Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Soraya's right.
Twelve guards aren't enough for a treasury that houses one of your most valuable relics.
Unless they're beastkin sentries.
Half-animal, half-fae, I thought they were all exiled during the wars, but they're the actual living remnants of the Unseelie court. Some wear horns and goats legs, others have the head and teeth of a jungle cat set atop a muscular human torso, another looks like he wears the head of a bull.
"Mother of Night," I curse under my breath, as we scan the building. "Getting past is going to be a nightmare."
They'll smell me for sure.
"But you're the best for this job," Soraya protests mockingly. "I'm sure you won't bungle it."
Sisters. You can never trust them to return various aspects of your wardrobe, but when it comes to repeating the words you threw in their face, their memories are impeccable.
"I'm not going to bungle it." I squat in the shadows as I consider the task. I'm going to have to move swiftly, even as I Sift. And hope there's no more beastkin inside. "Wish me luck."
"I'm sure you won't need it," she replies, with an evil smile.
Fine. I draw the half-mask that's slung around my neck up over my nose and mouth, and haul my cloak over my hair. "If I get caught then I'm throwing you to the wolves."
"Wouldn't expect anything else," she replies, though there's a hint of fondness there.
And as I Sift, I almost catch the faintly whispered, "Good luck," that leaves her lips.
The enormous columns that ring the treasury doors are full of shadows.
I land with a blink, and then I'm reaching for the thin line of shadows beneath the main doors before the nearest guard can even turn his head.
The hardest part about Sifting, is that you can only travel as far as you can directly see.
Inside.
Blink. More columns, more guards, more shadows.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
I finally find a ledge to rest upon as I blur back into mortal form. Sifting can be tiring, and it's hard to see your surroundings when you're veiled in shadows. From up here, I get a bird's eye view of the treasury's inner chambers.
The inside of the building is lit with softly glowing fey lanterns. I expected piles of riches, ancient treasures and artifacts, or perhaps a long line of vaults, where all Prince Keir's precious little baubles are locked away.
It's just a single enormous hall, which is fucking empty.
What mockery is this? I nearly explode in frustration, but then something catches my eye.
Set right in the middle of the room is an enormous mirror. I Sift across the floor, barely daring to alight upon it before I'm gone again. But no alarms ring through the building at the touch of my foot, no wards suddenly cascade down, trapping me....
I try again.
And one last time, just to test the security surrounding the object.
Nothing.
The light from the lanterns barely reaches the dark mirror. Its surface is a sheen of pure obsidian.
Strange, possibly cursed object, locked away by itself in a heavily guarded building. Oh no, this isn't suspicious at all.
Its surrounded by a gilt-edged frame with ancient runes carved in it. I circle it curiously. Dark mirror.... Why does this sound familiar?
There are spelled mirrors that can show you your heart's desire or your worst nightmare. Mirrors that can tell you how beautiful you are. Mirrors that can show you your enemy's most dangerous weakness.
But which one is this?
I study the runes. The symbol of aarwain means desire. But yaarwen suggests to beware.
And ruh means to see.
But to see what?
"Show me the Dragon's Heart," I whisper hopefully. "Show me where it is."
The mirror's opaque surface transforms, and suddenly I'm staring at an image of Prince Keir.
He leans over a basin of water, his chest bare as he scrubs at the stubble on his jaw.
No male should look like such utter perfection, and I can't help noticing the way the towel wrapped around his waist dips dangerously low.
Stupid, fucking mirror. I push away from it.
But then the urge to look back is almost dangerously compelling. I'm not intending to do anything of the kind. I need to get out of here.
But the next thing I know, I'm standing back in front of the mirror.
"Show me my soul-trap."
A faint silvery light appears, deep in the heart of the mirror. It slowly swims closer, that amorphous sliver of my soul trapped behind spelled crystal. My father wears it around his throat, but his features are a blur. I haven't asked to see him, only the soul-trap, so that's all it shows me.
I have no way of knowing how long I stand there. I'm vaguely aware of the flickering of fey lanterns. Of the ache of my legs, locked into place.
But all I can see is my truest desire.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle to break the mirror lock. I know what this is now. The mirror's the bait. A Dark Object spelled to trap anyone who glances into it, until the guards do their next rotation. It will show you anything you want to see. All you have to do is look into it.
Just don't expect to escape it.
Cauldron's piss.
How am I going to get out of here when I cant even look away?"
"Show me the Dragon's Heart," I repeat, my fingernails cutting into my palms.
Once again, Prince Keir comes into view. He's slinking toward a wide, tiled bath that looks somewhat akin to the one off my chambers. Steam curls off the water, and he's lost the towel.
Help. I do not need to know that.
But something else captures my attention.
The mirror blurs the edges of the view, thank the Goddess, or I'd be staring right at the Prince of Dreams' most valuable possession.
Instead, the view is focused on his chest. Granted, it's a lovely chest, but the charm that lies against his sun-kissed skin winks in the light, and my breath catches. Maybe the mirror wasn't lying with that first image.
Maybe it's not showing me Keir, after all?
It's a primitive piece of jewelry and I've seen him wearing it before. Carved in the shape of a claw, it's the length of my index finger and made of solid gold.
Amongst all the marble and gems that exists in this court, it fades into insignificance.
But where else does one hide a valuable relic?
Right in plain sight.
Slipping it off Keir's neck without him noticing its loss is significantly more difficult than breaking into a treasury. This is the cursed Prince of Dreams, after all. But now I know why there's been no hint of magical relics in his palace, or in the treasury.
Now I know where it is.
I just need to break the mirror lock.
Easier said than done.
I know what the runes say now: Beware those who look into the glass, for your true desire will trap you.
Somehow I need to break the chain.
"Show me the creature who killed Lady Altrea."
The mirror resists. It wants to offer me fortunes and futures. It wants to trap me with gold and gems, and hints of Prince Keir's bare flesh.
Don't I want to see my mother?
Don't I want to see my fae relatives?
It could show me.
All I have to do is ask.
The thoughts are not my own, and the second I even think about my mother, I see a face forming in the heart of the mirror's black depths. A face I cannot afford to see, because then I'll never be able to look away.
"Show me the creature," I almost sob.
The mirror offers me a glimpse of the dining hall last night, but I can sense its reluctance. I was expecting to see the Banewolf, but then... that's not what I asked.
My breath catches as I see half a dozen of the princesses; Altrea, Narcissa, Calliope, Ismena, and two other girls I barely recognize.
"Go home," Princess Ismena sneers at one of the girls. "You don't belong here. Neither of your bloodlines could even dream of tempting the prince."
"Perhaps he's not concerned with our bloodlines," one of the princesses replies bravely. Everly, I think. We've spoken once, but not again.
Ismena steps forward, her face mottled with ugliness. "Don't make me do something I'll regret. Your little 'secret' is safe from me. For now. But I think the prince might be quite interested in the taint in your blood."
"Ismena," Altrea murmurs, catching her arm. "That's enough, isn't it?"
"Oh, let her continue," Calliope says, drawing Everly protectively closer. "The prince is no fool. He'll see what she is. All the precious bloodlines in the world can't hide bad breeding."
"You speak of breeding?" Ismena sneers. "You? I daresay if we check beneath your dress we'll find a tail. You're Unseelie scum."
"It's not my tail you should be worried about," Calliope replies heatedly.
I want to see more.
I want to see if my suspicion is correct: one of these precious princesses summoned the creature to kill Altrea.
But the mirror wants me to linger. Even now it leaps ahead eagerly.
And I can hear voices behind me.
Steps coming closer.
How long have I been standing here?
Break the trap, damn you.
I want to see who Altrea's murderer is, and so the lock holds its grip on me. I need to see something I don't ever want to remember.
"Show me the last night in the training camps. Show me Soraya's betrayal."
There. That ought to do the trick.
The mirror goes dark, rebelling. But it cannot fight its nature.
Two figures emerge from the barren wastelands of the mountaintop. It's a simple challenge to pass our training and go onto the challenger rounds. Every trainee had three days to make it to the top of Shadowfang, the mountain that dwarfs all others.
If you weren't among the first five, then you were culled.
We were among the best, two of the handful that could almost pass as fae.
Two of father's favorites. From the moment I was thrown into the training camps and found my dark hearted sister, we'd been inseparable.
Soraya cried for the first month, as she'd only recently been torn from her mother, and I'd spent every night curled up in the rough blankets she'd been given, my arms around her.
"Don't cry." I'd whispered. "I lost my mother too. But we can be sisters."