Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Raph runs off at breakneck speed. He’s so much more nimble than I that I’m scrambling to keep up. He bounces down the rubble as though it were smooth stones, landing on a cobbled river walk below as I’m just climbing down the first boulder.
I stop myself from shouting his name. I don’t want to draw attention to us. I just have to keep up. So I jump. I land hard, falling forward and scraping one knee so I don’t roll my ankle. I push off with both hands and run in the direction that Raph disappeared, praying I haven’t lost him.
Citizenry of the High Court are only adding to the confusion. They’re silhouettes, darting around frantically in the haze. It’s utter chaos. Yet miraculously, I manage to spot Raph in the fray.
He glances behind him and catches my eye; I nod and we keep running.
A sudden, icy wind whips through the area, dispersing the smoke. As it does, I grab Raph by the collar and yank him into a small alcove where others are huddling. I push to the back, holding him with both hands. Raph glares up at me.
“We should—”
I shush him, looking back over the square. None of the people around us seem to pay us any mind. We’re just two citizens of the High Court, afraid of and darkly fascinated by whatever wrath the Butchers are about to wreak on the intruders.
Shaye stands alone on a bridge that spans the river in the center of the square. Her shoulders are relaxed, hands on her hips, as she looks up at the four Butchers perched on the nearby rooftop. One of them lazily flips a dagger.
“It’s impressive you made it this far, traitor,” one of the Butchers says blandly. “Maybe that means you won’t be totally boring while we kill you.”
“Why don’t you come down here and find out?” Shaye cocks her head to the side.
“She’s confident,” the Butcher flipping the dagger says. “We should see if she has such a bold tongue in a few minutes.”
I scan for any sign of Giles. He’s nowhere to be seen. That can only mean he’s taken up some kind of strategic position to help Shaye. After his insistence on staying with her, I know he’s not going to abandon her now.
“Oh, if she does, can I cut it out?” One of the Butchers laughs. “I find that’s sometimes the only way to deal with smart talkers like her.”
“Well, if you’re too intimidated to stop me, I think I’m going to go and have a word with the king.” Shaye shrugs and starts down the bridge in our direction.
No sooner has she moved than the Butchers launch themselves from their perch. Shaye doesn’t so much as look their way. A giant wall is erected out of nowhere—no doubt Giles’s doing. Shaye puts her back to the initial four Butchers to fling daggers at two others who jump from hidden vantage points.
As the fight picks up, the citizens begin to scatter.
“We should go now,” Raph whispers. I nod, yet I can’t seem to bring myself to move.
My eyes are glued to the battle that’s only just beginning.
Though I already know how it will end. For as strong as Shaye is and as clever as Giles can be with his magic, there are only two of them, and a seemingly infinite number of Butchers.
All I can hope for is that they’re taken alive and put with the other survivors of Dreamsong.
We’ll save them with the rest. Believing that’s true is the only thing that gets me to move when Raph tugs on my hand.
We fall into step between two couples rushing away from the combat.
We keep our heads down, and no one stops us.
Who would suspect a young woman and a child?
We walk until the sounds of battle have faded.
I don’t know if they faded because the struggle ended or because we are too far to hear it anymore.
That’s when I finally gain the courage to look around.
I’m instantly overwhelmed by how…normal it all seems—well, normal by Midscape standards.
I was expecting the High Court to be a place with blood running through the streets and screams hanging in the air.
I expected to see people living under a vicious ruler, the threat of bodily harm hiding behind every corner.
But the men and women seem no different than the people of Dreamsong. Away from the chaos and the nightlife of the section of town we entered in on, the streets are quiet. People keep to themselves as they march toward wherever they’re going this late at night.
The buildings are the same architectural style as many I saw in Dreamsong. There’re stained-glass windows and iron lampposts. Most are two or three stories tall and far closer together than the buildings in Dreamsong were.
It’s when I note the comparisons that I begin to see the darker undercurrents.
The architecture is so similar that it can’t be by chance.
I think of what Giles told me of his people—that the courts of crafters and tradesmen were slowly rounded up by Boltov and assimilated or killed.
Or perhaps the houses are even older and date all the way back to Aviness.
They are a part of stolen history; their occupants are captives.
Even though they’re all going about their business, the normalcy is a shroud—a lie to cover up the constant fear they must live in.
“I don’t like this place,” Raph whispers.
“I don’t either. We’ll do what we came here to do as quickly as possible.” Yet even as I say that, I think of Shaye’s warning. I have only one chance to make it into the castle. I must wait for the right moment.
We move up the streets, heading for the highest point of the High Court—the castle.
As we near it, I can hear faint music. It makes me even more aware of how quiet things have been.
We emerge onto a wide street. Down in one direction, far in the distance, is the main gate of the High Court.
In the opposite direction is a large portcullis that protects the opening of the castle.
“So that’s it,” Raph murmurs.
“I hate how pretty it is,” I say under my breath.
Spires made of silver are edged with crystal that almost looks like frost. Motes of light drift through the air, circling up the high points and then out over the city, as if all the magic I saw throughout the fae wilds stems from this one source.
Every window is embellished with a frame of carved stone in the shape of lilies or stars.
Every balcony railing is adorned with scrollwork.
It’s the castle I always saw in my dreams after listening through the door to the storybooks Joyce read Helen.
“It’s pretty ’cause Boltov didn’t build it.”
“I figured as much.”
“Mom told me stories of Aviness when I was little. She’d say the castle, the hill, the glass crown, and the fae people are all one. As long as one stands tall, so do the others. And that’s why the glass crown can control the fae and why it can’t leave the High Court.”
I crouch down and lean against a wall, listening to him. We perch ourselves where the narrow road meets the main one, the castle in view.
“Did your mom’s stories have any tips for how we might get inside?” I ask, trying to keep my focus on him and our mission rather than on the music drifting through the portcullis.
“Of course not. Stories don’t really tell you that.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty useless for clandestine, life-or-death missions,” I mutter.
“The stories of the fae from my world haven’t really done me much good here.
” I close my eyes and listen to the tune as it reaches its end.
At first, I thought I was so focused on it because it’s been a few days since I last heard music that wasn’t the magical sort.
But the more I hear, the more I think I recognize it. “That song…I know it.”
“Do you?” Raph arches his eyebrows.
I push off the wall. “I’m pretty sure I do.”
“It’s coming from inside the castle, right?”
“I think so.” I bring my thumb to my mouth and bite on the nail lightly. “I want to wait here for a bit.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“I want to see if we can figure out who’s playing that music.” I keep my eyes focused on the portcullis, ignoring the four Butchers lined up on either side.
“Do you want to get closer?” Raph shifts from foot to foot as if already restless.
“No, we stay here until it seems unsafe or unwise to do so.” I make sure my words are firm and leave no room to be contradicted. One shot. That’s all we have. I must be patient and take it when the time is right.
The music plays on through the night. The longer I listen, the more certain I am that I’ve heard it before.
It’s not just the tune or the melody or even the harmonies—what I cling to is a unique rendering of those notes.
Music is like painting: Artists can use the same medium, but no two people will create in the same way.
As dawn begins to streak across the sky, the portcullis finally opens. I stand. Raph pushes away from the wall as well. He grabs my hand and clutches it tightly as we watch people stream from the castle.
They stagger into the early morning, clinging to each other and swaying. I watch the macabre parade stroll down the street, fan out into alleyways, and disappear into the lavish homes that line the main road of the High Court.
These fae aren’t like the others we saw in the lower rungs of the city.
They’re dressed in sumptuous clothes—silks and scandalously transparent chiffons with cuts that leave very little to the imagination.
Gold and jewels weigh them down, circling every finger and neck.
The finery is even draped from their horns and wings, tied with ribbons and small chimes that sing as they move.
These people float through the world as though they own it, as though they don’t have care.
“Look,” Raph whispers. “Their feet…”
Their gilded presentation is merely a distraction, I realize. Their hems and boots are bloody. I see crimson splatter on men’s waistcoats.
“You don’t think that’s from—”