“I know what set you off,” he clarified. “I know what caused you to show your pain.”Don’t ever show your pain,he’d told her when they first met.
She cast her gaze to the carpet. “They called me…” She struggled for words. Finally, she gritted out, “Abastard daughter.”
Elden intertwined his pale fingers before him. “They were only trying to get a rise out of you. They have no idea who you are, and they certainly have no idea who your parents were.”
It still hurts,she wanted to say. But she swallowed her words because she knew Elden was right. Instead, she whispered, “I know.” Thanks to the Wistwood ring she wore day and night while spying in this wretched army, no one knew who she was, nor did they have any inkling of what she really looked like. The ring allowed her to take up the appearance of anything or anyone she could imagine. While spying here, she wore mud-brown eyes and a crooked nose. And instead of hair spun from rose-gold, she wore a matted mess of strands the darkest black she could dream up. Her body was stockier and marked with scars in places where it was most likely to discourage leering.
Elden was the only person here who’d ever seen who she truly was. It had taken her a long time to trust him, but now he knew everything about her—right down to who her brother was, and where she disappeared to in the rare times when she was able to sneak away from here and return to the House of Ice. He’d always aided her in escaping, covering her ass while she was away with excuses delivered so smoothly that she had a hard time not believing them herself. But it was getting harder to sneak away, harder to make up excuses.
Terren was catching onto her; of this, she was certain.
She met Elden’s gaze, and he sat up a little straighter. Sometimes she wondered if he could see who she really was, even with the glamour in place. Perhaps it was because he’d seen her once before. And perhaps that one time was enough.
“I need to leave,” she told him. “Tonight.”
The candlelight reflected a hazy amber in his pale eyes as he nodded once, and somehow, she was not afraid.
~
Even before she opened her eyes, Avalon knew she was somewhere unfamiliar. The mattress she was sprawled upon was softer than a cloud, and the sheets tangled around her limbs were like satin. A deep breath revealed the scent of saltwater and citrus. The memories of what had taken place on the ship came crashing into her mind like a tidal wave, and she sat up so fast her head spun.
Holy gods. She felt sicker than she had on that blasted ship. Gritting her teeth against a wave of nausea, she took in her surroundings.
She was in a small room with walls of mother-of-pearl; the sunlight streaming in through the window reflected brightly in the iridescent surface. A minimal amount of furniture decorated the room, and a giant bubble-shaped fish tank jutted from one wall.
Someone had changed her clothes; she wore nothing except a sheer white nightgown that left little to the imagination. The thought of a stranger touching her while she was unconscious made her uneasy. And if they’d taken her clothes, then that must mean…
Oh no—themask!Her heart broke into a sprint as she leapt off the bed and searched the entire room for it.
It was nowhere to be found. Someone had stolen it, along with her clothes, her few belongings (weapons included, of course), and the Tears of Hilsian. After a quick search, she found there was nothing in the room to use as a weapon except a large, gaudy hairpin she found in the top drawer of the ivory dresser.
She snapped it in half and dragged her finger along the edge; it was sharp enough to nearly puncture the surface of her skin. She supposed it would have to do.
As she strode to the door, she prayed it was unlocked. She took a deep breath before trying the doorknob—and emptied her lungs in a whoosh when it clicked open with ease. But she wasn’t foolish enough to think they would leave her unattended here at the Ocean Palace, so it was with the utmost of care that she pushed the door open and peered into the corridor.
There was no one around as far as she could see, and when she crept out, closing the door softly behind her, she found that there wasn’t a single person—servant or guard—in the area. She moved stealthily through the corridors, listening for Hadrian’s voice, or for a conversation between servants or guards that might notify her of his whereabouts.
After turning several corners and hiding behind massive potted plants as guards and scullery maids passed hastily by, she heard voices. Daring a glance around the corner, she spotted two guards—a handsome dark-skinned lad and an older man with gray hair and a long beard. She pressed into an alcove that led to a locked room and listened.
“All we know is that he’s the Captain of the King’s Guard,” the older one was saying. “And the girl is the mortal princess Avalon. Several weeks ago, the king announced an award for their capture.”
“I don’t understand,” the younger one murmured. “Why would the king want his own daughter harmed?” Why, indeed.
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough, if they decide to speak.” Avalon curled the fingers of her free hand into a fist. The last thing they would do was talk.
The door opened, and a stout elderly man emerged; a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. In his hand was a nondescript leather satchel; Avalon could only imagine what was inside. Squinting, she struggled to see what had stained the wrinkled tips of his fingers red.
It looked like…like blood, she realized with no small amount of horror.
The dark-skinned boy stepped back, allowing the man enough room to close the door behind him. “How is he doing, Doc?”
“Better,” said the doctor as he reached into his coat pocket. He produced an embroidered kerchief and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. Peaked ears and slanted eyes gave away his Fey origin, but his wrinkled hands and smile lines suggested he was possibly close to nine hundred years old. Even in the world of the Fairfolk this was a commendable age; although they didn’t die the same as mortals, war and rare illnesses often claimed many lives at a much younger age. “I gave him a tonic to help with the nausea.”
“Should we notify His Majesty?” At the older guard’s mention of her father, Avalon’s heart kicked in her chest. If only she hadn’t passed out in the sea. If only she had made it to shore, where they could have snuck in and out of the Water Temple without being seen.
“No,” the doctor said in a voice that was far too gentle for someone with blood on his hands. “I’d give him time. You’ll want to speak to them. Find out why they’ve come here.”
“Is he ready to talk?”
