“Let her go, Kyaphus,” Gage commands.
The Leviathan shrieks.
The boat flips.
Smack!
We’re all going to be fish food.
THIRTEEN
That Boy
My eyelids are fifty pounds too heavy. I’m waking, but I can’t quite bring myself to full consciousness. These sheets are so not Second Reflection material. I roll my head from side to side. This pillow isn’t either. Too . . . fluffy. Do I smell lavender and vanilla? Yes. Mom’s burning candles again. We’re home.
I open my eyes. Billows of white gossamer drape over and around me. I’m lying beneath a heavy gold-and-maroon damask comforter. Not home. Not even close.
The surroundings beyond the four-poster bed are, in a word, presidential. Persian rugs. Ceiling-high curtains. Soft-glowing lamps. Wingback chairs. A grand vanity mirror with intricate carvings in its frame. A tray piled with frosted pastries. A china tea set on a mahogany table. It’s a scene straight from A Little Princess.
I sit. Ky’s T-shirt bandage is gone, along with my clothes. A silky green robe swathes my naked body. My face flushes. Who undressed me?
Testing my strength, I lean forward, then side to side. Sore. Far from dying. I peel the comforter off, swinging my legs over. The mattress is as deep as it is wide. I have to hop to get down. The plush rug conforms to my feet. I walk to one corner where a fire crackles in the hearth. My Uggs rest beside it. Next to them my clothes are neatly folded on a chair, bra and underwear included. Who folds underwear? I pull my long-sleeved shirt from the middle of the pile. Sniff. Things are looking up. I’m not going to smell like a hobbit today.
With my back to the door, I dress locker-room-style, the robe draping my body. When I’m done, I toss it on the bed and glide my feet into the toasty, sand-flecked boots. I find a brush on a table and run it through my hair. Where knots should be, the bristles meet sleek locks. I set it down and smell my skin. Baby-powder fresh. Has someone been grooming and bathing me too?
Why do I feel as if I’m forgetting something? The Illusoden. I dig in my pockets, check under the chair. Nope. It’s gone. Nothing I can do about it. Might as well eat.
I snatch a croissant from the pastry tray, tear off little pieces, and pop them in my mouth. The sweet, buttery flakes melt on my tongue. Steam rises from the teapot. I pour some, add cream and sugar, and sip with caution.
Earl Grey. Mom’s favorite.
I meander around. The lamps are electric. If I’m still in the Second Reflection, there’s only one place this could be. Jasyn’s castle. Robyn said he’s the only one who has access to electricity.
My insides seethe. Ky. It’s the only explanation. I’ve no idea how, but I know he brought me here, the traitor. Why did I untie him? Stupid.
Another glance around and I scrunch my face. Wait. If I’m a prisoner, why am I in this luxurious suite instead of a dungeon?
I open what I think is a closet door and discover a master-sized bathroom complete with civilized plumbing. Guess I could’ve changed in there.
What now? No doubt those grand double doors are guarded. I pace to the covered window, push the velvety curtains aside. Night blankets the sky beyond the glass, pale moonlight doing little to illuminate the landscape. We’re on a hill. The only other light provided is artificial, spilling from lampposts stationed around the hill’s edge. Beyond that, the world is inky black.
I zero in my gaze on what I can make out. One story below me lies a courtyard, a Bethesda Fountain replica dominating its center. Where the Angel of the Waters statue should be stands a sculpture of a Dragon, a single, thorny rose nestled between its bared teeth. I press my face against the stained glass. Are those stables? How hard can it be to ride a horse? If this is Jasyn’s castle, Mom’s here somewhere. I’ll find her and—
“You ought to be resting.”
Crash! China shards and hot tea ring my feet. Good thing I put on my boots.
A man with a pragmatic expression and deep-set brown eyes stands by the bed. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, his hands folded casually in front of him. “Please, do not be alarmed. I am not your enemy.”
Liar. “Jasyn?”
He laughs. “I do not think I have ever heard my name spoken with such disdain. We have not even been properly introduced.”
Scowling, I cross my arms. “Where. Is. My. Mom?” Each word is a spiraling dagger.
“Elizabeth is in her suite. She is resting now. You may visit with her later.”
What’s up with this guy? He’s so coy and . . . nice. “Why all the dramatics? Healing me. Putting me up in a fancy room. Why not kill me now and get it over with?”
His eyebrows sink. “Kill you? What purpose would that serve?”
I drop my guard a fraction. What game is he playing?
He steps forward gingerly. “I can assure you, my dear granddaughter, the last thing I want is your blood on my hands.”
I convulse from top to bottom. “I’m not your granddaughter.” No way. Not buying it.
“Come.” He gestures toward the doors. “Let us go for a stroll in the rose garden.”
The courtyard’s layout reminds me of Conservatory Garden. Paths broken up by plots of soil where flowers and grass should be. We amble over a flagstone walkway, sharp angles of broken rock pieced together like a mosaic. Sconces dangle from the castle walls, giving the courtyard a certain ambience. A waist-high, gray brick wall borders the brink of the leveled hilltop. When we reach it, I stand beneath a lamppost, let my eyes adjust to the dim light. Below, a black forest waits, and beyond that, a lake comes into view through a break in the trees. From this distance, it just looks like a great big puddle. The smallness reminds me of a landscape model Joshua built for school once.
Twinge. How am I supposed to let him go? Maybe I was his duty, but he meant so much more to me.
The water in the fountain at the courtyard’s center is frozen. Our footsteps seem to whisper “shhh” as we round it in silence. If I thought the inside was grand, the outside is just as impressive. While the interior is sophisticated—The Plaza, The Ritz, and The Pierre all rolled into one—the exterior is magnificent. Belvedere Castle and background skyscrapers combined. A seamless blend of contemporary architecture and medieval charm. Walls made of granite. Cone-capped towers. And oh, for all the windows. High and low, arced and squared, wide and narrow. It’s literally like gazing upon Fifth Avenue hotels at night, with some guests still awake, rooms illuminated. Others have long gone to bed, their lamps extinguished.
Joshua would have loved this.
Jasyn clears his throat. “Tell me. What have you been told?”
You’re my enemy. You’re a power-hungry soul-stealer. I alone can supposedly lead the people to their lost king. “Not much.” My breath fogs. I shiver. How is he not cold?
“Ah.” He grins. “You do not wish to tell me?”
“How about I ask you some questions?” He wants to talk, let’s talk.
“All right.” He veers from the fountain and heads down a hedge-lined path. The leaves have all fallen and died, the bare branches stretching, unashamed at their nakedness. This is his rose garden?
I glance again at the night sky. The naked rosebushes. The black forest. Joshua mentioned Shadow Territory. This has to be it. Maybe it’s not even night at all. What if it’s always night here?