Disenchanted

by Susan Carroll

  The guards would likely have already hauled the weeping girl away, but her sister was also wailing. Ivy clung to Myrtle, trying to yank her free from her captors. One of the guards shoved Ivy roughly to the floor.

  I heard the sharp intake of Horatio’s breath. He set me aside and marched forward. “Stop! Release that girl at once.”

  He did not shout. He did not have to. His voice carried a ring of authority that caused the entire room to snap to attention. As he helped Ivy to her feet, my heart swelled with such relief and pride in him, I could have kissed the man.

  I was astonished when the guards did not instantly obey him. I certainly would have. They kept their grip on Myrtle, but they hesitated, looking uncertainly at Mercato.

  The wizard flapped toward Horatio, shaking his finger at him. “This is a matter for the Royal Guard, Commander Crushington. It does not fall within your purview.”

  “Respectfully, sir, I believe that it does.” Horatio accorded the king’s sorcerer a stiff bow. “Miss Hanson is from Midtown.”

  “But she dared to commit her offense right here in His Majesty’s palace.”

  Horatio stepped closer as he attempted to reason with Mercato. Aside from the snuffling of the Hanson sisters, the entire room was silent, straining to hear and breathlessly awaiting the result of the commander’s bold intervention.

  I inched as close as I dared. I could only pick up snippets of Horatio’s low, terse arguments.

  “…girl made a mistake…her arrest bound to cause resentment. Surely the king would not wish…ball to be spoiled over such a trivial matter. If I could only speak to…”

  Mercato locked his arms across his chest. He was frowning, but he was listening. I believed that Horatio might have prevailed. Unfortunately, word of what was going on must have spread to the farthest corners of the ballroom and reached the ears of Myrtle’s brothers.

  The two Hanson boys burst through the crowd. Although they were known to be a bit rowdy, Peter and Thomas were usually respectful of authority. But their flushed countenances suggested that they had consumed too much of the king’s cheap wine.

  Thomas’s voice was slurred as he yelled, “Get shur hands off my sishter, you bashtard!”

  “Oh no,” I groaned as Peter, the hot-tempered Hanson brother, tackled one of the guards. He wrestled the man to the floor. Thomas took a wild swing at the second guard and missed. The Scutcheon let go of Myrtle and socked Thomas in the jaw.

  Myrtle shrieked. Mercato sputtered with outrage and Horatio swore. He dove at Peter and pulled him off the guard. He pinioned the young man’s arms. Thomas, recovering from his blow, came at Horatio from behind.

  I cried out a warning. I leapt forward and tried to grab Thomas’s arm. He thrust me backward. As I staggered to keep my balance, Horatio released Peter. He felled Thomas with one sharp jab.

  I gasped as Horatio seized me by the waist and lifted me off my feet. He plunked me down a safe distance away and ordered, “Stay out of this, Ella.”

  He whirled back to where the Hanson boys traded blows with the two guards.

  “Stop,” he roared, getting Peter in a headlock.

  Most of the crowd gasped and gaped, trying to keep out of the way. But the drunken Lord Lovett staggered forward, growling something about “Midtown ruffians.” Beckoning to his inebriated friend Sir Eustace, the two aristocrats set upon the Hanson brothers.

  This prompted several of the Midtown lads to rush to the aid of their friends. To my astonishment, Fortescue Bafton was among them. I would never have thought the tailor’s son had it in him as he went after Lord Lovett.

  Under other circumstances, I might have found it amusing, watching the two dandies dance around each other, taking ineffectual swipes. But the melee spread to an alarming degree, fists flying, curses roaring and ladies shrieking. I shrank back farther to avoid being knocked down.

  I lost sight of Horatio in the uproar, but I saw Ivy trying to hustle her weeping sister to safety. Mercato blocked their path.

  The wizard grabbed Myrtle by the arm to prevent her escape. Ivy shrieked and pummeled the wizard. When he did not release her sister, Ivy seized his beard, giving it a savage yank. Mercato howled in pain, screaming for more guards.

  Two more Scutcheons rushed past me, jamming me against the pillar. I straightened, rubbing my bruised shoulder. I bit back a curse, but my breath caught in my throat at the realization.

  They were the two bored soldiers posted by the arch. I stole a glance behind me and saw the forbidden doorway had been left unguarded. My pulse skittered. This was the opportunity I had waited for all evening—if I was bold enough to seize it.

  As I took a step closer to the arch, I stole a nervous look around to make sure my actions were unobserved. Anyone not fighting was either dodging or gawking at the combatants. No one was paying the slightest attention to me.

  I felt guilty at the thought of abandoning Horatio to this chaos, especially since I was the one who had persuaded him to intervene. One glance in his direction assured me the commander was more than capable of holding his own. He separated a Midtown boy from Sir Eustace by collaring both of them. He cracked their heads together with a force that made me wince.

  Even as he fought, Horatio issued terse orders. Under his command, the palace guards would soon have this situation under control and my chance would be gone. Yet I felt immobilized by fear, unable to take another step.

  I had to remind myself that Mal would not rest until he recovered that orb. If I did not succeed in stealing it for him, he would make some reckless attempt himself and end up arrested or killed.

  My heart pounded harder, the ballroom blurring before my eyes as I willed my trembling legs to move. It was now or never. I drew in a deep breath. Plucking up my skirts, along with my courage, I darted through the forbidden arch.

  Chapter 15

  I ran down the flight of stone steps so fast, one of my shoes flew off. Swearing under my breath, I had to hop back a few steps to retrieve it. It was as well that I was obliged to pause. I needed to proceed with more caution until I took stock of my surroundings.

  The wide hall that stretched ahead of me was exactly as Mal had said it would be. The walls were crammed with an assorted collection of weapons from ages past, axes, pikes, halberds and heavy swords. Blunter and clumsier than the rapiers now in use, the ancient swords were still lethal-looking.

  After the brilliance of the ballroom, the hall seemed dark and forbidding. The way ahead of me was lit only by flaming torches embedded in the stone walls. As I bent to pick up my dancing slipper, I stole an anxious glance back the way I had come. There was no sign of any pursuit, no harsh voice calling out a command for me to halt. The noise and safety of the ballroom already seemed far away.

  I was quite alone here in what was part of the oldest portion of the palace. That did not mean that I was not in danger of being discovered. I could stumble upon a stray guard or servant at any moment. I needed to keep moving, carefully, but quickly.

  I cringed at the thought of forcing my sore heel back into my loose slipper. Instead, I opted to remove my other shoe as well. Carrying my dancing slippers in one hand, I tiptoed past suits of armor lined up on both sides of the hall like soldiers awaiting inspection. The torchlight flickered over those eerie, silent sentinels.

  I am not usually given to flights of fantasy, but I could not help imagining hostile eyes watching me through the slits of those visors. At any moment one of those iron gauntlets could reach out to seize me and—

  “Stop it,” I scolded myself. “Concentrate.”

  I needed to control my racing pulse and remember the directions Mal had given me.

  Just traverse the length of the old War Hall.

  Mal had made it sound so easy, but what he had neglected to tell me was how long that hall would be. The frapping chamber went on forever, but perhaps it just seemed that way to me with my nerves wound so tight.

  I breathed a faint sigh of relief as I neared the end of the
hall. I silently congratulated myself on having made it that far undetected. Then I heard it. The sound of a footfall. I froze, listening, and realized that someone was approaching from the corridor ahead that branched off to the left.

  I panicked, unable to move for a split second. Then I dove for the only hiding place available, a niche behind the last suit of armor. I flattened myself back against the rough stonework as far as I could. It was a poor place of concealment. In this dim light, the sheen of my golden gown would stand out like a beacon. I tried to gather up my skirts and hug them as close to my body as I could, but it was impossible. Even if I had not been holding my shoes, my hoop and layers of petticoats thwarted my efforts.

  As the footsteps drew nearer, I tried to come up with an excuse should I be discovered. I was terrified by the fight in the ballroom and I ran down here to get out of the way. No, that sounded ridiculous. What about…I was knocked down during the fight and I was so dazed, I didn’t know where I was going. There was an edict that forbade swooning, but surely there was no law against being dazed, was there?

  I had no time to come up with anything better before a man entered the hall. I caught a ghostly glimpse of white and recognized it for a uniform such as all the princes wore. As he drew nearer, I saw that it was indeed one of the royal brothers, Kendrick, in fact.

  I held my breath as he ambled past where I hid behind the suit of armor. One glance in my direction and he was bound to spot me. But Kendrick behaved in a manner as furtive as myself.

  He stole a look behind him, and then craned his neck to peer ahead. Appearing satisfied that he was alone, he crept over to a suit of armor positioned along the wall opposite from where I hid.

  He lifted the visor and thrust his hand inside the helmet. He groped about for a few seconds and pulled out a small pouch. I watched mystified as he loosened the drawstring and poured what looked like a silvery powder in the palm of his hand.

  Kendrick raised his cupped fingers to his nose and inhaled so deeply that he sneezed violently. He gave a deep sigh, “Ah!”

  As a beatific smile spread over his face, I realized the strange silvery substance had to be pixie dust. The most noble Prince Kendrick was a pixie sniffer! As he hid the pouch back inside the suit of armor, my tension eased. Kendrick drifted in the direction of the stairs leading up to the ballroom.

  When I was sure he was gone, I crept out from my hiding place and continued to the end of the hall. Corridors branched out in both directions. I took the one to the right, hurrying past a succession of heavy wooden doors until I came to an enormous portrait that stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling.

  The painting depicted a young man in full royal regalia, an ermine-trimmed purple robe draped about his broad shoulders. A jeweled crown encircled his head and in his right hand, he clutched a golden scepter. His long blond hair and features were not unlike Prince Florian’s, but from what Mal had told me this was a portrait of King August at his coronation.

  If the artist had been true to his subject and not seeking to flatter, our king had been a handsome youth. I was arrested by the expression in his eyes. They were almost shining; the eyes of a young man gazing into a future bright with promise. Not a hint of the miserable old tyrant he had become. I could have pitied him, if August’s cruelty and avarice had not brought so much suffering to our kingdom.

  I shifted my gaze from the portrait, focusing on the ornate frame instead. The gilded wood was carved with an elaborate design of vines and intertwining roses. Running my fingers along the right side of the frame, I counted. One, two, three, four, five roses up from the bottom. My heart hammered. I looked around me, fearing some guard would come running to stop me.

  None did. I pressed in on the center of the flower and heard a faint click. I leapt back as the portrait slowly swung forward, revealing it to be a door. With one final anxious glance down the corridor, I slipped through the opening. There was a handle on the back of the painting. I pulled on it, closing the door.

  I rested my forehead against the wooden panel, clutching my dancing slippers to my breast. I exhaled a deep breath, unable to believe I had made it. I was in the king’s private treasury. Granted, I still had to find the orb and steal back to the ballroom undetected. I had succeeded in getting this far. I had to believe that somehow I would manage the rest.

  I came about slowly, attempting to adjust my eyes to the darkness. The chamber was windowless and would have been pitch black if not for a small lamp mounted near the doorway. Its glow did not offer much by way of illumination, just enough for me to gape at my surroundings.

  I do not know exactly what I had expected to find in the king’s treasure room, but certainly not this utter chaos. The chamber was heaped with coin chests, jewel boxes, stacks of paintings and porcelain statues to such a degree, it appeared impossible to find a path between all of those stacks.

  It reminded me of Withypole Fugitate’s shop and I wondered if it was possible that a king, just like a fairy, could become a gleaner. A fairy’s compulsive hoarding had its roots in a broken heart. I was sure that King August’s acquisitiveness was inspired by greed. My heart swelled with anger as I thought of how many of his subjects he must have persecuted and defrauded to amass all of this treasure.

  I had little hope of finding the orb in all of this mess, at least not in this dim light. I spotted a silver branch of candlesticks amidst the piles. Setting my shoes down atop a large chest, I carried the candelabrum over to the lamp and removed the globe. The flame was the oddest that I had ever seen. The wick burned brightly but I could detect no source of fuel, neither wax nor oil.

  This had to be some sort of magic that the wizard Mercato had devised. I tentatively touched the wick of one of the candles to the strange flame. Nothing happened. I wondered if the candles were too ordinary to ignite by the wizard’s lamp. Suddenly the flame crackled and the wick caught.

  I lit the other two wicks and the candles burned with an astonishing brightness that illuminated the entire room. I could see what lay hidden in shadow. I held the branch of candles aloft and stared straight into the eyes of the dragon looming over me.

  I shrieked and stumbled back, nearly dropping the candles. Hot wax spattered my hand and I could feel the burn even through my glove. Trembling, I wielded the candlestick as though it was a sword, hoping I could make it to the door before the beast snapped me up in its terrible jaws.

  I was astonished that the dragon had not tried to do so already. Then I realized why. The alarming creature was no more than a stuffed head mounted on the wall. I expelled a deep breath, feeling foolish for having panicked.

  Whoever had preserved the dragon’s head had done an incredible job. Recovering from my fright, I examined the fearsome beast more closely. Judging from the size of its head, the dragon must have been huge. I imagined that the ground would have trembled beneath its mighty feet. Its golden scales appeared iridescent beneath the glow of the candles. No sharp horns sprouted from its brow, but rather a tall crest the color of flame. Its deep-set eyes must have been mesmerizing when the creature was alive. Now they regarded me with a vacant glassy stare.

  I had heard that dragons were not aggressive creatures unless challenged by some vainglorious knight out to enhance his reputation as a warrior. That struck me as a more apt description of Prince Florian than his younger brother Ryland.

  Yet Ryland was the one known for his quests to slay dragons. Was this the very beast that had devoured his hand? Despite what had happened to Ryland, I mourned for the dragon. Such a magnificent creature deserved better than to become a trophy on the king’s wall. The gentle lover I had known as Harper would have agreed with me. But that boy was gone, as dead to me as that dragon.

  I stretched up on tiptoe to caress the poor beast’s snout, offering up a silent apology. I withdrew my hand at once, frowning in puzzlement. I do not know how I expected the scaly skin of a dragon to feel, certainly not like stiff painted leather. I rapped against the dragon’s nose and produced a
hollow, wooden echo.

  The dragon’s head was fake, nothing more than a clever reproduction. It was as false as everything else about the Helavalerian family. I rocked back on my heels, relieved that the dragon was not real and yet at the same time, seething with indignation.

  I wondered if there had ever been an actual dragon or if the story about Ryland going on such a quest was nothing but more of his lies. If there was no dragon, how had Ryland come to lose his hand? Why did I even care?

  I needed to forget about Ryland and concentrate upon my reason for being there. I backed away from the dragon’s head, directing the glow of my candles toward the rest of the chamber. As the light flickered over all those endless stacks of confiscated treasure, I felt overwhelmed. If the orb was buried in one of the chests, it would take me all night to find it.

  According to Mal’s source, the orb was supposed to be somewhere prominently displayed beneath a glass dome, easy to access. I skirted through the piles of trunks, paintings and statuary, doing my best not to knock anything down. My aim was to find the orb and replace it without leaving a trace of my presence. The fact that I had an unregistered aura would help, but that advantage would be lost if I dislodged too many items during my search.

  I did not know how anyone could tell if anything had been shifted in all of this mess. But Mal’s apothecary shop was also a mass of clutter, and yet Mal would know at once if someone had moved a bottle so much as an inch. I suspected that our king might be equally sharp-eyed when it came to protecting his treasures.

  I crept about the chamber, examining every nook and crowded shelf with a sense of increasing desperation. I saw no sign of anything resembling a glass dome crammed amongst all the figurines, old books and music boxes. Only one small ledge remained uncluttered in all of this chaos.