Chapter 2
Elsedora
With mud-crusted boots and a filthy tunic, I entered the pristine entry of the Palace of Luz to find my dearest friend kneeling to relight a candle around the memorial statues.
Realizing I’d tracked dirt across the white marble tile, I winced.
Fen kicked his boots off at the door, having anticipated the mess.
King Krait Darvanda and his wife, Queen Sybilla Wymark, summered in Luz and spent their winters in Sahlmsara. Egress travel allowed them to continue attending to matters in both kingdoms.
I typically avoided loitering in the grand entry.
There, two bronze statues stood, depicting Prince Rynall and Princess Freya Toth of Phynx.
Their forms were welded to a platform in between the grand staircase.
A dome dotted with skylights illuminated them by day, and candles never ceased to burn in their honor by night.
Wishing for Krait’s strength in grief, I glanced up only briefly before focusing back on my dirt tracks. The portrayal of my former friend and lover didn’t sit well with me.
All wrong.
Ryn would want me to focus on the upsides—they’d at least gotten his smile right.
He wouldn’t want me to linger on the way his mouth had hung open in shock just before the Death Origin had taken him from me, or the memory of his face crumbling to dust.
His wickedly handsome grin struck my heart like a dagger; that beaming expression would never grace me again. The statue’s hair should be silver and not burnished bronze. His nose was too straight.
The Ryn I knew had never been so still. The wrongness of every fine detail made my throat burn. I’d only let myself stare at that statue once.
“You made it back,” Krait said, sounding surprised. I glanced up, and he motioned for me and Fen to follow him down the main hallway. I could hug him for understanding my desire to leave the entryway.
He found comfort in remembering. I did not.
“Fenris, join us for tea?”
Fen slapped Krait on the shoulder. “I’m going to clean up and find Asterie. But I’ll see you both for dinner.” He ventured up the stairway, appearing entirely in his element.
The royal courts had built my brother. I’d always preferred our countryside childhood home, where the wildflowers spread in spring and the snow coated the blooming plum orchards in the winter. And now it would be mine.
Maybe reconstructing that hollowed estate would bring me joy.
“You have looked better.” Krait led me to the sitting room off the main entry. “You’re dead on your feet, El.”
I scoffed playfully at his concern. “We found something.” I pulled the ineffective hand mirror from my dagger belt.
He took it and flipped it over with a grunt of thought.
“I’m unsure what,” I added. “But it’s odd, isn’t it?”
Sybilla bobbed in with their daughter sleeping against her shoulder.
“You’re back,” Sybilla whisper-shouted, rocking Larkspur. She seemed relieved.
“Are you two waiting for the day I don’t come back?”
“Worrying about the day,” Sybilla corrected with a narrowed gaze.
Lark had a tiny arm stretched up, her balled fist pressed against her own temple; her other hand clutched the fabric of Sybilla’s green tunic.
“I will take the birthday girl,” I said, outstretching my arms and making grabbing motions with my fingers.
Sybilla took one look at my mud-covered clothes and chuckled. “You will not—go bathe first.” She pulled Larkspur away from my outstretched hands.
While I’d expected that reaction, I gave her a pout before saying, “Fine.” Undeterred, I smiled down at my niece. “Soon enough, little troublemaker, we’ll drive your mother mad with all the mud we drag into this palace.”
The minute Sybilla had first placed Lark in my arms, I knew I’d be wrapped around the child’s finger. It didn’t seem fair that the swaddled little darling would someday face our greatest foe. But I’d do my part to ensure Lark had every chance to defeat him.
The Princess would not fight Caym alone. With so many aunts to teach her, prepare her, dote on her, and love her, she wouldn’t fail.
“I predict that mud will be the least of my worries if she learns anything from you,” Sybilla jabbed.
It stung, but I shook it off. Her words were meant in jest—she cared for me.
Sybilla once had worried that I’d resent their daughter for Krait’s mortality. As the Origin of Shadows, he’d passed his immortality to Larkspur at birth, and he would slowly yield his Source magic to her too.
Sybilla had been remarkably wrong.
“She’ll learn the best things from me—even the world’s savior needs to know when to have a bit of fun.”
As soon as I’d noticed the spark between Sybilla and my grump of a friend, I’d known that she would be dear to me. Their vitriol toward one another had turned to passion, and I’d gained a sister.
“You don’t look like you’ve had fun today,” she said, and I huffed a laugh.
“I’ll get cleaned up for dinner and take that up to your study so you can inspect it further.” I pointed to the blackened pane.
Sybilla’s eyes widened. “Do we think it’s a relic?”
Krait handed the mirror to me.
“It could be nothing.” I shrugged.
“It could be something,” Sybilla countered, with a gentle smirk as she continued to rock from one foot to the other.
Krait crossed the room to press a kiss to both her and Lark’s foreheads.
A pang of envy struck me, and I pushed that feeling deep down into the depths of things I should not think about.
I didn’t want children. But I longed for something as simple and unconditional to call mine. They had each other. Fenris had Asterie. Cassidee had Wyeth. I had a bronze statue and my memories.
It served me right. Flighty, easygoing, happy-go-lucky Elsedora had once held a chance at love.
That fool had squandered it.
On my way to bring the mirror up to Krait’s study, a smoky iridescent glaze fogged the glass as though trying to catch my attention.
I halted in front of King Emmerick Mattock’s sleeping quarters. I passed his chambers often as they were on the way to Krait’s study, but I’d never gone inside. Before he was cursed to sleep, we’d only been acquaintances.
When we’d discovered Caym could still control him, we’d put Emmerick under the Sethe curse to protect the realms. If not awakened within twenty-five years of the curse being cast, he would eternally sleep. Three years had already passed.
The pane’s fog swirled as it grew thicker.
When I took a step toward the door, the movement intensified. Peculiar.
Another step.
The iridescent twirl grew even faster.
Each step nearer to the room caused a greater reaction.
Humming in contemplation, I slipped into Emmerick’s bedchamber. A shelf lined with carved wooden figurines topped the fireplace mantel, and burgundy curtains had been drawn open.
Krait would kill me for not fetching him first, but if I did not act now, then whatever was occurring in the glass might not happen again.
The swirling smoke calmed when my feet were inches from the sleeping North Corridor King’s bedside.
“Curious,” I mused.
Through the fog in the pane, I could make out his features in the glass.
“Emmerick?” I called to him, and his face grew clearer. Fine lines formed between his black brows, and his lips turned down, framed by dark stubble. Finally, his warm golden-brown eyes popped open. I glanced at his sleeping form—he did not stir there.
Very curious.
“Can you hear me, puppy?”
While monitoring him in Helos for Sybilla and Krait, I’d gifted him the pet name—it irked him greatly. He’d been an envoy of Caym’s—a puppet for the Death Origin’s treachery.
An endearing expression of flustered confusion crossed Emmerick’s features. His light brown cheeks flushed a delightful shade of mauve, and he squinted against the waning sunlight leaking into the room.
I smiled into the mirror. “Puppy… I see you. Can you see me?”
He nodded and gasped, “Yes.” The width of his grin matched mine. “I see you.”
My heart skipped a few beats, enamored with the thrill of my discovery. Despite the Sethe curse, I’d found a way to make a sleep-cursed King smile.