Lying for Prophets

Lying for Prophets is an old project, from before Wish You Weren’t Here was a thought in the back of my mind. You may recognize it as the book Juliette is pretending to read in Chapter 16 of WYWH. It hasn’t been touched or revised since 2019, so please be kind to the snippet below!

PROLOGUE

If you asked any romantic in the Merios Isles, they would tell you it was just like a fairy tale. If you asked any pragmatist in the Merios Isles, they would tell you it was good for the economy. Either way, from mother to merchant, everyone was satisfied with the arranged marriage of Prince Ludovicio Foscara and Isadora Trevani.

Because Isadora’s father was the trademaster of a nearby kingdom, she grew up in the marble halls of the royal palazzo alongside the young prince. Their wedding was foretold by prophets and financial advisers long before they could even walk. Both kingdoms watched the children become best friends, then lovers. When Ludovicio finally proposed (The royal garden in full bloom! With candles everywhere! Under a meteor shower! Oh, can you imagine?), no one was surprised. The royal wedding was announced a week later, but gossipy fishmongers would say they had known about it for months.

Isadora and Ludovicio stood on a balcony overlooking the main square. It was her first time there, despite spending her childhood begging her father and Ludo and Ludo’s parents and anyone who would listen, to let her onto it for just a moment. They never did. So, that was her first time on the balcony, engaged to a handsome crown prince who was the object of many a married woman’s fantasy, and honestly? It was underwhelming. One hand slipped its way into Ludo’s, as the other hand waved at the raucous crowd.

“My arm is getting tired,” she said through teeth gritted into a bright smile.

“Your arm belongs to the people now. Keep waving,” Ludo whispered back, squeezing her hand gently. His breath smelled like lemon cake.

It was hot—because it was almost always hot along the Merios Sea—and Isa’s layered gown weighed heavily on her. Beyond the crush of people, in the breaks between houses and storefronts, she caught glimpses of the canals that ran through the island. On a day like that, she should have been out there, unfurling the sail of her father’s fastest carrack. The wind was perfect. Goosebumps traveled up her arms as she thought about the way it tore at her breeches and tunic all the times she raced down the canals to the port. She couldn’t feel the wind through the thick, heavy nightmare of a dress.

Isa took a deep breath and steadied herself. The water called her home. But Ludo called for her, too. She looked up at his face, the way his dark skin glowed in the afternoon light. He must have felt her looking. He turned to meet her gaze and gave her a grin even more radiant than the sun off the waves. For him, she would keep waving and keep smiling, at least for now.

The engagement announcement ended just seconds before Isa’s arm decided to abscond from her body in protest. It weakly hung from its tendons and ligaments with a secret promise not to move for at least two days. The couple retreated through the glass doors and back into the main sitting room of Ludo’s quarters.

The mosaic of sea glass on the walls glittered in the light, refracting golds and greens across luxurious cerulean couches and arm chairs, onto which Isa and Ludo plopped tiredly. She took a seat in one of the chairs, while he draped himself over a short couch, his leather boots dangling off the armrest. A maid and a manservant placed trays laden with fruit and wine on the table at the center of the room. With no more snacks to serve or doors to open, they looked at the prince expectantly.

“Thank you, Guilelmo, Caterina. That will be all,” Ludo said in dismissal. They nodded and excused themselves, the door closing silently behind them.

Isadora, future princess of The Merios Isles, looked over at her future husband and frowned. “Is it always like this?”

“This isn’t even the half of it,” he said, leaning forward to pluck a pear off a silver plate. “Wait until the Regata or the Sensa Festival. Wait until the wedding.”

She leaned her head back on the armchair and groaned (her muscles also groaned, though she could not hear them). The gold circlet atop her straight black hair shifted and she reached up to adjust it. “Ludo—”

“Have I said ‘Thank you,’ lately?” He asked, cutting her off.

“Yes, but the more you say it, the more it sounds like ‘Sorry.’”

Ludo shrugged, taking a bite of the pear. “I am.”

Isa’s stomach sank. She smoothed her gauzy pink skirt and looked out the glass doors. The sun was setting over the sea, throwing oranges and purples into the clouds. Soon, the city would be alight with candles and magelamps. She could already see the uncanny white glow of the bewitched lanterns shining out from the more wealthy manors that flanked the palazzo.

Here in the city, magelamps were an indulgence. On the open water, they were a blessing and almost a necessity. Since the invention of magefire, her father had lost fewer ships and far less cargo in ten years than he had in any single year with candles aboard. The magefire was cool to the touch, didn’t catch the way a regular flame did, and caused no damage to anything it touched. It burned many times longer than the alternative. Of course, the palazzo was filled with them, and they would never be a necessity to her again. After all, what was a necessity to a princess? To a family that had everything? Jewels? Cake? Groveling peasants?

“We can move our quarters to the upper floor,” Ludo said. “You can see the sea from up there.”

The gesture was almost painful in its sincerity. She would rather not see the water than be tempted by its call. Still, she said, “If you think that’s best.”

“I just want to make this easier for you.”

“Then let me leave.” She surprised herself. The words slipped out before her brain had a chance to stop them.

Neither of Isadora nor Ludovicio had been moving, but there was an even more noticeable stillness in the request’s wake. Perhaps the air itself stood still; it was so interested in what would happen next.

“I would never make you stay. I love you, Izz.”

She raked her gaze over the prince—his short black hair, the golden winged cuff he wore behind one ear, the shiny waist coat that was perfectly tailored to his body.

They loved each other. Of course they did. And perhaps, at one point in time, Isadora and Ludovicio had also liked each other. And perhaps—though this is pure conjecture—they had even fallen asleep in each other’s beds. Perhaps Isadora had rested her head on his chest, joke about something only Ludo would understand. If it did happen, it was a long time ago, before he allowed himself to realize that he didn’t love women the way he loved men. Before she realized that she didn’t love anyone as much as she loved freedom.

In their youth, the plan seemed perfect. He could love who he wished, secretly, without scrutiny, without having to tell his parents. She wouldn’t have to answer to her father, wouldn’t have to put up with suitors, could spend her time with her best friend and confidante instead of having to marry someone she didn’t know or like. The farther along it got, though, the less it felt like freedom. Isa found herself walking out of one cage and into another.

“I love you, too, but this isn’t what I thought it would be.”

Ludo sighed and placed the core of the pear back on the table. “Me neither.”

The sun, having seen enough of the Merios and the royal engagement for one day, finally sank below the horizon. As predicted, the city glimmered in the darkness, a mix of warm yellows and sharp whites.

“Do you want to get away?” Isa asked, her focus still fixed on something through the doors, beyond her sight.

“Of course,” Ludo said, with a hint of desperation.

“No.” She finally looked at him, eyes blazing. “Do you really want to get away?”

Ludo swung himself into a sitting position, his shoes clattering loudly onto the floor. “Impossible.”

Isa raised her eyebrows. They were vastly different beings, her eyebrows. One was dark and arched, while the other was thin and straight. From the right, she looked quizzical. From the left, she looked forlorn. Straight on, they gave her face an interesting power, a complexity of emotion that same-eyebrowed people could never understand.

“We can’t.”

She crossed one foot over the other, looked Ludo straight in the eyes, and said, “Dalibor.”

“Dalibor?” he asked, his voice squeaking on the first syllable.

“Dalibor.”

They each turned to face the night behind the glass. Out there, the waves on the sea gently swelled and crashed over and over again, undisturbed by the hearts that beat a little bit quicker now, behind the walls of palazzo. Dalibor.