Page 46 of Where Shadows Bloom

“She wants you to live here?” Lope murmured.

I nodded. “Yes, won’t that be exciting?”

“She was so opposed to the thought only a few weeks ago.”

“Things were different then,” I said, taking the letter from her grasp. “Since then, she reunited with Father, and they’ve overcome whatever squabble they had, and when she is better, we’ll all stay here. Safe from the Shadows, like we wanted!”

“But that was a lie,” Lope said. “Weknowthere are Shadows in this place, even if they don’t speak of them here.”

My hands flopped down to my sides. I had not seen a single monster, but I did not wish to vex Lope or make her think I doubted her. I didnotdoubt her. Even if each day without Shadows convinced me more of the king’s assurance that we were safe here. “Well... we lived with Shadows at the manor. We endured them. You kept me safe. All I mean to say is that soon I’ll be reunited with Mother.” I pointed at her, and an idea sprang into my head. “And like you mentioned before—from here, you can continue your research into the origin of the Shadows. I bet they have more information than we could dream of!”

Lope leaned against a wall, folding her arms. Her silence and her stoic expression were grating against me.

“Why are you angry?” I asked.

Her eyebrows lifted. “I’m not angry.”

“Something else, then. You’re—you’re unhappy. You’re keeping something in.”

How I wish she’d open her heart to me. That she’d finally confess whatever marvelous secret was doubtlessly hidden inside of her. Maybe it was her love! Maybe she’d finally give up on her stony exterior and would let it crumble away so she would fall at my feet and recite a thousand sonnets. I wanted it more than anything, to hold her close, to have her lips beside my ear, whispering poetry, and saying,You, you, they were all about you.

But Lope’s gaze dropped. “A few hours ago, I... I heard something. I cannot explain it.”

My heart leapt in my chest. Heard something? Had something frightenedLope? I sat upon the foot of my bed, my eyes wide. “What? What did you hear?”

She rubbed her temple. “It’s going to sound mad.”

“Tell me!” I exclaimed, anxiety rumbling within me from head to toe.

Lope sighed, her eyes closed. “While you were eating, I wandered the halls, and I heard... singing. A woman singing. I followed the voice, and it led me to the Hall of Illusions. As if some woman were behind those doors.”

My heart skipped excitedly. “Were you able to go inside?”

“No. The door remained guarded. They said no one but the king could enter. They heard the singing, too, but they said that everything in that room was just an illusion. An enchantment, a trick played by the gods.”

For some reason I couldn’t quite place, gooseflesh tickledmy arms. I rubbed my skin and frowned at her. “Do you think there’s another explanation?”

She combed her fingers through her black-and-silver hair. “If whatever lies within that room is so magical, so wondrous, why wouldn’t the king share it, like every other marvel in this palace? There must be something within that he does not wish to show the court.”

I thought about the father I was getting to know. The man who found joy in beauty and music and everything bright and loud. He wouldn’t want to hide any splendor. But on the other hand, our first talk was in that quiet orangery. Despite the radiance to him, the golden effortlessness to him, his shoulders had sagged like he bore a great sorrow. He had held my hand so tightly, like he had needed me.

“Perhaps it’s just a room he wants for himself,” I said softly.

Lope pressed her lips, her brows drawn. I liked when I could look at her and see the machinery of her mind whirring like the inside of some magnificent clock. But gods, she must have been tired from all the thinking she did.

“It’s... it’s not as if there’s some woman trapped in there,” I said, making my voice sweet and light. “If she was trapped and unhappy or unsafe, she wouldn’t besinging, would she?”

After a long moment, she finally admitted, “I have no argument, my lady, but... but something unsettles me about the king.”

My brows rose. “I don’t understand, he’s... he’s blessed by the gods—”

“They say that. Again and again,” she murmured, her voice weak and tired. “But I’ve found that when someone shouts about how smart they are or how beautiful or perfect they are over and over again, it’s because they’re just the opposite.”

It made sense. There was a play I’d read once about a man who touted how pious he was, over and over, only to be lascivious and cruel.

And yet...

“Lope he—he’s so young. That must be proof he is favored by the gods. There can be no other explanation.”

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