He looked toward the cart's path. How could he help her? Protect her? He made his choice. There was no rush in his descent, no panic, only the efficiency of a soldier cleaning up a battlefield. As he stood over Shay’s body he felt no remorse. He felt no pity. Looking at her face, so terrifyingly similar to the face he worshipped, he felt only a twisted sense of relief. The rival was gone. The obstacle was removed. Liora was safe. But Liora had been careless. His eyes scanned the ground. The apple—red, shiny, and unmistakably out of place— lay in the grass where it had fallen from Shay’s hand. If someone found it, they might see the bite. They might suspect. He used the toe of his boot to kick the bitten apple over the bank and into the moving stream.
“Sleep. Let them find you. Let them think it’s some accident and I’ll….” He didn’t finish the sentence. He turned his back on his king’s daughter and walked into the trees, disappearing into the shadows again.
In the dark below ground, six men worked, unaware that the woman who had become the heart of their strange little household had just fallen under a spell older and crueler than any bargain they’d ever struck.
In a carriage rolling toward the castle, a queen clutched her chest and smiled through the pain.
Chapter twenty-two
Of Glass and Gold
Therhythmicclangofpickaxes against stone echoed through the mine shaft, a steady heartbeat that had become as familiar to Gage as his own pulse. Dust hung in the air like suspended memories, catching the flickering light from their lanterns and casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls. The other men worked with practiced efficiency—Dax chipping away at a stubborn vein of quartz, Harry sorting through promising specimens, Drew humming a tuneless melody under his breath.
But Gage couldn't focus. His hands moved mechanically, striking the rock with less force than usual, his mind somewhere else entirely—somewhere back at the cottage where Shay would be tending to the garden, or perhaps sitting by the window with one of her books.
“Something's wrong,” he stammered, more to himself than anyone else.
“What's that?” Harry called from across the chamber, not looking up from his work.
Silas inserted, “The air is clear in my lungs and nose. The canary is singing. Not to worry, Gage.”
Gage shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling that had settled in his chest like a stone. It wasn't just worry—it was certainty. “Not here.Her!” A deep, primal knowing that cut through rational thought and settled in his bones. He tossed his mine pick to the ground with a clatter that silenced the other men.
“Gage?” Dax's voice held concern now.
Gage didn't wait for questions or explanations. He turned and hurried out of the mines, his boots kicking up dust as he broke into a run toward the cottage. Behind him, he heard the scramble of the others following, their voices calling after him, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't explain. He just knew. The path back to the cottage blurred beneath his feet as he ran, his heart pounding not from exertion but from dread. When he reached the small wooden structure, he burst through the door without knocking. “Shay!” His voice echoed through the empty rooms.
He checked the kitchen first—cold hearth, untouched dishes. The bedroom—neatly made bed, no sign of disturbance. The sitting room—books arranged precisely on the shelves, exactly as she always kept them. Every room was empty, pristine, waiting for an occupant who wasn't there. The other men crowded into the doorway behind him, their faces etched with confusion and growing concern. “Gage, what is it? Where is she?”
“I don't know,” he admitted, his voice tight with panic. “But she's not here.” His eyes scanned the room again, searching for any clue, any sign of where she might have gone. Without another word, Gage rushed back outside and turned toward the stream. It was their favorite place, where they often sat together in comfortable silence, watching the water flow over smooth stones. If she'd gone anywhere, it would be there. The distanceseemed to stretch endlessly as he ran, his lungs burning, his mind racing with terrible possibilities. And then he saw them.
Drew was kneeling on the bank of the stream, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Next to him lay a figure so still, so pale, that Gage's heart stopped completely before lurching back into a frantic rhythm. “No,” he whispered, then louder, “No!” He ran the last few yards and dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her body as if afraid to touch her. But he knew immediately. The unnatural stillness, the bluish tint to her lips, the way her chest didn't rise and fall with breath—it was all unmistakable.
“She’s gone,” Drew choked out between tears. “She’s gone.”
The other men arrived moments later, their expressions shifting from confusion to horror as they took in the scene. “What happened?” Silas yelled.
Gage responded. “I don’t know. Drew found her like this. No enemies, no wounds,” he frantically checked her skin.
“We have to help her,” Bennett cried. “Maybe she just fainted, hit her head.” He pulled off his heavy tunic and draped it over her, tucking it frantically around her shoulders.
They tried waking her, shaking her, warming her, cooling her, rubbing her skin, calling her name. But she did not wake, and she did not breathe. Finally, as the sun began to dip low, casting long mournful shadows through the trees, Dax put a hand on Gage’s shoulder. Gage was still holding her, staring at her face. “Gage,” Dax said softly. “She's dead.”
Gage whipped around, snarling, “She’s not! Look at her! She looks peaceful. She looks like she’s asleep. Does that look like death to you?”
“It’s not life,” Dax said, his own voice trembling. “It’s something…else. Heart failure. Or…” he trailed off. “Or the queen found her.”
“But there was no mark, no weapon. She must have just… passed on.” Silas said.
One by one, they removed their hats and hung their heads in sorrow. The air grew heavy with grief, pressing down on them like the weight of the mountain above their mines. Harry stepped forward, his voice thick with emotion. “Her beauty was a gift for the whole world,” he said softly, “and now it's gone.” His mind raced back to their conversations, her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the stars. All of it, gone.
Gage couldn't speak. He gently brushed a strand of hair from Shay's face, his fingers trembling. She looked peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping, but the coldness of her skin told a different story.
“We have to bury her,” Silas said.
“We can't just bury her in some dark hole,” Harry said suddenly, his voice firm despite the tears in his eyes. “She's too beautiful for that. The world should be able to see her, to remember her. Not pushed underground in the darkness forever.”
“A glass coffin,” Bennett agreed immediately. “We'll craft one ourselves from the crystal veins in the lower mine. She deserves to be seen, to be honored.”
