Belin was looking at his hands again. “People must think I didn’t love my father, if they think I could kill him. Sometimes I was angry at him, but I would never kill him.” He looked at Ifra as if daring him to deny it.
“I believe you,” Ifra said.
“Never,” Belin repeated fiercely. “Why would I spend years of my life trying to bring him a treasure if I wanted him to die?”
Ifra felt unsure of what to do next. What did he really know of Belin’s relationship with his father or brothers, or even royal families in general? It seemed terribly competitive, and if Luka was the kind of man who could imprison Erris… Well, he was ruthless indeed. It would be hard to be the son of a man like that, trying to please him and live up to his expectations on one hand… and perhaps knowing, deep down, that it was wrong all the while.
“Why did you go to such lengths to be king?” he finally asked. “Why didn’t you allow Tamin to have the throne?”
“Why should Tamin have the throne? I brought home the greatest treasure.”
“Yet he thinks he deserves it, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, and that’s why I wanted to prove him wrong.”
“And you did.”
“Yes… I did.” Belin said it without satisfaction.
Ifra suppressed an urge to push his hair from his eyes. He felt as if the slightest wrong movement could sent Belin off. “What will you do now, master? What will you accomplish, as king?”
“You keep prodding at me. What is it you want me to do, jinn?”
Back to this again. Ifra was beginning to suspect Belin didn’t trust anyone, or else why would he ask Ifra’s opinion one moment and accuse him of having his own agenda the next? If he trusted someone, he would be talking to that person instead. “I’m trying to help you. I think you know your father was a flawed man, and Tamin would be just as risky. Why do you think this man in your prisons took up a rebel cause? Why do you think your country is full of people wishing for the return of the Tanharrows? It is in your power to be a great ruler, Belin.”
Ifra had his doubts that this was true, but he had been advised to always flatter his master. He continued, “The trees in the Hall of Oak and Ash”-Belin’s head shot up at the mention, and Ifra stammered-“they-they lend wisdom to the ruler of the fairies, don’t they? Maybe you should let them advise you. Not me. Not Tamin, but the ancient trees.”
“Certainly not Tamin,” Belin snapped. He was on his feet again. “But the trees don’t talk to me. Just like the rest of this world, they’re waiting for a Tanharrow.” He motioned to the door. “I’ve heard enough from you. You’re no help at all. Be silent again, and go away.”
Ifra stood up slowly, feeling as if he’d been struck. He could try so hard to talk to Belin, make an attempt to understand and help him, and Belin could dismiss him with a word. As if he had no feelings at all.
I wish I had no feelings.
Every few days, exhaustion overwhelmed Ifra and he managed to fall asleep. The tall bed and thick mattress were too soft for his taste-he’d grown up sleeping on the ground, and that was where he slept now; on the floor with a blanket wrapped around him. He quite liked the pillows, however, and when he felt the pillow being jerked away from him in the dead of night, he instinctively clutched it before even wondering why his pillow would be jerked away.
Violet! Violet was staring at him, frowning, and when she saw he was awake, she said, “You’re finally in your room. I keep coming in here and you’re never here.”
Why? he tried to say-at times he still forgot he couldn’t speak-and sounded like he was choking on a fish bone instead.
“Oh, Ifra, I never see you anymore and it’s awful! I didn’t think it would be like this. In fact, I don’t even see Belin. I thought I would have to order you around and everyone would think I was silly, and I’d surprise them all after Belin married me. Instead, they treat me like a child and it’s even worse than Celestina because at least she liked me some. They don’t like me at all. That woman who came and found you when we first came? Wista? She’s so awful, and I can’t even do anything about it. The other day I found a beetle and slipped it down her dress when she wasn’t looking and she didn’t even scream, she just shook it out and put it outside. What can you do with a woman like that?”
Ifra made a sympathetic face. He wasn’t sure if she could even see much of him in the dark. The moon was just a crescent out the window.
“Oh, it’s just awful. I didn’t think it was possible to hate anyone as much as I hate Belin, and… one of the ladies told me that the night I marry Belin, I’ll have to lie with him. She told me what it means, and I will never, ever do that. I would rather die.”
Ifra suspected Belin wouldn’t press her into consummating the marriage. He didn’t seem to find her attractive in the least. But he couldn’t calm Violet down and tell her to behave herself in the court, just long enough… He couldn’t tell her Erris was trapped under the throne. He couldn’t even tell her to go back to bed and stop prowling around at night looking for him-heavens, how many times had she given her attendants the slip, and how long until they noticed?
So many things he wished he could tell her. Perhaps, most of all that feeling that he was losing himself, becoming a silent symbol of Belin’s own lost self. The nights he had spent traveling with Violet felt so far away.
He reached for her hair, that long soft hair that flowed freely across her shoulders now, smoothing his hands along her head, trying to comfort her and himself at once.
She was, as always, a girl of many frivolous words but decisive physical action, smoothing her hands down the V of his chest bared by his shirt, clutching his collar, melting her lips into his.
Her kisses made him feel free, at least for that moment.
After the kiss was over, she curled against him, pressing her forehead to his collarbone like she wanted to hide away inside his skin. When he put an arm around her, she started to cry, but she choked it back quickly, as if ashamed.
“I know you can’t cry right now, Ifra,” she whispered. “I won’t cry either.” She took a deep breath. “Some people are saying Belin poisoned King Luka.”
Ifra shook his head.
“What would happen if one of his brothers took the throne instead? They’re already married! What would happen to us?”
She knew he couldn’t answer, so she didn’t ask any more questions. He let her stay with him for a long time, running his fingers through the fine strands of her hair, feeling her heart beat, before he forced her back to bed. He didn’t get any more sleep that night, but he felt a little stronger in the morning nonetheless.
THE DINING HALL, TELMIRRA
“Ifra Samra, Jinn of the Court.”
Ifra was announced, in line just behind Belin, his brothers and their wives, and Violet. Usually Ifra sat apart, but at the feast for Violet, Belin had him playing the part of the exotic and dangerous bodyguard. He suspected this might be Ilsin’s wife’s idea, because when she saw him, she smiled in a slinky way and said, “Oh, yes.” She nodded at Belin. “Your jinn dresses up so nicely.”
Ifra, of course, had been at the mercy of the servants that morning. They decked him out in a heavy necklace of gold plates, put his hair in a topknot with a golden ornament that looked like miniature stag antlers, and gave him a sword to wear at his left and a knife at his right. His shirt bared his chest. All the women in court looked at him as he made his way around the periphery of the room to the chair at Belin’s right hand. The attention made his cheeks hot, but he felt more like a character than himself, and he felt a bit of sympathy for Violet, being told she was plain and sickly. If one had to look a part, it helped to feel you could do a good job of it.
Of course, the trouble with Violet was that she hadn’t mastered the art of glamour like the other fairies. On a night like tonight, everyone was more beautiful than usual, even the servants. The fairy women wore gowns with trailing sleeves, their long necks bared like swans’, their hair gathered up with
feathers or beads or streaming in waves of red or black with flowers in a contrasting color. Some men wore their hair shoulder-length and loose, others cropped it like that of the men of Lorinar, and some tied it back with more feathers and ribbons.
They came from all over the fairy kingdom, even the bearded lords of the wilder places wearing furs bedecked with beads or hide capes with painted patterns. One group of women wore knee-length dresses with skirts made from dozens of filmy layers; another group wore only green, with even green paint on their eyelids.
Violet, meanwhile, looked out of place sitting on Belin’s other side in a gown that bared her neck. She kept slouching, and Ilsin’s wife, who sat across, would whisper, “Violet!” and then lift her own chin. Violet would straighten half-heartedly. Ifra didn’t dare look at her too much, but he suspected her expression was sulky.
She wasn’t the only one, though. Clusters of beeswax candles arranged in centerpieces of holly and ivy gave a flattering light to faces, but among the many lovely, wild fairies, he noticed expressions of skepticism and hostility. Once seated at the six long tables that mirrored the rectangular shape of the walls, groups whispered to each other. The room was full of so much chatter that Ifra couldn’t hear a word of conversation beyond the fairy royal family sitting around him. Attendants, wearing vests in the deep royal shade of green, poured wine from an endless number of flagons.
There was whispering at Ifra’s table too, much of it from Ilsin and Tamin. They watched every person as they entered, scrutinizing, appraising: Did they look loyal? That one should be watched, he had never been loyal; that one was weak and you could see it in the way he carried himself. Ifra didn’t catch every word, but he got the gist. Belin himself wasn’t included in the conversation.
Tamin and Ilsin laughed.
“You two troublemakers,” Ilsin’s wife said, sipping her wine. Ilsin whispered in her ear, and she wrinkled her nose, but they both looked amused.
Ifra glanced at Belin. Belin pretended to be interested in making sure his silverware was absolutely exactly straight.
Almost every chair in the room was full now. Tamin looked at Violet. “Are you ready to be presented?”
Violet said nothing. She was clutching her wine cup with two hands but not drinking.
“It will be interesting to see what the court thinks of you,” Tamin said. “Your human blood is so obvious.”
Violet glared at him.
Ilsin’s wife smiled a bit. “Oh, now, you must admit, she’s adorable. Such a naïve little thing.”
“Well, what would her human father know of our ways?” Ilsin said. “I hope you’re being patient with her, Elsana.”
“Don’t you talk about my father,” Violet said. “Do you even know who my father is? He does the bidding of the Queen of the Longest Night herself. He’s the greatest necromancer in the world.”
“Tamin,” Belin said, still looking at his forks, but his tone was low. “You’d best not provoke her. She is my future queen.”
“Very well.” Tamin briefly raised his eyebrows. “Such enthusiasm you have for her too. Of course, I can see why. That’s the trouble with being king, I suppose, you have to marry based on strategy, not beauty or intelligence.” He took his own wife’s hand and kissed it. Her smile looked a little forced. Tamin’s wife was very quiet, and Ifra sensed she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the brothers’ bickering.
Understandably so. Why was Tamin being so merciless to poor Violet? Ifra didn’t even want to meet her eyes, knowing how all this must be tearing her up.
Belin stood. “You take that back, brother!”
The noise in the room immediately died down as all heads turned to see the source of the commotion.
Tamin glanced around the room, adopting a sudden expression of confusion. He stood up and put his palms together. “Belin, Belin. Calm down. No harm was meant.”
“You slandered my future wife.”
“Belin!” Ilsin said. “Tamin was only expressing concern about her complete lack of familiarity with the court, being raised in the human world by a human father!” His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Ilsin was a good actor, Ifra realized. Both brothers were. And they were trying to make Belin look like a fool in front of the entire court.
“I know you’ve been sensitive ever since Father… died so suddenly,” Tamin said. “It is funny how you seem to snap at us whenever we make any attempt to touch upon the subject.”
The whispering in the room increased once more. Belin looked furious. “I didn’t kill him!” he hissed.
Ifra cringed. Belin’s anger did nothing to improve his image. Belin might have claimed to be skilled at manipulation from a young age, but Ifra wondered about that-it seemed that he succumbed to emotion first and sense later. Ifra gave the hem of Belin’s coat a gentle tug, but it went ignored.
Tamin threw up his hands. “I would not dare make such a harsh accusation!”
“But it is awfully suspicious,” Ilsin said, rubbing his forehead, blinking as if he were hovering near some deeper emotion. He suddenly stood up too. “As soon as you bring Father this fine gift of a jinn, he dies. I know Father could be a cruel man, and some might say he deserved a taste of his own medicine, but he was still our father.”
Tamin gently squeezed Ilsin’s shoulder, and he sat back down and buried his face in his hands.
“I didn’t,” Belin protested. “He’d been sick for a long time. I’m wondering if you killed him to blackmail me.”
Tamin gave Belin a long, hurt look, and then he said, “If you’ll pardon me, brother… I just need a bit of air.”
Ilsin rose to join him.
“My apologies to the court. Don’t let me disrupt your dinner,” Tamin called on his way out.
As they left, the whispering rose back into a roar of conversation.
Chapter 25
Before we reached our destination, Rowan blindfolded us, so we stumbled over uneven ground, a guiding enemy hand at our elbows while our hands were tied behind our backs. It was already getting dark, and I couldn’t even see much beneath the edge of the cloth. I was beginning to have grave doubts about the assistance Annalie had supposedly seen or sensed in the woods, but I’d had no chance to ask her anything more about it.
We should have tried to take them, I kept thinking. There would surely be even more guards at the prison, and what if the king locked us away before we had a chance to spread his secrets? What if he did something worse? I kept thinking of Ordorio’s story of Erris trapped in the automaton, and how the fairies had mangled his and Melia’s bodies, and I could hardly bear the panic crawling over my skin like ants.
Suddenly my feet were on the packed ground of a path again, and then the hand guiding me stopped to knock at a door. I heard the door swing open.
“Found them at the gate,” Rowan said. “This is the girl who was with Erris Tanharrow, plus some witch.”
“Nice work,” said a gravelly male voice.
Rowan grunted. We were led across a threshold, wooden floor, and then carpet. The room smelled rather like wood, offering no particular clues, but I had only taken a few steps in before Rowan said, “Stairs ahead, ladies.”
Now we were led downward. I kept my elbow against the banister for some stability. When we came to the end, Rowan removed my blindfold, revealing nothing but a small, dark room. A man was sitting on the ground in bored repose, with metal shackles tethering his ankles and wrists mere inches apart.
“Oh, good. Company,” he said in a droll voice.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” said Rowan’s male cohort, sounding grim. Rowan moved to the door. The woman was behind me, and I heard the clink of chains. She handed a set of shackles to the man, and he crouched to put them around my ankles.
I stepped back instinctively. I didn’t want to be tethered and bound-like Erris to the piano-helpless.
“You’ll make things worse if you don’t hold still,” Rowan said. The man took a firmer gr
ip on my ankle.
Don’t be stupid, Nim, I thought wildly, only I wasn’t sure what the stupid act was-to let him shackle me or to fight it. Of course, if we couldn’t fight them before, we couldn’t now, but what if this was our last chance? I kept imagining my regret if I was dragged out to a guillotine or a hangman’s noose-how did fairies execute people anyway? No, it probably wouldn’t be anything fancy and public. They wouldn’t want me screaming about Erris before I died. Maybe someone would just come slit our throats.
Upstairs, the door opened, followed by a thump and a strangled cry. Rowan looked behind him.
“What was that?” the woman asked. The man clamped his sweaty hand over my mouth. The woman shot Annalie a sharp look and took out her knife, pointing the tip at both of us in turn. “Either of you make a sound and you’re dead.”
Rowan hurried up the stairs, taking out his own knife. My heart was pounding.
Rowan shouted, “Both of you come up-”
He never finished the sentence and he never came downstairs. In a rush of adrenaline, I gathered my heat magic and blew out a hot breath, forcing the man to take his hand from my mouth. Annalie slipped her hands easily from her bonds, and I realized she must have gotten her spirit friends to loosen them for her.
“Hey!” The man grabbed my arm. “Don’t you try it!”
Annalie was left to fight the woman, and I saw her hand move with the knife, heard Annalie scream, but I had my own battle to pay attention to. I quickly moved the heat from my lungs to my skin, shooting it up the man’s arm-just as I had warmed Erris so many mornings, only now the magic was too hot, and the man howled with pain and took his hands off me.
The room was cold, however, and it was hard to keep up my magic without a source. My hands were still tethered behind me, and I took a step back to the wall, quickly noting that Annalie was still on her feet-sleeve slashed and arm bleeding-but she seemed to be merely grazed. Could I burn away the rope? But I couldn’t seem to make fire. I was too panicked.
Magic Under Stone Page 22
