Page 5 of The Vanishing Throne

I open my eyes and realise I’m no longer outside in the ravine. No longer lying against the rough rocks of the platform, but a smooth, cold floor instead. The only reminder of that place is the red, pockmarked texture of my arms where the obsidian pressed to my skin and left imprints, soon to fade. Temporary reminders.

I roll onto my back, flinching at a sudden thought. It’s like the darting tongue of a snake, that thought.It doesn’t matter where you are. You’re all alone now because you let everyone die. You didn’t save them. You—

My fingernails bite into my palm. The pain redirects my focus, something I learned to quiet the guilt after my mother’s murder. All it takes is a pinch, a near draw of blood, and theyour fault your fault your faultis pushed down inside my chest where I wear it always, an aching scar inside. It’s bearable, at least for a little while.

When the thoughts pass, I open my eyes.Where am I now?

High above me arches a dome made of mirrors that are all focused on the centre of the room where I lie. The floor beneath me is mapped with vivid green vines, pressed flat against the ground as if they’ve grown that way. It’s the first sign of colour in nature I’ve seen in the fae realm; the only thing that isn’t glass or black stone or metal. It’s grown the entire length of the floor and snaked up the walls between the mirrors.

I’m in the middle of the foliage, the copper curls of my hair stark against the greenery. Even from the ceiling I can see the freckles on my cheeks and the tops of my shoulders where the black shift leaves my skin bare.

The blood is gone, wiped away as if my injuries never existed. I press a hand to my temple, my neck. Both are healed over,needle-thin scars where the blade bit into my flesh.

I shudder in disgust at the thought ofthemtouching me, healing me, and cleaning me up as I slept. I know it wasn’t done out of kindness.

You can unlock an object I seek. That is your sole purpose.

I have to get out of here. I may not have a home to return to, but Kiaran is still out there. Maybe Gavin and Derrick survived by escaping in my ornithopter.

Maybe maybe maybe.Maybe they’re dead, too.

I tamp down the thoughts and push to my feet. What I thought at first was a room is actually a hall as vast as a palace ballroom, covered wall to ceiling in mirrors. I turn around and around, seeking a door– some means of escape – but only my reflections stare back.

Each reflection is different. One with a subtle, mocking expression. One overcome with mourning. One with blood-splattered skin and eyes as vivid green and violent as a devil’s. That Aileana terrifies me the most; her gaze is heavy, sharp as pricks of a blade-tip all over my body.

Like she’d cut out my heart and love it.

I step back, but the mirror only seems to draw closer. Violent Aileana’s gaze holds mine. A chill spreads down my arms, the blade jabs growing more acute.

And then she smiles.

I run. As fast as I possibly can in those damn delicate slippers. It feels like I pass a thousand mirrors, a thousand different versions of myself, and never reach the end of the room.Though the side walls press closer, the hall stretches longer. That last mirror grows farther and farther away.

Violent Aileana is close, her reflection overtaking all the others. Her presence feels like fingernails drawing blood down my back as I run, unrelenting and sharp. Her image lingers in my mind as if I were still looking into the mirror, her eyes aglittering peridot like Sorcha’s, the faery who murdered my mother. She is inhuman, monstrous. She is death.

She is all the times I’ve killed and enjoyed it.Crimson suits you best.

Something breaks inside me, unleashing a torrent of memories I can’t control. My mother, the night of my debut, embracing me so hard that my ribs ached. My mother lying in the street, dead. Me, screaming her name and no one even hears.

I hit a wall of mirrors, my fingers scratching desperately at the surface. I slam the sides of my fist to the nearest mirror to break it, only to discover it isn’t glass.

It’s rock.

Damn damn damn.Shaking, I back away. Hands seize my shoulders, turning me roughly.

Lonnrach.

My first instinct is to fight– drive my heel into his kneecap – but my feet become tangled in the vines along the floor. The plants rise up, wrapping around my legs as I struggle. I try to kick – to dosomething –but I can’t even move. I tug with my hands, but the vines close around my wrists.

‘The more you fight, the faster it grows.’

Lonnrach’s half-smile is mocking. He’s changed clothes. This time he wears all black, from his trousers to his shirt. Even his long, tailored coat doesn’t have a hint of colour in it.

I go still, and sure enough, the vines stall their ascent to my hips. ‘Is this my new prison, then?’ I try to match his acerbic tone. I lean forward with my own mocking smile – sheer bravado, but from the way his jaw clenches, it’s quite effective. ‘I suppose it was different once, too. More beautiful orcolourful. Just another example of how your kingdom is falling to ruin.’

I hope this place burns. I hope I get to light the bloody match.

Lonnrach’s face hardens. His finger is on my cheek, tracing downward. I recoil, and the movement only incites the vines to grow farther up my arms. ‘I can’t wait to see what memory you were running from.’

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