Chapter 3
3
Saskia’s crown of bones was poking into her skull, and it itched. She would have reached up to rearrange it—or at least to give her head a good scratch—but Morlokk loomed on one side of her massive throne while Mrs. Haglitz crouched on the other, both looking appropriately doom-ridden and forbidding. She couldn’t bear the looks of disappointment she would get if she let them down so badly.
So she lifted her chin and curled her upper lip into an appropriately disdainful sneer as she flicked her fingers in the direction of the great doors at the opposite end of the reception hall. They crashed open in response to her command, and she prepared to look unimpressed.
It wasn’t difficult. A tall, slim figure stepped silently into the hall, wearing a cloak so oversized it could have hidden half an army and pacing as slowly and deliberately across the ancient flagstones as if he were waiting for a cheering crowd to hail his wizardly progress.
Honestly, how many more times would she find herself inflicted with men so drunk on their own power that they insisted on constantly interfering with her work? From the bullying magical guards her uncle had first forced upon her through all the tedious assassins he’d sent after her escape…
Once she’d finally dealt with his nonsense by taking back his stolen throne, she’d been naive enough to imagine that she’d be free of the plague of interruptions forever after.
Saskia’s nostrils flared with intense irritation as the doors slammed shut behind her latest guest. He didn’t even give her the petty satisfaction of jumping at the echoing crash.
“Well?” Back in her laboratory, the silversand she had so carefully prepared would be losing more and more of its efficacy with every passing minute. “Out with it!”
The cloaked figure stilled at her demand… but surprisingly, he didn’t respond with any of the sinister bluster that most of his ilk seemed to prefer. Instead, there was a long moment in which she gathered the unsettling impression that he was studying her far too keenly from within the shadowy folds of his hood. Then he stepped gracefully forward and spoke in a low and perfectly calm voice. “Your Majesty, Queen Saskia. You honor me with your welcome. I appreciate—”
“Yes, yes.” Saskia waved one annoyingly beringed hand to speed him up. “And I appreciate that you haven’t tried to blow up any pieces of my home to prove your power, like the last one did.”
“Ah…?” The cloaked figure’s head tilted in what looked dangerously like a warning gesture.
Saskia’s two most loyal retainers both stiffened as one, bracing for an explosion of magical offense.
Argh. This was one of those moments when, as Morlokk was always ready to point out, Saskia needed to focus more on diplomacy than potions, wasn’t it?
“I’m sure your power is extremely impressive— far more impressive than any other dark wizard’s,” she said swiftly, “but let’s cut to the bone, shall we? We both know why you’re here, and if I don’t return to more impor—that is, to my own work, quickly, I’ll have wasted an entire batch of silversand. I’m sure you know how difficult it is to get hold of any of that nowadays, what with the Archduke of Estarion being more of a pigheaded brute than ever!”
“… Ah.” There was another long silence. “Your Majesty, I think, perhaps…”
“Must we discuss the terms first?” There were no clocks in this hall to help her gauge the time; she flung a desperate look towards the high windows that she’d had chiseled for her crows and bats, but all she could see through them was a steady, pressing darkness. “I thought the advertisement had covered all of that, but I suppose, if you’re not satisfied with the payment offered…”
“It’s not the payment.” Yet another maddeningly long pause lingered in the room before he finally continued, sounding distinctly choked. “The Archduke… that is, on the matter of the Archduke of Estarion… or his policies…” He cleared his throat. “I can’t…”
“Oh, I know.” Incoherent rage vied only with despair as the most popular reaction whenever this topic came up within the magical community. She should have known better than to bring it up when her silversand was waiting. Saskia’s fingers tightened around the arms of her throne with the effort of infusing sympathy into her voice. “We all wish only the worst to come upon him, of course, but I’ll tell you what I’ve told everyone else, including my own First Minister: I’ve dealt with more than enough battles for the time being. If anyone wants to send me the Archduke trussed up on a plate, I’ll be more than happy to see to his execution, but otherwise, I’ll settle for keeping my own people safe and my work undisturbed. ”
Possibly, she shouldn’t have added that last note. Judging by Morlokk’s barely withheld sigh and the wizard’s blank silence in response, it might not have sounded quite as sympathetic as she had intended.
Oh, botheration! She’d waited weeks for this batch of silversand to arrive so she could test her theories out. If they did work, she could do far more good for her kingdom than even the most accomplished wizard ever would. She was finished with placation!
“All I need you to do is sort out the library for me,” she said sharply. “Arrange it all into some reasonable order, set aside anything that looks particularly dangerous or useful, and catalogue the contents. Do you think you could do that?”
“I… probably could.” He still sounded disturbed, perhaps still embroiled in the emotional turmoil of whichever unfortunate memories she had stirred up with her earlier, careless reference. “But… that is, the moment I remove this cloak, you’re going to…”
“Of course, we’d all be traumatized by your sinister magnificence if we witnessed it unhindered.” She sighed. “I understand the danger, believe me. Many— many —wizards have explained it to me before, in”— mind-numbing —“detail.”
Unable to sit still for even a single moment longer, she leapt to her feet and hurried down the stone steps to the flagstones before him, her crimson silk skirts rustling. “Keep the cloak on as much as you like,” she told him briskly. “We’re quite used to it, I assure you. Or you could wear a nice mask, if you prefer! I think the last wizard left behind a silver moon-mask from one of his rituals—I’ll see if Mrs. Haglitz can root it out for you. My uncle kept a collection of masquerade half-masks stashed somewhere in this castle, too. Feel free to use any of them.”
“But…” From within the depths of the cloak, a black-gloved hand appeared, reaching towards her. “Your Majesty, I really must…”
“Morlokk and Mrs. Haglitz will see to everything you need!” she caroled brightly over her shoulder as she strode towards the closest side door. “They’ll show you to your bedchamber tonight and direct you to the library tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with your accommodations. My uncle always liked to put up his visitors in style.” Unlike his family.
“But—!”
Ignoring his final, outraged protest, she lunged through the side door and slammed it shut behind her. The moment that she was safely out of view, she yanked her queenly skirts above her knees and hurtled down the darkened passageway as purposefully as if she were still a girl on the run from her uncle’s minions.
She had no more time for interruptions.
Felix stared blankly at the closed door. His head was whirling again—and this time, not just from exhaustion. The moment he’d glimpsed that extraordinary, beautiful, terrible figure in her nightmarish crown of bones, the earth had seemed to shift beneath his feet. For all he knew, it really might have; judging by that magical barrier between their realms, Queen Saskia was more than capable of bending the physical world to her will.
But what— how ?
“Sinistro.” The massive ogre who hulked on one side of the empty throne growled out the unfamiliar word, and Felix’s attention snapped immediately to the most terrifying of the two occupants left in this hall.
He had seen depictions of ogres many times before, of course, in textbooks and in the sort of prints that were hawked by vendors around Estaviel City, passed with gleeful horror from hand to hand and finally left to flutter onto the crowded pavements for passersby to trample. In those prints, the ogres were generally shown rampaging through peaceful Estarian villages, adorned only in loincloths and smeared blood and wielding their giant fists and tusks against small children.
The ogre before him now was disconcertingly different and yet no less intimidating. That perfectly fitted, silver-trimmed black uniform and stylish crimson waistcoat, studded with buttons at least as big as Felix’s palms, only emphasized the inhuman breadth and bulk of its vast chest and arms, while the gold caps that covered the sharp tips of its tusks brought attention to that barely shielded danger. Its yellow eyes held far more intelligence than he’d expected… and they were fixed upon him now with open speculation, while Felix remained in frozen silence.
Damn it!
Wincing at the realization, he sent up thanks to Divine Elva that the hood of his cloak so thoroughly hid his face. The ogre before him might think him eccentric in his silence, but at least it hadn’t seen him gaping like a fool. His parents and every one of his tutors in courtly courtesy would have been ashamed if they had seen him gawking at anyone—human or not—in such an uncouth manner.
“I do beg your pardon.” Gathering his wits together, he tried to recall exactly what the monster had just said to him. Sinistro? He didn’t recognize the word, but it had carried the ring of a title. Considering that he was, apparently, meant to carry himself off as an expert librarian-slash-dark-wizard from now on— Elva preserve me! —he should probably not ask for explanations. “Ah… Morlokk, I presume?” He nodded as politely as he could within the constraints of the hood.
“I am Her Majesty’s majordomo,” said the ogre, in a deep and growling voice that somehow managed to convey an accent of high culture while still sending cold, instinctive warning down Felix’s spine. Like Queen Saskia, the ogre spoke Kitvarian rather than Imperial Serafin, but fortunately, Felix had been drilled in all of the continent’s native languages early in his childhood… and, in a useful reminder, the formation of Morlokk’s title also included a clear gender.
From now on, Felix would have to remember to think of the ogre as him, not it. The Count would have snapped a scorching rebuke if Felix had ever dared refer to any inhuman creature in such a respectful fashion—but Queen Saskia had shocked the continent by declaring all sentient creatures in her domain to be equal citizens. It was a complete overturn of her own nation’s previous laws as well as a stark contrast to those in place across the Empire, and Felix would do well to remember that difference if he wanted any chance of fitting into his new role.
“And this is Mrs. Haglitz, Her Majesty’s housekeeper.” Morlokk gestured with heavy courtesy to the troll woman who huddled on the other side of the throne, wrapped in a black-and-purple embroidered shawl that covered most of her large head and the top half of her body. Only the tip of her long, green nose poked out, but somehow, Felix still gathered the strong sense of a suspicious glower coming from deep within. Hidden bottles and jars clinked noisily from within her coverings as she gave a notably late and grudging half-curtsey.
Felix nodded deeply in return. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Hmmph.” The tip of that green nose twitched sharply with Mrs. Haglitz’s sniff. “We’ll see. Just don’t come rummaging around my pantry without asking, especially if you’re planning to try out any new spells. And if you think I’ll stand for any more of my good curtains and bedcovers being burnt up in some wizard’s rage—!”
“Ah…” Felix blinked twice behind his hood. “I’ll do my best to restrain myself.”
Morlokk sighed and reached up with one massive, gnarled fist to rub at his rock-studded forehead. “I assure you, Sinistro, Mrs. Haglitz means no disrespect. We merely… understand how easy it is to forget about such mundane and lowly concerns when bearing the, ah, burden of such immense power.”
“I see.”
They actually imagined they might be in danger from him ? It was so far from the truth that Felix could have laughed hysterically… if he didn’t understand exactly what would happen when this misunderstanding was inevitably uncovered.
“If anyone wants to send me the Archduke trussed up on a plate, I’ll be more than happy to see to his execution.”
“Sinistro?” Morlokk repeated. “Shall I show you to your bedchamber?”
The world was tipping woozily around him, and he knew he’d more than likely be killed in the morning…
But after four long days of travel, Felix couldn’t bring himself to turn down the prospect of at least one proper sleep beforehand.
“Lead on,” he said firmly, and did his best to pace in a sinister and wizardly manner from the entry hall.