Esther raises her hand to her father’s shoulder. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Your uncle,” Fallow starts. “Uncle Charlie.”
“His real name is Uncle Parson,” Esther corrects.
“Yes, dear,” Fallow says. “We think he’s going to pass tonight.”
“Is he giving the tattoo to you?” Esther asks. “To make it whole again?”
Fallow grimaces. “I wish it were that simple. He and I aren’t close. He spoke a name this morning, and he has sworn not to speak another before he dies.”
“Whose name?” Esther asks.
“I yelled and told him that he was spoiled and irresponsible,” Fallow says, troubled, “but he said that growing up with the burden of power would do the same damage to anyone else.” Fallow takes his daughter’s hand in his own. “He has spoken your name, Ezzie. He’s giving you the crown tattoo.”
“Is that what’s going to happen to me?” Esther asks, on the verge of tears. “Am I going to become angry like Uncle Charlie?”
Fallow rubs a thumb across Esther’s cheek to smooth away a tear. “No, dearest. That’s not what it means. You get to be whatever type of person you want to be, as long as you pay attention to who you’re becoming and make decisions carefully. You know that a sovereign’s first priority is their city, right?”
Esther nods.
“You’re suited for this life,” Fallow says. “I always thought that you would…that I would…” He pats his arm. “Maybe one generation of the tattoo being split is enough to prove that we shouldn’t tamper with magic so frivolously. There are deeper veins of conflict running through this city, more so than the rift between two brothers. I haven’t done much as king. Kept us afloat and at peace. Maybe that’s enough for my time. But I swear to you that we will not tamper with magic for much longer. The tattoo and this city will be mended in the next generation—your generation.”
He holds Esther’s face. She feels the warmth of his skin grow hotter. Then something more arid. She pulls away, and the dry sensation vanishes. She glances down at her arm and sees a small black crown tattoo encircling it.
The king’s brother is dead.
Esther withdraws her hand from mine, and the memory vanishes. She rubs her palms against her pants, offering a weak smile.
“I thought he meant that he would give me the tattoo when he died,” Esther says. “But he didn’t. He meant that he would give it to you, and that then between us, we’d mend the city. Or you would. The conflict he was talking about wasn’t magic: it was the Nameless. He must have known what he wanted of me…of us.”
“This is where it happened,” I say, gesturing at the king’s sleeping quarters. While the fabrics and colors have changed, this is the room that holds the memory of her father. This is his room, where he lived, and it must also be where he died. This is where, if I survive long enough to become queen, I’ll die too.
“Being here helps me remember,” Esther says, “but memories can be influenced by where we are and how we feel. We can even change them. So you can’t always trust them.”
My heart aches. Memories can hurt us. Sometimes they’re more like wounds than scars.
The room smells like books and vanilla, fabric and dust. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.
“I wanted to show you this,” she says, beckoning me to join her at the headboard again. “This is our ancestor. Maybe I’m the only one who notices, and maybe it isn’t even true, but if you look closely, the ink shimmers differently.”
I join her, peering at the signature, and I almost see it.
“When I learned you were truly Nameless, I didn’t believe it at first,” she says. “I thought that if you were Nameless and had the crown, it would break the treaty. That everything we have would fall apart. And I’m still not sure. I think that because I have a tattoo as well, maybe it’s my name holding us together. I don’t know.” She bites her lip.
I sink down against the headboard, wordlessly.
“And there’s something else that the council never told you about the Assassins’ Festival,” she adds.
I raise an eyebrow. Great.
“Between now and the festival, your abilities will keep getting stronger,” Esther says. “The day of the festival is the first day that you will be at full strength. But the Council failed to mention that it’s also when you’ll be at your most vulnerable.”
“That’s the day I can give away the tattoo,” I say, recalling my first meeting with the Royal Council.
“Yes,” Esther says, “but it can also be taken.”
Alarm pings through my chest. “Excuse me?”
Esther grimaces. “If someone kills you during the duels, they’ll take the tattoo from you. Traditionally, if a sovereign is bested in combat, they give the tattoo away peacefully so that no one has to die. But historically…it ended in bloodshed.”
I run a hand across my forehead. “That explains why they call it the Assassins’ Festival, at least. If anyone kills me in the duels or from a distance, they get the tattoo. Perfect.”
Esther fidgets guiltily. “The council didn’t tell you, because they wanted to make sure you’d attend the festival and not run, and I agreed with them at the time. But the more I’ve thought about things, the more I’ve thought about everything…I know you won’t run. I understand something now, and I want to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?” I say.
“I really have to show you. Let’s go somewhere first.”
“Why? Why not show me here?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Perspective is important.”
CHAPTER 15
Esther leads me to the five towers that rise from the center of the palace. She explains that the towers are named after prominent Royal families, the ones who most frequently have had the crown tattoo over the generations. Fallow, Demure, Vesania…She relates it like a history lesson, impassive. I reach out to sense her aura, but it’s smooth like the pale surface of a shell.
Oil lights perch at equal intervals around the first floor of the Fallow tower. In the center is a spiral staircase. The stairs are stone, with a smooth wooden railing that curls up alongside, absorbing the warm lamplight. Carved flowers peek out from the rail every few steps. The rest of the room is a common area, filled with a collection of chairs and sofas, and I reach out into the now-familiar void of space until I sense the texture of auras.