Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  The water dripped down my back and dribbled on my shoes.

  I made a sad face. It wasn’t really an act in the moment. The crowd laughed, enjoying the clumsy clown getting its comeuppance.

  My job for the time being complete, I stalked off-stage, miserable and dripping. I still had another three shows today, each a variation of the one I had just performed. I would also have to come out when the show ended. Our jobs as clowns was to warm the audience up for the bigger acts. We also had to go out into town and rack up sales, doing small parades and tricks to lure more customers to the ticket booths.

  I parted the dusty velvet curtain that served as the only barrier between the show and the wings. In a semi-private corner I changed into my own clothes. Privacy was a foreign concept in this establishment. Luxury amounted to a single scratchy towel.

  Pulling off the dripping, itching wig, I shook out my hair and toweled off the ends. Then I set about removing the half-washed-off makeup. At least the water helped for that. In the dim light suspended above a dirty mirror, I rubbed at the pools of black under my eyes.

  A voice spoke from behind me: “So there is a girl underneath all that mess.”

  I didn’t bother to look around but continued scrubbing my face. “Aren’t you the next act, Chayse?” I answered, surprised and elated that he had sought me out here. I felt a twinge of worry, something must be wrong. He was too cautious to be caught here.

  “What’s a Chayse?” he drawled.

  My whole body tensed. Yanking the towel away from my face, I whirled around to find a raven-haired young man standing just inside my little alcove, observing me with a pair of clear blue eyes. I gaped in mingled surprise and, truth be told, admiration. I’d never seen this guy before, and he was, in a word, striking. The kind of person who makes you do a double-take.

  Those glittering eyes of his gave me a onceover. “Whose idea was it to make an exquisite creature such as you be a clown?”

  My face heated. I fought the urge to run. But I had learned from a young age to conceal fear. Fear tended to encourage unwanted attention.

  “Only performers are allowed back here, sir,” I blurted, hoping my voice sounded firmer in his ears than it did in mine.

  He blinked slowly, unbothered. “Fortunately for you, I know the owner. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my taking a look around.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. Or to him. In our dingy surroundings, he was completely out of place, wearing an immaculately tailored suit, complete with shined shoes. By the look on his face, he was well aware of the impression he made. He fiddled with a jeweled ring. “Care to give me a tour?” A tight-lipped smile followed, rather disarming.

  “No!” I answered, far too quickly. “I’m sorry, I . . . I have a prior engagement.”

  Once again the stranger’s gaze roved up and down my body, making me all too aware of my ragged appearance. “An engagement?” He inclined his head at me. “Pity.”

  I gave an awkward smile, my stomach twisting. “Um, feel free to look around, though you might find what’s happening in the ring more interesting than anything back here.”

  “Hmm.” He tapped a finger to his lips, one of his eyebrows quirked. “I think you’re quite wrong about that.”

  I picked up my bag, eager to escape his blatant staring. “Well, I’m going . . .”

  “Cynfael,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He looked amused. “My name is Cynfael.”

  I pushed my hair out of my face. “Oh. I’m Snow.” After hesitating for just a breath, I relented and took his hand. It was warm and soft, a sharp contrast to my calloused fingers.

  He pulled my hand up and kissed my knuckles. “Snow,” he repeated. “Charming.”

  I took my hand back and gave him a stilted nod. His lips curled back into a smile, revealing a perfect row of teeth.

  With only a quick glance back at him, I hastened away. I felt his eyes on me, watching me leave, but he made no move to follow. I was relieved to escape his lingering stare. There was something threatening about him, somehow. Not someone I’d want to bump into in the dark.

  I crept along the fringes of the tent, just behind the captivated audience. Every eye focused on the center of the ring where Chayse stood, spinning two flaming staffs. The lights were dim, and a thick smoke filled the air. Smoke and charcoal coated my tongue, a combination I always associated with Chayse.

  He wore an uncharacteristically flamboyant red-and-black suit, his stage costume, and he cut a striking figure. His eyes were fierce and blazing, enhanced by the smudged kohl. He whipped the twin flames into a frenzy. In the low light the flames melded into circles, spinning and twisting around him.

  It was entrancing to watch. He weaved the flames closer around himself until they licked at his clothes, never staying long enough to burn. Firelight gleamed off his slick face, and the crowd watched in hushed awe as he danced with the fire.

  The flames flared higher, eating up his sleeve, but Chayse just smiled. Gasps sounded as the fire spread, almost encasing him in a coat of flame and smoke. He threw the twin staffs into the air and slammed his fists together. A sharp hiss, and all the fire was doused as one.

  Thick smoke curled around Chayse’s shadowed figure. The spotlights lit up again, showing him unharmed, his red jacket a pile of rags and ashes. His bare chest glistened with grease, which he claimed kept the flames from burning him.

  He bowed.

  The audience roared. I found myself clapping for him. When he was onstage, a different side of him emerged. He wasn’t performing. His smile didn’t seem forced. He was genuinely happy. If only I got to see that side of him more often.

  “So this is your engagement then.”

  I jumped as Cynfael came up behind me. He had caught me in a lie; I felt my cheeks warm in embarrassment. I didn’t want to look at his face, so I looked down.

  He clutched a red apple in his hand.

  Summoning the courage to look up at him, I found him watching the show as Chayse continued his routine. “Not bad,” he observed, tossing the apple and catching it in his now-gloved hand.

  A small smile crossed my face. “The best,” I said.

  Cynfael smirked. “That’s up for debate. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge,” he added with confidence. I stared at him, puzzled, but he continued observing Chayse and the fire, his expression shifting from confidence to contemplation. “I suppose I could say the same for him.”

  With that, he turned with a flashing grin, pressed the apple into my hand, and sauntered out of the tent, putting his hands in his pockets and whistling some tune. I stood in the deep shadows of the stands, watching him go, confused . . . and intrigued.

  Chapter Four

  Chayse

  The audience was enthralled.

  The flames were responding, and I was hitting my cues. Sometimes, if my emotions were raging, I couldn’t control the flames. They could overpower me or not respond at all. The result could be painful. Blistered skin was the last thing I needed.

  I allowed myself a small smile as the fire ate through the fabric. The shock it garnered always amused me. It could not touch me as long as I remained in control. I was immune to its bite.

  The cheering crowd around me was a sea of insignificant faces. Their praise was expected and predictable. But one face I looked for—one person’s praise meant something more.

  Snow was usually there, at the right corner of the stands. Standing unseen just behind the audience.

  Something flew into the air, a red blur. I followed it to see Snow smiling at me. My eyesight was superior even to that of most fae: I could make out every feature of her porcelain face, her wet hair dripping on her shirt. Her eyes gleamed, but she glanced to one side with a sense of unease.

  The red object flashed again, held by the person standing next to her. A fae. I met his gaze and felt him return the look.

  Cynfael.

  My blood warmed. I
almost lost my control of the fire as I gritted my teeth against the grinding in my bones. The flame stuttered, but I quickly caught it, brought it back under control. Drawing long breaths between my teeth, I composed my mind, my emotions.

  He probably wanted me to slip, to show some emotion. Something he could use against me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

  Pulling the fire back out, I surveyed the audience before blowing the flames into a large plume. I gave an exaggerated bow, and when I flung my arms, all the lights shut off. End of act one. The applause rang out in a deafening roar.

  I stalked off the stage, bringing my props with me. When the lights flicked back on, the stage would be doused in fog, and I would be gone. The audience loved that. They bought that it was all illusion and tricks, never suspecting the truth behind the masquerade . . . that maybe it wasn’t all smoke and mirrors.

  My still-boiling blood urged me to go confront Cynfael. Mother wouldn’t approve. As the cocky, illegitimate son of Alilion, who reigned over the northern kingdoms, Cynfael was one of our guests invited to dinner tonight. It was probably bad manners to attack him before dinner. Might start a war.

  I placed my props back in their appointed places then wiped some of the grease from my blackened hands. Stacks of extra costumes surrounded me, glitzy and red and appalling to my senses. Mother’s choice. She liked red, a circus color. The color of blood.

  I restrained myself from setting fire to each and every garish jacket.

  I changed back into my wrinkled pants and shirt, not bothering to wipe away the thick lines of kohl under my eyes. Removing it would take a while, and it never seemed to completely come off anyway. While squeezing past the elephants, who were lined up to go out, I nearly bumped into their trainer. Decked out in a sparkling pink leotard, she stretched to her full height as she struggled to place a feathered headdress on a kneeling elephant.

  She tossed me a smile and a peanut as I passed. I caught the nut, nodded, and pressed on through the performers even as they filed into the ring. I hated the crush of a crowd, the heat. Breathing other people’s air. It was smothering. I kept to the fringes until finally making my way out into open air.

  The chill hit my face, a welcome blast of clarity. Crowds were thinner out in the cold. They huddled around the tents and fire barrels, cradling paper cups of hot chocolate. Despite the weather, they would still come. Some to enjoy the acts and to see if we were as good as was claimed. Some were disgraced fae who found themselves in need of asylum and, if willing, would begin their lifelong contract.

  I passed by the fire barrel and pulled some flame from it. The few men around it exchanged hoots and looks of shock. They clapped, no doubt thinking it a trick, a well-practised ruse.

  I crumpled the fire into a ball. It snuffed out with a hiss. “Fire show in an hour, gents.” I gave a quick wave and hurried along.

  Ducking behind the tents was an excellent way to avoid curious stares. A lane had been formed back here from all the performers and their equipment going back and forth. What had started as mud was now frozen dirt. I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Couldn’t risk my fingers getting stiff before my next performance. I always had to make it look like a trick, would even purposely slip up. Fake a burnt finger, pretend to tell people my secrets to manipulating fire.

  They didn’t know that it coursed through my veins—a power I wasn’t sure I deserved. They thought it was all greased hands and years of arduous practice. Sometimes it was nice to trick myself into thinking I had earned it. That it was something I worked for.

  Nothing in my life seemed to be my own. Everything was carefully plotted gifts, tied with Mother’s strings.

  Mine was a stolen gift. Well, Mother would call it owed. She said the fae that dealt with her knew the risk, knew what they were gambling with. I wasn’t so sure they did. I’d seen too many pleading faces as Mother ripped away a gift someone thought couldn’t be taken. A haunting sight.

  Mother gave me the fire and made me feel like an accomplice. She was good at making her choices mine. I was always the one who bore the scars, the only evidence.

  “Chayse, old boy.”

  That cultured, mocking tone startled me back to the present. My skin crawled.

  Cynfael seemed to wear the word “haughty.” His suit was perfectly cut and probably made of silk woven by fae weavers. He held a lit cigarette in his hand, the only uncouth thing about him. He took a quick drag, eyeing my rumpled appearance.

  “Cynfael,” I nodded. “How fares the northern border?” With an effort I kept all animosity from my voice.

  He waved his cigarette around, shrouding himself in wisps of smoke. “It’s a hellish frozen wasteland as usual.” His blue eyes flashed with dull humor. “Not as lively as here.”

  “It’s smothering here,” I admitted.

  He gave me a forced grin. “You always did like to keep to yourself.”

  I shrugged.

  “I think I would prefer it here,” Cynfael continued, taking another drag and exhaling slowly. His lip twitched in a partial smile. “The female clientele seem friendly enough.” He watched me closely, gauging my reaction.

  “I’m sure that’s true for you anywhere,” I said, my tone dismissive, almost disparaging.

  He blew a stream of smoke at me. It caught in my throat, and through the haze I saw his expression turn hostile. “There is a sorry lack of easily beguiled humans to be had.”

  “More’s the shame.” I choked but tried to stifle it. I didn’t want him to see he’d disturbed me in any way. I couldn’t let my careful grip on myself slip.

  “I tend to avoid the humans,” Cynfael continued, his eyes a bit too bright, too cold. “They are far too vulnerable for my tastes. That clown girl though, she is fascinating.”

  “A clown?” I laughed, hoping he wouldn’t notice how my fingers clenched. “Really, isn’t that a bit far for a bastard prince to stoop?”

  “Ironic, coming from a prince without a crown.” He pointed his cigarette at me and smiled.

  The flame flickered, deep inside. I gave a slow smile. “You win.”

  “That’s not like you, Chayse. You have never been quick to admit defeat.” Cynfael stuck a hand in his waistcoat pocket. “Unless, of course, I struck a nerve.”

  I narrowed my eyes but stayed silent. He wasn’t so easily fooled.

  He tapped his lip. “I think I have. You’re not taken with a human, are you?” His eyes flashed with feigned shock. “You know better than that!” Shaking his head, he chuckled, looking down for a moment. But then his gaze flicked up, meeting mine. “You know what would become of her.”

  I refused to break his gaze. “Why are you here, Cynfael?”

  He bared his teeth in a threatening smile. “I should think you would already know. Does your mother not keep you informed?”

  Smoke leaked out of my mouth, my first slip.

  “Ah,” he said, holding his hands out. “I didn’t mean to wake the beast.”

  “What does she have to do with this? With you?” I had a suspicion, but I wanted to be wrong. Mother still didn’t trust me after everything I had done for her? I had blood on my hands for her sake. Yet I meant nothing to her.

  “She said she had a job for me. Something that was beyond you.” He smirked. “I, of course, was delighted to be of assistance.”

  His cigarette dangled forgotten from his fingers. The lit end flared and burned hot. The flame devoured the cigarette. Cynfael hissed as it singed his fingers. He threw it and stomped it out. “Well met, if not a bit childish.” Straightening his waistcoat, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I think you should take it up with her. I wasn’t the one who slighted you.”

  “I can’t be sure of that, now can I?” My vision blurred. I could feel the fire emerging.

  He shrugged. “I know my word will mean nothing to you.”

  “You’re right.” I felt the fire wane. “So what exactly has been deemed beyond me?”

  White teet
h flashed. “She hasn’t been forthcoming about that.”

  I stiffened. There were only a few things she would ask of a northern fae. They were known to be feral. I hoped this wasn’t connected with Snow. She had always been mine to watch . . . and, eventually, to destroy.

  “Whatever it is,” Cynfael said his tone uncaring and detached. “I didn’t come because of her offer.” He tilted his head, “There’s a talk of a plot against the Queen.”

  Something sinister flickered in his eyes. A menacing dwarf and black teardrops sprang to mind. What had he said to me? Something about fair folk in the Queen’s favor plotting. I would never have placed Cynfael in with a band of rogues, but his loyalties were easily bought, and taking Mother out could only benefit him.

  “You told them about Snow.” I spat out the accusation, feeling betrayed both by his deception and my inability to detect his duplicity.

  He didn’t deny it, merely smiled as if it were an obvious fact.

  He was good, one of the best really. Snow was the pawn they would need to play. She could knock the Queen out of position. They had a chance, small as it was.

  “You can’t beat her.” The words were bitter in my mouth, but I believed them.

  “So you say.” He spoke with an air of indifference. “I’ve made my move, Hunter. Your assistance would be welcome.”

  “I can’t . . .” I couldn’t disguise the slight tremor in my voice.

  Cynfael gave a stilted nod and turned to walk away. So sure of himself. So convinced he could accomplish the impossible. But whatever he thought he knew, he didn’t know Mother as I did. He was going to fail.

  “Checkmate,” he said with a billow of smoke.

  Chapter Five

  Snow

  I took my first step on the wire. I had to remind myself to breathe.

  Despite my best efforts, I always held my breath—there was nothing else to hold. Every step was a challenge. You had to adjust, but not too much, or you’d be eating dirt. The wind was a big player in how you held your body. You had to work with it.