by Hannah West
I’d been under the impression that the princess was only a year or two younger than Perennia, but perhaps my memory failed me; this portrait depicted a child, with fleshy cheeks and ribbons in her lusterless black hair.
I turned back to exchange a troubled look with Perennia, but an announcement diverted her attention to the entrance. The herald declared the arrival of Princess Navara Vasila who, after a suspenseful pause, stepped into view.
A gasp gushed out before I could stop it. The heir of Perispos was hardly a child. In fact, she wavered on the cusp of womanhood. Her velvety black hair tumbled in curls down her back and captured the light like pitch catching aflame. The comely shape of her lips struck me with envy. Thick lashes fanned out from bottomless topaz-brown eyes.
The portraitist had lied.
But the lie didn’t begin and end with the brush; it clung to Navara in person in the form of childish trappings. She wore a white linen smock with a ruffled collar and lace trim. Sky-blue ribbons frolicked amid her bouncing curls and her warm olive cheeks looked like they’d been rouged by a heavy-handed player in a traveling troupe.
The next announcement sliced through a room so quiet I could hear a man several seats down from me swallow.
“Her Majesty, Queen Ambrosine Vasila.”
My sister entered like a blaze of fire. Her garment looked as if molten gold had been poured over her body, like battle armor meant to expose rather than protect. The metallic bodice carved inward at her navel so that from ribs to thighs, her flanks were bare. She wore a black cape that trailed behind her like a silk shadow, and her pale hair had been plaited, dusted with sparkling minerals, and topped with a crown of jagged obsidians. Indrawn breaths of admiration swelled around me, echoing, consuming all other sound.
I toyed with the ruffles at my collar. Ambrosine had made sure I looked puerile and harmless—like a dandified princess overshadowed by a glorious queen.
When Navara took her seat at the opposite end of the table, Ambrosine raised her goblet and tapped it with a clawed ring. “To my beautiful sisters. I know I speak on behalf of both my husband and my new daughter when I say that I hope you regard our kingdom as a second home, and its fine people as friends.”
A taut moment of silence stretched until it was clear she had concluded, prompting the man next to me to call out “Hear, hear!” with great gusto. Others followed suit. Pleased, Ambrosine gestured at the food, and every person at the endless banquet table began to fill a plate and converse animatedly.
Veiled dancers emerged to clap and twirl, and the crowd applauded. A nervous jester performed, and they laughed. Ambrosine sipped wine and carved rodentlike nibbles of food, chewing mechanically as though it disgusted her, then smiling to keep others from noticing. I tried again and again to capture Perennia’s attention, to commiserate, to communicate that I sensed something strange. But she was determined not to look at me.
I’d come to the feast hungry, yet the tart lemon flavor of the stuffed grape leaves on my plate tasted like sour bile.
I dropped my fork, unfurled a hand over my belly as though I’d eaten my fill. Stealthily, my thumb and index finger found the iron figurine in my pocket and rubbed it for good measure.
It’s in your mind, Glisette. You haven’t forgiven her, and that’s making you see darkness and ill intentions that don’t exist.
But what of Mercer’s prophecy?
I caught Ambrosine watching me with a cryptic smile.
When the unbearable feast drew to a close, Perennia and I followed Hesper back through the maze of reflections. Earlier, in the daylight, the mirrors had seemed to open up infinite passageways. Now, in the dim light of the sconces, I felt trapped, watched on every side.
“I’m disappointed that Navara and I were not able to become friends tonight,” Perennia mused. “Perhaps over the coming days we can—”
“Something was wrong with the portrait,” I interrupted, the words festering inside me.
“Glisette…” Perennia sighed.
“Do you not agree?”
“It was strange. But that doesn’t mean anything. Not everything means something.”
“The artist went mad,” Hesper whispered without looking back. “He left the queen’s eyes unfinished for as long as he could, until she demanded he finish. He finally did. That very hour he hiked up to the edifice and leapt to his death.”
“Hesper!” Perennia cried. “That’s nothing more than a salacious rumor, surely!”
“I do not repeat rumors, Your Highness,” Hesper answered, grave. “I was there in the edifice saying my prayers when it occurred. Many of our people have renewed their pledge to the faith in recent days.”
A cool touch stroked the back of my wrist. I jolted in terror before realizing it was Perennia, reaching to entangle our fingers. I clasped her hand in mine.
When we arrived at our quarters, Hesper stopped and turned, the shadows toying with her dark hair. “Good night, and may the Holies bestow blessings on you.”
When the door shut, I kneaded my temples and strode to the window, gazing out at the edifice stairs. I had known visiting Ambrosine would be strange, but I hadn’t expected to feel so uneasy. I hadn’t seen any indication that she had broken any rules or caused any harm. And yet…
And yet everything felt wrong: the missing king, the subdued princess, the mirrors, the portrait, the fraught mood haunting this place.
Mercer’s vision hadn’t shown him much, yet he had sensed something deeply sinister. Now I understood. In spite of Ambrosine’s logical explanations for everything disquieting, I was not reassured.
“What’s the matter?” Perennia stopped wrestling with her ridiculous gown to ask.
“Pack your things. I’m sending you home in the morning.”
“What? No! We just arrived!”
“I should have come alone.”
“Whatever you need to do, I can help,” she said, seizing my wrists. “I’m an elicromancer too, and old enough that you can stop obsessing over my safety and think of me as an ally. I want to join the Realm Alliance in a few years, but how will I ever be of use if you don’t let me take risks?”
“Bringing you here was risky enough, Perennia.”
“You don’t believe Hesper’s ridiculous story, do you?” she demanded.
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you sending me home?”
“Because it’s what I’ve decided,” I said, in my most queenly tone. Perennia could sense its gravity. She ripped at the buttons of her bodice until she was able to shimmy out of the gown and throw herself onto her bed.
I dragged in a long breath. The figurine seemed to weigh heavier in my pocket.
I fished it out and frowned at it, noticing a tiny, messy inscription engraved into its base. I squinted and turned it in the light to make it out.
Edifice. Midnight.
I clenched it in my fist, made sure Perennia hadn’t seen, and hurried to rip off my travesty of a gown.
TEN
GLISETTE
THE servants had extinguished the lamps and retired. As I scaled the staircases leading upward, only the soft illumination of my elicrin stone kept the shadows at bay.
The palace was predictably laid out, but the mirrors transformed the corridors into a maze of unexpected turns and unwanted company. Several times, my own reflection tricked my heart into pounding like a battering ram against my chest.
Who could blame me, when Ambrosine and I looked so alike?
At last I encountered an antechamber with marble columns leading to a grand staircase flooded with moonlight. I ascended to find an enormous domed terrace covered in cool-hued mosaics. An altar with carved figures stood at the center and a series of open arches provided panoramic views of the city. The edge called to me and I crossed the empty edifice to lean against the hip-high railing.
The night sky was a tapestry of silver stars and wool-gray clouds. A soft wind brushed along my skin, and for a moment it felt like Mother’s ge
ntle fingers, the breath of Father’s lighthearted laughter. I could understand why people came here to renew their hope, to ask questions, to feel small.
But the wind kicked up and I grasped the railing to keep from swaying. Chilling notions seeped through my thoughts like cold water through fissuring ice. The invitation could have been a trap meant to send me to the same violent end as my parents. I thought of the artist who had thrown himself to his death after painting Ambrosine’s likeness—and imagined my mysterious caller shoving me over the edge.
I heard soft footsteps and turned to find a raven-haired figure carrying a flickering candle.
“You came,” Navara said.
“Princess,” I breathed in relief. Instead of the unflattering frock, she wore a dress as dark blue as the night. I looked to see if any guards accompanied her, but found only Hesper, who knelt in obeisance to her beloved deities before rising to stand at Navara’s side.
“You gave us the effigies,” I said.
“Yes,” Navara replied. “The queen asked Hesper to leave her gifts in your room. We added two of our own. I hoped that you or your sister would receive my message, but also that the Holies would give you the compassion to hear my plight, and the courage to help me liberate my father and my people.”
“From what?” I asked warily.
Navara did not reply. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to look up at the carvings of the Holies, her eyes the brown of dates. “My mother was devoted to Agrimas. Father less so. His views mirror those of his people. The legends of our deities feel like nothing more than tales sometimes.”
She circled the altar, studying the figures. “But my mother was devout. It grieved her to find the edifice empty when she came to say her prayers. So she set out to renew our people’s commitment to the faith, and our people loved her enough that her devotion sparked an awakening.” A wistful smile crossed the girl’s face as she stopped before me again. “She was so kind. She represented every Holy virtue, but Lovingkindness most of all.”
Hesper bowed her head in reverent sorrow.
“When she fell ill,” Navara continued, “she grew weak and had to be carried to the edifice on a litter. My father tried to convince her to travel to Nissera to see an elicromancer Healer. She refused, believing that Eulippa would take pity on her and Hestreclea would honor her loyalty. At first her fellow devotees continued to flock to the edifice and pray for her. But when it became clear that prayers for her health would not be answered, they abandoned the faith again. People began to speak fondly of her beauty and kind spirit as though she was already gone. They preferred to remember her as she was. Even my father.”
Navara stared at her toes, tears glittering like dewdrops in her thick lashes. She looked so young and fragile until her eyes shot up to meet mine, deep and determined. “She said the Holies would not look kindly on this city turning their backs on the faith again. She said that I would live to see the wrath of the gods fall upon Halithenica.” She paused. “And their wrath has come.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“One of the Fallen deities walks among us,” Hesper answered. The candlelight sculpted her narrow features.
“The Fallen?” I repeated, remembering the illustration of bloodshed and chaos in Perennia’s book. A skeptical laugh slipped out.
“You cannot deny that an unholy presence accompanies the queen,” Hesper said. “You said you sensed something strange about the portrait.”
“Yes, the fact that Ambrosine treats her stepdaughter like a child to try and stifle a beauty that rivals her own.”
Navara blushed and ducked her head, but Hesper lifted her chin. The compliant attitude befitting a ladies’ maid had vanished; the fire of a challenging scholar’s spirit flared in her gray eyes. “Nexantius, the Fiend of Vainglory, would do just such a thing.”
“Of course,” I snapped. “The one who spawned elicromancers, seeing as we’re inherently vain and power hungry?”
“No.” Princess Navara shook her head. Her denial resounded through the edifice. “We know what you did to save Nissera. That’s why I thought you could help us. It’s why I thought you would.”
“It was you who unleashed her upon us,” Hesper added. “You unburdened yourself of your sister at our kingdom’s expense. It is your duty to liberate us.”
“Hesper,” Navara chided. She stepped forward to seize my hand, her grip firm and desperate. In her other hand, the candlestick trembled. “The final chapter of the Book of Belief warns of a time when the Fallen will take on flesh and enter our world. They’ve been waiting for their moment and the vessels to make it possible. They will bring scourges on mankind. Once all four arrive, it will signal the beginning of the end.”
“Of what?”
“Humanity.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe—”
“Please, listen,” the princess pressed. “There’s a missing section of the final chapter: a sealed apocryphal scroll, which only the high priest and the king are allowed to see. It’s rumored to contain guidance for banishing the Fallen. The high priest kept it safe and secret, but he died suspiciously over a month ago now. The day after his death, the queen questioned me to make sure I didn’t know what it said. I think she wanted to destroy it and bury any knowledge of it.”
“Are you implying that she killed your priest?” I asked in disbelief. “You don’t know my sister. She’s not a murderer, and she has no interest in your religion.”
“The priest was one of only two people who knew how to banish the Fallen, and now he’s dead,” Hesper said. “The other is the king, and the queen has locked him away and corrupted his mind.”
My skull prickled with the onslaught of a raging headache.
“Regardless of what you believe, my father is in peril,” Navara said. “I haven’t seen him for weeks except when she trots him out to sign royal decrees. When I try to find his quarters, the mirrors confuse my mind and I wake up in my bed as though I never left.”
“What the queen has become is not natural,” Hesper said. “Her servants told me she does not eat her food, and when she must eat for appearance’s sake, she vomits. She is obsessed with infantilizing the princess and dresses her like a child. She ended our academic lessons and reduced me from tutor to maid. She wants to smother the princess’s growth in every way.”
Navara swallowed hard and released my hand to trail a finger along her throat. “I wore my mother’s ruby necklace when I sat for the painting. It was foolish, but I wanted to defy her in some small way. When the queen saw it, she tore it off…and ate it.”
“Ate it?” I half laughed through my growing despair. “I’ve never heard of such a thing! Do you have any proof to support these bizarre accusations?”
“Do your own instincts not offer proof enough?” Hesper asked. “Does the testimony of the Princess of Perispos not hold weight?”
“She’s probably already destroyed the sealed scroll,” Navara said. “Without you, without elicromancers, there is no hope for us. You have to believe us.”
I massaged my temples, buying time to think. My relationship with Ambrosine was fractured beyond repair, but Perennia believed she could change. If I confronted Ambrosine with false accusations, the sister I truly cared for might never speak to me again.
But if I didn’t confront her, and the claims were true…
“Invite Ambrosine here,” Hesper said after a moment, as though inspiration had struck. “She cannot cross the threshold of the edifice. It’s a sacred place, and she is unholy.”
“It’s true,” Navara added. “It’s why we asked to meet you here.”
The princess paced to the other side of the edifice, bending to set her candle on the floor and dig her fingernails into a crevice between two tiles. She dislodged one and set it aside. “It’s why we’ve used it as a hiding place for the paintings and statues we were able to salvage when she ordered the guards to burn them.”
She pried away another tile. Hesper hu
rried to help. By the time I joined them, I was looking down into a cellar of artworks that had been hastily wrapped in flour sacks.
“This is part of the scene from the main corridor on the first floor,” Navara said, handing me a chipped portion of a fresco that depicted a human reaching up toward one of the Holies while in the grip of a shadow creature, a Fallen whose face and body must have belonged to another damaged shard. “And this is the only portrait of my mother we were able to save. The queen even toppled the statue of her in the rose garden.” Navara uncovered the top half of a large canvas. Though the candle flame didn’t offer much light, I could tell in the low gleam that the king’s first wife had been a great beauty.
“She ordered your mother’s portrait burned?” I asked, wondering what I would do without the glorious renderings of Mother and Father that graced the halls of our home. Would their images slowly slip from my memory like plucked flowers shedding their petals?
“All of it,” Hesper answered. “Everything reminiscent of our queen whose presence brought warmth and light to these grounds before the impostor brought her darkness.”
“What about the foyer ceiling?” I asked. “Perennia said it’s a mural of the Holies.”
“She was about to destroy it too, until she heard you were coming,” Navara replied. “She couldn’t undo the damage and desecration, but she could make you think my father still had some say in what happened under his roof.”
Could this be true, or was the princess enlisting the help of her favorite tutor to purge the palace of unwelcome change? To paint Ambrosine’s unabashed self-centeredness as something darker?
But then I remembered Mercer’s prophecy.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Navara begged, dropping to one knee in front of me. “I was nothing but welcoming, yet she despised me the moment we met. I don’t want her to think of my beauty as a threat. I don’t care about my beauty at all. I’ll show you.”
