She doesn’t know how right she is.
“I don’t have to be from here to know when something is wrong or that your people are fighting to meet their basic needs—food and shelter—things that should be given freely. Things that were until—”
“My husband is gone,” Queen Lockhart thunders. “Those people you speak of tried to do the same to my son. Luckily, he only requires a bit of rest to regain his strength.” She takes a deep breath, her thin nostrils flaring. “Regardless of the leader the king has chosen to be, I have no more fight left in me.Ido not want to fix this. I simply want it to be fixed. I do not care how. I do not care if it means the end of the Lockhart rule as long as Pentacles still stands. I am through—with all of it.”
Her declaration hangs heavy in the room, a shocking admission that ripples through the assembled nobles like a stone in a still pond.
The queen takes another breath and closes her eyes as if gathering the last of her strength. With a flick of her wrist, she dismisses us all and strides from the room, her dress billowing behind her like a blood-soaked cloud.
Ivy tears away from the window after the queen, stopping next to me to hiss, “You are nobody, a plaything, temporary. I suggest you leave. Go back where you belong before I force you from my kingdom myself.”
The words are daggers meant to slice, and I can’t help but hear Stephanie deal the cutting blows. Ivy marches after the queen, a trail of nobles in her wake.
“I was trying to help,” I say, my voice breaking.
I turn to Kane to rescue me once again, but he doesn’t look at me as he strides from the room, his departure twisting the knife in my chest. Marion stands next to her husband, her face a mask of courtly composure. I catch her eye, hoping for a glimmer of solidarity, but Highgate presses his palm to her back and ushers her from the room. Her gaze flickers with a moment of regret, but she follows her husband without a word.
Ivy is right. This isn’t my kingdom. This isn’t my realm. These aren’t even my clothes. Thinking I could blend in, thinking I could help, is a joke.
It’s difficult to swallow, and my inhales come in panicked gasps.
I can’t find a balance between who I am and who I’m supposed to be. Honestly, I’ve never gotten the balance right. I’m always too much of myself or too much of someone else. The only time I’ve felt like me is whenI’m alone with Kane. But I’ve messed that up too.
The urge to flee is overwhelming, and I bolt from the room. The ornate corridors blur as I run, tears streaming down my face. Desperation fuels my flight as my footsteps echo in the empty hallways. I’ve tried so hard to fit in, and I want to make a difference, but now I’m losing it all.
I burst through a side door and stumble out into the garden. The cool air hits my face like a slap, and I choke back a fresh round of tears. One thought crystallizes in my mind:I know how to fix this.
Find my purse, find the card, and find my way back home.
Twenty-Two
My heart hammers against my ribs as I bolt through the gardens, the meticulously manicured lawns and blossoms a blur of greens and pastels. I don’t care that I look nothing like the highborn lady I’m pretending to be as I sprint to the other side of the palace, my skirts hitched up, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I run through a set of open doors and plunge into shadows. My eyes adjust to the candlelight, and my pace quickens with each stride as I retrace my steps down the hall from that first night and my tour with Marion.
Glass dragonflies dot the corridor ahead, affixed to the wall like they’re frozen in amber. I don’t have time to linger, to revel in their beauty. Every muscle in my body propels me forward, my mind racing with the same frantic energy, every doubt and insecurity bubbling to the surface.
Who are you kidding, Hannah? You’ll never find your purse, much less that tarot card.
I move through the Hall of Crystal Wings and into another wide corridor. Fresh flowers spill from vases, and maroon-and-gold-embellished tapestries hang against the stone walls in the spitting image of the castle’s opposite wing. I peek into bedrooms that line the corridor. This hallway is it. It has to be. If not…
I push open the door to the first room. It’s richly furnished with a grand four-poster bed and velvet drapes that brush the floor, but the rug in the center is cream, not the ruby-red one I almost puked all over when I first arrived. After closing the door behind me, I bolt across the hall to the next room. It’s equally grand, with a wall-sized tapestry of King Alderic’s crown of pentacles, but there’s a wardrobe where the window is supposed to be and no rug on the floor.
Highgate’s voice echoes through the hall, followed by another deep baritone I don’t recognize. I freeze, my hand trembling on the knob to the third bedroom. My palms are slick, my panic mounting, my anxiety roiling, bouts of negativity spearing my thoughts.
You’re never getting home. You’ll never nail a promotion. You’ll never fit in or be enough to keep a man. You’re going to die here. You’re going to—
“Shut up!” I whisper-yell at the voice in my head that’s always been better at breaking me down than building me up. Highgate can get fucked and so can his friend.
Not caring about being caught, about having to concoct another lie, I throw open the door to the room with a force that rattles its hinges. The moment I step inside, I know it’s the one. Everything is just as I remember—the scarlet velvet covering the walls, thegold-framed paintings of seascapes and garden cottages, the giant armoire dusted with gold leaf, and the matching four-poster bed. Relief crashes over me as I close the door and sag against it.
Relief isn’t the only feeling I have as my eyes scan the room where I first landed in Towerfall. Where I first met Kane. Where he first tried to save me from myself.
“No.” I shake my head, scolding myself again. This isn’t about Kane or Stephanie or anyone else. This is about me. I want to go home. I want to leave Towerfall and never look back.
Because of Kane. And Stephanie’s doppelgänger.
I feverishly search the room, rounding the bed and lifting the drapes to find my purse. Finally, I drop onto my hands and knees and crawl back to where this strange yet similar realm came into focus around me. I crush the soft ruby-red rug beneath my hands and knees as I shift forward. Resting my palm on the carpeting, I grab the silk bed skirt, my heart practically tied in a knot from wishing, hoping, praying to anyone who will listen that my way home is really, truly here. I hold my breath and lift the fabric. There, hiding in the dark, curled up and waiting for me like a cat, is my purse.
