Unraveling

by Sara Ella

  When I glance up at Ky, he’s beaming. We don’t move, barely breathe. Just watch the Fairy excavate chunks off the candy and drop them into a sack at his hip. It’s like this is our little secret. The knowledge invites an intimacy I’m not sure I’m ready for. Not with Ky, anyway.

  Once the Fairy’s bag bulges to the brim, he takes flight. His wing tips light up, glow orange like an airplane on a dark runway.

  Just as abruptly as he arrived, he’s gone.

  “Ain’t ya gonna eat, darlin’?” a voice asks from behind.

  “Huh?” I stop in my tracks. Blink. Too skittish to retire to my suite, I’ve been pacing the stone hallway outside the kitchen for at least half an hour. I hold the Verity, yet here I am.

  Useless. Unneeded. Invisible.

  I haven’t told anyone about my trouble with the Verity since the coronation. How its calming presence has nearly vanished, only a blip here or a flicker there to grasp on to. In its place sits a coldness centering around my chest. It does feel similar to an actual cold with my sore throat and itchy eyes. Maybe I am just sick. I’ll get better and things will return to normal.

  Who am I kidding? I’m not fooling anyone. A measly illness wouldn’t harm the Verity, the most powerful entity in the Seven Reflections.

  But something must be hurting it. If only I could figure out what.

  In an attempt to occupy my overloaded brain, I try to think on things other than the here and now. The mixture of aromas wafting from the kitchen through the archway to my right sent my thoughts to a place I didn’t want to venture. Rosemary. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Maple. Maple Mines. Ky and candy and Fairies.

  I touch four fingers to my chest. The treble clef–heart necklace Joshua gave me is there, resting outside my blouse for all to see. But it’s not what I’m looking for. I feel around until I find it, the button charm hidden beneath my clothes. Sigh. Ky’s gift remains, resting against my heart. I haven’t been able to let it go.

  I haven’t been able to let him go.

  I shake my head. No. Focus. I’m queen whether the people think of me as such or not. And Ky? He’s my past. My future lies here, with the Second and Joshua. One kiss doesn’t dictate who I spend my life with. I choose Joshua.

  “Wrong. You already chose me. I’m your past and your future. I’m both.”

  I whirl at Ky’s voice, trip over a sack of potatoes, and nearly collide with Reggie.

  She steadies me with her flour-dusted hands. “Everyone else has already gone to bed, but I’ll make whatever you fancy. Maybe one of those cheese sandwiches you’re so fond of, hmm?” Her southern accent, all fried chicken and country gravy, warms my bones.

  I finger-comb my bangs to one side and roll my shoulders. “Sure, Reg. Thanks.”

  “Comin’ right up.” She smiles and tucks a wisp of graying black hair into the bandanna covering her head. Since she was raised in the Third like me, being near Reggie is sort of like going home. She may be from Georgia, but her carefree manner and Third Reflection knowledge make her the closest thing to a neighbor I have. Plus, she’s my greatest connection to Mom while she’s gone. Regina “Reggie” Reeves practically raised Mom. Her stories about Mom’s childhood—before Jasyn took on the Void, of course—always make me feel better when I’m down.

  As she meanders through the kitchen archway her hips sway, and I swear it’s a Dolly Parton tune she’s humming.

  Pacing once more, I will my mind not to wander into forbidden territory. Sacks of flour and grain lie piled against the walls on either side of me like sandbags damming a flood. They make the hallway seem narrower than it is, and a bout of claustrophobia revs my apprehension. This is the same hallway Ky and I passed through when he rescued me from the dungeons. I didn’t admit it then, but that was the night I first began to trust him.

  I sigh and wander into the kitchen. The guests were fed hours ago and the aftermath of dishes and trays, goblets and mugs, lies piled in the farmhouse-style sink straight ahead. Makai decided it would be dangerous for the guests to travel back to their various provinces in the dark, especially considering recent events. He, at least, was straight with me. Whether it’s because he actually respects me as his queen or just feels obligated to me as his new daughter, I don’t know. And I don’t care. All information is good information, no matter the reason given.

  “The Threshold at Dawn Lake is draining.” He reloaded his quiver as he spoke. “We have not yet determined the cause or the source. But rest assured, we will.”

  I watched from my perch on the courtyard fountain as he made his way back down the hill and toward the Threshold. While everyone was inside eating their fill and chattering about what happened, I remained outside. Away from the gossip and stares. Away from the questioning glances and awkward half smiles.

  Is this to be my life? Never living up to their expectations? Failing before I’ve even begun?

  Stormy came and sat with me in silence for a while, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. She gave my hand a squeeze before heading to bed. On any other day she’d be among the Guardians on duty. She even attempted to join them after we led the guests back to the castle. But Joshua sent her away, insisting she take the night off.

  Joshua. Where is Joshua?

  He hasn’t come to find me and no one has seen him. When I asked Makai where he’d gone, he avoided an answer. Uneasiness pinpricks my brain. He wouldn’t just leave. Joshua does nothing without purpose.

  “Sandwich is ready, sugar,” Reggie calls from the island to my left. “You can eat by the hearth. Nothing like a little warmth to soothe what’s ailin’ ya. I’ll let Saul know you’re staying down here for a spell.” She turns and strolls down the hall toward the stairwell leading into the west wing. Reggie’s one of the few people who calls Preacher by his first name. He pokes his head around the bend, and they speak in hushed, non-eavesdroppable tones. If I didn’t know any better I’d say Reg is . . . flirting with him?

  I head toward the hearth at the far end of the kitchen and grab my food off the island as I pass by. I don’t bother taking a seat at the table where the staff eat their meals. Instead I plop onto the soot-infested rug, cradle my plate between my crossed legs, and stretch my hands forward. Clench, flex, clench, flex. Mm. Cinderella got it right. Coziest spot in the castle.

  I pick up the sandwich and bite. The sharp, yeasty taste sends another sigh through my lips. This is food. Not fancy or special. Just good. Comforting.

  “The first meal I made for you was a cheese sandwich.”

  I swallow. “Don’t you think I know that, Ky?”

  “Irritated?”

  I return the half-eaten sandwich to my plate. Rub my throbbing knee. The Illusoden I took earlier is wearing off too fast as usual. “Not at you.”

  “Tell me.”

  I open my mouth, but Reggie returns and I snap it closed. She bustles around the kitchen, carrying about her work as if I’m not here. She whistles a happy tune Snow White would be proud of, and I’m half tempted to cover my ears. She means well, but I can’t focus this way.

  And then I hear it, the song from my dreams, the one I played on accident at the coronation. It’s slow and graceful. Deep. Almost sad. Reggie’s chirpiness fades into the background, and all I hear is this. This haunting melody that seems as if it were written just for me.

  The fire’s heat dries my eyes and I allow my lashes to descend. My scattered thoughts organize. The ambush at the coronation. How secretive everyone’s been. My lack of song. Today’s incident. They line up, but one image stands out among the rest—the expression on Joshua’s face. Fear. But not of the mysteriously broken ice.

  Joshua was afraid of me.

  It’s all connected. To me. But how? I need answers, but no one seems willing to give them. If Mom were here, she would. But she’s not. She said to trust Reggie, but how would she know anything about any of this? I love her, but she’s just a cook, spent her whole life in this castle. I need someone who’s been places, who’s seen what others h
aven’t.

  I seethe in silence, allow loneliness to weigh but never surface. I’m ice shards on the floor, each piece of me melting into the rug until all that’s left is damp ash.

  Is there no one I can rely on?

  The invisible piano crescendos and I find myself rocking back and forth, back and forth. Like Ky’s fingers on my arm, the motion is soothing. Relaxing. My shoulders sag and a shaky sob releases. I’m burnt out. Exhausted to my core. Who do I turn to for help? It’d have to be someone who doesn’t care about protecting me. Someone who’d be willing to make a trade. Someone with nothing to lose.

  My head snaps up in sync with a crackle of the fire. The song dies. Mom has always said sometimes the answer is right in front of you.

  Close, Mom. This time it’s right beneath me.

  TWELVE

  Fate’s Design

  She’d never admit to it.” Reggie shakes from laughter, her more-than-adequate bosom bouncing in her too-tight blouse. “But Elizabeth was quite the mischievous child. Always sneakin’ ’round the castle, searchin’ for secret passageways and trapdoors or somewhat. Found a key once. Never did learn which door it opened.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, an endless smile stretching her worn face.

  Any other night I’d be content to sit here for hours, listening to stories about Mom, letting Reg refill my mug with spiced cider and my plate with chocolate chip cookies.

  But tonight is different.

  I fake a yawn, hoping she’ll notice. She doesn’t, of course, continuing one story into the next.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time—?”

  I stand, grimacing at my own rudeness more than the pinch in my knee. “I’m so sorry, Reg, but I’m exhausted. To be continued another time?”

  Her smile doesn’t falter as she dusts off her apron and rises beside me. “Course, darlin’. Don’t you mind me. Old Regina’s gotta know when to zip her trap.” She shoos me through the kitchen archway. “Scoot along now. I’ll be up in the mornin’ with your breakfast tray as usual.”

  I give her a tight hug and kiss her cheek.

  She blushes and sways away, humming some old country song or another. Shania Twain? Oh brother, it is. Can’t stop my own smirk. Reg is a character if there ever was one.

  The easy part is over. But what comes next? Will my plan work? Preacher isn’t an idiot, and he’s not exactly the sentimental type.

  “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

  Ky can’t be serious. He and Preacher have never been on good terms. No way the real Ky would speak on the old grump’s behalf.

  Still, I’m out of options. And time. It’s now or not at all. Who knows when I’ll get another opportunity like this.

  Preacher trails me as we circle the stairwell ascending into the west wing. The sound echoes, acting as the overture to what I hope will be my best performance yet. If my Calling weren’t faulty, I could simply use my voice, sing him to sleep, and head straight for the dungeons. But with each passing day, my Mirror song fades. It worked at the coronation on the Guardians but just as quickly failed me when I confronted Gage. I want to brush it off as a winter cold, but I know it’s more than that.

  Which is exactly why I’m doing this. I gasp and halt on the step above him. “My treble clef–heart necklace, it’s gone.” I fling my hand to my neck and widen my eyes.

  “You can look for it tomorrow.” He adjusts his jacket, nudges me onward.

  “No.” Stand your ground. Don’t take no for an answer. You are the queen, after all. “Joshua gave it to me. If he finds out I misplaced it again, he’ll be so hurt.” This part, at least, bears truth. The memory of his face the last time I lost it stabs at my chest.

  Preacher huffs, crosses his arms, and starts back toward the kitchen. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to be down here all night.”

  Turning sideways, I push past him, stopping a step below him this time. “It’s fine.” I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. My poker face wouldn’t win me many chips. “You go ahead. I can make it to my suite on my own.” I slide one foot back, lower it onto the next stair.

  One furry eyebrow shrugs, meets the bottom of his knit cap. “Nice try, Highness. You know the rules. You are to be escorted by a Guardian at all times.”

  Ugh. Highness is almost worse than being called girl. The way he says it, as if mocking, makes me want to put him in the dungeon for a night. How can he be so insolent? Did I not save this entire Reflection from the wrath of the Void, for Verity’s sake?

  I clear my throat, forcing calm into my frog-plagued voice. “I am the Verity’s vessel. A Mirror and your queen.” I hold my head high, stare him down. “I think I can make it to my room without reenacting a scene from an eighties slasher flick.”

  Ky snorts inside my head.

  It’s all I can do not to copy the sentiment.

  “I have my orders, and they do not come from you.”

  “That’s where you are mistaken.” Darn voice. Stop trembling. Sheesh.

  Preacher shakes his head. Is that compassion softening his scowl? “You don’t get it.”

  “What don’t I get? Enlighten me.”

  His lips purse. He looks away.

  “What aren’t you saying?” My heart pounds. He knows. He knows why most everyone has been acting so strange around me since the coronation.

  “It’s not my place.” He pauses, shuffles from foot to foot. I’ve never seen him at a loss for words. “But the people are . . . concerned.”

  I furrow my brows. “Of course they are. With the attack and—”

  “No.” He rubs his nose. “What happened last week is the least of their concerns . . .” He meets my gaze then, eyes narrowing but not in the mean sort of way, as is his custom. No, this time his expression is more studious. As if trying to read what my reaction to his next words might be.

  I touch his arm, connecting with him in a way I never believed possible.

  He exhales, sending the whiskers above his upper lip flapping. “They’re . . .” He clears his throat. “We’re all concerned perhaps the Verity isn’t the best . . . match for you. David was the one—”

  “Hold on.” I palm my forehead. “Are you implying . . . What are you implying? The Verity chooses the purest heart.” It’s black and white, night and day. The Verity selected me, which means I have the purest heart, which means I am fit to be queen.

  The bag beneath Preacher’s right eye twitches. “Indeed. But in light of recent events, there are those who wonder if, perhaps, the Verity got it wrong this time.”

  And now I’ve forgotten my line. Someone send in the understudy because I can’t even improvise this one. I don’t know which question to ask first. Who all thinks the Verity got it wrong? Obviously Preacher does, but who else? Joshua? Mom? Haven’t I proven myself? Is it not enough I killed my own grandfather? Not enough I was willing to take on the Void and sacrifice everything for those I love?

  Am I ever going to be enough?

  “You are enough for me.”

  Tears well. Ky’s whisper is so clear, his statement so sure. My heart patters and doubt creeps in. If the Verity is capable of making a mistake, aren’t I? What if I’m not meant to be here? With Joshua? I bite my lower lip and allow the question to form, to become real and tangible for the very first time.

  What if I’m meant to be with—?

  “Go find your necklace.” Preacher’s concession yanks me from my epiphany. He pushes up his jacket sleeve, checking the time on his out-of-date Rolex. “I’ll wait here. You have ten minutes.” He relaxes against the curved stone wall and tugs his cap over his eyes. “A minute longer and you won’t take so much as a leak without a Guardian nearby, you hear me?”

  Mouth agape, I stare at him. Why the sudden change of heart? Pity? Guilt? I guess it doesn’t make a difference. I’ll take what I can get.

  “Now you only have nine minutes.”

  I pick up my skirt, descend the stairs two at a time.

&n
bsp; “I won’t be far,” he calls after me. “No Dragon games.”

  I roll my eyes. I may have given Preacher the slip, but I doubt my cunning is any match for a Dragon. Or so I hear. “Okay.”

  The lie ricochets up the stairwell as I withdraw my treble clef–heart necklace from my pocket, reattach it, and slip soundlessly through the archway leading into the dungeons.

  During my half-star stay last November, compliments of Jasyn Crowe, I only had the opportunity to visit the highest level of dungeon cells. My mind wanders to the prisoner who helped me. The one who called to me through the wall. Did he die? Is he still there? I make a note to ask about him later.

  But now is not the time.

  Thanks to my snooping skills I know the prisoner I seek hasn’t been afforded such luxury. No, she’ll be enjoying much more . . . moderate accommodations. And if I happen to come across Gage, too, well then, bonus round. Maybe he can tell me where Ky is, or what he meant by “the beginning of the end.”

  Maybe. If he’s conscious. Or still alive.

  I creep down sconce-lit steps. The stingy light has me wary of my own shadow. Every move and shift plays tricks on my tired eyes in shades of gray on the walls. And then there’s the memory of a boy with blond locks and a cocky grin. Of how he rescued me in more ways than one.

  About every thirty steps or so a new archway waits, signaling I’ve reached the next level down. I pass each one without pause, the theme from BBC’s Sherlock playing in my head. When I reach the final arch at the bottom, I exit the stairwell. How deep am I anyway? I must be at least five stories below the hill’s surface. Where are the Guardians? They can’t all have gone to the Reminiscence. At least a few must have remained behind to attend the prisoners. Right?

  But the absence of a “Halt, who goes there?” assures me it’s safe to continue. I’m inspired by my favorite Broadway lead. If Wicked’s Elphaba can learn to trust her instincts, so can I, even when no one else does.