Page 54 of The Faceless Mage

And given what the princess’s fiancé had planned for her over the next several days, agony was exactly what she anticipated.

Chapter 16

From the beginning of his captivity, the Raven’s life had been many things, most of them unpleasant. He was often bored, frequently repulsed, and, more often than not, filled with fury or self-loathing.

But ever since the advent of the princess from Farhall, he had known nothing so consistently as surprise.

Even when she frustrated him, she continued to be surprising. Perplexing. Even shocking.

And the most shocking moment of all was when she walked blithely out of her rooms, head held high, wearing another woman’s face.

Princess Evaraine of Farhall was a mirror mage.

A significant number of his questions regarding her secrets were automatically answered, though an equal number of new ones instantly took their places. At least he now understood her horror at the conversation they’d overheard between King Melger and his captain. He’d meant her to know how Garimore treated mages—how they treated anyone suspected of magic. Instead, she’d learned of their specific hatred for anyone like her, and now that he looked back, he could not stop a brief surge of reluctant admiration.

She might have been afraid, but it had not stopped her. The princess was fierce, audacious, and took bold risks that would make the average person huddle under their covers, whimpering in terror.

She was also up to something significantly more sinister than confirming her kingdom’s desire for an alliance.

But what monarch desperate for aid would risk being caught spying on a much larger, more powerful neighbor? What king would send his only daughter into a situation fraught with such deadly dangers?

Unless, of course, the woman wearing Evaraine’s face had never been Evaraine at all.

That made far more sense than any other possible theory, and it explained a great deal about the princess’s odd behavior—in particular, her periodic deviation from the princess’s expected personality. At times she remembered to be meek and easily led, but more often than not, she forgot herself. And during the bizarre chase across the palace that first night, she’d proven to possess capabilities that would seem highly unusual in a princess.

Climbing. Rappelling. Dagger-throwing. Spying.

No, it seemed clear that the woman he knew was not Evaraine at all, and the Raven found himself curious about her reasons for the deception. More than likely, she was here for exactly the reasons she claimed—to determine what dangers the alliance held for Farhall. He would have known if she’d lied.

But who was she really? And how far was she likely to go in her quest for information?

Fortunately, she seemed not to know that his link with her now extended beyond the gem itself. The Raven suspected that connection had been formed because she possessed her own deep well of magic, and while it created complications he did not particularly want to contemplate, it also created opportunities.

He could follow her anywhere, with her none the wiser.

Except, in this case, the Raven had no desire to follow her. What he did not know, he could not be forced to reveal. And despite his annoyance with her disregard for her own safety, he was finding himself uncomfortably disinclined to do anything that might put her in further danger.

Therefore, it was imperative he remain at his post, no matter how much he might want to know where she was going and who she intended to spy on. As long as he remained, he was actually protecting her—his presence ensured that no one would suspect the princess was not in her rooms.

No one, including King Melger himself—who was quickly moving across the palace in that direction.

Coming to check on his son’s fiancée. Perhaps under the guise of concern for her well-being, but the Raven doubted that was the king’s only motive. There was too much suspicion raging through his mind.

So the Raven remained at his post—motionless and implacable. Emptied his mind of all emotion until he was little more than a shadow made flesh. The task was far more time-consuming than usual, and he cursed the woman who made herself so difficult to forget.

But by the time the king’s ceremonial-robed form appeared at the end of the hall, the job was done. The Raven’s armor might have been empty, judging solely by the lack of motion or feeling coming from within.

Melger came to a stop, perhaps five paces away. Outside the range of the Raven’s sword. It was deeply satisfying to know that the man still feared him.

“Indisposed again, is she?” the king asked.

He did not expect a response. Melger had little magic of his own—and the knowledge that he possessedanywould probably horrify him—so he was unable to sense what the Raven thought or felt with reliable accuracy. Unlike Evaraine. Unlike the Raven himself, who could hear his captor’s direct orders and sense his emotions. Not his thoughts, thank all the gods that ever were. The king’s emotions were dark and troubling enough, and the Raven typically chose to block them out whenever he could.

So the Raven simply nodded. The princess was most definitely indisposed to spend any more time around Melger or his viper of a son.

“You’re sure? She’s not simply avoiding us to be missish?”

The Raven didn’t bother with a response because he knew the king wouldn’t expect one. Melger had no idea that an answer to his question was actually possible, and the Raven intended to keep it that way.

---