Third Night
THEY LOCKED ME in the attic.
Which, again, with the perfect clarity of hindsight, was an entirely predictable outcome. Being freed from my dawn-curse had made me idiotically forget the more mundane ways a person could be controlled.
It was so stupid, to be defeated by a mere locked door.
I rattled the doorknob without success and then went and found my hairpins.
The lock ate them, bending each one horribly out of shape.
It wasn’t my ineptitude, or not only my ineptitude; it was Bloodthorn Manor, maliciously obeying its lord’s command to keep me in.
I wasted a few more pins trying to prise open the windows, with similar results.
Eventually I ran out of pins and slumped back on my bed to stare at the ceiling.
Maybe it was better this way. Someone like me marrying Tāwhiri had always seemed too far-fetched to believe.
I was free of my curse, if not technically free at this exact moment.
But someone would let me out of this attic tomorrow, and after that I could leave the manor permanently, so long as I was careful. I didn’t need Tāwhiri.
Night Sister knew how angry Lord Bloodthorn would be if Tāwhiri chose someone other than Acantha for his bride.
I felt a flicker of unease. Tāwhiri would pick someone, wouldn’t he, rather than choose to be forsworn? He was a practical man.
Yes, so practical that he gave up his leverage over you out of pure sentimentality.
That had probably been an outlier, I reasoned with myself.
A carefully judged gesture. It wasn’t as if he could be in love with me.
We’d known each other for less than three days, and Tāwhiri wasn’t a fool, even if he was very arrogant.
He must have some idea for a back-up bride if I decided against him.
I passionately hated that thought.
Would he truly believe I’d decided against him?
What would I decide, if I wasn’t locked in this attic? I hugged my knees up to my chest, feeling strongly reluctant to think about it. What would thinking about it change? It didn’t matter. None of my decisions ever mattered.
But I couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to have Tāwhiri so tightly focused on me that he was unaware of the crowd.
He’d wanted me even without the illusion, knowing exactly who and what I was.
He’d kissed me hotly under cold starlight and given me my name back.
I could fall in love with a man like that, given half a chance.
But it would be so much easier not to. Even if I found my way out of this attic in time, would he really choose a mere mortal girl, when it came to it?
If he did, did I want to live a life in the inevitable spotlight of the fae court, with enemies on all sides?
Would Tāwhiri come to regret marrying me after the novelty of my human presence wore off?
Abruptly I was angry. Two days ago, freedom from my dawn-curse had been the biggest dream I could imagine.
Now, there was a tentative yearning for a nebulous more curling in my chest. Tāwhiri had made me imagine a future in which I was worth more than the sum of my debts and disappointments, and now I couldn’t forget it.
Admitting it to myself made everything worse because I was still stuck here, and Tāwhiri would still choose someone else, believing I’d gotten cold feet. Would he choose Acantha? She’d spoken out of shock earlier, but it wasn’t her whole character. Probably they’d eventually be happy together.
I didn’t want them to be happy together, eventually or otherwise.
I heard the clock downstairs strike midnight.
I rose. I beat at the windows with a boot, trying to shatter the glass.
I threw myself at the door over and over, until I felt bruises forming.
The house held fast. In frustration, I pleaded with the manor.
“Look, I know you don’t like me! But I’m not tied to you anymore.
If you let me out, I’ll go and never return. ”
A shiver went through the walls as the manor considered my offer. Tempted, but it would not disobey its master’s instruction.
I began to rifle through my things, desperate for anything that might help me escape, going round and round my room like a moth in a jar with the lid screwed on tight. But no matter what I tried, I remained trapped.
The minutes ticked away at the back of my mind. How long would Tāwhiri wait? My heart squeezed, imagining how his features would tighten as the time passed and it became clear I wasn’t coming. He would believe I hadn’t wanted him enough to take the risk.
At last, exhausted, I sank down in the mess I’d made of my room, drew my knees up to my chest, and cried.
I FELT IT WHEN dawn broke. Maybe I would always be attuned to it now, after so many years of being forced to dance to its rhythm. The walls shuddered, and the door unlocked, but it was too late. The ball would be long since over. Tāwhiri would have chosen someone else, hours ago.
I ran downstairs anyway.
The white stag still waited in the little copse, its breath pluming in the chill. It turned its great head and watched me with liquid eyes as I climbed into the carriage, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. It said nothing, but after a moment, the carriage began to move.
The grey light of dawn had brightened into true daylight by the time I spilled out onto the steps of the Golden Hall, hitched up my skirts, and hurried up to the doors—only to be greeted by the crossed halberds of the guards.
“Humans,” they told me disapprovingly, “are forbidden to enter the hall.”
I didn’t have my shoes or my mask. I knew I looked terrible as well as human, with dark circles under my eyes and a nose red from crying. I tried to summon up some clever words or clever plan to get me past the guards, but nothing came to me.
I had to try nonetheless, so I straightened, willing myself to believe I was still every bit as important as the illusion had made me seem. “I’m—”
“—invited,” a familiar voice said from just inside. Acantha stepped into the light. In her hand was the feathered silver mask. “She’s invited, as a Daughter of Bloodthorn.”
I stared dumbly at her.
Acantha impatiently gestured for me to follow her in. The guards frowned, but they didn’t try to stop me this time.
“What’s going on?” I asked, half-jogging to match her pace.
There were still a surprising number of partygoers lounging drearily about in the hallway, and they goggled at me as we passed.
“Are you—” I wanted to ask who Tāwhiri had chosen but couldn’t quite make myself.
I assumed not Acantha, if she was hovering around the entrance hall alone.
Why had she been hovering about the entrance hall, as if waiting for me?
Acantha stopped abruptly just before the main hall.
She handed me the mask. “Put that on.”
“What?”
There was something fierce in her expression. Her fingers rubbed at her enchanted bracelets. “You will invite all the neighbouring royalty to your wedding.”
I blinked at her.
The corner of her mouth lifted ruefully. “Somewhere there must be a royal I can convince to marry me.” She gave me a little push that sent me stumbling into the ballroom. I put the mask on.
Tāwhiri was dancing with Rose. They were the only ones; the rest of the court were spread around the ballroom’s edges.
Everyone was still here, despite the hour, and they all looked extremely unhappy.
Tāwhiri was ignoring both them and their unhappiness, his expression serenely unselfconscious, as if he could keep dancing forever.
Rose was not managing the same blithe serenity, even though she too was keeping her eyes fixed firmly away from the watching crowd. She held herself rigidly, dancing with stiff, awkward determination rather than her usual grace.
“He cannot keep this up forever,” I heard someone murmur beneath their breath, part of a low hiss of displeasure from the watching crowd:
“—insulting, drawing this out.”
“—should refuse to dance with him until he chooses.”
People slowly began to notice my presence.
Tāwhiri looked past Rose’s shoulder, and his smooth expression broke into a smile, a flash of pure, shining relief that undermined all his efforts to seem unaffected.
It pulsed through his magic, sending a warm shimmer of light over his wings.
His emotion was strong enough to affect his surroundings, for the kōwhai swayed towards me like golden bells.
He said something to Rose and she peeled away from him, rejoining the crowd. I didn’t see her expression because I was too busy holding Tāwhiri’s eyes, which burned with their usual steady intensity, as if no one else were relevant. He held out a hand.
A susurration passed through the crowd, and a clear path formed between me and the dance floor as they turned to see what had drawn the king’s attention. The attention of the court fell upon me and stuttered. Even the music, finally, fell silent.
I stepped through, a little less steady on my feet than I would have liked to be in this moment. I lifted my hands to my face, removing the mask. The gasps were audible in the hush, and I held my head high, relishing every one.
I caught a glimpse of Lord Bloodthorn, his face tight with fury. I smiled sweetly at him, and then I took Tāwhiri’s hand.
His fingers squeezed mine, and his palms were damp with the nerves he had refused to show publicly.
“You came,” he said in a low voice.
“You waited.”
He smiled. “A ball doesn’t end until the last dancers leave. I was prepared to dance for a very long time. Are you ready?”
I nodded, and the pair of us turned to face the court.
“It gives me great pleasure,” he said, pitching his voice to carry, “to introduce you to my fiancée.”