A Court of Muses

by Sarina Dorie

  Errol waited a week before he was summoned to the king’s private study. He hoped this would signal his departure and the king meant to say goodbye in person.

  If the buzzing of bees reflected the king’s mood, Errol suspected irritations swarmed around inside his sovereign, volatile and ready to sting at any moment. Errol entered the room, his hope turning as brittle as eggshells.

  King Viridios stood upon Errol’s entry to the room. His visage was solemn. “I have commended you for your service to your kingdom with a medal, wings, and a position as a captain. You are a fine soldier and the best in my guard.”

  Errol bowed his head in acknowledgment. “It is kind of Your Majesty to say so.”

  “Which is why I cannot let you go just yet. I need you here.” King Viridios placed a hand on Errol’s shoulder, the gesture almost fatherly. “You owe me years of service.”

  “For making me an enlisted officer? And for giving me the position of cabin boy in my first job?” He still owed him, after this long? Errol forced his face into one of neutrality so as not to betray his disappointment in front of his superior. “How long am I indebted to Your Majesty?”

  “I haven’t decided.” The king paused, his mustache twitching as he considered the matter. “Until I have no need of your services any longer. Currently, I desire you to be here in my court. The royal guard needs an honest man of integrity like yourself. I need you to change the system from within.”

  “You are king. You can do anything,” Errol said. He could change his court himself.

  “As king, I must be the face of the Silver Court. I must please everyone, including my family, and manage them and their many mistakes.” King Viridios stared into Errol’s face, his eyes shifting from green to silver. “You are not a politician. You are a military man. It is your job to create order and enforce it. That is what I require of you. Doing what I cannot.”

  “I would be . . . happier elsewhere,” Errol said.

  “So would I,” said the king, turning away.

  Errol left, returning to his room in a gloom. His king and all his generosity were a sham. Everything Errol thought the Silver Court stood for was as false as the glamours the royal family wore to adorn themselves. He no longer held King Viridios on the pedestal he once had, and it sickened him he had been so naive to trust in him this long. Errol didn’t doubt the king’s compliments were simply flattery to keep Errol close. His praise was meant to beguile him into continued loyalty and service.

  Errol owed his sovereign years of service. How long that would be, he still didn’t know. He was bound in body, but Errol wasn’t bound in spirit. He could still work for the king and undermine him. He could be a poor soldier and neglect his duties. Even as he considered such spiteful conduct, Errol knew it wasn’t in him to do such a thing.

  The more he thought about the king’s words, Errol realized they weren’t unfounded. He was a man of integrity. He wasn’t there to make friends, though he had attracted allies and earned the respect of others who also believed in honor and duty. Like Captain Helga.

  His goal had always been to serve his kingdom, be just and kind, and ensure his unit performed their duties diligently and with dignity. Errol would continue with his position in the king’s guard. Just as the king had suggested, he would fight the system from within.

  With one exception.

  He wasn’t doing this for his king or the Silver Court. He would make the world a better place for the people out there who needed it, like Semmy, who had been treated unfairly by the queen. He would fix the world for Princess Steorra, who should never have been permitted to be the target of her sister’s attack. There were people out there like Prince Elric-Atherius, who needed an ally and a loyal guard to ensure the future families he loved didn’t suffer as his mistress and child had at Princess Quenylda’s hands.

  And then there was Alma. There always would be Alma, even if she wasn’t ready to see him yet. Errol would make the world a better place for her. He would fix what was broken in the Silver Court and redeem himself in her eyes.

  In his own eyes.

  THE END

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  PREVIEW

  Tardy Bells and Witches’ Spells

  from

  Womby’s School for Wayward Witches

  PROLOGUE

  Oops, I Did It Again

  “Magic is not real,” I said as I waited for my therapist to come in.

  Magic wasn’t real—because if it was—that would mean I was a witch. And if I was a witch, it would mean I had killed two people using my magic. It was better to be normal. It was safer.

  But after everything I had experienced in my sixteen years, it was hard to believe magic didn’t exist.

  The antique clock on the wall ticked away, the rhythm slow and lethargic. Even through the haze of medications, I felt uneasy from my therapist’s tardiness.

  I hugged a potted orchid in my hands, trying not to damage the white flowers. It grounded me to hold on to something. Another orchid my mom had given Dr. Bach rested on his desk, stretching toward the cheery sunshine beyond the misty veil of curtains.

  My mind dipped into the well of dark memories I wanted to forget. I pushed away unbidden thoughts of my older sister and what had happened to her and my first love, Derrick. I would not think about it. Dr. Bach said what had happened wasn’t my fault.

  I remembered Derrick’s blue eyes, full of sunshine and optimism. The way he used to smile at me had banished the cold cynicism of the world and reminded me anything was possible. I imagined his lips on mine, his arms pulling me into the sanctuary of his embrace. The old yearning returned, bittersweet and suffocating in its intensity. Tears filled my eyes.

  The room grew eerily silent. The clock no longer ticked. The lamps in the corners flickered and hummed. Haltingly, the mechanisms of the clock started up again, but this time the beat ticked irregularly.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  Silence.

  Tick-tick-tick-thunk.

  The second hand spun counterclockwise in spurts. The scents of potted plants and dusty chairs faded under the sharp tingle of ozone and metal. Electricity tingled under my skin.

  “Oh no.” I flinched and looked around, ready for something to explode.

  This was not happening again. It had to be one of my hallucinations. I didn’t want to be crazy, but the alternative was worse.

  Beyond the window, the black silhouettes of birds cast ominous shadows over the interior of the room. Their wings slapped against the glass as if trying to break their way in. I squeezed my eyes closed, my apprehension growing. Those were just birds. They w
ere not evil Fae, I told myself. No one was about to abduct me as they had with my sister.

  “Magic is not real.”

  I said it, but I was wrong.

  CHAPTER ONE

  If You Believe in Fairies, Clap Your Hands

  “You’re a liar, ginger,” Karen Walker said as we walked home from school with her older brother and his friend.

  “No, I’m not!” I said. No one managed to make my blood boil the way the neighbor kids did. Had it been anyone else, I could have ignored them. “And don’t call me that, squib.” I hoped I wasn’t going to get in trouble for saying that word. My older sister said it wasn’t a real swear word, but it felt like one.

  “If you’re a witch, prove it.” A little smirk tugged Peter Walker’s mouth into a sneer. “Do something magical for us.” He nudged his buddy, Jordan Burke, like it was a joke. They were fifth graders, two years older than Karen and me.

  “Maybe I will.” I held my head up high, imagining myself impervious to the sting of insults in my witch hat, black cape, and Gryffindor scarf. Even so, a prickle of hurt wormed its way under my armor of striped socks.

  If I was going to prove myself, I would have to hurry before my parents came home from work and stopped me.

  Our two-story brick house was a lush oasis surrounded by green gardens and shady trees in a desert of boring cookie-cutter homes with dead grass. Once we’d made it through the gate of the white picket fence, the four of us kids dragged the large trampoline over to the side of the house, under the lower part of the roof where it was only one story. I tried to direct them so they didn’t stomp through Mom’s artful arrangement of flowers planted along the perimeter of the patio, but they didn’t listen. Karen chewed on the end of her brown braid, listening as Jordan whispered to her. He usually didn’t deign to speak to third graders, but today he had walked home with Karen’s older brother, Peter.

  They wouldn’t be sorry they’d come. I was going to show them magic.

  Awkwardly, I held the broom while I climbed up the ladder my dad had left leaning against the roof to fix the satellite dish. My heart hammered in my chest as I shuffled along the angled edge of the roof. I placed the broom between my legs. This would be like all those times I’d successfully practiced flying onto the trampoline before. Only, those times had been from the top of the three-foot brick wall that separated the patio and fire pit from my mom’s garden.

  I gazed down at my audience below. My witch cape billowed around my shoulders, and my red hair danced into my eyes. This was the moment I would prove I was a witch. I would fly. Tomorrow they’d be nice to me, and Karen would invite me to sit with her and the cool kids during lunch.

  “Hurry up, Clarissa,” Karen said.

  A niggling doubt worked its way into my mind. What if I wasn’t a witch? No, that was impossible. But if I wasn’t, the trampoline would surely break my fall.

  “Chicken,” Peter taunted.

  It occurred to me I might be wrong. I might be a fairy, not a witch. If that was the case, the broom wouldn’t work. I needed to ensure I would fly. I poured the bottle of pixie dust from the amulet around my neck. I just had to have light, happy thoughts like in Peter Pan. Or was that Mary Poppins?

  I closed my eyes and edged closer to the gutter. I had to concentrate. Magic only worked in stories when a witch focused—and when she needed it most. A door slammed somewhere behind me. I tried to ignore the sound. It probably was my sister getting home from her after-school club. She would go straight up to her room to do homework like she usually did.

  Another door opened and thudded closed.

  “What are you doing over here, Karen?” my older sister, Missy, asked. “Where’s Clarissa?”

  My accomplices chuckled.

  “She’s going to fly.” Karen tee-heed.

  “What are you talking about?” Missy came into view.

  Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wore a blue-and-green dress that reminded me of water. She joined them out on the lawn, trampling through Mom’s petunias.

  Great. My sister was about to ruin everything.

  Missy followed their gazes. Her curiosity transformed into anger as she shouted at me. “Oh, no you don’t! You get down this instant.”

  “Okay,” I said. I inched forward, my toes over the gutter. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “No! You go over to that ladder and get down. Right now.” Missy punched Karen in the arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself, encouraging her like that.”

  “Ow!” Karen squealed.

  Missy shoved Peter and rounded on Jordan. “You’re all a bunch of jerks.”

  “It’s okay, Missy,” I called down. “I can fly. I’m going to prove it. Just watch.”

  It didn’t count if no one watched. She had to be looking at me.

  “I told you to climb down. You get off the roof before you break your neck. Now!” Missy pointed to the ladder.

  I tried to explain why I needed to do this, but she talked over me. “Whatever these losers told you, ignore them. You don’t have to prove anything.”

  “Missy, listen,” I said. “You don’t have to worry. I know I can do magic, and I’m going to show you all. I just need you to be quiet so I can concentrate.”

  “If you do this, I’ll tell Mom and Dad.” She started up the ladder.

  “Good,” I said. They would see it was true and stop telling me I lived in a fantasy world.

  “No!” Missy said. “Do not do it. Stay where you are. I’ll get you down.”

  “I don’t need your help. You stay where you are. Don’t come any closer.” Why did she have to embarrass me in front of the neighbors?

  This wasn’t going well. If she tried to stop me, I was going to have to leap off the roof before I was ready. My clammy hands gripped the wood of the broom.

  She reached the top of the ladder. “If you don’t stop, I’ll make sure you get grounded. If you don’t stop, I’ll—”

  I inched away from her, slowly, not wanting to trip over the uneven shingles of the roof. “I don’t care.”

  Only, I did. I didn’t want to get in trouble. But this was going to be worth it. No one would punish me once they understood I had powers.

  “Stop being like this.” Missy inched toward me, arms out to balance herself on the incline. “If you do this, I’ll be mean to you. I won’t give you the toys in my Happy Meal. I’ll take back that dress I gave you yesterday.”

  I chewed on my lip. Missy was never mean to me. We were friends.

  My audience snickered below. I heard the words “gullible” and “moron.”

  Missy threw down her trump card. “If you jump, I won’t be your friend anymore.”

  My feet rooted to the shingles. She couldn’t!

  She went on. “If you’re going to be my best friend, you can’t do something stupid like this. If you jump off the roof and die—”

  “I’m not going to die.”

  “Fine, if you fly off the roof and survive, I won’t ever speak to you again. I’ll hate you, and you won’t be my friend anymore. Is that what you want?”

  I looked to the trio below and then to Missy. I shook my head.

  She offered me a smile, holding her hand out to me. I trudged back to her and took her hand. She grabbed the broom from me and threw it at Peter. He jumped back. She guided me to the ladder and held it as I climbed down. Each rung brought me closer to my impending doom. Once I stood at the bottom, the three other kids whispered to each other.

  Karen looked me over, her expression unimpressed. “I knew you weren’t going to do it.”

  I hung my head with shame. Tomorrow it would be all over the school. People would have one more reason to make fun of me. Couldn’t Missy understand how she had just ruined my life? I would never have friends now.

  Missy climbed down after me. She picked up the broom from where it lay in the tangles of thyme and rosemary and swatted at Karen and then Jordan. T
hey dodged back. Jordan kept laughing, even as she hit him. He stopped laughing when she smashed the wood of the broom against his nose.

  He cried out and grabbed his face, blood spurting from between his fingers. I stared in wide-eyed shock.

  “Get lost, all of you. If I ever hear about you egging her on like this again, I’ll make you regret it. Understand me?” Missy’s hair fell out of her ponytail and streamed around her shoulders in wild waves. She looked like she could have been a witch at that moment. She smacked Peter with the broom. “You’re a bunch of jerks and bullies. Someone could have gotten hurt today. I won’t let you pick on my sister.” Her voice turned hoarse as she shouted and chased them.

  They ran around the side of the house and out the gate of our white picket fence. Missy stared after them, waiting until they’d run across the street. The wooden gate swung on its hinges.

  “Wow, that was great,” I said. My sister could be simultaneously terrifying and wonderful.

  Missy stalked back toward me, dragging the broom in the dirt of the flower beds. Her cheeks were flushed. I smiled at her, grateful she’d told off those kids. Maybe they wouldn’t tease me tomorrow.

  As I reached out to hug Missy, she slapped me across the face, hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

  I stumbled back. “What was that for?”

  Missy burst into tears. “Don’t ever do anything stupid like that again. Promise me. I don’t want to lose you.” She grabbed me and clutched me to her.

  I hugged her back and patted her shoulder.

  “Do you know what Mom would have done to me if you had broken an arm when I was supposed to be watching you? Do you know what she would have done to you? She’s one step away from taking away your Narnia books as it is.”

  “No! Not my books!” I said. “You won’t tell Mom and Dad, will you?”

  She didn’t answer.