CHAPTER TEN
Twenty minutes later, one source of my hunger satiated, the Hermit reappeared and whistled for Erys to fly through my window. The witchmoth had to shimmy through the opening before he landed on the floor, stretching out the full expanse of his wings, his feet curling against the cool, stone floor.
“Here,” the Hermit said, handing me a green cloak. “Put this on and pull the hood over your head.”
I frowned at the cloak. “What is this?” I asked. The material was strange, thick like wool, and yet full of far more movement.
“It’s an old warrior’s cloak from before the Doom,” he said. “When you put it on, your body will camouflage itself with its surroundings. It won’t make you invisible, but it makes you very difficult to see.”
I tried it on and looked at myself in the mirror. “I look exactly the same.” It just looked like I was wearing a cloak. A kind of ugly one.
The Hermit rolled his eyes. “The camouflage magic only works in nature.” He pointed at the window. “Outside.” His hands flew to his waist, and he shook his head, clearly exasperated. Well good. That made two of us. “Have a seat on Erys.”
Without much choice to do otherwise, I climbed back onto the witchmoth and looked down, my mouth falling open.
Erys was from nature, and the parts of my cloak which touched him were turning the same shade of green as his body.
Then it turned blue where it touched his wings. “It’s like I’m fading,” I said.
“Exactly. And if you’re faded enough, no one can see you.”
“I guess that’s one workaround for my current inability to shapeshift.”
He climbed beside me and tossed a leather bag onto my lap.
I winced, not expecting it to be so heavy. “What the hell—”
“Study materials,” he said. “Start reading.”
I opened the bag to find several small books bound in black leather, and an old parchment that had been rolled up.
Unraveling it, I discovered a map of Spartva.
Olivay’s home. I remembered studying it when I was younger.
I’d pored over all the maps of the neighboring kingdoms, learning the landscape of every country in Eley.
Believing I’d be queen one day, it had seemed important.
I pushed the map aside and opened the first book.
The first page contained a detailed drawing of Olivay’s family tree. A list of her parents and grandparents followed by a list of the names of her friends and cousins. I quickly moved through them, being already somewhat familiar with her monarchy.
But on the next page was information I didn’t know—a list of her favorite things.
I found Olivay’s favorite color, favorite song, flower, and season.
Even her favorite holiday and dessert. Below it in the Hermit’s sprawling text were endless scribblings full of random details, like the fact that she didn’t like the taste of chocolate.
That she had a quiet, reserved laugh. That when she curtseyed, her right hand always reached for her skirts before the left.
And on the next page, there were even more.
Apparently, when she was nervous, she tugged on her left ear.
Her best friend was another noble at the Spartvan Court, a lady named Liandra.
She had recently married a nobleman back home and was already with child, unable to travel for the wedding.
A bit of luck. Convincing Jaron I was Olivay was going to be one thing. I didn’t think it would be that difficult—not as difficult as it would be to stomach him. But convincing someone’s best friend? If Geoffrey decided to impersonate me, could he convince Finlay and Thomas?
I already knew the answer. No. Something tightened in my chest. A kind of overwhelming sadness.
There was someone out there who knew Olivay.
Who knew everything about her. Who saw her.
Who saw the real her. Who she didn’t have to keep secrets from.
Someone who she could give her secrets to and know they were safe.
And I realized that despite the friendships I’d cultivated and fought for over the years, there was no one in the entire world who’d ever known all these details about me. It had always been my fate to remain invisible, to remain hidden, shifting into new unknowable forms.
Brennan flashed in my mind, but I quickly pushed thoughts of him away.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I held up the book.
“This is from your spies?” I asked. It was all I could do to ward off the wave of loneliness washing through me.
I flipped to another page and found a detailed summary of how Olivay had fallen into a lake when she was seven and nearly drowned.
But her mother pulled her out, saving her life, and Olivay had told her she’d never been afraid, because she knew her mother would come.
On the next page there was a list of three books she’d recently read and liked.
On the next, a strange dream she’d once recounted to Lady Liandra when she thought no one could hear her.
“It’s from me,” the Hermit said. “I’ve been attending the court in Spartva and ingratiating myself amongst the nobles of House Kanos for years. It took a decade to get this close, and another to collect all I needed as a spy.”
“By the Gods,” I said.
“No, by me. Now read. Memorize.”
“Did you know all of this for twenty years?” I asked. “That Olivay would become betrothed to the prince? And have a child?”
“I guessed. I was right.” He leaned forward, patting Erys’s head. “We’ll take him over the Mortsen Mountains and into the Dark Woods.”
I sucked in a breath. “No. We can’t. We need another route.”
“There is no other route, not unless we want to go so far out of our way that we risk exposure and miss your first event.” The Hermit eyed me from the side, his jaw working. “You’ll be safe this time. I’ll be with you.”
“You weren’t there that day,” I said quietly. The scar on my left arm began to itch. The ghost of a howl moved through my mind. “You don’t know.”
“I can’t be everywhere at all times,” he said coolly. “We’ll transfer from Erys to our moonstag before the Eskalon border. You’ll have a meal there. I’ve sent for it. And then, we enter the castle and introduce you to the prince.”
I stared down at the book, brushing my fingers over it.
A whole book full of another girl’s life, another girl’s secrets, and hopes, and dreams. I pulled the green hood further over my face, my stomach knotting as Erys began to lift, walking toward the window and climbing out.
His wings spread, soaring above the castle towers, and I turned back to page one, reading slowly and memorizing.
Discovering everything I could about Olivay.
She liked sewing. Reading. Taking tea in the afternoon. She was quiet, and soft-spoken, and fortunately for me, as a royal, she hadn’t developed the typical Spartvan accent, but spoke with the formal pronunciation that was favored across Eskalon, even with the witches.
Azeal shrunk below me, fading into the distance as Erys flew south.
We elevated to a higher altitude, soaring over the Mortsen Mountains.
I tried not to think about the movements I saw below.
Chimera roamed that land, and every now and then I swore I saw one moving between the trees.
They were growing bolder, moving less independently.
Moving closer to the border than they ever had before.
An hour passed before we reached the center of the Dark Woods.
The place where it had happened. I forced myself to take deep breaths, to not look down.
As memories tried to rise to the surface, I quizzed myself on Olivay’s family.
Tested my knowledge of the names of her cousins, uncles, and aunts.
To learn every detail gathered by the “Spartvan ambassador” who’d known her since she was a girl.
But as I was doing so, one name on the list of cousins caught my eye.
Lord Kienan, House Kanos. Ward of Eskalon.
Royals had a terrible habit of reusing only a handful of names so that nearly everyone in the family was called the same thing.
In Spartva, Olivay and Annoray were the most popular names for princesses and ladies.
Olivay’s grandmother, the former queen, had been named Annoray.
Her great-grandmother was another Olivay, and most likely half of the girls in Spartva had some variation of the name in their honor.
In Eskalon, the royal house of Lafir had over half a dozen male names they favored, but instead of cycling through them like other monarchies, they tended to give their children as many of the names as they could fit, all in different combinations.
There was not a single prince or king who didn’t possess at least two of the names, an easy feat since House Lafir typically gave their children four names in total.
Tirian and Jaron were the most common. Half a dozen kings had been named Tirian since the Doom.
And just like Spartva, nobles, hoping for favor and nearness to the throne, named their own children after the royals as well.
It was a common joke to claim one could stand inside Lafir Castle, close their eyes, and throw a stone.
And no matter what direction they threw, the stone would hit a Nathan.
Sometimes the joke ended with hitting a Rowan.
There was a good chance one was just as likely to hit a Tirian or a Jaron.
Though jokes about the ruling king and crown prince’s name were frowned upon.
King Tirian was formally known as His Majesty, King Tirian Evander Nathan Jaron, Ruler of Eskalon. And Jaron was formally known as His Highness, Crown Prince Jaron Emmerson Rowan Brendathan.
Growing up as Princess of Azeal, I knew those names well. Jaron. Tirian. Rowan. Evander. Nathan. Brendathan. It seemed like everyone was named that in some form or another.
But Kienan—Kienan was not on the list, nor was it a common name in Eskalon. It was, however, quite common—I was coming to see—in Spartva.
“What color is Olivay’s hair?” I asked.