Chapter 4
four
It was a small bird made of light that was white—but not the same white as my mother’s, or the other fae who lived in the palace and served the royals. This light was more silver than blue, and the energy of it was different, too, which was why I couldn’t decide what to make of it.
Fae light shaped into a bird. Mother used to make them into stars for me when she read my bedtime stories. I kept my eyes on them until I fell asleep, and now that they were gone, I couldn’t sleep anymore.
It had been thirteen days since her death. My eyes refused to close because there were no more stars in the dark of the chamber.
But now this bird was, and he looked…warm.
Like a real bird. The details, the way the light bent and mixed with shadows to create a beak and eyes and the lines of the feathers on its small wings—I had never quite seen anything like it before.
It made me want to do it, too. It made me want to create something. It made me…excited.
Which I hadn’t been in thirteen days and thirteen nights.
The bird then moved, beat the little wings and flew down the hallway.
It had found me just as I was about to enter my mother’s chamber, which was now my chamber, at least until they put someone else to sleep there with me.
I had two beds, and nobody had two beds all to themselves in the servants’ quarter.
As I watched the bird fly away, I had the urge to stop it, keep it here with me in the dark corridor just a little longer. I liked the light of it. I liked the shape.
But the bird stopped on its own at the end near the corner and turned toward me again. Watched me with those eyes that were made of light. Flew toward me again halfway, then back to the corner.
I realized it wanted me to follow.
I did.
Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was the details. Maybe it was the fact that I did not want to be alone all night again—and I was not allowed outside during the bigger feasts that the king held in the palace. The shadows were deeper now. I didn’t like the sound of my own breathing.
Maybe.
Either way, I followed the bird.
Down the corridor and through the hallways, toward the main stairway that led back into the Midnight Palace.
Nayara kept me in the kitchen since mother died, to help her, and also so she could keep her eye on me.
She still cried when she cooked. Hadn’t stopped for thirteen days.
I wished I didn’t have to see because then I wanted to cry, too, and I was no longer little. I was six years old.
Even so, I wasn’t allowed back into the palace on my own, and Nayara had already sent me to the chambers for the night.
But the bird continued to fly, and I continued to follow it.
None of the help stopped me—they were used to having me and the other children of servants walking about.
They didn’t seem to be able to see the bird at all, though.
It would fly right in front of their eyes, but they wouldn’t even move away or react.
The Midnight Palace was vast and full of shadows, and I’d been to most parts of it with Mother while she cleaned. I’d been to the part where the bird flew, too, and I thought maybe it was going to continue to lead me around the corridors forever.
Instead, when I turned a corner and saw the woman waiting there, smiling at me, and the bird faded away into nothing, I realized it had really wanted me to follow it. I realized that maybe I should have stayed in the chamber instead of coming after it.
“Tell me your name, boy.”
Her voice was soft but sharp at the same time.
I considered lying—I’d never seen her before, but she wasn’t help.
And she wasn’t Midnight, either. Her hair was white, like snow.
Her dress was a silvery white, just like that light of the bird had been, and her eyes were a bright blue, like the pictures of the seas in daylight in the books Mother had read to me.
I thought I should be wary of this stranger, even afraid, but I wasn’t. Just like the bird, she made me curious.
“Rune,” I said in a whisper. It was always better to speak in whispers when we weren’t in our chamber, Mother said.
Of course, Mother was no longer here.
“And I am Veyra.” The fae leaned forward a little bit, and I was still not afraid. I was more curious than ever about her hair—it looked unreal. And the colors in her eyes looked so different from other eyes I’d seen.
She was beautiful, just like her name. Just like the bird had been. Full of light and full of shadows at the same time.
When I spoke next, I reminded myself not to whisper. “You…you called for me.”
She smiled bigger, and I decided I would never see something more beautiful if I lived a few centuries.
“I did. You saw my bird.” She raised her hand, opened her fingers, and showed me that same bird that was now sitting in the center of her palm.
I couldn’t look away as I nodded. I couldn’t stop analyzing the shadows on the little bird. I could make shadows and lights, too, though Mother always told me to never tell. Never show anyone. Never, no matter what.
It was a secret—just like my name.
I was a secret, but I was never sure why.
Then the fae closed her fist and the bird disappeared, and now I couldn’t wait to be alone in the chamber to see if I could make one of my own.
“I’m glad you decided to follow it,” she said and straightened up again.
Behind her was a storage room I’d been to with Mother before. The help kept supplies there, and also tables and chairs for breaks.
The fae turned, grabbed the handle, and pushed the door open. The room was empty.
“Am I in trouble?” I wondered because adults usually didn’t speak to me unless I was.
She smiled again, just like before. “Absolutely not. I merely want to talk to you.”
“About what?” What could a fae like her want to talk to me about? Now I was very, very curious.
“Tell me something, Rune. Do you know who you are?” she asked. “Do you know who your father is?”
Something inside me shifted.
I’d asked Mother about my father once. The other children had them. Their fathers worked in laundry or gardening or forges. But Mother said I didn’t have one, that she made me herself. That I was hers and hers only.
Of course, I never believed her. Everyone knows how fae are made, but she never once changed her answer.
I tried to speak now, to tell this fae that I didn’t know the answer to her question, but I found I couldn’t. I only shook my head.
She pushed the storage door open all the way and walked in. “Come, Rune. Let’s sit down. I have a very important story to tell you.”
For a moment, I hesitated, tried to find a reason as to why I shouldn’t. I tried to stop myself, but the curiosity was still there. I knew Mother had reasons for not telling me who my father was. I knew I should honor her memory and refuse knowledge she didn’t want me to have.
I walked ahead and into the storage room anyway. Mother was no longer here. I was alone. And if I actually had a father who was out there, I wanted to know. I had the right to, I thought.
The storage room smelled of bleach and dust, and the first table was already prepared with two chairs to the sides pulled and ready for the both of us.
As we sat, the fae raised a hand and her magic was silver, almost completely white.
It fell on the door, spread on the wood, into the keyhole, then disappeared. It was like shimmer.
I liked it, I thought. It was cold, too—just like my shadows.
The fae folded her hands over the table, and I couldn’t help but notice how the skin over her fingernails was blue. Maybe she’d painted it?
She sighed deeply, and when she did, white came out of her mouth. Like she was freezing. Like the room was cold—and it wasn’t. It was normal for spring.
But before I could wonder about it more, the fae began to speak, and I listened.
“The Seer of Shadows made a prophecy a while ago about me, Rune.”
The Seer of Shadows—I knew who that was. Seers were powerful. They were sacred, Mother said. They were to be obeyed and respected always—but I’d never seen the one who lived in the Grand Library underneath the palace. I wasn’t allowed there yet.
“According to that prophecy, the son of the Midnight King was going to be the end of me,” the fae continued, her voice light. “Naturally, I panicked. Tried to escape it. Tried to do anything in my power to avoid it. Even gave away my army for it. Such silly mistakes.”
There, she paused for a beat, as if she wanted to give me time to understand.
And I did. I understood. I’d heard of the prophecy—Aldon, whose mother worked for the Midnight Queen, said he heard her talking to another servant one night about the death of the Ice Queen of the Frozen Court.
The Ice Queen that came to the Midnight Palace often, but she always wore a veil over her head, gloves on her hands, a crown on her head.
Aldon said that the queen was a friend of our king and that is why she spent time here often, and his mother said once that the Midnight Queen hated it.
Hated her, the Ice Queen. She was never allowed into the room when the Ice Queen was visiting, Aldon said, but she’d seen her face once, and the Ice Queen was ugly.
Those had been the words of our queen, according to Aldon’s mother, but they were wrong. Because if this fae was the Ice Queen, she was beautiful. I could see her face just fine. She wore no crown or veil or gloves, only a dress and a smile—and she was the most beautiful fae I had ever seen.
“But things are as they are, I’m afraid, and the time has come for me to accept my fate. The Midnight King has killed all of his male offspring at birth, as was his deal with me. I will forever hold the weight of their souls on my shoulders.”
Everybody knew this. The adults spoke openly about it even in front of us.