Step 9c: ...preferably one that doesn't involve your dead mother

Ivelle gaped at her mother through the prison bars, convinced she was still dreaming.

A loud clang! split the night. Her padlock, its metal frame sheared in two, tumbled to the ground, smoking pieces scattering across the hard dirt floor. For a moment, she was nine years old again, trying to pick the lock to the Wellbegone Bank, only to have her mother swoop in and melt it with a well-placed curse.

The crackle of flames roused Ivelle from her stupor. She stared down at her pallet—the edge nearest where the padlock had landed was already blazing briskly—then pinched her arm, hard.

It hurt.

It hurt, and her small cell was starting to smell like scorched hay.

This wasn't a dream.

Her mother was here.

"I thought you'd died!" With a burst of energy, Ivelle scrambled to her feet and tried, self-consciously, to straighten her rumpled jester's uniform as she stomped on the flames now threatening to consume her pallet.

Ascoria rolled her eyes. "I didn't die, Ivelle."

Of course her mum hadn't died. Ascoria was an unstoppable force of nature. She'd probably stored pieces of her soul in a diary or a locket or some poor sod's forehead scar. Silly of Ivelle to think she could be offed so easily.

"If you weren't dead," said Ivelle, abandoning the mess that was her jester's uniform to give the pallet-fire a few more solid stomps. "where have you been for the past three years?"

Ascoria sighed. "After the nonsense with Lord Saffron, I did some soul searching. I started wondering if I only brought you misery. If you might be happier without me in your life, dragging you from crime to crime in pursuit of wealth and power. When I saw Saffron's arrow coming at me, I made a split-second decision—to let myself be hit by the arrow, magically fake my own death, and take myself out of your life forever. To let you go your own way, even if it meant trying that silly... woodworking business you'd always wanted."

Ivelle's lips parted in shock. Had her mum finally gained some maturity in the years she'd been gone?

"HOW WRONG I WAS!"

...Apparently not.

"Your shop is practically bankrupt. And this nonsense with Lillian and the fliers just proves you're useless without me! I can't believe you managed to fall for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Lillian used you from the moment she walked in your shop, and you were blithely oblivious!"

"You've been spying on me?"

"You're lucky I was." Her mum tapped her fingers against the wall. "I didn't raise my daughter to be a naïve twit. If you're going to be evil, at least fully commit to it. None of this wishy-washy will-I-won't-I-kill-him bullshit. This is why you need me, Ivelle. This whole nonsense just goes to show it."

She waved an impatient hand. The cell door flew open, as though caught in an invisible wind (her mum had always had a flair for the dramatic). Ascoria seized Ivelle's wrist in an iron grip that was all-too-familiar and started for the doorway. "We're going."

"Hold on a minute!" Ivelle stumbled after her, almost skinning her knuckles against the frame of her cell. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe. Far from this cursed kingdom, where your idiocy won't get you killed."

"Can we at least talk about this?" Ivelle dug her heels in harder, wincing as her mother's fake nails bit into her wrists. "Also, what about Princess Mariel? Shouldn't we help her escape too?"

Ascoria cast a cool glance toward Mariel's cell, where the princess watched them with guarded eyes, her face blank.

"Don't be absurd," Ascoria said. "Lillian needs a scapegoat."

"Lillian's a menace to society!"

"Oh for—Ivelle Delaville, what are you doing?"

"Trying to stop an innocent woman from being unjustly framed for murder." Ivelle, who had just yanked her hand from her mother's grasp, stalked to the keyring that hung by the door. Ignoring Ascoria's glare, she inserted its keys one after the other into the lock to Mariel's door. Eventually, the lock snicked open, and Ivelle tugged the door open.

"You always were too soft." Astoria's hand encircled Ivelle's wrist again, yanking her toward the exit. "Now that you've done your good deed for the day"—Ivelle could practically hear the eyeroll in her mother's voice—"follow me, and for Hell's sake, keep your mouth shut."

Ivelle followed her lead as they edged past the mandragar-ed guards whose bodies littered the hall just beyond the prison cells. She kept quiet as they made their way toward the torchlit staircase.

Beneath her silence, her mind churned with possibilities. Her mother might claim to have Ivelle's best interests at heart, but if there was one thing she knew about her Ascoria, it was that she never acted without a motive. Usually one that benefited her financially.

They passed more sleeping guards as they glided up the dungeon steps and through the ground floor of the watch-tower. A few of the downed men were stirring slightly, and Ascoria pressed a warning finger to her lips as they tiptoed toward. Silently, she twisted the handle and stalked into the chilly night, Ivelle still in tow. Mariel trailed after them, a healthy distance away.

The moment the three of them were outside, Ivelle wrested free of her mother's grasp.

"You seem to have an awful lot of insight about what Lillian and everyone else in the castle is up to." Her voice was heavy with suspicion. "What are you really doing here, Mother?"

"I told you, Ivelle, I've been watching over you."

Mariel, who had been trailing them at a safe distance, paused, seemingly torn between watching the drama and slinking off to someplace less exposed.

Ignoring the princess, Ivelle spread her hands. "Just how have you been watching over me?"

Her mum rolled her eyes. "Use your head for once, Ivelle. Do you really think someone of my talents couldn't find her way into the palace? Particularly with a king with as many... appetites... as King Gorlin had?"

Eurgh. Mental images Ivelle neither needed nor desired flashed across her mind, and she fought the urge to gag.

That explained her mother's dress, at least. The slit in her skirt extended all the way to the top of her thigh, and its cleavage plunged lower than the gulches where Ivelle had played as a child.

Another thought crossed her mind, mercifully distracting her from the mental image of Ascoria telling King Gorlin to spank her harder. "The treasury thief... that was you!"

"Well done, Ivelle. I see that one brain cell of yours hasn't completely atrophied in my absence." Ascoria put an impatient hand on her hip. "Now, will you come along? We may be out of the dungeon, but we're still exposed. Some of the bombs disrupted the tiger containment zone this afternoon, and the guards won't stay mandragar-ed forever—"

"Just a minute." Ivelle sucked in a breath. Something still wasn't lining up. Her mother was acting shifty, even for her, and her impatience felt oddly evasive. Sure, they'd just broken out of prison, and dilly-dallying was not in their best interest.

But.

Her mother was hiding something.

She could feel it.

What was it Lillian had said earlier? I can't take all the credit... I had one or two people in my corner who helped brainstorm the idea. At the time, Ivelle had assumed she was referring to the servants who'd come with her from Castrena. But now...

"You're in cahoots with Lillian," she said slowly. "Aren't you?"

"Really Ivelle, we don't have time for theatrics."

But the slight tensing at the corner of Ascoria's eyes told Ivelle all she needed to know.

"What did she offer you?" The blood pounded in her ears. "Or... or was it you who came up with this whole foul scheme, and Lillian was just doing your bidding?"

"Contrary to what you seem to think, Ivelle, I don't make a habit of ensnaring hardworking women to become my minions." Her mum pursed her lips. "If you must know, I met Lillian three years ago, shortly after I faked my own death. She was a lost soul back then, adrift, searching desperately for a way to take revenge on those who had wronged her. I needed something to occupy my time with you no longer around. It was a mutually beneficial partnership. She proved a most enthusiastic pupil—far more adept than you ever were."

"You used her. You took advantage of her innocence—"

Ascoria snorted. "Believe me, Lillian was far from innocent, even back then. I just gave her the tools to succeed against that miserable fool of a king. She accomplished the rest on her own."

"Liar!" Ivelle's hands balled into fists. She paced the grounds, accidentally crushing a plot of begonias in her agitation. "I bet you were responsible for most of her bad decisions! You didn't guide me any better back when you were my mother—"

"I'm still your mother!"

"—so why should it be any different for Lillian?" Ivelle's chest heaved with rage. "Did you convince her to drug Eirifold with mandragar? To frame him for the servant attacks, and to use Mariel as a scapegoat? Did you"—The breath caught in her throat, as another realization hit her—"Did you come up with the plan to blame me for the murders?"

Silence followed this accusation. It filled the air and the space between them, stretching, cloying, clogging the space with a tense anticipation. Even the tigers that prowled the grounds stopped growling to listen.

"Ivelle," said her mother. "You have to understand—"

Ivelle turned away. Something was shattering inside her, leaving her exhausted and empty. Any relief she had felt upon seeing her mother alive was gone, replaced by a hopeless numb rage. She began to walk away, not even thinking where her feet might be taking her.

"Ivelle!" Her mother stalked after her and tried to grab her wrist. "Come back this instant. Do you want to be eaten by a tiger?"

Ivelle slapped her hand away. "Honestly, I think being eaten by a tiger would be a better fate than being dragged off to God-knows-where to be used by you again. Let me guess! You weren't happy with how I was living my life, so you set out teach me a lesson—that I couldn't trust anyone—that I was helpless without you—and then when I was at my lowest, you were planning to come heist me out of my prison cell, back into your loving care."

"It isn't quite like that—"

"It is. You haven't changed at all." She stalked away, her nails digging into her arms. "The incident with Saffron taught you nothing! You're still trying to manipulate me!"

Ascoria, who seemed to have reached the bottom of her (pretty much nonexistent) supply of patience, huffed with exasperation. "If Lillian hadn't gotten to you, someone else would've seen your flier, and they would've embroiled you in an even worse mess! I was protecting you, you fool!"

"Well you have a shit way of showing it!" Ivelle's fists balled at her side, her breathing ragged. "Manipulating people? Using them? Newsflash, Mother, but that isn't the way to get them on your side—nor is teaching them to poison people for your own nefarious ends!"

"Ivelle—"

"You've always loved calling me the stupid one, but you know what's really stupid, Mother? Not recognizing or fixing your fucking maladaptive patterns of behavior! A mature person would've just gone to therapy and done some hard work looking at herself in the mirror, but noooo, you decided to use your daughter to fuck up a kingdom instea—"

"Watch out for that tiger!"

Ivelle threw herself to the side, just as a massive Bengal tiger, easily a 500-pounder, launched itself out of the shadows. Her mum shrieked a curse. There was a bang, like a half-dozen fireworks bursting, and the tiger let out a yowl of pain. Ivelle felt the heat of its breath on her face as it sailed past her, its teeth missing her by inches before its body collided with the ground. A second later, Ivelle's arm exploded with pain. The tiger's back claws had scored a gash in her shoulder.

The tiger staggered to its feet again, snarling with rage.

Ivelle stumbled backward, clutching her wounded arm. The air was smoky with whatever spell her mum had just used, and she could barely see the tiger, much less anything else. A shout rang out in the distance, followed by the wail of a klaxon and hammering of half a dozen boots hurrying toward them.

Fuck.

Smoke stinging her eyes, Ivelle sprinted in the direction of the castle—at least, where she thought she'd seen the castle earlier.

Behind her, she heard the tiger snarl and give chase.

An uninjured Bengal tiger can run at 40 miles per hour—twice as fast as a human running at top speed. Thankfully for Ivelle, this Bengal tiger was a little bit dazed, its ankle sprained from the hex her mum had launched at it earlier, and its heart wasn't fully into the chase. It was also suffering from an identity crisis, as the land of Bengal had never existed in Ivelle's universe, but the alternative ('Estrellan tiger') didn't sound nearly as terrifying or ferocious. As Ivelle crashed through the castle door and slammed it in the tiger's face, the tiger gave a disgruntled huff and stalked away, to further brood upon the mystery of its existence.

Ivelle, who was privy to none of this, was simply grateful she had escaped before she became the tiger's bedtime snack. She leaned against the wall, panting and clutching her wounded shoulder, as she took stock of her surroundings. She appeared to have entered the castle through the servants' quarters—though, which particular servants' quarters was anyone's guess.

She wondered if her mum had survived, and then wondered why she even cared. No—that was wrong of her—she did still care, of course she cared, but that didn't stop her from being utterly furious at the fact that her mum had betrayed her, and used her, and didn't even have the decency to apologize.

Again.

Well, she was done with being her mother's puppet. She was going to find the two people in this castle who weren't set on using her for their own ends and protect them at all costs. Her mother would be fine. Ascoria was always fine—her mother couldn't even manage to stay dead when she was supposed to...

With a hiss of frustration, Ivelle tore a strip off the bottom of her jester's uniform and wound it around her bleeding shoulder, then dug into her pocket for her remaining invisibility chewing gum. A moment later, she flattened herself against a doorway as a platoon of guards came clattering down the hallway and hurtled outside.

That was too close. Giving a silent thanks for the darkness and the chewing gum—of which there was only one stick left—Ivelle started cautiously down the hall toward the main palace.

She had to skirt another platoon of guards before she arrived at Lillian's private kitchens. The castle was on high alert. Ivelle supposed the sudden poisoning of three royals, combined with the earlier rebel bomb that had struck the castle gates, had triggered the increased security.

Ivelle tiptoed toward the door to the kitchens, but paused on the threshold. Voices sounded from within, and a sliver of light peeked out from beneath the door. "—not a good sign that she sent you away—Queen Ysette doesn't trust..." she heard Anabelle's voice say, before the woman stepped too far away for her to hear.

Cursing under her breath, Ivelle tiptoed away. She whispered a silent apology to Ash in her head for having to abandon him again.

Just hang on, Ash—I'll come back to the crow-firmery in a few hours, after everyone's asleep.

Snatching a torch off one of the walls, Ivelle tiptoed back to the statue of the fat king and let herself into the secret passage that led to Eirifold's room. The walk through the passage seemed longer than usual tonight, the shadows darker, and Skullica's lifeless remains grimmer and more macabre than ever. Ivelle quieted her steps and slowed her breathing as she approached the hidden doorway. Holding her breath, she pressed one eye to the peephole.

Eirifold was alone. He lay on his bed, his body eerily still in the torchlight, his face lifeless.

Heart hammering with sudden dread, Ivelle shoved the door open and hurried toward him. She stared down at Eirifold's unmoving chest, then touched his hand. His skin was ice-cold, his fingers stiff and unyielding.

Tears rose to her eyes.

She had come too late.

Eirifold was dead.