Chapter 35 The Color of a Lie
thirty-five
The Color of a Lie
Miralyte
The first thing I noticed was not the ache in my wrists or the taste of iron at the back of my throat, but the figure seated on the throne as if the stone had grown to cradle her.
Ylvena.
She was nothing like the monster I'd imagined.
No twisted features or obvious cruelty marking her face.
Instead, she was devastatingly beautiful in the way that predators often are.
White eyes that held the cold fire of distant stars.
Platinum hair that moved like liquid mercury despite the absence of any wind.
Her skin was pale as winter moonlight, perfect and unmarked by time or consequence.
She wore robes that seemed woven from captured sunlight itself, golden fabric that shifted and flowed like living flame. A crown of black thorns and white gold sat upon her brow, each point sharp enough to draw blood from the air itself.
This was the woman who had murdered my sister. Who had torn apart my family and set in motion the chain of events that brought me here, chained and helpless in the heart of her power.
"Awake at last." Her voice carried the warmth of summer afternoons and the promise of funeral pyres. "I was beginning to worry that the sedatives had been too strong."
I tried to speak and found my throat raw as sandpaper. The golden chains around my wrists felt heavier than mountains, cold against my skin despite their radiance. When I reached for my power, for the sunfire that should have answered my call, I found only emptiness.
"The chains are rather lovely, aren't they?" Ylvena rose from her throne with fluid grace, each movement precise and deliberate. "Forged from the heart of a dying star. Nothing breaks them. Not even the power that flows through your veins."
The Sun Court stretched around us in impossible grandeur. Everything gleamed with golden light that should have been warm but felt cold as grave dirt.
Death was everywhere, beautiful and terrible. Tapestries showing the fall of kingdoms. Statues of conquered enemies frozen in their final moments. A garden visible through crystalline windows where flowers bloomed in patterns that spelled out the names of the dead.
"You're probably wondering why you're still breathing." Ylvena stopped just beyond my reach, studying me like a particularly interesting specimen. "After all, most who threaten my rule tend to experience rather terminal consequences."
I managed to work moisture back into my throat. "Get on with it then."
She laughed, the sound like silver bells announcing an execution. "Such fire. Such delicious defiance. I can see why you were chosen."
"If you mean Zydar—"
"Oh, my dear child. I'm not talking about the storm prince." Her white eyes glittered with something that might have been affection. "I'm talking about our birth mother. Emystra always did have a weakness for mortals who refused to bow."
Our mother. Our.
"I don't believe you." Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie I was telling myself.
"Don't you? Look at me, Miralyte. Really look." She stepped closer, and I could see it now. The shape of her nose, almost identical to mine. The curve of her mouth. The way she held her head when she spoke. "We share more than power, sister. We share blood."
Sister. The word tasted like poison on my tongue.
The truth of what she was saying hit me like cold water. This woman, this killer, this monster who had destroyed my family, was my sister. My blood. The only family I had left in the world.
"You might have to make decisions like these someday. When you rule. When the weight of crowns and the demands of power force your hand.
"I don't want to rule anything."
"Want has nothing to do with it. You are Emystra's daughter. The rightful heir to power that could reshape the realms." She stopped pacing, fixing me with those terrible white eyes. "Join me, Miralyte. Pledge allegiance to me. Help me bring order to the chaos that threatens to consume us all."
"You're not my sister. You're a kinslayer."
"I am both." Her voice went soft, deadly. "And so might you be, if you choose to fight me. Join me willingly, and I can teach you how to make the hard choices without losing yourself completely."
I stared at her, this beautiful monster who shared my face and my blood. Who had killed Ciradyl and called it mercy. Who spoke of necessity as if it could wash away the stain of murder.
I had come to the fae realm to avenge my sister. To find justice for the family that had been torn away from me. Only to discover that my other sister, the one I never knew existed, had been the one to destroy everything I loved.
"And if I refuse?"
Ylvena's smile was gentle as a mother's lullaby and cold as winter graves. "Then everyone you love dies. Starting with Pelbie Ranthar."
My blood turned to ice. "How do you—"
"Your little friend. Sweet girl. Healing gift, if I'm not mistaken.
She's currently in the dungeon three levels below us, along with several other guests from Thunder Court.
" Ylvena gestured casually, as if discussing the weather.
"I do hope the accommodations are adequate. Prison can be so dreary."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I? Guards."
Two figures stepped from alcoves I hadn't noticed before. They moved with mechanical precision, dragging something between them. Someone.
Pelbie.
Her face was bruised, her healing robes torn and stained with blood. But her eyes were defiant, fierce with the same stubborn courage that had carried her through every hardship we'd faced together.
"Mira." Her voice cracked but held steady. "Don't listen to her. Don't—"
One of the guards struck her across the mouth, cutting off her words. Blood trickled from her split lip, but she kept staring at me with those brave, determined eyes.
"Your friend has been quite vocal about her opinions regarding my hospitality," Ylvena said conversationally. "But I think she might be more cooperative now that you're here to witness the consequences of defiance."
My power surged against the golden chains, sunfire seeking outlet and finding only cold metal that drank heat like a desert drinks rain. Rage built in my chest, hot and desperate and utterly useless.
"Let her go. This is between us."
"Oh, but it's not, dear sister. You see, I've learned something interesting about you during our brief acquaintance.
" Ylvena moved to stand beside Pelbie, one perfectly manicured hand resting on my friend's shoulder like a serpent preparing to strike.
"You would do anything for the people you love. Sacrifice anything. Even yourself."
Her smile widened, cold as winter starlight. "That's precisely why I spared you all those years ago. I knew that eventually, your noble heart would be your undoing. You would sacrifice yourself to save others, and in doing so, you would destroy the one person foolish enough to love you completely."
My blood turned to ice. "Zydar."
"Such a shame you failed to complete the task yourself. But don't worry, dear sister." She stroked Pelbie's hair with mock tenderness. "I'll finish what you started. After all, what use is a storm lord when his anchor to this world has been severed?"
The words hit like physical blows. She'd planned this. All of it. My capture, the mirror trap, everything designed to exploit the one weakness she knew I couldn't overcome.
My love for the people who mattered to me.
The guard holding Pelbie produced a blade, its edge gleaming with unnatural sharpness. The point came to rest just below her ear, pressing hard enough to dimple skin.
"Choose quickly, Miralyte. Your power serving mine, or her life spilling across my floor."
"Is this how you're going to convince me, sister?" I let the word drip with all the venom I could muster. "Threatening innocent people? How very regal of you."
Ylvena's perfect composure cracked just slightly. A flicker of something that might have been annoyance. "Innocent? There are no innocent people in war, Miralyte. Only those too naive to understand the stakes."
"The stakes." I tested the golden chains again, feeling them drink the heat from my skin like hungry parasites. "And what exactly are those stakes? Your wounded pride? Your fear that someone might challenge your pretty throne?"
"My fear?" She laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut. "Child, you have no idea what real fear looks like. What it means to hold power when the alternative is watching everything burn."
"Funny. That's exactly what you're threatening to do."
The blade at Pelbie's throat pressed deeper. A thin line of blood appeared where steel met flesh. Pelbie's eyes found mine, steady despite the pain. Despite the terror she had to be feeling.
She mouthed something. A single word I couldn't quite make out.
"You think I killed her for politics? For some petty grab at power?"
"Didn't you?"
Ylvena's white eyes held something that might have been pity. "Tell me, sister. Do you remember the day you arrived at the hunter's home?"
The question hit like ice water. I tried to think back, to grasp those precious fragments of childhood that had sustained me through every dark moment since coming to this realm.
Nothing came.
"I... I was young. Ciradyl and I were—" My voice faltered.
"You weren't sisters, Miralyte. Not by blood." Ylvena moved closer, her voice almost gentle. "Ciradyl was the hunter's true daughter. You were the changeling left in her cradle."
I met her gaze steadily, feeling something solid and unshakeable settle in my chest. "Blood doesn't make a sister, Ylvena. Ciradyl was more family to me in the few years I knew her than you ever were."
Ylvena's expression flickered, as if she hadn't expected that response.
"The real infant, the hunter's true daughter, was slain that night," she continued, but there was less certainty in her voice now. "I made it so, claiming her as Emystras's child to hide you. The realm believed you were the one who died."