Chapter 4 My eyes trace his neat handwriting for the hundredth time. I've memorized Father's final farewell, and the truth within it taunts me. I see the sentences when I close my eyes, taste the string of syllables on my tongue. My tired gaze glides down the inky page to that staggering secret. As Ilya's king, you now guard her secrets. And just as my father did for me, I leave behind the truth. The Plague that gifted us our powers was no accident. It was created to strengthen our kingdom, and it did just that-though, not in the way Favian Azer intended. Carelessly, I shove the letter back into the drawer where I found it. But I do not need the words before me. Father's voice still echoes in my mind. "No one but the court Scholars and Healers know of this-and it will remain that way. This power is for Ilya alone. We will never again be a weak kingdom. And if I am unable to rid us of the remaining Ordinaries, you will continue my work for me. They are a defect of the unfinished Plague, a disease that must be cleansed from our legacy." I shake my head at Father's demand for the hundredth time. What a waste of the power we possess. What a waste of all those years I spent believing Father was doing something great-something worth the constant lack of approval. I drum my fingers against the chipped desk, my heart pounding in time. That was his pivotal plan? Ridding Ilya of some cowering Ordinaries was all the fearsome Edric Azer could devise? A knock at the study door scares off my growing agitation. I clear my throat. "Come in." Scholars parade solemnly into the study, their procession followed by an equally grim filing of Healers. They surround my desk stiffly, some shuffling parchment while others ready various vials of ominous herbs. I dread this daily ambush, though it is entirely my doing. The head court Healer greets me with a curt "Your Majesty." It's odd, knowing that the man who healed every one of Kai's and my wounds growing up has been entrusted with the truth of our Plague. I nod at the weathered Healer. "How are you, Eli?" His cold fingers begin their routine prodding at my throat. "Well, I'm still very displeased with you, my young King." I can't help but smile at his boldness. "I appreciate the honesty." "I'm old," he states. "I'm allowed to say whatever I like. It's quite nice, actually." He gestures for me to stand while rattling off his observations for the other Healers to document. Then his palms are on my back, feeling each breath I take. A tingling sensation travels up my spine as he seeps some of his power into me. Ten minutes pass, and still, I stand there beneath the Healer's icy hands. Just as I have every day since swallowing a dose of the Plague. "Drink this," Eli orders, offering me a murky vial. I stare skeptically at the brown liquid. "You demanded I not take the Plague, but this... this you want me to ingest?" "You told us to keep you alive." The Healer doesn't bother masking his irritation. "Even knowing another dose of the Plague might be fatal to an Elite, you took it before I had the chance to pin you down myself." The old man wags a finger in my face, unafraid of the crown currently sitting on my head. "So, yes, you will drink this tincture, because my power can't help you now. We're not sure if anything can." For a brief moment, I wonder if I should reprimand the brazen Healer. It's what my father would do, after all. He would demand respect, no matter how undeserving of it he was. But I am not my father. I nod and lift the vial to my lips. I will be so much greater. The tonic burns down my throat, so putrid I fear it will find its way back up. I brace a hand against the back of my chair and cough violently. "Wow," I croak. "That was... something." "Let's hope it was something." Eli shuffles around the desk to peek at a Healer's notes. "We have no idea what to do with you." "I know," I say distantly. "I was aware of the risks." Memory of that night flashes in my mind-Healers arguing about the danger; Scholars begging to hoard our power. I had heard their pleas a dozen times before, ever since I found my father's letter and demanded a meeting with those who knew the truth of our power. But I had already made up my mind. Eli's voice is hushed. "And if you live? Become the strongest Elite?" His white brows knit together. "You can't go through with it." "I am your king," I say sternly. All that ruthlessness Father demanded of me seeps into the words. "You will fall into place, or I will make you." Eli stares at me for a long moment, perhaps reminiscing on a time when I was weak and malleable. Then, with a soft "Yes, my King," he steps back into line with his fellow Healers. "Your Majesty?" My gaze flicks to a Scholar still scribbling on his parchment. I stifle my sigh. "No, I don't have any symptoms." "No headaches?" he pries, reminiscent of the past few days. "Any tightness in your chest? Coughing? Memory loss?" "It's been three days," I counter. "I feel perfectly fine. Now, if you're done poking at me"-I gesture to the documents scattered across my desk-"I have work to do." Heads bob around the room with each begrudging bow. I watch the cluster of Elites begin filing from my study, the head Healer lagging behind. Eli turns then, wearing a look of defeat. "May the Plague spare you, my young King." His words hang in the air long after I watch him leave. Sighing into the stillness I'm now left with, I begin shuffling the assortment of paper on my desk. A slight chill slithers down my spine. I clear my throat and vaguely wonder if I've left the window open. "What is this work you have to do?" I startle at the soft voice, then at the stranger it comes from. A woman stares at me from beside the crackling fireplace, her hair the color of a stolen ember. I blink-once, twice-because I'm certain she's a figment of my imagination. Perhaps the Plague really is getting to me. Surely nothing can be this magnificent. Yet, there she stands, brown eyes pinning me to the spot. This is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and all I can manage is a blurted "What are you doing in here?" The placid look on her perfect features never budges. "Indulging my morbid curiosity." "Are you one of the Healers?" I shake my head. "I think I would have remembered." "What makes you think I'm not a Scholar?" She doesn't pose the question in that sly way Paedyn might have, nor does she feign offense like Andy so enjoys. No, the words are genuine, her tone betraying intrigue. Clearing my throat, I attempt a touch of humor. "You don't seem entirely dull." "Hmm." It's not a laugh, but rather, the sound of someone making an observation. "So what is it you're working on?" "Oh." I'm still struggling to form a coherent thought. "Kingly matters, mostly. But some... personal." "I won't pry like the Scholars," she says simply. I brace my hands on the desk, chuckling softly. "In truth, it's nice to speak with someone. My thoughts are shared only with the letters I write. It's..." I rub at the back of my neck. "It's how I clear my head." She laces thin fingers in front of the black garb draping her body. "Did you tell those letters why you wished to take a Plague you know nothing about?" "Know nothing about?" I laugh again despite myself. "I know more now than I ever have. I know how the Scholars created it a century ago to strengthen our army against invasions. Then the Plague spread, accidentally or not, through Ilya." My fingers drum against the strewn parchment. "That is more than the kingdom knows. They don't like to think on the tragedy, only what it gave us." She huffs sharply, and the sound slightly resembles a laugh. "Is that what they told you?" "What else would they tell me?" I venture slowly. "Maybe how those great Scholars created this Plague a hundred years ago." My voice dips into something earnest. I lean on my elbows, peering over the desk at her. "Do you know something your fellow Healers do not?" "It is not difficult to know more than men." The lack of humor in her voice makes me smile. "Well, there are woman Healers. You are proof of that." Her stoic features seem to flinch with a sudden emotion. Then she nods, ever so slightly. There is something so strangely intriguing about this woman. Her voice is dull, and yet, it seems she only bothers uttering words worth her breath. "I haven't thought to ask for specifics," I finally admit. "I'm sure it's all too complex for me to comprehend." "Hmm." There is that almost-laugh again. "I'm sure it is." Her words drift into the space between us before a swelling silence swallows them. Firelight flickers against her auburn hair as she stands across my study, absurdly still yet effortlessly relaxed. "I did tell the letters." I'm not sure why I say it, but the soft words are suddenly spilling from my mouth. The stranger says nothing, but those deep brown eyes voice her intrigue. "I told the letters why I took the Plague," I clarify. "I ordered a perfected dose be brought to me, because I need to save the Elites from going extinct. Our power has dwindled over time and fevers manage to kill us every year, which I now know is because the Plague wasn't ready to be released. But the Scholars have refined what was spread a century ago." A shadow of amusement falls over her face. "So I'm seeing what will happen to an Elite who takes another dose," I continue firmly. "Then I will strengthen every kingdom with the Plague." She considers this for a moment. "But you didn't need to be the Elite who risked their life to test a theory." "I'm the king," I say simply. "These are my plans for the kingdom. It was only right I took the Plague." "Hmm." I raise my brows incredulously. "What?" Her shoulders lift slightly before dropping. It is the first bit of movement I've seen from her. "You just don't seem like the type to lie." "Oh," I chuckle, "you think I'm lying?" "I think your motives weren't entirely selfless," she counters evenly. "Fine." I swallow my pride before spitting out the words. "My father always thought I was weak. He would tell me every day. Maybe part of me wanted another dose so I would become so much stronger than he ever was." I hold her unwavering stare. "Just like I want to be so much greater." Her dark eyes flick over me. "Hmm. You have enough of this Plague to infect the other kingdoms?" "It doesn't take much," I assure. "Undiluted, we have about a vial of the dark liquid. But the dosage has been perfected over the century. You only need a few drops, or an object coated in the substance." She doesn't miss a beat. "And what happens when you don't live to rule over these Elite cities like you hoped?" "When?" I laugh tightly. "At least give me a chance to survive." "You did have a chance," the stranger says plainly. "A chance at a long life, in fact. But you chose the prospect of power." I shake my head at her. "You certainly are a Healer. You sound just like the rest of them." My fingers fidget with the paper pooling on my desk, if only to give myself something to do. "But I feel fine. I will be fine. I'm sure of it." "No born Elite has ever taken this Plague. And it won't be kind to you-not again." She tilts her head at me. The perplexed look on her face is the most emotion those placid features have allowed thus far. "How you meet your fate will be a mystery. Even to me." I tilt my head right back. "You are quite morbid, aren't you?" Her eyes brighten with a flicker of amusement. "You have no idea." "What is your name?" The question springs from my tongue after sitting at the tip of it for so long. She strides toward the door, seemingly struggling to offer me an answer. Then, hushed and hesitant, the stranger reveals herself. "Mara." In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...