by Lexi Ryan
“The Sluagh lured you into the woods by the Golden Military burial grounds.”
I swallow past the burn in my throat. “How?”
“Mind games. Illusions,” he says. He closes the book I hadn’t noticed on his lap and tucks it under an arm as he stands. “They tap into your worst memories and trap you inside them.” He lights a candle on the bedside table and studies me as I study him. His dark skin looks paler than I’ve ever seen it, and as he makes his way back to the chair, I notice that he’s limping.
Did he get hurt rescuing me? Somehow I know he wouldn’t want me to ask. “How long was I out?”
“A full day. Pretha healed you as best she could, and then we brought in a true healer to do the rest. Your leg was broken and you were covered in burns—mostly superficial, thank the gods. That level of magic is taxing for a human, so the healer put you into a deep sleep to help you recover.”
Pretha healed me, not him. Does he have no magic or does he just choose to let others do the work for him? For someone who seems to hold so much sway over the magical creatures around him, I can’t imagine him having no abilities of his own.
“How’d you find me?”
“Dara and Luna sensed you were in trouble. They led me to you.”
I nod, as if this all makes perfect sense. As if running into monsters who can recreate my worst memories is something that happens every day, as if it’s totally normal to have a pair of wolves acting as my guardian angels.
“You’re lucky. A few more minutes, and—”
“I know,” I blurt, cutting him off. I don’t want to hear the rest. I know what would have happened. Mom’s healer friend may have taken away the burns nine years ago, but he hadn’t erased the memory of the flames licking my skin or the smoke in my lungs. I know all too well how it feels to be dying in a fire. I shake my head again. “But . . . It wasn’t real? Or was it?”
“The Sluagh’s illusion becomes real when you engage with it. The fire was very real because the Sluagh became the fire when you believed it was. And you ran right into it.”
“I heard screaming.”
“Your sister?” he asks. “That’s why you ran into the flames?”
I nod. “It seemed . . . real.” I’m glad I’m still in bed, lying against pillows, but my hands tremble nevertheless. “So the fire was real, but she wasn’t?”
“There was no one else in the forest with you. When we chased away the Sluagh, you were alone.”
“My satchel?” I ask, moving to stand.
“Stay where you are.” He bends to get something from under his chair. When he returns to the bed, he places my satchel gently in my lap. “I warned you not to use that mirror.”
“You did.” I lift my chin, but I’m not feeling very confident in my decisions now. The mirror tricked me into going to the cemetery. It led me right to the Sluagh’s trap.
“You can’t trust it,” he says.
“I know,” I grit out. Though I don’t. Not really. It seems to work sometimes, but obviously not always. It showed my mother alive and well and showed her as a corpse in some sort of tomb. Both cannot be true.
“Then why were you out there?” He holds my gaze and waits. “What were you looking for?”
“Nothing. It . . . it doesn’t matter.” I look away. I’ve proved myself to be a careless, human fool, and part of me wishes he would leave so I could hide under the blankets. Another part of me would cry out if he walked away. He saved my life. Again.
“The mirror hasn’t worked properly in years,” Finn says. “It was created eons ago, when the Seelie and Unseelie rulers had an alliance. They made several magical items with their combined powers and divvied them up between the courts as a show of good faith. But the magic was corrupted when the Seelie Court stole it for themselves.”
“It works sometimes,” I say, sounding like a petulant child.
He shakes his head. “You can still ask it to show you someone or something, but you can’t trust what you see. Corrupted magic is dangerous. The things it shows you can lure you into danger.”
“Maybe you could’ve mentioned that sooner?”
“I didn’t realize that Don’t use it was a complicated order.” He sighs and softens his tone. “A mirror like that is dangerous for someone like you.”
I roll my eyes. “A human?”
“No. Someone with so much hope in her heart.”
So much hope? Does he not know me at all? I’m the least hopeful person I know.
Then suddenly I’m aware of where I am. In a bed. In his house. “Is this your . . . room?” I almost say bed but catch myself. Somehow that’s even more embarrassing.
“Yes. It was the easiest place to watch over you, and the bed is big enough to give the healer room to work. But now that you’re awake and more or less healed, I can get you moved to the spare room.”
Why is he being so kind to me? I think he hates me half the time, and the other half . . . I don’t like to think about what I feel between us then. “I need to get back to the palace.” I push myself out of bed, and the room spins. I sit down again and fall back onto my pillows.
“Stay put,” Finn says. “You’re healed, but you’ll be weak for a few days.”
“I can’t just disappear. They’ll come looking for me.”
“Pretha has taken care of it.”
I don’t like this. I could miss something important and make the queen angry. What if she won’t let me remain at the palace and makes me go home before I’ve gotten the final artifacts for Mordeus?
“As your tutor,” Finn explains, “she was able to get permission to take you away from the palace for a few days of training. You are currently visiting a city to the south that’s known for their musical performances.”
“Oh.” I sag into the pillows. I really am very tired, and the idea of returning to the palace and pretending I’m well? I don’t think I could pull it off just yet. “She told me about your brother. Vexius? I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
He nods, but his eyes avoid mine. “Me too.”
What was it Pretha said when Finn was commanding her to heal me? Stop making the same self-righteous mistakes that made me a widow. I want to know what she meant, but I know Finn won’t answer.
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“None I care to claim.” He rolls his shoulders back as if suddenly realizing how stiff he is from hours of sleeping in the chair. “Rest, Princess,” he says. “All your problems will still be here tomorrow.”
I don’t want to listen like an obedient pup, but I settle into my pillows anyway and feel my eyes drifting closed.
“You must be hungry. I’ll call for a tray.”
“Finn?” He stops at the door and turns. “Thank you. For saving me. Again.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. “I hope that whatever you were looking for was worth it.” His gaze dips to the satchel in my lap. “Don’t trust that mirror.”
* * *
“Any leads on the Grimoricon?” Finn asks the next morning. We’re in the library, and his wolves are sleeping on the floor on either side of him—where they seem to prefer to stay.
Considering that he just saved me from the trouble I got into by following the mirror, I don’t want to tell him about the library it showed me. “Not really. Do you have any ideas?”
“The Grimoricon scares the queen, so I don’t think she’d keep it close to her. My sources tell me it’s never been at the Golden Palace.”
Great. “Well, tell your sources that it would be helpful if they could be more specific.”
He grunts. “I’ll do that.”
I’m feeling well enough to be playing with my power, though Finn won’t let me do much. So far all I’ve done is learn to wrap items in shadow so I can hide them on myself. I want to practice turning others to shadow, but Finn said that’s too draining, so I’ve been working up to bigger and bigger objects. I sheath a sword at my side and wrap it in shadow before looking at Finn.
; “Well done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound impressed. Nothing I’ve done with my magic impresses the shadow prince. Not that I care. “How’s the boy treating you? Does his schedule allow him time to woo you?”
I frown. “What boy?”
“Prince Ronan, the golden child—I believe you call him Sebastian?”
I snort. “Why would you call Sebastian a boy? He’s twenty-one.” Finn ignores me, but I consider my own question. “How old are you?”
“Older than he is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He absently scratches the head of a sleeping wolf. “Old enough that I fought in the Great Fae War and young enough that I don’t remember a time that our courts weren’t determined to destroy each other.”
That puts him somewhere between fifty and five-hundred years old. Also not an answer, but more information than I had before. I tilt my head to the side and study him. He’s obviously older than Sebastian, but he looks the same age. Whereas Arya and Mordeus look older. If they were human, I’d guess they’d be my mother’s age. Then there’s Lark, who seems to be aging like a human child. “How does aging work with the fae anyway?”
He sighs. “It depends on the race. Some have very short life spans. Most sprites, for example, live less than five years. Other fae can live for thousands of years.”
Why must he always be so obtuse? “I’m asking about fae like you, and you know it.” When he seems reluctant to answer, I say, “If you don’t answer, I’ll just have Sebastian tell me.”
“The elven fae, like me,” he says, “typically age much like humans until puberty, then age significantly slower after that. Several hundred years between us might look like a decade to your human eyes.”
“Typically? When do you age in a nontypical way?”
He shrugs. “Arya, for example, is closer to my age than to Mordeus’s.”
“Jalek said she’s dying. That’s why she looks so much older?”
“It’s your turn to answer questions,” he says. “How’s the golden prince treating you?”
“Sebastian is fine,” I say. I frown, realizing I don’t know much about how he spends his time. “It’s true he’s busy, but if you think I’m going to tell you something that can be used against him, you don’t know me at all.”
“Oh, I already know you’ll protect him,” he says, his silver eyes narrowing. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. To be fair, he’s been protecting you too.” He nods at my wrist, where my scar remains glamoured away. It used to startle me to see it missing, but I forget about it most of the time now.
“How is hiding my scar protecting me?”
He stiffens, then shakes his head. “I meant the Barghest attack.”
But did he?
“Has he gotten you to change your mind about becoming his queen yet?”
“No. Why do you assume I will?”
“Because you’re in love with him.”
“What does one have to do with the other?” I form a soft ball of shadow in my hand and throw it at his chest.
He grabs it and holds it in the palm of his hand before setting it spinning. “Typically, when you love someone like that, you find a way to be with them.”
“Once he realizes that I’ve been stealing from him, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to want me anyway.”
The spinning ball of shadow disintegrates. “Ah. So the truth is revealed. It’s not that you don’t want to be with him. It’s that you think he can’t forgive you for what you’re doing to save your sister.”
“Why are you pushing this? Do you want me to be his queen?”
“I don’t want any surprises,” he bites out, standing and heading to the door. “Pretha will escort you back to the palace.”
“Why don’t you ever use your magic?” I blurt before he can leave.
He turns slowly back to me and cocks his head to the side, making one of those dark curls fall in his eyes. “I use my magic.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“My gifts are not meant for your entertainment, Princess.”
I roll my eyes. I understand his response for what it is—an evasion. Finn has no desire to reveal why he doesn’t use his powers. And why would he? If, for some reason, he truly isn’t able to use them, that would be an incredible weakness. One that could get him killed if his enemies found out.
I still can’t help but think it has something to do with his father’s crown and the wrong male ruling the Court of the Moon.
“Finn, you deserve to be on that throne. Once I find my sister and get her home safely, I’d like to help you find your father’s crown.”
He steps back, eyes flashing. He opens his mouth, and I think he’s going to scold me, but he snaps it shut again, then turns on his heel and storms from the library.
His wolves rise from where they were sleeping, and I swear there’s disgust in their eyes as they look at me before following their master.
I sink into a chair and swallow back tears. I want to help, but they don’t trust me enough to let me. Sure, I’m gathering the relics that will supposedly help his kingdom in the long run, but I’m being kept in the dark about so much, I don’t even understand how that will help.
I pull out the mirror and stare at my reflection. I’ve known that the crown was missing, so why did I never think to ask the mirror?
Because you can’t trust it.
But sometimes it’s right. And maybe this will be one of those times.
“Show me King Oberon’s crown,” I say softly. But the image in the glass doesn’t change, and no matter how many times I ask, I remain staring at my own reflection.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“GUESS WHO’S BACK AT THE PALACE and asking to see you?” Emmaline teases me as she brushes my hair.
I turn to look into her big blue eyes. “Sebastian?”
I had returned to the palace yesterday afternoon, but when I found out that Sebastian had been gone since Litha, I began to worry—that he’d been hurt, that he’d somehow discovered that I’d freed his prisoner, that he knew I was staying with Finn. No one knew where he was, and my mind was more than happy to supply me with terrible possibilities, however unlikely, paranoid, and self-absorbed they may have been.
Emmaline grins. “Yes, of course Sebastian. He asked that we tell you he’ll be coming by your room after sunset and he’d like to go on a walk.” The way she squeals, you’d think walk was code for something much more scandalous.
“Did he seem . . . excited to see me or serious?”
I watch Tess in the mirror over my vanity as she makes my bed. “Seriously excited,” she says with a wink.
Okay, so he’s not angry. It’s a start—especially since I know where the book is and need to ask him another favor.
“How much of Faerie have you seen during your time with the queen?” I ask Emmaline.
Emmaline smiles as she twists my hair back from my face. “We serve the Seelie Court, so we go where they go.” She frowns at the short lock of hair at the base of my neck. “I wish I could get my hands on the incompetent drudge who cut your hair.”
“I told you it was an accident,” I say, dodging her usual complaint. “Just leave the back down and it won’t show. So does the queen have other palaces?”
“Of course she does,” Tess says.
“Many,” Emmaline says, nodding.
This should have been obvious to me, but only yesterday, when Finn said that the book wasn’t in this palace, did it occur to me that the library I’m searching for isn’t either.
On the one hand, after my run-in with the Sluagh, I shouldn’t trust the mirror anymore. On the other hand, I have no other leads on the Grimoricon, so I don’t have much of a choice. New strategy? Use the mirror but proceed with caution.
When I asked the mirror again this morning, I studied the image more closely than I did the first time, and the answer was right in front of me. Waves crashed just beyond the library windows. If I’d noticed that the first
time I looked, I wouldn’t have wasted time thinking that there was some secret second library in this palace. From everything I’ve seen here so far, we are nowhere near the sea.
Tess pours me a cup of tea, and Emmaline continues to fight my curls into submission while hiding the choppy pieces. “The queen has several palaces throughout her territory. This is her primary residence, and the location of all the most formal events, but she only spends about half the year here. The other half she splits between her three other palaces.”
I give my best attempt at a dreamy sigh. “I think if I were a powerful queen, I’d want to spend my day by the sea.”
The twins laugh. “Maybe because it would remind you of a certain prince’s eyes?” Emmaline says.
“When you’re queen,” Tess says, “you’ll be able to choose where you spend your time.”
“Serenity Palace, the seaside castle, is lovely, but it’s not meant for the full court. It’s more of a retreat for the royal family,” Emmaline says. “But I suppose you could change that.”
“There is a seaside palace then?” I ask.
“Of course. The southern shore is thought by many to be the most beautiful part of the Seelie territory. Rumor has it that the queen’s parents were partial to Serenity Palace.”
“Perhaps that is why she rarely visits,” Tess says.
Emmaline shoots her a sharp look, and Tess bows her head.
“Why wouldn’t she want to visit a place that reminds her of her parents?” I ask. There’s something more than grief here if they aren’t supposed to talk about it.
Emmaline shakes her head. “We wouldn’t know, milady. We’ve only been in her service for ten years. The queen’s parents died twenty-one years ago.”
They exchange another worried glance. I’m sure they know more, but they’re too afraid to say it, and I decide not to push.
* * *
“I have an idea,” I tell Sebastian as we walk through the gardens that night. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”
The hot day turned cool with the setting sun, and I shiver in my sleeveless sundress. Sebastian tucks me closer to his side, warming me with his body heat. “I suppose that depends on the idea,” he says, grinning.
