And then I hear it, the song from my dreams, the one I played on accident at the coronation. It’s slow and graceful. Deep. Almost sad. Reggie’s chirpiness fades into the background, and all I hear is this. This haunting melody that seems as if it were written just for me.
The fire’s heat dries my eyes and I allow my lashes to descend. My scattered thoughts organize. The ambush at the coronation. How secretive everyone’s been. My lack of song. Today’s incident. They line up, but one image stands out among the rest—the expression on Joshua’s face. Fear. But not of the mysteriously broken ice.
Joshua was afraid of me.
It’s all connected. To me. But how? I need answers, but no one seems willing to give them. If Mom were here, she would. But she’s not. She said to trust Reggie, but how would she know anything about any of this? I love her, but she’s just a cook, spent her whole life in this castle. I need someone who’s been places, who’s seen what others haven’t.
I seethe in silence, allow loneliness to weigh but never surface. I’m ice shards on the floor, each piece of me melting into the rug until all that’s left is damp ash.
Is there no one I can rely on?
The invisible piano crescendos and I find myself rocking back and forth, back and forth. Like Ky’s fingers on my arm, the motion is soothing. Relaxing. My shoulders sag and a shaky sob releases. I’m burnt out. Exhausted to my core. Who do I turn to for help? It’d have to be someone who doesn’t care about protecting me. Someone who’d be willing to make a trade. Someone with nothing to lose.
My head snaps up in sync with a crackle of the fire. The song dies. Mom has always said sometimes the answer is right in front of you.
Close, Mom. This time it’s right beneath me.
TWELVE
Fate’s Design
She’d never admit to it.” Reggie shakes from laughter, her more-than-adequate bosom bouncing in her too-tight blouse. “But Elizabeth was quite the mischievous child. Always sneakin’ ’round the castle, searchin’ for secret passageways and trapdoors or somewhat. Found a key once. Never did learn which door it opened.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, an endless smile stretching her worn face.
Any other night I’d be content to sit here for hours, listening to stories about Mom, letting Reg refill my mug with spiced cider and my plate with chocolate chip cookies.
But tonight is different.
I fake a yawn, hoping she’ll notice. She doesn’t, of course, continuing one story into the next.
“Did I ever tell you about the time—?”
I stand, grimacing at my own rudeness more than the pinch in my knee. “I’m so sorry, Reg, but I’m exhausted. To be continued another time?”
Her smile doesn’t falter as she dusts off her apron and rises beside me. “Course, darlin’. Don’t you mind me. Old Regina’s gotta know when to zip her trap.” She shoos me through the kitchen archway. “Scoot along now. I’ll be up in the mornin’ with your breakfast tray as usual.”
I give her a tight hug and kiss her cheek.
She blushes and sways away, humming some old country song or another. Shania Twain? Oh brother, it is. Can’t stop my own smirk. Reg is a character if there ever was one.
The easy part is over. But what comes next? Will my plan work? Preacher isn’t an idiot, and he’s not exactly the sentimental type.
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
Ky can’t be serious. He and Preacher have never been on good terms. No way the real Ky would speak on the old grump’s behalf.
Still, I’m out of options. And time. It’s now or not at all. Who knows when I’ll get another opportunity like this.
Preacher trails me as we circle the stairwell ascending into the west wing. The sound echoes, acting as the overture to what I hope will be my best performance yet. If my Calling weren’t faulty, I could simply use my voice, sing him to sleep, and head straight for the dungeons. But with each passing day, my Mirror song fades. It worked at the coronation on the Guardians but just as quickly failed me when I confronted Gage. I want to brush it off as a winter cold, but I know it’s more than that.
Which is exactly why I’m doing this. I gasp and halt on the step above him. “My treble clef–heart necklace, it’s gone.” I fling my hand to my neck and widen my eyes.
“You can look for it tomorrow.” He adjusts his jacket, nudges me onward.
“No.” Stand your ground. Don’t take no for an answer. You are the queen, after all. “Joshua gave it to me. If he finds out I misplaced it again, he’ll be so hurt.” This part, at least, bears truth. The memory of his face the last time I lost it stabs at my chest.
Preacher huffs, crosses his arms, and starts back toward the kitchen. “Let’s make this quick. I don’t want to be down here all night.”
Turning sideways, I push past him, stopping a step below him this time. “It’s fine.” I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. My poker face wouldn’t win me many chips. “You go ahead. I can make it to my suite on my own.” I slide one foot back, lower it onto the next stair.
One furry eyebrow shrugs, meets the bottom of his knit cap. “Nice try, Highness. You know the rules. You are to be escorted by a Guardian at all times.”
Ugh. Highness is almost worse than being called girl. The way he says it, as if mocking, makes me want to put him in the dungeon for a night. How can he be so insolent? Did I not save this entire Reflection from the wrath of the Void, for Verity’s sake?
I clear my throat, forcing calm into my frog-plagued voice. “I am the Verity’s vessel. A Mirror and your queen.” I hold my head high, stare him down. “I think I can make it to my room without reenacting a scene from an eighties slasher flick.”
Ky snorts inside my head.
It’s all I can do not to copy the sentiment.
“I have my orders, and they do not come from you.”
“That’s where you are mistaken.” Darn voice. Stop trembling. Sheesh.
Preacher shakes his head. Is that compassion softening his scowl? “You don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get? Enlighten me.”
His lips purse. He looks away.
“What aren’t you saying?” My heart pounds. He knows. He knows why most everyone has been acting so strange around me since the coronation.
“It’s not my place.” He pauses, shuffles from foot to foot. I’ve never seen him at a loss for words. “But the people are . . . concerned.”
I furrow my brows. “Of course they are. With the attack and—”
“No.” He rubs his nose. “What happened last week is the least of their concerns . . .” He meets my gaze then, eyes narrowing but not in the mean sort of way, as is his custom. No, this time his expression is more studious. As if trying to read what my reaction to his next words might be.
I touch his arm, connecting with him in a way I never believed possible.
He exhales, sending the whiskers above his upper lip flapping. “They’re . . .” He clears his throat. “We’re all concerned perhaps the Verity isn’t the best . . . match for you. David was the one—”
“Hold on.” I palm my forehead. “Are you implying . . . What are you implying? The Verity chooses the purest heart.” It’s black and white, night and day. The Verity selected me, which means I have the purest heart, which means I am fit to be queen.