As the words left her mouth, she realised the orangery windows were open, and the Silver soldier, Anders, was standing between two fruit trees plucking apples from their branches. He stilled, and she knew he’d overheard her, despite the fact he did not look up or turn towards the window. Her heart sank, she hadn’t intended for him to hear. And, truthfully, she hadn’t meant what she’d said, she’d only been letting off steam, releasing her frustration and anger at her own circumstances.
She couldn’t actually think of a single time Anders had been anything less than polite, respectful and perfectly civilised. Except for the first time they had met, when he’d thrown himself at her on the stage. But even then, he’d been trying to protect her from injury—she could admit that now.
But it was too late, the words were out and she couldn’t take them back.
Chapter 18
Anders
Anders steeled himself. It didn’t matter what the Crown Princess thought of him and his people, all that mattered was that he was going to solve the riddle tonight and gain his freedom. He would never have to look upon Princess Isadora again after tomorrow.
But something about her words had stung, cutting deeper than even he had anticipated. Were Silvers brutes? Some certainly were.
Was he one of them?
A vision of his comrades being killed by the enemy while he cowered beneath his shadows, hiding until the attack was over, rose up in his mind. Bile hit the back of his throat as he recalled the sights, sounds and smells of that terrible day—his friends screaming as their flesh burned. Sometimes, at night, he dreamt of them, and their screams morphed into his name. They called to him for help, but still he hid.
Princess Isadora was right. She was far too delicate and precious to marry a Silver prince. He had no doubt she was strong enough to survive in the Northern Isle—to thrive even. He knew dancers had to be disciplined, dedicated and hardworking. And she was an incredibly talented dancer, but he could also seethe work she had put in to become that way. The hours she must have spent practicing, strengthening her mind and body, and perfecting her technique. Those were admirable qualities in the north.
But she’d spent her entire life living in the lap of luxury, surrounded by servants, never having to lift a finger. And she deserved that life. To be a queen, to reign over the Golden Isle as their beloved ruler. And that was something the Northern Isle, with its focus on functionality and servitude, could not offer her.
No. He was here to earn his freedom, not as a suitor. All Anders expected in return for freeing the Princesses from their entrapment was his release. Nothing more.
“How is the investigation going?” Anders spun to find Isadora standing behind him, admiring an orange from one of the fruit trees. He’d been gathering apples and oranges to stave off the hunger; after failing to solve the mystery two nights in a row, he wasn’t trusting any food or drink that had been prepared by the palace staff.
He ran a hand over his patchy, blonde hair, mouth suddenly dry. “Your Royal Highness. How are you?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Please, call me Isadora.”
He nodded. “Anders.”
“I know.” She cast her eyes downwards, and for the first time she seemed unsure of herself. Shy, almost. Was it possible she felt guilty for her harsh words? He’d seen no reason to believe she hadn’t meant them.
“So, how is it going? The investigation? Do you have any clues as to who might be responsible?” She chewed her bottom lip, scanning his face for answers. He wished he had them to give.
“I’m confident I’ll solve the mystery before my time runs out,” he lied. “I have a few lines of enquiry, a couple of good suspects. I’m building a case and I plan to present itto your father tonight.” He tapped his notebook, where he’d been sketching everything he could remember from the previous night and jotting down any notes that might connect it all together.
“Do you mind if I take a look?” Issy’s eyes shone with curiosity, and something else. Almost like desperation. He had never thought to ask her whether she wanted the curse to be broken. While she hadn’t exactly obstructed his investigation, he felt she was hiding things and, therefore, he had assumed that she wasn’t particularly keen on ending the enchantment—whatever it entailed. Could he have been wrong? Those shadows under her eyes, the way she played with her food instead of eating, he saw the toll the curse took on her. Why hadn’t he imagined she would want to break it as much as he did?
He looked down at the notebook in his hands, heat creeping up his chest and neck, turning his ears pink. “I—I suppose so,” he stammered. He handed the book to her and watched as she opened it to the first page and began to flip through the book, her eyes darting across the pages, sharp and intelligent. When she reached the first sketch—a dark tower under a full moon—her eyes widened. She studied each drawing, looking up at Anders when she turned to an image of a man with blonde hair in a black waistcoat and trousers, a mask obscuring half of his face. He knew what she was thinking—it looked just like him. He wasn’t sure why he’d drawn it, only that his memories had featured a young man who looked to be from the north. Whether or not his subconscious had inserted himself into the memory, he wasn’t sure, but Amma had told him to draw everything he remembered. And so he had.
Issy turned the page and froze. A delicate pencil drawing of a ballerina filled the next page. Her form was perfect, loose curls and ribbons floating out behind her as she spun.
“You drew this?”
Anders rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, yes. Amma suggested I draw everything I could remember from last night to try and jog my memory.” He felt his face burning under her gaze. “I remember you dancing. And I don’t think it’s a memory of the Asterina and Cethin ballet. The dress is different, and your hair has ribbons instead of a crown.” He cleared his throat, realising he was rambling.
The Princess looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she turned back to the notebook and continued flicking through the pages, one by one. Anders had drawn a ballroom full of dancing couples, an inky-black lake reflecting the moonlight, and dozens and dozens of images of Isadora.
He’d drawn her performing ballet with the other dancers, he’d drawn her waltzing with a tall, faceless suitor. He’d drawn her eyes, staring out from the page like smouldering embers; her silhouette against the bright, silver disc of the moon. He’d drawn close-ups and full-length illustrations; detailed sketches like the sunburst symbol on her locket, and crude, unfinished scribbles that were almost unrecognisable as her. But Anders knew. And from the expression on the Princess’s face as she turned each page, taking in every single image of herself, absorbing them, he could tell she knew it, too.
Finally, she closed the book and looked at him. “They’re mostly of me.”
It was as though all of the air in the world had vanished in an instant, with those four words. All he could do was nod, casting his eyes downward, and wait for the inevitable backlash. But it never came. Instead, she held the notebook out to him, and glancing up at her, he took it.
“Tonight is the third night,” Isadora said, her tone indecipherable. He nodded in response. “I turn eighteen tomorrow. I wish to find a way to end the curse, for Livia’s sake,as well as my own. But I can’t do it alone. I believe you’re right, Anders. You’re close to cracking it, and I think I can help. That is, I think we can help each other.”
Anders’ brows knitted together. “You’d like us to work together? To solve the mystery?”
