Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I thought I’d have all day at my disposal to make my next move.
Turns out, I was wrong.
“The ball,” Daria is saying, “starts at midday, with the ceremonies for the Pillar and the Reversal, the drak air show and the guest parade.”
Hells. When I said the fae like their shows, I never thought I’d see such extensive proof of that in only three days.
“So we’re going to draw you a bath,” she continues, all business, “then do your hair and help you dress. Do you have an escort? Has he given you a token of his to wear?”
A token? I stare at her. What kind of token?
“Never mind.” She sighs. “What was I thinking? Who would take you to the ball?” She coughs behind her hand. “Apologies, my lady, but tongues are wagging, saying you’re siding with the fae and that you’ve been marked with a curse.”
Of course they are saying that. And who would honestly expect the survivors of the first trial to find the energy to court one another and offer gifts? Where would we even find them? When would we have found the time to make such a connection with one another?
“You would like me to pick you up from your room, give you a gift to bear on your shoulder and dance with me.”
I shiver.
Two manservants enter, hauling buckets of hot water to pour into the bronze tub. The warmth steams the window. I suppose it’s cold outside. Maybe it’s even cold inside this room.
But I’m made of cold. I don’t notice it. The only thing chilling me is the fae king’s gaze and the fear of failure.
“Come, my lady.” Daria drags me to the tub and starts unlacing my gray dress. “Did you sleep in this? It’s so wrinkled we may never get the creases out again. And look at your hands! Is that dirt or blood? Did you get your monthlies?”
I shake my head but let her unlace me, fuss over me, and finally help me into the tub. The heat of the water reminds me of Jai.
How sick is that?
Insane.
Some young maids come and go, bringing undergarments, cosmetics, jewels, fresh flowers—for my hair? For the room? I can only guess.
Daria looks happy ordering them about. I hadn’t realized she’s not a simple maid but holds a rank above the others until now.
Again, why did I get the maid in charge and not a simple servant girl to help me dress every day?
Adding to the questions isn’t helping. My head already hurts.
Daria dries me, and asks me where I got the bruises on my wrist, but obviously doesn’t expect an answer because she only waves the other maids forward to help me dress.
I think of Jai last night. “I want… I want to have you in my arms tonight.”
Did he mean that? Did I read the emotions I saw in his eyes correctly? What experience do I have with men? I’m as clueless as these young maids flitting about. I only have my feelings for Mars, my golden Jackal, to compare this with, but I was just a girl back then, and it was… a lifetime ago.
Truly.
Daria pulls my hair back, twisting it into something complicated I can’t bother thinking about, using strings of pearls and ribbons.
“The gown,” she says, and the maids carry the heavy white-and-gray gown over, giggling and panting.
In my white undergarments, I step into the unlaced bodice, the skirt spread like a lake around me. Daria pulls it up and goes around to lace the back.
In the mirror stands a princess in an elegant gown that hugs her bust and hips, then flares just slightly in streams of white and gray silk. It glows faintly. The gray matches her eyes, the white her hair, and she looks… real.
Why does this gown look so damn familiar? Why does my chest feel so tight?
I’ve seen you before , I think. I’ve met you. What happened to you?
What happens to every woman who lets her guard down: I fell like a star across the sky.
Arkin is waiting outside my room. The moment I step out, he starts, brows lifting. Then he gives a low bow. “Lady Rae. I’m here to escort you to the ball.”
Not Jai? I nod, rushing to school my face into an indifferent mask.
Here we go again , I chide myself. Didn’t I tell you not to let feelings get involved? Who cares who escorts you to this accursed ball, who cares if he lied about wanting to do this?
And who cares if Arkin escorting me could give Neere another hissy fit? It’s not my problem. None of this is.
Still, my tongue feels coated in bitter powder as I fall into step beside him. It’s fine. I’ll swallow this bitterness, too. Serves me right for letting anything take seed in my heart, so quickly and against all reason. It’s a tiny sprout, and I’ll rip it out easily.
Although it’s annoying how my body thrums every time I even think of him, as if it knows something I don’t.
Bad body. No treats for you.
The fact that he has slept in my bed twice in a row, holding me in his strong arms, means nothing.
Just like saving my life means nothing.
Gods, who am I trying to fool here? It means a lot. Too much.
I should have more control. It’s the age of reason, the season of revenge, and I won’t let my own lust, my strange weakness for this man get in the way of that.
There’s nothing between us.
The ball, with its parades and ceremonies and long boring speeches, is to take place at the top of the palace, according to Arkin. The roof is a massive terrace, apparently, complete with pavilions and trees planted in huge pots, decorative ponds, and a massive dancefloor.
Arkin has obviously been there before, during previous festivals. As we go, he describes the view from the roof, the brilliance of the Pillar, and the small consecrated temple facing it, where the telchin usually performs the rites of adoration and prostration to appease the gods.
What am I doing? Frustration wells. I will have to enter the second trial, still without any power, still so far from my target, and here I am, lusting after Jai, feeling… soft toward him, when he has stopped me twice so far from going after the king.
A king who wields elemental magic, but also shadows, and is so powerful he doesn’t even need guards to protect him.
What did Amphitrite think would happen when I got here?
What hasn’t she told me?
We climb up wide stairs, then more stairs, marble steps with ebony banisters leading higher and higher.
Soon we are joined by fae nobles, the women trailing fabric, the men looking intent and kind of annoyed in their finery.
Like songbirds , I think, the ones you might keep in a cage or a walled garden for display. The tall hats have become even more ridiculously ornate for the occasion, and all of them seem to be hollow and open at the front.
What an odd fashion.
The gowns are done in layers, with many colors showing under the overskirt, while the fae men are dressed in fantastical jackets with long tails, stamped with symbols and embroidered with gold thread and gems.
Peacocks, I think, rather than songbirds. My mistake. Their chatter has no art to it, and the loathing looks they throw my way show no restraint.
A fae man jostles me as we walk down a hallway decorated with busts and—surprise!—more Eosphor statues, but other than that, I’m left alone.
Is it Arkin’s presence? Who knows?
I see a pretty dark-skinned human woman, all dolled up in a pale blue gown that brings out her pale eyes and flawless skin, and realize it’s the woman I saved, the one who defended me during the banquet.
Yet that doesn’t mean she’s my friend. So I tense when she stops and waits for me to catch up, but she only smiles.
“I’m Amaryll,” she says as we fall into step, Arkin and a maid behind us. “And you are Rae. You saved my life in the arena. Saved me from the mermen.”
Nothing to say to that. The tritons are a nasty race. I give a slight nod.
We walk by tapestries depicting bacchanals in the woods. The sound of a lyra playing Persephona’s Lament echoes from somewhere inside the palace.
“I saw you volunteer, taking Lynn’s place before the first trial.” She keeps her voice low. “I’d love to know why, as none of us knew you from before, but just let me say, it was brave of you.”
Brave? I shake my head. Can’t have her thinking that. I had to get into the games, into the palace. That was all.
“You don’t seem vicious like some of the other humans,” she says, “and oh Gods, the fae. I’m more scared of this ball than the next trial, to be honest with you.”
I feel my mouth tugging into a reluctant smile, though she’s wrong to think that.
“Athdara saved some of us during the trial,” she continues in the same breath, “and I don’t care if he’s the king’s right hand. If he likes you, then I like you, too.”
I arch a brow at her. Is it that easy for her?
“Come on.” She grabs my hand as we go up yet another flight of wide stairs, and I stiffen before I force myself to relax. “I’d rather be friends with you, even if you’re Athdara’s ally, than with your enemies. Will that convince you?”
My smile returns. Yeah, that does sound more convincing, and the fact she’s the one giving me reasons to accept her touch and unlikely declaration is funny.
A bit embarrassing, even, like being offered a crutch.
Nonetheless, it might just be the truth. Jai is powerful, even if the water cancels his magic, and since we’re going into the second trial—unless the king changes his mind and an accident befalls me—it’s not a stupid idea to befriend me and have his protection.
I can trust necessity more than affection, the inevitability of it. I wonder what that says about me. About everything I feel.
But with the next step, my line of reasoning snaps down the middle, my thoughts trailing behind, because we’ve reached the top of the stairs and the ballroom opens in front of us.
Technically it’s a roof garden, a terrace. Only the firmament is above us. The line of thick nightgold pillars surrounding the terrace, protecting it from the sea and its horrors, is the only wall.
As Arkin had described it, trees soar at the periphery of the roof, planted in enormous, circular black pots, flowers blooming around the trunks in a riot of colors.
Lanterns are strung from tree to tree and from pillar to pillar—but the real one, the World Pillar, steals the show. It rises in front of us as we clear the staircase and step onto the roof, brighter than ever, shimmering like mother-of-pearl, humming softly.
“Tonight is the longest night of the year,” Amaryll whispers. “Soon, the sky will darken, and the Pillar will light up the world.”
I hadn’t realized it was today. And I shouldn’t gawk at the beauty of the show the fae have put on.
Remember, this is a rite, and you are the sacrifice. You, and the entire human world.
“Let’s grab some drinks!” Amaryll doesn’t seem to be thinking along the same lines as me. Grinning, she takes my hand and drags me after her. “Relax and have fun, that’s what they told us to do, right? Who are we to say no? This could be the last night of our lives, after all!”
After a moment, I look back and find that I’ve lost Arkin in the crowd, but by then, we’ve reached a cluster of tables piled with drinks and food, and Amaryll thrusts a long-stemmed glass into my hand.
“Just call me Ama,” Amaryll declares with a grin, lifting her own glass, and I wonder if she started drinking earlier in the day. “Cheers! To us, to victory, and may the best one… I don’t know. Survive?”
May the best woman win , I mouth the words, clinking our glasses together, and find myself grinning back.
“To survival,” she says and downs her drink. “Whoa.” She smacks her lips. “That’s strong.”
Strong and sweet and slightly sour. Fruity. I can feel its heat rising to my head.
“Oh, what are those? Sweets?” She bends so far over the table that she almost dips her bodice into a bowl with cut fruit, so I grab her arm and haul her back. “Want some?”
No, I don’t want anything, but the urge to giggle is so strong I give in. What is she doing ? She’s still trying to reach what looks like a platter of small cakes. The wine, or whatever that drink was, makes me feel… airy and light and unburdened.
Dangerous.
My giggling dies. Yeah, that drink is damn dangerous, and I should steer clear of it. It might even be the fabled faery wine.
It’s like Jai, delicious and dangerous and better avoided altogether. In fact?—
Small, hard hands grab me around the legs and pull. Gasping in shock, I turn and twist, but after another hard tug, I go sprawling.
Around me dance little hunched creatures with tattered moth wings and big toothy grins, chanting something I can’t make out.
“Oh, they brought lesser faeries with them to the anaktor !” Amaryll sounds delighted. “I’ve never seen any lumina from up close.”
Dear gods, is that supposed to be good? They caper around, cackling and pulling on my hair. I slap their little hard hands away, and they shriek and slap me back.
One of them sinks those sharp teeth into my hand, and I let out a sharp breath.
Amaryll is laughing too hard to help me, apparently.
The faeries drag me by the hair away from Amaryll and the table, and I grab at chairs and people’s feet to stop them. Unable to make a sound, I barely catch anyone’s attention—and those who do notice me, laugh.
They laugh and laugh, and it’s like one of those nightmares you can’t escape from, can’t wake up, can’t move. My back scrapes against the flagstones. My hair has come out of its updo, and my scalp is burning as the faeries keep dragging me toward the pillars marking the end of the roof.
They’re going to throw me into the sea. The realization hits, and I start struggling harder, grabbing at my hair, trying to release the hold of their small hands, and I’m still sliding toward the edge?—
Hands grab me and lift me to my feet, and then higher, until I’m dangling in the air.
Big hands.
A sigh of relief escapes me. I’m saved, or so I think… until I realize that I’m staring up at the faces of two male High Fae whose grins look just as wicked and those of the lesser faeries.
“What have we here?” one of them says, his grip bruising my upper arm. “Could this be the mute human girl everyone has been talking about? What an honor, right, Gillen?”
“I wonder what would make her find her voice and squeal like a pig,” Gillen replies, grabbing my other arm. “I have some ideas…”
The faery wine has made me slow and dizzy. I struggle, my now tangled hair falling in my face, but the two fae drag me away from the crowd. Above, the sky seems to whirl, stars spinning, leaving blinding trails.
“Oh, you caught her, Gillen?” The female voice is familiar, and so is the sneer. “Let’s have a look… Heavens, where did she get this gown? Stole it, most likely. You little human thief.”
It’s Neere. Why am I not surprised? She’s like a goddess in her artfully draped red gown, a white hawk perched on her shoulder, and a red tiara in her hair.
Stepping close, too close, she taps a finger under my chin. “Look at you. What a mess you are. It’s as if you were dragged through the bushes by the faeries.”
Very funny.
“Oh, nobody was interested in escorting you, were they? Not Arkin. I know he was shadowing you, but I sent a girl to distract him. Looks like it worked!” She grins, all teeth. “He’s easily distracted, but still such a good match for me. Our families want this match, and we’ve been a couple for years.”
A couple, and she sends a girl to distract him? All right. What do I care? I just want them to release me.
I elbow the man on my right, and he grunts but doesn’t let go.
“Now, now, human.” He bares sharp teeth in my face. “Don’t make me angry. You won’t like me angry. We’re all having fun here.”
Are we?
“Where do you want her, Neere?” Gillen asks, closing in on my left.
But Neere isn’t done talking. She likes talking, and she likes taunting. “It is a custom for a lord interested in you to gift you a token,” she says, all mock earnestness. “A jewel, or a bird is customary. Like this hawk.” The white hawk on her shoulder whistles. “Has any lord gifted you anything? Has anyone come here with you? But of course not. You’re a lowborn human piece of trash.”
“Neere,” Gillen says, “we should hurry this up, in case?—”
“In case, what? Now…” Her grin has turned into a condescending smile. “We don’t like humans catching the king’s attention. We don’t like humans conspiring behind our backs. One way or another, you’ll tell us who you are and what makes you so important.”
Why would she think I care about being escorted and given gifts? It shows me that she has no idea why I’m here, which is a good thing. As for the rest… good luck waiting for an answer.
Neere grips my chin, and something sharp nicks my skin, making me jerk. Her nails? “No, no, you’re not running away. All this mute nonsense, I don’t buy it. Tell us who you are and why the king wanted to talk to you.”
Gillen chuckles. “Yes. Make her talk, Neere.”
Those sharp nails trail down to my neck, where I feel my pulse thumping, and press. A sting, and then a hot trickle of blood down my throat. “It would be a pity to ruin this pretty dress with blood, wouldn’t it?” she croons. “Or kill you. It’s not that hard. You humans are so fragile.”
I refuse to show fear. She wouldn’t dare kill me. Not if she thinks the king has plans for me.
Her nails nick my collarbone, and I inch back, ready to make a run for it through the crowd, when Gillen jerks around and points up.
“Hey, what is that darakin doing? It’s flying way too low. Damn creatures can bite your head off.”
“Simply move away,” the other male fae says. “Don’t piss yourself, Gillen, it’s just a darakin, not a Great Dara. Get a grip.”
A distraction. The moment her sharp nails ease the pressure on my collarbone, I kick at Gillen, then spin around, only to be caught by the other male. I just need to escape?—
Something wraps around my waist and rips me away from the group. I cry out without a sound as I’m hauled backward. I glance down, expecting to see claws.
But it’s shadows, which could mean either of two options. It’s either the king or…
Jai.
It’s Jai. The relief I feel is ridiculous.
“Sorry I’m late.” He grins, stepping right beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “What did I miss?”