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I paused without turning. The river offered a soft melody by my feet as I spoke. “Bow tomorrow, and you’ll never need to thank me again.”
A light wind blew past and he left.
The door to the palace stood open to allow both magnificent white thrones to be seen. My breath caught in my throat. Talen had already added my stars.
The three stars twinkled as if still in the sky, like large diamonds demanding attention and making all else dull in comparison. They molded to the palmette at the top, each equal in splendor. It set my throne apart from Gaia’s. Now all would know the High Queen of the West wasn’t a girl who stood in the shadows, but one who acquired stars from kings.
“I am curious to know . . .” Talen wore his usual top hat and long-tailed suit, combined with ruby-red earrings and a red pin through his nose. He stood at the top of the stairs. “When I said to beware of King Bastian and make an alliance with King Vern, what went through your mind?”
I uttered a short laugh. “I had the best intentions.” I gathered my long skirt in a fist and dipped a toe in the river, stirring up the fish.
“I wager you did. Your implementation needed work.” He came down to my side to eye the fish as they bubbled at the surface. “However, you’ve been invited to several events already, including one with King Brock who was impressed by your little performance tonight.”
I shook the water off my foot. “Have you gotten replies for my dinner party?”
“Many. And after your spectacle, I suspect I’ll receive many more. The entire island will be flooded with fae hoping to catch another look at you, wondering what they missed last time.”
“Good.” Anxiety clawed at my nerves, settling into my bones where it made a home, whispering how unprepared I was for this realm. I invited a new voice to remind it of how much I’d already done. “When I wake, you can tell me everything you know about the other kings, so I can lay proper traps. I need something from each of them. But for now, my bed awaits.”
Exhaustion hung as heavy as one of Lord Winster’s wools, and I dragged myself up the stairs.
“I have business to attend to,” Talen called from below. “But I’ll be here when you wake.”
Faithful Talen. I glanced back. The stars in my throne winked once more and I left them behind to claim some much-needed sleep before hosting my first event tonight, an evening bound to be filled with more than food and light conversation. After King Vern’s party, I could no longer rely solely on asking the kings for their support. This time I’d go in prepared to trick my way into their favors.
I tossed my shoes to the side as soon as I pushed the door open. The curtains over the balcony swayed with the lightest breeze, and the ever-burning fire heated the wool at its threshold. My shoes had landed near two canvases propped on easels. My paintbrushes sat in a cup on the desk.
Thoughts of the fabled surviving queen and how she’d been connected to Ruen flooded my mind. She might have wanted to Passion for music or culinary, but the hopeful parts inside convinced me she’d been drawn to art as I was. Had she brought paintbrushes with her, too, and longed to adorn these blank white walls with murals? Did her descendants still live among the fae and share her love for painting?
The rough surface of the canvas glided under my fingertips. Would they see my art and think of her?
My hand stilled. My art could remind them of her. My art could be a bridge.
This realm didn’t create. They lived in lavish splendor where everything around them was such perfection, they had little use for creating tokens with their hands. Paintings like mine wouldn’t enrapture the fae, but they could draw the eyes of the descendants of a mortal eager for a view of where they came from.
It was a long shot. But it might be enough to connect and uncover how she survived the fae realm.
“It’s not a plan of Cal’s caliber,” I acknowledged to myself. Cal would have three plans by now and charts to compare them. “But it just might do.”
The idea had formed in a whirlwind of colors and shapes like a painting coming together all at once, leaving me breathless.
The codes.
The hidden messages.
The connection to her descendants.
Sleep could wait. This couldn’t. I grabbed my brushes and some jars of paint, then the little soldier toy, Antonio, for good measure, and swiftly headed downstairs.
The throne room again blinded me with its white floors and blank walls, prime for color to overtake them. This palace was large and empty, void of servants or guests or laughter, but that made it the perfect canvas. Soon, the entire fae realm would be here. If one of the surviving queen’s descendants came, they’d be sure to see my paintings.
I lifted my brush. I’d cloak my message inside the art. My plea for escape would be hidden right in front of the fae’s eyes, but hopefully it would catch the attention of a descendant of the Ruen Mortal Queen who might recognize the bridge from any stories she might have told.
The chances were slighter than I fancied. Still, I dipped my brush in a turquoise pigment and began to paint the famous bridge from the center island. The bridge we called Salvation’s Crossing.
I painted all morning until my arms were sore, stopping only to feast on smoked salmon and sugared vegetables before swirling the bristles in fresh pigment to begin again. I’d finished the bridge and moved on to another painting—the center square where the fae always appeared. I drew the three ambassadors in all their grandeur at the front.
Their vanity would be my tool tonight. This picture ought to captivate the fae more than the one of a simple bridge, and that would be how my message could be hidden.
