Castle of Lies

by Kiersi Burkhart

  “It’s only a matter of time before they kill us,” Morgaun says. “Like boiling and plucking chickens for dinner, except dinner is a mass sacrifice. Just like the goddess warned us.”

  I stare at him. Sapphire would never participate in that, would they? They just said wash, relocate. Nothing worse. “If they wanted us dead, why aren’t we?”

  “Because it’s not time yet.” Morgaun slams his fist into the table and a glass spills. “But I’m going to stop them before that time comes. With Melidia’s blessing, I’m going to free us all.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask, stunned. “Do you know how strong they are?”

  Morgaun sneers at me. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I fought one. They’re ten times more powerful than you, pliggan.”

  “Well, I have a plan.” Morgaun smirks. “I won’t say more in case you tattle to your elfie friend.”

  “They’re not my friend!” I snap at him. “I’m as much a prisoner here as you. I want to escape as badly as you.” I touch my impossibly short hair. “How do you think this happened? Trying to escape, and failing. It’s not as easy as you think.”

  Morgaun scoffs. “Of course you can’t get out with Magic everywhere.” He grins at my surprised expression. “I know what’s going on. There’s so much Magic inside this castle it’s practically shivering with it.” Maybe Morgaun’s years of zealous study in the Temple have made him more knowledgeable than I expected.

  “There’s an elf who goes outside to burn it off every night,” he continues. “I see her through the window, siphoning Magic in bursts of flame. So that’s what I’ll do too.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Catch it all on fire. Watch this place burn down—and them.”

  My hand flies instinctively to the scar down my face. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but if there’s one thing Morgaun is good at, it’s destruction.

  Sapphire

  I don’t like this. That man—the one who must be Thelia’s sibling—is an awful creature. I hated leaving my humans with him, so I pace the halls, too restless to attend to other duties. The wisp hovers beside me, equally agitated. The longer I leave them, the greater chance we have of being discovered.

  Without asking the guard, I barge into the room. “Time to go,” I say. The humans’ language is like grinding marble in my molars.

  Thelia jumps up from the table, pale and grave. “I guess that’s it.”

  Her brother sneers. “So you do what they tell you?”

  Thelia ignores him and hugs her father again, fast. “I’m glad I got to see you, Daddy.” The old man just nods once. Parsifal, however, is alone. Pain rolls off him in stifling waves, and he hunches over as if his shoulder has been injured.

  Tying their hands together once more, I lead them out, and the soldier seals the door behind us.

  Back in North Hall, I insist that Parsifal let me examine him. If he is hurt, I need to know so we can treat him. He shoves me away angrily.

  “I’m fine.” He unbuttons his coat, revealing a glass bottle tucked under his arm. “Since my father isn’t around to enjoy this anymore, I took it.”

  There are no words that can soothe such a wound—nor atone for what The People have done to him. But I feel obligated to try. “I am sorry for your loss, Parsifal. And for the part my kind played in it.”

  His eyes are rimmed with red when he looks up at me, but there’s no anger left in them. Only defeat, resignation. “I half expected it,” he says, plopping down in one of the soft chairs by the fire. “Mom’s never been in good health. Dad, though . . .” He peers through the glass bottle. “He’s always been a stubborn fool. He survived one hostile takeover—chances were good he wouldn’t make it through another, bullheaded as he is.”

  I stoop to look at the bottle. “What is this?”

  “Wine.” Oh, that. I purse my lips. “You don’t approve?” Parsifal snorts.

  “It perverts the mind.”

  Thelia laughs and reaches for the bottle. “It’s harmless fun. We could all stand to relax a little.” She seems happier now—I suppose the visit to South Hall worked, like Parsifal said it would.

  Her eyes land on mine, and I can’t look away. Her red lips, thick and full and soft as rose petals, curl up on one side.

  I cross my arms. Commander Valya gave me one task: get information. “This trip was not free,” I say.

  “I figured it wasn’t,” Parsifal says. “Princess Corene is hiding in a secret tunnel with an entrance in the King’s chambers.”

  “Percy!” Thelia gapes at him, but Parsifal rolls his eyes.

  “What? Look at their face. The long ears already figured it out anyway.” Parsifal squints at me, clearly reading my expressions better than I realized. I was correct in remaining suspicious of his intellect. “What else do you want to know?”

  “Where is the King’s army? If the sworn lords do not surrender, there will be even more bloodshed.”

  He shrugs. “No idea. Bayled was in charge of it.”

  “Bayled?”

  Parsifal sighs and starts at the beginning. We were wrong about Hindermark having only a daughter. I wonder what other incomplete information the Commander received from the Chief of the Klissen.

  “Right before they left for war,” Parsifal says, “the King named a foreigner as his heir. He’s gone with the army too.”

  “Heir?”

  “Some good-looking craggon named Nul se Lan, from the Klissen. He becomes King if old Hindermark dies.”

  More kings? The Commander will be furious when he learns that the one human who could actually secure the Lords’ surrender has vanished—along with the rest of the thousands of men that our host should have crushed on their journey north.

  “Not what you wanted to hear, is it?” Thelia asks, leaning forward. I love the way her short hair shows off her neck, her collarbone, even her earlobes.

  “Not particularly.” That is not their fault—but I worry Commander Valya would find a way to make it their fault.

  Parsifal holds out the wine bottle to Thelia. “I think it’s time to drink. You had to deal with Morgaun. I’m suddenly an orphan. There’s not a more appropriate occasion for wine than this.”

  Thelia examines the label. “Wow, where did you find this?”

  “Dad and I were saving it. So I’m drinking in his honor.” Parsifal is looking at Thelia, or maybe at the wine bottle, or maybe both. Something deep in him seems to settle down. I do not know what to make of his expression. Maybe that is because of his features—they did not seem unusual until I had gotten used to the other humans. He is unique, like a piece of his art collection.

  I stand up abruptly. “Are you going somewhere?” Parsifal asks. He holds out the bottle, a peace offering. One I do not deserve. “Drink with us.”

  I shake my head. “Sorry. Duties.” The last thing I need is to get closer to them. To continue feeling sorry for them. Or worse, consume something that would make me forget myself. A clever creature like Parsifal could subvert me. Or powerful, confident Thelia—it would be easy to fall under her spell.

  I escape before they can argue. I should report to Commander Valya that the real heir to the throne is still out there, and all our efforts securing a surrender from the Princess will be for nothing.

  But something inside me does not want him to know. Not yet. If he decides there is no more useful information to be extracted from my humans, he may assign me other duties—and who knows what would become of them then? I may never see them again.

  Instead I trek across the castle to a place I’ve only been once before. I plug my nose and take a deep breath before entering the shit garden. It is overflowing with waste and there is little I can do to block the smell. My wisp leaps from the pouch at my waist and squeals at me as I rush past, toward the hidden door.

  Down below is the cobwebbed, dark room full of bottles that I did not realize were so valuable. “Some help?” I ask, and the wisp reluctantly flies down to show me what I need to see.
/>
  I grab the first three bottles I see and tuck them into my cloak, thinking how much Parsifal will like them. I hope it will revive his spirit.

  Bayled

  After my first good night’s rest in ages, Stone Company congregates in the main hall of the fortress. Warm winter gear waits by our old coats. We put it on and head out to the stables for our horses.

  As we load up in the courtyard, I take one last look around. No one’s here, and nobody stops us from leaving—so we set off into the woods. The snow’s falling again. We’re in for another cold night, but at least we have new gear to get us through.

  “Boss!” one of the men calls. “Up ahead!” Through the white I can make out dozens of figures. No, hundreds.

  “Long ears?” Harged snarls.

  “I don’t know.” One ambush after another—and this one might be the end of us.

  Someone with a familiar swagger emerges from the clouds of white. “Red?”

  The Baron leads his enormous black stallion towards us. “My King,” he says. “I pledge all the arms of the Crimson Woods to your cause. Wherever you go, may we follow. We will never serve the southern traitor.”

  “Hear!” his soldiers shout, thrusting their fists in the air.

  I can’t help smiling with relief. My lecture worked, and we won’t have to go back to Melidihan alone. “Thank you, Baron. I promise we’ll find Thelia.”

  He nods. “You’re a man of your word, my King. I assume you have a plan?”

  I let out a long, shivering breath. “I do.”

  Somehow, through all the snow cover and without a trail to follow, Captain Tarkness always knows where we are. Every so often she glances up, holds one hand over her face, nods, and turns her horse in a slightly different direction. Sasel has started riding next to her, and the two of them talk quietly until we stop to make camp.

  “What’s the Captain doing?” Harged asks suspiciously. Sasel and Captain Tarkness hover together over the snow, a tiny ball of glowing blue light palmed between them. “Looks like Magic.”

  “Because it is.” Red smiles. “Captain Tarkness is my court wizard. Her family was from the Midland Hills.” Like Thelia’s mother.

  Harged gapes at him. “You’d let a skim into your army? As your right hand? How could you trust—”

  Red seizes Harged by the collar. “Say one more thing.”

  Harged grabs Red’s wrist and twists—a classic kroga move. But Red’s faster, and before Harged can finish, Red punches him squarely in the stomach. Harged doubles over, groaning. Red places his boot on top of Harged’s inert body.

  “Let him go,” I say, trudging through the foot-deep snow toward them.

  Red’s face is flushed with rage. “I’m sick of this horsefish. First Thelia, then—”

  “I know, Red,” I say. “I’m a Northerner who’s lived in the Holy Kingdom for a decade. I get it. But we don’t have time for it here and now. If we live, there will be time.”

  This seems to get through. Red grunts and releases Harged, who moans as he rolls over. I yank him upright. He tries to shove me away, but I don’t let go. “Learn to keep your mouth shut,” I hiss. “While you’re here complaining about a perfectly fine human helping us get through these woods, our friends and family are at the mercy of long ears. A traitor tried to murder us. Get your damned priorities right.” He tries to splutter something out, but I interrupt him. “Not another word about Captain Tarkness.”

  Stone Company’s gathered around us, but none of them move to help Harged clamber back onto his horse. He sniffles and dusts the snow off himself as we all mount up and start off again.

  Thelia

  We’ve been sitting on the floor by the fire, trying to get the bottle open for most of a candlestick-hour, when the zzztttt sound of the seal on the door interrupts us.

  Parsifal looks up, pleading, as Sapphire strides in. “Help! We have no corkscrew to get this open.” The only progress we’ve made is shoving the cork even farther down the bottle’s neck.

  Sapphire takes it and begins fiddling. If we can get them to drink with us, maybe they’ll open up. Tell us what the long ears are really doing, what they mean by “cleaning and relocating.” Maybe, if we can worm through their defenses . . . they’ll want to help us. I swallow a bit of bile thinking of the sticky, invisible net outside my window. Sapphire’s affection may be the only way out of this prison.

  “I have to be careful.” Sapphire sticks a finger down the bottle’s neck. “Magic is everywhere now. Tapping into even a small thread could end up being far more than I want. Bad results.” A glow emanates from Sapphire’s finger. I wonder what they mean.

  Parsifal leans over to get a closer look. “What are you doing?”

  “Binding the cork to my finger.” Sapphire yanks, scattering a few droplets of bloodred wine.

  Relief spreads through me. Wine. Parsifal takes the bottle and fills two glasses. “Now, take it slow,” he says as I throw back most of my glass. He glares. “This is all we have.”

  Sapphire grins. “Oh, is it?” It’s the first time I’ve seen them look truly delighted. It’s . . . becoming. They reach into their enormous black cloak and pull out three dark, dusty bottles. Parsifal’s eyes go as wide as his mouth.

  “No way.” He takes one and turns it over in his hands. “It’s a Melidia-be-damned Bellisare-style party now!”

  A laugh bursts out of me. “Where did you get this, Sapphire?”

  They shrug. “Below the castle. A secret door under poop garden.”

  “Poop garden?” Parsifal and I exchange a look. “You mean the Pit?” I laugh again.

  “Wisp was not pleased.” Sapphire turns over one of the other bottles. “A room full of these down there.”

  “How old are they?” I ask.

  “As if your palate is advanced enough to care.” Parsifal sniffs the wine and winces. “I wonder if this was made by dwarves.” He takes a measured, regal sip. “Didn’t Corene say everything under the castle was abandoned after the Split? So this would be from before.”

  Corene. Is she even still alive? I swallow, ashamed at how little I’ve thought of her.

  “Could be a few hundred cycles old,” Parsifal says. “And maybe they’ll taste like shit.”

  I smirk at Sapphire. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  I finish off most of Parsifal’s bottle myself. I get a delightful airy feeling, like I’m filled with bath steam.

  “Is this what you get when you make grapes sad and then kill them?” Sapphire says, putting their glass of wine down. “Tepid grape blood, that is the name it should have.”

  Parsifal snorts. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Was it a good joke?” Sapphire asks.

  I have to laugh at their earnestness. “It was a . . . well, it was a joke.” I refill my glass from Sapphire’s bottle and take a taste. “I can’t tell if this is delicious or disgusting.”

  Parsifal sniffs it expertly. “It’s . . . complex.” He takes a small sip. “Not rotten. Nor faintly reminding me of taking a bad shit, like I’d feared.”

  When I raise my head from the glass, I find Sapphire looking at me. They quickly look away. I taste the wine again. “It has a lot of layers,” I say, watching Sapphire out of the corner of my eye. Their hands keep fidgeting with the stem of the wine glass. I think they like me. Good. This is helpful.

  “Wine that’s been around since before the Hindermarks,” I say, finishing off my next glass. If it’s making me feel cloudy, Sapphire must be flying in the sky. “Sapphire.” This time they hold my gaze. Time to give this a whirl. “My brother said he saw elves—I mean, saw one of The People up on the wall, burning something.”

  “Magic.” Sapphire leans back and pulls their long legs up, knees to their chest. They look small and young, almost human—if they weren’t sitting nearly a head above me. “Too much Magic inside castle. They burn it off.” Their grasp of language has adorably deteriorated.

  “Why is so much Magic bad?”

/>   “Dangerous,” they say. It makes me wonder about the mouth in the wall. How dangerous is that?

  “You’ve said that before.” Parsifal leans forward, and his eyes flick to mine for a moment. He knows how to play this game too. “But what specifically will happen?”

  Sapphire struggles for the right words. “Magic infuses. Like wine. I drink wine, wine changes me.” They laugh. “See? I feel . . . different. Air. Light. Happiness. But with too much, problems happen. Vomit. Foolishness. With Magic, humans turn . . . corrupted. Maybe decay. Or catch fire. Explode.”

  I suppose that explains why the Holy Kingdom has feared it—but too much of any good thing can turn poisonous. Like Mother’s consuming need to keep me safe.

  “You said you were here to fix it, though,” Parsifal says.

  “Yes. We clean humans, keep world safe from you.”

  “How do you do that, exactly?” I ask.

  Sapphire looks annoyed. “Cleansing process. It is complicated.”

  “We’re intelligent. Try to explain it.”

  Their lips press together. “Cannot.” They’re doing it again—clamping down. Sapphire sips their wine and gazes into the fire in silence.

  That’s all we’ll get. For now.

  Sapphire

  I did not like my first taste of wine, or my second one. But by the third sip I started to understand. It is the not-loving that makes the wine lovable. After my fourth sip, I decided wine is the spiritual cousin to war. It is complicated and beautiful, like Laian was. Bitter and sweet.

  Or maybe that is the alcohol in my veins, because after the first glass I feel loosened and wiggly, like my wisp. Everything moves more.

  “Try it! Try it!” I insist to Parsifal as he pours the second bottle of the Mysterious Under-Castle Wine. I find myself staring at Parsifal’s lips as he tastes the wine and swishes it around in his mouth, thinking.