Nym's Arc

Chapter 22 of 41

The queen crossed the hall. She did not look at Nym. Her eyes stayed on Drasila, on the white streak in her dark hair. Nym held her breath. She could not read the queen's face. It might mean safety. It might mean a cell. The queen stopped close. She lifted one hand and touched the white streak, careful, the way you touch something you are not sure is real. "I have seen your face," she said. "In books. Here, in this castle." Nym's chest tightened. Someone in this castle knew her mother. That was why Magnus had sent them. She looked at Drasila, waiting. On his throne, the king shifted. His fur coat was dark green, his beard streaked gray. He watched his wife with worry, not anger. "My queen," he said. "Come back to me." The queen did not move at once. Her fingers stayed near Drasila's hair. Then she lowered her head and stepped back. She returned to her throne and sat, hands folded in her pale green gown. "You will be our guests," the king said. He looked from Drasila to Nym. "I do not know why you have come. But you will not answer standing here." He raised a hand. Servants stepped from the walls. "You will answer at dinner." A servant bowed toward the great doors. "This way," she said. Nym did not move yet. She stared at the queen. "You said her face is in a book," she said. Her voice came out louder than she meant. "Which book? What did it say?" The king's hand went flat on the arm of his throne. "At dinner," he said again, harder now. Drasila touched Nym's arm. "Not here," she said, low. "We have what we came for. Someone here remembers." Her pale blue eyes were steady, but Nym saw her fingers press tight against her own gown. Her mother was afraid too. The servants led them out a side door and up a stair. Nym walked close to Drasila. The black cat slipped along the wall behind them. When they were alone in a small room, Nym turned to her mother. "She knew you," Nym said. "Not your name. Your face." "She has never met me," Drasila said. She sat slowly on the edge of the bed. "I was sealed away before she was born. So if my face is in her books—" She stopped. "Then someone wrote it down," Nym said. "Someone who knew you. Someone still here." Drasila looked at the door, then at Nym. "At dinner," she said, "we will find out who." Nym sat beside her. They were guests now, not prisoners. But the queen's face stayed in her mind. Not welcome. Not danger. Recognition. Somewhere in this castle was a record of her mother's life—and the answer to her own.