“May your branches bear fruit,” said the fairy when he returned. “Is that what you said?”
Sharlyn nodded, and Lariat Jacquard sat taller. Beside her, Lavaliere was dozing with her eyes shut and her mouth open. Ella looked away, disgusted by her indifference.
“How do we know it’s Serge’s magic in these slippers?” Sharlyn demanded suddenly. “How do we know it isn’t someone else’s?”
That was a good question too.
Bejeweled only snorted. “You mortals think we can do just anything. It’s sweet.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s impossible to tell whose magic is whose,” said Bejeweled, ruffling up her spikes of hair with a swipe of her blue hand. “Sure, you get a few fairies and Exalted who can sense the difference between fairy magic and witch magic, and so forth. But narrowing a particular bit of magic down to the individual maker? Almost nobody can do that. Serge has tampered with every pair of shoes that’s come out of the Slipper for years — and all his friends admitted it.” She glanced up at the king. “Am I done here?” she said. “I feel done here.”
And then the whole Assembly gasped with one voice as Lavaliere Jacquard toppled out of her chair and down the dais steps, limp as rags.
HE soared down to Lavaliere, knelt on the steps, and felt for her pulse. Her heartbeat was sluggish. Fading.
“Don’t touch her.”
He ignored Lariat — it was cruel to expose Lavaliere before all of the nobility, and he knew it, but the girl was near death. If the illusion remained, then no one could help her. He stripped the magic from Lavaliere’s face and cried out at the sight of the bloody, welted mess she had become. Her features were dissolving.
“I need a Hipocrath!” Serge shouted. “Quickly!”
Serge could hear people gag, smell the sourness of sickness rise as nobles retched into their silk curtains and velvet chairs. The Blue fairies of the House of Magic bore Physic Nostrum down from his box and deposited him at Lavaliere’s side. The small Hipocrath crouched and held his blue palms over her. “Geguul,” he murmured. “What is this sickness? Cankermoth — but the toxin here is deeper …”
“Cankermoth,” Serge confirmed. “Since the bite, two years ago, Lavaliere has been wearing an illusion I made for her, at Bejeweled’s orders. But beneath the mask, her condition has deteriorated. It causes her pain beyond endurance, but though I have appealed to her mother to permit Lavaliere to get treatment, she has repeatedly refused.”
“It is in her brain and heart,” said Physic Nostrum. “She may be lost.” He raised his thin voice. “I need everyone with me who has any healing power. Now.”
The Blue fairies of the House of Magic bore more Hipocraths down from their boxes, along with Kisscrafters who had the healing touch. The fairies lifted Lavaliere in their arms.
“Help her,” Serge said. “Save her.”
The throng of fairies and healers tore from the chamber.
Those who were left turned their eyes on Lariat Jacquard.
LARIAT’S face was ghastly. Greenish gray.
Lavaliere’s countenance had looked like pulp. Wet, bursting flesh. Ella looked at him, her eyes shocked and questioning, but he shook his head. He had never guessed what Lavaliere was hiding.
“He attacked my child!” said Lariat suddenly. She pointed down at Serge, who still stood on the dais steps, staring at the door through which Lavaliere had vanished. “He burned her with fairy magic! You all saw him do it, do not let him confuse you — remember what he is. A traitor, a menace. He inflicted those welts in order to blame me for them —”
“It was a cankermoth infection,” said Lady Shantung clearly from her box. “Physic Nostrum confirmed it.”
“Your Majesty,” cried Lariat. “Nexus Maven! How can you let this happen?”
“How can you remain here,” said Dash’s mother quietly, startling him, “when you have just been told that your daughter is near death?”
The Assembly fell silent.
“Maud,” said the king, pleading. “Leave it.”
“No. I ask her this question as one mother to another. How can she sit in that chair while her child bleeds?”
“I stay in this chair,” said Lariat, “because unlike some people, I understand that my duty to my country is greater than my duty to myself. I serve this House and this kingdom. I do not abandon my position. I do not run from what pains me. I stay and search for truth.”
“This hearing serves your interests,” said Queen Maud, “not the kingdom’s. If what you want is truth, then here it is: Your daughter suffers from a village pestilence, and you would rather see her dead than admit it.”
“Maud.”
“Clement.” Dash’s mother removed her crown and smoothed a hand over her coronet of yellow curls. “I should not have abandoned my position as I did — Lariat has a point there. So let me be official now: I resign my post.” She set the crown on her throne and looked at Lady Jacquard. “There is what you covet,” she said. “Take it.”
“Maud —”
She ignored the king. “I will go to your child,” she said to Lady Jacquard, who sat unmoving. “I will comfort her while she is healed — or while she dies. She needs a mother. Any mother. But a good one would be best, so keep your seat.”
Dash’s mother left the dais. His father tried to catch her hand, but she avoided his grasp and swept from the chamber without a look back.
THE Assembly did not know what to do with itself. The king deflated in his massive throne. Lady Jacquard’s expression was empty. Jules made her way to the doors.
“Your Majesty,” said Sharlyn gravely. “Serge must be permitted to speak.”
Jules glanced back.
“Serge committed treason,” said Lady Jacquard flatly. “He has no right to testify.”
Before Sharlyn could fight this pronouncement, the grand doors opened and the chamberlain of the Assembly entered with two guards behind her. Serge’s wings throbbed with joy — and tensed with fear. The guards had Jasper between them, but a black silk band was tied around his eyes.
“Your Majesty,” said the chamberlain. “This Crimson fairy says that his name is Jasper and he is Ella Coach’s other godfather. Do you require his testimony?”
Jasper’s masked face turned directly toward Serge as though he were a beacon of light. He gave him a little smile.
“Absolutely not,” said Jules.
“No,” said Lariat at almost the same moment. “We will not hear him. He is a spy who wishes only to delay the vote on Ella’s guilt, I am sure.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Serge saw something strange: a streak of shimmering crimson. He glanced down to find that it was coming from his sleeve. Swirling cursive glowed deep in the velvet, a luminous red embellishment.
I brought you a surprise witness. This faded, and another line of cursive appeared as the guards wheeled Jasper around. I had a little feeling it might be necessary. Statute 144.
Relief and terror flooded Serge together. It was the perfect solution. It was also a dreadful risk.
Miss me?
“Yes,” Serge murmured, and Jasper’s little smile became a beam as the guards towed him from the chamber.
Serge shut his fists, summoned his dust, and visualized the message he would send to Lady Gourd-Coach.
THE moment of decision has arrived.” Lady Jacquard’s face was smooth again, and some of the color had returned to it. “All in favor of ending this hearing —”
“Stop,” said Sharlyn. “Wait.” She stared down at a bit of parchment in her hands that had not been there a moment ago. It appeared to be written in silvery script, and it changed the expression on Sharlyn’s face from one of grave concern to one of energy. Determination. She looked like herself again. “I would call another witness,” she said in a tone so confident that Ella’s courage was halfway revived.
“Only if this Assembly permits it,” said Lady Jacquard, and she shot a warning look out at the Assembly boxes. “Al
l in favor —”
“But Your Majesty,” said Sharlyn, opening the Charter of Assembly Regulations. “It is the law. According to statute one hundred forty-four, if there arises a question of magic that cannot be settled by the House of Magic, then any being with the power to settle the question must be permitted to give testimony.” Sharlyn clapped the book shut. “Lady Jacquard wants the Assembly to assume, without proof, that Ella Coach has been working alongside a traitorous fairy,” she said. “But the question of whose listening magic is in those glass slippers still remains.”
“Bejeweled says that the question cannot be answered,” said King Clement.
“But I say it can,” said Sharlyn. She drew a deep breath. “I call Queen Opal of Cliffhang.”
A little girl — or what looked very much like one — came into the chamber, led by two guards who were unable to mask their fear. Jasper’s grandmother was even paler than he, with giant white wings that swirled and marbled behind her like living opals. Her hair fell in long, iridescent white sheets on either side of the mask that obscured her eyes, and her exquisite black gown trailed behind her small frame, making her look like she was playing dress-up in her mother’s mourning clothes. Her crown was high and sharp, its peaks set with rubies as crimson as blood. As she walked, she gasped intermittently — little laughs or little sobs, Serge could not be sure which.
So this was what Jasper had left behind. The very sight of her made Serge shudder.
“No.” Lariat Jacquard sat back against her chair as though she would have liked to vanish through it. “Your Majesty, do not allow it.”
“The charter,” said the king. His voice was dry.
“A monarch of the Crimson Realm has no right to decide matters of the Blue Kingdom —”
Queen Opal released a torrent of shrieking laughter that broke from her red lips in a spray of crimson light arcing toward the dais like fire from a dragon’s mouth. Dash and Ella cried out, and they weren’t the only ones.
The fiery light vanished. Queen Opal’s hands flew to her mouth. “I promised to be good,” she said from behind her fingers. Her sweet, girlish little voice turned Serge’s wings cold. “If I’m naughty, I can’t have what I want, and I want it….”
Clement stared down at Opal, arrested. Serge wondered, with some dread, what exactly it was that Opal wanted.
DASH could not tear his eyes from the Crimson fairy. She had transfixed the entire chamber — nobles and magic beings alike sat motionless in horror.
Lady Gourd-Coach spoke. “Your Majesty,” she said to Opal. Her voice was impressively neutral. “Welcome, and thank you for bestowing your gift upon this hearing. I understand that you, alone among all magic beings in Tyme, are proven to have the ability to tell whose magic is whose. Is this true?”
Opal smiled, showing child-size teeth that shimmered like tiny opals in her mouth. “Ask the Nexus.” She turned her masked face toward Nexus Maven. “She knows …”
Maven stood, her hands now surrounded by nimbuses of bright, changing light. “Queen Opal has the power you describe,” she said. “She also has the power to hypnotize every mortal in the room. If she is to remain here, she must be properly restrained.”
The Nexus lifted the side of her hand with a sharp movement, and a whip of light shot from it, humming. It traveled like lightning toward Queen Opal, who gave a short, soft laugh. At this sound, the ribbon of light changed direction, returned to its maker, and lashed the Nexus to her throne.
“Seducer of kings and Exalted,” said Opal, wagging a finger at Maven. She passed her tongue over her small teeth. “Trader of secrets. But you will never take Keene’s place on the Council, no…. Your power is too small.”
Nexus Maven’s dark face showed no blush, but she turned away as far as she could. No one moved except the Relay, whose hand never stopped racing over his pages, recording every breath.
Opal laughed breathlessly and turned her blindfolded face directly toward Dash. “Fascinating,” she whispered, taking a step toward him. The hairs on Dash’s arms stood up. He flattened himself against the back of his chair, expecting someone to step between himself and Opal, to protect him. But no guard moved, nor did any member of the House of Magic, and the Nexus stayed bound in her seat. No one would intervene.
“Prince of Blue. Jasper told me about you.” Opal advanced another step toward him. “You went to the workshops,” she said. “A pretty, pampered palace child, but you seek wretchedness. Ugliness. Why?”
Dash could not quite catch his breath. Was he supposed to answer her?
“His Royal Highness is not testifying in this trial,” said Lariat Jacquard, her voice barely audible.
Queen Opal fixed Lariat with a sightless stare. “I’ll get to you,” she hissed. She returned her attention to Dash. “Answer,” she said. “Why did you go to the ugly places?”
“To —” He glanced at his father to see if he would stop him, but the king said nothing. Dash realized he was free to speak. “To understand.”
“Understand?” Opal bared her teeth. “Tell more.”
“To see what it was like,” he said. “To see the workers there.”
“To gain what?” said Opal. “Did you want to see how low the low people are, so that you could feel highest of all?” She giggled. “The low people are very low, aren’t they?”
“No, I went because —” Dash licked his lips and glanced up. The whole Assembly was looking at him. There was still fear in their faces, but their eyes were curious too. They wanted his answer. Here was his chance to say what he wanted to say before the Assembly without his father or Lady Jacquard’s interference. Nobody would tell Queen Opal of Cliffhang that she could not question him. “I learned that the people in the workshops were badly treated,” he said. “I decided to help them if I could.”
Opal tilted her head. “Did you find what you sought?” she asked. “In the ugly places?”
“I found locked doors,” Dash replied. “Rotting stairways. Children tied to chairs. Sick people cracking Ubiquitous acorns to hide the roop, so that they could continue to earn a wage and support their families.” He looked up at the Assembly and cleared his throat. “I saw Ella Coach on the fifth floor, before the fire,” he said clearly. “But she was in the east room. The fire started in the west room, when a Ubiquitous acorn sparked — every surviving eyewitness who spoke to Nettie Belting agrees on that. Ella Coach couldn’t have gone into the west room. The door between those chambers was locked.”
“Ella Coach, Ella Coach,” said Opal, swaying back and forth as though to some music that only she could hear. “Always Ella Coach. But you are betrothed to the Jacquard girl.” She smiled widely, and her opal teeth glimmered. “Still a Charming,” she said. “Courting all the girls you can, curse or no curse …”
“I am not betrothed,” said Dash clearly.
The Assembly gasped.
“Because your bride-to-be is full of cankermoth poison?” said Opal with a strange, delighted sob. “You would dispose of her?”
“That betrothal was never real.”
“Dash,” his father said weakly. “Stop …”
“No.” Dash addressed the Assembly and not Opal. “Lady Jacquard demanded the betrothal,” he said. “I had to agree to marry Lavaliere or forfeit the crown.”
“Lies,” said Lariat quietly. “Slanderous lies.”
“She thinks she can turn you all to her side,” said Dash. “She thinks she can make you vote with her to annul the monarchy. And maybe she can. Maybe now that I’m telling the truth in front of all of you, she’ll do it. Maybe she has you all by your throats, like she had me.”
“She does,” gasped Opal, whose smile was ghoulishly wide. “She does, she does….”
Dash watched their faces. The highest families, far above him, were hardest to read, and he knew they would also be hardest to win. The Garters and their like would never turn on Lariat. But there were plenty of other faces that registered uneasy understanding. The Trapuntos and the W
hipcords. The Kalamkaris and Quebrachos. The Gomesis, the Bixis, the Cloques.
“I went along with her because I was afraid,” he said. He passed his handkerchief over the top of his damp head again. “But I’m done. I was a puppet for the Charming Curse. For years I said whatever it wanted — did whatever it wanted. It was magic that I could not fight.”
They were silent. Listening hard. Queen Opal too.
“But I can fight this,” he said. “And I won’t be a puppet again for anything.” Dash looked at his father. “Not even a throne,” he said, and he sat down. He was finished.
SERGE watched the prince’s eyes roam jerkily around the room. The boy’s hands shook; his face was blotchy with effort; his whole shorn head gleamed with sweat, and he downed a draught of water like he’d just run ten leagues before pressing the silver goblet to his forehead.
Ella’s eyes never left him. She very nearly radiated light.
“Your Majesty.” Sharlyn addressed Opal once more. “If you have no further questions for the prince, may I ask you to examine the glass slippers? Can you tell us whose magic is in them, and what it does?”
Serge held his breath, and Queen Opal held out her hands. “Give, give,” she begged. “Let me feel….” Sharlyn put a red glass boot into her grasping fingers. “Mmm.” Opal caressed it. “Pride. Precision. Him.” She pointed to Serge. “This is his work.”
“Is it listening magic?”
“No, it’s pretty, pretty magic….” And then Queen Opal found the back of the heel, and her fingertips passed over the little glass dot. “Here,” she hissed. “Dirty magic. Tucked into this little …” She felt it with her fingers. “Blob,” she said, grimacing.
Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella Page 35
