I don't visit Adrian the next day. I need time to catch my breath.
The duchess stays in her room as well. It's raining today, and I think the weather makes her lazy or melancholy or both. I sit with her while Morwen drags a brush through her long, golden hair. It seems like a comfort to Ethel; her eyes are shut and she relaxes into her chair with a sigh.
"What is Vaelune like?" I inquire, wishing I had thought to ask weeks ago.
"Just beautiful," says Ethel, still not opening her eyes. "Especially now that it's summer. The sun is out most days, the birds sing their beautiful songs... I have a pavilion where I dine outside when it isn't too hot. It's so dreary here. I wish we didn't have to stay a full month."
"I've made some progress," I tell her. I have no choice but to make quick progress now. Time is running out.
"Good. Do you think Adrian would be willing to move to Vaelune with me? Durnwall is nice in the summer, but it's so rainy in the autumn. And, of course, there's the incessant snow in the winter."
Piles of snow. I nearly froze to death living on the streets. "I don't know. I suppose he'll do whatever you tell him to."
Ethel opens one eye to look at me. "What's the matter with you?"
"What?"
"You're so despondent. Didn't you just tell me you made progress?"
It's a bittersweet victory. "Yes."
Ethel prattles on about Vaelune for some time. The rest we pass in silence. I pace the room periodically, trying to puzzle through thoughts I don't understand. Confusion muddles my mind. Usually, everything is so clear. For much of my life, there has only been one goal in sight: survive. Now, there's more. Now, there are too many options. If I deliver the prince's shadow as planned, I'll be able to join Victor's cause. Then I'll belong somewhere. Then I won't have to live on my own, feeling helpless over the state of Durnwall. I'll be able to do something about it. Isn't that what I've always wanted? To keep innocent people from experiencing the same, entirely preventable pain as I did?
I have little choice in the matter besides. What would become of Blythe if I fail? Of Morwen and Ethel? I always knew that such sentimentality could never serve me wellâcaring for others is nothing but a liability. But here I am. It's much too late for anything to be done about it.
And then there's Adrian. Just thinking about him makes my heart pound with unwelcome force. When I close my eyes, I see his gentle mouth curled into its brilliant smile. Yet I also feel Victor's lips against my own.
I wish I didn't. I wish neither of them occupied so much space in my mind. Everything was so much simpler when it was only me.
"Are there any portraits of the prince's mother?" I ask Ethel abruptly. If I'm going to waste so much of my thoughts on him, I may as well make use of them.
She rises from her chair, dismissing Morwenâwho was massaging her templesâwith a wave of her hand. "I'll show you."
We're both eager to have something to do, it seems. We leave the room and I follow Ethel down the cascading stairwell. The castle is quiet, and only the sound of rain pattering against the windowpanes fills the empty halls. They sound like hundreds of miniature footfalls, ghosts of the past overlapping and trampling one another.
Ethel brings me to a parlor in a remote corner of the castle, past the library. Though it's been dusted and its windows are clean, it has the cold, empty feeling of a room that is almost never visited. The plush furniture is in shades of pink, and a green carpet covers the floor. A dead chandelier hangs from the ceiling and a grandfather clock quietly ticks the hours away in the corner. There is a heavy loneliness here, a sense of time suspended in a hollow moment.
"Look," Ethel says, shattering the quiet. She points one slender finger towards a large portrait on the back wall.
It depicts a young woman, dressed in a vermillion gown with a gold brocade patternâthe colors of the Bancroft House. Though thin-lipped, she has a beautiful smile, and her pale blue eyes are bright with gaiety. Her peach skin is smooth, and there is a slight blush on her round cheeks and at the very tip of her narrow nose. What is most surprising about her appearance, however, is her hair. It's piled up, much like the duchess prefers to wear hers, with a few artful curls left loose to frame her face. The color is a shocking white that exactly matches the prince's. However, this woman's brows and lashes are the same shade as the hair of her head, unlike Adrian's.
How strange. "She was lovely," I tell the duchess.
Ethel sighs. "Isolde would be so disappointed if she knew what her son grew up to be."
He's not so bad, I find myself thinking.
The duchess and I continue on to supper, which, just like yesterday, is a quiet affair with both the prince and the king absent. I wonder if everyone here knows what Adrian is subjected to, or if they simply believe that, from time to time, he's disinclined to dine with them. Or maybe they've been fed the same lie he tried to give me: a mild illness.
Dustin ignored me yesterday, and I hoped that he would do the same tonight, but of course my luck doesn't last. He sits beside me and is silent for most of the meal.
About halfway through the main course, he says, "I'm sure Prince Adrian was grateful for your company yesterday. He does become despondent, being cooped up like that."
"Apparently, it's a punishment for drunkenness," I remark. "From what I've seen, however, he seems able to keep himself under control."
"He has grown skilled at concealing it."
"A worthy talent, considering how freely the wine flows in this castle." I take a small sip of my own, letting its tartness wash over my tongue. It warms my stomach, which seems to have been affected by today's chilly weather.
I hate how pampered I've become in this castle. Hardly any time has passed, and yet I expect Morwen to bring me tea in the morning and I sink into my plush comforters at night. I haven't yet become careless, but I could see it happening after several months of living so luxuriously. These people have nothing to concern themselves with besides shallow court gossip, and I can see why. The troubles I faced in Durnwall seem far away when I am so isolated here. It's almost as though they don't even exist.
"All I wish to say is that it's very generous of you," says Dustin. "Did you visit him today?"
"No. I was attending to the duchess."
"Well, if you have no plans tomorrow, perhaps you could spare some of your time for me."
A coldness that reminds me of the Immaterial Ring grips my body. "I do plan to visit the prince again."
Dustin grunts disapprovingly. He lowers his voice to whisper, "You do realize that whatever affection he may show you now will rapidly disappear."
I'm sure he's right, but a small part of meâa part I didn't even know existed until recentlyâdoesn't care. "I am well aware of his proclivities."
"Then I will speak plainly," he growls. "That man doesn't care for you, Nyx. A month or so from now, he will grow bored and move on."
"I will be home in Vaelune before that amount of time has passed."
Dustin is growing desperate now. "What of your honor?"
I smile patronizingly. "What of it?"
He shakes his head, irritated. "I'm warning you, Nyx..."
"You're warning me of something I'm already aware of," I tell him. "Cordelia didn't mind, and neither do I."
"Cordelia was heartbroken when she left."
My heart is like stone now; it is beyond breaking. "I'll bear that in mind."
After supper, I briefly consider going to see the prince, but ultimately decide against it. He won't want to see me after the way we parted yesterday. My sleep is fitful; I toss and turn, hoping that he hasn't told anyone of his suspicions about meâwhatever those might be. He must have figured out that I'm not from Vaelune, and he may already know that I'm not the duchess's niece.
In the morning, I decide to steel my nerves and go see him. I have to at least try to explain myself, though I'm not entirely sure what I can tell him that he'll believe.
Ingram glares at me as I approach. "He won't see you."
"Ask him," I say.
Grudgingly, he knocks on the door and says, "Lady Nyx has returned."
We wait for several long seconds, but there is no response.
"I told you."
"Adrian," I call out. "I need to speak with you."
Still, he doesn't reply. My heart pounds and I realize that I'm out of time. He wants nothing more to do with me. I turn around and hurry back to the duchess's room, fighting back the wave of dread that's crashing over me.
I shouldn't feel this way. I should be happy about this, pleased that this charade can finally end. But I'm not. Yes, I know what I have to do, but I never expected it to be this difficult. I don't understand why the very thought of stealing his shadow fills me with such trepidation. He deserves this, doesn't he?
I think I know his greatest fear. The time has finally come to use it.