“You may have left the clan, but do you honestly believe Horus deserves the throne?”
“Of course I don’t. I still support you as king, but I will not condone anything that harms the princess. What I said to Morgana applies to you too. If you hurt her—if you so much as threaten her—I will fight you. I am not above ending your life if it comes to that.”
Trentas lifts his chin, assessing me once more. Then he uncrosses his arms and lowers his voice. “Then I’ll tell you one last thing my spies have discovered. The king and queen have locked the woman you love in a tower.”
Fiery shock ripples through me, sparking a wave of fury so hot it sears my blood. “They locked her in a fucking tower?”
Trentas gives me a cold smile. “Perhaps Lemurias aren’t the ones you should be threatening with violence.”
I don’t know why he’s told me this. Whether he’s trying to help me or manipulate me into confronting his enemies, I know not. It doesn’t matter. My feet fly beneath me, every beat of my heart calling Briony’s name.
46
BRIONY
For three days, I’ve been stuck in this tower room, all the while marveling that someone used to live here. Not just anyone either, but the changeling who served as my decoy. I’m sure of it. I know because at first look, the tower room appears fit for a princess. While the room itself is small, the furnishings are fine. There’s an elegant bed with silk sheets and pink brocade blankets, a wardrobe filled with flowing dresses, and a gilded vanity. The single window in the room provides a convincing look for winged spies at a bedroom made for comfort. A lovely living space for a coddled, cloistered princess.
But that benign depiction is a lie.
For this room is all there is in the tower. There are no additional chambers like my suite at Blackwood Manor. There isn’t even a modern bathroom, just a chamber pot behind a dressing screen and a daily jug of lukewarm water for bathing. The single door is locked at all times save for three daily intervals when I’m given a tray of food, and the window opens to a long drop to my death should I seek to exit through it.
There’s no denying that I am a prisoner.
Which means so was the changeling that lived here before me. There are signs of life everywhere. A discarded dress left at the edge of the bed, a hairbrush with strands of hair tangled in the bristles. I was disturbed enough when Mother first mentioned having kept a decoy in a tower, but now I’m filled with ice-cold dread. While I want to believe she was released, spirited away to safety after I was found to be at the convent, it’s more believable that she was executed to keep silent about the role she no longer needed to play. Though there is one last possibility.
She could have escaped.
If that’s the case, I wish she’d left some clue as to how. I glance around the tiny room, seeking any sign that it’s possible. A hidden key in the cracked porcelain vase? Empty. A letter tucked into one of the drawers of the vanity? Also empty. I’ve practically turned this room upside down in my search for freedom—for what the hell else am I to do with my time?—to no avail.
Which leaves me with my current plan. With a sigh, I fall back on the bed, upon blankets that still carry the scent of someone else’s skin. Then, closing my eyes, I summon my inventory of stolen memories. A guard’s scowling face appears in my mind. Dark eyes, indigo hair, pointed ears. Then I move to the next image, another guard, this one with brown hair, enormous black eyes, and long white whiskers like Minka’s.
My heart tightens at the latter. I haven’t a clue where she and Mr. Boris are right now. Have they returned to Nocturnus Palace? Are they serving my parents again? Or are they still waiting back at Mr. Blackwood’s manor? I assume they followed by train after Thorne and I failed to return by air—
A shiver ripples through me as I recall that lengthy flight, my body cradled in Mr. Blackwood’s arms. Why did I ever agree to such an arrangement? I remember being worried over the news that trouble had befallen Nocturnus Palace, but what in the stars possessed me to trust Mr. Blackwood enough to fly with him? Shards of broken memories flash in my mind, of how tightly I was nestled against him, the sound of his heart pounding against my ear like a lullaby…
No, that can’t be right. Thorne and I were only allies. We hated each other. Everything we did over the last week was meant to break the sleeping spell, nothing more. In fact, what’s happening now is his fault—my missing memories, my parents’ distrust, my captivity. It’s all thanks tohim.
So why does my heart ache like I’ve lost something treasured? Why does it feel so empty, yearning for a fullness I’ve never experienced?
I shake the question from my mind and return to my assessment of the guards I’ve framed. But as I study the features of the third subject, I’m forced to admit that what I’m doing now isn’t any less unsettling than my conflicting thoughts about Mr. Blackwood. My entire plan with the guards hinges upon something I have no explanation for—the fact that I know, without a doubt, that if I frame a single subject and capture their likeness as a memory, I can pull that person into a dream and leave them paralyzed.
That’s how I plan to escape. First, I must capture the likeness of every guard on rotation outside my room. There are four, and they seem to change at random. The only time I see them is when they allow a servant to enter with my meals. Once I have all four framed, I’ll make my escape, paralyzing whichever guard opens the door. Then I’ll steal his key, lock him and the servant inside, and rush to freedom. What happens after that will be a risk and a gamble, for the palace is no longer as short-staffed as it was the night of my birthday dinner. Every glance outside my window reveals archers and sentries perched on the battlements. The servants who bring my meals are ones I’ve never seen before.
Still, risk or not, I’m doing this.
A chill runs through me at my own conviction. How am I so certain my magic will work like I imagine? I remember my mother insisting that I share her same power as a succubus, and I distinctly recall finding proof that that is the case. Yet the proof evades me whenever I seek it. Furthermore, I know my power is different from my mother’s. Where she can only operate while she’s sleeping, I can only control this magic during daydreams.
But how in the name of the stars do Iknowthat?
I return to my study of the guards’ likenesses, mentally flipping through them one after the other and back again until I’m sure I have them memorized. I’ll need to act fast, for it only takes seconds for the servant to enter and set down my meal tray before scurrying back out. Which means I must recognize the guard, summon the correct image in my mind, and cast a daydream, all in that handful of seconds. And I still have one more guard to frame.
I flip through the three images once more for good measure, but as I finish, I accidentally move to another memory, one that precedes the guards. I’ve stumbled upon it a few times now, and it’s yet another thing that defies all reason. It’s an image of an inky sky awash with glowing light, rippling with streams of stunning color. Every time I look upon it, my chest aches with loss and longing, craving something I can’t recall.
Tears prick my eyes, and a wave of frustration crashes over me. Who or what do my tears concern? Why do I feel this ache whenever I glimpse this image? What the glittering hell am I missing from my mind?
My fingers tighten into fists as I let my consciousness flit over the vacant spots in my memories. I know I’ll find the same resistance I always do when I try to see past them. Every attempt to remember what I’ve forgotten ends at a mental wall, an insurmountable slab of stone that prevents me from delving further. I expect to find that same wall now, but…
The stone is gone.
