Page 24 of Wicked Prince of Mirrors
They were.
Pale light illuminated the hall, but my relief was short-lived as I slammed into a hard chest. Hands grabbed my shoulders to steady me and I looked up.
At Methrin.
He was half dressed, hair rumpled, shadows dancing across his cheeks. “Esmira. Are you . . .”
“I heard beasts fighting, something is out there,” I blurted.
His grip tightened on my shoulders. “Nothing can get in here. We are safe.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but my mind caught me before words escaped. I believed him. Weweresafe. “How?” I asked instead. The cries were so near, so vicious.
“Magic. The castle is warded.”
Another cry came, and I stiffened, moving closer to Methrin.
“You’re still afraid,” he said, studying me.
His hands were still on my shoulders and slowly I became aware of our proximity. The nightgown Lyra had given me was practically sheer, and even though the light was dim, Prince Methrin looked at me as though—no. I could not name the look on his face.
His fingertips brushed my cheek with a gentleness I wasn’t aware he possessed. “Would you like a distraction?”
I swallowed hard, mouth dry, unsure what he might be implying.
“The halls are drafty, if you grab a blanket, slippers, I’ll show you it’s history.”
“Oh.” Giddy relief rushed over me and I stepped back inside, tossing a shawl over my shoulders before rejoining Methrin.
There was something different about him. An ease. And it occurred to me that those were the most words he’d put together that didn’t come out soundingarrogant or distant. His quiet presence was reassuring, even though he was my enemy.
I fell in step beside him, an irritating thought prodding the back of my mind. A wicked prince should be cruel, merciless and ruthless, especially to a princess, the daughter of a rival king no less. But Methrin didn’t look at me the way the Captain of the Venators did, nor did he treat me as though I were less than because I had magic. I began to suspect the stories I’d been told in my father’s kingdom were full of lies, leading me to question who were the Everminati? More importantly, who was the man who walked beside me and why was he called a prince, not a king?
Methrin had gone silent on me again, as though he’d used up his allotment of words. Questions burned in the back of my mouth but I wasn’t brave enough to ask them, so I settled for a safe question. “What is this place?” I whispered.
“This is Castle Isoule named for Seer Isoule. She originally built it as a sanctuary for those displaced by magic. Legend holds she touched every rock before it was placed, blessing it with magic, weaving a spell of secrecy into the foundations.”
“Why did she build a sanctuary? Were those with magic being persecuted?”
Methrin led the way down the stairs, pausing when we reached the bottom floor to navigate behind the staircase. An arched door was cracked open, leading into a hollow darkness. The sounds of the night faded as Methrin picked up one of the flickering torches and ledthe way inside. The earthly scent of wax and florals impregnated the air.
“Seer Isoule believed those with magic needed training, encouragement to use it properly, so she built this place to help them learn, grow, to protect them.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“No, her legacy has long been forgotten by those who don’t have magic.”
Methrin touched the torch down on something and a ring of fire rose around the room, illuminating the area. The leaping flames calmed almost instantly into a steady light, revealing a small room. At the back was a set of three stone stairs and at the top of them stood a statue of a woman. She looked down at her feet where a ring of candles and flower petals surrounded her. One stone hand was outstretched as though to touch or bless them.
Flower beds rimmed the edges of the walls and great bushes of a dark purple flower flourished, even though there was no way for sunlight to penetrate the inner room. My fingers tingled, as though they recognized her and the bud of magic within threatened to unfurl.
The rest of the room was open space, but the stones on the floor were an intricate design of alternating carvings and paintings. It was too dark to see the design that linked them all together, but I had a sudden vision of life, energy and nature all combined into one impossible force.
“What is this place?” I whispered, for raising my voice in this sacred space felt inappropriate.
“This is where she taught,” Methrin said, lowering himself down in front of the statue. He gathered a handful of the fallen petals and let them drift from his fingers like an offering of remembrance. “She was the first to teach magic, to help those who discovered it achieve their full purpose and passion.”
Purpose. It stirred the ache within, the desire to find the place I fit in the world.
