A Court of Muses

by Sarina Dorie

  Errol thought of the grief on the prince’s face at seeing his daughter dead. There were many times Errol couldn’t get a good read on the prince, uncertain whether he was an idiot or playing at one. It was difficult to tell what he truly thought about his own family, but that day the sorrow and loss he had expressed had been true. Errol found it curious that he, a commoner, felt pity for this prince with all his wealth and luxuries. Princess Steorra and Prince Elric-Atherius would have been better suited for a life of modest means, surrounded by the artists they chose to raise up and inspire rather than those their peers devoured and drained.

  Errol stood, realizing Steorra had as well, and he knew that dismissive gesture from his own superiors in the military.

  Instead, Steorra walked around the table and placed a hand on his arm. “You have made a wise choice coming to me. I will keep your words in confidence. No one will know you have been here, aside from Sofonisba, and I expect she will be going home tomorrow. Tonight will be but a dream, and she will be left too inspired in the creation of her paintings to recall you.”

  Errol was uncomfortably aware of her fingers on his. His gloves were pristine and white, but he felt unworthy to be touched by royalty.

  “You are a true friend, and I will remember this.” She kissed his cheek. “If there is anything you ever need from me, don’t be afraid to ask of it.”

  Her compliment was a greater reward than he could have ever imagined earning.

  “Now, shall you get back to your quarters before you are caught in the private chamber of a muse and an artist? Or do you want to be the center of a scandal?” she teased.

  “No. I am happy with relative obscurity.” Being common was a blessing compared to the life of royalty.

  “Where is the feather?” She held out her hand.

  Errol drew the feather out of his pocket and reluctantly gave it to her.

  “I will keep this safe.” She took his hand again. “Father will be in a rage for days. There’s no point in going to him now. It’s best to let this settle down so that he has time to meet with me and discuss this.”

  Errol didn’t want to wait, but he understood her reasoning. So much could go wrong if they waited.

  And it did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lewis Carrol’s Worst Nightmare

  Errol waited just as Steorra asked. A week later, Errol was patrolling outside the private chamber of Prince Beorhtsige while the king joined him in listening to a master singer. Errol used his enhanced senses to hear the singer, who was as good as Beorhtsige had boasted.

  Down the hall, two guards whom Errol assumed had come to relieve the guards inside the room, spoke far louder than was considered acceptable.

  Errol was just about to tell them to hold their tongues when the guards rounded the corner and told him the news.

  There had been an attack by the Raven Court on the king’s children as they’d been on their way back from attending a play in the Morty Realm. General Hereweald directed Errol to assemble his unit to guard the king.

  Errol couldn’t help thinking that the king himself had planned to go to that play, only changing his mind at the last minute when Prince Beorhtsige insisted he would love the Morty singer more than watching a play among a human audience. The king had been lucky not to be in the carriage when the Raven Court had struck.

  As Errol guarded King Viridios on his way to the throne room, he learned which of the king’s children had attended the play without him and been attacked. Princess Steorra had been traveling with her older brother Leofflaed and one of his Fae mistresses. Their guards held the Raven Court off while a messenger was dispatched for reinforcements. The first unit had already been sent out.

  “A unit is not enough. A battalion is not enough.” The king stalked to the throne room in a rage. “Rally the troops! I will not permit another attack on my household. I will show Queen Morgaine this is war.”

  General Hereweald spoke to the king about strategy and his advised plan of attack, but the king cut him off. “Ready the Jabberwock!”

  General Hereweald flinched. “But surely, Your Majesty, if we use the Jabberwock, lives will be lost on both sides.”

  Errol started at the name of a creature he had only heard about in legends from old sailors. He didn’t know any such creature existed in the Faerie Realm anymore, let alone his own king’s castle. He thought all the Jabberwocks had been confined to the realm of nightmares inhabited by Morties.

  Insects buzzed around the king, not just bees, but flies and termites, crashing into each other and bouncing off the walls. “I give you ten minutes to assemble our troops and contact the dungeon master about preparing the Jabberwock. We will depart from your training grounds outside the barracks.”

  King Viridios, true to his word, was ready in battle armor and waiting in the sunny courtyard that housed the cavalry in ten minutes. The matter that took the longest was readying the Jabberwock.

  A secret door opened from the side of the castle, the creature screeching in fury from within. Errol didn’t know where the beast had come from—he’d never seen it in his patrol duties. Errol watched from formation as soldiers from another unit attempted to get horses down a ramp to the dungeon—a ramp that had been hidden so well with magic, he supposed it had only been used for this creature.

  Horses were too skittish to pull the cage that housed the Jabberwock, and the unicorns didn’t fare much better.

  The dungeon master frantically told the king, “I managed to coax it into a cage and close the doors, but it drives fear into all other beasts. I can’t get it out of the dungeon.”

  The dungeon master, an elderly Fae, exuded so much magic it was obvious he was nearly as powerful as the royal family. Between his difficulties and General Hereweald’s reticence, this didn’t bode well for the coming battle with the beast. Errol wondered whether the creature was more difficult than it was worth.

  It took twenty men to haul a gilded cage made of the unrequited dreams of artists. The bars shimmered like dewdrops on blades of grass and glowed like moonlight.

  Only when the king himself placed his hand on the snow-white muzzle of each unicorn the cavalry brought, did the team of steeds calm enough to allow soldiers to hitch them to the cage. King Viridios was the Ruler of Birds, Beasts, and Bees after all. If there was anyone who could command a unicorn, it would be him.

  Once the team of unicorns were settled, the Jabberwock was pulled into the practice field, where more men had assembled.

  Despite the gaps between bars and the luminescence of the cage, what rested within was too dark to be seen. It swirled like mist but was as impenetrable as the blackness between stars. Errol was far from the creature, but he felt the waves of dark dreams emanating from the cage, sweet and inviting, a predator trying to draw him closer. The Jabberwock seemed to be made of fear and temptation. The soldiers who stood nearest shivered and snuck continual glances over their shoulders.

  Errol had never heard the general sound so cowed and frightened.

  Occasionally Errol caught a glimpse of dozens of smoldering eyes in the shadows, but for the most part, the Jabberwock was resting. When it wasn’t, King Viridios stroked the ruby ring on his finger and muttered calming words as one might do to a hound troubled by a visitor.

  One guard ventured too close and began to scream. He clutched at his ears. “Make it stop! Please!”

  The man had no wounds as far as Errol could tell, but he cowered and sobbed. The man was quickly relieved of duty.

  Errol was fortunate his assignment was to guard the king, and he stood far back from the monster.

  Errol scanned the troops, searching for Semmy’s tall frame that would loom over most of the Fae, but he didn’t see him. Perhaps he was in one of the units that had been ordered to remain at the castle and ensure the safety of the royal family while the king was away. Errol was certain Semmy would be jealous when Errol later told him about the Jabberwock and all he
’d witnessed in battle.

  The king’s speech was simple. He roared to his men with the enthusiasm of a muse. “We will make the Raven Court suffer. Fight with honor, and you will be remembered. Die with honor, and it will not be in vain. You fight for king and the kingdom of the Silver Court!”

  Errol felt oddly light-headed as the king’s muse magic was directed toward him. He fought the bloodlust that pulsed through his veins.

  The king waved his hand and he transported the entire assembled cavalry, two companies of king’s guards, and the Jabberwock to their new destination. Errol looked to his king in alarm. If he overtaxed himself, he would be weak in battle.

  It took a huge amount of power to transport five hundred men and their beasts. Transporting with magic wasn’t an uncommon skill for a Fae to possess, especially not the royal family, but it took a large amount of magic to do so, especially over long distances for a small group, which was why many preferred portals, enchanted coaches, or other means. Transporting left little energy for any other magic.

  The king looked winded, but the rage still burned hot in his eyes. Errol noticed the way King Viridios drew in the energy of those nearest him, tiny shimmering particles rising up from his guards without them noticing and being absorbed into his skin. It wasn’t unlike what he did with his muse magic, but unlike those occasions, he didn’t give back. He only took.

  Errol realized this was another advantage of being surrounded by guards. They weren’t just protectors, but subjects to use as fuel so that he could use magic again.

  Errol tore his gaze from the king to see a bleak landscape that might have once been farmland but was now barren of crops. All life and energy were absent from the soil, and the dried remains of plants crunched under Errol’s boots. The ground was as gray and gloomy as the sky. A storm threatened to blow in, the clouds a smear on the horizon.

  It looked like the kind of land that belonged in the Raven Court’s territory rather than the neutral ground Fae often used for travel. Perhaps the bleakness was simply a testament that the Raven Court had been through that way.

  Farther down the road Errol spotted the massacre.

  It was the only color in the otherwise monochromatic plain. The ground was painted scarlet, as if an artist had forgotten to add other colors to his paintbrush. The only way Errol could tell who was whom in the blur of battle was that the silver uniforms of the Silver Court’s royal guard were now crimson. Those left still standing were being taunted by the Raven Court’s soldiers.

  Vultures circled overhead. Or more likely, harpies from the Raven Court.

  What was left of the carriage and horses were bloody lumps impaled on jagged shards of wood. Errol thought of Steorra trapped in the splintered remains of the carriage. That was if she hadn’t been taken as prisoner. His hands swam with sweat inside his gauntlets.

  The general bade the horsemen circle the unicorns around so that the back of the cage faced the battle.

  The chill of winter laced the king’s tone. “Release the Jabberwock.”

  The general opened the cage with magic, not daring to get close enough to touch the actual lock.

  When the Jabberwock trampled out, the thud of its feet thundered against the ground, but Errol couldn’t see it, even with all his recent training in glamour. A wave of nightmare energy left Errol cold and shivering. The Jabberwock closed the distance between them and the Raven Court. Only then did General Hereweald give the command for the troops to start forward. Errol remained guarding the king, shield and sword ready.

  The warriors of the Raven Court smiled with anticipation as the smaller forces of the Silver Court rallied closer. They didn’t see the Jabberwock. They didn’t know what hit them. It tore through their ranks like a raging tempest.

  Errol wouldn’t have known the Jabberwock had claws except that he could trace the line of severed limbs and claw marks on the men’s bodies. He could see why General Hereweald hadn’t wanted to use the creature. It killed indiscriminately, slaying the Silver Court soldiers along with the Raven Court. The Jabberwock snarled and crunched down on men’s heads. Those that it didn’t kill outright screamed and writhed on the ground, tearing at their hair and clawing at their eyes.

  King Viridios stroked his ruby ring. “That’s right, my pet. Inspire madness, and drink it in.”

  The creature sounded like a muse gone bad.

  Errol wondered about the king’s son and daughter. Would the Jabberwock drive Princess Steorra mad as well? He tried to use his senses to reach out and feel whether Steorra was there and still alive, but he couldn’t. All he felt was terror rippling out of the Jabberwock in waves, drowning soldiers in that tide of magic. He pulled back into himself and as he did so, he sensed something unexpected from above.

  All eyes were on the Jabberwock, including the king’s. Errol looked up just in time to see a giant raven plummeting toward his sovereign.

  “Your Majesty!” Errol shouted. “Look out!”

  He transported himself before the king to defend his sovereign, raising his sword and shield in the process of doing so. The other soldiers nearest the king moved slowly, their movements like snails through honey, probably too drained of magic and life to be much use.

  Errol held the shield above the king’s head, bracing for impact when it came. He gripped his sword, keeping it raised toward the incoming raven. The bird crashed down on him, taking Errol and the king down with it. His sword was torn from his hand. King Viridios made a grunt of noise.

  His metal shield crushed into him and fell away.

  Errol thought the bird would have flattened them, but the king stood tall, glowing in the way humans described angels. He looked mighty and omnipotent. The raven was giant, grander than a condor, but the king stepped on its neck and snapped it under his boot.

  Errol’s shield was split in half. His sword lay bent and protruding from the raven’s chest. It was the second sword Errol owned that had been bent in the last year.

  Other soldiers had toppled over and fallen apart like a set of Roman boccie balls.

  King Viridios extended his hand to Errol. Dazed, Errol took it, surprised. He was more surprised when his sovereign inclined his head, as though thanking Errol. King Viridios’ eyes shifted to violet like his own. It lasted but a second before the king turned back to the battle.

  “Fall back,” General Hereweald shouted to the soldiers of the Silver Court.

  Too many of them were being massacred by the Jabberwock.

  King Viridios stroked his ruby ring once again, whispering in the old Fae tongue. His tone was so cloying and inviting, even Errol wanted to sink closer to his king and bow at his feet.

  Once the creature was safely caged again, King Viridios strolled the battlefield with a fresh unit of guards, which he bade Errol command.

  He delegated tasks to his general and majors. “Ensure this bird is taken to my castle. It will be a fine present for my queen to dine on one of the roasted corpses of our enemies.”

  Errol didn’t envy his sister having to prepare a beast of that size for a meal.

  Errol scanned the debris. Bones that had been gnawed of flesh protruded from the ground. The king’s boots crunched over the bones of the dead. Errol tried not to retch every time his own boots encountered anything soft and slick.

  Each time he asked himself, “Whose organ am I stepping on? Friend or foe?”

  King Viridios stopped at the remains of the carriage and stooped. He could have used magic or bade his men clear the debris, but he pried the wood and metal away himself to reveal the crushed bodies of his son and daughter. King Viridios crouched, touching a hand to Princess Steorra’s cheek. His shoulders curled toward her protectively. Steorra was so bruised and bloody Errol wouldn’t have recognized her. She could have been an elderly lady’s maid or companion with her silver hair. King Viridios must have seen something in her that Errol couldn’t—and Errol didn’t doubt a king with so much magic at his disposal would b
e able to sense traces of his own kin’s magic.

  Errol’s eyes filled with tears. Steorra was the kindest of the king’s children. She didn’t deserve this death.

  King Viridios’ breathing was ragged. He examined his son next.

  Errol left the king’s side to walk among the dead. Many were nothing more than a pile of bloody bones. Black feathers drifted like leaves on the wind. From the pile of corpses, a finger twitched.

  Errol crouched, not caring if he stained his uniform. “Is someone alive?”

  A moan came from a man. His face was young, the splatter of blood almost obscuring him enough Errol didn’t recognize him. Then Errol saw the insignia on the soldier’s collar and knew he was from the Silver Court.

  “This man is still alive!” Errol said. “We need medics.” He placed a hand on the lad’s head to reassure him.

  General Hereweald snorted. He kept his distance.

  Another man moaned nearby.

  “Errol,” he rasped.

  Errol took a closer look. Warmth drained from his face as he realized it was Semmy. His friend lifted a hand, and Errol took it. This was why he hadn’t seen his friend assemble with the troops. He had already been on the battlefield, most likely one of the guards sent as reinforcements.

  “This man needs a medic,” Errol called over his shoulder, louder than before so that his commanding officers wouldn’t mistake his words.

  He looked around, but there were no physicians or medics who had come with them, only soldiers. He dug Semmy out from under a beheaded harpy and cleared the carnage off him.

  “You’re all right. You’ll be all right,” Errol said.

  Sweat beaded up on Semmy’s face. His eyes were glazed over and his breathing shallow.

  He could already tell Semmy’s legs were broken, but he didn’t see any wounds to his abdomen or chest. There were minor cuts on his face, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. He shook uncontrollably. Errol imagined it was from the loss of blood from the leg with the bone jutting out. He used his belt as a tourniquet, altering a sailor’s spell for knots to keep it in place.