Misrule, page 13
“And I suppose you would have reacted differently? If some other land had poisoned your people and cast you into exile, and then you found yourself with the means to exact your revenge? I thought you were some sort of revolutionary. That you would have done ‘whatever was necessary’ for your people. Isn’t that what you claimed?”
“I did say that.” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Truthfully, I don’t know how I would have acted, or what I would have condoned for my family’s sake. Even so, I believe it’s easy to answer violence with violence. To demand blood for blood. But who’s left standing in the end?”
The question presses on a tender spot I didn’t realize that I had. It dredges up a memory. Aurora in my Lair, reading a logbook from the first war, one that included a record of all lives lost.
“So much death,” she’d said.
The names of our own dead, those lost in our campaigns, are engraved into the throne room walls below the Etherian heads. It’s a gesture intended to honor them, but how many more will we add before the war is over? How many lives snuffed out?
It will be worth it in the end, pet. The scent of Mortania’s power winds through my veins, silty and loam-laced.
“I didn’t come out here to be entertained by the prattle of a stable boy,” I say.
He fiddles with a leather rein. “I apologize if I spoke out of turn.”
Chaos chuffs. I pat his flank. Derek reaches for a pitchfork but then winces.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” He flexes his fingers.
It’s not nothing. I step closer and gesture for him to show me. There are angry blisters spread across his palms. One of them has opened and is oozing.
“Dragon’s teeth. What did they have you doing on that ship? Serving tea? Don’t you know enough to wear gloves?”
“I know,” he answers, defensive. “But the Imps turned my only pair into…” He picks one up from a bench. What should be strong leather has been magicked into chain mail. And claws protrude from each of the fingers. “These. I can’t grip anything with them.”
“I imagine not.” I sigh and find a clean-looking rag. “I’ll send you another pair. Hold out your hands.”
Derek obeys, and I do my best to wrap them. “I might have the makings of a salve, too. And I’ll talk to the Imps about their behavior of late.”
“Thank you,” he says. Twin dimples peek out on either side of his lips.
I tie the wrapping too tight and he hisses. “We can’t have you injured and holding up our progress, can we?”
For a minute, it’s quiet. Chaos munches on the hay in his pen.
“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Derek says as I finish.
“I assure you, I do.”
He grins anyway. “Your court loves you. And I admit that I had my misgivings when I arrived here, but I think I understand a bit more about what you did to Briar. And why.”
“I’m not interested in your approval.”
“I know.” He flexes his hand, testing the wrapping. “I only mean to say that they will follow you. Whatever you decide to do.”
Maybe I won’t send him new gloves, and his hands can simply fall off. But that uncomfortable nerve thrums. Aelfdene said that the Fae prophecy claimed a new age would begin with the fall of the Etherian Mountains. At the time, I believed that meant Oryn would perish, and everything on this side of the sea would belong to the Dark Court. But those mountains also represent the barrier between the Fae world and ours. What if the prophecy was figurative, and it meant that the worlds would unite by choice?
And do you think Oryn will ever agree to such a union? Mortania asks.
No. He will fight until his last, rattling breath. But the question lingers: What if?
“Hurry up with the steeds,” I say to Derek. “They’re the only reason you’re still alive.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
About a week later, Aurora shows herself in court. My heart thuds at the sight of her. Her eyes are still dim with fatigue, but she looks far healthier than she did when I brought her Rose, and so I suppose I have to thank the Grace for whatever elixirs she’s been whipping up. Aurora wears a pale blue gown that the Imps have seen fit to enhance with their magic. A collar of alabaster branches clasps around her throat and encases her shoulders like armor. Gems the color of sea glass sparkle in nooks and grooves. It’s beautiful. She is beautiful.
Rose is obviously trying to keep Aurora away from the others, tugging at her arm and whispering emphatically from her post on a window seat. But she could never manipulate Aurora into becoming another minion like Marigold was. At least she’s doing her job. I’ve learned through the Grace’s reports that Aurora is sleeping and eating. That she’s reading and taking an interest in some of her old hobbies. And I hope her presence here today means that she’s beginning to warm to the Dark Court as well.
My first instinct is to go to Aurora and welcome her properly, but I’m too afraid I’ll scare her away. And so I watch from the dais. After a while, Aurora extracts herself from the Grace’s clutches and begins hesitantly mingling with the Goblins and Imps, who are fascinated with her delicate mortality. Unlike their bawdy behavior with Derek, they are shy around the princess, sometimes peering at her from behind columns and broken statues.
Not long after, Aurora smiles when the Imps stack themselves into towers and flip from the chandeliers. Laughs when they filch the cudgels from the Goblins’ belts or magic their whip tails into worms. When she praises the Vila for turning the torchlight green and teasing it into various shapes with their power, it is so similar to the instances during which she delighted in the tricks my dark magic could accomplish that my chest aches. But then she notices me and her excitement shrivels.
“Well, she’s out of her rooms,” Regan remarks from the chair beside me. “That’s a good sign. No one is trying to kill her.”
“No.” In fact, a few of the Demons have invited her to play their game, gesturing approvingly as she executes her moves.
“I thought you’d be happy.” Regan nudges me. “I invited her myself, you know.”
I turn to her, incredulous. “You did?”
She pops a handful of grapes into her mouth. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I believe you about her. And I thought she might simply need some friendly encouragement. So I went to her rooms and introduced myself. Told her we’d love to see her at court and not to worry, for we’ve been forbidden to eat her.”
I smack her. “You didn’t say that.”
“Not in as many words.” She waves toward Aurora. “But it worked.”
“Yes.” I squeeze Regan’s arm. “Thank you. I just wish…”
That she would look at me without revulsion.
Regan unsheathes her dagger from her boot and slices an apple in half. “Give her time. Today’s going well. Tomorrow might be better.”
I hope so.
“And in the meantime, Malakar is eager to discuss plans for the next campaign.”
“I can guess his strategy.” The Goblin leader is demonstrating his favorite crossbow. It’s a masterful piece, with a special chamber that lights the shafts as they fire. “But we cannot go charging into the High Court. We saw what happened to the Shifters. We need to take our time, like we did with the Court of Dreams.”
“Yes, I was thinking about that. And I don’t disagree.” She wipes apple juice from her lips. “But what if you accompanied the army?”
I wasn’t expecting that. “I haven’t gone since the early sieges.”
“Because we needed to protect you. But now there is only the High Court. And yours is the most powerful magic of all of us. It might be time to use it.”
Mortania whirls, the scent of her magic filling me up. I should want to go. Should burn to go, as I did when this conflict began. But something holds me back.
“You remember how it was…” Regan bends close. “Giving the Fae what they gave to us. Rescuing the Imps. It will be a fitting end to the war. Our Nimara against the High King himself.”
Yes, pet.
But as much as Mortania’s desire resonates against my bones, all I can think about is that idiot stable boy and his ideas of peace.
“They would follow you anywhere.”
Would they? Or does the court prefer me as its warrior mistress?
A shrill screech cuts through the chatter of the hall. I’m yanked from my reverie and back into the present. Malakar allowed the Imps to play with his weapon, and one of them has misfired it. The bolt goes whizzing through the throne room. Goblins and Demons duck, but an unfortunate Imp isn’t fast enough. He spins like a top as it grazes him, then punctures a stained-glass window. Shards of brilliant glass explode outward.
Dragon’s teeth.
I’m on my feet in an instant. Malakar is hurrying to tend to the injured Imp. But it’s Aurora who reaches him first. She kneels to his level, gently stilling him as he howls and clutches his head. Malakar tries to push past me, but I motion for him to wait, curious as to what she will do.
“Let me see,” Aurora says, prying his clawed hand away. Blue Imp blood pours from the wound, staining her gown. But it doesn’t seem to bother her. “I think it only nicked you. It might have been worse.”
And to my utter astonishment, Aurora rips a swath of fabric from the skirt of her gown and presses it to the wound.
“Whining about a scratch?” another Imp taunts with a cackle.
“Aye, and would you like one of your own to match it?” Malakar threatens him.
The creature pouts and skulks away.
“What’s your name?” Aurora asks the injured Imp.
He snuffles. “Grigor, Princess.”
“Call me Aurora.” She dabs at his head. “And I believe you will live, Grigor. Does it still hurt?”
He pulls himself up, and I think he’s trying to look brave for her. A smile twitches at my lips. “Not so much now, Aurora.” He lingers on the syllables of her name. “Got worse at the Fae courts, I did.”
“What do you mean?”
“See here?” He holds up a hand, which is missing two fingers. “The Fae would take bits of us, they would, when we was bad.”
Aurora sits back on her heels. “You came from the Fae courts? Not Malterre?”
“Fae takes us to Etheria when they catches us,” Grigor explains. “Made us work in their courts. Dance for them, magic like. Sometimes, they would forget to make us stop.”
“Aye,” another mutters, long ears lying flat. “Saw some die like that.”
A tremble of fury and sadness ripples among the court. Aurora looks around at them, sympathy etched in the lines of her expression. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not to worry.” Apparently healed, Grigor hops up and tugs at Aurora’s hand, leading her toward the front of the throne room. “Mistress gave ’em theirs, she did.”
My stomach sinks. He lifts his arms to indicate the display of Etherian heads. Aurora’s shoulders stiffen.
“Ah, there.” The Imp points to a head. “That’s the court leader. Mistress swooped in with her claws and wings and—”
“That one’s a lady, you idiot.” Another bounds up and thrusts his bone-tipped spear at another head. “That’s the one.”
“No, it isn’t!”
“It is!”
“Mistress,” Grigor calls to me. “Tell him.”
Aurora turns. The softness in her eyes has glazed over with ice. “Well?” she asks crisply. “Which one is it?”
My head pounds. From her spot across the chamber, Rose smirks. The diamond thorns on her necklace sparkle, and I am very tempted to demonstrate its abilities.
“That’s not important,” I answer, trying my best to keep my tone level. “What matters is that I rescued the Imps.”
“Tell us a story about it, though,” Grigor begs. “I remember. Your wings were this long.” He sticks out his arms as far as they will go. “And you turned the fires green and bound the High Lord and—”
“I have a story.”
The room quiets at Aurora’s interruption. Grigor claps his hands, and several other Imps scurry forward, tails twitching with excitement. “Oh, do share it, Princess.”
This cannot be good.
“Once upon a time”—Aurora pitches her voice loud enough to carry through the chamber—“there was a princess who befriended a monster.”
The Imps chitter. “A monster,” one warbles. “Lovely.”
Regan shoots me a confused look from the dais. My palms prickle. Is this a story about us? I should find some distraction to stop her, but I’m rooted to the spot.
“Everyone warned the princess that the monster was wicked, and that it would bring only harm to the realm,” she says. “But she wasn’t particularly interested in what anyone else had to say. The princess ignored the advice of her closest friends and kept the monster near her anyway.”
“And what happened then?” Grigor asks. “Did they kill her because she disobeyed?”
Aurora shakes her head. “No. For a time, the princess was happy. She gave the monster rooms in the palace. Dined and danced with it. Shared her many secrets and believed all the vile stories about the creature were wrong. Misunderstandings, based on prejudice.”
I hold my breath. This is definitely about us. But where is she going with it?
“But then,” Aurora continues, “just when the princess was sure that the monster was not a monster at all—the creature revealed its true self.”
The Imps gasp. “What did it do?”
Sunlight glimmers in the threads of red in Aurora’s golden hair. “It waited until the princess wholly trusted it. When her feelings rendered her incapable of defending herself.” She pauses. “And then it tore her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of her.”
Her words slam into me. Tears well in my eyes, and I have to blink them away before anyone sees.
“Wonderful ending!” The Imps applaud. “Perfect!”
“Would you tell another?” one begs. “With more dead people in it this time. And don’t leave out any details. We want all the gory bits.”
But Aurora gathers her bloodstained skirts and makes for the doors. Rose sweeps a flawless curtsy, winks, and sails after her.
And I am left standing alone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shortly after Aurora leaves, I excuse myself, as I cannot remain and pretend that what she said hasn’t hurt me. Furious and heartsick, I want nothing more than to go to her chamber and demand an explanation. But it would only instigate another nasty argument. I wander back to the abandoned library instead. The bed, with its brambles and tangled bedclothes, waits like the prickly beast from Aurora’s story. A cage, she called it. I cannot stand her habit of looking at everything I’ve built and deeming it unfit. Ugly. Monstrous.
Rage crackles against my bones. How much can a person hold before they burst into a million pieces? It seems I am a bottomless vessel for it. My limbs ache with the molten heat. A feral scream builds in my lungs and claws free of my mouth. My magic pummels into the first targets it can find. The mattress and pillows explode, feathers and dust swirling like snow. The branches encasing the bed snap and fly in all directions, cartwheeling out the gap in the wall. A stray thorn grazes my cheek, but I don’t even flinch. My power hurtles into the shelves. Wood groans and splinters as they smash into one another, down and down the rows, like felled trees. Books clatter to the floor like shot birds, covers splayed out like wings.
It is not enough. I descend on one of the many piles of books I thought held the answer to lifting Aurora’s curse, ripping pages from spines until my arms are shaking and my palms raw. The broken jewel on my signet ring glares at me. I want to smash it to shards and dust. To—
“I thought you’d be done with this place.”
Regan. I swipe my sleeve over my nose. “You followed me.”
“I could sense something was amiss.” Glass crunches under her boots as she makes her way to my side and takes a seat. “Would the state of this room have anything to do with the story the princess told?”
Of course Regan would have caught on. I hope no one else in the court did. Most of them know about the curse on the royal princesses—it would be impossible for them not to know, with all the books that used to be in the royal library, and the paintings honoring “true love’s kiss” strewn about the palace. But I’ve never admitted to anyone that I was the one to break Aurora’s first curse. And I’m not going to start now.
“I don’t know what to do with her,” I confess. “I understand that she’s angry, but she won’t even try to see my side of things. It’s like she’s a completely different person.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance. I look out at the wreckage of the Grace District, wrapped in a misty haze.
Regan plucks something from my hair—a feather—and lets the breeze take it away. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about my past.”
I turn back to her. “What do you mean?”
She rubs her thumb absently along the silver curves of her serpent ring, as she does when something is troubling her. I scoot closer. “I’ve told you that I lost my family—but never how it happened. My sister…” She trails off.
“Please.” I put a reassuring hand on her arm. “I want to know.”
Her green gaze flits to mine, vulnerable in a way I’ve rarely seen it. She presses her lips together, but nods. “Like everyone else exiled from Malterre, my mother and I were always in hiding. One night, while we were hunting in the woods outside a village, we heard a cry. It was a child—a baby left to the wild.”
I can picture it, a swaddled infant half-buried among leaves and bramble. Cries smothered under the whine of the wind. “Who would do that?”
