Vesper had chosen this room specifically. There were holes drilled in the walls to allow sound to filter through. It was a tactic for interrogation: locking up two or more criminals together, then guards hiding in the opposing cells on either side, waiting for the criminals to think they were alone and talk.
She heard the doors thud closed, then waited, keeping her breath shallow so she could listen for her cue.
Disgusted whimpers broke the silence. “Make yourself useful. Clean house for me,” came the birdsong voice.
Lyra clenched her teeth against the urge to free herself from the confines of the coffin. She forced her muscles to relax and wait.
There was a shuffling, and the almost indiscernible scritchity-scratch of mice claws. A flutter of moths followed, then settled on the walls all around.
A pair of slippers pattered across the floor, stopping at the edge of the bed. “One of you get over here . . . I need a cushion.”
Lyra tensed instinctively, enough to cause one nail to pierce her calf. Warmth oozed from the wound; still, she didn’t move, even when the lid lifted.
Lying in place like a corpse, she waited for Lustacia’s gasp then opened her eyes so their glint could be seen in the dimness.
Lustacia yelped. Backing up awkwardly, she fell to her rump.
Lyra rolled off the nails to the floor. She stood, looming in front of her cousin. She removed the scarf, freeing her hair, and raised her arms to call her moths and shadows into play. They formed a whirlwind, manipulating the waist-length waves to dance around her head like tendrils of silver flame.
My voice . . . my life . . . my kingdom.
The moths carried the mantra to Lustacia’s ears, their wings fluttering the words around her. “Lyra!” She shrieked and sobbed, dropping to her belly in front of Lyra’s bare feet. “Oh, please, shield me!” Several dark forms dove across her cousin as if to protect her.
Lyra’s shadows peeled them away and flung them to the corners.
Lustacia cried out again as spiders dropped their webs from overhead, glistening, gauzy nets that circled around her. Taunting, yet not touching. “I never wanted to kill you!” She strangled on her sobs, batting at the spider silk then screeching when the substance caked between her fingers. “I never wanted to see you hurt . . . I didn’t enjoy it like Wrath and Ava did.” She gulped several breaths, rubbing her hands along her clothes. “This was mother’s doing! She and Erwan and Bartley, they’re responsible for all the dirty deeds. Just look what they did to the goblin smugglers.” Lustacia pointed a shaky finger to the five black, sooty forms being pinned down by Lyra’s shadow guards. “Mother went mad with power and magic. Look under her gloves, you’ll find proof of her crimes. She did something abominable to me, too . . . worse than you can imagine!” Arms and hands trembling now, Lustacia parted the braids twisted around her head, giving Lyra a glimpse of pea-sized prongs beginning to sprout from two knots bulging from her scalp. “I’m growing antlers! All because I had to bathe in antler powder. All to look like you! I’m becoming a beast. The prince will hate me forever. Please, isn’t that enough . . . isn’t it?” A sob cut through her lyrical pleas.
Lyra’s blood boiled at the confession. Griselda had slain Vesper’s sickly stags and ripped them of their antlers, all to give Lustacia her moonlit coloring.
Lyra snarled. At her command, a mischief of mice crept into Lustacia’s sleeves, neckline, and hem. Their forms tunneled beneath her dark gown like rain-swollen clouds rolling across a night sky. Lustacia screeched, leaping to her feet and slapping herself to shake out the infestation. Lyra’s shadows jerked her cousin off the ground and levitated her, arms and legs held immobile to protect the rodents from being crushed. Her slippers fell from her feet. She begged to be set free, then howled for mercy again.
Yes. Scream . . . scream forever. The moths’ wings repeated Lyra’s demand: Scream . . . scream . . . scream.
And Lustacia did; she wailed and shrieked—a tormented and beautiful chorus of crystal-clear notes that echoed around the room. Lyra shut her eyes, gusts flapping her hair and clothes. The harrowing song encompassed her, and she welcomed it, craved it. Even without remembering, a hollowness gaped within her throat upon missing it.
When the final note rang out and Lustacia lay empty and panting on the floor, sticky with web and rodent scourge, Lyra knelt beside the nail bed. From underneath, she withdrew the enchanted seashell Madame Dyadia had planted there hours before. Lyra sealed it with its special willow cork and stood.
Using her sleeve, Lustacia wiped snot and tears from her face. “What have you done?” she mumbled, though her voice no longer rang with music. It was hoarse, unremarkable, and entirely her own.
The cell door flung open, revealing Nerezeth’s and Eldoria’s council members—Prime Minister Albous at the head—who had been gathered in the cell at the left of Lyra’s, listening as everything unfolded.
Vesper and Queen Nova stepped forward with Selena—who had dressed as Lyra in a flowing gown and veil. She’d walked in the procession alongside Lustacia and took the cell on Lyra’s right, so Lustacia would never suspect someone waited within her own.
All of them had witnessed Lustacia’s confession. All had heard who was responsible for Lyra’s long-winding, torturous journey back to her throne. Stray spectators wandered down the stairs into the corridor, filling the expanse. Word of what had taken place quickly spread to all floors of the castle in a ripple effect.
Lyra’s cousin sat up, trembling as people peered in. “Vesper, please.”
“Not a word from your deceitful lips,” he growled. “Best make yourself at home. This is your room for the night. But take heart, your family will be joining you shortly. Though I’m not sure how receptive they’ll be, considering you betrayed them all.”
He offered a hand to Lyra. She cradled the seashell’s silver stand to her chest, keeping its precious contents safe, and stepped over Lustacia’s slippers. Vesper’s strong grasp enveloped her own, providing support against the exhausted tremors running through her limbs. The spiders vanished into cracks and crevices in the stones, and the mice and moths drifted through the open door, leaving Lustacia with her cursed goblins and Lyra’s shadow guards to keep them in line.
The door slammed shut, and the sound of Lustacia’s discordant, monotone wails trailed Lyra and her prince as they strode down the corridor hand in hand. The crowd parted and then followed them up the stairs, in silent shock and reverent wonder.
30
The Glitz and Glow of Bliss and Woe
The success of the princess test earned Luce both respect and fear within the courts, as the coup showcased his dark talents as well as his loyalty to Eldoria’s true heir.
Before Luce had left with Vesper to the Rigamort, he had shifted to his ethereal form and siphoned into Griselda’s chamber. Drawing on his ability to influence the desires of another, he put a thought in the regent’s mind that there might be something in the shrine to give her the upper hand. When Sir Bartley found the box, she recognized it as the one Queen Nova had mentioned in her missive, and her confidence was bolstered. For who but Crony could be behind everything?
Griselda was too distracted by the witch’s rivalry, and too sure of her own prowess with potions and poisons, to suspect Lyra might actually have lived. Thus, she allowed Lustacia to endure a test she could never win. Griselda’s cry of foul play—however hypocritical—had opened up the opportunity to show both kingdoms what she herself had done, as opposed to Vesper having to convince them. It was a much more effective way to consolidate Nerezeth and Eldoria behind their one queen and win fealty, by letting them hear the confession unfold for themselves—on the very birdsong voice in which they had put all their faith.
Once Prince Vesper’s royal guard rounded up the other four accomplices, the crowds buzzed with eagerness for the ceremonies that would bring the two lights of the sky together at last. However, Vesper proclaimed that their princess was exhausted after proving herself and should be allowed to retire to her tower chamber for the remainder of the cessation course, where she could have a hot bath—then rest her head on a pillow and her body on an eiderdown mattress for the first time in five years.
At that, a hush fell over the castle as serene as the snow falling outside the windows, and occupants found their ways to their own beds.