I squeeze my eyes shut and gulp down the rest of the sleeping brew. Setting the cup on the small table beside the bed, I pull my blankets up to my chin, like they’re a shield against the whole mad world.
“You must be brave, Princess,” Philippa says, draping the beautiful rose gown over her lap as she feels for the torn seam. “You will have many terrors to face before everything is done.”
Everything. The word weighs in my head:everything. That journey across the sea into the wilds of Khylmira…the Dracor Flame…the final confrontation with Mhoryga…Until tonight, it had all seemed like part of a wild story, some troubadour show played for my entertainment. I hadn’t expected danger to beset me before the trials have even begun! Before my champion is chosen and I’m married off to one of those six strangers. I thought I was safe for a little while at least. Safe enough to plot my escape and get away from all this before anything too dire could happen.
My eyes grow heavy. Philippa’s voice sounds a little blurry and faraway when she asks, “Shall I sit awhile longer, Princess?”I nod and let my head drop to my pillow. While Philippa may be only one more of my many prison keepers, she is nonetheless a comforting presence. It’s good to know I’m not alone. A buzzy, heavy sensation fills my body as theholabellatakes effect, blotting out memory of strangling fingers, spurting blood, and green flames. I sink deeper into my pillow and…
Suddenly, my eyes flare open. The world around me has changed, thescintilsall shuttered, leaving the bedchamber in deep, nearly relentless shadow. I look at once to the chair where, but moments ago it had seemed, Philippa sat. It is empty. I can see the mound of my mended ball gown draped across the back of the chair, but Philippa herself must have retired at last for the night. How long was I asleep? And why did I wake?
The blankets feel heavy, as though weighed down by mountain stone. With a struggle, I pull one hand free and rub both bleary eyes with the heel of my palm. Then I look again into the darkened chamber.
A figure stands beside my bed.
My heart jolts. A rush of fear floods my veins, not quite strong enough to break the numbing effects ofholabellaon my system. Though every instinct tells me to throw back these blankets, to scramble from the bed, to put whatever distance I can between me and that dark form, I can do nothing but lie where I am. Staring up into that featureless shadow.
Finally, my dry lips manage to form a soft breath of sound. “Who are you?”
The figure does not move. Does not speak. It stands before me with absolute stillness, so that I must wonder if I’m imagining it. Is this the demon which hovers on the edge of all human consciousness, only perceived when caught between sleep and dreams?
“I’ll scream,” I say, though the tightness of my throat betrays the lie. “They’ll come for me. You won’t make it out of here alive.”
Is it my imagination, or does the shadow tip its head slightly to one side? My heart jolts again. I’m as helpless as I was when Joro had me pinned to the floor. And this time, there is no strange fire erupting in my gut.
“What are you waiting for?” I demand after what feels like an interminable silence. “Do what you’re going to do, damn you!”
Another long silence full of nothing but the hideous awareness ofpresence. Then the figure takes a step, drawing nearer to the head of the bed where I lie. A swath of shadow separates from the rest, like a limb. At the end of that limb, a delicate object shines in the dull glow of the fireplace embers.
A rose. Crushed, missing a number of its petals. Gold.
I stare at that blossom, the same one the High King gave me to offer to the champion of my choice. I’d lost it somewhere in the mayhem and not thought of it since. I stare at it now, like it’s the key to some great revelation, and it seems to shine with inner light of its own. Though my arms are leaden and my heart feels as though it’s being slowly crushed in my chest, I manage to extend my hand, to take hold of the stem.
For an instant, shadow fingers brush mine. And they are warm, alive.Real.
I gasp, blinking hard as I withdraw, pulling the rose to my heart. There’s a brush of air, a whirl of motion, silent and swift. Chest rising and falling with quick breaths, I look to that space where, moments before, the shadow had stood. But it is empty.
I lie for some while in the dark, staring at nothing. Holding the rose to my breast.
9
Valtar
Let me burn.
Just let me burn, Valtar.
I crouch in the air shaft situated above the princess’s private chamber. These shafts run in a complex system throughout Stromin Palace, and I learned to navigate them soon after my arrival. Anything broad enough for a fully grown dwarf engineer to fit through can accommodate my frame as well. Alderin is no fool, of course—there are wards set in place at odd intervals, around sudden bends. But long years of experience have taught me to detect such spells, and it’s a simple matter to temporarily neutralize them with small anti-magic charms as I make my way in the darkness.
So I sit here, just above the delicate latticework screen set in the ceiling, and peer into the chamber below. The last dying embers of the fire cast a dull glow across the princess where she sleeps. Across the gold rose lying on her bosom.
I should have let the pirate kill her. It would have been sosimple, just to stand back and let that murderous dog accomplish his wicked purpose.
But no. I must have her heart. Whole and intact.
Let me burn, Valtar.
I grimace. That voice stretches across both space and time. Like a spirit, it haunts me, sometimes fading from immediate awareness, but always hovering near. It drags at my mind, pulling me back into a space of memory. I resist; now is not the time for memory. To remember is to regret, and regret is but a stumbling block on the road to success. I must stay focused, my very soul honed to razor sharpness.
Let…me…burn…
