by Coco Ma
“Tonight,” the queen began, her voice melodious, “we celebrate the eve of Fairfest.” A light smattering of applause. “We have already feasted, and soon we will rejoice at the arrival of summer with a night of dancing and music.” More applause. “However, some of you may have puzzled over the absence of a person of great importance to our kingdom.” A few nods of agreement. “At this very moment, my beloved daughter, Princess Asterin, courageously defends Axaria. Some of you have perhaps heard of a demon terrorizing our people. This is true—and the princess has taken it upon herself to eradicate this monster in a valiant act of fearlessness.” Priscilla’s eyes glittered turquoise in the light of the chandeliers. “And so, I should like to propose a toast in her name. To the heroic bravery and successful return of the princess!”
“To Princess Asterin!” the ballroom chorused, glasses raised in salute. Asterin drank alongside everyone else, as if for reassurance.
“And now,” Priscilla announced, “let us honor Fairfest!”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Luna knew the Immortals were on their side when she and Harry made it all the way from the passageway to Throne Hall undetected. The celebrations had worked in their favor—most of the guards were posted by the ballroom, but they found two disgruntled soldiers stationed at the entranceway to Throne Hall. Judging by the guards’ menacing glowers, they were not pleased with their exclusion from the festivities.
Luna skirted back around the corner to where Harry crouched behind a pillar. “We need to get through those doors without the guards noticing,” she whispered. Shadow jumping wasn’t an option—Harry had already done it twice today, and Luna could see it taking its toll on him. She didn’t have a watch, but it couldn’t be much longer before Garringsford arrived.
Harry stood. “On it.”
And then he walked back down the corridor behind her in the opposite direction from the guards.
“Harry,” Luna hissed. “Where are you going?”
He only lifted a finger, signaling her to wait as he retreated further and slipped into a door that led into servants’ passageway.
Luna fidgeted, toe tapping as she craned her neck to glance back down the hallway at the guards, praying that Harry hadn’t decided to just ditch her.
Then, from afar, came a slurred, “Hey, Yagnov.”
Luna’s eyes narrowed at the pair of guards, but neither were the source of the voice.
The voice went on. “Do you think anyone will take this bottle of wine if I leave it here?”
The two guards perked up, straining to listen, obviously interested in hearing more about the wine.
“I doubt it,” came the loud response, a new voice, echoing through the deserted halls. “Besides, there’s more than enough to go around.”
Luna stifled a giggle. The second voice belonged unmistakably to Harry, and she realized that the first sounded like an impersonation of Quinlan—that is, if he were extremely drunk. The hunter must have used the servants’ passageway to pass right beneath the guards’ feet.
“Did you hear that?” whispered the first guard.
From afar, Harry let out a lusty sigh. “I guess I’ll just leave this here, then. I can hardly carry these two bottles as it is.”
“Should we take it?” the second guard asked his companion, and then muttered, “S’not like anyone’s around here, anyway. Besides, you heard him. There’s enough to go around.”
“I’ll get it,” the first volunteered, licking his lips. He had already disappeared around the corner when the second guard shot up in realization.
“Oi, you bastard, you’re just going to keep it all to yourself, aren’t you?” he cried, rushing after his fellow soldier.
Luna took that as her cue. Just as she grabbed the door handle, Harry melted from the shadows around the corner the guards had just rounded. She bit down hard on a grin, holding the door open as he swaggered in, hands in his pockets.
“That was amazing!” she exclaimed once the doors had closed.
“Thanks,” Harry said, bravado vanishing as they stepped onto the long carpet leading to the throne. They reached the dais and he slumped upon it with an exhausted sigh, eyes drifting shut.
While Harry napped, Luna prepared herself. She shook the tension from her shoulders and took a deep breath. Then, gripping her illusionstone, she conjured an image of a lidded wooden chest. Imagining it as a slab of clay, she began to sculpt, fashioning elegant ridges and intricate embellishments. Inside the chest, she added a bed of rich green velvet, and then on top of that … based off the anatomical diagrams Rose had sketched for her, she wove what hopefully looked like a human heart.
“Gross,” Luna whispered to herself, astonished by her own ability. But now came the difficult part—pushing past the visual limits of the illusion and adding texture, weight, physicality. She mangled the glistening organ with claw marks and scratches, and added the overpowering reek of fermentation.
“Luna.” Harry’s eyes had snapped open, his pupils dilated. “The Woman. She’s coming.”
Luna swallowed her anxiety and inspected the chest a final time. Then she passed it to Harry and skittered up the steps to the throne, concealing herself with a layer of illusion as she huddled down behind it.
Outside, the sharp, even click-click of heels along the corridor. Heels? Luna wondered, her entire body buzzing with adrenaline. Garringsford only ever wore boots, though perhaps for the ball …?
Before Luna could ponder it further, the doors swung open.
“Demon.”
Luna’s breath stuttered. She knew that voice, and it certainly didn’t belong to General Garringsford. No, but it wasn’t possible …
She could see Harry, but not the other speaker. His head bowed in submission, the obedient servant. “Milady.”
A figure sauntered past Harry, toward the dais. Heart pounding, Luna peeked around the back of the throne to find herself staring straight at Queen Priscilla.
Immortals help me, Luna thought, both hands pressed to her mouth to stifle the sound of her breathing. All this time … Priscilla was “the Woman” Harry spoke of.
It had been the queen trying to kill them, all along.
Priscilla turned her back on the throne, her gown swishing like a phantom whisper. “Is it done?”
When Harry looked up, his eyes glittered with a cold, black malice that sent a shudder down Luna’s spine. This was not the Harry she had come to know. This was a heartless killer, a warrior without mercy, and she thanked the Immortals that the anygné was on their side.
Instead of answering, he dropped down onto one knee and proffered her the chest. His eyes lingered on Priscilla’s crown, and it was obvious he could tell that this wasn’t Garringsford.
Priscilla raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “What is this?”
Harry didn’t falter. “Her heart in a velvet case.”
Priscilla’s mouth dropped open.
And then she began to laugh.
Peals of laughter shook her entire body, tears running down her cheeks. She doubled over, arms clutching her waist. “Oh, you darling,” she cried. She took the chest with one hand, so absorbed in her amusement that Luna’s illusion passed beneath her notice without a hitch. Priscilla lifted the lid and then recoiled, nose wrinkling. “Immortals. How utterly vile.” She shut the box with a snap and thrust it back into Harry’s hands. “And what of Luna?”
“I left her alive, as you requested.”
Priscilla nodded in satisfaction. “I must return to the ball. People will begin to wonder.”
“Milady …”
“What?”
“Are my services still required?”
Priscilla picked an invisible speck of dust from her bodice. “We shall see, demon. Now, get out of my palace.” And then she was gone.
After the doors fell shut, Harry turned to Luna
. No trace of malice remained in his eyes. “So … that wasn’t Garringsford, was it?”
“No,” Luna breathed. “It was Queen Priscilla. My … my mother.” On one hand, the betrayal had shaken her, but on the other … she wasn’t taking it as hard as she might have expected. She relinquished her hold on her recent illusions, allowing both her concealment and the chest in Harry’s hands to dissolve. On a whim, she collapsed into the throne, but stood back up a moment later. It was a lot less comfortable than it looked.
“Luna,” Harry said softly. “You did well. Really well.”
Luna managed a weary smile. “You too. But while I’m sure we’d both like to take a decade-long nap, we have to tell Eadric about Priscilla before it’s too late.”
As if on cue, a sudden blast of lightning forked outside the tall windows, blazing Throne Hall in white light.
Whatever Harry said next was drowned by an explosion of thunder, but Luna didn’t need any further indication. They were out of time.
“Run?” she asked.
And so they ran.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Asterin tried to calm the bundle of nerves in her stomach, glancing up at the ornate clock hanging above the makeshift dais. It was almost nine. As time dragged on, she grew more and more anxious, waiting for Eadric’s arrival and worrying that something had gone wrong.
He’ll be fine, she told herself. Garringsford had yet to show up, anyway.
The dancing had begun an hour or so earlier, and Rose hadn’t gotten a moment of peace since. Asterin watched from a pillar at the fringes of the main dance floor as the Queen of Eradore whirled from partner to partner with every modulation of key, never faltering, the perfect picture of beauty and majesty.
A handful of other escorts and guards had approached Asterin herself, but her dark scowls had sent all of them running. Her hackles rose as an arm slinked around her waist, her hand seeking the comfort of Amoux’s pommel, but then she remembered she had left her sword with Alicia’s uncle.
Her glower vanished when she realized that the arm at her waist belonged to Quinlan.
“A dance, my lady?” he asked, bowing and extending a hand.
“I’ve been rejecting fine young men left and right,” she grumbled. “What makes you any different?”
His eyes twinkled at her through his lashes. “I’m the one you’ve been waiting for.”
Asterin allowed herself a small smile. Perhaps you are. “Fine,” she said. “Just one dance.”
She placed her hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor into a lilting Galanzy five-step swing. He was a splendid partner, guiding her with smooth, experienced ease and elegance. With her cheeks flushed and aching from the endless ear-to-ear grin she bore, “just one dance” quickly turned into two, and then five. The drumming pitter-patter of the rain only added to the rhythm as they spun and twirled and leapt in unison, and Asterin forgot herself in his arms.
And then came the lightning, so blinding and unexpected that white spots that she mistook for dancers pirouetted across her vision. Cries rang through the ballroom as guests floundered and tripped over one another, releasing their partners and flinging arms over eyes in surprise as another bolt crackled right by the windows. The music stuttered as one of the violinists fumbled his solo.
The thunder that followed shook the very mountain beneath their feet. The quickest of guards with air and wind affinities brandished their stones and whisked up glasses and silverware that toppled to the floor, while others rushed about to restore the objects to their rightful places.
It was their cue. The captain had finally arrived.
Quinlan’s hands settled onto Asterin’s waist, warm and steady. “You have both of the vials?” he asked. She nodded. “How much longer do we have?”
“A few minutes at most.” Nicole and Silas would escort Eadric inside. Sudden fear gripped Asterin. What if their plan didn’t work?
Quinlan tightened his hold on her. “Hey. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “We’re going to be okay.”
She managed another nod, still feeling a little sick. In her peripheral vision, she saw Priscilla—reassuring several guests with witty jokes and sweet laughter, but to Asterin’s dismay, General Garringsford was still missing in the sea of faces.
The seconds ticked by. She kept her eyes on the entrance.
Just as Asterin prepared to hunt down Garringsford herself and drag her to the ballroom, the doors opened and the general finally marched in, her expression stormier than the sky outside as she headed straight for Priscilla.
The doors hadn’t fully closed when they crashed open again to reveal a disheveled Captain Eadric Covington, drenched from head to toe and panting in the entryway, his uniform covered in mud and rust-colored stains.
Bloodstains.
The room fell deathly silent.
His ragged breaths and the pounding rain were the only sounds as he staggered forward, joined by the rustle of fabric as the crowds hastily backed away, just as they had for Rose—though this time they cleared faster than if he had brought the plague. Behind him were Nicole and Silas, soon joined by Hayley and Jack.
Eadric shoved past Garringsford and onto the steps of the dais, landing in a crumpled heap at Priscilla’s feet, brown and crimson-tinged water pooling beneath him.
“Captain,” said Queen Priscilla, softer than the caress of a feather, danger edging the inflection of each syllable. No one dared speak, not even Garringsford. “What happened?”
“Your Royal Majesty,” he rasped, lifting his face. Tears stained his filthy cheeks. Eadric opened his mouth, only for his voice to crack on an anguished sob, chest rising and falling in rapid heaves. “Th-the … The …”
Priscilla’s expression darkened. “What happened?”
“The Princess of Axaria,” the captain whispered at last, “is dead.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Mere seconds before Eadric had reached the ballroom, Harry had ambushed him and dragged him into the coat room, out of both sight and earshot of the hundreds of royal and noble guests.
“What in hell are you doing?” Eadric hissed. “Garringsford walked into the ballroom. I have to get in there before she tells Queen Priscilla about Asterin and they hold the toast!”
“We were wrong,” said Harry. “Priscilla is the Woman, not Garringsford.”
Eadric could only stare in disbelief. “Have you lost your damn mind?”
“Captain, please. I don’t have time to explain, but … please. Just trust me.”
At that, Eadric almost turned and left, but the earnestness of his tone and the desperate glint in his eyes triggered the memory of the moment the ground had disappeared beneath him, his death looming below. He swallowed and tipped his chin, making his final decision just before bursting into the ballroom.
With Nicole and Silas at his heels and Hayley and Jack falling in behind them, Eadric stumbled up the dais, all too aware of General Garringsford only feet away. He crushed his doubt and fell to his knees before the Queen of Axaria. Tears dripped off his chin—years had passed since Miss M first taught him to cry at will, but these came quickly enough.
Eadric bowed his head, shoulders hunched, and whispered, “The Princess of Axaria—” Pause for climactic tension … “—is dead.”
The ballroom exploded with wails of dismay and exclamations of disbelief. Some people fainted. Eadric couldn’t have asked for more—the pandemonium gave him the perfect opportunity to get to his feet. He bumped into a server, who held out a fresh glass of wine to Queen Priscilla. From the corner of his eye, Eadric caught Asterin and Quinlan shouldering closer to the dais.
When the noise reached its climax, the Queen of Axaria gathered herself, face whiter than a corpse. “Silence!” she ordered, the crack of a whip through the din. She reached forward to accept the wine glass from the server, grasping the
stem with unsteady fingers. “Silence,” the queen repeated even as the commotion ceased, her lips parted and eyes lowering to the ground.
“Not moments ago,” Priscilla began, “I anticipated the return of Princess Asterin—the return of … of my daughter.” A tremor shook her hand. “And now … I wish to tell you all that Princess Asterin was one of the bravest … and the fiercest of warriors the world has ever seen. As a mother, I begged her not to go. As a future queen, she convinced me to let her leave. She sacrificed herself … she sacrificed everything to defend her kingdom. Her people. And so,” Priscilla continued, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, “I ask you all to join me in a toast—not one of sadness or remorse. But of remembrance and joy. Princess Asterin was the light and star of Axaria—”
Eadric saw Asterin valiantly resist an eye roll, but he could tell she was touched by her mother’s—or rather, her stepmother’s passionate words. So Harry hadn’t managed to tell her yet. His heart filled with pity for the princess.
“—and today we have lost her. Today, you have lost one of the most treasured people in all of Axaria. Today, I have lost my daughter. But tomorrow—tomorrow, and every day forth, we shall remember her. On the eve of Fairfest, let us remember Asterin Faelenhart forevermore.” Priscilla raised her glass, the tears finally spilling over—crystalline droplets that fell so perfectly from her eyes that they did not even ruin her flawlessly kohl-lined lids and lashes. “To Princess Asterin!”
“To Princess Asterin!” the room bellowed back.
Eadric watched as Garringsford raised her glass to her lips and tipped back its contents. And then his eyes flicked to Priscilla, transfixed on the bob of the pale column of her throat—once, twice.
For a few horrifying seconds, nothing happened.
His heart stammered. Had Harry been wrong?
And then, a screech like a banshee’s ripped through the air, broken by the shatter of Priscilla’s glass onto the dais.
Asterin rushed forward, eyes wide with shock, but by then Eadric was already running for her, hands locking onto her shoulders and holding her back.