Page 11 of Upon the Riven Throne
Mireille did not feel the surprise that should have come at her hand finding a panel her mind had not known was there.
She walked into the corridor. If anyone in the palace was present, Mireille was not aware. Her feet continued through the maze of corridors, taking her to an exterior palace wall. The palace was somehow more alive in the darkness, but she could not pause to consider why. She only continued through the corridors, past carvings that seemed to writhe, past gilded decorations and crawling vines. Her steps did not cease until a toe bumped against a tall arched window, open to the world beyond. Cool night air brushed over her skin, seeping through her thin shift. The sickly-sweet scent of hawthorn flowers on the breeze drew her forward. She leaned into the archway, only night air between her and the courtyard three stories below.
Mireille did not feel the fear that should have come.
In the distance, firelight dotted the horizon, the fae courtiers in their costumes and finery, dancing at a moonlit ball. She could hear their laughter, feel their revelry. Wind tugged at the hem of her shift and she swayed with the music, further toward the open air and the nothing below. She had no control.
The song of the fae whispered, beckoning her on.Mireille, it sang.Mireille.
Her bare foot lifted past the lip of the archway.
Mireille was unable to feel the dread that should have filled her, but she knew what was to come.
She stepped forward.
“Rei!” Strong hands gripped her shoulders, drawing her back just in time. Thomas, chest heaving, hands trembling, murmured, “I have you. There we go.” He dragged her farther from the ledge, cursing and muttering about the sort of palace that would have open windows and an utter lack of guards.
Mireille did not feel the relief that seemed to swim through him, though she knew she would. He let go only long enough to wrap a dressing gown around her. “Come on, back to bed,” he said, and he tugged the gown tighter before guiding her by the shoulders. “This was a close one. Tomorrow night, we’re tying bells to your person.”
* * *
It was earlythe next morning, wrapped in her dressing gown beneath several layers of blanket, that Mireille felt everything she should have the night before. It was never pleasant when the feelings returned, never left her unshaken to have lost all control. The hope that a bed inside the palace might be out of the queen’s reach was gone.
She had woken to find Thomas’s spot by the door empty. A large dresser had been slid across the room, covering the panel they’d missed in their initial inspection. A collection of delicate glassware was placed precariously near its edges, easily crashed to the floor should the dresser be jostled.
They should have found the panel. They had made a mistake.
They would have to do better.
Mireille called for tea, then searched the wardrobe for her most serviceable gown. She found a scrap of fabric to tuck into the low neckline of the bodice like a fichu, and in short order, she was prepared for the day.
Thomas met her near the library as planned, where they intended to scour the shelves for fae tradition, law, and history. Much of the outside world did not credit the existence of magic. To most, fae were only a tale of times past, a danger which had long ago been caged, which was how the fae queen had been so easily able to slip into the kingdoms she’d taken before Norcliffe. Few understood the laws that bound fae, and even less was known about how they spent their time. Mireille knew more than most, but it felt as if she knew nothing at all.
The library rose three stories, open in the center where arched beams draped with tangled ivies cut through the light from a ceiling composed of etched glass. A network of stairs and ladders wove between balconies and levels, and yet, many of the shelves remained bare. Likewise, despite the size of the palace, not a single other soul was present. Mireille’s best chance to save her father and their kingdom should be there, within the massive fae library. But the scene was suspect.
Mireille glanced at Thomas, who was biting his lip. “Do you suppose…”
“Let’s not suppose.” He ran a palm over his neck. “We’ll do well to remember we are no longer dealing with the expected. It would be foolish not to check here first.”
“Right,” she said. “Where shall we start?”
Lips pursed, he gestured vaguely toward the far wall. “You take that section, I’ll try the second level.”
They spent hours scouring the shelves for any hint of information helpful to their cause. Half the tomes were in languages Mireille had never seen, and what wasn’t locked behind glass and marble was entirely useless for her purposes. She was being pursued by the fae queen, a malevolent terror who wished to destroy Norcliffe and all that Mireille held dear, and nothing could be done to prevent the impending disaster. If Mireille did not find a way to subvert fae magic, to save her family and her kingdom, then nothing would be left. The queen would rise in power, gaining more authority with every crown she grasped and every castle she toppled.
Bargaining with the fae prince had been, quite literally, their last chance. And she could not even find a book on the cultural history of fruit trees. It was beginning to appear as if they’d never had a chance at all.
By the time tea was served, Mireille had nearly given up hope of finding information on fae law or tradition. “Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Perhaps there’s not a secret here among any of the shelves.”
“So, where, then?” Thomas popped the last bite of a cucumber sandwich into his mouth. “The prince’s suite?”
Mireille’s own sandwich stuck in her throat.
He handed her a cup of tea. He said, “Well,Ican’t go in there.”
“And you expect I can? That anyone would allow me to dance my way right over the threshold to his private chambers?”
The look he gave her said far more than any remark could have.
