Page 68 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
Shit. Shit. Shit. Dirty, broken fucking mirrors.The last thing she needed was Emrys catching her eavesdropping, even if he had invited her.
Twenty-Four
Quinn scuttled back and out of the balcony, making far too much noise. She landed in the hall on her knees and tried to get away from the council chamber as quickly as possible. Not that it mattered because Emrys saw her, and perhaps he’d known she was there the whole time.
After all, he was the one who gave her the password to the gondola.
But she needed to get away because her uncle couldn’t find her. If he did, she’d be in a world of trouble. But more than anything else, she needed to get away because a weight of betrayal sank in her chest, and she needed to run from it.
It was too much to bear. Her uncle lied about everything and withheld the truth about her parents’ murders. And Constance was a council member. Possibly immortal and definitely hiding a lot of secrets.
It was too much, and Quinn couldn’t breathe. Betrayal was a poison suffocating her.
But running helped.
Dashing from one hall to the next, she got confused. It was such a big castle, and every room looked eerily similar with its over-the-top decoration, filigree, and gilded finishes.
After a couple of minutes of trying to find the exit, she was halted by the echoing of screams. Loud and unforgiving. Originating from down the hall. Normally, Quinn would have ignored it, but those voices were familiar.
Constance and Kordelia.
It was crossing some sort of line to listen in on her friend in a moment so tumultuous, and Quinn really should have ignored it, but she was so utterly frustrated. Constance was one of her closest friends, yet she felt the need to lie at every turn.
Quinn’s chest swelled with hurt like an allergic reaction was smothering her innards.
“You cannot be serious.” Constance’s words were low and filled with dark astonishment.
This was followed by a lot of undistinguishable angry words thrown at each other back and forth. Quinn’s heart was a caged animal trying to escape, angry and beating against the bars of her chest. She counted to five, trying to steady herself before she tiptoed to get closer.
“You forget your place,” Constance said.
“I forget my place?” Kordelia spat.
“Remember who you’re talking to.” There was a pause before Constance continued, “You had no right.”
“I had every right. I run the—”
“You only run the Viridian because I allow it,” Constance cut back, a snake ready to strike.
Confusion slithered along Quinn’s skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Kordelia oversaw the Viridian, yet Constance controlled this situation like a judge’s gavel. But then, the queen had asked Constance first about her business, not Kordelia.
Was this yet another thing she was lying about?
Only muffled sounds cut the air, and Quinn’s human ears couldn’t make out the words. She tried to peek through the crack in the door, but she only saw grey shapes.
“I am sorry. I should’ve let you handle everything.” A cloud of blonde crossed in front of the crack as Kordelia humbled herself.
“Yes, you should have.” Constance was softer, but there was still a sharp edge. “Maybe Jane would be alive if we . . .”
“Yes,” Kordeia breathed.
“So, we are clear,” Constance said. “I need you to tell me when suspicious things are happening at the Viridian. I know you can handle them, but with . . . with what the mirror took from you, you don’t have the best judgment.”
Quinn’s heart rattled. They were talking about the murder, and they were withholding information from the others. So many questions slithered through Quinn’s mind, but chief among them was why would Jane be alive if they . . . what? She desperately wanted her friend to end that sentence.
“Understood, your grace.” Kordelia bowed her head in deference. The words were not condescending but sincere, which was puzzling. Why would she call Constance“your grace?”That would make her a duchess. But she never once told her friends that.
“Don’t call me that.” Constance crossed her arms, her face a mask of sorrow.
