The boats moored themselves and the entranced young women climbed out one by one, moving gracefully and in perfect synchronicity towards the ominous, black castle. Anders followed, keeping his shadows tight around him, staying as close behind Livia, who brought up the rear of the twelve girls, as he could without bumping into her.
They filed up the shining steps and as the first one reached the vast double doors, they swung open, unbidden. Inside, Anders had to bite his lip to keep from remarking aloud. The interior of the castle was just as dark and brooding as the exterior; the floor and walls were hewn from a shining obsidian and enormous black chandeliers hung from the ceiling, almost low enough to touch. Candles flickered on every flat surface, wax dripping and pooling on the floor, their flames giving the place an eerie feel, and haunting music drifted through the rooms.
Anders breathed a sigh of relief. It would not be difficult to blend into the shadows in this place.
The Princesses and the other girls moved with purpose, as though they knew exactly where they were going, leading Anders through the large foyer into a cavernous ballroom. Here, the music grew louder and the number of candles tripled, giving off more heat than light, by the feel of it. The girls, who Anders now realised were the rest of the dancers from Princess Isadora’s ballet company—the same ones she had performed Asterina’s story with—walked straight up a set of steps in one corner and onto a raised stage. Anders froze at the bottom of the steps, realising what was about to happen.
The dancers got into position, freezing with arms stretched and legs extended, waiting. The music changed, and the performance began.
He watched as the ballerinas glided gracefully across the stage, each pirouette and rond de jambe precise, but their expressions remained vacant throughout. It was a poor substitute for the emotion and intensity Isadora had shown the first time he had seen her dance, in her performance as Asterina. She was just as beautiful, just as skilled, but without her personality shining through the enchantment, the dance lacked a beating heart.
When the piece came to an end and the dancers bowed, the room erupted with applause.
And that’s when Anders realised he was not alone.
Chapter 13
Anders
The ballroom was now studded with young men dressed in evening attire; all black but for the silver buttons and the elaborate masks that hid their features. Anders counted eleven men of various nationalities—one even bore the pale blonde hair of the Northern Isle, although he was too far away to discern any other features—and they all appeared to be as transfixed as the ballerinas. They stood stock-still and their eyes never left the stage, moving side to side in unison as the dance went on. It was a chilling sight to behold.
If a highborn son of the Silver Isle had been caught up in this sinister enchantment, then Anders was sure it couldn’t be the fault of his kin. His father would certainly never endanger the life of one of their own. The thought gave Anders little comfort, as he stood surrounded by the captivated suitors, unsure how to proceed or what to expect.
The dancers performed to three more classical pieces Anders faintly recognised from his childhood. His mother had always loved music, instilling the same passion for the arts in her sons. Something Anders knew to be rare in Silver families, and he adored his mother for her defiance.
Anders had been encouraged in his drawing and painting, while his brother, Hans, had learned the harpsichord. Hans had been a talented musician, but his life—like Anders’—had been preordained. He would follow in their father's footsteps, the harpsichord would remain a hobby and nothing more.
Anders supposed he felt sorry for his older brother. At least he had been given the opportunity to make a career out of his natural talent for drawing. Hans would never have the same chance. The expectations on second sons may have been suffocating, but the pressure on first sons was much worse.
Anders pressed his back against the wall as the Princesses descended the steps, followed by the rest of the dancers. The room had fallen silent and the only sound was the soft tapping of their ballet slippers on the highly polished, black onyx floor. They formed a line across the ballroom and as soon as the last girl had fallen into place, the young men moved as one, forming a line facing the dancers. In a single, smooth movement, they bowed to the dancers, who curtsied in return, before holding out a hand in a silent request. The girls each placed their own hand in the palm of the suitor before them, and with a loud eruption of music that made Anders’ heart leap into his throat, they were whisked into yet another dance.
He sat on the bottom step and watched as the couples spun and swayed across the ballroom, and at the end of each song they returned to their lines and swapped dance partners before twirling away once more. All except for one girl each time, who stood to the side and watched as her companions completed the choreographed movements.
There were no missteps, no stumbles, and not a word was spoken between the men and women as they came together and spun apart, over and over and over. Anders recalled the shadows beneath Isadora’s eyes, the way she’d gripped his forearm for balance, clearly struggling with some injury or other. Seeing herforced to perform like this, with no rest and no reprieve, he felt a swell of sympathy in his chest. She didn’t deserve this, no one did.
Anders suppressed a yawn, he had no idea how long they had been here inside the enchanted mirror, but he assumed they would return once the final dance had ended. The Princesses were found back in their own beds every morning, so there was little danger of them not returning to the castle before daybreak.
He took in the other ten dancers, recognising some of them from the ballet performance he’d attended. Could one of them be responsible for this enchantment? But why would they curse themselves, along with Isadora and Livia? Maybe the spell had never been intended for the Princesses, but had been placed on one of these other young women instead, and the rest were simply collateral damage. It was certainly a line of investigation worth considering.
Anders watched as Isadora twirled for her partner and the young man caught her deftly in his arms, dipping her low and holding her there for a few seconds. He felt a slippery, twisting sensation in his gut as he watched, and heat crept up his neck. But it was soon replaced by a jolt as he took in the pale-blonde hair of her suitor, the tall, lean physique. The man dancing with Isadora bore a striking resemblance to his brother, Hans.
But, Hans was back home in D’Argentis. Wasn’t he? Surely, if he had travelled to Orovia to visit with the Golden Princesses or perform some diplomatic duty and had never returned, their parents would have raised the alarm? If the Crown Prince had been missing without word for more than a few weeks, Anders expected their father would be on his way to Orovia, accompanied by a few thousand of his best fighters, to have a stern word with King Aurelio. He was not a man known for his patience or easy-going manner.
While Anders had been distracted by Isadora and her suspiciously familiar dance partner, a table laden with food and drink had appeared at one side of the ballroom, and as the music came to an end on the final song, the ballerinas and their suitors all moved towards it in a procession. They lined up and politely filled small plates with delicate triangular sandwiches, pastries and chocolate tarts. At the end of the table, they each picked up a golden goblet, filled to the brim with what looked to Anders like wine. Then they spread out around the ballroom to eat, drink and stare blankly at each other.
Anders’ stomach groaned painfully at the sight and smell of so much food, after having fasted all day. There were a few sandwiches left sitting on the silver platter nearest him, and he couldn’t resist reaching over, hand hidden by his shadows, and grabbing one. The first bite was exquisite, the meat and fruit filling hit all the right notes of sweet and savoury, and the bread was so soft it must have been freshly baked that day. He snuck a couple more sandwiches, making sure none of the ensorcelled revellers saw, and then he moved along the table and took up the only remaining goblet, downing the contents in two gulps. It burned a little going down, but the wine tasted of blackberries and plums, and it warmed his insides pleasantly.
Where was the harm in eating and drinking now, even if the food and drink had been dosed with sleeping potion? He just needed to get back to the castle before he began to feel any effects. The King would need some proof of what Anders had discovered, so he tucked the now empty goblet in the waistband of his trousers and pulled his shirt over it, careful not to let his shadows disperse and reveal any part of him.
He needn't have worried, because the Princesses and other dancers had begun to make their way out of the castle, leaving the masked suitors standing in a line, expressionless.
Anders hurried after the girls, staying on their heels as they left the warmth and decadence of the obsidian castle and stepped out into the cool, briny air. As they passed the glittering trees around the castle walls, Anders darted over to take a closer look. The wine goblet could have come from anywhere, but a branch from one of these strange trees would be incontrovertible proof. He snapped off a twig with some difficulty, causing a metallic screech to break the silence, but the dancers didn’t turn, they just climbed into their little boats and, one by one, began to sail back across the water towards the tower and the enchanted mirror.
He ran to the jetty and clumsily boarded the only boat still waiting to set sail. The boat rocked a little as he dropped onto the seat across from Princess Isadora, careful not to brush knees with her. For a moment, he felt as though she were looking right at him; a small crease formed between her brows and her lips parted. But a second later, her expression cleared and the boat began to move. He let out a silent sigh of relief.
He’d uncovered the mystery. He was finally going home to D’Argentis. As he looked at the strong, self-possessed young woman sitting across from him in the little boat, a strange sensation threatened his joy at the thought of going home. He might have discovered the truth of where Isadora went every night, but she wasn’t yet free from the curse, and he knew in his heart he couldn’t leave until he knew she and the others were safe. This wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 14
