Page 40 of Crowning of the Sword

She didn’t want to, not really. She didn’t want to be swallowed up in this unpredictable mob replete with glamour and danger, but she couldn’t refuse, either.

Broude took her in his arms and as the music swelled, she let him sweep her away into a riotous whirl of leaping and gyrating and rising into the air. At the end of the dance, she was laughing and breathless, and then someone else took her hand and propelled her into another dance, and she lost herself twirling around and around the tree.

It wasn’t so awful after all, she decided. The other kingdoms were all there, vying to outdo one another with towering headdresses, outrageous costumes, and elaborate masks. Her inhibitions faded with every glass she drank, and she danced with fae after fae: some with wings, some without, some with tails or scales or fangs or spikes, others insubstantial as mist. And eventually she was intoxicated enough that she felt she could be herself, the traditional masks giving her a semblance of anonymity.

She danced with Sten who knew exactly who she was, and who whispered in her ear that all she had to do was say the word and he’d take her away, and she laughed and spun away from him, because who could say what would happen to her in the Kingdom of the Stones? Better the fae you know than the fae you don’t, she reasoned.

She danced until she was dizzy, and when she stumbled, a powerful arm caught her, drawing her close. A pair of dark eyes gazed at her from a charcoal mask fashioned like a wolf’s head studded with lustrous black pearls, the mouth set in a familiar stern line.

She cast a sweeping look around for Cole, but couldn’t see anyone in particular for the crush of fae around her, and so she pulled her courage together and whispered, “Are you alright?”

“Better than I was,” came the dry reply. “And you?”

“He was very angry.”

She couldn’t tell him the rest, about poor little Lily, because the words seemed to stick fast in her throat, and she had to be quick because she didn’t know who was watching, who was listening, who might report back to Cole and tell him that his little pet was dancing with his greatest rival. Instead, she said in a voice barely more than a whisper, “Promise to send me back if you can.”

He gave a low chuckle with no mirth in it. “Finally thinking of your own precious hide? Slow, aren’t you?”

“Not as slow as you,” she snapped. “You could have dodged.”

He gave a chuckle at that, and she relented. “I think it was a cruel trick, if you must know.”

“Really?” He eyed her with curiosity, his mouth curved in disbelief. “It was well within the rules.”

“Rules don’t matter here. Just power.”

He spun her out and back again. “You want to leave all this?” His tone was mocking, and the flames of the tree were reflected in his eyes, dancing gold and bronze, a fire lighting up the darkness.

The glitter and glamour, the violence and clamour … yes, she was ready to leave it all. “Promise me.”

He didn’t answer, just spun her out again and their fingers broke apart. Off balance, a dancing couple jostled her, and when she was steady on her feet again, Ashe was nowhere to be seen.

She moved to the edge of the hall to rest upon a couch and met a couple of fae from the Kingdom of Sands. They were intrigued by her, but as custom dictated at the masquerade, didn’t probe too closely as to her true identity. They knew who she was though, for they asked if she’d ever been beyond the Kingdom of Swords’ borders.

“There’s more to Esha than this little place,” one of the fae said. Her dark skin glittered with gold flecks, and she wore loose flowing pants that caught at the ankle, with two bands criss-crossed over her breasts. Gold bangles jingled with every gesture and her mask was more like a veil, a gauzy kerchief that fluttered with her breath as she talked. “The Kingdom of Sands is the most refined, truly. None of this ugly stone and those weedy gardens. Every wall of the Sands palace looks like lace, every floor is a mosaic of jewels and colour, every tree and flower placed to delight the eye. You should visit.”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” Ember murmured, a little dazzled by her companions. They were very beautiful and had an air of confidence that made her feel lonely and small. Had she always felt like this? She couldn’t remember.

“Then you must make a pilgrimage to the pit instead. It’s at the heart of the kingdom. Surely they’ll allow you that? It’s history, after all. Educational! The fire-pit holds the Treaty of the Swords inside. I mean, you can’t see it or anything. Because of all the flames, you know. But with all the temples around it, it’s quite a sight.”

The fae next to her shuddered delicately. “What’s with the Swords and all the fire, anyway?” she complained. “Candles everywhere, that ridiculous tree. It’s barbaric. The only fire that matters is the sun.”

She stretched out her arms skyward, upturning her face to the heavens, and a secondary pair of arms that Ember hadn’t noticed unfolded themselves from her back and stretched, too.

“I suppose because swords are forged in fire?” Ember volunteered tentatively.

The fae looked at her in surprise and nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Isn’t she clever?” came a voice. Cole’s mask was elaborate and fanciful, a tree rising high above his forehead in mimicry of the tree of fire, although his was bedecked with white roses, and clouds of sparkling fairies hovered about the flowers.

The Sands’ fae quickly made their excuses and departed, apparently recognising him as easily as Ember had. He held out a hand, and she clasped his fingers lightly, rising to her feet. “And you’re right, you know. Fire is the birthplace of the Swords. Fire cleanses us all.”

He took Ember in his arms and nuzzled her neck, making the hairs on her arms stand up, not in pleasure or desire, but in wary apprehension. He led her out onto the floor for a dance, a slow one, and she pressed her body against his and gave every impression of a woman in love—she sighed, she smiled, she trailed her fingers along his shoulder, she closed her eyes in rapturous delight, but inside, she felt as cold and grey as the stone walls of the castle.

Over his shoulder, she caught sight of a dark gaze from behind a black pearl-studded mask, and then as Cole turned her around in a slow twirl, she fixed her eyes on the orange jewelled pendant nestled in the tree, the dark shadows within flickering back and forth, back and forth.

Chapter 34

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