by Everly Frost
She leads me to a single-level construction that backs onto a soaring rock face. It’s surrounded by large, billowing saffron-yellow flags and a wooden verandah that stretches around the two sides that I can see. It’s also surrounded by a wall of outward-facing soldiers.
They part for Carmen, giving her a wide berth and me with her. The soldier with the spear takes up position and closes the gap behind us. Then the soldiers turn to face outward, forming a barrier between us and the rest of the palace. Harem Hall is certainly well-guarded.
Carmen doesn’t speak until we climb the stairs, cross the verandah, and reach the door. “The guards are not allowed inside. And Howl is not here.” She waves her hand at the flags. “We fly the red flags when he’s here.”
I never thought I’d be grateful for the color yellow.
“Come with me, please.”
We pass through a wide entryway into an opulent room scattered with plush cushions. A door at the other side takes us into another room, this one with a slate floor and a water feature. We pass through three more rooms until Carmen slides open a final door into a hallway with multiple rooms on either side.
“This is where we wash,” she says. “There are towels inside. Leave your clothes in the dressing room. You won’t need them anymore.”
I’m not so sure about that. Judging by what she’s wearing, there may not be a lot of suitable clothing options in this place.
She says, “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Inside the bathing room, about a thousand different scented soaps await me, as well as a lukewarm shower that leaves me shivering. I’d swap the soaps for a hot bath right now. The water runs dark with mud and whatever else was on the floor of the cell. When I’m done, I squeeze as much water from my hair as I can and contemplate the discarded gray thermal. It’s filthy. I’m going to have to take my chances with whatever clothing Carmen has to offer. I secure a large towel around myself before emerging into the hallway again.
She rises from a seat opposite the door and strides away. I think I’m meant to follow her. “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“You haven’t asked my name.”
“I know who you are.” She continues walking and I stalk her down the hall. Female voices project from the room beyond, but they stop talking when I enter. I count about twenty, all stunningly beautiful, some sitting, some standing. All dressed like Carmen. All staring at me.
We’re in some sort of large dressing room with mirrors and tables around the edges laid out with hairpieces, hairbrushes, sashes, but not a lot of decent clothing in sight. I shudder, wishing I’d brought my ripped thermal suit with me after all.
“Sit, please. We don’t have a lot of time.”
I find a spare seat, ignoring the stares and whispers, while Carmen sets to work with a hairbrush in my tangled hair. Nobody has touched my hair in seven years. After I became the Storm Princess, I always did my own hair. In fact, even before that… except for Baelen. I close my eyes as I remember his hands sliding through my hair, releasing it from the braid I’d always tied it in, his fingers a light tingle across my shoulders as he followed the length of my hair down my arm.
I force myself to return to the present. Carmen is gentle and carries out the task without speaking. Silence seems to be her friend. I decide I’m willing to break it because I need information. “Why do the male gargoyles look away from you?”
“It’s forbidden to look at a female in the King’s harem. Only the soldiers may see us. To the rest, we are ghosts.”
Another female approaches and I assess her in the mirror. Ebony hair cascades over one shoulder and reaches her waist. Intelligent olive green eyes meet mine briefly. Where Carmen is silent and contained, this female almost leaps out of her skin to speak with me.
“I am Gilda,” she says. “Our King has sent you clothing to wear.” A long silken dress drapes across both her arms and relief courses through me to see it. I don’t hold my breath though. I can’t see every detail of it from here and something tells me Howl won’t be that kind to me.
Gilda hangs the dress over the nearest chair but doesn’t walk away, commenting quietly on the way Carmen is twisting my hair. When she makes suggestions, Carmen considers them and makes changes. It’s easy to see these two females are friends.
“Forgive me,” I say, deciding to take advantage of Gilda’s presence. “But the gargoyle back in the tunnel, the one called Rhain who took Jasper to Slave Station… Did Howl take his wings?”
Carmen freezes, her hands still entwined in my hair, turning into stone beside me. Gilda shoots concerned looks like fireworks at her friend. “You didn’t tell me he made you walk with Rhain,” she whispers to Carmen.
Carmen remains frozen. “I can’t…”
It doesn’t take a genius to see that I’ve stepped into something I shouldn’t have. I try to gobble back the words as fast as I can. “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you. Please forgive my callous question.”
“You are an elf,” Carmen says, visibly swallowing as if there’s a great lump stuck in her throat. “And a newcomer. So of course you wouldn’t know…” She resumes twirling and pinning my hair, but her movements are overly focused and her fingers are stiff. “Rhain’s wings were taken as punishment for trying to free his wife from Harem Hall.”
I study the room in the mirror. “Which one is his wife?”
Her movements slow down again, as if she’s moving underwater. “I am.”
I choke. “But… that’s… you didn’t look at him…”
“To acknowledge my husband is to kill him.” Her movements become jerky and I’m impressed by the way she calms herself so she doesn’t yank on my hair and hurt me. “To keep him alive, I must act as if I have no husband. No family. We all must. As I said, we are ghosts. That is how we keep breathing.”
Gilda runs her arm across Carmen’s back, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. I remain silent for the remainder of the time it takes for Carmen to finish my hair. I’ve already put my foot in it. Royally. I’m lucky I haven’t alienated her completely.
Once she finishes piling my hair on top of my head, she hands me two slips of material that I think are intended to be underwear. The bra has multiple clips and Carmen explains that’s so they don’t have to get the straps over their wings. I slip out of my towel and into the underwear and then the dress. The females in the room seem surprised when I drop the towel right in front of them, but I’m used to being surrounded at all times. Before everything went wrong back in Erawind, my Storm Command used to protect my every move. Admittedly, the bathroom was the one place I had privacy, but even so, I’d dressed in front of them too many times to be embarrassed now.
I take note of the bruises dotting my skin—from the fight with the gargoyles yesterday as well as with Howl last night—before sliding into the dress.
The sleeveless dress is jet black patterned with pale blue filigree that contrasts with my auburn hair and brings out the turquoise flecks in my eyes. I was right to be skeptical about Howl’s intentions. The material plunges low at the front and I’m grateful for the supportive bra, because there’s not much holding the dress together. Three ribbons circle my waist at intervals, holding the two wide straps that form the top of the dress together below my breasts. Luckily the skirt is fitted, flaring at my ankles, but it has a long slit up the back reaching my upper thighs between my legs. At least I can move in it, but the height of the slit makes me uncomfortable. The material itself is gorgeous, soft and delicately embroidered. I just wish there was more of it.
I hold my head high as Gilda hands me a pair of heels.
I’ve never worn heels in my life. Give me boots or a pair of flats. Even to Jordan’s wedding, I wore flat-heeled slippers. Gliding the heels onto my feet, I teeter on the spot, wobbling and trying to convince my ankles not to snap.
“You need to practice.” Gilda takes my arm before I fall over. “Here, let me help you.”
I wobble my way across the room,
ignoring the stares of the females at the other end. Gilda asks, “When was the last time you ate something?”
I have to think hard about that. I ate at the cave on the border before we left Erawind, but I’ve been running on adrenalin ever since. “It’s been a while.”
“Well, there’s the food table.” She points with a twinkle in her eye at a table on the furthest side of the room laden with fruit, bread, and little cakes. “Go forth and eat.”
Screw the heels. I have no idea when I’ll get to eat again. I place all my energy into balancing and make it to the food table without falling flat on my face. Mission accomplished, I pick up the nearest red apple and crunch into it. It doesn’t taste like I expected. I eye it warily. “What is this?”
“It’s a giant cherry.”
“Mmm. Not bad.”
“Just watch out for the juice.” She’s about to take a step toward me when she freezes, pinned facing the direction behind me.
Whisper quiet, a shadow casts over me.
Gilda and every other female in the room slides to their knees and bends flat to the floor, arms beside their heads as if they’re praying. They tuck their faces down, foreheads pressed to the ground, becoming colorful mounds dotting the floor.
I’m the only one left standing. And the only one looking at him.
Howl towers over me. Unlike Jasper, the Howl version of towering is pure intimidation. I seek the sensation of the storm deep inside: the electricity and thunder. I draw comfort from it and stand my ground. I will not cower to him.
The fruit remains clenched in my upturned hand. Some of the juice trickles down my wrist.
“I see the dress fits.”
He remains at my side and I discover the unwelcome secondary purpose of the slit in the back when he slides his large hand directly across my thigh. I grind my teeth together so hard that I might crack them. I’m glad Baelen’s not around right now. Nothing would stop him tearing Howl limb from limb.
Howl acts as if there’s nobody else here—as if we’re completely alone. Stopping the upward slide of his hand barely before he reaches my backside, he catches my upturned wrist in his other hand, trailing his thumb through the line of juice.
I narrow my eyes at him. For a second, the inside of his palm is exposed and I’m sure I see burn marks. That must be the hand that Baelen burned. The knowledge that Howl isn’t invincible gives me courage. “Let go of me. Right now.”
He narrows his eyes right back at me, daring me to challenge him with my power. He lowers his mouth to my wrist, drawing his lips across the droplets left there. I remain as still as stone, suppressing the shudder rocking my spine as his eyes meet mine. His pupils dilate and I know it’s not the taste of my skin that has that effect on him. It’s my deep magic.
Well, he just ruined a perfectly good piece of fruit. There’s no way I’m going to eat another giant-apple-cherry-thing after this.
“You are intoxicating,” he whispers and this time I can’t hide my shudder. My power is quickly becoming my curse.
I say, “I may not be able to hurt you, but I can definitely make a mess of your precious Harem Hall. Let me go or I’ll start with the ceiling.” That’s the way my hand is pointed. May as well start with that.
He doesn’t release my wrist, but removes his hand from my thigh, angling his body sideways, his wings kept close to his sides.
He scans the females. “Look up!”
Immediately, they obey. Their faces shoot up but their bodies remain pressed against the floor. He inclines his head at Carmen and Gilda. “You and you.”
I freeze. Is he going to hurt them? Have I pushed him too far? I don’t relax until he says, “You will come to Crimson Court today.”
With the immediate threat to their safety gone, I scowl at him. “Do you even know their names?”
“I have no need for names.”
Elves don’t swear aloud, but I’m seriously tempted right now. We believe that curse words are curses that will return to the speaker. I don’t chance it, but I have to bite my tongue to stop myself. Carmen’s description of herself as a ghost is becoming more accurate with every passing second. Howl treats the females like they don’t exist and even when he does acknowledge them, they are purely objects to be moved around or threatened.
As he waits for them to stand, I contemplate his features. Was he once handsome? I truly believe that every elf and gargoyle is born innocent. That our experiences mold and change us. But I find it very hard to believe that Howl was once a child without malice or hatred in his heart. A wave of pity rushes through me so strong it’s like a physical force.
Howl’s gaze snaps back to mine. His fist shudders around my wrist. The heartstone resting against his chest glows brighter than before and he winces as if it suddenly hurts. He drops my hand and the glow recedes.
My own eyes widen in surprise. I have no idea what just happened but it’s very strange to me that my rage can’t touch him but my pity can. Unless… The Storm said that the heartstones are literally the hearts of brave gargoyles. I wonder if the stone will respond to particular emotions around it. It could all be connected to who the gargoyle was when it was alive.
I don’t have time to test that theory because Howl jolts away from me as if he reads my thoughts. I’m quite certain pity isn’t something he sees very often. More like fear, terror, agony, you name it… but not pity.
Carmen and Gilda wait obediently for further instructions, heads bowed again.
Howl snarls at them. “You will walk ahead of me.”
They glide past me and I follow, deciding it’s not worth jeopardizing their safety to resist Howl. I wobble in the heels but maintain pace behind them, tap-tapping through the rooms to the entrance. For such a large gargoyle, Howl is stealthy and light-footed. Half the time, it’s possible to imagine he’s not even there.
I wish he wasn’t.
Cassian breaks off from the stiff line of guards ahead of us as we make our way down the stairs. From the way he waits until we reach them, it looks like he isn’t allowed to step foot in Harem Hall either. The other guards peer past us, ignoring the females, no doubt awaiting orders from Howl.
He barks, “Ten of you. Break off. Either side.”
Immediately they form two lines on both sides of us, keeping pace as we proceed along the wide walkways. Cassian falls in with Howl directly behind me and begins to converse with his leader.
Again, I catch my breath at the subtle beauty of the gardens around us. It’s hard to imagine that Howl ordered any of this designed himself.
Carmen catches me gazing around. She whispers, “It’s a replica of the Royal Palace. Howl destroyed the original palace when he seized power.”
One of the guards gives her a sharp look and she stops speaking, keeping her eyes firmly forward and glazed over. In the absence of information from Carmen, I tune in to the conversation behind me.
Cassian says, “The Court is assembled as you ordered, King Howl.”
“What about the Lightsworn Clan?”
“All there, including old Lightsworn Lance.”
Howl says, “Good. What about the other clans?”
“All represented. The Prime and Virtuous Clans were the most difficult but they were open to… persuasion.”
I wonder whether persuasion means bribes or, more likely, threats. Just like Carmen who won’t look at her husband in case he’s killed because of it.
Howl asks, “And what about the miners?”
“They were the easiest.”
Howl sounds surprised. “Really?”
“We ordered them to stop digging for heartstones and offered them a proper meal, my King.”
Howl grumbles, “A waste of good food.”
Cassian clears his throat. “The stronger we keep them, the faster they dig. If you want to find more stones, you need to feed the miners more than gruel.”
“Granted, that’s true. They’ll need more strength after today. Very well. One proper meal a day. But gru
el for the other two meals.”
The number of times Howl makes me grind my teeth, I’m surprised I have any teeth left. He starves his workers and rules through fear and subjugation. But what he says about the miners needing more strength after today worries me. If he’s gathered all the clans together, then he’s clearly building up to some sort of announcement. It doesn’t take much imagination to guess it has something to do with me.
We pass by a courtyard that looks directly west. I’m shocked to see that it faces the entrance to the springs. Sure, it’s a thousand feet away, but I feel stupid that I ever thought I could get into this place undetected.
I stumble, the heels sliding out from under me, but a pair of wings slip around me, placing me firmly back on my feet. Howl’s voice wraps around me. “Careful, little doll.”
Stupid heels. I sigh with exasperation. Howl takes every opportunity to make contact. At least he doesn’t allow the heartstone to touch me, which means he keeps himself just a little bit separate from the waist up. Even though his embrace this time is fleeting, it lasts too long.
As soon as he releases me, I continue walking, but I’m suddenly aware of a heavy silence behind me. Cassian has stopped talking. Howl clears his throat. I narrow my eyes as the silence stretches. Has my skirt got stuck? Am I flashing my underwear at them? What on earth has shut them up?
Cassian sounds hesitant. “My King, may I advise you—”
“No.”
“But you—”
“I know. Don’t worry. I have a solution.”
Okay, that was cryptic. I decide I can’t care about what they mean right now. An imposing building looms ahead of us—this must be the Crimson Court. Giant golden pillars support a scarlet roof. It’s vast and wide, black flags fluttering from each high corner. A hum of voices emanates from it and I guess it must be full of gargoyles.
I finally recognize the symbol on the flags—the same symbol that was scratched out of Llion’s side: it’s the silhouette of a shadow panther’s head. It’s etched in black with silver eyes and teeth and a claw next to its chin as if it’s about to strike.
