Page 76 of Where Shadows Bloom

“As—as you should be!” I spat, sounding entirely like the nobles I had spent so much company in. “Do you know what you could have done? Should I tell my father,the king, about this?”

He dropped his spear and knelt on the floorboards with a loud clang, going so far as to press the golden forehead of his visor to the space between my stockinged feet. “Forgive me, my lady, I beg you!”

“You could have killed me,” I said, touching a hand to mychest.Tears. I need tears.I could make myself cry in dire circumstances, usually if I thought about something sad. Lonely children. Orphaned animals. My best friend and only love, gone forever.

That did the trick.

I embraced the lump in my throat and sniffed loudly. “Right when I found my family at last, you’d have taken it from me—”

“I did not mean any harm, my lady; oh, please forgive me! I’d do anything to fix this!”

There.

“Well,” I said, followed by a long, beleaguered sigh, “the king let me enter this hall earlier today. I wish to visit again. Let me pass and give me a few minutes to recover from... all of this. Then I’ll report to my father of your cooperation and valor.”

“Absolutely,” he whispered, scrambling to his feet, grabbing hold of the door handle and swinging it open. “Please, go in. I’ll guard the door and see to it that you are disturbed by no one.”

I curtsied to the boy. “Thank you, brave knight. And thank you for your service to our kingdom.”

With my head held high, I glided into the dark room, the perfect image of a confident, powerful noblewoman. When the door shut behind me, I let out a long breath and held on to the nearest lampstand to keep from collapsing.

By night, the candles had been extinguished here. Only a small beam of yellow light from the torches in the garden illuminated the floor. A faint breeze sent a chill through the place and made a loose strand of hair flutter before my eyes. I followed the soft rush of wind to the end of the room. It was tucked subtly into the wall, but it was definitely there—another door, likely opening out to the gardens.

The wall of mirrors had been hidden behind white sheets. Why had it been covered? The king had seemed so uncaring about the illusions earlier.

With a trembling hand, I pulled a sheet from the wall, uncovering the first of many mirrors. But there were no figments in the mirror to greet me, just the lampstands behind me and my own pale reflection. I tugged each sheet and left them in a pile like snowdrifts, until every last mirror was uncovered.

Mother had been here before. I remembered it so clearly.

I slowly approached the glass, touching my fingers to it, my hand meeting my own reflection’s. It was solid; it did not part like some strange veil. It was just a mirror. Only a mirror.

“Mother?” I called.

Silence.

I stepped back, looking about the room, shadowed and lonely and forgotten. In the depths of the night, all the magic seemed to have been drained from this place. All thatremained was reality, cold and plain.

My stomach sank as I considered one more heartbreaking possibility.

What if I saw Lope in that mirror?

“Who are you?”

I whirled back to the mirrors. My vision doubled—no, the girl in the mirror before me wasn’t another one of my reflections. She had blond hair. She wore a golden ballgown and had a pearl necklace around her throat.

“Who areyou?” I breathed. What sort of trick was this? If the mirror meant to show me what I wanted to see, it must have been wrong. I’d never seen this woman in my life.

“My name is Françoise,” she said, her voice soft and sad, like a funeral hymn. “Who areyou?”

My heartbeat skipped. The singer. The girl who’d disappeared—who’d gone abroad? “Françoise? Are you Françoise de la Valliere?”

“Yes.” She smiled, though tears sparkled in her blue eyes. “Has anyone been looking for me?”

I hugged my arms as a strange chill came over me. “I... not exactly. You, you left to go sing in an opera company abroad—”

“What?” Horror painted her pale face. “No, no! I would never; I would never leave my friends!”

The girl wasn’t real. She was an illusion, just like the image of Mother had been. She had probably been that hauntingvoice Lope had heard. And yet, the sorrow in this girl’s eyes was so real, so... painful. And why would the gods show her tome?

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