Page 43 of The Faceless Queen

The Hermit clicked his tongue. “The less the real Princess Olivay interacts with the people of Eskalon, and the prince himself, the better. He does not know her. His people know her even less. Their time together has been so limited it might as well not exist at all. And the king has many plans, nearly two weeks of events to show her off, to let the country fall in love with her beauty. And, as a result, this will give the prince ample time to get to know her—to have conversations and share secrets you’ll not be privy to—unless you are the one holding the conversation. Unless you are the one sharing the secret. And in this time, you have the opportunity to create her personality. Imbue it with your own, something you must do. It offers less chance of you being discovered for what you are. Trust me, this way is easier.”

I scoffed. “Are you mad? Maybe the prince doesn’t know her? But what of her family? Her friends? Servants?” I asked. “How will I get past them? Surely they’ll be in Eskalon at least through the wedding. That’s two weeks of deception.”

The Hermit groaned. “Some are in the country. Most are not. And the princess is supposed to be spending her time becoming acquainted with her betrothed. She’s going to be very busy at the tourneys, balls, parades. There’s even a royal hunt for a boar on the schedule. You will most often be with the prince. And when you are not—when her family is present, I will also be with you, advising, assisting.”

“Making sure I don’t betray our Queen,” I hissed.

“I’ll be making sure that you succeed,” he shouted. “The prophecy is mine. Trust that I have plans in place to ensure your success. Now enough of this! Eat. Until you leave this room, your only job is digestion.” Then he slammed the door on his way out.

I nearly collapsed against the bed. And the while, birds chirped outside, robins tweeted. Erys flew past my window, his wings glowing luminescent blue beneath the sun. And down below, running through the castle grounds, were witches continuing about their day with no idea what was happening in the south tower. Or what was about to happen in Eskalon. Gods. I wanted to be one of them. Born with normal power. Power I could restore without stealing. Power I could use without hurting the ones I loved. Power that didn’t make me someone to hate.

Suddenly I couldn’t eat, nor sit still. I stomped over to the wardrobe, my frustration bubbling over. I kicked the door with all my might. And at once, something rattled and shook, and there was a sound of something metallic clanging against the floor.

I pushed the door back and found a golden locket affixed to a chain. A necklace—one I never thought I’d see again.

My mother had worn it every day for as long as I could remember, always tucked beneath her dresses, lying beneath the bolder jewels that adorned her as queen. I used to play with the locket when I was a girl—still young enough to sit on her lap. I used to hold the locket in my hand, close to her heart, tracing the engravings etched onto it.

A pair of eagle-like wings rose on either side of a sun and moon. The design was similar to the sigil of House Zakros, save the wings on the official seal were witchmoths. And in between was only a moon, no sun. The locket had been a personal design she’d made it by hand, based on a dream she told me she had when she first learned she was pregnant.

I picked it up reverently, my heart pounding as I ran my fingers over the gold, just as I had all those years ago. I brushed away the dirt that had accumulated, and then found the locket’s clasp, pushing it open.

I gasped as the images settled before me. Two small pictures, both drawn by my mother, lay on either side of the locket, like the answers to a question I’d been voicing in silence for years.

I had long wished to see my mother’s statue of Orsete, to see any sign of my mother, and only back in the castle had I been able to voice the thought, to give energy to the desire. And now, this locket had just granted me both, as if she, or Orsete herself, had heard my call.

On the right was a likeness of Orsete, beautiful and regal, with wings of flames behind her back, and on the left, she’d rendered a portrait of me. My exact likeness. I had never known, never knew that she’d drawn me, or that she’d been wearing me around her heart. Wearing my picture until the end.

You are strong. You will survive this. And you will lead.

My mother’s final words. They rang through my mind. The presence of the necklace felt like confirmation of that, like a promise that it wasn’t over for me just yet. Maybe I no longer had to appeal to Batrir. And maybe, just maybe, Orsete and my mother’s spirit were still supporting me.

It was time to remember where I’d come from, and face what came next, not with strife, but with strength, as much as I could muster.

I clasped the necklace, my hands shaking, around my neck, and tucked the locket beneath my shirt.

Then I picked up my fork and stabbed the summer cake.

CHAPTER TEN

Twenty minutes later, one source of my hunger satiated, the Hermit reappeared and whistled for Erys to fly through my window. The witchmoth had to shimmy through the opening before he landed on the floor, stretching out the full expanse of his wings, his feet curling against the cool, stone floor.

“Here,” the Hermit said, handing me a green cloak. “Put this on and pull the hood over your head.”

I frowned at the cloak. “What is this?” I asked. The material was strange, thick like wool, and yet full of far more movement.

“It’s an old warrior’s cloak from before the Doom,” he said. “When you put it on, your body will camouflage itself with its surroundings. It won’t make you invisible, but it makes you very difficult to see.”

I tried it on and looked at myself in the mirror. “I look exactly the same.” It just looked like I was wearing a cloak. A kind of ugly one.

The Hermit rolled his eyes. “The camouflage magic only works in nature.” He pointed at the window. “Outside.” His hands flew to his waist, and he shook his head, clearly exasperated. Well good. That made two of us. “Have a seat on Erys.”

Without much choice to do otherwise, I climbed back onto the witchmoth and looked down, my mouth falling open. Erys was from nature, and the parts of my cloak which touched him were turning the same shade of green as his body. Then it turned blue where it touched his wings. “It’s like I’m fading,” I said.

“Exactly. And if you’re faded enough, no one can see you.”

“I guess that’s one workaround for my current inability to shapeshift.”

He climbed beside me and tossed a leather bag onto my lap.