Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
So that’s how I find myself hours later pacing my room from side to side, from the door to the window and back, from the oval mirror showing me my disheveled state to the four-poster bed.
Better than shaking, curled up on the floor, I suppose.
Been there, done that. Curled up and shook while the human contestants ate and drank and made plans for the second trial. At least, I assume that’s what they were doing.
But now I’m done with that.
My attempt to kill the king has failed. It was a long shot, but it was my best shot.
My twisted dagger has been confiscated, and I doubt I’ll be allowed so close to him ever again.
Besides, what use would it be when he can throw up that wall of magic, when he can disarm me with a flick of his fingers, sending those shadows at me with a thought?
Why didn’t he kill me on the spot? Why didn’t he call his guards to throw me in chains and drop me into the sea?
He treated me like a child, sending me off to prepare for the ball. Humiliating. Embarrassing as all hells.
Frightening.
How? How did he gain shadow magic? What is going on here?
A knock on the door startles me out of my rumination, and I stagger to a stop.
“My lady, it’s the seamstress!” a pleasant female voice calls out. “Are you decent? May I come in and fit your gown for the ball?”
With a sigh, I go to open the door, and the seamstress enters, stressed and sweaty. She’s a middle-aged human with her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She has crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, but also smile lines around her mouth, and she does smile.
In another life, I’d have smiled back. Tried to become friends. I like the motherly pat she gives my cheek.
But I also abhor it. I’m not a princess. Not a girl. And certainly not friend material.
Funny how many humans the fae employ when they consider us vermin only fit for extermination. I’ve also heard of artists invited to the palaces and manor houses, painters and portraitists, and even sometimes musicians and dancers.
The fae like visual art, but they seem to not possess the talent for it. They are gifted in music and dance, and with their magic, they transform spaces and objects, but drawing and painting? Not their forte.
They are such strange creatures, looking so much like us and yet alien in ways you don’t expect.
“We didn’t look like this before crossing.”
I thought I knew a lot about the fae, and about how they conquered us. I thought I knew all I needed to know, and here the fae king comes, confusing the hells out of me.
“Our journey isn’t ended. We must forge on.”
How does this affect humans? Is he planning on taking us with him as hostages to cook his food and paint his portraits? Or is he leaving not to return?
Is it even possible? The fae broke into this world after the last Reversal, and Reversals happen every thousand years, give or take. It’s only been three hundred since the last one. How does he hope to open a gate?
Does it really matter, though , a voice asks inside my head, if he goes and never comes back? If he takes his soldiers with him, his armies and guards and sneering nobles, and leaves us in peace at last?
He’d never do that, though. He’d never give up on this world, despite his talk of taint and rot. He’s only looking for excuses to conquer the universe.
“Let’s see what we have to work with,” the seamstress says, interrupting my morose thoughts, bustling about the room. “Oh, here we are.”
Daria has left a light green gown, obviously chosen for the ball, on a chair by the window. It’s similar to the one I wore last night at the banquet.
The seamstress places her sewing basket on the desk and examines the gown with a frown on her face. “No, this isn’t the one,” she mutters, turning it this way and that, as if looking for something. “Not the one.”
What is she talking about? Her words make me stir. I point at the gown, gesturing at it. Not the one?
“I was told that the king will be sending a gown for you.”
Is she serious?
I shake my head. After what happened, the king won’t bother to send a thing. Why would he send a gown to me in the first place? It has to be a misunderstanding.
But another knock comes on the door, and Daria enters together with the younger maid, Peri. They are carrying between them a white and gray gown, glittering with gems.
Oh, gods…
The seamstress claps her hands, her smile widening. “Here we go. The king has sent you a gown from his private collection, and I believe the size is about right…”
I can barely hear her over the buzzing in my ears. That gown looks eerily familiar, but I have no idea why. It’s elegant and simple, with no ruffles or complicated bodices. It cinches under the bust, and from there, white ribbons flow. The bust is stitched with small clear gems and pearls.
I know all that before the gown is even laid out on the bed.
“It’s beautiful,” Daria exclaims, stepping back and clasping her hands at her chest, eyes bright.
Peri is just staring at it. “We should help Lady Rae into it…”
White and gray. The colors of the darakin that Jai has befriended. What are the odds?
“White and gray. It’s as if he belongs with you.”
Nothing weird about it , I tell myself as Daria and Peri help me undress and get into the glittering gown. Jai was right. They are my colors—my hair, my eyes—so in that sense, I can see why the king would choose it for me.
Why would the king choose a gown for me? Why did he speak to me? I still can’t fathom any of it.
Had Amphitrite known that he’d want to speak with me? Is that why the spell hasn’t dissolved, to protect my identity and real power? Does she know things I don’t? Does she know of the king’s plans to invade other worlds? Didn’t she think I had need of such information?
“Here, my lady, please stand in front of the mirror.” The seamstress herds me to the gilt, oval frame where my pale reflection stares back at me. “Let’s see what needs to be altered…”
It takes forever for the seamstress to pin the fabric, muttering to herself as she adjusts the gown around my poor curves and jutting bones.
I hadn’t always been that skinny, I recall. I hadn’t always been this ugly.
Then she’s finally done and I’m allowed to escape the swaths of fabric and gems, while she sits at the desk with her basket and gets to stitching.
So much work for one ball. The free day makes better sense when you consider that the palace seamstresses are going from human to human to adjust gowns and suits for the big event taking place tomorrow.
By the gods, how important are shows for the fae? Shows of lights and shadows, shows of wealth and culture. They have to be perfect, with no flaws showing.
And so does my gown, apparently.
Peri sits with the seamstress, helping her by holding the gown, passing her threads and needles, and even stitching parts of the bodice.
Meanwhile, Daria sets about tidying up and cleaning my room—I bet only so that she can keep staring at the pretty gown the king sent. It glitters in the candlelight. I doubt he sent beautiful gowns to all the surviving human women.
Yet another thing to single me out tomorrow at the ball.
I resume pacing, since nobody seems to need me at this point, sinking into the turmoil of my mind. I mean, what does all this matter? I already know I won’t get another chance to stab the king, so what’s the use? I might as well throw myself off the tallest terrace and embrace death.
A screech outside the window has me spinning around, and I frown at the serpentine, winged form gliding by. A darakin?
The darakin, the white and gray one.
What is it doing?
Daria, who was draping a bath sheet over the side of the bronze tub, draws away from the window with a gasp. She presses her thumb to her forehead, a sign of protection, pulling off her maid’s bonnet. “Great gods above. The things we’ve seen during this festival…”
And you’ve seen nothing yet , I think.
For some reason, the thought calms me down. So what if the king wields shadows? So what if I don’t know everything that might help me kill him? I’m still here, and while I’m here, I’ll get another stab at this, pun intended. I just need to keep my eyes peeled, and always be ready.
I won’t throw away this opportunity. I’d be selfish to end myself now.
By the time the seamstress is done, between the gown fitting, the visit with the king, and all my pacing, most of the day has passed.
Night has fallen.
Outside my window, the sea glimmers in places with phosphorescent algae and shoals of luminescent lampfish, fish that usually precede the processions of sea sylphs and mermaids. A nokke with a long purple mane frolics among the glowing fish.
It’s a celebration of the dusk, in the same way humans and fae often celebrate the dawn.
I spread my fingers against the thick glass. Exhaustion drags me down. Every ache and sting in my body flares. Rest. I should rest.
But I won’t. During this afternoon, I made a new plan.
The king’s magic won’t be countered by anything I own. What I need to do is return to the sea and ask the Sea Queen once more to lift the geas off me.
It’s the only way.
She’ll do it. She has to. The king’s demise is her desire, too, and I’m her weapon. She has to see that. No matter the reason for this delay, Amphitrite has to set it right.
I grin in the dimness, broken only by a lit candle flickering by the bedside as I brush my hand one last time over the glass, looking down at the water.
I’m ready to rejoin death’s dance.