Page 43 of Crowning of the Sword

“Never mind. Get back to the castle. And here’s a fair warning. Don’t leave your room. It’ll be dangerous in the halls tonight.”

“When isn’t it?” Ember called after her as Lissa disappeared into the crowd streaming back through the pavilion. They were eager to leave, shoving past Ember on all sides. She finally emerged from the pavilion, skirts askew and hair dishevelled, to find Mira waiting for her, stark relief illuminating her face.

“Where have you been?” Her usually melodious voice was fretful, and she took Ember by the elbow, steadying her over the rutted earth.

“I was at the far end of the pavilion. It was a terrible thing to see.”

The guards closed around them and one of them made to scoop Ember up and carry her down the rocky path.

“I’m fine.” Ember tried to wave him off, but he bent and swept her up anyway, and she gritted her teeth, settling in for a bumpy trip.

There was none of the gaiety and artless chatter of the way up. The fae moved in utter silence, heads bowed. At the head of the trail, they climbed into waiting carriages, mounted their horses, or leapt into the air and flew back to the castle.

Even the castle itself looked to be in mourning. Cole’s hallways were dark and dank, and black, clammy fog swirled across the floorboards. Candles winked out, impossible to light, and the soft twilight had become a gloomy dusk, the light a steel grey that made everything feel cold and miserable. In the darkest corners, creatures emerged from the cracks in the walls, creatures that hissed, scurried, and snapped as one hastened past, creatures with yellow eyes and sharp teeth and a taste for flesh.

It was a hurried trip back to her room and when they got there, Mira closed the door and locked it. The fairies who usually swarmed the flowers at the windowsill had disappeared, and Mira closed the windows for the first time since Ember had arrived, drawing the curtains. Mira tried to light a fire in the fireplace to chase the chill away, but it smoked and spluttered as though the wood was wet inside, and in the end, Ember crawled into bed while the maid settled on the trundle beside her. Ember pulled the covers over her heads, trying not to hear the scratching and scrabbling of the dark things scuttling behind the flagstones of the walls, and she dozed uncomfortably until the morning.

The next day, the shadows had marginally lifted, but the atmosphere was still gloomy. Mira, who had briefly left the room for Ember’s breakfast tray, reported that Ashe had held a grand ball the night before to celebrate his win. The dancing was still going strong, and not expected to cease until nightfall.

The Adjudicator had announced that the third and final game was to be held in three days’ time. Lissa’s team would tackle the obstacle course in the water, and then, Ember thought, her fate would be decided.

She wished she had the distraction of a ball to dance her worries away. It didn’t seem quite Ashe’s style somehow. Most likely, he had thrown the ball for his team and supporters, rather than for himself. He wasn’t like Cole, who needed to be surrounded by servants, sycophants and entertainments every moment of the day, the subject of adoring eyes and animated gossip. In fact, she thought with wry amusement, a glamorous party to which he was uninvited would likely needle Cole more than anything else.

After a day with little more to do than pace her bedroom floor, she told Mira she’d like to go to the forest to paint. Mira suggested she paint in her rooms, but Ember protested that the forest had better light. Mira extracted a promise from Ember to always stay in the company of her guards - no slipping off anywhere. Ember agreed, and she readied herself for a quick trip through the castle, the guards with their daggers drawn ready to stab any scuttling creepie that dared attack.

They had almost made it to the forest when the guard at the lead of their little procession slowed, his head tilted to look up at the wall. Ember followed his gaze. There was nothing there, just a black crack between the wooden beams … and then the crack fell off the wall, and she realised it was a snake, a long, hissing black snake, whipping through the air. The guards thrust Ember back, and the snake flew past her, settling around Mira’s neck.

Mira gasped, sucking in a choking breath as the coils tightened around her throat, and then the snake reared up and sank sharp fangs into her cheek. The guards raised their blades and hesitated, not wanting to stab it lest they get the maid instead. Finally, one lunged forward, seizing the snake behind the head. It hissed in fury, and the guard yanked. The body loosened and fell away.

Mira slumped, and the guard threw the snake to the floor. Another stomped on it with a heavy boot, and then bent and stabbed it with a dagger. Black blood sprayed, spattering the floorboards. Ember rushed to Mira, easing her sagging body to the ground. Mira’s cheek was swelling rapidly, her breathing raspy and laboured. After what had happened to Lily, Ember couldn’t bear the thought of another maid coming to grief in her service.

“She needs a healer.”

The guard looked at Ember for what seemed like the first time, and his voice had a tinge of respect in it. “A healer? For a servant?”

“Do you know of one?”

“Of course.”

“Then take her, please.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

The guard cradled Mira in his arms, and set off at pace, another guard at his heels. Even armed and armoured, the guards were loath to walk alone. Ember watched them go, and then, disinclined to return to her gloomy rooms, carried on to the forest.

The trees felt safer than the dark hallways, the soft light comforting and warm. Ember wondered if Alena had anything to do with that. She decided to have her easel and paints set up next to the pond, so she could call on the water fae if need be. The guards arranged themselves in a semicircle around her, and Ember began to paint.

She tried to replicate the intricate grooves of a gnarled tree trunk but couldn’t settle to it, and then she turned her hand to reproducing a sweet collection of flowers sticking up from a clump of moss, but she wasn’t happy with that either.

Finally, she painted a dress she had seen a fae wearing at the masquerade, a gorgeous concoction of muted sunset colours and layers. Steadily the picture grew to include a gathering of fae dancing, laughing, and enjoying themselves, as free as the music they were dancing to, a whirl of colour and light. In the middle, another figure emerged, a shadow of stern darkness amongst the gaiety and charm of the rest, two dark eyes gazing out to meet hers.

She stepped back from the canvas, flexing her cramped fingers, and almost dropped the brush in fright when Lissa emerged from the trees.

“What are you doing here?” She’d never imagined the perfectly groomed Lissa as the type to enjoy the great outdoors - even if the outdoors was, well, indoors.

“I was told to come and check on you.” There was a taut anger to her tone, that of a lady being ordered to do a servant’s work. She looked at Ember’s picture and her eyes narrowed. When she finally looked up, her beautiful face was aghast. “After everything the prince does for you, you prefer this?”

She jabbed a finger at the canvas, at the figure of Ashe staring at them, and then she lost all reason, slashing at it with sharp fingernails that had become like claws. Ashe’s painted eyes shredded, and she flung the remains of the canvas to the forest floor. “All the time you’ve been mooning after him, that depraved, lying beast …”

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