Page 32 of Upon the Riven Throne

Roots grew through the floorboards, winding and tangling into one large mass that held the hourglass. Cradled by hawthorn branches, twisted into unnatural shapes and studded with dagger-like thorns, the glass seeped familiar magic, the magic Mireille had felt settling over her room every night the fae queen had come.

As she watched, a single glowing grain of sand dropped slowly through the narrow waist, as if settling in a sea. There was far more at the bottom of the glass than the top, though with the rate it fell she wagered it had been there averylong time. She reached one trembling hand forward but stopped short of touching it.

The fae queen’s magic was emanating from an hourglass inside Alder’s palace, as if the magic had intertwined with that of Rivenwilde. Mireille stepped back. The room was empty, other than the timepiece. The entire space seemed ancient and untouched. Perhaps as old as the Rive.

A common enemy, he had said. From a queen determined to gather lands. For the first time, Mireille wondered if Alder had more to lose than even she.

He would not want her there, she was sure of it. He would not want her to even know. She crept toward the door, keeping an eye on the table, then listened for any movement outside. The screams had gone silent. Mireille escaped into the corridor and hurried back in the direction she had come.

As she neared the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Thomas running through a crossing corridor. She hissed out his name and he backtracked, peering up at her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He reached out a hand. “Shadow creatures have attacked the ball. Let’s get you back to your room.”

She took the last few steps two at a time, then grasped his hand. “How did you know where to search?”

“Kin and I were in the library when the creatures attacked. We found a member of staff who saw you leave with Alder, before he came back alone.”

As he tugged her along, Mireille could not bring herself to share what Alder had revealed. That he believed he’d taken an ally of his enemy into his court was proof enough that he was desperate. But the sand, well that proved that Mireille was not the only who was running out of time.

* * *

Alder did not cometo her room, and late into the night, Mireille finally climbed into bed. There was no way to know if the queen would find her, if the prince would intervene, or if the queen, so close, could overpower his will. Surely, he would not have invited such a danger into his own palace, but he was fae. There were no guarantees.

Thomas was in his post by the door, lying on his back, a hand behind his head and boots crossed at the ankle. The door to her room was locked. But as midnight neared, it was the prince’s magic that settled heavily around her.

She sensed his presence, and the rich smell of bergamot, and opened her eyes.

Alder stood over her, offering his hand. When he helped her from the bed, her gown was revealed to be the deepest black. She was unsure if it was a gown of mourning, or simply that her slumbering imaginings had wanted to match the prince. She looked up at him.

He said, “I have a plan.”

CHAPTER13

Mireille reluctantly withdrew her hand from the wisteria tree. Norcliffe was well enough for the time being, particularly given that the queen was in Rivenwilde, and though the tree gave her comfort, she could not afford to linger. She turned back to Alder, his tall form limned in the strange moonlight. He no longer seemed quite so imposing, but she could not say whether that was owing to the dream, or that she knew his secret.

He had ambushed her with the queen’s presence at the ball, but each night, he’d given her the gift of knowing her father was safe, and that Norcliffe still stood. She asked, “You said you have a plan?”

He stepped forward, his dark eyes searching her face. “It will require your cooperation.”

“You want me to agree blindly when the last move you made was to invite my mortal enemy to dance alongside us. I may have agreed to an alliance, but I will not hand you indiscriminate trust.”

His mouth tightened. “Because you believe me a monster out to conquer human lands. Yet you would expect me to trust you when you would do the same as I.”

“The same? I hardly think?—”

He took another step forward. “I would do anything to protect my people.”

Well, he had her there. She folded her hands neatly at her waist. Around them, the garden swayed in an imagined breeze. There was something calming about the rhythm, though, and Mireille tried to steady herself in its pace. She said, “You witnessed our encounter, besides that she sent me every night to walk to my death—” Her eyes shot up to meet his. “She drew me into your chamber, but given the chance, she chose to drive the blade into me.” Not Alder, the prince who she had somehow bound.

“It was not the first time.”

“She sends women into your chambers?”

His expression shifted. “No, that’s—” He shook his head. “She merely taunts me. In my cage.”

“Oh.”

He stepped closer, and she shifted, too, her body reacting as if they were still in a dance. “Not an ally,” he said. “Not a pawn.” His last words were barely above a whisper. “But no victim.”

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