There are details in Sira’s dining room I’ve never noticedbefore. During the haze of my thralldom, my focus so intent on the Prince of Thorns, everything around me became a blur.
Now, sitting at Sira’s long table in the Tower of Nether Reach, I take in every detail, just as I did on the journey here. It was a half-hour trip from Cryptgarden, pulled in a carriage by a pack of grinjaws, the hyena-like canines that serve the goblins.
I never opened the curtains in the carriage before. But this time, I did. The scenery was mostly gray rock, sometimes enclosing us in vast, jagged tunnels, other times giving way to sheer cliffs with nothing but darkness yawning below. Now and then, we’d drive past glowing mineral veins in the rock that would light the entire carriage up, fractured rays scattering across the velvet seats, as if we’d driven straight through a kaleidoscope.
I pressed my face against the cool glass as a forest of tall crystals glittered outside, a reminder that even in the dark, light persists. A light I’ll find in the Prince of Thorns again.
When I tried to show Heidigog the glowing trees, all she did was shrug. She’s seemed so sad lately. Here in the dining hall, Iswivel to look at her standing behind me in deference. There’s a weight to her shoulders. That hasn’t always been there, has it?
I look around. The dining hall is cavernous, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, the obsidian walls flickering with a pale glow from the mounted lanterns. We sit at a long table made of bloodred wood, a bowl of soup before each of us. Velvet chairs enough for an entire party line each side, but there’s only me andher.
Sitting at the head is Sira, Queen of the Below.
It’s really not fair that someone so terrible is so damned beautiful. Her high cheekbones are as sculpted as blades, her hair a midnight black. It’s as straight and silky as a shampoo commercial, the kind of hair I was so jealous of as a teenager. A crown of blackened silver spikes rests upon her brow. Even her gown, a gunmetal gray threaded with green, seems alive, shifting with the smallest flickers of light.
She doesn’t smile, and I’m glad of it. Somehow, she seems more sinister when she smiles.
Unable to stand her stare anymore, I ask, “Where is the Prince of Thorns?” I glance to the empty seat beside me where Caspian usually sits. We are often summoned to meals with Sira, but this is the first one where he hasn’t been in the carriage with me or met me at the entrance to Nether Reach.
Sira doesn’t respond for so long, I wonder if I’ve turned invisible. Then she cricks her neck, and her gaze refocuses on me with slightly less intensity. “My son’s duties are taking him far longer than usual. He’ll join us shortly.”
I nod and place my hands in my lap. This might be for the best. Since seeing Dayton, I’ve kept my thoughts my own, but the closer I am to Caspian, the harder it is. There are still traces of that bargain in me that want to fall back into my devotion to him.
This meal, with my mind so clear, could be the perfect opportunity to learn some things about Sira, as long as I can manage it while pretending to be Caspian’s thrall. It’s the state in which she finds me the most appealing.
At least Caspian hasn’t given Sira the rose yet. He keeps it tucked tight in his cloak.Why hasn’t he handed it over? Sira must not know he has it.
“Are you going to stare at your food all night or eat, girl?” she says, leaning on one of her armrests.
I nod and turn my attention back to the soup in front of me: a bland gray thing with a swirl of white in the middle. I have no idea what it is, only that it’s tasteless. Maybe I should be grateful for that. I shudder to think of what Sira’s favorite food is.
Dutifully, I sip my soup. It’s cold.
When I finish, I look up at Sira with my best thralldom gaze.
Sira motions for her goblin servant to clear our dishes. Heidigog grabs mine and takes it to the kitchen. Another goblin places a platter of charred eel and blood-drenched marrow before Sira. Beside it, a goblet of obsidian nectar swirls. My stomach roils.
“Oh, don’t look so disgusted,” Sira sneers. “I had something special prepared for you.” She snaps her fingers at Heidi. “You, goblin. There’s a special plate for my son’s pet in the kitchen. Atop the marble platter. You’ll know it.”
Her words are not comforting, but when Heidigog places the platter down in front of me and lifts the lid, all I can do is gasp.
It’s a whole pizza, glistening with bright red tomato sauce and bubbling white cheese. I’ve never seen anything like this in the Vale.
“This is what you ate in the human realm,” Sira asks as she leans forward on her elbows, smiling, “isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say. I’m confident she won’t poison me; I’m much too useful to her alive. But something wrong twists in my gut.
“Go on,” Sira urges. “Try it.”
I glance to Heidigog, whose yellow eyes narrow. She gazes down at the pizza like a human might look at a cockroach. As tasty as it looks, I don’t want to eat it. But Caspian’s thrall wouldn’t say no to Sira, so I can’t either.
I grab a slice. It’s cold, despite the steam rising from it. The crust is slippery…
But with Sira’s ever-watching eyes following my every movement, it’s all I can do to bring it to my lips. I bite down, and the pizza dissolves into inky black shadows.
I cough and sputter on the smoke. Heidi gives a great gasp, whirling her short arms and knocking the tray lid to the ground with a clatter.
The pizza on the plate dissipates into a cluster of shadows. Illusions. Like the fake vial she created within Mount Rhuvenmark to deceive Caspian.
