I’d just killed someone. A boy. A boy was dead. A boy was dead because of me. He’d been a bad guy, yes. But he’d been weaponless. I’d lost control of my body, yes. But... I should have been able to stop Leonora. She’d overtaken me so easily.
What if she did it again?
Could she, or had the effort cost her much-needed energy?
“You evil hag,” I spat.
—This is only the beginning. I’m going to ruin your life before I end it.—
I needed to escape this cell. Now. If Leonora wanted to be here, I wanted to be anywhere else.
I paced the confines of the cell, sidestepping a single stalk of ivy that had grown through a crack in the floor, before inadvertently bumping into Milo’s body and splashing in the pool of his blood. My stomach turned over, concluding the pacing portion of my day.
Think, think. How to save Saxon? How to circumvent Noel’s foresight and get to the dragons? How to defeat the phantom once and for all?
What tools did I have at my disposal? The magical bracelet Saxon had given me, a possible ability to bind unlikely objects together in harmony, and the dagger. I could—
Leonora began to sing, loudly and off-key, to distract me. How smug she sounded.
How brilliant she was.
Hours passed, my thoughts too chaotic to align, my body growing more fatigued as I fought her. Midnight loomed. I hadn’t eaten at all today, and I felt as if I had a mouth stuffed with cotton. My hands quivered, parts of me as cold as ice, others as hot as fire.
Verging on exhaustion, not knowing what else to do, I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, looking inward, past the noise. I imagined a life with Saxon. We would be husband and wife, king and queen, and we would have the dragons at our sides. Love for my family welled up, a sea of tranquility spilling through me. In that sea, reason reigned.
I shook off the phantom’s fog of confusion. The first problem that needed addressing—saving Saxon. In the fairy tale, each time the evil stepmother and stepsisters had left Cinder behind, a fairy godmother had aided her. I’d noticed the same trend in my life. I’d acted as my own fairy godmother at times, but I’d also had help from Ophelia and Noel, Dior, Eve—Everly, and even Saxon.
Would I get a fairy godmother this time? Maybe anyone had the ability to be a fairy godmother and become part of the story; they just had to decide to help and follow through.
How could I reach out to let someone, anyone, know that I required aid? Someone, anyone, on my side.
The only one who might be free—big might—was Everly. Had she awakened from Ophelia’s sleep spell? Could I awaken her if not? Saxon had always contacted her through a plant, but I had no idea where to find a plant in a...
I spun on my heel, seeking the ivy. Hope turned electric as I jolted into action, falling to my knees before the stalk that had grown through the floor. The tip of the leaf had browned, but the stem still had some green. Would she hear me?
I didn’t know how it all worked, but I had to try. “Everly? Everly, I need you to focus on me, all right?” I shouted the words at top volume, just in case. “This is Ashleigh. Listen up. I’m in the dungeon at the palace, and I need your help. Saxon was gravely injured during battle. I don’t know what my father is doing to him right now, but I do know he’s planning to kill Saxon and Roth at the victory celebration. Please. Help me save the day or whatever.” Sweet goodness. Now I was talking like her.
Silence. Waiting...more minutes passing... No movement. No stirring of magic.
Excitement dulled. Hope withered. I bowed my head, a heavy weight settling on my shoulders. Maybe she heard so many voices, speaking so many different things at once, that she had to sift through all the noise to pinpoint an individual voice. Maybe she would hear me...in a few days. Would she be too late? Would I?
Leonora laughed with more of that infuriating glee.
“One escape, coming up.”
The familiar voice came from behind me and shut up the phantom. I leaped to my feet, my heart pounding like a war drum. Everly! Despite everything, she’d come for me, just like a true friend. And she was a friend, wasn’t she? One of my closest.
She stood outside the bars, a pale-haired, silver-eyed hero in black leather.
“Help me out,” I beseeched.
“Here’s the deal,” she said. “I will help you, and you will help me. We’ll save Saxon and take back Roth’s crown. Do I have your word?”
“Yes. You want my father? He’s yours. You want vengeance against Ophelia and Noel? Maybe I can make them fall in love...with daggers.” Could I bond someone’s emotions to an object?
I thought I...could. I suspected I’d done it before, the memories buried in my mind with so many others, waiting to spring free as soon as there was room, the phantom gone.
“Ophelia and Noel aren’t so bad,” Everly said. “They’ve done what your father ordered to garner his trust. I think. I mean, the witch let me link with her, but she also cast a spell to ensure I couldn’t hear anything he said, something she could have pretended to do. But then again, she takes pride in her work, and claiming to perform a spell but not doing so is very, very bad. If a witch can’t be trusted, she can’t sell her spells.”
“The business lesson is nice, honest, but can we pause it so you can get me out of here? And where’s Roth?”
She didn’t speed into motion. No, she leaned a shoulder against the bars. “He’ll be joining the party upstairs at some point, and so will we. He’s just taking a route your father cannot predict. Also, Noel told me I won’t be able to let you out until you confiscate the key from Milo’s neck.”
The key my mother had wanted? Did it unlock dungeon cells? I rushed over and crouched at the warlock’s side. The leather cord hung from his neck. I trembled as I picked up the bloody dagger I’d dropped earlier and severed the cord to free the key.
What had my mother once said? I used to have one just like it, and I wish with all my being that I still did, so I could give it to you.
“Noel had one more message for you,” Everly said. “Apparently your mother didn’t have a key just like it—she had that exact one. She just used it to pay Milo’s father for your barrier spell.”
Truly? I gazed down at the iron key with a swirling end, tears welling. “Why would he perform such strong magic for fourteen years in exchange for this?”
“Because it isn’t just any key. It can open any lock.”
And Momma had wanted me to have it. Because she’d known, deep in her heart, that a day would come when I desperately needed it. “I have the key now, Momma,” I whispered. Fate had struck again. How else could a magical key have come full circle, arriving just when I needed it?
Everly stuck her hand through the bars, a silent request for the key. “You want out?”
Yes. Deciding to trust her, I handed over the key.
Everly opened the lock, as hoped; the cell door disconnected and slid out of the way.
Relieved, I raced out of my prison. “Come on.” I reclaimed my key and darted down the hall, expecting the sorceress to follow. Let’s get this done. We would save Saxon. I would accept his proposal and pluck the crown from my father’s head. Roth would reclaim his throne, and I would find my dragons.
My father had made a huge mistake today. Before, I would have left the kingdom and never returned, leaving him to his life. Now? He didn’t have the strength to stop me. Because yes, I would be making use of Leonora’s magic before I killed her, just as she had made use of my body.
I would kill her. I must. My determination had not wavered.
From behind me, Everly latched on to my wrist, jerking me to a stop before reaching the end of the hallway, where the exit waited. “We need to get you ready for the ball, Cinder baby.”
She waved a hand in my direction, a gust of wind hitting me full force. Tingles erupted, lights spark
ing all around me. My dirty clothes disintegrated in a flash, new garments already forming. But I wasn’t wearing a fancy ball gown, as I’d expected. I was wearing the clothes of a warrior. A leather and mesh halter of my own, paired with a pleated leather skirt. I even wore an assortment of weapons—a sword, several daggers and—I gasped. A crossbow with collapsible sides. My crossbow. The one I’d designed. During my six days with Saxon, I’d come up with a way to reinforce every movable part. This one was made of gold so clear it appeared to be glass, with a chamber for paper thin gold pieces as long as my index finger, with razor-sharp tips. Upon contact, hooks sprang from those projectiles, embedding in whatever they entered.
Pride infused my spine. Lightweight sheets of golden armor had been strategically placed, interweaving with the leather and mesh. On my feet were a pair of combat boots rather than glass slippers. I. Was. In. Love.
“The fashion accessory every warrior princess needs,” Everly said, smiling at the boots.
“Agreed. Now let’s go.” I opened the hidden door and entered the secret passage.
The sorceress followed, saying, “We need to come up with a good catchphrase for you. We’re about to kick our way into your father’s celebration trap, and a lady should make a proper entrance. Don’t worry. I’ll help you craft one.” She fluffed her fall of pale hair. “They’re kind of my specialty.”
“I’m not sure I know what a catchphrase is.”
“It’s a phrase people will associate specifically with you. They’ll be talking about it for years to come. As they should.”
“What’s yours?”
She smiled slowly, wickedly, and purred, “Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who will perish when I call?”
Chills ran down my spine. Okay, yes. I needed a catchphrase. Because, she was right. This night would be remembered for years to come. It was the night a thrice-twisted fairy tale reached its conclusion.
29
Dance the night away.
Keep the misery at bay.
SAXON
Ophelia patted my shoulder, sending a shocking lance of strength through me. “Ready? The ball is soon to begin.”
The shaking in my knees lessened. After our conversation, she’d disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me standing in the field, frozen. Whatever she’d done had weakened her.
Though strain tightened her features, she transported me to a spacious chamber with a handful of torches, shelves, and countless jars filled with eyeballs that stared at me. Where was I?
As a clock began to tick down in my mind, midnight closing in, I surveyed the rest of my new surroundings. A bedroom? From the bed frame to the dresser, every piece of furniture was made of solid gold. Gold coins were stacked everywhere, even scattered across the bed in lieu of blankets.
A piece of yellowed parchment materialized atop a pillow, and I limped over to snatch it up.
Dear Saxy,
Clean up. Change clothes. Or not. Up to you. Either way, I’ll be collecting you anytime now for a final showdown between you and Leonora, with a bonus round between Roth and Philipp. Don’t try to escape. There are no doors. The only way in and out is magic. If you steal or destroy anything, I’ll know and I WILL collect.
Love,
O
I crumpled the parchment in my fist and tossed it into the hearth. There might not be doors, but the walls were stone. I would make a door.
Wait for her to collect me? No. With a snarl, I snatched up a golden brick and threw it at a wall. My body ached from the strain, but I still managed to crack a stone. Emboldened, I picked up another brick and hammered at the wall. The crack widened. The brick shattered into pieces, leaving gold dust all over my hands. I grabbed another brick.
I’d made my final decision. We would not be stabbing Ashleigh tonight.
I’d meant what I’d said. I would take her however I could get her. She would live. She would suppress the phantom because she would want a future with me. We would wed.
Whack, whack, whack. Ignore the pain. Whack, whack. Ignore. Whack. The. Whack. Pain. Whackwhackwhackwhack. Sweat poured from me as the crack grew. A hole formed. Not wide enough to fit through, not yet, but soon.
Panting, I lifted a new brick, unsure how many I’d busted—
The room vanished, a new one taking its place. A curse exploded from me. I’d been whisked into the ballroom. I stood on a ten-by-ten dais newly built in the center of the room, facing the empty throne that was on a dais of its own. It was clear the servants had been decorating for hours. Curly ribbons hung from the ceiling. Vines and flowers wrapped around pillars, and countless candles glowed with golden light, scenting the air with a rose-infused perfume.
Above the king’s throne was a large mirror, which let me see the double doors behind me. One of Everly’s mirrors?
I dropped the brick, chipping the wooden platform, and tried to walk forward. Once again, magic anchored my feet in place.
Inhale. Exhale. “Ophelia.”
The witch materialized in front of me, her strain less pronounced than before. “Yes, Saxon?” She scanned me from head to toe, noting my blood-and-sweat-soaked clothes, the gold dust seemingly glued to my skin, and pursed her lips. “Decided to attend the final showdown looking like death instead of man candy, did we? Well, okay, then. It’s your fairy tale. But I’d stop fighting your confinement, if I were you.” She patted my shoulder, just as she’d done before. “You’ll be pleased to know the Glass Princess is alive and well and soon to arrive. She accepted her engraved invitation.”
Another bolt of energy sped up my naturally swift ability to heal. Torn pieces of flesh began to weave together. I panted through the pain. “Ashleigh isn’t like glass. She isn’t weak. She’s the strongest person I know.” At birth, a phantom had possessed her. The equivalent of being dropped into a cauldron of boiling water. She could have hardened, like an egg. She could have softened, like a potato. Instead, she’d changed the water, like a coffee bean.
“Who said anything about being weak? I just paid her the highest compliment.” She sauntered off, calling, “Get ready. Here come your guards. Can’t you feel the excitement in the air? We’re so close to the grand finale.”
Footsteps sounded. I peered into the mirror above the throne, seeing the double doors open, ten armed guards marching forward. They climbed the dais to form a half circle behind me. No one said a word. Where was Ashleigh?
More guards marched in next, quickly followed by spectators with champagne glasses already in hand. The doors closed behind them, preventing me from checking the hallway for Ashleigh.
I received smiles, waves, and curses for defeating favored combatants. I clenched my teeth through it all. Where. Was. My. Asha?
Conversations blended together, until King Philipp entered the room through a side door and eased upon his throne. As everyone went silent, new tension stole through me, turning my limbs into stone. How smug he appeared. How happy. He even looked as if he’d recovered from his poisoning.
“Welcome, one and all,” he called, his voice carrying throughout the room. “Thank you for joining me to celebrate the victory of Crown Prince Saxon Skylair, soon to wed my daughter Princess Dior.” He held out his arm, and the princess entered from the same side door, her head bowed, her hands wringing.
Cheers rang out, throwing fuel on the fires of my fury.
I struggled against my confinement, midnight so close.
Suddenly a crash sounded, the double doors at my back swinging open again, flinging two guards across the room. Gasps arose, cheers dying. A hush descended.
Two females entered the room next. Everly Morrow, free of any disguise and—I jolted.
“Ashleigh.” Muscles flexed in an effort to get to her. She wore the garments of an avian warrioress, her hair plaited in dark, elaborate knots. Her eyes flashed between brilliant green and vivid blue, and I nearly fell to my kne
es as dueling tides of relief and dread crashed over me. Ashleigh was indeed alive and well, but Leonora was fighting for control.
“Hello, boys. I mean girls. I mean everyone,” Ashleigh announced. She glanced at Everly, who nodded in encouragement. “I came here to eat hors d’oeuvres and kick butt, and they’re all out of hors d’oeuvres.” She awkwardly held out her hands, flames igniting at the ends, and looked at Everly for approval again.
Everly winced but also gave her an encouraging grin.
My chest swelled, breath sawing in and out of my mouth.
The king jumped up, no longer quite so smug. Had he expected a more subtle attack? He shouted, “Traitors to the crown. Attack. Kill the sorceress. Kill them both.”
Attendees screamed and rushed for the doors—doors that wouldn’t open. We were sealed inside. Thanks to Ophelia?
Protests rang out. My armed guards drew their swords as people stampeded in every direction.
Get to Ashleigh. Must protect her.
Adrenaline burned through me. Fighting...muscles straining...bones threatening to crack... Where had Ashleigh—there. We met gazes through the mirror. Blood pumped through me, thundering in my ears.
The fierce beauty stalked closer, those flames crackling at the ends of her fingers, spreading up, up her arms. Her shoulders. Her neck. Even locks of her hair caught fire, smoke curling from her.
She’s mine. Anyone who neared her collapsed before they ever made contact. Body after body dropped, flesh blistering as it melted. The scent of cooked meat and burnt hair created a pungent stench, stinging my nostrils.
Guards tossed weapons at Ashleigh. Even as her clothes remained undamaged by the inferno, all the swords, daggers, spears, and clubs disintegrated before contact was ever made.
I watched her, never glancing away from her reflection, utterly entranced. Such grace. Midway, however, she stumbled, her eyes widening with horror. Though we were still oceans apart, she reached out for me, screaming, “Noooo.”
I didn’t understand. What—a sharp pain registered in my chest, every beat of my heart causing the torment to intensify. In the glass, I saw the soldiers on my dais were dead, avian soldiers near the bodies. I saw the back of a winged woman, who stood before me. I jerked my gaze to her face. Tempest. She held a dagger. The dagger she’d pushed through my chest.
The Glass Queen Page 39
