by A. G. Howard
The first to arrive on the dais were Luce alongside Dregs’ apparitions. Their half-light forms coalesced to a black, spongy cloud that absorbed all the wetness, leaving everything and everyone dry. Griselda’s cursed daughters converged on her last. She shooed away their shadowy forms and slumped forward, soggy and defeated.
Once Lyra and Vesper saw that all—from his family to Prime Minister Albous and the brumal stags—were unharmed, they stepped forward to survey the losses as the audience trickled in again. The edges of the dais bore the brunt of damage, black and smudged. Griselda’s ribbon decorations resembled curls of charcoal, crisp and crumbling to ash where the flowers once hung.
“Is he . . . ?” Vesper’s voice cracked upon the question as he looked down at the guard who’d tried to stop the orb with his foot. Cyprian and several of the man’s comrades knelt beside him. Cyprian nodded, and a deep sadness scalded Lyra’s chest, as if the fire burned anew inside her.
Vesper turned on Griselda, whose face remained buried against the dais. “Lord Tyron had a wife in the infirmary,” he growled. “And a baby on the way.” Vesper picked up the guard’s fallen sword and held it over Griselda’s neck. “You should die by his blade.” He tensed to take the fatal swing.
Lyra caught his shoulders to soothe the muscles coiled beneath his robes. Together, we’ll tell his wife of his heroism. But let me finish this. I’ll see that she pays with what she holds most dear.
Struggling for control, Vesper dropped the sword with a clang. He took a seat on his charred throne, his expression as hard and formidable as the points of his iron crown. The audience went so still, Lyra could hear the breaths of everyone who stood upon the platform. She exchanged a meaningful glance with her prime minister. He stepped forward, his intelligent green gaze bloodshot from smoke, and together they delivered Griselda’s verdict.
“Aunt Griselda, you once said all the magic in my body was no match for your lifetime of wisdom. Yet I defeated you with naught but an eyelash. You are powerless against me and my king. The two kingdoms you murdered for, lied for, and plotted to steal are no longer your concern. Vesper and I have them well in hand. We will produce heirs to rule after us, forever keeping my father’s bloodline on the throne. And for this final deadly act”—Lyra paused, redirecting her busy hands toward those who carried out the burned guard—“I will blot the word ‘Griselda’ from Eldoria’s history, along with all record of your part in the prophecy’s fruition. In its absence, only Glistenda will remain. The proper little princess, whose skin bruised at the touch of a feather. Voiceless—with no glory and no story. Forgotten and faded away. That is your just reward, and my gift to you.”
Prime Minister Albous smiled upon the last few sentences of his interpretation.
Griselda looked up then, her face contorted in rage. Her answering screams vowed revenge as Lyra commanded the guards to carry her writhing form away. The audience sent the regent off with hisses and hoots which evolved to relieved hails and accolades in Lyra’s direction as she stepped to her throne and took a seat.
Vesper caught her hand in his, the severity of his frown softening. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Lacing their fingers, Lyra put the past and all its ugliness behind her and looked instead to the future, and the promise of a wedding that glimmered like stars behind her king’s dark eyes.
32
A Skyful of Stars and Sunlight
Some hours later, the courts of Eldoria and Nerezeth followed the wedding procession through the moonlit, snowy terrain and into Neverdark’s warmth to witness the blink of dawn and the exchanging of vows that would heal the realms. In the selfsame moment, Griselda awoke in a pitch-black box to the revolting sensation of creeping legs and flapping wings befouling her half-naked flesh.
Not even a crack of light shone in, leaving her unable to view her attackers. The unknowing wrenched her stomach, dried her tongue, and tightened her throat. A hundred spindly legs clambered across her bald scalp, and she writhed to shake them off. The movement scraped her antlers across the panels surrounding—causing a sharp pain to shoot through her prongs. She gagged, having forgotten her mutation.
She howled behind closed lips, terrified to open her mouth for fear of swallowing a spider, a cricket, or a moth—whatever loathsome creatures shared her tomb.
Tomb. That’s what her miserable niece had called it. That ghastly ghost-faced girl had somehow managed to win. Griselda had been so close to taking everyone down with her . . . lacing the ribbons with the incendiary before leaving Eldoria as a final recourse in case anything went wrong, hiding the fire orb inside her bodice while Vesper’s guards searched her for weapons before imprisoning her. And then tucking it in her fisted hands before they returned to the cell to join her wrists at her back for the sentencing. It would’ve been the perfect plan, had she not been thwarted by . . . a hair.
Her blood brewed hot with rage, remembering the horrid fate of her daughters, imprisoned to a goblin’s will and forced to aid in her downfall. She couldn’t let this be the end.
She pounded on the lid. The creepers along her arms fell like patters of rain to the wood beneath her, then scrambled across her midriff and legs, biting and stinging through the scant chemise that clung to her body.
Pinpricks of heat bloomed beneath the needling sensations, making her bones ache and her joints catch.
Scraping bugs from her face, she cupped her mouth to scream, “Let me out! I want out!” Then she pounded the lid again.
There was a shuffle outside. She drew a tight breath. Footsteps . . . which meant a human, not a shroud. They were heavier, like a man’s. It must be a thief or a murderer. The ravine was home to nothing but society’s sewage. It was why she’d sent Lyra’s dead body here.
The witch must’ve made a trade of some sort . . . gave up her immortality for the child—all to put a crimp in Griselda’s plans.
Griselda fisted her hands.
The lid began to creak open, allowing a soft glow within. Griselda covered her chest in feigned modesty and practiced her most frightened expression. The man would see her vulnerable and either pity or desire her. She would use her wiles to break free then have her revenge on everyone: her niece, the arrogant prince, the meddling witch, and Elusion.
The stinging and scuttling infestation receded from her body as the lid fell away, washing her in greenish, hazy light. The scent of feathers and wind drifted to her nostrils, slamming her with nostalgia—almost as if the mention of his name had conjured him.
She sat up in the stale air and smiled smugly. “Of course. At the sentencing, you were playing a part, pretending to hate me. All so you could save me here, where no one could see.”
Before Elusion could answer, she leapt into his arms.
Quietly, he forced her to stand, her bare feet still within the box. He removed his jacket. His orange eyes glinted in the dimness—not hungrily as they once had when he looked upon her in a nightdress. They glinted cold as ice, a foil to their fiery color.
Griselda shook off a bout of insecurity. “Now that you have your wings back, you must be grateful I took such good care of them.” She raised her welted arms, expecting him to help her into his jacket. Instead, Luce folded it into a square and used it to dust the remaining few bugs from her body without crushing them or touching her.
“Such good care, indeed. I can’t get the scent of smoke out, no matter how high I fly. But anything is better than being human, tied to an inescapable, aging form.” He cocked his chin at her pointedly, then shrugged into his jacket, his crimson wings sinking through the fabric and reappearing to arch high behind him like feathery mist.
Griselda fumed, feeling exposed in her human body—every sag and wrinkle on full display. “I thought you preferred haggard and hideous, considering your attachment to the harrower witch.”
The sylph bared his pointed teeth in a vicious, chest-deep growl. “Speak of her again and I will rip out your jugular and devour your bones.”
Grisel
da withered at the threat, but refused to let him see her fear.
He straightened his lapel, regaining composure. “I didn’t come to relive old times with you. I didn’t come for you at all. Who would? You alienated or murdered everyone who once might’ve cared.” He shook his red head in pity and helped her step out of the box, pointing to a tree with a thin layer of ash surrounding it. “Stand over there, would you? I need room to gather up these little darlings. My queen was concerned for their well-being. She feared her black widows and scorpions might suffer contamination should they be too long exposed to your toxicity.”
Anger spiked anew in Griselda’s blood, but she could only lean against the trunk—her limbs heavy, her stomach nauseous, and her head light. She’d been stung countless times and the venom was spreading. “So, you are her errand boy now?” She snarled, trying to stay focused. “Does your ‘queen’ know of your past? Does she know how you killed her mother?”
“We killed her, Glistenda.”
The name made Griselda stiffen with fury. But even as her spine ate into the tree, the bark grew smoother, softer, as if it gave beneath her. Hallucinations. Her vision wavered, though she managed to stay standing.
“And no, Queen Lyra isn’t aware of my hand in her fate. I’ll not confess simply to soothe my guilty conscience. The gnawing ache within the pit of me will be my burden to bear. Something I’d never expect you to relate to.”
“Of course. For you know who I am. Just as you know you’re the reason I have no remorse.”
He flapped his wings restlessly, as if bored by the conversation. “I once blamed myself, but no longer. I didn’t influence your decision . . . used none of my sylphin gifts on you that day. Mistress Umbra looked within your heart and saw the truth of your desire. You chose to give up your conscience all on your own.”
Griselda pressed deeper into the tree, her skin feverish and chilled. “As if your choices are so noble. Choosing to protect your scabby hide by lying to ‘your queen.’”
“I’m protecting her. She’s had too much loss in her life as it is. I refuse to take away another person—or place or thing—she needs or cares for.” Elusion opened the bag at his feet. “But there’s a penalty for my dishonesty—an obligation. Though I’ll never be her errand boy, or a white knight, or any honored member of her court, I’ll spend the rest of my ageless life tied to one portion of the sky, tethered to her.” Elusion laid out several jars, then crouched to tenderly separate the bugs into each one before replacing their mesh lids. “Should she call, I’ll always return. There are tasks she’ll need done that only a sylph can provide.” He tucked the jars into the bag. “Such as coaxing a corrupted regent into thinking she has the upper hand when all along she’s been given the final nail for her coffin. A nail in the form of a boxful of memories. It’s fitting, don’t you think? Me tricking you the same as I once tricked Eldoria’s queen for you.”
Griselda howled and lunged, only to find herself stuck to the tree, unable to budge. The tree branches had hold of her antlers . . . but they weren’t branches at all. They were illusory arms and hands and fingers. She wrestled to get free, freezing when a cluster of formless silhouettes slipped from the trunk, their white eyes blinking.
Griselda’s heart quailed. “No!”
Mistress Umbra skimmed into view and Griselda screeched louder.
Elusion lifted his bag, then took out a box. He looked from the mother shroud to the collective surrounding Griselda. “Crony’s debt is paid. As is mine.” He tossed the box to Griselda’s feet, stirring a puff of dust. “Our business is ended, and I’ve a wedding to attend. See you on the other side of the moon, Mistress Umbra.”
The creature released a hissing laugh. “Charming as ever, Elusion. Good to have you back to your old self. And may today be the beginning of Eldoria’s night.”
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” Griselda screamed as the sylph drank a smoky mixture from a vial and vanished.
The box at Griselda’s feet rattled. Even had her name not been scripted across it, she would’ve known those contents belonged to her, would’ve recognized the sounds within . . . the clangor of wings and wails that called out on the voice of her many crimes.
“No, please! I don’t want to feel!”
Mistress Umbra’s beakish mouth turned on an appalling smile as she began to rip away Griselda’s gown. “Didn’t I tell you, little princesss? That you would come again to seek our company. Didn’t I predict you’d need a place to hide those sins that twist and twine like the branches of a tree?” Her beady gaze shifted to Griselda’s bald head.
Sobbing, Griselda slumped, held up only by her antlers now . . . by the prongs that jutted like twigs from her skull.
Mistress Umbra’s scraggly, creaturely fingers opened the box and released the teal-feathered starlings. “And did I not vow to show you the same mercy you practiced throughout your life? No more . . . no lesss?”
Inky black lines crept into Griselda’s flesh, taking the form of spiders and scorpions. They scuttled beneath the surface, engulfing her arms and spreading through the rest of her body until her hands were no longer the only things infested . . . until all of her was.
Griselda shivered beneath the intrusion. Her antlers came free and she fell to her knees. Her body grew weightless and her skin sheer, offering no barrier to the starlings slamming into her bones. Their claws and beaks scraped along her organs and innards, embedding the anguish and remorse within every piece and parcel of her being: poisonings, destructive potions, broken childhoods—her own daughters forced to pay the penalty for her wrongs with their lives: past, present, and future. The beasts she murdered, the niece she tortured, the brother she slayed after killing his wife. And Kiran’s loyal first knight . . .
“Ah, and here we are,” Mistress Umbra baited, viewing Griselda’s thoughts and pain as she walked inside her mind. “At last we see him . . . Sir Nicolet, this knight you murdered who was the boy you once loved. You came here to make him return your love that day, so long ago. Well, it had been a needless trek, it would seem. Crony shared his final memory with us. Should you like to know it now?”
Griselda couldn’t answer, for her bones were splintering. She coughed up blood, then watched it sink into her translucent skin to form black contusions.
“He loved you always. As the boy, as the man. He wanted to prove himself worthy of you, so he waited until he became a knight to court you. But then, you’d already married another. So he waited again. He intended to ask for your hand on the day you had him killed. That was his final memory, thinking of the life he’d wanted to live with you and your daughters, heartbroken over your betrayal. Your name upon his lips with his last breath.”
Griselda wept then, the agony and regret too great to bear.
“Now, my children,” Mistress Umbra murmured to her shrouds. “We feast upon her flesh. For our collective has no place for despair this deep.”
As the shrouds swept in to devour her, Griselda cursed her wasted years. She begged for mercy to the stifling, ash-filled air, as there was no one else to hear. Then she turned to ash herself and lived no more.
Within Eldoria’s gardens, Crony awoke to the excited flutter of Thana’s feathers against her neck. She knew the identity of her visitor before her scent—snow, burning leaves, and sulfur—cut through the stench of singed hair and flesh. She knew before those soft hands dabbed salve atop her blisters to soothe the agonized pulses of Crony’s shredded nerves. She only wished she could see her, for that would’ve becalmed her soul.
“Glad ye brought another dose,” Crony croaked.
“I assumed what I sent with your sylph would be evaporated by now,” Dyadia answered.
“Aye. Still can’t believe he took time to go to ye for treatment, with the princess gone missing as she had.”
“He kept quite busy in that interim. Tricked Eldoria’s wretched regent, too.”
Crony tried to smile, but without lips, the attempt was futile. It was enough to feel it in h
er heart. “Told ye I chose wisely. Ye have yer set of wings, and I have mine.”
Thana cawed belligerently, offended by the comparison.
“The regent was exiled to the ravine,” Dyadia said over her bird’s antics. “I thought you would like to know. Queen Lyra sent her to the shroud’s lair, half-naked and shaved in a coffin filled with bugs.”
Crony cackled. “I would’ve giv’n me right horn to be a biting midge in that box.” Her laughter halted abruptly as she coughed up a smoky lump.
Dyadia patted Crony’s chest—a concerned gesture Crony hadn’t expected. “Your sylph wanted me to tell you he’s there now, taking care of things, tying up loose ends and settling old debts.”
“Good. Will make it easier to leave, knowin’ that. So, when the wedding be takin’ place?”
“As we speak. And since it all must be timed properly, shall we watch together?”
“I be likin’ that.”
“Go then, Thana. Let us spy through your eye.” Gusts of wind raked across Crony’s numb skin as the giant crow took flight. Her flapping grew distant and an awkward hush followed.
Crony struggled for something to say, some way to keep the pleasantries going, not yet prepared for the airing of apologies and past mistakes.
“Well, you went and did it.” Dyadia saved Crony the trouble. “Resurrected the girl and shirked the rules by stealing her memories. You took quite a chance.”
“As did ye, splittin’ the boy in twain.”
“Ah, well, we both knew how important they were. It’s been difficult, hiding the prophecy for all these centuries, waiting to share it with the humans until the right moment. Waiting for those two to be born and aged enough to jolt the kingdoms from their antipathy for one another. I’d almost given up hope. At last . . . our moment came. Then everything fell to rot—”