Misrule, page 20
The cake was the lone suggestion the Imps took to heart. It’s so tall that the layers list to one side. At first, the Imps tried to stick fat tallow tapers in the tiers as decoration. Crimson, so that it looked as though the candles were dripping mortal blood. But I convinced them to switch to smaller versions magicked to appear as dragons with wicks on the talons of their wings and tails. The icing is a shade of lavender, to honor Aurora, and piped into clusters of roses.
The Imps’ favorite aspect of the party is its secrecy. All day, Aurora’s trio of companions kept her away from our work. Shortly after sunset, the court assembles in the ballroom. A Vila plucks at her skirt, which is comprised entirely of thin tangled roots. Blackened branches make up the bodice, reaching over her shoulders and fanning out into a high collar behind her head. Several Demons sport headdresses with long curving horns, or nests of tangled serpents. A Demon wears a dress accented with bones, so that it appears the wearer’s spine and ribs are visible. I spot a cloak that gives the illusion of ghoulish faces pressed against the swaths of fabric. Even the Imps have donned gargoyle masks and elaborate hats made out of petrified bats. I’d asked them to conjure me a gown of onyx silk with a silver overlay. Gossamer wings float down from my shoulders. Will Aurora recognize it as being similar to the one I wore when we first met? My heart stammers.
Aurora’s Imps can soon be heard charging down the corridor. One is riding her shoulders, vermilion fingers clamped over her face. Two others gambol in front, shouting at her to avoid bottomless pits and duck under soaring spears. She laughs and tickles the bottom of the Imp’s feet, and he backflips onto the floor.
I’d instructed her keepers to make sure she dressed for this party, and they didn’t disappoint. Her gown is a striking sapphire color, littered with innumerable constellations of winking silver gems. It’s cut low in the front, and the skin exposed by the plunging neckline shimmers with opalescent powder. Like the night sky was crushed, stars and all, and she bathed in it. I struggle to keep from staring.
But her expression falls slack as she takes in the court. “What’s all this?”
“Happy born-day!” an Imp shouts at the top of his lungs.
Aurora’s brow rumples, the glow of the candles dancing in the coppery threads of her hair. “What?”
“Happy birthday,” I correct, shaking my head. “All this is for you, Aurora.”
“My…birthday?” she repeats. “You remembered?”
“How could I not?” I gesture around at the room. “The Imps have been setting it up all day.”
Those nearest begin to prattle off the various tasks they completed, tails swishing as it devolves into a dispute over who did what. But Rose, who stands beside Aurora, sucks her teeth. Splotches of gold erupt on her chest and neck, and the pearls dangling from her towering headdress vibrate. Her own gift of elixirs will appear as an afterthought following this grand gesture. She plucks at the petals of a peony on her gown. I smile at her.
Aurora scans the chamber, and her attention doubles back—to Derek.
The Imps have stuffed him into a formal suit. But it’s moth-eaten and more gray than black. A ratty foxtail hangs limply from behind his waist. And there’s a sad-looking hat made from a swan on his head. With any luck, it will give him fleas.
I snag two goblets of wine and pass one to Aurora, positioning myself to block her view of the boy.
“To Aurora,” I say, raising a toast. “Who told the High King where to shove his staff!”
The court roars with laughter. Aurora hides her blush in her goblet. But she’s not angry. She’s not glowering at me or storming off. And I begin to let myself hope that this evening might actually go as I intended.
* * *
—
The party is glorious. Demons and Vila take turns gliding Aurora across the floor, and the Imps present her with plate after plate of their delicacies, chittering excitedly when she approves of each macabre pastry or odd-colored dish. Even the Goblins gruffly offer the princess some of their jewels to mark the occasion—a brooch from the Court of Sea, made of coral and glass beads, which are filled with miniature swimming fish, and a necklace strung with the mesmerizing pearls of the Court of Dreams they claim can grant her pleasant dreams. For a short while, there are no ancient wars or thorny histories between us. My mood isn’t even soured when Aurora dances with Derek. But I don’t wait long before I let a pair of Imps know that I’d like to see our ship’s boy catapult them into the vaulted ceiling. They pry him away from Aurora before the music changes.
“Was this what you envisioned?” Regan asks. She’s been lounging in the chair beside mine all night. She didn’t bother with any sort of costume, preferring her leathers.
“It is,” I answer, a lightness in my chest that I hardly recognize.
“Perhaps, after this, you’ll finally have time to visit the practice yard.”
There’s a stiffness in her voice, and I sit back and really look at her. Tight lines bracket her mouth. She taps her fingers against the armrest of the chair in an agitated tempo. It almost seems like—“Are you angry with me?”
“No.” But everything about her manner screams otherwise. “I just—I hardly see you anymore. You’re distracted at council meetings, and you lock yourself away in your solar for hours on end. It wasn’t like this before she woke.”
Beneath Regan’s frustration, I sense the tinge of jealousy. Guilt prickles at my conscience. The Vila leader risked her life to be here. She’s become my closest friend. I don’t know what I would do without her. I certainly wouldn’t be here today.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for her. The bone spikes traveling her forearm press into my palm. “I haven’t meant to ignore you or make you feel—I don’t know—like you’re not important. Because you are.”
She slides me a quirk of a smile. “Yes. I am.”
I laugh and swat at her, grateful that the tension between us is so easily smoothed. “Tell me whatever day you want me to be at the yard, and I’ll be there. Or we can do something else. Whatever you want.”
Regan sips her wine. “Whatever I want? Really?”
Something flutters in my belly at the glint in her green eyes. “That’s what I said.”
She swirls her glass, thoughtful, and is about to reply. But then—
“Alyce?”
I’d been so focused on my conversation with Regan that I hadn’t noticed Aurora slip up the dais steps. She holds out her hand. There might as well be an entire world sitting in her palm.
“Would you like to dance with me?”
Yes, I want to dance. I want to do every imaginable thing with her. But all that manages to escape my lips is a throaty warble. Aurora laughs and pulls me with her into the crowd, and I barely register that I’ve left Regan far behind us.
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Don’t worry.” Aurora positions one hand on my waist and interlocks the other with mine. How long has it been since I glimpsed my own papery green-veined skin next to her bronze-kissed cream? I think I will implode at the sensations her touch brings. The silken heat of her. I am drunk on it.
The dance—set to a sinuous, slightly melancholy tune—calls for one partner to lift the other into the air. I Shift the muscles in my arms and sweep her up. The tips of her burnished-gold curls brush my cheeks.
“You’re a better dancer than you think,” she says.
I stumble on the next turn and laugh. “You’re just a good partner.”
She catches me, one arm slung around my waist, and seamlessly adjusts us back into form. “You’ve far more skill than those men I was commanded to dance with on my other birthdays. There was one who smelled as though he half-drowned himself in cologne.” Her nose scrunches. “I sneezed twice and Mother barred me from the library for a week in punishment.”
Our palms touch. “The worst was the one who thought he only had to kiss you to marry you. He didn’t understand he actually had to break your curse.”
Aurora laughs, tipping her head back. The powder on her neck and chest sparkles. “Thank the Dragon none of them did break it. I’d have been miserable.”
Does that mean she isn’t miserable now? I’m almost too terrified to ask. But I let myself be carried away by the music and dancing and closeness. “Are you sorry that ours did?”
She slows. I was a fool to bring that up.
We’ve drifted toward the edge of the chamber. A raven perches on one of the branches of a decorated column, eyeing us warily. “No. I’m not sorry.”
My heart thumps, as if it would snap the tethers of its moorings. And I know without a doubt that this is the perfect moment for my next surprise.
“Will you come with me?” My grip tightens on her hand and she doesn’t pull away. “I want to show you something.”
* * *
—
Outside, the stars are hidden behind scudding clouds, the dull coin of the moon slipping in and out of view.
“What are we doing out here?” Aurora shivers. I should have brought her a cloak.
“The Dark Court may not be Briar,” I tell her. “But that doesn’t mean it is any less beautiful.”
She begins to ask another question, but I let my power free. It canters along the gravel paths. Green flames spring to life from hidden candles, drenching the garden in an emerald, ethereal glow. I couldn’t revive the plants and did not commission the Imps to conjure a facsimile of the place Aurora loved. Instead, with my own power, I’ve constructed a reimagined garden. Vines are twisted and molded to mimic animal-shaped topiaries. Stones are re-formed into benches and statues. Rubies and sapphires and opals glimmer like so many petals on barren bushes. The fountain flows with the murky water of our long-ago meeting.
Aurora approaches it gingerly and drags one finger through the frothing mud.
“You did this for me?”
Her voice is gentle and low. It brims with amazement…and something else too fragile to name. She drifts along the rows of hedges. Touches an oily-skinned tree trunk and the lapis clusters of an imitation hydrangea bush. Gems tinkle in the breeze.
I risk a tentative step toward her. Another. She doesn’t retreat, not even when I’m brave enough to trace the soft line of her forearm.
“You told me the books you read helped you to understand at least some of why I retaliated against Briar.”
Aurora moves away from me, train sighing along the path. “Yes. Some.”
“I’ve come to a similar understanding,” I say. “About your grief. And how difficult things have been for you of late.”
She pauses, her skin drenched in the green light of the candles. “What are you saying?”
I’d practiced this next part, pacing my chambers like an idiot, but it was not enough to settle my nerves now that the moment has arrived. “We might never fully understand or relate to each other. We’ll never be able to go back to the people we used to be. But look at this garden.” I indicate the black-branched topiaries and the muddied fountain. “It won’t ever be the same, either. But that doesn’t mean it’s ruined, does it?”
Gems tinkle in the breeze. “It’s lovely,” she says.
“The Dark Court is no different,” I press on before I lose my fragile courage. The next part is trickier. “Of course, you’ll never be queen here. And if the throne is all you care about, then I suppose there’s nothing left to say. But if you’re willing, we could build something together. Better than it ever was before. A place we could both be proud to call home.”
A nightbird calls nearby. The fountain gurgles.
“And Mortania?” Aurora asks, rubbing the spot on her arm where her curse mark used to rest. “Would it be her home, too? Even after what she did to me and my sisters?”
Branches click and clack in the wind, like the sound of that long-ago spinning wheel. Mortania rumbles in her cave. The music of the jeweled petals is discordant.
“I don’t blame you for distrusting, or even hating Mortania.” I pluck at my sleeves. “My own feelings when it comes to the ancient Vila are…complicated. When your second curse began, I was furious with her. There was even a brief instant in which I wanted to cleave her from myself, as I thought that might lift your curse. Like when we tried to locate her magic and destroy it.”
The ancient Vila stirs. But I made you what you are, pet.
And I lean into the scent of steel and loam. “But whatever she did in the past, Mortania taught me how to use this power. And not just to whip up elixirs or cast a summoning. To use it for what I wanted, instead of letting others dictate or control my magic. And,” I add carefully, “I think you might know something about how important that control was to me.”
Moonlight glimmers on the constellations of gems sewn into her skirt. She touches the pearlescent petals of a hydrangea flower. “You know I do,” she says softly. “But you cannot expect me to share your gratitude when it comes to Mortania.”
“And you cannot ask me to erect a shrine to former Briar. Not when so many of my own were exiled because of those rulers.” I wait. She doesn’t fire back a retort. “I’m asking if we can accept the other person exactly where they are now and move forward.”
Her amethyst eyes are like twin stars in the night. I would give anything to know what she is thinking. My heart beats harder, anticipating her answer.
“Nimara?” a voice calls, shattering the moment. Torin emerges from the palace. “We’ve been looking for you. It’s time to present our gift to the princess.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We rejoin the court, but every nerve of my body is aflame. I think Aurora might have been about to say she agreed. That we might finally be able to draw a line under everything that’s happened and start again. If so, I hope her answer will not change in front of the court. And I sorely wish there had been time for me to warn her of what’s about to happen now.
And if she rejects you, pet?
I shake the ancient Vila away.
Regan bangs the butt of her staff on the floor, calling the attention of the room. The Imps halt their upside-down swinging from the chandeliers, where they’ve been pelting the ravens with pastries. Goblins topple from the shoulders of their dancing partners. The Vila press closer. Derek’s mangy swan hat appears at the cusp of the crowd.
Aurora stands next to me, her brow pinched in curiosity. My palms prickle. I really should have told her.
“Tonight we celebrate Aurora,” I say to the court. The Imps cheer, and Aurora blushes. I pull the ring from my pocket and hold it out to her. It’s an Imp creation, the dark garnet stone resembling a wilting rose with a tarnished crown in the center. Candlelight glimmers on the gold metal. “And as birthdays typically involve gifts, consider this our gift to you—a token of our friendship and acceptance. And a symbol of your place in the Dark Court.”
Aurora inhales a sharp breath. But she doesn’t reach for the ring.
“What does it mean?” she asks so that only I can hear.
“Just what I said in the garden,” I whisper back. “A fresh start for us.”
She pins me with that depthless gaze. “That’s what you really want?”
“It’s what I’ve wanted from the day you woke.”
The moments stretch out, each one longer than the last. Imps creep forward, ears twitching. The Demons’ shadows still, like ink frozen in the air. Aurora’s lips part, forming the shape of—
“Wait!”
A desperate voice cuts through the crowd, and then Rose is fighting through the throng of Vila and Demons to reach the dais. Fury balls in my chest. What does she think she’s doing?
“Highness.” Rose trips on a step and lands hard. But it doesn’t stop her. “There’s something you should know—about her.”
No. The Grace will not spoil everything. I don’t wait for the necklace to react on its own. I call on the curse myself. Diamond thorns spear into Rose’s neck. She crumples as her golden blood streams down her neck, staining the bodice of her gown.
“What’s happening?” Aurora kneels to Rose’s level. “What’s wrong with your neck?”
“Mistress made the necklace do that once before,” an Imp—one from Rose’s chamber when I interrupted her crafting elixirs—provides. I curse under my breath.
“She did what?”
Damn that Grace. I’d expected Rose to be looking for loopholes that would allow her to evade the necklace’s restrictions. I did not think this would be her strategy. And suddenly I wonder if Rose wanted me to find out about Aurora’s birthday for exactly this purpose. She’d been biding her time, like a spider in its web.
Aurora wheels to me. “Are you doing this?”
Between her gurgles for breath, Rose emits a choked noise of confirmation.
“Remove the necklace.” That tone I know well. The one Aurora used on the guards when they discovered us together in the abandoned library. The royal command of a princess.
She is not a princess, Mortania hisses. Teach them their places. Finish the Grace.
It would be so easy. Just a little more pressure from the necklace to sever Rose’s windpipe, and then I would never be bothered with her again. But I cannot bring myself to do it. At my sullen command, the necklace falls from Rose’s neck, metal and jewels clinking on the marble steps.
“So it was you,” Aurora grinds out. “I should have guessed.”
I draw myself up as best I can. “If the Grace was to be freed, then I needed to be certain she wouldn’t betray us. The necklace kept her in line.”
“Freed?” Aurora looks from Rose to me. “I thought she was housed in another part of the palace. That’s what she told me.”
