THE CASTLE appeared darker than usual. He’d never been inside it alone before. Of course he wasn’t alone. Not with the queen locked up, a prisoner in her own home. She’d been so silent the last few days he’d almost forgotten about her.
It felt intimate, walking up the white stairway, heading through the black halls with no sound but the clack of his boots on the hard marble. The walls pressed around him; the floor curved to meet his feet. He reached out and ran his hand along the fine obsidian. The walls weren’t flat but bumpy, imperfect. A gem that hadn’t been cut. A few pillars below had crumbled, shards of obsidian scattered on the floor. He had dreamed of completing the castle for weeks, picturing what she would look like whole. Now he wondered what it would take to demolish her. He tried not to think about it and instead set his eyes on Dyraien’s door. When he reached it, he pressed an ear against the cold wood, but no sound stirred inside.
“Dyraien?” he said. No answer came. He pushed the handle down and walked inside, closing the door behind him as he looked around.
His senses flared as he entered the room. His ears strained to hear the sounds they hadn’t caught before: the low sleeping wails of the queen in the next room, the scrape of dry sand against the windowpane, the tick of a tall clock in the corner.
It didn’t look like the room of a prince. There were no lavish decorations, no tapestries or golden statues or bearskin rugs. But it was still the nicest room in the castle. His bed was large with royal blue sheets, puffy pillows, and four oak bedposts. The walls were lined with books on every subject from human anatomy to modern architecture to objective journals on world religions. Some of the books were about Dhaulen’aii. But he had books on many other cultures too. A few titles he didn’t recognize. He pulled one out and saw pictures of people in sexual positions. Quickly, he shoved the erotic covers away and felt himself flush.
The room smelled heavily of rosewater and some kind of citrus fruit. No dust lay on the floor, which meant he wouldn’t leave any footprints. His search started at the bookshelves. In stories he’d read, secret items—a poison knife or loaded pistol—were always hidden inside a carved-out book. There were too many books to go through, so instead, he flicked each one by the spine to see if any rattled. After that, he went to the windows and patted the curtains. He moved counterclockwise around the room, tapping the marble floor with his boots to see if any area felt hollow or wobbly. Every piece of clothing was unfolded and refolded. He skimmed schematics and letters stacked on the writing desk. He even opened up the mechanism in the clock.
He had no idea what a piece of the Dim looked like.
At one point, he found his design for the steam conduit system tucked neatly in one of the drawers. Dyraien would be suspicious if he found it missing, but he decided to take it anyway. He swiped the paper, folded it until it fit in his pocket, and felt immediately better. Dyraien might have already ordered the supplies, but at least if they destroyed this castle, he wouldn’t be able to make another. He continued to pace the wall, feeling for drafts or cracks, and when he found none, he checked Dyraien’s bath chamber with the same scrutiny.
Half an hour later, Tahki collapsed onto Dyraien’s bed. His eyes felt heavy with sleep, and his arms hurt. He let out a sigh and rubbed his temples, feeling foolish. He hadn’t found so much as a harsh letter. Maybe Nii had been wrong. Dyraien wasn’t hiding anything. He wasn’t following in the footsteps of his mother. Maybe this castle was some kind of cover-up for her mistakes, that all along he’d sought to make things right, give up the throne and give the council an apology gift.
He put his hand on the bedpost and heaved himself up. As he did, the post wobbled and something clunked inside. Tahki stared at the wooden post. He wiggled it, and it rattled again. It felt loose and hollow. With quick fingers, he unscrewed the knob at the top and peered inside. The post was indeed hollowed out, and something glinted inside. He reached in with his index and middle finger and grasped something. It took a moment to maneuver the item up the sides. When he finally freed it, he stepped to the window to examine it.
A stone the size of his palm lay in his hand, but he couldn’t really call it a stone. It looked more like glass, and beneath the smooth, clear surface, the night sky shined back at him.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The stone hummed slightly. He’d seen stars through telescopes and read about bright lights that appeared in the northern sky. The stone in his hand reminded him of those lights. Purples, blues, and greens all mixed together, dancing as bright white specks flowed into one another. A small fleck shot across the surface like a shooting star. It circled the stone once and then erupted like a firework.
As he turned the stone over in his palm, mesmerized by its beauty, he noticed it wasn’t a stone, but a piece of something, like it had been broken off a larger part. But he’d never seen anything like it. In his head he listed all the minerals he knew, but none of them possessed properties like this. If it didn’t feel so sturdy, so real, he would have thought
