Chapter 11: Chapter XI

I gasp and push myself upright, stumbling backwards onto solid ground. The Silver Prince stares up at me, still on the lower stair. There's a look of concern on his face that matches the one he wore when I fell off of Burr in the woods.

"Lady Nyx, you look like you've seen a specter."

"What—what are you doing here?" I'm not sure exactly what time it is, but if today's schedule is the same as yesterday's, he should be practicing his swordplay by now.

He smirks. "I live here."

I grab onto the banister for support. My vision is still slightly blurry and my legs unsteady. The king's blood blurs with my father's in my mind, until I can't tell the two apart. Which one belongs to me?

"You should sit down." The Silver Prince takes my elbow and guides me back the way I came. I'm too woozy to protest, to I allow him to bring me to a large alcove carved out of the hallway, unfortunately conscious of the warmth of his hand against my arm. I have never had any reason to go to the East Wing, so I had no idea that this place existed. It's a quiet, pleasant area, shaped like a half-moon jutting from the castle. Like most of the castle, it is make of dull gray stone that looks somehow tired when the sun is hidden behind matching gray clouds. Through the polished windows, I can see down into the rose garden. The bright blooms are such a vivid color that I can pick them out even from this height. Flowers are Itoria's greatest virtue; Durnwall would be unforgivably dull without them.

The prince leads me to a bench beneath one of the windows and we sit down together. His guards linger in the hallway, eyeing me suspiciously. My right hand closes over my left ring finger, which still burns slightly from the echoes of the Immaterial Ring. I know that it has left behind no marks, but I still feel as though there is something incriminating about my appearance. Can they tell that I am a threat to the prince?

"If neither blood nor a wild horse can disturb you, I can't imagine what has managed to shake your delicate sensibilities," the prince says.

At the moment, I don't care if he's mocking me. But I won't admit that it was the sight of blood on a handkerchief that disturbed me beyond all measure. "Thank you for helping me, Your Highness," I say coldly, "but I think I can handle myself from here."

"You can call me Adrian, if you like."

I squint at him, confused. "What?"

"Call me Adrian."

It's impossible to tell what his ulterior motive is, but I'm sure he must have one. Either way, it's in my best interests to play along. And I'm tired of being referred to as something I'm not, anyway. "Call me Nyx, then."

He smiles. It's a genuine expression, though there's still a hint of mischievousness to it. "May I guess at what upset you?"

Is all of this merely a game to him? "If you want."

"A large spider."

"No." Most are harmless creatures.

"A tear in your dress."

"No." He must think me shallow.

"An unwanted advance from an odious man."

For a moment, I hesitate, thinking of the conversation I overheard in the rose garden. The Silver Prince—Adrian—noticed my discomfort with Lord Dustin, and he still seems aware of the situation. I wonder why he even cares. "No."

"Hmm." The prince is skeptical. "Tell me, then."

It's as though he's unblocked a dam. My aching body wants to release its stress, and the easiest way to do so is to let my hatred flow. "Do you know what my parents died from?"

His eyebrows rise. "No, I am unaware."

"Consumption. They couldn't afford medicine or occultist treatments, so...they died." These words are difficult to say. Five years have passed in the blink of an eye, and yet it also feels as though they have dragged their feet. Certain things, like my mother's laugh or my father's eyes, are easy to remember. Others, like the sound of their voices, are more difficult. I don't even have a photo to remember them by, only these rapidly fading memories and the hatred that their preventable deaths left behind.

My mother was gifted with disenthrallment, just like me, but she was reluctant to use it for personal gain. By the time the situation became dire enough that she would have turned to that, it was too late. And, being only twelve at the time, I was unable to use the techniques she passed on to me effectively enough to be of any use. She did teach me what she knew—or, at least, she taught me as much about disenthrallment as she was willing to impart upon a child. Simple lessons, like how to capture a shadow and hold onto it tight and how to instruct the shadow's owner to do as I bid them. I didn't realize until I was practicing on my own, months after my mother had died, that I could use this method to kill a living creature. At the time, my unintentional victim was a mouse that had wandered into the abandoned barn that I was hiding out in, and I was duly horrified when I discovered just how easy it was to take a life, even by accident. From then on, I knew that I had to be careful.

If only I possessed the skills I have now back then. I could have saved them. But I know that it's not my fault—what could a child have done? How could I have been clever enough to discern a person's greatest fear and use it to steal their money, as I do now? I know my parents wouldn't approve, but at least I won't die the same way they did. At least I'll be able to buy help when I need it, and not die in the street as I almost did when I was twelve.

My circumstances certainly weren't uncommon. Poverty is rampant in the streets of Durnwall, but none of the nobles ever seem to take notice. I wonder if they truly don't notice the plight of their people, or if, like Ethel, they are too focused on themselves to even care. Though I don't always feel so, I am one of the lucky ones. My mother was quick to inform me—and even quicker to remind me as often as she could—that disenthrallment was a rare power, one that is nothing but a myth to most people. She considered herself lucky to possess the power, which was rare to begin with but was mostly eradicated by King Thurstan's ancestors during the Age of Illumination. Before then, wars with neighboring countries raged violently, and the enemy's side gained an advantage thanks to their disenthrallers stealing the shadows of highly ranked generals and forcing them to sabotage their own armies. The Bancroft House made it a priority to wipe out disenthrallers, and they did a decent job of it. Besides my mother, I have never met another one.

Perhaps that's why I feel somewhat out of place everywhere except the streets, in the deep cover of nighttime. Why I like to keep moving, to slip through the shadows unnoticed. Yes, I am lucky to possess the gifts that I do, but even that doesn't make life in Itoria any easier for me. I am selfish enough to keep my gifts to myself, since I have nothing to spare for anyone else. Yet when I cross paths with people like Enya and Romy, who are struggling far more, it angers me.

It's the prince's fault just as much as the king's. He's been in town, and he's seen the troubles that Durnwall faces. And yet he has never even tried to convince his father to change anything. The conversation I witnessed only angers me more: if Adrian sees his father as weak, why has he never attempted to convince him to reform Durnwall? If the king is so malleable that the Silver Prince can prey on his feebleness, why has he never taken advantage of that for his own people's good?

He's just as bad as his father, and the kindness he is showing me now is only for a noblewoman. I wonder how he would flatter me if he thought I was the duchess's daughter, of purer blood.

Adrian's voice is uncharacteristically gentle when he says, "Her Grace never helped you?"

I have forgotten about my tangled web of lies. It seems like I will have to weave it even larger. "By the time she heard of their predicament, it was too late. The consumption took them quickly."

"I'm sorry, Nyx. I can't imagine what that was like."

I want to shout at him, to tell him that, just down the hall, his own father is dying from the same ailment. But I can't. "Of course not. You were lounging in this castle with absolutely no thought of what your subjects were going through."

His eyes harden, reminding me of the sharp steel that makes up my knives. They glitter like the blades in the sunlight, too. "My father doesn't regulate Vaelune as strictly as you seem to believe."

"He's the king. It's his responsibility as much as the duchess's."

Adrian bites his lip, truly trying to quell his temper. "The king has many responsibilities, which is why so much is delegated to people like the duchess."

I think of the credo, of how the king must be the last to eat in times of famine. Before I can snap at Adrian, I suddenly remember that he is always the last one served at dinner. I never thought much of it until now, never understood that custom until this moment. It's nothing more than a display of vanity. So what if he eats last, in a castle where there is plenty? His selfishness would surely show on the streets of Durnwall, if he tried to live one day like me or Enya or anyone else trying to survive in this wretched town.

"None of you can be bothered to leave this castle, to face the realities of Itoria," I tell him. "You can hardly stand to even hear of it."

Adrian shakes his head. "Don't make your common upbringing so apparent. You clearly know nothing about the rule of Itoria."

Anger makes my blood feel like fire in my veins. He's the one who knows nothing; I've heard his own father say so. And someone as sheltered and spoiled as he has no right to call me common. While he may speak the truth, there is nothing wrong with living among the people of Durnwall—or, as he believes, Vaelune—and not bathing in riches as he seems to do. I am more worldly than he. I understand more about his country than he, someone who is soon going to rule it, does. His lack of empathy is on full display, and it sickens me.

"And how much do you know, Adrian? You only leave this castle to visit brothels and bars. You have no idea what life in Itoria is like for the average person. Well, I've seen it myself, and it's ugly."

"I see," he mutters. "You think that I have no understanding of my own people."

"Yes, I believe I just said that."

He takes a deep breath, as though struggling to contain his impatience. "I have made numerous tours of Itoria—including Durnwall, of course—and am well aware of its condition. What you don't seem to understand is that there is much nuance to how the country is run. It's certainly nothing I would expect a farm girl to understand."

I laboriously swallow the desire to tell him who I really am. Threats are useless until I have actually stolen his shadow. "You can study your library books all you like, but the only nuance you'll ever understand are the innuendos that land you in a brothel girl's bed."

His face colors. "You have no right to speak to me that way. I could have you imprisoned for slander."

I stand, ignoring the fact that I still wobble on my feet. As weak as I am, I would rather crawl back to the duchess's room than sit with the Silver Prince for a moment longer. "Calling the truth 'slander' is exactly what I'd expect from as ignorant a man as you."

Adrian shoots to his feet, towering several inches over me. "Have you forgotten our encounter three nights ago? I could have you jailed for disobedience as well."

The spoiled brat in him is shining through. He isn't used to someone speaking back to him so boldly, and he doesn't like it. It's amusing that he believes he is in charge, when I am the one who could tear him apart. Soon, he'll be the one bowing to me.

"Go ahead, then." I cross my arms and jerk my head towards his guards, who are pretending not to listen to our conversation. "Your guards are right there. Have me arrested."

He shakes his head. "What's the matter with you? Just because you were raised on a farm doesn't give you the right to behave like a pig."

My temper, already dangling by a thread, snaps. "Have you spoken to your father lately?"

Confused at the sudden shift of subject, he says, "No. Why?"

"He's keeping secrets from you. His illness is worse than you believe."

I study his face, hoping for a reaction. Is this his greatest fear? Does he fear his father's death?

But his expression remains stony and unreadable. "You know nothing about my father."

"It seems to me that you know nothing about him, either."

His face turns three shades darker. "This is a warning, Nyx. Next time you forget your manners, you'll find yourself spending the night in a cold stone cell."

There's conviction in his voice but, oddly enough, I can tell that he doesn't mean a word of it. He has no intention to lock me up, no matter how much I defy him. "I look forward to it."

Unsteadily, I turn my back on him and push past his guards. Frustration makes me see red; there is nothing that this man fears. I walk to the duchess's chamber as quickly as I can, where I immediately rush into my own room and kick the door shut before flopping onto the bed.

My conversation with the prince has left me angry. I am not intimidated in the slightest, though, as much as he wishes I would be. At least, I'm not frightened that he will throw me into the dungeon. There's something about his company, however, that makes my stomach feel strange. I'm not sure if it's fear, but it's a new and distinctly unpleasant sensation. I wish I could avoid him, but being in his presence is not only inevitable, it's necessary. At least I can avoid speaking to him by using the Immaterial Ring.

The ring. I pull it out of my pocket and stare at it, mesmerized by the polished black stone so perfectly shaped into a simple yet elegant band. Even though its magic is not made immediately apparent by looking at the thing, it is a strange piece of jewelry on its own. Every accessory the duchess wears is made of fine gold or silver, and she only has one rare diamond and one strand of pearls that are black. She has no plain rings made of an unidentifiable stone; none of her elegant jewelry bears even a passing resemblance to the cursed object that is currently burning my fingertips.

I tuck it away. Wearing it has made me tired and ill, and even though it's barely noon, fatigue is threatening to overcome me. Laying back against my impossibly soft mattress, I allow my eyes to close. I'll let myself rest for a few hours, as I can't rouse suspicions by missing another supper. And I refuse to face the Silver Prince in such a weakened state again.

An hour before supper, I am wakened by the duchess's loud voice in the other room. She's shouting, her voice shrill with anger. Scrambling to my feet, I rush into her room. Morwen and two guards are just inside the door, eyes wide with terror as they watch the duchess's tantrum.

"How dare he?!" she cries. "The gods have blessed him beyond all others in Itoria, and still he behaves like a child!"

I rub the sleep out of my eyes. "Ethel—" I glance at the guards and correct myself. "Aunt Ethel, what's wrong?"

"Leave us," Ethel snaps at the guards. Once they're gone, she turns to me and cries, "What's taking you so long, Nyx?"

"Keep your voice down."

In a quieter, but equally fervent voice, she says, "Lord Dustin told me that the prince is going to marry Lady Cordelia. He has his mother's engagement ring."

I sigh. Even though the duchess is on my side, there's a reason why I never tell her anything. I knew from the moment I met her that she was prone to hysterics, and this only proves my point.

"I hope you haven't allowed anyone besides those guards to see you in this state," I say. "It'll look rather suspicious if you put up such a fuss over the prince's engagement to Cordelia, and two weeks later you've taken her place."

"No, no one else has seen me like this," she hisses. "But if they did, it would be your fault, Nyx. Tell me why you've made absolutely no progress towards your goal."

"It's harder than you think." I never expected Adrian to be so difficult to read, but he is. If he knew that his father was dying, I might surmise that the eventuality of his father's death is his greatest fear. But he doesn't even know about that. As far as I have thus been able to discern, the prince is afraid of nothing.

"No, Nyx, it's very simple." The duchess strides over to me and grabs my shoulders with a surprisingly strong grip, her long fingernails digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my gown. She leans towards me until she's so close that I can feel her warm breath on my face. Were I one of her servants, I would have shrunk under the intensity of her gaze. But I am not one of her servants, and she is no threat to me. In fact, I already know her greatest fear. She should think twice before threatening me.

But I know that when she looks at me, she sees a young girl who is woefully unfamiliar with life in the king's court. She knows what I can do, but she's never witnessed it. She doesn't know just how much she needs to fear me.

"You're beautiful," Ethel says, to my utter shock. "Don't you know how to use that?"

I've never thought of myself as beautiful, and it doesn't matter either way. "It won't keep me alive."

"I find the opposite to be true."

Shrugging her hands away, I step backwards. "Lord Dustin lied to you, Ethel. Don't ask me how I know this, but the prince doesn't want to marry Cordelia."

"How could you know that?"

"I'm a spy and a thief. I know far more than I let on." And far less than I'd like.

Ethel sighs and slumps into her armchair, pressing her fingertips to her temple. Morwen scampers to her side, whipping out a large fan and using it to wave cool air towards the duchess. It's amusing to see how utterly reliant Ethel is upon Morwen; without her, the duchess would be more of a disaster than she already is. And she can't even see how vital the girl is to her daily life.

"Everyone in court has seen how he favors Cordelia," she says. "Why won't he marry her?"

"Lord Dustin knows something about her, something that she prefers to keep a secret," I admit. "Do you know what that is?"

Ethel shakes her head. "No. Dustin has many secrets, and he keeps them well."

But she's been part of this court for all her life; she must have information that can help me. I should have asked her much sooner, but the duchess is difficult to talk to. Her moods dip and rise like the mountains and valleys in Northern Itoria.

Victor's necklace glitters around Ethel's neck. His warning.

"I know I'm taking a while," I tell her. "Sometimes, I need a full month to determine someone's greatest fear. At this point, however, I usually know enough to make an educated guess if need be. But Adrian is different. He..." I trail off as my disorganized thoughts swirl around my mind like a whirlpool. Trying to understand the prince makes me dizzy, and the lightness in my head worsens the feeling. It's almost as though I can't think straight when it comes to him.

Ethel stares at me, her head tilted slightly so that long tendrils of hair cascade over her shoulder. "That's the first time you've said his name."

I frown. "No, it isn't."

"Yes—you always say, 'the prince.' You never use his name."

She's more observant than she lets on. Maybe she really can be of some use to me. I did ask her for advice before, but I think I'm past needing advice. Now, the only thing that can help me is straight information.

"Never mind," I say. "Just...is there anything you can tell me about him? Anything that might help me discover his greatest fear?"

"I'm sorry, Nyx," she murmurs. "Throughout the years, I've taken little interest in him, and now I'm paying for it. All I know is that his mother died in childbirth and, because of that, he's never been close to his father."

Everyone knows that Queen Isolde died in childbirth; this is little help to me. "King Thurstan resents him, then?" From what I've heard, he doesn't have the highest opinion of his own son. Perhaps this is part of the reason why.

"Yes. Not so much for her death, I think, but for not honoring her sacrifice. You've seen what Adrian is like; he's not the sort of man that Queen Isolde would be proud of."

"Did you know her well?" I ask.

Ethel nods, her eyes taking on a strange, glassy shine. "She was a kind woman. Generous. It was her that ended our war with Frayden by marrying King Thurstan—Prince Thurstan, at the time. The people of Itoria loved her, just as the people of Frayden did."

"We still have skirmishes with Frayden from time to time," I remind her. Isolde's marriage didn't bring us peace; I can't remember a time when Itoria didn't see Frayden as threat.

"Yes, because the king of Frayden blamed Thurstan for her death." Ethel motions for Morwen to stop fanning her. "I know you're angry, Nyx, and you have every right to be. You wouldn't be helping Victor if you didn't feel that Itoria has been unkind to you. But you must remember that the commoners aren't the only ones who have suffered for the last nineteen years. You and I aren't as different as you'd like to believe."

She stands and walks over to her bed. "I'm too tired to attend supper, Morwen. Have it sent to my room." Glancing at me, she says dully, "I don't know what the prince's greatest fear is, but if you believe you can figure it out without humbling yourself enough to even speak to him, you're greatly mistaken."