“Hey!” I shouted to the person outside.
Nobody answered.
The plate sat there, heaped with colorful fruits. I tried not to look at it but it was the only thing in the room to look at besides the chamber pot. Of the two, the fruit was much more appealing. I weighed my options. If I didn’t eat anything I’d grow too weak to fight back anyways.
I picked up one of the berries and sniffed it. Hunger won out over caution and I popped it into my mouth.
A flood of images inundated me. I saw ancient Fay farmers tilling the land on a high plain. Within seconds of eating the berry I knew everything ever recorded about the farmers’ primitive culture and how it had led to a more advanced Fay civilization.
I stared at the plate in surprise. It was no regular fruit. It came from the cathedral orchard. Was this what High Priestess Grimmoix had meant by more rigorous training?
I bit into a shiny yellow pear. As the juices hit my tongue, I absorbed all there was to know about construction techniques in the early modern Fay era. I followed the pear with a lemon that contained snippets of wisdom about Fay symbols.
Every other piece of fruit on the plate contained similar dry, historical facts. There was nothing interesting about magic or even anything remotely useful to someone in my situation. I wondered if this was my punishment. They were going to make me eat like a bird and bore me to death at the same time.
Another meal came several hours later. By then my vision was much better. I could tell by the slanting light coming from one skinny, high window that it was afternoon. I’d been locked up for almost a whole day. That meant Chloe’s coronation was close—maybe less than a day away. Surely she had missed me by now. I wondered if anyone was out looking for me.
When the slot opened for the food to pass through, I shouted, “Hey! Talk to me! Why am I in here?”
“Shut up,” said the same gruff guard who had brought my food earlier.
“I demand to see Princess Chloe!” I said. “She’ll be looking for me.”
“As far as she knows, you have retreated to the cathedral to prepare for your induction,” said a more familiar voice.
I wrinkled my nose. “Kesper? What’s going on?”
He didn’t answer. I banged my fists on the door and roared in exasperation. All I accomplished was bruising my knuckles.
Night came. The moonlight that spilled in through the window was no comfort. I had been alone in the cold and the dark for so long that I started to doubt my own mind. I was afraid to sleep. To sleep was to lose track of time completely. I racked my brains for an escape plan. The only resource I had was my flute. It would do me no good. None of the beasts could reach me in the tiny cell and I couldn’t destroy the cathedral, not with so many innocents inside. It would be the same as an attack on Ivywild and that was one thing I could never, ever do.
More fruit was shoved through the door. I ate everything on the plate, absorbing lifetimes of mundane knowledge. It was the only thing to break up the monotony. Old languages, silk weaving and geography took my mind off my plight. I found that I was calmer after my meals. I started to forget all the little injustices I’d suffered throughout the years. Details of my human life before Faylinn grew hazy.
Sleep caught up to me despite my resistance. I drifted off into a fitful slumber where all the things I’d learned throughout the day swam round and round in my mind before settling into the places where other memories had lodged for years.
I woke up with a start. It was still night. At first I didn’t know where I was. Then I saw the chamber pot in the corner and groaned. I thought of my room at the castle with longing. The soft, cotton sheets would feel really nice right now—or were they satin? Oddly enough, I couldn’t recall.
The slot on the door opened and a fresh platter of fruit was shoved inside. I felt startled at first. Then I relaxed, remembering that this was routine. The rumbling in my stomach told me it was mealtime. I picked an apple off the tray and let its flavor fill me with visions of a time past.
The next morning I slumped, dull-minded and drowsy, against the cell wall. My stomach ached. When I heard the scraping of the door, I pounced on the plate of fresh fruit. The strange sustenance stifled my hunger at once. I was so intent on gobbling up every last piece that I barely noticed the wrinkled old woman sweep into the cell, followed by a fat man in a purple robe.
“Miss Wren?” said the woman in a tone of mock sweetness.
I glanced up. “Mmm?” I asked, still stuffing fruit into my mouth.
“Do you know who I am?” the old woman asked.
I studied the unpleasant sharp nose and the hard, dark little eyes. I felt as though I should know her. The name was on the tip of my tongue, but it escaped me.
“I am High Priestess Grimmoix,” the old woman said with an unbecoming smile.
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” I said, wiping my mouth.
The fat man snorted. “Delphi, you are a genius. I had no idea it would work so quickly.”
I stared back and forth between them in confusion.
The malicious smile stayed on High Priestess Grimmoix’s lips. “The fruit of a dying tree works well on our difficult pupils. The knowledge is so saturated that it becomes a poison, driving out all else. When it comes time to plant a new tree, we merely extract the knowledge back out of our diligent little trainees.”
The fat man smirked at me. “Doesn’t that make them a bit…empty?”
“Is that a bad thing?” High Priestess Grimmoix asked.
They shared a laugh over their little joke. I felt left out. I was a tad angry, but I didn’t know why. All I could think about were the names of the five mountain ranges on the eastern part of the continent and the economical theories of Hobgoblin commerce.
“Get up,” High Priestess Grimmoix said.
“Are we going somewhere?” I asked.
“Why yes, we are,” the fat man said. “A big party. A coronation, in fact. You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?”
I cross-referenced the term “coronation” with my vast stores of knowledge. Every place it showed up, it evoked images of celebration and splendor. It sounded rather nice.
“I wouldn’t want to miss it,” I echoed.
“Good,” High Priestess Grimmoix said. “I have a present for you. It’s something nice to wear to the coronation.”
She held out her hand. In it lay a necklace with a red crystal pendant.
Something inside me recoiled. The feeling was out of place. I didn’t understand the source of my fear, so I ignored it.
CHAPTER TEN
Chloe scowled at her reflection. The dress she’d picked for the coronation was just a little too tight. Her tailors were doing their best to let out some of the rich, purple fabric. One of the bumbling young women accidentally poked her in the hip with a pin.
The princess frowned down at the tailor.
“S-sorry!” the young woman squeaked.
Chloe counted silently to ten. She could see that the tailors were nervous. She was nervous, too. “Just be a little more careful,” she said as nicely as she could manage.
The red-faced tailor went back to her work. Chloe sucked in her breath and went back to glowering at herself in the mirror.
This was not how she’d imagined her coronation day. Ill-fitting dresses were the least of her worries. She hadn’t seen Emma since the night of the funeral. Her best friend should be here with her. She felt slighted. Of course Emma was broken up over what that dastardly Hugo had done, but that hardly seemed a reason for her to throw herself into training and ignore her friends.
King Hugo was a whole other issue—one Chloe hadn’t acted on yet. Though she believed Emma’s fear for Ivywild was real, she could not bring herself to dismiss the Slaugh boy as a traitor. She’d never been as enamored of him as Emma, but she’d always admired his courage. He had saved her from the manticore, after all, not to mention all he’d done in Larlaith. Besides, any idiot could see that he adored Emma. Why he�
��d suddenly owned up to being the Slaugh king and taken off was beyond her. It didn’t make any sense, especially now, when every other damn thing was falling apart.
Red splotches sprang up on Chloe’s neck and chest. “Make-up!” she shouted.
Pixie servants flew over with a palette of powders. They dipped feathery puffs into the powder and went to work straight away toning her complexion.
“Would Her Highness prefer the moonstone shimmer or the powdered sapphire?” asked one of the Pixies.
“Moonstone shimmer,” Chloe said.
The Pixie brushed some white iridescent powder along Chloe’s cheeks. Chloe studied the effect and decided she liked it. In the mirror she caught the movement of someone new entering her room. Her pulse sped up a fraction and she turned around to see who it was, causing one of her tailors to rip some of the lace on her bodice.
Luckily for the tailor, Chloe barely noticed. She was excited that Emma had finally come to see her. Then she frowned. The newcomer wasn’t Emma. It was Violet.
“Sister,” Violet said with quiet urgency. “Mother isn’t feeling well.”
The angry little beast that Chloe had been trying so hard to contain the past few days reared its head, threatening to come out. “What do you mean she isn’t feeling well? You are a great Channeler, aren’t you? Fix her.”
Violet placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head, letting her annoyingly cute blonde bob swing to one side. “I can’t just fix her. She is under emotional stress.”
“I’m under emotional stress, too!” Chloe roared, causing both tailors to drop their needles and run scurrying for safety. “If mother is a no-show today I’ll…I’ll…” she struggled to think of some creative punishment.
Violet waited, looking so pert and cutesy that Chloe’s fingertips started to steam. Red splotches showed on her neck despite the Pixies’ make-up job. She counted to ten again and simmered down. Tantrums solved nothing. That’s what Daddy always said. She’d been working really hard to follow his advice.
“Why is she stressed out?” Chloe asked when she had regained control. “I’m the one being crowned.”
“It’s not that,” Violet said a bit too hurriedly. “I mean—that’s part of it but, well, you know, she has her own issues.”
The tailors crept quietly back to their spots to resume re-fitting the dress. Chloe ignored them. Something was up. She knew that Violet and Mother had been hiding things from her. Yes, she was spoiled. Yes, she was hotheaded. One thing she certainly wasn’t was stupid.
“Leave us,” she said in her most authoritative voice.
The tailors and servants left the room, looking relieved. The last one out was Chloe’s Gnome butler. She waved a sign for him to shut the door.
Chloe stepped down from the pedestal in front of her three-sided mirror. She was still taller than her little sister. If she hadn’t been, she would have stayed on the pedestal.
“What’s up?” Chloe asked.
Violet looked taken aback. “I told you, Mother is—”
“No, what’s really up?” Chloe said. “You two have been skirting around me like you’ve got something to hide. I’m sick of it.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
Chloe silenced her with a sneer and a well-timed toss of the chin.
“Oh fine,” Violet said, letting her hands fall from her hips. “Before Daddy passed away, Mother put some things in motion.”
“What things?” Chloe asked.
“Arrangements,” Violet said. “Some fall-back plans to keep us all safe in a worse-case scenario.”
Rather than show her incomprehension, Chloe tried to look angrier. “Go on.”
Violet sighed. “I don’t know much about these plans of hers, but something appears to have gone wrong. I think that’s why she’s in distress.”
Using a technique Daddy had taught her, Chloe studied Violet closely to determine if she was lying. She decided that she wasn’t. “You really don’t know what these plans were?” she asked, just to be sure.
“No,” Violet said with wide-eyed honesty, “but I might have a few theories.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow. It was all that was needed.
“I think…I think Mother was working on her own scheme to take down Robyn,” Violet confessed. “That’s what I’m guessing, anyways. She started keeping things from me.”
“Doesn’t feel nice to be left out, does it?” Chloe said.
Violet stared at her reproachfully. Chloe didn’t like it one bit.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Violet said. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Chloe traded in her scowl for a look of sisterly concern. “Is there anything else to this theory of yours? Like maybe how Mother was planning on stopping the psycho, undead demon thingy?”
“Slaugh,” Violet said.
Chloe blinked. “What?”
“Slaugh,” Violet repeated. “I think it had something to do with the surviving Slaugh…and Lev.”
Chloe tried to take in what Violet had said and make sense of it, but it came back out in a tongue-tied mess. “What…but…huh? I don’t—I mean—WHAT?”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Violet said, looking worried.
“Can’t. I’d rip my seams,” Chloe tugged on the purple dress that she was growing to dislike more and more every second. “Just tell me more about Mother and these Slaugh.”
Violet glanced around warily. She had the guilty look of somebody about to commit treason. “She’s had scouts out looking for any Slaugh who lived through Marafae’s scourge.”
Chloe pursed her lips thoughtfully. That would explain Lev’s involvement. She did not mention what Emma had revealed about Lev being the Slaugh king. She had a sneaking suspicion that his sudden departure might tie into Violet’s theory.
“So, these Slaugh,” she said, “You think Mother wants to use them against Robyn?”
Violet nodded.
“Well that’s dumb!” Chloe said. “If she knows where Robyn is, then why not send Commander Larue and the rest of our army after her? Most importantly, WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME?”
“Because it’s incredibly dangerous…maybe even a suicide mission. If the Slaugh go in first, it not only buys us more time, but shows us what we’re up against.” Violet said.
Chloe watched Violet to see if she was joking. The girl had turned pale. Her nauseatingly pretty blue eyes got all watery.
“Suicide mission,” Chloe repeated in disbelief. “And rather than send in our army…”
“I’m not supposed to know all this,” Violet said with a telltale hiccup. “I’ve been snooping and eavesdropping where I shouldn’t. I wish I didn’t know.” She sniffled and wiped her cheek.
Touched more than she wished to admit, Chloe reached out and squeezed Violet’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Sis.”
Violet raised her head in surprise. “Why?”
“For snooping and eavesdropping, of course. Maybe I’ve rubbed off on you, after all.”
Violet managed a weak smile. “But what are we going to do?”
“About those Slaugh?” Chloe asked.
Violet nodded.
Chloe thought back on what Emma had told her. Lev or King Hugo or whatever he was calling himself these days must have been wise to Mother’s plan. His nasty remarks about the Fay made a bit more sense put in that light. He wasn’t going to give anyone the chance to make a sacrifice out of his people. She couldn’t blame him for that. Even so, it didn’t prove his innocence. Emma might have been onto something yet. Now, with Mother in distress over botched plans it certainly needed some looking into.
“I wouldn’t worry about those poor Slaugh,” Chloe said. “I need to talk to Mother and I need to talk to Emma. Go drag them out of whatever holes they’ve hidden themselves in and bring them to me.”
“But…the coronation,” Violet said. “You have scarcely a half-hour left!”
“After the coronation then!” Chloe said. “If th
ey won’t answer when called by a princess, they’d damn sure better come running when summoned by a queen!”
The ballroom had been converted to accommodate rows and rows of seats. A gray sky pressed against floor to ceiling windows that were framed by silks in Ivywild’s trademark purple.
Nobles and upper-crust merchants took up most of the seats. Commoners and servants stood packed around the walls. Gnomes, who were far too short to share audience space with their Fay peers, perched on the rails of the grand staircase that flanked the rear of the ballroom.
A horn sounded. Everyone rose. All eyes trained toward the dais at the front of the room. An ancient ceremonial throne inlaid with jewels, seashells and other treasures from the four corners of Faylinn sat empty and waiting. Judges Kesper, Nuckelvee and wheezing old Marcellus stood on one side of the throne. On the other side, Princess Violet stood alone looking pale and uncomfortable.
“Quite a turnout,” remarked Chloe’s butler, peeking through the curtain behind the dais.
It was almost time for her to make her entrance. She was a wreck. She’d been scanning the crowd of faces and she didn’t see Emma. There was no Lord Finbarr to give her words of encouragement. Even sour-faced Commander Larue would be a comforting sight, but he was doing his rounds on the castle perimeter.
“This stinks!” Chloe groused.
The butler gave her a puzzled look. “Is Your Highness not pleased to finally be named queen?”
“That’s all fine and wonderful,” Chloe said, “but none of my friends are here.”
The horn stopped. The ballroom fell silent. Chloe took one last peek through the curtain. She caught the eye of a young man with spiky pewter-colored hair sitting in the front row. He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. It was Bazzlejet, the rascal who had pretended to be her maid. She wrinkled her nose at him.
“Time,” said the butler.
Chloe took a deep breath that tested the strength of her newly reinforced seams. The curtains parted and she stepped into the center of the dais.
The crown sat atop a plush pillow next to the throne. It was far too heavy for daily wear. Fashioned out of intricate metals, pearls and diamonds, it was the time-honored symbol worn during public appearances by every Fay ruler for the past thousand years. Chloe had often gazed at it longingly when Daddy wore it during his speeches. It had made him look as regal as a god. At least, that’s the way she used to think of it. Looking at the elaborate crown today she realized it was the man who had made the crown command attention, not the other way around.
The Flute Keeper's Promise (The Flute Keeper Saga) Page 13