No doubt they hated me as much today as they did six months ago, but now my position had power. Power they were desperate to grab. I was no longer the orphaned vagabond begging for their attention. Now I was heir to the Crown of Nine. And I would be their queen whether they liked it or not.
This wing especially would be packed with people. I was sure it had been many times in my absence over the past nine years. I could wait until the festivities were over and things settled once again. But... to be frank, I was itching for something purposeful to occupy my time. And my mind. And more than that, the need to walk where my parents once walked, to sit where my brothers once sat, and to be where my family had once been was so powerful that waiting felt like torture. So Oliver and I had decided this afternoon to sneak out of our rooms, slip our guards’ watch, and snoop to our hearts’ content.
I made a quiet click with my teeth and cheek, and he looked back. My head tilted toward the door I stood next to. Oliver made a great lookout, but he had no idea where he was going.
He moved back toward me while I pulled a key from my pocket. As it turned out, princess gowns didn’t inherently come with pockets. But I was used to simpler styles and aprons with deep pockets from my years at the Temple. Early in my residence here, I had asked my maid to speak with the dressmaker so she could start stitching interior pockets into the sides of all dresses. The dressmaker, an elusive and longtime legend among castle residents, had been properly scandalized, but it had been well worth it. It was hard to deny the benefits of hidden pouches in every outfit. But especially in situations such as this one.
Sliding the large master key we’d pilfered from the groundskeeping office two days ago soundlessly into the lock, I prayed no one was nearby to hear the clunk of the mechanism. When the door was unlocked and the guards successfully still at bay, we slipped inside the rooms that had been the royal family suite once upon a time.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find on the other side of the door, but the oppressive silence was almost deafening. The extreme stillness seemed to scream in my ear and steal the breath straight from my lungs.
The room was opulent, as I’d expected. It was dark of course, but the faint light from the corridor illuminated just enough for me to make out the fine furniture and expensive details.
The sitting room greeted us, perfectly styled with silk-covered chairs around a fireplace large enough that Oliver and I could step inside without touching either of the walls. A table on the other side of the room was adorned with fresh flowers and a lace covering. The maids had been here today to tidy up. The tapestry hanging on the wall boasted the Elysian kingdom, our Diamond Mountains, and rich fields. Whoever had woven it had been a master of their craft.
None of it was familiar. None of it belonged to my family.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time I’d been in this room, my family’s bent and broken bodies had littered this now immaculate space. The floor had been coated in blood, the soles of my bare feet thick with it. My mind couldn’t convince my heart that this was the same room.
Except the stillness felt oddly familiar. Something was behind it. Something... that tugged at the corners of my heart and swirled around the edges of my mind.
“What are we looking for again?” Oliver whispered as he soundlessly closed the door behind us.
We were enveloped in darkness quite suddenly. “I’m not sure,” I admitted while my eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light.
A bedroom, a private lady’s parlor, an office, and dressing rooms were beyond this room. And their windows allowed the moonlight to penetrate the darkness, giving them the appearance of glowing. But here, in this windowless sitting room, it was all shadows and obscurity.
Oliver moved toward one of the rooms, drawn to the blueish glow and the ability to see clearly. He whistled low and softly through his teeth. “These accommodations are just a little nicer than the monastery dormitories.”
“Just a little nicer,” I agreed.
Oliver disappeared into the bedrooms, and I heard the creak of an ancient bedframe and subsequent depression of a plush mattress, then the rustling of silken bedcovers. Oliver groaned louder than he must have intended to. “Just a little nicer.” I heard him repeat.
I was on my way to scold him when the gentle sound of fabric swirling behind me caught my attention. Less aggressive than Oliver rolling around on a bed, it was more like the swish of full skirts or the rub of a velvet jacket.
Spinning around, I squinted into the corners of the room. The fireplace waited for me, but nothing else. I took a step toward it, my heart kicking against my breastbone.
“Tessa,” Oliver murmured happily, “you must try these out. It seems your uncle has been holding out on us. My bed is not half this luxe. Is yours? Is it just me that’s been relegated to subpar bedding? Does my back not matter to these people? Have I been abandoned to a future of hunched-back hideousness?”
My eyes had fully adjusted by now. They keenly assessed the massive fireplace with its carved stone and embedded jewels. When the fire was lit, the large gemstones would glitter against the glow. My memory showed me a pretty image from my childhood. My family gathered around the hearth one cold winter night, my father captivating us with a story of some sea captain of old, and my mother whispering what each gemstone meant. Diamond for power. Ruby for love. Emerald for magic...
“No magic here, my love,” my father had admonished.
My mother had stilled and held his gaze. “Of course not, darling. Of course, not here. But in the old days, emerald was the power stone. The ignitor of all things magical.”
My father’s smile had wobbled. “It seems it is a night for fairy tales then.”
Her smile had stayed steady. “You doubt the old ways?”
“I doubt the old ways have anything to do with these new days,” he’d said, not crossly, but also not kindly either.
She had dipped her head, a subtle show of his authority and her submission. “Yes, you’re right. Forgotten dreams and old wives tales, nothing more.”
My father had growled then, a snarling, terrifying sound that made all of us children giggle and squeal and listen closely as he spoke of shipwrecks and sea monsters. But I had been curled up in my mother’s lap with my back pressed against her warmth and her arms snuggly wrapped around me. I had thought I’d imagined it. Bewitched by my father’s storytelling and the lovely night, my mother’s talk of magic and the old ways. Yet now I wasn’t so sure. Had the emeralds glowed brighter when she’d stretched out her hand? Had the diamonds shifted from blue to yellow to blinding silver before settling back to their pure white? Had the rubies darkened to the color of blood?
I stretched out my own hand now and fingered the inlaid stones. The old magic. What a thing to think about after so much time had passed.
Myths. Fairy tales. A silly story from a mother long since dead.
