I caught myself sketching the wings of the fairies that came in to be interviewed. There were so many beautiful wings. Enormous and colorful, small and colorless, eye-catching, camouflaged, simple, and exquisite… every fairy that came in, at least the ones I was present for, had wings.
I tried not to speculate why Magic might think all of them—despite all the atrocities they had committed—more worthy than I was. It was an unanswerable question and of much lesser importance than everything else.
Still, despite my wishes to the contrary, the thought kept niggling at the back of my head.
These fairies were worthy?
And I was not.
How?
After each interview, Dallan and Astraea would murmur together about any thoughts they’d had about what they’d just heard. I thought it was probably more so they could have a break from the endlessness of it all.
Each fairy had to have their own individual attention. They had to be heard, they had to be discussed, and they had to face Justice or Mercy.
Eventually face Justice or Mercy, that was. Dallan and Astraea still hadn’t been able to sort out what they should do with all these fairies.
Together we were compiling lists of fairies—who were the leaders, who were the followers, who had personally done these things, who had just turned a blind eye… And, of course, everything was garbled by fairies who, without lying, still managed to implicate anyone but themselves.
Dallan pushed for some clemency for those who admitted their wrong doings and appeared at least somewhat remorseful.
Astraea, likewise, pointed out the fairies that had blood on their hands and who showed no comprehension that what they had done was wrong. They, she argued, needed to face the full force of Justice.
Which was what, Dallan argued back, execution? Banishment? One would put blood on Astraea’s hands. The other would inflict an enormous number of corrupt fairies obviously capable of great evil on other worlds that most definitely did not deserve such a thing.
A lot of paperwork was piling up, but we weren’t really getting anywhere. It felt like we were stepping sideways instead of forward.
“I can’t do anymore today,” Dallan said, as yet another Senior Fairy Godmother left the room, complaining loudly that she was being mishandled. I was shocked that she could say such a thing after confessing not just the murders of princesses she was supposed to be caring for, but designing a scheme in which the bodies of human princes and heroes practically piled up at the foot of the tower where the princess was supposed to be rescued, just so she could siphon off the power in their blood…and she had initiated at least three other Godparents into the ranks of the conspiracy.
But, no, she continued to complain of her own minor discomfort and the fact that she couldn’t access Magic anymore and she was worried about wrinkles.
I didn’t blame Dallan one bit for needing to walk away for the rest of the night.
I wanted to go to him and offer him comfort, but something told me that he needed space. We didn’t want what we were building to be tainted by what was happening here. This wasn’t the time for hugs and declarations. It was a time to work side by side at what was looking more and more like an insurmountable task.
“One a day would feel like too much,” Astraea commented, stretching her arms and moving her head around on her neck. Sitting this long had made all of us a little stiff, even me with my new and improved unicorn-healed body.
“One a day would take years,” Dallan said.
That was a pleasant thought.
“Do you want to come to my house to eat tonight?” I asked, gathering my files together and distributing them into the shelves and cabinets where they belonged. Those cabinets were starting to get full.
Dallan shook his head wearily. “No, not tonight. I need… space. Quiet.”
I knew what he meant well enough to not feel hurt. Maybe I was a little disappointed, but I too could use a little space and quiet to process what I’d heard. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just shake it all off.
“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow?” Astraea suggested, eyeing me speculatively. “You’re looking a little wan and pale. We can carry on for a little while without you. We were built for this, you weren’t.”
I blew out my breath, looking at her and trying to decide if she meant what she was saying, or if she was implying something else. The twins tended to try to protect me.
But the invitation was welcome. I was feeling a little ragged. I did feel badly about leaving them to fight on without me, though.
“Made for this,” Dallan said in agreement. He managed a pale imitation of a smile. “This is who we are, Grace. It’s fine. Take some time.”
“Then I will,” I agreed. “Take care, you two. The world depends on you.”
They winced, but waved me off on my way.
Chapter Twenty-One
I flew over the archipelago. There was so much that needed to be done, but I felt like an extra thumb in the proceedings that were happening down in the council buildings. I wanted to see friendly faces again, to remember what all this drudgery and chaos was for.
Dallan would have come with me if I had asked, but he needed his attention on the business at hand.
I wasn’t needed. Not really.
I knew that my grief and frustration with my peers was a distraction at a time when we could ill afford to be distracted.
While we were still high above Orionis, the longma began to cry. It was the most peculiar sound I had ever heard. It made the hair all over my body stand up. It was high and wailing, and pierced through me like shards of ice.
I tried covering my ears, but it made no difference. The wails continued, reaching down to a pitch so low it made the floorboards of my carriage shudder in response, then so high I felt I might fracture under the force of such a note.
I’d heard a banshee cry, once.
This was worse.
It seemed hours before we landed and, by then I didn’t need to ask why they had screamed so.
The first thing that met my eyes, when I threw myself from the carriage, was the broken, bleeding body of a unicorn. Gillie lay sprawled, half underneath the weight of his body. She was covered with blood. Her eyes were sightless and blank.
It only seemed to me that her reaching fingers were pleading for me to help her.
In the very deepest part of my attention I noticed when Flit joined in the wailing cry of the longma and took to the sky, screaming out in horror.
I couldn’t seem to see the entirety of what lay out before me. One drop of blood, staining the stones of the courtyard. Pale, rigid fingers curved slightly, the first finger outstretched. A pale gown stiff with dark that spread into fair hair…
So much blood. Everywhere.
Bodies lay in all directions.
I recognized that farmer.
His goats were slaughtered beside him.
I could not make sense of such a thing.
Here and there a unicorn lay. It seemed sacrilege to see them cold and empty, drained of power. Worse were the bloody messes where their horns had been stolen.
The castle doors were thrown open. Dead guards valiantly leaned at their posts, cold as stone. They half-stood against the spears that had slain them.
Goosebumps erupted across my skin.
This was a place for the dead now.
The blasphemy continued inside.
I was dimly aware of the longma wailing on, as they nosed their fallen cousins, desperately begging them to return to life.
I couldn’t even do so much. I was alive, yet it felt like I was the ghost here. I followed the bloody trails down the hallways and counted their names. To my shame I didn’t know the names of the unicorns.
Isolde.
Diedre.
A strange gasping sound drew me to turn into the throne room.
The slaughter was greater here. Bellatrices in their white and silver armor lay tumbled with their horned counterparts. Bl
oody swords lay in their hands.
And here and there… the living.
Caroline I found, clutching a bloody cloak to her side as she desperately leaned over Leigh, who was tumbled half off of the great throne.
Beside Leigh, Gabriel lay in a pool of blood, his kind eyes forever staring into the land where no living could follow and return whole.
“What can I do?” I whispered, my voice raspy with grief I could not yet admit, let alone express.
Caroline turned to me, almost blindly. “Is there Magic for this?”
I realized that I did not know. I knew there were healers, but I was not one. I had promised myself that I would learn, but I hadn’t learned yet.
I dropped to my knees, feeling them immediately drenched through. I dared not look down to see what with.
I pleaded with Magic to help me.
I begged it to step in here as I knew it could.
I offered to take the place of my sisters who had fallen here.
Dead now.
Because of me.
This was my fault. I had been cocky. I had been proud. I had been so sure that they would be safe once the spell was broken.
My hubris had caused this massacre.
Even in my pleading, I knew that Magic could not bring back the dead. I pleaded for them anyway, but my attention turned to those still living.
Please, I begged Magic, whatever you can do here, do it! And if I am needed as payment of some sort, I turn myself over to you. Make me what you need me to be. Crush the life out of me, just… help.
I don’t know how long I knelt there. Long enough for the knees of my skirt to dry into stiff, rigid shapes. Long enough for me to become dimly aware that there were others here, moving around.
Carrying out the dead.
I dragged myself wearily to my feet.
Sunshine seemed incongruous.
The stones were still stained. In the sunlight, the stains appeared to be black. They looked like ink, not blood. Not until I looked closer, and I could see the shapes of where the dead had lain. They stood out in pale relief against the bloody stones, pale against the dark.
I managed to turn my head towards the throne. There was nothing there now. No Gabriel, no Leigh, no Caroline.
“Godmother?” someone asked me.
I turned and found a slim, human girl holding out a mug of something to me.
I took it gratefully, wondering that she could find the energy for even this small kindness in such a place and time as this.
I did not think I could.
Flit swooped in through the open castle doors. His shape made a shadow in the bright sunshine. He let out a shrill cry as he landed on my shoulder and nearly choked me with his tail. He peeked his head around to stare into my face.
I wondered what he saw there. Surely it was defeat.
I could not stir the energy to ask if any of my princesses remained alive.
In the places where unicorns had fallen, the stones had taken on a peculiar silver-black sheen. My eyes seemed to be drawn to those places. I tried to count in my mind how many places I was seeing with that sort of stain, but the numbers slid from my brain.
I lifted the cup to my lips and found water inside. I drank it all, then looked down at it.
I was as empty as that little vessel, so why did I feel like I was drowning.
I took another step towards the doorway.
And another.
Somehow, I continued to breathe.
The sunlight was so bright. How could it keep shining? Didn’t it know that death had visited in the night?
I closed my eyes against the intensity of the glare as I stepped through the doors out onto the smooth stones of the courtyard.
Light stung tears to my eyes when grief couldn’t.
But, once they started to fall I could not seem to stop them.
I collapsed down to my knees, heedless of the heat of the stones, and buried my head in my arms, my hands clutching the back of my head.
Flit chattered in an alarmed sort of way and scrambled over my shoulders and head, trying to reach my face. I pulled my knees up, until I could almost pretend that I was just another rock.
If rocks could cry.
If stones could mourn.
If pebbles could crack and break.
I knew there was movement around me, but my grief gave me a bubble of silence. Inside, I could pretend that I didn’t exist. That I had been erased.
Why not? I recalled the spreading stain on Caroline’s side. Where was she now? Would they bury them all in a line together?
Something strong shoved into my back, hard. It sent me sprawling over. I landed on my nose, with my feet up in the air behind me. My palms scraped against the stones and began to sting.
I looked back and found Agape standing there, his ears pinned back. Blue flame danced in his eyes and across his entire form. He looked as if he were made of black flames and layers of shadows.
He charged towards me, blue flame flickering out of his nostrils. One massive hoof-claw pounded down right next to my face. He scraped the stones restlessly. I looked up and found the longma’s massive chest and girth right above me.
Funny was to discover I still wanted to live.
I crawled out from under him, half on my side and half backwards, because I didn’t feel this was the best moment to turn my back on Agape. His head reached down, tracking my every move.
I dragged myself up onto my feet.
He pressed his nose against my chest and shoved it. Hard.
I stumbled back a step.
He did it again.
I cursed as I almost fell onto my backside.
He snaked his head towards my face. His nostrils widened. And he blew into my face.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ve got it. I don’t get to fall apart.”
He nickered and rubbed his head against the front of my dress. Little black hairs flew in the air all around us. Fortunately, I noticed, the blue flames had been extinguished or I would have been burnt to ash. Or left naked.
Flit screeched and pulled my hair. One of his claws dug into my earlobe. With him behind me and the longma in front of me, I knew I would have to brace myself up and be a real Fairy Godmother.
I couldn’t refuse to see what I didn’t want to know. I was the caretaker. I was their Fairy Godmother. I didn’t get to play the victim. I had to acknowledge, accept, and endure.
And, if I didn’t, I had some Magical creatures who were perfectly willing to whip me into shape. I winced as Flit’s tail lashed against my shoulder. That whipping might be literal.
I drew a deep breath and turned my back on Agape. I hoped he wouldn’t take the chance to bite me, but I trusted that I’d gotten his message right. I shouldn’t need any more punishing unless I screwed up again.
As I turned, I could see people straightening around the courtyard and turning in my direction. It took me a moment to recognize their faces. Tired, pale, resolute.
Amanda.
Joette.
Erika.
Kayla.
Caroline.
And there, looking pale and bandaged and bruised, Leigh.
I looked around for the others, but their faces told me all I needed to know.
There had been six hundred Bellatrices who lived had here, once.
Now there were six.
A unicorn wandered towards me, as if it had no purpose in doing so. It paused in front of me and rested its chin right above my heart. This meant that its horn came dangerously close to touching my forehead. Thankfully, it was gentle. Or merciful. Or both.
Behind me, in the same spot on my back, Agape pressed his nose.
It was the strangest sensation. Warmth and ice filled me by turns. I would not have been surprised to see my skin steaming.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
One large, silver tear formed in the unicorn’s blue eyes. It fell slowly and splashed against the stones of the courtyard at my feet.
T
he stones cracked and parted, and a questing finger of green reached through the break. I stepped back to let the green spread.
“Let the land reclaim this castle,” Leigh said, her voice determined, if a little weak. “We will rebuild it as it was always meant to be. And, over time, we will heal.”
The Bellatrices turned and walked away. They did not look back at me. They did not speak to me. They faced their tomorrows with resilience.
As it should be.
I had to remember that I was not one of them. I was the Fairy Godmother who had nearly gotten them all wiped out of existence.
They were not my friends.
I was their Guardian.
And it was time to do my job properly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
From what I could make of the signs, the Bellatrices of Orionis had been attacked by extremely powerful Godparents wielding an enormous store of stolen Magic. It had been a blitz attack, with most of the deaths occurring before anyone realized what was happening. Then, the Godparents had disappeared and left disorder and panic in their wake.
All but two Fairy Godparents in our world were accounted for.
Which meant that this was the handiwork of my uncle and my mistake—Ferdie and Cooper were the only ones who could have done such a thing.
Seeing what they’d done made me face the reality that I’d never really known either of them. I’d always thought that my uncle was a honeyfuggling milquetoast. That he was all swagger with no depth. Or so I had believed.
And Cooper… I had known that he was arrogant. I had known that he was a cheat and self-absorbed.
But all those things were a far cry from this kind of cold-blooded large-scale massacre.
How could anyone feel entitled to take lives and crush them like that? What made them think they had a right to act this way? To destroy our world? To shatter lives?
There was a sickness in them that I was beginning to see, even if I could never understand it.
Twelve Dancing Witnesses Page 14
