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A small flame had been left burning in the fireplace, casting the room in amber shadows. It was just enough to create a welcoming energy without warming up the space in an unpleasant way. The crackling wood was reminiscent of Zoei’s scent, and it tickled alive the nostalgia in my mind as I surveyed the room for any signs of maids or servants.
The room had already been set to rights—bedspread tucked neatly under the mattress, bins emptied, curtains gathered in an artful fan shape. I stepped into the embrace of the familiar, marveling at the way the room seemed frozen in time—a much happier one.
My fingers sank into a silk-upholstered settee, the fabric cool against my touch. Such lightweight upholstery was typical of a fire sorcerer’s dwelling. The powers running through their blood tended to keep them heated beyond what was comfortable, and so they compensated by wearing thinner clothing and embracing lightweight fabrics to let excess heat escape easily. Cooler air was also pumped through the central vents at intervals, errant blasts of it making the curtains shiver and shake.
The whirr of the air system was jarring in the silent room. Or perhaps it was residual guilt from sneaking around that made me jump when cool air lurched from the vents. I tugged the cloak tighter around myself, pulling on the ties around the waist as I descended the short flight of stairs that separated the living area from the bedroom.
The decor had changed perceptibly. Gone were the deep blue walls that held an artful seashell texture. Now they were a striking crimson and gold, power emanating from each stroke of the artist’s brush. I stepped close, squinting at the details, only to realize that I was staring at little globes of fire, circular at the bottom and tapering into little swirls at the top. The lines were just uneven enough to suggest the designs had been hand drawn instead of purchased. Only the best for the new Agnivale King.
Although the curtains had been pulled apart to let some sunlight through, Highblade Palace’s location in the Agnivale valley didn’t allow for much natural light. Coupled with the rich decor, the room was covered in a mixture of silhouettes and shadows—even the padded bench under the windows seemed to lure me in with their promises of plush luxury. Tasseled crimson pillows and a soft woven throw graced the bench in an artful drape.
A large cherry wood vanity with a round stool sat across from the windows. My eye was drawn to its egg and dart molding detail, set apart by the tapered and fluted legs. The design itself echoed the vintage models from Old Earth, something that was very un-Zoei like. She preferred strong, sturdy furniture that would remain standing if a cannonball were to power through it. Not this delicate design with scrolled armrests and urn-shaped spindles on the low-seat back.
Curious.
Wood crackled in the fireplace as I stepped closer to the vanity, taking in the scattering of jewels on its surface. Mostly earrings, I noted, remembering Zoei’s penchant for them. They glittered in the low gleam of the solar lamps, rubies and gold smithied into sharp, angular shapes.
Some were heirlooms, like the octagonal rubies encased in gold so pure it was prone to markings from sharp nails. I’d noticed them adorning the ears of Zoei’s paternal grandmother, although I had never asked for their history.
Now, I cradled one between my fingers, bringing it up to the light.
Gorgeous.
A living piece of Highblade history.
Why had Zoei scattered the jewels with a careless hand, strewing them across her desk like they were made of common metal instead of rare gems? It seemed irreverent of their deep Highblade history, and I had to resist the urge to sort the jewels according to their pairs. It was a monumental task to fight my natural instincts, but I forced myself to place the stud back on the table and move away.
A sudden rattle near the windows robbed me of breath. I stood very still, certain I was caught red-handed snooping through the new King’s chambers.
With trepidation, I turned my head, not daring to move another limb lest I draw attention to myself.
A familiar shadow graced the window ledge, one furry paw tapping against the gilded frame with undue authority.
I took one step forward, then another, unlatching the window for a cat I couldn’t quite believe was still alive.
“Purrscilla?” I cooed hesitantly, reading her aura. It was a muted, pale pink. The grand lady stepped through the gap in the window and perched on the plush bench, gazing up at me.
Purrscilla was a cat unlike any other. She’d been the runt of a litter born on palace grounds—the only orange kitten in a sea of white. We’d noticed straight away that she was half the size of her littermates, with a larger belly and shorter legs. Perhaps, if we had been older, we would’ve had the common sense to take Purrscilla to the vet. But as ten-year-olds, we’d simply cooed over her cuteness.
Her fur had once been silky and soft, almost like a beautiful felt. Now it stood raised in places, as though she’d received some bad news in the recent past. Her limbs had curved with age, and she walked with a hesitance that was unlike the kitten I remembered.
“Do you remember me, sugar girl?” I whispered, placing my fingers in front of her nose for a good whiff. “We used to be friends.”
Purrscilla was affectionate when it suited her—on that account, nothing had changed over two decades.
A soft head bumped against my knuckles, and I obliged by stroking the crest of her scalp and down the sides of her cheeks. Cloudy eyes squeezed shut, and a low purr vibrated against my fingertips.
As she leaned into my touch, I marveled at the time that had passed. It seemed like yesterday that I was standing here, cradling a newborn kitten as Zoei practiced her fire combat indoors against her Sire’s wishes.
Soon, Purrscilla had huddled onto my lap, curled into a ball of wispy fluff. She extended a paw upwards, playing with the ends of my neat braid, just like she had when she was a kitten.
Even as I smiled at her antics, I wondered again:What had I hoped to gain from this particular expedition?
It was a blatant abuse of Zoei’s privacy. If anyone had even so much as recognized my silhouette, there would be hell to pay, both personally and politically.
So,why?
Was it the need to prove to myself that the memories I held so dear werenotconjured in the mind of a child? Or the desire to immerse myself in the nostalgia that Highblade Palace evoked?
