He frowned. ‘I thought I heard something.’
The guard glanced towards the door, hesitating only a second before leaving to check on the non-existent noise.
Lysander was straight after him, watching to make sure he disappeared down the stairs while I scanned the room. The moment the guard’s footsteps faded out, we got busy, searching shelves, behind cupboards, lifting paintings and tearing open drawer after drawer. I hit the jackpot when I discovered a vault, cleverly disguised as an assortment of random books. ‘Over here.’
My brother came quickly, his shoulders slumping at the sight of a lock, surrounded by Fae symbols. ‘It’s password protected.’
‘Watch for the guard,’ I said, then, starting with my birth mother, began spelling out names—King Telophy’s family, members of his Most High, places, trees and flowers I’d seen in his garden. When they all failed, I wracked my brain for new words.
‘Hurry,’ Lysander whispered from across the room. Suddenly I recalled being inside Leif’s memory. He’d taken me back to a meeting with his father. King Telophy had mentioned a name. What was it? My heart raced as I frantically tried to remember. Lenelle, Leneara … it started with L, I knew it. I pushed the heels of my palms against my eyes. I had to think. The name had come from King Telophy’s lips with a sigh—tinged with both reverence and regret. Leinori.
Just then I heard footsteps outside and Lysander hiss, ‘He’s coming.’
My heart jumped into my throat, my fingers fumbling. Finally the lock clicked open and the next second my brother was beside me. I wrenched the book free and thrust it towards him, my fingers already scrabbling to reset the lock. I pushed the vault back as I heard Lysander exclaim, ‘This is impossible,’ the volume of his voice stealing the worst of the loud thud.
‘What’s impossible?’ the guard said, his voice laced with suspicion. I turned to see him standing in the doorway.
‘Trying to get these stupid paintings off,’ Lysander said. He was making a show of attempting to jiggle the painting to my left from its hook. I didn’t dare look down but knew he was trying to divert attention from the book that lay in the shadows at his feet.
The guard turned his frown to me. ‘You said nothing about taking the paintings down.’
‘How am I meant to use them if they’re stuck on the wall?’ My voice sounded much steadier than I felt.
‘I cannot allow it.’
I gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, the light’s not right, I’ll have to come back tomorrow—earlier I think.’
‘Please, check with the King first. I mean no disrespect but my duty is to guard this part of the castle, not allow access to it.’
‘Of course.’ I glanced across the room. ‘Would you mind taking the easel so Lysander can help me pack up?’
The guard did what I asked, no doubt keen to get rid of us. The second his back was to us, Lysander grabbed the book and shoved it in the bottom of the basket. We covered it with paints and brushes and hurried out the door.
Lysander and I spent the next hour examining pages fragile with age—names of kings and queens, their promises sealed with blood. But as for the reason we’d borrowed the book—its secrets were safe because no matter how much light we poured on to King Telophy and Atara’s page, or at which angle we held it, not the slightest trace of a name beneath the Queen’s was visible. I wasn’t too fazed, clearly remembering sunbeams falling through the window and on to the pages as I’d signed the book. We agreed to meet the following afternoon and Lysander left me, but not before making me promise I wouldn’t look without him.
Chapter Eight
After spending the next morning visiting fading faeries, I returned to the castle for my Survive the Shadow Fae lesson. The instructor was Haigen’s father, hand-picked by King Telophy. Like his daughter, Nian was tall, dark-haired and stunning, with deep blue wings and striking almond eyes. He’d been first among the Most High for as long as Leif’s father had been King.
Aside from skills in observance and avoidance, Nian had taught us a series of twist, stun and flee manoeuvres, all designed for a hasty escape. Today, he explained, we were to learn what he called, ‘critical reaction’, the first step of which was to call the King the moment you were captured.
A snigger from one side of the group.
Nian shot a thin smile in the direction of the offending faery. ‘You may think it obvious,’ Nian told him, ‘but there is nothing more common than for a trapped faery to hesitate.’ He touched his fingers to his temple as he added, ‘Perhaps because in his panic, it simply slips his mind. He might struggle pointlessly while every limb is pinned and torn open, and by the time he thinks to call the King, his blood is seeping into the ground and taking his life with it.’
An uncomfortable silence followed, and just when I thought the faery might begin to wither, Nian released him from his scrutiny and continued with the lesson. ‘Shadow Fae never hunt alone. If the strategies I’ve taught you fail and you find yourself captured, you will be outnumbered—usually at a rate of five to one.’ I shivered, knowing all about that imbalance from personal experience. Nian clasped his hands behind his back. ‘It is vital you do not panic. They won’t deliberately injure you, but they won’t avoid it either. If they must snap an arm, tear a wing, or even break a neck to get at what they crave, they will do it. Your aim should be to minimise harm.’ He took hold of the closest faery’s wrist and touched a finger to the underside. ‘You have pulse points here.’ He touched her neck. ‘And here.’ He crouched and touched an ankle. ‘And also here. To best avoid injury, retract your wings, drop to your back and make these particular pulse points easily accessible. A thousand times better at this stage not to fight them.’
We broke into groups of six and practised, taking turns at being the victim. Nian walked among us offering advice. ‘Create distance between your limbs. The creatures will be fighting each other for space; eliminate their need to seek other, more tender places.’ Like a groin, I thought, a wave of nausea rolling over me. ‘Be brave and bear the pain steadily. Quiet yourself with the knowledge that the King’s Guard are flying to your aid.’ Nian stopped near me, spreadeagled and pinned on the ground by the five other faeries in my group. He nodded, then carried on.
‘Like you will need to bother,’ Haigen mumbled as she released my arm.
I sat up. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She stood and dusted herself off. ‘You’re more closely guarded than the Queen.’
If that were true, I knew nothing of it. ‘What makes you think that?’ I asked, getting up.
Her answer was a snaky look, but it was enough because suddenly I remembered the guard rushing to my aid behind Linden.
I frowned. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who grabbed my arm at the evadenet game.’ The others in our group glanced at each other before moving away.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Her voice was all contempt.
There was no point arguing and I should have shut up. ‘What have I ever done to you, Haigen?’
‘To me? Not a thing. To Leif?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If my betrothed were still alive, I would never treat him the way you treat Leif. You don’t deserve him. You never did. I only wonder why he chose you in the first place.’ She looked like she wanted to spit.
Heat leeched into my cheeks. ‘You know nothing about me.’
‘Nor do I want to,’ she said, then held a hand up. ‘No wait—I know you’re capricious and weak. I know you placed that human he almost died saving above him.’ She made a huffing noise. ‘And Leif the Prince of Faera. I’ll never forget the day he found you. He was ecstatic—and when he taught you to fly.’ She made her eyes go wide and clutched a hand to her heart. ‘Her wings are pink, Haigen, palest pink!’ She sneered. ‘Stupid pink faeries. It’s all romance and sweetness and pretty things with your kind—no strength, and no loyalty. But males are foolish things, are they not? Even princes. They can’t see what we see
.’
‘I sure know what I see—jealousy.’
‘Ha, and you accuse me of not knowing you. I love Leif. So much that I offered to forsake my betrothed for him. And what have you done for him? Left him broken hearted.’
‘I only left because, because …’ With all my might I tried to get the words out—because you put dark magic in my eyes that made me see what wasn’t true. ‘I know it was you,’ I accused, giving up. ‘You wanted him for yourself.’
‘Of course I wanted him, you fool. I’ve cared about him my whole life, and don’t you dare think because you and Jack are no longer together I’ll let you crawl your way back—even if you do spend every night by his side.’
Shock snatched all my words. Someone had been reporting back to her. She carried on, glaring down at me from her superior height. ‘As a child I hoped he would be mine. I could look after him and make everything well. And I would be a good queen. When I knew it wasn’t to be, I worried for him.’ She released her wings, sparkling blue like sapphires. ‘I was right to worry.’
That’s why she’d put the dark magic on me—to make her childhood fantasy real. Somehow she’d pushed aside her grief over the death of her betrothed long enough to go to Dark Faera and win the magic to make it so. She’d had a whole day between Classin’s death and the time the magic was dripped into my eyes. Time enough.
Fury set fire to my soul. I dug my fingernails into my palms, my tongue burning with accusations. But of course, no matter how I tried, the dark magic stopped the words from coming. Haigen took off into the sky. I’d lost Leif to a witch. I felt like sinkers had been tied to my heart.
Lysander was waiting for me in my room. Jack was with him, looking half asleep after a night in the forest. I went to kiss Jack’s cheek, but stopped, remembering what Haigen had said. Instead I went straight to the book on my bedside table. The sun fell across it in a golden beam.
Lysander opened to King Telophy’s page and all three of us leaned over, heads together. There, under Atara’s name were tiny silvery marks. They were completely illegible and it was impossible to say whether or not they’d once been letters.
Lysander straightened and ran the fingers of both hands up through his hair, linking them on top of his head. ‘I can’t believe we risked King Telophy’s wrath for this.’
‘I only said there might be something in it.’
‘Yeah, but I hoped … you know?’
Jack continued to study the page. ‘Have you got any more of that stuff you used to make the writing appear on that letter about Claudette and Ameyah?’
He was referring to the tiny bottle of potion Arelle had used to hide the details of the changelings. The last time it had been mentioned was when I’d gone with Leif to see Arelle. The moment filled my head. Leif, melting my heart as he confessed his feelings. ‘Leif said he kept it. Told me it was a reminder of a perfect day.’
‘Cute,’ Lysander said as he turned towards the door.
I grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t just trawl through Leif’s stuff to find it.’
‘But you can,’ Jack said, looking up from the book. ‘And if anyone asks, just tell them you’re looking for your favourite hair ribbon or something.’
I rolled my eyes. But I was already halfway across the room.
The guard let me pass without question and I didn’t meet anyone else on the way to Leif’s chambers. The whole wing was empty, immaculate and awaiting his return. I went straight to his bedroom, trailing my fingers across his bedcovers as I passed. My mind swam with memories of being tucked beneath them, Leif’s limbs entwined with mine. I shook my head to clear it. Where would he stash that little bottle of potion?
I went to his bedside table—a jar of spiced bark, a sunstone on a carved stand, and a silver bowl with a few of his favourite bits of jewellery: a curl of gold that looked amazing worn beneath his bicep, a pendant carved from opalescent wood, and the daystone ring I’d chosen for him at the markets. I slipped the ring on to my thumb. I wondered when he’d stopped wearing it—the moment we’d broken up? Sighing, I put it back.
On the dressing table were two silver goblets, a carved flute, a low stand of paints and brushes and a decanter of nutspirit. I remembered sitting on Leif’s bed sipping the spicy syrupy drink, feeling light and fuzzy as he took the goblet from my fingers and pushed me gently down. Hand sliding up my thigh, his lips fiery hot and sugar sweet. I shivered and moved to the cupboard on the other side of his room. Inside was a small pile of books and a notebook—the pages fine and pale—a collection of poems and ideas for the songs he loved to write. I closed the door before I could give in to the urge to read them.
In the study, my eyes were drawn to the desk curving around the wall. On it was a plain wooden box. Inside was a selection of inks and pens, a pile of letters and, perched in a corner, the tiny bottle of potion. Excited, I grabbed it and held the bottle up to the light coming in the window. It was still more than half full.
I hurried back to my room, the potion clutched in my hand. ‘Got it,’ I cried, holding the bottle up as I went through the door.
Both guys looked up, a wide grin spilling across my twin’s face. He rushed towards me, hand extended. ‘Show me.’ I handed it over and Lysander examined the bottle. ‘How do we use it?’
‘Just sprinkle it on.’
He removed the lid and was just about to apply the potion to the page when Jack grabbed his arm. ‘Wait. If we make the name appear, it will be stuck there.’
‘Only for a few minutes,’ I said, ‘then it will start to fade as it dries. The writing on Arelle’s letter was gone again in a few minutes.’
Satisfied, Lysander began to sprinkle the book, Jack and I huddling close. We stood back when he was done and watched, horrified, as Atara’s name disappeared. It left behind a splotch of blood and nothing else. My heart plunged into my belly.
And then slowly another name replaced the Queen’s. Pulse thumping, I ran my fingers under the words as I read them out loud. ‘Finelle Leander Telophy.’
For a moment there was silence. Then Lysander started swearing, and didn’t stop until he’d called King Telophy every foul name, and unpacked every horrible scenario he could think of. By that time my mother’s name had faded away again.
Eventually Jack voiced what I too was beginning to worry about. ‘Atara’s name doesn’t appear to be coming back.’
‘It will,’ I said, staring at the page. ‘Give it time.’
We waited until the potion had dried on the page. Not a trace of Atara’s signature returned.
Chapter Nine
Lysander and I strolled along corridors, chatting and laughing as though we hadn’t just defaced an ancient book passed down through the royal family for eons. Inside I was screaming. Why hadn’t we considered the possibility of something going wrong? Why hadn’t I just confronted the King?
As we approached the wing leading to the welcoming room, I noticed there were two guards on duty, much burlier than the usual sentry. Their conversation came to a halt, their eyes drifting our way. My stomach squirmed but I managed to paste a smile to my face and keep my voice even when I told them I’d decided to paint by day instead of night. At the very least I expected questions, and I had my answers ready. But they let us pass without comment. Desperate to get the deed over with, I hurried up the stairs, Lysander carrying the basket behind me.
The door was already open, and I went inside, chatting with Lysander in a forced kind of way as he started to unpack the paints and brushes. I crossed to the vault, my ears on alert as I worked the lock. The moment I had it open, Lysander shoved the book inside. I reset the lock and stepped back from the vault.
‘What are you doing here?’
Adrenalin surged through my blood. I turned to see King Telophy coming in from the balcony.
Such a direct question from my king was impossible to answer dishonestly—even if I wanted to—which I didn’t. There’d been too many issues between us in the past, and I’d learned by now jus
t how much his subjects’ trust meant to him. But I couldn’t tell him the truth with Lysander in the room. So I closed my mouth and prayed for the power to resist the compulsion to confess until I had the King alone.
He shook his head and went to the vault. A sickening feeling lurched in my chest. He already knows. ‘Wait,’ I said as he entered the password. But he didn’t wait. He removed the book and flicked through the pages, stopping where I knew Atara’s signature should be. He looked directly at me, eyes hard and cold as black ice.
I whispered, ‘I didn’t mean—’
He held up a hand to stop me. Stop I did. But from across the room a quiet voice said, ‘What do you expect?’
Horrified, I turned to my brother. His expression was torn— half reverence, half bitterness. ‘Lysander,’ I said, begging him with my eyes to stay silent. I looked back to the King. ‘I’m so sorry, Majesty. We shouldn’t—’
‘Don’t,’ the King said. A shuffling sound on the stairs and the two guards entered the room, standing at attention on either side of the door.
‘Don’t what?’ Lysander said with a sneer, as chills marched across my skin. ‘Mention that our mother rots in Dark Faera because she wouldn’t marry you? Where’s our father by the way? Did you have him murdered because you couldn’t handle the competition?’
In three strides, King Telophy had reached Lysander and grabbed his arm, fingers bone white and crushing.
‘Please, My King,’ I cried as my brother’s mouth fell open, his free hand reaching up to protect his collarbone. ‘Don’t hurt him!’
King Telophy’s eyes snapped my way. His breath was heaving, air hissing through his teeth. He looked as though he would burst into flames. I cried out as he thrust Lysander away and turned for the balcony.
‘You weak piece of shit,’ my brother yelled as he stumbled backwards and sprawled across the floor.
‘Get them out of here,’ the King spat over his shoulder at the guards. Then, taking the book with him, he swept out the door.
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