Chapter 8
Isla
I arch my back, and the final note leaves my throat, soaring up into the vast tent.
I hang suspended in the silks, my arms burning from the exertion as I pant heavily.
Sweat drips down my spine, making my costume stick to my skin.
I feel hints of magic still running through my veins.
I’m exhausted, both from suppressing my magic and from the hard work it takes to stay suspended without using too much of it.
It needs to look real. It needs to be believable.
I walk a knife’s edge, and the blade is deadly.
I hold my breath because there is utter silence, then the crowd erupts.
Cheers and applause thunder throughout the tent. People jump to their feet, stamping their boots against the wooden planks of the seating. Some call my name like a chant.
“Isla! Isla! Isla!”
Relief floods through me so intensely I nearly lose my grip.
They loved it.
I don’t think that anyone suspected anything. At least, I hope they didn’t.
I begin my descent, hand over hand, my muscles trembling. The applause continues, growing louder, if anything. As my feet touch the ground, I dare to look around me, taking in all the faces.
There are no looks of confusion or uncertainty. No eyes narrowed in suspicion. It’s just pure excitement and happiness. Aside from needing the coin, this is exactly why I do what I do.
And why I will miss it so much.
“Encore! Encore!” the crowd chants, saying the word over and over as they continue to stomp their feet.
I smile, lifting my arms. I already performed one encore this evening. I’m exhausted but will push myself if Master Roland decides I should proceed.
I look over at the man in question.
The tent master strides toward me. He is smiling, and his eyes twinkle. He takes my hand, raising it high above our heads.
The crowd roars.
He waits until they quieten down.
“I can’t allow another encore, I’m afraid.
This lovely lady needs to save her strength for tomorrow night.
Please put your hands together for the incomparable Isla!
” he shouts. Then he turns to me, speaking low enough that only I can hear.
“Well done, girl. Well done indeed.” He beams at the audience as the applause dies down.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” he shouts, and they all go crazy all over again.
I force a smile, nodding my thanks.
Just three more performances, I think to myself as I start to walk from the stage.
The crowd continues to call for an encore, but Master Roland raises his hand, gesturing for quiet.
“The great Isla of the Air will return tomorrow night to dazzle you once more with her extraordinary talents,” he tells them. “But now, please welcome our next performers – the spectacular Flying Falcons!”
Three acrobats tumble into the performance circle, drawing the audience’s attention. I use the opportunity to slip away toward the exit.
My breathing is still ragged as I leave the tent. My bodice feels overly tight and scratchy. All I want is to get out of this costume and into something more comfortable. My bed is calling to me. I think I will sleep like the dead again tonight.
“Well done, Isla,” one of the performers tells me as I walk past.
“Thanks.” I smile as I hurry away.
I’ve only just made it past the first of the sleeping tents when an almighty explosion tears through the night like a clap of thunder. I duck, my hands flying up to protect my head. The sound came from the direction of the castle. My heart starts to race.
What was that?
Shouts erupt in the distance.
Then the bells start ringing at the castle. Deep peals that echo across the courtyard. Within seconds, the trumpets join in, their brassy notes cutting through the night.
My body breaks out in gooseflesh because I can guess what is going on.
I straighten slowly, turning toward the castle. Its dark towers loom against the night sky.
A group of fae guards thunder down the cobbled road up ahead, their armor clanking. They’re heading toward the castle at a dead run.
Sebastian has escaped.
I know it with absolute certainty. That’s why they’re calling the alarm. It is the only logical explanation.
He’s free, and I’m glad.
At least now I can stop thinking about him. I can stop worrying about a complete stranger. One to whom I don’t owe a thing.
I keep my eyes on the castle for a few moments longer, but then force myself to keep going in the direction of my tent.
It’s none of my business. I need rest.
There is more screaming from within the castle walls. I freeze, my hand halfway to the tent flap.
The shouting grows louder, more urgent. I turn back, seeing shadows flying through the night sky. They’re like great writhing ribbons of darkness that twist and coil like my silks, only bigger, far more impressive. It’s magic I know well.
Another explosion sounds, and the ground trembles beneath my feet.
There’s even more screaming.
Have they recaptured him? Hurt him?
I need to go inside my tent and forget all about this…forget all about him. But my feet won’t move. The haunted look in his eyes won’t leave me.
Then there is silence. The silence is worse than the screams.
They have him.
They’re marching him back to the castle. Back to the dungeon, where he will await his fate.
Queen Snow will kill him. The Shadowfae King is doomed.
Before I can stop myself, before I can think about how stupid this is, my feet are moving.
Not toward my tent.
Not away from danger.
But toward it.
I run down the cobbled road, slipping a few times because of my silk shoes, so I kick them off.
I have to help him.
I have to save the king.
My magic surges beneath my skin, responding to the adrenaline flooding my veins.
I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there.
I don’t have a plan.
Even though I know it is the most stupid thing I have ever done in my life, even though I know I will probably die for my actions, I keep running anyway.