A Court of Muses

by Sarina Dorie

  “Out of the darkness, comes light,” King Viridios bellowed.

  He waved a hand at the wings, and the midnight feathers wavered and flickered. Sunlight reflected off a flash of gold. The hue of midnight melted away and became brilliant as polished metal. The crowd gasped.

  Errol stared in awe.

  “I award these wings to our finest warrior.” The king took hold of the wings and raised them high for all to see.

  Errol’s admiration of the wings from his vantage point ended when the king reached around Errol’s back and planted them just under his shoulder blades. He nearly pitched forward from the force of the thump against his back. He drew in a sharp breath as the agony of the wings cut into his skin and melded with his bones. His back burned, but he forced himself to be calm and still. He didn’t want to humiliate himself on his day of glory.

  His breath was a ragged pant, and he felt light-headed as the pain faded. At last he rose. The crowd cheered as he turned to face them. King Viridios slapped a hand on his shoulder in the same way Errol might do to Semmy.

  Then the king pushed Errol from the platform.

  Errol’s scream caught in his throat. Unexpectedly, the wings spread wide of their own volition. His trepidation turned to relief. Errol felt magic at work, the king’s muse magic, or something close to it. The energy rushed through him, tasting of power and victory. Exaltation flooded through him.

  Errol soared over the crowd and circled back. Flying was glorious, though he recognized he had no control over his wings. He was but a marionette on the end of strings, guided gently by his benefactor. It wasn’t an unwelcome sensation, feeling his sovereign’s guiding hand assist him in flight.

  After another full swoop around the cheering crowd, Errol took his place beside Helga, his wings folding in to rest behind him. People stared at him in awe. Errol wished Alma had been there to see him.

  Helga nodded approvingly.

  Later Errol was going to ask her how to work his gift from the king on his own. Flying lessons would come in handy, as well as learning the glamour necessary to make his wings invisible when he didn’t want them to be seen. There would be other problems that would come with wings, he suspected. He didn’t know how he was going to get his jacket off for one.

  When the king called the next group of men forward to commend them for their service, Semmy was among that group. By now Semmy must have grown tired. Even with crutches, he required the assistance of another soldier to make his way before the king. Many of the heroes came limping, while some were pushed forward in wooden chairs on wheels.

  The king dipped his head in a gesture of gratitude, though he didn’t speak words of thanks out loud. If he had, he would have owed them a formal boon. “I am privileged to have such brave men in my cavalry and in the king’s guard. You honor the Silver Court with your service.”

  Errol considered how many of these men would have been left behind. He appreciated the king’s charity and generosity, but he wondered whether the king would have even bothered to notice them had he not been there to protest leaving them.

  King Viridios bade his footmen place medals over the men’s heads. The king started back, signaling he was done with this group, but Queen Anwynn left her throne, stepping forward.

  “And now a gift from me to express my heartfelt need to recognize your deeds in battle.” Her voice was as chilling as the wind on a winter’s day.

  “Anwynn,” King Viridios said, his voice low and almost too soft to be heard.

  “You had your turn, and now I will have mine,” she snapped. “I wish to acknowledge these men and honor them with the gifts they deserve.”

  Dread settled in the pit of Errol’s belly. This was too much like the Morty fairy tales about Fae folk and the gifts they gave that turned out to be a mixed blessing—or worse—a curse. Errol locked eyes on Semmy in the small band of men. His friend stared up at the Fae queen in resignation.

  The temperature in the square dropped, and ice formed around the queen’s hem, frost wicking up her pale dress and gliding over her skin. Her rage seeped out of her like pus from a wound.

  “I commend these men for managing to save their own lives in battle.” Her voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Yet somehow, these soldiers, who made an oath to king and kingdom, seemed to have forgotten the king’s son and allowed him to die at the hands of our enemies. Where is the honor in that? Shall I be grateful to cowards who permitted the Raven Court to attack my child?”

  The queen hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen these men fight. Many had given their lives for the prince and princess. They would have been left for dead and died without acknowledgment, but Errol had intervened. As far as he could tell, she was furious her son was dead and they lived, but she didn’t understand the circumstances. Errol shifted from foot to foot uneasily. He couldn’t bear for her to curse Semmy or anyone else.

  The king spoke too quietly to hear over the ripple that went through the crowd.

  The queen had made no mention of Princess Steorra, her stepdaughter. Errol scanned the booths for Prince Elric-Atherius, but from this distance, below the family’s private booths, it was difficult to make out the nobles’ features. The elaborate costumes and excess of glamour hid the identity of many. If there was anyone in the royal family left who might care for the lives of commoners, Prince Elric-Atherius was the only one.

  Errol couldn’t find him in the booths of royalty. Errol started forward.

  Helga placed a hand on his wrist, drawing him back. She whispered, “Are you willing to risk your life for whatever you are about to say? That is the price it will cost you if you cross the king and queen. You will be executed on the spot.”

  His attention was stolen from Helga when the queen spoke again.

  “I will not be silenced,” Queen Anwynn roared, voicing the sentiment Errol himself wished to express. “These men did nothing. They failed. You recognize them for their ineptness. Very well. So will I. They did nothing. And now they are nothing.”

  She waved her hand. The small group of survivors vanished. Semmy’s crutch clattered to the ground, echoing in the unnaturally quiet square. Nothing more remained of the men.

  Errol stared in horror.

  The air around the king crackled with tension. Flames danced over his fine silver robes, turning the fabric into a smoldering wave of heat.

  Errol turned back to Helga.

  “Where did they go?”

  Her brows knit together.

  “Is it a glamour?” he asked.

  “No. They are gone. Perhaps . . . the prison.” She sounded doubtful.

  Panic rose in Errol as he considered what new fate awaited Semmy. What had the queen done with his friend and his comrades? He hoped she hadn’t sent them to the Jabberwock. There was hope so long as she hadn’t done that.

  “Bring out the prisoners,” the queen said.

  “I am not finished handing out awards,” King Viridios said.

  “That can wait. This can’t.” Queen Anwynn looked to her servants below. “You heard me. Bring out the prisoners from the Raven Court.”

  Men brought out the prisoners. Errol had seen the Raven Queen’s children but days before. They looked especially haggard and weak, the iron manacles inhibiting all magic and glamours they might have once used. It was only when they turned to face the queen on the dais that Errol saw the other contributing factor to their weariness. Both members of royalty from the Raven Court were missing their wings. Rugged stubs dried with blood protruded from each of their backs.

  Errol had assumed his wings had come from the bird that had tried to assassinate the king. Now he wasn’t so certain. Queasiness churned in his belly.

  “I have reviewed the contract between the Raven Queen and my husband. It is unacceptable that you slew my precious son, and Queen Morgaine sends mere grandchildren instead as next of kin, but no matter. The contract is signed. You have taken the life of ours, and we will t
ake the lives of the Raven Queen’s kin.” Queen Anwynn’s voice filled the square, amplified so that it thundered like a storm. “Monaud of the Raven Court and Perrusia of the Raven Court, I sentence you to death after I have finished expressing my disdain for you and all you have done.”

  Queen Anwynn stepped off the dais. Errol half expected her to sprout wings of her own. Instead a staircase made of ice crystalized under her dainty feet, materializing step by step as she descended. Magic shimmered in the air around her, the fragrance of lilacs and vengeance.

  Monaud, the man, darted away from the queen. He couldn’t go far in his iron manacles. A guard closed in, but Errol could see it was a young private, a Witchkin still inexperienced at combat. The young man thought the prisoner meant to escape, but Errol could see where Monaud reached before the private did. Errol transported himself just as Monaud yanked the private’s sword from his sheath.

  Monaud shouted, vehemence in his tone. A hint of a French accent laced his words. “I will not give you the satisfaction of my death.”

  Monaud slit his own throat. Blood spurted out of his neck just above the iron collar. He still had enough stamina to turn to Perrusia, intent on killing her as well.

  All Errol had time to do was bring his own sword down on Monaud’s hand, severing it at the wrist. The private’s sword toppled to the ground, followed by Monaud’s limp body a moment later. The private stared at Errol, mouth gaping.

  “Fall back into the ranks and glamour yourself invisible,” Errol said quietly.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Captain Errol here to save the day again,” the queen said, eyes narrowing.

  “Indeed.” The king vanished into mist on the dais and materialized beside the queen. “This is the Fae who saved my life. A renowned war hero.” He placed a hand on her elbow, his grip firm as he bent close to her ear. “I owe this man my life. Do not do anything rash. Especially not in public, where you will dishonor yourself and me. If you do, I will make you regret it.”

  The queen snorted. “I have nothing against this man. I simply wish to exact my revenge on the children of my enemies.”

  The king held out his hand and the private’s bloody sword lifted from the ground, the hilt landing in King Viridios’ outstretched palm. “Here is your enemy, Princess Perrusia, general of the Raven Queen’s army.” He handed the queen the sword. “I give you the honor of executing our children’s murderer.”

  Errol stepped aside, not wanting to get in Queen Anwynn’s way. The hatred in her eyes said she would cut down anyone in her path.

  Anwynn glided toward her prey. “Bow to me.”

  When the enemy princess didn’t, the queen struck Perrusia on the top of her head with the hilt of the sword. She swiped at the princess behind her knees with the flat of the blade and made her fall forward.

  “You will bow to your superiors,” Queen Anwynn said.

  Princess Perrusia stared at her with defiance in her eyes. Queen Anwynn smiled as she struck the woman on the back where her wings had been severed. Perrusia fell to all fours now, crying out in pain. The queen kicked her in the face.

  “You think you know pain from the Raven Court? Queen of Pain and Pleasure, that is her title, is it not?” Queen Anwynn demanded. “I promise you, there is nothing that can compare to what I have in store for you. Only then will you have an idea of what true pain is.”

  When Perrusia lifted her head, Queen Anwynn struck her again on the side of her head with the sword, nicking her ear.

  Errol waited for the queen to finish beating the foreign princess and execute her. The crowd shifted uneasily. The queen’s temper and her mercurial moods were nothing new, nor was the royal family’s jealousy and pettiness, but he suspected many who dwelled in the village fortress of Ffynnoncaernpenrhynpentre had never stepped inside the castle or had dealings with the royal family personally.

  When the queen was winded and all her rage seemed to be spent, she turned back to the booths of royalty. “Now I invite my family to take part in taming this beast. Who will join me?”

  The villagers whispered among themselves. Errol couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see it in their eyes. They thought their queen had gone mad.

  “It’s the grief of losing a son,” one Fae woman said. “It’s her right to take revenge however she sees fit with this tithe that she has been sent.”

  “It might be her right, but it’s still wrong for a queen to dirty herself this way,” someone else said.

  The royalty muttered to one another as well, vicious eagerness in their eyes.

  One man of the Silver Court stood. “Mother!” he shouted.

  Errol recognized the voice. Prince Elric-Atherius stepped to the edge of his booth, his bloodshot eyes surrounded with dark bruises. He hadn’t even bothered to glamour the sorrow from his face to give himself a stoic appearance. Beside him sat Princess Quenylda, his wife. Her eyes were too round and large, giving her an innocent, childish appearance until she shifted her face and her proportions changed, her eyes growing smaller and pinched together while her lips became bigger. The layers of glamour she used were showy enough to match her gown made of white peacock feathers. She fanned herself, eyeing her brother-husband with curiosity.

  “Ah, you wish to be next to strike out at our enemy?” Tears filled Queen Anwynn’s eyes. There was such loving pride on her face, Errol almost forgot the morbid circumstances around him.

  “No,” Prince Elric-Atherius said. “This is ridiculous. We are the Silver Court. We are muses. This is not the court of pain and pleasure. Torturing and humiliating our tithes is below us.” Prince Elric-Atherius gestured at his people. “Is this truly what you want our subjects to witness?”

  Errol sighed in relief. The prince wasn’t a complete knave if he saw the shock and incredulity in his people’s eyes. He was the rational voice the Silver Court needed.

  Though Errol was uncertain they could be reached.

  “How dare you speak to me this way. I am your mother and the queen.” Her voice boomed over the rising voices in the crowd.

  “Have mercy on the prisoner and execute her. That is what you said you would do. It is what your children would have wanted you to do. Princess Steorra”—His voice cracked on her name—“wouldn’t have wanted you to lower yourself in this way.”

  The wound of losing his sister had come too soon after the wound of losing his child.

  Anwynn hissed. “Do not speak to me about your father’s bastard daughter. She was weak and spineless. My children are not.”

  He turned away, shaking his head.

  Quenylda stood. “No, we are not. We will join you, Mother.”

  The king’s visage remained grim. He said through clenched teeth, “All further retributions will follow in the dungeon. Privately.”

  King Viridios drew in a deep breath, and his body burst into a thousand pieces. At first Errol thought he must have exploded into dust, then he realized each of those pieces was an insect, swarming around the prisoner in such a thick cloud it was difficult to see. Errol dodged back. His eyes could see this was the third kind of glamour Helga had taught him about, turning an idea into reality through the transmutation of the fabric of the ethers.

  Errol glamoured himself invisible and did the best he could to make himself intangible, but he wasn’t completely successful. He felt the insects buzzing through the space he occupied. They rattled and sizzled when they encountered where his wings were supposed to be. Errol apparently hadn’t figured out how to completely glamour his wings. It was a strange sensation for part of his body to remain while the rest of it turned incorporeal.

  As the swarm of bees, wasps, hornets, and termites dispersed into the crowd, people leapt back. They pushed and shoved their way out of the square, trampling each other in the streets to escape the growing swarm.

  Errol transported himself a safe distance away, closer to the castle, where he could see the chaos without being part of it. The king and
queen were gone, as was their prisoner. Captain Helga’s brilliant gold wings shimmered as she flew above the crowd. The royal guard didn’t even try to keep order.

  Errol couldn’t blame them. He didn’t have a great love for the royal family or their rules at the moment either. Not after what Queen Anwynn had done to the cavalry and royal guard. When Helga landed, he joined her.

  “Where are Semmy and the others?” he asked.

  She rolled her shoulders, and her wings disappeared. “I don’t know.”

  “You said the dungeon,” he prompted. “We can go there to see if we can find them. Correct?”

  “We will go there and look.” She sounded less certain now.

  Errol seldom had reason to go to the dungeon. He had gone once to patrol the hallway outside when the king had questioned a prisoner, but it had been another man who had gone inside. Helga led the way, the quick pace of her feet telling him she had been there many times. They descended the steps to a grim and grimy stone level, the gray walls so different when compared to the glittering crystal floors above.

  Errol’s wings were both a burden and a blessing. They lit the way more effectively than a torch. He bumped them into walls and into Helga accidentally.

  She gave him a dirty look. “I’m going to need to teach you lessons with those wings.”

  “Aye,” he said absently, his mind focused on Semmy.

  Outside the heavy wood door of the dungeon, Helga nodded to the guards on duty. “Are there any new prisoners?”

  “Not new exactly,” Private O’Sullivan, the man on duty said. “The king and queen just arrived with the old prisoner. The one from the Raven Court.”

  Helga snorted. “Indeed. We know the one.”

  She continued, peeking into iron cells, leading Errol down sets of stairs to the prison. They continued going deeper underground. Errol had never known the castle extended so low. He felt like he was descending into hell. Helga kept her wings glamoured, but she glowed like an angel, adding light to the dismal surroundings. Even with her at his side, he felt alone. An oppressive gloom pressed against him.