“Yes, of course,” Luci’s heart beat like an anvil in her chest, crushing.
Unaware of her growing panic, Max opened to a marked page.
“In this one, Dorothy falls asleep in a field of poppies just as you described in the vision. More than that, Ira was right, why create a glass room if not to communicate with future generations? It’s probable it was referring to Glass Mountain just as Dorothy fell asleep in the poppies at the base of that very mountain. I know you hypothesized the winged creature could be a wyvern, but nothing else points to the blue mountains. I’ve scoured for any mention of glittering caves or lagoons, but I can’t find anything.”
Bile crept up her throat, but Lucinda Blackthorn was no coward.
“There was a constellation in the sky. A rose,” she whispered.
Max’s eyes lit up, a child-like joy that was odd on him despite his age. Luci was convinced that he was at least an eighty-year-old soul trapped in a child’s body.
“It’s north! It’s the Blue Mountains!”
The stars shone in his eyes as he stood and covered his mouth with his hand. Rare was it that dreams came true, but for this prince, the thing he loved most was real beyond a doubt. Every story, every glittering ballroom, and every magic spell was real.It was more than enough to burst through her chest. It was odd that something so beautiful could feel like a death blow.
“I suppose you will send a party to retrieve the flower.” She said.
Max’s smile faded, and he tilted his head, studying her like she was a mystery.
“I’m only seven years old,” he said. “I don’t actually have any authority.”
The laugh tasted sour in her throat.
“Your brother will,” she said.
He stepped forward and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Why do you look like that? Like you dropped your favorite dessert on the floor?” he asked.
What a conundrum the young prince was. Precocious, but still a child. He saw more than most did, but through the lens of a child.
“It’s been a long day,” she said.
“It’s not even lunch time,” he countered.
“So it is.” Luci hummed. “I think I’ll head over to the infirmary.”
Max’s brow pulled down into nearly impossible depths, and a pang of guilt shot through her that she was confusing him. Reaching over, Luci ruffled the little prince’s hair that was light and curly beneath her fingers. He swatted her away and backed up, but his brow was more relaxed, and he fought to hide his smile through a harsh sniff of his nose.
“I am a prince, you know,” he said.
“Is that so?” she winked.
Huffing out a long breath, he gathered his papers.
“Have you seen Ira?” he asked.
Wasting no time, it would seem.
“Croquet,” Luci answered.
The prince rolled his eyes and stepped around her to the door.
“I hate croquet,” he lamented.
“Me too.”
Chapter sixteen