All the Stars and Teeth(16)
He’s brought everything—pine-steamed amabons, rolls stuffed with fat pieces of spicy prawn, coconut curry and sweet rice pudding, three skewers of freshwater eel, caramelized Cur manan milkcakes, and several whopping servings of ginnada. Another tray holds four bowls of Valuka’s signature stew—wild game smoked atop volcanic coals, with potatoes and onions that melt in the mouth like sugar.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I found out we’d be dining together tonight.” Ferrick takes a seat on the dirt floor, tensing from the jeers and flirtatious whistles of other prisoners, and pushes the trays toward my cell. “Are you okay? What can I do to help?”
“Where’s my father?” I ask, slipping my hand through the bars to take a serving of ginnada. “He should be here by now.” I try to push the smell of the prison away as I shovel the food into my mouth. The moment the sugary almond pastry melts on my tongue, my dizzying vision begins to stabilize. I groan contentedly before I notice that Ferrick’s forehead is pinched and his eyes squinted.
“He’s … doing damage control. I’m going to try to help, but I wanted to bring you some food, first. Those guards were only going to bring you bread.” He scoffs, bitterness seeping into his tone. “I knew you needed more than that.”
I do. Most magic is fueled by a life source, meaning that bodies will hit a point where they get too tired to perform magic. But Aridian magic is unique in that it’s bound to the soul; when I use it, that’s where the source of my energy is drawn from. And if I use too much, I don’t just risk exhaustion like those with other magics—I risk death.
Ferrick can understand this to an extent. His Suntosan magic draws from the energy in his own body, as well. It may not be dangerously bound to him in the way mine is, but we both need food for fuel. I’ll eat every bite of what he’s brought me, at least.
“Thank you for this,” I tell him between mouthfuls of stew, already on my second bowl.
Ferrick nods before hesitantly reaching a hand through the bars of the cell, careful not to touch any of their grime. I still as he presses a hand against my cheek, unsure of what he’s doing until his skin warms against mine and I feel the sharp sting of his restoration magic; the Suntosan magic he uses to heal both himself and others. I hiss a breath and jerk away from it in surprise. But when I lift my hand to my cheek, the scratch from this morning is gone.
Ferrick smiles and rises to his feet. “I should get going, but I’ll be back. I’ll see if I can find your—”
The prison doors squeal open again. I bolt to my feet automatically thanks to the burst of energy the food’s given me, expecting Father but instead finding the Valukan adviser from earlier sauntering toward us.
Ferrick tries to be discreet about the subtle way his chest inflates like a bloating pufferfish. “Who are you? Who gave you permission to be down here?”
The Valukan stills at the sight of Ferrick. I scan him for weapons, noting the broadsword sheathed at his side. But he doesn’t reach for it. He straightens himself instead, holding his chin high.
“My name’s Bastian Bargas. I’m the son of Baron Bargas, and am acting as Valuka’s representative for the night. I need to talk to the princess.”
Ferrick’s hands twitch at his sides. “Baron Bargas is a friend of my father’s,” he says slowly. “I’ve spoken with him numerous times, and he’s never mentioned having a son.”
Bastian’s momentary hesitation dissipates. His smile morphs into a confident, wondrous thing as he draws a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket and flashes it at us. The seal of Valukan nobility is embossed in wax at the corner of the page—it’s similar to the royal emblem, but rather than one skeletal eel wound around a crown of bone, there are two eels, and they wind around a smoking volcano. Only the Bargas family uses that seal.
“Aye?” Bastian asks. “Well, when you’ve earned the reputation I have, you’ll find your father often neglects to mention you in conversation.”
Ferrick snatches the letter from his hands, reading over it with a pinched expression. “And why couldn’t the baron make it, exactly?” He runs his finger over the wax emblem as if to test it.
Unfazed, Bastian says, “You read the letter; I’m afraid he’s been infected by a rather nasty stomach bug. Let’s just say that my father didn’t want to risk making a fool of himself from both ends.” He plucks the letter from Ferrick, folds it neatly, and tucks it back into his coat pocket with a little pat. “Now, if you don’t mind?”
Ferrick folds his arms across his chest. He’s thinner than Bastian, lanky where the Valukan is broad. And with only a rapier at his side, Ferrick would never win the fight he seems ready to initiate. “Apologies, but I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”
I sigh, not about to watch him lose. “You hold no rank here, Ferrick. Stand down.” When he turns to me in protest, I fix him with a dangerous look. “I may be behind bars, but I still make the decisions. Stand down.”
The shadows on Ferrick’s face darken as he looks between the Valukan and me. “I need to find the king, anyway. But I’ll be back shortly.” He doesn’t spare me another look before he pushes past Bastian, making the Valukan’s brows bounce curiously.
“Was I interrupting something?” Bastian muses.