6. Chapter 6
6
Zara
W ith the frenzy of activity in the house and grounds as final preparations for tonight’s ball were made, I had few options for where to pass my time—the library or the shooting range or the stables. The fae prince had warned me that magic bound me to the estate.
After sneaking a few small blades and holsters from the family armory, I settled on the library, hoping to find a book that contained information I hadn’t yet read about the fae—some jewel of information that could save my life. I’d read every fictional tale we owned, but maybe one of the historical tomes mentioned these otherworldly creatures. They had to. Talia and I couldn’t be the only humans to meet any fae.
As I searched the library, I assessed what I already knew of them. I now knew that iron didn’t kill them, as many of the stories claimed. And if my arrows and knives couldn’t kill these creatures, then I would arm myself with knowledge.
The library had been polished to a high shine, and the midmorning light pouring in from the tall windows reflected off the reading tables and brass book holders. Talia had always loved this place. I admired my friend, who’d gone with that mysterious fae so willingly, just to help her family, but now that I was faced with the same possibility, I would do anything not to. Perhaps the two strange men I’d met earlier would know what had happened to her.
By the time Raquel, my personal maid, collected me from the library in the early afternoon to begin prepping me for the party, my eyes were numb from scanning old texts, none of which included any useful information. A dusty tome called Mysteries of Avencia: Unsolved History described enough accounts of disappearing humans—both men and women—to indicate that I would simply become another statistic on a time-yellowed page. Of the sixteen accounts listed in the book, two included quotes from family members that mentioned the fae were responsible for stealing their loved ones. Both were considered accounts from confused or aggrieved subjects. All my hours of study had simply shown me that this had happened before.
“I need to speak with Papá,” I told Raquel, suddenly panicked that my time to do so was running thin. He’d been in Leor by the time I came down the stairs from my room this morning, apparently called to town early to finalize the wedding negotiations with my bridegroom.
My maid informed me that he was still meeting with the delegation from Cavaria, but that she would relay the message.
With a reluctant huff, I followed Raquel up to my bathing chamber, determined to have a word with Papá before the ball—which would double as my wedding.
Two hours later, I stood before a tall mirror as my stepmother and three servants bustled about, fussing over my hair and clothes and cosmetics. I could barely hear their chatter over the buzz of blood in my ears.
Night had fallen again. My final day had come and gone like a held breath, rushing out faster than I could hold on to it. The hours had slipped by, and I’d arrived here at my birthday celebration, unable to recall what I’d done of note since that shadowy man had left my room.
But now that I waited in my bedroom above the noisy ballroom, preparing to perform for my guests—a request my father had reluctantly granted, perhaps because he knew he owed me—I had run out of time to talk to him. It felt like he was avoiding me on what might be the last day I would ever speak to him.
If today turned out to be my final day in the mortal world, I’d regret having spent so much of it on my hair, but my curls were unruly, according to my stepmother, and had to be tugged and smeared back into a tight knot, as was only proper for young ladies.
Despite all the fears creeping in, I had one last hope: this marriage. At this point, I didn’t care who my father had chosen. Love wasn’t what I’d believed, and if being married was enough to break the curse on my life, then I’d take it. I’d find a way to survive a loveless marriage more easily than I would a trip to the Shadow Court. A place that, to my knowledge, no one had ever returned from. There were no stories about the shadow fae. Not one. As if they didn’t even exist.
The chatter of a hundred voices filtered up from the ballroom’s open windows and into my bedroom, through the same window the Shadow prince had departed. I could picture the light of the chandeliers reflected on the smooth wood floor downstairs and the massive stacks of sugar-dusted mantecados displayed at the back of the large room. My mouth watered just thinking of them, but per tradition, the birthday dessert wasn’t to be eaten until the hour of birth—the same hour I was apparently going to be whisked away by two handsome mythical creatures. If that sly prince thought he could keep me from my pastries, he’d get another dagger in his gut.
“Breathe out,” my stepmother barked, poking me in the ribs as Raquel tightened the knots at the back of my dress.
Instead, I pulled in a deep breath, expanding my ribcage.
A frustrated sigh issued from Nina’s painted lips. “Be reasonable,” my stepmother spat under her breath so no one standing outside on the terrace could hear. “Don’t you want to perform tonight?”
Raquel pursed her lips and squeezed the dress into place over my ample bosom until it hurt. Nina nodded her approval.
Three weeks ago, when I’d won the dance competition held during the midsummer Festival de los Cuentos , my stepmother had realized that my dancing held a possible benefit for her. She saw the way men looked at me, and she’d salivated at the notion that I’d finally find a husband and free her from having to bother with me, leaving her to be the woman of the estate once and for all. I was to perform tonight, finally, in my own home, and woo the man my father had chosen as my spouse—Baron Montrose, a gentleman from the distant country of Cavaria, where they spoke no Avencian and wore fur coats in the winter. I wasn’t sure which would be worse, the Shadow Court or deeply cold winters.
I lifted my chin—still dramatically lower than Nina’s—and fixed her with a hard stare. She assumed I desired the gaze of men. Everyone assumed things about me. Jorge had assumed I wanted…well, something I only wanted when I was married and in love. My father assumed I wanted to be married, if it would free me of this curse. Nina assumed I wanted to marry Montrose simply because he was wealthy.
“There, now, remember what’s at stake.” My stepmother tapped the side of my face waiting for my answer.
She knew of the curse, but the look in her eyes said she wasn’t worried about where I went after tonight, be it a fae court or an estate far to the north, as long as it was away from here. She almost ruined this for me. Almost. But I wouldn’t let her spoil what might be my final dance ever.
“I must speak with Papá.”
Nina pinched her lips and a look of true disappointment crossed her brow. “He wishes to speak with you as well, but it must be after you dance. There is no time!”
Raquel finished securing my dress and stepped back.
“No time for what?” My father’s deep voice came from the antechamber outside my bedroom.
My heart leapt, and I rushed to him.
“Papá!” I sailed into his open arms.
We didn’t usually embrace like this, but we both felt the weight of what was at stake tonight. Nina cleared her throat behind us.
“I apologize, Zarita , for being absent much of today. I heard that you wished to speak with me.” He held me at arm’s length, his eyes already filling with tears. In my entire life, I’d seen the man cry twice. The first time when he told me of my curse, and the second when my mother died. “Your wedding arrangements have been made. Montrose is ready to marry you tonight.”
I didn’t want to ask what Papá had done to enable a wedding to take place so quickly. It didn’t matter. With a deep inhale that made my tight dress creak, I lifted my chin and nodded.
“Do you really think it will work?” I asked.
Nina dismissed the maids, leaving us to speak of this disaster alone. My father’s hands tightened on my shoulders, but he said nothing. For a man of many words, seeing him speechless sent a wave of tingling panic down my arms and legs. My breaths shortened, and my body heated as my stomach twisted inside me.
“It will work,” Nina said, walking up to us with a fixed, poised expression. This conundrum was of little consequence to her. “Now, we have guests waiting.”
“They came earlier,” I whispered as Nina walked toward the door. “I met them. They are fae. Shadow fae.”
Papá’s face dropped to be level with mine. “You met Oscuro?”
I shook my head. “He said his name was Casimiro, the son of the Shadow King.”
Papá straightened. The breath leaving his lungs smelled of his prized wine. “Oh, Zara. This marriage will be our salvation. You were right to tell me that marriage breaks these kinds of things.” He never used the word curse…or maldita .
Love breaks curses , I’d told him. Not weddings. But maybe to a fae bargain, they were one and the same? We could only hope.
Nina scoffed. “Be glad that you are marrying at all, under the circumstances. At least your beauty will please Montrose.”
I glanced down at my cleavage. “By beauty, you mean this, right?”
She pursed her lips.
Whenever she spoke of my body like a painting that was for sale, I winced. I grabbed the fringed shawl she held out toward me and wrapped it around my shoulders, crossing it over my chest.
Flamenco dresses were not worn by the high nobility in Avencia, save for once a year. During the Festival de los Cuentos , when any costume was allowable, many women opted to wear flamenco-style dresses, embracing for one week the form-fitting dresses stacked with ruffles. That festival had ended weeks ago, and I’d be the only one wearing this style tonight.
All the more reason, according to my stepmother, for my soon-to-be husband to be fawning over me.
An unwanted chill raked down my spine as I recalled the disheveled princeling who’d stolen my dagger. I didn’t want to think of him. By the time he returned to collect me, the bargain would be broken. It had to be.
Grinding my teeth, I focused instead on the dance I was about to perform, moving through the opening steps in my head as I exited the room on my father’s arm, Nina walking behind us.
“You are a dancer,” Nina hissed over our shoulders. “Great men think nothing more of women on a stage than they do of a fancy chair or a nice wine goblet. Entertainers are like ornaments at a party. Something to be admired but nothing more. I’m shocked Montrose agreed to let his bride dance tonight.”
A weight sank in my stomach as all the blood rushed from my head. Usually, the moments before a dance amplified my spirit and gave life to my bones. But in one statement, my stepmother had stripped everything joyful about this moment. Nina was pale and generally unassuming and she even had freckles, something rare among the Avencian people. Some of the storytellers considered freckles a curse by the sun on those who were tasteless. I knew better than that, as most of the stories told at Festival were solely for entertainment, but at times like this, I was tempted to believe that one held a little truth.
Without another word to her, we descended the stairs, pausing only as we approached the ballroom.
My father turned and kissed both of my cheeks. “We will see the end of this tonight,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t you worry. Now, go and have fun.” He smiled, but the expression was strained. He took Nina’s arm, and the two disappeared into the ballroom as the announcer called their arrival.
Raquel reappeared from the side hall and handed me my castanets. Within the ballroom, I heard my father announcing the upcoming wedding, a fact greeted by loud applause. Then the room quieted, and my father announced my performance. It was time.
I cleared my throat, made sure my castanets were secured in my fingers, then slipped quietly through the doorway onto the dance floor. A hush fell over the crowd as the tinkling glasses and laughter died down. A few snickers trickled through the seated guests, and immediately the sweat of doubt prickled through my skin.
I lifted my hands into the air, twisting my fingers around artfully. My heart pounded in my ears. Before the music began, I curled my arms in a snakelike fashion over my head, face lifted to the light above.
The music began. My foot stomped to the beat and my hips moved, the ruffles in my dress flipping as I cocked my heeled shoe sideways and spun.
The crowd watched in perfect silence.
The chandelier above was so bright it was hard to see faces in the room, which made it easier for me to concentrate on the dance. Soon I lost myself in the movements. The tension from a moment ago melted into my hot blood. The thrill of the sound, the rhythm, and the reverberations running through my legs every time I clicked my heels into the floor, erased all the anxiety and brought about a welcome oblivion.
The music was drawing to a crescendo. It was so quiet I wondered if every person in the room was holding their breath. This part of the dance required that I edge closer to the people sitting in the chairs. This was the part that had brought the crowd to their feet three weeks ago, winning me first place.
Clacking my castanets and heels in faster and faster succession, I stomped up to the nearest table to finish this performance, selecting, as usual, one man to approach for my final pose. I noticed a dark suit, though I was spinning too fast to take note of his face. He angled his body toward me, leaning one elbow against the table, the other splayed against the back of his chair, as if he was pleased with my choice, like he was some peacock worthy of being singled out in a roomful of nobility.
He eased back in a comfortable position, knees splayed out, lounging backward as I danced faster and faster, nearer and nearer. I was right in front of him, clacking and stomping as the music reached its final crescendo.
When I stomped the last step of the dance, I threw my arms up and turned my chin dramatically to the side. I had to hold the pose for five seconds, at least, for full effect. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the man had scooted his feet out so that they were on either side of mine, just under the ruffles of my dress. Heat blazed up my shins at his boldness, but I didn’t break my pose to see who the man was.
As the first applause began, I straightened and finally looked at the man sitting right in front of me. It was Casimiro, and his was the only face not smiling.