protections … her mind reeled as it dawned on her that her protections had been completely ineffective, that Patsy had cast a spell right through them as if they didn’t exist at all. She was helpless, utterly unable to move … what the hell was going to happen to her? Kidnap? Death? Who would risk doing either, in the heart of the kingdom? Who stood to benefit?

Patsy strode forward until their faces were almost touching, her features seeming to sharpen into something else. It wasn’t Patsy … no, it was, but it was also someone else. The woman hadn’t changed at all, yet she somehow drew Anastasia’s attention in a manner Patsy had never done before. The maid had remained in the shadows for the last two years, little more than an extension of Anastasia’s will … it struck Anastasia, suddenly, that she might have made a dreadful mistake. If she’d paid more attention to Patsy, perhaps she would have noticed something was wrong. But it was too late.

“We are a very long way from civilisation,” Patsy said. The voice was the same, but there was a confidence and self-assurance in the tone that made her impossible to overlook. Sparks danced around her fingertips, a grim reminder that she had magic and knew how to use it. “If you scream, Your Highness, I assure you no one will hear.”

Anastasia struggled against her invisible bonds, trying to break free. She knew a handful of counterspells – the Court Wizard had drilled some tricks into her head – but they all refused to work. The spell was too strong, or she lacked the focus to cast without moving her hands. Patsy was right, she realised as horror ran though her mind. She’d ridden far from the castle, leading Patsy where Patsy wanted to go. There might be a poacher somewhere near, someone who had no legitimate reason to be in the forest, but …it was unlikely a poacher would come to her aid, not when it could easily get their hands cut off for poaching. And who would want to pick a fight with a sorceress?

“Two years, two years spent shadowing you,” Patsy said. “And you never even noticed!”

Anastasia wanted to scream. Two years! She’d hoped, vaguely, that Patsy had been knocked out, tied up and left in a closet somewhere, but two years …? If that was true, she had never known the real Patsy, if indeed such a person even existed. Ice ran down her spine as she realised that she was completely alone, at the mercy of a sorceress who could cut through her protections as effortlessly as Anastasia could drive a knife through softened butter. Her mind spun, frantically trying to recall everything she’d done to Patsy. She knew she hadn’t been as bad as some young ladies, when it came to treating their maids poorly, but Patsy might not see it that way. If she wanted revenge …

“I’m going to weaken the spell, so we can talk,” Patsy told her. “If you try to escape, or attack me, I’ll turn you into a frog. Understand?”

Anastasia couldn’t move a muscle. There was no way she could answer. Patsy’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, so alien on her bland face and yet somehow so fitting, as she made a movement with her hand. Anastasia dropped to the ground, her body spasming in pain. It was hard, so hard, not to cry out. She hadn’t cramped so badly since the first day she’d spent on horseback. It was hard …

She forced herself to stand, trying to think. Patsy was surrounded with a faint haze of magic … Anastasia knew, somehow, that her threat was no idle boast. The magic felt cold and hard and yet hostile, utterly threatening … she dared not risk touching it. She looked past Patsy, at the horses, and cursed under her breath as she realised both Champion and Lady were frozen too, completely unmoving. There was no way she could get out of Patsy’s line of sight before it was too late … if indeed Patsy needed line of sight to curse her. The spell might follow her as she weaved her way through the trees … she swallowed, hard. Her father had taught her a little about how to handle herself, if she was kidnapped, but he’d always assured her that the Royal Guard would have no trouble tracking her down. Anastasia had the nasty feeling he hadn’t been telling the truth. If a sorceress had somehow managed to pose as her maid for two years, she would have no trouble hiding her victim from the guardsmen. Or the Court Wizard.

“Patsy,” she managed. “Why …?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Patsy’s tone dripped disdain, chilling Anastasia to the bone. It was proof Patsy really wasn’t the person Anastasia had thought she was. “I’m going to take your place.”

Anastasia blinked. “My place?”

“You’re quite frustrating, you know?” Patsy giggled, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re clever, but you refuse to develop your mind. You have magic, yet you refuse to fan the spark of power into a flame. You are of royal blood, the unquestioned heir to the kingdom, but you refuse to learn how to handle the role before it falls on you. Your father is extremely worried about what will happen to the kingdom, when he dies and you take the throne.”

“No, he isn’t,” Anastasia protested. “I …”

“You are lazy,” Patsy said, flatly. There was something in her tone that suggested she found laziness worse than nearly anything else. “You have made no attempt to listen to your father, to understand him or the problems he faces, or even …”

She shrugged. “What was it you said? Parliament will have its say?”

Anastasia flushed. “What of it?”

“You would put power in the hands of Parliament,” Patsy said, dryly. “And once you let go, you’ll find it very hard to claw the power back.”

“But …” Anastasia swallowed, hard. “I thought …”

“You didn’t think,” Patsy said. “I happen to know your father has been looking for a suitable husband for you, one with the strength to take and hold and wield power in your name. He’s been frustrated so far, because few princes can be trusted not to abuse such power once they take hold of it. I think he’ll find me a much more congenial daughter.”

Anastasia stared at her. “You can’t take my place!”

Patsy smirked. “Why not?”

Anastasia gritted her teeth. “You’re not me!”

“Really?” Patsy’s smirk grew wider. “Believe me, no one will notice.”

“You can’t,” Anastasia said. “My parents …”

Patsy snapped her fingers. Her face shimmered, then morphed into a duplicate of the face Anastasia saw in the mirror every morning. The smirk was wrong, as if it didn’t quite match the face, but otherwise … she swallowed, hard. She had few friends, certainly few who visited regularly, few who shared secrets with her … horror ran through her, again, as it dawned on her that Patsy had been with her for nearly every waking moment, over the last two years. She had seen Anastasia at her regal best, she’d seen Anastasia throwing a tantrum after her mother had denied her something … Anastasia couldn’t remember what, now. She’d been there for nearly every lesson Anastasia had taken, from her father’s tedious lectures on the history of the royal family and their kingdom to the handful of practical lessons in magic … she knew how to read and write, how to comport herself like a princess, how to do everything Anastasia could do. And more.

“You won’t get away with this,” Anastasia said, feeling her blood turn to ice. “You won’t.”

Panic yammered at the back of her mind. A princess could be kidnapped, but most kidnappers needed to keep their hostage alive. They wanted to force concessions from the families, or to extract ransoms, or even … the idea of kidnapping a princess to marry her had gone out of fashion years ago, yet it was still a very real threat. Few royal families wanted to admit their princess had been kidnapped, forced into marriage and raped … reading between the lines, Anastasia wondered just how many marriages in history were nothing more than facades covering a gruesome and horrific reality. If some wandering prince kidnapped her …

She swallowed, hard. He’d need to keep her alive. Patsy didn’t. Worse, perhaps. She had a good reason to want Anastasia dead, just to make sure no one ever realised their princess had been replaced. She could kill Anastasia now, then ride back home and take her place. Hardly anyone noticed Patsy, not even the guards. A little misdirection could hide Patsy’s absence long enough to concoct a suitable cover story, perhaps the maid going home to marry or being dismissed for being overly familiar or something, anything, that wouldn’t draw attention. Patsy was smart. She would already have a plan to explain her absence.

“I …” Anastasia swallowed hard, resolving to keep Patsy talking. “Why? Why me?”

A flash of hatred crossed her doppelganger’s face. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

She went on before Anastasia could come up with an answer. “You were born in a castle, I was born in the slums. You had a loving and caring family, my father’s a mystery and my mother a whore. You slept in a warm bed, I shivered in the cold. You had lessons in everything that took your fancy, I had to scrimp and save and pay unimaginable prices for even the smallest lessons in magic. Do you know the price I had to pay my tutor for his lessons? Do you know …”

Patsy calmed herself with a visible effort. “If you were in my shoes, Princess, you’d want to change places too.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth. “There are no slums in the kingdom …”

“Hah.” Patsy laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. “Shows how much you know.”

“I’m not stupid,” Anastasia protested. “I …”

“No,” Pasty agreed. “You’re not stupid. You are lazy, and indolent, and unwilling to learn the lessons in relative safety, lessons you need to master before you inherit the throne and you find yourself learning them the hard way. You are born to wealth and power and yet you are utterly incapable of tending to it, doing the hard work of maintaining your family’s power base in an ever changing world and then passing it down to your children. You didn’t even bother to learn the magic you need to defend yourself, in a world that can be very cruel to women who try to rule in their own name …”

“Queen Alassa rules alone,” Anastasia pointed out.

“She has a husband who is a great warrior and greater sorcerer, and a best friend who is greater still,” Patsy countered. “What do you have? Name a single person who truly calls you a friend?”

Anastasia had no answer. She was the Crown Princess, the Heir to the Throne. No one could forget that, from the highest to the lowest. She’d had too many aristocratic women, daughters of the great and the good, trying to befriend her for the sake of their families; the young men, irritatingly, spent most of their time trying to impress her, or to ask for her favour. None cared for Anastasia herself, none could be trusted to keep her secrets when their families started to pressure them to talk. It was galling to realise that Patsy was the closest thing to a genuine friend she had, and Patsy had been studying her coldly, preparing to take her place. Patsy was right. She had no one.

“I’ll be a much better princess than you,” Patsy said. “Do you doubt it?”

“You’re not me,” Anastasia managed. “And they’ll ask questions.”

Patsy smirked. “It has all been arranged,” she said. “Princess Anastasia and her servant, riding home after a long laze around the lake, will be attacked by bandits. The servant will sacrifice herself to give Princess Anastasia a chance to escape, which she will. By the time the Royal Guard arrives, the bandits and the servant will be long gone. The Princess, shocked out of her complacency, will start taking her role seriously, learning the ropes and making the connections she needs to rule effectively, once her father takes early retirement. Any changes in personality will be easily explained by the near-disaster, and Anastasia’s new willingness to be the daughter her parents want will discourage any further questions. I will take your place, Your Highness, and I will be a better you than you ever were.”

Anastasia stared. “My father …”

“I won’t kill him,” Patsy said. “But I will edge him aside, when the time comes.”

“He’s a good king,” Anastasia protested. “I …”

“He failed to knock some sense into his daughter,” Patsy said. “But he doesn’t have to worry about that now, does he?”

Anastasia felt her legs wobble. Patsy really had thought of everything, from an explanation for her own absence to a reason for the princess’s sudden interest in doing her job. And her father … Anastasia loved her father, despite his flaws. The idea of him being displaced by a cuckoo in his nest … she tensed, bracing herself to spring, only to catch Patsy watching her with an amused eye. Some magicians could read thoughts, she’d been told. Was Patsy reading hers now? Or was she so familiar with Anastasia that she didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was thinking? Patsy had seen her in her most unguarded moments, watching her when she was alone and no longer needed to be the princess, rather than a person in her own right. She knew Anastasia too well …

She sagged. “What now?”

Patsy met her eyes. “I have an offer for you,” she said. She pointed a finger at the amulet around Anastasia’s neck. “I want you to give it to me, willingly.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth. “Why? The amulet is useless.”

“Is it?” Patsy shrugged. “No matter. I want you to give it to me.”

“And if I refuse?”

Patsy’s expression hardened. “You have two choices. If you give it to me willingly, I will send you into exile a very long way from home. You are far from stupid and you have, despite your best efforts, some skills you can use to make a life for yourself. Who knows? You might find yourself genuinely happy, rather than trapped in a role you don’t really want. And I won’t kill your parents.”

She paused, dramatically. “If you refuse to surrender the amulet, I will take it from you and turn you into a frog, then bind the spell to make it impossible for anyone but me to ever restore your human form. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a lake a few thousand miles from here, so far away you’ll never get back … and even if you do, you’ll never be returned to humanity. If you’re lucky, your mind will fade away and you’ll forget you were ever anything other than a frog. If not … you’ll be trapped in an inhuman form, all too aware of what happened to you. And you will have to live with the knowledge that your parents will die the moment they outlive their usefulness.”

Anastasia felt sick. “Why don’t you just kill me?”

Patsy shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You …”

Patsy shrugged, again. “You’re not a bad person. You remind me of myself, just a little. I can give you the chance to rise from nothing, like I did, and it costs me nothing to do so. And if you give me the amulet, you’ll have a chance. Or …”

Anastasia stared at her double. The cold ruthless expression was utterly alien to her. The idea they were very much alike seemed absurd, utterly impossible. They weren’t the same. They just weren’t.

“Choose,” Patsy said. “What’s it to be?”

“Who are you?” Anastasia fought for time, knowing it was futile. “Who …?”

“You may call me Circe,” Patsy said. “I’m afraid Patsy never truly existed. It was me all along.”

Anastasia stared at her, her mind churning. She couldn’t give up the amulet, could she? She recalled something about the dangers of handing it over willingly, but … she couldn’t remember the details. She wished, suddenly, that she’d paid more attention to the lectures. If she’d developed her own magic …

She swallowed, hard. She wanted to say no, to dare Patsy – Circe – to do her worst, but … the idea of spending the rest of her life as a dumb animal was terrifying. Circe would do it too, she was sure. And then she’d go on to take Anastasia’s place and kill her parents. She’d thought of everything.

“I have no more time,” Circe said. She held up a hand, an eerie greenish light dancing over her fingertips. Anastasia couldn’t keep from flinching. The light pulsed against her mind, making it harder to think clearly. “What’s it to be?”

Anastasia straightened, then lifted the amulet over her head and held it out to Circe. It was a surrender and she knew it, a concession she had no choice but to make … a sign of submission she hated herself for making. “I’ll get back here and …”

Circe took the amulet and snapped her fingers. Anastasia froze, again.

“Spare me the melodrama,” she said. The contempt in her voice cut to the quick. “Whatever happens, you and I will never see each other again.”

Her lips twisted. “And I trust you’ll forgive me if I don’t wish you good luck.”

She snapped her fingers a second time. Anastasia’s world went black.

 

Chapter Three

“Wake up!”

Anastasia felt sick, hot and feverish and completely uncertain of anything as she struggled towards wakefulness. Her memories were a jumbled mess, her thoughts spinning in circles as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her … for a moment, she was certain she’d merely had a very bad nightmare and when she opened her eyes, she’d find herself in her own bed with Patsy bustling around her, opening the curtains and allowing sunlight to chivvy her the rest of the way into the waking world. Patsy … horror ran through her as some of the memories fell into place, warning her that she wasn’t trapped in a dream. Patsy – no, Circe – had betrayed her and taken her place and … where was she?

She gasped in pain, struggling to breathe. The air was heavy with incense, the scent pressing down on her like a physical force. Her body was lying on a thin blanket, too thin to protect her from the hard flooring underneath. It shifted oddly, a faint sensation of movement that meant nothing to her. Was she on a train? She’d seen the railway lines driven through the mountains and into Rockfall, turning the kingdom into a hub of the railway network slowly spreading over the Allied Lands … she hadn’t been allowed to actually ride on the train, she had no idea what it actually felt like to be on one …

A foot kicked her ribs, hard. “Wake up!”

Anastasia’s eyes snapped open. She was lying on her back in a darkened room, the only source of illumination a weak lantern hanging from the ceiling. A shadowy shape loomed over her … she was sure, although she wasn’t sure how, that someone was staring down at her. There were faint chinks of light in the distance, as if the walls weren’t quite solid, but … horror ran through her as she realised she was alone and helpless, at the mercy of a complete stranger. Her mother was going to be horrified, if she ever knew. But if Circe had been telling the truth, Anastasia’s mother didn’t even know she was missing.

“Good to see you’re awake,” a voice said. It was masculine but oddly scratchy, as if the speaker had forgotten how to talk long ago and was trying to relearn the art the hard way. “I have bought your contract.”

Anastasia felt her head spin as she forced herself to sit upright, despite the throbbing pain in her head. The floor below her was rocking very slightly, a faint and yet very disconcerting motion that bothered her at a very primal level. Her body ached, a dull pain that made it hard to think clearly. She was alone, with a man … she gritted her teeth. She had more important problems, right now, than her reputation.

Her mouth was dry. It was hard to speak. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Master Avitus,” the voice said. “I am your master.”

He snapped his fingers. A lightglobe appeared in midair, so bright Anastasia felt as if daggers were being driven through her eyes and straight into her mind. The pain was agonising … she gritted her teeth, trying to recall the mental disciplines the Court Wizard had tried to teach her. She really should have paid more attention, she told herself bitterly. There were no painkilling potions here … somehow, she had the feeling Avitus, whoever or whatever he was, had no interest in her comfort. It was just impossible to think clearly, yet … she forced herself to grow accustomed to the light, to look up at Avitus. He was …

She stared, numb horror pervading her thoughts. He was a walking skeleton … for a horrified moment, she thought he was a lich before realising he did have skin, skin so tightly stretched over his skull that she could practically see the bone underneath. His robe concealed most of his body, but his arms were painfully thin and his fingertips long and angular in a manner that was disturbingly inhuman. She met his eyes and recoiled at the sickly yellow gaze, the impression of a human body kept alive by spite and raw magic. The stench of decay struck her a moment later and she nearly retched. It had barely been covered by the incense.

It was difficult to think clearly. Where was she? The Blighted Lands?

She looked down at herself. Her riding clothes were gone, replaced with a tunic that was so loose she couldn’t help wondering if it had been made out of a potato sack. The boots were the only thin she’d been allowed to keep … her hand reached for the amulet, a flash of horror running through her as she realised it was missing. It was … her memories caught up with her a moment later, reminding her that she’d given it to Circe willingly. Or close to willingly. It hadn’t been much of a choice.

“Get up,” Avitus ordered. “I want a look at you.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth. “Do you know who I am?”

Avitus gave her a sallow smile that was chillingly inhuman. “Who are you?”

“I am …”

Anastasia choked, her lips twisting painfully the moment she tried to speak her full name. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, as if someone had wrapped invisible hands around her neck and was squeezing gently but firmly, crushing the life out of her. She heard a high-pitched giggle from above as she bent over, fighting to get some air into her lungs. Circe hadn’t missed a trick, she realised dully, as the sensation slowly ebbed away. She’d ensured Anastasia couldn’t tell anyone who she was. Even trying would likely get her killed. And she had no idea if she could remove the curse without it killing her first.

“Anastasia,” she managed, finally. She could say her name, but any hint of her title brought the choking sensation back into being. “I come from …”

Her vision blurred. She couldn’t say the name of her kingdom either. Or anything beyond her own name. She wondered, suddenly, just how common her name actually was. There’d been a few hundred copycats back home, girls named after their princess before she’d even seen her first birthday, but where was she? Not, she supposed sourly, that it mattered. Just because someone had the same name as the princess didn’t mean she was the princess.

“Get up,” Avitus repeated. “Now.”

Anastasia forced herself to stand, looking around the chamber to keep from staring at his horrific face. The room was larger than she’d realised, somehow managing to look like a demented cross between a kitchen, a slaughterhouse and a wizard’s lair. The tables were laden with glassworks, the walls lined with shelves groaning under the weight of jars, cauldrons and a handful of books her instincts warned her not to touch. A handful of bodies hung from the rafters, like pigs and sheep in the castle’s stockrooms … her gorge rose and she retched, helplessly, as she realised they were human bodies. They were being drained of their blood, the liquid flowing through glass pipettes into the floor … she dreaded to think what might be below the oddly shifting wooden floorboards. It was an abomination. She might not have paid much attention to her magic lessons, but even she knew that anything that involved human sacrifice was bad news, a sign of the dark arts. Where was she?

“I neither know nor care from where you came,” Avitus said. She forced herself to look at him. He was actually slightly shorter than herself, but his presence was strong enough to make her want to take a step backwards. It poisoned the air. “All that matters is that I bought your contact. I own you until you pay me back.”

“That’s illegal,” Anastasia protested. It was effectively slavery, banned in all civilised kingdoms. “I …”

Avitus snorted. “Where do you think you are?”

Anastasia had no answer. Circe had told her she’d be sent a long way away … but that could cover anywhere from the Southern Continent to Dead Man’s Castle on the southern side of the Blighted Lands. Avitus couldn’t go unnoticed somewhere normal, could he …? Perhaps she was in Celeste. The city ruled by magicians for magicians wouldn’t give much of a damn about an inhuman man, as long as he paid his taxes and didn’t cause trouble. Or perhaps she was in the Blighted Lands. There were all sorts of stories about warped and twisted creatures that had once been men, too alien to have any sort of life in the north. If she was that far from home …

“You’re in the free state,” Avitus told her. “It doesn’t matter how you got here. All that matters is that I own your contact. I own you.”

He turned away, exposing his back. “You’ll be working for me until you pay off your debt,” he continued. “You’ll find me a decent master, if you behave yourself. If not …”

Anastasia stared at his back. His hairless scalp made a very tempting target. She could hit him … she caught herself, suddenly very aware she was dealing with a dark wizard. He wouldn’t turn his back unless he was deliberately giving her a chance to strike him, unless he knew he could absorb her blow and use it as an excuse to punish her. She was no longer in the castle, no longer in a place where only her father could so much as scold her, she was … she swallowed hard. She was helpless. Circe had taken her place and sold her into slavery and … and what? She was trapped.

Avitus didn’t turn to face her. “How much magic do you know?”

“Very little,” Anastasia said. There was no point in trying to lie, not when she would likely be tested. It was hard to fake competence … or so she’d been told. “I can read and write and a few other things …”

“Oh, goody,” Avitus said, with heavy sarcasm. “That’ll come in handy.”

He kept walking, motioning for her to follow him into the next room. It looked like a storefront, with an open door and no visible windows. The shelves were near-empty, only a handful of jars visible in the shadows. She couldn’t keep herself from staring out the door, a faint whiff of salty air teasing her nostrils as she stared at the wooden walls. Was she on a ship? Or somewhere near the seashore? Or …?

“This place needs a good scrubbing,” Avitus said, leading her into a third room. It looked slightly more comfortable, but the stench of decay was ever-present. “You’ll be doing it, of course.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth. “And how much will I be paid?”

“I’ll be charging you for your lessons too,” Avitus said. “If I need to teach you how to be useful …”

“Of course,” Anastasia muttered. She’d watched when an apprentice sought the king’s justice by filing a complaint against his master. The older man had been very careful to ensure his apprentice never quite reached the point he could strike out on his own, keeping him as unpaid labour by constantly fiddling the accounts. Her father hadn’t been amused and ruled against the master. “Am I going to be paying for my upkeep too?”

“Of course,” Avitus echoed. “Consider yourself lucky you haven’t been collared.”

He kept talking, his words battering against what remained of her mind. She was trapped, effectively enslaved, and … she was going to do menial work. She was a princess, a young woman of royal blood … not here. She had never even heard of the free state and that meant … she wasn’t a princess, just someone who happened to share a name with a young woman the locals probably didn’t even know existed. Even if she somehow managed to disclose her true name, would anyone care? And would she regret it if they did?

Avitus walked though another door, still talking. Anastasia saw her chance and slammed the door closed, trapping him on the far side long enough – she hoped – to get the hell out of the nightmarish shop before it was too late. She wasn’t slow on her feet … she turned and ran, slamming the other door as she darted into the shopfront and out the door and …

Her body just stopped, as if she’d run into an invisible wall. She had a second to realise she was standing on wooden decking before her body turned around of its own accord and walked back into the shop, through the door, and dropped into a full prostration. No matter how hard she tried to get her body to budge, she couldn’t move a single muscle. She’d often thought it absurd how some maidservants prostrated themselves in front of their masters – their heads pressed against the floor, their bottoms high in the air – and yet, she’d somehow never realised how humiliating it was to be trapped in such a position, unable to so much as lift their heads until their master released them. She couldn’t see a thing, but she could sense Avitus walking towards her. His presence was overpowering.

He kicked her rear, hard. Pain shot through her as she collapsed onto the floor, the agony more than she could bear. She had known some maids were beaten, if they made mistakes or talked back to their superiors, but no one had ever dared strike her. Even her father was too kind an d gentle to lay a hand on his daughter … the kick, so hard and shocking, brought the true horror of her situation into her mind in a way the magical compulsion had not. She was completely and utterly at his mercy. And there were worse fates than being turned into a frog.

“Get up,” Avitus ordered, coldly.

Anastasia forced herself to sit back on her haunches, then stand. Her owner – she cursed herself for even thinking of him as anything other than her captor – seemed amused, although it was hard to be sure. His smile was weirdly stretched … Anastasia couldn’t help wondering if he was even remotely human, if he was really something so strange it didn’t quite know how to pretend to be human.

“I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility,” Avitus informed her. There was a hint of snide amusement in his tone, as if he relished the chance to rub her nose in her own helplessness. “You may not leave this establishment without my permission. If you try, you will find yourself back here and trapped until I choose to release you. Later, when we come to understand each other a little better, I will let you do tasks for me outside … but you will always be on my leash, unable to go further than I choose to permit. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Anastasia muttered. The Court Wizard hadn’t told her anything about compulsion spells. The amulet was supposed to protect her against such tricks … the amulet that was hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles away, wrapped around Circe’s neck. She wanted to think the amulet had turned on the sorceress, when she donned it, but she couldn’t convince herself. Circe was too smart to let herself be defeated so easily. “I understand.”

“Good.” Avitus’s expression didn’t change. She couldn’t help wondering if his face had stuck that way. “You’ll find brushes and washcloths under the sink. I want this room clean before nightfall.”

Anastasia turned away, trying not to show her despair as he left her alone. The stories about kidnapped princesses had been horrific, but their captors had always known who they were and been careful not to do anything that would hurt or kill them. Not physically, at least. The idea there was something exciting about being kidnapped had been absurd even when she’d been a child, before she’d learnt a little more of the facts of life. And how stories could cover up a horror no one deserved to face.

She forced herself to open the cupboard under the sink and retrieve the tools. She’d never stood and watched the castle’s staff do any cleaning and she wasn’t sure where to begin, but she had no choice. If Avitus thought she was genuinely useless, who knew what he’d do? Her imagination provided too many answers, from things unthinkable to a normal sane human mind to things that somehow managed to be even worse. Avitus wasn’t a necromancer, but that didn’t make him harmless. Whatever he was, he was the exact opposite.

It was harder than she realised to scrub the floor, to remove layer upon layer of dirt and grime from rotting wooden floorboards. The wood looked as if it had been shiny once upon a time, but now it was tainted, so unsteady she had the uneasy feeling it was on the verge of collapsing under her weight. She knew two stableboys had been dismissed after they climbed into the loft, feel through the floorboards and landed on the ground below … was that going to happen to her too? She honestly didn’t know. It was hard, so hard, to remain focused on the task. If she ever made it home, she promised herself she’d give the castle staff a raise. She had never realised how hard they had to work, just to keep the floors clean. Her father …

Anger boiled through her. Circe was in her place, pretending to be her … and she was here, trapped and helpless and utterly alone. She was a slave … she gritted her teeth, promising herself she’d do whatever it took to get back home and save her parents, then reclaim the place that was her birthright. She would do anything to get home.

And when I do, she swore on her soul, I will make that bitch regret she ever heard of me.

 

Chapter Four

If she ever got home, Anastasia promised herself again and again, she really was going to give the castle servants a raise.

It wasn’t easy to keep track of time, as she washed and scrubbed and cleaned everything from the floors to the wizard’s vast collection of glass jars, vials and magical paraphernalia, but she thought she’d been held captive for a week. It felt like a year. She awoke early in the morning, ate a breakfast porridge that was easily the blandest thing she’d ever tasted, then spent the rest of the day doing her duties, before eating more of the bland portage and going to bed. It was hard to tell if she was having any effect on the dirt and grime, no matter how hard she worked. The stench of death and decay seemed ever-present. No matter what she did, it surrounded her and crawled into her nostrils. It was too much to handle, at times, and she found herself crying at night. If Master Avitus noticed, he said nothing. He didn’t seem to care very much about anything, but his magic. She wasn’t sure what sort of magic he did, yet she knew it was dark and dangerous and probably illegal. He would be somewhere a great deal more pleasant if his magic was legal.

She spent some time testing the limits of the leash binding her, only to discover he’d been telling the truth. There was just no way to leave the building without his permission, unless she wanted to be trapped helplessly until he arrived to free her. He didn’t seem to care about leaving her alone in the house, when he went out every day, which made her wonder if he’d cast a few other spells on her without her knowledge. It was impossible to be sure. The only room he’d barred her from entering was his lab, but she dared not assume he wasn’t keeping an eye on her. It was what she would do, in his place. She knew how dangerous a treacherous servant could be.

“You will join me in my lab after breakfast,” Master Avitus told her, one morning. “We have work to do.”

Anastasia nodded, reminding herself to pretend to be meek and mild. She intended to get out, whatever the cost, but that meant doing something to the man who insisted he was her owner … so far, she hadn’t come up with anything she thought would work. He would have magical protections, of course, and the only thing he ate was that accursed porridge, which he cooked himself. She suspected he was a better cook than herself, which wouldn’t be that surprising. It also kept him safe from poison. She couldn’t slip something nasty into his food if he didn’t trust her to make it.

Her mind churned as she ate her own breakfast, mentally cringing at the fits she’d thrown as a young child when her favourites hadn’t been on the menu. She had never realised how lucky she was to have her choice of food, from out-of-season strawberries to cakes and pastries and a hundred other treats fit for a princess. If she could go back in time and slap her past self … she chewed the porridge sourly, wishing she had something sweet to liven it up. But Avitus didn’t seem to care. Given how translucent his skin was, she couldn’t help wondering if he even had taste buds. He certainly didn’t have a working nose!

She stood and cleaned the dishes, then walked into the lab and closed the door behind her. The air stank, as always, but now there was a sharper – even less pleasant – stench in the air. Avitus stood behind a table, staring down at a body. Anastasia felt her stomach churn as she stepped up to the table, trying not to show her disgust. She’d never seen a dead body until she’d been kidnapped and replaced, now she’d seen too many of them. Whatever magic Avitus practiced, it was very dark indeed.

Avitus passed her a knife. “Cut away the clothes and strip the body.”

Anastasia hesitated, fighting the urge to lift the blade and stab it into his throat. She wanted to … but she didn’t dare. He was too far from her, far enough to give him plenty of time to stop her in her tracks … if, of course, a blade could actually kill him. She was no healer, but Avitus looked too thin to be alive. The body on the table between them looked the picture of health compared to him. If there hadn’t been a nasty wound in his chest, staining his garment with blood, she would have wondered if he was still alive.

She quelled her distaste with an effort – she’d discovered layers of endurance she hadn’t known she had over the last week – and started to saw at the man’s clothing. It was rough and ready, patched up so heavily it was hard to tell if any of the original garment survived. She felt something heavy lurking within the coat as she cut it free, something that felt like a money pouch. She pocketed it on instinct as Avitus turned away, exposing his back to her. She knew he was testing her … she hoped he hadn’t checked to see if the corpse was carrying any money. Or that he hadn’t put it there to test her …

Her stomach turned as she finished stripping the corpse, her skin crawling as if she were doing something unspeakably vile. She’d never seen a naked man before and … her gorge rose, helplessly, as her gaze fell to the thing between his legs. She forced herself to look away, schooling her face into a blank mask as Avitus turned back to her. His eyes flickered over the body, then he nodded curtly. If he cared about her reaction, he didn’t show it.

“Watch closely,” he said, as he produced a set of small knives from the drawer under the table. “The human body is a device.”

Anastasia tried not to be sick – again – as Avitus cut the body open in a dozen places, lecturing her on how the brain sent signals through the nerves to make the body do as it wished. He spoke with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, as if he was genuinely enjoying the chance to explain his magic to a captive audience. The blood pooled below the table, washing against her boots. She tried her best to ignore it as he removed a handful of organs, his lecture continuing with a quiet intensity that horrified her.

“There are those who say Death Magic is the most dangerous of all the arts,” Avitus said, finally putting a name to his magic. “But exploring the mysteries of the dead brings many rewards, to those brave enough to try.”

He looked up at her. “You are disgusted, are you not?”

Anastasia wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. “Yes.”

“Many are, at first,” Avitus said. “They lack the heart and the stomach to master death. They see using a human body for magic as sacrilege. They refuse to acknowledge that once a soul has departed and gone onwards, the body is naught but an empty shell.”

His lips twisted into a wide smile. “And how many of those self-righteous assholes come here to beg for my services, even though they would never welcome me into their home?”

“I don’t know,” Anastasia said.

Avitus’s sallow yellow eyes met hers. “The louder they protest the use of such magics, the more they use them for themselves.”

He picked up the body, showing a surprising degree of strength, and waited for the last of the blood to drain before placing it in a giant glass bathtub. “Blood has many uses, some technically not on the banned list,” he said, absently. “But in this it is worse than useless.”

Anastasia swallowed, hard. “What are you doing to do?”

“We call these the death fluids,” Avitus said. He picked up a large device and fixed a needle to the tip, before pressing it into the corpse’s skin and pushing down on the end. “The blood within is replaced by my potions, then the entire corpse is bathed in others …”

He broke off as the corpse shuddered and jerked, arms twitching as if there was some life left in the dead body. Anastasia couldn’t help herself. She screamed.

Avitus giggled. “You’ll see far worse, as you go along,” he said. “This art is not for the faint-hearted.”

The body jerked again. Avitus reached for a large jar and poured the contents, a sickly yellow liquid, over the corpse. The air filled with magic, the sense of something utterly disgusting hanging in the air, waiting to be born. Anastasia found herself taking a step forward, her stomach twisting as the liquid slowly sank into the dead body. It was alive now … no, not alive. Just animate. She saw the dead eyes rotate in the skull, as if the corpse no longer needed to see. Or if it had forgotten how …

Avitus made a gesture with one hand. The corpse hovered into the air and levitated over to the table. Avitus picked up a needle and thread and started to seal up the wounds in the flesh, as if the body was nothing more than a piece of cloth. Anastasia had been taught how to work the needle, how to sew with her own two hands, and yet … she couldn’t bring herself to watch as Avitus completed his grizzly task. It was just … wrong.

“You’ll prepare the next one,” Avitus said. “Follow my orders carefully.”

She shuddered as he indicated another body. Smaller this time, a child missing a head. She was repelled, unwilling to even look at the corpse, but … she knew she had to play nice, to pretend to be his obedient servant until she figured out a way to escape. Her hands shook as she drained the body of blood, Avitus teaching her an spell to keep the blood from clotting, then carved out the internal organs. It felt as if she were crossing a very dangerous line. The magic flickering around her, as she injected the liquids and then sewed up the body, felt horrifically wrong.

“If you ever reveal to anyone what you did here,” Avitus said, “they’ll use you. Or they’ll burn you.”

Anastasia felt despair threatening to overcome her as she watched him prepare the third and final corpse. The young woman had been pretty once, but she’d been carved up by a sadist and left for dead. Avitus gave her the same treatment as the other two, then snapped his fingers. The three reanimated corpses staggered to their feet, moving like drunkards who had forgotten how to walk properly. Their eyes rolled helplessly in their sockets, their arms dangling by their sides as if they were on the verge of falling off. Anastasia turned away, despite her instincts insisting it was a very bad idea to turn her back. She couldn’t bear to look at them.

“You may accompany me,” Avitus said. “This way.”

He led Anastasia to the door, the three animated corpses staggering after them. Anastasia had wanted to leave, had wanted to run, but now … part of her wanted to stay behind as Avitus led his monsters onto the street. She pushed the urge aside as the clean air slapped her face, a relief after spending so long trapped in the death wizard’s nightmarish home. The surrounding city was a maze of wooden homes and gangplanks, ladders and masts and rope bridges moving faintly … it struck her, suddenly, that she was on a city made up of ships, lashed together so tightly they could never be freed. The wooden walls looked dark and decayed: here and there, she spotted shafts that led down to the dark waters, surrounded by a handful of youngsters trying to fish. One young man looked up at her and smiled, then hastily looked away as he realised who was behind her. Anastasia felt her heart sink. She was alone in the middle of a thriving community.

The wind blew stronger, the wooden flooring and gangplanks shifting as the waves rocked the massive structure. Anastasia struggled to keep her footing as they walked onwards, passing a handful of shops, bars and a place with a carving of a naked woman of a naked woman on the door. The population appeared to be largely sailors, although she spotted a number of men in aristocratic outfits and women whose clothing covered less than her nightdresses. A handful were clearly inhuman, a gorgon rubbing shoulders with a man who appeared to be half-wolf. They all gave her, or Avitus and his monsters, a wide berth. The sense of being alone grew stronger.

“You can buy food and drink there, if you wish,” Avitus said, quietly. He pointed a hand at a shop, then moved to the next. “Forbidden magical items and components there … I’ll be sending you there to buy my supplies later, so don’t forget the way. Or go too far from the shop.”

Anastasia shuddered. The free state was a maze. She had the impression of ships resting on ships, of passages cut from one to the other that would be lethal if a powerful storm blew up and started to tear the free state apart. She wished she’d read more books about sailing, back when she’d had the chance. Or magic. Circe had come up from the gutter, if she was to be believed. Anastasia could do it too. But if Circe had been a slave …

They stopped outside a large part of black doors, two guards eying them nervously before stepping aside to allow them to enter. The interior was a thriving chamber, dozens of rough-looking men milling around drinking and chatting loudly. They looked away from Avitus as he led Anastasia and his monsters across the room and through a smaller door, into a chamber that reminded Anastasia of her father’s private audience chamber. The sudden pang of homesickness shocked her, forcing her to take a moment to gather herself. It was too much.

“Greetings,” a new voice said. It was a tone of cold supremacy, a tone that chilled her to the bone. “You’ve brought my new pets?”

Anastasia forced herself to look up. A man lounged on a hard wooden throne, wearing a naval uniform and a jaunty hat covered with gold braid. He was immensely fat, his uniform actually calling attention to his bulk; his small dark eyes sent shivers down her spine, her instincts screaming a warning. The man in front of her appeared more human than Avitus, but she had the feeling he might well be worse. His eyes swept over her, then looked away. She was nothing to him.

“Yes, Admiral,” Avitus said. He indicated the monsters behind him, then held out a jewelled device. “Yours, for the normal price.”

The Admiral took the device, then clicked his fingers. A thin-faced man emerged from the shadows, carrying a bag laden with coins. Avitus took it and counted carefully, then slipped it into his robe and turned away. Anastasia followed, feeling two pairs of eyes watching her as they left. The two men were monsters and …

Her heart twisted as they left the building and made their way back home. She’d grown up in a castle. She had never known such poverty existed, not here and not anywhere; she’d never known, not truly, how monstrous some people could be. The free state shouldn’t exist, she told herself, and the fact it did shook her to the core. How many things had been kept from her, because she was young; how many horrors had she been spared, because she was a princess? She didn’t want to know. It was just … too much.

She forced herself to look into the darkened alleyways as they passed. Men sleeping on hard wooden decking, women doing things with men … she tried not to gag as she spotted a woman kneeling in front of a man, his manhood in her mouth. Another woman was doing the same further down the alley … no, it was a man, servicing another man. The wind shifted constantly, blowing all manner of smells towards her. She thought she spotted a dead body drifting in the waters, between two mid-sized ships. She kept that to herself. Avitus might try to take the body and turn it into another monster.

“Who …?” She took a break and started again. “Who’s he? The Admiral?”

“The closest thing to a boss about these parts,” Avitus said. “He was once an admiral in the Zangarian Navy, or so he says. Fled just ahead of the hounds snapping at his feet, if the story is to be believed. Now in charge of the free state, insofar as anyone is.”

He stopped outside the shop. “You can clean up the mess,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Anastasia gritted her teeth as she stepped inside, feeling a faint tingle as she passed through the wards. It was just another reminder that she was trapped, unable to leave without his permission. Her hands felt dirty and soiled … she staggered to the washbasin and cleaned herself as best she could, though it wasn’t enough. How could it be? She’d cut open a dead body and turned it into a walking corpse!

She stepped into the lab, then reached into her pocket for the pouch she’d taken. It was fatter than she’d realised, with a handful of gold and silver coins. She didn’t recognise the markings, but … they were a start. If she had money, she could figure out a way to use it.

And the sooner I get out of here the better, she thought. If I stay here too long, I’ll never be able to leave.

 

Chapter Five

When I get back home, Anastasia promised herself, I’m going to make sure the servants get a raise.

She scowled, thinking words her mother would reprove her for even knowing, let alone saying. Her owner – she refused to think of him as her master – had an endless series of gruesome tasks for her, each one more unpleasant than the last. He seemed to trust her a little more, after forcing her to get her hands dirty, but it wasn’t a good thing. She cut up corpses under his direction, removing internal organs and cleaning bones, then watched in disgust as he reanimated the bodies or skeletons while turning the blood and gore into potions surrounded with an aura that made her feel sick. The stench was even worse, a ghastly stink that pervaded the air and oozed into her clothes. He wouldn’t have to use magic to track her down, she thought numbly, as she did as she was told and bided her time. The stink seeping into her hair would be easy for him to follow.

It didn’t help, she noted, that Avitus appeared to be on the brink of insanity. He could speak perfectly normally one moment and drop into a strange digression the next, speaking absolute nonsense or speaking in tongues that chilled her to the bone. She couldn’t help wondering about just what toll his magic was taking on his sanity, on his willingness to think twice before breaking the rules with an enthusiasm that scared her more than she could say. She wished she’d spent more time developing her own magic, when she’d had the chance, or at least mastering skills that would give her the chance to get away before it was too late. Her home seemed more of a distant memory with every passing day.

“You will never be free, even if you buy yourself out,” Avitus informed her, one evening. “The magics you’ve used, now, will cling to you for the rest of your life.”

Anastasia shuddered. There were certain magics, she’d been told, that were banned on pain of death and dammination. She was morbidly certain that whatever Avitus was doing was definitely forbidden, for all sorts of reasons, and that nothing – not even a willingness to testify against him – would save her from the scaffold, if the civilised world found out what she’d done. She couldn’t even tell her captors who she was, or why she’d been forced to help him, or …

“You need to practice your magic,” he continued. His skeletal face broke into a crude smile. “You’ll need it.”

He was not a good teacher, Anastasia discovered over the next two days. She had no idea when and where he’d learn magic, or how long it had been since he’d undertaken his apprenticeship, but he didn’t know how to show her more than the basics and snap at her for not being able to do the simplest of spells. She followed his directions as best she could, moving her hands in the right patterns and trying to channel the power within her, but results were very limited. She could summon a tiny flame, yet casting anything bigger seemed beyond her. She couldn’t even channel magic into a wand, using it to activate an embedded spell. The effort tired her, constantly leaving her hovering on the brink of despair. If only she could teleport! Or fly! Or something, anything, that would get her back home, before it was too late. Circe could be doing anything to her parents, anything at all. The longer it took to get back safely, the longer she’d have to bed herself in.

So learn, she told herself, as she cast the spell again and again. You don’t have much time.

“Keep practicing, when you have a spare moment,” Avitus ordered. “And make sure you clean the workshop before I return.”

Anastasia watched him turn and leave the shop, making a rude gesture at his back as soon as the door was closed. The workshop was a slaughterhouse, the floor and tables covered in blood and gore … she tried not to look down at her tattered dress as she started to work, mopping up the pools of blood and placing the chunks of flesh and bone in a bucket for later disposal. She had no idea what Avitus did with them and she didn’t want to know. The death wizard wasn’t the kind of person to give the remains a decent burial. She feared the waste was merely taken to the water and dumped in the ocean.

Her skin crawled as she worked around the living corpse on the far table. Avitus had been tending to the body as if it were a device, cutting out some internal organs and replacing them with magical constructs or organs collected from unwilling donors. He’d also strapped the corpse down, as if he expected it to wake up and try to escape. It wasn’t impossible, Anastasia thought, as she wiped the table down. She’d seen him reanimate dead bodies and skeletons. Why not one more? He seemed determined to see if he could put together a living thing from spare body parts.

She gritted her teeth, then made her way to the bookshelves. Her skin crawled as she reached for the nearest tome, her instincts warning her not to touch it. She ignored them and took the book, her stomach churning as she realised the leather covers were made from human skin and the letters inside written in blood. She could feel something brushing against her fingertips as she carried the book to the nearest table and forced it open, wondering if she was crossing the line. Avitus hadn’t forbidden her to read the books – she wasn’t sure if he’d forgotten or he’d simply assumed she couldn’t read – but she didn’t want to be caught reading it. The castle’s matrons hadn’t hesitated to dismiss maids who seemed inclined to rise above their station …

And how many, Anastasia asked herself grimly, were framed by Circe?

The thought haunted her as she stared down at the first page. Some sections were written in OldScript, others in a pictographic language she didn’t recognise. Her tutors had said something about pre-empire languages being driven to near-extinction, known only to a handful of scholars, but she hadn’t been paying close attention. She kicked herself mentally – she could have mastered a basic translation spell, if she’d thought she’d needed it – and forced herself to read through the book, trying to parse out the words. It was clearly written for someone who already knew the basics. A regular magician would have had no trouble understanding the book. She had to grind her way through, never wholly certain she truly understood the words. It was a nightmare.

It was also evil. Cantrips and curses that could castrate a man, sterilise a woman, ensure a child would never grow up … they rested within the pages, next to charms and incants that seemed mundane, even harmless. Anastasia had known how dangerous magic could be, but this … her stomach churned as she read through a detailed set of instructions for making a reanimated corpse, the words accompanied by diagrams of a human body cut open in gruesome style and guidelines for spells to keep the corpse in mortal stasis. It was ghastly and …

She forced herself to keep going, looking for something – anything – that might help her. Rites and rituals for boosting one’s magic, spells to turn oneself into a lich … even a necromancer. She feared she didn’t have enough magic to make that work, and even if she did … necromancers were the enemy of everyone. The free state might turn a blind eye to a death wizard, as well as pirates, slavers, and the gods alone knew what else, but they couldn’t ignore a necromancer. If she tried … she gritted her teeth. If she tried, she’d go mad. The price was too high.

Her heart sank as she scanned instructions for making a victim obedient, from planting suggestions or commands into their heads to turning them into mindless puppets, none seemingly close to the spells cast on her. Avitus didn’t have her under his command … did he? He didn’t need to bother. She was his prisoner, unable to leave the shop without his permission, and yet she wasn’t compelled to follow his commands. He might have decided she was no threat to him, or … he might want an apprentice. The more powerful compulsion spells, according to the book, had permanent effects on the victim’s mind, reducing their willpower and making them servile even after the spell was removed. The unknown author didn’t seem to think that was a bad thing.

She kept going … and stopped, dead, as she saw the next set of instructions. A sorcerer could create a talisman – a fetish – from a living victim, using their blood and a sample of their skin, then use it to influence them. Anastasia’s blood ran cold as she scanned the instructions, parsing them out bit by bit. If Avitus had created a fetish using her blood, he could keep her from leaving or simply reach out and touch her from halfway across the world. In hindsight, it should have been obvious. A magician so interested in the workings of the human body would have no qualms about using magic.

There’s a resonance between the fetish and my blood, she mused. If she was understanding the instructions properly, the fetish had to be hidden somewhere within the shop. It couldn’t be very big either, not if Avitus had to carry it when he escorted her outside. Unless the leash could be adjusted … she cursed under her breath as she read the instructions. If I can find it …

The outer door rattled. Avitus was home. Anastasia hastily returned the books to the shelves, then made a show of busying herself as her owner ordered dinner and then went to bed. Anastasia returned to her blankets and forced herself to think, wondering if she had the nerve to make a fetish of her own. There wasn’t enough time to search the shop from top to bottom and even if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d recognise the fetish when she saw it. The instructions had suggested it might be nothing more than a piece of bloodstained cloth, unnoticeable in the chamber of horrors surrounding her. She would need something that would resonate with the fetish, something she could use to track it down. It was a risk, but what choice did she have? She was trapped.

She put her plan into action the following afternoon, when Avitus took his walking corpses to the buyers. It was hard not to feel nervous as she found a piece of cloth and a tiny knife, washing both thoroughly in hot water before pricking her skin to release a drop of blood. Her tutors had made it very clear she had to be careful with her blood, cutting the bloodlink before someone could steal a sample and use it to curse her. Or worse. A nasty thought ran through her head – Circe had had ample time to take some of her blood – as the droplet fell onto the cloth. She muttered the spell under her breath, hoping and praying she had enough magic to make it work first time. It was going to be hard enough hiding the evidence. Avitus had to be far more sensitive to the surrounding magics than herself. He couldn’t have worked in the shop otherwise.

Another nasty thought ran through her mind. How long had it been? Circe could have transformed her into an object for years, perhaps decades, keeping the letter of her promise while breaking the spirit. There were all kinds of horror stories about people being turned into objects and left to rot, the spell only breaking hundreds of years later and decanting them into a world where their friends and families had died long ago. She had no idea what had happened from the moment Circe enchanted her to waking up to find herself in the shop, no idea how long it had been … a surge of anger ran through her, followed by helpless rage. She had a long way to go before she could match Circe, if she ever could. If Circe was still alive …

The cloth trembled against her fingers as the magic took shape. Anastasia picked it up and closed her eyes, feeling the magic ebbing and flowing around her. The newborn fetish was drawn to her – of course – but there was also another link, another her. She turned slowly, trying to feel out the link. The fetish couldn’t be that far away … she opened her eyes and walked across the floor, cursing under her breath. Her presence was almost overpowering, making it hard to sense the fetish’s location. Anyone else would have a far easier time of it. She felt cold as she let the magic lead her up the ladder, into the makeshift attic. It was Avitus’s bedroom.

She had to force herself to go onwards. Her parents had given her stern lectures on the dangers of being caught in someone’s bedroom, pointing out it could end very badly. She hadn’t even been in her mother’s private chambers, not since she’d been a child. She looked around, half-expecting another chamber of horrors, but instead the bedroom was a strange mixture of crude and cramped. The bed was cold and hard, the mattress thin and uncomfortable; there were great piles of junk leaning against the walls, from tiny little knickknacks to magical devices and tools. She had thought he was being cruel to give her nothing but a nest of blankets, yet … his bed was harder and colder than the blankets. Ice ran down her spine as she realised the bed was made of human bone, warped and twisted into a nightmarish structure she knew she couldn’t have tolerated for a moment. The bed was just … wrong. She had no idea how he slept all night.

Perhaps he doesn’t, she mused. Or perhaps he doesn’t care.

She turned slowly, holding out her makeshift fetish. It drew her towards a pile of junk … up close, she thought it was a collection of dead children until she realised they were dolls. Disturbingly realistic dolls … it was a fashion, in the most exulted circles, for young girls to be given dolls that resembled them. She shuddered as she picked up a doll that looked like a miniature child, her skin crawling as she eyed the blonde hair. It was hard to escape the impression it was human hair, perhaps taken from the owner. That was asking for trouble, but … she shook her head. She didn’t know how long she had to find the fetish before it was too late. If he caught her in his bedroom …

And that would end very badly, she thought. Avitus hadn’t precisely forbidden her from entering his bedroom, but she had no legitimate reason to be there. If he suspected the truth, she was screwed. What’ll he do to me?

Her lips twisted as she let the magic lead her on, to something buried under the pile of dolls. She pulled them away to see a tiny doll, surprisingly crude compared to the others, with a handful of gold and black threads woven through the wood. Her fingers skittered back as she touched it, unwilling to make contact … she took a cloth, used it to pick up the doll, and put the others back into place before carrying the fetish down the ladder. The magic twisted oddly as she put the doll in her pocket, a faint sense all was not well nagging at her mind. She had the strangest feeling the doll was looking at her.

Creepy, she thought. If the doll were to be destroyed … she turned to the fire, took the doll in her hand, and discovered she couldn’t complete the motion. Her body simply wouldn’t follow orders to destroy the doll. She ground her teeth in frustration, then returned the doll to her apron and headed for the door. If she was right about how the spell worked, she should be able to leave as long as she didn’t get too far from the fetish. If …

Anastasia felt her heart race as she stepped through the door, half-expecting to find herself turning and kneeling in helpless prostration. It had happened twice. Avitus hadn’t bothered to punish her, when he’d come home to find her trapped … somehow, that was worse than being slapped or hexed or any other punishment she could imagine. He didn’t see her as a person, merely a tool … she walked down the alleyway, well beyond the point she was normally yanked back to the shop … delight flashed through her as she realised she’d been right! She could leave, as long as she kept the doll with her. She had no idea what would happen if she lost it later on, but … for the moment, it didn’t matter. She had some freedom back!

She was tempted to keep going, to leave the store behind, but she needed a plan. It was galling to return, to put the fetish back where she’d found it … she forced herself to do it, as her mind worked to devise a plan. She could leave the shop now, without him, and that meant … she could walk around the free state, to try to figure out where she was and how to get home. And that meant …

Watch out, Circe, she thought. Being free was a huge confidence booster, even if she knew she still had a very long way to go. She had taken something from one of the books and made it work. I’ll be after you soon enough.

 

Chapter Six

It was two days before she could take advantage of her newfound freedom.

The problem wasn’t leaving the shop, now she knew how she was trapped. Nor was it remaining unseen, once she was on the streets. Most inhabitants seemed to mind their own business, as far as she could tell, although that might well have something to do with the fact she was being escorted by a sorcerer who’d clearly been trafficking in very dangerous magics. The problem wa was making sure she could get out and then back again without Avitus returning to discover she was missing, or that she hadn’t done her work for the day. She had done her duties as slowly as possible, in hopes of convincing him she couldn’t work any faster, but she had her doubts about how long she could sustain the deception. Avitus had been an apprentice himself at one point, she was sure, and most apprentices had to clean up after their masters. He’d have a very good idea of precisely how long it would take to clear up the mess.

Unless he was lazy, Anastasia thought. And that’s why he was kicked out.

She shook her head. She’d been lazy. She knew that now. Avitus was not. He might be a dark wizard, performing magics most magicians shunned, but he wasn’t lazy. She had seen him working hard, focusing his entire being on arts so dark even watching him cast the spells repelled her. It was galling to realise he had a virtue she lacked, but … she put the thought aside as she bided her time, waiting for a chance. It came sooner than she’d expected. Avitus never left the shop in the morning unless he’d been summoned, and when that happened he was rarely home until late evening. Anastasia watched him go, then hurried back to his bedroom to collect the fetish and her money pouch. It was time to see what she could see.

Her body stank … probably. There were no showers in the shop, just a washbasin that had seen better days. Avitus didn’t seem to care about the stench and hadn’t bothered to teach her any heating spells, forcing her to heat the water over the fire if she wanted a wash. There was no soap either … she gritted her teeth as she pulled a dark cloak, stolen from a corpse, over her clothing and headed for the door. She wouldn’t stand out. A third of the people she’d seen on the streets wore similar cloaks, the remainder either flamboyant or slaves. As long as she got home before Avitus, it was unlikely he’d notice she’d left. Or so she told herself.

The decking shifted underneath her as she walked across the sea of vessels and up onto a balcony. She’d hoped to see land in the distance, but the horizon was nothing but sea as far as the eye could see. A handful of vessels could be seen making their way to and from the free state, their sails billowing in the wind … she felt a twinge of frustration that she’d never bothered to study the stars. She’d been told sailors could place their location by observing the night sky … she couldn’t. The air was chilly, but that was meaningless. She could be anywhere from the Northern Sea to the Great Ocean, a region too vast for her mind to comprehend. She needed to find out where she was, and quickly.

She walked carefully towards the shops, making a mental note of every twist and turn. If she got lost … she shuddered, even as part of her wondered if it wouldn’t be for the best. She couldn’t go back after dark, not after Avitus returned to find her missing. She didn’t think he had any more of her blood, and she’d used her own fetish to search for others, but it was impossible to be sure. If he could track her down …

The shops managed to be both surprisingly large and cramped, selling everything from food and drink to magical supplies and goods from all over the Allied Lands. The customers moved from shop to shop, keeping their voices down … she shivered, inwardly, as she saw a handful of men who were clearly pirates, their hands resting on their blades as they haggled with the shopkeepers. They weren’t selling goods, but slaves … a handful of young men and women, their faces blank and their hands bound behind their backs. Anastasia’s stomach churned. If she made one false move, she could end up just like them. Or worse.

She swallowed hard as she stepped into a bookshop. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, groaning under the weight of countless cheap paperbacks. Some had very lurid covers, suggesting they were blue books; others had nothing beyond a note of the title and author, if that. The printing press had a great deal to answer for, she thought as she spotted a book with a very lurid cover indeed. She’d seen a maid with a similar book, only a year ago. The poor girl had been dismissed for having it in her possession. She picked it up and glanced at the back cover. It was about a serving wrench who fell in love with the prince …

“A very popular book,” a dry voice said. Anastasia tried not to jump. “The story is nonsense, of course, but very popular.”

Anastasia turned, slowly. An elderly man stood behind her, wearing a suit that made him look like a dispossessed nobleman. His hair was white, his eyes bright with intelligence … she knew, on a level that couldn’t be denied, that he was of noble blood. She wanted to tell him who she was, and ask for help, but the curse wouldn’t let her. He didn’t look like a magician or someone else who might be able to realise the problem, if he was inclined to try. He was on the free state. It was unlikely he had any moral qualms about his neighbours.

“The cover does draw the eye,” Anastasia managed. “Do you have any maps?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes gleamed. “Maps are expensive, young lady.”

Of course, Anastasia thought, bitterly. Maps weren’t renowned for accuracy – and tended to be state secrets when they were. An accurate map would be expensive …

She reached for her pouch and produced a coin. “I need a look at a map,” she said, holding out the money. “Will this be enough?”

“If you don’t want to buy it, yes,” the shopkeeper said. “That’ll buy you five minutes to study the map.”

“Ten,” Anastasia said, automatically. “And you help me understand it.”

“Five minutes,” the shopkeeper said. “Take it or leave it.”

Anastasia sighed. “Show me the map.”

The shopkeeper took the coin, muttered a quick spell to check it was real, then led her to a table and produced a rolled-up map. Anastasia leaned forward as he unfurled the paper, her eyes flickering over the chart. She was no expect, but she did have a vague idea of the outline of the continents and it should be enough to let her orientate herself even if the map wasn’t detailed enough to be really useful. The northern continent was easily recognisable, a handful of kingdoms outlined on the paper; the southern continent was nothing more than an outline, with no hint of the political developments that had followed the end of the Necromantic Wars. A handful of notes mentioned necromancers who’d been feared in their day, but now dead and gone …

She scowled. “Where are we?”

“The free state isn’t shown on any map,” the shopkeeper said. “The kings and princes pretend we don’t exist, while they send agents to purchase goods and services from our stores.”

He tapped the map. “We’re here.”

Anastasia sucked in her breath. The free state was several miles to the north of Zangaria – and the Free City of Beneficence. The gulf between them didn’t look very wide on the map, but there was no sense of scale. It could be tens or hundreds of miles … her heart sank as she mentally traced the route south, back to Rockfall. It really was at least a thousand miles, perhaps longer … perhaps much longer. A magician could teleport her there in an instant, if she could pay for it … what would it cost, she asked herself, if she couldn’t tell the magician her name? She wasn’t even sure how she could get to Beneficence. She was a good swimmer – her parents had insisted on that, when she’d been a child – but she had no idea if she could swim all the way to the city. It was unlikely. She wasn’t even sure which way to swim!

She told herself, firmly, that she knew where she was – and where she was going. She was getting somewhere, even if it didn’t feel that way. And that meant …

The shopkeeper rolled up the map. “That was five minutes,” he said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes,” Anastasia said, throwing caution to the winds. “How do I get to Beneficence from here?”

“There’s no regular ship,” the shopkeeper said. If he thought it was an odd question, he didn’t show it. “You’d need to go to the docks and find a ship heading into open waters, then see where her captain is going. We’re not exactly on the main shipping routes out here.”

Anastasia nodded, curtly. The bookshop was strange, a mixture of fiction and non-fiction, but very little was any help to her. She glanced around, looking for a magic textbook, then sighed and left the shop. The shopkeeper made no attempt to stop her. If he thought she was a runaway slave, would he try? Or would he mind his own business? The locals didn’t seem to care much about what their neighbours were doing. If they were as illegal a settlement as Avitus had implied, minding their own business and turning a blind eye was the only way to survive.

She walked through the rest of the shops, mentally cataloguing everything on offer, from gunpowder and firearms to slaves and other supplies. One slave looked like a fighter, a sword on his back and a collar around his neck – the magics on the collar giving her the willies – marking him as a slave … she briefly entertained the idea of purchasing him, of offering him his freedom in exchange for his help, before realising it would be worse than useless. The bidding was already underway, the price climbing so rapidly the slave was already out of her budget. She shook her head and kept walking, heading down to the docks. No one tried to bar her way.

Her heart sank as she reached the edge of the free state. The docks were poorly organised, to the point she wasn’t sure there was any port authority at all. She’d never visited a dock before – Rockfall was landlocked – but these docks were just chaotic, captains screaming at each other as they fought for docking space, their crews streaming off their ships and heading straight for the nearest bar. Behind them, a handful of slave workers – their collars gleaming around their necks – carried goods off the ships and straight to the shops. One tripped under the weight he was carrying, falling into a gash in the decking and into the water below. The watchers roared with laughter. They made no attempt to save his life, just the cargo. Anastasia hoped to hell the poor man could swim.

She kept walking, gritting her teeth as she saw the ever-shifting row of ships at the edge of the floating structure. Some looked more rotten than others, to the point no one went near them; others looked as if they could be disconnected at any moment, taken back to sea the moment the owners bored of the free state. She saw a handful of men who were clearly not pirates or exiles or slaves … her blood ran cold as she recalled the bookstore owner’s words, a grim reminder that agents from all over the world came to the free state, to get what they couldn’t get anywhere else. The Admiral purchased reanimated slaves … she wondered, suddenly, if the kings and princes of the Allied Lands did the same. Or worse. Slavery was technically illegal, but there were plenty of ways to enslave someone without making it obvious. Or at least actionable. Were there any agents from her homeland in the crowd? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

And they probably wouldn’t recognise me either, Anastasia thought, bitterly. She no longer looked like any of her portraits. Even if I could tell them who I was, why would they believe me?

A voice bellowed across the docks, a captain recruiting crew for a voyage in search of glory and treasure. Anastasia guessed that meant piracy, a cruise to see what vessels they could find and raid before returning to sell their ill-gotten gains and pleasure themselves before setting out again. The pirate captain didn’t look like a romantic figure of myth, but a monster … her lips quirked, dryly, as she noted he did look better than Avitus. Healthier, certainly. A small line was already forming on the gangplank, a handful of cutthroats who looked willing and able to do anything their captain asked of them, no matter how vile. She turned away, her mind churning. If she joined the crew …

I’d have to go as a magician, she told herself. She didn’t know how to sail, and she’d seen enough over the last few days to know how pirates treated people who were young, female and apparently defenceless. The mundane horrors were almost worse than the dark magics she’d seen back at the shop. And if that isn’t enough, I’ll be trapped.

The thought mocked her as she kept walking, slipping in and out of bars and shops that purchased goods from sailors and then sold them onwards for a sizable mark-up. She did know how to listen, but she heard nothing of a ship heading to Beneficence, nothing she could use to find passage to the free city. Her ignorance was a curse, driving a grim awareness that making a mistake or trusting the wrong person could easily get her killed. She kicked herself, mentally, for not paying more attention to her lessons. If she knew more magic, and how to use it …

You know a little, she told herself. Avitus had taught her some tricks, even if she didn’t have the power reserves to make them work for long. It’ll have to be enough.

She turned, passing a line of young women with disturbingly old eyes, and made her way back to the shops. She had to act fast. There was no way to know when Avitus would realise she’d found the fetish, and if he hid it better – or cursed it – she’d be doomed. The sooner she left, the better. She entered one shop and made a purchase, stowing it in her cloak before slipping into the next and purchasing a handful of other supplies. It cost her most of her money, but she had no choice. She felt uneasy as she made her way back to the shop, wondering if she was walking straight to her own execution. Avitus was a creature of habit, but if he’d come home early …

The shop was deserted when she entered. She sagged in relief, then staggered into the workshop to conceal her purchases under her blankets. Avitus had never shown any interest in changing her bed, thankfully … she groaned, inwardly, as she recalled just how much Patsy – Circe – had seen of her over the years. She hadn’t had any privacy at all, her every move watched by a pair of seemingly-harmless eyes. Circe would have the same problem now … no, she wouldn’t. She had more than enough power to intimidate any maid, to force her to keep her mouth firmly shut … she would, of course, be very aware of the danger a curious maid could pose to her plans. She’d taken advantage of it herself.

Avitus returned an hour later, his skeletal face as expressionless as always. Anastasia watched him, trying not to look nervous. She’d kept the fetish this time – she had no idea if she could get into his bedroom after dark and take it without waking him – and if he spotted it was missing she would have to run and hope to hell she could get out before it was too late. He ate his gruel with no appearance of enjoyment – Anastasia had learnt enough about the human body, over the last week, to wonder if he no longer had taste buds – and then went to his bedroom. She braced herself as she cleared up, but nothing happened. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

She reached for her makeshift fetish and swept the lower floor. There was no hint of any other presence, but her. Avitus’s fetish was securely under her shirt, it’s aura buried in her own. She wasn’t sure it was wise to let it touch her bare skin, but it was the only way to hide it. As long as he didn’t try to undress her … the thought made her queasy as she slipped into the workroom, mentally cataloguing the supplies she needed. Circe was the only person who’d seen her naked for the last two years and that had ended very badly indeed. If she had been a little more careful …

It won’t happen again, she promised herself, keeping one eye on the clock. The pirate ship was due to leave at midnight, although she had no idea if the captain would stick to the planned schedule. He might have to cope with a half-drunk crew if he tried. If I get home, it really will not happen again.

 

Chapter Seven

Anastasia held herself very still, listening.

The free state was never quiet. There were always sounds pervading the wooden walls, from distant revellers carolling in the bars to creaking and groaning as water lapped the underside ofd the derelict ships. Avitus had never bothered to cast noise-cancelling wards, somewhat to her surprise, although she supposed his ears might not work right either. Or his nose. Her lips quirked at the thought as she listened carefully, satisfying herself there was no movement from above. Avitus was asleep … she hoped. Did he need sleep? She had no idea what he’d done to himself and the books hadn’t been much help. He didn’t seem to meet the definition of a lich and he certainly seemed to be warm and breathing, but it was impossible to be sure. She certainly didn’t want to touch him to find out.

She walked as quietly as she could, knowing she was committed now. There was no innocent explanation for the gunpowder she’d brought, or the way she’d placed it under a lantern in the workshop. He would know what she intended to do, if he saw it, and he’d kill her. Or worse. The haunted eyes of the slaves flashed through her mind, a reminder there were fates worse than death. She had no intention of letting herself be enslaved again, not like that. She was … she collected the money from the till, a handful of potions and some of the books, then carefully lit the lantern and watched the flame flicker and flare. Avitus had cast a handful of protective wards around his workplace, of course, but there was no magic in the fire. Just a candle and mundane gunpowder. She sucked in her breath, all too aware she was about to kill him – or at least fake her – death and turned away. There wasn’t time to think twice. She donned her coat, checked to make sure she was carrying the fetish, and opened the door. The wards hummed around her, but made no attempt to block her way. Avitus was more interested in keeping people out than in.

And he thinks I’m stuck here, she thought, tightly. Good.

She stepped outside, closed the door as quietly as she could, and then started to run. She had no idea how long she had before the gunpowder exploded, or just how big the blast would actually be … particularly if the explosion detonated some of Avitus’s more interesting ingredients and potions too. She’d been told some potions were dangerously unstable, to the point they’d explode if you so much as looked at them funny, and she had no doubt Avitus would brew the most dangerous recipes if he thought he could sell them. She had no idea what he’d done with the ingredients she’d prepared for him and scanning the books hadn’t given her any clues. Whatever it was, she just hoped it was explosive.

The darkness pulsed around her, forcing her to slow for fear of accidentally throwing herself into the dark waters below. She hadn’t realised how little lighting they’d be, after dark, or how treacherous even the safest of gangplanks could be in the darkness. A handful of lights illuminated the docks, rising and falling as waves brushed against the floating city … a flash of light, behind her, shook the gangplank, nearly making her lose her footing. She caught hold of the railing just in time to keep from falling into a watery grave, then forced herself to turn and look. A towering fireball was rising into the sky, casting an eerie orange light over the city … Anastasia felt a stab of guilt, despite herself, as she realised she might well have killed at least one person. Perhaps more. There hadn’t been anyone sleeping in the alleyway, as far as she’d been able to tell, but there could have been someone on the wrong side …

Move, she told herself. She could hear windows slamming open, people running to see what was happening … and determine if it posed any threat to them. Get moving, now!

She forced herself to keep going, feeling the ground rocking under her feet. It hadn’t occurred to her that the blast might sink the boat – or more than one boat. The free state wasn’t that solid … she swallowed hard, wondering just how many people she’d condemned to die. She was a princess, the heir to the throne, the living representative of continuous government … she had been told, time and time again, that her life was important, that she owed it to the kingdom to stay alive even at the expense of other lives, but … she had seen too many slaves on the free state, people who hadn’t had any choices in their lives. How many had she killed? The thought haunted her, all the worse because she feared she would never know. It could be hundreds of people …

Doors slammed open, dozens of people hurrying onto the streets. Anastasia told herself to be grateful, that they’d conceal her escape, as she made her way past them and down to the docks. The sailors were staring at the blood-red sky, some heading for their ships and others making their way towards the flames … she couldn’t tell if anyone was organising to fight the blaze or evacuate the surrounding sections or something, anything, other than letting the fire burn itself out. Horror ran through her mind as she realised she might have doomed the entire free state. If they didn’t have a way to quench fires before they grew out of control, they were in deep trouble. It wasn’t something she’d ever had to think about back home.

The pirate ship was surprisingly hard to see in the darkness, despite a light hanging from the prow and another from the stern. She hurried to the gangplank and walked up to the ship, two guards stepping out of the shadows to block her. They carried swords rather than wands, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Their faces promised no mercy, if they thought she meant them harm. Or they thought she was vulnerable.

Anastasia pulled herself upright, and spoke with all the regal authority she could muster. “Take me to your captain.”

The two men exchanged glances as they realised she was a young woman. Anastasia braced herself, wishing she’d had more time to practice her command presence. Her father had once told her that half the secret of being in charge was acting as though you were, acting so firmly it was impossible for anyone to see you acting. Half was skill and half was experience … she knew she didn’t have enough of either. She reached for her threads of magic, readying herself to cast a spell. If she had to prove herself …

“This way,” the leader grunted.

He turned and stalked along the deck. Anastasia followed him, looking around with interest. A handful of crewmen were performing mysterious tasks with the rigging, their supervisor snapping orders Anastasia couldn’t understand. The ship was smaller than she’d realised, a handful of cannon glinting eerily in the darkness … she stumbled and nearly tripped over something hidden in the shadows, her escort sniggering like a small boy who’d discovered flatulence for the first time. Anastasia flushed and gathered herself, wishing she’d had a chance to master the night-vision spells. There had been hundreds of helpful charms in the books she’d seen back home, spells she could have learnt if she’d bothered to try …

She glanced back. The fire was already fading, the last embers glittering into nothingness. Avitus was dead – or thought she was. She hoped. The fetish felt hot against her bare skin … she hoped to hell it was just her body heat and not something more unpleasant. They paused outside a simple wooden door, the escort motioning her to remain where she was as he knocked and opened the door. Anastasia didn’t hear what he said, but he appeared to like the answer. He pushed the door open wide and motioned her into the room, patting her on the rear as she stepped past him. Her skin crawled. He was going to pay for that. Somehow.

The cabin was smaller than she’d expected, illuminated by a lantern and dominated by a simple wooden desk. The pirate captain stood as she entered, his eyes flickering coldly over her. He was dressed like an aristocrat – she couldn’t help thinking of the admiral – with long dark hair, a bushy beard, and beefy hands that bore the marks of a life spent at sea. There was a nasty-looking scar on his cheek, one he hadn’t bothered to heal. She had to admit it added to the air of looming menace. Avitus had been inhuman. The pirate was all too human.

His voice had an accent she couldn’t place. “Why are you here?”

“You’re looking for crew,” Anastasia said. “I’m here to sign up.”

The captain laughed. “And you think you can join my crew?

“I’m a sorceress,” Anastasia said, projecting all the confidence she could. A moment of weakness now would doom her. “I can earn my pay.”

There was a long chilling pause. Anastasia wondered, grimly, if she’d overplayed her hand. A trained sorceress of the first-rank would have no trouble finding employment anywhere she cared to look, which raised some interesting questions of precisely why she’d want to work on a pirate ship. The captain might assume she had tastes she couldn’t satisfy elsewhere … or that she might be weaker than she acted, perhaps a great deal less well-trained. She wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or not, if looking weak would work better than appearing dangerously strong, but there was no time to worry about it now. If she didn’t get a place on the ship, getting off would be difficult. She had never learnt to fight. She didn’t even have a virgin blade!

“A sorceress,” the captain repeated. “Let us test you. What is my name?”

Anastasia blinked. What sort of test was that? She didn’t know his name and she didn’t know any spells that would tell her, unless …

She smiled. “Blackbeard?”

The captain roared with laughter.” No,” he said. The shift was so rapid she was left wondering if he’d faked the laugh. “My name is Captain. And that is how you will address me on my ship.”

“Yes, Captain,” Anastasia said. “Mine is … mine is Stasia.”

The captain’s eyes flickered, just for a second. “We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes,” he said, curtly. “If you want to leave, this is your one chance.”

“I don’t,” Anastasia said.

“Good.” The captain met her eyes. “There’s a ship making her way towards Beneficence. We’re going to take her by storm, if she doesn’t strike her colours when she sees us. You’ll get a share of the booty, once you prove yourself to be one of us. If you don’t, you won’t get a second chance.”

“I understand,” Anastasia said. The captain wasn’t making any attempt to sugar-coat his plans – and why would he? He was testing her, trying to see if there were lines she wouldn’t cross. And that meant … if he worked out who she was, or realised there were some things she really wouldn’t do, she was dead. Or worse. She dreaded to think what the crew would do. If half the bragging she’d heard in the bars yesterday was true, it would be a fate worse than death. “I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t,” the captain said. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. “Maurice will take care of you.”

The door opened a moment later, revealing a young man who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Anastasia … a man who looked dangerous, and far less controlled than his captain. His face was long and angular, his lips set in a twisted smile, his arms – uncovered by any shirt – covered in tattoos that made little sense to her. He wore a sword at his belt, but somehow she doubted he needed it. His movements were so quick she found herself wondering if he had non-human blood in him, although it was rare in the more civilised parts of the world. A chill ran down her spine as their eyes met. She knew, at a very primal level, that the young man was crazy. There was no hope of reasoning with him.

“Escort our guest to the ninth cabin,” the captain ordered, curtly. “See that she remains there until we’re underway.”

“Yes, Captain,” Maurice said. He had a high-pitched voice that managed to be as terrifying as the rest of him, light and breathy and very dangerous. “I’ll take care of her.”

He caught Anastasia’s arm and pulled her through the door. She gritted her teeth – he was strong – and let him drag her into another door, then down a flight of stairs so steep they were practically a ladder. The air grew thicker, stinking of human waste and tobacco and a dozen other things she couldn’t identify. She didn’t want to know what they were. The only illumination came from a handful of safety lanterns, hanging from the wooden walls. Maurice’s breathing grew louder as they passed a number of small hatches, so tiny she wondered if they were for children, and stopped outside a simple wooden door. Maurice pushed it open, then took a lantern from the wall and held it up to illuminate the room. A bunk, a tiny bed, a small desk and a porthole … the air was thick, disturbingly so. Anastasia spotted a chamberpot under the bunk and shuddered. The cabin would have to be cleaned before she could sleep in it.

Maurice hung the lantern on the wall, then stepped aside to allow her to enter … then closed the door and gave her a shove. Anastasia fell forward, finding herself bent over the desk and held in place by his hand. He was strong … he giggled as he pressed her down, his right hand keeping her down while his left struggled to lift her cloak. Anastasia tried to struggle, only to discover she could barely move. His hand slapped her rear, then yanked up her cloak. Horror ran through her. She was a virgin! She had to be a virgin on her wedding night! And he was going to take her maidenhead …

“Let me go,” she managed. His hands were clawing at her trousers. It wouldn’t take him long to pull them down, releasing the fetish at the same time. The gods alone knew what he’d make of that. “Let me go!”

Maurice giggled, ramming something into her rear. It took her a moment to realise it was his manhood, hard and ready. “That’s what they all say.”

His hands pulled at her belt. Anastasia gritted her teeth, forced herself to focus, and cast a spell. A small flame appeared between them, small and yet hot enough to burn … Maurice yelped, stumbling backwards and tripping over, his head cracking against the wooden door. Anastasia straightened, trying not to show any fear – or how much the spell was draining her as she pulled her cloak back into place, then turned … the fire dancing over her palm. The heat pulsed against her bare skin, the warmth slowly turning into pain. She was sure there were ways to make sure she wasn’t burnt by her own fire, but she didn’t know them. There was no time to check the books either. She schooled her face into a blank mask, hoping his fear would make it harder for him to think clearly. Avitus had done her a favour, of sorts. She wouldn’t have been able to hide her agony two weeks ago.

Maurice looked as if he wanted to inch backwards as she leaned closer, the fire dancing over his palm. There was nowhere for him to go, no space left … she pressed the fire until it was nearly touching him, the heat threatening to burn his skin. His legs were trapped in his trousers, his manhood no longer erect … she would have laughed, if things hadn’t been so dire. He could have escaped if he hadn’t dropped his own trousers!

“Trying to rape a sorceress?” Anastasia forced her voice to drip contempt. “You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?”

“I …”

Anastasia pushed on. Flame was dangerous on wooden ships. If she accidentally set fire to the ship …

“You are nothing to me,” she hissed. “I can do anything to you, anything at all. If the captain didn’t need you …”

She stepped back. “Get out.”

Maurice stumbled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the flame. He’d cut his leg when he fell, Anastasia noted, leaving blood on the deck. She could use that … probably. Maurice tried to look dignified as he pulled up his pants and fled, but she could see his terror. He’d wet himself … she wrinkled her lips in disgust. That was going to be a nightmare to clean up. She closed and bolted the door, then sagged as the last of her magic faded away. She’d been lucky. She hadn’t realised how much stronger he was until it had been too late, and then … she retched, painfully. He had come within inches of invading her body, of violating her so roughly she might never recover …

The deck shifted beneath her feet. The ship was casting off, heading out onto the open waves … she shuddered, helplessly, at the thought of the horror to come. If Maurice had been willing to try to rape a crewmate, what would he do to a helpless captive? She didn’t want to know.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire, she thought numbly, as she collected his blood. But this time, I am no longer helpless. And I am on my way.

 

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Chapter Eight

Anastasia was grateful, almost despite herself, that the crew left her alone.

It gave her time to clean the cabin, carefully turning Maurice’s blood into another fetish, and start studying the books in greater detail. She had no idea how long she’d be able to hold onto them – if the textbooks weren’t banned, they should be – or what would happen when she jumped ship. There was no way she could go back to the free state, not when she had no idea what had happened to Avitus. Was he dead? Did he think her dead? Or had he escaped in time to save himself?

And even if he is dead, she reminded herself, Circe might note the explosion and wonder if I caused it.

She scowled as she stared down at the textbook, her eyes passing over the words without actually seeing them. Circe had been beside her, unseen and unremarked, for two years. She knew everything Anastasia could do … would she wonder if Anastasia had freed herself? Or would she dismiss the possibility. Death magic was very dangerous, and Avitus hadn’t been the most stable and balanced of men. He might easily have blown himself up, taking Anastasia with him. Circe might even have counted on it. The disaster would bury her tracks and remove a potential threat without her ever breaking her word and risking retribution from the gods. Or magic itself.

It was hard not to feel ashamed of herself, as she put the book aside and lay down on the ghastly bunk. She had been lazy, lacking the motivation to develop her magic or fighting skills or anything else she might need to defend herself, let alone secure her position. She wanted to believe Circe had been foolish to let her go, after dumping her thousands of miles from home, but she had to admit it wasn’t that foolish. The old Anastasia had been too lazy and spoiled to do much of anything about it, and Circe had every reason to assume she’d fade into obscurity or slavery or simply become tainted with dark magics, ensuring she could never return to claim the throne. If she turned up looking like Avitus, would they even believe her when she told them who she was? Or …

The curse tightened. She found herself struggling for breath. She couldn’t tell them anything.

Not until I get rid of the curse, she told herself. And I don’t even know where to begin.

She closed her eyes, allowing the gentle rocking to lull her to sleep. Her dreams were nightmarish, grim renditions of just what would have happened to her if she hadn’t frightened Maurice away. She wasn’t that ignorant of how babies were made, not after she’d had her first blood and her mother had given her a lecture that had been cringey and embarrassing for both of them, but she’d never so much as kissed a man, let alone seen one naked. The dead bodies had been bad enough, a live one was worse. The thought of him actually managing to force his way inside her … her stomach churned as she hovered between the waking world and the dreaming, reminding her that she was on a ship crewed by cutthroats, rapists, and other monsters who didn’t have the excuse of being inhuman. She had heard enough horror stories to be almost painfully aware of what would happen, if they realised how weak she was. If she didn’t learn to defend herself …

A sharp knock on the door brought her back into the waking world. Anastasia staggered to her feet, cursing the rocking under her breath. She had never been on a ship before and her stomach was twisting unpleasantly, as if she was both hungry and on the verge of being sick. The books talked of sea-sickness, but … she braced herself, brushing down her outfit and forcing her face into a stern, regal, expression before she unbolted the door. The young man on the far side couldn’t meet her eyes. She would have found it amusing if she hadn’t been all too aware she was bluffing. He could be at her throat in an instant, or worse, if he knew she couldn’t defend herself.

His voice was nervous, as if he thought she’d turn him into a toad for showing a hint of disrespect. “Captain’s compliments, Lady Sorcerer, and he … ah … invites you to join him in his cabin.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Anastasia lied, silently thanking her mother for teaching her some lessons she hadn’t understood at the time. “Lead the way.”

The young man bowed and turned away, leading her back the way she’d come. The corridor felt darker somehow, darker and thinner … the lanterns were largely gone. She tried not to show her discomfort as the deck shifted under her feet, the motion convincing her the boat was caught in a tempest before they clambered up the ladder and onto the deck. There was no sign of any storm: the sky was blue, the wind was mild, the sea was an endless watery desert, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The crew were running around the deck, the officers bellowing commands she didn’t understand. A handful of men were sitting on the deck, sharpening their swords. They looked at her and then looked away, their faces pale. Anastasia guessed they knew she was a magician. She hoped they never realised how weak she truly was.

She kept her face blank, somehow, as her guide led her up another set of stairs and into the captain’s cabin. The captain was sitting at a table, a meal of bread, cheese, meat and something she didn’t recognise laid out in front of him. Anastasia felt her stomach growl, not just because she was hungry. Avitus had only ever fed her gruel and water. She’d searched the shop when he was out and found nothing else, not even a secret stash of sweets or other little treats. The meal on the table might be bland and boring, but right now it looked like a feast. If she ever got home, she promised herself, she’d never complain about the food again.

“Please, be seated,” Captain said. “We have much to discuss.”

Anastasia tried not to show how hungry she was. There had been no time to pack any food, no time to snatch anything beyond the books, money, and a handful of potions. She didn’t want to beg and yet …

“Oh, and eat,” Captain added. There was a hint of something knowing in his voice. “It is always a pleasure to have a lady at my table.”

“Thank you,” Anastasia managed. The bread was hard, the cheese plain, the meat unflavoured … it was still the finest meal she’d had in weeks. She had a nasty feeling he’d make her pay a price for the dinner and … she just hoped it was one she was able to pay. “It’s very kind of you.”

Captain poured two tankards of wine and passed one to her. “A toast! To good winds and gentle seas!”

Anastasia winced, inwardly. She wasn’t much of a drinker, although alcohol had been served at every banquet she’d attended since she’d hit puberty. Her father had warned her of the dangers of getting drunk in public, giving her a number of horror stories about youngsters who’d done just that and never managed to live it down, even if they spent the rest of their lives without a single drop. It would be bad enough getting drunk at home, where someone could take care of her, but here …? There were spells to remove alcohol, she’d been told, but she didn’t know how to cast them. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure she could get them to work.

She took a little sip, then put the tankard down. The wine was sharp and unpleasant, nothing like the rarefied liqueurs of her kingdom. Rockfall was renowned for its wines and they fetched high prices throughout the Allied Lands, while this wine … it tasted as if someone had mixed alcohol with vinegar and declared it a pleasant drink. It wasn’t something she wanted to drink. She needed something that wasn’t likely to affect her judgement.

“Magicians rarely indulge, I suppose,” Captain said. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything else.”

“No water?” Anastasia couldn’t stop herself. “Or juice?”

“No.” Captain shrugged. “I suppose we could put a bucket down and get some saltwater, if you can cleanse it.”

Anastasia had the nasty feeling she’d fallen into a trap, although she couldn’t see the jaws. The captain was testing her and … she cursed, once again, her own folly. The Court Wizard had tried to teach her dozens of spells that would make her life a little easier, and safer, and she’d rejected his teachings. She wondered, suddenly, if the doddering old man was still alive. Circe would see him as a threat, the one person who might notice the cuckoo in the nest, and deal with him before it was too late. If she was wearing Anastasia’s face, she could walk right up to the old man and put a knife in him effortlessly. He’d have no time to react before it was too late. Or …

Captain shrugged, and smiled like a cat playing with a mouse. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here …?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Anastasia said. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to engage in meaningless conversation, although the stakes were a great deal higher. If he was picking at her cover story, he might pull it apart … and who knew what would happen then? She put a bored expression on her face and leaned forward. “What can I do for you?”

“A few things do suggest themselves,” Captain said. His eyes roamed up and down her body, lingering on her chest. Anastasia felt her skin crawl. She’d worn more revealing dresses in court and yet, she’d never felt so naked. Or vulnerable. “I want you to find something for me.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a vial of blood. “This belongs to a sailor,” he said, passing the vial to her. “I want you to find him for me.”

Anastasia blinked. “Might I ask why?”

“You took my money,” Captain said. There was no give in his voice, no hint he feared pushing her too far. “That means you do as I say or walk the plank. After my crew have had their fun.”

Anastasia thought a very unladylike word, not daring to say it out loud. He knew she had some magic, assuming Maurice had told him what had happened when he’d tried to rape her, but … how much? How many of his actions had been subtle tests, to determine just how much of a magician she truly was? A full-fledged sorceress – hell, even a student or apprentice with a year or two of training under their belts – would have no trouble removing the alcohol or blasting a would-be rapist into atoms or finding employment that didn’t involve sailing on a pirate ship. He knew she wasn’t what she claimed to be, even if he didn’t know what she was. And that meant …

She took the vial, gritting her teeth. It wasn’t that hard to use someone’s blood to track them down and … ice washed through her veins as she found herself wondering just how Captain had gotten his hands on the vial in the first place. She doubted it had been extracted willingly. He snorted rudely, his eyes never leaving her. If she didn’t do it, she doubted he’d give her a second chance. And she really couldn’t defend herself.

The spell sparkled to life, an eerie tingling sensation nearly pulling her to her feet. She could feel something tugging at her as if the blood wanted to return to its owner, pulling her in its wake. Her skin crawled, again … she had to bite her lip to keep from standing and walking straight into the bulkhead. She had the nasty feeling that the vial would fly from her hand and smash itself if she let it go.

“Well?”

Anastasia’s mouth was dry. “Thataway.”

She pointed. Captain nodded and rang his bell. Maurice appeared, his eyes cold and hard. The flash of anger she saw cross his face, as he saw her, chilled her to the bone. He would hurt her, if he got the chance, and he wouldn’t give a damn about his own life as long as he had a chance to take her down. She wondered, grimly, just how badly he’d been humiliated. Courtiers who embarrassed themselves, or wound up on the losing side of petty and pointless struggles for power and influence, tended to take it personally, particularly if salt was rubbed in their wounds. It was why her mother had cautioned her against being too direct, certainly in public. She doubted the pirate crew was any better, where such things were concerned. His comrades would sooner laugh at him then offer sympathy.

“Order the helmsman to alter course,” Captain ordered. He babbled out a stream of instructions Anastasia couldn’t follow. “I’ll be on deck shortly.”

Maurice nodded and withdrew, casting one last dark look at Anastasia. Captain seemed not to notice. Instead, he took a map from a drawer and laid it on the table, drawing a line with his finger as a dull sensation ran through the deck. Anastasia felt her stomach heave and cursed herself under her breath, trying to keep her eyes on the chart to keep from thinking about it. The paper was very different to the one she’d seen earlier, even though the outline of the northern continent was nearly identical. She couldn’t even begin to understand what it meant.

“The timing is going to be tight,” Captain mused, more to himself than to her. “But if we can catch her …”

Anastasia leaned forward. “Catch who?”

“Our prey, of course,” Captain said. He stood. “Keep your hand on the blood, and come with me.”

The deck shifted again as Anastasia followed him out of the cabin and up another ladder. An officer was standing by the wheel, controlling the rudder as he bellowed orders to the crewmen adjusting the sails. The ship was picking up speed, the wind propelling her onwards … Anastasia stared over the waters and saw nothing, not even a hint of fish following in their wake. Captain took the wheel, motioning for her to stand beside him. Anastasia felt dangerously exposed as the blood pulled her onwards. She had the unpleasant feeling it was actually tugging the pirate ship towards her target.

Her mind raced, trying to think of a way out. The pirates weren’t on a random cruise. They had a specific target in mind, which meant … she didn’t know. Where had they gotten the blood? What was the real goal? She wanted to go back to her cabin and dig into the books … perhaps there was a way to use the blood to signal its owner, to warn him that a pirate ship was bearing down on his vessel. But if he’d given up the blood willingly … she told herself, once again, that she damn well should have practiced her magic. She wouldn’t be in such a state if she had the power to teleport, or fly, or defend herself.

Yeah, her thoughts mocked. Circe would have cut your throat if she saw you as a real threat.

A sailor high overhead shouted something, a word she didn’t recognise. She looked up and saw a man standing in the rigging, holding on with one hand and pressing a telescope to his eye with the other. The sailors below took up the cry: some drawing their cutlasses and waving them in the air, others, more practical, checking the two cannon or the longboats. Captain chuckled humourlessly, a sound that promised no mercy to his quarry, as he adjusted the wheel. Anastasia felt her heart sink. They were sailing right towards another ship and she had led them there.

The other ship looked tiny, but she was growing larger all the time. She looked bigger than the pirate ship, yet … somehow, Anastasia was sure she couldn’t defend herself. Her eyesight was good and she couldn’t pick out any cannon, let alone any magicians … she glanced around, trying to think of something she could do, but nothing came to mind. If half the stories she’d heard were true, the pirates were about to unleash hell … and it would be her fault.

Captain patted her rear, the feeling making her skin crawl once again, and then nodded to Maurice. “Take her back to her cabin and lock her in,” he ordered, briskly. “And then report to the boarding party.”

Anastasia felt her heart sink. Captain had guessed the truth. She made no resistance as Maurice took her arm and pulled her back down the steps, into the corridor and back to her cabin. His breathing was coming in fits and starts, twitching like a young courtier who wanted to ask a damsel to dance and yet didn’t quite dare. Somehow, she was sure he didn’t have dancing in mind. If he tried again, after convincing himself it was safe …

Maurice opened the door, pushed her inside and then slammed it closed. She was surprised he didn’t come inside, but … she told herself to be grateful as she heard the lock clicking. She needed time to think and that meant … she reached for the vial, feeling the pull yanking her forward. Captain hadn’t thought to take the blood back, which was an oversight. Perhaps … she heard a cannon boom and cursed under her breath. She didn’t have much time.

She drew the second fetish from her clothing and stared down at it. If the spell went wrong …

Do it, she told herself. You won’t get a second chance.