The Twilight Prince

Chapter Twenty: The Court at Dusk

The figures did not move. They were statues, and they had taken the place of the glass shapes. Only half of them held swords—some raised high and some thrust out—while the others held old-fashioned weighing scales, some tipped, some balanced.

In the centre of the circle was a thirteenth cloaked figure seated on a black chaise. This one was not a statue. This was the Queen of Dusk.

Queen Zorya lowered her hood and revealed a grey mask sculpted in the shape of a young woman's face, with closed eyes. A symbol, a semi-circle inside of a circle, was carved in the center of its forehead. The queen wore no jewels or fine embroidery. Her hair was pulled back in thick braided ropes of black and grey.

"Grace De Souza, leeward child and last of your line," said the queen. There was an echo to her voice as it reverberated beneath the mask. "Did they send you because the others were afraid? Did they send you because you are witch-born?"

Witch-born. I had never heard the phrase, but I had an idea what it might mean. Hari had told me that civilians with special gifts get recruited into Horseshoe. Apparently, Grace had witchcraft in her blood.

"I asked to speak with you, your highness," said Grace. "It is a rare honour to be in your presence."

"Well spoken. You are welcome here. I knew your mother, and your mother's mother. I knew all of your mothers, but none of their sons. Why have you called to me, Miss De Souza? What mystery do you mean to unravel?"

"It is a delicate matter. I'm sorry to say that one of your courtiers has stolen from us. Lord Éven of the Shade has taken several powerful artefacts and used them to carry out attacks within our borders. Now his conspirators have murdered our agents and abducted one of our associates. We hope that you can help us find him, and that you will give us license to bring him to justice."

The queen pressed her fingertips to the brow of her mask. Grace waited in silence, and the room waited with her.

This was Éven's queen. This was Éven's court.

I could not shake that idea from my mind. This court of terrors, of midnight horrors, this court of darkness and madness and whispers, this was Éven's tribe. He was not only lord of the shade, but prince of the twilight. He was dipped in shadows from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. What sort of man did that make him?

"You know what he is, Grace De Souza?" asked Queen Zorya.

"We know he is the Twilight Prince."

Queen Zorya drew a circle in the air in front of her. A line of silver light followed her finger.

"Magic is a raw power," said Queen Zorya. "It comes from the primordial, and we carve out paths to that power. Each path honours a different aspect, through life, wonder, or wisdom. Each path represents an essential truth."

Grace nodded. "I have heard the stories, your highness."

"Not all of those in your company have heard them."

Grace stiffened, and the Admiral's hand gripped my shoulder. Queen Zorya meant me. She was explaining this for my benefit.

"Each path is a truth, each truth is a tribe," said Queen Zorya. "The tribes must act in accordance with their nature or the power will overwhelm them. This is why every court has a balance. Three hearts that hold the truth."

Queen Zorya drew a snaking line of three loops over the silver circle that hung in the air in front of her, like the leaves of a clover.

"Who are those three hearts, Grace De Souza?"