25. Lope
25
Lope
Things the darkness has stolen from me:
The colors of the world.
Birdsong.
Childhood.
The laughter of my friend.
O nce again, I stood before the golden gates of Le Chateau Enchanté.
Gravel crunched. An unfamiliar knight approached, staring at me through the golden bars of the fence. The guard’s eyes were pink-rimmed with exhaustion—a look I knew well.
“You’re no noble,” he said, just by the look of me.
“I know the registrar,” I replied, my head held high. “Madame Eglantine. She... called upon me. She will vouch for me.”
He hummed, looking me up and down—but did not seem to recognize me or see any threat to me. “Wait here,” he said.
Through the bars of the fence, I gazed upon this splendid palace, gleaming in the morning light. Dozens of windows on an exterior of red brick and white marble. The roofs made of deep blue slate, crowned with gold shining bright white in the dawn. With the shape of the building, a long hall with two sprawling wings on either side, it was almost as if the palace were reaching for me.
Before, I’d been its guest, its inferior, meekly entering its magnificent halls.
Now it was only another beast to slay.
Eglantine briskly strode down the drive from the palace. She wore a black gown and kept a purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders, just in time for the first winds of autumn. Seeing her, my only connection to this place now, made my body loosen with relief.
Side by side, Eglantine and the guard stood across from me at the gate.
“Do you know this girl?” the guard asked.
The librarian didn’t smile, but she bowed her head to me. “Mademoiselle, I’m so pleased you got my letter. Come in, come in.”
She waved at the guard, and with a shrug, he signaled to the soldier in the tower to let the gate part. I slipped through as soon as it opened the smallest fraction.
With a bow, I said, “Good morning, madame.”
“Good morning, good morning, come this way.” She grabbed my forearm and pulled me away, off into some sort of cloakroom, with unpolished boots and riding gloves and shoes to be re-cobbled.
Eglantine shut us in the small room, lit only by the sunshine filtering through the cracks in the door.
“What in the name of the gods are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Your mother,” I said, not waiting a moment, “your mother—she should be in the Hall of Illusions. The Shadow King said she’d be there—”
“The Hall of Illusions?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “She’s in there? Alive? What do you mean?”
“I spoke to the Shadow King,” I said breathlessly. “The Hall of Illusions, it serves as a window to the Underworld. And within that window, we will find Ofelia and your mother. They are both trapped in the Underworld.”
She covered her mouth. “Gods, I’m a fool.”
The heartbreak in her voice startled me. “Why?”
“The king said—he said Ofelia had run off with a lover. I thought he meant you . He’s claimed he’s so heartbroken that he won’t leave his chambers, and I believed him. It seemed like... something Ofelia would do.”
I forcefully pushed down the anger that had risen at the thought of the king tarnishing Ofelia’s name. There were more important things at stake right now.
“That doesn’t matter.” I gripped her hands. “Thank you for getting me through the gates. Now I need to get into the Hall of Illusions.”
She furrowed her brows, deep in thought. “The palace is crawling with guards. There have been Shadows sighted inside the palace. Nobles are frantic; five knights have already died—it’ll be difficult to sneak in.”
Five knights. Five more needless casualties.
And, I thought coldly, five absent places.
When Guillem, the knight I’d rescued in the garden, heard I now wanted to serve as one of the king’s knights, he was relieved. He led me into a room lined with gold-plated greaves on the floor, breastplates on the wall, and swords that hung by each of them. From a table, he chose a helmet and held it up in front of my face. “Looks about the right size.”
He helped me into both legs of my greaves. It took me a moment to adjust to the weight; back at the manor, we rarely wore metal armor like this, except for the occasional breastplate. Fighting a Shadow required speed above all else, and while this heavy golden armor looked beautiful, it would slow me significantly. Next, he fit me into the breastplate and gauntlets, and after fastening them all into place, like bolting me inside some metal coffin, he placed the helm over my head. Its chin jutted out, the gap between my neck and the helm just enough that I had some empty space to breathe, as there was no mouth on the mask. I saw the world through the slits of the mask and realized that for now, no one could see the scar along my cheek. No one could recognize me. I was invisible.
Best of all, once again, I had a beautiful, shining sword at my hip.
As I made my way toward the Hall of Illusions, the palace was buzzing with activity, preparing for a fête as though nothing had changed. Servants carried vases of flowers the size of dinner plates, gilded instruments, and trays heaped with white cakes. Far down another corridor, servants’ gossip accompanied the tuning of the instruments.
It was chaos. I was nearly to the hall now, but how could I sneak in with so many witnesses?
The door at the end of the hall opened, and the king emerged, clothed in blinding white with a long fur cape trailing behind him. Two young women in white dresses carried the train of his cloak, their gazes lowered and their cheeks rosy. I stepped quickly to the side of the hallway, standing at attention.
Another soldier on the other side of the hall saluted as the king passed.
With each confident step, His Majesty grew closer to me.
There were deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth now, as if he’d aged thirty years in just a few days—not even the powder he now wore on his face could conceal them. I could not help but imagine this was some sort of divine retribution. If the Shadow King had blessed him with youth, perhaps he could curse him just as easily.
King Léo’s eyes, the eyes he gave Ofelia, fell on me. A shiver darted down my back. Sweat gathered on my neck beneath the heavy armor.
Salute, damn it , I begged myself. He’s not looking at you. He doesn’t know who you are.
But he did , I could feel it. His agelessness, the way he so easily hid the truth of the palace and its construction, his door to the Underworld... What other dark powers did he have? Could he see the contents of my heart, or hear my vicious thoughts?
I snapped into a salute, my gaze upon him.
May you rot , I thought. May you decay. May vermin consume you.
He turned his face from me and stared ahead. It was so easy for him to pass, to stroll right by me, as if I didn’t loathe him more than any creature on this earth. More than any Shadow.
My hand trembled against my sword.
I could plunge it through his back.
It would be so easy.
But then what? A dead king would bring me no closer to the girl I’d lost. The girl I loved.
When the last inch of his white cape slipped around the corner, I slackened with relief.
After he left, I ducked around the corner and strode down the corridor, left and right and left, to the Hall of Illusions. Courtiers did not even glance at me as I passed on the fringes of the hallways, all of them clothed in white just like the king had asked.
I approached the corridor wherein was housed the Hall of Illusions. To my surprise, there was someone standing there, a woman shouting at the golden-armored knight before her. She had a book pressed to her chest.
Eglantine.
“I’m here on important research for the king!” she insisted.
“Madame, the king made his wishes very clear. No one is to enter the hall.”
“But—but he means to start restorations on it, and he requested a list of artists to commission, and I have a book of names right here!” she insisted, holding up her book. “I only mean to take some notes!”
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for the fête?” he asked.
Eglantine opened her mouth, but I neared the two and interrupted her, saying, “Soldier, I’ve just left my post at the king’s hallway and was instructed to come here next. I was told you’re being sent to guard the ballroom with the others.” When he said nothing, I thought of Ofelia, and how, when she was in doubt, she would add more details to her story. “I’m a new recruit. Came from the countryside. Trained in special combat with Shadows. I hear they are a particular problem in this part of the palace, along with strange noises. Is that true?”
“Yes.” The soldier’s voice quavered.
“I’ll take it from here.” I saluted the knight and, after a beat, he saluted me and then left.
“Mademoiselle...?” murmured Eglantine.
I took one cursory sweep of the corridor—no onlookers, no Shadows—and swept the helmet off my head. Shaking out the hair that had begun to stick to my face, I felt I could finally breathe for the first time in hours.
Eglantine beamed at me. “Excellent work.”
“Let’s hurry.”
The two of us slipped through the double doors. I set my helmet aside on the parquet and frowned at the room before us—dark and strangely empty. The walls here were more like that of a cavern than those of a palace. Stepping forward a little farther, I could see the vast wall of mirrors—and a pale figure standing in the glass.
I gasped and put a hand to my sword, but Eglantine raced past me, pressing her hands to the glass.
“Maman!” she cried.
The woman standing before Eglantine in the mirror looked much like her but younger, with her dark blond hair in a long plait. She, too, wore spectacles, and several golden bracelets on her wrists.
“You’re so beautiful,” said the woman—Sagesse. Her voice caught with tears as she pressed her hands against her daughter’s, as though she could push herself through the glass to her.
Then, in the panel of a mirror to her right, a faint shape appeared. Its edges grew more defined as the silhouette grew closer and closer, and then I saw her, the light in her eyes, the joyful tears, the bright smile she wore just for me, and I had never felt such an equal blend of agony and joy all at once. “Ofelia,” I gasped.
Ofelia, Ofelia, my beautiful one, my sunlit girl, trapped forever in a world of monsters and darkness.
Had I only seen her yesterday? It felt like an eternity had passed. I drank her in like I was dying of thirst.
Her fingertips pressed against the glass, pressed up where mine were. Her chest heaved as if she had been running. I searched her for any scrapes or bruises, but apart from her cheeks, red and shining with tears, she looked the same as she had when we’d parted. I longed to brush her cheeks dry, to kiss her face until she’d cry no more.
“I love you,” I said, declared, vowed, promised, pledged. The words that had echoed in my heart for years finally rang out like bells celebrating a homecoming.
“I love you so much,” she said, the most beautiful refrain to the most beautiful song. Her fingers caressed the glass. “And I’m so sorry. Lope, I’m so sorry. I’ve been awful to you. Horrid and selfish. I should never have been so thoughtless toward you. I never should have doubted you. I should have listened to you.” She leaned her forehead against the glass, sniffling. “You were right about everything. I’m a fool. And a worse fool for how I’ve treated you for all these years. Like you were only a servant. You’re not, Lope, you’re an artist and a hero and my dearest friend, and anything else you want to be. You’re—you’re everything to me. And I... I shouldn’t have read your poems, either. I’m so sorry.”
My sweet, gentle girl. I never should have doubted her kindness. Not even this wretched palace could tarnish her golden heart. “I forgive you. Of course I forgive you.” I touched my brow to the mirror, too, and for a moment imagined it was just the two of us there, without Eglantine or Sagesse. That there wasn’t a sheet of glass between us. That I could feel her warm skin against mine.
“I’m going to rescue you,” I said, “and when I do, I’ll write a hundred poems for you. For your eyes alone.”
She drew back, and my heart dropped at the alarm in her face.
“You mustn’t come here.” Her voice was choked and meek. “You cannot come for me. You must run; get as far from this place as you can, before the king hurts you—”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I’ll fight. I’ll fight for you, and I’ll win. I won’t stop until you’re safe.”
“Please. Please, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. You were right. The palace is dangerous. The king even more so. Please , Lope.” Her forefinger stroked the glass, right over my cheek. Her eyes shimmered with tears. “You spent your whole life saving me. Let me save you. Just this once.”
“And I’ve spent my whole life obeying orders,” I said. “No longer. I’m coming for you. No matter what it takes.”
She didn’t speak. Her long lashes fluttered, dripping more tears on her cheeks. Her lip trembled. “All right,” she whispered. “Let me know what I can do to help.”
“You intend to come below?”
The voice was Sagesse’s, acerbic and surprised. Her brows were raised as if in a challenge.
“Yes,” I said.
“Lope,” said Ofelia, “your theories were correct—there is a door in the gardens. That strange, isolated doorway we saw near the bosquets of the gods. But it is locked behind a fence, and when I was taken there, the king had his guards all about.”
“I tried to break in once before. The guards intercepted me, I—”
“You could create your own door,” said Sagesse.
My heart leapt. “But—the king hired you for your power to speak with the gods,” I said. “I don’t have the gift that you do.”
“There is only a ritual to be performed. Anyone can do it, if they know how. Yes, it would be helpful if you had some prior fortune in communicating with the gods—”
“But you have!” said Ofelia. “The Shadow King, he knows you. He has heard your prayers. He has read your poetry.”
She was right. I had bent the ear of a god.
“When we open this door,” I asked, “will Shadows come through?”
“Yes,” Ofelia and Sagesse said in one voice. My throat tightened. Ofelia knew these doors very well. It was thanks to the king that she’d been banished through one.
Sagesse continued, “When you make this door, when the Shadow King welcomes you, he will guarantee safety only for the person who opens the door and the person he’d bargained with. This is why Léo may open the door unharmed. And why I was not attacked by the Shadows.”
Eglantine drew closer to the mirror, her fingers trembling. “If we do this, if we open this door, can we let you through?”
Sagesse simply shook her head. “I cannot say. But it’s our only chance.”
“There must be some way for us to help you,” I said. “The King Below—he likes bargains?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then I’ll make one with him. Something good enough that he’ll free the lot of you.”
Sagesse pressed her lips into a thin line. “I admire your certainty, child. But bending the will of a god is no easy task. First, the door.” She looked back at her daughter, the first glimpse of warmth appearing in her eyes. “Lope will need your help, Eglantine. It’s better to have a second person close at hand. You’ll need to be in a dark place where you can concentrate. Light a candle to help attract the attention of the Shadow King. Make a line on the ground where you want the door to be—a line in your own blood. And the person who creates the door, they must prepare something to sacrifice. Something cherished. A body part or some sort of ability will do, as long as it’s deeply precious. Place a symbol of the sacrifice on the line of blood.”
Ofelia’s hand covered her mouth. She was growing quite pale.
Sagesse nodded. “King Léo, for instance, gave up his dancing.”
Any sacrifice, I’d make. I’d do it for her. “What next?” I asked.
“Write down an oath to the Shadow King, that in exchange for passage into his world, you’ll give him whatever you’ve promised him. Mark it with the blood of the person who will enter the Underworld and burn the note. Speak to the king of Shadows and beg him to let you come here.” Her hand curled into a fist. “I will speak to him here, too, to encourage him to let you in.”
“I’ll do it,” interjected Ofelia, squaring her shoulders. “I’ve told him about Lope. About our story. And I want to help you, even in the smallest way.”
My stomach turned at the thought of her speaking to some monster on my behalf, but the conviction in her eyes was unshakable. She smiled at me. My heart fluttered.
“Lope,” she said, her eyes never falling from mine, “there’s something else I want you to know.”
Whisper to me everything;
Whisper me the world.
Let’s lie side by side like always
And tell me every story of your heart!
“The Shadows,” she continued, “they act as messengers for the Shadow King. It’s not just breaths they steal. They take stories.” She ran her lip under her teeth. “The stories are bound into books. And I read Carlos’s book. He loved you, Lope. And he knew that you loved him, too.”
An invisible blow beat against my chest, like a Shadow knocking me down. The ache of missing him burned in my stomach. I could not make sense of the despair and the relief warring through me. His voice, his own words, but in some storybook, made at the behest of a monster-king.
I wished he were here with me. I wished he could have known Ofelia as I did. I wished he could have known me as I was now.
But I had not loved Carlos in vain. Nor would I love Ofelia in vain.
This time, I would save my loved one. I’d save her from the dark, faraway grasp of the Underworld.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Please be careful,” she whispered.
A warm fire was beginning to kindle in my chest. She loved me. She’d said it, and it was true.
I was worth being loved.
“I’ll be with you soon,” I vowed.
She nodded. “I know you will.”
To the king, the best place for a door to the Underworld was a garden. A garden where no one could enter.
For Eglantine and myself, we chose a room that no one cared to enter.
The courtiers cared more for the king and his parties than for books. So the library became our haven.
We shut and locked the tall doors, moved aside tables, and cleared a spot on the wooden floor between two bookshelves in the far reaches of the room. With Eglantine’s help, I unfastened myself from the metal trap of the armor encasing me, and, in my waistcoat, chemise, and breeches, finally felt like myself again. The boots I kept, sturdy leather and easy to run in, except for the protective metal plates atop.
Eglantine’s hands trembled as she placed a candlestick on the floor before us.
“I’ve never... I’ve never successfully spoken with the Shadow King before,” she whispered. As if he could hear us now. Perhaps he could.
When I looked at her, Eglantine’s gaze was miles off into the distance. “For years I searched for Mother. I hoped for so long that she was alive. And all this time, she was so close to me. Just behind a door.” She raised her head, a long silver-blond coil of hair falling before her dark eyes. “I’m so close.”
I carefully touched her arm. “I intend to go alone, Eglantine.”
She frowned. “What? No, not when my mother is so near!”
“We do not know what it will be like below. The presence of Shadows is guaranteed. Even if the Shadow King has promised us safe passage... I think it is wise if you stay behind. In case something should happen. I am fast, and more importantly, I have years of experience with the Shadows.”
She shut her eyes, exhaling, her shoulders drooping in defeat. “Promise me you’ll bring me my mother?”
I pressed my fist to my heart. “I promise.”
“Good.” She nodded. “Then let’s create a door. First, we’ll need a line of your blood.”
I drew my sword and gave a little swipe across my ring fingertip. I winced at the pain and then pressed my hand to the floor, painting a streak of red across the wood.
“Have you thought about what you mean to sacrifice?” she asked.
How casual it seemed. How simple.
At first, I thought to give up an eye or my tongue. Both of these I relied on to keep those I loved safe. I thought, too, of giving up my poetry. But if I did that, if I saw Ofelia again, I’d scarcely be able to breathe. My words were how I understood the world. All of existence would become gray. Meaningless. And none of it would be for me.
There was another ability of mine. One I never asked for but was assigned, just because of my birth. But something I deeply cherished, nonetheless.
My fighting. I could give him an arm, or my hand, or—I stopped myself. The king had given up his dancing, yes. But he bore no evidence of any sacrifice, not even a scratch or a missing finger.
I laid my sword in the line of blood.
“Take my ability to fight,” I said.
Eglantine frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
No. No, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how I could shield Ofelia from harm without my skills, my training. I didn’t know who I’d be without it.
“Even if the Shadows disobey, even if they pursue me, I still have my speed,” I said. “I can run for my life if I must.” My fingers balled into fists against the knees of my breeches. “But I’ll not leave until I’ve made my deal with the King Below.”
She nodded slowly. “Very well.” Procuring a quill, ink, and paper, she said, “I assume you can write, if you named yourself after a poet.”
“Yes.”
“Write the first promise, the one that opens the door. Mark it with your blood, like Mother said.”
I did, and with my fingertip bleeding still, I slid the drop of blood beneath my name like a flourish.
Eglantine read over the letter to herself, nodded, and then took a deep breath.
“I hope this works,” she admitted.
I grimaced. “Me too.”
In a slow, soothing voice, like reciting a lullaby, I read the words of my letter.
Something prickled within me, the same feeling as if I were being watched. A chill danced across my back. The flame of the candle waved back and forth. Eglantine gasped.
“Please,” I said, “answer our call.”
The sword rattled against the wooden floor. Gooseflesh crept up my arms.
I set the corner of the paper in the flame, and it was consumed in a bright flash that soared to the ceiling, fire and smoke pluming into the air, blinding my vision. I blinked, and a dark figure loomed amid the white smoke. I gasped, reaching for the sword—but it was gone. Instead, I threw my arm in front of Eglantine.
But it wasn’t a Shadow. It wasn’t a monster at all.
It was a door. Shining black like ebony, tall and pointed at the top. It was encrusted with silver spirals and delicately spotted with drops of ruby-like red stars.
“You did it,” whispered Eglantine.
My pulse bounded. Yes. Yes, I’d done it, and now I was one step closer to Ofelia. One step closer to the happy ending of our story.
“When I open it,” I said, “Shadows will come out.”
“They’ll not harm us, she said—”
“No, they won’t.” I pointed behind us to the library doors. “But they’ll escape into the palace. They’ll look for someone to kill.” Cold lanced at my heart and stiffened my muscles. The king’s door had released Shadows into the world. Perhaps the same Shadows I’d fought back at the manor. And now I would do what he had done. Sending more beasts into the world. Into a building filled with innocents.
I gritted my teeth and pulled myself to my feet. “Close the door fast behind me,” I muttered. “Let as few as possible come through.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I helped her stand, and her hand squeezed against my arm.
“I’ll be at the door, waiting for your return,” she said. “Good fortune to you, Lope de la Rosa.”
I bowed to her. She startled. No one had done that before, I supposed; not to her. She was from no great family. But her help, her companionship, her guidance—it was more noble than any of the courtiers here.
Slowly, tremulously, I curled my hand around the door’s handle.