Chapter 34 #2
“Oh, I brought you your things!” Jasmeen says, taking my satchel from her shoulder and handing it over. She draws the dagger from her waist, extending it to me. Without thought, I grab it by the blade. And at once—drop it.
“Ouch!” I exclaim as it clatters to the floor. Glo glances our way again.
“What was that?” Jasmeen whispers, eyes wide. I stare at my hand. No blood, no cut, but the sharp pain was there and gone in an instant.
“I—I’m not sure,” I say, kneeling to pick it up by its hilt. I slide it carefully into my own belt. Odd. Jasmeen says nothing more, though her nose crinkles in that curious way it does when she thinks hard.
Once Clack leaves, Jasmeen, Brynn, and I sit side by side on the large couch and watch Glo work.
It takes several attempts—Glo claims she’s never had such a large audience and jokes that maybe we should all turn around—but at last, she manages it, even with our rapt attention.
Her twisted expression of concentration softens into a roguish smirk.
Before us, an arch of swirling orange liquid materializes.
It is similar to Mavick’s passageway, yet completely opposite.
Like it is made of fire and rage versus water and serenity.
But it too feels static, as though it lives and breathes—no, more like pants.
I stand and see no reflection in its turbulent, undulating surface, only that blank, familiar void beyond.
“You have to decide where we end up, Thea,” Jasmeen says from behind me.
I turn and stare at her until apprehension hits.
Shit. I didn’t even consider this. My quarters will be too obvious, surely.
Though, at least we could lock ourselves in until I figure out how to navigate the castle with three mysterious guests.
The servants’ quarters are bound to be always crowded.
There are the gardens. Though, depending on the time of day, we may surprise the armed castle guards.
With a jolt, I realize a viable location.
“The safest spot is probably the deserted guest corridor. Where the tunnel to Mavick’s is hidden,” I say, my voice shakier than I’d like.
For a wild moment, I consider using the elixir of Philm on myself, to pretend to be someone else. But what good will that do? It will only raise questions from Brynn and Glo.
Another thought occurs to me—why am I so concerned about myself, when my priority should be my father?
Am I truly that selfish? I already know the answer.
I want to vomit. Maybe righting my wrongs must include all of them.
Before it’s too late. Once we’re there, that is.
That way if Brynn and Glo decide they do not wish to help a liar and a cheat, they can return of their own free will. I pivot.
“Actually… will the passageway remain open? Or is this more of a one-and-done…?” I ask, feeling rather dumb. Thankfully, no one looks at me as such.
“Thea got to Mayhem through an egress—the one in Mavick’s kitchen was volatile and vanished,” explains Jasmeen.
“This is a legitimate passageway—sanctioned, so it will not vanish on its own. But it’s unwise to leave it where anyone could stumble through,” Brynn says. “It’s best Glo closes it once we arrive. She’ll need to conjure a new one to get back, or worst case, we try Mavick’s cottage.”
“Good point. Do we have any idea where Mavick’s sits here—where we would end up anyway?” Glo asks.
Brynn and I both shake our heads. He adds, “Glo would need rest, but she could rest up at Mavick’s. It’s less taxing to create passageways within the same realm—it’s traveling realm to realm that depletes her. As long as nothing has happened to Mavick’s Gate, there will be an escape route.”
I give Jasmeen a meaningful glance and she nods infinitesimally.
I regret not being able to speak with her in private before this—but if I know her at all, I believe her counsel would be the same: tell them before they find out from someone else.
I stare at her and hope she will understand what I’m trying to convey.
Get there. Tell the truth. Give them the option to return.
I recite it over and over in my mind as if she will somehow hear it.
“Then it’s best we arrive in the princess’s quarters—it’s private and—and I can ring for Alma there—she will help fill in the blanks of my time away and we can come up with a plan,” I say, my voice at least sounds sure, though my hands shake.
“Uh—if we even need one, that is. Best case… my father is perfectly fine and I’ve overreacted. ”
Everyone nods in agreement. Glo adds, “Castle Gale is warded. Meaning, we can only go in with someone who’s already been there and is consenting. I need your help, Thea.”
Glo holds her hand out to me. I take it, hoping she does not notice how sweaty my palms are.
She touches the glassy surface of the archway with her free hand.
For a split second, I expect her to disappear before my eyes.
Instead, the animistic liquid flexes and ripples around her palm.
She takes our intertwined fingers and holds them to the passageway.
It tickles slightly, like a soft breeze.
Glo whispers an incantation, and the passageway stills under our touch.
After another beat, she withdraws altogether, and the swirling orange calms. Rather than fire and rage, it’s more akin to the softened warmth of a welcoming fireplace. She releases me.
“Could we just conjure a passageway directly into Mavick’s cottage? As I’ve been there?” I ask at random, not having the thought before.
“No—Gatekeepers’ dwellings are warded by powerful, ancient magic that keeps them safe from potential intruders.
Even stronger than what protects Castle Gale, since Mavick’s rests somewhere in Sanctuary,” Glo answers.
“Most conjurers wouldn’t be able to plant a passageway or egress in or out.
If we decide to return through Mavick’s, we will need to walk out the front door and get out of range of the wards before being able to conjure again.
Or… if I’m unable to conjure… we hoof it.
Which is fine unless Mavick’s cottage is somewhere unfortunate—like the middle of the Blood Grove. ”
This makes sense—a similar thought occurred to me before winding up in the bazaar. But Jasmeen once said she believed Mavick’s was located near Mayhem, since they visited her shop often. If it comes to that, let’s hope Jasmeen is right and Glo’s hypothetical is not.
Glo glamours herself into her mortal twin: same shiny red hair and brown eyes, but tanned skin, less pointy teeth, and wingless. Brynn glamours away his horns and I throw him a pout of mock disapproval. He smirks.
The urge strikes me to say something, like a grand gesture.
A speech given by the hero at the end of an adventure.
A thanks for all their help. To preface whatever is about to happen.
But I am no hero, and my nerves best me.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I want nothing more than to get this over with.
Brynn holds out a hand to me. I grasp it and am somewhat grounded by his touch. I take in his face hungrily. The sweetness of it. The unmerited adoration. Maybe there is a world in which this—us, him and I—could work out.
But wishful thinking is a fool’s blunder. I may not be a hero, but I am no fool either.
“See you on the other side,” Glo says with her signature mischievous smirk. To her, this will be a fun side quest. To me, this could be the end of everything. She does not understand the stakes. Guilt twists my stomach into tight, burning knots.
Brynn glances at me to confirm I’m ready.
I nod. He reaches our intertwined fingers up and grazes the archway with my knuckles.
We are catapulted forward into the abyss, and I try to find comfort in the familiarity of it.
The blink of weightlessness—of brief nothingness.
But then our feet find the plush rug of my bedroom floor and a heavy reality, fresh and renewed, crashes down upon my shoulders.
I work to loosen my death grip on Brynn’s hand.
We step out of the way as our companions appear.
Glo grips Jasmeen’s arm tightly to keep her upright—it’s been some time since she traveled this way, and she seems to have forgotten the dizzying sensation.
I toss my satchel onto the bed before running to the window.
Dusk is settling and the light fades fast. With a wave of Glo’s hand, the passageway disappears in an instant and the grand room is thrown into near darkness.
Panic claws up my throat, threatening to strangle me, threatening to swallow me whole.
Shit. Oh, shit. I brace myself against the windowsill, inhaling a ragged breath, fighting to calm myself.
No, it’s fine—no problem. Not all is lost. We have made it this far, and there are no troops marching through the gardens, no crumbling castle, no warning bells, no signs of war or imminent danger.
Perhaps I can tell them after we glean the details of my absence from Alma.
That’s a smart plan. The right one? I cannot know.
Glo begins lighting the various oil lamps with a small flame she produces at the tip of her finger, and my doubts ease away with the darkness. I exhale and ring for Alma.
No turning back now. Too late to undo what is done.
We do not speak for several minutes—agonizingly long minutes during which I question not only every decision made in the last half hour, but every choice from the past two weeks. I watch, borderline asthmatic, as Brynn paces the room, examining my various trinkets.
“Where’s the princess anyway? It was quite a gamble to show up here—not knowing the time and all. Do you trust her?” he asks, wearing a curious expression.
Jasmeen’s eyes dart around the room—anywhere but at me.
“You could say that,” I whisper. Brynn turns to me, his brow furrowing.
He opens his mouth to speak but is silenced by the distinctive sound of approaching footsteps—of loud, clanging metal.
Brynn steps between me and the door like a guard.
A guard. Recognition crashes over me, and I curse under my breath.
Glo, lighting the last lamp closest to the door, extinguishes her magic flame in the nick of time.
Alma and Edwin burst into the room, slamming the door behind them. He wears that stupid, noisy armor. Guess he was not relieved of his post after all. Alma yelps in surprise at the sight of my company. Edwin draws his shortsword at once.
Now he takes his duty seriously?
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Glo snarls, a fierce flash of heat in her eyes. Even without her sharpened canines, she is terrifying.
Edwin’s grip on his sword trembles, but he does not lower his weapon. I sidestep Brynn and Glo, planting myself between my old life and my new—before Glo can set him ablaze.
“Put it down, you idiot,” I hiss. Edwin hesitates for a breath but ultimately obeys.
“Thea—what the fuck?” Alma whisper-shouts. I’ve never heard her curse, and my first instinct is to laugh. I bite my tongue. “Where the hell did you go? Who are these people? What is going on?”
“This is Glo, Vir, and Jasmeen—” I point at each companion before gesturing forward. “This is Alma and Edwin—”
Brynn clears his throat at the mention of Edwin. I throw him a deadpan glare. It is not the time for jealousy.
“I will explain everything, but I need you to answer some questions first,” I say, turning my attention back to Alma. “How much time has passed since I caught you two in the gardens?”
Alma grimaces. Edwin wears his usual aloof expression.
“It’s been three days, Thea,” he says. Brynn tenses at Edwin’s casual use of my name. But I sigh in relief. Three days. Three days is not that bad, thank goodness—it’s hard to start a war in three days.
“Is my father all right?” I ask. All I can do is pray they don’t call him by his proper title before I get the chance to explain.
“He’s—he’s been very strange the last few days,” Alma admits. “It was too easy to convince him you were sick in bed when we couldn’t find you—whenever he tried to call for you—but we searched everywhere. I know you have spots in the castle where you disappear to, but—I was so worried, Thea.”
She closes the space between us and takes my hands. Her gray eyes are wild, her blonde hair unkempt. The worry is plain. But I hate that I still cannot discern whether it’s genuine concern, or fear of losing her station for having misplaced me.
“But… Simon made sure your father would not speak with us directly. I—I think—there’s talk that a marriage contract has been drawn up. Some of the guards overheard—”
She freezes at my haggard expression. A wave of fresh dread grips my chest. “What do you mean?”
“I—I think it’s best we go to the great hall. Simon summoned us—you, too—we were about to make our way there and confess we couldn’t find you when you rang the bell.”
Three days may be too short to start a war but is apparently the perfect amount of time to draw up a marriage contract.
What have you done, Simon?