Chapter Thirty
Daphne
The rest of the diurnal is spent gathering information on which Idols are in the Hallows and where they are.
Apparently, the Red Queen’s demise scared a few of them away but beckoned others closer.
They must be adrenaline junkies wanting to get closer to a woman who can explode them with a snap of her fingers.
Charming and Theo are busy updating the map of the castle while Malachi and Hart appear to be on Daphne duty.
Gwyneth flits in and out, retrieving books while muttering under her breath as she works through her hypothesis regarding distributing the Idols’ powers across the realm.
Thankfully, when she said everyone should become Idols, she didn’t mean an entire community of arrogant, powerful beings with the emotional awareness of a tree trunk.
But how we do that without making ourselves explode is the great mystery they’re trying to unravel. I’m holding a meeting with representatives from each group from the Hallows as I try to address some of the issues the All Knowing seems to have gotten his panties in a twist about.
Eron puffs himself up against the mirror. “I have discussed the unsolicited opinions my people are giving to passersby, and they shall refrain unless specifically requested to do so.”
I tick that off my list and eyeball the corridor for the eighth time in the last tempo. “Excellent. And the ladders have been silenced?”
“Quietened,” the key librarian says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “More of an ooo than a whee.“
“It’s an improvement,” I say with a nod.
“All unsanctioned betting has ceased, and the cursed books are no longer racing across the floor,” Malachi adds.
“I thought it was a biting issue?”
Theo glances up and winks at me. No issues there—I rather enjoyed it.
“It was an emerging problem we nipped in the bud,” Hart drawls.
“The ‘do not touch shelf’ has now been labeled ‘touch me all you want,’” Gwyneth calls out as she lugs another four books to her chambers.
“That solved the problem?” I wonder.
“Yup, turns out people really are drawn to doing that which is forbidden.”
Genie floats in from the ceiling. “The broom is overseeing the unsanctioned brunches moving forward. I couldn’t get them to stop.”
That’s an improvement, at least.
My gaze darts to the shadow emerging at the end of the corridor before solidifying into my dark night with the realm on his shoulders and no one to help him bear it. Except there is. I’m right here, Nash. We can do anything together, but you have to let me in.
He doesn’t meet my eyes as he turns to the left and disappears inside a room I swear didn’t exist until this tempo.
I put the list down on the table and smile. “I think we’ve accomplished a lot. Let’s let the changes settle to ensure the resolutions work and that we aren’t just displacing the problem.”
Several pairs of green eyes blink at me.
What? I can use big words. I just don’t see the point when smaller ones will do.
For example: The maiden possessed an abundance of lustrous, wind-tossed tresses that danced with reckless abandon, ensnaring the attention of every eligible suitor within a ten-mile radius.
When it could be said with: She had nice hair, and everyone stared.
Theo rumbles with laughter at my musings.
I stand and straighten my gown. “If that’s all, I’ll be just checking on my knight.” I stride over to where Nash disappeared and find a wall. What in the Blazes? I spin in a circle with narrowed eyes. Nope, no door. My hands smooth over the bumps and cracks, but no secret passage is revealed.
“What are you doing?” Gwyneth asks as she hurries toward me with a frown.
I scowl and plant my hands on my hips. “Studying the wall, why?”
She shakes her head and barrels past me. “Evening meal is about to be delivered. I suggest clearing out the creatures other than those who sleep here for a bit of peace.”
“Peace?” I echo, glancing up as something screeches overhead. A teacup hurtles past my ear. “Define peace.”
“No throwing the crockery,” Gwyneth bellows without looking, suggesting this is not her first crockery-related disappointment of the diurnal.
Genie hovers mid-air, hand still outstretched, looking deeply offended. “It was an experiment.”
“With what?” Charming asks dryly. “Your grip on reality?”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot charges through the corridor like a possessed feather duster, bristles puffed to war mode, chasing a trio of animated scones that have grown legs and what I can only describe as murderous intent.
“Someone please explain why the baked goods have declared independence.” I jump to the side as a scone launches itself at my head and misses through sheer luck and my superior reflexes. Murderous maiden Daphne is definitely an upgrade.
“They were unsupervised,” Genie says, as if that explains everything.
“That’s not an explanation,” Hart mutters.
“Everything unsupervised in this place develops a personality,” Theo adds, flicking his wrist and catching a scone mid-air before biting into it. “Hmm. Mildly aggressive with a good crumb. Also, it’s of the cheese variety, which is my favorite.”
Cheese? Yum.
“Stop eating the rebellion,” Gwyneth snaps.
Boo. It’s their job to nourish the warriors of the world.
We gather around a long table and sit in the mismatched chairs. One wheezes like it’s got dust allergies, and another growls when Malachi sits on it. It’s the most normal thing I’ve seen in the last turn.
“Do we have to send someone to the Hallows kitchens to steal food?”
Genie huffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’d find you in a tempo.”
I wasn’t suggesting I go, merely asking how to get our bellies to stop groaning.
Food appears in a shimmer of magic. Steam curls into the air, carrying with it the scent of roasted meats, buttered vegetables, and something sweet enough to make my teeth ache in anticipation.
I take a seat between Nash and Theo because I enjoy living dangerously, and they’re still eyeing each other like they’re debating on who would win in a dragon versus shadows battle.
Nash is quiet. Too quiet. His shoulder brushes mine, tension wound tight beneath his skin like a storm waiting for permission. I nudge him with my knee.
“Eat,” I tell him. “Brooding burns calories.”
His mouth twitches, but he obeys. That’s progress.
Charming pours wine as if he’s hosting a royal banquet instead of a circus of unlikely mismatched heroes.
Hart leans back in his chair, boots stretched out, watching everything with that lazy, dangerous focus.
Malachi is already halfway through his second plate.
Theo is… Theo, which means he is both present and somewhere else entirely, eyes flicking to me like I am the only thing tethering him here.
Gwyneth paces between throwing bits of food into her mouth. She’s busy putting complex stuff together, which she once told me she can only do while standing. I prefer not to have to conquer both gravity and plans at the same time.
She clutches a book to her chest, ink smudged across her forehead, eyes bright with understanding that says she has either solved everything or made it significantly worse.
“I found something,” she says.
We all pause. Even the chair stops growling.
“That sounds ominous,” I reply, spearing a piece of meat. “But go on. I do enjoy a little impending doom with my supper.”
She ignores me, like any elder sister does.
“There is a spell,” she says, pacing now, words spilling faster. “Old. Pre-Hallows. Before the Idol system was formalized.”
“Before they became insufferable?” I offer.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Exactly that.”
Charming huffs a laugh into his wine.
“It redistributes power,” she continues. “Not by force, not by theft, but by consent. It breaks the concentration and spreads it across the realm, giving everyone autonomy without tethering them to narrative expectations. It reverses, or rather returns, the flow to what it was always meant to be.”
Silence settles over us, and hope takes shape in my heart. My fork lowers. “No exploding Idols?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“And the catch?” Hart asks.
Gwyneth’s mouth tightens. “It requires blood.”
“Of course, it does.” I sigh and tip my head back. “Nothing good ever happens without a little light bleeding.”
“Not just any blood,” she says. “Blood from four Idols.”
That’s a complication. Murder is once more a high probability.
“So we list the worst Idols and pick them off,” Charming says with a shrug.
I hate that he’s on the same wavelength as me.
“Not quite,” Gwyneth mutters. “The blood needs to be given willingly.”
Nobody moves as that information sinks into our bones. Four arrogant beings willing to give us that which will alter the course of their lives? I’m sure they’re lining up to donate.
“I’m sure Eron would be willing,” Malachi says.
I nod in agreement. My mirror man may have cracked, but he’s been fighting to be whole for many generations. I still have a promise to keep when it comes to his missing shards, and that thought leads to another being I think I could get to agree to it, for a price.
“Poseidon will do it. I have a debt to settle with him, but I know he wants freedom from his watery grave. I promised him that, and if it means giving me some blood to achieve it, then I’m sure he’ll do it.”
“That leaves two,” Theo says.
I slide a piece of delicious capon into my mouth and try not to think about the two feathered creatures roosting on my feet like a pair of slippers.
I hope I’m not eating their best friends from school or their great-aunt Mabel.
“Two more self-important, power-hoarding, narrative-obsessed beings willing to bleed for the greater good. Easy. We’ll just—”
Genie floats lower, almost touching the food, and lifts his hand. “Actually,” he says, wiggling his fingers like this is a delightful party trick and not a sentence that is about to rearrange my entire understanding of reality, “one.”
I blink. “One what?”
“One more,” he clarifies. “You only need one more.”
Theo frowns. “Explain.”
Genie places a hand on his chest. “I’m an Idol.”
Charming chokes on his wine. Malachi freezes mid-bite. Silence ensues in that stunned, what-in-the-blazing-fairy-tale-did-you-just-say kind of way. My brain trips over itself trying to make sense of those four words.
“You,” I say slowly, pointing my fork at him, “are a floating chaos genie with mockery issues and a questionable relationship with a broom.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot lifts from the sofa like we woke him. Do brooms sleep? Do they dream? What of?
“Yes,” Genie agrees. “But also an Idol.”
Everyone leans in to study Genie closer. No, not a genie. The damn genie. All this time?
“At what point were you planning on sharing that delightful piece of information?” I ask, because someone needs to anchor this conversation before I descend into a spiral of broom behavior.
Genie shrugs. “It never came up.”
“You have been with us,” I say, voice rising, “for multiple near-death experiences, several emotional revelations, at least one incident involving aggressive pastries, and now you decide to mention you’re one of the all-powerful beings controlling this realm?”
“In my defense, I did try to throw a teacup earlier. That felt like a clue.”
I stare at him, then glance at Gwyneth. “Good news. We’re one step closer to saving the realm.
” At least everyone else is as shell-shocked as I am.
“Bad news,” I add, gesturing at Genie, “our success hinges on finding one more Idol. Unless anyone is hiding a secret identity they’d like to share?
Speak now or prepare to be stabbed with a fork. ”
Theo exhales a quiet laugh. Nash’s shoulder presses into mine. And for the first time since this all began, the impossible doesn’t feel quite so impossible. Now I just need to figure out what my dark knight is hiding from me and why.
Nash predictably rises and nods at the table. “I have research. Don’t wait up for me.”
I twist my lips to the side and shoot a thought to Theo. He catches my gaze and nods once in agreement.
Sorry, Nash Stirling. The time for secrets is over, and we are in the era of revelations.