margins are packed with words.
The vision itself began to fade at this point, but I was able to read bits and pieces of my writing, which concern elemental magic, of all things. In the crammed paragraphs I reference other visions, which appear to have nothing at all to do with this one, even recounting a conversation with Callista, during which she told me in strict confidence what she had learned about Atlantis’s interest in elemental mages, from the then-Inquisitor herself, no less, who had been quite enamored of her beauty and charm.
The vision has faded completely. It is now past five in the morning. The sky outside my window shows the faintest trace of orange. I realize with a wrenching pain in my heart that my days are numbered.
But there is no time to wallow in self-pity. In the next two weeks I will write passionately about elemental magic, but I barely know anything about it.
I must quickly find out not only a great deal more about elemental magic, but why I should care.
But first I weep—because I will not see my son grow up. I will not even see him reach his next birthday. And he will only remember me as the dotty woman who did not drink the juice he had specially brought for me.
The Inquisitor was the liar, not his mother.
A hot shame gripped Titus, that he’d doubted his mother so harshly. That he’d hated her as often and as much as he did.
He excused himself and hurried to the water closet, where he lost his battle with tears. He was still wiping them away when Fairfax called out, “Come here. I found another vision!”
“Are you sure? I have never seen more than one at a time,” said the prince.
His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying. She immediately looked back at the diary. “I was randomly flipping pages. I’m almost sure these pages were blank earlier when you looked at them, but they are not anymore.”
He sat next to her. “This one is from almost a decade before the other one.”
He began to read. She stole a glance at him, then did the same.
7 May 1012
A new vision today.
The vision is of a library—or a bookshop. A woman, who has her back to me, wanders through the shelves and appears to be searching for a specific title.
She stops and reaches for a tome that requires two hands to lift. The title on the spine reads The Complete Potion.
(I know this book—a detestable volume full of pretension and remarkably empty on actual scholarship. My tutor used to torment me with it.)
The woman in the vision, with some difficulty, maneuvers the book to a desk and sets it down next to a calendar that s hows the date, 25 August.
She opens the book and quickly finds what she is looking for. The subject is light elixirs. There is a stylus on the desk. She picks up the stylus and writes on the very edge of a page, There is no light elixir, however tainted, that cannot be cured by a thunderbolt.
Iolanthe’s recoiled. These were the fateful words that had changed everything.
“Is this the advice that you received on Tuesday?” asked the prince.
Tuesday. Less than a week and more than a lifetime ago. She nodded.
“I guess we are about to find out who wrote it,” he said.
5 August 1013
A repeat of last year’s vision, with no new information.
11 August 1013
I have seen this vision three times in the last two days. Yesterday I asked my tutor whether lightning could be used to mend an elixir. He laughed until he choked.
12 August 1013
Again the same vision. It grows vexing.
15 August 1013
Finally something new.
As the woman in the vision leans toward the stylus holder, I was able to make out, on the base of the holder, the inscription: Presented to my dear friend and mentor Eugenides Constantinos.
16 August 1013
I have found out that Eugenides Constantinos owns a bookshop at the intersection of Hyacinth Street and University Avenue. I will stop and take a look the next time I am in the area.
Iolanthe sucked in a breath.
“What is it?”
“I know that place—my guardian used to take me there all the time. It had become a sweets shop by then, but it still had some of the old signs. The one I liked the best said something along the lines of ‘Books on the Dark Arts may be found in the cellar, free of charge. And should you locate the cellar, kindly feed the phantom behemoth inside. Regards, E. Constantinos.’”
“‘The warp and weft of destiny weave in mysterious ways; only in hindsight does one see the threads of Fortune taking shape,’” he quoted.
She exhaled slowly and read on.
31 August 1013
A most fantastical day.
I slipped out of a command performance of Titus III, evaded my ladies-in-waiting, and hurried to the Emporium of Fine Learning and Curiosities, Constantinos’s shop. As I walked into the shop, the vision repeated itself an unprecedented seventh time.
This time, I saw clearly the distinctive ring on the hand wielding the stylus.
When the vision had faded, I lifted my own hand in shock. On my right index finger is an identical ring that had been wrought for Hesperia the Magnificent. There is not another like it in all the mage realms.
The woman is me.
Iolanthe’s hand came up to her throat.
I laughed. Well, then.
Once I had a vision of myself telling my father that a particular Atlantean girl was going to be the most powerful person in the Domain. Then, when I saw the girl in truth, I told him what I had seen myself tell him—since one cannot deliberately change what has been seen to happen. He was terribly displeased to be faced with the possibility that he, a direct descendant of Titus the Great, would one day no longer be the absolute master of this realm.
But this time I would offend no one.
I found the book, dragged it to the table, lifted the stylus from its holder, and vandalized the book as I had done in the vision.
Only when I was finished did I remember the desk calendar. In the vision it is always 25 August. But today is 31 August. I looked at the calendar on the desk. 25 August! The device had stopped working a week ago.
I am not often cheered by how right I am: the ability to see glimpses of the future is frustrating and hair-raising. But at that moment, I was ever so thrilled.
On impulse, I opened the book again, turned to the section for clarifying draughts, and tore out the last three pages. The recipes given on those pages are riddled with errors. I was not going to let some other poor pupil suffer from them.
They turned the page, but there was nothing else. They kept turning pages. Still nothing. The prince eventually closed the journal and put it back into his satchel.
He glanced at Iolanthe.
She realized she ought to say something, but she did not dare to speak aloud her thoughts—for fear she
