“I am not,” I said. “You’ve told me often enough how stupid that would be. Is there some particular reason Aerenia’s trying to make sure no one has an alliance against her? I mean, why now?”
The cat swatted the side of my head with her paw. I jerked back, affronted. “You’re getting in the habit of asking dangerous questions,” she said, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “Stop it.”
“I don’t even know enough to guess when a question is dangerous!” I protested. My stomach growled again, and I returned to the song I was transcribing. The cat watched me for a moment, then left the room. I stopped what I was doing, debating whether or not I should make a dash for the main hall while she was occupied. It seemed like a stupid risk, though, since I didn’t know where she was or how long she’d be.
I was nearly finished when she got back. She leapt up on the harpsichord, dropping a dead mouse on top of the parchment. I drew back with a disgusted noise.
“Kitchens,” the cat said. “Now. Or you’re eating this.” She prodded the mouse.
“All right,” I said, revolted. “You could have just asked.” I tilted the mouse off the parchment gingerly, then dipped the quill in the ink bottle one more time, writing the name of the piece and its artist with a messy flourish. The cat turned her head sideways to read it.
“The composer is a noble?” she asked.
“…Yes.” We would go with that.
“Hmm. I’ll have you play it for me when we get back. I’ll rewrite it if it’s decent.” She looked at the title again. “What does ‘paparazzi’ mean?”
“No idea,” I said primly. “I don’t speak Italian.”
The cat took me to the kitchen, where I mostly pushed food around on my plate, trying to ignore the goblins and grogachs running around, tending the fires and the various things baking and cooking. I did take a couple of bites when the cat was staring directly at me, which seemed to only make me hungrier, but did help with the lightheadedness. I figured a tiny amount of food couldn’t have more of a binding influence than what I was already under, and if so… well, Tisean would just have to figure out a way around that, wouldn’t he?
After I’d eaten, we returned to the music room, where I played the song I’d transcribed for her. The cat approved of the melody, then set me to work combing through the music books so that I could get a feel for what they already had, and select a few new pieces to learn.
“I’m going to go watch for a time,” the cat said. “I’ll let you know if the boy’s been eaten yet.” She padded away, leaving me alone.
I waited about five minutes to give her a head start, tense, then bolted off the bench and whipped the darkcloak from my pocket, throwing it over my shoulders. I made my way back to the main hall as quickly I could manage while still being quiet.
Aerenia was standing on the dais, watching the orbs with a thoughtful frown. Conall was at her side, and the sight of the two of them was nearly enough to send me scuttling back out through the servant’s entrance I’d used. I steadied myself. Given the large number of fae in the room, talking and speculating on the events transpiring in the globes, the odds of anyone noticing an invisible interloper had to be practically nothing. This didn’t stop me, however, from creeping forward as if I were an uninvited guest in a silent crypt. There was a heart-stopping moment when Conall’s gaze seemed to flick toward me, and I froze, my heart in my throat, but he turned his attention back to the competition seconds later. I stayed still for another moment, then finally got up the courage to approach the map on the floor. I sidled up between a troll and a woman who had what looked like fish scales instead of skin.
There were two points of light on the map fairly close to each other. One was still, which puzzled me, since a glance at the globes revealed that everyone was walking at a brisk pace. One of the dots was moving much closer than the others to the center, and by process of elimination, I realized it was Dietrich’s. Silent imprecations running through my head, I looked back at his globe. They were standing at the edge of a stretching lake, one which filled the breadth of the cavern they were in. Mitchell looked to Thomas.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked. Thomas nodded grimly. “Are you certain?” Mitchell pressed. “If you would rather I took my turn as Shadow now—”
“Can we just get this over with?” Thomas demanded. Mitchell, taken aback, nodded. Isana came to stand beside Thomas, and he put a reluctant hand on her shoulder. Mitchell looked at Thomas for a moment longer, then turned and plunged a hand into the water.
The entire lake erupted into steam. Unearthly, inhuman shrieks filled the cavern, and the boiling fog clouded the air, held back from the team by an invisible barrier. Thomas hunched, his muscles taut with pain while Isana held him upright. When the fog finally dissipated, it revealed a damp, steaming lake bed. It was strewn with shriveled kelp and the corpses of large, misshapen creatures reminiscent of crocodiles, but with sodden fur instead of leathery skin.
“Afancs,” said Dietrich, with distaste in his voice. He gave a nod of approval to Mitchell, and they stepped into the cracked lake bed, crossing at a brisk pace, Mitchell supporting Thomas until he had recovered enough to walk alone. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, anxious. I didn’t want to see Thomas, or even Isana, really, get hurt, but I also didn’t want them beating Tisean’s contingent to the center.
“Clever for mortals, aren’t they?” the scaled woman on my left remarked to a companion. “I begin to see why the Alder Prince included them.”
I swallowed, remembering Dietrich’s comment that Aerenia would be hard pressed to invent an obstacle that he couldn’t overcome, then shifted my attention to Tisean’s orb. They were moving through what looked like a tight, winding mountain pass, large craggy rock formations pressing against them on either side. Short, stunted trees grew in the crevices of the rocks. I watched, frowning, but after a few moments I realized my initial suspicion was correct; Tisean’s group was the dot that was not moving. The same scenery passed by them several times as they walked. I checked the other groups. The Slavic contingent seemed to be in a similar environment to Tisean’s group, but they were traveling normally. Hmm.
I dodged back to the passageway leading to the hall. I had left the door cracked to as to avoid opening it more often than necessary. Even in the Unseelie Court, doors opening of their own accord would probably raise some eyebrows. I withdrew the stone from my pocket.
“You’re not moving,” I told Saorla in a low voice the second her face came into view. “I don’t know what’s happening, but you’ve gone past the same trees three times in the minute I spent watching.”
Saorla blinked. “There are no trees here.”
Oh, boy. “Okay, I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not the same on my end.”
Saorla’s expression darkened. “Mara,” she muttered in disgust, saying the word like a curse. “Where are the Slavic competitors?”
“Um… pretty near you, actually.”
“As I thought. Thank you. That will suffice.” With that, she vanished.
I exhaled slowly. Mission accomplished, I guess. I wanted to return to watch, but I didn’t dare linger; I had no idea when the cat was going to return. I glanced over my shoulder once, then returned to the music room.
Chapter Eighteen
The cat had returned to find me busily jotting down more ‘mortal music’ about an hour later. She’d casually informed me that Dietrich’s team was still ahead, with everyone on it still alive, then checked over my work, approving of the pieces I’d written out as I played them for her. Several agonizing hours later, she took me back to my room, telling me to get some rest.
Slim chance of that. I did try to sleep, but I awoke with a start after what felt like only twenty minutes or so. Too much was riding on this competition for me to dismiss it from my mind. I sat up, trying to decide if I should risk going back to the main hall. It was late evening by then, so the competition had been running for nearly a full day. It
couldn’t go much longer, could it? How long could you really expect people to forge their way through a death-trap filled labyrinth? Of course, most of the competitors probably didn’t need to sleep…
I stood up, donning the darkcloak for the third time. I would just check how things were going, I decided. Once I’d assured myself that Tisean and company were doing well, I’d come back here and sleep. I didn’t imagine that the cat’s patience with me nodding off at odd times would extend through tomorrow.
Aerenia wasn’t present in the main hall, a fact which relieved but also puzzled me; I couldn’t imagine what she would have to attend to that was more pressing than the competition. Still, I crept my way, once again, to see the images of the competitors in the orbs. Dietrich and company were moving through dark, twisting tunnels. Mitchell and Thomas were both lagging a bit, exhaustion clear in their postures, but still they pressed forward. I glanced at the map. Tisean’s group and the Slavic contingent were still very close to each other, enough that it was difficult to tell which dot corresponded to which group. They must have been circling each other in the winding passes since I’d last seen them. At least Tisean’s dot was moving properly again. I turned my attention to the Slavic fae’s orb, looking closely at the competitors for the first time. The leader was humanoid, but had water weeds instead of hair and eyes that were completely green, no change between iris and pupil. There was also what looked like a pale wood nymph of some variety, the green troll that I’d noticed earlier, and a wraith-like bit of mist that I could only assume was some sort of spirit. They were pressing forward with expressions of grim determination (except for the wraith—I couldn’t make out much there in the way of expression at all) through the passes. They came to a fork, and the leader raised a hand sharply to indicate a halt. The group suddenly froze, looking tense. I frowned. Why…?
At that moment, chaos erupted within the orbs. Tisean’s contingent rushed the Slavic fae, shouting. I gasped as the wulver threw itself at their leader, jaws snapping at his throat. The leader whipped out a copper knife, barely missing the wulver’s stomach with a slash. It leapt back. The wraith swooped toward Tisean as he fought with the wood nymph, and a look of disorientation passed over his face. He stumbled, and the nymph raised her spear—only to leap back with a cry of surprise as another warrior materialized between her and Tisean. I saw Saorla standing with both hands raised, and suddenly the pass was full of warriors, whirling and fighting with incredible speed, but never touching the true fighters. The other Sidhe knight was locked in combat with the troll, harrying it with quick slashes and thrusts to its knees and ankles. The fae around me cheered at the battle. Out of nowhere, the wraith flung itself at Saorla, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. The illusory warriors flickered.
“Back, mara!” she shouted, and the wraith swirled in midair, shooting back towards her like a demonic boomerang. The warriors disappeared altogether, and the troll swung its club, the end connecting solidly with the Sidhe knight’s skull with a sickening crack. He dropped, and the wulver leaped through the air, landing on the troll’s back and tearing at it with teeth and claws. Tisean was fighting the Slavic leader hand-to-hand now, and he lunged forward, catching the other fae by the throat. The leader screamed for only an instant before Tisean jerked his head to one side, snapping his neck. My knees buckled. The wulver buried his teeth in the troll’s neck and blackish blood spurted. The troll fell. Tisean flung himself toward the wraith just as Saorla stumbled to her knees, gasping. Tisean threw something silver, and the mist exploded outward with a keening wail. Not missing a beat, he spun, summoning his sword of fire, then impaled the nymph. He turned back to Saorla, sliding a few inches on blood-slicked rock.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, helping her to her feet. She shook her head, pale, then rushed to the fallen knight’s side, panic clear on her face.
“Faolan,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “Faolan, please—”
Tisean laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she went very still. “He is gone, Saorla,” he said softly. The wulver let out a mournful howl, and Saorla pressed a hand over her eyes, shaking. After a moment, she allowed the wulver to help her to her feet. She faced Tisean, anger, grief, and pain clear in her gaze, but she didn’t speak, and after a tense few seconds, she turned away.
The sound of applause and cheering pulled me back to the main hall. Many of the fae were speaking excitedly, and I heard remarks of surprise over how well the Seelie had fought, coupled with speculation about how they would compete against the other groups, once everyone was closer to the center. The glowing point of light belonging to the Slavic contingent faded, then vanished, and their orb was swallowed up in inky darkness.
I stood rigid, unable to process what I’d just seen. We generally do not kill unless sorely provoked, Tisean had said. I fought to keep my stomach from heaving as I thought back to the violence of a few seconds previous. And these were the fae I’d entrusted my freedom to? Tisean had snapped someone’s neck with his bare hands! It hadn’t been self-defense, either—they had initiated the conflict. They’d known where the Slavic fae were, could have avoided them. I shook my head slowly, disgusted, but mostly at myself. What would it take for me to learn? You can’t trust fae, you can’t understand how they think. Why did I keep forgetting that? And if Tisean’s group ran into Dietrich’s? I’d never gotten confirmation that they agreed not to hurt Thomas. By helping them, had I ensured his death? Or would Dietrich kill Tisean instead? I shuddered, then, hardly thinking, I turned to leave. I couldn’t watch any more.
A hand clapped down on the back of my neck, and I stifled a yelp. My knees buckled together under the sudden pressure, and I looked up, still under the darkcloak, to see a very grim-faced Sir Conall.
Chapter Nineteen
Conall did not look at me, but said in an undertone, “Will you walk, or will you insist upon being dragged?”
“Walk,” I gasped, barely able to get the word out past my fear and the tight grip he had on my neck.
He escorted me roughly back through the servant’s entrance into the hallway beyond. The instant the door was closed behind him, he whipped the darkcloak off me, the fabric snapping taut with the speed of the motion. Surprise flashed across his face as he recognized me. I swallowed, trying to decide if I should beg for mercy, or just stay quiet. He regarded me for several seconds.
Without warning, he struck me across the face. I dropped with a sharp cry from the power behind the blow. Blood oozing from my lip, I forced myself to sit up.
“What were you doing, mortal?”
I shrunk back against the wall, struggling to breathe. My thoughts tangled with one another in panic. Did I dare come clean? Or would that only make things worse? He grabbed my leash, close to the collar, then jerked me back to my feet. Pain wrenched my neck with the action. “Well?” The dark anger in his eyes was paralyzing.
“Watching,” I forced out. My heart felt constricted, and I could barely remember to breathe. “Just watching.”
He struck me again. I fell back, but I was held upright by his grip on the chain. I choked, scrambling to get my feet back underneath me as the collar cut into the underside of my jaw.
“Do not lie, if you value your life.”
“I wanted to know if the mortals on the Alder Prince’s team were still alive!” I could only hope this was plausible, because I hadn’t had time to think it through. I just knew I couldn’t say anything about Tisean.
“You were acting alone?”
“I’m not here to help them in any way,” I managed, remembering their suspicion upon noticing the second binding on me. “Alone, yes.”
He released me, and I dropped back to the floor with a gasp. “Tell me, then,” he said, in a voice of calm that was somehow more frightening than the anger I expected. “Where did the darkcloak come from?”
So much for plausible lies. His boot slammed into my side, and I crashed against the floor, pain splintering through my ribs. I cried out, and he plac
ed his boot against the back of my neck.
“You mortals are fragile creatures,” he said quietly. He increased the pressure. “Do you realize how easy it would be for me to snap your neck?”
At that moment, the door slammed open. “Sir Conall, Her Majesty needs you immediately, it’s—” There was a pause. After a few seconds, the voice continued, sounding puzzled, “Am I interrupting something?”
“What is it?” Conall asked curtly.
“The fetch has returned from the Rhineland, and—”
“The fetch?” Conall demanded. He relieved the pressure on my spine, and I gasped, my entire body shuddering. “It was ordered to remain in its position. Why has it returned?”
“I don’t know, sir, but the queen is angry about something in its report. Needs to speak with you. Get to the dungeons. Urgent.”
Conall dragged me to my feet, wrenching my shoulder. I staggered, and he gripped my arm so tightly I could feel it bruising. The messenger, a little hobgoblin, tilted its head, observing me with slanting yellow eyes.
“Rhineland…” Conall murmured, glancing at me. I was too busy trying to force air into my battered ribcage to think on it. He jerked me close to his side, then strode back into the main hall. I struggled to keep up with him, each step sending jolting pain through my ribs. Blood fell from my lip.
The room was oddly quiet. The fae were watching the orbs, whispering to one another. Bemusement and apprehension was heavy in the air. I followed their gaze, and my heart almost stopped. The orbs were black and empty.
My hand flew to my mouth. What had happened? They couldn’t all be dead. Had they been attacked? Wouldn’t the fae have cheered for that? Wouldn’t I have heard it? What had happened to everyone?
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