Killian frowned. “What candle?”
Fedya paused. For a moment he looked confused, eyebrows pulling together as though he wasn’t entirely sure of what he just said. But then he shook his head and turned away with a gruff, “Nothing.”
Killian watched him go, his heart falling into the deepest pit of his stomach. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake it all away, but Fedya’s words lingered, ringing in his head. Was Fedya right? Was all of this completely pointless? Did he leave everyone behind, his life, his friends, for nothing? He squeezed his nails into his fists. No, he refused to believe it. Killian sucked in a tight breath and forced out a strained, “I am a good friend.”
Fedya only scoffed. Killian clenched his jaw, hissing through his teeth, louder this time. “I am a good friend.”
Fedya didn’t even slow down, grabbing the doorknob. “I am certain your friends felt the same when you abandoned them.”
Stinging fire shot through Killian’s veins. His fists shook at his sides as a flash of white seared across his vision. Without thinking, he reached into his jacket and yanked out the letter he’d written to Melchior and slammed it on the table. The envelope was worn and wrinkled, the edges beginning to curl from how many times he’d traced his thumb along them, wishing for a way to send his message back home.
“I don’t abandon the people I care about. I might be away from them, but that doesn’t make me care about them any less.” He was practically yelling, but he didn’t care. The words bubbled up in his chest, violent, refusing to be hidden away for a second longer. “Is that what you really think? That the moment you’re apart from someone they cease to matter? That you can’t love someone or remember them if they’re not near you? Do you simply erase them from your thoughts the instant they’re gone?”
Fedya had gone silent, motionless by the door. Killian’s heartbeat thundered against the base of his skull, threatening to crash right out. “Maybe you’re the last person who should be talking about abandoning people.”
At this, Fedya finally looked up. Everything about him had changed. The anger was gone, and his eyes were two soft brown pools of glowing amber. Human eyes. Fedya’s eyes. Killian’s heart sank. Fedya turned back toward the door, and Killian watched him go in silence. But he didn’t call after him. He was done.
“Killian?”
His head shot up. Fedya had stopped, staring back at him. He looked doubtful, but then he glanced away and spoke quietly, “You are welcome to join me in the music room this evening.”
A flicker of warmth lit back up in Killian’s chest and he almost responded, but Fedya had already disappeared out of the greenhouse.
T
he music already drifted down the hallway. Killian carefully crept forward, light so as not to disturb it, though he was certain his pounding heartbeat could be heard halfway across the country at this point. He paused just outside the cracked open door, his cheeks flushed warm. He suddenly wished he’d remembered to grab the pocket mirror, and he hastily smoothed his hair back, acutely aware of his cowlick.
The second he touched the doorknob the music stopped. Killian stiffened, and then peered inside, holding his breath. His eyes shot to the piano and widened. Fedya wasn’t sitting there. Killian eased further inside and realized that Fedya wasn’t in the room at all. But the fire already crackled, warming the small room easily, and a plush, tufted chair had been placed beside the piano stool, a small table beside it, set with a plate that immediately drew his eye.
The plate toppled high with sweets and pastries, the likes of which he had never seen before. Syrup-soaked baked apples filled with yogurt were placed beside a pile of fried sticks of dough slathered in honey. Pieces of white, frothy cake and dense, crumbling cookies, a small dollop of thick, whipped cream topping them. A single, frosted glass of milk sat beside it.
Killian’s stomach gave an involuntary grumble, but he didn’t reach for anything just yet. He tore his gaze from the plate and looked around the room. Though small, it was cozy, and he wondered if this was where Fedya had been spending most of his time. He trailed his hand along the sleek surface of the piano, and stopped when he noticed the small, brass metronome.
Its eye-like cogs stared up at him, the ticker as thin as a violin string. He smiled and picked it up, giving the arm a small poke, and it swung into a steady rhythm.
A footstep thumped in the hall, and Killian quickly set the metronome back down on the piano. He grabbed the arm to stop it, and the very tip promptly snapped off between his fingers. Killian froze.
“What are you doing?”
He spun around, the tip of the metronome still between his fingers. Fedya glanced down at it and Killian’s stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry, I…I broke it. I can try to replace it.”
Fedya raised a brow, looking uncertain before answering, “It’s just a metronome.”
Without another word, Fedya stepped around him and seated himself on the piano’s bench, flexing his human-like fingers. He noticed the plate piled with sweets, and cast Killian another tentative look.
“They were already here,” Killian said.
Fedya eyed the plate once more, and then set his fingers to the keys. A soft, calming melody filled the room, and Fedya didn’t spare Killian another glance.
Killian seated himself on the puffy chair and reached for one of the cinnamon-dusted cookies. It was imprinted with the image of a flower and it already began to crumble in his hand before he popped it in his mouth, his tongue instantly overcome with a flavor of nutmeg and honey.
“We make them in winter, after the sun has set.”
Killian reached for another one. “Did you make them?”
“No.”
Killian liked the music. It was a surprisingly light little melody, quick and uplifting as Fedya’s flingers flew across the keys, and Killian couldn’t help but think that Fedya was showing off. He continued to pick at the plate of sweets as Fedya played, his mouth awash in sugary splendor.
He nodded at the piano. “You’re very skilled.”
Fedya didn’t answer, and simply lowered his head down a little bit more. Killian eyed him, edging a little bit closer to the edge of his seat.
“How long have you been playing?”
“Thirteen years.”
Killian nodded, leaning in a bit closer. “Was it difficult to learn?”
“No.”
Fedya’s words were increasingly clipped. Killian drew in a breath and tried again.
“Do you play any other instruments?”
“Yes.”
“What other…”
The music plunked to an abrupt stop. Fedya lifted his head, looking Killian square in the eye. He didn’t say anything, but Killian instantly felt his cheeks flourish with heat.
“Never mind.”
Killian was sure he saw Fedya roll his eyes, just for a second, before he looked back down and the music picked up again. Killian cleared his throat and stood up from the chair.
The music room was small, and he walked over to the shelves built into the opposite wall, trailing his fingers across the spines of the books. The thick volumes filled up the shelves, but they were not like the books in the library at all. These had rich cloth covers with hand-stitched bindings and golden pages, and when he peered in closer, he saw that the texts on the spines were all of a language he didn’t recognize.
A few small statues dotted the shelves, carved of bone and stone. Busts of glaring, bespectacled men and a few bears and oxen, making their way up the shelves, growing consistently bigger in size. He smiled and picked up one tiny bear cub from the bottom shelf, rubbed its ears before he placed it beside a larger bear statue and glanced back at Fedya.
“Was this your first time at the Summit?”
Fedya hesitated. “Yes.”
“What did you think?”
Killian regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but to his surprise, Fedya answered, “I
t’s too big.”
Then Fedya paused and added in quietly, “But very beautiful.”
Killian smiled. “It is,” he agreed. “But that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? It’s why the summit is always changing places, to give each country its own opportunity to show off its wealth.”
“That’s not the point.” The music stumbled, but Fedya continued on. “Or at least it shouldn’t be. The International Peace Summit is a sign of unity, a gathering to strengthen bonds across cultures and people. It’s more than just a display of riches, or a holiday for the wealthy. Soon it will lose its identity altogether if it doesn’t return to its original purpose.”
The music seemed to pick up, a hair quicker than before.
Killian was strangely aware of his own breathing, but it was nothing compared to the tremor that had permeated Fedya’s words. He had heard that kind of anger before, a seeping sort of disdain that dripped from Fedya’s mouth like venom. It was the same sort of contempt that had etched itself on Fedya’s face that very first night they had met, and an identical expression of scorn when his engagement had been announced to Dmitri.
Killian cleared his throat, his thoughts flashing back to Merav. “There are still plenty of people using the ball for its intended purpose. It might have grown a little…flashier since it first began, but the intention is still there. People still care.”
“Oh really?” Fedya practically scoffed. “What people? People like you?”
Killian’s mouth fluttered shut, heat rising to his ears. The music stopped. For a few moments neither moved, the pop of flames the only sound in the room.
“You’re the prince of Astrocia. Do you ever think about what that actually means?” Fedya stared at the keyboard, his voice fallen quiet. But his soft words rose above the flames, filling Killian’s skull.
“Astrocia controls almost one-third of the world’s economy. You’re the leading nation in agriculture, and only Trasall rivals your advances in technology and medicine. Do you understand what kind of power you hold over people’s lives?”
To anyone else, Fedya might have sounded patronizing. But as he lifted his eyes and stared directly at him, Killian couldn’t move, frozen beneath his gaze. For someone so young, he reflected back a seriousness Killian had never even experienced. He didn’t look angry or upset or even sad. It all ran together, tightening into a carefully spun web too complicated to name.
“I know you didn’t care about Dmitri. I know Eskor meant nothing to you. We have nothing to offer but the goodwill of the Northern Commonwealth. That’s all you wanted, more control.”
Fedya sucked in a breath and his gaze flicked back to the piano. “But I can’t fault you for that. Astrocia is just doing what every country does, looking out for its own best interests. But…” He hesitated, and then shook his head. “Eskor was also going to be your home. So why didn’t you care about it too?”
His question hung between them, heavy. But Fedya didn’t wait for an answer. The music started again. Fedya’s focus returned entirely to the piano. A lump formed in Killian’s throat, but he pushed it away. His thoughts raced, spinning and stumbling, and he struggled to pull them apart, searching for an answer. “I…”
Fedya didn’t even look up, and the words died in Killian’s mouth. Fedya was right. Ever since his mother informed him of his engagement, Dmitri was nothing more than an inconvenience. His name, his homeland, Killian wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Killian turned away, staring out the window as guilt fired through his veins. A gentle, hazy snowfall had begun to drift about, winking in the starlight. He glanced up, searching for the moon, and his heart fell. A tinge of blush slowly crept up the crescent moon’s edges.
He glanced back at Fedya. Apologizing wouldn’t even begin to cover it. But the words welled up again, refusing to stay silent.
“You know, the Pink Moon is only a few days away,” he started again cautiously, trying a new tactic. Fedya didn’t look up, and Killian bit his lip and continued. “It’s a really festive time in my country; everyone looks forward to it all year long. Do you celebrate it at all in Eskor?”
Fedya stared at the piano keys, refusing to answer. Killian cautiously stepped back to the piano and leaned over the top of it.
“All month long people hang garlands in the middle of the cities.” Killian pressed on. “They decorate them with candy and presents. Every year they are more beautiful than the last. I remember once, when I was very small, Maman ordered an enormous garland to be wrapped in the gardens, and woven all throughout it were rocking horses. Blue ones and pink ones, with real horse hair and jewels for eyes. The toymakers had worked all year on it.”
This time Killian didn’t care when Fedya ignored him. Fedya’s furry, cat-like ears swiveled toward him, catching every word he said even as his eyes remained elsewhere. But Killian knew better than to smile, even as he couldn’t control his voice from rising in delight at the memory.
He had forgotten just how enchanting the moon could truly be, especially in the coldest months of the year, when its surface glimmered pearly pink and all the world seemed filled with endless song. Every year he would bundle up in his warmest coat, and fall into the whirlwind of lights and singing that lit up the streets. The scent of sweet chocolate mixed with rose petals filled the air, and he would shiver in delight as the delicate snowflakes kissed his cheeks.
All he wanted to do was take Fedya with him.
“On the final night of the month, there is music everywhere, and everyone gathers at the city squares. We have this frothy apple cider and meat pies, and even though it’s cold enough to freeze off your nose, we still have frozen whipped milk too. All the gifts are opened and no one is left out. And I…”
Killian hesitated, then he reached out and gently stroked back a lock of Fedya’s hair from his face. Fedya jerked back, eyes wide, but his cheek was warm against Killian’s fingertips.
“…I would crown you with a halo of flowers.”
Fedya stared at him, mouth open. But then he leaned forward, and a smile traced his lips.
A loud thunderclap shook through the castle, and the room pitched into sudden darkness. Fedya gasped through the inky shadows, the music plunking to a halt.
“What the—”
The lights sputtered and fluttered back on. Fedya looked up at Killian, stunned. “What was that?”
Before Killian could answer the lights flickered one final time, followed by a sharp buzz, and they were cast in permanent blackness. A resounding clap of thunder rattled the windows.
“Oh no.”
He pulled back from the piano and groped through the darkness, searching for the bookshelf to steady himself as he tried to adjust his eyes to the dark. He could just make out Fedya’s silhouette still seated at the piano, the tips of his long, curled horns catching the sliver of moonlight that spilled in through the window. “Fedya? Are you alright?”
“I’m here.” Fedya sounded strange, further away somehow. “When did a storm pick up?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re as sudden as the earthquakes around here.”
Torrents of rain pounded the rooftop, and another shuddering boom of thunder rocked the walls.
“We should find some candles.” Killian inched toward the doorway. “There are probably some in the kitchen.”
He kept his fingers lightly trailing along the bookcase and then the wall as he led the way out of the room. He heard shuffling behind him, and then heavy footsteps as Fedya followed after.
The hall was even darker than the room, the temperature rapidly dropping. Killian gritted his teeth as he tried not to shiver, puffs of white mist emanating from his lips with every breath. The pounding rain drowned out their footsteps, the windows rattling violently, threatening to shatter. A flash of lightning momentarily lit up the hall in an icy blue hue, and Killian froze as a pale face stared back at him.
“Dmitri…” He stumbled back, voice leaping to hi
s throat.
Killian spun around, reaching for Fedya, but he only grasped darkness. A rush of icy air gripped his throat, tightening around his chest. Another crack of electricity, and Dmitri’s blank eyes peered back at him, streams of bright red pouring down his cheeks.
The air collapsed in Killian’s lungs. “Fedya!” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. He sprinted down the hall, tumbling, tripping. His foot caught on the rug and he slammed into the ground. Pain exploded in his knees. He looked back down the hall, but the bloodied face of Dmitri had vanished.
A low growl tickled Killian’s ear. His eyes widened, and he slowly turned his head the other way. Two icy blue eyes pierced out from the shadows, the eyes of a beast, unblinking. Hungry. The creature’s hunched-over shadow loomed huge, even on all fours. Its long claws dug into the floor. It crouched at the end of the hall, the fur on the back of its neck raised, lips curled back, revealing impossibly long fangs dripping with saliva.
Killian pulled back, heart thrashing as he pressed up against the wall.
“Fedya?”
His voice shook and he couldn’t hear the growling anymore. Only the ragged gasps that clogged his throat as he fumbled to stand. The beast roared.
“Wait!”
It lunged straight at him. Killian ducked as the enormous weight of the creature pummeled into him, the sound of cracking glass shattering all around. He landed on his back, kicking hard, clawing at the ground. His fingers wrapped around a jagged piece of glass, his palm splitting open. He didn’t care, clutching it tight.
“Fedya!” he screamed again. “Help!”
The creature roared again. It didn’t make any sense. Where had Fedya gone? This monster…this thing, it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. He jabbed the piece of glass into the air, again and again, until it hit solid flesh. The beast squealed, but he didn’t stop. He yanked the glass out and slashed it in further, and hot blood poured down in his arm, spattering his face.
A gust of sharp wind shrieked in, stabbing, piercing, followed by a bright, white light. He squinted as the air lashed around him, his face and hands stinging. He couldn’t see the creature, just a blur of shadow. He lifted the shard one more time, and with a final yell sank it deep into the beast’s chest. It roared once, then the weight disappeared.
FAIRYTALE Page 16