Part 1: The Nightmare
1781 painting by Henry Fuseli
Night had consumed Wolfson Palace. Ornaments and portraits that dazzled in the sunshine now lay dormant, waiting for life to be kissed back into them like a cursed princess.
Wiggling her toes, Lottie did her best to stave off some of the cold that was seeping through the palace floor. She was jet-lagged after returning from Japan and still feeling disorientated from everything that had happened over the past few days, not least her discovery about Leviathan. Lottie tried to hold herself upright, focusing on the wall of shiny diamond jewellery while the king’s advisor went to work around her in the crimson room, side-stepping the purple-velvet ottoman in the centre.
‘This won’t do.’ Simien narrowed his eyes at the reflection in the ornate mirror, his liver-spotted hands firmly placed over Lottie’s shoulders, turning her from side to side to get a better view of the puffy-sleeved dress he’d had her put on, which made her look remarkably like a strawberry blancmange. ‘Perhaps a high neckline and padded shoulders will balance out that very long neck that you’ve exposed.’
Dizzy with the dressing room’s thick perfume clouds, and feeling more like a marionette than a human being, Lottie let her imaginary strings go slack when Simien finally turned back to the dresses, searching through them to find something that would work with Lottie’s new messy bob.
‘Whatever you think is best,’ Lottie called out, hoping to move the process along without giving away her impatience. She had somewhere she needed to be, and she couldn’t have Simien knowing that; she couldn’t add to his stress.
It wasn’t simply Lottie’s hair that had everyone on edge; the whole palace felt like it was on a tightrope, ready to topple over at any moment if someone so much as breathed too deeply. Five days had passed since the nightmare in the Rose Wood, and, while Lottie was desperate to figure out Leviathan’s plan, first she had to contend with Ellie’s family, and that meant she had to be as presentable as possible to soften the blow of the terrible discovery she’d made.
‘I think it’s best if we avoid a media scandal over your hair. It’s the last thing we need,’ Simien hissed, tutting to himself.
Lottie couldn’t help sighing. She felt like the only person in the world who didn’t look at her hair as if it was a disaster or even something to be concerned about. There was only one person who understood, and she was hundreds of miles away in Japan.
Thinking about Sayuri filled Lottie’s head with motorbike fumes and sharp, intelligent glances from midnight-black eyes. It made her chest ache like part of her soul had been snipped away. The summer they’d just spent at Takeshin had changed everything. The friends she’d made in Banshee, the motorbike gang, Miko, Rio and Wei, and their notorious Pink Demon leader, the silken-haired Sayuri who’d become more like a sister, were on the other side of the world but felt close to Lottie’s heart. They were linked not only by their schools but by the secrets their ancestors had trusted them with, the twin swords – one of which had saved Lottie by cutting her free.
Lottie felt calm as she stared at herself in the glass, fingers moving up to twiddle the ends of her freshly chopped bob. But as soon as her skin met the curling ends of her hair, memory jolted through her like a static shock. She was gripping the sword, flicking it up with determined abandon through her hair, freeing herself from Ingrid’s and Leviathan’s grasp, then running until her lungs burned.
Letting go, she tilted her chin up, marvelling at how much older the trim made her look. Ellie had done an immaculate job, the cut framing her apple-cheeked face, leaving her body lighter and revealing a version of herself that felt more Lottie than ever. The only problem was …
‘You look too much like your real ancestors,’ Simien moaned behind her, mumbling a series of curses. ‘We need a Wolfson, not a Mayfutt.’
It was undeniable. Lottie looked the spitting image of her ancestor Liliana Mayfutt’s male alter ego, William Tufty, right down to the splatter of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Every time she spotted them she felt like the ghosts of her family were watching her and expecting something.
‘Don’t slouch.’ Simien reappeared behind her, holding a butter-yellow dress up to her, its shoulders protruding like stiff whipped cream. ‘We need to make sure your princess image is still intact to lessen some of the queen mother’s distress over this unfortunate discovery.’ He didn’t need to say the name out loud. The whole palace could feel the severity of the situation like a hard grip on their necks.
Glancing briefly up at the clock, Lottie felt her patience wearing thin and, just as she thought she’d have to make an excuse and plant a well-timed yawn, Simien, at last, relented.
‘This will have to do, I suppose,’ the king’s advisor said, sighing and tapping at the temple by his glass eye before putting the dress back on the hanger. ‘Now make sure you go straight to bed and get a good night’s sleep for the meeting tomorrow,’ he said, attempting breeziness, but Lottie could hear the grave tone that he was doing his best to hide.
Lottie had one more stop before she retired for the evening. After changing into something more comfortable, she waited until she was sure the rest of the palace had gone to sleep and sneaked out of her bedroom door, listening carefully for any movement.
A floorboard on the stairs squeaked beneath her feet and she froze. Heart pounding, she strained her ears for any response.
Silence.
She crept into the long marble corridor, where the ghostly faces of the previous rulers of Maradova looked down at her from their gilded frames. Ignoring their eyes, she paused at the largest painting.
Alexis Wolfson, the man who’d seized the throne of Maradova hundreds of years ago, stared down at Lottie with piercing eyes, the same wild green as a forest at dusk. His long black hair fell thickly around his broad shoulders. Draped in protective pelts, he looked more warrior than king, but his smile was warm. Gazing up at him, Lottie wondered why she’d never paid this portrait more attention. It had taken Ingrid’s cryptic words for her to notice him, and now she could see why he’d been so adored.
Just like Alexis, Ingrid had said. It was one of two statements she’d shared that day in the woods. The other, and more confusing, was simply: Why is Jamie your Partizan? It was a question meant for the real princess, and Lottie was determined to find out what Ingrid had meant. Why was he Ellie’s Partizan?
Pulling herself away, Lottie walked to the end of the corridor until she reached the black sheep of the family, and the very person to whom Ingrid devoted herself – Claude Wolfson, Ellie’s uncle.
His painting hung in a black frame, a dark reminder of the fate that would befall any royal who turned away from their responsibilities. In his exile he’d waited, plotting, building an army. Now they knew that the mysterious goat-masked man who’d tormented Lottie and her friends for the past two years had been him. But why?
‘Hello, Goat Man.’ She found a strange satisfaction in using his nickname when he looked so proud. Perhaps this was how Ellie felt whenever she defied authority.
‘You can say his name, you know.’ Ellie’s voice drifted down the corridor, dark and bitter like coffee. ‘Everyone’s acting like it’s some terrible curse word.’
Turning slowly to face her princess, Lottie braced herself, remembering that it wasn’t just her image that had changed. Even so, it made her mouth go dry.
In the glow of the moonlight Ellie was dressed in a long black robe fit for a funeral, her face floating in the dark. She looked utterly exhausted. A sheen on her pale skin made her complexion look like alabaster, and the darkness beneath her eyes looked stained with ink. Lottie wondered if she’d slept at all since they’d learned about her uncle being the Master of Leviathan.
Taking a sweeping step forward, there was something dangerous in her eyes.
‘Claude Wolfson, Claude Wolfson, Claude Wolfson,’ Ellie repeated as if she were calling on the bogeyman, looking around with her hands outstretched. ‘See? Nothing happened.’
Lottie flinched at her tone. Ellie was obviously angry.
‘You’re late,’ she said, ignoring Ellie’s teasing. ‘What’s wrong?’
Ellie’s face dropped, and Lottie felt guilty as she took in her smudged eyes and chewed lips. She had to believe she’d done the right thing in telling Ellie about her uncle, but seeing her like this it was hard to feel like she was helping anyone.
‘I had to steal this from the post room; it could have got us in serious trouble.’
From an inside pocket, Ellie pulled out a postcard, passing it to Lottie so she could see the elegant painting of a bamboo forest on the front. She could smell it, like a scorching-hot summer and the fizzy tang in the air after fireworks.
Flipping it over, Lottie stared at the six lines of simple text.
Dear Princess,
Please keep an eye on Haru for us.
His sabbatical is still regrettably a mystery.
Stay safe, and remember our fates are linked by the sword.
Sayuri, Miko, Rio and Wei
‘She sent it here, to the palace, for you.’ There was an edge to Ellie’s voice that sounded like fear, the kind of low-frequency sound you expect from a cornered dog. ‘It’s dangerous, Lottie. What if someone had seen it?’ Ellie groaned, putting her head in her hands. ‘No one knows Haru is part of Leviathan except for us and Ani and Saskia.’
Trying to keep calm, Lottie pocketed the postcard. It felt warm nestled next to her heart, despite the terrible reminder that Haru was waiting for them when they returned.
‘Is this why you wanted to meet me?’ she asked, wishing she could do something to put Ellie’s mind at ease.
‘No.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘I need to ask you a favour.’ Her gaze wandered once more to the painting of Claude.
‘Anything.’
‘I need you to promise you won’t tell my parents about Haru being part of Leviathan tomorrow. Not unless I say so.’
‘Wait, what?’
Ellie’s eyes snapped back to Lottie’s, her sleepy demeanour melting away. ‘I’m serious, Lottie. After what you found out about my … about Claude, I feel like my parents are hiding things. Tomorrow I’m going to tell them I’m sick of it.’ Ellie’s hands curled into fists. ‘I can’t believe they’re not letting Jamie attend. We can’t let them keep things from us. We should be vigilant; we have to –’
‘Jamie’s not attending?’ Lottie’s mind felt muddled, sure she’d misheard, but Ellie shook her head again, letting her know it was very real.
‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ Ellie looked vindicated for a moment, glad to see Lottie equally as perplexed. ‘They won’t say why, but they’re keeping it intimate, just me, you, Grandmother and my parents.’
The news was like a boulder, knocking Lottie right back into the Rose Wood, Ingrid’s voice snaking into her thoughts once more. Why is Jamie your Partizan?
Shaking it off, Lottie grabbed one of Ellie’s clenched fists and squeezed. From the way her friend’s hand trembled, Lottie could sense a long-growing resentment in her princess towards her secretive family. ‘Let’s see what your parents and grandmother have to say tomorrow. Then you can decide what you think is right for everyone.’
‘But –’
‘I’m on your side, Ellie, no matter what.’ This was the truth – a fact she could always fall back on. Everything she did was for the good of her princess, the girl who made her feel whole. ‘And if you decide that’s what you want to do after we’ve spoken to them, then OK.’ Lottie spoke steadily but her chest felt hollow at the idea of keeping Haru a secret any longer. ‘Can we do that?’
Seconds felt like decades while she waited for a reply, and all the while Claude stared down at them, watching, waiting.
‘OK, yeah,’ Ellie said at last, her fists uncurling. ‘I’ll try to keep my cool tomorrow, for you.’ A semblance of Ellie’s old charm crept back into her smile, but it faded quickly. ‘We should probably go to sleep. I’m not thinking straight. I’m tired and it feels weird being back here, and … yeah.’
‘Don’t worry, I understand.’ Lottie linked her fingers with Ellie’s.
Ellie lay her chin on Lottie’s head, wrapping her arms round her neck until they were slotted together. Lottie could feel the flicker of Ellie’s pulse where her cheek rested against her neck. She was so warm; it made her want to melt into her, visions of their kiss from so long ago fluttering through her mind as soft as butterfly wings, but then Ellie pulled away.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, and Lottie couldn’t tell what Ellie was apologizing for. ‘Let’s head upstairs.’
Silently they made their way back to their quarters. They said goodnight at Lottie’s door, hands drifting apart. And, as Lottie climbed into bed, her head filled with images of Alexis and Claude, Haru and Jamie, and Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.
But when she thought of Ellie’s tired eyes, the way she’d crumbled when they’d discovered that Leviathan’s tricks all led back to her family, and the secrets and lies … she wondered was any of this really what was best for Ellie?
Was Lottie helping anyone at all?
