17. Ofelia
17
Ofelia
M y head was pounding when I woke, and sunlight burned bright against my eyelids. I pried my head from my pillow. The rose petals had fallen from my hair and lay scattered about my sheets. Somehow, I’d managed to fall asleep in my gown.
“Lope?” I asked groggily. “Gods, I’m a mess. Can you—”
I paused. The daybed was empty, neatly made. A sigh loosed from my lips. I loathed the feeling that there was something invisible and amiss between us. Like a story left unfinished. Even though she was the one being so stubborn and gloomy. All I wanted was to embrace her and to hear her whisper, All is well .
I slipped out of my luxurious, soft bed. One of my feet was bare, and the other was covered in a yellow stocking, the garter still tied above my knee.
I glanced to the nightstand, where a small piece of paper had been folded up. An elaborate O was scrawled on the top. I quirked an eyebrow as I flipped open the note.
Good morning—I did not wish to wake you.
I am in the library all day. Please visit me when you have a moment. There is much I long to tell you.
Forgive me. I was cold toward you last night. The truth is that I have difficulty finding words when I’m in front of you. My mind is a tangled web, as you know.
You asked for it, so it is yours—something sweet:
The light in your eyes puts the stars to shame.
Lope
It was as if all the strength I’d lost last night had returned, as if I were a dying plant, suddenly revived by cool rain. I pressed the note to my heart and twirled around the room. Those were the same sort of words she’d written about the girl she’d loved. The words I had prayed were about me.
I would keep my own love locked safe in my chest, for now—it wasn’t fair of me, a noblewoman, the daughter of her employer, to make such a declaration to her. I wanted her to feel no obligation to me. She would be the one to lead our dance, when she felt safe and confident enough to unlatch her heart and let me see within.
I could picture it so clearly.
Lope would confess her love to me in the rose garden, and we’d spend nights exploring the palace, experiencing all its wonders. Then, on quiet nights, we would read side by side in the library, nestled by a hearth fire.
I stood in front of a mirror, a little warped but still finer than any I’d seen in my life. My curls were in a haphazard pile on my head, sagging on one side, and my rouge had been smudged away. But I looked at my brown eyes the way she did. They put the stars to shame.
Those were not the words of someone uncaring.
Father had been wrong. Hers were the words of a girl with a tender heart, a heart tender with love .
Elation bubbled through me. I grinned and I couldn’t stop giggling, even though I hadn’t said a word. I held my hands against my burning cheeks, gazing into the mirror. Her words played in my head again and again, Put the stars to shame, put the stars to shame.
“Oh, I could kiss you now,” I sighed.
And I would. As soon as I was presentable, I’d make my way to her.
After I pulled the braided rope to ring for my ladies-in-waiting, I noticed on the nearby clock that it was already three in the afternoon. I’d slept most of the day away—no wonder Lope had retreated to the library.
An eternity later, my two maids appeared and set about their work. As I sorted through the skirts and bodices in my wardrobe, I realized with a jolt that I didn’t know what Lope’s favorite color was. I would need to ask her immediately.
In the meantime, pink was never a poor decision.
My maids helped me into my gown and decorated my hair with pearl-tipped pins, and as they did so, they threw one another delighted little glances. I recognized those smiles.
“Is there intrigue in the palace today?” I asked hopefully.
“Yes!” cried Ainhoa, tying a string of pearls around my throat. “Oh, my lady, we are all dying of curiosity!”
I squeezed my hands together, grinning at my reflection. As if today couldn’t be more divine. “Tell me everything!”
The taller maid, Estel, fetched me new stockings and a pair of shoes. “There’s a swarm of courtiers in the hallway outside the Hall of Illusions. We couldn’t figure out why—but it reminded me of that first night, when it appeared so suddenly. It must be something splendid.”
My heartstrings tugged me toward Lope, toward the library, but my sense of curiosity was just too strong. And besides, I reasoned—it’s on the way, isn’t it? And Lope had wanted me to gather up secrets about Le Chateau.
Once I was dressed, Ainhoa, Estel, and I raced around one corridor and then another. The halls were so dark today—out the windows, heavy, black clouds blotted out the sun so completely that candles had already been lit. Around another corner, just as they said, we found a crowd surrounding the knights and the double doors. Courtiers stood on their toes, whispering, as they tried to get a better view.
I strode to the nearest nobleman, a boy about my age with a prim, silver suit.
“Pardon me,” I said, “what has everyone so curious today?”
The boy whirled toward me, his mouth falling open. He hastily swept into a graceful bow. “Lady Ofelia! Forgive me, I—I know your father does not want us crowding by the hall just yet, as it is still incomplete—”
“Enough of that,” I said, batting away his words. “I ask you because I shall burst if I don’t find out what’s causing all this commotion!”
He was pale, startled. I wondered if I was really the one causing such a reaction in him. “Well... if you will not tell His Majesty just yet—”
I gripped the satin sleeve of his jacket. “I am going to faint from excitement if you don’t tell me immediately.”
“We—we thought we heard a voice. Coming from the Hall of Illusions.”
My eyes widened. “Someone’s in there?”
The boy nodded, his voice trembling as he continued: “We think so. A few minutes ago we heard a woman. Then there was a man’s voice, very soft.”
It reminded me a bit of what Lope had said, about a woman singing in the hall. But a man and a woman speaking... If it was some sort of illusion, it didn’t sound very interesting. Perhaps there were two real people within.
“That cannot be!” I said. “How did they get past the guards?”
He shrugged. “No one has seen a soul pass through those doors.”
A hush swept through the crowd, and then I could hear it, too. A voice, desperate and scratchy, sobbing, as though she barely had any tears left.
Murmurs of confusion and concern swept through the crowd.
A person inside the Hall of Illusions? A person, hidden away, weeping ?
It was a foolish thought. An impossible one, with how strictly the doors has been guarded.
My heart thrummed against my breast as I slipped through the crowd. When some people caught sight of me, they gasped and bowed. I ignored them, pressing on closer and closer to the painted-gold door, decorated with carved trees with soaring branches and roots that faded deep into an obsidian abyss.
Even the guards watching the doors had pressed closer, listening, frowning.
There it was again.
But this time the sound sent ice through my bloodstream.
I knew that voice better than my own heartbeat.
“Mother?” I called. It couldn’t be; she was safe by the sea—but why was there a quiver in my voice?
There was one more whimper, so unmistakably hers.
I shot my hand out to grab the door handle, but the knights were too fast and crossed their halberds, barring the way.
From the Hall of Illusions came a loud shattering sound. The nobles behind me gasped and whispered. I leapt back. One of the guards frowned and reached for the door handle, but his partner snapped, “ Don’t .”
I stepped back from the door. The eyes of every noble were upon me. Some inched nearer, leaning as close as they dared to the door.
My maids flitted to my side. I leaned against Estel for support, wrapping my arms around her middle. I wished that she was Lope, that she could give me the comfort and the logic that I needed at a time like this, but an embrace would have to do.
“I—I swear it was my mother’s voice,” I murmured. “It’s as if she’s in there!”
“Well... it must be an illusion,” Ainhoa said. “We know nothing else about that room besides its name.”
The very idea made cold, invisible hands grip my stomach. I didn’t know which I hoped for more—that my mother was only one door apart from me, or that she was safe at Lantanas and this was all some trick.
There were two loud claps: staves hitting the parquet. I knew the sound well by now, but it never ceased to make me jolt. The mutterings of the nobles went silent as death.
“Vive le roi!” called the first attendant.
“Long live the king!” echoed the lingering nobles.
“?Que viva el rey!”
“Long live the king,” I repeated.
His Majesty came in from the gardens, dressed in a deep purple suit embroidered with flowers and trees and peacocks.
“What a surprise to see so many members of my court gathered together like this,” said the king. “I know you all are so very eager to see the frights and fantasies that the hall has to offer. But I assure you, friends, when the hall is truly prepared and suitable for the eyes of the public, you will be able to explore it at once. Until then, fear not if you hear strange sounds from within. The wonders of the gods are great. But they are not yet ready to be seen. We shall celebrate magnificently when they are.”
The court kept their heads bowed, glancing among one another like naughty children caught misbehaving.
“In the meantime,” said the king, “if marvels are what you seek, the royal theater troupe will be performing in the gardens in an hour.”
The crowd around me moved like a current, nodding and bowing and murmuring thanks to the king. He strode up to me with a warm smile—but it faded when he caught sight of me. With a simple flick of his hand, he dismissed my ladies-in-waiting, who curtsied and fled the scene. How quickly he could make people disappear. “What troubles you, my darling?”
My heart was still quivering, as if Mother’s voice were echoing within my body still. “Father, I—I know it sounds mad, but I swear on my life... I swear I heard Mother’s voice from within the Hall of Illusions.”
His expression remained unreadable. He delicately placed his hands against the bare flesh of my arms. “I will tell you the truth of that room,” he said. “It was a gift from the gods, but it is one that can bring heartache. In that room, you will see and hear things that seem utterly real. Depictions of what your heart is longing for the most. They’re like phantoms. Or dreams.”
Tears clung to my eyelashes. “Then I only heard her voice because... because I wished it so dearly?”
He nodded. “Perhaps your wish was so strong that you made the illusion appear for everyone to hear. But this is why I did not want to tell you about such a place,” he said. “I knew it would only upset you while your mother is away recovering.”
Only a door was between me and my mother. Even an image, even just the sound of her voice... I longed for it so deeply that my whole body ached. I wanted her to hold me again. I wanted to tell her all about Lope and my warring heart and all the confusing, twisting secrets of this palace. And I wanted her to smooth back my hair and whisper to me until I forgot everything sad.
“Please,” I said, “please let me see her.”
The king looked into my eyes, searching for something. His thumbs brushed against my shoulders. “Do you know that I love you, Ofelia?”
The king had barely known me a fortnight. Still, he was so kind to me, so generous. He always asked me if I was happy or what wish he could grant. Perhaps the love of a family transcended time altogether; perhaps you just knew, right after meeting someone, that you could love them. Even Lope had said it—love is immortal.
“I know you do,” I said.
He kissed my hand. “Then I will let you see this room. But you must remember—all that you see, all that you hear... it’s a fantasy. None of it’s real.”
I threw my arms around him. “Thank you, Father!”
His Majesty laughed. His voice rumbled in his chest as he told the guards, “Let us enter, but no one else.”
The two guards each pulled open a door.
My heart thrummed in my throat. The king offered me his arm, and I clung to it as tight as I could.
When we stepped through the doors, all the breath left my lungs.
The domed ceiling was made of black crystals, descending from above like jagged teeth. There were no beautiful paintings, no hanging chandeliers. The walls, too, were like the inside of a cave—dark stone swirled with gray. Lining the hall were silver candelabras with more crystals and lovely warm light. From the right side of the room, a dozen windows let in a sliver of light that gleamed magnificently across the other wall.
The leftmost wall was covered entirely in mirrors, clear and smooth as water and more perfect than I’d ever seen. I could not tear my eyes away.
“It’s wonderful,” I said.
“It is, isn’t it? A shame I must keep it hidden.” He parted from me, inspecting the craggy ceiling with his hands behind his back. “Perhaps I will have another one built.” The king turned back toward me on his scarlet heels, gesturing to the mirror behind me. “Call for your mother.”
I frowned. I looked into the mirror, pure as silver, at my reflection and the king’s. It seemed mad. But I’d heard her. I knew I had.
I pressed my fingertips against the glass. “Mother?” I called. “Mother? It’s me, Ofelia.”
For a moment, I watched the mirror, watched as the king stepped closer to me.
Then slowly, another figure came into view.
My mother. Her image, standing behind my left shoulder. Her normally neatly coifed curls were in disarray, tumbling and loose. She was wearing her favorite dress, deep burgundy with accents in black. She’d wear it to any dinners she’d have with her painting clients.
She was perfect and so very real. I whirled back, my heart lifting, knowing that she was standing behind me—
No. Only the king was there.
I turned back to Mother—the image of my mother. Just an illusion, I told myself.
My hand trembled as I touched the glass. Her fingertips touched mine, but all I could feel was the cold, hard surface of the mirror.
“Mother, I miss you so much,” I whispered.
She smiled at me, tremulous but true. Her hand quivered against the glass. “Oh, Ofelia, I love you. I love you more than anything.”
“I love you, too.” I glanced back at the king, who’d come closer, his hand soft against the space between my neck and my shoulder. “Heavens, she looks so real!”
Yet her eyes shimmered with tears. Her lips were pressed in a smile that didn’t look quite right.
I pressed my palm deeper into the glass, as if I could touch hers. “She looks sad,” I said, turning away briefly to look at the king. “I thought this was supposed to show me my heart’s desire.”
“These illusions are odd things. Even I do not understand them.” He tucked a curl behind my ear. “Does it unsettle you, Ofelia? Should we leave now?”
“No!” cried Mother. As if she—or the illusion—could not bear the thought of being parted from me.
“Silence,” the king said to the image. “You’re frightening my daughter.”
But Mother’s eyes never left mine. She wordlessly touched the glass, drinking me in with that same desperate expression. As if she wanted to step through the mirror to me.
“It looks so much like her,” I said softly. But it only made me long for her more.
The king gently guided me away from the mirror. “Come, child. It does no good to linger here.”
We swiftly left the strange room, and the thing that looked and sounded so much like my mother—it wept my name.
The guards shut the doors behind us, and I darted around a nearby corner, catching my breath upon a red-and-gold damask settee.
She was so lifelike. But so sad. It felt more like a curse from the gods than a blessing. Look at what you are longing for.
The king lightly took his place beside me on the settee. Without another word, I leaned into his embrace.
“Do not grow troubled,” the king said, his voice sweet and golden as honey. “Your mother will be home from Lantanas in only a few days now. You won’t need that ridiculous mirror.”
I pressed my hand hard against my breastbone. “How I ache,” I whispered. “Seeing her... I just miss her so dearly.”
“It was all an illusion. Just a wonder by the gods. They don’t intend to be cruel, but they don’t truly understand us.”
He sounded so calm. So used to this— magic . True, beautiful magic, the kind the gods used to make the world and all of us. The kind no human could wield or understand.
The gods gave him gift after gift—his youth, this palace, the mirrors.
But this . Nothing yet had convinced me as this had; this utterly perfect facsimile of my mother, so close and so clear, as if I could walk right through to her. This was irrefutable proof. For anyone to have traces of such powerful magic so close to them... it could only mean that they were blessed.
And that meant... that all of Lope’s concerns could be set aside. I had seen no beasts in the garden. There were no women trapped within the Hall of Illusions—only a bit of artifice, a bit of sparkle to show off the wonder of the gods.
Our days could be spent here, joyfully, in the daylit gardens. And our nights could be spent in this enchanted palace.
“I must go,” I said. I had so much to tell Lope. “But thank you, Father. For all that you have done for me.” I smiled. Now that I was past the initial shock, I was grateful for the lovely moment when I got to look into my mother’s eyes again. “It was a sweet gift, seeing her.”
“I have more for you yet,” he replied with a smile. “Tonight will be the biggest fête of the year. Performers, fireworks, more delicacies than you can imagine... I want your heart to glow with happiness. To let all the court know how dear you are to me.”
It sounded sublime. One of my most beautiful dreams, brought to life.
There was just one piece missing from my dream.
The beautiful knight who would whisper poetry in my ear.
The girl I loved.