Everyone except the guest of honor.
Everyone except me.
Why did the library have to be in a completely opposite wing?
One corner, then another, a long hall and two short ones. I pass frosted window after frosted window. When I veer closer to the panes, the faintest image of me stares back, the crimson mirrormark climbing up the right side of my face in vines of song and melody. My fingertips trace the notes, admiring the seal of my Calling I once found so repulsive. Then I peer past it, see through the glass to the Reflection beyond.
Something inside longs to escape these walls and bask in the freedom of snowball fights and sleigh rides. But not here, in this all-too-quiet place. No, the place I yearn for bustles with cab horns and— Wait. Did I make a wrong turn?
Ugh, some queen I’ll turn out to be. I can’t even focus long enough to navigate my way through my own castle. I miss the simplicity of my brownstone. Of New York’s structured grid. Impossible to get lost. Familiar. Home.
And then I hear it. The low murmur that accompanies a crowd. A crowd waiting for me.
Stop. Deep breath. Straighten shoulders. Blink. Gulp. Act like the eighteen-year-old queen they expect and not the terrified little girl trembling within.
When I round the next corner at the hall’s end, I’m there. The scent of roasted chestnuts draws me in. A few feet ahead, one of five tiers of balconies awaits. I’m on the lowest tier so I don’t have far to go. I walk with as much regality as I can muster, all at once feeling like a fraud with my non-updoed hair and secret sneakers.
Once atop the grand staircase I pause. This is the part where everyone is supposed to gasp in awe at the beautiful Cinder girl about to descend the steps. And indeed, the guests do cease their chatter. Everyone stares. A chill that has nothing to do with the season wraps me. I twist the white gold engagement ring Joshua gave me around my finger as a jumble of doubts flurries through my brain.
Disappointment.
Phony.
Imposter.
But then a stirring takes residence inside me, like a warm blanket encompassing my entire being. In an instant I recognize it as the Verity. An unfathomable confidence that is beyond out of character. I lift my fingertips, grazing the purple ends of my mocha hair—a tassel to show I stand with the Verity. I lower my hand, smile, and descend the staircase with all the poise of a prom queen.
Toe, heel, toe, heel.
Chin up.
Shoulders back.
Green has overtaken every arch and pillar, the space transformed into an enchanted wood. Fresh pine garlands deck the railings, and hundreds of tea lights gleam and glow on sills and ledges. All eyes attend me, but mine lock on two.
Even from across the throne room the sight of him sends my stomach butterflies into a frenzy. His strong jaw works, lifting his stubble-surrounded lips into a crooked smile. Barely twenty-one, but he holds so much wisdom behind his cerulean gaze. He combs his fingers through his dark hair, then folds his hands in front of him. Waiting for the only one in the entire room I know he sees.
The acoustic quartet to my left plays a Celtic waltz, and I find myself striding in time to the tempo. The familiar sound is oxygen to my soul. Tables crafted from tree stumps sprout beneath the high arched windows on either side of the throne room. Wreaths and moss encircle tea light–filled jars at the table centers. Pine boughs twist around the marble columns supporting the five tiers of balconies above. White globe lights blink at me from the balcony railings, perfectly in sync with the music’s elegant tempo. Paper lanterns dangle in a zigzag fashion between tiers, their hearts beating with the light of the Maple Mine Fairies.
The Second Reflection residents watch as I glide toward the dais. Toward him. I tilt my head back and a gasp escapes. Even the artwork on the painted dome ceiling has been freshened, the broad strokes and swirling colors more vibrant than ever. The four-tiered chandelier sends beads of colored light in every direction. I think of my favorite line from Annie as I glide across the cherrywood floor, all polished and Chrysler Building shiny. Miss Hannigan would be so proud.
The scents of cinnamon and pinewood welcome me in, and I suddenly find myself aching for a cup of hot cider. I’ll have to keep an eye out for Regina Reeves. She is in charge of the kitchen staff, after all. She’s known Mom since she was a girl, and she acted as midwife when Mom was in labor, so Reggie (and I’m the only one who calls her that) has a soft spot for me. Though she bears no Calling, she refers to herself as my “fairy godmother” and insists my desire is her command. Even if cider isn’t being served, she’ll bring some if I ask.
When I reach the bottom dais step, Joshua David extends a hand. This is it. The moment I’ve waited for since I took on the Verity two months ago. I’m ready, but I’m also not. What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t— ?
But then Joshua’s broad hand covers my smallish one. And like the soothing of the Verity, his touch assures me everything is going to be just fine. His gaze holds mine as he lifts my hand and caresses my knuckles with his lips, brushing more than my skin with his not-so-innocent touch. The dark stubble on his upper lip scratches, but I don’t mind. For an instant I forget everything but this. Each heartstring pluck, pluck, plucks. “More,” they seem to sing.
More.
This is right. This is real. I can do this.
Joshua winks and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The quartet ceases as he guides me in a wide arc just as we rehearsed yesterday. The toe of my sneaker catches my dress hem. My eyes close and I prepare for the rrrriiiipppp that’s sure to follow. But, as always, Joshua is one step ahead. Steadying me. Saving me from a royal faux pas.
When we’re both facing forward, he releases my hand and I let it fall to my side. It takes everything in me to keep from clenching my sweaty palms into anxious fists. I think of what Mom always told me when I’d get nervous in a school play.
“Find me. Even if everyone in the audience is frowning, I’ll give you the smile to keep you going.”
It takes me all of two seconds to spot her, off to one side, Makai Archer’s arms wrapped loosely around her growing belly. His gray-streaked charcoal hair is now long enough to gather into a ponytail. I shake my head, and a smile creeps to my cheeks. As a pair their contrast is undeniable. He’s Bogart to her Bergman. An unlikely match, yet it’s impossible to picture one without the other anymore.
Mom’s brown eyes twinkle and the creases around her smile deepen. She offers an encouraging nod and I return the gesture. Inhale. Face the people once more.
“People of the Second,” Joshua’s voice booms. “On this, the twenty-fifth day of the First Month, I, Joshua David Henry, being of sound mind and valiant heart, do relinquish this here crown and bestow it upon the rightful ruler of the Second.” Joshua removes the mirrorglass circlet at his temples. The same crown his father, King Aidan, wore before Jasyn Crowe took over. A diadem, I’m told, that would’ve weakened Jasyn had he tried to wear it. The reverse effect of mirrorglass would’ve counteracted the darkness within him. Put a cap on the Void’s power like the Confine on an under-eighteen soul.