Chapter 5 #3
My smile faded as I twirled the pin between my fingers, doubtful that it would help much. The enchantment woven into the lock was beyond anything I’d encountered before, but I fiddled with it anyway—not because I thought I’d succeed, but because not trying felt like surrender.
Several painstaking minutes passed, but the lock didn’t give, leaving all I had to show for my efforts the faint burn of frustration. With a sigh, I slid the pin back into my hair, where it nestled among tangled strands. This cage was proving more formidable than most.
I wasn’t getting out of here…at least not tonight. But I felt no hint of panic—such an emotion was reserved for people who ran out of options, and I was just getting started.
A slow grin tugged at the corners of my mouth as I scanned the room again—impenetrable locks, guards posted outside, and a tangled mystery. The perfect tools for an adventure in the making.
If I was going to be trapped, I might as well make it interesting.
But for once I couldn’t pretend. For a faltering moment, the mask I wore constantly slipped, just enough for a sliver of the vulnerability I was so desperate to hide to penetrate.
I stole objects for a reason beyond the stories embedded within—each theft allowed me to experience the fleeting illusion that my life was mine to command.
Each piece of information I gathered or escape route I meticulously planned, each coin or trinket I stole, each memory or secret I acquired…
none could change that for the moment, I was truly trapped—unable to save myself, and unable to follow the last faint clues that might reveal the fate of my missing friend.
I walked the perimeter of the room yet again, trying to recall every piece of evidence I’d gathered.
The memories were murky, and I found to my horror and confusion that even my recollection of that dear face had grown blurry.
Frantically I tried to recreate our shared history, but it came to me in disjointed fragments—breaking into a room together, creeping through a garden at night, quiet conversations with whispered hopes for a future life.
I turned back into the room, forcing myself to do something—anything—besides pace. I let my hand trail across the cool surface of the vanity but no memory stirred, not even the hint of a whispered story. Whatever magic had haunted me the night before had gone quiet.
A shuffling sound at the door made me jump. I chastised myself for allowing this situation to affect me so greatly; normally I was easily able to stay cool under pressure. I watched apprehensively as the door swung open just enough to slide a tray of food in, then thudded shut once more.
I paused in my search long enough to eat some of the simple but nourishing dinner and regain my scattered focus.
Light was fading when I finished and I cast a tired glance at the bed, wondering if this one would lead to a new set of bruises and disturbing visions.
I was exhausted from the events of the last day and the ill sleep of last night, and was tempted to pause my attempts for the evening.
Still, I refused to give up, certain some kind of clue was hidden somewhere, or at least a soothing memory that could help dispel the anxiety coiling around my usual calm. I continued my rounds, rechecking what I’d already tested.
I touched the posts of the bed, the backs of chairs, the edge of the hearth, searching for anything of interest. Most offered only fragments—snippets of mundane memories. Faint echoes of dull conversations, diplomatic sighs, the brush of quills scratching dry reports.
Politicians and ambassadors who’d stayed here over the years. Their lives bored me—I had no interest in the nation’s politics…which made my entrapment in some contest to prove my worthiness as the heir all the more troublesome.
As my palm rested briefly on the carved vines of the side table, a pulse of emotion suddenly rippled beneath my skin—unexpected, sharp, one I recognized all too well: loneliness.
I blinked and pressed my fingers more firmly against the wood. This wasn’t a noble or a visiting official; the raw imprint familiar now that I’d experienced its sensation several times within the palace.
A memory flickered, half-formed—someone hiding, curled silent behind the table, their breathing shallow as they listened for footsteps beyond the door, desperately hoping not to be found.
I drew my hand back, unsettled. That presence had felt eerily similar to the one from the dungeon…
and the portrait of the missing prince. But why would he be hidden in this borrowed chamber so far from the royal wing?
Something caught my eye and I bent forward, inhaling sharply.
Faint and crudely carved on the table leg, as though done in haste, was the same sigil I’d seen in the dungeon.
The prince’s mark. My heart rate increased as I pondered what could have caused him to leave these marks in such unusual places.
I slowly moved away from the table, strangely uneasy.
I tried to tell myself the memory meant nothing, a ghost of grief from someone else's story. Yet something about it made it impossible to forget, a connection woven through invisible threads I’d never experienced when exploring an objects’ secrets.
Night eventually deepened outside, smothering the last of the light in a velvet black. The stars emerged, scattered like secrets too distant to touch. I lit one of the candles near the bedside; it flickered faintly, illuminating only enough to make the shadows dance.
The bed yawned behind me—mountains of silk and down, beckoning me to rest. But my skin still remembered the bruising weight of last night’s enchantment, the press of visions that weren’t quite dreams, and most of all the soundless pull towards a man I’d never met.
For a faltering moment I almost succumbed to the temptation…before hastily turning away and sinking into the velvet chair beside the hearth and creating a pillow from my bruised arms, staring at the fireless grate.
A wave of exhaustion swept over me, and I gave my head a fierce shake. I was well versed in long stretches of waiting as I scouted a place I wanted to infiltrate, and had trained myself to avoid sleep as I crouched still and silent.
To keep my mind active, I first took inventory of the room, noting anything I might be able to use: the heavy silken curtains that could hold my weight if I was able to open the window, the linen hand towels I could wrap around my boots to muffle my footsteps, the tools for tending the fire that could be makeshift weapons.
Then I replayed my walk to this room. As always, I’d counted my steps as I walked, and now I sought to weave together each twist and turn to create a blueprint—both to find my way out and to understand the palace layout in case I had the chance to steal anything.
My deepest desire was the most dangerous: to return to the prince’s chamber and hunt again for a clue.
I had no doubt that it was currently under heavy guard, perhaps enough to dissuade even me.
But my curiosity about his disappearance had only deepened, until even more than finding new memories to explore, I wanted to discover what had happened to him.
A faint thought brushed the edge of my mind that there was something—or someone—else I needed to search for, but as the hour grew late I struggled to recall what had brought me to the palace in the first place.
I fought to stay awake…but sleep was a thief in its own right, coming whether invited or not.
Despite my efforts to resist, the long day had taken its toll, allowing darkness to slip through my defenses and cradle me, beckoning me beneath consciousness.
My thoughts unraveled into mist, then rewove themselves into something softer and unfamiliar.
Yet though I sank fully beneath the surface, I felt not lost in sleep but strangely awake.
Gradually the room changed—blurring in a kaleidoscope of color.
The walls shimmered faintly, like breath on glass.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, and the windows no longer showed stars, but swirling clouds streaked with silver light.
When it settled, the man from the portrait stood, waiting for me.