Page 41 of Wrath of the Never Queen

Chapter 17

Inez wakes me one morning as usual, but she has a sly smile playing on her face as she does.

“What?” I ask groggily, sitting up in bed.

“I bring news.”

The smell of croca bacon and butter fills my nostrils as she places the breakfast tray on my lap.

“Bad news?” I ask warily. When she shakes her head, I exhale deeply and reach for the bread rolls. “Then what?”

“I will need to show you, miss,” she replies with barely concealed glee. I cautiously agree. I am only slightly reassured by Inez’s sunny attitude which means it is unlikely to be anything torturous.

She walks me through the castle halls. We pass by the guards pressed against the walls, unmoving and upright. I feel a pinch of sympathy for them to be expected to fulfil thisstrict role even outside of the king's gaze.

Nerves eat away at me despite knowing I should be elated at a rare escape from mine or the prince’s chambers. Even my visits to the kitchen have become less frequent as the guards started to question my presence there. I realise, with disgust at myself, I have become so accustomed to my cage that even stepping outside of it feels wrong. With effort, I straighten my back and stride with purpose next to Inez.

She leads me only a minute or so away from my chambers, although it feels like miles, until we reach a door I do not recognise. I eye it curiously.

“Where are we, Inez?” I ask.

“A thanks from the prince,” she replies, beaming, before turning the handle and throwing open the door.

I step in, and my mouth drops.

The room is slightly bigger than my chambers, but the far wall is made entirely of glass, allowing sunlight to flood into the room. Huge bookcases line the left wall. But instead of books, the shelves are filled with hundreds of paint tubes and tubs of turpentine. Large bundles of brushes are bound together and made up of various sizes and thicknesses. On the right wall, blank canvasses are stacked against each other. In the middle, an easel sits patiently.

“What…” I breathe. “What is this?”

“It is yours, miss,” Inez replies. “To useas and when you please. The guards have been informed that you are allowed to and from your chambers and this room. They will not stop you.”

“It…” My hand flies to my mouth as I choke back a sob. “It is mine?”

“A thanks from the prince,” she repeats with a wide smile. “For tending to him during his recovery and for accompanying him to the Firebug Festival. Oh! There is a lock on the door so you may enjoy your privacy.”

I open my mouth to speak, but my mind has gone blank. I am overcome. I want to cry and laugh and curl up all at once. Inez takes notice and steps back outside.

“I will give you a moment,” she says before closing the door gently behind her. It is only after she has left that the tears begin to flow.

Eoin once told me about the deserts of Coalsburgh. It is hard for me to imagine somewhere so bare and dry, so different from the swamp. The heat, I understand, but Eoin likened it to living in a kiln. The air lacks moisture, unlike the thick heat of the swamp. The dragons in the desert live off water from hardy plants that grow there, relying mostly on imported trade. But, he told me, if you are brave enough to traverse the sands outside of the city, you may come across an oasis. It is a small spot in a barren land, bursting with life. Green plants, fruit, even water. Crystal clear, a shade of blue not found anywhere else in the world. A true sanctuary.

The art room quickly becomes my oasis. For the next week, I spend more time in my art room than I do in my chambers. I take my meals there and paint late into the night until Inez comes in to drag me to my bed. The ache in my heart still hurts. But, for the first time since I was blocked from myau’mana, I feel connected to Aunt Meena again.

As I slide paint-dipped brushes across the canvas, I think of her often. Her toothy smile whenever I would give her a new painting or her fists on her hips as she stood back to check if it was hanging squint on the wall. Her enchanted leg and enchanted library. Her skill in witchcraft, which she passed down to me. Her very presence would calm me as she sat in the corner of the library while I hunched over scraps of paper, studying or painting. For her, for Morraine and the rest of the Never Queens, I will not resign myself to this castle and its cruel king. My rib is healed, and my determination renews. I cannot afford another mistake. I cannot afford to lose more time. I must be careful.

The large windows in the art room give me a wider view outside and this side of the castle allows for the sun to flow in during the entire day. After being confined to a single room with only one window, I am dazzled by so much sunlight. Often, I will sit next to the glass wall and watch the outside world. I can see far below where the guards patrol the grounds.

I recall my conversation with the prince and his love of gardening. I inspect the grounds more closely but it is made entirely of red brick—there are no gardens nor flowers. I absently wonder where the prince tends to his gardens.

Inez and I make a routine of eating lunch together in my art room. We sit in the sun and play cards over our sandwiches. It is so comfortable, I pinch myself every night before bed and force my mind to remember the bloody block of wood in the centre of Mossgarde. I remind myself it awaits my head.

“Do all the staff live together?” I ask Inez one day as we watch the birds fly outside.

“I suppose,” she answers. “The servants' quarters are more like a series of rooms all connected.”

I try to picture it.

“Do you have your own bed, at least?”

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