Misrule, page 10
Silence thrums, ringing in my ears. The court stares at her, open-mouthed.
And then they explode into laughter.
Goblins stomp their feet. Imps fall over one another, kicking at the air as they roll back and forth. My head pounds, and I curse this wretched day. Of all things Aurora could have said, that has to be the worst. I wrack my aching brain for something to say to defend her, but how can I? This isn’t Briar anymore.
“There are no queens here, m’lady.” Malakar snorts.
Splotches like long-ago Briar roses climb up Aurora’s neck. If only I’d had time to warn her how they’d be. But she’s always so ridiculously stubborn.
The Imps begin to dance and climb one atop the other, ordering charges in the name of their pretend queen. Goblins raise their cudgels and take up the cry. Demons and Vila grin in a manner that could only be described as carnivorous.
“And you claimed she’s different than the other royals?” The fissures on Torin’s body pulse scarlet.
“She’s been asleep for a hundred years,” I reason, “and has woken to find her home in ruins. You can understand what she’s feeling.”
But the Dark Court entertains no interest in empathy. And I feel as though Aurora and I are farther apart than ever before. Standing on opposite sides of a widening chasm.
And which side will you choose, pet?
I squeeze my eyes shut against the ancient Vila.
“I agree with Nimara.” The back of Regan’s hand brushes against mine, her light yet steady touch filling me with gratitude and relief. “We welcome the former Fae into our midst, why not a human?”
“Those Fae are turned Vila,” Torin points out.
Several of such courtiers are sprinkled through the crowd. Turning was a fairly common practice before the War of the Fae, beginning with the mate of the first Vila, who changed his golden blood to the green of the Vila rather than forsake his love. After him, Etherians who were tired of the rigid rules of Oryn’s domain frequently abandoned the Fae courts to join those of Malterre. Dozens of former Fae are now members of the Dark Court, their outward appearance unchanged, though their blood runs emerald.
“The princess cannot turn,” Torin continues. “Nor does it sound like she would.”
Aurora crosses her arms. No, she would not. And I wouldn’t ask that of her.
“She could be bound,” Malakar suggests. “As the other humans have done.”
“I will not wear another curse mark,” she grinds out, glaring at me.
Tension masses between us and undulates through the onlookers. This is a catastrophe. I berate myself for not having planned Aurora’s introduction with more care. I should have detailed every step. Devised plans and counterplans. I was an absolute idiot to think it was going to be simple when she woke—that she could just slide into place like she’d been here all along. Then again, it might have been easier if not for the boy’s sneaking around where he didn’t belong. I pin him with my most vicious glower, and he shrinks farther into the crowd. We will have much to discuss later.
“You claim there was a friendship.” Torin angles her staff between me and Aurora. “But I do not see it. Whatever you two shared has clearly withered beneath the curse.”
“It was not real.”
Aelfdene’s words come crashing back. A lump congeals in my throat. And for the first time in a century, Aurora smiles at me. But it is a rueful thing, intended to wound.
“Clearly, you’re all forgetting who stands before you.” Regan speaks above the rising clamor. “Without Nimara, we would still be wandering the realms across the sea, in exile. Or,” she gestures at an Imp, “be enslaved in the Fae courts.”
A tremor of unease ripples among the court, each of us battling our memories.
Regan puts her hand on my shoulder. “We owe her everything. And all she asks is that we trust her word when it comes to this mortal princess. Obviously, she saw something worth saving in the girl. And that’s enough for me.”
A weight lifts from my chest. And Regan’s confidence finally seems to penetrate the icy veneer of the court. Weapons droop and sneers soften. I slide a sideways glance at Aurora. But she remains as contemptuous as ever.
“Perhaps”—Torin tugs at the pendant around her neck—“we could grant the princess time to adjust.”
It’s as close to kindness as I could hope for.
“Time, aye. For her to traipse about, shouting that she’s queen?” Malakar scratches behind his horns.
“Let her say what she likes. I find her assertions rather humorous, actually.” Regan grins. “But we can assign her some keepers to make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble.”
My gratitude sours into irritation, but the idea is met with appreciation from the others. And I cannot argue against such a compromise if it keeps Aurora alive.
“Yes, give her to us.” An Imp creeps forward, rubbing his hands. “Never had a princess to play with before.”
“She’s not a toy,” I say sternly. He slinks back.
“Then what am I?” Aurora hurls the question at me like a blade. “A hostage in my own home? Held by someone I thought…”
Her jaw sets, lips pursed together until they’re bloodless. And a fresh crack forms in my heart, imagining what she might have been about to say.
“You cannot be a hostage.” Malakar displays his jagged teeth. “There’s no one left to offer ransom.”
Aurora’s amethyst eyes shine. But she does not allow the tears to fall. Not even as the court laughs and swarms around her.
A terrible thought takes root in my mind. That Torin was right. That the fragile, beautiful thing between us has withered. And there’s no going back to the way we were before.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“And how did that happen?”
Regan pulls me aside as the court launches back into its routine. Valmar assigns his best Imps to be Aurora’s keepers, and they lead her away amid a flurry of excited chittering. She’ll be housed in her old rooms, at least, which I hope is a comfort to her. They’re technically Neve’s chambers now—but the Shifter leader is so infrequently in residence that I determined it wouldn’t matter if Aurora occupied them.
“The horrible boy,” I answer, jerking my chin to where Derek lurks near the windows.
“Him?” She laughs. “But he’s mortal. How did he manage to lift a curse?”
I press my thumb into the cracked jewel of my signet ring. “He kissed her.”
“Oh.” Regan crosses her arms and considers him. “Do you think it was one of those ‘true love’ instances, like what you were saying? Fate, or something?”
The image of Aelfdene’s grin rears in my mind.
“No,” I say, with far too much force. Regan deals me a quizzical expression. She’s aware of Aurora’s first curse, but not that I’m the one who broke it—or how I broke it. “He’s not interesting enough to be anyone’s true love. And I thought you didn’t believe in that anyway.”
“I never said I didn’t.” She runs a fingertip over the bone spikes on her knuckles. The Imps tow Derek away, and I hope they run him ragged. “It is strange, though, that all this should suddenly happen. Why him? And why now?”
My head begins to ache, and I do not like any of the possible answers buzzing inside my mind. “Could we continue this later? I have something to do.”
She frowns at me. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I lie. “I just need to think.”
Regan squeezes my shoulder. “Let me know if I can do anything. I promised Malakar a round of sparring anyway. And try to sleep. You look awful.”
She tosses me a teasing grin as she turns to walk down the dais steps, but I catch her wrist. “Thank you for standing by me today.”
Regan shrugs in that gruff way she does when receiving praise. “It’s easy to do. But…” Her green eyes darken. “I know you said she was your friend.”
“Is,” I correct, bristling.
“I believe you. Just…be careful. I won’t always be able to help you. And”—she indicates the rest of the court—“if every day is like today, they won’t warm to her. And I can’t say that I would blame them.”
Though it pains me to admit it, I can’t say I would, either. But I let that go. “Aurora will come around,” I say. “She’ll understand.”
She has to.
* * *
—
It’s been a long time since I’ve stood outside Aurora’s chambers. The dragon engraved on the pale wood of the doors is barely visible through the scars of soot and decay. The first time I saw its jeweled eyes, I’d been disguised as a pleasure Grace after Aurora was cursed by the spindle. Amid the other sounds in the corridor, I can even imagine the phantom strain of the palace bells announcing her upcoming wedding to the star-chosen prince. But I squash that memory as quickly as it surfaces. Things are different now. Better, even if Aurora doesn’t see it that way. Still, part of me thinks I should do as Regan suggested and rest. Get my bearings before I undertake this mad endeavor. But sleep would never come, not with the way my nerves jangle. And I must speak to her. My hands are restless as I debate whether I should knock. Probably, but I’m too afraid that Aurora won’t answer. I test the lock. The handle gives, and I slip inside.
The sitting room appears much the same now as it did a century ago. Just after the siege, I’d righted all the toppled pieces of furniture and cleaned up the shards of glass and plaster. Patched up the holes in the windows and made sure Aurora’s books remained in decent condition. Neve hasn’t added a single trinket of her own to decorate the suite, and I’m glad of that. I’d always secretly hoped Aurora would occupy it again. If, I blush, she wasn’t with me in the royal suite.
But there’s no evidence to suggest Aurora appreciates my efforts to keep up her rooms. She hasn’t removed the sheets from the silk-upholstered chairs. She isn’t reading any of the books I took such care to salvage. Muffled conversation filters from behind the closed doors to my right, those that lead to her bedchamber. I tiptoe toward them, then Shift my hearing and listen at the keyhole.
“So you’re Imps?” I hear Aurora ask, using the tone she once reserved for irritating nobles. “I thought all the creatures of Malterre died during the War of the Fae.”
“Aye,” one replies, “and we thought all the princesses died when Nimara turned beastie and burned this realm.”
A chorus of cackles.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you with my existence.”
“Not disappointed. Not when there’s such fun to be had. This hair—” A sound like a warbly cooing. “So lovely. Will you give me some of it?”
“Or all of it? You won’t miss it.”
“It grows back.”
“And your teeth are so white. Like rows of pearls.”
“I do love pearls. Open your mouth.”
This has gone far enough. I push the door wide. Aurora is seated at the window, and the trio of Valmar’s creatures are far closer than they ought to be. One has his spindly claw-tipped fingers hovering near her face.
“Mistress!” He freezes and backs away with a hasty bow.
“What were you three doing?”
They nudge one another.
“Welcoming the princess,” one attempts. “As you wished.”
“I see. I’ve already told you that she’s not your plaything. You’ll take none of her hair, nor anything else that belongs to her.”
Groans of disapproval.
“Shall I turn beastie and demand your obedience? Or better yet, deny you access to my wardrobe?”
Their ears droop. “No, Mistress.”
“Good. Now go and find something else to do for a while—but leave tea.”
The one who had been angling for Aurora’s teeth fishes a few stones from his pocket and places them on a table. He claps his hands over them, and a tea set appears, steaming and complete with a jug of cream and a plate of tarts and sandwiches. The trio scuffles out, shooting Aurora sidelong glances and murmuring about the length of her eyelashes.
“Don’t worry about them,” I say to her, pouring two cups of tea and adding cream. “They’re harmless, really. Just easily overexcited.”
“I’m not worried,” she replies. “The worst thing that ever could have happened to me already has happened. Why should I fear anything else?”
An auspicious beginning. I roll my shoulders against the knotted tension there, stacking sandwiches on a plate and offering it to her. “You must be hungry. The magic in the Imp food shouldn’t harm you seeing as you’ve lived under Mortania’s curse for so many years. But try not to eat too much. It might cause discomfort at first, until you become accustomed.”
She doesn’t move. “Accustomed? To the food, or to the fact that you’ll obviously be listening to every conversation that I have from now on?”
My cheeks heat. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“I imagine not, when you were standing right outside my bedroom door with your ear pressed against it.”
I set down the plate and pull a chair across from her, doing my best to smooth out my own irritation. “You’re right. I’m sorry. About that, and about how things went earlier in the throne room. I never thought…”
“That I would wake up?”
“No! I mean, yes,” I say, flustered. “I wanted you to wake up more than anything. I must have crafted a thousand elixirs over the years. Nothing worked.”
She crosses her arms. “Except Derek’s kiss. Do you know why?”
I fidget with the embroidery on my skirt and hope she cannot scent the lie beneath my silence. Part of me thinks I should tell her. But she’s already so angry about Briar. She wouldn’t take the news that I’d let her sleep for a century very well, regardless of my intentions. Better to wait until I can clean up the other damage.
“All I know is that mine wouldn’t,” I say. And it’s not totally untrue. “Laurel and Endlewild did something to the curse to make sure I could never be the one to wake you that way. And then they took you back to the palace, where the servants were already decorating for your wedding to Elias. I had to do something to stop it.”
She huffs. “Fire and murder were your first lines of defense?”
I can no longer stopper my annoyance. “Do you want to know what happened? Or are you content to keep inventing a story of your own?”
A muscle feathers in her jaw, but she nods—all the invitation I’ll receive.
I take a fortifying sip of tea. This is what I came here to do. But it still feels as though I’m stepping onto a thinly frozen lake. And I proceed in kind, explaining slowly and deliberately about the black tower. Kal and his secret lessons and the broken medallion. How he Shifted to mirror my appearance on the night we were supposed to stage our coup, then lured Aurora to the spindle and the second curse. Endlewild ferrying her back to Lavender House, and then the palace. Laurel’s treachery. King Tarkin and his men trying to beat down my barrier in the library. And then, finally, how I’d Shifted and made sure no one could ever keep us apart again.
“They would have killed me,” I tell her. I’ve been talking for so long that the teacup is cold in my hands. “And they probably would have locked you in some tower after you were wed, still asleep, so that Elias could rule on his own.”
This is when I expect Aurora to soften. For understanding to spark in her eyes, realizing the impossible situation I was in. The dire fate that had nearly swallowed us both. Maybe she won’t be happy about what happened, but she should at least see that I did what was best…for both of us. But she only sits and watches me with that stoic stare. She’s silent for so long that I’m half worried that she’s in some kind of trance and hasn’t heard a word.
“Had you always known you were capable of Shifting like that?” she asks at last, and I’m slightly disgruntled that this is her first question.
“No,” I answer. “Shifting always proved difficult for me, actually. Until Mortania’s power melded with mine. Her magic must have bolstered my Shifter abilities as well as Vila.”
Yes, pet. I made you what you are. The ancient Vila whirls, and the scent of charred steel and loam tickles my nose.
“And this Mortania. She was in Kal’s medallion the whole time? The same Vila who cast the curse on Leythana’s line?”
The one we broke, though it doesn’t appear she cares to remember that particular detail. A clock chimes the hour.
“Yes.”
“The same Vila whom we were trying to banish?” her voice rises. “The one who killed my sisters and would have killed me, lives inside you now?”
I set my cup down. China rattles. “It’s not that simple. Yes, she was responsible for your first curse. But her magic is also the reason you’re here today instead of lying unconscious in some tower, a pawn of the Briar Kings. I couldn’t just let them have you.”
“Have me?” Her eyes blaze. “What am I, a barrel of Etherium to be traded?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“What I know is that I’ve woken to find my entire life upended. There are severed heads on the throne room walls, and my palace is filled with cre—”
A raw and brutal anger kindles, sharp and swift. Such as I’ve never felt with Aurora. “Creatures?” I repeat. “Is that what we are? What I am?”
She doesn’t answer, but her breathing quickens. “I don’t know what to call you. Alyce. Nimara.” She wields the names like weapons. “All I know is that I trusted you. And you took everything I loved and ripped it to pieces. And now you expect my thanks?”
Everything? I saved us. Was that not enough?
“You want to speak of trust? I trusted you. That you didn’t care that I was Vila. That you would change Briar for the better. But now I see how you really feel about me and mine. I was nothing more than your pet Grace.”
