I wake at my usual hour but remain in bed, staring at the clouds on the frescoed ceiling. At the moment, I simply don't have the energy to move, but I don't think it matters. The prince will be at his lessons this morning, and then he'll have his training outside. It's unlikely that Lord Dustin will bother him two days in a row, so I doubt I'm in danger of missing anything too important.
I can hear the duchess barking orders at Morwen in the other room. A few minutes later, Morwen knocks softly on my door before entering. "Are you feeling better this morning, Nyx?"
"Much better," I lie. My limbs are still weak, and I still have this strange sensation that part of me is gone. Hollowâthat's the word. I feel hollow. Had I known that the Immaterial Ring would have such a profound effect on me, I don't think I would have bought it. What makes the situation worse is that I still have to pay for it. Would Ethel give me three drops of her blood? I doubt it. And I wouldn't even dream of asking Lord Dustin.
Morwen sets a teacup and saucer on my bedside table. I watch her warily, hoping she won't think to look in the drawer, where the ring is hidden. It's not even hidden very well; I usually just cover it with a handkerchief. If only this room had more hiding-holes. It's unfortunate that there are no loose floorboards nor tears in the wallpaper. At least I'm able to keep it with me whenever I leave the room.
"It's lavender," Morwen says, gesturing towards the tea. "To soothe you."
Every muscle in my body screams in protest as I force myself to sit up. I wince as I reach for the tea; the numbness from wearing the ring last night hasn't faded fully, and every movement makes me feel like I'm being stuck all over with a thousand needles.
Morwen grabs one of my spare pillows and stuffs it behind me to prop me up. It's exactly like how the fragile king was propped up yesterday.
"Stop," I murmur. I hate being served, and Morwen has already done so much for me. I have to figure out how to repay her somehow.
"Let me help you, Nyx."
"I'm fine. I just need to rest a little longer."
She studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowed shrewdly. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulls out a tiny, diamond-shaped vial. A pale blue liquid jostles about in it as she extends it towards me.
At first, I don't take it. "What is that?"
"One of the duchess's tinctures. It's supposed to help with pain."
My desperation makes me less cautious than I should be. I take the vial and use my teeth to uncork it. Then I tip the contents into my teacup. It darkens the violet water and gives it a thickened, viscous quality. My first two sips are small and skeptical, but the effects are almost immediate. My breathing evens and the numbness begins to fade. After a long night of restless sleep, it's an immense relief.
"Thank you," I sigh.
"I know it's hard to accept help sometimes," Morwen says. "Especially when you're used to doing everything on your own."
I don't say anything. She doesn't need to know that I do everything on my own out of necessity. She doesn't need to know that everything I've ever had has been stolen from me, leaving me with no choice other than to take care of myself. I've done what I had to to survive, and I don't expect her to understand that. I'm sure she still has a family who cares about her somewhere, but I don't. Accepting too much help is a luxury that I simply can't afford. I can tell that Morwen is genuine, that she truly has my best interests at heart, but it would be foolish of me to rely on her. She, like everyone else, will soon vanish from my life.
The duchess shouts for Morwen again, and the girl hurries to the door. "I prepared a couple more gowns for you, Nyx. Hopefully you'll feel better by suppertime."
Once she's gone, I finish my tea and set the cup aside. The vial and its cork are still on the bed beside me, so I reunite them and turn the glass over in my hands. It glitters in the light, much like the prince's sapphire ring.
That reminds me: royal blood. I tuck the vial into the drawer next to the Immaterial Ring. I'll have to find a way to procure some eventually, and that vial is the perfect size to store it.
Morwen's tea relaxes me enough that I am able to fall asleep again. This time, it's a deep, dreamless sleep, blessedly dark and void of shadows. When I wake, the golden sunlight greets me with the intensity of its afternoon glare, a stark contrast to the gentleness of its morning rays. Though I feel almost completely recovered from yesterday, I dread the very thought of putting that ring back on my finger.
Too much magic is never a good thing. When I was fourteen, I went through a spell where I would steal as many shadows as I could in a day, just for practice. My record was three shadows in one day, after only a few hours of observing my targets. As a result, my skill at seeing people for what they truly are grew exponentially, and the ease with which I was able to catch the shadows themselves also surged. Shadows are slippery things, but I quickly learned how to hold onto them and not let go.
Looking back on my actions, I do regret them somewhat. They may have improved my disenthrallment, but my ruthlessness towards those around me was deplorable. At least I had enough sense to command them to forget our encounter entirelyâbut I did steal from them, even though most were only slightly less poor than I. I'm ashamed to have treated my fellow townspeople like that, uncaring of the fact that they were suffering just like I was.
Now, I only steal from the wealthy, or those who deserve to have their gold taken from them. I almost lost myself then, just as I am losing myself now. Though unendingly useful, magic is frighteningly corruptible. There are stories about this that are told to Itorian children; tales that warn of the dangers of magic. I remember my parents telling me stories about children who could turn fruit to sugared candies and ate themselves sick, or young men and women so concerned with their own beauty that they painted on different features and could never get their old faces back. They were so drastically changed that even their own families couldn't recognize them.
Standing on my now-steady feet, I go to the wardrobe and select a violet gown that shimmers in the sunlight. I'm reluctant to use the Immaterial Ring again after last night, but I hope that my newfound strengthâthanks to plenty of rest and whatever was in that tincture Morwen gave meâwill at least be enough to keep me anchored for an hour or two. I plan to follow the prince after supper, just to see if I can find out if he has any future plans that might help me understand him better. The ring weighs heavily in my pocket.
It's singularly frustrating that the one person whose shadow I need most is the one whose fears are most evasive. Some of my current guesses include: his father's death or wrath, marriage, war, his own death, and loneliness. However, none stand out as particularly crippling to him. If he fears anything, he hides it well, and if he has multiple great fears, he feels them in equal measure. None, as far as I can tell, can rightly be considered greater than another.
I don't think I believe Cordelia. I think she loved Adrian, though I can't tell if he loved her in return. Perhaps it was a personal fear that prevented him from proposing to her, as opposed to Dustin's blackmail. He's not intimidated by Dustin in the slightest, so I can't see his threats being the sole reason why Adrian would refuse to ask for Cordelia's hand. And I don't believe that lovelessness would stay him, either.
Either way, the coldness of his heart is plain to see.
The duchess and I attend supper together. Throughout the meal, I notice the prince is back to his regular self. None of the noble ladies who remain are as near his age as Cordelia, and none are as beautiful, but he flirts indiscriminately all the same. Some of the women blush and hide behind their fans, adoration evident in their dilated eyes. Others flirt back more openly, laying a hand on the prince's arm orâif they're much more daringâhis leg.
For the second night in a row, Adrian doesn't look at me at all. I wonder if I actually managed to dent his iron sensibilities.
When supper ends, the dining room clears out quickly. I step into the hallway and hide behind a tapestry depicting a soldier on horseback, taking a moment to slip the ring onto my finger. I wince as the tapestry flattens against me as my body becomes incorporeal, leaving that sunken coldness behind, a bitterness that pervades my entire insubstantial body. Then I return to the dining room to observe the Silver Prince.
I expected Ethel to leave immediately, but she remained in the room and is now speaking to the prince. He is listening with his usual, charmed smile, but the dullness in his eyes shows that he isn't interested in what she's saying at all. The way he clasps his hands behind him, fingers tapping impatiently, conceals his impatience from her. It seems that he has somewhere else that he wants to be, and I'm eager to find out where.
"It's such a pity that Cordelia had to leave early," Ethel is saying. "I'm sure you must miss her terribly. We all saw how close you two were."
Adrian nods graciously. "Yes, I do miss her. But I'm sure Bellvemarre will be glad of her return."
"She is such a clever girl; I am always impressed by the profits that come from her orchards." There is no admiration in Ethel's tone, however; she merely sounds jealous.
"My father has certainly profited off of Bellvemarre as much as possible." Adrian's smile turns wooden. Is he worried for his father? Or Cordelia, perhaps?
"Well," Ethel says, smoothing her skirts. "As much as I hate to go, I must leave you. Good night, Adrian."
"Good night, Your Grace."
It's subtle, but I can see Ethel's annoyance beneath her thin veil of friendliness. She has no fondness for the prince, and it seems that he feels the same way. As she leaves, it's almost as though she's escaping his company, even though I'm sure she is the one who initiated the conversation. This way, their marriage won't seem too abrupt.
I know she visited the king several days ago, and I wonder if she spoke to him about her interest in Adrian. Maybe that was why he suggested the strange pairing to his son yesterday.
The prince bids those that remain in the dining room a good night before taking his leave. Instead of going upstairs, to his bedchamber, he strides through the halls until he reaches a well-concealed side door. His guards and I follow him to the stables, and I curse silently when I realize that he plans to ride. It's twilight already, and a blanket of darkness will soon obscure the field and the woods entirely. While I am used to traveling through the night, I'm sure Adrian is not.
"Where do you plan to go, Adrian?" Ingram asks.
"A nighttime ride is all I want," the prince returns.
Another guard, whom I think is named Floyd, says, "We know that isn't true."
With a heavy sigh, the prince says, "You four are dismissed for the night."
That prompts a smirk from Ingram. "We don't answer to you, but to the king. You are well aware that we're not to leave your side until you're safely in your room."
Adrian's jaw is tense, but he knows that he can't argue with the truth in Ingram's words. "Fine. I mean to visit Madame Jeanette's."
Floyd chuckles. "The whorehouse? I thought King Thurstan forbade you from returning."
The prince looks resigned, as though he doesn't care about the consequences. "I know."
"If you must go, we'll take a carriage. It's safer transport." Ingram shouts orders at the grooms, who choose a couple horses and lead them around the back of the stable to attach them to a carriage.
I'm not exactly eager to visit a brothel, but I know that I should follow, just in case. When the grooms return with the carriage, two guards climb into the driver's seat, Ingram follows the prince inside, and the last guard mounts the step beside the door and holds onto the side of the vehicle. Yanking off my ring, I jump onto the narrow length of iron that holds the back wheels together, momentarily shocked by my own weight. My body rattles as the carriage begins its journey, and I pray to the gods that tonight will end my search. If I can find the prince's greatest fear tonight, I'll never have to wear that cursed band again.
My finger aches, and I still feel slightly numb. I hate the prince ever more, for putting me through all this rigmarole. If he were straightforward like everyone else I've spied on, this would be a simple task. But he has made it regrettably difficult.
We ride into Durnwall, a distance of about a mile and a half from the palace's hilltop pedestal. The buildings seem to close in on us as we enter the town, looming with their precarious height as though looking down on us. The potholes jostle the carriage and, with my numbed hands, I struggle to keep a good grip on it. Above, the moon peeks through the wispy clouds, nothing more than a sliver of glowing gold. Its dim light is almost swallowed up by the streetlamps, sparse as they are.
The carriage stops before a building lit up with welcoming yellow light. Like most of the buildings in this town, Madame Jeanette's has a slight lean to it. The shutters that cover the upper-story windows are slanted as well, with large gaps between the slats. Some of the bricks that make up the building are beginning to crumble, adding to its general state of disarray. I plant my feet on solid ground before putting the ring back on. Immediately, my finger feels as though it's on fire and that empty numbness overtakes me. But I force myself to focus on the task at hand, and to remember who I am.
I am the Shadow Thief, I tell myself, and I will not fail.
One guard waits with the carriage, but the other three follow Adrian into the building. The antechamber is uncomfortably warm, and a glance into the parlor reveals several scantily clad women lounging on sofas and armchairs, in the company of men in various states of undress.
A middle-aged woman hurries over to us, her face shrouded by heavy makeup and her hair piled on top of her head much like Ethel often wears hers.
"Prince Adrian," she says with a bright smile, dipping into a brief curtsey. "We've missed you."
Now with an audience, Adrian is all charm. He takes the woman's hand and kisses it. "Madame Jeanette. I'm happy to be back."
I can see her face flush, despite the layer of powder that covers it. She turns towards the parlors and calls, "Nellie! There's someone here to see you."
A beautiful girl with long brown curls rises from a sofa. She's dressed in only a corset and bloomers and, as she approaches, I notice a dark beauty mark by her mouth. Smiling prettily, she curtseys and says, "I'm glad you're back, Adrian."
"The pleasure is mine."
"Yes, it will be." Nellie takes his hand and leads him towards a dark stairwell towards the back of the antechamber. Ingram follows, and Madame Jeanette invites the other two guards to join her in the parlor. They oblige happily.
I hurry upstairs and manage to slip into Nellie's dimly lit bedroom before she shuts the door. I have no desire to linger here for too long, but I have to make sure that no important information misses my ears.
Adrian and Nellie sit together on the bed.
"What brings you here?" Nellie asks quietly.
"What do you think?" The prince places a gentle hand on her cheek and kisses her, a display so rife with affection that it almost makes me ill.
How can he do that? How can he give himself to so many so thoughtlessly? No wonder sending Cordelia away didn't bother him in the slightest. Why would it, when he can simply turn to a brothel for any intimacy he craves? Once again, my hatred for him grows. He cares for no one.
"You only come when you hurt," Nellie murmurs against his lips.
"Let's not talk," Adrian whispers, sliding his arms around her. "I've had enough words for one evening."
I push through the door despite the hollow pain it gives me, knowing what this will quickly develop into. I have no desire to witness it.
Ingram stands guard in front of the door, glaring at nothing. It must be frustrating to look after a man like the Silver Prince, especially in a place like this.
A great pain makes my body seize for a moment, almost blinding me. I hurry downstairs and enter the first empty room I can find: the kitchen. Ripping the ring off once again, I collapse against the counter and slide to the ground, gasping. Thankfully, most of the pain fades after a few minutes. I wonder how long the prince and Nellie will be; there's no way I can make it back to the castle on my own in this condition.
I hear footsteps approaching and fumble for the ring. Unfortunately, I am unable to put it on quickly enough. A tall young woman with hair the color of sunshine enters the room and notices me immediately.
I scramble to my feet, irritated at myself for being so slow. This ring is doing more harm than good, it seems.
She offers me a friendly smile. "Are you new?"
For a moment, I don't say anything. Instead, I stare at her in shock. I expected her to throw me out. "Um...no. I was just looking for someone."
The woman laughs. "Not your lover, I hope?"
"No," I say hastily. "Nothing like that."
"A friend?"
"YesâNellie."
"She's busy at the moment, I'm afraid." The woman pours a cup of tea from a pot on the counter and offers it to me. I take it, not knowing what else to do, and the woman pours herself a cup.
"My name is Madeline," she tells me, then waits expectantly.
It would be foolish to tell her my real name, so I give her my mother's. "Eliza."
"Nellie might be a while, but you're welcome to wait."
I take a small sip of the tea, which, though bitter, is surprisingly good. "I don't have much time, unfortunately."
"Maybe I could help you, then?"
Hoping that cleverness alone will carry me through this conversation, I say, "I know that Nellie's close with the prince."
Madeline raises her eyebrows. "You're here to ask her about the prince?"
Lowering my voice, I say, "A servant from the castle sent me. Her mistress is interested in him and wishes to know more about him. His likes and dislikes, loftiest goals and darkest fears...all of that."
She nods. "I see. Well, Nellie is not the only one who has entertained him in the past."
"You, too?" I ask. A more curious part of me adds, "How many of you?"
"Just Nellie and me. He's not as salacious as the rumors make him out to be, you know."
As far as I've seen, the rumors are all true. He's been rude and imperious and self-centered, and I find it tiresome beyond belief. "What is he truly like, then?"
A vexing dreaminess enters Madeline's eyes. "He's very sweet. A true gentleman."
I'm sure he could fool most into believing that he's a gentleman. His winning smile and handsome face are enough to beguile many, and his shallow manners could trick some. But his true nature, that of a man who drinks too much, sleeps around, and mocks those beneath himâthose like meâis evidence enough that he is as vulgar and uncouth as any lowborn peasant in Itoria. He's fooled Madeline, but he cannot fool me.
"A gentleman?" I ask. "Everything I've heard of him is quite the opposite."
Madeline sets her tea aside, her expression turning contemplative. "A lot of people in Durnwall seem to believe that he's just like his father, but that's simply not the case. I've entertained his father as well, and they couldn't be more different."
"You've met with the king?" I ask, carefully concealing my shock.
"Yes. His son is a far better man, though it may not seem that way."
I don't think being better than King Thurstan is a difficult feat, so I'm unsure of how much of a compliment that is. From Madeline's ostensible admiration for Adrian, though, I can tell that she holds him in high regard. I think it undeserved since she has only seen him here, where it seems that he doesn't talk much. Were he to allow himself to speak freely, I can't imagine the insults he would lavish upon her and the other women here.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"He cares about his people," Madeline says.
Her certainty feels unfounded, but I don't argue with her. "Does he?"
"He's generous with us. You would know if you met him."
I have met him, and have seen only selfishness. I don't believe there's a generous bone in his body. And, if he truly cared about his people, he would have convinced his father to improve things in Durnwallâand Itoria in general. He would have asked Cordelia to sell the food she supplies at a lower rate. No; he most definitely does not care.
Madame Jeanette calls Madeline's name. She swallows the rest of her tea and says, "You can wait for Nellie if you still wish to speak with her."
"Wait." I catch her arm before she can leave. "Do you know what he desires?"
"Love," she answers, with no hesitation. "And not the sort that any of us could provide."
My heart quickens. "And what he fears?"
Madeline laughs. "No. He is afraid of nothing." Then, pulling her arm from my grip, she leaves.
The Silver Prince spends over an hour with Nellie. When he finally stumbles out of her room, he's staggeringly drunk and can barely even speak. Ingram is rightly irritated, but overly rough with Adrian while helping him into the carriage. I resume my position in the back, desperately gripping the metal bar to keep my seat.
The Immaterial Ring is hot around my finger as I hurry into the castle and to the stairwell. The halls are deserted besides the occasion guard walking past on patrol. The moment I enter the duchess's chamber, I tear off the ring and shove it deep into my pocket. For several moments, I lean against the door and gasp for breath, taking time to get reaccustomed to my corporeal body.
Thankfully, the room is completely dark. The duchess is already sound asleep. I creep into my room, carefully shutting the door so as not to make a sudden noise that could startle her.
I reach for the matches on my bedside table and strike one, lighting my candle. The moment the wick catches and brightens the room, I notice a shadow lurking in the corner. In a flash, I yank up my skirt and pull my knife free, brandishing it in front of me in preparation to fend off my assailant.
The scent of bergamot fills my nostrils. In his skull mask and black robes, he's as unmistakable as the last time he appeared, uninvited, in my bedroom.
Victor, the Lord of the Underworld, has returned.