Interlude III: The Prophecy (Part 2)

There’s a long silence, so long that she begins to fear she’s encountered a nonbeliever.

But then comes a response, wry with false levity, ‘Do they always come that way? With rhymes and stuff?’

She looks into those brilliant golden eyes, conveying to her the extent of her seriousness. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘always.’

﹒

‘That’s it,’ floated the voice from below. ‘You cannot put this off any longer. I’ve indulged your whims for centuries, but—’

‘Father, please. Surely it isn’t so urgent as all that.’ This speaker was Canus at his very most annoyed.

‘It’s about the Starlight Queen, Brother mine. It is most certainly so urgent,’ drawled Chalcea’s oldest brother.

‘But you know what her prophecies are like,’ Canus protested. ‘They’re tricky things, always so vague.’

‘And yet they always come true.’ Chryseus’s words are laden with irony. Chalcea doesn’t know her oldest brother as well as Canus, but she thinks she can detect a certain undercurrent of pique.

Canus raised his voice in retort, ‘Not always the way we think! Remember nine years ago how we all thought she was predicting that the mortals would fall into nuclear war? But then it turned out it was only about a tsunami most of the way across the globe.’

‘But her wording—’

‘Enough,’ interrupted their father. ‘I will have no more arguing from either of you. Tomorrow night, Canus, I expect you to be here, midnight at the latest. You shall undergo the transformation after court disperses.’ A pause. How Chalcea wished she could see what was going on. Her father continued, ‘If you insist on such undignified behaviour, I shall send a thrall to you as chaperone.’

‘Father, please. Tomorrow is far too soon! I won’t be able to arrange my affairs in time.’

‘You may arrange them at your leisure as an immortal. My mind is made up. Keep him here until Simon comes, Chryseus.’

Footsteps, then the door clicked open before slamming pointedly shut.

After a moment, Chryseus spoke: ‘It won’t be as bad as you imagine, Brother.’

Canus sighed. ‘I know. I just—I suppose I always imagined that I could continue on like this, that I wouldn’t ever need to die.’

Anger stirred in Chalcea’s chest. It was so selfish! Canus knew how much she wanted to become immortal, as well as what reasons their father had for continually refusing her. Canus might abhor all responsibility, but Chalcea looked forward to joining immortal society, to eventually starting her own clan or coven—even to getting assigned to a new city and presiding over monthly courts just like their father did.

‘It isn’t death,’ Chryseus protested, though his words had the tired quality of things that were repeated too many times to retain meaning. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough, and then you’ll wonder why you ever resisted, why we never forced you to do this earlier.’

Silence fell until three knocks rippled through the stillness.

‘That’s my signal, then,’ Chryseus said.

Footsteps again, then a door opening.

‘Be good for your minder, Brother dear. Hopefully you’ll finally be immortal the next time we meet again.’

The door shut with a careful click.

‘Master Canus?’

Canus sighed, heavy and long. ‘Good evening, Simon. We may—’

‘We really need to train you out of this habit, my dearest.’

Calcea startled, dropping her eavesdropping spell.

‘Through the vents? Really, Chalcea,’ said her father. His hulking form stood at the turn in the hallway, having apparently seen right through her cloaking sorcery.

Chalcea stood up slowly, dusting off her gown. ‘Well, if you ever told me anything, I wouldn’t have to.’

‘You’re still a child, my dear. That discussion was not meant for—’

‘It was my prophecy, and it’s my brother.’ You’d think that they’d have learned by now that I have a better understanding of the future than any of them, she thought viciously.

Her father merely sighed. ‘I also wish it didn’t have to be like this, you know. If it didn’t involve something as important as the succession, I’d have been content to have Canus remain as he is for the rest of his years. You could still choose that, if you’d like.’

Chalcea bit her lip. How was it that her father still didn’t understand? She’s always made it so clear. She wanted to become immortal. Already, even at the tender age of eighteen, she lived and died by her sorcery: the tug of her blood as she spun the spells; the rush of satisfaction as a particular piece of sorcery finally locked in; the sheer delight in weaving new patterns of magic out of her power…

It would only get better once the transformation purified her blood—Chalcea had known this ever since she made her very first prophecy in the privacy of her own room, barely three hours after her mother died, when she’d been all of five years old.

‘No,’ she said simply, ‘I’m not as enamoured with mortal life as Canus is.’ How could I be, she thought bitterly, when I’m barely allowed to mingle among them?

Then she thought of something. ‘Father, if I became an immortal alongside Canus? He won’t feel as resentful, I don’t think, if he had a companion, and this way we wouldn’t have to worry about him accidentally trying to drink—’

‘No,’ he father said. ‘You’re too young, and I’ve already arranged matters regarding your safety. I’ll be fostering you out to your aunt in Birmingham until Canus is ready to start his own household.’

Chalcea’s heart sank. The Prince of Birmingham was a pleasant enough woman by all accounts, but Chalcea only ever saw her very briefly.

‘I see,’ she said.

‘And Chalcea?’

‘Yes, Father?’

‘Tell no one of this prophecy. This stays within our immediate family, do you understand?’

Chalcea frowned for a moment, wondering why her father felt the need to remind her of it. Chalcea tended to keep her prophecies to herself as much as possible. After all, who else was there and understood it?

But then, all of a sudden, Chalcea did understand. Eldest child of princely get—there are other princes out there, other such princely get. The Prince of London knew exactly how Chalcea’s prophecies worked, and he was trying to ensure his very personal control over it.

‘Yes, Father,’ she said, intending no such thing.

﹒

‘It makes no sense! How can you be so sure that it’s related to this so-called Starlight Queen?’

She wanted to slap her, but the other girl didn’t seem to realise the blasphemy in her words.

‘And why did you tell it to me? The Prince—’

‘Can give me all the orders that he likes, and I won’t have to obey them until he becomes my Sire as well as my father.’

If the older girl is annoyed by her attitude, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she says, ‘But why me? I’m not the oldest progeny of my Sire.’

She tilts her head and smiles. ‘Are you really not?’