Chapter 6 #2
The guards mocked our measly trade. No ribbons or gold to sell, true, but we’d pillaged long enough to know that it was always a better disguise to be unassuming. The dull and dreary commoner rarely earned a second glance.
Babbling excitement was everywhere. Even the most common of folk chattered on about games and feasts. What was the celebration?
The more we followed the roads that wrapped around the fort, the more my blood pounded in my head. A pull forward I couldn’t sever. We were close.
As the latecomers of the festival trade, we were forced to set down our sacks near a woman who was chopping off the heads of strange, gangly birds with a bit too much force.
“Ah, thought I’d be alone this turn again.” She used the bloody knife to point at one of her birds. “Not many like the smell of river pheasant. I find it has a nice tangy scent.” She laughed and swiped her dark, sweaty hair off her brow.
“Not afraid of a little blood, lady,” Larsson grumbled.
“Selling oats, are you?” She swung her knife, eyes on our sacks instead of the bird.
“Aye” was all I said before I turned my back on her.
Celine gave me a significant look. One meant to tell me something I couldn’t read.
When I didn’t move, she sighed, irritated, and smiled sweetly at the woman. “We’ve never come during the festival.”
“Oh. You from the peaks in the Night Folk realm? Bleeding hard to get off those cliffs even once the frosts are gone.”
“Aye,” Celine said. “The peaks. Finally scrimped enough to make it this turn.”
Another whack, the thud of a head, and the woman grinned. “As you should. Everyone deserves to celebrate. Can’t believe the Great War ended ten turns ago. Feels like mere months.”
My fists clenched. “It’s felt longer to us.”
“Ah, isolated in the peaks, are you?”
“You could say that.” Every word seethed with bitterness.
“Seeing as we’re new,” Celine went on with a glare pointed at me, “what exactly goes on tonight? What’s all the bustle?”
The woman began stripping feathers off her latest beheading. “Hells, girl. How isolated are you in them cliffs? Tonight’s First Night, and that means a masquerade ball at the fort.”
“Ah, yes. Now I recall hearing mention of it.” Celine turned and offered me a wink.
There was our way in. I stepped beside Larsson and handed him a few copper coins from Celine’s thievery.
“Find us something to wear so we might blend in,” I told him. “While the front gates are occupied with people entering, we’ll use that time to go around…”
My voice trailed off when laughter rose over the chatter.
As though snared into some strange trance, I followed the sound over Larsson’s shoulder in time to catch sight of a few discreet guards, three men with blades on their belts, then the source of the laughter—two women stepped onto the road from one of the shops.
Both lovely, but I was drawn to the taller of the two.
Hair as dark as spilled ink was intricately braided over her slender shoulder.
Soft skin the shade of damp sand. A slight tapered point to her ears, less pronounced than mine, but her eyes were what drew me in.
I wouldn’t forget those eyes. Blue, like the calmest lagoons of the Ever.
I was frozen. Captivated.
When she laughed, her head fell back in such a way that the sun brightened her cheeks until they looked bronze. Breath, thought, words, the lot escaped me.
A perplexing kind of darkness took hold in the deep sinews of my chest. It was cruel, wicked, and greedy. Never had I desired something so fiercely. I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t try. The draw to her was like a crawl for water after being lost in the blaze of the sun.
Such a beautiful little bird. What a pity it was that her serpent had come to ruin her.
“Ah, taken with the princesses, boy?” The woman and her half-plucked bird came to my side. “If you come from the high peaks, I’d expect you to know Livia at least.”
Oh, I did. My mouth twisted into a sinister sort of grin.
“Out of us all, my brother leaves home the least,” Celine said, no doubt trying to salvage my oddities.
“Ah, well. Take a good look,” said the woman. “Likely won’t get a chance once the masque begins. With the Night Folk king and queen gone, more than one cocksure boy will try to steal a chance with their daughter.”
I whirled around. “The king, her father, he’s gone?”
No. No, that wasn’t possible. I was led here. The mantle would be with the king. I needed that damn talisman like I needed to destroy him.
“Left before yesterday’s midday meal,” she said, spitting out a feather that had landed on her tongue. “The rulers of the realms always meet at the Kunglig Palace for council during the festival.”
Dammit. My breaths came in short, sharp jolts.
An idea formed. Lines would be crossed.
“Woman,” I said sharply.
“Beeta,” she returned.
“Why do the men wait for the king to leave before trying to touch his heir?”
Beeta snorted. “Because misplace a hair on lovely Livia’s head, and her father will have yours. The man would go to war if she asked it of him. The king adores her.”
Gods, how I hoped that was true. My next steps would depend on it. If I could not go to the king, I’d make him come to me.
Down the road, her laughter rolled through me again, like falling without knowing how it would end at the bottom. From here I could still make out the profile of her face, the slope of her nose, the sly way she bit that full lip.
A step away from Beeta, I gripped Larsson by the throat. “How well do you dance, Larsson?”
His sneer showed the glisten of his white teeth. “As well as you need, My King.”
“Then take the coin I gave you and see to it we are suitable for a royal ball.”
I stepped out into the road once more, watching her. Studying her.
She was never theirs anyway. Not really. From the moment the songbird tried to appeal to the serpent, she was mine.