Stain

by A. G. Howard

  She heard the doors thud closed, then waited, keeping her breath shallow so she could listen for her cue.

  Disgusted whimpers broke the silence. “Make yourself useful. Clean house for me,” came the birdsong voice.

  Lyra clenched her teeth against the urge to free herself from the confines of the coffin. She forced her muscles to relax and wait.

  There was a shuffling, and the almost indiscernible scritchity-scratch of mice claws. A flutter of moths followed, then settled on the walls all around.

  A pair of slippers pattered across the floor, stopping at the edge of the bed. “One of you get over here . . . I need a cushion.”

  Lyra tensed instinctively, enough to cause one nail to pierce her calf. Warmth oozed from the wound; still, she didn’t move, even when the lid lifted.

  Lying in place like a corpse, she waited for Lustacia’s gasp then opened her eyes so their glint could be seen in the dimness.

  Lustacia yelped. Backing up awkwardly, she fell to her rump.

  Lyra rolled off the nails to the floor. She stood, looming in front of her cousin. She removed the scarf, freeing her hair, and raised her arms to call her moths and shadows into play. They formed a whirlwind, manipulating the waist-length waves to dance around her head like tendrils of silver flame.

  My voice . . . my life . . . my kingdom.

  The moths carried the mantra to Lustacia’s ears, their wings fluttering the words around her. “Lyra!” She shrieked and sobbed, dropping to her belly in front of Lyra’s bare feet. “Oh, please, shield me!” Several dark forms dove across her cousin as if to protect her.

  Lyra’s shadows peeled them away and flung them to the corners.

  Lustacia cried out again as spiders dropped their webs from overhead, glistening, gauzy nets that circled around her. Taunting, yet not touching. “I never wanted to kill you!” She strangled on her sobs, batting at the spider silk then screeching when the substance caked between her fingers. “I never wanted to see you hurt . . . I didn’t enjoy it like Wrath and Ava did.” She gulped several breaths, rubbing her hands along her clothes. “This was mother’s doing! She and Erwan and Bartley, they’re responsible for all the dirty deeds. Just look what they did to the goblin smugglers.” Lustacia pointed a shaky finger to the five black, sooty forms being pinned down by Lyra’s shadow guards. “Mother went mad with power and magic. Look under her gloves, you’ll find proof of her crimes. She did something abominable to me, too . . . worse than you can imagine!” Arms and hands trembling now, Lustacia parted the braids twisted around her head, giving Lyra a glimpse of pea-sized prongs beginning to sprout from two knots bulging from her scalp. “I’m growing antlers! All because I had to bathe in antler powder. All to look like you! I’m becoming a beast. The prince will hate me forever. Please, isn’t that enough . . . isn’t it?” A sob cut through her lyrical pleas.

  Lyra’s blood boiled at the confession. Griselda had slain Vesper’s sickly stags and ripped them of their antlers, all to give Lustacia her moonlit coloring.

  Lyra snarled. At her command, a mischief of mice crept into Lustacia’s sleeves, neckline, and hem. Their forms tunneled beneath her dark gown like rain-swollen clouds rolling across a night sky. Lustacia screeched, leaping to her feet and slapping herself to shake out the infestation. Lyra’s shadows jerked her cousin off the ground and levitated her, arms and legs held immobile to protect the rodents from being crushed. Her slippers fell from her feet. She begged to be set free, then howled for mercy again.

  Yes. Scream . . . scream forever. The moths’ wings repeated Lyra’s demand: Scream . . . scream . . . scream.

  And Lustacia did; she wailed and shrieked—a tormented and beautiful chorus of crystal-clear notes that echoed around the room. Lyra shut her eyes, gusts flapping her hair and clothes. The harrowing song encompassed her, and she welcomed it, craved it. Even without remembering, a hollowness gaped within her throat upon missing it.

  When the final note rang out and Lustacia lay empty and panting on the floor, sticky with web and rodent scourge, Lyra knelt beside the nail bed. From underneath, she withdrew the enchanted seashell Madame Dyadia had planted there hours before. Lyra sealed it with its special willow cork and stood.

  Using her sleeve, Lustacia wiped snot and tears from her face. “What have you done?” she mumbled, though her voice no longer rang with music. It was hoarse, unremarkable, and entirely her own.

  The cell door flung open, revealing Nerezeth’s and Eldoria’s council members—Prime Minister Albous at the head—who had been gathered in the cell at the left of Lyra’s, listening as everything unfolded.

  Vesper and Queen Nova stepped forward with Selena—who had dressed as Lyra in a flowing gown and veil. She’d walked in the procession alongside Lustacia and took the cell on Lyra’s right, so Lustacia would never suspect someone waited within her own.

  All of them had witnessed Lustacia’s confession. All had heard who was responsible for Lyra’s long-winding, torturous journey back to her throne. Stray spectators wandered down the stairs into the corridor, filling the expanse. Word of what had taken place quickly spread to all floors of the castle in a ripple effect.

  Lyra’s cousin sat up, trembling as people peered in. “Vesper, please.”

  “Not a word from your deceitful lips,” he growled. “Best make yourself at home. This is your room for the night. But take heart, your family will be joining you shortly. Though I’m not sure how receptive they’ll be, considering you betrayed them all.”

  He offered a hand to Lyra. She cradled the seashell’s silver stand to her chest, keeping its precious contents safe, and stepped over Lustacia’s slippers. Vesper’s strong grasp enveloped her own, providing support against the exhausted tremors running through her limbs. The spiders vanished into cracks and crevices in the stones, and the mice and moths drifted through the open door, leaving Lustacia with her cursed goblins and Lyra’s shadow guards to keep them in line.

  The door slammed shut, and the sound of Lustacia’s discordant, monotone wails trailed Lyra and her prince as they strode down the corridor hand in hand. The crowd parted and then followed them up the stairs, in silent shock and reverent wonder.

  30

  The Glitz and Glow of Bliss and Woe

  The success of the princess test earned Luce both respect and fear within the courts, as the coup showcased his dark talents as well as his loyalty to Eldoria’s true heir.

  Before Luce had left with Vesper to the Rigamort, he had shifted to his ethereal form and siphoned into Griselda’s chamber. Drawing on his ability to influence the desires of another, he put a thought in the regent’s mind that there might be something in the shrine to give her the upper hand. When Sir Bartley found the box, she recognized it as the one Queen Nova had mentioned in her missive, and her confidence was bolstered. For who but Crony could be behind everything?

  Griselda was too distracted by the witch’s rivalry, and too sure of her own prowess with potions and poisons, to suspect Lyra might actually have lived. Thus, she allowed Lustacia to endure a test she could never win. Griselda’s cry of foul play—however hypocritical—had opened up the opportunity to show both kingdoms what she herself had done, as opposed to Vesper having to convince them. It was a much more effective way to consolidate Nerezeth and Eldoria behind their one queen and win fealty, by letting them hear the confession unfold for themselves—on the very birdsong voice in which they had put all their faith.

  Once Prince Vesper’s royal guard rounded up the other four accomplices, the crowds buzzed with eagerness for the ceremonies that would bring the two lights of the sky together at last. However, Vesper proclaimed that their princess was exhausted after proving herself and should be allowed to retire to her tower chamber for the remainder of the cessation course, where she could have a hot bath—then rest her head on a pillow and her body on an eiderdown mattress for the first time in five years.

  At that, a hush fell over the castle as serene as the snow falling outside the windo
ws, and occupants found their ways to their own beds.

  When the cessation course ended, the most important of diurnals began beneath Nerezeth’s night sky. Three things of import were to take place: the joint coronation, the public sentencing of the prisoners responsible for Lady Lyra’s attempted murder, and of course the wedding. Madame Dyadia had deigned the upcoming blink of dawn the ideal juncture at which to have the ceremony that everyone hoped would invoke a heavenly phenomenon. It stood to reason, being the precise moment when both Eldoria and Nerezeth shared a glimpse of one another’s skies.

  Within four hours of waking, and having dressed and eaten, the castle’s occupants filled the halls and corridors, eager for the joint coronation to get underway. The ceremony took place in the throne room—a cavernous space defined by walls, ceiling, and floor of black marble flecked with silver. Sconces cast a soft, flickering glow, and crickets chirped. Moths puttered about the vaulted ceiling, some dipping down where partitioned balconies lined the walls from corner to corner, forming a second story for extra viewing spaces. Silver and sky-blue valances hung in entwined curves from the railings. Flush against the farthest wall sat a large dais. Gold and red ribbons hung around the edges, interlaced with a variety of flowers from Nerezeth’s arboretum. The ribbons, in Eldoria’s colors, were Griselda’s contribution to honor the princess finally gaining her crown. Ironic, that the beautiful decor placed by the regent’s own hands for her daughter would now pay tribute to the niece she despised instead. In the center of the platform, two silver thrones sat against the wall between opposing pillars carved of dark, sparkling crystal in the form of thorny vines. These provided a vertical perch for the royal salamanders which hung from their suctioned toes like brightly colored fruits. Their pearlescent and bejeweled stripes, blotches, and dots stood out against the black background, catching the eye.

  True to Nerezethite tradition, the thrones doubled as coronation chairs for the incoming monarchs. Lyra and Vesper were seated beside one another, holding hands. On Lyra’s left, Prime Minister Albous balanced Queen Arael’s white-gold crown—encrusted with diamonds upon a frame as delicate as lace and ivy—atop her daughter’s head. Following his lead, Queen Nova set King Orion’s amethyst-studded crown—forged of black iron that resembled jagged spikes tipped in silver—upon her son’s head.

  Applause and shouts of joy resonated across the vastness and sent the moths and salamanders scrambling to new hiding places. The subjects of both kingdoms formed long, winding lines to pay homage to the new king and queen. Afterward, a luncheon feast was held in the great hall.

  Some three hours later, the crowds disbursed into the corridors to seek naps in their chambers or guided tours of the arboretum where the wedding festivities would later be held.

  Lyra and Vesper planned an appearance at the castle infirmary for those too ill to attend the coronation or nuptials. But first they took a detour to the Star Turret within the highest tower to retrieve her long-lost memories, the box containing them having released its lock the moment Lyra’s head received its crown.

  Luce accompanied their ascension up the wide, winding staircase.

  Lyra vied for a glimpse around her chaperone. Vesper met her gaze and nodded.

  Luce looked from one to the other and lowered a red feathery wing to cut off their visual. “Having a crown upon your noggins doesn’t make your silent lovelorn declarations any less inappropriate and rude when in my company, Majesties.”

  No, we weren’t mentally chatting . . . about anything. Lyra’s wide orchid-lace cuffs rubbed against one another as she answered. The movement reminded her of the crickets in the throne room earlier, filling her with contentment. She belonged. She belonged here, and she belonged in Eldoria. Now, if only she could master looking regal while walking in a gown and royal robes.

  She concentrated on taking the stairs in the sage-colored, velvet gown without stepping on the orchid ruffles of lace peering out from beneath the ankle-high hem.

  Vesper tilted his head to get her attention once more, and she was the one who nodded this time.

  The king and I . . . her signing to Luce stalled in midair as she shared a smile with Vesper, seeing him beam at the title. Her wild Pegasus, ruling a kingdom. She never would’ve thought it.

  Luce rustled his illusory feathers behind him and sighed. “The king and you . . . what? Can’t keep your eyes off one another? I’ve noticed. So long as it’s not your hands or lips, I’ll overlook it.”

  Lyra misjudged a step and her lacy hem caught beneath her toe. She ducked her head while retaining balance. Her crown slid askew, but Luce righted it atop her hair before it could crash to the floor.

  There, that. Lyra gesticulated, using his swift reaction as her segue. That’s precisely what I was trying to say. The king and I have noticed how you’re always there to salvage my crown.

  Luce smirked. “A necessary task, seeing as you’ve no horns to hold it on as the other princess did.”

  The jibe wasn’t in the best taste, but both Lyra and Vesper smiled, mainly because it felt so good to have the violence and deceptions almost behind them. Vesper’s stags would never be harmed in secret again, now that his mental communications with them had been restored.

  Luce, I’m being serious. You’ve proven your loyalty to me a thousand times over. The fact that her fingers moved so stiffly was surprising. She never imagined feeling nervous in this moment. Earlier, when Cyprian was organizing the subjects to greet Vesper and me on our thrones, I realized I should have a first knight of my own. And I would like it to be you.

  Luce stepped down from the stair they’d just taken, his backward retreat so swift it caused Lyra and Vesper to rise a step above before they noticed.

  His orange gaze centered on Lyra alone. “I’m not sure someone of my . . . nature . . . is cut for such an honor.”

  Of course you are. You’d make a wonderful first knight. She looked to Vesper, begging his help with her eyes.

  “I agree wholeheartedly. Can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to guard my queen when I can’t be there. Your part in the princess test alone earned you the position.”

  Even more, Lyra reclaimed the conversation, my trust and faith in you demands that no other man could rival you for the position.

  Luce mussed his hair while rubbing the side of his head in thought. The gesture exposed one of his fuzzy, pointed ears and reminded Lyra of all the times he’d run alongside her as the fox, and how much she would miss that.

  Taking a deep breath, he stepped up between them and they resumed climbing the stairs. A wreath of tension wrapped around them.

  “If you need training with a sword”—Vesper broke the silence—“Cyprian and my guard would be glad to assist.”

  “A sylph’s weapon is his tongue,” Luce groused. “And I’ve more than proven my proficiency in wielding whispers.” He turned to Lyra, an uncharacteristically repentant look upon his face. “I’m not the right man, little one.”

  Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. Having been without tears for so long, she was stingy with them. To weep at each little disappointment in life was a waste. Thus, she had decided never to break down except in extreme moments of bliss or woe.

  As it stood, Vesper had prepared her for this response. He himself understood how wind and weightlessness could bind a soul in a way few other things could.

  It was selfish, she knew, to want the sylph to stay in her life. Too much to ask from an air elemental who’d only recently won his wings back, when all he wanted for the rest of his ageless years was to fly across endless skies.

  Luce caught her elbow as they ascended. “It might serve you not to have a man as your protector at all. Have you considered asking Lady Selena?”

  Vesper’s attention perked. “She is an excellent swordsman.”

  Lyra shook her head. But she’s a princess. She’s royalty. She shouldn’t serve me.

  Vesper furrowed his eyebrows. “She would consider it an ennoblement, not a demotion. With
her not being the crown heir, there’s a lack of responsibilities that often bores her,” he assured. “However, tradition dictates we devise a new title for any new position. And princess-knight isn’t quite stately or unique enough.”

  “First Knightress has a nice ring,” Luce offered. They all grinned at that, then fell into silent contemplation.

  When they arrived at the Star Turret, the door stood ajar and the three seated themselves at a round table. A lone candle flickered in the center, warm wax scenting the air as it melted into a small dish.

  The domed room had once been the solar. It was humble in size with a welcoming fireplace. Tapestries, hung upon half of the circular wall, depicted sun-swept fields in summer and snowy mountain peaks beneath starry skies. Shelves curved around the other half in rows of six, holding a variety of jars, vials, boxes, and crockeries with ingredients varying between the commonplace, the gruesome, and the mystical—reminding Lyra of the dirt room in Eldoria’s castle.

  At one time, the solar’s many windows had allowed sun to shine in, aiding with tasks that required good lighting: reading, map-drawing, embroidery, or calligraphy. But the day Nerezeth fell into the earth and dragged the night sky with it, Madame Dyadia stepped up as the royal sorceress in the absence of her dead son and took the solar as her workspace.

  Moonlight glimmered through the windows now, disrupted sporadically by thick swirls of snowflakes. Madame Dyadia riffled through a cabinet, only her backside visible behind the open door. She closed the door and carried over the box containing Lyra’s memories, the enchanted seashell that held her voice, and a vial filled with a dark, oily liquid. The sorceress set the items on the table, her black-and-white-striped flesh blending into her gown.

  Her catlike gaze settled on Luce, and Lyra tried not to stare at the empty socket puckering her forehead. “Well done, sylph. Revealing the ‘princess - revolution’ box to Eldoria’s regent played out brilliantly. I apologize for doubting you when you first came to me.”