by Grace Martin
He stopped at the foot of the stairs. Aoife didn’t exactly step backwards, but she shifted her weight, ready to flee.
‘How does it feel, Caradoc, to stand here among your betters?’ the Empress asked. My gaze flicked from her to him. Even from where I stood, up near the ceiling, I could tell this was going to be interesting.
‘The Meistri consider themselves my betters, but in that we disagree. I can only be judged by my deeds, not by those who once considered themselves my betters – as, indeed, history will judge us all.’
I looked a little closer at him. Okay, looked a lot closer at him. He stood ramrod straight. The Camiri were slaves, bred for battle and nothing more. He had spent his life calling these people ‘master.’ Where had that pride come from?
The Empress grimaced, then smirked. ‘At the moment, Caradoc, we can only judge you by your appearance.’ She put up a hand to her face that might disguise a smirk or a sneer. ‘Or, I might say, we wish we could only judge by your appearance. You have a rather… pungent presence.’ She gestured a lazy hand to a courtier standing at the foot of the stairs near Caradoc. ‘I have arranged a cloak to cover your rags.’
The courtier held up the cloak, stepping forward with the it extended like he was going to use it to smother a fire.
Caradoc took the cloak with one fist and flung it onto the steps. He was angry now, a flush lighting up his fair skin. ‘My clothes offend you, Empress?’ he asked in a voice so low I had to strain to hear it.
‘Filthy clothes that you wore to raise a filthy rebellion against me? she snapped, her voice rising. ‘Of course they offend me!’
‘Fine. I can fix that.’ Before anyone realised what he was going to do, he grasped the neck of his tunic and ripped it open. He flung the tunic aside and started towards the throne. He looked even bigger with his shirt off, more dangerous.
Apparently the Empress thought so too. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She raised her arm again and I saw the air ripple as she cast a restraining blast of magic towards him. His hair flew around his head with the force of the wind the magic caused but he didn’t stop. He barely slowed down. He brushed the Empress’s magic aside like he was pushing someone out of his way.
She redoubled her efforts, sending so much power towards him I could barely see him for the disturbance in the air. Winds rippled through the room so strongly that courtiers shrieked and held onto their skirts. Even up near the ceiling the wind was so strong it ruffled my feathers. The Empress had strong magic but so did Caradoc and she hadn’t expected that.
I thought I was witnessing the first act of the new war, but help came from a surprising quarter. Aine darted down the stairs, half propelled by the waves of power directed at Caradoc. She grabbed the fallen cloak and turned to him. I expected a quiet little voice like a bird, but her voice rang from the rafters near me.
‘Sir, would you do me the favour of accepting this gift? For the sake of all the Camiri and all the Meistri that we may live in peace!’
Caradoc turned. He looked shocked. Even the Empress looked shocked. Aoife gave her sister a look so sharp it was a wonder she didn’t bleed.
Holding one hand out like a shield towards the Empress, Caradoc turned and went down the stairs. The Empress lowered her hands, and the surge of power that blew against Caradoc subsided. He didn’t take his eyes off the princess as he knelt at her feet.
‘I will accept it, your Highness, in the name of peace.’
The princess swung the cloak, sending the velvet folds swinging wide before settling on Caradoc’s bare shoulders. The crowd was absolutely silent.
The Empress clapped, tapping her fingers together politely. The courtiers looked around at one another for a moment before offering half-hearted applause. The Empress gestured and a priest stepped forward, his robes only slightly, slightly less golden than the Empress’s gown.
Princess Aine returned to her place and Caradoc stayed at the foot of the stairs. The rest of the ceremony proceeded without incident, but Caradoc never took his eyes off the calm princess. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor and didn’t look up once.
After such a tumultuous beginning, it was hard for my eyes not to seek out Caradoc whenever he was near. There were many men in the castle, but he was a man among men. Even under my feather-laced eyelashes, I looked greedily at him. Tall and broad, moving with an easy, muscular grace, he was beautiful in a way I’d never seen a man be beautiful before. His skin was like warm ivory, his red hair wild and curling around his broad, broad shoulders, laced with blue beads. There was an air of danger about him, as though he might, at any moment, be capable of anything.
He didn’t look at me any more than he looked at the dogs in the yard. He probably thought I was an animal. He didn’t look at the other women either, which surprised me, because we had pretty girls among the maids ‒ who were probably not maids, if you get my drift. A man who looked like that didn’t need to sleep alone if he didn’t want to. But he didn’t look more than once at any woman who passed. What was more, not only did he not share his bed with a maid; he didn’t even sleep in it.
There was more gossip in the castle now. The Princess Aoife had gone away and her location was a great secret. People were saying that perhaps she was already pregnant and Caradoc had been her secret lover even while the rebellion was tearing up the streets of the capital. So, I guessed I knew which one of them was my mother now.
I saw Caradoc up close for the first time when I was cleaning the floor in his room. It was very early morning, but his room was empty, so I took the opportunity of coming in to sweep up the old rushes. I had only just strewn fresh, sweet rushes on the floor when he climbed in the window.
I stared. He stopped, grey eyes wide, even as he swung himself through the opening.
‘Don’t tell,’ he begged, coming cautiously towards me. He looked so vulnerable (and so handsome) that I swooned a little. He put out a hand towards me, to touch the coat of feathers that covered me.
‘Are you a real thing?’ he asked. ‘Can you speak? Or are you a dumb creature?’
I slapped his face for that, muttered ‘Arsehole,’ and stalked from the room.
I was nearly out of the room. I thought I’d gotten away with it. Oh, to laugh. He grabbed my hand a second before I left the room, yanked me inside and slammed the door behind me. He had his back to the door, and the momentum had nearly flung me halfway across the room. If he hadn’t still had hold of my hand, I might have gone out the window.
‘What did you call me?’ he demanded. He pulled me closer to him.
‘I called you an arsehole!’ I shouted. ‘What did you think I said?’
‘You’re not even human!’ he cried. ‘How dare you call me names?’
‘Facts are facts,’ I spat. ‘And I’m as human as you are. I thought a Camiri warrior would know better than to judge someone based on their position. As it happens, I’m under a spell, so just thank your lucky stars for that, because otherwise you’d be a pile of ashes on my nice clean floor!’
He stared at me for a moment then let me go. I hadn’t expected it and stumbled back a step. All of a sudden, he smiled at me and seeing the warmth of a genuine smile on that handsome face was more of a shock than I was ready for. ‘Look,’ I said quickly before the opportunity passed, ‘what are you doing here anyway? What sort of person comes through the window?’
Still with that grin on his face, he said, ‘A person who has a very good reason not to come through the door.’ Our eyes met for a minute, after I’d finished rolling mine, and I saw the change in his face. He reached for my hand again, but this time it was almost as though it was automatic.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t see your face under there until just now.’
I think he might have kissed me then, even though the feathers. He bent his handsome head, but then jerked it around at the sound of knocking at the door. The next thing I knew, I was alone in the room, my hand slightly extended, holding nothing.
; The door opened. It was Darragh. He pinned me with a cold gaze. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded. I had the odd feeling that he’d been caught out at something.
My hand was still extended so I pointed my finger at the floor. ‘Rushes,’ I said stupidly. It wasn’t a show. I felt like my sinuses were blocked. I still hadn’t adjusted to the change in the room when Caradoc disappeared.
‘Get on with it then!’ Darragh snapped and left me more or less alone in the room.
I looked around. Under the bed was a tiny figure: a mouse devoid of shyness, watching me with bold little eyes. I looked directly at him.
‘Find a way to get me out of this featherskin,’ I demanded, no more shy than the ‘mouse.’ ‘Otherwise, you really are an arsehole.’
Then I discovered the first benefit to wearing a featherskin. When I swept out of the room, the rustle of feathers made the action truly dramatic.
Chapter Five
Over the next few days, I tried to finagle another meeting with Caradoc, but I couldn’t get anywhere near him. I was kept busy cleaning and whenever we passed within sight of one another, he would duck away or find some reason to go elsewhere.
The moon was waxing. I managed to take a few moments here and there to stand under the moon. Despite the featherskin restraining my ability, I still felt the pleasure of the moonlight. It was a relief to have time alone, when it felt like every person I met wanted to hurt me.
Getting out under the moon meant going up onto the roof. With guards posted at every corner of the fortress, the only way out was up. With my featherskin to inhibit my magic, I wasn’t going to leave via the roof, even if I yearned to turn myself into a bird.
When the moon was at its fullest, I sat up there, silent, and I couldn’t bear it anymore. I got to my feet in the silvery darkness and stood poised on the edge, torn between desiring and fearing the fall. After all, what had I to lose? What value was the life of a featherskin?
I swayed, my eyes shut. I started to lose my balance.
A rush of wind flung me backwards. Before I hit the roof tiles that tilted perilously behind me, a heavy weight knocked into me and rolled. I felt arms underneath me and couldn’t help the scream that rose to my lips. As we rolled to a stop, a hand clamped itself over my mouth and a heavy body pinned me down.
I lost it. Beneath his hand I screamed, in as much rage as fear. I beat my hands at him and caught him a sharp blow in the throat, jabbing at him with all my strength. For the first time I felt my magic stir beneath the feathers. There was a burst of pain from behind my skin, a smell of singed feathers and the next thing I knew I was lying alone on the roof and Caradoc was slumped into a ball against a chimney, moaning faintly and swearing under his breath. i.e., alive, thank God.
I thunked my head back onto the tiles. Bloody hell. I rolled my eyes: I sighed a deep sigh. Finally, I got up and crawled over to him. I poked a finger into the ball of muscle at his shoulder. ‘Come on, hero,’ I said bracingly. ‘Stop whinging and get over it. You look like a loser lying there.’
‘What in Umbra’s name did you do to me, woman?’ His voice was slurred but at least he was alive ‒ thank the feathers! He opened his eyes and tried to pin me down with a hard stare, but it was clear that his head was still spinning because that hard stare wandered around a bit before it settled on my eyes. ‘I was trying to save your life.’
‘Wait till you’re asked,’ I snapped as he reached up to his throat and found tender skin. ‘Is it like a burn?’ I asked.
‘Feels like it,’ he grunted. ‘Bloody stings. What did you do to me?’
‘You shouldn’t have put your hand over my mouth,’ I replied smartly. ‘Why didn’t you just say, “Hey, featherskin, it’s me, your hero”?’
‘I was busy saving your life!’ He sat up, cricked his neck and reached up to massage a sore shoulder. ‘You used your powers on me. I’ve been reading about featherskins. You’re not supposed to be able to access your powers through the feathers.’
I shrugged again. ‘You frightened me. I was desperate. I have still been doing my exercises every day, maybe I’m finding a way free. If it makes you feel any better, I think I burned some of my feathers, too. I don’t suppose your reading has done much good? Otherwise, I’d be out from under these feathers by now, I hope.’ It wasn’t a question. I folded my arms and looked at him very sternly.
He wasn’t chastened. He grinned. I was right: he was an arsehole. ‘Actually, I’ve got just the thing,’ he said. Then he waited. Arsehole.
I sighed and rolled my eyes again. ‘How nice for you.’ I got to my feet. ‘Screw this,’ I snapped and turned to walk up the roof back to the window.
‘Aww, come on, I was only joking!’ he cried, leaping to his feet and grabbing at my hand. I let him keep hold of my hand solely because he was more wonky on his feet than he’d ever admit. ‘If he won’t take the cloak off you of his own free will, all you have to do is get the person to put the cloak on you to accept three… very special… gifts. Here ‒ look.’
He dug his hand into his pocket and came out with three tiny spheres that gleamed gold and silver under the light of the moon.
‘How pretty,’ I murmured and put up my hand to touch them, despite myself. Very quickly Caradoc shut his hand and put it behind his back. ‘You’re so childish,’ I snapped. ‘What are you, three years old?’
‘Well, that’s the trick,’ he said, putting out a hand to stop me coming close as I made a sudden dart for the little golden spheres behind his back. ‘You can’t touch them.’
‘So how do I slip them to Darragh?’
‘Carefully.’ He put the spheres back into his pocket. ‘I’ll help you. I’m your hero, remember?’ And he grinned that devastating grin.
I held back the bitter words ‒ for once in my life. After all, he had no real reason to help me, except that he maybe wasn’t the arsehole I’d taken him for. Instead, I asked in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, ‘What are these, oh, so special gifts anyway?’
He looked mysterious in the moonlight. ‘These will undo any magic Darragh has wrought, undo any glamour, any spell. They’re the seeds of truth, Aoife.’
I felt like I’d fallen off the roof. The tiles weren’t quite so steady beneath my feet anymore. I wanted so much to lie, but I had little left besides self-respect. ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘I didn’t realise ‒ though I suppose I should have. I’m not Aoife. You don’t know me, Caradoc. This is only the second time we’ve met.’
There was a silence that extended much longer than was comfortable. We’d both looked away long before either of us spoke.
‘My name is Emer,’ I said, ‘at least it is these days.’ I still didn’t look at him, but my voice became more shrill. ‘You know what, you’re pathetic. You thought I was Aoife this whole time? Why would Aoife put herself in a featherskin? You didn’t even recognise her face!’
‘Come here,’ he said roughly, but when he knelt beside me, the hand that caught my chin wasn’t rough. ‘Let me get a proper look at you.’ He turned my face to the moonlight. I let him turn my face this way and that, brush away a few feathers and examine me from every angle. I laughed a little to keep from crying. The thought that he couldn’t recognise his fiancée, even under a layer of feathers, was ridiculous. The great Caradoc, the handsome, the rebel, the hero, couldn’t recognise his fiancée!
‘You can stop laughing now,’ he ordered, letting my face go and looking away with a surly curve to his handsome lips. ‘So help me, I still can’t tell the difference between you. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. Your skin is the same, under the feathers, your hands the same shape.’ He stopped for a moment then cast me a wry look. ‘Even your temper is the same.’
I bit my lip to stop laughing. The poor hero was embarrassed. ‘So, when did you think you recognised her in my face?’ I asked. ‘When I called you an arsehole or when I slapped your face?’
‘You’re not taking me seriously!’ he complained.
‘You’re not making
it easy,’ I countered. ‘Even you know how silly it sounds.’
‘Not my fault you’re identical.’
‘That doesn’t sound very plausible, Caradoc. It sounds like an excuse,’ I said, even though I knew that Aoife and I looked as alike as Aoife and Aine, and they were twins.
It was his turn to shrug. ‘I’m still going to help you, Emer. I told you I would, and I keep my word.’
‘You didn’t make me a promise. You’re not bound.’
‘I said it and I’ll do it,’ he replied. ‘Everything is arranged. I have all we need now. It’s only fair. It’s not fair that someone should be treated like a beast, no matter what. Besides,’ he shot me a mischievous glance, ‘I never could resist a damsel in distress.’
I laughed, as I was supposed to, and for once in my life didn’t offer any further information.
We made our plans up there on the roof under the moonlight. They weren’t even complicated plans and by the end of it I didn’t feel like stepping out into the void anymore. All the same, Caradoc made sure I went back inside before he did. Behind me, as he went through the door, he laid his hand on the latch. I felt a slight wind and heard the sound of a lock being thrown. He’d made sure I wasn’t going out there on my own again.
We decided to set to work immediately. Darragh occasionally insisted that I bring him his lunch. On the first day, I took it up to his study and handed him the cup of wine. He took it, careful not to let our fingers touch, and swallowed as much of the wine as he could take in a single gulp. A quick glance at the inside of the cup told me that the little golden grain was gone.
Since Darragh wasn’t going to mistake me for his cup-bearer any time soon, Caradoc and I had decided to try a different approach with the next seed. We waited the space of a week, so Darragh wouldn’t suspect. It was one of the longest weeks of my life.
The next one required good aim and a specific skill set, so to tell the truth I’m lucky I had a week to practice. I positioned myself where Darragh was sure to walk, with a little pile of dust gathered before me, broom at the ready. He came around the corner and I wielded my broom with all my might, aiming the little golden seed that Caradoc had placed upon the pile of dust straight towards Darragh’s face. Good thing those little suckers are shiny, I thought as I watched the grain fly towards Darragh’s face and went straight up his nose.