Chapter 2
The following week passed in a whirlwind of events. The capricious lady named Fate, awaiting offerings and prayers in exchange for a touch of mercy, took up a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues, weaving them into the most peculiar patterns, crafting new events and settings.
No one could dissuade Mark from his stubborn resolve to chaperone his sister on her date. In truth, no one but Misafir even tried, so their charming outing as a trio, while pleasant, felt more like a parody of a date. Still, the Viscount of Liem tactfully refrained from intruding on the conversation, allowing the young pair to get to know each other better while trailing his twin like an invisible shadow, ensuring her safety.
Theo, meanwhile, found a long-awaited semblance of peace—or at least its remnants—and was able to dedicate himself fully to his duties. The week allotted to him for preparing the knights would be just enough to organize for the short but critical campaign. And what was there to prepare, really, when his personal squad had been training under new protocols for six months already? The king and Sigismund naively believed they knew every move of the younger prince, expecting little more from him than a jaunt to a local tavern or a hunting trip. Could they be forced to see the truth about the non-heir? Everyone chooses what to believe.
Despite his perpetual busyness with the knightly corps, Theo made time each day for personal training sessions with his cherished pupil. Though in recent days, it was he who was learning. He learned to counter the wild fire, torrential rain, gusting winds, and earthen boulders that the viscountess directed at her temporary opponent with a mere flick of her hand. The more they trained, the stronger the Lightning Girl became. And not just her—both of them grew stronger. The prince noticed the change in himself as well. After an improvised battle with the extraordinarily gifted Misafir, sparring with ordinary mages felt like a vacation to Theodore. Yet no one could predict what to expect from an encounter with demons. And for that reason, relaxing was out of the question.
In the final days before their parting, the prince wanted to make the most of every moment. So, when evening draped Marianía in a starry canvas the color of Misafir’s eyes, the two mages clashed in combat, honing their skills. While the other brides, exhausted from their trials, slumbered in warm beds, their chief rival basked in the warm summer air and the radiant gaze of her prince. The faces of the elemental mages were bathed in moonlight and the flickering glow of countless torches, whose flames the two sorcerers never failed to monitor. They used their last days to the fullest, though tears often glimmered in Misafir’s eyes as the realization struck that these days might truly be their last together.
Meanwhile, life in the palace flowed on its usual course. Endless trials saw Misafir and her main rival, Norelia, fiercely competing for supremacy. Daily dates for each of the girls... The realization that two more brides would leave the selection by the week’s end was hard to accept. Chloe and Olzhia had departed due to their own weakness, Aurelia due to treachery. Who would be next? Thanks to her friend, Londa earned high marks and stood a good chance of advancing to the next stage of the selection. Ozalia and Yelen performed well in the trials. Kerli and Janette had managed to catch the crown prince’s eye, as well as that of certain judges. There were no weak contenders left. The battle promised to be brutal, with each girl dreaming of victory.
— It’s an absolute disaster! — Nora muttered over and over, pacing her chambers, her dark brown eyes flashing with anger and fear. The week was nearing its end, and the tension was mounting. Nerves were stretched taut like a string, threatening to snap mercilessly. And she still hadn’t managed to neutralize Misafir. After all, during her last meeting with her aunt, having tasted praise, she had rashly promised to get rid of her cousin. Failing to keep that promise would mean falling flat on her face, figuratively speaking. But in reality, it meant falling out of favor with Rozella Liemska, which was far worse.
— Now’s the perfect opportunity. The princes will leave, and Misafir would be left unprotected, but then there’s this Mark! He never used to leave her side before, and now he’s even more glued to her! I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts sleeping in her chambers just to ensure her complete safety! — Kerli sat relatively calmly on the sofa, embroidering a golden-threaded handkerchief—a protective charm for His Highness Sigismund, which she planned to gift him at their farewell. Her orange-hued dress perfectly complemented her yellow eyes, creating the effect of a sunlit maiden. Outwardly composed, the marquess focused intently on her fabric, barely lifting her gaze, but Nora knew well that inside, the brunette was seething. This topic was just as troubling for her as it was for the Viscountess of Ittseska herself.
— I know Mark well, believe me. He’s our real problem, — the girl said without a trace of irony or a smile, making another lap across the soft, plush carpet. Far from ladylike, she wrung her hands and rolled her eyes in nervous tension, mentally debating with herself and animatedly weighing arguments. Kerli diligently embroidered, ignoring the whims of her only friend in the selection and trying not to interfere with her search for solutions, especially since it was Nora’s relatives who had landed them in this mess. Stopping and glancing at the marquess, Nora continued. — Something else worries me more. If my maid understood correctly, Mark checks Misafir’s chambers, clothes, food, and every little detail daily with an alestrov stone—an artifact, if you recall, that can detect even the smallest traces of poison. It’s nearly impossible to fool. But there’s no way they had one in Liem; it’s far too rare. Where did he get it?
— The answer is obvious and simpler than you think, — the yellow-eyed girl shrugged, finally lifting her gaze from her sewing to look at her companion. — Think back. After Misafir’s fall, Prince Theo took a keen interest in you. He interrogated both of us as if he was certain we were to blame. Luckily, there was no evidence, since Aurelia was the one who actually did it. It seems likely he gave Mark the artifact. It feels like everyone likes Misafir except for the two of us...
— And now she’s even cozying up to Ingrid. Or at least it certainly looks that way... — Nora agreed, finally perching on the edge of a chair opposite the marquess. Casting an odd glance at the embroidered handkerchief, she narrowed her eyes slyly. — I think we need to strip Misafir of her support network... Aurelia is already gone. Yelen is next. Londa isn’t a threat to us...
— What are you planning? — the girl asked, surprised.
— You’ll see, — Nora replied, tossing her head back proudly, sizing up her friend with a calculating look as she crossed one leg over the other, mentally refining every detail of her new scheme.
— Fine. I’ll handle Janette if you don’t need help. Sigismund has taken notice of her, and that’s the last thing we need! — Kerli spoke as if mentioning something mundane, lowering her eyes back to her sewing, her hand, which had been gripping the needle tightly, resuming its craft.
***
A beautiful sunny day beckoned everyone into its embrace, drawing the busy palace dwellers out into the gardens, into the open expanses of nature. Numerous gazebos and arbors were occupied today by courtiers. Carried by the breeze, nobles and palace guests discussed important matters or simply chatted about various topics. The older generation was preoccupied with the inevitability of war, while the younger fixated on the crown prince’s bridal selection. As was often the case, those with no direct involvement in a matter eagerly gossiped about it, tirelessly inventing nonexistent details and nuances.
In one such gazebo, the crown prince’s favorite rested, awaiting her guests. Her strawberry-colored gown, which unfailingly accentuated the young beauty’s figure, paired exquisitely with accessories (or perhaps the accessories paired with the gown) that ostentatiously declared the lady’s status in society. Beside her, tense as if sitting on pins and needles, was her only friend—her loyal maid, Maxen. Casting wary glances at her mistress, who seemed utterly content with life and herself, the young woman tried again and again to caution her.
— I don’t like this... Have you really decided to trust her? What about His Highness’s warning? — the maid pressed, finding yet another argument to get through to her. The countess’s lovely face lit up with a smile.
— Calm down. I just want to confirm her intentions. As they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer...
Meanwhile, a small group hurried through the long palace corridors. Three brides—friends invited to visit by the prince’s favorite—along with the handsome Mark, approached the garden where they were long awaited. Leading his sister by the arm to ensure her restless nature didn’t lead her astray, the Viscount of Liem listened to the girls’ conversation without interjecting, mentally searching for any logical explanation. Despite Londa’s assurances that the sweet Ingrid simply wanted to befriend them, neither Misafir nor Yelen believed it for a second. The former sensed a nauseating hint of venom in the countess’s honeyed words, which she had generously showered on her over the past week whenever they crossed paths by chance. The latter tried to decipher the trap they were walking into. It was hard to believe Ingrid did anything without an ulterior motive.
As the friends neared the gazebo, the lady in red leaned toward her constant companion, the maid Maxen, whispering something with a sly smile. An idea struck Misafir’s mind with lightning speed. If Theo were here, he’d have killed his pupil on the spot, incinerated her with a glare, and placed a magical veto on her. But Theo was busy with his duties as head of the knight-mages and had no inkling of the danger his little bear was courting. She had her reasons: to understand an enemy, one must know how they think. Logical, in a way.
With a gesture, she signaled her group to stop, explaining that she wanted to hear what Ingrid was saying. The distance wasn’t great, but the prince’s favorite wasn’t shouting into her maid’s ear either. “But we won’t hear anything!” Yelen objected. From the viscountess of Liem’s lips, a new incantation slipped out that very moment:
— Wind, my brother, you know all.
Unravel secrets, heed my call.
Shift your course this very hour,
Return to me with whispered power.
I seek to know each word they say,
Bring them to me without delay.
This spell is simple, yet holds true:
Brother Wind, I call to you.
I am Misafir, your sister and guide.
Four elements within me reside.
Hear my command, act without fail,
My need today must prevail.
Fortunately, no one else could hear this, and the girls, lost in their own thoughts, exchanged puzzled looks. Not a single word was spoken aloud, yet her native element plucked each sound from her lips, obeying its mistress’s command. To the astonishment of those present, the wind changed direction, and they caught fragments of phrases:
— Don’t worry, Maxen. I have everything under control. Janette must ascend to the throne, not Misafir, Nora, or Ozalia. I don’t even consider the others as rivals. But there must be a contest. Let them rejoice in holding the golden fish, until they realize it was only a reflection, — Misafir heard Ingrid’s words clearly. Not because she had the sharpest hearing, but because the magic of air followed her, whispering the conversation of her chief rival into her ear. Anger coiled tight within her, rising like a knot and twisting into unsavory words on her tongue. It took immense effort for the blue-eyed girl to shove the poisonous feelings clouding her mind deep into her soul and lock them away for the time being, though she knew it wasn’t entirely right. The others caught enough snippets to grasp what the crown prince’s favorite thought of them. Eavesdropping further became impossible: a young mage approached to greet Mark and the three brides, shattering their cover and drawing Ingrid’s attention. Now they had to play their parts with finesse, offering charming smiles and keeping up with the conversation. Whatever the countess discussed with them, Misafir forgot the moment they parted ways. Her thoughts were now focused elsewhere—if the dark-haired woman wanted war, she would get it. The question was how to arrange everything to her own advantage. But... there’s always an idea. Finding an executor? That wasn’t a problem either.
The stars in the sky aligned for a favorable resolution to her dilemma, and the details, meticulously planned over two days, now seemed like trivialities. Events unfolded like dominoes or a winning hand of cards, falling into place so smoothly it was as if Misafir’s horoscope had read: “Today, take risks without a second thought. Your cunning will be rewarded.”
Leaning back on the sofa in someone else’s chambers, Prince Theo cast a weary gaze over the sitting room, where vivid, cherished memories danced and shimmered before him. For three days, he hadn’t found a moment to meet with Misafir, being especially preoccupied and constantly tied up with the knightly corps. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d forgotten their training. The young man sent his little bear a letter each day with a list of magical exercises she was to complete on her own, always inquired about her affairs, and added his apologies. But she never took offense, waiting patiently and understanding, diligently carrying out what the heir asked of her. Nor did she have time to be upset. All her energy was now directed toward devising a brilliant plan—and, miracle of miracles, it had been conceived, crafted, and was nearly ready to execute! All that was missing for complete satisfaction was its realization, followed by the chance to share her success with someone dear. Someone who would undoubtedly scold her but still understand and forgive. Someone she missed so much and couldn’t even imagine when she’d see again! So, when the beauty returned to her chambers after breakfast with the other brides, she was utterly unprepared to see this most longed-for guest. Her emotions were all the more vivid for it. Tenderness coursed through her veins, mingling with joy. Her heart pounded sweetly in her chest, and a charming smile bloomed on her face.
Sprawled on the sofa, the prince was sharing news with Mark, who stood proudly opposite, leaning against a wardrobe with his arms crossed as if showcasing his lean frame, occasionally asking questions. The quiet sound of the door opening didn’t catch their attention, but the joyful stirring of his element alerted the heir to the return of the apartment’s mistress. A warm, blissful wave, like a magical cascade of flame, rolled through his body.
— Your Highness, — the beauty chirped, dipping into a deep curtsy, barely containing the radiance in her eyes. Just three days, and she had missed him so much! The thought that a military campaign loomed ahead, bringing an inevitable separation, caused unbearable pain. Theo rose easily from the sofa, greeting his future princess with a joyful smile. — What a pleasant surprise! Do you have a free moment today? What’s the occasion?
— More like a day off, little bear, and I’ve missed you terribly, — taking her delicate hand in his, he lightly brushed his lips over her fingers, bestowing a tender kiss. He sat back on the sofa, helping the viscountess settle beside him under the watchful gaze of her brother, and quietly inquired about her affairs.
— I’ve been training, just as you asked. You can ask Mark; he’ll confirm, — the brunette reported first thing.
— And what will Mark confirm? Only that you disappear somewhere for two hours every day under that pretext, but as for training, I know nothing. Theo, she doesn’t take me with her, — the viscount complained, sitting down beside his sister. The prince gave a light smile. He knew Mark would have questions, but between two evils, one chooses the lesser. And Mark’s curiosity was far less dangerous than the threats to Misafir, from which her loyal twin protected her.
— That place is secret, and I can’t open a magical portal for two to take you along, — the Viscountess of Liem waved off indifferently, turning back to the prince. — Theo, how are you? You look so exhausted. You need to rest more; you’re pushing yourself too hard.
— I’ll never get a compliment from you, will I? — the young man smiled faintly.
— For compliments, go to Maurel. I’m just telling the truth, — the girl sighed, looking at the handsome man with sympathy. — You need to have some fun, take your mind off things...
— My sister’s right. How about a hunting trip, Theo? — Mark chimed in. He’d long dreamed of such a diversion, yet for so long, he’d been tied to his twin, keeping an eye on her during this selection. The young man wouldn’t dream of complaining, but his soul yearned for entertainment befitting a man. Misafir embraced the idea with enthusiasm, insisting on making it happen.
— Nothing will happen to me! I’ll be with the girls. Go have fun! I’d love to join you on the hunt myself, but I’m not allowed to leave the selection... — the young woman sighed, and noticing their surprised looks, added spiritedly: — What, did you think I spent those twelve years embroidering handkerchiefs?
— You never know with her, — Mark grinned, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the prince’s face. Misafir mirrored the motion, still blocking the men from seeing each other. When Theodore tried to peek around her, the viscountess maneuvered again. — So, what do you say, Theo? — Mark asked, pulling his sister close to keep her from interfering. Misafir wriggled free with a huff and once again positioned herself in front of the prince. This time, Theo pulled the viscountess into his embrace, trapping her in his arms, from which she half-heartedly struggled, playfully scratching at him.
— I’d love to, but we have a problem. How can we leave her? — the heir smiled, glancing at the girl, who had been lying calmly on his chest for the past three seconds.
— I’m not a problem! And I’m not a child! I lived twelve years without you and I can do it again! — the viscountess huffed, and in protest, swiftly bit the prince’s thumb, which had ventured dangerously close to her tender lips. Theo burst into hearty, contagious laughter, tightening his grip on her hands with his own, and gently kissed the back of her head.
— How does one even come up with such creativity! — he remarked cheerfully near her ear, then quickly turned to the amused brother of the girl. — Have you ever seen anything like this, Mark? Your sister bites!
— I told you she’s a little viper, — the Viscount of Liem joined in the prince’s laughter, only to receive a solid kick to the chest from the lady for his careless jest.
— I’m not a viper! I’m a royal cobra! — Misafir retorted with a ringing voice, continuing to entertain her friends with her boundless ingenuity, earning another kiss from Theodore after he’d finished laughing. Truly, only with the Liem siblings did the prince feel so carefree and lighthearted, completely at ease. And from the way they teased each other with such warmth and affection throughout the conversation, he couldn’t help but notice how alike they were. Life had forced Mark to become strong and resolute, but fate had been kinder to Misafir, allowing her to preserve the torch of her inner fire, her unique character, and her indomitable spirit. She remained untamed, unbroken, free as the song of the wind.
In the end, the viscountess managed to convince her friends to go on the hunting trip and enjoy themselves. And this suited her perfectly, as her plan required total control. The young men would only get in the way. It all began the moment the prince and the viscount left the palace. Using her ability to traverse space by creating magical portals, Misafir traveled to the Pearlescent Mountains to see her mother. Or rather, not her mother, but her loyal maid, Debi, returning to the palace with her assistant just half an hour later. No one here knew Debi, so they wouldn’t be able to trace the culprits. For the plan to succeed, a powerful fire mage was also needed. Such individuals were rare among servants, and one couldn’t ask the nobility for help. She had to rely on an old acquaintance—a trusted guard from the Liem estate. Luckily, his shift fell in the latter half of the day, leaving him free in the first. It’s unnecessary to detail how much time and effort the girl spent convincing her people to join in this venture. After explaining every step in meticulous detail, she headed to the malachite hall to avoid arousing suspicion.
At the same time, a young maid entered the palace kitchen with confidence—or at least, she tried to appear confident while trembling with fear. Amid the bustle created by the numerous servants, it was no surprise that no one paid her any attention or asked her name. Aristocrats often arrived at the palace with two, three, or even four assistants in tow; new faces were commonplace here. The young woman buzzed about like a busy bee, feigning preoccupation while actually waiting for her “moment of glory.” It arrived when Ingrid’s maid strode proudly into the kitchen. The description of her face and demeanor had been so precisely provided by the viscountess that Debi had no trouble recognizing the young woman as the favorite’s assistant. “Her Grace awaits her coffee and fresh, warm pastries!” she announced, sitting down on a small sofa to wait for the order.
— Lizzy, new maid at the palace. I haven’t been assigned duties yet. Can I help? — the girl introduced herself quietly, approaching the head cook, a stout woman who, despite her size, appeared kind and empathetic. Her smile was as warm as the sun, and her eyes always held a compassionate gaze.
— Extra hands are never a burden. I’ll prepare the coffee for the countess, and you can take the pastries out of the oven. They should be ready by now. But be careful—don’t burn your hands! Then grab the powdered sugar from that bowl over there and sprinkle it on top, but make sure it’s neat, — the kitchen mistress instructed with care. Lizzy, or rather Debi, hurried to the oven to carry out the order. Luck was on her side once again, as turning her back to the bustling staff allowed the maid to decorate the pastry not only with powdered sugar but also with a sleeping powder she had received from her mistress. The task was complete, and now she could slip out of the kitchen unnoticed. Meanwhile, Maxen, suspecting nothing, carried the second breakfast to her lady.
Over casual conversation, the countess enjoyed her meal, after which she dismissed her servant and leaned back on a cushion, overcome by drowsiness. Assuming it was due to nerves, Ingrid didn’t fight the urge to sleep, allowing herself to relax right there on the sofa without even moving to her bed. But her rest was far from peaceful. She awoke to the acrid smell of smoke, thick black clouds swirling through her chambers, making it hard to breathe, and an intense fire that seemed to blaze from the fireplace but was dangerously close, its hot tongues nearly licking at her dangling hand. Snapping her eyes open, Her Grace leapt up, looking around in shock and trying to comprehend what was happening. The chambers, shrouded in black soot, looked horrific; the fire had escaped the stone confines of the hearth, consuming the carpet and curtains in its path. And near the door, observing it all, stood the director of this staged chaos. A man dressed in black, with a dark mask covering his face, stared mockingly through the haze of smoke. Ingrid tried to scream, but instead, she choked on the fumes, coughing heavily. For the thousandth time, she cursed the fact that she was born without talent. If she had even a sliver of magic, she might have been able to fight back. But now, with her escape route blocked, she was as helpless as a blind, defenseless kitten. The shadowy figure by the door shook his head as if to assure her that escape was impossible. Moments later, footsteps echoed from the corridor.
The figure in black shimmered within a fiery sphere and vanished, as if he had never been there at all. Only a select few mages possessed the ability to create portals. So who could this have been?
— Help! — Ingrid screamed desperately, scrambling onto the sofa as the flames pursued her. — Someone! Please! I’m here! Guards! Maxen! Sigismund!
In her panic, she rattled off names, though she knew full well no one would hear her. Her nearly extinguished hope flared anew when the footsteps from the corridor grew clearer, and through the smoke and flames, a familiar, bright girlish voice rang out.
— Ingrid? Are you in there?!