“That’s a pretty necklace,” I said. “Where did you get it?”
Rocinda seemed startled by my question, but she grabbed the chain, leaned forward, and held out the pendant, which was a gold coin stamped with a woman’s face. She watched me closely, like she was expecting me to recognize the symbol, although I didn’t.
She leaned back and let go of the pendant. “I got it on Fortuna. The island has a very famous statue of a gold woman.”
That was all she said, although I got the impression there was far more meaning to her words. Rocinda gestured at the mug in my hands. “You’d better eat your stew before it gets cold.”
The three of us sat there and sipped our meal. Rocinda peppered me with seemingly innocent, friendly questions, like who my parents were and what they did. I told her that my father was a miner, while my mother was a bookkeeper. Not rich by any means, but well enough off to make her think they might offer a reward for my safe return.
Caxton remained silent through the interrogation, slurping down several mugs of stew, although he kept glancing over at the box. Whatever was hidden underneath the black cloth must be quite important, given how often he checked to make sure the container was still secured to the tree.
Lies and plots aside, the meal passed by pleasantly enough, and the stew drowned out the grumbling gargoyle in my stomach. By the time we finished, the sun had set and the moon and stars had appeared in the night sky.
While the stew had been cooking, Rocinda had given me a black cloak from her knapsack, and I pulled it a little tighter around my body. The weather had been surprisingly mild over the past few days, but the temperature was steadily dropping, indicating that it was going to snow. Despite the danger, it was a good thing I had run into Rocinda and Caxton. Without their food, cloak, and fire, I probably would have frozen to death tonight.
Rocinda packed up the leftover food, while Caxton pulled out a knife and started trimming his fingernails with the sharp blade. Neither one of them was wearing a sword, but they both seemed to have plenty of long knives tucked away in their cloaks.
I subtly patted the side of my dress, feeling a hard lump beneath the fabric. They weren’t the only ones with a blade hidden in their pocket.
Rocinda finished her work, then gave me another fake, toothy smile. “I think it’s time that we got some sleep.”
“But what about my parents?” I asked, as though they really did exist. “Shouldn’t we start looking for them? They must be so worried.”
Rocinda and Caxton exchanged another inscrutable look.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s far too dark. We’ll look for them first thing in the morning, though. I promise.”
Once again, I could smell the smoky lie of her words, but I crumpled my face, as though I were deeply upset at being separated from my parents. She reached over and squeezed my hand, trying to soothe me.
I felt her fire magic the second her skin touched mine.
Rocinda had used her magic to light the campfire earlier, but she was far stronger than I’d realized. I would have to be very careful how I played my long game. Otherwise, I wouldn’t survive the night, much less escape from her and Caxton.
“It’s okay,” I said in a small, sad voice. “I understand. You don’t want to get lost in the woods too.”
“Exactly!” she replied. “Now, why don’t you go to sleep? Everything will seem much better in the morning.”
I lay down by the fire and let her cover me with a blanket, although the stench of her magic clung to it—along with more than a little coppery blood. Somehow, I held back a shudder of revulsion and wished Rocinda and Caxton a cheery good night. Then I rolled over, so that my back was to them and the fire.
I shifted around for a few moments, as though I were trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. After an appropriate amount of time, I settled down, then slowly let my breathing become deep, steady, and even, as though I were sliding toward sleep, although I kept my eyes cracked open. The first chance I got, I was going to slip into the trees and get as far away from my supposed new friends as possible.
Twenty minutes passed, maybe thirty, before Rocinda and Caxton began speaking in low voices. They must have thought I really was asleep.
“I can’t believe our luck,” Caxton murmured. “I thought we’d be out here for another two weeks searching for Winterwind survivors. But to have one of them just fall into our lap? It’s the best luck we’ve had in a long, long time.”
“Not just a survivor,” Rocinda said. “That girl is a Blair. Didn’t you notice her eyes? They’re gray-blue, just like all the other Blairs I’ve seen. The DiLucris won’t believe it when we drag her in front of them. We’ll get top dollar for her from the Mint.”
“Fuck the Mint,” Caxton said. “We should sell her ourselves. I bet the king would give us a sack of gold crowns for a live Blair to use in his experiments . . .”
King? Which king? And what kind of experiments?
Instead of answering my silent questions, the two of them kept murmuring about all the awful people they wanted to sell me to, like I was a fat wheel of cheese they were hauling to a marketplace.
At first I was stunned, then sick, then afraid. But the longer they talked, the more my turbulent emotions crystallized into rage—this cold, cold rage that iced over my heart and hardened my resolve. These people weren’t kidnapping and selling me. Not as long as I still had breath to fight them.
While Rocinda and Caxton continued their talk of riches, I kept my breathing steady and even, pretending that I was still asleep. Slowly, very, very slowly, I slid my hand into my right dress pocket. I still had the dagger my mother had given to me at Winterwind, the one I had used to kill the Mortan weather magier.
With my weapon in hand, all I had to do now was wait for the right moment to escape . . .
Something heavy fell across my chest, startling me awake.
For a moment, I thought I was back in the woods that horrible night, and Rocinda and Caxton had discovered that I was awake and were coming to hurt me. Then a soft murmur sounded, the scent of vanilla mixed with spice filled my nose, and a warm, strong body shifted on the bed next to me.
I exhaled. Sullivan was sleeping beside me, and we were both safe in my chambers at Seven Spire.
I lay there for several minutes until my heart quit racing, my breathing evened out, and the sweat cooled on my body. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite shove my memories away, close my eyes, and go back to sleep. Eventually, I rolled over and glanced at a clock on the nightstand. Almost midnight.
If I hurried, I could still make my rendezvous.
Despite my awful nightmare, I was warm and comfortable next to Sullivan, and I debated whether to leave him. But I wasn’t drifting off to dreamland again anytime soon, so I slipped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and grabbed my sword and dagger.
Even in the middle of the night, a queen’s work was never done.
Chapter Six
Normally, when I left my chambers for my midnight rendezvous, I used the secret passageway hidden behind the bookcase along the wall. But tonight I unlocked one of the main doors and walked through the palace.
Perhaps it was my bad dream or the geldjager attack, but I wanted to make sure that no more enemies were creeping around Seven Spire. Everything was quiet, and almost everyone was tucked away in their own chambers.
A few guards were roaming around, but I easily avoided them and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. No one was moving on this level, not even a guard, so I opened a door at the end of a hallway, slipped through to the other side, and locked it behind me.
At my entrance, the fluorestones embedded in the ceiling clicked on, bathing the area in soft white light. This room was average in almost every way. It was neither small nor large and was filled with ordinary, serviceable furniture—chairs, a vanity table, a bed, an armoire, a writing desk. The adjoining bathroom was also unremarkable, as were the collective contents. Dresses, tunics, and
leggings hanging in the armoire. Lotions, perfumes, and berry balms sitting on the bathroom counter. A jewelry box perched on the vanity table.
The only thing that made this area special was that it used to be Maeven’s room, back when she had been masquerading as the kitchen steward and plotting to kill Queen Cordelia.
My friends and I had searched this room for clues many times, but we’d largely come up empty. Knowing what kind of honeysuckle perfume Maeven liked or ogling her stunning jewelry collection didn’t help in my war against her and the rest of the Bastard Brigade.
Still, I found myself coming here more nights than not. I wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps I simply enjoyed the peace and quiet. No one, not even Paloma or Sullivan, ever thought to look for me here. Or perhaps I was just obsessed with Maeven the same way she seemed to be with me, with both of us desperately trying to uncover the other’s weaknesses so that one of us could finally kill the other. Either way, I intended to use the room as my own private escape for as long as possible.
I sat down at the writing desk. Two items were gleaming on the wooden surface—a bronze pocket watch and a silver signet ring that both featured a fancy cursive M. The letter was engraved on the watch’s cover and embossed in silver on a flat piece of jet in the center of the ring, which also featured tiny amethysts, along with feathers etched into its band.
The pocket watch had belonged to Ansel, my treacherous tutor, who had died in the woods outside Winterwind when Marisse, his own cousin and another member of the Bastard Brigade, had murdered him. The signet ring belonged to Maeven, and it was the only noteworthy thing she had left behind when she and Nox, another Mortan royal, had fled from Seven Spire the night I’d killed Vasilia and taken the throne.
I reached into my pocket, drew out the gold chain and pendant that Lena had been wearing, and set them on the desk. The three coins that made up the woman’s eyes and mouth glimmered like gold stars. The Fortuna Mint pendant was another piece to add to my macabre collection of jewelry that my enemies had worn. Enemies who were all dead now, except for Maeven.
The desire to tear her to pieces for what she’d done to my family rose up inside me, and I gave in to my rage, leaned back in the chair, and let myself imagine choking the life out of Maeven with my bare hands. Then I slowly, reluctantly pushed the fantasy aside. I had something else in mind for Maeven, something far worse than a quick and easy death, but only time would tell whether I’d triumph in my long game with her and she’d get what she so richly deserved.
Still thinking about my plans for Maeven, I glanced over at the freestanding mirror in the corner. The long oval glass housed in a plain ebony frame looked like another ordinary piece of furniture, but it was actually a Cardea mirror that let people see and speak to each other over great distances.
I had discovered the mirror a couple of months ago, after Maeven had sent an assassin to Seven Spire to try to kill me, and I had spoken to her through the glass several times since then. Perhaps it was strange, but I actually found myself looking forward to our talks. Maybe because this was the only way I had to keep track of Maeven and figure out what new plots she was hatching. Or maybe it was because the two of us understood each other better than anyone else ever could, as weird and wrong as that was. Either way, I waited, wondering if Maeven would appear tonight.
About five minutes later, the scent of magic filled the chambers, and the mirror started glowing with a bright, silvery light. I stood up and walked over to the mirror, which was now rippling as though it were made of water instead of solid glass. The silver glare quickly faded away, and the surface of the mirror smoothed out, revealing Maeven’s chambers, which were much like the ones I was standing in here at Seven Spire. But to my surprise, she didn’t appear on the other side of the glass.
A boy did.
He was thirteen, maybe fourteen, with black hair, pale skin, and a body that was all long, thin, spindly arms and legs, although I could see subtle hints of the strong, solid man he would grow into. His head was turned to the side, and his profile and the shape of his nose, lips, and chin were eerily similar to Maeven’s.
This had to be Maeven’s son. Dahlia, Sullivan’s mother and another member of the Bastard Brigade, had said that Maeven had children, and I was finally getting a look at one of them. I wondered if he was already as cruel as his mother was.
The boy didn’t seem to realize that I was watching him. Instead, he kept looking at something on his side of the glass, something out of my line of sight.
“You have to go through the mirror,” he said in a low, desperate voice. “It’s the only way.”
At first I thought he was talking to Maeven and telling her what to do, as strange as that would have been. Then talons scraped on the floor, and a creature hopped into view.
A strix.
The strix was a hawklike bird with bright purple eyes, a sharp, pointed black beak, and curved black talons. Its feathers were a deep, vibrant amethyst, and every single one on its broad, strong wings and long, wide tail was tipped with a glossy black marking, making the creature look like it had onyx arrows attached to its body.
Mortan soldiers often rode strixes into battle, and the creatures were one of the reasons why Morta was such a threat to Bellona. Not only did the creatures grow to be larger and stronger than Floresian horses, but they were also taught to attack with their wings, and those hard onyx points on their feathers were sharp enough to slice a man to shreds.
This strix was about the size of a large dog. It wasn’t a baby, but it wasn’t fully grown yet either, just like the boy wasn’t a child and hadn’t yet morphed into a man. Still, even now the creature was dangerous, and my hand dropped to my sword.
“Please,” the boy begged, a louder, more desperate note in his voice. “Just hop through the mirror. That’s all you have to do. Then you can break through a window and fly away. You can finally be free, even if I can’t.”
The strix shook its head and ruffled its wings in a clear, resounding no. It didn’t want to go through the mirror. But the more important question was why the boy wanted to send it here.
Was this Maeven’s latest scheme? The other members of the Bastard Brigade hadn’t succeeded in killing me yet, so maybe she was going to start sending strixes after me. Although if that was the case, why not send one that was fully grown? And what did the boy—her son—have to do with this?
I decided to find out.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this mirror only lets people see and talk to each other,” I called out, rapping my knuckles on the ebony frame. “It doesn’t let you send things through to the other side.”
The boy jerked and stumbled back, almost tripping over the strix, who squawked in surprise and hopped out of the way. The boy’s head snapped around, and he finally looked at me. He also had Maeven’s eyes, those dark amethyst eyes that were so beautiful and yet the bane of my existence at the same time.
“What—what are you doing here?” the boy asked.
“This mirror is in my palace, so I have every right to be here.”
His gaze swept over me, lingering on the tearstone sword and dagger belted to my waist. His face paled, and he shifted on his feet and wet his lips. “You’re—you’re the Bellonan queen,” he finally whispered.
“Yes, I am. Now, who are you and what are you doing in Maeven’s chambers?”
He grimaced, but he kept quiet.
“You might as well tell me. Or would you prefer that I ask your mother the next time I speak to her?”
He jerked again in obvious surprise. Unlike his mother, the boy was terrible at hiding his emotions. “How—how do you know that I’m Maeven’s son?”
“Because you look just like her. I’ve seen enough members of the Bastard Brigade to recognize Maeven’s spawn.”
The boy grimaced again, and hurt flickered in his eyes. I wondered if he was a bastard like his mother was. Probably, given his reaction.
Even though he was a Mortan and the son of my most
hated enemy, a surprising amount of sympathy filled me. Over the past several months, I had watched Sullivan deal with being a bastard prince, along with Dahlia’s betrayal. Even if she loved the boy, it couldn’t be easy having Maeven for a mother. I could also hear Diante’s voice whispering in my mind, asking me to judge her grandson Nico on his own merits, instead of my complicated feelings for the lady herself.
“What’s your name?” I asked in a gentler tone.
The boy stared at me with suspicion.
“I’m going to find it out sooner or later. You can tell me now, or I can ask your mother. Since it doesn’t look like she’s around, I imagine that she’ll be very upset about you using the Cardea mirror without her permission.”
The boy grimaced for a third time. Oh, no. He definitely didn’t want Maeven learning about this, which made me even more curious as to what exactly this was.
“If I tell you my name, will you promise not to tell my mother that you saw me here?” he asked, that desperate note in his voice again. “Or that Lyra was with me?”
It took me a moment to realize that Lyra was the strix. Interesting. I didn’t think the Mortans were sentimental enough to actually name the creatures.
“I promise. Now, who are you?”
The boy eyed me with suspicion again, but his shoulders slowly slumped in defeat. “Leonidas.”
“Hello, Leonidas. My name is Everleigh. Now, why don’t you tell me why you want to send Lyra through the mirror and into my palace?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to send her into your palace. Not really. I don’t care where she goes, as long as it’s far away from here.”
I didn’t have to ask him where here was. From my conversations with Maeven, I knew that the Cardea mirror was in her chambers inside the main Mortan palace. “Why do you want to send Lyra away? She seems very fond of you.”
The strix had turned the onyx points on her wings down and was nestled up against the boy’s leg like she was a puppy who wanted to cuddle with him, despite the fact that her head came up past his waist. Leonidas curled his arm around Lyra’s back and hugged her closer to his side, and I could smell their rosy love for each other through the mirror.
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