Page 79 of Avalon Tower

Freya scowls. “Absolutely not,” she says. “We’re not leaving without you.”

“That was an order,” Raphael snaps. “I’m going to check the châtelain’s chamber, and you’re going to wait for me outside. If any guards see you, leave. If I take longer than ten minutes, leave.”

He pushes through the glass doors into the hall and is gone.

Viviane folds her arms. “Fuck that. I’ll stay as lookout down the hall from the office to see if anyone’s coming.”

“I saw the châtelain in the cabaret,” I say. “I’ll go back and make sure he doesn’t leave.”

Freya blinks and shakes her head. “This is stupid, but fine. I’ll keep an eye on the palace’s security.”

I take off first, heading back to the cabaret. As I stride there, I resume the character of Lady Lyoners, only slightly more drunk now.

Deep inside, I know Freya is probably right. Raphael has no idea where the map is, and he’s acting out of pure desperation. Maybe Prince Talan isn’t even keeping it in his castle. Wildly searching for a single parchment in this enormous place is a doomed endeavor.

But I can’t get Raphael’s devastated expression out of my mind.

In the cabaret, I’m relieved to see the aquarium with the siren is gone. Instead, three Fey women are whirling around the stage dressed in little more than thin golden chains. The prince’s entourage is watching, but Talan is gone. Now that the Dream Stalker isn’t present, a few of the other guests have approached the group, trying to sweet-talk their way into his inner circle.

The châtelain is still there, swilling a red cocktail. At the very least, he won’t be barging in on Raphael ransacking his chambers.

A sudden, dangerous idea pops into my mind.

What if someone in that group knows where the map is? If they do, maybe I can find out.

Feigning a drunken sway, I saunter closer to their table. I breathe deeply, concentrating. Drawing out the frantic, violet-tinged magic, I let it spread through my body.

As the magic billows through me, I sense the feelings of people around me. I can’t read their thoughts without physical contact, but I can feel them, thousands of emotions and ideas and desires waiting to be found. Waiting to be seen.

Dancing by their table, I try to appear like just another hedonistic Fey. I sweep past them, letting my fingers drift very delicately over a man’s shoulders.

Maybe Aenor would agree to invite one of those dancers to our bed tonight. Perhaps if I suggest it, like something that I’m doing as a favor for her…

I peer a little deeper into his mind but don’t sense anything about the map. I sashay along, pretending to be mesmerized by the show, and brush against a woman in a green dress.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much mead. This is the fifth day in a row I’ve had too many bottles…

Nothing there, either. A few more steps, and I touch another man’s shoulder in passing.

I can’t get that tune out of my mind. It’s driving me insane…

These invasive thoughts sweep around the inside of my skull, deafening. Each one carries with it unfamiliar emotions, strange images from people’s pasts. It’s like having a loud conversation that I’m not a part of in my head. I can barely focus, but I have to keep going.

The tip of my finger touches another man.

That bastard Orhan, I’ll throw him to the wolves. He thinks he can do that to me?

And another woman.

I miss Alarice so much…

And another woman.

Mother, why did you leave us?

The flickering of your funeral pyre still lingers in my vision, interfering with my sight. It’s been two months, but I can’t seem to move on. I still remember our last talk. Well, our last fight. It feels like we were always fighting, and about the most trivial things. Like our final conversation, about the skirt I was wearing, of all things. If I had known it would be the last time I would hear your voice, I would have changed the skirt. I would have burned that skirt, just to see you smile.

I want to recall our happier times.

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