Page 2 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
I dug my fingernails into my palms and forced myself to turn and walk down the broad polished stairs that led from the garden wall into the main area. Standing here wasn’t helping matters. I needed to do something to keep my mind preoccupied. Maybe I could weed a little bit. That might be soothing.
Another owl called out, and I tilted my head. I looked at the tree and noticed the thin fronds of strangler figs dangling from the top.
My eyebrow lifted. How had the royal gardeners missed that? The thin tendrils had wrapped around the top of the tree. Strangler figs would creep down and strangle the entire host tree in time. Beautiful though the strangler fig might become, these magnolias were sacred.
If this skirt hadn't had so many layers and I didn’t hate heights so much, I'd have climbed up there and handled them myself. My magic lay with plants, but I had to be in contact with them to make it work. It wasn't enough to just touch the trunk of a connecting tree. But climbing any tree to weed or use magic was something Enola wouldn’t do, and it would ruin my appearance, making it more likely someone would notice me and figure out Enola wasn't here.
Amber-orange eyes flashed between the tree and me as if something had looked through a veil. I stumbled back, blinking hard to open them to find that nothing was there after all.
The blood moon was already getting to me, and it had barely begun. I inhaled deeply and scanned the garden. I kept waiting for the amber-orange eyes to appear again, but I was alone. Another shudder coursed down my spine.
I had to stop being ridiculous. I was safe. This was the Peace Garden. Nothing could hurt me here.
Exhaling, I tried to focus on the massive stunning garden with multiple levels of purple, blue, and white flowering plants in ornately painted pots and elaborately carved boxes forming intertwining terraces and a large courtyard in the center. Princess Enola herself had had many parties in this garden as had her parents. It was large enough for hundreds of guests to mingle, but now it was eerie.
A pair of pale magnolia trees provided a bower with a delicate swing hanging from a long, curved branch. The floral bower held a squishy blue and white embroidered cushion for sitting to think or read with a small area for refreshments. And in the center was a large marble fountain with the representation of Tanith the Giving Queen standing strong, her hand outstretched with the palm up to warn the Hollow King back as she had done when she bested him centuries ago.
The clear waters dulled as I looked at them. A faint hint of rot wafted toward me as well. Scowling, I darted forward, dipped my hand in, and smelled the water. It was still light and sweet as it should be. But…I tasted it cautiously. A faint bitter note marred the usual flavor.
Then the scent strengthened, and the waters darkened.
My head spun, and my stomach churned.
Had something crawled into the cistern and died? That had to be it. It wasn’t like it’d be anything else. All the wards and protection was in place. There was nothing else odd about the garden aside from the blood moon rising. And the flash of red eyes.
Be calm. Breathe. Nothing is wrong. You’re imagining things.
If I crossed to the opposite wall, I could turn my back on the barrens and the steep cliffs and this beautiful garden and look down over the city to see the festival in all its beauty and glory.
My heart raced faster as I paced out toward the opposite side of the garden and paused at the little bower made by the flowering trees. Beneath it sat the cushion and the small table with treats, a carafe of chilled white wine with peaches, oranges, pomegranates, and berries, and an elegant wine glass with a feathered serpent sculpted along the base.
Enola had probably made it to the Market Terrace by now. I paused and smiled. Despite being a princess or perhaps because she was, she always took far more delight in the festivities than I did.Honestly, I'd probably not be there at the festival. I'd probably be up on my flat-roofed home outside the city, enjoying the music and watching the stars. Alone. As I usually was.
It wasn’t the first time we’d traded places over the years, but attending the Week of the Moon as a common herbalist and gardener like me instead of in all the grandeur of the princess was her favorite. She’d swapped her pale embroidered silk gown, sheer veils, and elegant rings for my coarse hood, cotton dress, and beaded sash. She was likely dancing around the bonfire or playing games of balance and chance instead of panicking about legends and darkening waters.
If I climbed those stairs and reached the far ward, I’d see it all. Beautiful, bright, vibrant.
Yet my feet locked into place, an unnatural heaviness blanketing over me. My mouth dried as the bitterness coating my tongue intensified.
Then I heard it: a single ghost owl moan from the magnolia tree above me.
Justa ghost owl.
All other sounds except the water had stopped. The music. The insects. The loons. The night wrens. I no longer smelled the delicious scents of the festival. Only cold and rot with a hint of cloves and myrrh.
My breath frosted.
Maker, save me.
The ghost owl did not call again, but a presence loomed behind me.
Slowly I turned, my slow breaths freezing in the air.
The waters of the fountain had turned black and sluggish, spattering Queen Tanith's skirt in something oily and thick. The white and purple coneflowers around the fountain withered as a shadow rose from the darkening waters. Shadowed skeletal wings spread, looking as if they were made of smoke and yet pushing aside the trailing branch of the magnolia tree above as if they were solid.
A hooded figure formed within the shadow itself as it became a man with grey skin in heavy dark robes and fitted black trousers. A dark spiked crown sat upon his head. His boots seemed to be part of the thick shadows that pooled around him. His face had been stitched together as if something had slashed his mouth on either side, and his lips were pressed in a tight line, though whether from pain or concentration I didn’t know. Long, dark claws adorned each of his fingers, straight as blades.
His head cocked to the side, and his eyes opened, glowing orange-amber.
