Page 22 of Wicked Prince of Mirrors
The stamping of feet came as a young woman kicked off muddy black boots. Her skin was a warm blend of honey-brown and bronze, her cheeks rosy, hazel eyes bright. A yellow handkerchief covered her head, but shiny brown curls escaped. Like Rydlin, she carried the same height and lanky frame. Even the angular shape of their faces and deep-set eyes were the same.
I assumed she was his daughter, and when her gaze met mine, she smiled. Her eyes moved again, pausing on Methrin, taking in the messy table, flickering fire and bubbling kettle, before landing on Rydlin. “Company?”
Even though her question carried one word, the weight lingered, an unspoken language between her and Rydlin.
“Visitors from the kingdom. Prince Methrin of the Everminati has returned, and with him is Princess Esmira who drew him back to our lands, she has Mirror Magic.”
Lyra gasped and stumbled back, pressing a hand to her heart. “I walk in the presence of royalty,” she murmured faintly.
Rydlin turned back to Methrin and me. “My daughter, Lyra.”
Lyra regained some of her wits and pulled up a chair between her father and me. She hummed under her breath, eyes shining as her bright gaze bounced between me and Methrin, studying us as though we were pure gold. It should have made me uncomfortable, but something about the buoyant warmth of her presence made me feel like I could trust her. And it wasn’t just because she was another woman, it was also because she wasn’t a dangerous sorcerer nor a Wicked Prince who also happened to be Everminati.
“At last,” she beamed. “It’s finally happening, just as it was foretold.”
“What was foretold?” I asked.
Lyra’s opened her mouth to answer but Rydlin touched her arm and gave a slight shake of his head. “Princess Esmira is from the kingdom, she does not know our ways.”
“Is that so?” Lyra beamed at me. “We have much to speak about, in fact, come with me.”
She stood and moved into the kitchen. Taking two mugs and a jar to the table, she placed them in front of her father, winked at him, then hooked her arm around mine.
I instantly stiffened, not used to being touched. Rhea gave me hugs occasionally, but for the most part, aside from maids helping me dress or doing my hair, no one touched me. Yet I did not pull away as Lyra steered me out of the room.
“I’ve never met a princess before, nor one with Mirror Magic. You must be very brave.”
“Not brave,” I corrected her. “Just tired, confused, and looking for answers.”
“A very honest answer. May I suggest the heated pool, a cup of tea, and new clothes?”
“How did you know?” I asked, already feeling more at home.
“My father and I help many who have been displaced because of magic. Our home is a resting place in between their old lives and new ones. Although I suspect it’s much harder for you.”
Tears sprang to my eyes at her kindness. “It has been rough,” I confessed, and as we walked the halls, I told her about my glowing hands, the Captain of the Venators and his threats, even how Methrin has saved me.
“You’ve had such adventures,” Lyra breathed, releasing me. “I wish I had stories of my own to tell, but I will, one day.”
“Have you lived here your entire life?” I asked, more than curious as she opened a door.
Hot fingers of steam filled the air, and stone steps led down into the bathhouse. I’d never been in one because they were used by the commoners. In the palace I had a private washroom, but I heard that others who needed to wash went to the houses in the middle of the city. Rhea often informed me of the gossip her maid had heard while visiting the public bathhouses.
This one was beautiful, green vines hung off stones, coming in from a high window. Trunks sat against the wall, serving as both seats and storage. Long, flat stepsled into the shimmering water, and my fingers tingled, longing to wash away the dust from my skin and hair.
Lyra danced across the stones, untying the strings of her bodice as she flung open a trunk. “All my memories are of this place, although I catch flashes of something else, another life, another world. My mother . . .”
Mother. “Your mother is gone too?” I asked.
Lyra dug into the trunk, pulling out towels, soap, washcloths, and perfume. Uncorking a bottle of perfume, she waved it in the air. “I think the scent of lotus suits you, or there’s lavender. Wait. No.” Putting the bottles back, she dug in the trunk again. “Myrrh.”
“What is Myrrh?” I asked, noting how my question regarding her mother had gone unanswered.
Lyra took the handkerchief from her head and padded, barefoot, across the stones to me. She waved the perfume under my nose and a slightly spicy, smoky, rich scent filled the air.
“It smells—” I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. “Rare, luxurious.”
“Decadent,” Lyra added. Kneeling at the lip of the pool, she poured the perfume in. “Soak in that.”
