Palace of Silver

by Hannah West

  With wide eyes asking permission, she reached for the dagger I’d belted at my waist. My muscles stiffened, alert as she slid the sharp blade from its sheath, but I let her proceed. She gathered a handful of gorgeous hair and sawed until a flood of black tresses fell to the floor, some of them wistfully riding the wind into the cellar of sacred items. She grabbed another thick handful.

  “Let me,” I said softly. She turned over the blade and I circled her to gather what remained. In one motion, I cut it to a blunt edge that rested at her jaw. Sheathing my knife, I circled back to face her.

  “I should have done this weeks ago,” she said, her eyes filling with tears as she touched her shorn locks. “I should have disfigured myself so that she would not take her wrath toward me out on Father, on our kingdom, on our faith.”

  “Princess!” Hesper cried, clearly disturbed by the suggestion, but Navara ignored her.

  “Please,” Navara begged again. “Only you are powerful enough to fight through her dark enchantments.”

  I bit hard into my bottom lip. They were right: this was my fault.

  This rebuke could not be like the last one. I couldn’t make the same mistake of showing mercy. I would have to confiscate Ambrosine’s elicrin stone and drag her back to Nissera for another trial before the Realm Alliance.

  “So you will help us?” Navara asked.

  “Help you with what, darling girl?” asked a calm, lyrical voice from the shadows of the edifice entry.

  ELEVEN

  AMBROSINE

  TWO MONTHS AGO

  HOW could someone so beautiful look so unhappy?” Myron’s finger curled under my chin and lifted it until our eyes met.

  I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t know how. So I urged his mouth toward mine, slid my tongue along the inside of his lip. Myron was an attractive man—older than I would have preferred, but a skilled lover and a distraction from the boredom overtaking my mind.

  The only other cure was basking in the admiration of his people. But they had grown accustomed to my beauty. They no longer gasped and fawned over me. They no longer spoke Nisseran in my presence, instead droning on and on in Perispi with no regard for my lack of understanding. Sometimes I wished I had paid closer attention in lessons, but I always envied how naturally Glisette picked up Perispi, how relentlessly she teased me for guessing wrong answers. Even Devorian didn’t do that.

  Lonely, powerless, overlooked. Queen or not, I had come to realize I was nothing but a jewel in the king’s pommel. The best I could do was to be a sparkling jewel that pleased and dazzled him, one too rare and precious to replace.

  I pulled back, molding my body to the chaise, trailing one hand along the silk collar of my dressing gown and tugging at his belt buckle with the other.

  “Not now, my love,” he said, bending to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Navara will never forgive me if I miss the Day of Holies ceremony in the city square.”

  “She’s a demanding child, isn’t she?” I remarked before I could stop myself, but I managed to temper my irritation enough to sound fond of her.

  He laughed. “Demanding yes, but a child no longer. Men young and old have taken to ogling her. Are you sure you don’t wish to come and protect her by holding their gazes captive?”

  A tendril of delight unfurled in my belly at his flattery. “I’d rather hold you captive,” I purred.

  “Later, my queen,” he promised, pressing a kiss on the back of my hand. “I know it’s difficult for you to understand the customs of my people, including our many, many religious holidays—”

  “There’s practically one every fortnight,” I grumbled.

  “—but perhaps you could try. The philosophy of the faith is based on self-examination: what we aspire to be and how we fall short. If you think of it that way, it doesn’t seem so ridiculous.” Tenderly, he brushed a lock of hair from my face. “It would mean so much to Navara if you went to the edifice to pray with her, or if she knew you made a habit of going downstairs for reflection hour every seventh dawn.”

  “Reflection hour?”

  “Come. I’ll show you. You’re usually sleeping, and I don’t like to disturb you when you look so peaceful.”

  With a scowl of reluctance, I accepted his hand and allowed him to lead me across the expanse of our private chamber. Morning sunlight poured through the vivid colors of the stained-glass figures of the eight Holies, four goddesses and four gods. Though I had never made a direct effort to learn them, I knew all of the Holies by name, virtue, and symbol. If I cared about them, or pretended to care, perhaps I might not feel so lonely.

  Myron shoved aside a rich tapestry of frolicking deer, revealing a door in the wall.

  “I never noticed that,” I said. “Why is it hidden?”

  “I had the servants cover it before you arrived. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

  “Frighten me?” I chuckled. “I’m an elicromancer. I have little to be afraid of.”

  Even as I declared this, I thought of how weak and helpless I’d felt standing in chains before the Realm Alliance, subjugated by that insolent little bitch. No one, no one, was meant to have so much power. And then Valory had the audacity to pretend to be generous for not ripping the elicrin magic from my chest, an act that would have been as ruthless as tearing out my heart.

  Instead, they put a probation spell on my elicrin stone. If I tried to call on my power to do anything more than light a fire on a cold night, they would punish me.

  My teeth clenched with that steady rage that resided like a living thing inside me, moving under my skin. Sometimes, when I was alone with Myron or walking in the city, I felt almost happy. And then the anger would strike, and I would think of Glisette, who used to be my companion in everything before she sneered at me, at our past, and became so proud of her metamorphosis—and of that hideous scar. So what if we had always been a little vain and a tiny bit selfish? Our redemption was that we loved and defended each other no matter what. Why was she so ashamed of that? Of me?

  Because Valory proselytized her, the anger inside me hissed. Sweet and impressionable Perennia got caught up as well, and Devorian is just happy to be in his normal human state and forgiven for his transgressions.

  But there was no forgiveness for me. What did I do that every other ruler doesn’t? Raise taxes and tolls? Myron did so twice each year, and his people loved him.

  After the carnage in Arna, I should have been grateful Valory didn’t snap me like a stick. But I simply couldn’t muster the gratitude.

  “This place serves a unique purpose,” Myron explained, gripping the door latch. I realized I’d been clutching my elicrin stone and released it.

  “How so?” I asked, more polite than interested.

  “The Edifice of the Holies honors the virtues. But the Edifice of the Fallen reminds us that virtues do not exist in a vacuum—the absence of a virtue is a vice. The room is empty but for a mirror, which invites the visitor to examine his soul and the evils he has committed.” He turned the knob and revealed a dark stone stairway spiraling down. “It is an unsettling place, meant to cause discomfort with oneself.”

  “On second thought, I’ll go to the ceremony.”

  Myron laughed again. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You can go back to bed if you like. But promise me if you go down there, you’ll remove your elicrin stone.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re supposed to enter naked and smeared with ashes, for humility’s sake. You are meant to leave all your earthly trappings behind, anything that could obstruct an honest view of yourself.” He gathered my hands. His were always warm. “And, though my people are no longer so prejudiced against elicromancers, I don’t want to give them any reason to think you’re desecrating a holy place.”

  “How would they know? Do other people go down there?”

  “No. This edifice is ours alone so we can reflect in private. But if you respect our people’s traditions, it will show. They will see.”

  “Everyone else
goes naked in a public edifice?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Many go in rags. Either choice is acceptable.”

  The distant roar of music and cheers floated up from the streets. “Speaking of traditions…” I said.

  “Right, I should be off. If you go, take a light so you don’t harm yourself.”

  After he departed, I turned to stare into the pitch-dark passageway that awaited me.

  I rolled my eyes and slammed the door shut, floating toward my vanity set with a sigh. “Show me Perennia,” I said. But when the glass rippled, the other side was dark, just as I expected. My siblings had smashed all of the enchanted mirrors at home except a handheld one, which they kept locked in a dark, quiet room, ignoring me until it suited them. Only Perennia dug it out to visit with me once each week. We weren’t scheduled to speak today.

  I groaned and swiped my hand to clear the view in the mirror. My expression was bland, my normally bright eyes spiritless. I was bored of everything, even trying on gowns and jewels—so bored I thought about donning something appropriate and participating in the holiday celebration.

  But then I remembered what Myron had said about the underground edifice. I didn’t want to frighten you.

  Intrigued, I returned to the tapestry and swept it aside. I could use a little adventure.

  “Carathin har,” I whispered. My elicrin stone illuminated. Myron said not to bring it downstairs. But he also said to bring a light, and I could barely use it anyway thanks to my probation. I knew he wouldn’t truly mind.

  I started down the tight spiral stairwell, my lacy hem gathering dust. Minutes seemed to pass before my dizzying path straightened. At the end of a narrow passage waited a cool chamber, so dark I felt blind gazing into it.

  A bowl of ashes sat on a table just outside the edifice, next to a tinderbox and a candle. Giggling at myself for playing along with such silliness, I shed my dressing gown and dipped two fingers into the bowl, shivering as I drew lines of ash along my eyebrows and cheeks, then down my neck, around my bare breasts, and around the weight of my elicrin stone between them. I picked up the candle, said “Matara liss,” to catch it aflame, and stepped into the edifice.

  Iron sconces hung on either side of the interior of the archway; I used the candle to light the torches and faced the chamber with a stifled gasp.

  The opposite wall held a giant gilt mirror, and every remaining fingerbreadth of the walls and ceiling were covered by a horrifying mural, saturated with lurid detail.

  The theme was clear: the four Fallen reigned over their miserable supplicants in the underworld, no redemption in sight.

  The ceiling alone depicted humans living on earth. Here, their “vices” seemed, in some ways, harmless. It appeared this played out as a prologue to what lay beneath: judgment for their choices.

  In one corner people indulged in rampant debauchery at a feast, spilling wine, fighting over food, engaging in carnal acts. On the walls below their feet, naked worshippers wailed in a grimy pit, gaunt with starvation and sprouting animal features like horns and claws. Amid them hunched Depravity, Robivoros, a creature with sharp teeth—in both of his mouths. The second maw was where his stomach should have been, and with it he feasted on a corpse.

  In the next corner stood Cruelty, Themera, a beautiful woman in black wearing a dark smile and a crown made of knives, each point skewering a human skull. Her worshippers wept blood on a ravaged battlefield. The living humans above were shown torturing young children and beggars.

  Opposite her was Apathy, Silimos, a withered woman wrapped in a translucent cocoon, her empty, staring eyes covered with a veil of cobwebs. Her limbs were twisted and rigid with the stiffening that comes soon after death. Those who had fallen prey to her lived in a gloomy, rotting forest. Some were intertwined with the trees, so they could no longer move, and covered in moss and mold—yet their eyes remained awake and alert. On the ceiling people lounged in languor, playing cards and ignoring a blazing fire ravaging the fields outside their window.

  And lastly, at the far-right corner stood Vainglory, Nexantius. The tall, muscular figure was formed of the purest silver and wore a mask of mirrors that revealed only the attractive structure of his face and his glowing silver eyes. He stood on a pedestal amid a swathe of starry darkness, gripping chains attached to jeweled manacles that held prisoners captive. The damned souls wore crowns of jagged diamonds that dug into their skin and sent rivers of blood down their faces.

  In their previous lives, his prisoners dripped with expensive jewelry and lifted golden trophies. One man sat on a throne of contorted human bodies, grovelers who gazed on him with admiration even as they bent over backward to bear his weight.

  The scenes were terrifying…and impossible to look away from.

  As I circled the room, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and turned to fully face it. The dark streaks of ash looked like war paint. Accustomed as I was to dressing like a spring flower, I had to admit I looked beautiful this way: bare and formidable.

  I softly traced a hand from my cheek to my lips, down the line that ran sternum to navel with a brief detour over my elicrin stone, forbidden in every way. I looked so exquisite that even the darkness around me began to scintillate.

  A sudden draft extinguished the torches.

  Ambrosine.

  I not only heard the whisper in the wind but felt it: a cool shiver slithering over my naked skin.

  “Who’s there?” I asked. “Myron, are you toying with me?” I looked over my shoulder at the stairwell but couldn’t see anything. The idea of playing games in the dark frightened and exhilarated me. Though he had a sense of humor, Myron always struck me as the tame, rule-following type. I smirked thinking of him prowling in the dark, pretending to devour me like a fallen god claiming his wicked worshipper.

  Aren’t you a magnificent creature?

  The voice hummed in my head, deep, glossy, and most certainly not Myron’s. The latent magic in my blood stirred slowly, like a cat stretching awake from a nap. The cool glow of my elicrin stone, to which my eyes were still adjusting in the absence of golden torchlight, swirled and writhed.

  I faced the mirror again. The reflection of the edifice had vanished. A nebulous, starry night stretched out around me and my eyes glowed an otherworldly shade of silver. The ash marks on my skin sparkled like diamond powder. A nearly translucent figure in a reflective mask imposed over mine.

  “Who are you?” I asked, rocking a step closer. “Are you…?”

  I am, the being answered, and again the words poured through my mind, more thought than sound.

  I laughed. Someone was trying to deceive me with illusions of noise and light. “Myron didn’t mention that the Edifice of the Fallen housed a real, live Fallen deity. Do you visit every acolyte who ventures down here?”

  I’ve not visited a mortal in centuries.

  “And that remains true,” I replied. “I’m not a mortal.”

  Of course you’re not. I sense the power you hold. A beat passed. Where is your husband, the king?

  “Oh, peeking through a hole in the wall somewhere, ready to tease me the moment I believe this is real.”

  The silver figure laughed a knowing laugh. I didn’t like it.

  Come closer, Ambrosine, and inspect the mirror. There are no clever deceptions here.

  I took a tentative step forward. The figure pressed his hand against the other side of the glass. The tip of my forefinger stretched toward him, and his image grew more substantial the closer I drew, while mine faded away. His eyes sharpened behind the holes of his mask. The irises glowed silver, the space around them a fathomless black.

  Our fingertips touched, and before I could squeal in shock, he snatched my hand and twisted me around, drawing my back flush against his cool, solid form. The glass, the only barrier between us, had ceased to exist. His icy hands trapped me like bars of a cage, one loosely gripping my throat while the other spread flat over my middle, thumb caressing my navel, fingers splaying dangero
usly close to the powerful knot of nerves at the base of my belly.

  I didn’t want to defy my probation. I imagined myself in chains before Glisette and Valory again, explaining to them that I had tried to use my power against an apparition in a mirror—when manipulating mirrors was my gift. It would be downright embarrassing.

  “What do you want?” I asked. “Who are you?”

  You know my name. Even though I still sensed more than heard the words, the whisper of his cool breath brushed over my ear. The finger that rested at my throat moved down to stroke my elicrin stone. My gaze shot to the mural, to the Fallen of Vainglory.

  This was no ruse; I could feel the diamond-dusted darkness of this being’s power. Whether fallen deity, ancient specter, or distant cousin of my own kind, he was mighty.

  Why do you detest the king’s daughter?

  “I don’t.” The lie trembled out of me.

  I’m here to give you everything you desire. You don’t have to lie to me. You can let me inside. There’s nothing you can say that will drive me away. Do you hate her because she is soon to be lovelier than you, the loveliest of all? Or is it her piety?

  I scoffed. “Don’t try to burrow under my skin.”

  But that’s what I’m asking for: a way under your skin, an anchor to the mortal world, a home to inhabit, one that can hold the breadth and power of all that I am. No creature like you has ever stepped into my temple. I only need you to say yes.

  “Why would I?”

  Because I will help you. What do you want? I can obtain it if you let me. If you want to subjugate the king and his guards so you can kill the princess, I can give you that. I can give you far more, but it’s a beginning.

  “I don’t want to kill her. I’m not a murderer.”

  Then what do you wish to do with her?

  “Nothing. I only want to be unequivocally considered the most beautiful woman in existence for all of my days.”

  Oh?

  “But not just beautiful…I want to be so beautiful, it terrifies people,” I whispered, surprising myself. “True beauty is fierce. That’s why my sister likes her scar. I want to be as fierce as I am lovely, and for everyone who looks at me to fear me.”