“Ah hah,” Dax said. For once he was at a loss for words, stunned by the young man’s good looks.
King Cole seemed to become suddenly more present and he spoke, sounding a bit flustered. “Oh Great Goose, where are my manners? This is my son, Valrune.” He nodded toward the young man with shoulder-length blond hair, tied back smoothly with a black ribbon. He had the steely looks and physique of an Olympian, Briar mused.
“Valrune, this is…oh what the devils are these two young person’s names, Sherman? You never bothered to say,” the king chided. Sherman opened his muzzle to speak, but no words came.
“The name’s Dame Titania, good sir,” Briar fibbed. She wasn’t certain how she grabbed at the name so suddenly—nor how she was able to adopt a sound that mimicked their formalities. But she wasn’t about to question any of it.
“And this is Lord Bottom,” she gestured to Dax.
“Thank you, Dame Titania. I shan’t soon forget this.” Dax scowled.
Briar elbowed him and then whispered, “Perfect name for a wise-ass—”
The prince gave a slight bow. “Titania, Bottom, it is my pleasure.” When he stood back up, he latched his gaze on Briar, only fleetingly. It was enough to cause Briar to feel heat in her cheeks and a sudden giddiness in her heart.
“I beg your pardon, Dame Titania,” the prince said. He took Briar’s hand and met her gaze more boldly. “Have we met before?”
Briar smiled, but then felt guilt layering in. She was here for someone else, not this stunning man who stood before her looking as sturdy and powerful as a groomed racing steed.
“No, but we might have,” Dax interrupted.
Valrune laughed. “The Lord Bottom is amusing.”
Dax whispered to Briar, “Okay. That’s just rude.”
A dance finally ended with rousing orchestral fanfare and everyone applauded sedately. The ensemble started the next tune. After the applause, Valrune took Briar’s hand again. She cleared her voice with discomfort and held the mask close to her face. “Dame Titania, will you take this next dance with me?” Valrune asked. Without waiting for her answer, he swept her out to the floor.
“What does she have that I don’t—besides killer breasts and a vajay-jay—” Dax said to himself. Then he sat on the nearby marble bench with a dark cloud over his head.
On the ballroom floor, Briar tried to beg out of the dance. “I’m afraid I don’t know your kind of dances,” she said. “Where I come from, we do it much differently.”
“Really?” Valrune asked. He traced her form with his eyes and held his hand on her slim waist.
“Oh yes,” Briar said. “There’s the Macarena, The Chicken Dance—really there’s just too many to name.”
“I’d like to learn this Chicken Dance, Dame Titania. But for now, let me teach you the dance they are playing. I learned it as a boy and it brings fond memories. It would please me if you would dance it with me.” He gleamed with pure, bright eyes, and she could feel herself getting lost in them.
Her heart felt like tied knots knowing that the answer she wanted to give Valrune was yes. She wanted to dance with him. She felt drawn to him as though he had a powerful gravitational force. And he was drawn to her too. She could see that. He said it in his unrelenting gaze, in the flex of his arms around her small waist.
Valrune taught her the dance. It was simple, direct, straight-forward, like he himself. A hop, clasped arms, a turn left and right. In a short time, they were looping in wide, unashamed, heartfelt circles around the dance floor. Other couples stopped in their wake to stare, to titter and gossip about the mysterious girl who had won the prince’s attention.
“You learn quickly,” Valrune said. He smiled with a hint of mischief in his eye.
“Yeah, well”—Briar stumbled on her words—“I grew up with cheerleaders.”
“I don’t know what cheerleaders is, but whatever it may be, the Tales bless it!” Valrune laughed. He spun her again, holding her more tightly.
Without warning, the music ceased and a few of the females tried to stifle their gasps. Briar and Valrune spun a few more times unaccompanied by the tune, completely unaware that the music had stopped. Briar first noticed when Dax, now standing along the sidelines, was gesturing frantically toward something with his fan. Briar slowed her body and Valrune responded. They came to a stop at the foot of the marble staircase and looked up its sweep.
The fancy toad at the top of the stairs announced the next guests with a theatrical roll of his tongue. “The Lady Orpion and her ward, Gelid.”
From the top of the stairs marched several dozen of the wolfguard, dressed in their black uniforms and helmets that hid their eyes. They descended the stairs and formed ranks in two lines, facing one another. One wolf gave a yip and they drew their spears, clanking their tips to the floor to mark a path. The room seemed to dim a bit, and the temperature plunged.
Briar’s heart felt like it dropped into her stomach and she checked her mask to make sure it covered as much of her face as it could.
Almost unnoticed, a woman in flowing black robes that hooded her face descended the stairs with steps so light and soundless that she seemed to be floating. She held her hands clasped modestly together, and the cowl of her sleeves draped at her hips. In a wide leather belt next to her hip was the hand-mirror that changed Leon. Its reflective face was turned inward, its green jeweled back exposed.
Next to the hooded woman was a younger maid, perhaps the same age as Briar. She had blue dreadlocks and tattoos marking her face like the king’s advisor, Damarius. A translucent black veil draped over her head and across the front of her body. Like the Lady Orpion, this younger woman had an unassuming yet threatening presence all at once. Her eyes were lowered, her lips drawn into a painted bow. Between her hands she carried a small, black, domed cage. Inside of it was the frog-Leon. Through the pathway of swords, the Lady Orpion and her ward swooped with their black cloaks flapping, stopping when they reached Valrune and Briar.
They all stood facing one another for a moment in silence. The Lady Orpion raised her green, reptilian eyes and looked into Briar’s face with a cold eminence. Her hair flowed in red ringlets like drips of fire against her pale, slim features. Although she was slight and coldly demure, she had an animalistic aura of dominance that sought and required submission.
Briar felt dread like none other before. There was no place for her to run or hide. She suddenly felt the familiar tingling in her hands that came just before the flames appeared. She thrust her hands behind her back, hoping nothing was seen. Then, with her heart thumping in her mouth, she feigned serenity and met Orpion’s penetrating gaze.
King Cole rushed up. Sherman trotted by his side with a worried expression. “My dear Lady,” the king crooned. “Welcome to Murbra Faire.”
The Lady Orpion seemed not to hear the king, as she continued to hold her scrutinizing gaze on Briar who felt a cold wave of her rage wash over her and run through her like a frozen river.
Dax stood immobile along the sidelines, as though something invisible were physically restraining him.
It wasn’t until Cole dared to lightly touch the Lady Orpion by her elbow that she acknowledged him with a faint smile. “Cole,” she said with a practiced charm. “What a momentous occasion. Our two kingdoms—soon to be joined as one.” He ushered her past Briar. But as she passed, the Lady turned again with a studying gaze.
“Yes. Indeed—” the king agreed. There was a reluctance in his voice that he could not suppress. He tried to change the subject hastily. “I know time has passed since you last met, but you remember my son, Valrune.” The prince bowed out of protocol, but his resentment was notable.
“How charming,” Orpion said with a smooth hypnotic tone. “And this is Gelid of the Shrines.” The girl beneath the black veil looked up, her eyes like shards of midnight. But her face was exquisite. It was pale and refined with berry-red lips and rose-pink cheeks. She had no smile. But it was no wonder, Briar thought, as it seemed as t
hough life itself had been drained from her.
Again the prince bowed mechanically, but his eyes kept returning to Briar.
The king joined Valrune and Gelid’s hands together, hoping to cover for his son’s tepid response. Then he spoke with a twittering, uneasy laugh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting warm from all this heat. Perhaps these two lovebirds would enjoy a dance.”
Orpion looked over Valrune and Briar. She noticed their physical proximity, the flush of their faces, the pulses at their throats. “It appears that the prince may have tired himself prematurely,” she said. There was a clear fury growing behind her silky words.
Cole laughed with a fretful vibrato, hoping to deflect Orpion’s account of Valrune’s indifference. “Nonsense. He would like nothing better than a dance with his future bride.”
Orpion came closer to Briar, who began to feel a stab, like icicles piercing her stomach. She looked at the key necklace. “What an interesting charm you are wearing,” Orpion said.
Briar found it difficult to speak. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
Orpion drew her bony white hand forward to touch Briar’s trinket. “What is your name, dear?”
Valrune could see Briar’s face become paler by the second and he intervened. “This is Dame Titania, My Lady.”
“A Dame?” Orpion asked, amused. “I don’t seem to recall a family within the Realms with a girl-child having been appointed to that title. From where do you hail, Dame Titania?” she asked. Then she stroked her index finger down the length of Briar’s key.
It felt to Briar as though a frozen knife was slicing into her chest. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to remain conscious.
Valrune watched in horror as Briar began to have small convulsions. He swallowed hard and spoke again. “She is from the Boundary of the Four Wizardries. She is a cousin and friend of the family—nothing more.” He placed a hand on her back to help support her, should she faint.
King Cole watched his son and decided it better to remain silent than to contest the lie and bring the Lady’s wrath upon them all.
Orpion then turned her attention to Valrune, raising a cold finger to reach his throat. With Orpion’s finger gone from her chest, Briar wheezed for air and tried to remain standing.
“You know,” Orpion said to Briar. But she held her gaze upon Valrune. “Once upon a time there was a girl-child, whose squelch mother entered these Realms, never to return home again. It was quite tragic, really, to hear how she begged and pleaded to see her infant daughter one last time.”
Orpion was ready to place her cold black-nailed finger at the base of Valrune’s throat but held it a fraction away. “And in the end…well, I suppose there is no need to rehash such gruesome details on a festive occasion.”
Damarius slithered down the cold marble staircase accompanied by several forbidding creatures that looked like overgrown hairy gargoyles. They stood at shoulder height to Damarius and they drooled through their filthy underbites.
Each had eyes that were the color and clarity of mud, and grimy fingernails long and sharp like poisoned arrow tips. Orpion turned her head delicately to one shoulder, sensing their presence. “Your ladies in waiting,” she said to Gelid. With that, Orpion stepped back, but seemed unable to keep her eyes from Valrune’s beautiful dance partner.
The king was aghast at the creatures that drug their arms and grunted. “Damarius”—Cole croaked out the syllables of his name—“see if you can coax these two to dance.” He chuckled a little, but ended it with uncomfortable silence.
Lady Orpion watched Briar like a snake following its prey. “Damarius,” she said. “We are weary from travel.” She gracefully enunciated each syllable. Briar held her hands behind her back, but they trembled with the energy built up by the flames.
“Of course, My Lady,” Damarius said. “Your chambers have been prepared.”
The king looked at Gelid holding the cage with the frog inside. “Yes, Damarius, please escort them to their quarters,” he said. “And carry their pet, for Pumpkin’s sake!”
Orpion gave Cole a stare that caused him to cramp inside. “This creature shall not be touched,” she said. Her eyes flitted to the frog. She caressed the cage and strummed the bars with her polished black nails. Leon hopped as far away as he could get. With his sticky green back against the bars, he shivered.
Briar fought hyperventilation and tried to hold very still. She watched Leon’s terror and wanted to let him know she was standing right there. She wanted to rip the cage out from Gelid’s hands and run.
“Very well, My Lady,” Damarius said. He solemnly lowered his eyes. “Follow me.” He stepped to Orpion’s side and held up a forearm. She placed her thin, pale hand atop his and they glided like ice skaters past onlookers. Her wolfguard followed in formation behind her flowing black trains, filing past Cole, who watched with desperate, worried eyes. The last to leave were the hairy gargoyles, who slogged behind their mistress leaving trails of saliva.
When they had passed, Cole pushed himself between Valrune and Briar. He stood touching noses with his son. “This was to be your engagement party, Valrune! How could you dance with that girl—that stranger?”
Dax rushed up to Briar’s side and tried to steady her.
Sherman spoke so quietly to Briar that she could barely hear it. “Keep your hands behind your back, and let us leave this place.” Briar only acknowledged his statement with a flick of her eyes. They had to somehow get Leon from Orpion, not escape from Murbra Faire. Not now, anyway. No matter the cost, Briar was not about to leave without her friend.
Orpion continued her subdued stroll from the ballroom, people on either side bowing in her wake. Valrune responded to his father in a hushed tone. “I do not wish to be married to the ward of that monster!”
Red-faced, the king tried to remain hushed. “It is not for your own sake that you must do this. You are no longer a boy. And for the sake of your kingdom, you must bear a man’s burden. Mark my words: in a week’s time, you two shall be wed.”
It was then that Briar heard gasps and mumbling from the crowd. She looked up to see that Lady Orpion had turned around with her snow white teeth bared and her hands upraised. Blue flames sat within the Lady’s own hands. They flickered in her palms, like candle wisps; they were small and shapeless. But they were enough to signal that someone with the gift of dragons must be present, for flame ignites flame—or so went the lore.
There were none present that had such a gift. But the flames could also signal something momentous. She inspected the small blue dancers in her hands with curiosity, and then with outrage. They had never before appeared when with the king or his court. Yes, she thought, something is different. Then her face warped into an awful smile, like one who discovers a terrible truth. She locked eyes with Briar and growled like a beast ready to pounce.
Her voice punched through the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Guards!” she shouted. “Take them!”
“It’s too late,” Sherman said. “Keep your hands hidden, if you can.” Before Briar could respond, she, Dax, and Sherman were in the tight grips of Orpion’s guard.
Chapter 19
The wolfguards dragged them with their rough black claws to the dim stone chambers beneath the palace. The walls were wet and moss-dripped, with the smell of bodily waste so thick that Briar could taste it on her tongue. Thick smoke from flickering wall torches hovered at the ceiling.
Dax and Sherman were shoved roughly into a rusty-barred cell. The ceiling was so low that Dax had to bend forward quickly to avoid knocking his head. Sherman skidded on his sleek coat and one of his hind legs was soiled with something slimy on the floor—blood or excrement—he couldn’t tell.
One of the guards was especially harsh with Briar. He tore at her arms, bruising and cutting them, then he dragged her so often that her dress tattered and her elegant shoes became fallen casualties, lost down some dark corridor. He used such force to throw her into the cell with the others that she
slipped on the sludge-slick floor and landed sharply against a stone wall. Barefoot and degraded, her eyes filled with tears. She slumped, exhausted from struggling against the guards, and afraid of what might happen next.
“Sweet dreams, talebreaker,” the wolfguard said. He pulled off his masking helmet and Briar saw his grotesquely disfigured face contorted into a savage smile of yellowed broken fangs. It was the head of the wolfguard from the tavern. He laughed with a phlegmy cough, and then leered at Briar with his white glazed eye. “You’ll be lucky if you get the mines.” He spat on the floor and wiped his lips with the short hairs of his forepaw. “That’s where all talebreakers go to rot.”
He slammed shut the gates, which squealed with a shrill scream of iron on iron. He secured the padlock and then sat near the door. He muttered to himself, keeping a watchful eye on the group. He chuckled darkly and spat some more. Nearby him was a flagon of ale that he had dug out from beneath some rancid, oily hay in an abandoned jail cell. He polished it off with the contents trickling from the corners of his wolf-mouth down his pelt. It wasn’t long after that he was sprawled out across the pile of straw, fast asleep and gurgling in his saliva.
Briar stared at the throbbing abrasions on her feet and ankles. She shivered—not from cold, but from residual fear and adrenaline. It was unbelievable, and Briar replayed the scene in the ballroom over and over. She stood face to face with the woman who had murdered her mother. She felt Orpion’s evil breath and the burning chill of her touch. She confessed to murdering her mother, and she relished retelling the story.
Briar wanted to think about anything else, and she tried to force her mind to shift. She wanted to cry, but found that she couldn’t. She told herself that now was not the time for tears. She didn’t know what to do exactly, but she decided that tears would not help—not now, and maybe never.
The Lady Orpion saw through her disguise. She knew who Briar was, probably from the moment their eyes met in the ballroom. Perhaps she had some idea even before that. And now Briar knew, without a doubt, her mother’s fate. She had always been alone in the world, but for the first time, she felt it fully. There was always the hope that there was a connection for her— somewhere in the world. But now that small shred of comfort was torn away. The pain in her ankles surged, but she could scarcely distinguish it from the ache in her soul.
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