Chapter 38 #2
After Kallen left, I made my way towards Ulric, who was frowning into his wine. A red feather edged in gold had been placed inside the glass—a phoenix feather, like the ones gathered in vases on the tables. Nearby, a servant was offering a similar drink to another high-ranking faerie.
“Princess Kenna,” Ulric said when I stopped beside him. “What an honor to be graced by your presence.” He held out the glass. “What do you think of this garnish?”
“Lord Ulric,” I said, remembering his appreciation for etiquette. “The honor is mine. And that looks inconvenient to drink around.”
“The entire point of phoenix feathers is to watch them go up in flames. But if I lit it, the alcohol would burn off.” He tapped his lips. “A conundrum.”
His tone was light, but I thought about what Kallen had overheard. “Imogen will certainly never light hers, if that’s the consequence.”
Ulric pulled the feather out of the drink and tucked it into his pocket. I raised my brows at the act of thievery, and he shrugged. “She shouldn’t offer what she can’t afford to have taken.”
His blue eyes were bright in contrast to his mulberry-hued mask, and those extravagantly lashed eyes and his curling red hair reminded me so much of Karissa. Maybe that connection was the key to building rapport with him. “You’re Karissa’s uncle, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I was.”
“I’m sorry for what happened to her—”
“I’m not,” he said without changing expression. “The weak have no place in Mistei.”
The callous words took me aback. “You don’t care that your niece was killed?”
“She was the one responsible for that, so no.” He sipped his wine, watching me. “Anyone who makes a display of their weaknesses is responsible for the consequences. No matter how important they imagine themselves to be.”
My skin prickled. That had felt oddly like a threat. “Does that apply to Imogen?”
“It applies to queens most of all.” His mouth tugged into a sudden grin, and he hailed the servant with the tray of feather-garnished drinks. “You, there. Princess Kenna requires wine.”
The Illusion sprite hurried over. “Anything for the Blood princess,” he said fervently, holding out a glass.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I don’t feel like drinking.”
“But I wish to be of service.” The sprite’s shimmering lilac eyes held adoration, and I wondered if he knew the servants who had taken shelter in my house.
“Look at the poor thing,” Ulric said with a laugh. “So desperate to please. You’re supposed to be a champion of the servants—it would be kind to indulge him.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I told the sprite gently, “but—”
“It’s much easier without the feather,” Ulric said, whisking it out of the drink and slipping it into his other pocket. “Drink up, Princess Kenna. Our queen expects nothing less than utter debauchery.”
He was making me uneasy, but the bitter note in his voice signaled an opportunity. “I prefer being sober at these events,” I said, holding out a hand to keep the hopeful-looking sprite at bay. “As Imogen should consider doing on occasion.”
“Come now,” Ulric said. “Everything will be easier if you do.”
My head snapped towards him, and I was in the middle of drawing breath to ask what would be easier when the sprite grabbed my neck and poured the wine into my mouth.
I choked, trying to spit it out, but the liquid was scalding its way down my throat, half going to my stomach and half to my lungs. I coughed, eyes stinging and throat burning.
“There.” Ulric clapped my shoulder with a smile. “Enjoy the party, Princess Kenna.”
He left while I was still bent over coughing. When I straightened, my vision spun, and I staggered sideways into the table. The plates rattled, and vegetable flowers fell to the floor.
Violent euphoria swept over me as the world tilted. I wanted to dance until my feet bled and drink until my stomach burst. I wanted to light the faeries in this room on fire and warm myself by the blaze.
Kill, kill, kill , Caedo was chanting, furious it hadn’t moved fast enough to drain the sprite dry. For a vicious, dizzy moment, I agreed, and magic leapt to my fingertips, promising retribution. I would tear that Underfae apart one bone at a time, and I would laugh while doing it.
A shard of panic pierced the delirium. These weren’t my thoughts.
There had been something in that wine.
I stumbled away from the table, dodging drunkenly careening faeries.
Someone’s shoulder slammed into mine, and I spun, barely staying upright.
My mask had been knocked askew, and I unlaced it with clumsy fingers before flinging it aside.
My magic felt loose and liquid, no longer bound by its normal constraints.
It surged through me, trying to battle whatever poison I’d been dosed with.
Excess power seeped out of my skin in bloody crimson spots, and I couldn’t seem to pull it back in.
“Help,” I gasped. “Kallen, help!”
I staggered in the direction he’d gone. I was too short, though, and as the crowd pressed in around me, I couldn’t see my way out.
Rage roared through me like a forest fire.
“Get out of my way!” I shouted, shoving someone to the ground.
She convulsed, clutching her chest, and the nearest faeries recoiled.
Something was wrong, something bad had just happened, but I couldn’t think past the mix of fury and buzzing panic. As the crowd parted, I finally saw Kallen speaking with Hector beside a silk-wrapped stalagmite. “Help,” I gasped, reaching out a hand as I staggered towards him.
The two Void faeries turned to face me. My vision blurred, and when it cleared, I realized there were three people there, not two. Kallen, Hector…and a copper-haired faerie leaping out from behind the stalagmite with bared teeth and a raised knife.
Drustan plunged the knife into Kallen’s back.
I screamed as Kallen cried out and fell to his knees. He coughed, blood spraying. Drustan raised the knife again, face twisted in an expression of hatred.
“No!” Magic shot from my fingertips, wrapping around Drustan’s throat. His neck snapped, and he collapsed, the dagger falling from his lax fingers.
I fell to my knees, too, dizziness overwhelming me.
Everything went silent.
I blinked, and the world rearranged itself. Hector and Kallen weren’t there anymore. The knife I’d seen clatter to the ground was gone. But Drustan still lay on his side, neck broken and an expression of shock on his face.
Faeries surrounded us, staring horrified at what I had done. Ulric was among them. He met my eyes, then touched his fingers to his brow in a salute.
Blood magic was still boiling through my insides, trying to fix me.
My stomach contracted, and I vomited, spitting up purple bile.
The wine poured out of me in racking waves, puddling at my knees.
My head cleared, and as rational thought returned, I realized what had happened.
Ulric had poisoned me, and while my grip on both reality and my magic was tenuous, he’d shown me an illusion to make me attack Drustan. But why?
Torin pushed through the crowd of gawkers to stand at Ulric’s side. A triumphant look crossed his face. “Guards!” he yelled into the shocked silence. “Seize Princess Kenna. Blood House has broken the Accord.”