Chapter Thirty-Five #2
His face is weathered, like leather that has been over-tanned, thinned in the process, and stretched taut over jagged stones.
His eyes are sharp blue, piercing, threatening to expose even the slightest hint of deceit.
The man’s fingers are more bone than flesh or muscle, and gnarled yellow claws extend out in place of nails.
Crescent horns, as black as pitch, curl up from his brow around the glass crown.
There is nothing about him that is soft or warm or inviting. Everything is brutal angles.
“I look forward to what you perform for me tonight, as we are at the end of our celebrations. Play well and I’ll let you keep all your fingers and feet. Play poorly and you’ll be forced to dance on nubs.”
I’m beginning to figure out why the troupe members were so willing to allow me to join them. Even if they’re not strictly loyal or disloyal to anyone but themselves, Boltov is an easy enemy to all.
“It will be our pleasure to play for you. We will not let you down, sire.”
“Good. But do know when to stop; I have a special surprise planned for the culmination of the autumnal celebrations that I do not want interrupted.”
The words special surprise fill me with dread—anything that this man feels is special is surely something I won’t like.
But I move with the troupe off to the side of the dais.
The leader lays down the initial melody.
The rest of us follow. Raph taps along on his comically small drum, bravely putting on a smile.
Two hours later, my fingers are aching. I’ve never played this long or this hard. But I continue forcing myself to do so even when my hands are threatening to cramp. I’m playing for my life.
And then the music suddenly stops. I look from the leader of the troupe to the king. Boltov has lifted a hand. Like a dark omen, he slowly unfurls himself from the throne, standing at his full height and towering above everyone else.
“Good subjects, today is the last day of fall and the first of winter. It is the day when the living give way to the dead. When one world passes to the next. And the Veil between us and the great Beyond is at its most thin.”
There’s excited murmuring throughout the hall. I see courtiers grabbing goblets and taking hearty sips. They can’t wait to see what their king has planned, and it makes me sick.
“I know many of you are expecting entertainment tonight similar to that of last night, especially given my decor.” Boltov motions to the cages around the room.
“However, tonight’s special. Tonight is for me and for a history that began hundreds of years ago with the death of King Aviness the Sixth.
” The gathered fae hiss at the mention of the former king.
He slowly begins to descend the staircase that wraps around the dais.
“As you know, there are some who still think that the Aviness line can be restored. That the true heir to the throne is out there, even though it is I who wear the crown.” He taps the glass circling his brow for emphasis.
Chuckles ripple through the hall. “So tonight, it is my pleasure to see that the last of that line is finally cut off. Henceforth, there will never be a question about who is most fit to rule.”
Boltov curls his fingers, and doors at the side of the hall open. A small legion of Butchers led by the one I saw in the woods manhandles Davien in. He’s chained up, shackled, helpless. The courtiers jeer and spit on him as he is paraded through the hall to be brought before the king.
“Kneel before the true king of the fae,” the leader of the Butchers sneers and strikes him behind his knees. Davien falls to the ground.
“This man-child is the last hope of the mighty Aviness bloodline? This is the man who was to threaten me? Who was guarded for decades in the Natural World?” Boltov laughs, and the court laughs with him.
“This pathetic creature thought he would be crowned by the ghosts of the old kings in the Lake of Anointing but lacks any true power.”
Boltov gives Davien a sharp kick under his jaw that would’ve sent Davien reeling were it not for the Butcher holding him in place by both of his arms. Blood dribbles from Davien’s mouth as he glares up at the king. He hasn’t seen me yet, which is a blessing.
“I suppose it must take a lack of true power in oneself to notice it in others,” Davien growls and spits in the king’s face.
“You uncultured cur,” Boltov almost purrs, running his claw down Davien’s cheek. “I will enjoy dismembering you, piece by piece.” Boltov glances over his shoulder. “Music, fitting for blood.”
The lead minstrel picks up his fiddle and hesitates, but only for a breath. He draws a shrill note from the strings, reminiscent of a distant scream. A drummer begins thumping a pulsing beat, unhasty but determined. Horrible in how slow it is.
This is it. My chance. I lock eyes with Raph and nod as I pull the necklace from my throat and palm it in the hand I strum my lute with.
As the music picks up, I step forward. Eyes are on me as I approach the king, enough that it draws Boltov’s and Davien’s attention. Davien’s eyes widen slightly. I force a crazed grin across my lips, and it must work well because he’s startled.
Laughing, I twirl as I begin to strum my lute, frantic, mad. I stomp and look on eagerly. The chords I play are minor, intentionally dissonant, on the offbeat of the fiddle’s. It’s not music, it’s horrid sound. Fitting of the look in Boltov’s eyes.
“Yes, yes!” Boltov laughs, rearing back a clawed hand. “We shall dance for his death!” The rest of the fae begin to laugh and spin as Boltov strikes Davien in the face. Blood spatters on the floor.
My stomach churns and I keep playing. Davien is no longer looking at me.
He’s hunched in the arms of the men holding him.
Does he know what I’m doing? Can he see my feet?
Please let him notice, I pray. In my periphery, I see Raph step forward, nerves causing the beating of his little drum to become frantic.
Everything is rising to a boiling point.
Boltov’s attacks become more brutal. I keep spinning, drawing invisible shapes on the floor with my feet.
They’re the same shapes I was making in the lake.
The same symbols Davien and I reviewed for the abdication ritual.
Hopefully, the charged start of that ritual is still stored within us. Waiting to be finished.
“Look upon him!” Boltov shouts. Everyone slows. I finish my movements, the necklace hot in my palm. “There is nothing special about this man. He is—”
“There might be nothing special about him yet, but there is certainly something special about me,” I interrupt.
Boltov spins in place. I hold up the necklace.
Look at me, I say with my actions, look only at me.
You failed to notice everything else I’m doing.
I snarl at him, as if I, too, have wings and fangs.
As if I can be as monstrous as any fae. “You want this, don’t you?
This is what you need to become the true king of the fae and not some pretend sovereign who lives in a castle stolen by his ancestors, ruling with nothing more than fractured power and fear. ”
Boltov’s eyes widen slightly, and his mouth splits into a grin that exposes sharklike teeth. “You are the human.”
“And you are the last Boltov the fae will ever suffer.”
He takes the bait and lunges for me. I wait until he’s in motion; he’s too committed to change course when I release the necklace, allowing it to drop.
A blur at my side whizzes past me before the pendant can hit the floor.
Boltov can’t catch it, not when he’s already stretching his clawed hands toward me.
Raph is so nimble and small, he’s faster than even the Butchers, who are caught flat-footed.
I hear Hol shout. I’m focused only on Raph and Davien. The boy tosses the pendant to Davien. Davien reaches out as far as his chains will allow. His fingers close around the glass even as the Butchers are lunging for it.
“I abdicate!” I scream at the top of my lungs for all to hear.
I scream so that it echoes in every recess of this ancient castle.
So that my voice rattles the very foundation of this hill upon which the first fae was crowned.
So that the rulers who still have their eyes on me might know my intention.
“Rule in my stead; the kingdom is yours; the crown is yours; and the strength of the ancient kings is yours. Rise King Davien Aviness.”
My words reverberate unnaturally in my ears.
There’s a strange echo, a delay, as the world trembles beneath me.
The invisible lines I drew on the floor glow in tandem with the pendant.
The light becomes so bright that the floor cracks and the pendant shatters in Davien’s hands.
His shackles turn to dust and he stands straighter than I’ve ever seen.
His wounds are healed and his wings are complete, no longer in tatters.
His eyes are the most brilliant shade of green that ever existed.
And they’re the last thing I see before Boltov finishes his swing for my throat.