Chapter 12
Taera
Ican’t just let my fatigue-fueled nerves take over and bolt out the door. I have to think.
There’s nothing useful in the room. The engraved glass walls of Nikolai’s bedroom are extravagant to the point of being ridiculous, but don’t seem to be hiding anything. Light seeps gently through the clouded glass, coming from nowhere in particular and confusing my sense of direction.
The bathing chambers tempt me more than they should. Sands, I’m tired. I’ve been kidnapped, dragged into the desert where I’m trapped in what might be a mirage and might be a glass castle. I might even possess magic. And I’m thinking about how nice it would be to take a bath. I snort.
But after pacing useless laps of the room, I give in and tell myself I have to search the adjoining bathing chambers, too.
When I open the diamond-patterned glass door, I gasp. A huge tub stares back at me. Not just a tub, a veritable pool brimming with shimmering crystal-clear water. Steam curls upward in slow perfumed ribbons, jasmine filling my gaping mouth.
I snap my mouth shut.
At home, we never had enough space for an indoor tub. Baths are quick and utilitarian, but even then, they require sweeping sand out of the rusty tub before scrubbing it with a wire brush to chase away the murky orangish hue of the water.
The water in front of me is pristine. Just thinking about sticking my dirty feet into it fills me with shame.
Walking to the sink, I stare at the faucet before turning it on.
Glass pipes twist and tumble through the ornate excessive coils before cool water spouts out.
I clean my hands until the orange washes away.
Then cup handfuls to my face, washing away any weariness and leftover emotion.
The water smells fresh. I touch my tongue to it: tasteless, no earthy reminder of a clay pot.
Are the Halls of Glass built atop an oasis?
More refreshed than expected, I make myself turn away from the luxurious tub and close the door on those urges. Nikolai is gone, but I don’t know for how long.
I scour the room again, looking for anything to help me escape.
Perhaps a few coins, or a flask of water for the long, brutal trek across the desert.
When I lie flat on my stomach to scan beneath the bed—still not finding anything—the blue robes splay out indecently around me and I scowl.
Clothing should conceal me, not show off every peak and hollow of my body.
If Nikolai incinerated my clothes, I feel no guilt about taking his. Glancing around his room, I search for any sign of a normal tunic, or—desert forbid—a pair of pants.
There’s nothing.
There’s no dresser, no closet, nowhere to store clothing. Not a shred of fabric, aside from the creamy soft towel beside the bath, or the black sheets on his bed…
I pause, looking back at the bed. I test a handful of the silk between my fingers. It’s surprisingly thick, with a welcome heaviness, while still cool and soft to the touch. And there’s enough of it.
Ten minutes later, my blue robes gleefully discarded, I admire my handiwork.
I’ve torn and tied several strips into makeshift undergarments, with enough left over to wrap myself fully enough that I could greet Gramps in this—the thought sends a spiraling ache through my chest, and I imagine him and Ezran passing the night without me.
I press a hand to my sternum and breathe through the ache.
With nowhere else to search, I turn to the desk. Nikolai told me not to touch it. Which is exactly why I should. It may hold something that can help me. If he discovers me stealing, he’ll flay me alive. But I doubt he’ll be happy about my plans to escape, either.
Guilt and fear squirm inside me as I step closer to the blue glass. Bracing myself, I pull out the top drawer. It holds nothing except dozens, no, hundreds of etched pieces of glass. I slam it shut. No way am I touching those. I rifle through the other drawers. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing—
Then a small miracle. In the last one I find a compass.
I’m careful not to touch the hand-mirror etched with cursed symbols, or the ancient book with a title I can’t read. I tuck the compass within the folds of my wrappings, hurry away from the desk and let out the breath I had definitely been holding.
Cracking open the door to the hallway, I half expect Nikolai to be waiting outside. But both directions look long, dark, and empty. At least there’s no blood glass in sight.
I choose the left passageway, retrace our way here. Mirrors glisten around me, making me twitch every time I spot my own movement in the glass.
The corridor stretches straight for longer than I remember, swallowing precious minutes. I break into a run, my bare feet quiet on the cool marble. I try to recall the exact sequence of turns we took to get here, but the hallway only continues straight. It should have split by now.
I have to slow down to catch my breath, and I finally spot a turn up ahead. At last.
I hurry forward. Only, the hallway doesn’t turn. What I mistook for shadows is actually the polished darkness of an obsidian door.
Unease prickles through me. I don’t dare try the door. It’s identical to the one outside Nikolai’s chambers, and I have no desire to find out who it belongs to. I hurry past.
The telltale hum of conversation makes me freeze. Several female voices laugh and whisper further down the hallway. Growing louder.
They have to be mages. Instincts kick in. I turn and flee back in the direction I came.
The voices continue to grow louder, inducing a dizzying twist of vertigo. I stop and turn around again. But I run face-first into my own wide-eyed reflection.
I jump away, cursing, and my double does the same. It’s a mirrored wall, blocking my path. But that’s impossible. What in the desert—
“Who are you?” The voice purrs like a cat.
I spin around, inhaling sharply.
Three magicians slink forward like lazy, prowling sand lions. The shape of their blue robes is the only human thing about them. Three enchanted faces—faces that could only belong to illusionists—fix on me.
The one in the center smiles, baring teeth as white as salt.