Chapter 26
Darius is missing.
I gave myself an hour to lick the wounds carved into me from Rian’s harsh words before I forced myself out of my room, renewed determination fueling each step to fulfill my bargain and be done with the Shadow Prince forever.
But I cannot find my patient anywhere.
I check his room.
I retrace my steps through the palace, again and again, searching for a glimpse of Darius’s dark hair or familiar grin.
But he’s nowhere to be found.
I haven’t seen him since I tried to kiss him, when I foolishly revealed I’d connected with his mind…
Now I fear he’s avoiding me.
Silas occupies the library when I pass through for the second time, hunched over a table strewn with books. His gaze darts from page to page with obsessive focus, jaw set in grim determination.
I consider asking him for help but refrain.
Whatever he’s doing, whatever he’s searching for, looks important.
I retreat and check Darius’s bedroom again, then the main courtyard where the sculpture contest has ended.
I scan the balconies for any sign of him among the lingering spectators. He’s not there.
A line of school-aged children crosses the pavement in front of me, small shoes tapping in uneven rhythm. Each holds their chin angled toward the stones, as if the subdued posture is drilled into them.
But curiosity breaks through as several wide-eyed gazes slide my way.
“Face forward,” a masculine voice barks.
The children are quick to obey, and blank expressions fall into place.
The man who spoke walks at the end of the line. He wears a midnight-blue toga and trousers, and his lips press into a stern line when our eyes meet.
A bad taste sits on my tongue as he and the children continue on their way before they turn down a hall, disappearing from sight.
Focus, Elara.
I jerk my head once, then mentally brush against the magic coiled in my chest, silently asking it to guide me, to lead me to Darius the way it did with Rian.
It doesn’t comply.
Of course it doesn’t.
The fickle power only responds to the Shadow Prince.
Annoying.
When Darius fails to appear at dinner and none of the Shadow Fae bat an eye at his absence, unease settles in my gut.
By the time I lie in my bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my suspicion has hardened into certainty.
Darius is avoiding me.
Why?
I’m not certain.
Surely it’s not because of my drunken attempt to kiss him?
Or the fact that I connected with his mind?
Draven has mindspeak. And I’m pretty sure Rian has read my mind.
Darius can’t be disgruntled because I, too, possess an ability of the mind. He and the others know I’m part Fae.
Right?
Somehow, I manage to fall asleep despite the tumultuous questions spinning in my head.
But the morning brings no answers when I knock on Darius’s door and find it empty.
My power hums in dissatisfaction, itching to be of use. It doesn’t like sitting still any more than I do.
With a heavy sigh, I stomp down the corridor, off to search the palace for him.
Again.
Later that afternoon, my sandals slap against the tile lining the walkway around the palace’s center courtyard.
Despite my failure to find Darius, I walk with my head high, admiring the decorations the servants are hanging from the second story.
Bright flowers weave through vibrant-green garland, alternating between draping down to the floor and curving back up to form a half-circle along the rails. Delicate-looking strands of lanterns crisscross through the air.
I don’t know how the servants plan to light them. A tall ladder, perhaps?
I judge the height with pursed lips. Seems risky.
“There you are!” Thea rushes to my side and bobs into a quick curtsy when she reaches me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“Good afternoon, Thea,” I reply evenly, all too aware of the curious glances coming from all around me. “How can I—”
“We must get you ready for this evening.” Her gown swishes as she takes my elbow and hurries me away. “You cannot be late.”
One of my sandals sticks against the tile. I stumble slightly. Feminine snickers rise from my left.
I don’t give the women the satisfaction of looking their way.
“What’s the rush?” I ask. “It’s barely past midday.”
I should have plenty of time to dress and prepare for dinner—to prepare to be stared at by the mayor’s guests while hardly anyone bothers to speak with me.
Anders is the only one who consistently makes the effort.
But after yesterday’s revelations, it was difficult to hold a conversation with him.
Anders is smart. No matter what Rian said, I’m sure he’s discovered my true heritage after I revealed my adoptive mother is a Brownie. And that she was in possession of the former Fae queen’s diary.
But if he did, he gave no sign last night.
Anders was polite and accommodating as usual, but his behavior did little to cure my unease.
“The carriages depart within the hour,” Thea replies, her voice high-pitched, frazzled.
“Carriages?”
She tugs me toward the stairs. “Did no one tell you?”
I lift the skirt of my toga. “Tell me what?”
“Dinner will occur at the mayor’s summer estate in the hills tonight," she answers, not even a little out of breath despite the fact that we’re racing up two flights of stairs.
I bet Ferria wouldn’t be winded by stairs, either.
I gently brush aside thoughts of my twin before the heartache can settle.
“Why is dinner there?” And why am I being forced to go?
“For tonight’s contest, of course,” Thea says.
I scowl. “Of course.”
All anyone cares about are these betrothal contests. It’s all they talk about during dinner.
We reach the third-floor landing. Thea waits until we step into the corridor leading to my room before she breaks into a jog, pulling me with her.
I huff a laugh and pick up my pace. “Thea, relax. It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is.” She releases my arm, pushes open my door, and ushers me inside.
The door swings shut. Thea guides me toward the low-backed, ivory chair positioned in front of a looking glass propped on top of a narrow table. Brushes, hairpins, and cosmetics are spaced out neatly on the polished wood.
Thea wastes no time. She picks up a brush and begins running the soft bristles through my loose hair.
My body is tense, but as the soothing rhythm continues, the muscles in my back and shoulders relax.
Rouge and kohl lie on the table next to pink lipstick. The memory of the pale color marring Rian’s strong lips after our passionate kiss makes my stomach flip.
I avert my gaze and focus on the painting of a large ship sailing through a calm, blue sea. Wind fills the massive white sails. The white paint covering the ship glistens.
If I hadn’t seen one of the Virendrellian ships myself, I’d say the painting is unrealistic, but the vessel that found our dinghies had looked just as immaculate as this painting despite weathering the sea.
The mayor’s palace is the same.
Pristine. Almost clinical.
Not even the healing quarters in Verdanthia were so clean, despite my best efforts.
At first, Virendrell’s perfection was awe-inspiring. Now, I don’t know…
It’s like there’s something hidden beneath all the shiny floors and behind the spotless walls.
“How are you enjoying your time in Virendrell?”
My gaze snaps up to Thea’s reflection. Her eyes rest on the hair in her hands, focused. A little too focused.
“It’s lovely,” I answer, all too aware that while Thea has been nothing but kind and attentive, I don’t know her well enough to share my true thoughts.
With time, that could change. But I have no plans of staying in this palace or Virendrell. I need to get back to Ferria. Wherever she is.
“You know, your presence here has caused quite a stir.” She drags the brush through my hair once more before setting it on the table and picking up a U-shaped hairpin.
“I know,” I say.
Thea coils a strand of hair and pins it to the crown of my head.
“I’ve gathered you don’t receive outsiders here often.”
She snorts. “That’s putting it lightly.”
She takes another strand and gives it the same treatment.
I study her reflection. The marks on my arms shift.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to the bedroom door before they lock with mine.
She pitches her voice low. “Virendrell hasn’t opened its borders for any visitors in almost fifty years.”
Since the Shadow War ended.
I frown.
Closing borders in the middle of a war makes sense, but now that the fighting is over, why not open them again? Especially to those with magic—those the Shadow King systematically works to annihilate.
Thea continues, “Many people here are wondering why Mayor Augustus would make an exception for your traveling party.”
Rian is why.
“I’m not sure, either,” I lie.
Thea pins two more strands to the lovely, thick updo. She leaves two pieces of hair on either side of my head, framing my face, then moves to the table and begins to open different vials and jars.
“Some say it’s because the mayor hopes his daughter will choose one of the men as a consort. She has been vocal about her desire to wed as of late.”
I choke on my saliva. “What?”
Thea turns, makeup brush in hand, and gives me a look that can only be described as pitying.
“I assumed you didn’t know,” she says softly.
Of course I didn’t know… How would I know that?
We’re only supposed to be in Virendrell until our ship is repaired. Rian and the others didn’t even want to come here.
I think of Iris…how she and the others have ventured into town together. How she gazes longingly at the Shadow Prince during dinner.
My stomach twists.
Gods…
Is that why Augustus allowed us to stay here despite knowing who Rian is?
“It is difficult for young people in Virendrell to find suitable partners,” Thea continues, dipping the brush into a tin filled with cream-colored powder and dabbing it over my forehead and cheeks.
“Our population has become stagnant. Many citizens in Virendrell share blood. The number of bonded couples diminishes every year, as does their offspring.”
Somehow, her words break through the storm wreaking havoc in my mind.
“But I thought Fae and human couplings were quite…productive.”
Thea’s cheeks pinken.