Page 18 of A Promise of Lies (Shadows of the Tenebris Court #3)

17

Kat

I surveyed the space first, since I had no idea how many rooms there were and where might be best to search first. The huge bedroom seemed strangely empty, like no one really lived there, though there were clothes in the armoire and drawers. It took no time to find the golden pen Sepher had asked for. It winked in the sunlight streaming through the windows. I grabbed it and tucked it into my bodice. At least now I could focus on my search.

In contrast with the bedroom, an expansive lounge was very full, with gold and crystal ornaments glistening on every surface, and a ceiling mural of the sky with clouds that skimmed along as though it was open to the real sky above. Spare bedrooms. The three bathrooms gleamed with mirrored tiles, spacious showers, and one had a bath big enough to swim in.

He had two dining rooms. One with white marble columns and a long table large enough to seat twenty guests, and another much more intimate with a round table that seated four. The smaller dining room’s floor to ceiling windows looked out to the east, perfect for viewing the sunrise’s lingering colours once Sleep loosened its grip on the Day King.

And that was when I realised.

There was nothing personal here. No signs of Cyrus, only of the king. Certainly nothing that screamed “Search here for all my secrets!”

Still, I had one more door to try.

If this was anything like Bastian’s suite (albeit much bigger), this would be the equivalent of his workshop. I held my breath and turned the handle.

Boxes. Lots and lots of boxes.

But not stacked in order like a storeroom, more like…

I sidled between the stacks and found glass cabinets and a set of many, tiny drawers covering one wall, with finely made cupboards lining the other.

More like someone was partway through unpacking these boxes and putting everything away in their new homes.

I glanced back towards the bedroom. Servants had put away all his clothing but not the items in here.

An open box beckoned me closer. Half hanging off the edge, as though it had been taken out, then hastily discarded, a deep frame housed a dozen butterflies. There was something sad about their little bodies pinned to the board, their iridescent wings doomed never to flutter again. I peered into other boxes stacked around this one and found other insects as well as collections of pelts and pale skulls perfectly cleaned.

Something tugged me back to the butterflies, though. That lingering sadness, perhaps.

When I stood over the frame, I realised… their wings were moving. Slowly, they folded open and closed, showing off the beautiful faceted colours. Their legs extended and bent as though they tried to walk, despite the pins impaling them. My stomach turned at the thought of living in a glass cage, pinned in place, yet somehow still alive.

I didn’t know what I planned to do, exactly, but I grabbed the frame—their prison—and felt a snatched second of buzzing before there was a clink and it fell silent, as sudden as a thunderclap.

The butterflies twitched, then went still. Truly still this time.

The frame must’ve been enchanted to keep them alive and I’d somehow broken it. A dull gleam at my wrist winked at me. The iron bracelet. It had hit the frame and blocked the magic for a moment—the silence after the buzz.

Shit. If Cyrus realised I’d been here…

But if the frame had broken on its own…

I propped it on the edge of the box, then nudged it off. Glass tinkled on the floor, and a satisfying crack opened up at the corner of the frame. He’d left it precariously balanced and it had simply fallen off. No snooping humans with iron bracelets involved.

I sighed with relief that was as much for the butterflies as for myself and removed the bracelet. Magic flooded me, its resonance overwhelming, and I had to catch myself on the curiosity cabinet. Once I could see straight, I left the bracelet by the door and turned my back on the boxes of broken animals before trying another stack.

These boxes contained various items I couldn’t link together. An orb full of smoke. A music box whose tune hurt my ears. A locket containing shimmering opalescent hair. All sorts of strange objects whose magic buzzed and purred over my skin.

This felt like Cyrus’s personal collection. Something he didn’t trust anyone else to put away. Not quite what I was looking for, but close. How long would Sepher keep him occupied? It would take all day to search every box—maybe longer.

I wandered between the stacks, hoping for some sign or for instinct to kick in and tell me to look in this box—this is the one .

But I reached the back of the room and nothing had leapt out at me. With a huff, I sank into a chair surrounded by smaller boxes, as though Cyrus had sat here sorting through items.

This was impossible. There was too much. I’d have to try my best for a while longer, then sneak back in another day.

I spun slowly on the chair, surveying the room. There had to be something. And failing that, the first thing that caught my attention, I would investigate.

Fae lights clustered in wall sconces, casting warm light on the dark wood panelling of this back wall. It was a much cosier space than most rooms in Dawn. If not for Cyrus’s unsettling collection, I might’ve liked it here.

My gaze snagged on a a dark scar marring the perfect decor. A knot in the wood? Or a hidden button? It seemed this palace was full of secret doors if you only knew where to look.

Squinting, I approached. But it wasn’t a smooth, carved button disguised as decoration or even a knot, but a dent, raw and splintered, as though something had smashed into the wall.

And below, half hidden behind a box, a mirror glinted at me.

Gingerly, I fished it out, expecting to find it broken, but there wasn’t so much as a mark upon the ravens decorating the frame or a crack upon the brittle glass.

Interesting. Its edge matched the gouge in the wall, and yet it was perfectly undamaged. Why had Cyrus thrown it? I was pretty positive that was what had happened.

Like many of the items in here, it resonated with magic, though this was a deeper hum than anything else in the room. When I held it up, I couldn’t see myself. Frowning, I moved around, trying to catch the light, but still couldn’t find my reflection. And something about the frame seemed… not off but… meaningful. The design was more Dusk coded than Dawn, with moths and spears gathered between the birds, so why was it here?

It had to have some personal relevance for him to have such an emotional reaction. It certainly felt more personal than the other curiosities.

I backed away from the gouge in the wall until I found an open box. The tissue paper discarded on top looked like it had housed the mirror. Inside, I found a bundle of letters.

“ There ,” I breathed, scooping them up. More from whoever had encouraged Cyrus to bump his father out of the picture.

But when I opened the first one, the words “my darling” caught my eye. Love letters ? I didn’t think Cyrus capable—from all I’d heard, he changed lovers as often as most people changed underwear. He had no attachments. It was a good reason to draw out my flirtation with him—desperation to have me would keep him around for longer. If I gave in too soon, he’d discard me.

Setting the mirror down, I plonked myself in the chair, then set to work on the letters. Arrangements to meet. How much they couldn’t wait to see him next. How wonderful last night had been. Standard love letter stuff. Unlike the letter I’d found in his office, the seal remained on these, but it was a plain disc of grey wax.

I tried to summon the image of the other letter to work out if the handwriting matched. But I’d only seen it for a minute. I couldn’t be sure.

Still, this stack of letters was in the same box as the mirror. Did that mean he was in a relationship with someone from Dusk? I knew enough of fae culture to understand that would be shocking, but I doubted it would be enough to help dethrone him.

“More’s the pity,” I muttered as I flicked through the remaining notes. No clues about this lover’s identity.

Careful to leave them as I’d found them, I returned the letters to the box and found myself drawn to the mirror again. Perhaps it was that the silvery surface reminded me of Bastian’s eyes.

Missing him was a constant physical sensation—a splinter that just drove deeper.

I sighed, breath misting on the mirror’s surface as I thought back to last time I’d seen him, silhouetted against the sun, helping me up from the ground, then pushing me away.

Something tickled at the back of my neck. Something close to sensation of being watched.

And when my eyes refocused, I found the mirror had cleared and showed, not this room, but a different place entirely.

Dark and grey. Lacquered wood. I peered closer. Was that the inside of a cupboard?

The rumble of a man’s voice came from somewhere nearby. I froze, eyes wide. I couldn’t see the door from here, too many boxes blocked the way, but I listened so hard, I thought my eardrums might burst. My time was up. Cyrus was back.

The voice sounded again, muffled, so I couldn’t hear the words. But it didn’t come from the corridor.

It came from the mirror.

I’d heard of scrying mirrors that could see the past or the future or places far away. This had to be one. I opened my mouth to call through. Whoever it was on the other side would?—

A door slammed. Not from the mirror—from behind me. Somewhere in this suite.

“Shit.”

I couldn’t be found here.

I muttered more curses as I hurried to the damaged wall and slid the mirror back where I’d found it. My fingers caught on something, and I hissed at the stinging pain of?—

Great, a paper cut. On the back of the mirror, a folded slip of paper sat tucked under the hook. I’d been so consumed with the front, I hadn’t spotted it.

I didn’t have time to stop and think. I grabbed it, shoved the mirror in place, and fled the room, scooping up the iron bracelet on the way.

Voices drifted from the lounge, and my pulse drummed in response. It would be bad enough if a servant found me here where I very much didn’t belong, but Cyrus?

I’d be dead.

And that was one hundred percent his voice coming from just the other side of the door.

As quietly as possible, I hurried through the hall, thankful for the thick carpet muffling my steps.

Please don’t come this way , I chanted internally. It was painful to ease open his bedroom door rather than flinging it wide as quickly as possible, but I had no choice. I needed silence as much as speed.

Once I had the door shut behind me, I allowed myself a deep breath and hurried to the secret passage. Marble statuette back on its plinth, then into the darkness once more.

Working my way to the entrance, I kept my sweaty hand closed around the slip of paper. Somewhere along the way I’d lost the dim fae light Sepher had sent with me, so I had to keep every ounce of focus on feeling my way in pitch black.

Aside from the butterflies, had I put everything away exactly? The question tortured me with every step.

After I turned the corner, I edged forward until I located the pit, leapt over that, and ran the rest of the way to the door. Someone had been good at planning, because they had a spy hole at the entrance, perfect for checking the main corridor before emerging from the hidden passages. My eye burned at the sudden light, but the way was clear.

I stepped out, dusted myself off, and strode to my rooms.

Only once I was in my bedroom with the door shut did I unfold the slip of paper.

Just two sentences covered it in a messier version of the handwriting from the love letters.

I’m entrusting this mirror to you. It was my sister’s and I fear what my mother will do if she gets hold of it.

Oh, gods.

I knew that mirror. I knew who the sister was. And yes, her mother would be fucking furious if she found out.