Chapter 60 #2
The cruel one’s sister watched him as the marriage arch was wrapped in her vine, the tendrils leaking poison over the stone. The vines bloomed with white flowers, and they carried a strong scent through the hall.
The trickster turned to the cruel one’s sister with an amused smile.
“Do you like it?” she asked, watching him intently.
“What’s not to like?” His smile widened, and his eyes glinted. If the wind hadn’t felt the tightness in his chest or the drumming of his pulse, it might have believed the trickster was as unconcerned as he appeared.
“Have you finished?” the Bard called, and when the trickster nodded, the Bard gestured for everyone to join him for another glass of champagne. “To an alliance that will last generations. To children who will rule the world. To marriage.”
The wind bounced in the clink of glasses and swirled in the dizzy chug of champagne. Then the cruel one’s sister sidled next to the trickster and whispered, “Can I speak to you alone?”
The trickster frowned and looked around the hall. “Now?”
The cruel one’s sister nodded, looking up at the trickster from beneath her eyelashes. The wind thought she was trying to look harmless, but instead, she looked like an ambush creature preparing to strike.
If she did, the trickster wouldn’t be able to defend himself.
The wind had felt that last stone drink all the illusion from the trickster’s blood.
He’d have to rest before he’d be able to conjure again.
The cruel one’s sister, though, was still bubbling with illusion.
She was stronger than the trickster, and she hadn’t been running herself dry like a worker bee at the end of summer.
“All right,” he said, and then, after murmuring to his mother, he led the cruel one’s sister from the wedding hall.
She grabbed a box on the way out and smiled happily as the trickster led her to a large bedroom. She looked around and raised her eyebrows at the giant bed in the center of the room.
“Is this where we’ll sleep?” she asked.
The trickster shut the door.
The wind swirled to the bed, running over the satin sheets and the soft down pillow. It loved the Bard’s desire for soft, silky fabrics and feather beds. It loved their taste for velvet cushions and plush carpets. It loved rubbing along their cool marbles and lustrous golds.
The trickster leaned against the door, his eyes hooded. “No. It’s where I’ll sleep. What did you want?”
The cruel one’s sister walked to the bed and ran her hand over the satin duvet. Then she set the box on the wooden nightstand.
She patted the bed. “Sit with me.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “I have a present for you. A wedding gift. Do you have mine?”
It was tradition for a conjurer bride and groom to exchange gifts the day before the wedding.
The trickster’s eyes flicked to the box and then back to the cruel one’s sister. “Yes. Of course.”
“Well?”
He walked to a large walnut wardrobe and pulled out a small box. It was wrapped with gold paper.
“For me?” The cruel one’s sister clapped her hands. “I love gifts. Don’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“You know, I think we should be honest with each other,” she said, unwrapping the paper from the little box. “We didn’t have a choice in this marriage, but I’d like us to make the best of it.” She made a happy sound when she saw the glitter of stones and gold. “How pretty.”
It was a gold bracelet as cold as the cruel one’s sister was.
“Is it an object of power?”
“No. It’s only a bracelet.”
She traced her finger over the glinting diamonds.
“No one ever gives me gifts.” When she looked up, her eyes were clouded with tears.
The wind tasted them, but instead of sadness, they were icy, like the bitter north.
“I want to make the best of this marriage. Make the best outcome for both of us. Don’t you? ”
The cruel one’s sister didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, she turned and reached for the box on the nightstand.
“Sit with me.”
The trickster eyed the bed as if it were full of snakes. Gingerly, he sat next to the cruel one’s sister.
She turned back to him and smiled when she saw how close he was. The bed was plush, and it sank under their weight, tilting them close.
“Here.” She handed him the box. “I hope you like it.”
The trickster took it and then slowly opened the lid. The cruel one’s sister watched him with a hungry gaze. The wind trailed over the edge of the box and peered inside.
Slowly, the trickster pulled out a small cage. His mouth tightened imperceptibly, but the cruel one’s sister noticed. She seemed to delight in his discomfort.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice tight. He held the bamboo cage away from himself.
The cruel one’s sister pushed the box to the floor and scooted closer to the trickster. “Don’t you like it?”
“I don’t know what it is.”
Ah. But he did. It was a cage. The trickster hated cages—even tiny wooden cages.
“It’s a cricket,” the cruel one’s sister said happily. “I got you a pet.”
The trickster blinked and then held the cage high so he could look at the insect inside it. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened.
The cricket crouched in the corner, its forewings fluttering, its legs moving agitatedly. The wind moaned and stroked over its spindly parts. It smelled like new pennies. It smelled like luck.
“You don’t like crickets?” The cruel one’s sister sounded happier than she should.
The trickster grimaced. “Sorry. No.”
The cricket made a small clacking noise and sprang against the cage’s bars. It thudded back to the cage floor, stunned. It lay on its side, twitching.
The trickster winced.
“I made it,” the cruel one’s sister said, watching his reaction, “because I thought you would like it. But if you don’t, you can kill it. They squash as easily as a cockroach. Here—”
She took the cage and began to unlatch the tiny door.
The wind gasped and pushed the latch down.
Would the trickster kill his lucky one?
The wind whispered in his ear, It’s the lucky one. It’s your . . .
The trickster brushed it aside, ignoring the wind. It fluttered and bounced through the cage’s bars.
“No,” the trickster said, taking the cage back. “Thank you.” He frowned at the cricket. It was hopping against the cage walls. “It wants out.”
“Maybe.” The cruel one’s sister shrugged. “Maybe not. It doesn’t know what it wants. A cricket is so stupid that if you put water in the cage, it’ll drown itself in it.”
The trickster’s gaze was riveted on the insect. “I’m not sure that’s stupid.”
The wind thought perhaps the trickster was thinking of himself in the cage.
“It is. Trust me. I’ve had a cricket. Wonderful pets, but very stupid. If you let it out, it’ll be dead in minutes. Eaten, crushed, smashed. Do you want to know how to care for it?” The cruel one’s sister bounced on the bed, seeming excited about the prospect.
The wind had never seen her so animated.
The trickster frowned at the cricket. “All right.” He didn’t sound as if he liked the cricket or wanted to care for it. In fact, the wind thought the trickster was probably going to drop it on a sidewalk as soon as the cruel one’s sister left, no matter what she said.
“This cricket eats aphids and insect larvae. Some like leaves, fruit, seeds, but not this one. This one only eats aphids and larvae. It’ll get sick if you feed it anything else.”
The trickster gave the cricket a disgusted look. “Why?”
“Just because. Also, it likes to be near you, so leave it on your nightstand. It’ll want to sleep nearby. It’ll like watching you. You might think it’s disconcerting, but that’s just what they do.”
“Really?”
The trickster was trying his best to pretend he liked the gift, but he was failing. Even the wind could see he didn’t want it.
“Oh yes. This is a very friendly cricket,” the cruel one’s sister said. “The best part is . . .”
The wind waited. The trickster waited.
“Yes?”
“If you ask . . . it’ll sing for you.”
The trickster frowned.
“Watch.” The cruel one’s sister bent her face close to the cage and whispered, “Sing.”
Nothing happened.
The trickster made an unimpressed sound.
The wind stroked over the cricket’s hard, shiny back and nudged its forewings.
The cage was illusion made real, but the lucky one wasn’t wrapped in illusion.
There was no telltale buzzing or tingle.
Besides, while a conjurer could cloak themselves or others in illusion, they couldn’t transform one being into another.
This was something else. An object of power? A poison? What?
“Sing!” she said more loudly.
The cricket sat mute.
The cruel one’s sister’s cheeks flushed red. Her face twisted with anger as she stared into the cage. She looked up at the trickster and then back at the cricket.
“Cricket!” she snapped. “I told you that you were a gift for my husband. I told you that you would be happy here. I told you to sing.”
Nothing happened. The cricket kept silent.
“Maybe it’s a female,” the trickster said.
“What?”
“Only males sing. Maybe it’s female.”
“How do you know that if you don’t like crickets?” She sounded offended.
He shrugged.
The cruel one’s sister angrily shook her head. “No. It sings. I made it to sing.” She pursed her lips.
“You could make another,” the trickster said. He was tired and getting impatient. The wind trailed over his shallow breath and the sluggish beat of his heart. “Maybe the next one will sing.”
“It’s because you think it’s ugly,” she said.
“Well, it is ugly. I doubt it cares,” the trickster said, smothering a yawn.
“It’s because you don’t like it.”
The trickster sighed. “Should we go back to the hall?”
“Not until it sings.”
The trickster shook his head, his amused smile back in place. “I’m not sure you can make a cricket sing.”
She stared at him, her cheeks flushed. She’d worn a short dress today, nearly as short as the one she’d been wearing when she confronted the lucky one. She was opal-pale, with hollowed-out cheekbones and sharp, angry angles.
“I wanted you to like my gift,” she whispered.