Chapter 26: Where the Palace Refuses to Breathe

Lyria’s POV

I did not allow myself the comfort of slowing until the echo of the library doors had long faded behind me.

The palace swallowed me whole the moment I turned into the western passage.

Here, the ceilings lowered just enough to make one bow one’s head without realising it. The walls narrowed subtly, the marble giving way to dull limestone blocks whose seams were stained by centuries of candle smoke and careless hands. Tall windows no longer watched the gardens. Instead, narrow slits of glass clung high above, letting in thin, sickly ribbons of morning light that barely touched the floor.

This corridor was one that very few people used. It had been abandoned for a long time now.

Honestly, I had no idea why it was even built in the first place.

I lifted my skirts and quickened my pace.

The servants’ wing had many such veins running through it—twisting, inconvenient, half-hidden behind tapestries and unused antechambers—paths built for labour and quiet necessity, not for nobles who walked in straight, proud lines. I had learned them all by heart.

I had learned where the stones dipped slightly beneath one’s step.

Where the wall curved inward enough to conceal a small figure.

Where the faint draught from a loose shutter would brush the nape of my neck and warn me that I was nearing the old stairwell.

There were hardly any guards in this quarter of the palace.

Nothing important was supposed to exist here, and yet... it was the very place I knew best. Maybe because I wasn’t important, or perhaps because it was the place where I could very well exist and be me.

I slipped past the first junction without hesitation, pressing myself briefly into the shadow of a narrow pillar as two junior footmen passed at the far end, murmuring softly to one another about the morning schedule. Their voices echoed strangely, hollowed by distance and stone.

When I reached the turn that led to the southern service stairs, I did not hesitate either. My hand brushed the wall, counting the cracks out of habit.

Three narrow ones.

A chipped corner.

A faint burn mark from a candle long ago.

Then the stairwell opened before me.

It descended sharply, its steps uneven and worn into shallow bowls by countless hurried feet. The iron railing was cold beneath my palm, its surface rough where the paint had peeled away.

I went down quickly.

The smell reached me before I reached the bottom.

Rotten fish and stagnant water. Something sour and thick with mould that clung to the back of my throat.

The smell was getting worse. And the king didn’t care, because there was nothing of importance here at all.

I breathed through my mouth and kept moving.

The air grew colder with each step.

At the foot of the stairs, the corridor turned abruptly to the right, narrowing so much that two people could not walk side by side without brushing shoulders. The walls here were unplastered, their stone raw and damp. Moisture crept along the base like a slow, patient creature.

There were no guards at this bend.

There never were.

No one wished to linger where the smell lived.

I slipped into the narrow passage and followed it to the very end, where a door waited.

It was small and highly unremarkable. I had first discovered this place when I was eight.

I was hiding from the queen, who looked for every opportunity to hit me, when I stumbled upon the door and the person behind it.

Its wood was swollen at the edges, warped from years of damp. The hinges creaked if opened carelessly.

I saw the mice first.

Two of them darted across the floor near the threshold, their tiny bodies skittering through a scatter of crumbs and something darker I chose not to examine too closely. One stopped and lifted its head, whiskers trembling.

"Shoo," I whispered softly.

I nudged my foot toward them.

They scattered at once, disappearing into a crack beneath the wall.

My hand found the handle. I wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t locked.

I pushed the door inward as gently as I could.

The room beyond was almost entirely swallowed by darkness.

Only a single candle burned on a low, narrow table, its flame trembling faintly in the stale air.

The bed lay against the far wall.

A shadow stirred upon it. Then the woman turned.

Her brow creased at first, her mouth pulling into a faint line of wary confusion.

Her face brightened.

She had teeth but no tongue.

"Lyria," she signed, the movement of her hands soft and unmistakable even in the dim light.

She pushed herself upright slowly, carefully, as though her body had grown unused to obedience.

There was so little flesh upon her now.

Her collarbones jutted sharply beneath the thin fabric of her nightdress. Her arms were narrow as branches in winter. The hollow beneath her cheeks had deepened since last I saw her.

She had lost more weight.

My chest tightened at the realisation.

She lifted one hand and waved me in.

Then she patted the edge of the bed beside her.

I could not help it. A soft, foolish giggle escaped me.

I hurried forward at once and closed the door behind me with a careful touch.

The small table stood near the wall, cluttered with a chipped cup, a folded rag, and a cracked plate bearing the faint stain of yesterday’s meal. I removed the mask from my face and placed it neatly upon the table.

Then I turned to her.

My hands rose instinctively.

"Guess what I brought for you," I signed to her as I spoke.

Whenever I was with her, my stutter always seemed to disappear.

Her eyes widened at once.

She leaned forward.

Then her hands moved.

"Did you steal again?"

My cheeks burned.

I shook my head quickly.

I signed back defensively.

"I do not just steal."

Her brows lifted, and she just gave me a look.

I pressed my lips together and then chuckled despite myself.

"Patricia," I said softly, my voice barely more than breath, even as my hands repeated the signs. "It has been a while since we have seen each other. You should not scold me the moment I arrive."

Her shoulders shook.

She laughed soundlessly, the motion gentle but unmistakable.

Then she reached out and gestured for me to come closer.

I obeyed at once.

I stepped to the bed and knelt before her so that we were nearly eye to eye.

She studied me slowly and carefully.

Her gaze traced my face, lingered upon my eyes, my cheeks, the shadows beneath them.

Then her hands moved again.

"Why are you so thin?"

I froze in shock.

For a moment, my hands hovered uselessly in the air. Then I chuckled.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" I signed back gently, even as the words slipped from my lips in a whisper. "You are thinner than I am."

Her hands lifted slowly.

"They do not let me use mirrors, child. And besides..."

Her gaze drifted downward.

"The chain on my legs would not let me walk far enough to find one."