At least he knew now that any evidence he attempted to take through the mirror would turn into something mundane and irrelevant by the next morning.
With any luck, no evidence would be required this time. The curse would be broken Isadora and Livia would be able to tell the King all about it themselves.
Chapter 21
Isadora
Issy copied the smooth, gliding way the other dancers moved as they all filed into the secret castle and entered a vast ballroom with a black onyx floor and dark papered walls. They seemed to be heading for a large stage at one end of the room, despite a distinct lack of audience members.
Issy longed to look behind her to see if Livia was following suit, playing the part of an entranced dancer, but she didn’t want to be seen by whoever had orchestrated this entire charade. If they were watching, she needed to appear as though she were obedient and compliant, like the other girls.
They lined up on stage, and Issy had the sudden realisation that she was going to have to dance, and she didn’t know the choreography. A cold bead of sweat ran down her spine as she stood in line, waiting for the music to start. What if there was no music? What if she would just have to dance and try to copy the others, as best she could? Issy was good, but she wasn’t that good. The one who had cursed them, whoever it was, would know she was conscious in an instant.
Luckily, when the music started to play a moment later, she knew the piece well. Her company had performed choreographyto it many times before, which she and the other dancers launched into now.
She lost herself in the movement and the music, and it was a few moments before she realised they were no longer alone. The ballroom was now filled with people. Men. Wearing strange, decorative masks. She wondered where Anders was amongst the dozen suitors who had appeared as if by magic.
By the time they had performed to three songs, Issy was getting tired and hoping for a break. Her back ached, her ankle throbbed and she needed a drink of water. But then the music started up again, this time it was one of Issy’s favourite pieces, and the dancers leapt into action once more.
As she pirouetted across the stage, Issy caught sight of someone she thought she recognised. A tall, slender man with thick, greying hair. But it couldn’t be. Could it?
The music finally came to an end and the dancers began to make their way down from the stage to the ballroom floor and form a line, side by side.
The men in black evening attire came to stand in a line across from the dancers and bowed. All except for the man standing before Issy. The top half of his face was obscured by a black sequin mask that caught the candlelight, making it glitter. But she would have recognised those blue eyes anywhere. Her mother’s eyes.
“Isadora,” the man said, holding out his hand to her.
She placed her hand in his palm. “Uncle Santiago.”
The dance beganand Issy was whisked into a foxtrot by her uncle, flung around the ballroom like a ragdoll. She tried to take control, to take the lead, but Iago had her in a vice-like grip.
“How did you escape my little enchantment?” He asked, lips twisted into a sneer, eyes colder than she’d ever seen them. This wasn’t the Uncle Santiago she knew from the other side of the mirror.
“I don’t know. I just…woke up.” She shook her head, searching for some reasoning, some rationale for why Uncle Iago was here. “I don’t understand. You did this?” It didn’t make any sense why her own uncle would want to hurt her and ruin the reputation of the Southern Isle. “Is it because of your falling out with father?”
His laugh sent a shiver down her spine. Cold and brittle. “Your father is a usurper. That throne should have been mine. The moment your mother died, he should have handed the monarchy over to me, that would have been the honourable thing to do.” He spun her away before reeling her back in and pinning her to him. “Perhaps if it weren’t for you, he would have.”
The snarled words, the cold, hard demeanour; this wasn’t the Uncle Iago she knew. The man who always brought them presents each time he visited—thoughtful, sentimental gifts. The cameo of her mother, the locket, her favourite gold hairpins. They had all belonged to her mother, Queen Idalia, once upon a time.
The locket. The sunburst locket that opened the enchanted mirror. Issy had seen it around her mother’s neck in the painting outside her and Livia’s rooms. Issy’s blood ran cold. Had her mother been cursed, after all?
“You ensorcelled our mother with this.” She gripped the locket in her free hand and showed him, but he didn’t even bother to look at her. His eyes were scanning the room, as though he were looking for someone.
He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “No. Oh, I tried, believe me. But your mother never wore jewellery. She hated pointless baubles.”
Issy frowned, stumbling slightly on her feet, but Iago had her in such a tight grip she barely missed a step. “But the painting? She’s wearing this locket.”
“I commissioned that painting. After she died. She never even wore the locket. I was forced to take matters into my own hands instead.”
Issy’s stomach plummeted. “What do you mean?”
He stopped dancing and looked down at her then, standing there in the midst of the swirling, chaotic ballroom. His eyes burned into hers. “I poisoned her. It was simple. Too simple, really. I joined her for tea one afternoon and slipped it into her cup. She never suspected a thing. When she became sick, I visited daily and, each time, I poisoned her water. She was dead within a week.”
Issy gasped aloud, hands clutching her stomach. Her mother had been murdered by her own brother. And all for what? A crown? A throne? It seemed so petty, so absurd.
Issy’s mind warred between confusion and hatred for the man who had stolen her mother from her, solely to appease his own ego. The betrayal she felt was like a dagger in her heart, and the man she’d always looked up to and respected was the one twisting it.
“Have you been poisoning Livia and me? Is that why we can’t remember anything when we wake?”
