Page 93 of Moonmarked

Queen Virellaand theCrownless Twin PrincesandLady Noenwere next, as well asKing Aurel of the Four Thrones,the only fae who ruled all four fae courts for twelve days, the writing below his name said. His portrait was cracked in the middle, and his was the only one that did not move so far.

Then there was the Nameless Seer, who scared me shitless with the hood that covered her entire face and moved slightly with a wind only it could feel. Princes Tura was next, who played a lyre made of bone as she smiled sneakily, and the description below said she made five kings fall in love with her, then betrayed them on the same day—which, really, can you blame the girl? She was gorgeous, an Unseelie fae judging by her auburn hair, her face as perfect as the rest of them, but there was a spark in her eyes that was different from the others. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she made those kings fall in love, then betrayed them.

Now I was really curious to know how she’d ended up, if she was even still alive.

I continued ahead, deeper into the room, farther into the narrow part that turned into a tunnel, with paintings on the rounded ceiling as well. Fewer lights burned on the round lanterns on the walls, and there were far fewermasked fae with their drinks in their hands and their whispers on their lips. It was exactly what I’d needed, some peace and quiet, a distraction, a little time away from everyone—and the more paintings I analyzed, the more I felt like I actuallyknewall these people personally. Which could be the goal of making them move the way they did. Whoever had created these really deserved a standing ovation.

Eventually, I was so deep into the tunnel that no more fae were close to me, and other than a few footsteps in the distance, I only heard my own. I tried to speak out loud every now and again, mostly to the characters in the paintings, but no voice left my lips, only whispers, which confirmed that the magic of this ball stretched all the way here as well.

And that was okay. I didn’t panic anymore, I wasn’t afraid. Just like Rune said to me that day—so long as I could believe that everything that happened to me wasnormal,I would take back my power and I wouldn’t be afraid.

thirty-one

When I reachedthe very end of the tunnel, there were two benches to the sides between the paintings, and they were both empty. I sat down to rest my legs and to take in deep breath, to think about how I could tell Lyall that I wanted to go rest. A headache would be a good excuse. Or maybe just tell him that I was hungry—which I really was. He’d let me go back to my room, no doubt, except I knew that the moment I was alone I would regret it. This palace was gorgeous, but it was no less a prison than a barred jail cell. And there was no way for me to send a message to Rune, to ask if he’d gotten word back from my family—though he probably hadn’t so soon—and tobeghim to let me go see him somehow.

I missed him.

I was going crazy all by myself in this place, even if I refused to admit it just yet.

Then wind blew against my legs.

I raised my head and looked up, confused for a moment, all my thoughts coming to a halt. I could have sworn that cold wind blew on my legs just now, like someone hadsuddenly opened a door or a window close to me, when there were no doors or windows anywhere that I could see.

Masked fae in the distance, slowly coming toward me as they looked at the paintings on the walls and whispered in one another’s ears. They weren’t even glancing my way, and they were too far away to feel any kind of magic coming off them. Some had a very intense aura, but…

Then the wind came again—or just the cold air, impossible to miss against my naked ankles. I stood up, eyes wide open, ready to return to the ballroom at once—but then I saw the opening on the other side of the large painting of a Seelie king standing near a white horse. The shadow that the frame, which was thicker than my arm, cast on the wall made it impossible to miss it from this angle—the painting wasn’t resting against the wall as it should, and that’s where the cold air was coming from.

I went to it, thinking someone had broken it, had pulled the frame from its place accidentally or something, but that wasn’t it at all. The painting wasn’t against the wall becausethere was no wallbehind it.

Instead, there was an opening, and golden light was coming from the other side.

I probably should have left well enough alone, gone back to the ballroom, and told Lyall about it or something. He was probably looking for me right now, anyway, but talk to my curiosity. It had reared its ugly head, and the kid in me was excited to have found a secret passage behind a painting, and so before I knew it, I was pulling the frame farther away from the wall.

It was heavy, and I had to actually put my back into it, grab it with both hands and pull hard. The frame moved without making a single sound, like the magic of this ball extended to objects as well.

I looked back with my heart in my throat, certain someone had seen me, that they would stop me, or at least be looking at me or something, but nobody had. The five fae were still far enough away, walking slowly as they analyzed the paintings on the walls, none of them glancing my way that I could see.

Taking in a deep breath, I stepped through the wide opening in the wall and to the other side.

The air was indeed colder, and the sound of the music that you could barely hear so deep in the Gallery of Time didn’t reach here at all. Golden balls of light floated in the air, not trapped in glass but free to move about from one side of the corridor to the other. It was the same space as in the Gallery, the same width and the same tall ceiling—except the paintings that were mounted here were full of dust, and most were ruined. Not just the frames but the canvases were torn on most of them as well.

Fear made my heart gallop in my chest. Add in my curiosity, and my hands were shaking, and there was sweat on my brow before I’d taken the second step in. The mask was awfully itchy against my face because of it.

Though I didn’t pull the painting closed behind me—didn’t dare trap myself in whatever room this was—I still felt completely alone. Like nobody could find me here. Nothing could reach me in this place.

It was both liberating and terrifying at the same time.

The paintings didn’t move here. My footsteps echoed against the floor made of the same marble, except covered in a thick layer of dust, especially in the corners where the light barely reached.

I stopped moving for a second, ears strained, though my heart beat like a drum in my head. The air was thick with dust, too. Cobwebs stretched between empty candlesconces and from pieces of metal that were mounted above almost every painting. I only managed to read one when one of those floating lights went close enough—The Cursed.

The words were written in a beautiful cursive and the plaques didn’t even look golden anymore from the heavy dust that layered them. But those words still echoed in my mind as I went in deeper.

The portraits were still, indeed. No blinks or smiles or flutters of fabric. Just frozen royalty staring out from cracked, dim canvases. Most bore faint plaques beneath them, names half-erased by age, and the images weredisturbingto say the least.

A queen with her mouth sewn shut. A child with antlers curling through his skull, a golden crown hanging in one of them. A king mid-roar, his eyes burning black—all these with tears on the canvases, faded colors, and ruined frames.

Thoughts rushed through my mind as I went deeper, reading the plaques that were still not completely destroyed: Queen Redina the Hollowed with her eyes ripped from the painting; Prince Vael with thorns wrapped around his neck, most piercing his skin as blood dripped down to his collarbone; King Morvane the Still, which was basically a dark cloaked figure with eyes wide open like he could actually see me and the inside of my mind, the lower half of the painting completely ripped off.

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