“This was when he proposed to you,” said Madame Voss. “It was the first night of Nocte Neverending and he was dressed up like a character from a most beloved tale, The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox.”
“I know that story,” Evangeline said. “It’s my favorite . . .”
Or it always had been. As she said the words now, they didn’t feel quite so true.
“That’s wonderful,” Madame Voss replied. “Hopefully you can picture it then. Prince Apollo looked so dashing as he rode into the ball on a mighty white horse. He was dressed just like the Archer—”
Suddenly Evangeline couldn’t hear any more words. Her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt, every heartbeat seemed to pierce her like an arrow—a thought that also somehow pained her. She fought to remember why memories from her favorite fairytale would trigger so much misery. But all she found was . . .
nothing . . .
nothing . . .
nothing . . .
The harder she tried to remember, the more her heart ached. The sensation was similar to how she’d felt two days before, when Apollo had found her curled up on the ground in a strange and ancient room. Only now she didn’t want to cry. This pain felt raw, angry—like a scream living inside her that threatened to rip her in half if it wasn’t let out.
Once again, she remembered that there was something she needed to tell someone, only now the thought of it was even more painful than before.
Madame Voss’s eyes went wide. “Your Highness, are you all right?”
No! Evangeline wanted to scream. There’s something I’ve forgotten and I need to remember.
Last night she’d convinced herself she could just let her memories go. But now it was clear that she’d been kidding herself. She knew Apollo had warned that regaining her memories would only hurt her, but some things were worth hurting for, and Evangeline believed this was one of those things.
She needed to remember.
“I’m sorry, Madame Voss,” Evangeline finally managed to say. “I’m suffering from a bit of a headache. May we postpone this lesson?”
“Of course, Your Highness. I’ll return tomorrow. I can tell you the rest of the story then. And we can have our first lesson on royal etiquette, if you’re feeling up for that.”
Madame Voss gave Evangeline a parting curtsy before quietly making her exit.
As soon as the tutor left, Evangeline started reading the book again, wondering if it might elicit any more feelings or memories. But the story inside—her and Apollo’s love story—was more of a picture book that read like a toothless fairytale, one without a villain.
Evangeline had always loved tales with love at first sight, but love at first sight was mentioned so many times that she half expected the story to end with an advertisement for bottles of Love at First Sight Perfume: Tired of Looking for Your Happy Ending? Stop Searching and Start Spritzing!
The book, of course, did not end that way. It also did not provoke any memories. Not even an itch of one.
Evangeline finally put the book down and paced in front of the fire. She racked her brain for any story her mother might have once told her about memory loss, hoping it might help her find a cure. While she couldn’t remember any, she did remember the stranger from the other day who had given her a little red calling card and said, If you’d ever like to talk, and perhaps answer some questions, I might be able to fill in a few blanks for you.
Evangeline searched for the little red card. It didn’t seem to be anywhere in her rooms. Fortunately, the man had a memorable name.
Just then Martine, the young maid who, like Evangeline, was from the Meridian Empire, entered the room with a tray of piping tea and fresh raspberry cookies.
“Martine,” Evangeline said, “have you ever heard of Mr. Kristof Knightlinger?”
“Of course!” Martine’s heart-shaped face lit up. “I read him faithfully every day.”
“Read him?”
“He writes for The Daily Rumor.”
“The scandal sheet?” Evangeline had read the paper just that morning. She could still recall some of the dramatic headlines. Where Is Lord Jacks and What Terrible Deed Will He Commit Next? Impostor Heir to the Throne Still at Large! Just How Heroic Is the Guild of Heroes?
From what she’d gathered, Mr. Knightlinger peppered his scandal sheet with personal opinions. His article about Lord Jacks had been quite similar to what he’d written the day before, but she’d been entertained by his other stories. Mr. Knightlinger’s comments, particularly about the impostor heir to the throne, had been highly amusing. He’d painted a picture that made Evangeline think of an excitable puppy that had stolen a crown simply because it was shiny and pretty and fun to play with. Then Mr. Knightlinger had gone on to speculate that the impostor might be a vampire!
All of this made Evangeline suspect that Mr. Kristof Knightlinger might not be the most reliable source of information. But she did imagine that whatever he said would be a little more varied than the “love at first sight” book from Madame Voss, and perhaps Mr. Knightlinger might finally prompt a memory.
Chapter 7
Evangeline
Evangeline liked having a plan. Her current plan was thin—in fact, it was more of a day trip than a plan. Evangeline wasn’t even sure it would take an entire day to visit Mr. Knightlinger. Still, she wanted to set out as early as possible.
It had been late in the afternoon when the tutor had left the day before. After an initial burst of excitement, Evangeline had lain down for quick nap, only to find herself waking up the following morning.
Although Evangeline still couldn’t find Mr. Knightlinger’s little red card, Martine had told her that the Daily Rumor offices were located in the Spires, a place the palace guards should easily be able to take Evangeline.
“You’ll just love the Spires! They have all kinds of adorable shops and dragon-roasted apples! And you’ll love the little dragons,” Martine exclaimed as she looked for a pair of gloves to match Evangeline’s dress.
Evangeline had chosen an off-the-shoulder violet day gown with a fitted bodice covered in iridescent pearls and gold-embroidered flowers that also dotted the hips of her flowing skirt.
“Here you go, Your Highness.” Martine handed Evangeline a pink cloak and a long pair of sheer violet gloves. The gloves wouldn’t do much against the chill, but they were very pretty. And Evangeline always felt a little happier wearing pretty things.
Four guards with neat mustaches, all dressed in polished bronze armor topped off with burgundy capes that flowed from their shoulders, waited on the other side of her door.
“Hello, I’m Evangeline,” she said cheerfully before asking for their names.
“I’m Yeats.”
“Brixley.”
“Quillborne.”
“Rookwood.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am hoping to visit the Spires today. Do you think one of you could arrange transportation?”
A beat of silence passed as three of the guards turned to the one who’d said his name was Yeats. He appeared to be the oldest, with a smooth-shaven head and a very impressive black mustache.
“I don’t think going to the Spires is a good idea, Your Highness. What if we gave you a tour of Wolf Hall instead?”