“The prince made the observation that the prophecy had some problematic details concerning appearances. That the only true measure of his princess was for her fortitude to be a match for his own. She must have the courage and grit to conquer his world.”
Lustacia spat the hair from her mouth. “That’s ridiculous! How can anyone possibly prove something like that?”
“It is tradition here, that all the royal children, and those of the military, grow up learning how to face the hardships of this realm. They’re taught at a young age to withstand the sting of thorns, brambles, and scorpions by laying upon beds of nails in the dungeon.”
“What?” Lustacia yelped. “You mean I’m to face a torture device? I bruise if I sleep upon a feather mattress!”
Griselda held up a hand to calm her. “There’s one thing more . . . to be his ‘equal,’ his princess must prove she can relate to and befriend the creatures inherent to this world, those that occupy every corner of this castle. So, the cell will also be filled with vermin.” Her own skin crawled at the thought.
“Oh no. No, no, no. Mother! All these years we’ve lived among pet birds who protected us from such atrocities! I’ve never had dealings with . . . infestation.” She shuddered visibly.
“Take your half-lights as your shadow guards; once you’re alone within the cell, have them protect you as the birds would. Perhaps they can even provide some cushion for you upon the nails.”
Lustacia glanced across her shoulder at the smoky smears still fighting over the remnants of her meal. “How much more will I have to endure to prove myself? I’m so tired. I’m not even sure I want to be queen any longer.”
Griselda lunged forward—fingers gouging into her daughter’s tender shoulders. “Never say that again,” she seethed through gritted teeth over Lustacia’s whimpers. “You think you’ve endured adversity? I’ve given up everything for this! All so you could sit upon a throne that should’ve been mine from the beginning!”
The goblin apparitions swooped down, shoving Griselda against the back of her chair to protect their mistress. They ripped through her hair, pulling it out of its pins and exposing bits of antler.
Lustacia rubbed her shoulder. “Shall I call them off, Mother? Or should I tell them you’re to be dessert?”
Griselda smoothed her tangled strands, patting them back into place against the gusts. “Perhaps you should remember that without my ingenuity, you wouldn’t even have your guards. I’ve done nothing but empower you and your romantic aspirations since the moment you fell for your cousin’s betrothed.”
Lustacia bit her lip at that. She sent her goblins to straighten the mess they’d made on the table. One dipped across the surface to absorb wet smears like a sponge might do, while the others scooped piles of crumbs onto the plate.
Griselda nodded her approval. “We can’t turn against one another now. We’re so very close. The prince amended the blood oath with his own blood. The new contract reads that whoever passes this test will be his bride, and the other will be imprisoned—her fate to be decided by the new queen after the coronation. All you have to do is abide through the cessation course, or outlast your opponent without begging to be let out, whichever comes first. A few hours, and you’ll win him and the crown, at last.”
Lustacia worked her shoulder seam down, revealing where bruises had already marked her moonlit skin in the shape of her mother’s fingers. “What happens if we both endure? It’s said this girl has scars and scrapes to spare. She’s of the wilderness, and obviously more inured to physical hardship than me.”
“It’s been decreed by Queen Nova and Prince Vesper that should you both withstand the night, the girl possessing the most physical attributes specified by the prophecy will be proclaimed King Kiran’s heir and will marry the prince immediately. Your rival has only the skin and hair. You, however, have something the imposter can never emulate. The true princess’s birdsong voice. Which means it is impossible for you to lose.”
“Still . . .” Lustacia stood and began to pace. “Shouldn’t we discuss our alternate plan? You always have one.”
Griselda patted a pocket in her gown, her fingers tracing the small, round outline hidden within the fabric’s folds. Yes, there was a plan; one she’d already put in motion. A last resort she hoped wouldn’t be necessary. “We throw ourselves upon the dais, at the feet of the thrones and at the mercy of the courts.”
“Have you gone mad? What sort of a plan is that? Neither kingdom will have mercy! Everyone wants the skies united and we’ve disrupted it.”
Griselda shrugged. “Yes. We will be blamed not only for Lyra’s death, but for killing the prophecy.”
Tears gathered in Lustacia’s eyes again. “So, you’re fresh out of ideas and tricks. Then . . . we’ll run away.”
“In case you failed to notice, the prince has us under constant guard. He’s even having your sisters watched now.”
“But we could use my shadows; they could at least get us through the gate.”
“It’s a blizzard outside. The thorns have already risen up and the night beasts are on the prowl. You saw the cadaver brambles and rime scorpions for yourself, how they attacked Lyra’s body in that coffin. Do you honestly think your sisters . . . or you and I . . . have what it takes to survive this wasteland for more than an hour? Where would we go, even then? We have antlers sprouting from our heads! We’ll never be safe unless you’re protected by the prince himself.”
Lustacia sank to the floor, her face drained of color. Her shadowy defenders left off cleaning and returned to hover around her, lifting and dropping her braid, as if to comfort.
Griselda walked toward the adjoining chamber to splash cold water upon her face and contemplate the turning of events. She paused at the threshold. “Either find the courage to win the test, or find the courage to face the wrath of two kingdoms spurned. I leave the choice to you.” She shut the door between them.
Every castle has its obscure passages. Within Nerezeth’s obsidian fortress, most were accessible and used by everyone at court—servants, military personnel, and council members included.
However, there was one passage that was known only to Madame Dyadia and the royal family. It was a steep, secret stairway that led directly from a hidden alchemy lab beneath the dungeon to the throne room five flights above. As Lachrymosa’s own addition centuries earlier, it had enabled his mother to bring him reports and commissions expediently from the king. Otherwise, she had to take four winding flights of stairs to the dungeon, a long trek past an abundance of cells, then gain access to a magical entrance through an impermeable wall to take another flight of stairs that eventually opened to her son’s lab.
Lachrymosa’s passageway cut the transit by at least ten minutes, and also had the added benefit of providing a back way into the dungeons from the lab without being seen by anyone milling through the common areas. This proved particularly helpful now, as the success of the princess test relied solely upon getting Lyra into a cell without being seen. And since so many spectators already lined the corridors, halls, and antechambers—to await that blink of dawn signaling the beginning of the cessation course and said test—any other route would’ve been unsuitable.
Lyra—dressed in tunic and trousers, hair tucked beneath a scarf—took the hidden passageway with Vesper a half hour before the test was to begin. Cyprian followed a few steps behind, having been appointed as Lyra’s temporary chaperone by a grumbling Luce—the sylph being engaged in a clandestine meeting with Madame Dyadia elsewhere in the castle, and Selena being equally unavailable. With her own role to play in the grand deception, the prince’s sister had remained within Lyra’s tower chamber to await the guards who would be coming to escort the potential princess alongside her rival in a procession down the twelve flights from the towers to the dungeon.