Madly (3 page)

Chapter Seven

Samantha

“WHAT?” HISSES ZOL.

Suddenly everyone is craning for a better look. It's clear that my theory is correct, even as I get squashed out to the edge of the circle. The Princess has risen and is standing by the mirror now, smiling and chatting to her reflection. She doesn't look ill at all. In fact she looks . . . radiant.

Renel clears his throat, trying to take back some control of the crowd. “Yes, yes, well done, Kemi.” He glares at me. “Princess Evelyn was poisoned by a love potion we believe she made by her own hand.”

Unbelievable. Love potions are dangerous—not to mention illegal—and the original recipe was wiped from existence by royal decree well over a century ago. Anyone who even writes out a new recipe in their private journals draws the attention of the Novaen secret service. Arjun thinks the fact that the royal family has
that power is scary and oppressive, but at least it keeps people safe—except for, I suppose, the princess. I'm impressed. I didn't think it was possible for royals to mix their own potions. Their Talent is so strong, who knows what effect it would have on the ingredients.

“Attention. Attention!” Renel claps his hands. When no one turns to look at him, he touches his staff to the wall, and the window to the princess goes dark.

“She doesn't look like she's in mortal danger,” says someone I don't recognize.

“Then you don't understand anything about the royal family and aren't fit for this hunt,” snaps the king. “We dedicate our lives to keeping the flow of magic in check. If Evelyn's mind is compromised in any way . . .”

“She could bring the entire city of Kingstown to its knees,” says my granddad. “Once again endangering us all,” he mutters under his breath, so that only I can hear.

The king doesn't say anything, but his silence speaks volumes.

Renel steps up again. “Now you understand the gravity of the situation. We have enough doctors here to keep the princess in a stable condition. But that could change. How quickly we can save her is down to you.

“Now, there hasn't been a Wilde Hunt in over sixty-five years, so I must make you aware there are several rules that must not be broken. Not only will the royal family enforce the rules, but the hunt demands it.

“One: Only Participants called by Auden's Horn are eligible to compete in the Wilde Hunt. The first Participant or his apprentice to submit a potion that turns the horn gold will be declared the winner. Submit the wrong formula, and the horn will remain black.

“Two: You are the chosen Participants, but you still have a choice. You have twenty-four hours following the call of the horn to enter your name. Once you do, you are bound to the hunt. In return, you will be issued with royal-approved Wilds passes, giving you access to anywhere you need to hunt for ingredients.

“Three: In addition to the Participant and his apprentice, one Finder may be chosen per team.

“And finally: Since a love potion antidote is a mirror cure, the winning potion must be as close to the princess's formula as possible. That means that all ingredients used in this Wilde Hunt potion must be natural.”

“Your Highness, with all due respect, that is preposterous!” Zol exclaims. “We could have a synthetic potion prepared in days . . . Hunting for the ingredients could take weeks.”

The king sighs. “Zol, this is my daughter's life at stake. We cannot take any chances.”

“Auden's Horn called you because you are a master alchemist, in addition to your synth mixing, isn't that correct, Zol?” says Renel.

“Well, of course, but . . . ,” Zol splutters.

“Then you will know how key it is that we follow these rules exactly.”

“How are you so sure that no synths were used in the manufacture of the princess's potion?” Zol asks. “With the exception of a few of these old-timers”—he looks pointedly at my grandfather and me—“almost no one operates completely synth-free anymore. This is the twenty-first century, after all!”

Renel reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a slim journal, its pages edged in gold. “This is the only remaining evidence of the princess's mix. She began a record of her formula, although she only got as far as to write down a single ingredient. But one thing she did specify is that her potion was made with one hundred percent natural ingredients. It appears she feared that using synthetics would be too easy to trace. So I will reiterate: The potion needs to be completely natural.”

Zol scoffs, but doesn't protest again.

Renel continues. “Those who choose to participate will be given the name of the ingredient the princess wrote down as a head start. After that, you are on your own. The prize for the correct potion is one million crowns and access to a private stream of Novaen royal magic for twenty-four hours.” His nose wrinkles as he mentions the prize, as if it should be of no consequence when it comes to saving the princess. It's of big consequence to everyone else, though. “Since love potions are
illegal, you will also consent to having the ingredients and any record of the formula wiped from memory.”

Despite the dangers, there is an excited buzz in the room. A Wilde Hunt. A chance to create an illegal potion for the royal family. A natural potion. This is freaking awesome.

“Zol Aster, do you still want to be first to join?” asks the king, one eyebrow raised.

Zol stands up straighter, adjusting his tie. “Of course, Your Highness. Synth or natural, ZoroAster Corp. are the best potion-makers in Nova.” Now it's my granddad's turn to scoff, though Zol continues as if he doesn't hear. “We would be honored to pledge our service to saving the princess.” Zol and Zain approach the horn, in its curious floating gold light. Once, they might have had to write their names on a piece of paper to enter the hunt, but not anymore. Now there's an electronic pad sitting in front of the horn. Zol places his forefinger on the pad and it scans his fingerprint, then Zain does the same. Something inside the horn fizzles and smokes.

They are entered in the hunt.

But before Zain has lifted his finger from the pad, the horn shakes, then blasts out the resounding trumpet sound I heard on the Royal Lane. Instinctively, we all turn toward the Summons. Then someone else steps through the screen—without needing to be pulled through. A woman, dressed in a long hooded robe the
color of swirling mercury, of molten silver. The edges are ragged and torn—so old-fashioned in style she looks like she's walked out of the pages of a historical novel. With her comes a smell—sharp and metallic, like the copper taint of a bad penny.

Guards melt out of the shadows, and what feels like a hundred men in suits surround the woman, wands drawn.

When she lowers the hood and shows her face, I'm instantly grateful for all those guards.

“No . . .” The king stands up so fast, he almost topples his throne. “There must be some mistake! Renel, check the horn's call.”

The woman grins, all perfect teeth and pale pink lips. “It's nice to see you too, brother.” She would be beautiful if she wasn't so terrifying. Her hair is as gray as her cloak, and her veins, visible through her translucent skin, are black as night. I know what that means. It happens to alchemists who meddle with ingredients that stain the soul as well as a person's hair, eyes, and skin. I shiver with disgust. No one uses dark potions anymore in Nova. The rumors say there are still some on the continent, deep in the forests of Gergon, who do. This is proof of it.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to get here,” she continues. “I suppose it was hard for the horn to track me down. It's quite rude of my own family to take away my passport and block me from transporting into my home
country, isn't it? But Auden's Horn doesn't care about our arbitrary laws, borders, and exiles. It called me as a Participant, and there's nothing you can do about that.”

The king shakes with rage, his face a bright shade of red. “But you're no alchemist!”

“How would you know what I am, Ander? Oh, don't you worry. I've always been fond of my niece, which is more than I can say for you. Now, what's wrong with her?” She snaps her fingers at the guards. “Move out of my way. I need to see the princess.”

“Don't you dare,” the king shouts.

“You can't stop me. I've been called.”

“Of course I can, I'm the king!” he splutters.

“Always trying to bend the rules, when it suits you. I think you'll find the horn has made its choice. As a master alchemist, born of Nova, I am more than qualified to be in the hunt,” she says, striding toward the window. “If I choose to.” The guards fire blasts of magic at her, but the spells fizzle out before they reach her. She places her finger on the glass, her long curved nails scraping against the window. The glass turns clear.

The room is silent, holding its breath as the woman observes the princess. “A love potion. How quaint a thing to put her life—and the country itself—in mortal danger. Rather reckless that you would allow this to happen under your roof, King Ander. All the better for me, though.” She walks over to the horn, placing her finger on the pad.

The Horn sparks once more.

She turns to the crowd, and my skin crawls as her ice-blue eyes glance over me. Thankfully, they don't linger long as she regards each one of us in turn. “I will be the one to save my niece. I suggest you all bow out gracefully now, while you can.” With two bounding leaps, she jumps into the Summons, disappearing back to wherever she came from.

The king's voice breaks the shell-shocked silence. “What are you waiting for, get after her!” he bellows to his guards. They leap through the Summons, attempting to follow her trail. “As for the rest of you, I will double the hunt's prize.
Two
million crowns and forty-eight hours of power, to whoever finds the cure before that woman.”

“Who was that?” I whisper to my granddad, when I've finally stopped shaking.

“Emilia Thoth,” he says, his voice grave. “The king's exiled sister. Come on, Sam. Let's go home.”

“We're not joining the hunt?” I ask.

But I already know the answer to that.

Chapter Eight

Princess Evelyn

SHE'S OVER THERE, BY THE mirror. I can just about spy her out of the corner of my eye. My god, she is so beautiful. I should go over to her. I should say hello.

The truth was, she felt paralyzed with doubt.

I wish I was as bold as her.
She decided to risk another glance, and she turned her head slowly, ever so slowly, over her shoulder.
Oh! She's looking directly at me.
Her eyes met the other girl's, but she dropped them quickly.
Breathe, Evelyn.
Her breath came and went in deep waves, and she felt her cheeks fill with heat. She couldn't remember if blushing made her look more beautiful or just odd, so she didn't want to risk turning around again.

Frankly, Evelyn couldn't quite believe the girl had the nerve to follow her here, into her private chambers. She should go over there and confront her, but she was nervous. Evelyn scolded herself. A Novaen princess should not be such a coward.

She spun around, taming stray strands of her hair. Then she swallowed and looked up at the beautiful stranger. “What is your name?”

“What is your name?” the girl replied.

“Evelyn.”

“Evelyn.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

That was it, then. It was fate. Somehow, they shared the same name. She could see the truth of it written on the girl's face—this was no joke. The two of them, the same, one half of the other. But it would not do for them both to be called Evelyn. “I will be Eve, and you Lyn.”

“I will be Eve, and you Lyn.”

Ah, the girl was simply being amusing. Eve could see the twinkle in Lyn's eye. It was fine; she could see they understood each other.

She had never felt so connected to someone before in her life. She could hardly believe that only a few hours ago, she had almost made a hideous mistake. There had been so much pressure for her to choose a partner—pressure from her parents, pressure from her magic—that she had plotted to potion Zain. He was all right, but he was so butch, so male compared to the exquisiteness that stood before her. Thank goodness Lyn had caught her eye at the last moment.

Eve had always known that it was her duty to make
sure she handled her power responsibly. She could hardly complain about her privilege, but the thought of being with someone that she didn't love for all of eternity had terrified her into desperate measures. Her parents didn't love each other, not at first and not now. Eve knew they were always off dallying with other members of the court—the intrigue kept the gossip columns in business. Her mother had readily agreed to the marriage, though, for the power and a lifetime of the very best of everything.

It was rare for any royal to be as lucky as Eve.

She had found her true love, and just in the nick of time. Lyn. They could marry soon. Preparations for a wedding had been in the royal family's press book since she was sixteen; they could pull it out in a month if they wanted to.

The media would love and loathe that. It would give them a month's worth of blanket coverage, but they'd have less time to speculate over her dress, the color scheme, the music . . . there was nothing like a royal wedding to spark a media storm. And one with two beautiful brides? It would be a frenzy! An enormous celebration. Street parties and teacups printed with their faces and photographs in all the magazines. It thrilled her to think about it.

She had to get planning! No high street dress would do this time, she needed a top designer. She wondered
if House of Perrod would be free. Who was she kidding? They would drop everything for her . . . .

Voices interrupted her reverie. “What are we going to do, Ander?” It was her mother's shrill voice. Eve could sense her over on the far side of the room, pacing in a circle, her high heels tapping on the floor. It was strange to have her there, but then Eve remembered—they must have come to meet Lyn. Of course they would need to meet her before they announced an engagement! She couldn't remember her mother ever caring about her in a way that felt maternal—nannies and royal advisors had raised her. But she could imagine her parents caring about who she married. They would be so relieved.

Her father was in the room too, and he sat on the throne he brought with him from place to place.

“We can't do anything,” came her father's reply. “The hunt has been called.”

“But you're the king. Surely you can stop this? How can we trust those quacks to come up with the cure for our daughter when she is involved! Your vile sister Emi—”

“
Don't
say her name in this palace,” the king fumed. “You can't be sure . . .” He paused, and then whispered, “That you won't be calling her presence right into this room.” There was only one name that could fill her father's voice with such fear. Her aunt, the exiled Emilia Thoth. At eighteen, she left the palace, allegedly to
go to university in Gergon. Instead, at twenty-one she staged a coup to steal the crown—an attempt that ended with her official exile from Nova.

Emilia didn't believe in the contract that bound the royal family's power to Nova's elected government. The agreement turned them into figureheads, held in the utmost regard but unable to exploit their full ­capacity for magic. The result was peace and democracy for the country. It worked perfectly.

Only Emilia and her power hungry followers didn't think so. The whispered rumors said she still lived in Gergon, where a royal family ruled with fists made iron by magic. Gergon never verified claims that they harboured Emilia—to do so would be tantamount to starting a war—but it wasn't hard to guess that they'd want her there, in their back pocket, in case anything went wrong in Nova.

Because the one thing the king and queen couldn't get away from was that Emilia was next in line if anything happened to Eve.

“We've sent a team of agents after her through the Summons,” continued the king. “We'll find her and stop her before anything can happen to Evelyn.”

“You don't know that! And what of the other Participants? They're all at risk now.”

“Someone will just have to cure Evelyn before she causes too much damage, and then Emilia will
be banished back to wherever she came from. The Participants know the dangers when they sign up.”

“Ha! Do you think they're prepared for dangers like your sister? She will stop at nothing to eliminate the competition.”

Her father squirmed in his throne. “There are ten Participants competing against her—and still others that haven't joined yet. Besides, Zol will win.”

“He had better. Where is that man, anyway? I need to talk to him about his wretched son.”

As if her mother's voice had Summoned him, a door appeared in the stone wall and Zol and Renel strode in. Eve rolled her eyes—seeing Zol made her think of Zain. How glad she was that the potion hadn't worked. Now he was free to find love too. The locket had been empty, so she must never have completed the mix in the first place. Or did she have a change of heart and dump the contents? It was so hard to remember. Her brain felt fuzzy, events rubbed from her memory like chalk from a blackboard. But then she lifted her eyes to meet Lyn's and instantly felt her worries melt away.

“We have a lead on the first ingredient for the hunt,” said Zol.

“There's a hunt?” At this, Eve perked up. “That's exciting. But there is no one here in mortal danger . . . What are they looking for? I do hope it's a good luck potion for my marriage—that would just be wonderful.”

Zol looked at her in such slack-jawed wonderment that Eve laughed. She didn't think she had ever seen Zain's dad look so uncomfortable in her presence. “Your marriage, Princess?” he asked.

“Oh, silly me. I haven't even told my parents yet! Mum . . . Dad . . . I want you to meet someone. This is Lyn.” She gestured to her love, who stood frozen still. “You should curtsy,” she whispered to Lyn. When she still didn't move, Eve laughed. “Of course, you don't know how! Please don't take offense, mother, she's new to all this royal nonsense. I'll show you, Lyn, it's easy.” Eve curtsied in the mirror, and to her delight Lyn did the same. “Oh, that was perfect! Don't you just love her?” she said to her parents. “We want to marry as soon as possible!”

They all stared at her, not saying a word, but she shrugged and turned her attention back to Lyn. Her parents would come around in time.

“If you had controlled your son, this would never have happened in the first place!” the queen hissed.

“Oh, don't worry, I will be speaking with him,” said Zol, his voice dark with anger. “And we will be the ones to find the cure, mark my words. As I said, I already have a team in place tracking down the first ingredient and researching the rest of the mix.”

Eve sighed. It was clear that all this adult talk was boring Lyn. That just wouldn't do. “So, when am I going
to the party?” Eve said, her bright voice cutting through all the tension.

All eyes turned to her. “I have my big announcement to make. Set up a television interview. I want nationwide coverage. Oh, and get a photographer for our official portrait. I want to introduce Lyn to the entire world!”