Joy popped the bubble that swam right before his eyes. Inside it was a frog and a freckle-nosed girl in the dappled sunshine of the Wood and a different kind of laughter. This wasn’t something he’d forgotten; he remembered every detail of that moment, every color and sound and smell. This particular memory was simply one he was trying to hide from himself, and he was ashamed.
The scene faded and left him staring into Joy’s eyes, deep violet like the last moment of dusk before the dark and endless night. He lost himself a moment there, and did not miss his aching soul.
“Did you never wonder how you ended up at that particular well?”
Another bubble popped of its own accord: Rollins handed him his mother’s golden bauble after the funeral. He pushed it away. That and a hundred more like it wouldn’t get me what I want most in the world, the young prince said to his manservant.
“You put me there on purpose. Why?” Why would she set him up to meet the love of his life and then break his heart so cruelly?
“I cannot heal all the wounds of this world,” she said.
“Can we save Wednesday?” he asked.
“We can try,” she said. “I can sometimes nudge the scales away from chaos.” She threw her hands out to her sides. The tea was gone, the couch was gone, and her neat black boots hovered just above the strange bubbling fog. The rich colors of her power blinded him. The cameo at her throat smiled and winked. “But first, you must tell me. Do you want them back?”
His mind was still too fragile to hold all his old memories, his body even more so. There were bubbles everywhere now—a lifetime’s worth—so thick he almost lost sight of Joy in them. It would be so easy to let them float off and leave his poor tortured soul alone. But—“I need them,” he told her. “I am not whole without them.”
Just like Sunday.
“Good answer,” she said, right before the world exploded.
***
When you wake up, stay still. Don’t try to stand up. You don’t want to be standing up when your mind comes back.
Rumbold rolled to the edge of the couch and emptied the contents of his stomach into the nearest potted plant.
“You be sure to send a thank-you note to Sir Jon Stafford,” said Velius. “That was a wedding gift.”
Rollins produced a handkerchief and a small glass of water. Rumbold rinsed out his mouth and spat again into the plant. “Take that to the back garden,” he ordered the guard at the library door.
“Shouldn’t have let you drink that last glass of wine,” said Erik.
“It wasn’t the wine,” said Rumbold, swallowing again to keep his stomach silent. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough for me to see your family safely home,” Velius said kindly.
“Long enough for the festivities to have degraded into ... well, degraded,” said Erik.
The prince nodded. “I got the memories back,” he said incredulously. And then, with more disgust, “I got them all back.” He washed down the lingering bitter taste with more water. For once, neither of his witty companions had anything to say. They had not forgotten anything. They had always known what he was and who he had been. They had not abandoned him, as so many others had. When the time had come for Rumbold to ask for their help, they had given it. And still they stood by him. Rumbold tried to stand as well. “I need to go after her.”
With one hand, Velius pushed him back down before he fell down. “You need to go to your bed,” he said. “Or be carried there.”
“I can put my hands on just the conveyance,” Erik said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m pushing you around the castle. You’re not pretty enough.”
Rumbold grasped Velius’s elbow. “I need her.”
“When she sees how pathetic you are, how miserable you look, and”—his nostrils flared—“how bad you smell, I’m sure she’ll jump right into your arms and wonder why she ever ran away.”
Rumbold should have known better than to turn to family for help. Surely Erik would be more understanding.
“You have vomit on your sash,” said the guard.
Rumbold tore the offending sash from his breast. It tangled ungracefully around his ears, and one of the medals scratched his cheek as he removed it. The effort exhausted him. Rollins calmly took the sash away.
“All right,” Rumbold said. “I’ll bathe, at least. Will you be staying?”
“Your father and his bride departed several hours ago,” said Velius. “It’s only the dregs left.” He pulled Rumbold off the couch and helped him find his footing, keeping pace beside the prince on the way to his chambers. Erik and Rollins followed dutifully behind.
The sounds from the ballroom fell away quickly. The halls were as empty as they might have been at any other time during the wee hours of the morning. The silence and the exercise cleared Rumbold’s mind enough for what Velius had said to sink in. If Wednesday and his father had gone, it might already be too late. “Wait! We have to—” Rumbold started, when, two by two, the sconces winked out down the hallway. Whatever he was about to do, the shadows agreed with him. He only wished they could find a way to lend him the energy he was sorely lacking.
Rollins, Erik, and Velius all turned with their backs to the prince, surrounding him in a protective triangle. Erik unsheathed a wicked dagger. Rollins wrapped Rumbold’s sash around one fist, the medals splayed across his knuckles.
Rumbold slipped his hand inside Velius’s and clasped it tightly. His cousin took the silent hint and hurriedly pushed some of his own health and vigor through their magical link. The prince’s palm burned as he took in the energy Velius passed to him. Rumbold knew it wasn’t enough and that he’d pay for it come the morning, but he found himself considerably less exhausted than he had been a moment before. Velius’s skin burned like a firebrand, and Rumbold caught the smell of singed flesh. All his senses instantly became more alert. The air felt electrified. He could hear the flames in the remaining lamps hungrily consuming their oil. He breathed deeper and stood taller. After the brimstone faded, he could even make out the faint undertone of lilacs and lavender.
“Does anyone else smell that?” asked Rollins.
“Spring,” Erik whispered. If the others smelled it, too, perhaps Rumbold wasn’t as insane as he’d originally thought.
“Madelyn,” breathed Velius.
“You recognize my mother’s scent?” Rumbold asked.
“No,” said Velius. “I recognize her.” He pointed to where their shadows fell in a cluster on the wall. Among them was a fifth shade, shorter and wraith-thin, with long, loose hair and a flowing robe or gown. Velius and Rumbold stepped aside to make room for the woman, though she did not physically stand among them. On the wall, they saw her unfurl remarkable wings and encompass them all. “She didn’t have those before,” Velius said.
“She’s had them since I started seeing her ghost,” said Rumbold. “Since I returned from the well.”
“The nights I woke you up on the hearth,” said Rollins.
“Yes.”
“Any other brushes with insanity you haven’t thought to mention?” Erik asked. It didn’t matter if the ghost was friendly or not; he made no move to let down his guard.
“This happened last night,” Rumbold said. “The lights led me up to the tower.” To his father and Sorrow and their secret plotting behind closed doors. And ... Wednesday! His mother was leading him to Wednesday!
“The sky tower?” asked Erik, and Rumbold nodded. The commoners called it that, for it hid among the clouds most days. It was said one could venture to the top and seek communion with the Lords of the Wind.
“I’m not a fan of heights,” Rollins admitted in a whisper.
“You should go on to my rooms,” said Rumbold. “Erik and Velius and I can take care of this.” He tore his eyes away from his mother’s impressive winged shadow long enough to place a hand on the shoulder of the man who had been far more of a father over the years than his own flesh and blood. “I’ll be fine.”
R
ollins didn’t seem to trust Rumbold’s show of bravado.
“He’ll be fine,” said Erik.
Rollins obviously trusted the guard slightly less. “I’ll tag along, if that’s all right.”
“The more the merrier,” said Velius.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Rumbold. “Shall we?”
This time he knew where they were going, so Rumbold and his men made short work of the distance to the tower. Shadow Madelyn also dispensed with the light show, merely accompanying their fleeting forms as they raced down the hall and up the stairs.
The higher they climbed, the colder it became. Wind whistled through the cracks in the mortar and sang them a mournful lullaby. It wasn’t long before Rumbold could see his breath before his face. He was thankful he hadn’t removed his smelly jacket along with the sash. He patted the lump at his breast where he kept Sunday’s shoe tucked safely near his heart.
“Really not a fan of heights,” Rollins muttered again. He flattened himself against the wall as they ascended.
“I’ve always hated this godsforsaken tower,” Erik said as they passed another window blocked completely by cloud. “Nothing should be higher than heaven.”
“Nothing in this world, anyway,” said Velius. “Tell me, Cousin, what are we hoping to find at the end of this maze?”
“Wednesday,” Rumbold said. “My father and Sorrow ... I think they’re going to do something to her.”
Velius halted mid-step. “No. Not now. Not yet. I mean, I suspected, but the marriage bond wouldn’t have set this quickly. There hasn’t been enough time. They don’t need her consent, granted, but it’s so new, the pain would be unbearable. Unimaginable. The pain ... Oh, gods.” He snapped to attention. “Quickly, men! There isn’t a moment to lose!”
So Velius knew, then. Rumbold wondered how long his cousin had been possessed of the knowledge that the king was a wife murderer. The prince was desperate to know exactly what had happened to his mother, what pain she had suffered, what agonies had bound her to her current ephemeral state, but it was a conversation for another time. Right now, he needed all his borrowed breath to get him up those stairs and spare Wednesday a similar fate.
Rumbold lifted his knees to keep up the pace behind his suddenly eager cousin, being careful not to slip on the damp stone steps. Madelyn’s shadow flew steadily and beatifically above their heads.
The prince’s thighs screamed louder than his feet. His sweaty palm still burned from Velius’s touch, and his lungs froze with every breath of the chill mist surrounding them, but he was determined to see this to the end. He owed it to Sunday for the hell he’d put her through. He owed her the life of her sister.
The screams reached them before they arrived at the top of the tower: both a man and a woman, and possibly all the angels in heaven.
Up this high, the clouds outside had become guests of the castle, decorating the aerie with fog. Several times, the men were almost blind, and it hampered their pace. Screams echoed through the mist, bounced off the bare walls, and rang in their ears. Luckily the pea soup layer was thin, and they soon passed through it. Rumbold bade good riddance to the damp, but the cold lingered. It was much harder to breathe now, and his eyeballs felt too big for their sockets. If it hadn’t been for Velius’s magic infusion, he never would have made it this far.
They emerged from the fog to find themselves at a thick, dark Elder Wood door banded with iron. Velius stopped Rumbold before he could approach. “We do not want to play our hand before we know what awaits us on the other side.”
“Wednesday,” said Rumbold.
“Blood,” said Rollins.
“Death,” said Erik.
Madelyn said nothing.
“Which is why we’re going to assess the situation first,” said Velius, and he leaned out a window.
If one has a castle with a tower (or several) that scrapes the heavens, one puts as many unshuttered windows as possible at the top so that one can look out over one’s domain on a clear day. Rumbold wasn’t sure which ancestor had constructed the sky tower, but he’d had a very big ego and very strong legs. The screams came to them not from behind the massive door, but from the windows—which meant there was also a window in the room behind that door.
Erik stuck his head out as well and scanned the outside wall of the tower. “There’s no purchase,” he said. “You don’t expect one of us to climb around.”
“No,” said Velius. “We’re going to walk.” He held a hand out the window, parallel to the sea of cloud just below them, and closed his eyes.
“Wait!” said Rumbold. “They’ll notice you doing magic.”
Velius opened one eye to squint at him. “Right now, they wouldn’t notice the castle walls falling.”
Fair enough.
Velius shut his eye again and whispered something that sounded like “Xalda.” For the briefest of moments, the moonlit cloudscape shimmered a violet blue. And then Velius jumped out the window.
Erik was slower to follow, but follow he did. Rumbold turned to Rollins. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay right here.”
The manservant looked out at the clouds and then back down the winding stair. “I’ve come this far,” he said. As Rumbold straddled the sill, Rollins grabbed his hand. “If we encounter any breaks in the cloud cover, I’ll trust you to lead me around them.”
“Of course,” said the prince.
The cloud floor was less resilient than Rumbold had expected: it was more like thick grass than solid wood. The bright moonlight enabled Madelyn’s winged shadow-ghost to fly along the outside wall to the window of the room they sought.
“Would you mind, Your Highness?” Velius asked. Madelyn spread her wings wide so that her shadow hid them from view.
Not that they needed it—they could have stood there belled like jesters and no one in that room would have noticed them. There was a white and red triangle painted on the floor, with a star inside it. On one point of the triangle stood Wednesday in her wedding finery, arms splayed, head thrown back, and screaming to the stars. Sorrow was on her knees at another point of the triangle, bent by the weight of the obviously powerful spell she was performing. She seemed to have taken back what power she’d lent the king these last three days. He sat at the third point like a statue, thin and desiccated and still as a corpse.
A corpse with a crown.
Before their eyes, Wednesday began to wither and shrink. She curled into herself like a fern in an ice storm. Her mouth closed, but the screams echoed on. The wedding gown she wore enveloped her in white, swallowing her. The only bits of darkness that remained were her eyes, those haunting violet eyes that now stared out from the body of a pure white goose. She spread her wings and flapped wildly. Her screams transformed to a succession of quick, desperate honks.
But while Wednesday’s body had turned into a goose, her shadow had not. It remained poised, arms outstretched, head tilted back, voiceless throat crying impotent nothingness.
Sorrow collapsed.
The king, who was not as dead as he looked, reached a skinny arm out in front of him and grasped tightly onto noth-mg. His shadow grabbed shadow-Wednesday’s dress and pulled her to him.
“No!” Rumbold lunged through the window. Velius and Erik clawed at him, but they could not stop him. He swept the frantic goose under one arm to keep her from injuring herself with flapping wings. She pecked at his belly with her sharp beak, but he did not let her go.
Unhindered by his son’s presence, the king reached the hand not holding the invisible Wednesday out to a bowl filled with blood. Fey blood. Judging by the deep slashes down her forearms, all that blood was Sorrow’s.
Rumbold gagged as he put the pieces together. The king had feasted on goose after Madelyn’s funeral. He had stolen Madelyn’s shadow and drained her power, her essence, until there was nothing left for her, while he had gone on to live his long, unnatural life.
“You will not kill this bird, father.”
“You are no son o
f mine.” The corpse spat the words at him in a raspy voice. Rumbold had said as much to himself many a time throughout his life, but they still hurt. “I will take that bird from you, and I will devour it, and her power will be mine forevermore.”
The king pulled a long, wicked needle from the hem of his wedding doublet and dragged it through the blood. When he held it up again, it was threaded by a fine, dark red strand. Dumbly, Rumbold watched him make a stitch.
He was sewing Wednesday’s shadow onto his own.
He made another stitch and sat up straighter. With each pull of the thread, the king absorbed more of Wednesday’s youth and power. Erik threw a dagger at the king to stop him, but it fell to dust at his feet. Velius cast a lightning bolt that shattered into a shower of fairylight.
One more stitch, and the king’s hair turned from gray to wheat again. He began to grow taller, as big as he was before, and then more.
“That’s certainly never happened before,” said Velius. “I would have remembered.”
“We have to get out of here!” Rollins grabbed Rumbold’s sleeve and pulled him out of his daze. “Quickly!”
The four men spilled out the tower window, back onto the immense stretch of cloud. Erik headed for the stair, but Velius stopped him. Madelyn’s shadow blacked the path.
“Not that way,” said Velius. “We must run.”
Like fleethounds they sprinted over the bright cloudscape. True to his word, Rumbold watched for any breaks in the surface, but there were none. He wondered how long it would take the king to finish sewing, and exactly what kind of monster he’d become once he did. Wednesday was by far the most fey-blooded wife he’d ever had; there was no guessing ... Then Rumbold heard his name bellowed behind them.
The furious call, while familiar, was deeper and louder than he’d ever heard it before. The men paused and turned their heads long enough to see one enormous arm emerge from the tower window, followed by an enormous crown on an enormous head. The casing cracked and crumbled around the king, as if he were a chick hatching from a stone egg the size of a house.
Wednesday’s awesome power had transformed the king into a giant, a giant who was about to chase them across the very cloud cover on which they had escaped. His legs were long enough to cross the distance in half the time it had taken them. He would eat them all in one bite once he captured them.
Enchanted Page 21
