Zeid wondered why the world liked picking on him, when there was a perfectly good mob of fifteen-year-olds just a few meters away. The one day he’d scheduled to come see the cursed stones, and it just so happened to be field-trip day.

  He skipped the first two temples and went straight to the third, hoping to outrun the schoolchildren. God, school. That was a thing that existed.

  He hadn’t known this was a thing they did — coming to see some cursed, deadly rocks. He’d never gotten to go on a trip like this. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had to go through all this trouble. He also didn’t understand why people had chosen to build temples over cursed, deadly rocks, but he had accepted it as a thing.

  He entered the temple without making eye contact with either of the guards, his shoulders hunched. He glanced around once, found the place empty, and went immediately for the glittery gemstone hovering in the center.

  It glowed ominously as he neared, the speckles on the surface shimmering as the rich green color grew brighter and brighter.

  His heart pounded in his chest as a thousand half-made apologies fluttered through his brain.

  Everything grew still. He took a breath in, then out. His thoughts became muffled in a fog of numbness, a film falling over his eyes that pushed everything a world away.

  Quick, easy, fast. One second, and it would be over.

  Sorry, mom.

  I love you.

  He gritted his teeth and touched the stone with his fingertips.

  Nothing happened.

  He took a couple steps closer and closed his hand around the stone, not sure what to think. “All right, what’s going on?” he asked. “Are you waiting for me to go outside before you zap me dead?”

  It didn’t respond.

  “No way,” he said aloud, incredulous. “I thought you were supposed to kill me.” He opened his hand to stare at it, trying to figure out if he’d located the wrong deadly rocks or something. It drifted out of his fingers and hovered up in front of his chest. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You couldn’t, like . . . choose a better place? Like my pocket? Where nobody can see you?”

  It didn’t move. He took a step back, and it followed him, as though pulled on an invisible string.

  This is so stupid, was his first thought. Followed by a glowing rock. Talk about an identifier.

  What am I supposed to do now? was his second. He hadn’t planned for this. If these weren’t the cursed deadly rocks, then . . . what, would they think he’d stolen it or something? They need better security, he thought, remembering how the guards had let him walk right in. Unless it is a death omen, and it’s . . . broken, or taking its sweet time.

  Was he supposed to leave? With this rock following him? He couldn’t stay in the temple forever, that was for sure. He could hear the visiting kids’ footsteps growing nearer.

  I can’t be a thief, he thought, panic ripping through the film. A son with a criminal record, and a husband who’s — that, I can’t do that to her. Guilt, worry, stress, fear, annoyance — he had wanted one favor from the universe, and it had laughed in his face.

  God, he’d put so much into this plan, and it had blown up in front of him, like everything else in his life.

  “And which temple is this?” came a voice from outside — the prim voice of a schoolteacher. “Yes, Ferg?”

  “Courage!” came the answer.

  He tried to shove the rock back onto its fancy pedestal, but it wouldn’t budge. “Please,” he hissed. “Go back. Float in front of someone else.”

  He stopped, realizing the sound of footsteps had halted. He turned around, sucking in a breath, to find thirty-two pairs of eyes staring at him.

  “Courage has made its choice,” the teacher breathed.

  Slowly, the students bowed or bobbed their heads, their eyes stretched wide like goldfish. Then, one by one, they parted as the two guards shouldered their way in, looking more muscly and aggressive than he remembered.

  “Come along,” one guard said, holding an incredibly sharp spear.

  “Right,” he said, the word tasting like sawdust in his mouth.

  He wanted it all to be a dream — a dream or a nightmare, something fake, something his mind had made up or some kind of hallucination. He’d wake up on the train any second from now, watching his hometown Prasinos disappear into a dot in the distance, the side of his face pressed into the cold glass window as he waited to arrive in Dimanti.

  But he didn’t.

  ?????

  Asimi’s day was going absolutely swell.

  At least, it had been.

  She had finally arrived at Tessera’s capital, Dimanti, three days prior, after hitching a ride on the train that ran through the kingdom. The town of Prasinos had gotten too boring too soon; nobody rich lived there, giving her nothing to rob, and she hadn’t found anyone uptight enough to piss off.

  It was a bit of an oddity, compared to the other towns she’d hopped through — most cities, the large ones, at least, had a system of rings. Not formally, no, but she could see as she traveled through them how the wealthy were grouped in the center, and how that wealth dwindled away as she traveled out to the edges. The structure made it easier for her to find targets.

  Prasinos didn’t have that structure. In her books, it had been a proper city, booming with music and flowing with coin, home to many respected officers and generals. Something had happened in the last fifty years, because she’d arrived to find it much smaller than she imagined, and full of empty buildings.

  An eccentric hotel man had told her that the place was cursed because of the lake; that demons arose from its waters and tormented the people living there. It wanted Tessera’s strength, the man had said, and so it targeted the once-formidable soldiers seeking to live peaceful lives in Prasinos.

  She was pretty sure he’d been referring to the dragon that had supposedly lived there once upon a time, but since the Dragon Extermination Program had taken care of it, there was no reason for him to worry! Yeesh, old people and their weird conspiracy theories.

  No, a curse wasn’t what transformed a city into a collection of run-down buildings. Curses weren’t responsible for everything. Just a few, small, minor incidents. Besides, despite the deterioration, Prasinos still had a chocolate store — and those truffles had been incredible.

  On the flip side, Dimanti was full of rich people. It was a city of them. If the country had rings like the cities did, then Dimanti was the rich-people center of the kingdom. Three days, and she’d already restocked her funds with her weight in gold.

  She couldn’t exactly carry all that gold, so she’d buried most of it and hopped on over to the crown jewel of it all — the palace. She’d considered robbing the actual crown, before realizing there was something more valuable than that — something more valuable than anything she’d ever stolen before.

  The legacy gems.

  Or the kingdom stones, or the Founders' jewels, or the countless other names they went by.

  The magic, shiny rocks that could kill you in a blink or grant you immeasurable power.

  With odds like those, how could she not?

  She’d dropped by the first temple and found it empty, with some gaudy decorations — seriously, gold on blue? In that pattern? No, sir. Whatever the Founders were, they were not good at decorating.

  Then, the second temple — ugh, way too much purple. She did think the pretty silver feathers were a nice touch — they paired much better with the whole gradient to black than the gold did with the blue. The wings carved into the ivory pedestal had also been worth admiring — she’d thought again, briefly, of her old dreams of flying. Dancing in the air, so high up that nobody could ever drag her down again.

  And then she’d seen the stone in the center — this lozenge cut, glittering purple gem . . . and promptly decided against it. She didn’t really like purple. There had to be a stone with a better color. The silver one! That was right next door, wasn’t it?

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  And then it had flown to her, literally zooming off its pedestal and planting itself in her bow, and she’d realized that she had become the chosen one of a rock. Like, in those dramatic plays, but instead of a god or a spirit or something, her chooser was a rock.

  So, obviously, then she had to consider her options. Purple still wasn’t her favorite color, but since it was really shiny, she supposed she could tolerate it. And the power it could give her — kingdoms, she’d have free access to the palace kitchens. She could just imagine how much chocolate was in there.

  But, also, imagine how mad they’d be if she bolted off with the most important artifact in the kingdom, and they couldn’t even stop her because she was the chosen one.

  Hah. She loved saying that, even if it was in her head. The chosen one — cue dramatic music.

  And then the guards had come marching in, and she’d decided: eh, her arms were still too sore from carrying all that gold, so she’d go along with it, since she just didn’t feel like taking on two buff guards at the moment.

  Which had landed her here.

  In a room.

  With the princess.

  She didn’t really have time to judge the decor of the throne room, because she was too busy focusing on the fact that the mere sight of Princess Chioni (sound haughty laughter) had ruined her day immeasurably.

  Going into it, she’d already known she’d hate the princess. She had come knowing she’d be stuck-up, prissy, and want Asimi dead.

  She hadn’t really expected the rest.

  She had never seen Chioni. She’d heard about her — cacao’s sake, that was all people talked about, the new princess, yada yada — but she’d never seen her in person. Those eyes were like chips of blue flame. Dangerous and heated — almost like a challenge. The princess was a viper, someone who would bite the second you got too close.

  That gave Asimi some conflicting feelings. The princess was infuriating, and she was sure she’d hate the sound of her voice, but, at the same time . . . she wanted to see how close she could get.

  Which was proooobably a bad idea. Considering that Chioni was both the holder of the Service Stone, and heir to the throne, she could very well make good on her wishes to see Asimi’s head in a basket.

  The closer I get, the less likely she is to do that, she reasoned. Also, when has something being a ‘bad idea’ ever stopped you?

  But do you really want to put up with her?

  Ah, good point, me.

  Also, she might not be stupid! She might see what you’re doing!

  Dunno, rich people seem preeeeetty stupid to me.

  Excellent point. You’re on fire today, girl!

  Why, thank you.

  Maybe it was better to decide that a little later.

  “I can’t believe this,” the princess spat, confirming Asimi’s suspicion that she’d hate her voice. “How did you trick the Freedom Stone into choosing you? Did your mother rig its magic as part of her plotting? Is this her revenge?”

  “Awww, poor whittle pwincess is upset,” Asimi cooed. “I thought the stones were infallible? Legendary? Surely one measly enchantress couldn’t overwrite the kingdom’s most powerful magic. Oh, wait — didn’t that happen? Riiiiiight, that’s how the last queen died.” She laughed as Chioni stiffened and stepped back. If Chioni was so determined to freak out about her eye color, why not mess with her a bit? It wasn’t her fault if princess couldn’t take a joke.

  “Do not,” Chioni said, her voice wavering. “Taint the queen’s name.”

  “Aah, don’t worry,” she said, jumping down from the window, where she’d entered. She’d been trying to test the whole new ‘agility’ thing by climbing the palace walls, and, in her expert opinion, it had worked out pretty well! She hadn’t died from it, which was a major success in her book. “Nobody ‘tricked’ the stone. You’re just upset because it chose me. Me! Your fancy, glittery rock chose a demon-touched lowlife like me.”

  “You — you’re toying with me. You cursed the jewel.”

  “Cool it with the accusations, sweetheart,” she responded, studying her nails.

  The princess spluttered indignantly, which didn’t seem very fancy of her.

  “You know, I could just climb back out this window, and run off with your precious Freedom Stone,” she suggested, prying the window open again. “If I’m that upsetting to your delicate self.” She didn’t really know where she was going with that taunt. Chioni didn’t look delicate. Chioni looked rather muscly.

  “Don’t,” The princess ordered. “I — argh. I will figure this out, Dilitirio. And once I do, you will pay for what you’ve done.”

  “Oh? What have I done?”

  “Something! You’ve done something!”

  “Hmmm, doesn’t sound like too solid an argument, princess.”

  Chioni opened her mouth.

  Then the door opened.

  ?????

  Chioni hadn’t expected today. She didn’t know what she’d expected. Seven months had gone by, and she was still thinking about the late queen’s death — now this? The new holders, all three, being chosen today?

  The world was trying to see if her head could implode.

  She’d broken a door by accident after hearing the news — some intelligent servant had thought it reasonable to tell her just as she was about to open a door, and she’d accidentally ripped it clean off its hinges. Now, she had to find a way to fix that, and swear that servant to secrecy. She had a reputation to maintain; princesses weren’t supposed to go around damaging their own property.

  She’d had to wedge that door back into place as a temporary fix, gather enough calm to avoid cracking the floor with every step, and make her way to the throne room.

  Apparently, nobody had considered warning her about who the new holders actually were.

  Specifically, the supposed holder of the Freedom Stone.

  And those purple eyes.

  It wasn’t widely known what traits marked what. Appearance traits were recorded by the Magic Sector, under Lord Eligro, in a dense set of files spanning the Third Century. For the most part, whatever needed mark was be searched up when the characteristics they implied were required.

  But this, specifically — the servant should’ve known. Everyone in the palace should’ve known by now — they had all witnessed the late queen’s early demise. They had all been warned of the enchantress’ heir — the Dilitirio girl whose name had never been recorded.

  But, no. No warning. No hints. No nothing.

  She had gone in, expecting some normal person who she could work with — perhaps even trust.

  She’d found the window open, a girl lounging on the windowsill, and realized maybe it wasn’t going to work as smoothly as she’d hoped. And then she’d seen those purple eyes, and her blood had frozen to ice.

  That ice was in her veins now, so cold it burned.

  She had pictured Aconite’s daughter differently; some cloaked figure, some emblem of death. That smirking girl in front of her took that fear and ignited it into fury. Something so intense, it made her dizzy.

  “I can’t believe this,” she blurted, incredulous. Her thoughts spilled out of her mouth before she thought to limit them. “How did you trick the Freedom stone into choosing you? Did your mother rig its magic as part of her plotting? Is this her revenge?” That’s it, she’d realized. That was Aconite’s plan. To usurp the very foundations of her kingdom – but to what end?

  “Awww, poor whittle princess is upset,” the purple-eyed girl had the audacity to say, despite being at least a head shorter than her. “I thought the stones were infallible? Legendary? Surely one measly enchantress couldn’t overwrite the kingdom’s most powerful magic. Oh, wait — didn’t it happen? Riiiight, that’s how the last queen died.”

  Whatever was left of her patience snapped. Her fault, her fault, her fault, her mind hissed. That cursed bloodline had killed the late queen, and left her an empty throne to fill. Her position was the fault of Aconite, and by extension, her infuriating daughter. “Do not taint the queen’s name,” she warned.

  “Aah, don’t worry,” Dilitirio said, jumping down from the window, where she’d entered. “Nobody ‘tricked’ the stone. You’re just upset because it chose me! Me! Your fancy, glittery rock chose a demon-touched lowlife like me.” She said it with an edge of mania that made Chioni immediately doubt her words.

  She’s insane. Just like her mother. “You’re toying with me,” she insisted. “You cursed the jewel.” I’m not going to fall prey to your lies.

  “Cool it with the accusations, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart? “Have you no sense of — norms? Formalities? Dignity?”

  “You know, I could just climb back out this window, and run off with your precious Freedom Stone,” she suggested, ignoring her completely. “If I’m that upsetting to your delicate self.”

  Chioni was starting to get fed up. ‘Delicate’ — says the short stick of a person. “Don’t,” she grumbled. “I — argh. I will figure this out, Dilitirio. And once I do, you will pay for what you’ve done.”

  “Oh? What have I done?”

  “Something! You’ve done something!”

  “Hmmm, doesn’t sound like too solid of an argument, princess.”

  Chioni opened her mouth.

  Then the door opened, and she went from having a terrible day to considering murder.

  Did nobody consider warning her about anything?

  She was the princess, for Statheros’ sake — that’s what they had been saying for years now. ‘You will inherit your mother’s throne’. ‘You will rule Tessera’. ‘You will serve and guide us all’. Couldn’t they bother to alert her when someone would come barging in?

  She glared at Dilitirio, and then turned to glare at whatever newcomer had decided knocking was irrelevant. She paused as she realized who it was — someone she recognized, some noble heir that might understand. Kalytero Evgenis’ son. Of course, it was unmistakable, with his brown skin — inherited from an Allisoran mother. “You,” she said aloud. She just needed to remember the name . . .