Sometimes, when Judica is being particularly awful, I dress up in all black like she does, and I pretend to be her. This morning, I let her beat me in our morning run, thinking it might put her in a good mood.
That backfired.
She spit in my smoothie when Mom was talking to Larena, and punched me in the stomach after Mom left the room. So after my shower, I pull my hair back into a high ponytail, and I strap daggers onto thigh sheaths, and I lace up the heavy black training boots that I almost never wear.
But when I look in the mirror, it’s not enough. The face staring back at me may look exactly like her, but the lips don’t curl in contempt. The eyes don’t flash with confidence. Everyone who sees me will realize that I don’t know what to do with these daggers. I yank them off and hurl them toward the corner of my room, the sheaths careening across the floor and crashing into the trim molding.
The adjoining door to Mom’s room opens with a snap. Her eyes are wide, one eyebrow raised. “What was that?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
She purses her lips. “I have to meet with Kleighton and Henrick to finalize the details of the trade agreement.”
I can’t quite hide my dismay.
“Would you rather go for a ride?” I wonder whether she saw that upper cut after all—she doesn’t usually let me wiggle out of boring things.
I choke back tears and nod.
“Don’t go too far, and take a guard or two with you.”
Like anyone wants me dead. I’m not a threat to anyone, but if I argue, Mom will change her mind and I’ll be stuck listening to them bicker over taxes and tariffs and preferred status. “Will do,” I say. “Thanks.”
I haven’t ridden Midas in almost a week, and the weather today is perfect. I mean, it’s almost always perfect in Hawaii, but still. I leave through the courtyard door, boosting myself over the top of the fence instead of bothering with the gate. I nearly kick Holden in the head when I clear the fence pickets—I am so not accustomed to combat boots.
“Careful,” he says, catching himself with a start when he takes in what I’m wearing. He swallows and bows deeply.
He thinks I’m my sister. A tiny thrill shoots through me at the thought.
I should correct him, but I don’t. We share guards—he should be able to tell us apart. Somehow, being Judica puts an extra swagger in my step, and a sauciness in the tilt of my head that I quite enjoy. “I’m going for a ride, and you’re coming.”
Holden shoves Osbert, who’s staring at me gape-mouthed. “Let’s go,” he mutters.
They both fall into step behind me.
Osbert clears his throat. “Uh, who’s guarding Chancery, if we’re going with you?”
I roll my eyes. “I can barely stand Roman and Lionel. I left them there.”
“Alright,” Holden says. “As long as someone’s keeping an eye on her.”
My heart softens a little bit. Judica may hate me, but at least some of my guards care about my wellbeing. “It would be a terrible tragedy if something happened to her.” I laugh. This is kind of fun.
Neither of the guards contradicts me, but they look sick. That’s enough.
I usually chat with the guards on my way to the stables. I ask about their training, their plans, gossip, and so on. But Judica wouldn’t do that, I’m sure of it. Stomping along without talking gives me time to appreciate the red-crested cardinal flitting with a splash of brilliant color from behind a cabbage-like leaf of a vulcan palm to the narrow branch of a young almond tree. I tip my head back and marvel a little at the vast expanse of sky overhead. As we approach the stable, I notice the grass on either side is far too long and needs to be cut. But Judica would probably bark at someone if she noticed, so I don’t mention it.
When we walk through the large open doors of the main stable, Penelope, who always waves and smiles at me, salutes me and bows her head slightly. “Shall I ready Hades for you?”
I shake my head. “Midas.”
She frowns. Bless her for wanting to protect me.
“Is there some kind of problem?” I pin her with my best imitation of the patented Judica stare.
Penelope clears her throat. “Midas is your sister’s horse, and I’m not sure—”
“As Heir, I can ride whomever I wish. Your services won’t be required,” I practically shout. “I’ll saddle him up myself.” I push past her, striding toward his stall.
She doesn’t argue further, and I feel a rush I can’t quite explain. I hate upsetting people—I hate stressing them out or causing them distress—but Judica doesn’t. She enjoys it, which somehow leaves me free not to care about anyone else either. For the first time, a tiny part of me understands why. It’s freeing, not worrying about whether they’ll be angry with me, or whether they’ll like me. For Judica, it’s not about like, it’s about respect. You don’t command respect with kindness.
My guards are busy talking to Penelope about their preferred mounts. It’s a good thing too, since Midas isn’t the least bit fooled by my clothing. He whinnies the second he sees me, hanging his head out of the space over his feeder and bumping my face when I’m close enough. I wrap my arms around his big golden head and press my face against his fluffy forelock. “No one braided this? You can’t even see!”
I don’t take as long as I usually do preparing him for his ride, since there’s no way Judica would braid her horse’s hair, but I do make sure his hooves are picked, his back curried and brushed, and his equipment properly tightened.
And then I tear down the beach, Osbert and Holden barely able to keep up. The ocean air, the rhythmic sounds of horse hooves thundering along, and the calling of swooping birds clear out the end of my funk. Midas and I are having such a great time racing that I forget to cool him down, the stable looming in front of us just as I pull ahead of Holden’s leggy bay. I slow Midas enough to avoid crashing into a passing horse, thankfully. But I almost forget to paste a scowl on my face about the whole thing. Smiling apologetically would give me away for sure.
Penelope’s practically bouncing on her toes when I arrive, her hand held out the second I dismount. “I’ll take him.”
“I haven’t cooled him down yet,” I protest. “I can make a loop.”
“I don’t mind—I’ll cool him down,” she says.
Is she worried Judica mistreated Midas? Or that I’ll show up and be upset my twin is riding him? I don’t laugh, or smirk, or argue. I hand him off calmly. “Thanks.”
But Osbert and Holden still need to cool down their horses, tack them down, and spray them off, so I have some time to kill. I walk up and down the halls, saying hello to Hades, Athena, and Hermes. Mother has always liked using the names of Greek and Roman deities, old fables, and various legends to name our mounts. I think it’s kind of funny. I rub Achilles’ nose and turn the corner to head back toward the wash rack when something catches my eye.
Or rather, someone.
A guy is hiding in the storage room, judging by the width of the person’s shoulders, and I’m dying to know why. I change directions and pivot on my heel toward the tucked away nook. When he looks up at me, deep blue eyes under a shock of golden hair, I almost turn around and run the other direction.
Any other day I would have.
But today, I’m not Chancery. Which means I don’t have a crush on the most beautiful guard in Ni’ihau that renders me unable to talk to him. No, today I’m Judica, and I don’t care what he thinks of me or how gorgeous he is. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve watched him train surreptitiously around the corner. Or how many times I’ve had no idea what to say to him—my brain blanking the second he glances my direction.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my voice as haughty as I can manage.
“Sometimes it’s hard to find a quiet place to study.” He points at the books assembled in front of him. “Anatomy and theory of combat.”
“That’s quite a pile,” I say. “And you’re through all the requisite training—so you don’t have to study anything. What’s the purpose?”
“I wish someone would tell Balthasar that.” He grimaces. “But in this case, it’s not his fault either.”
I lift my eyebrows.
Edam’s smile is self-effacing. “Let’s just say that I’ve become aware that there’s a devil I need to slay.”
I sit down on the top of an empty wooden saddle rack, too intrigued to let it go. He’s studying anatomy and combat together? Why? “A devil?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says stiffly. “But I spent the past few years working in intelligence. You encounter. . . difficult situations and people, and some of them need to be dealt with savagely. Some of them can’t be helped and they can’t be saved. Some of them must be destroyed.”
Pain resonates through his words. I can’t quite figure out why or what, but it’s authentic. He cares about this monster that needs slaying, and he wishes he didn’t need to eliminate it. I swallow. “You’re sure you need to kill it, whatever or whoever it is?”
He flinches. “Unfortunately, I’ve grown increasingly positive.”
I inhale slowly. “I’m not saying this is true for you—I don’t know you. But I think that often, we don’t look quite hard enough for a solution. As a people, evians tend to slice and behead when we should be searching for a better way, for redemption. You’d be surprised how many things can be repaired—can be repurposed or salvaged. But one thing you can’t redeem is a corpse.”
His gorgeous eyes widen.
“Again, I’m not an expert about this, but I think maybe you ought to revisit the nature of this devil, so called. Maybe you can save him or her. I don’t think you should destroy it lightly.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. His brow relaxes, and he stares at me intently. “You don’t?”
“I rarely leave Ni’ihau. I’m sure you know much more of the world out there than I do, and I don’t know who or what this threat is. I don’t mean to argue with you—honestly, I don’t. But in my limited experience, most monsters are really misunderstood people who are injured and hurting.”
He inhales sharply.
I reach out and close the book in front of him. Terminal Combat Forms. That doesn’t sound promising. I place my hand on his boldly, channeling Judica’s confidence. “Before you attack this monster, maybe see if there’s some way to heal it. Maybe it can be repurposed—perhaps it has some great good it might do, if only it’s guided toward it.”
His eyes bore into mine, shining and bright, and I realize there’s a new emotion there. One I definitely didn’t see before.
Hope.
Something runs up my arm then, a little shiver, and pulses through my body. He’s so beautiful and so good and so kind. My heart is hammering inside my chest, my fingers trembling against his. The world around me feels different, more alive and more vibrant, somehow, like I never quite saw things until I saw them next to Edam. He opens his mouth then, and fear grips me.
What will he say? Will he ask me to remove my hand? Will he laugh at me? I’m such a child.
I leap to my feet and back up, forestalling whatever he meant to say. “I’m sorry. I’ve overstepped. What do I know? I’m just a kid.”
“I think you spoke with great wisdom,” Edam says. “And surprising insight.” His eyes don’t leave mine, as if he too can’t look away.
“There you are, Your Highness. Are you ready to head back? Your mother will expect you when she meets with the Council.” Holden stands a few feet behind me, and I was so distracted by Edam’s presence that I didn’t even hear him approach.
I spin around to face him, noticing that Osbert is standing next to him. “Yes, of course.”
When I walk away, I can’t keep from glancing back at Edam over my shoulder. He lifts a hand in a salute? A wave? Whatever it is, my heart soars. I almost wish I didn’t know that he’s as thoughtful as he is beautiful. It’s easier to pine from afar when I’ve only seen him at a distance.
The gardeners have shown up by the time we leave, and they’re preparing to mow the overlong grass. We’re walking down the path toward the palace when one of the mower motors backfires, and a crash inside the stable pulls my attention.
A crash from the vicinity of Midas’ stall.
“What was that?” I ask, alarmed.
Holden and Osbert exchange a glance. “What was what?”
I swallow. It’s probably nothing. “Did you hear that loud wham from inside the stalls?”
Osbert frowns. “They’re horses, Your Highness. They startle and jump. It’s probably Penelope shutting Midas back in his stall.”
Probably, but I’ll worry until I know. I should have braided his forelock so he could see better. That loud sound came right after the engine backfired—not a familiar sound for Midas. I jog back to the stable, ignoring the irritation plastered all over my guards’ faces.
Penelope is shaking when I turn the corner, her face pale as cream.
“What’s wrong?”
My eyes are drawn to it immediately, Midas’ back left leg is covered in blood. “The motor backfired.” Her words are barely loud enough to hear.
I close my eyes. “He kicked the wall of the stall.”
She nods.
“Get Wynona. She’ll know what to do.”
I hold Midas, my hand stroking his face, until Wynona and Penelope return. Our primary vet looks at me sideways, but otherwise doesn’t comment. Poor Midas isn’t resting any weight on his injured leg. I can’t stand here and watch the poking and prodding any more.
“I’ll go get Mom.”
Penelope quirks one eyebrow at my use of the word Mom. I probably ought to change clothes too. Pretending might be fun, but it’s too confusing for everyone else. Osbert and Holden can barely keep up with me when I sprint back to my room.
I’m ducking through the door when Osbert says, “You’re not Judica, are you?”
I turn around and press a finger to my lips. “Sometimes it’s okay to pretend.”
They both smile at me, a little too knowingly perhaps, but with kindness.
“Thanks.” I call to Mother from my room, yanking my boots and pants off as I do. I’m tugging a new shirt over my head when she opens the door.
“What’s wrong?” She looks me over head to toe.
“Nothing is wrong with me.” I can’t stop the tears, not this time. “It’s Midas.”
Mother covers the space between us and pulls me into a hug. “Let’s go see what can be done.”
She doesn’t argue, or tell me she doesn’t care about a horse. She doesn’t say that she’s got important things to do, even though I know it’s true. Mom just jogs to the stable with me, no questions asked.
Wynona’s expression is grim when we arrive, and I wish I could turn around and run back to my room. Reset that day, reset the last hour at least. But that’s not how life works. “What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“The impact of his kick shattered the wooden board and there’s some localized lacerations to his leg as a result. He also bruised his coffin bone for sure.”
That can all be healed, with time.
“But I’m fairly sure there’s also DDFT damage.” Wynona won’t meet my eye—she and Mom exchange a look instead.
Deep digital flexor tendon—it’s what allows a horse to position his foot, and it provides support—running from the coffin bone and the heel to the back of the leg. It’s not good. “You can fix it, though, right?”
“You’ll never race on Midas again, little dove,” Mom says.
I should not cry, not in front of all these people. It’s not fitting. It’s inappropriate. I know that, so I don’t, but my voice is too wobbly, too concerned when I say, “I don’t care. Can he walk? Will he be sound again?”
“It would take a lot of physical therapy,” Wynona says.
“And you love to race,” Penelope says.
I lift my nose in the air. “I’ll talk to my mom and we’ll let you know how to proceed.” I may not be Judica, but I can dismiss people when required.
Wynona’s jaw drops.
Penelope snorts. “I’ll take him to wash the wound off in the meantime.”
Once they’re gone, I waste no time. “I don’t care if I can’t race him.”
“Chancery, I know this is emotional for you, and I know you care for him, but horses have to work. They have a purpose, like everything in this world. When they can no longer serve their purpose, it’s cruel to make them suffer.”
“No,” I say. “You’re wrong. He can be healed, and he can have purpose. You think that the only acceptable purpose is the highest one—which means if he can’t race, we should put him down. That’s everything that’s wrong with evians, Mom. You all think that if something isn’t perfect, it’s garbage.” This time, I can’t quite contain the tear that breaks free and streaks down my cheek.
Mom’s expression softens, and her head tilts. She holds her arms out to me.
I step into her embrace and let her hug me.
“You aren’t garbage, Chancery.”
I sniff. “I know that. I may not be my sister, and I may not be your heir, and I may not be perfect, but I have value.”
“That’s true, but this isn’t the same situation. You’re transferring.”
I break away and put my hands on my hips. “How is it different? Because he’s an animal?”
Mom opens her mouth, but then she closes it with a click.
“I will do whatever it takes—I will work with him, and I will forgo my racing for now, or take another horse when I want to run. But we can’t give up on him, Mom. Please.”
Mom sighs. “He must fulfill some purpose.”
“He will,” I say. “I swear that he will. I’ll take up dressage, or I’ll find someone on the island who needs him.”
“Alright.”
It’s a long road, but with a lot of patience, care, and exercise, Midas does heal. And it turns out that Mom and Wynona and Penelope were wrong. He does run again. He doesn’t win any races, but I don’t care about that.
No one else on Ni’ihau may agree with me, but winning isn’t everything.
Sometimes real joy comes from the process.
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