I slam my hand on the sill. “Blooming hell, it’s gone.”
“What’s gone?” Astrid’s voice comes out with a note of hope, reflected in the subtle brightening of her scent. She must be able to tell that my plans have been thwarted.
And thwarted they are indeed, for in that flower box I left one of the most important items I’ve ever had—a Chariot. It’s a rare device invented long ago with Star Court technology that allows instantaneous travel. There are restrictions, of course, like the need to clearly visualize one’s destination, meaning one can only travel to places they have been before. Even so, the technology is considered so dangerous that only a limited number have ever been made, and most—if not all—are possessed by a select few fae royals.
How I came by my Chariot was pure luck. When I arrived in the city of Lumenas to seek out Miss Snow, I received a correspondence from King Ronan of the Sea Court. He requested a favor from me, asking that I relay a message to his daughter—yet another runaway princess, a selkie who’d been hiding out on land for over a year. I found her with ease, delivered my missive, and received a message in return for me to pass on to her father. But that wasn’t all she gave me. She handed me a Chariot as well, one she was determined to see turned over to the Alpha Council. Which I was planning to do, of course. Eventually. Maybe.
For now, I thought I’d keep it to make my job easier. That’s why I brought my captive here, so I could leave with her at once. That, and get the key to the handcuffs I so stupidly forgot in my room. I had it all planned out. I was supposed to stroll into my suite, grab the key from my jacket, retrieve the device, and use it to transport us back to Fairweather Palace.
But now…
Now the most important part of the plan is missing.
I run a hand over my face and stare at the flower box. My eyes dart all around it, seeking any sign of the silver, hexagonal compact. I left it tucked underneath the largest succulent, hidden from unwitting eyes but still able to absorb starlight—a necessary component that allows it to harness the energy required to operate it. Now I wish I never parted with it. And yet, I had little choice. A Chariot can only be used twice before requiring starlight, which means each time I’ve used it to make a report to Queen Tris—traveling to Fairweather Palace and back again—it’s drained of power. My most recent round-trip use was this morning. That’s why I left it under the stars tonight.
While I could have kept my possession of the device a secret in the first place and sent my status reports by letter, flaunting the Chariot was a calculated move. When I made my first in-person report upon arriving in Irridae, demonstrating just how I was able to make it there so swiftly, the queen was impressed. Envious. Willing to sweeten our bargain.
Turn the Chariot over to me when you’ve finished your mission, and I’ll see that you are compensated. Not only will your debts be paid and your service as Huntsman complete, but I will return Davenport Estate to your name.
I agreed to that bargain without falter, entering a secondary bargain that will result in my death if I fail to fulfill it. And if I’ve lost the damn thing…
“Fuck!” The word comes out like a roar.
If Astrid is offended by my use of profanity, she doesn’t show it. “Tell me what’s going on, Huntsman.”
“You are in no position to make demands of me,” I say as I dart for the black coat I left strewn across my bed. I find the key to the handcuffs and slide it into my trouser pocket, making no move to unlock my cuff first. When the princess first locked me in the spare cuff, I’d been furious, especially as realization dawned and I recalled the last place I’d tucked the key. But after coming to terms with my inability to take her heart like I’d planned, I’m now aware of the benefits that come from being handcuffed to the girl. Trapped to my wrist, she isn’t going anywhere. I’ll haul her before her stepmother exactly as she is now and be done with this whole mess. First, I need to find my damn blooming Chariot.
I race for the door, and she jogs to keep up with my pace. “Have you changed your mind? Are you not going to take me back to Spring?” Her tone brightens. “Please say you have. I will be so grateful—”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” I slam my suite door behind us, not bothering to lock it this time. The only valuable thing in that room has been taken. And I’m going to get it back.
“Where are we going? Is it the key to the cuffs you’ve lost?”
“No.”
“What did you take out of your jacket and put in your pocket when we were in the room? Wasthatthe key?”
When I say nothing, her emotions brighten like the freshest slice of lemon. If she thinks she’s being subtle, she’s not. I can almost smell her schemes to steal the key from me, can almost feel her calculating gaze burning into my pocket.
When I lift my eyes to hers,Astrid’s expression falls behind a milky haze. No matter how hard I try, I cannot see her face clearly. I can look. I canknowwhat her features are doing—whether she’s smiling, frowning, or glowering—and interpret her expression, but I can’t process anything beyond that. Not the color of her eyes or the shape of her lips. My mind goes half empty when our eyes meet, providing a simple perception of her and nothing else. All I’m able to see clearly is her body, her gestures, her posture. I can see her clothing too, although there’s a similar haze about it, as if at any moment her attire could shift.
I’m a mirror, she said.All you see right now is a reflection of yourself.
I was wrong about her being a glamourist, and I suppose it also explains why some accounts of her appearance have included no physical attributes at all. If one only sees their best or worst qualities reflected back when they look at her, then they may not notice any of her features unless they love or hate their own. Like her former employer who claimed Astrid had violet eyes. Or Queen Tris who mentioned her pink hair and brown skin.
When I look at her, though, I see nothing distinct. Nothing that makes sense.
I expected her magic to explain why I found it impossible to do my duty. Why I couldn’t tear out her heart, even when my mind was screaming to do it, even when I told my fingers to extend into claws, to just finish this task and beg the All of All for forgiveness later. But this feeling I get around her, this awareness of how small and vulnerable she is, this inconvenient need to do whatever it takes to protect her…it doesn’t align with how her magic supposedly works.Smallandvulnerablearen’t qualities I possess, nor do I value or condemn such attributes.
Perhaps I hated being small and weak once before, but that was long ago…
I shake the thoughts from my mind and continue down the hall, bypassing the elevator and taking a corridor to the left. Breathing in deep, I bite back a gag as the floral aroma intensifies. Strong floral scents are my demise. Aside from the subtle fragrance of fruit blossoms found in my home court of Spring, flowers are repugnant to me. They’re cloying, invasive. In too large a quantity, they can overpower my ability to smell anything else, like what happened when I passed the garden behind Lust the other day. Thankfully, this floral trail belongs to a single person and not an entire garden. Although, I get the sense that this aroma isn’t a true scent trail, but an artificial fragrance masking its bearer.
My dread deepens.
If the person who stole my Chariot wore a floral aroma on purpose, then that means the device’s theft was no accident. It isn’t a matter of cleaning staff unwittingly entering my room, seeing a priceless item, and stealing it out of a naive intention to pawn it for a few opal rounds. Whoever took it knew my weakness. Knew I had the Chariot to begin with.
“Huntsman, what is going on?” Astrid asks, a note of hysteria in her voice. “Why are we racing through the halls?”
