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We climbed the staircase in silence, a spiral set into the interior of the tower, wrapping along the wall. Lyrena, Arran, and I held our weapons at the ready. Parys wore a dagger at his waist, but said his magic was the strongest weapon he had.
Ahead, golden candlelight heralded the arrival of our first challenge. But as we stepped into the circular room, all of our weapons slackened.
There was no beast or maze or warrior.
“It’s a parlor,” I said in disbelief, turning in the center of the room.
Plush, scarlet carpet lay beneath my feet. Padded, velvet-upholstered chairs stood against the walls. A silver tea service sat on a cart. And three portraits hung at equidistant intervals on the walls, all of crowned fae that looked vaguely familiar.
“Don’t you recognize your ancestors, Young Queen?”
I spun to the voice, curved blade ready. But there was no one but my companions, and all three of them were staring at the portrait of a tall woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“How disappointing,” she said, frowning down at me in disapproval.
“I’ve been called a disappointment my entire life. You’ll have to find a better insult if you wish to get a response,” I said, lowering my blade. I jerked my head back toward the staircase. “There is nothing here. Let’s keep going.”
“I don’t think—”
“Veyka—”
“You can try, Young One. If you wish to die.”
I heard the slice of Arran’s axe. I turned in time to see the gash he’d split through the canvas—and to see it stitch itself back together.
“If I cross that threshold, I die?” I asked directly, staring down the dark-haired queen.
She smiled cruelly, but did not answer.
Apparently, our kind were vicious even in death.
“Then what is the task? The terror?” I looked around the room, noting that the other two portraits moved as well, though they didn’t speak. “Talking to my relatives does sound like punishment.”
That wicked smile—so eerily like my own—remained in place for several more seconds before she straightened and spoke clearly, sharp voice filling the room:
In hues and strokes, our tale is told,
Seek the answer, let your mind unfold.
Look within our frames, secrets lie,
A hidden truth, which you must spy.
The first portrait speaks of wisdom’s grace,
An owl perched high, with steady embrace.
In scholarly libraries, we find its trace,
Knowledge preserved in every case.
The second portrait boasts courage bold,
A beast rampant, spirit untamed and untold.
In valiant hearts, its virtues behold,
