“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with hair like that before.” I mentioned.

  “I like the jewels on his beard,” Ava added. “They look like ornaments on a Christmas tree.”

  “Of course you’d like those,” I remarked.

  “He should wear clothes like these more often,” Ava continued.

  “Is my father’s portrait also here?” I scanned the room, the thought of seeing his face felt like a brick crushing my head.

  “Yes,” Ishmael replied in a low voice.

  “And my mother?” I asked.

  “No. Her portrait can’t be displayed here.”

  “Why not?” Ava asked, hands on her waist.

  “They didn’t marry in Henderbell,” he replied, gaze on Grandpa’s portrait. “She isn’t considered a part of the royal family.” His chest lifted with a breath. “They left a lot of responsibilities behind when they abandoned this place.”

  “But why did they leave?” Ava asked.

  “Princess, I don’t think I should—”

  “Please answer.” A flush of adrenaline spread down my body. “We may be young but we aren’t stupid.”

  “Your father no longer wanted to rule after he met your mother,” he started after a brief silence. “And neither did she. They renounced their claim to the throne and fled to Albernaith. There was no warning from them. One day they were here and the next they weren’t.”

  “I’m sure there’s more to that story,” I retorted.

  “That’s what I was told,” he said. “In the ten years your father and I lived together in this castle, all he ever talked about was how much he looked forward to being king one day.”

  “How did you end up living here?” My question made him lose his composure. His eyes scanned the walls and the portraits, finally landing on me again.

  “Your grandparents took me in after my parents died fighting the Shadow Spirits.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my gaze shying away from him.

  “It was a long time ago,” he said, the ghosts of his past haunting his eyes.

  “Is Grandma here?” Ava asked.

  “She’s on the other wall, where all the queens are. Did you…”

  Ishmael’s words were drowned by the sight of a familiar face on one of the portraits: my father’s. Even from a few feet away, I distinguished his face, despite the unusual look of joy stamped on it. The burning flames inside the iron bowls at the foot of the pillar casted shadows over his canvas.

  Ishmael and Ava chattered as they walked to the opposite side, their words turning to muffled sounds as I neared my father’s painting.

  The brown eyes were still the same, the joy displayed in them a forgotten memory. The smile on his lips looked like a forgotten dream. His hair was tied into a bun, with a braid on the side.

  “When did he ever wear bright colors?” I whispered, observing the yellow swirls scattered on his dark blue garments. I wished I had known the man in front me. My memories were of an absent father, always working, mind set on everything else but his family. His rage-filled screams were what I’d remember most for the rest of my life.

  Blood boiled in my veins.

  “I hope you do disappear.” My hands clenched into fists. “Even if we somehow save this place, I hope I never have to see you again.”

  “Enzo!” Ava’s booming voice stole my attention. “Come see Grandma’s picture!”

  I glanced into my father’s eyes one more time before going to them.

  “Are you alright?” Ishmael asked.

  “Yes, just happened to see a face I wasn’t planning on seeing,” I replied. “Anyway, so this was my grandmother?” I tucked my hands in my pockets, grasping the parchment paper.

  “Yes,” Ishmael answered.

  “Of course she’d be wearing that.” I nodded, disapproving of the platinum cone-shaped hairdo. Her pink garments did a great job at accentuating her gold necklace.

  “Isn’t her yellow lipstick beautiful?” Ava mentioned. “I want one.”

  “Sure,” I said with a smirk, hoping my face didn’t reflect the rage of emotions stirring inside me. “Beautiful…”

  “Don’t let hate build a house in your heart,” Ishmael said, making it extremely clear my rage was on full display. “I know your father isn’t perfect but—”

  “Didn’t he leave you, too?” I waved my hand in dismissal of his comment. “Why do you defend him?”

  I couldn’t understand why he was so inclined to defend the man who abandoned him.

  “What good does bitterness do?” he asked.

  “None, but being stupid doesn’t help either.” My cheeks flushed. “Are we done? We just met. I think it’s a little too early for you to give me advice.”

  “I advise your grandparents. That’s my job.”

  “I guess you’re on vacation then, because I don’t see them anywhere,” I snapped.

  He stared, quiet, mouth parted. His nod of disapproval triggered my anger. Who did he think he was?

  “Ava, how about we take a look at your father’s portrait? I think Enzo needs to be alone for a while.”

  “Okay,” she mumbled, walking alongside Ishmael.

  “Can we go see something else?” I requested, fingers laced behind my head.

  “After the princess is done,” Ishmael replied.

  “Great.” I rolled my eyes.

  I strolled down the hall, observing the other portraits, but amidst all the colorful art was a black canvas. Carved on its frame were trees, their crooked branches forming suffering human faces: some cried, others screamed, a few seemed to be in anguish. Why was such a sinister sight displayed with my family? The canvas held my attention until Ishmael and my sister walked to stand beside me.

  “What’s this?” I asked him, haunted by the carved faces.

  “It looks scary,” Ava added.

  “Now that’s a secret only your grandparents can share,” Ishmael said.

  “Why?” I insisted.

  “It’s a family secret. Though I live in the castle, I’m not blood.” Disappointment shrouded his face. “I wish I could tell you, but it’s not my place.”

  I scanned the strange sight one more time, each somber detail somehow a reminder of the lingering doom revealed to me.

  “Can you take us to a very high tower so we can see the whole city?” Ava requested.

  “It’s pretty dark outside,” Ishmael replied. “I don’t think we’d be able to see much, but dinner should be ready soon.”

  He snapped his fingers twice. I was startled by two flames rising from one of the iron bowls at the foot of a column. They twirled in the air, spreading out to form two human shapes. Fire turned to golden armor and flesh. Their faces were as pale as a blank page, eyes the color of the sunset. One of them was a bald man, chin chiseled, shoulders broad. The woman’s golden locks were like a sunflower, her lips the color of blood.

  “How may we be of service?” asked the knight in a deep voice, his face rigid.

  “Mandeerun, Ashtolia, allow me to—”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking, Ishmael,” said the knight. “Welcome, Prince Enzo and Princess Ava. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  “So you actually know who we are,” I said, afraid their eyes could actually slice me open.

  “We’re one of the few who do,” Ashtolia added.

  “You’re so beautiful.” Ava observed her reflection on his armor.

  “Thank you, princess,” Mandeerun said. “If I were human and my face not made of fire, you’d probably see me blushing.”

  Ava snickered.

  “We’re honored to finally have you here in the castle,” Ashtolia said, grasping the handle of the sword on her waist.

  “Do we still have clothes that fit them somewhere?” Ishmael asked. “Both are in need of a change.”

  “We should have a few choices for the prince in Bane’s old bedroom,” Mandeerun replied. “They should be inside the wardrobe.”

  “I believe we may have a few things for the princess inside Queen Mary’s old wardrobe as well,” Ashtolia said.

  “Perfect.” Ishmael clapped his hands, the reflection of the burning flames causing the Henderbellian sigil on his chest to glimmer. “Go get dressed and meet me in the throne room.”

  “We’ll stand guard as you both change,” Mandeerun said as Ishmael walked away. “We’ll wait for you here in the hall.”

  “So where’s my dad’s old room again?” I asked, wondering what else I’d find in there besides old clothes.

  “To the right of the Bending Shield.” Mandeerun pointed at the black canvas responsible for spiking my curiosity.

  “And you’ll be going in there, princess.” Ashtolia pointed to the door on the opposite side.

  The strange canvas held my attention as I twisted the knob on the door and entered the room.

  The large geometric window provided a view of the starlit sky. Blue silk curtains draped beside it, spilling on the floor. At the foot of the window was a beige couch. The bed frame was made of chestnut wood, carved in the shape of two antlers. The nightstand beside it was of the same color, its legs shaped like winged dragons. Constellations were painted across the ceiling, a crystal candle-lit chandelier at the center. The walls were covered in scarlet swirls, spreading all across the room.

  To my right was a bookshelf placed beside an old dresser. Next to one of the books was a necklace with a locket shaped like an eight-pointed star.

  I picked up the curious object, holding it at eye level. It was silver, its surface carved with thin lines resembling the roots of a tree. I put it back and opened the wardrobe where I found my father’s old clothes.

  After looking through the drawers, I picked a blue collared long sleeve shirt, black pants, and a pair of boots. There was also a tattered gray coat that fit perfectly, the sigil of Henderbell sown on its back.

  I folded the clothes I was wearing before, put them inside the wardrobe and stepped out of the room only to be startled by Ava standing inches away from me.

  “I was about to knock on that door!” she squealed.

  “You look—wow!” I suppressed a laugh. Of course she picked the most eccentric outfit I’d ever seen: a bright pink coat, a suede yellow long sleeve, blue pants, and red boots.

  “Be honest.” She twirled. “Don’t I look like a real princess.”

  “You sure do.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Alright, time for dinner.”

  “We’ll be here when you come back,” Mandeerun said, still as a statue, Ashtolia beside him.

  My eyes scanned the portraits on the wall as we walked down the hall, amazed and frightened of my family’s history. Once inside the throne room, I spotted Ishmael at the foot of the stone platform, staring at the thrones as if in distant thought.

  He smiled and said, “Those look much better on you.”

  “Do you like my coat?” Ava twirled. “Is it royal enough?”

  Ishmael chuckled and said, “You remind me a lot of your grandmother. Always cheerful.”

  “And always wearing something extremely bright,” I added.

  “I hope you’re both hungry,” he said. “They’re preparing—”

  The doors bust open. Voices boomed as two guards appeared, holding a body covered in torn clothing and dirt, the draping silver hair covering the face. My knees trembled once I realized it was Doopar. They held her by the arms, her feet dragging on the floor, head down. The belt that held her sword wasn’t with her.

  “What in Kurah’s name happened?” Ishmael rushed her way.

  Ava stared with a parted mouth, face pale.

  “We found her in the forest,” revealed one of the guards. “She’s somewhat conscious but she can’t speak.”

  “Is she going to die, Enzo?” Ava tugged at my sleeve. “Look at her!”

  “I am,” I shuddered as feeling slowly escaped my body.

  “Doopar.” Ishmael held her face between the palms of his hands. “What happened? Can you hear me?”

  She groaned and squirmed, her purple eyes bulging out of their sockets, the veins on her neck visible beneath her skin.

  Fear gripped me as blood spewed out of her mouth, forming a scarlet puddle by her feet. I had drawn characters dying, written death scenes, but witnessing such a gruesome sight made me realize death could go from a simple thought to a close threat in seconds.

  Ishmael grabbed me by the shoulder. “Stay here with your sister. I have to take Doopar to Mandeerun and Ashtolia.”

  I nodded, my limbs shaking.

  “You’re safe.” He looked at Ava. “You’re both safe.”

  “Don’t let her die.” Ava’s eyes glistened. “Please.”

  Ishmael took a hard look at her, a frown carved on his forehead. “I’ll try my best.”

  He grabbed Doopar’s arm and laid it over his shoulder. “I’ve got her. Go back to your posts!”

  “At once,” said one of the soldiers, his cheek and armor stained with blood.

  Both soldiers walked out of the room when Ishmael was out of sight.

  Ava fiddled her fingers, gazing at the expanding puddle of blood on the floor.

  “What do you think happened to her?” she whispered with a wobbling chin.

  “I—I don’t—” I swallowed my words. “I don’t know…”

  The ticking of the pendulum echoed louder in the hovering silence between us. The scarlet puddle was a magnet for Ava’s attention. And my heart was ensnared by confusion and fear.

  “Ava.” My voice echoed.

  “What?” she mumbled, face pale.

  “Let’s sit here.” I guided her to the platform, sitting on the first few steps at the bottom.

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  I placed an arm around her shoulder, holding her head against my chest so she wouldn’t stare at the gruesome sight. I searched for a thought that could assure me everything was going to be alright, but the moving pendulum became a constant reminder of our approaching doom.

  The door leading to the Hall of Rulers opened. Ishmael emerged, the red blood stains on his purple garments stealing my breath for a few seconds.

  Ava whimpered as he approached with a frown.

  “Mandeerun and Ashtolia are looking after her.” He cleared his throat with a nod of disappointment. “But she won’t speak. No one knows what happened to her.”

  “Will she survive?” Ava sniffled.

  Ishmael’s gaze turned to the blood. He took in a long breath and said, “I don’t know.”

  “Did you hear anything about the elves she was supposed to meet?” Ava asked.

  “No.” His face grew rigid. “I haven’t.”

  “You think they’re dead?” she continued.

  “I hope not.” He pressed his eyes shut and wagged his head. “Someone very dear to me was with them. The thought that he may have died…”

  “What do we do now?” I shot up to my feet. “We can’t just sit here and wait,” I contested. “You said Christmas will arrive in six days, right?”

  “Five after midnight,” he mentioned.

  “Can’t we send out an army or something?” I asked.

  “I’m not dispatching an army before I know what happened,” Ishmael replied. “That’s suicide.”

  My hands clenched into fists.

  “Go to your rooms,” he continued. “I’ll bring you some food. Don’t leave them until I come find you.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Muffled groans and gurgles came from behind one of the doors as Ava and I rushed down the Hall of Rulers. We halted at the eerie sounds, my mind scurrying to find any thought or idea that could defeat my fear. But there was nothing.

  I leaned closer, my ear a hair away from touching the door. Though I couldn’t hear much, I was able to pick up a few words.

  “Hold her down!” Mandeerun shouted.

  “I’m trying!” Ashtolia retorted.

  “We need to find a way for her to speak…”

  I stepped away, wishing I could discover a way to peer inside Doopar’s head to see what happened.

  Ava’s face was as pale as a dove’s feather. She fiddled with her fingers, nibbling on the corner of her lips.

  “Hey.” I touched her shoulder, leading her away from the door. “I’m sure we’ll have more news about Doopar soon.”

  She forced a smile.

  We approached my father’s old bedroom. I glanced at the Bending Shield before entering, my eyes quickly surveying the suffering faces on the frame’s engraved edges, the canvas dark and somber.

  Ava’s eyes scanned the constellations painted on the ceiling as soon as we were inside. I sat on the edge of the bed, heart still pounding.

  “Can you believe this room used to belong to him?” I asked, hoping to sway her mind away from all the gore she had seen.

  “Not really.” She approached the bookshelf, grabbing a book. “He’s the least magical person I’ve ever met.”

  My attention turned to the geometric window, my eyes following the collection of stars spread across the night sky.

  “What’s this?”

  I followed Ava’s voice. She held the necklace with the pendant shaped like an eight-pointed star.

  “Not sure,” I replied. “I found it on the bookshelf.”

  She sat beside me, object in hand. “It’s pretty.” She held it at eye level. “I like the details on it. Think it belonged to Dad?”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Ishmael walked in, bringing with him the smell of cooked meat. He wheeled in a silver tray on a table, each of its legs carved in the shape of men dressed in robes.

  “I hope you like endybird.” He stopped the tray in front of me and uncovered the food. I noticed the blood stains on his clothes were gone. The meat was set on two white plates, a fork and a knife beside each one. Though I had never heard of an endybird before, the meat looked—and smelled—like chicken.

  “Whatever this is, it smells delicious.” Ava set the locket on the bed.

  “Sorry you have to eat in this room. I was going to have you at the dining hall, but given our current circumstances, it’s best you remain hidden.”

  Ava struggled to cut her meat. After a few seconds, she dropped the utensils and ate with her hands, holding the meat by the bone.

 

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