Happiness in Numbers

by Nicole Field

  "Lucie?"

  Foxglove and Lucie sprang apart from each other so quickly that Foxglove stepped on the hem of his pant leg and tripped backwards—only to be caught easily under his arms and lifted back to his feet. Startled, he turned around and found himself looking sharply up at a tall, golden-haired elf with delicate, pointed features, a high forehead, and a sword at their waist that looked like it weighed about as much as Lucie did.

  "…Hey," Foxglove said weakly.

  "Fen!" Lucie exclaimed, hurrying forward to wrap her arms around the tall elf's waist. The elf's stern expression turned quickly fond, and they placed a hand atop Lucie's head.

  So that's Fen, Foxglove thought. He'd only ever seen them when he was a crow before—it made a little bit of a difference in perspective. He tugged his mask on a little more firmly as Fen looked over at him.

  "I came to get you," Fen said. "Are you ready? Suri's waiting."

  Foxglove exchanged a look with Lucie. She worried at her lower with her teeth, obviously torn and waiting for Foxglove to make the call—leaving it to him to decide if they stayed.

  "Sure," Foxglove said, doing his best to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Let's go."

  Fen

  Fen led the way to the Royal Ballroom, Lucie and her unexpected guest trailing closely behind. Both were silent, their posture cagey. The crow-masked man kept looking around like he expected something to jump out at him any moment, eyes flickering behind his mask. Lucie's dark complexion and the pointed cat mask made it hard to tell if Fen was just imagining pallor, but her narrow shoulders were also tense, her fingers knotting and picking at her skirt.

  Small-talk had never been Fen's strong suit, but they cleared their throat, determined to make an effort. "Have you been enjoying the festival so far…?" They tried to hide a wince immediately afterwards. Obviously not…

  "It's—it's very much," Lucie said delicately, a little breathless. "How do you deal with this all the time, Fen?"

  "Well, it's not all the time," Fen pointed out. Thankfully. "But… you get used to it. Usually I just stand around and look quietly threatening and let Suri do all of the talking."

  "You do have the look of someone that oughtn't be crossed," the crow-masked man piped up. He had a surprisingly raspy voice—low, not unpleasant, but slightly nasal.

  "Thank you?" Fen raised an eyebrow, stepping ahead to hold a door open for the two of them and gesturing for them to proceed on ahead. Lucie favored Fen with a faint smile. The crow-masked man glanced over his shoulder, then slipped noiselessly in behind her. Frowning, Fen followed closely behind. "I didn't catch your name, by the way…"

  "Oh!" Lucie nearly tripped over the first stair. Both Fen and the crow-masked man shot a hand out to catch her, gently easing her back onto her feet. "Thanks," Lucie said sheepishly. "Oh, Fen, this is Foxglove. He's—my oldest friend."

  There was a flicker of an expression behind the crow mask, but it quickly vanished, and Foxglove flashed Fen a flat smile in its place.

  "Pleased to meet your acquaintance," he said. "Lucie has told me a lot about you."

  "Foxglove," Fen echoed. "Lucie, wasn't that the name of one of your birds?"

  Lucie tripped over the second step.

  "She named the bird after me," Foxglove said smoothly, ducking forward to hoist Lucie up underneath one arm. "Yes, we're old friends. Come on, then. Suri's waiting…" He started to march upstairs with Lucie, who seemed embarrassed, but not resistant.

  Fen frowned, but swallowed any further questions and followed closely behind.

  The stairwell led out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the Royal Ballroom—a servants' passage, to which Fen had a key. They had briefly considered taking Lucie and Foxglove through the usual way, but under the circumstances, Fen felt that the less they had to see anybody until they could meet up with Suri, the better.

  From here, at least, they still had a good view of the ballroom far below, and Fen paused to allow Foxglove and Lucie—who had both stopped abruptly—to enjoy the view.

  The Royal Ballroom could easily hold over a thousand people and, right now, it did. Couples spun their way across the gleaming ivory floor, and the swell of the orchestra drifted up towards the balcony, a lively tune. The room was lavishly decorated but not ostentatious. The heavy drapery was the deep red of the Vieran royal family, and the breathtaking intricate mural on the domed ceiling painted a picture of Vie's ocean, its rivers, its deep woods.

  "Oh, wow," Lucie breathed out, bracing her hands against the railing and leaning forward, pushing her mask up to reveal her freckled nose and wide gray eyes, mouth agape. "It's so pretty…!"

  Foxglove said nothing, just let out a low whistle, hovering his hands a little close to Lucie as a safeguard, but even he looked a little bit impressed.

  "Is that the King there?" he asked, with a little jerk of his chin. "With the dark hair."

  Fen followed his gaze. "Yes," they said. "That's King Yue, Suri's father."

  The King was, as usual, not actually sitting in his throne—instead, he was standing on the dais closer to the stairs, engaged in animated conversation with a small group of nobles. Even from on high, Fen could see the sweeping gestures of his hands, the glittering of his rings, and could hear the occasional peal of his laughter standing out amidst the rest of the assorted crowd noise.

  "Oh… he looks a lot like Suri. Who's he talking to?" Lucie asked.

  "The tall man with the red hair is his consort, Prince Pascal. And next to him—"

  "That's Kilkastel," Foxglove said, leaning forward on the railing himself, his dark hair falling heavily over his shoulder. "The Witch-Prince of Pavra."

  Uneasiness rose in Fen again, and they stepped a little closer to Lucie. "Have you seen him before?"

  Foxglove let out a little laugh. "Of course not," he said. "But no Vieran I've ever seen is almost seven feet tall and wearing a crown of silver antlers. Maybe it could be a fashion statement, though. Fen, you could start a new trend—that'd make you, what, nine feet altogether?"

  "They wouldn't be able to get through doors…" Lucie mused.

  "Doors will just have to learn how to get out of the way."

  They had a rhythm together, Lucie and Foxglove. Fen wasn't sure if that was reassuring, or more cause for concern. On the one hand, obviously they hadn't been lying that they were friends of long acquaintance. And since Fen trusted Lucie, it made it reasonable to want to extend trust to someone that was clearly in her favor.

  But something was still bothering Fen, leaving a sour note on their tongue. Fen and Lucie had never been lovers, but they were, at least in Fen's estimation, friends. And yet, here was someone deeply known to Lucie that Fen had known nothing about until this moment.

  They realized they were staring when Lucie nudged them lightly, tugging her mask back into place. "Fen, are you alright?"

  "I'm fine,” Fen said. They turned and started to head towards the door again. “This way," they said. "We don't want to keep Suri waiting."

  Fen tried not to feel self-conscious as they did, in fact, have to duck very slightly to avoid hitting their head slightly on their way into the next corridor. They would feel better once they found Suri, Fen was sure. Suri would know what to do, and say. She always did.

  But when they stepped out onto the private balcony where Suri had suggested they meet—the one shaded by her favourite peach trees, currently in full blossom—Suri wasn't there.

  "That's strange…" Fen murmured, stepping out into the perfume-tinged night air, tilting their head so they could get a glimpse of the clocktower. They were a little early, but not by much.

  Lucie followed them, making her way immediately over to the railing and leaning over to look down at the garden. "What's strange? Isn't Suri meeting us here?"

  "Yes," Fen said. "She's probably still just on her way. Wait there for a moment, Lucie. She won't be long."

  "Ah…" Lucie tilted her head, but obediently took a seat, fingers lightly touching one
of the peach blossoms. "Sure, Fen."

  Fen glanced up at the clock again, then started towards the door, walking past Foxglove, and leaving Lucie behind.

  It wasn't like Suri to be late, especially not for something she was looking forward to so anxiously. If anything, Fen would have expected Suri to be here already, pacing a track into the ground and wearing her heels down in anticipation.

  Fen stepped out into the hall, immediately turning to go as soon as the door swung shut behind them—but the latch never clicked.

  "Fen."

  Foxglove had slipped through the door behind them, moving with an easy sort of grace that immediately had Fen on guard; their hand dropped to their sword hilt unconsciously. Foxglove stopped, holding both hands up in front of himself, equally wary.

  "What do you want?" Fen demanded.

  "I don't want a fight," Foxglove said. "I do want to know what's going on."

  Fen's grip tightened on their hilt. "I don't know what you're talking about." I don't know what's going on, Fen thought desperately. Where's Suri? Did something happen? Who is this person? Why didn't Lucie ever mention him?

  Foxglove seemed to size Fen up, head tilted to the side. Then, after a moment, he pushed his mask back, his golden-brown eyes narrowed. In a less tense situation, Fen might find him handsome, but right now—

  Right now, he was a potential threat.

  "Something's wrong," Foxglove said slowly, his expression twisting briefly. Frustration, Fen realized. "I just came here to keep Lucie company. To keep her safe. But… you have to have felt it, right? Even if you can't sense magic—the feeling that something's not right."

  Fen let out their breath in a harsh exhalation. "What does magic have to do with it?" They shifted back a little, glancing towards the stairwell. If something were really wrong, it made it all the more important that they go find Suri immediately. "Who are you?"

  "I'm…" Foxglove let out another noise of frustration. "I'm to Lucie what you are to Suri. I think. I guess. Maybe not quite. But the point is—if she's in danger, I need to know. And if Suri's in danger, I want to know that, too. There are demons in your castle. Not just the ones visiting—shapeshifters, where they oughtn't be. And I smell it—"

  Before Fen could even begin to unravel that, the door behind Foxglove creaked open, and Lucie poked her head through, eyes wide. "Hey… is everything alright? You both left, so I—"

  Her words cut off very abruptly as the screaming started.

  Suri

  Suri woke up in the dark with a throbbing headache and a gag in her mouth, and immediately tried to launch herself to her feet. Her arms gave a painful twinge as the iron cuffs fastening her wrists dug into her skin. She let out a soft, muffled yelp as she fell backwards, narrowly avoiding smacking her head, her muscles straining with the effort.

  Lying still, she drew in a few deep breaths through her nose to try to steady her fluttering rabbit heart.

  Calm down, Suri, she thought, flexing and relaxing her fingers. This isn't the first time you've been kidnapped, and it likely won't be the last.

  Still, she had to admit, with a tiny, petulant corner of her mind, it had been a long time since then—and it had never been instigated by someone wearing her adoptive father's face. That part was, quite frankly, just insulting.

  One thing at a time.

  She was wearing a blindfold—that had to go, first. It hadn't been tied very tightly, so a little bit of squirming upwards let her catch the edge of it under her thumb, inching it off slowly as she shifted her head from side to side. It messed up her hair something awful, but she was eventually able to free one eye, squinting around the dim room.

  It was utterly unremarkable—but, thankfully, very much still her palace. Two beds, two dressers, a small fireplace, no window, one door. One of the servant rooms.

  The rush of relief at realising she was still home was quickly dampened by the realization that, as long as the festival was underway, every single damn servant would be upstairs. There would be nobody near enough to hear her if she called for help.

  She supposed she would just have to do this herself, then.

  Shifting a little up closer to the headboard, she bent her elbows until she could fish one of her hairpins out of her hair. Carefully, painstakingly slowly, she tried to remember the lessons Fen had taught her. All the practice—over, and over, and over.

  "When am I going to need to do this?" Suri had joked. "I have you to protect me!"

  Fen had given her a look so stern and hunted that Suri still felt slightly guilty for it, almost ten years later. "This is part of me protecting you."

  You were right, as always, Suri thought, exhaling in relief as the first cuff clicked, then opened, letting her slip her wrist free. She jerked the blindfold off, then the gag, and made shorter work of the second cuff, fingers trembling a little with relief and adrenaline and no small amount of fear.

  Free, she dragged herself up, making her way across the room. The door was locked, but she could easily slide the bolt free. She paused to press her ear against the door but couldn't hear anything in the hallway over the pounding over her own heart.

  No choice, she thought. She slipped her heels off, hooking the straps loosely over one wrist. Quickly scouring the room, she was disappointed to find that there was nothing sharper than an envelope opener. The fireplace poker was far too heavy and unwieldy. She slid a bottle of cheap fragrance into the only small pocket she had and crept slowly out into the hallway.

  As expected, it was completely silent. Suri was almost offended to find that there was nobody guarding her—did they really think that she was so helpless that they wouldn't need at least one? She padded quietly down the hallway, inching around corners, and supposed she would take the hit to her pride if it meant she could get back to Fen and her father quickly enough to warn them.

  Her heartbeat began to quicken again. She rubbed her palms on her dress, swallowing down a sob that threatened to fight its way out. She had been raised to always prepare for the worst while striving for the best, and she prided herself on being quite competent, thank you very much.

  And yet—had it been too much to ask that a night like this just go right?

  Thump.

  She froze, ducking down. There was a moment of silence, then another thump. One of the doors nearby rattled slightly with the impact.

  Suri hesitated. She could see the staircase that led upstairs from here, and it would still take her another five or ten minutes to reach the Royal Ballroom, even at a dead sprint, with nobody and nothing in her way. Still—

  Oh, being wishy-washy about it just makes it take longer! She hurried to the door, pulling out another hairpin, and started to pick the lock as quickly as she could.

  The scene inside was much like her own room had been—just a lot more crowded. There were about nine servants tied up around the room, some conscious, some not. Most of them were bound with ropes, and one of the serving boys had rolled his way close enough to the door to start banging on it with his foot.

  Suri bent down and tugged the gag out of the young man's mouth. "What happened?" she whispered urgently, helping him sit up so she could free his wrists.

  He gaped at her for a moment, wide-eyed, then drew in a steadying breath. "Princess Suri—it was… It was demons."

  Suri's fingers fumbled, and a visceral chill ran through her. "What?"

  "Demons. They brought us in here. Tied us up. Took our shapes!"

  "They took your shape?" Suri echoed, freeing the young man's hands, then quickly moving to help an older woman free herself as well. "Then what? Did you hear anything? What are they planning to do?"

  "I don't rightly know, Your Highness," the young man mumbled, wide-eyed and rubbing his wrists. To his credit, he at least crawled over and started to help untie the others, though his hands were shaking so badly he was hardly able to undo the knots. "But all of us here are meant to be serving in the ballroom…"

  Suri let out a string of curses, hopp
ing to her feet. "I've got to go. I can leave the rest to you, right? Get them free, and then everyone, spread the word—get as much help as you can!" She was out the door before any of them could protest, sprinting towards the door, heedless of stealth.

  She vaulted up the stairs, around a sharp corner, and found herself nearly hauled off her feet as someone grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her back.

  Red hair, blue eyes, a body draped heavily on one shoulder—

  "You!" Suri shrieked. She lifted her high heels with her free arm and threw them into Not-Pascal's face.

  "Ow!" The man flinched away but didn't release her. "Suri! It's me—"

  "You are carrying a body!"

  "I'm rescuing him!"

  "Oh, sure."

  "I promise you, listen, please! You were about to run into a barrier, look—"

  Suri stopped trying to yank her arm away. He sounded genuine, and the pained look on his face did look real—though she wasn't sure if that was because he was upset, or because she had just smashed him in the face with her shoes. Tentatively, suspiciously, she glanced slowly to the side.

  There, spanning the width of the hallway leading upstairs, was a shimmering forcefield, a sickly greenish-yellow color that wobbled slightly in the candlelight.

  Slowly, Suri turned to look back at Pascal. "Prove it," she whispered.

  He gazed back at her, silent. Then he released her arm, carefully watching to make sure she wasn't likely to try to bolt straight at the barrier. When he seemed confident that she wasn't, he let out a slow breath.

  And he began to change.

  The color seemed to drain from his hair and leech into his skin, turning it a vivid vermillion red. His ears elongated, then came to a point. His eyes remained blue, but brighter, electric, slit-pupilled, with pitch black sclera. Behind him, a tail unfurled, swaying out and curling around his ankles. Horns spiralled up out of his now-white hair, casting long shadows on the wall.

  Suri drew in a sharp breath—then launched herself at him, burying her face in his chest and letting out a loud sob of relief. "Papa."'