CHAPTER 38

Lying in the dark of Calix’s room, Tovi stared toward the ceiling and listened to the deep, even breaths that told her he was asleep. Her back was on fire, and she couldn’t get comfortable. She quietly rose from the bed and tiptoed down the hall, making her way to her own room and her now-familiar terrace.

Sitting under the stars in the cool of night, Tovi tried to accept the truth about Silas. Her best friend. The king who stole everyone she had loved. How could they be one and the same? Her head pounded and her heart ached. She wanted to scream that nothing made sense, but she knew deep inside that everything did make sense.

A commotion in the courtyard made Tovi stand and approach the railing. Two guards pulled Xanthe by the arm, dragging her toward the palace. “Let go of me!” Xanthe protested, her voice echoing against the stone buildings. The women ignored her.

Forgetting everything else, Tovi ran barefoot down the stairs and out the door, staying in the shadows but following as closely as she could. She sneaked into the palace, staying just a few paces behind the guards and Master causing such a big scene. When Xanthe was led into the throne room, Tovi stayed at the door, peering in and listening.

“Do you know why you are here?” King Damien asked calmly.

By now Xanthe was disheveled but still beautiful. Her hair was in disarray, and her dress had slipped off one shoulder. “No, I do not know why I was dragged here so roughly in the middle of the night.”

“Take off your gloves.”

Xanthe opened her mouth to say something but stopped as soon as she heard the command.

“I said, take off your gloves.”

They were the same gloves she had been wearing when she spoke to Tovi in the garden, the ones with the pearls at the wrists.

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Take off your gloves!” Damien bellowed, the veins in his eyes momentarily expanding so they looked webbed.

“I don’t underst—”

Damien rose from his throne and descended to the girl, grabbing her wrist, and unceremoniously tearing the glove away. When the brown heart in her palm became visible, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Through clenched teeth he said, “She is not fit to be a Master. She is not fit to be the wife of a future king. She is not fit to stay alive. But in my mercy, she may live. Take her to the dungeon.”

Tovi could not bear to watch as Xanthe struggled against the guards and pleaded with King Damien. She covered her ears and spun around, ready to leave, but her path was blocked. Jairus stood just behind her, his expression pained. How long had he been there?

“Can’t you do something?” Tovi whispered. Jairus turned his gaze to Tovi, and there was such a pleading fear in his face that for the first time Tovi felt sorry for the young prince.

“Not while he is this angry. It would do her more harm than good. But I’ll do everything I can once he’s calmed down,” he answered quietly.

At that moment Prince Ajax entered the throne room from the opposite side. Jairus motioned for Tovi to be quiet, and they both watched intently through the opening.

Damien paced while Ajax stood still. They were now alone in the throne room. “What is it, Father?”

“My son, I fear for our future.”

“What happened?”

“For all these years, we were under the impression that Jairus was your only surviving child. We did everything in our power to make sure the others were killed. After tonight, I am confident that three of your offspring are alive, and I am more concerned than ever that all four may be out there.”

“How could this be?”

“Your daughter was in the palace tonight.”

“Lena?” Ajax asked, and Tovi was certain there was a hint of hopefulness in his tone.

“No, the baby girl.”

“The baby girl? The twin? How can you be certain?”

“She has taken on the boy’s colors, but it is her. I have no doubt that Tovi is your fourth child.”

The conversation continued, but Tovi heard nothing of it. She turned to face Jairus, and she could feel the blood rushing out of her head and pooling in her toes. Her brown eyes met his violet, and they stared at one another. Several truths crashed through her mind.

She was looking at a brother she never knew she had.

She was a royal descendant of King Damien, a princess of this mountain.

Her grandfather had wanted her dead. Her father had let him try.

Both men were standing in the adjacent room.

Her long-held dream of loving parents shattered. Everything about her identity was thrown off kilter. In all her time of wanting to know who she was, she never dreamed it would be something like this.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Silas’ face came to mind. A deep longing to speak to him, to talk things through with him, and to just be with him came over her, but her very next thought reminded her of her rage. He must have known, and he kept it from her. How dare he? And why? The hatred she felt earlier in the evening overwhelmed her once more. He knew she had a family. He had kept her from them. How many times had she told him she wanted to know her parents? All along he had known. He could have told her. And he didn’t. How could he? How evil must he be to do this to her?

Having nowhere else to go and not knowing what else to do, she ran out of the palace and across the cobblestones, not caring if she was seen. She pushed away the voice in her mind that called to her.

Next time, don’t do it alone. Next time, run toward me.

She ran straight inside Calix’s home and up the stairs to her room. She closed herself in the bathroom, surrounded by her unrecognizable reflections, wondering how she had become the woman looking back at her.

The pain in her back increased, searing the skin along the base of her spine. She began to weep again and desperately tried to imagine that she was at the ridge. She conjured images of the mountains, the sky, the flowers, his face. No! Not his face! Anything but his face!

Silas. Responsible for taking her from her family. Responsible for stealing her brother. Responsible for keeping unfathomable secrets. Despite all these thoughts, his kind face in her memory held firm. She longed more than anything to talk with him, ask him her questions, and get answers that could soothe her pain. But she hated him! And she missed him . . . She hated him and missed him and hated him. It was all too much.

She turned her back to one of the mirrors and craned her neck so she could look at the new symbols, and her sobbing grew heavier and louder. Five terrible marks: snake, scales, diamond, flames, rose. Five marks that showed her unworthiness, her dirtiness, and her failure. Silas would never forgive her if he saw them. He would never accept her, now that the truth was out. He would look at her as the despicable, weak offspring of King Damien, someone unworthy of his time and attention.

As she thought these things, she watched in the mirror as a coil of chains was sliced into her skin. It was her sixth mark. Wisdom. Only one to go. The ring was almost complete, and then she would die at the hands of one of the Masters.

Her eyes darted from reflection to reflection, her mind absorbed in the darkest of thoughts. She had to find a way—any way!—to get the marks off her skin. She ran to the sink, filling it with hot water and soap. Doing her best to wind her arms around behind her, she frantically scrubbed with a small towel.

Her skin was red and raw, and the back of her dress was soaked. But the marks were as dark as ever. Wave after wave of grief and pain washed over her, engulfing her in panic. She fumbled around inside a cabinet looking for something that would help her. She found a porous stone that the servants used to grate away dead skin. Grabbing it with shaking hands, she went back to the large walls of mirror and knelt, once again turning her back. She looked over her shoulder as she attempted to scrape away the ugliness. She used every ounce of strength that she could muster, but all she accomplished was making herself bleed.

She collapsed, lying on the cold floor, her body heaving with hopeless sobs. She reached behind her and dug into her back with her sharp fingernails. She pulled at her flesh, tearing it apart until something thicker than blood oozed out.

As she teetered between unconsciousness and reality, she heard Silas’ voice.

I know it hurts. You can’t make it go away on your own. Just remember that I love you. No matter what happens out there, I’m always here for you.

At first, she thought he was there, calling to her. Then she realized it was only bits of memory, words he had once spoken in a different place and time.

She cried herself into oblivion.