CHAPTER THIRTY
ONE TRUE THING
The mountain air is at its most violent in the sky cart. No matter how many layers I wrap myself in, I can’t help the shivers that wrack my body.
The cart attendant watches me warily from the other side of the small wooden box we share.
The journey from the top of the mountain to the base always feels long.
Especially since cart attendants rarely speak to me.
The trip itself is only a little more than an hour, but silence stretches longer than words.
When we reach our destination, the attendant opens the door, as he always does.
“Thank you, Tallus,” I say as I exit into the evening.
He looks at me in surprise—he doesn’t expect me to know his name. I leave before he can question it.
The cloak I wear to Ophera is thinner than what I’m used to, in order to draw less attention. My boots are cheaper as well, and my toes grow numb as I trudge through the dirty, gray-tinted snow piled in the streets, making my way to the childhood home of Kaidren Vale.
There are bars fitted over the windows and ratty curtains inside. I peer into each room until I find one that looks as if it belongs to Kaidren.
Well, used to. Like me, he traded in this shack at the base of the mountain for a manor at the top.
The bars over his window are steel. With a bit of magic, I heat them enough to soften and bend them out. I wedge between the bars and climb through.
I try to land softly but slip at the last moment.
I go still, waiting. No startled shrieks or panicked cries.
Relieved, I rise. I brought a small lamp with me.
Dim enough it won’t be spotted from outside, yet bright enough to illuminate my search as I tiptoe around the room.
Kaidren’s walls are heavily decorated. Not with paintings, but with words.
Quotes from speeches written in perfect, elegant script; news clippings; notes to himself, asking questions.
Some of the words he’s collected are familiar.
Speeches I’ve studied in preparation for writing Luc’s, and some of them are words I penned for my brother to speak.
Just about all the news clippings he saved are about Widow’s Hall.
News on the Praeceptor, the Honorate, and me.
Well, the Shadow Queen. I remember, not without some satisfaction, that Kaidren was a fan of mine before he came to Widow’s Hall and I (she) accused him of murdering his father.
He’s underlined a few passages on his wall in emerald green ink.
Honorate Arliss Vale opposed the order . . .
Honorate Arliss Vale remains the only member of the Honorate who is unmarried . . .
They’re about his father, from before he fell ill.
There are a few handwritten notes tacked to the wall, overlapping the news. Over an article about Luc, he’s pinned a note:
Who is the girl standing beside him?
I frown. The girl in question is obviously me.
But the news clipping he pinned it to is merely a summarization of a speech he gave.
It makes no mention of a sister, or anybody, accompanying him.
I remember this speech well. When Luc delivered it, I stood offstage behind him, watching from the shadows as always.
The only way for Kaidren to comment on my presence is if he was there, in person, and saw me.
His words from our first conversation float back. “I’ve seen you. Skulking around in the shadows . . . Around Widow’s Hall. Hovering near the Praeceptor.”
Just how many of Luc’s public appearances had Kaidren attended before we met? How often was he in the audience, watching me, while I had no idea he existed? I hate the thought of him knowing something I don’t. Hate the idea that he was studying me before I knew to study him.
As I look further, I find more mentions of me from Luc’s public appearances over the past few years.
The girl is back
Who is she?
And, from a note that’s more recent than the rest:
Just Remira
Remira Kyler
Mira
I stare at that final line for longer than I should. Kaidren only ever calls me Remira, yet he made a point of writing “Mira,” as though we’re close enough to use nicknames with each other.
I shake myself. I’m lingering, and I shouldn’t be. I need to search quickly and get the hell out of here. I’m looking for anything I can find to use against him. The rest of the Honorate are easy. I’ve spent years collecting their darkest secrets. For Kaidren, I have next to nothing.
Something under the bed catches my eye. The corner of a flat black box.
I drop to my knees, setting the lamp next to me. I slide the box from beneath the bed and remove the lid. Emerald green fabric laced with gold winks back at me.
Honorate robes. Same as the ones I wear in my attic, watching council meetings. These are worn and fraying at the edges. From a time before Kaidren was given a fresh set of robes to call his own.
A cracked mirror leans against the wall opposite the bed. I wonder how often Little Kaidren stared into it. Wonder if he, like me, donned his father’s robes and danced around, dreaming of one day being someone who matters.
I lower the robes back into the box. As I push it beneath the bed, something else glitters in the low lamplight.
My fingers close around a glass vial, so cold it’s frosted over with a layer of white, obscuring its contents.
I’ve just shoved the vial into my pocket when something creaks behind me. I whirl to face the door.
There’s nothing there.
“Find what you’re looking for, shadow skulker?”
I go rigid and twist around again. A tall figure leans against the window I climbed through. He’s too far for the lamp’s light to reach his face, but I recognize his form, and judging from the shape of his words, he’s smirking at me.
Swallowing, I stand, trying to hide my unease. “What are you doing here?” My voice is even, a stark contrast to the cantering pace of my heart.
Something hisses as Kaidren ignites a lamp on his desk, surrounding him in soft, misty light.
“I live here,” he drawls. “I think my presence is more reasonable than yours.”
“Did you climb through the window?”
“No, I used the door like a normal person.” He tilts his head jeeringly. “Why? Did you use the window?”
I don’t bother responding. I’m too busy plotting my escape. Where he’s standing blocks the window, so it’s not a viable option. That leaves the bedroom door. I wonder if I could run fast enough before he catches me.
Kaidren’s chuckle interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t bother. My aunt Jules locked us in. We only leave when I say.”
I glare to disguise my mounting panic. “What do you want?”
“To talk.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. His room is small enough and his legs long enough that all he has to do is stretch them out, and my path to the window is obstructed.
Kaidren grins pleasantly, as if that wasn’t a calculated move, and motions for me to sit beside him.
I scoff and cross my arms. “I have nothing to talk to you about.”
“The fact that you just climbed through my bedroom window suggests you might have some questions.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“It’s my home. I come here all the time. But tonight, I confess, I followed you.”
My eyes narrow and he shrugs unabashedly. “I saw you get in a sky cart and took the next one down. Figured you’d be coming to my home, because, as far as I can tell, you haven’t been to Ophera since your mother died.”
I can’t stop myself from flinching. Thinking about Aja always gets a reaction. Emotion bubbles within me like boiling water, eager to steam out, either in tears or screams.
Kaidren watches me, and his face softens with pity. “What was her name?”
I hate that I can’t hide how much the mention of her hurts. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Fine. We won’t talk about your mother. Instead, you can tell me what you’re doing here. My guess is you’re looking for some way to sabotage me before the ball. Am I close?”
“You can’t expect me to answer that.”
Kaidren makes a show of stretching out his legs, emphasizing the way they stymie my path to freedom.
“There’s no need to snoop, Remira. I’ll happily tell you whatever you want to know.
Things you won’t find from sneaking around my room.
In return, all you have to do is tell me something about you.
I won’t even ask you to tell me anything you don’t want to. ”
He’s playing a game and I know it, but he’s also not lying, and I have to admit I’m tempted. “Then what do you want to know?”
“Something about you that’s real. One true thing.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I won’t confess to anything that might get me into trouble, but ask something fair, and I’ll answer truthfully. All I ask is that you tell me something. Anything—so long as it’s true. It’s a good trade. Completely unfair and wholly in your favor. Just the way you like it.”
“Why would you agree to something like that?”
Kaidren gestures around his walls. “For years, I’ve seen you near the Praeceptor.
I’ve wondered about you. Then I met you.
I thought I got to know you, but it turns out it was all a lie.
It’s been weeks, and I feel I know less about you than I did before.
I’ve been spinning stories and making guesses, and every time I think I’m close to knowing you, you remind me just how wrong I am. ”
“All this because you’re curious?” I say dubiously.
He flashes that polished, charming smile. “Curiosity is a strong motivator when one’s subject is as captivating as you.”
My nerves are alight with suspicion, but everything he’s said is the truth, and regardless, I have a clear edge. If he lies, I’ll be able to tell. He’ll have no way of knowing if what I reveal to him is the truth. “All right . . .” I agree warily. “But I get to ask my question first.”
Kaidren laughs. “I figured you would. Ask away.”
I can’t exactly ask him if there’s some massive scandal in his life I can use to blackmail him. But there’s one question that’s been running through my mind, over and over. “Why didn’t you turn me in on the mountain?”