Curses

by Lish McBride

  This was what they wanted, and yet Tevin had been imagining a variety of scenarios that involved him shoving various things into Latimer’s face. He’d started with rolls, quickly escalated to cutlery, and was currently envisioning himself picking up a chair and bringing it down on Latimer’s immaculate golden locks. Next dinner party, he was sneaking in and moving the placards around until the seating suited him better. He’d put Latimer in the privy.

  He kept reminding himself why they were here—to get Merit married off to someone like Latimer. She’d get married, he’d be free, and then he’d return home to keep an eye on his parents and take care of his siblings. That’s what he needed to do—focus on the future.

  He sipped his water, trying to keep his hands busy. The wine was tempting, but he didn’t need it as much as he needed a clear head. It wouldn’t help the headache that was quickly morphing from piercing to pounding, either.

  “Copper for your thoughts?”

  Tevin turned to blink at the voice. The chair to his left had been empty for the first course, and he hadn’t bothered to look at the placard. He was pleasantly surprised to see Willa placing her napkin in her lap as she sat.

  “Pardon?”

  She darted her eyes to the head table and dropped her voice. “You’re giving someone over there hot eyes—the nonsexy kind.” Willa took a bite of her salad. “What is this?” She grimaced. “Fennel. I hate fennel.”

  “Ah, a kindred spirit.”

  Willa stared at his empty plate. “You ate it anyway?”

  “No, I traded plates with Val when she wasn’t looking.” Tevin kept his voice low so only Willa would hear it. “I assume she’ll do the same to Amaury. Who knows where the fennel will end up.”

  “Brilliant. So, who are you trying to murder with your eyes?” She was very good at speaking so that her voice didn’t carry.

  “Latimer. I’d like to cover him in honey and leave him for the rats.”

  Willa paused in shoving the salad around on her plate to look at him. “Do rats like honey?”

  “I’m not sure. We can experiment. If they don’t go for honey, we can cover him in something else. Jam, maybe. I’m a patient man. I can see it through until we get a favorable result.”

  Willa stifled a snicker and put her fork down, giving up on her salad. “My poor sister.”

  “Which one’s your sister?” Tevin glanced around the tables, but there were several young women he didn’t know, so he couldn’t guess.

  Willa nudged him. “She’s down at the end closer to Cedric. She’s sandwiched between Freddie and Lady Zarla.”

  Tevin glanced down the table. It was difficult to see everyone. The middle of the table was a dividing line of flower arrangements, candelabras, and decorative pineapples. Tevin counted four interspersed among the other decorations. “Do you know what’s going on with the pineapples?”

  “They’re imported.” Willa poked at one of the arrangements in front of her with her fork. “I think he’s trying to make a statement, and that statement is ‘I have money.’ ” A peahen landed on the table, causing one of the servants to dart forward and shoo it away. Everyone pretended not to notice.

  Next to one of the pineapples at Cedric’s table was a young woman with tight brown curls, a dimpled smile, and warm brown skin. He looked back at Willa. “That’s your sister? But she looks so nice. Very anti-moat.”

  “Diadora is nice.” Willa grinned at him. “She supports my moat because she loves me, but she’s trying to convince me not to fill it with bears.”

  “Bears would be pretty great,” Tevin said, “but then they’d have to put up with the suitors. Would you do that to bears?”

  She laughed. “Yes, we must think of the bears.”

  “Well, your sister is lovely, and I support her anti-bear agenda.”

  “Poor Merit,” Willa said, pushing away her plate. “I think Cedric has decided to pull out all the stops.”

  Cedric appeared to be composing a song on the spot in honor of Merit, serenading her from his seat. Tevin couldn’t hear the actual words over the din of conversation, but based on the look Godling Price was giving him, Merit’s assessment of Cedric’s troubadour skills was accurate.

  Willa reached for her water, pausing with the glass close to her lips. “Oh, Cedric, no. Someone needs to stop him.” She indicated the hawkish man. “That’s Godling Price. He looks really irritated, and he’s not exactly the forgiving sort.”

  “Are any of them?” Tevin looked closer at the man while pretending to smile at the staff as they came through, took the salad away, and brought the next course. Cautious after the fennel, Tevin poked it warily with his fork.

  “It’s pheasant confit with an oyster stuffing,” Willa whispered. “I asked.”

  Val leaned over. “Is anyone else surprised they’re serving pheasant? I feel weird eating it while all the decorative pheasants look on.”

  “It does seem like a taunt,” Tevin said, taking a bite. “You’re right, Willa—Godling Price doesn’t look happy with Cedric.”

  Tevin ate a few more bites, giving Willa a break to eat. She seemed fine, but he wondered if, like Merit, she had a difficult time sharing space with godlings. When he next spoke, he changed the subject, spending the rest of the dinner chatting with her and stealing glances at Merit to make sure she was okay.

  After dinner, the guests were all ushered inside so they could play cards, have an after-dinner drink, or head into the ballroom to listen to music and dance.

  Tevin ended up in the ballroom, stuck in a conversation with Glendon and Freddie—the latter telling them a long story involving a case of wine, a drunken wild pig, and a pair of pinstripe trousers—as he tried to catch Val’s attention. She took one look at Freddie, who was gesticulating wildly with his hands and spilling his drink in the process, and shook her head.

  Tevin gave her puppy dog eyes. She silently but dramatically groaned before excusing herself from the group she’d been talking to and came over.

  “Tevin,” she said, grabbing his arm and interrupting Freddie. “There you are.” She threw an apologetic look Freddie’s way. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid I must steal Tevin here.” Glendon sent her a pleading glance. “And of course, the ambassador.”

  Freddie looked crestfallen. “But I haven’t got to the best bit yet.”

  “You know who would love to hear about this?” Val pointed to Latimer, who was deep in a conversation with Merit and her mother. “The prince. Loves a good pig story, he does. Can’t get enough.”

  Freddie brightened. “Thanks.” He patted her shoulder and left.

  “I am deeply in your debt,” Glendon said, sipping his drink. “Do you think we even need to leave now, or is he sufficiently distracted?”

  “Let’s step out, just in case.” Val ushered them into the hall. “I figure we can stay out a minute and then go back in.”

  There was a noise down the hall, and Tevin turned to see a servant helping Godling Price back into his jacket. Even from here, Tevin could see that there was a mark on the lapel.

  Glendon cursed into his drink. “I better go find Cedric’s parents. They’ll need some serious diplomacy to get Godling Price back into a good humor. If you’ll excuse me?” He left quickly, and Tevin and Val decided to sneak back into the ballroom.

  “Where’s Amaury?” Val asked.

  “Probably reading grocery lists somewhere,” Tevin murmured. People were mingling and laughing, though the center of the ballroom was clearing to make room for dancers as the musicians tuned their instruments.

  Merit, her smile fixed as she nodded at something Cedric was telling her, practically snatched his arm as he walked by. “Tevin! There you are.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m so sorry, Cedric—but I promised Tevin the next dance.” He waved her off good-naturedly before wandering away to find his own dance pa
rtner.

  Tevin followed Merit gratefully onto the floor. “Do you actually want to dance, or was that a clever ruse?”

  Her eyes twinkled at him. “Can’t it be both?” The first tinkling notes of a slow ballad came from the piano, and Merit let Tevin pull her into his arms. “Tonight has certainly been interesting—you should have heard Cedric’s song. At least Latimer was good company.” Her brow arched, making the last bit a question. One he wished he had a rebuttal for. But all he had was a throbbing head and a heavy heart.

  Tevin spun her across the floor easily. He didn’t want to think about how well they moved together. He didn’t want to think at all, really. “I bet he even ate his fennel.”

  She tipped her head. “What does that mean?”

  “Never mind. I’m pleased for you.” He thought for sure she would argue, but instead her shoulders softened, and she settled more firmly into his arms. They flowed together like water, like creatures of a same piece. For a few precious moments, they didn’t do anything but simply exist in the music. No matter what else happened, Tevin felt he’d remember this dance until he was buried deep in the earth and his flesh went to the worms.

  When the music stopped, they paused, their eyes locked. Tevin’s throat felt thick, his skin hot and somehow cold at the same time. Merit’s brown eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted.

  “Merit—”

  That was as far as he got before there was a large clang at the end of the room, followed by the crash of champagne flutes hitting the floor and shattering. Amidst the mess, Cedric, heir to the Fedorova barony and questionable troubadour, flailed on the floor. Feathers flew, and even from where Tevin stood, he could see a fine spray of blood as the glass sliced into a large set of wings. Cedric bellowed and his body bowed. Someone screamed, and Tevin looked up in time to see an older man—the spitting image of Cedric in thirty years—faint dead away, only to be caught by Cedric’s mother before he hit the floor. She looked torn between holding her husband up and going to her son.

  Merit left Tevin’s arms and ran over. He went after her, trying to stop her before she stepped out onto the broken glass.

  “Merit!” Tevin grabbed her shoulder.

  “He’s changing,” Merit said. “It hurts, and he’s fighting it—he doesn’t realize there’s broken glass everywhere. He’ll cut himself to ribbons.”

  Tevin didn’t argue but pulled off his jacket. He tossed it to Merit and bent, scooping up Cedric. Val had snagged his feet, and they lifted, dragging him out of the glass. They didn’t make it far—Cedric was a writhing mass of heavy limbs—before they had to lower him down again. Merit quickly spread Tevin’s jacket under him. He watched blood splatter the cloth as Cedric’s spine bowed back. Tevin and Val held him down as Cedric bucked, his eyes rolling back, his skin bubbling like he was made of melted wax.

  “I remember this part.” Merit stood, her eyes haunted, grabbing Tevin by the shoulders and dragging him back and away from Cedric’s flailing body. “He’s almost done.” She tucked her face into Tevin’s chest, though she kept an eye on Cedric. She was trembling, so Tevin put an arm around her and pulled her close. Val stood next to him, her face stoic.

  There was a shriek and an awful bubbling sound, and then silence.

  Cedric was gone. In his place sprawled an unconscious ostrich, his tux in tatters and blood seeping from half a dozen small cuts.

  “Poor Cedric,” Merit whispered.

  Tevin squeezed her and let go, sparing himself the feeling of her pulling away first. “He’ll be okay. We’ll make sure.” How they would help Cedric, he had no idea, but he didn’t want it to be an empty promise.

  “What happened?” Val asked.

  “He’s been cursed,” Merit said, her voice breathy. She was pale, the pulse at her throat fluttering like a trapped butterfly.

  Tevin didn’t like the look of her. “We should go.” She didn’t argue, letting him lead her away. Servants scrambled to clean up the mess, while someone shouted for a healer. Tevin was almost out of the room when they walked past Godling Price. He stood by the door, calmly listening as Cedric’s mother pointed at her son and pleaded, “With all due respect, you cannot leave him like that! He’s our son—”

  The godling cut her off, his face cold. “Think of it as a temporary gift. He likes birds so much? Now he’ll get to be one for the next three months.”

  Lady Fedorova seemed torn between wanting to argue on her son’s behalf and not wanting to anger the godling further. “Three months?”

  Merit shivered again, and Tevin ushered her out and away from Cedric’s distraught mother and Godling Price.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE REAL GIFT IS REGRET

  Latimer calmly put on his jacket and took his leave, declining the offer of a carriage or a horse from the stables. He needed to walk right now—he could grab a hack later. It was too far to go on foot this late in the evening. The night air was sticky and warm, clogging his nostrils as he put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t dare open his mouth, even to breathe. Every step took him farther away from the ballroom, the blood, and Cedric’s screams.

  And with each step, his hands shook a little more.

  He managed to keep himself together, his spine straight, the picture-ideal fairy lord, until he was several blocks away and back into the city proper. Then he turned into an alley where he threw up everything he’d consumed at the dinner, which had been precious little to begin with.

  He became aware of himself in degrees—the bite of brick on his palms where he held himself up. The cold sweat on his brow. The stink of the alley in the warm air—rotting garbage and who knew what else. The faint wash of mage light filtered in from the streetlamps, competing with the cold light of the moon and stars. He wanted the night to swallow him up.

  Latimer had spent several years very carefully avoiding self-reflection and deep thought. It was easier and better for everyone if he just did as he was told. He didn’t concern himself too much with the outcome of his actions, because that wasn’t his job, was it? He had staff to clean up his messes. Only tonight, he couldn’t avoid it. Oh, he had no compunctions about planning to do something about Tevin. He didn’t like him, and sensed on a certain level that the man could take care of himself.

  But Cedric? What he had done to Cedric was like tossing a piglet into a lion pit. All because, what? Merit had been kind to him at dinner. While he wasn’t as much of a threat as Tevin, he was still a threat. And the opportunity had practically fallen into his lap—catching Godling Price outside, muttering about his jacket and Cedric while he took a boot to one of the roaming peacocks. It had been laughably easy to pay off Godling Price. He’d been halfway to cursing Cedric already. He hadn’t had enough coins with him, but they’d managed to come to a deal. He’d never seen a curse so cavalierly violent and cruel as the one he watched tonight.

  If the featherbrained chit likes birds so much, I’ll make him one.

  All because Latimer couldn’t take any chances. His mother had been clear: There was no room for mistakes. Merit had to be his, and he had little time and fewer resources. He needed to be creative with what he had, because the idea of going home empty-handed and facing the disappointment of his mother made him want to be sick all over the cobblestones again.

  * * *

  • • •

  Merit didn’t remember getting into the hack. On some level, she knew that Tevin held her carefully, comforting her with gentle noises, but none of it sank in. Not even the sound of the wheels on the cobblestones registered.

  In Merit’s mind, she was back in time, reliving one of the worst nights of her life. She’d insisted that her mother cancel the betrothal ball, only Lady Zarla hadn’t listened. Her mother never listened.

  Watching Cedric had been like being cursed all over again. The feeling of her bones shattering, rearranging themselves into the new and complex pattern o
f the beast. Waking with the thin hope that her mother had been wrong, that Jasper would come back for her. That he loved her. Days slipped into weeks, and the hope thinned, until it became a dried-out husk disintegrating in the next big breeze. She’d broken. Like Cedric had broken. Would it feel that way when her curse became permanent? Was tonight a portent of her future?

  She threw back her head and screamed, but the sound that came out was never meant for a human throat. The sound was all beast.

  * * *

  • • •

  Tevin had never been so grateful to be in a hack. If they’d been in a regular carriage, the beast’s roar would have startled the horses. He’d tried to hold on to Merit as she changed, but it had proven impossible. The beast didn’t want to be held. The beast wanted freedom, and it took freedom easily, the door of the hack shredding under her claws like so much paper. Then Tevin was alone in the hack, though he didn’t stay there.

  He jumped out of the moving vehicle, rolling into the fall as he hit the stones only to come back up onto his toes. His back would be a mess of bruises in the morning, but it couldn’t be helped. The beast was loose in Veritess. Tevin had stared into the creature’s eyes and hadn’t seen an ounce of reason or intelligence. Merit had completely disappeared.

  And now she was running the streets alone. If she hurt anyone, Tevin knew that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. He tore after her, arms and legs pumping; the skittering of his heart echoed in his footfalls as he practically flew down alleyways and side streets.

  Tevin wasn’t sure how long he’d been running. It had to have been some time—they were almost to the river. He could smell the water in the air as he gulped down greedy lungfuls.

  Despite pushing himself, he kept losing her—she was faster than he was, for certain—and he had to pause and check cross streets when he did, looking for any clue of her passing. Sometimes he would hear her, or see fresh scratches clawing through the mud between the cobblestones. The fact was that he was falling more behind with every delay, and he wouldn’t be able to run forever.