Nim, you expected this. You expected this. Don’t you dare cry. He will not see you cry, some stranger who is no help at all . . .
I blinked rapidly, fighting off the tears. “But what was his purpose, then? Garvin wasn’t going to help restore him to the throne?”
“Well . . . this is something we were trying to figure out, before Garvin’s . . . death. He certainly is not without uses. There are some in the fairy realm who would like to have him back, others who would not. We could bargain, or offer him as a gift of goodwill . . .”
“Offer him as a gift? And then what?” Now the tears crept into my voice, and I was in peril of losing my control entirely. “Can they save him?”
“I—I don’t know. Only the Lady could grant—perhaps—”
I lifted my head.
Perhaps there was a chance, then. “The Lady? Who is that?”
“She goes by many names. The Queen of the Longest Night. The Queen of the Dead. Those of us who commune with the other side have felt her touch, and she is not unkind, but . . . it is dangerous to attempt such magic. Opening the gates of the dead as wide as that would invite many evil spirits in. Very dangerous. And illegal, without the council’s permission.”
“You said you’d need a body. Does he have . . . a body somewhere?” I couldn’t believe I would actually suggest this. Undeath, that great taboo, for Erris. He could not have meant that when he asked for life, so why did I ask?
Against all sense, I still wanted to know what Karstor could do. I heard tales of undead men who could not be distinguished from living ones. They had always made me shiver, but now I wondered—if I could grant Erris just a day, a week, a month—only to have a proper good-bye, I told myself . . . I did not dream of having any more than that.
Karstor smiled without humor. “It has been too long. Nearly thirty years. I think his body, if it could even be found, would be rather past the point of help.”
“I know,” I said quickly. My heart thumped too fast, as if reminding me of my own life. “No more. I understand.” I should not even speak of these things.
Outside, I realized the last waltz had ended and nothing had replaced it. “Oh, the music stopped. Why did the music stop?”
“It must be time for dinner.”
The door burst open, and I whirled with fear. A girl’s face poked in. “Oh! Sorry to scare you!” she said. “I’m looking for my brother!” The door shut again, leaving me with knees like pudding.
“If you go out to the ballroom, I’ll go out the other door and slip in from the main hall,” Karstor said.
As I left, I saw him put his hand on Erris’s arm, with all the gentleness Smollings had lacked.
17
I fell in with a crowd leaving the ballroom. My eyes felt swollen with tears waiting to be shed, but when I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, all was well upon my face, if not in my heart. The servants were pulling out chairs to convert the room into a dining hall large enough for the many guests. I found Hollin past the main hall, sulking in the little cave of bookshelves tucked under the stairwell.
“How did it go with Mr. Smollings?” I asked.
“Fine,” Hollin said. “I suppose we won’t know what becomes of his plan until we see how Karstor reacts to the automaton.”
Oh, no. I realized that, among all my other concerns, I had forgotten to warn Karstor not to react to Erris’s appearance and certainly not to confirm that he was the prince. Did I dare speak to him again? My eyes darted beyond Hollin before I could think better of it.
“Nimira . . .” He sounded ragged. He reached for the tips of my fingers. “Smollings thinks I ought to send you away. He asked me why I hired you in the first place. I thought I wanted a singer, but maybe it’s—maybe it’s company I wanted, all along.”
His dark eyes were so intense, just like that first time, across the room from the stage. How long had it been? I counted the days. Not yet three weeks. It felt like an eternity.
“It is . . . ? Well—” I could ask, You don’t want me to sing, then? I feared the response.
Hollin let go of my hand. He peered out from the bookshelf like he had heard someone, but no one came. He turned back to me, his eyes traveling to my neck, and I realized I had been fidgeting with Annalie’s diamonds again.
“We won’t talk about this now,” he said. He held out his arm. “Come on.”
I wished I had said something more, only I didn’t know quite what it would have been.
We dined on tiny stuffed birds; I ate just enough to stave off hunger. I tried to listen to conversation about people I didn’t know, plays I’d never seen, and places I’d never been to, but my inner voice was loudest.
What is he implying?
Don’t be so shocked, Nim. He’s hinted at affection for you from the start.
But he has a wife whom he allows to be locked up. And you don’t love him. What could you say?
What will become of you and Erris alike if you reject his advances?
Maybe you should just tell Hollin that Erris is alive.
Oh, so he can turn right around and tell Smollings?
Hollin didn’t speak much at dinner either. Sometimes he glanced at me, too quick for me to look back. Karstor sat at the other end of the table, and I sorely wished I could send him a psychic message, for I saw no way to send him a verbal one.
The dessert course came around. “After this, we’ll adjourn to the drawing room, and you will perform,” Hollin told me. “Are you ready?”
“Of course.” I spoke with confidence, but I wished I could bow out and curl up in the library at Vestenveld, without anyone looking at me.
The servants had brought a number of chairs and sofas into the drawing room, all facing the pianoforte. Hollin and I waited in the corner, behind the instrument, while the party settled themselves. I witnessed social maneuverings in action; the dandies sat together in the back, the eccentric ladies took chairs near the front, Smollings leaned against the back wall with an amused smile. Karstor stood alone, arms crossed, one shoulder propped against a window frame. Both men seemed to hold themselves apart from the rest of the crowd, but only in Karstor did I see loneliness in the dark, tired eyes. I wondered if he also suspected that Smollings might have murdered Garvin.
Hollin conferred with Lady Moseky, then nodded to me. He took Erris’s key from his pocket while I moved in front of the pianoforte.
I heard the key grind.
This was wrong, I thought. Dozens upon dozens of faces gazed on Erris as if he were a toy. Only I knew he had to bury his humanity away. He had no control over the songs he would play. He could never even truly see his audience, for his eyes must always give only the same brief glance in the same directions, every time.
He might never live, never speak with a voice. This very well might be all the world could ever give him. All I could give him.
No, I couldn’t think of all this now. I must listen for my cue.
I heard the clockwork mechanism clicking along, but no music. Hollin tapped the piano bench with his toe. “This is strange. He isn’t playing.”
I turned to see Erris still in the same stiff pose. His hands were vibrating a little, nothing more.
Hollin lifted Erris’s coat and parted his shirt, where the metallic drum turned slowly around. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, just a moment.”
To my horror, Karstor stepped forward. “Something must have broken.”
“Dr. Greinfern, I wasn’t aware you knew anything about automatons,” Smollings said, sounding a little sarcastic.
“I have a little experience. My great-uncle was a clockmaker, and in my youth I used to help him build clockwork toys, which he sold in his shop also.”
“Well,” Smollings said, “see if you can get it to work and we’ll proceed.” He stepped back and let Karstor have a look, flashing a grin at Hollin.
Was Erris refusing to play? I had not told Erris about Smollings’s plan, yet the fact that the drum still turned implied
to me that this was no mechanical failure.
After a moment, the crowd lost interest in a lanky necromancer peering into a cabinet and started talking and rearranging themselves. More than a few slipped out the door.
“My apologies, ladies and gentlemen,” Hollin said after a while. “Tonight’s performance is cancelled. Perhaps next time.”
Smollings conferred with Hollin in a low voice.
Karstor tilted his head, poked things with a finger, and made an occasional concerned “Hmmm.” Finally he straightened and delivered his consensus. “I’d have to take him back to my house for repairs. It won’t take but a day.”
“No,” Smollings said.
“No?” Karstor repeated. “Mr. Parry? What do you say? It is your automaton, is it not?”
“I’m afraid . . . my answer is the same.” Hollin spoke reluctantly. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”
“Hollin won’t be keeping the automaton long anyway,” Smollings said.
“And why is this?” Karstor asked.
“Because I’m going to destroy it.” Smollings gave Karstor a moment to look properly aghast before continuing, “Unless I am persuaded otherwise.”
“What are you saying?”
“There is an upcoming council vote on which I’d appreciate your support.” Smollings smiled at the appalled expression unfolding on Karstor’s face. “If this automaton is what I think it is, I suspect you’ll be happy to oblige. We wouldn’t want anyone to know what Garvin was up to behind the council’s back, would we?”
Karstor took a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. “Soleran, I would rather die than let you blackmail my votes. And if you dare try and kill me, my ghost will have nothing better to do than follow you to the ends of the earth.”
“Poor man,” Smollings said. “A dull life, even in death.”
Karstor stared at Smollings for a long moment. His lips, his eyes, his hands were all remarkably cool and still, and this lack of reaction somehow conveyed the great sense of power within him. I would have trembled under such a look, but Smollings sniffed and looked away.
Karstor turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the room.
Smollings murmured, “Well, I’d say that did the trick. The next step, I suppose, is getting this thing to talk. Just leave it alone, and I’ll come up to Vestenveld next week. Maybe we could use the girl.” He looked at me. “She talks to it, Parry.”
“She most certainly does not!” Hollin rushed to my defense so quickly I almost felt guilty. “She would have told me.”
“I heard her,” Smollings said. “I’d keep a close eye on her if I were you.”
“I was talking to myself, really,” I said, allowing a quaver in my voice that was hardly forced, but that I hoped Hollin would take for loneliness. I thought he would understand loneliness. “The automaton is just there. I like to pretend he can hear me. I don’t have many people to talk to.”
“You can . . . always talk to me,” Hollin said.
Smollings snorted. “Do you really believe her, Hollin? Trousers are good liars.” He dropped the “girl,” as Lorinarians did when they insulted women of my race in general.
I was hardly surprised to hear the slur from him, but this did nothing to soften the word.
“Nimira is no liar.” Hollin’s voice rose. “And you are wearing my patience!”
“Can you really afford to lose patience with me?” Smollings said. He started to leave, stopped and sighed. “I told your father I’d be like a father to you, but I don’t think he’d know what to do with you either, right about now.”
When Smollings left, Hollin and I stood alone in the room. The other guests had all gone in search of better entertainments. Hollin frowned at the floor. Oftentimes, he seemed much older than his years, but just now he seemed a mere boy, unsure how to rebel.
“You don’t like him any better than I do,” I said finally. “Why do you let him control you? I know you said he’d help advance your career, but would you even want a career under his thumb?” I touched the arm of his jacket, just the barest brush with the tips of my fingers. “Hollin, can’t you tell me? I fear your secrets. I know you have them.” I touched the diamonds again. Her name was so close to my lips.
“I should like to forget my secrets myself,” he said. “If secrets could burn, I’d be the first to light the match.” He licked his lips. “Nimira, I told you I need Smollings’s influence to join the Sorcerer’s Council someday, but in truth, that isn’t the biggest reason. When—my wife was dying—I tried to use forbidden magic to save her. Smollings—he knows. I could face banishment from the sorcerer’s ranks or worse if the council found out.”
“So he’s blackmailing you?” I asked. “He’s rather fond of that tactic, isn’t he?”
“I could lose everything. Home and reputation alike.”
“But do you really want to help him stir conflict with the fairies? I don’t think your heart is in it. Are you happy?”
“Happy . . .” He shook his head. “I haven’t been happy since the day I tried to save Annalie’s life.”
I wondered why he didn’t just tell me Annalie was alive. What did he hope to gain now, keeping me in the dark? Or was it all part of the hold Smollings had on him?
“What sort of life is Smollings leading you to?”
“He hopes to put me on the council . . . as his pawn. Save my reputation, sell my soul, I suppose.”
“Is that the best choice you have?”
“I’m beginning to wonder,” he said. “Something must be done.”
18
In the carriage, we sat across from each other in a heavy silence. The lights of Aldren Hall still blazed; many guests would spend the night. The wheels rattled over the road, leading us out into the surrounding farmland, where the world welcomed the full moon. Nocturnal butterflies with shimmering wings fluttered around the straight rows of strawberry plants. Trees and plants alike glowed an eerie deep blue. Hollin wasn’t looking out; he stared at a spot somewhere to the left of me.
“You should look outside. I’ve never seen so many butterflies.” I was desperate to start a conversation on some lighthearted matter.
“Garden fairies,” Hollin replied, with a rather disinterested glance.
“Oh. I’ve never seen them before.” Alive, I added inwardly.
“Nimira, I’ve been thinking.” He shifted position, leaning closer to me.
“I imagine we’ve both been thinking.”
“No, listen. You’re right. I can never be happy as long as Smollings has a hold on me. I have no future here. I was thinking . . . we should just leave.”
“Leave?”
“I have money enough to keep us up. We can travel the world. We can see the Floating City and the God’s Gate—travel the spice routes—my God, think what a life that would be. It would be such an adventure. We’d never think about all this again.”
Everything he said to me, he had once said to Annalie. His words echoed the inscription I’d found in the book he’d given her. “This is . . . this is all very sudden—”
“I don’t think it’s sudden. I think it was inevitable,” he said. “The looks you give, Nim . . . Your eyes tell me to trust you.”
How could I accept when his wife still lived! Yet, how could I refuse? “I’m not sure—”
“Love isn’t sure,” he said, now taking my hands in his. I felt their warmth even through our gloves. “It’s frightening. But it’s full of possibility. And hope.”
Oh, how I agreed! But it was not for Hollin that I hoped, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. “It’s just, I’m still young, and . . . and are you sure you really feel this way? You’ve seen how Smollings looks down on me. He won’t be the only one. I don’t have anything to offer you.” I was blurting out things I thought should be said, but they had nothing to do with my real hesitations.
“What must I say to convince you, Nimira? I asked you the other night what you need to be happy. What is it? I’ll do everyth
ing in my power to grant it to you. We could go back to Tiansher and start your own dancing troupe—anything.”
The thought of Hollin in Tiansher running a dancing troupe almost made me laugh. “No. That isn’t it.”
“What is it?”
I could say the word and Hollin would take me away from New Sweeling. He would cheer up if he saw the sun rise in the Shai Valley. I could taste mangos again. To say nothing of the world’s riches I had never seen—the floating cities where the winged people lived, or the temples of Karadul, with shining minarets, tombs for long-forgotten kings. We could drink coffee in a waterfront café in Sormensen like the heroine of my favorite mystery novel and watch the sailboats on the glittering water.
But even the sweetest mango would taste bitter, knowing I had left Erris in Smollings’s hands.
“Do you believe the automaton is really the lost fairy prince?”
Hollin pulled back against the seat. “Why?”
“Don’t look so suspicious.” I spoke fast, as if I could outrun my sadness. “I’ve just spent a lot of time with it and I’ve never seen it do anything strange, but it’s a beautiful piece of art. I hate the idea that it could end up torn apart or gathering dust somewhere. And if it is the fairy prince, wouldn’t destroying it be murder?”
“It would be . . . assassination. To prevent something even worse from happening.”
“Is that what you really want? To be accomplice to an assassination? Is that really the kind of man you are?”
Hollin drove his fingers through his hair, yanking the roots. “Nimira, you don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand. Explain it to me. If I’m going to go away with you, I need to know you’re not the kind of man who would stand by and let an innocent man be killed.”
His forehead wrinkled with pain, and he pressed it against the side of the carriage, which could hardly have been comfortable with all the rattling. “My father used to quarrel with Mother over the choices he’d made on the council . . . He would tell her she was just a woman, she couldn’t judge, and he’d give me a certain look and ask me to bring him a glass of brandy. I wanted to please him. But at the same time, I felt a horrid stab of guilt as my mother would rush from the room.”
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