by Bree Despain
I push away thoughts of Tobin that nearly pull me under with despair, and I shift my gaze to meet Garrick’s eyes. His are red and watery. I don’t know if it’s from the dust of the long journey or from frustration, but I hold his stare, steady and sure. “As I told you before,” I say, “if you want me to get you the Key, you’re going to have to take me with you. I’ll know the area when I see it.”
His lip curls. “Not happening.”
Taking me with him had been the original plan. I was supposed to lead them to the place where I claimed to have hidden the Key myself, but Garrick had changed his mind at the last minute, opting to leave me behind. I don’t know if this was the result of listening to his new Court or because he senses I’ll bolt the first chance I get.
When I promised to bind myself to Garrick and the Underrealm in exchange for him sparing Haden’s life, I’d thought I was only buying myself time until Garrick and I could find a way to flee the Court and follow Haden to the mortal world. But now that I know Garrick is my captor, escaping from him is my number one priority.
Perhaps it’s written all over my face.
I can’t help it. I feel desperate, trapped here, knowing that Haden is on the other side without me, stuck in the mortal world without the cure—me—for the black poison that courses through his body. If I can’t get to him in time, the Haden I know, the Haden I love, will be lost forever. And what about my family? After the Skylord attack, are Joe, Jonathan, and my mother in a safe place—or could the Skylords have taken them prisoner . . . or worse?
I stop myself from following that thought and shake off the despair again. Worrying and wallowing won’t help me escape.
“I’m only trying to be as helpful as possible, Garrick.” I dip forward and give a little curtsy in my torn dress—a costume from the play I’d been in only moments before entering the Underrealm. I force myself to smile as sweetly as possible and hope it doesn’t look like a grimace.
I wish more than anything that my singing voice worked here in the palace—that I still had the power to control objects with it. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve been able to hear the ethereal tones, sounds, and vibrations that living creatures and organic matter give off. It wasn’t until about three months ago that I learned I could tap into the sounds—by imitating them in song—and use them to control organic objects. I could ask raindrops to dance, throw rocks without lifting a finger, and sail a boat down the River of Woe with only the power of my voice. And most importantly, by imitating the screeching vibration of the Keres, I could cause the ferocious shadow creatures to become temporarily solid—just long enough for them to be destroyed. Eventually, I learned my auditory and vocal abilities were inherited from my long-lost ancestor Orpheus (the Great Musician of mythological fame). Even though controlling objects with my voice is a newfound power, I’ve come to rely on it. But it’s failing me now.
Haden had told me once that music was forbidden in the palace, and I had learned the hard way that he had meant forbidden in a very literal sense. The palace is somehow magically warded against music of all kinds. This fact was confirmed when I tried to use my vocal powers to unlock the door to my room last night. Not only was the wooden door and its heavy metal lock completely void of any ethereal sound, I couldn’t even make a humming noise, let alone sing to try to control them. Absolutely no sound came out when I tried.
I’ve been buoyed up by music all my life and now I feel like I am drowning in silence in this place. Like it’s a special kind of torture designed just for me.
When my musical powers failed on the door, I instead tried to pry the lock with a jeweled comb I’d found in a drawer. My fingers are raw from the effort.
With Garrick still refusing to take me with him out of the palace to search for the Key, I’m going to have to try yet another tactic.
“I never thanked you properly for your present,” I say to Garrick, casting my eyes toward the pomegranate necklace on the bedside table.
“You can thank me by wearing it,” he says, his voice giving away a mixture of disappointment and desire as he sets down the map and picks up his precious gift.
I knew he had wanted to see me with the necklace around my throat when he’d ushered the servant carrying my breakfast tray into my bedroom this morning before leaving with the search party. He probably expected it as well this evening, but I’ve left it untouched, along with the food that the servants have brought me. I eventually started to send my breakfast away with the small Lesser boy who brought it, but he gave me a pained look, as if my lack of eating might cause him to be punished. Through a series of gestures, I’d let the boy know he could eat it himself if he wanted. The boy’s grimace turned to a look of shock and then to pure joy as he shoved the berries and gristled meat into his mouth. I almost worried he’d make himself sick.
“I’d thought of this necklace the moment we met,” Garrick says, the gold chain dangling from his hand. I think his words are meant to sound romantic, in his twisted little brain, but I have to suppress a shudder. The fact that he had been thinking of me in that way is disturbing, when I had barely noticed him—beyond being a particularly obnoxious accessory in Haden’s entourage.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The small boy in the corner, the same one who had enjoyed my breakfast, wavers, my movement having left him exposed once more. His eyes flick toward his new king—a teenaged boy who had been a Lesser like himself only a couple of days ago. The glint of clustered rubies dangling from Garrick’s hand catches the young boy’s fascination for a moment, but then he looks away as if looking were a crime. Garrick himself stole this necklace once. It had belonged to a former queen—Haden’s mother—many years ago. I wonder now just how many dead queens had worn it before her.
How soon will I join their ranks if I don’t escape?
I give a little sigh, making sure Garrick’s attention stays on me and doesn’t shift to the boy. “It is a beautiful necklace,” I say, a measured tone of placation blanketing my words. “You should help me put it on.”
Garrick’s eyes light up. A small smile of satisfaction edges his lips.
I don’t want his present. I don’t want to wear the necklace. I don’t want him to touch me. But if I can just get him close enough . . .
I give him an expectant smile, covering the fact that I am sizing him up as he approaches. He’s dressed himself in King Ren’s golden breastplate along with a tunic and cape made of luxurious black cloth. He intends to look royal, but the effect only makes him appear even smaller. The clothes engulf his thin frame, like he’s swimming in gold and velvet and can barely keep his head above water. Garrick can’t be more than fifteen. I’ve got at least two years and forty pounds on him.
I could overpower him easily.
I smooth my hair over one shoulder, exposing my neck as he sits beside me on the bed. I glance at him under my eyelashes, hoping it looks coy and not conniving.
Garrick clenches the chain of the necklace in his fist. And that’s when I realize that he may appear thin and frail, but his hands are sinewy and strong from a life of hard labor. And the heat radiating off his body in erratic pulses gives away that he’s having difficulty controlling the electric current surging through his muscles.
One false move on my part could send a strike of lightning from those hands straight into my heart.
But this may be my only chance.
If I can overpower Garrick, I doubt the boy in the corner would get in my way. It’s the two guards outside the door that will be the challenge, but with their new king as my hostage, I’m hoping they will have to let me pass.
I slip my hand into the secret pocket Dax had sewn into my costume. My fingers wrap around the jeweled comb I have stashed there. Its prongs are particularly sharp after scraping them against the metal lock for half the night. I almost smirk at the idea that I’ve been a prisoner for less than forty-eight hours and I’ve already unintentionally made myself a shiv.
Garrick’s hot fingertips brush
my collarbone as he drapes the thin gold chain around my neck. This time I can’t stop myself from shivering. He fastens the clasp but lets his fingers linger longer than necessary. Now, I tell myself.
I stretch out my free hand, readying to grab Garrick and push him against the heavy bedposts resembling Corinthian columns, when the boy in the corner startles. He drops his tray. The sound of metal clanging on marble makes both Garrick and me jump, and the comb slips from my pocket and lands on my bedsheets. I hurry to cover it with my skirts as Garrick stands. Did the boy startle because he sensed what I was going to do?
“You clumsy piece of kopros!” Garrick shouts at the boy.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, Garrick,” the boy says, scurrying to snatch up the tray. A blood-red apple rolls across the floor, but the rest of my dinner looks to have mostly survived the fall. The boy reaches for the apple but then pulls his hand back like he’s too afraid to get any closer to Garrick. I follow the stricken look on his face and realize what must’ve given him such a fright. Garrick has two shadows.
One is shorter and the other far too large to be natural. It quivers slightly, and its movements aren’t quite in sync with Garrick’s. Before yesterday, I’d seen this phenomenon only once before, when a Keres had attached itself to Joe in an attempt to drain the life from him. Then last night, I noticed it when I watched Garrick walk away through the small window in my chamber’s door. I’d almost convinced myself that it was a trick of the light from the flickering torches in the corridor. It hadn’t made sense. If Garrick has two shadows, that means a Keres is attached to him—but if that is the case, why isn’t he dead yet? The Keres should have sucked his life force dry within minutes.
“You should treat us with more reverence,” Garrick says to the boy, towering over him as the boy kneels on the floor. Garrick reminds me of a kid I knew back in elementary school who would push down the younger kids on the playground in order to make himself feel bigger. “I am not a Lesser anymore. I am your king. You will call us ‘your highness’ or ‘my lord.’ ”
Us?
This isn’t the first time Garrick has referred to himself in the plural today—and I don’t think he is just using it in the royal sense. What if Garrick is playing host to a Keres willingly?
To what end, I don’t know, but it means Garrick is far more dangerous than his strong hands and a few bolts of lightning. Except when I use my vocal powers, Keres have no physical form. If Garrick set one loose on me or the boy, there would be no way to fight it without my singing voice.
“I am sorry, my lord,” the boy says. “And I did not mean to disturb you. It’s that I . . .”
“I’m sure he’s just faint from hunger,” I say, cutting off whatever the boy has to say. “You must remember how it was as a Lesser?”
Garrick’s nostrils flare when I mention that word.
“But now as king,” I say before he can rebuff, “you can change all that. With me at your side, as your queen, we can make a real difference in this world. And as soon as we have the Key, no one will be able to stop you from being the greatest ruler this realm has ever known.”
“We do have changes in mind,” Garrick says almost under his breath.
“Then the sooner we get the Key, the better. Let me help you find it, my king.”
Garrick stares at me for so long I am afraid he can see right through my intentions. He tilts his head and shakes it a little as if someone were whispering in his ear. “I’ll do as I please,” he says in a low, grumbling whisper. He clenches his fist and then lunges toward the floor so quickly I think he is about to strike the Lesser boy, but before I can react, he snatches up the red apple. He holds it out to me. “Eat,” he says. “The search party leaves again at first light. You will need your strength if you’re coming with us.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to hide my relief, but my fingers are still tentative as I take the apple from his outstretched hand.
“Don’t be afraid to eat here,” Garrick says, as if he senses my hesitancy. “You bound yourself to me when you ate the pomegranate seed. Eating again won’t affect you more. You are already powerless to leave the Underrealm without my say.”
“Yes, of course.” I clutch the apple against my white dress. He has pointed out the one thing I had been purposely ignoring with my escape plans. Even if I got away from Garrick and the palace, I am still bound to this world.
But perhaps if I find the Key for myself, that won’t matter?
I can only hope . . .
“I’ll need new clothes. And shoes.” I stick out my foot and show him the tattered ballet flats I made the journey here in. I am going to need something sturdier if I’m going to make a run for it.
“I’ll take care of it,” Garrick says. “Finish cleaning up this mess,” he snaps at the boy, and takes his leave. As he goes, I notice that the number of guards outside my door has been doubled.
chapter three
tobin
“57 . . . 58 . . . 59 . . . 60 . . . Ready or not, here I come!” I call out, my voice echoing through the old mill. I hop down from the tire swing that is “home base” and dash for the ladder that leads to the loft. Abbie doesn’t know that I peeked. On number 10, I snuck a look and saw her tiptoeing up the ladder. Abbie always wins at hide and seek—which isn’t all that fair considering she’s thirteen, six years older—but this time I have the advantage. And if I win, she has to buy me a package of Swedish Fish on the way home.
I check in the usual corners of the loft and then see an old tarp that has been thrown over a couple of crates. The fabric shifts ever so slightly, as if someone were adjusting their position under it. I smile. “I’m going to find you, Abbie!” I call, already feeling triumph swelling in my chest. I dash for the tarp and pull it away with a smile, only to be greeted by the hiss of a mangy stray cat. It swipes at me and I jump back, almost stumbling to the ground.
A high-pitched giggle echoes from below. I look over the loft railing to see Abbie sprinting for the tire swing.
“Hey!” I shout.
I jog for the ladder, knowing I’ll never catch her in time. She jumps onto the tire with a laugh. “Safe,” she calls. “I’m home safe.”
“No fair!” I shout as I climb down the ladder. “You doubled back. That’s not fair!”
She twirls in the tire swing, leaning back so she’s almost upside-down, with her hair draping behind her, touching the ground. She smirks. “You wouldn’t have known I doubled back if you weren’t peeking, cheater.”
“I didn’t peek,” I say, but my ears burn hot. I’ve never been a good liar.
Abbie laughs, twirling in the swing. “Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater,” she sings.
I scowl at her.
“Oh come on,” she says, waving me over. “I’ll give you a push on the swing before we head home. I won’t even make you clear the table for me after dinner, even though you lost.”
I can’t really argue with that. Our brother, Sage, would have never let me out of a chore if he’d been here to win. I jog over to the swing to join her. Only when I get to it, she isn’t there. The swing rocks back and forth ever so slightly, but it’s empty.
“Abbie,” I call, spinning around. “Abbie, where are you?”
She doesn’t answer.
A little trill of fear tickles up my spine. “This isn’t funny. Where did you go?” I turn back toward the tire swing, but now it’s gone as well. As if it vanished into thin air. “What the . . . ?” I try to call out to my sister again, but suddenly I can’t remember her name. I frantically whirl around, looking for her. But then I am not sure who it was I was looking for in the first place. And then the walls of the mill start to fade away around me, as if disintegrating. What is happening? Where am I?
Who am I?
The floor under my feet vanishes and I begin to fall . . .
I startle awake, blinking my eyes and taking in my surroundings: pale stone walls and floor, and a heavy, ancient-looking wooden door stands closed in front
of me. The room is lit only by a single lit torch beside the door. It almost feels as though I am inside a castle, or a palace, if that were possible. Is that possible? Where am I? I was looking for someone . . . Someone I wanted safe back at home . . .
And then all I can recall is the sensation of falling through empty space.
There’s an itch on my back. Right between my shoulder blades. The itch moves lower. About an inch. The sensation reminds me of a spider.
I hate spiders.
I tense at the recollection and try to jump from my chair, but nothing happens.
I try to raise my hands to scratch at my back. My arms won’t move.
I look down to find that my forearms have been engulfed by the armrests of my chair. My arms have sunk into them as if the armrests were made of Jell-O—and then solidified like rubber. I try to yank free, harder now. I use my feet and try to push myself out. All I manage is to almost topple myself forward, chair and all. I steady it before I fall.
I am stuck. I am trapped.
The itch burns now like an insect bite.
I shout for help. Screaming at the top of my lungs, while fighting to free myself from the grip of the chair.
I scream until I can’t remember why I was screaming in the first place.
My voice falls away. This chair is so comfortable, why would I want to get up?
I close my eyes and slip back into my dream.
I’m falling once more through empty space.
chapter four
haden
“Are you insane?” a booming voice says from somewhere above me.
Is that you, my god? is all I can think, even though Hades was lost to my world centuries ago. All I can see are the stars behind my eyelids, the echoes of the headlights that have been my undoing. I must be dead.
Rough hands grab me. Shake me.
