Of Glass and Glamour

by Chanda Hahn

  This changed things. Many of the larger houses in the cities had whole underground structures that were essentially mazes where the “help” lived. The unsightly hobgoblins, house elves, and elementals lived and worked below. Down below, the salamanders heated the boilers for the hot water, while the undines purified the water from the lakes. The gnomes tended to the gardens. Most of the unsightly fae creatures worked at night and in turn received housing and food. While the human servants lived above and did light food prep and served the humans.

  In the country and smaller towns, we didn’t care about those things, so our hobgoblin, Stankplant, tended our garden, spending most of his early mornings chasing rabbits out of our garden, and the day sleeping in a box by the fireplace.

  Never had I ever seen so many fae working together. There was a clear tube system that ran along the top of the ceiling, and I could see air sprites carrying scrolls through the tubes. The clear tubes would congregate into the middle where a large cyclone of sprites where flying together in a dance before shooting down a separate offshoot. This is how messages were sent throughout the palace.

  I passed a kitchen that was five times the size of the one I appeared in upstairs. I could smell the most mouthwatering scones and various soups cooking over the fire.

  A bell in the kitchen rang, and twenty house elves turned to look at the wall where the intricate bell system was located.

  Hundreds of silver bells hung on the wall, and beneath each bell was a room name—Blue Room, Tea Room, Library, etc. The head house elf motioned for me to come to her. I obliged, not wanting to out myself. She placed a tray of tea and the fresh scones in my hand and pointed to the bell that rang for the library.

  Okay, but what was I supposed to do? I didn’t know how to get out of the basement, let alone to the library. When I didn’t move fast enough for the head elf, I felt a swift kick in the bum.

  “Youch!” I cried and turned to her, but the house elf glared at me, her worn, brown hands on her hips. I still didn’t move. She lunged, grabbed me by my short little ear, and hauled me over to a row of dumbwaiters and into the one marked library. She took the tray and pointed into the small opening.

  I obliged. Cramming my overly large human body into a caged dumbwaiter meant for a smaller house elf. She handed me the tray, closed the chute, and hit the button for the elevator to move up.

  “Babo!” I snapped back at her in elven and watched her mouth drop open in shock. I guess it wasn’t nice for house elves to call their superiors stupid. Dinky may have a lot to answer for whenever she showed back up.

  Once the dumbwaiter began to move up, my stomach moved down, dropping into my knees. This elevator wasn’t operating on a rope and pulley system, but a much more complicated mechanics using part magic and part machine. I was unfamiliar with this term they call science and didn’t think it would stay around long.

  The dumbwaiter stopped moving, but I didn’t know what to do. I was in a metal box surrounded by darkness, trapped in a wall. Don’t panic. There must be some way out of here. I ran my fingers along the wall and felt for the handle to open the cage, but even sliding the door up, I was still trapped.

  The heavy, dank air was closing in on me, and I was finding it hard to breathe. Was the air getting thinner? What was that smell? Using my hands, I felt along the wall in front of me, scratching, digging my nails in, searching for a ledge. The wall was not stone or wood, but soft and supple canvas.

  Running my fingers along the edge, I found the wooden frame and pushed. The wall moved on the left side, and light poured in, illuminating the dumbwaiter.

  I could see the stone floors and intricate rugs below and was about to push it open further when I heard two voices speaking on the other side within the library.

  “I don’t like this, my king,” a male voice I didn’t recognize said. “My assassin did not return.”

  “What are you saying, Oz?”

  Oz? That was the name Dorian was worried about.

  “He was the best. Which means, I can only assume, he is dead and that his mark is still alive.”

  “Then I need you to find her and handle it.”

  “I believe it may be handled already. For someone set fire to the Broken Heart tavern.”

  “What?” King Ferdinand seemed surprised at the news. “How bad is it?”

  “I do not know the extent of the damage, my king. Nor do I know on whose order the tavern was destroyed. I only know it burned to the ground and there were—” He cleared his throat. “—casualties.”

  “Who?” The king muttered, and I heard the worry. Then I remembered the king was once in love with Madam Pantalonne.

  “I don’t know yet. But casualties are to be expected when we are trying to protect the crown.”

  “Yes… yes, you are right.” The king sighed. “It is to be expected.”

  My mouth went dry. I hadn’t known that the Broken Heart, Madam Pantalonne’s home and workplace, was burned down in an act of vengeance to try and get me.

  “But what about the reports surrounding from within the palace? I do not like these rumors of a stray witch. I need her found and killed,” King Ferdinand growled out. “You must protect my son at all cost. Double the guards.”

  “For which—” Oz stopped speaking when I shifted my weight and the dumbwaiter in the wall creaked.

  “What? Who's there?” Oz said. I heard him draw his sword from its scabbard.

  “Relax, it’s just the tea I ordered.” King Ferdinand’s voice drew closer.

  The canvas door swung open, revealing me standing in the dumbwaiter, my eyes blinking and trying to focus from the sudden onslaught of light. When the stars disappeared, I looked over at the short, stocky man with the goatee. Oz’s lip curled up in distaste when he saw me.

  “Ugh, how can you stand having those things running around beneath your feet all the time? And don’t you ever worry about them gossiping?”

  “They make the best servants. They work for nothing and talk less than the humans. Besides, they are unable to speak of what they’ve heard.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because,” the king sighed as I carried the tray over to the table, my hands shaking as I tried to pour the tea for the king, “three years ago, their tongues were cut out.”

  The teapot clattered against the tray, and the king spun on me, his hand raised to strike me down for my clumsiness.

  No! I flicked my wrist, and the carpet was yanked from beneath his feet, and he went tumbling to the ground. Hard. His head smacked the floor, and he groaned and rolled over but wasn’t in any hurry to move. Oz lifted his sword, and I could see the glint on the steel matched the murderous glint in his eye.

  “I’ll get you for that, you rat! No one raises a hand against the king.”

  He swung at my head. I rolled to the right and then under the table.

  “Aaahh!” he screamed and tried stabbing me between the legs of the table as I crawled to the other side. I weaved a glamour of confusion over his eyes, so that the room spun and he couldn’t focus on me. His aim was off, but not mine. I tossed a glass at his head, followed by another, then the candelabra.

  He swung the sword widely, and I ducked. Then out of blind desperation, he flung himself at me, and we became a tangle of limbs and legs as I tried to get up and run. His hand snaked out and grabbed my foot. I face planted hard, my chin hitting the floor, and blinding white flashes of light obscured my vision.

  A tug of my leg, and I was being dragged closer to him, my body scraping across the floor. Blinded by rage, I leaned up and bit him, digging my teeth into the meat of his hand.

  He screamed, and I was released. I ran for the door. It was locked from the inside, the key missing.

  King Ferdinand was holding his head and slowly getting up from the floor.

  Oz was cradling his right hand that was now soaked in blood but was reaching for his sword that had fallen a few feet away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a picture
frame move. A brown hand snaked out and waved at me urgently. Knowing that I wouldn’t survive this skirmish much longer. I bolted toward the hidden dumbwaiter.

  The frame opened. Two house elves were inside. One holding the door, the second one reaching out for me. I scrambled into the dumbwaiter, trying desperately to squeeze my frame inside with two more house elves. The frame closed, and the house elf drew a deadbolt, locking the side of the picture frame.

  “That won’t hold him,” I muttered.

  A sword ripped through the canvas, and I saw Oz’s face grinning at me cruelly. He reached out to grab the closest house elf by his neck.

  “Gotcha, you ugly rat.”

  The house elf squealed in pain, and I grabbed a sharp knife off the forgotten food tray in the back of the dumbwaiter. I lunged forward and stabbed the man in the chest. He dropped the house elf and stumbled back into the room.

  “Go! Go!” I turned toward the elves, who were now huddled in a terrified ball in the corner. I looked at the levers and pushed one, and the cage shot upward and then came to a halt. “Now what?” I asked.

  They were quivering and shaking even more. But the one I saved, the one with the reddish-tinged ears, pushed himself up from the floor and began to pull and turn cranks. I heard the cage lift as we moved onto another track. He pushed a button, and we were now moving sideways.

  I was completely fascinated by the inner workings of the system. When we came to a stop, he pointed to the wall. I was too wary to open it. What was on the other side?

  The female house elf had a pink string tied to her wrist. She was the one who finally opened up the cage and pushed on the frame.

  My mouth went dry as I waited on pins and needles to see where we were. I saw the overstuffed chair and the four-poster bed, and even though I’d barely spent any time in the room, I recognized it as mine. How did they know? I stepped out of the chute that was behind another painting of the palace, this time in spring, and I wondered if behind every one of these series of palace paintings was a hidden dumbwaiter. Probably.

  The female elf followed me out of the chute, tended to the fire, and then held her hand out to me.

  I stood there dumbfounded. What did she want? She pointed again, this time at my apron and the teacup within it.

  “Oh, sorry.” I pulled out the cup and handed it to her, and when I did, the glamour slipped away. I became Eden again. “I’m very sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. I didn’t mean to cause such a mess.”

  It was then that I remembered. Glamour for the most part didn’t work on house elves. They could see right through it—unless they are dim witted. I wondered what that made of the head elf.

  I sat down in the chair and felt the tears come. The house elf crawled up onto the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around me. Her bony hands patted me on the back as if it was all right.

  “I didn’t mean to get Dinky in trouble. Will she be okay?”

  The house elf shook her head no, and the tears came again. Her hand gripped my chin, and she looked right into my eyes and pounded her chest.

  “What?” I asked.

  She pounded her chest again.

  “You. What about you?”

  She took the teacup and waved her finger at me. Then removed her string bracelet and handed it to me before pounding her fist again. Realization dawned on me like a rainbow after a thunderstorm.

  “If I have to use glamour again, you are giving me permission to become you.”

  She wrapped my fingers tightly around the string and nodded. Her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

  “Thank you, I will. By the way, I appreciate you both coming to my aid. What is your name?”

  She paused and held up her hand, and I saw that on her right hand, where there should have been five long, spindly fingers, there were only four. She pointed to the nub that would have been where her pinky finger was.

  “Pinky. Your name is Pinky?”

  She nodded. Then she pointed to her mouth, opening it up to show me her missing tongue, and I understood. They wanted vengeance, and they saw me as the tool to get them justice. So, even if it meant that they would be beaten, injured, or die, they wanted it.

  This was not right. This system was broken, and it needed to be fixed.

  Pinky reached into her apron and pulled out my glass slippers, setting them on the carpet by my feet. I had abandoned them in the prison room in my attempt to escape, and now I didn’t want to even go near them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After my escapade with the house elves and my rumble with Oz, the king’s personal assassin, I would have to be extremely on guard. Even being one of the prince’s chosen did not keep me safe from the king’s wrath.

  But I had to go. I had to see what happened to the Broken Heart. Running down the halls in my glass slippers proved useless and only hindered me. I took them off and carried them as I ran out the doors and down the manor steps in my stockings. My feet burned as I ran on the gravel through the streets.

  I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t believe it. I had a stitch in my side and was out of breath by the time I reached the tavern—or what remained of the tavern. Charred black rubble, pools of melted glass, and a spiral of smoke still drifted through the air.

  “No!” I breathed out and fell to my knees, the earth still warm beneath my fingers. Tears of grief and frustration fell freely down my face. I wiped at my eyes and struggled back to my feet, looking for any signs of life. I saw the burned enchanted sign, what was the doorframe, and a… a chain.

  “What?” I cried out and leaned down closer to look.

  “They locked them in,” a gruff voice said from behind.

  I spun on my heels and saw a weary Dorian.

  “Dorian, what happened?” I knew but couldn’t believe it. I needed to hear from him.

  His hands curled into balls. “Men came in the night and burned the place to the ground. They were hoping you were inside.”

  “Madam Pantalonne, is she all—”

  Dorian shook his head. “She didn’t make it out. They chained the doors, locking everyone inside, and set it on fire.” He held up his hands, and I could see the angry red blisters on his skin from the chains. “I returned to get your things, and it was already ablaze. I tried to get them out.” His head dropped to his chest, and I saw his shoulders shake. “I tried.”

  Forgetting everything, I reached for him, wrapped my arms around him, pulled him close, and hugged him. I heard his pain in the great heaving sobs as he grieved over the loss of a friend. “It could have been you,” he whispered and pulled away.

  “No,” I said angrily. “I would have stopped the men who did this—no, I would have killed them.” I knew then I spoke the truth.

  Dorian and I stared at the remains of the fire and the embers that still burned hours later. This was why he hadn’t come to give me food. This was why he had wanted to send me home. I just didn’t understand why.

  A man stepped out of a nearby doorway and walked toward us. The pace and the way he walked, his hand on his sword, made me wary. He wasn’t the only one. Two more came from within the shop across the street, three from the alley, and two more stepped out of a carriage that had been parked down the block. All of them wore black clothes without an insignia, and all of them were armed.

  “Dorian,” I whispered, and he looked up and saw what I saw. He spun, pushing me behind him, trying to shield me with his body. “Who are they?” I asked.

  “They’re here to finish the job. To kill you,” he said.

  “Why?” I cried out. “What have I done? I don’t even know them.”

  “Run,” he urged. But there was nowhere to go. Everywhere I turned, there were more men coming toward us, and Dorian was badly injured. I wasn’t even sure if he could hold a weapon, let alone fight.

  “I won’t leave you,” I said.

  “Now is not the time to act heroic.” He pulled two throwing daggers from within his jacket and winced as he tried to grip them.r />
  “Look who’s talking.” I nodded at his blistered and bleeding hands. “I can fight.”

  Dorian deftly blocked a knife strike, countered with an elbow jab to the nose, and then kicked his attacker in the stomach. He was doing what he could to keep the men at a distance. He disarmed the second thug, took possession of his sword, and then tossed me his smaller dagger.

  I caught it by the handle and looked at the blade. It was well balanced. “What do you want me to do with this?” I called back at him. I had meant I could fight with magic.

  “Well, for starters, you stab with the pointy end.” Dorian was now fighting off his attackers with a dagger in his left hand and the sword in his right, using both with deadly accuracy. He sliced through the front of one man’s shirt, knocking him into a barrel. He turned, looked at me, and let the dagger fly. “Like that,” Dorian grinned.

  I blinked in surprise as his dagger flew passed my ear and lodged into the torso of the man sneaking up behind me. He collapsed in front of me, dead.

  There was someone coming up behind Dorian, so I took the blade and tried mimicking his form as I pulled my arm back. Dorian paled. “No, not like that. Not like that.”

  I went to throw it, but it slipped from my fingers and clattered on the ground behind me.

  “Darn it,” I fumed at my mistake.

  Dorian charged forward, knocking a man into the wall. I heard the crunch of his skull on the brick, and the nameless man slumped to the ground.

  “Okay, forget the knife throwing. You good at anything else?”

  An arrow whizzed past my head and struck the rubble behind me.

  “You missed!” I taunted. With a burst of power, I flung the arrow back at the archer. My aim wasn’t any better, as it hit the brick wall next to him. The archer grinned, and I could see his smug face as he pulled the arrow back out of the wall to reloaded his crossbow.

  “You missed,” Dorian shot out and deftly danced out of the way of another attacker.

  “Oh, shut up,” I snapped irritably. “I tried.”

  “Can you possibly try harder?” Dorian choked on his own laughter.