Diadem

by Kate Kelley

  When they reached the end of the bridge, another mass of marshland stretched before them, then a small pond, and behind it a ramshackle cabin on stilts rose out of the glade as if by magic. If Lyra hadn’t been looking closely, she wouldn’t have seen the structure. A dock wound out like a jagged serpent across the ground, erected to avoid stepping into the water when on the way into the house.

  Green lit lanterns, the color of firefly’s glow, hung off of posts along the walkway. A yellow gleam lit up the tiny windows of the cabin.

  “Good, so she’s home,” Terrin said.

  They made their way to the cabin and they ducked under a string of drying fish. Terrin knocked on the small, arched door, the pounding shaking the strange wreath of dried vines and bits of animal bone.

  The door opened and Lyra yelped. An old woman, with face deeply lined, wrapped in a black shawl, her coarse gray hair falling about her face without direction, stood smiling a mostly gummy smile. Lyra hadn’t yelped at the woman, but what she was holding. She pointed at it.

  “Is that poisonous?” she asked.

  The woman looked at what was in her hand as if just noticing it. The black snake writhed in her grip, as thick as her wrist and gods knew how long. The priestess patted it absent mindedly on the head. It hissed, razor sharp teeth bared.

  “Baba isn’t dangerous, lass.” The woman’s voice was sandpaper and glass being drug across limestone. Lyra swallowed. She didn’t know how badly she wanted to do this after all. Maybe being bonded to Oriel wasn’t such a bad thing after all. She glanced at him and he smiled wanly at her.

  The Priestess eyed Terrin with a deep-set eye, the almost fluorescent green iris shaking slightly in its bulb, and held out her gnarled hand. “Payment first.”

  Terrin dug into his cloak and withdrew a bag of coins that jingled richly as they were placed in her palm. She weighted it in her hand and, satisfied, hid it beneath the folds of her cloak.

  “I’ll pay you back,” Lyra started, but Terrin was already entering the home. Which was just as well, since she had no money to speak of.

  There was hardly any place to stand, the tiny cabin was so packed full of a conglomerate of items that lined the walls, ceilings, shelves, table, and any other available inch of space. Long bunches of dried herbs and garlic bulbs hung from the ceiling near the stove where a strange, murky brew was bubbling in a large black cauldron. The walls were fit with shelves from top to bottom, on which various animal skulls and opaque bottles with corked tops separated thick volumes with foreign titles on their well-worn, cracked spines.

  A wooden table took half of the back wall, candles of different sizes and shapes, thick with wax drippings stood in the center, their wicks glowing steady. Green-tinted bottles, baskets of odd plants and foods, and rolled up scrolls sprawled out across it, taking up every inch of space on the table.

  Heaps of thick, yellow-paged books were stacked in lofty towers wherever there was floor room around the table. On top of one of the stacks, an iron book holder sat, with another book perched on it and open, dark fingerprints staining the corners. Lyra tried to imagine it was something other than blood, and failed.

  The cauldron brew spit and hissed, the liquid bubbling and steaming on the stone floor, causing Lyra to jump back from it, and run into a tangle of hanging dried gourds--

  Oh gods. Not gourds.

  She jumped away from the shrunken heads tied up with their own, long, black hair, their smiling teeth clacking, their eye sockets deep and ever-seeing. Her own scalp licked with sharp tingles at the sight. She turned her head right into the open jaws of a deep, snaggle-toothed mouth. A shriek escaped her throat and she jumped back again. A bloated, stiff, full-sized alligator swayed on its ceiling tethers.

  A cackle turned her head sharply. Oriel placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back.

  “Frightened?” the Priestess asked pleasantly, hunching in front of her brew, and ladling two bowls of the steaming, brown liquid into each. Lyra hoped it was tea, but judging by the pungent, stinging scent, she would guess not.

  The snake she called Baba slid around the old woman’s neck and down her arm to inspect the liquid.

  The old woman flicked its nose with a long-nailed finger. “It’s not for you, lest you want an early grave. Here--” she dug into her numerous black folds of dress to pull out a stiff, gray rat, holding it by its pale, worm-like tail. The snake reared up and opened the hinges of its jaws, encompassing the dead meat wholly, until only the tail hung from its mouth. Lyra placed a hand on her stomach and breathed through her nose as bile crept up her throat.

  Terrin looked mildly amused at Lyra’s expense, the corners of his mouth turning up softly. She shot him a daggery look and he wiped the smile off with a large hand.

  The priestess stood, balancing the bowls in her two hands. She offered one to each Oriel and Lyra and they took them hesitantly, the bowls warming their cupped hands as they stared down into the caliginous potion.

  “Drink up, both of you, then I’ll assess your souls,” the priestess said, conversationally. She took a piece of what looked like dried meat from her pocket and chewed on the dark slab viciously, then spit it out onto the floor. Lyra tentatively lifted the bowl to her lips, eyeing Oriel who watched her. She raised her eyebrows and he took a deep breath before lifting his own. As soon as the brew touched Lyra’s lips, she almost retched. It tasted of putrid fruit mixed with gamy, old meat and earthy spices she couldn’t name layered underneath.

  “Drink it, or you’ll stay bonded. I have no patience for pantywaists,” the old hag snapped. Her fluorescent eye turned in while the other, watery blue one stayed put, glaring at them.

  Lyra held her breath and chugged until she had drained it, gagging when the breath entered her nose again as the taste stained her tongue.

  “What is this magic?” Oriel rasped after he had drained his.

  “The old kind,” the hag stated, sagely. She clapped her hands and rubbed them together, then laid a hand on Lyra’s middle. Baba the Snake watched with unblinking eyes. The hag’s eyes widened and she snaked a brittle, dry hand into the bosom of Lyra’s shirt. Lyra shied back, but the hag clucked her tongue and held her tight. Her fingers found the scar over her heart and she clucked again before releasing her.

  “This was a life giving bond, was it?” She eyed Oriel, who nodded silently.

  The hag sighed and limped over to Oriel, where she repeated her motions.

  “This won’t hurt you, man, not a wink. Her soul doesn’t reside in you. It’s a half bond. That makes this easier. For you. Not for her. She’ll be in tortuous pain.” She jabbed a thumb at Lyra, who balked.

  Wonderful.

  Sweat appeared on her forehead as if drawn out by an invisible suction and the room swayed.

  “It’s a terrible curse, the giving of the soul. Desperate in love before the bond, obsessed and jealous afterward. Nasty, old magic, that. Many a persons come my way, asking to be lifted of the bonding curse. Some live. Some die. I still get paid, either way,” the hag said, shrugging.

  Then she raised her arms toward them and chanted, a guttural, harsh language that sent the hairs on Lyra’s neck trying to fly off her skin.

  Her chant grew louder, more guttural, harsher. A racking tingle started at the base of Lyra’s spine and moved upwards in waves until it reached her face, then smoothed down her neck, chest, and settled into her center like a squeezing fist.

  A rending, a terrible tearing started there and she screamed, or tried, but her voice wouldn’t work. She stumbled backward as if pushed, and was caught by a pair of strong arms. Her vision blurred as her heart was ripped out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and she pounded on her own chest for air.

  An unintelligible shout at her ear, Terrin’s. She convulsed in his arms, silently screaming for hours, for days, she was sure, as the pain palpitated through her, unrelenting in its viciousness. She watched herself from above, floating in the canopies of the ceiling.

  Finally i
t stopped and her body lay in a heap

  She trembled; her body couldn’t stop shivering. Her teeth clacked violently in her skull.

  Someone picked her up, her dead weight limp in their arms, and she closed her eyes.

  ✽✽✽

  When she awoke, she was still in the pair of arms. The scent of rain greeted her, so fresh it made her soul sing. She kept her eyes closed and focused on the scent, the feeling of protection. She was complete, whole. When had she last felt like that?

  Her arms wrapped around the strong body and she snuggled in tighter. The large hands and arms tightened on her, pulling her closer. Finally she opened her eyes, and saw a smooth expanse of tan skin. She pulled back and looked up into Terrin’s face. His cold, silvery eyes looked down on her, his expression fathomless.

  “Are you alright?” he asked in clipped tones.

  Lyra nodded. “Where’s Oriel?”

  Terrin searched her face before nodding ahead. She turned and saw him standing there, arms crossed, defeat on his features.

  “Are you alright?” Lyra asked.

  “I didn’t feel a thing. You on the other hand...we thought you would die.” His voice cracked.

  “How long did it last?” Lyra asked.

  “Five minutes,” Terrin said quietly.

  “It felt like much longer,” Lyra whispered. She shuddered and Terrin’s arms tensed.

  “I feel better now. You can put me down,” she said to him. He tensed again, then gently released her. She stood on sure feet and jumped, raising her arms to her sides to prove to them she felt alright. She felt more than alright, in fact.

  “You certainly look well,” Oriel said, though she could tell he kept his distance.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Your Highness,” Arvid approached them and Lyra suddenly realized they were in a house. On second glance, it appeared to be an inn. Arvid bowed to Terrin, then nodded to Oriel and Lyra.

  “How may I help you today, Sir?” he asked Terrin, wiping sweat off of his shiny forehead with a handkerchief.

  Terrin turned to Lyra. “I trust you have the ring.”

  Lyra blinked, then dug into her cloak to procure the ring. She held it up. “I do.”

  Terrin plucked the ring from Lyra’s fingers, then handed the piece and another white gold band to Arvid. “I want the gems reset into this band for the lady,” he said.

  Arvid nodded enthusiastically, pocketing the pieces of jewelry. “I can have it done in a matter of days, Sir.”

  “We’ll need it done now, if you will, Arvid.” It wasn’t a request.

  Arvid nodded again, more slowly this time. “As you wish, Sir.”

  The band of white gold already had seven cavities in a row, different than the tree shape of Edwin’s. All the metalsmith needed to do was carefully remove the gems from the old ring and reset them into the new, hammering the sides in around the stone cavities with a chasing tool to peen the metal over the gemstones’ edges.

  The process took two hours, during which time Lyra, Oriel, and Terrin visited the displaced tenants of the building. Lyra watched Terrin transform as he spoke to each person, greeting several by name, and even bringing out small gifts for the children. The children hung off of his arms and legs, and Terrin played rough house with them until their mothers sent him away with laughter on their lips. He told the men that they would be moving back into their homes that day, which was a happy revelation for the families.

  When they’d greeted them all, Lyra convinced Oriel to play a game of cards with her in the sitting room. Arvid was a few rooms over, working diligently.

  “Don’t you wish to play, Prince?” Lyra asked Terrin, peering over her cards at him. He stood by the window, staring out, unseeing. “Not particularly.”

  “You don’t like cards?” she asked, laying a card down into a pile.

  “I do, actually,” he replied stiffly, and turned fully away from them.

  Something dull pierced her heart. She wished he would smile at her and play with her the way he had with the people they had visited in the building. In her presence, he was not himself. The truth of that grated on her nerves, and perhaps wounded her pride just a little.

  “Why won’t you play, Terrin?” She used his first name, and he stiffened. He seized a book on a side table, and rifled through its pages, his hands clutching the cover tightly.

  “Not a man of pleasure, I suppose,” Lyra teased, far more biting than she intended.

  Terrin whirled on her, his eyes cold enough to frost the air between them. But he wasn’t looking at her.

  “Not like you, Oriel.” Oriel’s eyes snapped to his.

  Terrin took a step forward. “Tell me, was she any good?”

  Lyra’s heart skipped a beat as her stomach flipped. Oriel’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He set down his cards carefully and stood slowly. “You sure you want to speak that way in front of a lady?”

  Terrin snorted. “Lady. That’s a good one.” He looked back down at his book, feigning indifference. “So she was a lousy toss, huh? I guessed as much.”

  Lyra’s body flushed from the top of her head to her toes, and when the shock subsided and she found her strength again, she stood, her delicate chair knocking over with a sharp clack.

  “Who told you?” Lyra asked, lifting her chin. She was determined not to back down, to let his opinion affect her.

  Oriel tensed as Terrin closed the distance between himself and Lyra. He stopped a foot away from her, his eyes hard and flinty. “Did you forget my bedroom is right across the hall from yours? I needed to ask something of you when I heard you two. It was obvious what was happening behind the door.” A corner of his mouth lifted but his severe eyes still pierced her.

  “It’s none of your concern what I do in my own room,” Lyra said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh, it’s your room now, is it? Even the chair?” Terrin smirked fully, his nose now inches from hers, his breath adding heat to her already flamed face.

  “Why do you care?” Lyra shouted, her aura rising in her.

  “I don’t!” he bellowed, then swiftly strode from the room.

  A weariness settled in her bones. Her shoulders slumped and she looked at Oriel, who watched her with grim eyes.

  He winced. “He cares for you, Lyra. He doesn’t know why. He’s losing control and it scares him--”

  “Stop it,” Lyra seethed at him. The last thing she needed was the man she had just broken a bond with trying to convince her of another man’s feelings for her. She was too confused as it was.

  They both fell silent, staring at the sprawling cards on the small table like a foreboding tarot reading. She had thought she could have a normal, pleasant moment for once, but she had been wrong.

  Terrin strode back a moment later and thrust a ring at her. It looked nearly identical to the one Edwin gave her, if not slightly more crude. She slipped it on her finger, and it fit perfectly, even better than Edwin’s had fit.

  “How did you know my ring size?” she asked quietly, inspecting the ring.

  It brought her no unnatural elation. The gems weren’t enchanted, thank the gods.

  Terrin ignored her question, showing her his dark profile, the strong nose, set jaw darkened with stubble, stern mouth. His straight black hair swept a little past his shoulders now, and she liked it long. Her heart engulfed in sadness, a yearning that had never left blooming to the surface. She itched to embrace her Terrin, feel his strong arms around her again, his lips on hers. She wanted his good opinion, even while she fumed at him, hated him.

  Gods, I’m a mess. At least Oriel no longer replies to my thoughts.

  Indeed, she was glad that the bond was broken, at least, and her messy soul was hers alone once more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Evening descended as the carriage jostled into the castle walkway. The giant was gone, flattened grass and heavy depressions in the ground the only trace the mystical beast had been there. Lyra wondered how they had gotten rid of it, and the image
s sparked weren’t pleasant. Builders, with dirty hands and red noses packed away their tools on large carts parked in the front lawn as they finished their day’s work repairing the splintered portcullis and castle doors.

  “Meet me in the throne room in thirty minutes. I’ll make sure Iris is otherwise occupied before we leave,” Terrin said, then jumped from the carriage while it was still slowing to a stop and took off toward the castle. Lyra and Oriel glanced at each other. As head of the militia, Terrin wasn’t supposed to come to Eclipsa with her and Frey.

  Oriel retreated to his rooms without a goodbye and Lyra couldn’t fault him. He needed time away from her, time to think through his own feelings. Lyra took the hour to tidy herself up, re-braiding her hair, and donning a fresh skirt with a hem not caked in mud. Her pants were at the launderers, and she thought a skirt more formal for a diplomatic meeting with the Fae, even if she felt odd putting it on. She stopped in the kitchens on her way over, catching Cook hard at work chopping at the stove. His cropped brown hair revealed the folds of fat on the back of his neck. He turned and his dark, bushy eyebrows lifted in surprise and delight. He smiled wide, showing off the gap between his front teeth. “Miss Lyra, do you come for the cakes?”

  “I do, indeed, Cook,” she replied sweetly. The day before, Lyra sought Cook out and asked for three dozen sweet cream cakes to be made for her trip. She knew there would be more Fae than cakes, but she hoped her gift would please them. Frey had said that the Fae have notorious sweet tooths, and love anything rich and creamy. Lyra had stayed and helped cook make up the batter, which he saved in the ice box until it was time to bake them.

  Cook bustled over to the counter on the other side of the kitchen and pulled out a large glass jar, square in shape, and filled with the small, round cakes. Lyra took it with a smile, the weight of the glass jar heavier than she expected.