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HIDDEN THINGS
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THE LIGHT FROM THE sconces cast dancing shadows across the floors. Savara had expected to hear the strange voice from her nightmares somewhere within the darkness, but the room was empty. Despite the light surrounding her, a chill caressed her shoulders. She didn’t want to admit it, but it reminded her of death’s cold grasp on the corpses she’d left behind.
A warm glow flickered to life on one of the upper mezzanines. She couldn’t tell if it was Griffin, but she knew it was an escape from the hollow room and even hollower gazes. She decided against placing her hand on the railings, should she incur the wrath of unknown bugs, or spirits—or both—and began her ascent.
The palace might have been beautiful in its hay day—chandeliers made of sparkling crystal hung above reflective marble floors, opulent objects commanded attention at every turn, on display in every room, resting on every available surface. There were libraries, studies, bed chambers, rooms for entertaining, rooms for war—she passed them all. It was the kind of place you had a hard time forgetting, and yet she had.
The next corner she rounded held the familiar scent of lilies and peach cream. It hung in the air just beyond one of the chambers. The room, elegant and teeming with grandeur, was a whale’s length and twice its breadth. The master bedroom. Towering pillars of white marble on either side of the bed encased it in draping silk, making it look as intimidating as the palace itself. At the end of the room, she spotted a large armoire filled with billowing gowns of the finest silk and satin, and they all smelled of the same lilies and peach cream. It suddenly dawned on her that the smell she was so intimately acquainted with belonged to the mother she could not remember.
Savara pulled out an airy white dress with gold embellishments and cape sleeves that draped off the shoulders. She looked around hesitantly before stripping down and slipping into it. It was all too wide at the hips and slightly loose at the shoulders. Slits at either side made her feel exposed, naked. Her mother must have been a force to be reckoned with to don something so open with any kind of confidence. The dress itself felt like a hollow hug, but a hug, nonetheless. Her reflection in the mirror looked hauntingly false, like a ghostly reminder of what might have been had things turned out differently. Swathed in silks whose luxury she couldn’t have dreamed of, from a world she couldn’t remember, Savara felt like nothing more than a house cat among lions. She switched back into her tunic and travelling cloak and returned the dress to its tomb.
The room at the end of the hall had been left ajar. This new room was entirely vacant save for covered paintings that hung like ghosts from the walls. Particles of dust floated gently in the air like snowflakes that refused to touch the ground. Savara tried her best to not think of how much the dust smelled of ash—and not the kind left behind by burning wood. The room had a stagnancy about it that made her skin prickle. She thought of leaving when a light breeze wafted through the open windows and lifted the edge of one of the sheets free. She had no idea why she was compelled to fix it, but as she drew closer, part of her memory lit up. She pulled back the sheet with the grace of a matador.
Had it not been for the experience with Griffin’s scar the day before, Savara might not have believed it when the energy caressed her fingers. A flash of memory sparked through her mind like sheet lightning racing amongst the clouds, just enough to make her re-evaluate the vacant room. She looked around at the rest of the paintings hanging under the ghostly sheets, stripping them down one by one until she found herself standing in the middle of the answer to the question she hadn’t dared ask.
My room.
In a house that all would remember, her room begged to be forgotten. Why? She wondered what it must have been like to live here. Would she have been treated well? With more food than she could ever eat, more clothes than she could ever wear, servants to wait on her, hand, and foot, would she have wanted more? I’m the girl with the scrapes on her knees and the knots in her hair, she thought. The people who lived here were cut out for royalty. Maybe that’s why I was cut out.
Had it not been for a shout of despair, she would have forgotten about Griffin entirely. Savara followed the lingering sound of the echo down the stairs and past an indoor magma garden until she came to a room lined with dancing white and yellow flames. The same magma from the gardens trailed up and down the walls, streaming through the cracks in the marble, like gold in kintsugi. At the opposite end of the room, she spied an ornate gilded throne between two grand windows, and just before it, Griffin. He knelt on the floor muttering something like a prayer before the golden throne, clearly unaware she’d entered.
“Is everything okay?” Savara called to him, surprised at the way her voice carried through the room. “I heard you yell.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said collectedly, dusting the ash from his pants as he stood. He wore the same face as when he sensed something wrong back in her uncle’s house. “I’ve just had my worst suspicions confirmed.”
“Griffin, I know you’re hiding things from me. Either you tell me the whole truth or—”
“I will,” he interrupted. “I just had to be certain before I made accusations...” He gazed around the room as he beckoned her forward.
Superstition, she realised. He’d told her before that something guards the palace, blocking entry to those without royal blood. And yet, something had managed its way in—managed to start a massacre under divinely protected ceilings. Maybe whatever protected the palace had changed sides, but if so, why were they let in? In any case, Griffin looked as though he feared the walls had ears.
“I am sorry I didn’t tell you who you were before. I wanted to be sure we could get into the palace first. It never would have let us enter if you weren’t her... the missing princess.”
“You speak about it as if it were alive.”
“I’m not going to repeat the mistake of thinking something this old isn’t.” Before she could prod any further, he launched into another one of his explanations. “It was important too that you came to see the place, in case it brought back memories, but after seeing you with the portrait, I think your memory loss is something more... purposeful.”
Savara had never given much thought to the gaps in her memory. She’d wrongly assumed it had something to do with trauma, only the trauma she referred to had been nothing more than fiction, carefully woven into her head with just enough detail to keep her from wanting to remember. Now, standing in the place she’d spent her childhood—the one she imagined very differently—she was ashamed for having never questioned it.
“I believe your memories, and those of everyone at your divination, were taken, and I am almost certain it had to do with the rain.” Griffin pursed his lips, straining his mind for a non-existent memory. With a heavy sigh, he added, “In the letter your mother sent, she said the shadows had awakened, and that they would hunt you down if they knew you were still alive. She’d taken your inner light so your nature wouldn’t manifest outside of Visanthe. It was stashed somewhere safe, supposedly.”
“Is that why he died?” The words strained her throat. Nothing about her uncle’s death sat right with her. Even thinking back, she remembered him looking out of touch on his last day. It seemed silly to think he might’ve known, but then, stranger things had happened since. “My uncle... because they thought he had my light?”
Griffin frowned. “That, or because they thought he had you.”
Savara wished she’d been more surprised. Ever since the voices appeared, deep down she knew she was at least part of the reason. It might have been her fault he’d been killed, but she didn’t wield the sword—she hadn’t impaled him. She still needed to find whoever did it and repay the favour. Simmering anger woke something inside her. Maybe it’s drive, she thought; after all, revenge is a cruel but effective motivator.
“What did she mean when she said the shadows have awakened?”
Griffin’s forehead crinkled, confirming the fears she didn’t want to acknowledge. “She was talking about them, the Arima,” he whispered.
“The sixth race?” The name sent unnatural shivers down her spine. Griffin too had paled as the words left his lips. The same tingling feeling inside her nudged itself forward as the sound hit her ears.
He nodded. “She must have feared they would come looking for her too...” he whispered as he gazed up at the throne. “She was right. It took them a while, practically six years, but I guess the shadows finally managed to breach the palace. They slaughtered her and the rest of the inhabitants. I didn’t want to believe it, but after seeing the broken throne, I knew they hadn’t come to kill.”
Savara followed his gaze upward, to where the throne stood imposingly on a marble dais. The intricacy of it made it hard to focus on any one spot. “It doesn’t look broken at all.”
“Trust me, it is. There used to be an orb at the heart of the throne, placed so that no one could see it when the king or queen sat wearing their crown. And before you ask,” he continued, as if reading her mind, “No. It couldn’t have fallen out. Nothing short of forceful prying would have moved it from its resting place.”
Savara followed the intricate fretwork with her eyes until she found it. At the heart of the throne, she spied a notch that looked like it used to hold something small and circular, as Griffin had said.
“What was it? And why does it matter so much that it’s gone?” Savara asked, looking back at him with eyes that had grown weary from taking in a past she’d never remember and a man who couldn’t give her the peace of mind she needed.
In typical Griffin fashion, she saw the cogs in his mind turning the question around in his head. He squared his jaw, frowning as he searched for the right words, but it appeared there was no right way to say these. “It means the attack on the palace was just a distraction.”
Distraction? Savara braced her arms around her torse, containing the shivers that ran incessantly up and down her spine. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how soulless a person would have to be to commit such an atrocity. “They did all of that for a marble?”
Griffin furrowed his brow. It looked heavier now, laden with the weight of this new understanding. “Not a marble. Each nation, at the time of its inception, was given an orb to guard and protect. As is the case with anything of great power, they became legends, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.”
“What’s so important about them?”
“Legend says, each orb holds the primal energy of its respective cycle,” Griffin replied, processing the information as he explained. “Like infinite batteries. This one was the original fire, given to man by Iturri, the spirit of all power, and which was then used to light the bonfire of Osiir. In theory, the orb could be used to control the element without being divined.”
“They want to control other elements?”
Griffin shook his head. “All this trouble for a little extra power? I doubt it.” Though by the way his skin prickled, Savara could tell it was more than a little.
“I don’t understand what this all has to do with me. They found their battery, you said they attacked long before they came for me. Why?” She could tell he was on the fence about explaining the problem to her, so she tapped her foot adamantly. “If something is after me, I have the right to know.”
“They must have found wherever your mother stashed your inner light as well. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have seen it when I collected you.”
“I have powers then?” Savara’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Like my mother? Like Sebastian?”
Griffin stared at the floor. “I don’t entirely know...”
“What do you mean?” By the way Griffin avoided her eyes, Savara could tell he was hiding something. She wondered what could’ve ruffled him so when a dangerous thought occurred to her. Part of her had suspected it, ever since she saw the glistening dagger in his room, ever since she began hearing the voices in her head. Why else would they have sent me away? And why would someone be looking for me now, unless...
In his avoidance, she found her confirmation.
“I’m one of them,” she whispered, afraid that saying it aloud would bring on a curse. Griffin stared at the floor; his brows furrowed. Doubt rippled from him and angered her. “I’m one of them, aren’t I?” she reaffirmed. “That’s why you need me...”
“Why would you say that?”
“Answer my question, Griffin.”
“Yes.” He frowned at her. “I believe you are.”
“And you brought me back because of those powers; because you want to see what I can do, to know what you’re up against. Right?”
“Savara, it’s not like that.”
“You’re right. Maybe it’s worse. Maybe you want to use me as a weapon. Is that it? Your secret weapon,” she growled. The anger swelled inside her, its heat throbbing below her skin. “Jasper was right, wasn’t he?” She stepped away, needing to put distance between them. “You’re using me,” she scoffed. “That was the plan all along! How could I have been so stupid?”
“Savara, I swear to you, I wasn’t sure... I couldn’t be sure until just now that you were one of them. I brought you back for your prote—”
“Protection?” she barked. The palace rumbled beneath them. “Don’t you dare say protection. Not after keeping all those secrets. Look how many others tried to protect me—kept secrets from me—and look how well it turned out for them. What makes you think you’ll end up any different? Besides, if my powers are so fearsome, why do I need your protection?”
Savara waited for an answer that would never come. She knew this of him already and yet she still hoped some part of him would give up this game. Maybe he was incapable of telling the full truth. Maybe his demons forced him to always seek the upper hand. Maybe he was right to do so, living in this world that played by other rules. Griffin was the one who’d promised her answers, and yet, of all the people she’d met, his were the least satisfying. Thinking back on all the people she’d met, Savara finally realised what had him—and her family—so troubled. The anger inside her subsided, replaced by something of a darker persuasion. She lowered her voice. “You’re protecting everyone else from me.”
“If I had told you what I thought you were outright, you might have sought the information on your own... You might not have liked what you found.”
“I don’t like it now any more than I would’ve if I’d found out before.”
Griffin walked over to her slowly so she wouldn’t lash out, took her shoulders in his hands gently, and gazed into her tear-filled eyes. “I am not using you, Savara,” he began softly, not necessarily ignoring the comment, but keeping the distance between it and him very much alive. “Nor am I afraid of you hurting anyone.”
That makes one of us, she thought.
“The world is out of balance, and I think there’s a good chance you have something to do with it. If they are back, you can be sure a war isn’t far behind, and I will not let you become a pawn in their sinister game. So, like it or not, I am protecting you, and everyone else, from what I see as a threat to this world as we know it.”
This truth brought her little comfort. Not being a pawn in their game meant becoming a pawn in his. Savara began to wish she’d listened to Jasper the day they made the jump. Maybe now they would’ve been at Skully’s, passing the time with a plate of cookies and convincing themselves that just as much adventure lay in their world—no, not her world. This was her world. Savara shivered. Either way, if what Griffin said about people hunting her was right, she probably wouldn’t have made it through the night.
“What is it that they—I—we—not that I’m like them...” She wasn’t like them. She rejected the idea of being lumped into the nightmare that was them, but the question remained. “What can the Arima do?”
For what felt like the first time in their conversation, Griffin’s words held no secrets. “Nobody knows. The ghost stories say they could reach into people’s souls... Control their minds... Manipulate their humanity...”
But his words were marked by a questioning tone. He needed to know if she had been able to do anything similar. Savara shrugged. Other than sensing people’s feelings, there was nothing that seemed extraordinary about her at all.
“Griffin,” she whispered, still processing the strange twist of events as a single tear slid down her cheek. She couldn’t tell whether it fell because of her lost family, the world she’d inadvertently ruined, or for her own horrible sense of self-loathing, but she made no move to stop it. “You said that people were afraid of them... that they were evil.” He raised an eyebrow. The question left a foul taste in her mouth. Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell her outright. Maybe he’d already asked himself the same question. “What does that say about me?” she asked, pulling away from him—just in case. She could see the thought playing around in the back of his mind.
“You’re not like them,” he replied, but the sudden stiffness in his tone and shoulders told her that he wasn’t so sure either. Griffin took on different personalities depending on the situation. Sometimes he was brave and stoic, other times calculating and manipulative. This new face—the hesitant purse of his lips, avoidant stare, furrowed brow—this doubtful Griffin was by far the worst. She saw it most clearly in his eyes, the look of a gambler beginning to question his flush. “It’s time we get back to the others. We must tell them what we’ve found here.”
They retraced their steps, weaving back through the network of overgrown vines that used to be the royal gardens, Griffin with a swift-footed prowl, while Savara stumbled multiple times trying to keep up.
Their conversation had run dry after her question, but the silence didn’t bother her. She was too ravelled up in her thoughts to notice. Griffin’s answer didn’t comfort her, nor did his demeanour since. He and the rest of the Ris had built up the image of shadowy, bloodthirsty creatures in her mind, but after finding out what she was, she wondered if they were wrong...
