Samuel stopped, glancing back up at Alexander. “What did you say?”
“The princess. She’s returned. Did you not hear the bells?”
Samuel wrinkled his nose and waved his brush. “Those damn bells ring all the time.”
Alexander drew in a deep breath, trying to summon his patience. “Well, she’s returned. Surely you can see something of her now.”
The old man drew his brows together and shook his head, then set his brush down. “No. I’ve seen nothing of her.”
Alexander sighed. The last painting of Norah was the image of her in the forest. It had come just before she had left, three years ago. When she’d disappeared, the visions of her stopped. Now that she’d returned, he hoped the visions had too. Samuel’s gallery held only a few paintings of her, all of which had been completed before she’d disappeared. Alexander knew every detail, every brushstroke, especially of the painting that had made Norah’s father take her away: the image of the enemy that would come for her—the Shadow King. The vision of her capture.
War. Death. That had been her fate, the fate her father changed by taking her to safety, wherever that might have been.
Then there were the images of himself. But those he put from his mind. “What are you painting then?” he asked Samuel.
The old man snorted. “Nothing you care to see.”
Alexander moved around the easel to look over the old man’s shoulder, and he sighed. Not again. “What is that?”
“What does it look like?” the seer asked with an edge of annoyance. “I’ve been painting long enough that I consider myself quite good at it.”
Alexander stared at the painting on the easel. It was a village in flames. The dead littered the streets, the houses had been destroyed. And in its center stood Alexander. But his image didn’t show fear. It was as though he relished the destruction. His image stared at him from the canvas with the want of war in his eyes, like the others Samuel had painted of him over the years.
Alexander sighed. Years ago, paintings like this had bothered him to obsession, but the visions of himself never came to be. He used to ponder every detail, trying to understand their meaning. Now they only served to annoy him. If it wasn’t for the truth in the visions of others, he would have thought the old man a charlatan.
He looked closer and scowled at the black ink marking the skin on his neck in the painting. Dark patterns swirled just under his jaw. “Why must you always paint these markings?” he asked the seer.
“Boy, I’ve told you a hundred times, I only paint what I see,” Samuel snapped. Then the old man snorted. “And is it only the markings that bother you? Not the wave of destruction you cause?”
“That’s not me, Samuel,” he said, irritated, but not too irritated. Samuel had stopped showing others the paintings of him, so he didn’t have to keep defending himself.
“If it’s not you, then why do you care if there are markings?”
Alexander let out a long breath and turned back toward the door, his interest waning. “You’ll send word if you see her?”
The old man waved him off with his brush. “As I always say I will.”
Chapter six
Norah stood by the window in her chamber, unsure if it was night or morning in the darkness. The winter sun didn’t rise with the start of the day—it came later and set sooner. Despite the pristine white of her room, the linen and draperies of light and silver all looked black. She stared through the glass of the window, out into the abyss of more darkness. Much like her memories.
She had tried to sleep. Her body begged her for it, but her eyes couldn’t close, her mind couldn’t rest. Was this life really hers? It couldn’t be. It felt… not right. None of it was right. But she couldn’t shake the one thing that felt… a little less not right…
The one thing that felt familiar…
No—she couldn’t let her mind fall into that trap, and she pushed Alexander from her thoughts.
Time passed slowly. She was almost contemplating attempting sleep again when Rebecca whisked into the room. The maid greeted her with a warm smile. “Oh, Princess Norah, you’re already awake!”
The ring of the title in her ears made her wince, but she forced back a polite smile. “Yes, um, I was up early.”
“The queen regent will be here soon, as will the dresses.”
The dresses? Norah raised her brows in surprise. The fittings hadn’t been finished until well into the evening prior. And there would be more than one? “So soon?”
“Yes, of course.” The girl’s smile grew broader. “The seamstresses have been working on them all night.”
All night? How were the dresses so important they required midnight making? It seemed so… unnecessary.
“Are you hungry?” Rebecca asked.
Norah forgot the dresses. “Starved,” she answered eagerly, a smile finally coming to her lips. The mere mention of food made her stomach rumble. Her maid’s eyes widened. Was that not what she’d expected? Norah bit her lip. “I mean, just a little hungry. But not that much. Normal hungry. As one normally is in the morning.” She pursed her lips between her teeth and scolded herself. Stop. But she couldn’t. Everything came so awkwardly.
Rebecca fluttered back out of the room to get breakfast.
Norah made her way to the bath chamber but stopped when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes, large and expansive, were the color of a stormy sea and stared back at her over the highs of her cheekbones. Her icy-blonde mane twisted wildly around her. When she’d seen her image the day before, it hadn’t surprised her. She knew her face.
“You can’t erase all of me,” she whispered to whatever had stolen her memory.
The sound of voices and her chamber door opening pulled her attention.
“Norah?” Catherine’s voice rang out.
Norah stepped out of the bath chamber to find the queen regent, followed by Rebecca, who was carrying a plate of fruit and cheeses.
“Grandmother,” she greeted.
“How did you sleep, child?”
“Well, thank you,” she lied.
“Wonderful. We’ve a busy day ahead of us. You’ll be seeing the council today.”
Norah nodded. Yes, good—her council. “And they’ll help me figure out what to do until my memories—”
“No,” Catherine said sharply.
No? “Wait, why not?” She was drowning merely in her thoughts of stepping into this life, into this world, and the reality would be so much harsher. She needed all the help she could get.
“I told you, no one must know of your condition.”
Condition.
As if it were a sickness. Perhaps it was, but—
“We only have to present you,” Catherine said, “and I’ll make it as quick as possible.”
Her heartbeat rose to her throat. Why didn’t Catherine want the council to know? Alexander had said they would help her. Why couldn’t they know?
Catherine set about the room, pulling out various drawers of dressers and chests and looking through them. “You probably won’t even say more than a few words—”
“W-Wait,” Norah stammered, “I can’t meet the council like this. They’ll discover me. I haven’t even been back a full day yet. I have no idea what I’m doing.”