Authors: Violette Malan
The Mirror Prince (12 page)
He sank his head into his hands. His skull felt as if it would explode. It was impossible, but . . . no, a world in which Franny didn’t die was a world in which she’d never existed.
Max jerked his arm out of the reach of Cassandra’s hand.
“Why don’t you get some rest,” he told her, forcing the words out through the tightness in his chest and throat. “I don’t think I want to hear any more of your truth just now.”
Chapter Four
PEACE AT DAWN BRUSHED a spot of dust from the sleeve of his new shirt with a careful hand. He had dressed with great attention for this watch, and for the first time in the magenta of the Basilisk Prince. He was not sure if he was frustrated or relieved that his newly forged darkmetal glaive, blade still un-blooded, was not likely to be needed. Guarding the Solitary had not turned out to be quite as formidable a task as Peace at Dawn had half hoped. Tricky they were, so all the Songs told, but this one, a Troll, looked to have had all its trickiness beaten out of it. Peace had long suspected that the Solitaries’ reputation for being keep-both-hands-in-sight clever was highly overrated, if not a thing of Song only. Peace hadn’t met many Solitaries—there were none in the Garden yet—but he had always thought that they could not be so
very
dangerous.
very
dangerous.
Like the Basilisk Prince, Peace at Dawn was a Sunward Rider, and he believed the rumor that Sunwards were able to resist the tricks and machinations of even the wiliest of Solitaries much better than Riders of the Star or Moon. He’d also heard the rumors that the Basilisk Prince favored those of his own Ward over others, and while it would not do to say so aloud, Peace himself was sure of it. It only made sense, as the Basilisk Prince himself had said, that you trusted your own first. The very fact that he had been given the task of guarding the Troll proved that Peace had been noticed, and was therefore in line for important things.
The Troll was
bound.
The way he was caught—Peace did not like to think about the Hunt; none of the guards did. No matter that they came only to the Basilisk Prince’s call. When the rumors first flew that the Basilisk Prince was using the Hunt, many had simply not believed them. Indeed, many still did not. Peace himself took care with whom he discussed such matters; only the truly trustworthy could know. Not all could see that it was necessary to use the right tool to achieve the right end, and the Hunt was clearly the right tool in this matter. Why, Peace had heard that even the Exile had been found, when everyone knew that son-of-Solitaries, Peace carefully spat into a corner, had been successfully evading capture for years, after he’d treacherously tricked and killed his Wardens. Probably with the help of the very Solitary Peace at Dawn was guarding. Brought from the Shadowlands, they’d said, and what could a Solitary have been doing there?
bound.
The way he was caught—Peace did not like to think about the Hunt; none of the guards did. No matter that they came only to the Basilisk Prince’s call. When the rumors first flew that the Basilisk Prince was using the Hunt, many had simply not believed them. Indeed, many still did not. Peace himself took care with whom he discussed such matters; only the truly trustworthy could know. Not all could see that it was necessary to use the right tool to achieve the right end, and the Hunt was clearly the right tool in this matter. Why, Peace had heard that even the Exile had been found, when everyone knew that son-of-Solitaries, Peace carefully spat into a corner, had been successfully evading capture for years, after he’d treacherously tricked and killed his Wardens. Probably with the help of the very Solitary Peace at Dawn was guarding. Brought from the Shadowlands, they’d said, and what could a Solitary have been doing there?
Peace stiffened as he heard a noise behind him like a throat clearing. He knew a trick or two himself, he thought, his lips twisting into a smile. This Solitary wasn’t going to find him easy to take in. Slowly he reached into the tiny inside pocket of his purple leather waistcoat and took out a small mirror, held it up near his right eye, and adjusted the angle of reflection until he could clearly see the Solitary behind him. Everything possible had been done to prevent the Troll’s escape. The chamber itself was large, the walls easily ten spans to a side and almost as tall, made by the Basilisk Prince himself of some smooth unjointed stone. The Child of Earth was suspended in the middle of the chamber, his limbs spread by the chains fixed to each wrist, each ankle, so that no part of his body touched the stone of the walls or floor, or anything that had come from the earth, and might therefore aid him.
The Troll had been carefully searched for
gra’if
when he was captured, and the chains that held him now were ordinary darkmetal, though Signed, of course, by the Basilisk himself. Only the Basilisk could free the Old One now, supposing anyone would want him free. It was not safe to have
gra’if
metal around a Solitary, everyone knew that. After all, it was the Solitaries who made it, no one knew how. And who knew what tricky spells might be lying in wait for the unwary? No one who wished to follow the Basilisk Prince wore
gra’if
nowadays, even if they might have a suit of it hidden somewhere in their home.
gra’if
when he was captured, and the chains that held him now were ordinary darkmetal, though Signed, of course, by the Basilisk himself. Only the Basilisk could free the Old One now, supposing anyone would want him free. It was not safe to have
gra’if
metal around a Solitary, everyone knew that. After all, it was the Solitaries who made it, no one knew how. And who knew what tricky spells might be lying in wait for the unwary? No one who wished to follow the Basilisk Prince wore
gra’if
nowadays, even if they might have a suit of it hidden somewhere in their home.
Peace remembered his older sister having
gra’if
, and how proud of it she had been. Peace never admitted to anyone that as a child growing up he had envied his older sister, and that his major ambition had been to have
gra’if
of his own one day. There was no knowing where his sister was now, which was a good thing, otherwise Peace would have to tell. He sighed and slid the hand mirror back into his pocket.
gra’if
, and how proud of it she had been. Peace never admitted to anyone that as a child growing up he had envied his older sister, and that his major ambition had been to have
gra’if
of his own one day. There was no knowing where his sister was now, which was a good thing, otherwise Peace would have to tell. He sighed and slid the hand mirror back into his pocket.
“Has the prisoner given any trouble?”
Peace jolted to attention, almost dropping his glaive. If the Basilisk noticed how startled he was . . . but a stolen glance showed him that Dreamer of Time was looking over Peace’s shoulder, at the suspended Troll.
“No, my lord Prince.” Acutely embarrassed by the croak in his voice, Peace cleared his throat as quietly as he could. If he did not know better, Peace thought, he would think the Basilisk had been running. He was breathing in shallow, uneven gasps, and Peace noticed a light beading of sweat on his lord’s forehead and upper lip. Instead of the normal, ruddy complexion of a Sunward Rider, the Basilisk was pale, his skin blotchy.
“Are you well, my lord Prince?” he ventured.
“Yes, my boy. Yes. Come here a moment, would you?” The Basilisk Prince gestured and Peace approached him, head bowed. The Basilisk laid his arm around Peace’s shoulder, leaning on him. The boy slipped his own arm around the Basilisk’s waist, realizing that his lord needed steadying, regardless of his reassuring words. Why, the Basilisk’s hand was bleeding.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Peace at Dawn, my lord. My mother is Light in the Sky, and the Dragon guides me.”
“Dragonborn are you? Ah, well, it can’t be helped.” The Basilisk patted him on the shoulder, and Peace felt bold enough to raise his head.
“My lord?”
“Nothing, my dear, nothing. Look into my eyes.”
Puzzled but happy, Peace at Dawn turned his head enough to look at the Basilisk Prince directly, eye to eye, as the great lords did. He was being
Seen
he thought, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. He could hardly wait to tell his father.
Seen
he thought, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. He could hardly wait to tell his father.
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .” the Basilisk said.
Peace opened his mouth, but he could not form the words to apologize for not hearing what his lord had said. Neither could he shut his mouth again.
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .” the Basilisk said, and Peace felt the brush of warm breath on his cheeks, smelled the faint, not unpleasant scent of the wine the Basilisk had taken that afternoon.
The Basilisk Prince leaned toward Peace, his own lips parted, and gently sucked the air out of Peace’s lungs in a long hiss.
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .” the Basilisk said. As Peace began to tremble, the Basilisk’s eyes burned red, and his arms tightened like vises around Peace’s shoulders.
No,
Peace thought,
wait.
Peace thought,
wait.
“. . . . . . . .”
But the Basilisk Prince was still speaking, his tongue flicking in and out of his thinning lips and Peace stopped struggling to find his own voice. He couldn’t interrupt the Prince, could he?
The Prince’s face seemed to grow longer, his nose sharper and his eyes impossibly large, and red, and still. The Basilisk Prince went on speaking the lines Peace at Dawn could not hear, as he felt his limbs stiffen and his blood grow still. By the time he thought of struggling, of calling on the light that perhaps lay within himself, of calling the fires of his own Beast, those fires, deep within him, had turned to stone.
Twilight Falls Softly waited to leave her chambers until after the late meal had been served, when she could be reasonably certain that everyone in the Citadel would be about their evening amusements. The Basilisk Prince had not been seen since he’d gone off with the Griffin Lord, though gossip had
that
lord already back to the stables and gone. No point in waiting until full dark, she told herself, glancing out her open window to where the clouds blew over the moon. There would never be a moment when the whole court would be asleep—and if there were, what explanation could she give for not being asleep herself? One of the guards-in-arms who was always patrolling the Citadel itself would be sure to stop and ask her. No, better to go now, while there were still Riders out and about in the Garden, enjoying the small freedoms that night brought, even here in the court of the Basilisk Prince . . .
that
lord already back to the stables and gone. No point in waiting until full dark, she told herself, glancing out her open window to where the clouds blew over the moon. There would never be a moment when the whole court would be asleep—and if there were, what explanation could she give for not being asleep herself? One of the guards-in-arms who was always patrolling the Citadel itself would be sure to stop and ask her. No, better to go now, while there were still Riders out and about in the Garden, enjoying the small freedoms that night brought, even here in the court of the Basilisk Prince . . .
If only she were able to unlock her knees and stand.
Twilight knew that if she stayed, she would only become another one of those never seen again, never spoken of. She would never make it through another day with the Basilisk Prince without betraying herself, not with the image of the drying Water Sprite always before her eyes. Twilight wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, even though a fire burned in her hearth. If only she could stop trembling. And if she were to go, it had to be now, tonight. Even if somehow she could avoid the Basilisk Prince tomorrow, if she waited until the Garden was Dedicated—and that event was not far off, messengers had been sent with invitations and Riders were even now gathering at the court—she would not be able to simply walk away. Only Movement would take her out of the Garden then. And no one Moved within the precinct of the Basilisk’s court without his feeling it, without his knowing, somehow.
She forced herself to relax, sitting up straight on the edge of her bed, her ankles crossed as her mother had taught her, hands clasped in her lap as if she sat at her lessons. Her fingers entwined, she starting tapping her thumbs to the music she was playing in her head. She thought again about taking her new gown. Made in the traditional rainbow hues worn by Singers, she had worn it only once since coming to the Prince’s court. But whoever it was the Prince would send to her rooms when she did not arrive in his workroom at the appointed hour would take careful note of what was there, and what was not. So long as there was no evidence of flight, if her rooms did not look as though she had run away, they would waste time looking for her in the wrong places, time she could use to get well away. She must take nothing with her, absolutely nothing except what she was wearing now.
And she couldn’t wear the rainbow-colored gown now, not and expect to go unnoticed.
Twilight’s hands stilled as her eyes turned once more to her darkwood harp. No, she told herself for the fourth time in as many minutes.
Absolutely nothing.
She sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. Even that must stay. Especially that. Her work with the Prince did not call for her harp, and if it were missing in the morning, it would not look as if she had been on her way to him. With her most precious possession here in her rooms, everyone would think she had merely stepped out of them and was somehow detained about the Citadel.
Absolutely nothing.
She sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. Even that must stay. Especially that. Her work with the Prince did not call for her harp, and if it were missing in the morning, it would not look as if she had been on her way to him. With her most precious possession here in her rooms, everyone would think she had merely stepped out of them and was somehow detained about the Citadel.
She took a deep breath, and another, as if she were about to Sing in company. She forced herself to stand up before she could think of any further reasons not to and marched to the Chimera-carved door. Her hand on the jeweled latch, Twilight glanced back once more at her harp. No! She turned away, resting her forehead against the cool darkwood of the door. She let the music she was thinking flow down into the muscles of her throat, opened the door, and stepped through. She hummed a little louder as she neared the bottom of the tower steps and heard the murmur of voices ahead of her. Hearing her humming music, no one she passed in the Citadel, or in the Garden once she reached that far, would speak to her, or interrupt her in any way, believing that she made a new Song.
There were only two guards gossiping in the hall at the base of the Chimera Tower. As she expected, they merely nodded politely and turned away as she walked beyond them to where the courtyard door stood open to the night air. In minutes she was through the courtyard and the gate beyond it, and some of the tension left her neck and shoulders. As she expected, there were other Riders out strolling in the Garden, and she was congratulating herself on escaping their notice when a Sunward Rider looked at her sharply, an unexpected look of concern on his face, and Twilight realized with a jolt of terror that she had stopped humming. She forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile to her lips—it felt like Death’s own grimace—and hummed a short motif over twice, with a small variation the second time, as she passed him by. He smiled and nodded, turning back to his own companions, persuaded, Twilight hoped, that whatever he’d seen on her face was nothing more than Singer’s block. She focused once more on her music, and relaxed the set of her shoulders, letting her arms swing naturally in time to her humming as she strolled along the paths.
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