Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  I sighed again, but there was still work to be done, so I grabbed hold of a midnight-blue book with a silver-foil title running down its spine—A History of Bellona and Her Gladiator Queens. I tilted the top of the book back, then let go and watched it snap forward. A faint click sounded, and the bookcase swung back from the wall, revealing a secret passageway.

  Many of the old mining tunnels still remained in the palace. This one had been walled off to create a way for the queen to secretly escape from her chambers, should the need ever arise. I’d learned about the tunnels years ago, during one of my history classes. The royal tutor had given me, Vasilia, and our Blair cousins a map of the palace and had challenged us to find as many of the secret passageways as possible. I’d spent days exploring every nook and cranny, and I’d eventually stumbled upon this passageway, although no one else had.

  When I was younger and Vasilia and the other children were being particularly cruel, I would often hide in some of the lesser-known passageways until my tears had dried, my hurt and embarrassment had faded, and I felt strong enough to creep back out and face them again. Sometimes, Isobel would coax me out of the dark corridors around the kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate and plates of cherry-almond cookies.

  But Isobel was dead, and I was all alone tonight.

  Serilda, Cho, and Captain Auster probably knew about this secret passageway, since they had spent so much time guarding Cordelia. Xenia probably knew about it too, given how well-informed she always was. But I doubted that any of my friends realized that I knew about the passageway. So I dropped my hand to my sword and stepped into the tunnel.

  The door slid shut behind me, plunging me into total, unrelenting darkness. I carefully took a step forward. As soon as my foot touched the next flagstone, a fluorestone shaped like a sword flared to life in the ceiling above my head, providing some much-needed light.

  I glanced around, but the passageway looked the same as I remembered—a narrow corridor with a low ceiling and rough walls covered with thick, gray cobwebs. I studied the ground, but no footsteps marred the dust on the flagstones, and the air smelled old, musty, and still. Only the spiders roamed here now.

  I took another few steps forward, and that first fluorestone winked out, although a second one shaped like a shield flared to life in the ceiling up ahead. One by one, the alternating sword- and shield-shaped fluorestones lit up, and then cut off as I walked along.

  I went about a hundred feet down the passageway before another corridor opened up to my right. Fifty feet later, another corridor curved off to the left. But instead of taking one of the branches, I stayed in the main corridor until it ended in a set of narrow, steep steps. I wound my way up the steps to the fifth floor, then went down another corridor.

  This passageway ended in a stone door. Once again, I crept up to the door and put my ear close to it, but I didn’t hear any whispers of movement on the other side, so I turned the metal handle. Another faint click sounded, and the door swung outward.

  I peered around the door, but the hallway beyond was empty. So I stepped around the stone slab and pushed it shut behind me, waiting for the faint click of the lock. The door blended in seamlessly with the rest of the wall.

  Unlike the first-floor common areas with their wide corridors, high ceilings, and display cases filled with dazzling treasures, this passageway was much smaller and shorter, with only a few wall tapestries. I listened again, but everything remained quiet, and I didn’t smell any perfumes or colognes that would indicate that someone was nearby. Once I was sure that I was alone, I hurried down the corridor, eager to get on with my mission, even if it would most likely end up being a fool’s errand.

  A few twists and turns later, I reached a wooden door at the end of the hallway. No figures, weapons, or symbols were carved into the wood, but this door was perhaps the most important one in the palace, given what lay beyond it.

  No guards were posted here, although I could smell Sullivan’s magic, indicating that he had used his magier power to lock the door. Of course he had. I sighed. This was going to hurt. But there was no other way to get past his magic, so I stepped forward and reached out.

  Blue lightning flared to life the second my fingers wrapped around the doorknob.

  The lightning exploded with furious intensity, shocking me over and over again and trying to scorch my hand to ashes, along with the rest of me. I gritted my teeth against the searing, burning pain, reached for my immunity, and sent it shooting out at Sullivan’s magic.

  Sweat dripped down my face, my hand shook from the strain, and I had to grind my teeth even tighter to keep from screaming, but my immunity finally throttled Sullivan’s power, and his blue lightning disappeared in a cloud of bright sparks.

  It took me a few seconds to unclench my jaw and peel my fingers off the knob. I shook the lingering sting of his power out of my hand and wiped the sweat off my forehead. Then I twisted the knob, opened the door, and stepped through to the other side.

  Just like in the secret passageway, fluorestones flared to life the second I entered the room and shut the door behind me. One by one, all four corners lit up, along with a row of fluorestones running down the center of the ceiling, clearly illuminating everything.

  The front part of the room featured a purple velvet settee flanked by two chairs, along with a table, all arranged around the fireplace. A writing desk covered with pens, papers, and books stood next to the fireplace, with a tall, freestanding mirror nestled in the corner. A four-poster bed, along with a nightstand and an armoire, dominated the back of the room. A vanity table was wedged in between the armoire and a door that opened up into a bathroom done in white tile.

  By Seven Spire standards, it was a fairly modest room, even for a palace steward, and the furnishings were perfectly ordinary. But this was no modest space, and these were no ordinary things.

  This was Maeven’s room.

  This was where Maeven had lived while she’d been masquerading as the kitchen steward, and this was where she had plotted against Queen Cordelia and the rest of the Blairs. Maeven had used her magic to escape, along with Nox, the night that I had killed Vasilia, but she had left her room behind, along with all her things.

  Of course Serilda, Cho, and Captain Auster had searched the area, but they hadn’t found anything noteworthy. Sullivan had also examined it, looking for any booby traps or obvious signs of magic, but he hadn’t discovered anything either. Even Theroux had visited to see what papers or notes Maeven might have scribbled down about her duties as the kitchen steward, but he hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary either.

  I hadn’t had a chance to come here yet, but after the assassination attempt, this seemed like the right time. Besides, it was the last chance I would get before we left for Andvari. Maybe I would see something the others had missed, or maybe I would leave as disappointed and frustrated as they had. Either way, searching Maeven’s room seemed like a better use of my time than tossing and turning in bed and worrying about what fresh plot she was probably already hatching against me.

  I made a slow circuit of the room, looking for anything that would tell me more about Maeven. I examined every piece of furniture, tapping on all the tables and chairs, along with the writing desk, the nightstand, the armoire, and even the bedframe, searching for secret compartments, but I didn’t find anything. Furniture, pillows, blankets, pens, books. Everything was what it appeared to be and nothing more. Felton was right. Maeven had been very careful, even here in her own room, where no one had been watching her.

  To my surprise, Maeven had taken her position as the kitchen steward quite seriously, and I found several recipe cards on the desk, along with proposed menus and notes about which wines paired best with certain dishes. Of course she had taken her position seriously. Maeven had put a lot of time and effort into killing Cordelia, and she wouldn’t have wanted to get dismissed for not doing her job before she could strike.

  But Maeven seemed to have a whimsical side as well, since seve
ral storybooks were mixed in with everything else, along with maps of places I had never heard of before. I couldn’t tell if the maps went with the storybooks or if they were distant kingdoms that the Mortans wanted to eventually conquer.

  The only other thing remotely interesting was a jewelry box on the vanity table. The wooden box itself was nothing special, but the jewelry inside was magnificent. Chandelier earrings, polished cuffs, necklaces that looked more like delicate strands of lace than hard metal.

  I’d been apprenticed to Alvis for fifteen years, so I could tell that the pieces had been exquisitely designed and painstakingly handcrafted by a metalstone master. Each item, from the tiniest earring to the widest cuff, was worth a small fortune. Maeven apparently loved jewelry even more than she did maps and storybooks.

  I ran my finger over some amethysts embedded in a silver choker. Magiers often wore amethysts to augment their own power, and I could feel and smell the stench of her lightning flowing through the stones. No beauty glamours or other soft, subtle magics for Maeven. Every gem in her jewelry box practically dripped with raw, brutal power. I half expected the amethysts to shock my fingers, but of course they didn’t.

  I checked the box just like I had everything else. I took all the jewelry out of the various spaces and felt around the purple velvet inside, once again searching for secret compartments.

  I didn’t really expect to find anything, but then my fingers brushed up against a small button hidden inside the velvet, and a drawer popped out from the bottom of the box. I pulled it open and stared at the item inside.

  A signet ring.

  I grabbed the ring and held it up to the light. Tiny feathers were etched into the silver band, while a small, flat circle of jet was inlaid in the center. A fancy cursive M was embossed in silver in the jet and ringed by midnight-purple amethysts. My nose twitched. The amethysts reeked of Maeven’s magic just like the rest of her jewelry did. I wondered what the M stood for, though. Maeven? Morta? Both?

  Either way, Maeven had hidden this ring for a reason. Oh, I doubted there was any real clue in it, but I slid it into my pocket anyway. Perhaps it was petty, but I wanted to take something away from her for a change.

  That was the only secret compartment in the jewelry box, so I searched through the rest of the vanity table, but nothing in it told me anything more about Maeven.

  Besides her kitchen steward tunics, she had a few more personal items in the armoire, including a beautiful lilac ball gown, while berry balms, shimmering eye shadows, and scented lotions were lined up on the bathroom counter. But they were just clothes and makeup. Silk and thread stitched together, and colored oils and powders pressed into metal tubes, and there was nothing noteworthy or sinister about them.

  I was almost ready to admit defeat and return to my own chambers when the scent of magic gusted through the room.

  At first, I thought that I was imagining the hot, caustic stench or had just wandered too close to the jewelry box again. But I drew in a breath, and the aroma intensified, strong enough to burn my nose.

  I clutched my sword, whirled around, and scanned everything again. Sullivan had checked for magical traps, but my nose told me that he’d missed something.

  And that’s when I realized that the mirror in the corner was glowing.

  I’d already checked the freestanding mirror, a long, oval glass housed in a plain ebony frame. But now the surface was glowing and rippling as though it was made of liquid silver. My eyes narrowed.

  It was a Cardea mirror.

  The mirrors were named after Cardea, the glass master who had supposedly created them. The mirrors let people communicate with each other over great distances, or sometimes even physically move themselves and objects from one mirror—and place—to another.

  I must have done something to trigger its magic. My gaze cut to the clock on the wall. Or perhaps this midnight hour was the scheduled meeting time between someone in the palace and whoever was on the other side of the glass.

  Either way, I wanted to know who had a window into Seven Spire, so I drew my sword and pressed myself up against the wall, so that I could look into the mirror, but whoever was on the other side couldn’t see me. And then I waited.

  The silver glow grew brighter and brighter, and the surface began to ripple even more violently, as though it were a lake being assaulted by gale-force winds. The hot, caustic stench of magic filled the room, and I had to twitch my nose to hold back a sneeze. A few seconds later, the silver glow dimmed, the ripples smoothed out, and a woman appeared in the glass.

  Maeven.

  Her blond hair was swept up into a simple, elegant bun, and her eyes glittered like two dark amethysts against her flawless skin. Her features were quite lovely, although the perpetual, displeased pucker of her lips made her seem much older than her forty-something years.

  A silver choker studded with amethysts and moonstones glittered around her throat, although it was so wide and tight that it seemed more like a collar than a piece of jewelry. A matching amethyst-and-moonstone ring glinted on her finger.

  I studied the silver-thread embroidery on her lilac gown, but I didn’t see any symbols in the loops and swirls. Bastards probably didn’t get to wear the royal Mortan crest.

  Maeven leaned forward. I held my breath, wondering if this might be a Cardea mirror that you could actually step through from one side to the other, but she stayed where she was.

  “Libby?” Maeven’s low, silky voice echoed out of the mirror. “Are you there? Is it done?”

  Of course. I should have realized what this was about the moment she appeared.

  Still clutching my sword, I stepped forward so that I was standing in front of the mirror where she could see me. “So sorry to disappoint, but I survived your assassination attempt.”

  Maeven’s face hardened. “And Libby?”

  “She killed herself with a poisoned dagger after she failed to kill me.”

  Maeven shrugged, as if the girl’s death didn’t bother her, but her lips puckered again, and her nostrils flared with anger. Perhaps the Mortan bastards weren’t as disposable as I’d thought. At least not to one another. I filed the information away for future use.

  While Maeven digested my news, I studied everything I could see in the mirror around her. The magier looked to be in her private chambers, although all I could make out of the furnishings was a writing desk covered with papers and potted plants sitting on a nearby shelf. The plants didn’t look like much, green sprigs with a few flowers, but the pots were painted rich jewel-toned shades and arranged in a row from lightest opal to darkest jet, and all the colors of the rainbow in between.

  “I’m surprised it took you this long to try to kill me again,” I said, breaking the silence. “I suppose that you wanted me to lower my guard and think that I was safe here at Seven Spire. You should have known better than that.”

  “Perhaps,” Maeven murmured. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

  “I am curious about one thing, though.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “What kind of poison did Libby use?”

  “Why does it matter?” she muttered. “Especially since she failed?”

  I shrugged. “I was just curious what kind of poison caused her so much agony. Libby’s was not an easy death. But I’m sure you’ve realized that, since you’re probably the one who gave her the poison. Tell me, were you also the one who told her to kill herself instead of surrendering?”

  Maeven actually jerked back, as though my words had wounded her, and it took her a moment to blink away her surprise.

  “Where’s your crown, Queen Everleigh?” she asked, a mocking note creeping into her voice. “Or have your countrymen taken it away from you already?”

  “Not yet,” I replied. “But at least I have the chance to wear it. Sadly, I can’t say the same for you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been down in the dungeon, talking to Felton. You rem
ember Felton, don’t you? The accomplice you so unceremoniously left behind the night that you and Nox fled from Seven Spire?” I waited for her to respond, but she didn’t say anything, so I continued. “He’s been quite a fount of information about you and your Bastard Brigade.”

  A muscle ticked in Maeven’s jaw, and her nostrils flared with anger again, but she didn’t respond. I paused a moment, carefully planning my next verbal attack. This was the beginning of my long game with the magier, and I couldn’t afford to get anything wrong, not so much as a single word, and reveal my true intentions.

  I started pacing back and forth in front of the mirror. “Before the massacre, I was actually planning to leave Seven Spire for good. I was going to ask Cordelia for permission during the luncheon. But then you and Vasilia put your assassination plot into motion, and everything changed for me.”

  “Why were you going to leave?” Maeven asked, not even bothering to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

  “I hated my life here. I hated being the royal puppet, the royal stand-in. My Blair cousins were always off doing so much more noble things, so much more important things, instead of sitting through boring social events like I had to. It was like I was some poor servant girl trapped in a fairy tale, only my fairy godmother never showed up to give me a way out of my own miserable life.” I stopped pacing and looked at her. “Although given my current circumstances, one could argue that you were my fairy godmother, murderous bitch that you are.”

  Maeven snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Still, for as much as my cousins looked down their noses at me, it was even worse for you, wasn’t it?” I paused. “It always is, when you’re bastard born.”

  Her lips puckered yet again, but she didn’t respond to my taunt, so I resumed my pacing, thinking about what to say next and how to best plunge another verbal knife deep into her heart.