A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova
Chapter 35
I sleepfor most of the day. When I wake, it’s because the other troupe members I’m sharing my room with are beginning to stir. I feel like I could’ve slept for eternity. Raph is curled up at my side, snoring softly. His face is relaxed and he looks so vulnerable, so peaceful. I’ve never been more aware of just how young he is. Guilt cuts me deep at what I’ve thrust him into. I gently stroke hair from his eyes.
One of the musicians crosses over, holding out a small bundle of clothes. I take it with quiet thanks. They have three whole trunks of costumes that they all source their attire from. What they gave to me is a ruffled blouse with billowing sleeves and a plunging neckline. It’s paired with tight, black, leather pants. I fuss over the pendant, eventually deciding to twist it around and hang it between my shoulder blades. Like this, it looks almost like a choker, as long as my hair covers my shoulders.
I rouse Raph to give him his clothes. He sleepily dresses in the brightly colored tunic and spotted leggings. He’s awake enough by the end to frown at the ensemble.
“I look like a clown.”
I chuckle softly and don’t tell him about my jester comment the night before. “You look like a performer.”
“You got the good clothes.” He pouts.
“I look like a pirate.”
“Pirates are fabulous.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Let’s get breakfast.”
Raph and I keep to ourselves as we eat. The troupe isn’t unkind, but they don’t seem to be interested in engaging with us more than they have to. I suppose it’s for the best. The less they know, the safer we all are. Moreover, no matter what happens tonight, I get the keen sense that we won’t be leaving the castle together. This is strictly business.
I’m halfway through my meal when it strikes me that the food still has taste. Raph notices the sudden shift in my demeanor and tries to inquire as to the reason. But I brush him off.
We have enough to worry about. Adding concern for me withering away as a human in the world of the fae is something we don’t need. And I still don’t think I’m withering. It must be because I still have the necklace on my person—the power of kings is still with me even if it’s no longer in me. Fortunately, it seems to be enough to sustain me in this world.
The lamps are being lit as we emerge from the inn. The leader guides the troupe in a merry jig as we walk and dance down the road. I try and throw myself into the music. My fingers move on instinct, sure. But it’s impossible for me to get lost in the melody the way I usually do, the way I did last night, not with the castle looming over me and the portcullis drawing ever closer.
“Hold it.” One of the Butchers stops us just before we can enter. Her eyes shift to me and Raph. “Those two weren’t with you yesterday.”
“Ah, yes, they were late in getting to the High Court. They joined us last night. But we’d be remiss to perform again without their skill,” the leader says. All technically true.
The Butcher still seems wary. “I don’t recall any new people entering the city.”
I clutch my lute a little bit tighter, trying to keep my face as calm as possible. When we crossed through the barriers, did they know how many people entered? Or did they just get a sense of the wall being breached? Did they think that by capturing Shaye and Giles, they got everyone? Even if they don’t…I can only hope that they would assume that anyone who is foolish enough to sneak into the High Court will stay far away from the castle.
“Do you recall everything that happens in the High Court?” The leader tilts his head.
“Do you often lose members of your troupe?”
“I lose many things.” The man chuckles and plucks his fiddle.
The Butcher looks to me, narrowing her eyes. “Going to ask you a very simple question. You can only answer yes, or no. If you say any other words then I will kill you without a second’s hesitation. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” This is going to be too easy. She’s treating me like a fae and thinking I can’t lie. Even though I have no horns, or wings, they have no reason to expect a human to be here.
“Did you and him—” she points to Raph “—infiltrate the High Court, yes or no?”
“No.” I smile widely and can’t help but add, “Everything he said is completely true. They came out and got me.”
One of the women of the troupe laughs. “Do you think something is funny?” the Butcher snaps.
“I think the world is one big joke, and the only tragedy is the people who can’t seem to laugh at it,” she says with a smile.
“Get out of my sight,” the Butcher snarls and waves us along.
As we pass under the portcullis, the leader of the troupe looks back at me with a sly smile. He slows his pace to fall beside me. “I thought you were a bit different…a bit boring…but now I realize you are most interesting indeed. For it is what you lack that makes you special.”
“I’m unique in my own way, as we all are,” I agree, sharing in what might be the only smile I have of the night. “And you’re right in that I don’t need horns or wings to be special.”
“You certainly don’t.” He dips his head and raises his catlike eyes to meet mine. “I want you to know that it has been my supreme honor playing with you.”
“Likewise.”
“No matter what happens tonight, I think I shall compose an epic ballad inspired by your tale.”
I chuckle softly. I begin to suspect that’s why he let me come along. “Hopefully, that song is not cut short and has a happy ending.”
Our conversation comes to an end as we emerge on the other side of the portcullis. There is an antechamber where people mill about in their finery. A few clap and smile as we enter. A grand, gilded staircase winds around the room, but we head for the double doors that open into the main hall of the castle.
All breath leaves my body and I’m suddenly torn between awe and horror. Buttresses support a ceiling that feels as if it could touch the sky. Holes in the roof have been punched out with circular panes of glass, giving the stars and moon a view of the revelries below. Fae dance to unheard music, spinning around the floor, laughing. Some linger off to the side, eating and scheming.
It would be a normal enough celebration were it not for the men and women suspended in cages between each of the buttresses. I see Hol in one of the cages and instantly grab for Raph. The child looks to me and I meet his eyes.
Be strong, I mouth silently and stare at him with an intense gaze. Then, I lift my eyes back to Hol. Raph must follow my stare because I can feel him trip; I hear the choked whimper that almost escapes. I clutch on to him with white knuckles, so tightly that I know it hurts. He would’ve seen his father eventually. It’s better for him to not be caught off guard. But, yet again, I’m overwhelmed by the guilt of bringing him here.
All of this will be worth it so long as our plan works. Raph and I went over the details multiple times last night before we slept. He knows why he’s here. He knows why I need him. And he won’t back down…not even when he sees his father on the menu of tonight’s entertainment for these demented people. This is his only chance of saving his mother and father.
At the far end of the hall, perched high atop a dais, is the throne and the man that I can only presume is King Boltov. From this distance, it’s hard to make out the details of him. I can gather only the broad strokes—like his fiery red hair, or how tall he must be to still dominate a chair while so hunched and sullen. I’m taken aback by how wiry and frail he looks. This is the man that has kept the Boltov legacy alive and the fae kingdom on its knees? This is the king who has committed all of the atrocities I’ve seen and imagined? He looks like the one withering, not me.
No, I can’t let his appearance fool me; I must stay on guard.
As we cross the room to ultimately stand before the king, I search for any sign of Davien or Vena. The people in the cages are certainly captives from the sacking of Dreamsong, but I can’t see any of the leaders. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
“Your Majesty.” The leader of the troupe dips into a low bow. “Thank you for bringing us back tonight to serenade your great hall.”
King Boltov nods his head ever so slightly. The glass crown that sits heavily on his brow picks up the light of the massive chandeliers and breaks it into a thousand pieces. It puts the replicas from the night in Dreamsong, and those on the brows of the men in this hall, to shame. Its craftsmanship is more refined and it oozes staggering power. A thousand rainbows cage in a cosmos within it.
It also appears that Davien was right—he’s performed some dark ritual to allow him to wear the crown. Seeing it on his head churns my stomach. I am enraged, as if seeing him with that crown is an affront to my history—an insult to me.
“My favorite minstrels have returned.”
“We would not dare object to your summons, Your Majesty.” The troupe leader has yet to straighten. He still stares at the floor. The rest of us have followed suit, bowing our heads. Though I look up through my lashes.
This close, I get more details of the bloody king.
His face is weathered, like leather that has been over-tanned, thinned in the process, and stretched taut over jagged stones. His eyes are sharp blue, piercing, threatening to expose even the slightest hint of deceit. The man’s fingers are more bone than flesh or muscle, and gnarly yellow claws extend out in place of nails. Two crescent horns, as black as pitch, curl up from his brow around the glass crown. There is nothing about him that is soft, or warm, or inviting. Everything is brutal angles.
“I look forward to what you perform for me tonight as we are at the end of our celebrations. Play well and I’ll let you keep all your fingers and feet. Play poorly and you’ll be forced to dance on nubs.”
I’m beginning to figure out why the troupe was so willing to allow me to join them. Even if they’re not strictly loyal or disloyal to anyone but themselves, Boltov is an easy enemy to all.
“It will be our pleasure to play for you. We will not let you down, sire.”
“Good. But do know when to stop; I have a special surprise planned for the culmination of the autumnal celebrations that I do not want interrupted.”
The words “special surprise” fill me with dread—anything that this man feels is special is surely something I won’t like. But I move with the troupe off to the side of the dais. The leader lays down the initial melody. The rest of us follow. Raph taps along on his comically small drum, bravely putting on a smile.
Two hours and my fingers are aching. I’ve never played this long or this hard. But I continue forcing myself to do so even when my hands are threatening to cramp. I’m playing for my life.
And then, the music suddenly stops. I look from the leader of the troupe to the king. Boltov has lifted a hand. Like a dark omen, he slowly unfurls himself from the throne, standing at full height and towering above everyone else.
“Good subjects, today is the last day of fall and the first of winter. It is the day when the living gives way to the dead. When one world passes to the next. And the Veil between us and the great Beyond is at its most thin.”
There’s excited murmuring throughout the hall. I see courtiers grabbing up goblets and taking hearty sips. They can’t wait to see what their king has planned, and it makes me sick.
“I know many of you are expecting entertainment tonight similar to that of last night, especially given my décor.” Boltov lifts his hands and motions to the cages around the room. “However, tonight’s special. Tonight is for me, and for a history that began hundreds of years ago with the death of King Aviness the Sixth.” The gathered fae hiss at the mention of the former king. He slowly begins to descend the staircase that wraps around the dais. “As you know, there are some who still think that the Aviness line can be restored. That the true king to the throne is out there, even though it is I who wear the crown.” He taps on the glass circling his brow for emphasis. Chuckles ripple through the hall. “So tonight it is my pleasure to see that the last of that line is finally cut off—henceforth, there will never be a question about who is most fit to rule.”
Boltov curls his fingers and doors at the side of the hall open. A small legion of Butchers led by the leader I saw in the woods manhandles in Davien. He’s chained up, shackled, helpless. The courtiers jeer and spit on him as he is paraded through the hall to ultimately be brought before the king.
“Kneel before the true king of the fae,” the Butcher sneers, and strikes him behind his knees. Davien falls to the ground.
“This man-child is the last hope of the ‘mighty’ Aviness bloodline? This is the man who was to threaten me? Who was guarded for decades in the Natural World?” Boltov laughs, and the court laughs with him. “This pathetic creature thought he would be ordained by the ghosts of the old kings in the Lake of Anointing but lacks any true power.”
Boltov gives Davien a sharp kick underneath his jaw. One that would’ve sent Davien reeling were it not for the Butcher holding him in place by both of his arms. Blood dribbles from Davien’s mouth as he glares up at the king. He hasn’t seen me yet, which I suppose is a blessing.
“I suppose it must take a lack of true power in oneself to notice it in others,” Davien growls and spits in the king’s face.
“You uncultured cur,” Boltov almost purrs, running his claw down Davien’s cheek. “I will enjoy dismantling you, piece by piece.” Boltov glances over his shoulder. “Music, fitting for blood.”
The lead minstrel picks up his fiddle and hesitates, only for a breath. He draws a shrill note from the strings reminiscent of a distant scream. The drummer begins thumping a pulsing beat, unhasty, but determined. Horrible in how slow it is.
This is it. My chance. I lock eyes with Raph and nod as I pull the necklace from my throat, palming it in the hand I strum my lute with.
As the music picks up, I step forward. Eyes are on me as I approach. Enough that it draws Boltov and Davien’s attentions. Davien’s eyes widen slightly. I force a crazed grin across my lips so well that he’s startled.
Laughing, I twirl as I begin to strum my lute, frantic, mad. I stomp and look on eagerly. The chords I play are minor, intentionally dissonant on the off-beat to the fiddle. It’s not music, it’s horrid sound. Fitting of the look in Boltov’s eyes.
“Yes, yes!” Boltov laughs, rearing back a clawed hand. “We shall dance for his death!” The rest of the fae begin to laugh and spin as well as Boltov strikes Davien in the face. Blood spatters the floor.
My stomach churns and I keep playing. Davien is no longer looking at me. He’s hunched in the arms of the men holding him. Does he know what I’m doing? Can he see my feet? Please let him notice, I pray. In my periphery, I see Raph step forward, nerves causing the beating of his little drum to become frantic.
Everything is rising to a boiling point. Boltov’s attacks become more brutal. I keep spinning, drawing invisible shapes on the floor with my feet. They’re the same shapes I was making in the lake. The same symbols Davien and I reviewed for the abdication ritual. Hopefully, the charged start of that ritual is still within us. Waiting to be finished.
“Look upon him!” Boltov shouts. Everyone slows. I finish my movements, the necklace hot in my palm. “There is nothing special about this man. He is—”
“There might be nothing special about him, yet, but there certainly is about me,” I interrupt. Boltov spins in place. I hold up the necklace. Look at me, I say with my actions, look only at me. You failed to notice everything else I’m doing. I snarl at him, as if I, too, have wings and fangs. As if I can be as monstrous as any fae. “You want this, don’t you? This is what you need to become the true king of the fae, and not some pretend sovereign who lives in a castle stolen by his ancestors, ruling with nothing more than fractured power and fear.”
Boltov’s eyes widen slightly, and his mouth splits into a grin that exposes sharklike teeth. “You are the human.”
“And you are the last Boltov the fae will ever suffer.”
He takes my bait and lunges for me. I wait until he’s in motion; he’s too committed to change course when I release the necklace, allowing it to drop. A blur at my side whizzes past me before the pendant can hit the floor. Boltov can’t catch it, not when he’s already stretching his clawed hands toward me. Raph is so nimble and small, he’s faster than even the Butchers caught flat-footed.
I hear Hol shout. I’m focused only on Raph and Davien. The boy tosses the pendant. Davien reaches out as far as his chains will allow. His fingers close around the glass even as the Butchers are lunging for it.
“I abdicate!” I scream at the top of my lungs for all to hear. I scream so that it echoes in every recess of this ancient castle. So that my voice rattles the very foundation of this hill upon which the first fae was crowned. So that the rulers who still have their eyes on me might know my intention. “Rule in my stead; the kingdom is yours; the crown is yours; and the strength of the ancient kings is yours; rise King Davien Aviness.”
My words reverberate unnaturally in my ears. There’s a strange echo, a delay, as the world trembles beneath me. The invisible lines I drew on the floor glow in tandem with the pendant. The light becomes so bright that the floor cracks and the pendant shatters in Davien’s hands. The shackles turn to dust on him and he stands straighter than I’ve ever seen. His wounds are healed and his wings are complete, no longer in tatters. His eyes are the most brilliant shade of green that ever existed.
And they’re the last thing I see before Boltov finishes his swing for my throat.