by Liz Delton
Sylvia shocked her by pulling her into a hug.
“You be careful out there.”
“And you be careful here,” Neve replied.
They broke apart, and Neve saw that another man had appeared, that greasy-haired man who had dragged her from the dark cell she had woken in. This was it.
She shared one last look with Sylvia, whose ferocity emanated from her very expression. The Rider would be alright.
The man cocked his head at Neve, and she followed him out of the hall. It was the start of a journey for which she could not foresee the outcome—and for once, that exhilarated her.
And she didn’t know which terrified her more.
Twelve
The man called Oliver led Sylvia through the castle down its long, white corridors, which were lit by fascinating panels of pure light that made up the ceiling. There were no windows, and Sylvia couldn’t even tell if they were underground. Oliver led her down a beautiful stone staircase to another level. Simple wooden doors carved with neat lines graced a few of the white walls, and she was sure she would be unable to find her way back the way she came—each corridor was identical to the last. She took solace in the fact that at least her headache was starting to subside.
Lady Blackwater had already tested her by sending Neve away, alone. But the Lightcity girl had more skill than she credited herself for—what she lacked was confidence.
Neve will be alright, Sylvia assured herself, trying to will the words into becoming truth.
It was herself that she was more worried about; she could already tell Lady Naomi was a ruthless, cunning and intelligent woman, who seemed to know about many things she shouldn’t—or couldn’t. And the Trials that faced Sylvia could be more complex than she imagined. There was something very strange about this place.
At last, Oliver stopped in front of a wooden door, indistinguishable from the rest, and Sylvia wondered how he could possibly tell them all apart. He opened it and led her inside.
“You’ll be staying in these rooms, Miss Thorne. You’ll find everything you need here,” he swept his arm out invitingly as she ventured farther into the beautiful space. She had never seen living quarters like it.
A large, wooden bed took up much of the room; its ornately carved posts reached up nearly to the ceiling, supporting a delicate canopy of white silk. Heavy, blue and gold patterned fabric covered the pillows and blankets, and a sturdy wooden bench sat at the end of the bed, with matching blue and gold padding.
Directly across from the bed was a simple white stone fireplace, already lit and crackling merrily. Not a twig out of place, nor a smear of soot marred the hearth.
To the left of the fireplace, a recessed alcove held a simple table and chairs, which had been laid with food and drink. Sylvia’s stomach grumbled as the scent of roast meat and warm bread wafted toward her.
Across from the door, she laid eyes on what she first thought was a window, but it didn’t quite seem to be. She approached it slowly, and Oliver spoke.
“A looking-glass, Miss Thorne. It shows the view from the southern shore.”
It was framed like a window, and the surface looked smooth, like stone. But the impossible looking-glass showed a vision of the sea. The churning, blue-grey waters moved before her eyes. She reached out to touch it, but glanced over at Oliver, who smiled and nodded.
Cold stone met her fingertips. How was it possible? The smooth stone held a vision of another part of the island, and she was fairly certain she was underground.
Her heart was humming. She watched the waves for a moment and gazed at the clouds gently drifting in the wind, until her rumbling stomach pulled her attention back to the present. She ripped her gaze from the looking-glass and sheepishly turned back to Oliver, whose face held that kind smile.
“The Trials begin on the morning of the spring equinox,” he began in a very business-like tone. “Until then, you will stay here in the castle. Lady Blackwater has asked me to check in on you daily and attend your needs. Food and drink will be brought to your rooms,” he nodded at the table already laid out. “You will find sufficient clothing in the wardrobe.” Sylvia looked around to see a large wooden wardrobe behind the door.
“And your washroom is behind that door,” he pointed to the closed door on the other side of the fireplace. With one last smile, he stepped back into the hallway and bid her goodbye, assuring her that he would be back later to check on her.
Sylvia let out a huge sigh and sank down onto the bench; exhaustion and bewilderment threatening to overwhelm her. How had she even gotten here? She and Neve were following the Scouts one minute, the next they’re being tortured on the shore and waking up in dark cells. Now Neve was gone, and she was sitting in this decadent room, with nothing to do but wait until Winter’s End. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the footboard of the bed, but sprung up immediately when she remembered the food.
She hopped into a seat at the table and ate whatever she could get her hands on, swallowing it down with a glass of cool water from a pitcher. The pain that had walloped her body on the shore, spending a night unconscious on the floor, and her meeting with Lady Blackwater had all exhausted her. Once full, she leaned her head against the chair back, and closed her eyes again briefly, her hands resting contented on her stomach.
Winter’s End wasn’t for another few weeks, so she would do her best to find out as much as she could about Seascape in the meantime. She had an odd feeling about this city—it felt strange, wrong somehow. Perhaps it was just because it was so different than the Four Cities. It felt like there were ancient secrets and strange mysteries lingering in the very air.
She got up and stretched, then turned to watch the looking-glass again, mesmerized by the view of the waves. She must complete the Trials—Seascape would be Meadowcity’s greatest ally for survival in this war, she was coming to realize. They were clearly very intelligent and much more advanced than anyone in the Four Cities had ever dreamed. But with no way to prepare for the Trials, she could only worry about them in vague terms. She didn’t know what to fear, yet.
Lady Blackwater was fearsome, that was clear. But she had been ‘intrigued’ by Sylvia, enough that she was going to let her partake in one of their ancient rites to prove herself. But what had made the Lady so enamored of Sylvia?
And how did the Lady know those things about Sylvia and Neve, and Greyling’s war? How long had she been watching them? Sylvia stared out the looking-glass and it hit her. If this decorative looking-glass could show another part of the island, then Lady Naomi might be able to view other parts of Arcera with one as well. How else could she know things she shouldn’t?
Unless she had spies—but she would need to have them in all kinds of places across Arcera, to have learned of Neve’s invention of the explosives. Sylvia had a feeling it wouldn’t be hard to view things going on in the Four Cities through these looking-glasses—if this technology was used for decoration, it had to be used for more practical things, too.
Sylvia tore her gaze away from the looking-glass and decided to examine her suite further. Now full and mostly content—her headache only a dull throb—she could start her information-gathering now, with the suite they had assigned her.
She ran her fingers over the soft blue and gold bedspread and checked under, behind, and around the massive piece of furniture; noting its solid construction, but finding nothing of interest.
The mantle above the fireplace held no ornamentation. Beside the fire stood a basket of neatly stacked logs, and a rack of iron tools. Sylvia eyed the heavy tools, making note of them for later.
The wardrobe held an assortment of clothes, and she wondered at the selection, picking up a long black tunic that seemed like it would fit her. She pawed through the rest: leggings, dresses, shirts and even shoes laid out at the bottom.
Next, she investigated the washroom, which held the largest bathtub she had ever seen. She immediately turned on the taps and decided to wash off the grime of the trail.
She felt like she deserved a little pampering after the ordeals she had been through since leaving Meadowcity.
As the taps ran, she inspected the rest of the washroom; finding towels, bars of sweet-smelling soap, even a hairbrush and a box of hairpins. Everything was clean and new. The washroom was lit by another curiously glowing ceiling pane.
She sunk into the warm bath and thought that perhaps the glowing pane was a simpler version of the looking-glass—emitting only light instead of an image. She twinged in guilt as she dipped her shoulders into the water, imagining Neve all by herself in the wilds; as Sylvia took a luxurious bath.
The slight remnants of her headache eased away into nothing as the warm water soaked up to her neck. She closed her eyes and considered just how far away she really was from Meadowcity.
Thirteen
Upon rising from the bath and finding the clothes in the wardrobe to her size and liking, she belatedly realized that she was missing her weapons and her pack, so she decided to go out in the castle and do a little exploring.
Oliver and Lady Naomi hadn’t actually said she was to stay in her rooms, so she went back into the washroom and removed the box of hairpins. She slipped the box into a pocket of the long black tunic she now wore, draped over soft knit leggings. She found a pair of leather house shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe and put them on. After one last glance at the looking-glass, she turned the door handle that led into the hallway.
It wasn’t locked, so she took that as a sign that she was allowed to leave; or at least perhaps they didn’t expect her to. She bent down and carefully placed a hairpin on the floor by the door frame, then turned left, the direction from which Oliver had brought her.
She walked for several minutes down the long corridor, encountering no one. She placed a hairpin at each intersecting corridor, pointing in whichever direction she took, wedging them into the corner where the floor met the wall, hoping they would go unnoticed.
After a while, she eventually located the staircase that she and Oliver had taken down to this level, and was just about to retrace the path to her room to study the pattern, when someone called her name from above.
She turned in a circle and her leather shoes effortlessly pivoted on the smooth floor. Oliver was coming down the staircase, smiling, as he held the banister and hopped down the stairs.
“I was just headed to your rooms, but what are you doing out here?” he inquired kindly, but his blue eyes showed a hint of a warning.
“I got bored,” she said flippantly, flashing him a smile. “I’m not used to sitting still for long.”
Oliver nodded and gestured for her to walk with him. “Lady Blackwater has invited you for tea,” he said, taking her arm briefly and leading her down a different hallway than the one she had taken to get here.
Sylvia didn’t see a single hairpin on the floor the whole way back, and was surprised when Oliver stopped at a door and let her into her rooms, void of any hairpins. There’s that plan failed. Perhaps that was how they planned to keep her in her rooms.
There was a woman inside her suite, standing before her fireplace, but it wasn’t Lady Naomi. It was an older woman, about her mother’s age. Her chestnut hair was bound in a thick braid that wound neatly around half her head and down her back. She wore a simple tan dress that fell to her ankles, with soft black slippers. The sleeves of the dress were black, with silver threads that glinted in the light of the fire.
“Medina,” Oliver said warmly, “this is Sylvia Thorne. Sylvia, meet Medina. She will prepare you for tea with Lady Blackwater.”
Prepare me? Sylvia mentally cringed, but smiled politely at Medina, who had sharp brown eyes, identical to the color of her hair.
“It’s wonderful to assist you, Miss Thorne.” The woman beckoned Sylvia closer to the firelight.
Oliver let himself out while Medina looked Sylvia up and down, assessing her. Sylvia stood still and wondered how much of an occasion tea with Lady Blackwater was going to be.
She hardened her resolve. She would do whatever it took to win over the Lady, and Seascape. This was only another mission she had to undertake.
After several minutes of scrutiny, Medina ran three fingers across her sleeve in an odd motion, and nodded to herself.
The woman went over to the wardrobe and pulled out a long crimson dress that hadn’t been there when Sylvia had left. Medina brought it into the washroom and instructed Sylvia to change.
The Rider obeyed, and shut the washroom door behind her. She stared at the dress that Medina had draped over the drying rack. Sylvia ran her fingers along the same curious fabric Lady Blackwater seemed to wear, the same that Medina was wearing. Woven opposite the red strands were thick silver threads, just as soft, but seemingly carrying more weight. She raised the dress above her head and slipped it on, letting the fabric fall around her. The back of it would lace up, so she went out to meet Medina.
With a kind smile, the older woman motioned for Sylvia to turn around, and she obeyed. The laces took quite a while, and then it was time to have her hair arranged.
Medina clucked at the state of Sylvia’s hair, telling her that she would have to bring someone in to cut it evenly—but there was no time today. So she wound Sylvia’s hair up into a smooth knob on top of her head, tucking in all the ends.
Finally, Medina seemed to have finished, and just as she was setting the hairpins back in the washroom, a knock came at the door. Medina answered, and Oliver stood there waiting.
Sylvia didn’t bother to guess how he had known she was ready, already frustrated with the denizens of the castle and their mysterious ways; so she said goodbye to Medina, and thanked her for all her help. She had gotten a look at herself in the reflection of the looking-glass and hardly recognized herself.
“Brilliant,” Oliver said with a grin, and led her down the corridor, to the right this time.
Medina had given her some silken red slippers to match her dress, and Sylvia felt as if she were walking barefoot down the corridor. Her dress clung to her torso thanks to the laces, but it cascaded down from her hips to the floor and swooshed as she walked. She had never worn anything so fine in her life. The most elegant dresses she had ever seen had been worn by Governor Gero’s wife, Anna, and even those weren’t this elaborate. All of a sudden she didn’t know what to do with her hands, which were becoming clammy.
Sylvia slowed as she heard running water, and dropped her hands by her side. The corridor opened up into an impossible garden—the walls must be looking-glasses for them to show floor-to-ceiling views of the outdoors, because she was sure they were still inside, and underground, for that matter.
The stone floor of the corridor turned into a rustic stone path that led to a picturesque wire table set with tea and surrounded by flowers and decorative hedges. A wooden lattice draped with vines hung above their heads, and through it, she could see blue sky and clouds—on a massive looking-glass that made up the true ceiling. The Lady had created a fine garden patio overlooking the sea in the bowels of her castle. What else could these people do?
Lady Blackwater sat on a delicate metal chair, dressed in a fine gown of royal purple, with shiny black jewelry at her throat and wrists. Sylvia was suddenly glad to have had Medina dress her, even if she did resent the overly puffy gown.
The Lady beckoned Sylvia to enter. “Come in, Sylvia, sit down.”
Sylvia edged forward into the false sunlight. Once inside the room, surrounded by the looking-glass walls, she felt like she was truly outdoors—the only thing missing was the sea breeze.
“Thank you, Oliver,” the Lady said, and the cheery man quickly faded back down the corridor, leaving Sylvia uneasily facing the ruler of this incredible island.
Sylvia sank into the empty chair, careful of her gown. The entire surface of the table was covered by various cups, saucers, and trays of confectioneries, sandwiches, and pastries. A large white teapot sat in the middle of the table, from which Lady Naomi now poured two steaming cups.
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�Thank you for joining me for tea, Miss Thorne.” The Lady grinned and took an experimental sip from her cup, then let out a satisfied sigh.
“Please, call me Sylvia.”
“Sylvia.”
She couldn’t help but study Lady Naomi, now that she sat so close to the woman. She was tall even when sitting, and her long face and neck were framed by curly black hair. Her skin was impossibly smooth, except for the few wrinkles around her bright grey eyes, which seemed to be evaluating Sylvia’s appearance as well.
Sylvia did not look away as she reached for her tea and took a sip, finding it the perfect temperature. She smiled at Lady Naomi, waiting for her to pounce; for the Lady seemed to always remind her of a cat, or a mountain lion, with her stately posture and predatory eyes.
The Lady carefully selected a scone from a tray, and placed it on her plate before scooping some cream onto it with a small knife.
Sylvia suddenly remembered her missing knife, and pack. “Lady Blackwater,” she started, and put down her teacup, “do you know if my belongings were collected when I collapsed on the shore?” she said as politely as she could. When you tortured us with shocking pain until we were unconscious, was more like it.
The Lady smiled so slyly that Sylvia wondered whether the Lady knew exactly what she was thinking, but replied, “They were recovered, yes. I can have the bag sent to your rooms; however, I cannot allow you to possess weapons while you reside in the castle. We do not permit citizens to carry weapons within the castle, and since you are living here, well, you can see that it couldn’t be allowed.”
Sylvia nodded, seeing no way to argue with the Lady, and instead swallowed her anger below the surface. She would find a way to get them back eventually. She still had the iron fire tools in her room.
She watched as Lady Naomi took a neat bite of her scone, and then traced a pattern on the sleeve of her dress. Sylvia narrowed her eyes, recognizing that both the Lady and Medina had the tendency to make these strange motions. She decided to ask.
