Once Sapphire’s back inside, we carry Thelia to her bed and lay her on it, face down and wounds up. She lets out an anguished howl. Sapphire holds up one hand and the door flies open. In sails a bowl with a bundle of rags, landing on the table by the bed. Sapphire reaches down and taps the side of Thelia’s temple. Her head falls limp and she goes silent.
“You knocked her out?” I gape at Sapphire.
“What wo-o-ould you do?” They dip a rag into the soapy water and begin cleaning off the raw spots on Thelia’s arms, where beads of blood rise to the surface all along her flesh.
“Why didn’t you do that earlier?” I ask. “You could’ve saved her a lot of pain.”
Sapphire scoffs. “Then she would not have learned anything.”
I take a long breath to shove my temper back down into my stomach. I peer out the window, seeing what Thelia saw: freedom.
Four Halls has become a prison beyond my worst imaginings.
Bayled
More of the Baron’s soldiers appear in the flurry of white, all dressed for winter. One raises a spear and points into the dense, snow-covered trees. Without a word, my men start walking.
I square my shoulders and dig my feet in. “Where are you taking us?” The soldier pressing his dagger into my side slides down his hood.
It’s a woman—oh, it’s Captain Tarkness. When the Baron first visited Four Halls, the Captain’s role as his right hand was a popular topic of gossip.
“Red will be the one to talk with you.” She prods my side with the point of the blade and I jump forward. She doesn’t sound angry or cruel, but stern, like my mother was. The steely, measured voice of a diplomat.
The Baron’s fortress is one squat tower hidden behind two fearsome wooden stakewalls, their points facing out to stop unwanted cavalry. But inside, the castle has low ceilings and thick stone and a fire blazing in the main hearth. For the first time since we left Melidihan, I feel warm. The captain calls out, “Red, come down!”
A man descends the stairs, dressed in a scarlet jacket and handsome riding boots, with wisps of silver hair at his temples. He recognizes me at once. “Bayled Vasha.”
No “Master” or “Young Master” or “Ward.” Just my name. I always liked that about him.
The captain salutes. “We caught them sneaking through the woods.”
“We were on our way here to talk with you,” I say.
The Baron quirks one of his thick, sharply-arched eyebrows. “About what?”
“About the fact that you failed to answer the King’s call to arms.” What audacity to feign ignorance.
“I see.” He tilts his head at our prisoner. “And who’s this?” She bares all her teeth at him.
“This one tried to kill General Vasha,” Harged chimes in, much to my irritation. I shoot him a look to shut up, but he’s oblivious. “She works for that craggon Nul se Lan.”
The Baron’s gaze flicks to me. “The King’s heir tried to have you murdered?” He walks up to the prisoner and peers down. “Why did your master command you do this?”
She says nothing and sets her jaw. Red turns around and gestures at Captain Tarkness. “Please, Captain.”
She nods and approaches the prisoner, removing her sword from its sheath. By the time I realize what she’s about to do, it’s too late to stop it. The Captain slides her sword through the braided woman’s chest. The prisoner smiles, blood seeping through her lips.
Everyone in Stone Company, even Sasel, gasps. The prisoner falls forward to the floor, never to get up again. Harged tenses up behind me like he’s ready to fight.
“Was that necessary?” I ask. “She was a prisoner. She presented no danger to anyone.”
The Baron levels his gaze on me. “Not at this moment. But she did before and would again. You should have killed her as soon as it was clear she wouldn’t talk.”
I take a step forward, and the Captain seizes the rope still tied around my hands. “You’re the one I should kill,” I snap. “Deserting is a crime punishable by death.”
This threat doesn’t seem to faze him. “Captain, Bayled and I will discuss this further in my study. Get these soldiers something to eat, please.” The Baron waves at Harged. “You can relax, Halen. I won’t kill your general tonight—unless he tries it first.”
Sapphire
The Commander told us humans are stupid, slaves to their instincts, like orkuks. They will take orders if you offer them something good enough. They only learn lessons the most difficult way—through experience.
Parsifal, however. He only says a tiny fraction of the many thoughts that I see flickering behind his eyes. Always he is observing, cataloging, planning. I have to be careful what I say around him, because he could use it against me later.
He stares down at Thelia while I rub salve on her wounds and bandage them up. “What was that outside the window, Sapphire?” he asks quietly.
The more they know, the more they can scheme and manipulate me. I peel the bits of torn fabric away from Thelia’s back. “A net. To keep humans from leaving.”
“First that blue shield to hold in the Magic, now this invisible net? What happens if we leave, Sapphire?”
I retreat from the bed, finished with my work for now, and make my way to the hearth. With a wave of my hand over the logs, they catch fire.
Parsifal follows. “Don’t avoid me.”
“You are covered in Magic.” I reach out and brush a finger down his shoulder, trying to indicate the thick layer of Magic draped over him like a second skin. The sensation of him under my fingers is lightning, and Parsifal jolts back. We both felt it. “That Magic makes you dangerous.”
“Is that why I can do . . . things?” he asks.
“Probably.” I should not be telling him anything he doesn’t need to know. We will handle it, as soon as the host arrives and builds the new sanctuary. I just need these two to stop getting into trouble until then.
“That’s why you’ve trapped us in here?” Parsifal asks. “You don’t want us running around out there doing Magic.”
I weigh what I want to tell him with what I can tell him. The language barrier keeps getting in my way. “Yes. Without control, Magic is very dangerous. But soon we will take it all off, then you can leave.” They cannot know how excruciating the cleansing process will be, or they will never cooperate. But I wish I could assure them that after they are brought before the Magicker and scream until they are hoarse, they will get to leave this place whole.
That was the plan—clean, relocate, and be done with it. Simple. But in this moment, I realize it is not simple at all. We will build them a new home, of course. But their real home—this castle, the Holy Kingdom—will be gone.
Their short lives will never be the same, and they will hate us forever for it.
Parsifal’s flat nose wrinkles in confusion. “Take it off us? I don’t—”
“Get some rest,” I interrupt, ushering him back to his room. “We can talk more later, when Thelia is well again.”
I check on the King next. He writhes in his bed, not noticing when I enter. I wave my hand and a tray of food flies in, bearing bread and a bowl of soup, and lands on the bedside table. The surfeit of Magic here may not be reliable, but its omnipresence makes my work easier.
I kneel by his bed and touch his arm to get his attention. His eyes creak open, coated in a layer of yellow-green muck.
“We’ve captured your daughter,” I tell him. “You have no reason to resist the Commander’s wishes now.” All he has to do is capitulate and order the surrender; then we can cease worrying that the sworn lords will come to their sovereign’s rescue. The more humans who stream into Melidihan, the more we will have to subdue, sanitize and relocate—and the greater predicament it becomes.
The King’s reddened eyes close again. “Corene,” he whispers. “I want to see her.”
I already know what the Commander would say: absolutely not. We must keep the Princess feeling hopeless and isolated so she will do as Com
mander Valya asks.
“You can see your daughter once you announce the surrender,” I say. He gives no response. I cannot stay longer, as I am behind in preparing meals for the rest of my charges.
I hand the King a spoon and turn to leave.
“Please,” he moans after me. “My daughter.” I close the door and seal it.
Now comes my worst task. Down to the dungeon, where the Princess leans against the bars of her cell, sunken eyes staring out. I’ve done what I can to clean up the filth down here, but there is only so much time. Now that Thelia has torn herself up, I’m afraid to leave my charges in North Hall alone for too long should some further horror befall them.
Be grateful, Ellze said. Indeed.
I push a bowl of food through the panel in the cell door, but the Princess does not respond. I walk over and press her arm through the bars.
“What?” she growls.
I step back. “Ensuring you are still alive.”
Her head lolls away so she can look down at the floor. “I’d die if I could.”
So dramatic. I take out her old, dirty bowl. “Your friends are fine, yo-o-ou know.”
The Princess looks up. “What friends?”
“Thelia and Parsifal. I have them. They lied for you, though they knew all along where you were hiding.” I am not certain that this is true, but I sense the Princess will tell me.
She snorts. “Easy not to tell when you’re sleeping in a bed and eating three meals a day.”
“They were kept in this same cell.”
A sigh escapes her. “Whatever. My cousin’s a biylar bear—one head saying how great you are, the other biting your face off. If she knew there was something in it for her she’d have turned me in.”
I find myself surprised at her venom. The Princess is wrong, but I will not tell her. “Do you know where your father’s army is?” I try one more time.
She scoffs. “As if I’d know. Didn’t anyone tell you being the Princess makes me the least important person here?”
I do not press; I think I can get more from the two upstairs. If I feed them the right answers to their questions, something will give.
Thelia
I wake lying facedown on my bed. My whole body throbs. When I try to roll over, I understand why. The bandaged wounds down my back scream with pain, and I let out a moan, turning back onto my stomach.
The door opens and our food cart rolls in. I didn’t think I’d ever describe an inanimate object as “shy,” but that’s how the cart seems as it inches toward my bed, trying not to let its wheels squeak.
“Parsifal,” I call out. “Breakfast.” I bury myself under the blankets again. Everything hurts. The cart bumps into the bed lightly and I thrash out with one foot. It wheels back to avoid getting kicked and spins in feverish circles.
“Come on,” Parsifal says, peeling back my blanket. “You should eat. And you’re giving the food cart anxiety.”
I manage to eat a little before I give up and put the plates back. I want to sleep forever and forget this ever happened—just sleep until whatever the long ears have planned for us is done.
Long after the cart’s gone comes the zzzt of the Magic seal unraveling, and the door opens again. “Hello.” It’s Sapphire’s voice. I pull the blankets over my head. “Thelia? Are you well?”
I stay silent. I feel the mattress squish as Sapphire sits at the end of my bed. They must weigh a lot—I bet it’s all that metal in their skin. “How are your wounds?” Sapphire asks.
“Still sting.”
“That should stop soon.” They peel back one of the bandages. “Loo-o-ooking better.”
“What about all this?” I roll onto my side and gesture at my hair, which explodes from my head in every direction. Huge chunks stick together. Each time I’ve tried to peel them apart, they won’t give, and I get a sticky mess on my hands. “How do I get the goop out?”
Sapphire reaches out and touches a few locks of my hair. “It has hardened.” No shit. “The only way to remove it is to cut the hair off.” Sapphire produces a small knife.
It feels like I’ve swallowed a rock. Mother always praised me for my voluminous dark locks, tumbling effortlessly to my waist. You have the last few pieces of my people, she’d say as she braided it before our practices. Those dark eyes, that high nose, this beautiful black hair. Fit for a Queen.
With my face cut open—and my beauty ruined—my hair was all I had left in her eyes. “Please,” I say, but I have no energy to resist. What’s one more humiliation anyway?
Sapphire pats the sides of my head. I can’t tell if it’s to comfort me or appraise the damage. The sensation doesn’t feel . . . gross or uncomfortable, like I’d expect. I must be numb.
They start to cut. Exposing one chunk of my long hair, Sapphire finds the sticking point and chops. Lift, search, chop. Some bits of the sticky mess lie flush against my neck, and Sapphire has to go deep to cut them out. When the deed’s finally done, there’s enough of my hair on the floor for a rug.
I look down at it, feeling blank. No Queen of the Holy Kingdom has ever had short hair like a man. But my head feels light as a feather.
Parsifal
“It’s hot horsefish,” Thelia says, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair now sits unevenly above her shoulders—some chunks shorter, some longer, still sticking out in every direction.
After putting the pieces of the window back and stitching it together with some kind of Magical hand-waving, Sapphire has left, again, for only demons know what. At least their salves have worked, and Thelia can move again.
“Who are you?” I ask, peering at her in the mirror. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Parsifal.”
Thelia scowls at my reflection. “Stuff it, Percy.”
“You’ve always had it long, but I think it looks better like this.”
She rolls her eyes. “Flatterer. I kept it long because Mother wanted it that way. I wonder what Daddy will think when he sees. I’m worried about him.” How she can think of him now, when we’re trapped inside by a giant Magical spider web, mystifies me. But she’s always hungered for his approval.
The broom hastens in and begins brushing up the chopped hair on the floor.
“Hey!” She kicks at it. “That’s mine!” The broom just dodges her and continues its work.
“What are you planning to do with it?” I ask. “Knit something?”
“It’s the principle.” She gets up and hobbles around after the broom, but her injuries make it hard for her to keep up. Suddenly she freezes, staring at the wall.
A hole has opened up in it.
No, not a hole. A mouth. With teeth. And a lolling pink tongue. In one swing, the broom sweeps the pile of Thelia’s raven-black hair into the open mouth. Not all the hair makes it in, but the enormous tongue shoots out, curls around the rest, and licks it up.
The floor is clean except for a very large spot of drool. We both stand there, staring, as the broom hustles away. The mouth shrinks, the stones around it flattening back out, until it’s gone. The wall looks the same as before.
“What was that?” Thelia asks.
“A hallucination?” I pat the wall where the mouth was, but it’s simply a wall. “I mean, neither of us really knows what’s in the food the long ears have been feeding us.”
She stares at the spot. “It ate my hair.”
“Seemed to enjoy it too.”
Thelia sinks back into the chair at her vanity, staring into the mirror like she’s been struck by lightning. I find myself gazing at her wildly-chopped hair, like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed five times in a row. It gives me an idea.
I dash back to my room and open my desk drawer, looking for some way to halt what feels like a nonstop downward spiral. I root through old quills, used papers, clips, and bindings. There they are—scissors.
I return to Thelia. “Sit still. I’m going to fix this mess Sapphire made.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t
send me away. Her injuries must have drained her of some of her fight. So I take a breath, turn her away from the mirror so she can’t watch, and start snipping.
The elf hasn’t left me a lot to work with. Some sections on the top of her head are cut barely longer than the length of my hand. Others hang loose down her neck. Keeping it as long as I can on the sides, I trim the back close so it won’t look awful when it grows out.
Her hair is shorter than mine now. I’m surprised at how good it looks. Smiling, I turn her back around to face the mirror. “What do you think?”
She stares at herself a long time without speaking. My satisfaction vanishes. “Did I mess it up that badly?” I ask.
“No, Parsifal.” She meets my eyes in the mirror, trying to smile. “It’s wonderful.” But she can only do it for so long before she drops her head into her hands. “They’ve taken everything from us.”
So much for lightening the mood.
As I’d hoped, the broom comes back, drawn by the allure of another mess to clean up. It sweeps up the small pile of short, black hairs, carefully dodging Thelia’s feet.
There’s a shloop! as the stones in the wall separate and curl up into lips. Once more, the hole opens in the center, and a tongue lolls out. Thelia lets out a little gasp.
I approach the mouth, holding my hands up in a signal of peace. The tongue stops mid-lick.
“What are you?” I ask. The tongue retracts and the teeth close. “No, wait!” It’s here to eat. What could I offer it?
I take a chance and toss the scissors in my hands. In a single swoop the tongue lashes out and catches the scissors. The mouth swallows them. Both sides of the mouth curl up slightly. Is it smiling?
“Thelia! Bring me more stuff.” I grab an inkpot off her desk and throw that next. The mouth smashes the glass between its teeth, sucking down ink. It licks its lips, smearing black everywhere.
The tongue lolls back out again. Waiting. I can relate.
Thelia hobbles over. “Are you absolutely rung up the parapets?”
Castle of Lies Page 16
