Swallowing the saliva gathered at the back of my tongue, I relent and take the vial from him, uncorking it before bringing it to my mouth. The liquid goes down in one gulp, my eyes squeezing shut at the wave of nausea that immediately follows. Galen takes the empty bottle and pockets it.
It only takes a few seconds for it to coat me in a pleasant haze, quieting enough of the aches and pains that they become a murmur in the back of my mind. The righteous anger that had heated my veins moments before gone with them.
“We will revisit the betrothal talk another day,” Kallin says, his voice sounding farther away. “For now, let’s plan your ascension to king.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Rhea
Myfingersdragalongthe rough walls of the tunnel yet again, my eyes wide as I traverse them in the scant light of my small torch. While I wouldn’t say I’m getting familiar with the system within—and in some instancesbeneath—the castle, my exploration of the dark space is easy to navigate thanks to the paint markings every so often on the wall.
The first few times, I had gone straight to the library, sneaking in how Eve had shown me and hiding on the second floor with some books that looked somewhat promising in myquest for finding a way out from the ring’s hold on me. There had thankfully been no more near misses with others sneaking into the library for a late-night rendezvous. As the nights passed with sleep proving more and more evasive, I took my restlessness to the tunnels, deciding to follow the dashes of blue paint—markers that signified the castle’s center—until I eventually came to a small door. After listening for a few minutes, I decided to risk opening it and found myself in a silent, empty room that seemed to be the equivalent of a storage space. Curiosity and lack of anything better to do got the best of me, and with my torch propped in a large glass vase, I rummaged through the boxes and trunks. It held gowns that were moth eaten, tunics that smelled more of mold than they did of linens, and a few books whose pages were too yellowed and ink-faded to read.
All in all, I found nothing of real value to me, and so I left down the tunnels to find another.
I looked forward to this nightly routine, especially when it provided an escape from the inevitable.Eventually, I would always return to my room and fall asleep. And there, nightmares and horrors alike would ravage my dreams. Daytime was no better, as the reasons for my terrible dreams accompanied me for meals—blood and flesh and inescapable.
The hidden door is cold against my ear as I press it there, listening for voices and footsteps. When I hear none, I carefully push it open and step into the dark space. Though my feet are slippered, the gentle scrape of the soles on stone seems to ring out in a way that sends a chill of warning down my back. I keep my steps slow and steady, surprised to find a wall of curtains in front of me, reaching high enough to touch the ceiling. The satiny fabric also extends the entire length of the space but I’m able to find a gap between to pry them open, holding my torch far enough away to ensure that it doesn’t set anything on fire.
My steps halt just past the curtains at the sight of a golden throne, the flame reflecting off its ornate edges.The throne room. Swallowing, I proceed forward, holding the torch high enough for light to stretch out a few feet all around me. Even with only being able to see a portion of it, I canfeelthe room’s massiveness like how it might be to walk into a cave. This is a room I’ve yet to be dragged into by the king, and as I force myself to start walking again, I take in his massive throne. The top is pointed with a crown of its own, spires stretching far past my own height. It’s upholstered in velvet a rich, royal shade of red, matching the rubies inlaid on the chairs back. I admire the way the gold twists and curves along it as a tempting idea forms, but I quickly push the thought from my mind.
“There is no way this thing is comfortable,” I murmur beneath my breath.
I have never had the inclination to sit on a throne—much less one currently occupied by my uncle. Ruling may have been my right by blood and apparently magic, but it was never an option I would have chosen if given the opportunity. It certainly isn’t something I can see myself doing now, even if I manage to escape. For all his faults as a man and king, my uncle commands every room he steps into. I have seen it here in the castle with the nobles and men he keeps close to him, and I had seen it on the one excursion King Dolian insisted I join, claiming there was something he wanted to show me in Vitour. I endured the ride in the confining carriage with him, tolerated his fingers dragging back and forth on my thigh as he spoke of the next event we were to attend together. I forced myself to believe that, perhaps, getting a closer glimpse of the city I could see from my tower might strengthen my resolve or even just confirm the idea that there was still so much outside my own cage that I had yet to explore and experience andlearn.
But as we passed through Vitour, what I saw was not people living their lives freely. It wasworse. I saw haggard men and women andchildren, working their merchant carts as their skin clung to their bones. I had read about poverty, of course, and heard from Xander and Eve how the king’s taxes had left people worse off, but to see it with my own eyes only reinforced the fact that I was a fool foreverentertaining the idea that I could rule. I was ashamed that there was an entire class of people I hadn’t so much as saidhelloto, and when we finally got to our destination and King Dolian revealed that he wanted totestif my magic worked on those suffering from the Cruel Death, that shame only manifested into something darker. More jagged and rough. It consumed me again, a current constantly tossing me in choppy waters. It was made worse when my magic worked to heal those suffering, filling their cheeks out with life again and drawing them from the edge of death they were teetering on.
Turning away from the monstrous chair, I wildly—unexpectedly—come face to face with my own reflection across the dais. A scream lodges itself in my throat as I stumble backwards, bumping into the throne and nearly falling over its armrest. I lay a hand over my chest, my pulse pounding at my neck as I stare at the large standing mirror, my wide-eyed likeness looking back. What anoddplace to have a mirror—
“Gods above,” I whisper, gripping the torch more tightly as I take a cautious step forward. This isn’t just a mirror buttheMirror. The Mortal Kingdom’s Mirror.
I recall what information I can as I take another step. Rulers give their blood to the Mirror when they become king or queen, activating it to their command. Some rulers choose to do the same with their descendants, as Sadryn had done for Nox and Bahira, allowing them to command it as well. Before King Dolian, my father held the crown. And before both of them was their father. While I’m not King Dolian’s direct descendant, Iamof his blood. But I have also never given my blood to any Mirror, here or back in the Mage Kingdom.
That fact alone should rein in my budding excitement but that is the thing about hope—it only needs the smallest spark to grow. It rears wildly when the Mirror flickers at my presence as I close the remaining distance. The hard surface then ripples just like it had when Sadryn used the Mage Kingdom’s Mirror.
My bottom lip trembles along with my fingers, my torch sputtering from my shaking hand as I try to work the muscles that control my voice. I intend for the command to come out well,commanding, but instead, the words only trickle past my lips, hardly louder than the brash beating of my heart. “King Sadryn of the Mage Kingdom.”
The Mirror ripples again, waves of silvery glass moving as if I’ve dropped a pebble onto the surface of a lake. I press my lips together to keep in the eager noise that threatens to pry them apart, my entire body leaning closer to the Mirror as if proximity is all that is needed to power it. Seconds pass by in a slow drip of time, each growing more weighted the longer no response is given.
“The Mirror is always guarded.Someoneis there—someonehasto hear this.” Saying it out loud does little to calm my nerves, only driving home what King Dolian had taunted me with in Windseren.Perhaps they are purposefully ignoring me.I shake my head, physically dispelling the emotion that idea draws up, and I try a different approach.
Inhaling deeply through my nose, I make my voice louder and more steady. “King Sadryn of the Mage Kingdom.” The breath stays trapped in my chest as I watch the Mirror react to the command, my eyes bouncing over its cloudy gray surface as I wait for the fog to clear.
And I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
I don’t realize how tightly I’m clutching the torch until the heat makes my hand grow sensitive. I don’t realize just how much hope rested on this moment until defeat knocks the rest of the air from my lungs. And as I step back and watch the Mirror harden again, its surface becoming nothing more than reflective glass, all of the small nicks I’ve accumulated in my time here gather into one gaping wound, uncontrollable sadness bleeding from it and washing away that small flicker of hope.
Logical reasons for why no one answered—for why no onehasanswered—bounce violently around in my mind, never quite sticking long enough for me to grasp. They can’t seem to penetrate past that one shield of doubt that the king shoved into my head. And what if he was right? What if, in order to keep his kingdom peaceful and his council happy, King Sadryn decided I’mnotworth the risk that my presence would disrupt?
And Nox…
It isn’t until my back hits the cool silk drapes behind the throne that I realize I’ve walked backwards into them. My hand rushes up to my cheek, brushing away the tears that have fallen.
I return to the tunnels and follow them back to my room, extinguishing the torch and propping it up against the wall. My eyes scour the room, searching for something—anything—for me to anchor on to. But I find nothing.
As the days pass, I don’t venture again into the tunnels. I don’t go back to the library. I don’t do anything but stare out at the night sky and the twinkling stars I once thought were waving hello to me. And I say nothing to them in return.
