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“I see you’re still attached to your little token.”
I glanced at Antonio. “I’m quite fond of it, yes.”
He made a hum in his throat, then cleared it. “The dinner party is tonight. Get dressed and I shall escort you.” He held out an arm and I longed to take it.
Instead, I stepped back. “It seems you’re the last in the realm to hear. I’ve been confined to my palace with no exception.”
His arm fell. “How long?”
“Six months.”
“Six months?”
The lie burned inside me, and I itched to take it back and replace it with the truth. “Yes.”
His jaw clenched. “How?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Chess.”
A low growl came from his lips, and with a flick of his cloak, he ascended his carriage. His departing voice was biting. “Then you are of no current use to me.”
Bash flew away until he was no more than a speck in the sky, and soon that was gone too. The cold feeling remained, ice upon my heart, not thawing as I rubbed my hands over my arms and retreated inside with my head lowered. I shut the balcony door and let the iron latch fall into place.
He is using you, and you are using him. But the chill in his voice remained.
The paintings crowded me, each holding a taunting sliver of my hope inside them, as if I could paint enough pictures to somehow reach someone who might not exist. I eyed the place Bash had just been, then pressed my hand against my tired forehead. What was I doing? I had no clue how to deal with this fae realm. I’d only been fooling myself.
I’d been in this room for days. Even by Gaia’s standards, that was too long.
The door squeaked as I opened it, and a dark corridor stared back at me. I took a torch from my room and passed it from oil lamp to oil lamp until each was lit and the corridor light enough to banish the dark of this realm.
This was how things ought to be. Bright. Alive. Not cloaked in dreary shadows.
My lamp-lighting extended to the stairwell and down to the throne room, until the main section of the west wing was properly aglow. The last lantern connected to a woven cord that plucked a spool of flame from within the iron cage and sprinted up the wall with it. At the top of the rounded ceiling, far enough away that the blaze was but a speck, the cord reached into a glorious chandelier.
From there, the one speck of light rained down, igniting a million candles.
They flickered as if dancing to unheard music, and I almost expected the lyre to peel itself from the wall and play along. The beauty of one chandelier stole my breath with the detail they’d given an ornament that hung so high. If they poured that much devotion into such decor, my paintings must appear crude to them.
My paintings still remained on the wall from the dinner party. I shut my eyes for a moment. I’d been so confident that night.
The wooden handle of the torch fit into the metal sconce. The light danced against my lonely pieces, waiting for someone who never came, as I stood in the eerie silence to look over what was meant to be my salvation. I’d honestly believed a descendant of the surviving Mortal Queen would find it and eagerly help me just because I painted a nice picture. This realm had a way of reminding me how foolish I could be. This picture of Salvation’s Crossing couldn’t save me. It could do nothing but hang on a wall.
My eyes snagged on the bridge.
I’d drawn myself staring over the railing into the water with a broken crown on my head. But in my rush to finish before the party began, I hadn’t had time to draw a reflection, leaving the glassy water clear beneath the arched bridge where a shimmered face ought to be.
But a reflection was there now.
A second girl stared back, one with similar features but a different face. Just like mine, a broken crown adorned her head.
My knees went weak. Someone had replied.
I scoured my gaze over the girl, searching for what she was telling me.
Tears flowed from her downcast eyes to melt into the river. Her bronze skin held tones of a blush, which could mean she was happy or panicked. I guessed the second. But what did that tell me? She looked at the river. Was that significant?
A real river trickled louder behind me as if encouraged by my thoughts. It originated straight from the two thrones of the queens and continued until it ran off the end of the island. Only one idea came to mind. If I hadn’t already thrown myself off the island so dramatically, that would be my first instinct, this time following the river.
