The Two Scrapped Princesses

She hated to dream.

While she was awake, she could keep her visions under control by focusing her consciousness. But while unconscious—when the boundaries of reality began to loosen—nothing could stop her dreams. Death and destruction, hate and violence; if anything kind or gentle existed in the world, her ability refused to show it to her. She never saw anything but scenes of misery.

Images unfolded before her. A part of her mind understood that it was seeing a vision and fought against it. She didn’t want to watch.

Please, don’t!

The mask. For a moment, she was almost relieved to see something so familiar, so comforting. But then it moved aside to reveal the most hideous smile she had ever seen—a ghastly grimace tinged with hate and fear.

She couldn’t believe that it was the real face of the man who’d always been so kind so her. She withered under the piercing gaze and begged for the vision to stop, but nothing she could do would banish that horrible grin.

Stop! He doesn’t look like that!

Seeing her agony, the man’s ghastly smile widened. The mouth opened, the head tilted back, and the man laughed at her pain.

Raquel strolled around the island, lost in thought. Something had been bothering her, and she wanted to consider it without distractions.

She wasn’t able to activate her spells.

That wasn’t the case with all of them, obviously— Thor had worked fine, meaning her other attack spells were probably all right. But when she tried to cast any explorer or communication spells, nothing worked.

She had checked and double-checked the wordings of the spells until she was positive that she wasn’t remembering them incorrectly. For some reason, although she could remember the spells perfectly, the words weren’t connecting to the outside world the way they usually did. She could recite spells, but not activate them.

She could think of a few reasons why this could be happening.

Raquel’s mother had once told her about something called an “error field,” a place where, for some reason, magic simply wouldn’t work. Magic was a will-driven force that operated as direct interference to the normal laws of physics and nature, but nature tended to spring back very quickly from the interference of physical spells. The greater the effect a spell had, the greater the reaction of the world would be to correct it. In order to make any lasting change to the natural world, multiple spells usually had to be cast to stabilize, amplify, and adjust the reaction, or ordinary physics would quickly reverse the spell.

Error fields were places where the natural world’s hold was absolute, and hence were beyond the effects of magic. These places were extremely rare; even Raquel’s mother, who had once been a high-ranking palace sorcerer, had never been to one.

Another possibility was simply that her magical ability had suddenly gotten weaker. Raquel didn’t know of any reason why that would occur, but she had to consider it an option.

The only other thing she could think of that could stop certain types of spells from being cast was an active block by another sorcerer, but no sorcerer could keep such a spell going indefinitely. Spells with long durations (such as the sensor spell Asgard) were actually caused by similar spells being cast over and over, a technique that required huge mental capacity and stamina. Raquel seriously doubted that this small island was home to any sorcerer with enough power and control to cast unending blocking spells over the entire area.

Raquel frowned. Nothing about this situation made sense.

“Hello there!” a voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. “You’re up awfully early this morning.”

A few men sat on crates outside of a warehouse, taking a break from their work. Boxes full of food, probably intended for the islanders, were stacked around them.

“Yes…”

It was the morning of the siblings’ fourth day on the island, and all three of them had spent most of their time wandering around. This was partially out of boredom, but mostly because they needed to get familiar with the layout of the island if they wanted to make a quick getaway.

Although they had complied with Reynard’s wishes, Shannon, Raquel, and Pacifica had no intention of settling on the island permanently. The three of them had agreed to leave as soon as they could.

They knew the dangers of staying in one place for too long. The memory of what had happened in Taurus was still fresh in their minds; Pacifica still had nightmares about it every few nights. They all agreed that no matter how secluded the place was or how safe they felt, they wouldn’t stay in any town or village any longer than necessary.

Of course, explaining the situation to Reynard wasn’t an option. That’s why the siblings had decided to slip away unnoticed. None of the villagers had tried to stop them from roaming around, so they had to assume that they didn’t expect an escape attempt.

“Where are your brother and sister?” one of the men asked.

“I think Pacifica and Shannon are taking a walk somewhere else,” she replied. “They like to rough it a bit more than I do.”

The Casulls’ hometown Manurhin was surrounded by cliffs, rivers, and valleys, and both Shannon and Pacifica had spent their childhoods running around the countryside. Raquel had grown up reading books, practicing magic, and collecting trinkets, and had never had the physical stamina of her siblings. She had let her brother and sister investigate the rough terrain.

“I don’t have any particular plans,” Raquel told the men. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The workmen grinned at her. They seemed to like the idea of her company.

“That’s very kind of you,” one of them said. “Would you mind making us some tea, then? You’ll find everything you need in the hut over there.”

“Sure.” Raquel followed where the man pointed, her steps light.

Elfitine awoke, sweating and gasping. She sat up and took a few deep breaths. The leader of the Blasphemers’ Garden couldn’t be seen shaking and terrified; she needed to regain her composure as quickly as possible.

Once she finally slowed her racing heart, she released a long sigh. She had had difficult nights as of late. She never slept until she was rested—only until the sickness and horror woke her from her dreams. She ran her fingers over her damp face.

You need to get up. Swallowing, Elfitine slowly stood up slipped out of her nightgown. She put on the simple yet elegant white dress she always wore to her morning bath. It was far more elegant than the clothing all the other islanders wore, made at the island’s sewing factory.

“Good morning, Lady Elfitine.” One of her ladies-in-waiting entered the room and bowed. The girl was only two or three years older than Elfitine, close enough in age that they might have been friends—if the lady-in-waiting ever dropped her formality.

“Good morning.” Elfitine smiled magnanimously and hoped, as she always did, that she made a convincing princess. It had been six years since Elfitine had first taken on this role, but she was still uncomfortable.

She was born a commoner and had lived an ordinary life until the age of eight. Then Reynard had taken her in, and she’d spent a year with him, traveling to various locations. To her, the word “princess” was much like that of “God” or “demon”—the concept was so far removed from reality, she could barely imagine it.

Elfitine was unsure how to act. The Scrapped Princess was branded as evil and literally “scrapped” at birth, so it’s not like she’d had a royal upbringing. Elfitine knew that her awkwardness and timidity made sense, at the very least.

“Will you be bathing now, my lady?”

Elfitine nodded in silence and walked outside. She hoped that keeping silent made her seem more dignified. It was certainly easier.

A narrow path stretched out from the back of the house, leading to the small natural spring that was her personal bath. No one but the Scrapped Princess was permitted near it. As she walked along the path, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

Alone again.

Elfitine reached the spring. She removed her dress and folded it neatly, then slowly stepped into the water.

The chill bit into her skin, banishing her drowsiness. She lowered herself into the pool gently, waiting for her body to adjust to the cold. She leaned back and sighed. This was the only place where she could drop her act and put aside her responsibilities. Naked and alone, for a short while she could simply be Elfitine.

It cheered her up a little. She was happy to be of service to Reynard by taking on her princess role, of course, but every once in a while she needed to remind herself who she was.

Something rustled in the underbrush.

Elfitine wasn’t concerned. None of the islanders would come near this place, but sometimes birds or small animals wandered by. She craned her neck to see what sort of creature had come to visit her.

Suddenly, a girl’s head poked out of a bush.

“Aah!” Elfitine shrieked in surprise.

The girl had blonde hair and blue eyes like Elfitine, but that was where the similarities ended. Her look of childish confusion, as she scratched her head in an unladylike manner, was lifetimes away from Elfitine’s careful serenity.

To her surprise, Pacifica didn’t seem the least bit apologetic at interrupting her bath.

“Oh, man,” she said as she sucked in air. “I’m really lost.” She looked over at Elfitine, and her eyebrows raised. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I know you! You’re… um… Arcadia, right?”

“E-Elfitine,” Elfitine whispered, taken aback.

“Sorry; I’m really bad with names.” Pacifica screwed up her face in concentration. “Elfitine, Elfitine, Elfitine, El-fi-tine! Okay, now I’ve got it.”

Elfitine couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s strange behavior.

Pacifica eyed Elfitine suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Oh! I . .. I’m sorry, no.” Elfitine realized she’d been caught with her guard down. She quickly stopped smiling and tried to regain her serene, otherworldly expression.

“My name’s Pacifica, by the way,” Pacifica continued, seemingly unbothered by Elfitine’s discomfort. She paused. “I didn’t know you smiled,” she added.

“Miss Pacifica…” she began.

“Ah, don’t call me that—that’s way too formal. Don’t call me Miss and I won’t call you Miss.”

Elfitine pursed her lips. The girl was a bit aggressive, so she didn’t even bother trying to speak over her.

“Just ‘Pacifica’ is fine. I’m sorry I interrupted your bath. I was taking a walk and I got completely turned around. I’m glad I found this spring, though—it sure is pretty. It’s nice how quiet it is.” Pacifica finally paused for breath. She gave Elfitine a piercing look. “Is this your own personal spring?”

Elfitine took a moment to clear her throat. “Yes,” she said evenly.

“That’s awesome.” Pacifica’s voice was tinged with envy.

“W-would you like to come in?”

Elfitine paused, unsure of why she had made the offer. The spring was the only place that truly belonged to her, the only place where she could really be herself. But since no one was ever there, no one ever saw her be herself. She sometimes wondered if her personality really existed if it was never exposed to the public.

This could be my chance, she slowly realized. For someone to know her as something other than the Scrapped Princess.

“Really?!” Pacifica said, unable to hide her excitement.

Elfitine smiled. “I’m the only one who ever comes here, anyway.”

As she spoke, there was another rustle in the underbrush.

“Hey, Pacifica,” a voice called out. “You shouldn’t wander away like—”

A figure entered the clearing—a tall, muscular— and most importantly—male figure. Shannon looked at Pacifica, then followed her eyes down to the pool.

Everyone froze.

Shannon patted his sister on the head, a look of extreme discomfort on his face.

“This one’s all yours. See ya.” He quickly turned to run away.

“SHANNON! Get back here, you pervert!” Pacifica grabbed him by the coat and jumped on his back. She yanked his ponytail and screamed in his ear.

Shannon stumbled. “Ow! Wait, I didn’t—”

“No excuses! Peeking at girls in the bath is an unforgivable offense! I’ll never forgive you!”

“It was an accident, I swear! I didn’t mean to!”

“Be quiet, you sicko! Heaven, Earth, and even Raquel may forgive you, but I never will!”

Shannon managed to stagger away with Pacifica still pulling his hair and shrieking. He crashed through the bushes, still protesting his guilt to the girl on his back.

Elfitine stared after them. She hadn’t breathed since Shannon first came through the bushes.

Suddenly, she realized what had happened and let out a scream.

Raquel sat on a crate, sipping tea and chatting with the workers. She seemed perfectly at ease; getting along with the young and the elderly had always been one of her talents. It hadn’t taken her long to strike up a lively conversation with men thirty years her senior.

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time lately, haven’t you?” one of the men commented sympathetically. “But how did your family end up being chased by the Mauser church?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, you’re safe now, young lady. Those Mauserist fools’ll never find us here.” The men laughed cheerfully.

Raquel let out a tiny, inaudible sigh. They were ordinary men, heretics or no, and had probably once lead ordinary lives. Raquel well knew how painful it was to leave an ordinary life behind.

But her sympathies didn’t distract her from her mission. She saw a chance to gather some information.

“But they might find this island if they use magic, right?” Raquel asked.

“Mauserists wouldn’t use magic,” one of the men replied.

The Mauserist church technically considered magic an abomination. It wasn’t a natural part of Mauser’s perfect world; it existed because of a curse put on the world by the evil devil, Browning, after his defeat by Mauser but before his death. Magic was a manifestation of evil interference in the world, and using it was a sin against nature.

In reality, however, magic was far too useful for the governments of Mauser-friendly countries to accept an outright ban. In the name of politics, the Mauserist church had to accept a compromise.

Unknown to most devout Mauserists, the church actually did use magic. The priests who were trained to receive the oracle at the holy site of Saint Grendel were basically sorcerers, and the church had its own unofficial team of sorcerers known as the Athenators.

“But what if the royal military discovers you?” Raquel continued, pushing the issue. “They’re sure to notify the church.”

“Don’t worry about that. Sir Ganvas has a blocking spell that covers the whole island. He does it all by himself—it’s amazing, really.”

Raquel fell silent, processing this new information.

One man, no matter how powerful, couldn’t sustain a blocking spell indefinitely. It would take at least five top-ranked sorcerers working in shifts to accomplish a feat like that. Raquel had done some investigating, but as far as she could tell, Reynard was the only sorcerer on the island.

Raquel’s eyebrows furrowed. There was one other possibility—one way she could think of that a single sorcerer could keep a blocking spell activated continuously. She could even do it herself, if necessary. She stood up with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Oh, are you leaving already?” The men looked at her, reluctant to say goodbye.

“I mustn’t keep you from your work for too long, and I just thought of something I need to do.”

“I see. Well, thanks for your help.”

“It was real nice meeting you.”

“Come see us again sometime!”

Raquel smiled and nodded politely to the workers, then turned to walk away.

“I hope I’m only imagining the worst…” Raquel muttered to herself, her usual relaxed expression tinged with apprehension.

“Let’s see,” Berkens mumbled to himself as he slipped his fret saw back into his pocket.

The people of Blasphemers’ Garden obviously weren’t very good at taking prisoners—none of them had bothered to search Berkens for weapons or tools. Despite their reduced status, Inquisitors still always carried their tools with them at all times.

“How can this bunch of disorganized idiots think for a second that they can fight the Mauserist church?” Between the thousand-plus Inquisitors, the Athenators, and most importantly the hundred-plus Purgers who had given up their humanity to become superb combatants, an untrained group of islanders wouldn’t last a day against the church forces.

Berkens frowned to himself. He thought of the girl, Cuphon, and how confident she had been. It hadn’t seemed like empty bravado to him.

Sawing through iron bars without making enough noise to alert the guards had been a long, annoying task, but as Berkens gently placed the last bar on the ground, he decided it had been worth it. The big man slipped through the hole he’d cut with the surprising grace of an assassin and crept down the hallway without a sound.

Two guards stood with their backs toward him, slumping at their posts from boredom. Berkens paused and smiled to himself. Escaping would be too easy.

It’s about time I got my chance to check out this island.

Staring at the backs of the two inattentive guards, Berkens grinned.

Shannon and Pacifica walked through the underground caves of Blasphemers’ Garden. They had since learned that that was the name of both the heretical group and the island itself, although that was by far the least interesting thing they’d learned that day.

Although most of the island’s inhabitants lived on the surface, the caves bustled with all kinds of facilities. The siblings had no idea how far the tunnels extended, but from what they had seen, the network was enormous. They had been told that Reynard had expanded on some naturally formed tunnels to create it. Although annihilation magic such as Fenrir could be used to roughly expand caves and widen tunnels, detailed work required manual labor, so countless hours must have been spent creating the underground network.

Apparently, one of the chambers was a room big enough to hold the entire population of the island. Meetings were held there every three days, and the siblings had been invited by Reynard to attend. Raquel had declined, saying she needed to research something, and had gone off to the Inox to read her notes on magic that she’d left in the carriage, but Shannon and Pacifica hadn’t managed to think up a good excuse fast enough.

They reached their destination, a large room known as the assembly hall. Almost the entire population of the island was gathered there, filling the dimly lit space until it was packed. The room was barely big enough to fit the majority of the eight hundred islanders.

The siblings were jostled on all sides by the crowd. The air was oppressively hot and tinged with a strange smell. Shannon glanced at her sister, who looked at him with an uncomfortable grimace.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

The heat and the weighty assimilation were even more oppressive in the dark. Shannon pulled at his shirt collar in discomfort; he could hear Pacifica breathing heavily by his side.

Shannon furrowed his brow. Darkness, heat, a crowd, and a strange smell—the person who designed this knew exactly what they were doing.

A clear voice rang out in the darkness.

“We condemn.”

It was unmistakably Elfitine. It sounded like she was speaking quietly, but her voice still echoed throughout the room.

“Disciples of Blasphemers’ Garden, hear me! We condemn the Mauser church. It continues to stand against all that is good and right in the world. Their arrogance knows no bounds—they lie to the people while they commit every atrocity, support every injustice, and accept every hypocrisy imaginable. We condemn their evil, and stand in defiance of their injustices and of the ignorance of the people!”

The crowd hung on her every word. The darkness magnified the crowd’s fear of the unknown. The people concentrated on what they could hear; it was as if they were being brainwashed.

“We cannot accept this. We must stand against the Mauserists—stand against their tyranny and injustice. We cannot hesitate in our mission of bringing true justice to this world, or all will be lost!”

Elfitine paused. “I see it,” she said after a moment. “A vision of what will be. The Mauserists will be punished, and our cries of truth will be heard by all those who have been led astray by Mauser’s lies. That day swiftly approaches—the day when our years of hiding and persecution will end. We shall return to the outside world despite the oppression of the church and the criminally permissive attitude of the kingdom of Linevan. We will be heralded as bringers of truth and light. So long as we remain united, we cannot fail!”

The islanders broke into wild cheering, screaming curses at the Mauserist church and wild devotion to the Scrapped Princess.

Suddenly, lights flared.

They shone on a stage in one corner of the room. There stood Elfitine, resplendent in a shimmering blue dress. Her face wore an otherworldly expression, and she seemed to glow in the lights.

The crowd’s cheering grew in volume and intensity. Some villagers began stamping their feet, and soon the entire room pulsated with a savage rhythm.

Shannon caught Pacifica’s gaze and gestured toward the door. Pacifica gripped his hand, and they weaved their way through the throng to the back of the room. They slipped outside and hungrily gulped the cool, clear air. Pacifica leaned her sweating forehead against the cool tunnel wall for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Shannon asked her.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “It was just hard to breathe in there, you know?”

He gently started to lead her down the tunnel. Shannon looked down at his sister, and then, slowly, he slid his fingers through her hair in a sign of affection.

“I’m very proud of you,” he said quietly.

Pacifica blinked. “What for?” she asked, clearly surprised at his unusual kindness.

“You were strong-willed enough not to give in to brainwashing.”

Pacifica stopped in her tracks. “Brainwashing?” she repeated. “Are you serious?”

He nudged her with his elbow to keep her walking. “It was pretty crude,” he explained, “but stuffing all those people in a hot, dark room was a sure sign. Making people uncomfortable and disoriented like that is a way to scare them and make them more likely to accept what they’re told.”

“Really?”

“I think they were burning some drug-incense, too. I was actually hoping to get out of there sooner.” Shannon sighed. Although he was far too wary and strong-willed to be brainwashed so obviously, the experience had still been exhausting.

“But you know, that girl’s taken on a hell of a role.”

“You mean Elfitine?” Pacifica whispered.

“I don’t think she’s the one who’s behind everything. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s just a figurehead and that masked Reynard guy is the one who’s really controlling things.”

Pacifica frowned. “It must be really hard on Elfitine.”

“I bet. But the real mystery is figuring out what Reynard Ganvas is after.”

Pacifica glanced at her brother, “Well, he wants to ‘condemn’ the Mauserists, right? He probably has some grudge against the Mauserist church—it’s not like they don’t make lots of enemies.”

Shannon scratched his neck. “I’m not sure. We talked to him about the Mauserist church before, but it really didn’t seem like he was holding a grudge.

Pacifica’s head tilted as she contemplated this. “Well, I guess he didn’t seem really bitter or angry or anything. Who knows? Maybe he just really hates injustice.”

“I don’t buy it. I have a bad feeling there’s some twisted agenda behind all this.”

“Shannon,” she commented dryly, “you always have a bad feeling. You always think everybody has an evil plan, and they’re all out to get you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Shannon’s gentle head pat turned into a swat.

“I’ll leave the rest to you,” Reynard whispered to one of Elfitine’s ladies-in-waiting. He slipped out of the assembly room and into the tunnel’s cold air.

For some reason, while he had been standing in the hot room and listening to Elfitine perform his handiwork, he’d been overcome by a discomfort so strong that he couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer.

“What is this?” Reynard whispered to himself as he walked through the empty tunnel. “The more we unite the people, the more uneasy I become.”

His stomach knotted, and he realized what emotion he’d been feeling.

Guilt.

He couldn’t imagine why he would feel guilty now. His lies about Elfitine being the Scrapped Princess were wrong and he knew it, but those lies were for the greater good—he had already wrestled with that moral decision long ago.

He lied to help the villagers, to give those people who had lost everything a goal and a purpose. To fight an enemy as huge as the Mauserist church, he had to unite them in a cause that would absorb all their hate and pain and anger. If he had to lie to save them from the all-encompassing darkness of their lives, then that was the lesser of two evils. He had no regrets on that score.

So why was guilt consuming him?

He couldn’t understand what was happening to him; it felt like his emotions and memories were out of sync. Was it just nerves, now that his goal was so close?

Reynard reached up and touched his mask. It was hard and cold under his fingertips.

He never took off the mask, except when he was alone. It was strange… now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember what his real face looked like under the mask. He knew there was a mirror in his room, so he must have looked at his face at times, but for some reason he couldn’t picture what it looked like.

He thought harder. He could remember taking off the mask many times, but he couldn’t seem to remember anything he did when he wasn’t wearing it.

Reynard’s heart pounded as he clutched at his mask.

“Why can’t I remember?” he mumbled. “Why can’t I…?”

He had always assumed that his lack of childhood memories was from some sort of amnesia resulting from a blow to the head or a childhood illness. But as he scanned his memories, it seemed like there was too much missing. He couldn’t even remember his own face!

Why hadn’t he realized any of this until now?

The door to his room suddenly loomed before him; he hurried the last few steps. “I have to take it off,” he muttered to himself and he stepped inside his room. “I’ll know who I am if I take it off,” he said as he swiftly shut the door behind him.

His hand shook as he gripped the mask. For a moment he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to remove it, but this fear was unfounded—it came loose easily in his hand.

Reynard removed the mask.

The horses whinnied happily at Raquel’s approach. They were hitched near the carriage at the underground docks, and they obviously didn’t like being stuck in that tunnel. They were very happy to see someone familiar carrying a bucket full of oats. They nuzzled Raquel’s long hair and cheeks.

“Come on now, Dragunov. That’s enough.” Raquel rubbed the horse’s nose. For the past two days, she had fed them in the morning and evening with fodder from the islanders. The horses were so pleased that they went against their training, which coached them to avoid making unnecessary gestures toward their masters.

After she spent a few minutes patting the horses, Raquel opened the door of the carriage and rummaged around. After a few minutes, she had a stack of ten notebooks. She sat on the floor and started to read.

“Now,” she mumbled. “Where was that bit about experiments and observations regarding limits in mental capacity?”

Each page of the notebook was completely covered in tiny print. Raquel scanned the pages quickly, but she turned each one very carefully. The notebooks were a keepsake from her mother Carol. More importantly, at the moment, they were her sorcery.

Carol had taken great pains to record every spell she knew, including top-secret information about military attack magic, unfinished spells developed and abandoned by the Jade Squadron, and even some spells she’d formulated on her own. After Carol’s death, Raquel used the notebooks to learn more about magic than her mother had had time to teach her.

The word “confidential” in red ink caught her attention. Without moving her eyes from the page, she reached for the lamp next to her to get a better look. Her hand grabbed nothing but air.

“You’ll ruin your eyes if you read in the dark.”

She looked up at the giant figure of Berkens standing above her. A man was sprawled on the ground nearby; he was probably the guard who had been sent to keep an eye on her, but Raquel hadn’t been paying enough attention to know for sure.

Raquel smiled vaguely at the big priest. “Hello, Mister Tanhoglio,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Call me Berkens. Hey, do you know what’s going on with this island?”

“What do you mean?”

Berkens crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, for one thing, the whole place is full of tunnels. There’s some kind of giant hole in the middle of the island with some sort of construction going on there. Do you know if it’s possible for one sorcerer to do that much construction work?”

Raquel frowned. “It’s possible to do excavation work with a spell called Fenrir, but there’s no way a single sorcerer could activate it. If an average sorcerer has a capacity of one, it takes a combined capacity of five for sorcerers to cast that spell. Even if Reynard was from the Jade Squadron, there’s no way he could have a capacity five times that of the average sorcerer.”

“Does that mean there are other sorcerers hiding somewhere around here?”

Raquel touched her chin. “I have no idea why they’d want to hide. All the people I’ve talked to claim that Reynard is the only sorcerer on the island, and I can’t imagine why anyone would lie about that. I guess it’s possible that there were other sorcerers who either died or left the island.”

According to Reynard, there were an additional two hundred members of Blasphemers’ Garden who didn’t live on the island—they traveled the continent like missionaries, searching for comrades who had suffered Mauserist oppression. Reynard supposedly made occasional travels off the island himself.

Raquel paused. “But if there were no other sorcerers to begin with…”

“There he is!” a voice rang out through the cave.

“Damn. That was quick.” Berkens frowned. Several armed men stomped down the stairs toward the dock, shouting and pointing at the priest.

“Did you break out of jail, by any chance?” Raquel asked.

Berkens gave her a confused look. “How did you think I got out?”

“I assumed you’d made peace with the islanders and they let you go.”

Berkens gave a wry smile. “Not likely,” he said as he ran to the floor’s edge. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” He dove headfirst into the water.

By the time the men had reached Raquel, Berkens had disappeared.

“Dammit!” one of the men cursed. “He got away!” He looked over at Raquel, who stared absently at the spot where Berkens disappeared. He grabbed her by the collar.

“I knew it!” he snarled. “You two are working together, aren’t you? You’re a Mauserist spy!”

Raquel remained completely calm. She was aware that, unlike the older islanders, the inexperienced and hot-blooded youths of the island were deeply suspicious of the Casulls for not picking a side. “Gray area” was a term that clearly weren’t very familiar with.

“If I was working with him,” Raquel said, “wouldn’t I have run away too?”

“Don’t talk back to me!” The man raised a hand to hit her, but froze.

Raquel had quietly and calmly raised her right palm to his face. For a sorcerer, that simple motion was akin to a fighter drawing his sword.

“I don’t really want to fight you,” Raquel said, “but I don’t want to be hit either.”

The man let go of her shirt and backed away quickly.

Maybe they thought they could bully me because I’m not Shannon, she thought. She smiled faintly. “If you want to catch Berkens, shouldn’t you be looking for him?” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going to find anybody by standing around here.”

The men looked at each other, then at Raquel’s smiling face. As one, they turned and started down the docks.

They happened to pass Shannon and Pacifica on the stairs. One of the men glared at Shannon and spat at his feet.

Shannon turned to look at the men in confusion. “Uh…” He turned back to Raquel. “Did I do something?”

Raquel shrugged. “Berkens escaped,” she explained. “He happened to find me here, and those men saw us talking.”

“So they assumed we were helping him?” Shannon rolled his eyes. “Right. This place has a real problem with tunnel vision.”

“Old Berkens was okay, huh?” Pacifica looked relieved. “Oh, yeah. Raquel—did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not yet,” Raquel said as she gathered her notebooks. “But if my hunch is correct…” She looked up through long eyelashes. “Getting off this island is going to be harder than we thought.”

Cuphon walked through the tunnels toward Reynard’s quarters. After the gathering, most of the villagers had returned to their homes above ground, so the tunnels were deserted. Her footsteps echoed in the silence.

Reynard had asked her to come see him after the meeting. She’d been expecting this—in fact, she was surprised he hadn’t wanted to talk to her sooner. She had drugged the cows on that Inquisitor’s boat. Reynard had always discouraged unauthorized acts of violence. He insisted that the villagers control themselves, only using violence when it was controlled and according to strict justice ideals.

Cuphon and the other younger islanders were often frustrated by Reynard’s philosophies, but they still respected him. In just ten years, he’d created a huge organization as well as a secret weapon for fighting the church of Mauser; the three docks and the massive network of tunnels had been built just for moving the equipment needed for the weapon’s construction. It was located in the center of the Garden underground, where all the tunnels lead. No difference in opinion could erase everything Reynard had done for them.

Reynard’s room was located along one of the underground corridors, so he could easily direct the construction in the central area. Cuphon reached her destination and knocked on the door.

“Sir,” she called. “It’s Cuphon Spectore.”

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time. Still, no one came.

Cuphon hesitated for a moment, then tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

She opened the door just enough to poke her head in. The room was dark; her lamp only illuminated a tiny part of it.

“Sir Ganvas?” she called out quietly. She walked into the room and looked around, but didn’t see him anywhere. Am I late? she wondered.

Someone stepped behind her. She whipped around, and the door slammed shut.

“Aah!”

A man stood between Cuphon and the door. He was middle aged, with a thin smile on his face. Cuphon didn’t recognize him… until she looked noticed the black mask in his hand.

Cuphon’s eyes widened. “S-sir Ganvas?” she breathed.

The man’s face was gaunt, with high cheekbones and a sickly complexion. Cuphon wasn’t sure it was actually Reynard; the expression on his face was completely different from Reynard’s usual demeanor.

The worst part was his eyes. They were twisted in dark ecstasy.

“Wh-who are you?” Cuphon whispered. She started to back away, her eyes shifting between the man’s terrible smile and the mask in his hand.

With an eerie shriek, the man lunged at Cuphon and knocked her onto the stone floor. He pressed his right hand into her face so hard that his fingers dug into her skin.

“Return the soul to nothingness!” he sang crazily. “All power brought back to the beginning… leave behind all emotion, and find a new strength!”

Cuphon didn’t understand what was happening. She struggled wildly, but couldn’t escape the man’s grip.

“Now you can’t escape! You’re going to disappear!” He cackled shrilly.

In desperation, Cuphon swung the lamp in her hand. It smashed right into the man’s forehead. He fell back, clutching his face.

Cuphon shoved him off and crawled frantically away. Desperate to get to her feet, she grabbed a metal hook that was attached to a strange contraption near the back of the room. It looked like some kind of device surrounded by metal cylinders.

She tried to pull herself up using the hook, but it wasn’t strong enough to support her weight. A sheet of metal crashed loudly to the floor.

She froze.

Inside the now-open metal tube lay Cuphon’s younger brother. His eyes were open and his chest moved up and down, but he didn’t seem to see her.

“Quart!” she shouted as she grabbed his shirt. He still didn’t respond; his blank eyes just stared out at nothingness.

Cuphon spun and faced Reynard. “What did you do to him?!” she cried. “What’s wrong with my brother?!”

Reynard grinned evilly, still sitting on the floor. “Thanks to the dead field of science called magical engineering, even your precious little brother can help my booster.” He slowly rose to his feet. “But I’m going to need a replacement for him soon. I think you’ll do very nicely!”

Reynard reached out for her, and she stumbled back against the tubes.

“No! Don’t—” Before she could finish speaking, her vision started to blur. She raised a hand to rub her eyes, but suddenly all the strength was sapped out of her. She fell and didn’t feel herself hit the ground. The boundaries of her consciousness fell away.

The last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was Reynard’s shrill, piercing laugh.

Elfitine lay back in bed and sighed. She wearily closed her eyes.

The meeting at the assembly hall had been exhausting. In her mind, she saw all of the people of the island hanging on her every word, their eyes glued to her with complete trust and respect. She sighed.

If not for her ability to “read time,” none of what she and Reynard did would be possible. Her power was what made her seem special, made her claims of being the Scrapped Princess believable. But she knew that her power alone was not nearly enough to gain that kind of devotion—without Reynard guiding her every step of the way, she would never have had an island of followers.

It was true that she could see visions from a different time. She’d been able to see them her entire life. But couldn’t control what she would see or when, and she never knew if she was seeing the past or future. Her power was too involuntary for it to be useful.

But if I’d just kept the visions to myself she thought miserably, they may not have actually hurt me.

She first told someone about her visions when she was six years old. She didn’t remember what the particular vision had been, but she did remember the astonished faces of her parents and neighbors. She remembered how much she had liked being able to surprise them, so she kept telling people about everything she saw.

She never meant any harm, but soon people realized that almost every vision of the future was of something horrible. People started to fear her. Worse, they started blaming her for the events she foretold. Eventually, any time anyone died, it was her fault. If something broke, she was responsible. When the people of her village finally drove her away, not even her parents and siblings defended her. She remembered the hateful looks on their faces as they watched her walk away in bare feet.

No matter how many times the people from her village blamed her for things she hadn’t done, she’d always managed to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault. She’d never wished harm on anyone. It had to be a coincidence.

But the destruction of her home was the last straw. She remembered turning back for one last look that day they expelled her, and watching as her village was destroyed.

She gave up. Maybe they were right—maybe she was the cause of all the misfortune she’d foreseen. If that was true, then there was nowhere she could go; she couldn’t risk spreading her curse to a new village or town. She decided to stay with the remains of her hometown until she wasted away.

Days passed; she neither ate nor drank, neither spoke nor moved. She felt herself get weaker and weaker, but she couldn’t find the energy to care.

That was when Reynard found her.

He lifted her gently and carried her away from the rubble. He wanted to nurse her back to health. When she told him her story and warned him that she brought danger, he simply laughed.

“You?” he had asked. “A prophet of misfortune? You must be joking. I’m sure it’s all a coincidence—people who look for calamity almost always find it.”

Reynard was always interested in her visions. He speculated that her terrible visions of the future might be a survival instinct—that her subconscious mind chose to show her violent events to warn her of danger.

“You should be proud of it,” he’d told her.

He was the one who thought of a way to use her power. She told him about her visions in great detail, and he used certain visions of other people’s pasts to prove her ability. When she saw visions of future calamity, he announced that only her foresight had stopped the tragedy from being greater. She couldn’t change the future, but by manipulating the facts that he told the islanders, Reynard made it seem like she could. Reynard set her up as a priestess who pointed the way to the future. Claiming that Elfitine was of noble birth only increased the islanders’ faith in her. Her people considered her words oracles as important as the Revelations of Grendel.

Elfitine knew that she was simply a pawn in Reynard’s game, a tool used to bring the islanders together. She had nothing against Mauserism, and the values she preached as the leader of Blasphemers’ Garden meant nothing to her. She played her role faithfully so she could stay with Reynard. She had no regrets; she would do anything to be useful to him.

But once their goals were realized, would there still be a place for her there?

She didn’t have any hopes or dreams of her own. She relied on Reynard for everything. Until recently, she had been content with that.

But lately, she’d started having the same nightmare every night. A nightmare of Reynard without his mask, a terrible grin on his face instead. She woke up every morning with his mocking laughter echoing in her ears. She told herself over and over again that it was just a dream, and that Reynard was the only person in the world Elfitine could rely on. The nightmares couldn’t be true.

And yet… she’d seen too many visions realized before her eyes. And in the entire time she’d known him, she’d never seen Reynard’s real face.

Elfitine buried her head in her pillow. She couldn’t erase the doubt in her mind.

I’m so ashamed, she thought as her fingers dug into fabric.

The next morning, Elfitine was pleased that Pacifica bathed with her in the spring.

Since Berkens’ escape, the villagers had put Elfitine under guard at all times. Armed guards had been dispatched to the area around the spring, but Elfitine had given them orders to let Pacifica pass. None of them disagreed with orders from the Scrapped Princess.

Elfitine loved talking to Pacifica. She knew so much about the world that Elfitine didn’t. Elfitine was shy and timid and relied on others to make her decisions for her—her first year with Reynard, the year they had spent traveling, she had spent most of her time hidden behind his back. Pacifica was the kind of person who forged her own destiny and experienced each day to the fullest. Just hearing about Pacifica’s adventures made Elfitine feel better.

Pacifica climbed out of the spring and grabbed a towel. “Can I ask you something, Elfi?” she asked as she dried herself off.

“Sure.” Elfitine followed Pacifica out of the water, taking her own towel.

“Um… are you really the Scrapped Princess?”

Elfitine’s heart jumped in her chest. “Wh-why do you ask?” she asked, her voice mostly steady.

Pacifica smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to doubt you or anything, it’s just… the Scrapped Princess was supposed to have been killed after birth. That means that somebody must’ve smuggled you out of the castle as a baby, right?”

“Yes…”

“So someone would’ve had to tell you later on that you were the Scrapped Princess. When they told you, did you believe them right away?”

“Oh.” Elfitine was choked by guilt. What could she say? She tried to swallow, but was unsuccessful. “Why are you . .. asking me this, Pacifica?” she murmured after a moment.

Pacifica wrapped her towel around her and sat on a rock.

“I was abandoned when I was a baby,” she said matter-of-factly.

Elfitine blinked. “What?”

Pacifica waved an arm, as if gesturing to her entire body. “Haven’t you noticed that I don’t look anything like Shannon or Raquel?” she asked. “My real parents got rid of me.”

Elfitine stared at her, unsure how to respond. Pacifica’s words were so unbothered that she sounded like she was describing another person’s problems.

“I always knew I was adopted,” Pacifica continued, “but when my dad died a little while ago, he left me a letter that told me about how my real parents abandoned me. I know he’d never lie to me about something like that, but somehow I just couldn’t accept it.”

“You couldn’t?”

“I guess… it got me thinking about my birth parents, and that made me feel like everything I’d been through with my mom and dad and Shannon and Raquel wasn’t real. It was like I had to choose—either I was the baby who’d been abandoned in my father’s letter, or I was the little sister of Raquel and Shannon. I guess I thought that being one meant giving up the other.” She smiled at Elfitine. “I spent a lot of time worrying about that.”

Elfitine could feel Pacifica’s gaze on her, but she could barely manage to look her in the eye. Pacifica’s will was so strong. Elfitine couldn’t even be herself—she’d given up the person she was for Reynard. Hearing about Pacifica’s struggle to find her real self was almost more than she could bear.

Tears welled up in Elfitine’s eyes. Had she ever thought her situation through? She had never tried to establish her personality in the first place. Maybe she had been so obsessed with clinging to Reynard’s back that she hadn’t ever tried to stand on her own two feet. Maybe there was no such thing as the real Elfitine.

If only I could be strong, like Pacifica…

Pacifica gave a start. “What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly. “I’m sorry! Did I offend you or something?”

“N-no. It’s not you, really.” Elfitine wiped her eyes. “Please go on.”

Pacifica looked troubled for a moment, but then she continued. “It’s just that… I was curious about how you felt when you found out, and how you managed to accept your situation, Elfi.”

Elfitine could tell that Pacifica was looking for an answer to something, and she wished that she could give it to her. She’d never felt worse for being a fraud.

“Well… in my case I was always unusual,” Elfitine mumbled at last.

“Oh. You mean that ‘reading time’ thing?”

Elfitine nodded. “Yes. But my ability doesn’t really work the way Sir Ganvas says it does. I can’t control the things I see, and most of the time I don’t see anything pleasant. I see a lot of scenes where people are getting hurt or dying.”

Elfitine risked a glance at Pacifica, waiting for the girl to turn away in fear or disgust, but praying from the bottom of her soul that Pacifica wouldn’t. Pacifica was the only one who’d seen her true self. If Elfitine lost her, she felt like her real self would simply cease to exist.

“Oh yeah, I think my mother told me about that before she died. She called people with that kind of ability, um… Picureans?”

Elfitine’s mouth actually hung open. Pacifica spoke with no emotion other than friendly interest.

“M-Mauserists call us ‘Spawn,’” Elfitine stuttered. Although they were rare, there were some people in the world who could perform unusual phenomena without magic. These abilities were innate, and usually couldn’t be duplicated by anyone else. They were built into the person’s mind from birth.

Since the church feared the risk innate powers posed to their organization, they insisted that these “undeserved” powers were bestowed on some people by the evil Lord Browning. Most people considered abilities like Elfitine’s to be marks of evil; there was a good chance Elfitine would have been shunned even if she hadn’t foreseen so many horrible events. It was little surprise that a Picurean could easily end up at the center of a heretical group.

However, in recent years, a small number of Picureans were employed in the Intelligence Division and military Special Forces. With ties to the soldiers and royal family, the Mauserist leadership toned down their denunciation of Picureans.

Elfitine gave Pacifica a beseeching look. “People have always disliked me because of what I can do. They were afraid that I would predict their deaths. I always knew I was different, so when Sir Ganvas told me that I was the Scrapped Princess, I guess I just believed him. Everybody else believes that’s who I am, anyway. That made it easier to accept.”

“I see.”

“Pacifica . . Elfitine swallowed. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“I don’t believe in prophecies,” Pacifica said, a little more forcefully than Elfitine would’ve expected. “Although I guess if somebody told me I was going to die tomorrow, and I knew they were right, it would probably be good to know ahead of time. If you knew when you were going to die, you could make sure you took care of everything you wanted to do.”

Elfitine trembled. “Y-you really think so?” she whispered.

“Sure.” Pacifica shrugged. “But I guess I’m used to abnormal stuff. Just look at my family. Shannon can beat a whole army of thugs by himself, and Raquel can do almost anything with magic. Somebody catching a few glimpses of the future doesn’t seem like a big deal to me.” She gave Elfitine a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder.

Elfitine stared helplessly into Pacifica’s blue eyes. She could tell that they understood each other. Pacifica knew what it was like to hate herself, but somehow she’d managed to grow beyond it. Somehow she’d managed to climb out of the dark pit of self-hatred.

In her smile, Elfitine thought she could see the way out of the pit.

Tears flowed over Elfitine’s cheeks. She couldn’t have stopped them for anything.

“Ack!” Pacifica started waving her hands frantically. “Don’t start crying again. It’ll look like I was picking on you!”

Elfitine grinned at the other girl despite her tumbling tears. She was so glad to have met someone like Pacifica.