21. Ofelia
21
Ofelia
I sat on my bed, waiting for her. By the time I counted to one hundred, surely she would return. Surely she would not leave me alone, not after I had confessed to her, not after I had begged her to make a home here with me.
But when I had counted to one hundred a fifth time, fear froze my body rigid.
I had never shouted at her like that before. I had never seen such pain in her eyes. The grief and the guilt and regret of sharing the truth with her was like a repeated blow to my heart.
I tried to imagine myself through her eyes. Stubborn. Spoiled. Refusing to listen to her dearest friend, even after all we’d been through.
My mind was tangled in knots. I trusted Lope. I believed in her. She would only ever mean well. But I believed in the king, too. He had no reason to harm me or my mother. As for the Shadows, I could not explain them, but who could? And who could rightly pin their existence upon one man?
Pulling a pillow against my chest, I continued to stare at the double doors.
All these years, she had devoted herself to me. And even in Le Chateau, all her time, her hours in the garden, her fighting, her sword training, her journey here, her words, they were all for me . She deferred to me, even when I asked her to leave. But...
You have never once asked what I wanted.
The splinters of my heart pierced my chest. Tears dropped onto the white pillowcase. She was right. I had acted like only my desires had mattered. Like this was my story and mine alone. Now, all I wanted was to hear her story, every word of it, and to stand by and watch her carry it out.
But she’d left.
No—she was leaving .
I leapt off the bed and raced down the hallway, uncaring of my appearance, darting glances back and forth as if Lope would simply be hiding around a corner. My feet traced unerringly to where she had spent the most time lately. When I reached the library, I was relieved to find the door unlocked.
Eglantine was standing by the nearest table, gathering a stack of books. An old stub of a candle sat in a candlestick. Lope’s poems had been on the table before, and a dagger, too—but they were gone.
“Have you seen Lope?” I asked her.
Her brow furrowed. “Not for a time, my lady.”
I touched a trembling hand to my lips. Where would she go? Back to the manor? No, surely not. Her only memories there were sad and dark or memories of me —and she’d surely want to distance herself from those, too.
Perhaps she’d travel far, far away. As far away from me as she could.
The reality of it all made my vision list back and forth. I will never see her again.
“Do—do you know where she could have gone?” I asked the librarian.
She shook her head. “I haven’t a clue. I didn’t realize she’d left.” She tilted her head, a question in her eyes—and the beginnings of worry. “Mademoiselle Ofelia, has Lope been gone long?”
Another dead end. I had nothing, no leads at all. I ignored her question, turning to stumble out of the library.
“Mademoiselle! Lady Ofelia, wait—!”
I didn’t. I ran and watched candles flickering in the hallway, their flames warped by my tears.
I could send the king’s soldiers after her. Men and their horses, north, south, east, west, until they found her, and then we—
A treacherous thought occurred to me.
Perhaps Lope did not want to be found. She had longed to see the world. She had longed for a peaceful life. A life away from her wall. Away from Le Chateau.
A happier life, away from me.
Lope deserved someone sweeter than me, someone kinder than me. Someone who listened to her. Who asked her opinions, who let her weep, who would hold her in her arms.
I dragged myself back down the corridor, gripping the molding of the wall like it was a tether back to my bedroom.
What a wretch I was. How horrid I was.
I loved her. I loved her smile when I’d tell a silly joke, and I loved the way she’d wrinkle her brow as she read a particularly riveting novel. I loved her weathered hands and her gentle voice. I loved how when I spoke, she left a beat of silence after my words, to truly think about what she was going to say. I loved her far more than I loved anything else.
Now all I wanted was for her to be happy. My heart was warring, longing for her presence again... but stronger than that was a painful pull. The desire to know that she was going somewhere sunlit and safe. That she’d find happiness. I wanted that even more than I wanted her hand in mine.
Let her be happy , I prayed, though I never will be again .
The rest of the day moved in a messy blur, like a streak of paint upon a canvas. Though I’d already slept, after the argument, and after the loss of the girl that I loved, I crawled back into bed, wrapping myself in darkness and warmth.
My ladies-in-waiting found me eventually and insisted in soft tones that I must attend the ball tonight. At some point I must have acquiesced. In a long, slow blink, I was sitting on a throne again in a deep blue gown. Little crystal beads were sewn throughout, making it look like I was wearing the night itself.
The sound of the orchestra was muffled. The colors of the beautiful courtly costumes had faded. I stared with dead eyes, a crystal goblet of wine clasped in my hands. Even when I drank, I felt nothing.
“My dear?”
The voice in my ear made me jolt in my hard-backed chair, like I’d been woken from a dream. By the gods’ mercy, I hadn’t spilled my drink.
Beside me, the king smiled, almost sympathetically. “You seem distant,” he said, soft enough for no one else to hear. “Are you unhappy?”
How plainly I wore my heartache. I sighed and set aside the tasteless wine. “I dismissed Lope from the court.”
The king batted a hand through the air. “Then trouble yourself with her no longer! Your future is brighter without her.”
I flinched and drew back into my chair, looking at him out of the corner of my eyes. Lope had claimed that he was responsible for the creation of monsters. For a bargain with the Shadow King. For the disappearance of several women. Perhaps even my mother.
Had he loved Mother? Or when she had left, had he so uncaringly rejoiced in the wake of her departure, too?
After he beckoned someone close, he reached for my hand. I gave it, but his skin was ice-cold.
Francoise and Mother, they’d both been close to the king. And now I was there, in his grasp, the daughter he so quickly declared that he loved.
Could there really be some sort of danger, like Lope supposed? My mind raced, picturing him slitting open the throats of women or drowning them or hiring someone else to do the crime. He was the king, after all. Who was there to make sure he obeyed the law? He was the law.
His thumb brushed against the back of my hand.
I glanced up. Standing there was my dancing partner from before, Madeleine, with her long golden hair cascading over her bare shoulders in beautiful ringlets. She dipped into a deep curtsey.
“Your Majesty,” she said. She regarded me with a brilliant grin. The rouge on her cheeks and her lips made her look lovelier than any princess I’d seen in a painting. “Lady Ofelia, I am so blessed to be in your presence again.” Her blue eyes flitted back toward the king. “Sire, with your permission, might I kiss your daughter’s hand? She is so radiant tonight.”
“You may,” said the king, before I’d even opened my mouth.
Madeleine took a few careful steps closer, gently taking my hand in hers. She pressed her lips to the back of my hand, then to my wrist, each kiss careful and soft.
I pulled my hands out of both of their grasps, setting them firmly in my lap. The ballroom was too much. The music was too high now, too loud. I could feel the eyes of the courtiers and the king upon me, making my skin bristle. Even my heart seemed to be echoing my thoughts, Lope, Lope, Lope.
“Mademoiselle des Hirondelles,” said the king. “My daughter is feeling a little out of sorts tonight. Pray, would you take her for a dance? Or provide her with some company?”
I imagined it, standing on the dance floor again, moving stiffly and painfully as if I were a puppet, all for the king’s enjoyment. No, I couldn’t bear the sound, the dancing, the laughter, the people.
All I wanted was to be in my mother’s arms again.
It struck me. I could see her again. In a fashion. Even if it was just an image, even if she was weeping... I’d feel less alone with her than I would here in this ballroom full of strangers.
“Might—might Mademoiselle Madeleine and I step out for a bit of privacy?” I asked the king in a low voice. If I was to leave this hall, he’d find it far more believable if I left with another.
He lifted a glass toward me with a smile. “Enjoy yourself. And return by midnight.”
We passed through the crowd of courtiers, who continued their dancing, like tops set in motion, unable to stop. I thanked a hundredfold gods that the valet did not make some grand announcement that I was leaving the ballroom.
The valet shut the door behind us. As before, the faceless guards still watched over the ballroom door, and frightening as they were, I felt a little more at ease without their judging eyes upon me.
I tugged Madeleine down the hallway away from the guards.
“My lady, you honor me,” she said, her thumb stroking the back of my hand.
Down the corridor to the right was my bedroom. To the left was the Hall of Illusions.
I halted in the middle, lifting the chain of pearls from around my neck and draping it over hers. She gasped and raised her hands to the precious necklace.
“Wait in my bedroom for me,” I told her, my voice more shaky than romantic and confident, as I’d hoped. “I only want a quick walk in the halls before I see you. It helps me feel like myself.”
A lie—no, a story. And in this palace, lies and promises and truths and stories gathered and mingled as much as the courtiers did.
“Pray, do not be long,” she whispered. She blew me a kiss and then scampered away down the hall.
In the other direction, the corridor was lit by the occasional candelabrum or sconce, like a carpet of golden lights as I approached the only guarded door.
There was one guard there, small and slim but wearing the austere, faceless uniform of the most fearsome knights. His head was drooped slightly, and his grip on his spear was slipping. As I stood before him, he said nothing, only breathed. He remained to the side of the door, leaning against the frame— sleeping .
Thank you, thank you, thank you , I told the gods as I reached for the door handle.
The door groaned.
The knight gasped, sweeping up his spear and swinging it wildly. The rod smacked against my arm and I yelped in alarm. The figure in gold drew back, his head swiveling as he looked me up and down, and he let out a little squeak.
“Oh, heavens!” he yelped. “Lady Ofelia, I—I’m so sorry!”
Play the part. Tell the story.
My apology froze on my lips.
“As—as you should be!” I spat, sounding entirely like the nobles I had spent so much company in. “Do you know what you could have done? Should I tell my father, the king , about this?”
He dropped his spear and knelt on the floorboards with a loud clang, going so far as to press the golden forehead of his visor to the space between my stockinged feet. “Forgive me, my lady, I beg you!”
“You could have killed me,” I said, touching a hand to my chest. Tears. I need tears. I could make myself cry in dire circumstances, usually if I thought about something sad. Lonely children. Orphaned animals. My best friend and only love, gone forever.
That did the trick.
I embraced the lump in my throat and sniffed loudly. “Right when I found my family at last, you’d have taken it from me—”
“I did not mean any harm, my lady; oh, please forgive me! I’d do anything to fix this!”
There.
“Well,” I said, followed by a long, beleaguered sigh, “the king let me enter this hall earlier today. I wish to visit again. Let me pass and give me a few minutes to recover from... all of this. Then I’ll report to my father of your cooperation and valor.”
“Absolutely,” he whispered, scrambling to his feet, grabbing hold of the door handle and swinging it open. “Please, go in. I’ll guard the door and see to it that you are disturbed by no one.”
I curtsied to the boy. “Thank you, brave knight. And thank you for your service to our kingdom.”
With my head held high, I glided into the dark room, the perfect image of a confident, powerful noblewoman. When the door shut behind me, I let out a long breath and held on to the nearest lampstand to keep from collapsing.
By night, the candles had been extinguished here. Only a small beam of yellow light from the torches in the garden illuminated the floor. A faint breeze sent a chill through the place and made a loose strand of hair flutter before my eyes. I followed the soft rush of wind to the end of the room. It was tucked subtly into the wall, but it was definitely there—another door, likely opening out to the gardens.
The wall of mirrors had been hidden behind white sheets. Why had it been covered? The king had seemed so uncaring about the illusions earlier.
With a trembling hand, I pulled a sheet from the wall, uncovering the first of many mirrors. But there were no figments in the mirror to greet me, just the lampstands behind me and my own pale reflection. I tugged each sheet and left them in a pile like snowdrifts, until every last mirror was uncovered.
Mother had been here before. I remembered it so clearly.
I slowly approached the glass, touching my fingers to it, my hand meeting my own reflection’s. It was solid; it did not part like some strange veil. It was just a mirror. Only a mirror.
“Mother?” I called.
Silence.
I stepped back, looking about the room, shadowed and lonely and forgotten. In the depths of the night, all the magic seemed to have been drained from this place. All that remained was reality, cold and plain.
My stomach sank as I considered one more heartbreaking possibility.
What if I saw Lope in that mirror?
“Who are you?”
I whirled back to the mirrors. My vision doubled—no, the girl in the mirror before me wasn’t another one of my reflections. She had blond hair. She wore a golden ballgown and had a pearl necklace around her throat.
“Who are you ?” I breathed. What sort of trick was this? If the mirror meant to show me what I wanted to see, it must have been wrong. I’d never seen this woman in my life.
“My name is Francoise,” she said, her voice soft and sad, like a funeral hymn. “Who are you ?”
My heartbeat skipped. The singer. The girl who’d disappeared—who’d gone abroad? “Francoise? Are you Francoise de la Valliere?”
“Yes.” She smiled, though tears sparkled in her blue eyes. “Has anyone been looking for me?”
I hugged my arms as a strange chill came over me. “I... not exactly. You, you left to go sing in an opera company abroad—”
“What?” Horror painted her pale face. “No, no! I would never; I would never leave my friends!”
The girl wasn’t real. She was an illusion, just like the image of Mother had been. She had probably been that haunting voice Lope had heard. And yet, the sorrow in this girl’s eyes was so real, so... painful. And why would the gods show her to me ?
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“The king took me on a walk in the gardens—it was at night. I thought it was so strange, and then we kissed, and there was this door, and I woke up, and—” Her brow furrowed. “How is it you’ve come here? Only the king has visited before. And a time ago he brought—” Francoise’s blue eyes went wide. “Are you Marisol’s daughter?” When I nodded, she pressed her hands up against the glass. “Gods! You cannot be here. You must get away—”
“Let me see her,” I begged, fisting my hands against the glass. “Please, I’ve come all this way to see my mother!”
“I’ll fetch her, but then you must go. Go far away from this place.” Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. She clenched her fists at her side. “You aren’t safe here. Please don’t stay one minute more than you must.”
Her skirts fluttered as she turned on her heel and disappeared into nothingness. Once more, I was standing before the mirror all alone. I might have thought it to be a fantasy if not for the aching beat of my own heart.
You aren’t safe , she’d said. From the king ? What would the king do to me? To his own daughter?
After an agonizing moment, two faces appeared beside my reflection: Francoise’s and my mother’s. She ran to me. I pressed my palm against the place where hers touched the glass.
“Darling, listen to me,” she said, her tone the frightening, sincere one that she only used when she was truly afraid. I had heard it only twice before. “I am not an illusion. I mean this with all my heart: you must run away from this palace as soon as you can. The king means you harm. Francoise and I, a woman named Sagesse, and the king’s family, we are all trapped here.”
“Trapped?” My voice was softer than an echo. “In—in the mirror?”
“No, love.” Her eyes shone, but she swallowed down her tears. “The king sent us to the Underworld.”
The Underworld. Just like Lope had said.
I breathed heavy and hard, trying to piece together all I had learned.
“He—he said this mirror doesn’t tell the truth,” I said. “And you did not mention this before—”
“He told me he would torture you if I spoke. I was terrified for you. I—I didn’t know what to do.”
“Ofelia,” Francoise said, “all that your Mother is saying is true. The king took me into the garden, and he pushed me through a door. Suddenly I was here.”
“It was the same for me.” Mother shook her head mournfully. “I’m so sorry you thought I’d forgotten you. I should have known that you would come after me. But now that the king knows you exist, now that he can call you his beloved, he will try to sacrifice you, too.”
“Why would he do that?” I squeaked. “S-sacrifice—”
“It’s a bargain with the king of Shadows, a trade—the lives of his loved ones for time on the throne.”
My stomach lurched. It was just as Lope had warned.
She was right. About everything .
My mother banged her fist on the mirror, but it didn’t tremble. “He’ll do whatever it takes to keep that throne; Ofelia, don’t think he won’t—”
Her voice was drowned out by a whining sound to my left. The three of us turned. The door opened, and a tall figure appeared in the doorway, haloed from behind by golden light.
His six silhouettes seeped into the room.
I staggered backward into the mirror.
“Who is it?” asked Mother, her voice sharp and terrified. “Is it him?”
“Darling, why would you come here and frighten yourself like this?” asked the king in his soft, sweet voice. “I wanted this night to be perfect for you.”
I wished I had a knife. I wished I had a sword. I wished I had Lope.
“Ofelia, run!” my mother screamed.
My head rang. My legs trembled. My palms grew dewy against the glass.
“They like to tell you what you long to hear,” the king said, stepping closer, his hands behind his back like he did when we strolled through the corridors. His Majesty gestured to the women behind me. “You have always wanted to be a part of a fairy tale, and here they are, weaving one for you. Creating monsters out of thin air, stoking your fear—”
“Don’t listen to him,” Mother pleaded beside me. Her words were broken up with sobs. “Don’t take another step closer to her, you bastard —”
My heart was crashing against my breast, louder than thunder and rooting me in place.
“The gods have a bit of a sense of humor, I’ve found,” he continued, his voice smooth and utterly confident. It would be so easy to believe him. So easy to fall under his spell. “So often, they use this mirror to tease me. To shake my faith in them.”
Mother slammed herself against the mirror, begging, “Please, Ofelia, run !”
Francoise inched closer to me, fear glistening in her eyes, too. “He told me he loved me, Ofelia,” she entreated. “He threw me parties and lavished me with gifts. I set aside my friends and my family; I thought his favor was all that mattered in the world. But his sweet words meant nothing—he trapped me here—”
“Enough.” The king held out his hands for mine. “This is why I didn’t want you to come here alone,” he said. “The mirrors can frighten as much as they delight. I didn’t want you to feel afraid in this place. This palace is your home now. It’s safe.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to return to a world of glittering parties and men and women fawning over me.
But it was a lie. A lie Lope warned me of. I’d set aside everything else for this place, for the king’s favor. My home. My loyalty. The girl I loved.
More than anything, I wanted her to hold me now. I wanted to be brave like her, and I wanted to be with her again, smelling her rose-and-smoke hair. The king was wrong. No place was safe if she wasn’t there with me. No place was home if she wasn’t there.
I raced away from the king, toward the back of the room and through the door to the garden. The night air was bracing and relieving; I gulped it down hungrily and dashed down the gravel path.
Anywhere , I thought, go anywhere; get beyond these gates and go find her .
To my left was the garden, stretching onward into darkness. I’d not been far beyond this path; I hadn’t even been here long enough to explore a fraction of this beautiful garden.
At night, it was so different. Sharp angles, twisting branches. All the green in the world had turned black. The perfect place for Shadows to roam.
I didn’t have time to search for an escape. I had to run and pray.
I bolted into the garden. Walls formed out of hedges. I ducked down one path, only for it to end abruptly. I darted down another, hoping for an exit, begging for some wall for me to scale, like on a night at the manor, long, long ago. How I’d jumped the wall and found Lope waiting for me on the other side.
Rounding one corner, I found another dead end, decorated with torches and a statue of a man screaming as he was swallowed up by the earth. I yelped and spun around, darting into the next corner. Empty, as well. I turned and found myself back at the statue, and then turned again, ducking through the winding, endless corridors of leaves.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me. I dashed forward, passing groves of fragrant orange trees, the various bosquets dedicated to our faceless gods—
More footsteps. Faster now. Like metal grating against stone.
Gods , I begged, gods, help me !
I spun past a corner and jolted to a stop. In front of me was a tall iron fence. Behind it was another bosquet, surrounded by marble arches, with a small, domed temple of marble at its center. Four guards stood within, their silver uniforms illuminated by torchlight.
Guards. Servants of the king.
I whirled around but found myself face - to–metallic face with another soldier. He pinned my wrists together and yelled, “Over here!” to the other guards.
I screamed and kicked against him, my dancing shoes clanging against the metal of his shin guards. “Let me go, you monster !”
Behind me, the fence groaned open. Metallic arms grabbed me around my middle. I screamed and screamed, shouting the name of every courtier I knew—but nobody was coming.
Lope was long gone.
A third soldier used thick, rough rope to tie my wrists in front of me. Immediately, I tried to wriggle out, but any effort only made the bindings burn.
I frantically looked about the grove that had been locked away. There were no altars here, but in the middle of the temple was something else—a door. Its frame was made of stone, its middle made of twisted wood and vines. From afar, I could see both sides of the door. It made no sense, a gateway to nowhere. Then with a gasp, I remembered what Lope had told me. What the woman in the mirror had said.
There really was a door to the Underworld, right here in the palace gardens.
And that’s where I would go.
I pulled against the soldier who kept his hands locked around my arms. Cold panic spread through me as he steadily moved me closer and closer to the door.
“No,” I whispered, “no, please! Please, I don’t want to die!”
“You won’t die, Ofelia,” said the king, strolling out of the shadows and closer to the rotunda. “You’ll be reunited with your mother, just like you wanted.”
How could he make it seem like this was some gift he was giving me?
I was on the final step of the rotunda now, only a few paces away from the strange door. Vines undulated across its surface like snakes, and black roses bloomed among them.
“Please,” I begged, “please, I want to stay above—I want the sunshine. I want to live in your beautiful kingdom. I—I won’t tell anyone. I’ll leave the palace if you wish—”
“King of Shadows,” said King Léo, addressing the door with a cold, firm voice, one ruler to another. “My payment to you. My own flesh and blood. My own child. Take my beloved Ofelia to your kingdom.”
King Léo bent close to me, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his hand against the back of my head, holding me in place just as the soldiers did. His skin was cold and clammy, as loving as a kiss from a marble statue. From so close, I could see the gold chain of Mother’s locket around his neck.
He must have stolen it from her, her last night in this world.
With a quick jerk of my hands, I grabbed the locket and yanked it as hard as I could. It broke, and I balled up the chain and clasped the locket tight in my hands.
The king drew back, frowning. “Spoiled thing,” he muttered. His gaze locked with mine. He grasped the door handle behind me.
“I don’t understand,” I asked, panic constricting my voice. “Why would you call me your daughter? Why would you be so kind to me if all along, you were just going to—to—”
His hand lightly caressed the side of my face. “You are my daughter, Ofelia. And I love you dearly. Otherwise, none of this would make a difference.”
The door opened with a soft click .
Wind roared; there was the rustling of leaves, a horrid howling sound, and then the men around me began to scream—all except for the king.
The knights released my arm, shrieking and falling to the pavilion floor. A massive Shadow sat astride one, ripping the helm from his face and wrapping its long claws around the boy’s throat. Shadow after Shadow poured from the doorway, swarming and draining the breath from the knights around us.
Ungloved fingers grasped my arm. I took one final, horrified glimpse at the king.
“I love you,” he said.
And then he shoved me through the open doorway.