A Court Bright and Broken (Age of Fae #1)

11. Glamour Gifts

Chapter 11

Glamour Gifts

S tellon–Two weeks later

Father and I were the last ones remaining at the breakfast table.

Normally, I wouldn’t linger myself, not exactly eager for more face time with our sire, but he’d asked me to stay when the others had finished their meals and gotten up to leave, eager to begin preparations for tonight’s ball.

Once the room was empty, Father studied me in a narrow-eyed perusal that went on for so long I was beginning to sweat.

“What is it? You wanted to speak with me about something?” I prompted.

“You’re different,” he said. “What’s been going on with you lately?”

I looked down at myself as if the right answer would be written across my shirt sleeve. “Nothing. Just the usual. I am my normal self.”

He shook his head. “No. You’ve been different ever since you were hit by that fallen tree.”

Which had, of course, never happened. It was only my cover story for the marketplace beating I took.

I was actually starting to feel a bit touched by his fatherly concern—it was so rare after all—but then he got to the real reason for this little chat.

“Your glamour gift is unaffected, though, correct? You’ll be able to perform tonight if I need you?”

It felt as if my heart had been suddenly hollowed out, its contents replaced by sludge from the kitchen slop buckets.

“Yes, Father. It is wholly intact,” I said.

He nodded. “Good.”

Studying me again, he growled. “For the gods’ sake, put a smile on your face and stop moping around. I’d think you’d be happy the Assemblage has arrived and you’ll finally be able to bond with—”

His words were cut off by a loud crashing sound.

Both of us turned abruptly toward the scullery maid who’d been quietly clearing the table of the breakfast dishes and glasses and silverware.

Her face was horror struck, her cheeks bright red, and her eyes swimming with instantaneous tears. She probably feared for her life, poor girl.

As a human, she had to know it meant nothing to my father. He’d had servants executed for less.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, not daring to look either of us in the eye, and dropped to her knees to collect pieces of the shattered crystal and china.

She worked quickly, sweeping the glass into her bare hands and depositing the ruined mess on the tray.

Seeing blood on her trembling hands, I pushed back my chair and went to stoop beside her.

“Go see the healer,” I urged her, beginning to gather the glass myself.

The shadow of my father loomed above me, dimming the light from the chandeliers.

“Get. Off. The. Floor,” he ordered.

I looked up to see his enraged expression and stood immediately. Though I’d been doing nothing wrong, he was the king. No one disobeyed his orders—not even me.

Besides, while our glamours worked much better on humans than on other Elves, they did have some effect.

As a Compeller, my father’s glamour caused others to want to give him whatever he wanted.

Applied appropriately, it was very useful in ruling a kingdom. He asked his subjects to follow him, and they were very happy to comply.

When used inappropriately however…

A painful knot formed in my throat as my mind flashed through some of the things I’d seen… and done.

When my father’s glamour was amplified, he was unstoppable. People couldn’t resist giving him what he wanted—even when it was to their own detriment.

It was how he’d risen to power despite having no birthright to the throne of the Fae Grand Court.

It was how he’d become richer than any king who’d existed before him—in gold, precious gems, horses, troops, land—and servants, who worked without pay simply because he’d asked them to.

Even his enemies had handed over their lands and riches to him, only to be baffled later about why they’d ever have signed such agreements.

They all hated him for it, but what could they do? They’d voluntarily surrendered what he’d asked for in the presence of witnesses.

He even used his gift on Mareth and Pharis and me.

The two of them gave him love and loyalty—though I’d never been able to detect any actual fatherly love from him in return.

And I gave him what he wanted most–more power.

As an Exalter, my glamour “gift” was the ability to intensify the glamours of others.

My father had always ridiculed me for having a “servant’s glamour” instead of a powerful, “manly” one like his own, but he certainly had no problem availing himself of my lowly magic when it suited him.

“At least make yourself useful and stay close to me,” he’d said on more than one occasion.

It was the reason he spent so much time with me. I was sure others assumed it was because I was his heir and that he wanted me to learn at his knee how to rule in preparation for my ascension to the throne.

But I knew the truth.

I knew him better than anyone did and perhaps ever had. King Pontus Randalin had no intention of ever abdicating the throne.

At least not for the next thousand years anyway. And I had a feeling old age wouldn’t weaken his appetite for power. It seemed to grow stronger with every passing year.

“What can you be thinking, Stellon?” he asked. “To demean yourself for the sake of a servant?”

He gestured violently toward the cowering maid. “A human one at that?”

Disgust curdled his expression as he awaited my response.

“I acted on instinct,” I told him honestly, because I had no choice. He wanted an honest answer.

“Accidents happen, and she was hurt.”

“And what is that to you?”

Father’s probing gaze was back. “You are different. I can’t put my finger on it, but something has changed about you.”

He shook his head and turned to walk away. “Tonight at the ball I want to see a Crown Prince–not a scullery boy. If I hear you’ve gone back and helped this kitchen hag finish her job, I’ll have her disposed of.”

At the door, he stopped and turned to pin me with a glare. “And you know I’ll find out.”

Then he opened it and was gone.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured to the maid, who was shaking all over now.

Walking quickly to the door at the opposite end of the dining room, I didn’t stop until I was in my own chambers on the other side of the castle. Once there, I went to my bedroom window facing the road to the Rough Market and reached into my pocket.

As I had done so often lately, I withdrew the object I was seeking and placed it in the palm of my hand, holding it up to the window. Sunlight gleamed and danced across the shiny silver surface as I tilted my hand side to side.

Raewyn’s locket.

Armed with my drawings, my huntsmen had managed to track down the market thieves a week ago and very quickly extracted from them the location of her missing heirloom. I’d kept it on my person at all times since they’d retrieved it and brought it back to me.

I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I had any way to return it to Raewyn. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d kicked myself for not having her followed home.

Blame the concussion or just sheer stupidity, but it tortured me that I had no idea where she was now.

Yes, I’d given my father an honest answer when he’d demanded to know what I’d been thinking—but I hadn’t told him the entire truth.

Because what I’d been thinking about when I’d seen that poor scullery maid in distress was her .

In fact I’d been thinking about Raewyn almost non-stop since meeting her.

More specifically, I’d been thinking how mistaken Father was about the humans. And I’d been wondering what else might have been inaccurate about the things he’d been teaching me my whole life.

I slipped the necklace back into my pocket, liking the feel of it there. It gave me the sense that I might someday, somehow see her again.

My heart leapt at the foolish notion that she might attend the ball tonight. She did have an invitation.

I could picture her in a beautiful ball gown with her shining hair in curls, her velvety brown eyes sparkling in the light of a thousand candles in the ballroom.

Based on her attire at the market, she wouldn’t be able to afford an elaborate ball gown, but even if she came to the party wearing a country day dress, she’d be the most beautiful woman there.

Why hadn’t she accepted the reward money? Why would she not even accept a meal when her stomach was growling so loudly?

I’d been thinking more and more since we’d parted about why she’d been so frightfully thin, her dress hanging from her frame instead of filling it out as Mareth did hers.

It was fashionable in our Court for women to have curvy, full figures. Was it not the same for the humans? Or was Raewyn’s extremely lean frame not a matter of choice, but of undernourishment?

I wished I could ask her these questions tonight and so many more.

She won’t be there, idiot. If she did come, you couldn’t dance with her. Stop daydreaming.

Despite my internal rebuke, that tiny spark of hope was the only thing cutting through the thick fog of dread that surrounded the Assemblage for me.

Pharis and Mareth both seemed to be looking forward to it. I had too, ten years ago when the last one had occurred.

I’d been fourteen, and it had all seemed so exciting, Elves from the various clans converging here at Seaspire. Back then there had been other Fae as well, even the kind we rarely saw, like the Nymphs who typically stayed close to their islands, and the reclusive Dryads who were loath to leave their precious enchanted forests.

The tournaments, the fireworks, the nightly feasts and entertainment… it had all seemed like endless fun to a teenage boy.

But now the Assemblage and the welcome ball that would occur tonight only symbolized the loss of my freedom—what little I had.

An hour before the ball, Pharis came to my chambers dressed all in black… and with an enormous black leopard at his side.

“Gods, you borrowed Mareth’s glamour, didn’t you?” I asked. “I hope you’re not planning to bring that thing to the ball. You’ll terrify the guests.”

My brother gave me a feline grin worthy of his intimidating companion.

“This thing , according to our sister, is named Melanthios.”

Pharis stroked the top of the large cat’s head. It actually purred.

“And yes, I am planning to bring it to the ball. People are a little more fun when they’re terrified. You get to see who they really are inside.”

He shrugged. “Besides, it matches my outfit.”

“Actually, I have a more important use for your glamour tonight,” I said. “If you’re agreeable.”

“Ah, the Crown Prince needs help from the humble spare? Do tell,” he said.

“I was hoping you could borrow the matchmaker’s glamour for a little while. You know Father’s leaned on her already. I guarantee she’ll survey all the candidates attending the ball and just happen to point out the daughter of one of his political allies. I’ll end up spending eternity with a woman I don’t even like, much less love.”

“So it’s true love we’re after, eh? And you want me to play matchmaker? Interesting,” Pharis drawled as if thinking of all the possibilities.

“If you’re willing,” I said, then clarified, “And don’t even think of suggesting Lady Silvyn.”

He gave a wicked laugh. “What’s the matter, brother? Not a fan of halitosis and non-stop chatter?”

“I’m serious, Pharis. I need your help to make a good choice,” I said. “Not for the whole night, of course. I thought perhaps you could stand near the ballroom door at the beginning and observe the ladies as they’re coming in. If I’ve only got one shot at this, I might as well do it right.”

All Elven people, including the royal family, could take only one bondmate for a lifetime. And since those lifetimes were eternal–unless violence ended our immortality prematurely—it was even more than usually desirable to make a wise choice of partner.

“And what will you give me in return?” Pharis asked. My brother was fond of trades.

“After the opening promenade, I’ll give you my Exalting glamour to use however you see fit for the rest of the evening.”

His expression soured. “You know that’ll do me no good. I have no real glamour of my own, so there’s nothing to exalt. And—no offense—but what fun is it to amplify someone else’s gifts?”

Like me, Pharis had been demeaned his whole life for having an “inferior” glamour.

He was a Gleaner, and our father had said on more than one occasion his ability to temporarily appropriate the glamours of others made him “no better than a beggar.”

“Something else then,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

Pharis’ smile returned. “I’ll tell you what… I’ll help you out. And at some point during the evening, I’ll tap you on the shoulder, and you’ll let me cut in and dance with your partner—even if she’s the fairest maiden of them all.”

Relieved, I agreed immediately. “It’s a deal.”