Chapter Twenty Idris
Chapter Twenty
Idris
The light of the dancing hall stings my eyes as I hurry after Father.
I am not sure how he came to be here—I don’t remember anything between the heat of the sand on my cheek and waking: Kit’s hand on my collarbone, Father’s arm around me, True lying on my chest. All I know is that my attempt to remove myself from everyone forever has ended up with even more people following me.
Abram comes to my side and Kit to my other. For a moment, I study Kit. She’s back in her own body. With the direct, transparent honesty of her expression, I never mistook her for Catharine.
“The wand worked?” I ask, my voice ragged from saltwater.
She nods, then her eyes harden with determination. “And I think I’ve found another way to help you.”
“So has Father,” Abram says, his tone grave.
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but before I can, Father steps into the dancing chamber, and the music abruptly dies.
The dancers turn as one to face us. Tonight, a bright crystal glows across the ceiling, large stalactites and stalagmites forming columns that don’t quite meet in the middle. The ground is covered in a few inches of water, just enough to turn it into a mirror.
Beyond the throng, the queen sits on her throne—straight and regal, black eyes burning as she regards my father.
He pauses a moment on the threshold, then marches forward.
The Hidden Folk part to make a path from him to the queen.
I follow after. Other than our steps, which splash loudly, the hall is eerily quiet.
When my feet falter, Kit slips her callused hand into mine.
I glance down, surprised. Her touch, I know, is not easily given, and I feel humbler and stronger for it.
Father stops before the queen and bows. “Hidden One.”
“Hugh.” She watches him icily. A crown of delicate seashells adorns her white-blonde hair, and a gown of green silk flares out around her knees. “I did not invite you to my ball.”
“You did once,” he replies.
“And if I recall”—she lifts her chin—”you declined that invitation.”
“I have come to beg your lenience.” Father stands straight as a mast. “I understand that our family harmed you, and that a price must be paid to atone for it. I have tried to find other ways of sparing my sons from this price, but Idris has helped me see we cannot escape our legacy by running or hiding. So I have come to pay it.”
I start forward. “Father, no—”
“Let me do this, son.” He turns toward me, and his gaze sharpens, fierce, before it suddenly changes.
Softer. Sad. “You have done all you could, and I should have stepped in sooner. I should never have let this pass to you. I won’t see you die for something that should never have been offered to you as a choice in the first place. ”
I open and close my mouth, desperate for a way to make him see reason. For a way to show him that the old crime isn’t his fault any more than it was mine. But the irony of finding myself on this side of the argument steals my words away.
“You were right,” Father adds. “I made you the man who would take this on, who would cling to it alone. And I’m sorry, but you are not alone. I will not let you do this alone.”
I take an unsteady step forward, with Abram and Kit still supporting me.
“Id,” Abram murmurs. “Let us help you. There’s no need to carry it by yourself.”
“You can’t be serious,” I say to my brother. All of my attempts to protect my family have shattered around me. “You can’t let him do this!”
Abram meets my eyes. “We love you, Idris. Let us fight for you.”
Father turns to face the Hidden Queen again. “I claim the rest of Idris’s dancing days. Look at him—you won’t have another week at this rate, and you’ll get at least a few months out of me.”
The Hidden Queen inclines her head, considering.
“Wait, wait,” I protest, stumbling forward and fishing in my pockets.
The blacksmith’s tools are still inside, miraculously.
“I came tonight to try to remove the iron shoes. I know it’s the least we can do.
I didn’t—I don’t—mean it to be a bargaining chip.
But maybe, if I can do it, you might extend mercy to my father and brother? ”
The Hidden Folk nearest us move back another few paces at the sight of the iron in my hands, and whispers spread across the crowd. I watch the Hidden Queen. Her serene mask slips, revealing something young and vulnerable in her pale face. Fear—and hope.
She takes a shallow breath and pulls her long skirt to one side. “You may try.”
I move forward and sink down in front of her feet.
The iron shoes are crude, little more than blocks of metal.
Where they touch her skin, livid blue lines flare up her legs.
I set the tools beside me and select the nail puller.
When I tentatively prop her right foot up, she hisses in pain.
It is a strangely human sound, and my grip weakens as uncertainty flares through me. I don’t want to hurt her even more.
The Hidden Folk still stand at a distance, murmuring but apparently unwilling or unable to come closer to the iron. Instead, Kit steps to the left of the Hidden Queen. She tucks something under her arm, then takes the Hidden Queen’s hand and holds it tightly.
Kit gives me an encouraging nod.
I try to slide the nail puller’s notch under the old nail head at the bottom of the shoe, but the nail head is almost welded to the metal round it. I angle the puller in a different direction and push. My strength is even weaker than before—I can’t get enough force to wedge the puller into place.
Someone kneels beside me, and Abram takes the nail puller.
“Hold her foot,” he says, repositioning the tool. He glances up at the Hidden Queen. “This will hurt, I’m sure.”
“It has never stopped hurting,” she murmurs.
I close my hands around her foot, trying to keep it steady.
Abram takes a deep breath, then shoves the puller under the nail head.
With a scraping and a sickeningly fleshy sound, he maneuvers the nail until it’s loose enough to grab.
He takes hold of the head and eases the nail free.
It clatters to the ground beside us, coated in sea-foam.
The Hidden Queen shudders but lets no noise escape.
I adjust my hands over the shoe, glancing at Abram.
His face is a little green, but he turns to the next nail.
Together, we extract four more from this foot.
When they are scattered around us, Father moves beside Abram and helps us ease the shoe off her foot.
The skin that’s revealed is raw and burned as if the hot metal had been poured over her mere minutes ago.
When the last of the shoe slides free of her toes, the Hidden Queen lets out a cry, leaning to one side on her throne.
Kit wraps her spare arm around the Hidden Queen’s shoulders.
We move to the other foot, and the process begins again. It is slow, and sweat stands out on my forehead even though I am not the one doing the most labor. The only sound in the hall is the scrape and clang of metal, along with the rare, almost inaudible whimpers of the Hidden Queen.
At last, the second shoe comes free. We set it down beside the first. Father and Abram help me stand, and we retreat to give the Hidden Queen space. Kit makes to do the same, but the Hidden Queen’s hand tightens on hers, keeping her there.
“I have something for you as well,” Kit whispers. She pulls the bundle from under her arm—a silky fur of some kind. A selkie skin. “Is this yours?”
The Hidden Queen stares. Slowly, she reaches out and touches the fur. Her fingers tremble.
Kit leans forward and spreads the skin across the Hidden Queen’s lap. It drapes over her elegantly, shimmering in the light of the walls.
“It is mine,” the Hidden Queen says, her black eyes shining.
Kit smiles in a wavering way. She steps back, and I go to her side. A tear slips down her cheek when she raises her gaze to mine, and my heart twists. I reach for her, and to my surprise she gulps a breath and wraps her arms around me. My chin rests on her hair, and I tighten my hold on her.
“Are you all right?” I ask, close to her ear.
“I will be,” she says into my shoulder.
A moment later, she pulls back. Her smile is steadier now. She slips her hand into mine, and we turn again to the Hidden Queen.
“Thank you,” says the queen. Her voice is low. “I have longed for this.”
Father shakes his head. “We have only undone what Mervyn did, if even that.”
“True. And no retribution will restore the years he took from me.” She considers us, clustered together, and I cannot read the expression on her face. “You would still serve out the dancing days?”
“For the sake of the ones I love,” Father says. “I am prepared.”
The Hidden Queen’s gaze falls to my hand, clasped around Kit’s. “And you, sister, trust these Skyare men?”
Kit looks at Father, Abram, and finally me. She nods, once.
“If you can trust, perhaps so can I.” She pauses a long time, then her shoulders relax as if relieved of a weight.
“Hugh, I will not hold you or your kin to the price. Your offer and your sons’ actions have proven that your line has grown very different from Mervyn.
May it continue to be so. You are free to leave. ”
The itching in my legs, the beat that pounded in the back of my head, recedes. I am suddenly light. I am free. Father and Abram are stumbling through thanks, but their words blur in my head.
Kit studies me, searching for a sign. As shock and relief chase each other through my mind, I take the chance to look at her—really look at her, Kit, in her own body—the way I should have the night of the ball.
Her eyes swim between green and a golden brown like a shallow creek in sunlight.
Freckles spread vivid and small across her cheeks, then bigger and fainter on her forehead and chin.
I envy the sun that kissed her skin and made them.
Her lips are pink and full, pressed together in concern.
I keep my attention on her lips as I say, “The curse has broken.”
Her smile starts in the left corner of her mouth.
Then it spreads quickly—wide and reckless across her face, shining from her eyes.
She clasps her hands around the back of my neck, and I feel her smile even there—in the pressure of her fingertips under my hair and the gentle confidence in her touch.
She presses her face against my chest. I close my arms around her, reeling in the perfect way she fits against me. My surprise melts into something giddy and bubbling. I laugh into her hair and feel her smile even wider, the crinkle of her cheeks against my shirt.
Kit lets me go, and someone else grabs my shoulder. I turn to find Father standing beside me. Before I can say a word, he closes me in an embrace. A warm glow spreads right through me. This time, I really feel it.
I am not alone.