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I don’t miss the fact that he never answered me.
He starts to fade, and panic grips me all of a sudden. I don't think I can let him go. "Wait!"
The boy reappears, to my left side this time, hovering inches off the ground. "Yes?"
I clear my throat, trying to cut to the heart, and find the important thing out of the thousand questions crossing my mind right now. Who else has had a chance to commune with Tryn Duval these last centuries?
I choose to go for self-preservation, asking the one thing that matters. "What is he? Zale. You were…feeding on blood, and your partner, she was fae, right? What does that make him?"
I need to understand that much in order to know how to resist his control.
Knowledge is power.
"Other than a spoiled brat?"
I decide I like Tryn.
"Diana fed on an array of merriments, and I, on blood. Our descendants can survive on either." He grins. "Mostly, they chose the former."
I blink in confusion. “Uh?”
"Sex, sweetling,” the olden king spells out for me with an eye roll so utterly like his descendant’s. “Zale feeds on sex. Or pleasure. Or terror, if he’s in the mood.” His lips extend over his sharp white teeth. "But if he feels like it, he can also survive on blood."
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
THROUGH THE MIRROR
As the ghost of the old king disappears for good, I decide should have asked for a list of potential weaknesses, though I doubt he would have shared as much. Zale is his however-many-greats-grandson, after all.
It's a wonder Tryn told me as much as he did. He must have been incredibly bored alone in the maze for hundreds of years, and in want of conversation.
I cross the river to the willow, half expecting a monster to leap out of the surface and drag me underwater, or another ghost to spook me. Nothing of the sort occurs, and as promised, I find a pile of shining jewels at the base of the tree. Necklaces with precious stone hearts as wide as both fists, gold rings with diamonds, and so many crowns, diadems, even a scepter.
There also are a number of weapons, all too impractical to serve much purpose other than ceremonial posturing. A long broadsword with a hilt the size of an eggplant stands out, its scabbard shining like a thousand stars. The whole thing must weigh a hundred pounds.
Though the crown jewels have been piled up like discarded toys, every item seems just as sharp, shiny, and beautiful as the day they were forged. There must be some magiks at work, keeping everything safe from rust and dust.
It takes a while to spot the dagger—the only one I can see in the pile of treasures. Barely longer than my hand, the blade's made of a black metal, and its hilt is encrusted with large rubies. Taking it in my hand, I'm surprised to find it both light and comfortable.
If not for Tryn's advice, I would have chosen a crown, as that's likely the option Zale would dislike the most. I know better than to ignore the advice of a ghost king, though. Incurring his wrath would be unwise, and one Duval enemy is already more than I can chew. Plus, he's right. This is perhaps the only thing in this stack that could be of any use.
I don't usually carry a weapon, unlike Alva and Khel, relying on my speed and ability to hide over my brawn, but this small thing is hardly more than a letter opener or a steak knife. And it's undeniably lovely.
Dagger in hand, I face the opposite direction from where I came from and hop on the vines, climbing back up to the top of the smooth, high walls.
I survey my surroundings, considering my position and what I've seen so far—I came from my left and spotted the green gates straight ahead.
Might as well explore the other side of the maze.
It's been a while since I’ve had a chance to stretch my muscles, and this almost feels like running on the rooftops of the lane, though the air's cleaner and the obstacles, much easier. And if I infuriate an arrogant king the longer I remain here? All the better.
I've traversed enough of the maze to reconcile my progress with the directions scorched in my mind from when I looked through the glass floor of the ward. I know where I am.
I could remain on the walls until I reach the black gate, but at the last turn, I opt to walk down to the ground one last time, counterintuitive as the action might seem.
I've read a book about psychology that delved into nightmares, into guilt and regrets, and after meeting Tryn's ghost, I'm confident I need to do this.
Earlier, I managed to get out because I told myself nothing I saw or heard was real. Now I know better. I start to understand the purpose of the maze, the reason why a man such as the first king of Ravelyn might have created this living nightmare.
