Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-Five
Isleep for most of the day. When I wake, it’s because the other troupe members I’m sharing my room with are beginning to stir.
I feel like I could’ve slept for eternity.
Raph is curled up at my side, snoring softly.
His face is relaxed and he looks so vulnerable, so peaceful.
I’ve never been more aware of just how young he is.
Guilt cuts me deep at what I’ve thrust him into. I gently stroke hair from his eyes.
One of the musicians crosses over, holding out a small bundle of clothes.
I take it with quiet thanks. They have three whole trunks of costumes that they all source their attire from.
What they gave me is a ruffled blouse with billowing sleeves and a plunging neckline.
It’s paired with tight black leather pants.
I fuss over the pendant, which I’ve taken back from Raph, and eventually decide to twist it around and hang it between my shoulder blades.
Like this, it looks almost like a choker, as long as my hair covers my shoulders.
I rouse Raph to give him his clothes. He sleepily dresses in the brightly colored tunic and spotted leggings. He’s awake enough by the end to frown at the ensemble.
“I look like a clown.”
I chuckle softly and don’t tell him about my jester comment the night before. “You look like a performer.”
“You got the good clothes.” He pouts.
“I look like a pirate.”
“Pirates are fabulous.”
“My father would’ve begged to disagree.” I laugh and shake my head. “Let’s get some food.”
Raph and I keep to ourselves as we eat. The troupe members aren’t unkind, but they don’t seem to be interested in engaging with us more than necessary.
I suppose it’s for the best. The less they know, the safer we all are.
Moreover, no matter what happens tonight, I get the keen sense that we won’t be leaving the castle with them. This is strictly a one-way transaction.
I’m halfway through my meal when it strikes me that the food still has taste. Raph notices the sudden shift in my demeanor and inquires as to the reason. But I brush him off.
We have enough to worry about. Adding concern for me withering away as a human in the world of the fae is something we don’t need.
And I still don’t think I’m withering. It must be because I still have the necklace on my person—the power of kings is still with me, even if it’s no longer in me.
Giles was right, it seems to be enough to sustain me in this world.
The lamps are being lit as we emerge from the inn.
The leader guides the troupe in a merry jig as we walk and dance down the road.
I try and throw myself into the music. My fingers move on instinct, sure.
But it’s impossible for me to get lost in the melody the way I usually do, not with the castle looming over me and the portcullis drawing ever closer.
“Hold it.” One of the Butchers stops us just before we enter. Her eyes shift to me and Raph. “Those two weren’t with you yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, they were late in getting to the High Court. They joined us last night. But we do not wish to perform again without their skill,” the leader says. All technically true.
The Butcher still seems wary. “I don’t recall any new people entering the city.”
I clutch my lute a little bit tighter, trying to keep my face as calm as possible.
When we crossed through the barriers, did they know how many people entered?
Or did they just get a sense of the wall being breached?
Did they think that when they captured Shaye and Giles, they got everyone?
Even if they don’t think that…I hope they assume that anyone who was foolish enough to sneak into the High Court would stay far away from the castle.
“Do you recall everything that happens in the High Court?” The leader tilts his head.
“Do you often lose members of your troupe?”
“I lose many things.” The man chuckles and plucks his fiddle.
The Butcher looks at me, narrowing her eyes. “Going to ask you a very simple question. You can answer only yes or no. If you say any other words, I will kill you without a second’s hesitation. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” This is going to be too easy. She’s treating me like a fae, thinking I can’t lie. Even though I have no horns or wings, they have no reason to expect a human to be here.
“Did you and him”—she points at Raph—“infiltrate the High Court? Yes or no.”
“No.” I smile widely and can’t help but add, “Everything he said is completely true. They came out and got me.”
One of the women of the troupe laughs. “Do you think something is funny?” the Butcher snaps.
“I think the world is one big joke, and the only tragedy is the people who can’t seem to laugh at it,” she says with a smile.
“Get out of my sight,” the Butcher snarls, and she waves us along.
As we pass under the portcullis, the leader of the troupe looks back at me with a sly smile. He slows his pace to walk beside me. “I thought you were a bit different, a bit boring, but now I realize you are most interesting indeed. For it is what you lack that makes you special.”
“I’m unique in my own way, as we all are,” I agree, sharing in what might be the only smile I have of the night. “And you’re right in that I don’t need horns or wings to be special.”
“You certainly don’t.” He dips his head and raises his catlike eyes to meet mine. “I want you to know that it has been my supreme honor playing with you.”
“Likewise.”
“No matter what happens tonight, I think I shall compose an epic ballad inspired by your tale.”
I chuckle softly. I begin to suspect that’s why he let me come along. “Hopefully, that song is not cut short and has a happy ending.”
Our conversation comes to an end as we emerge on the other side of the portcullis.
There is an antechamber where people mill about in their finery.
A few clap and smile as we enter. A grand gilded staircase winds around the room, but we head for the double doors that open into the main hall of the castle.
All breath leaves my body and I’m suddenly torn between awe and horror.
Buttresses support a ceiling that feels as if it could touch the sky.
Holes in the roof have been punched out and covered with circular panes of glass, giving the stars and moon a view of the revelries below.
Fae dance to unheard music, spinning around the floor, laughing.
Some linger to the side, eating and scheming.
It would be a normal enough celebration were it not for the men and women suspended in cages between each of the buttresses. I see Hol in one of the cages and instantly grab for Raph. The child looks up to me and I meet his eyes.
Be strong, I mouth silently and stare at him with an intense gaze.
Then I lift my eyes back to Hol. Raph must follow my stare because I can feel him trip; I hear the choked whimper that almost escapes.
I clutch him with white knuckles, so tightly that I know it hurts.
He would’ve seen his father eventually. It’s better for him not to be caught off guard.
But yet again, I’m overwhelmed by the guilt of bringing him here.
All of this will be worth it as long as our plan works.
Raph and I went over the details multiple times last night before we slept.
He knows why he’s here. He knows why I need him.
And he won’t back down, not even when he sees his father on the menu of tonight’s entertainment for these demented people.
This is his only chance of saving his mother and father.
At the far end of the hall, perched high atop a dais, is the throne and a man that I can only assume is King Boltov.
From this distance, I can’t make out any details about him.
I can gather only the broad strokes, like his fiery-red hair and how tall he must be to still dominate a chair while so hunched and sullen.
I’m taken aback by how wiry and frail he looks.
This is the man who has kept the Boltov legacy alive and the fae on their knees?
This is the king who has committed all the atrocities I’ve seen and imagined?
He looks like the one withering, not me.
No, I can’t let his appearance fool me; I must stay on guard.
As the troupe crosses the room to stand before the king, I search for any sign of Davien or Vena. The people in the cages are certainly captives taken from the sacking of Dreamsong, but I can’t see any of the leaders. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
“Your Majesty.” The leader of the troupe dips into a low bow. “Thank you for bringing us back tonight to serenade your great hall.”
King Boltov nods ever so slightly. The glass crown that sits heavily on his head picks up the light of the massive chandeliers and breaks it into a thousand rainbows.
It puts the replicas from the night in Dreamsong and those on the brows of the men in this hall to shame.
Its craftsmanship is more refined and it oozes staggering power that could rival a cosmos.
It also appears that Davien was right—he’s performed some dark ritual to allow himself to wear the crown. Seeing it on his head churns my stomach. I am enraged, as if his wearing that crown is an affront to my history—an insult to me.
“My favorite minstrels have returned.”
“We would not dare refuse your summons, Your Majesty.” The troupe leader has yet to straighten. He still stares at the floor. The rest of us have followed suit, bowing our heads. Though I look up through my lashes.
This close, I get more details of the bloody king.