Page 26 of Kingdoms of Shadow and Ash

Fyia knew the deal to be fraught with danger. The Fae'ch had countless ways to put her to sleep: by drugging her food or wine, using the smoke from burning herbs, casting spells, putting her under a thrall. Most of it she could probably resist, and her own magic would help keep her safe, but she would have to avoid … well … everything.

'Deal,' she said.

A predatory smile crept across Axus' face. 'Good. The bells will lead the way.'

Fyia nodded. 'Then I wish to rest before the party begins.'

Tinkling bells tolled through the bedroom Fyia had requested, waking her from a deep sleep. She had washed and eaten, then slept, needing all the respite she could get after the long journey if she were to stand any chance of staying awake until dawn.

The tinkling became insistent, and Fyia stood. She pulled on a clean tunic and close-fitting pants, the only kind of clothes she'd packed for the journey. She dragged a brush through her hair, tied it in a knot at the base of her skull, then headed out.

The living room was empty, doors to Adigos and Edu's sleeping chambers wide open, no sign of them anywhere … the Fae'ch tricks had apparently started already.

She left their quarters and followed the bells through twisting passages lit by sparkling fairy lights and scented with jasmine. After many twists and turns, the bells stopped abruptly in front of a seemingly innocuous part of the wall, in a tall bit of tunnel. Fyia looked around, trying to work out what she should do next, when steam rose from the floor by her feet. She jumped back as a section of solid rock slid to the side, only the smallest of scraping noises accompanying the movement.

Fyia stared at the vast stone cavern now before her, filled with dancing Fae'ch, banquet tables, and musicians. She couldn't hear the music, nor see any food, and the space was brightly lit, the attendants wearing ordinary clothes like hers.

The hole she looked through was halfway up the wall, with a good view of everything below, a platform and stairs leading down to the party only a step away.

She let her eyes roam across the strange scene, taking in the cogs set into the walls at seemingly random intervals, and the particularly large dragon clock perched above a set of ornate doors at the far end of the hall.

As she watched, the doors swung open, and three figures clad in black cloaks entered, their hoods up. Black Hoods? Fyia gasped and stepped forward, determined to find out what they were doing here, but, as she crossed the threshold, everything changed.

A ripple of magic flowed across Fyia's skin, and the stone wall snapped closed behind her. Suddenly, everyone wore black cloaks, with their hoods up so she couldn't see anyone's face. The room had gone dark, lit only by flickering candlelight, enchanting music floating up to where she stood. Her clothes under her cloak were little more than scraps of cloth hiding her most intimate parts, her feet bare. Her hand went to her hair, feeling elaborate braids pinned up on her head.

The hall had transformed into an enchanted forest, filled with lush greens and delicate white and pink flowers. A blanket of mossy grass covered the floor, gnarled and twisted trees here and there, revelers chasing each other around them, or canoodling in their wide branches. Butterflies and fireflies flitted about, along with fairies sprinkling dust on those below.

Fyia moved tentatively down the steps, scanning for the group of Black Hoods, trying to remember details that might help her single them out. They'd been tall, and purposeful, and moving as a pack, but it was useless; the light was too dim to make out any details, and everyone looked the same.

Fyia descended the remaining stairs, dizzy on magic, the smell of frankincense filling her nose. She wanted to dance, sing, laugh … but she couldn’t wear herself out so early in the evening. The magic would keep her high for a while, and then her body would tire from the onslaught and crash. She should find a secluded vantage point and watch … conserve her energy.

She headed for the nearest tree, only a handful of paces away, when a tall fae man approached, offering her a goblet of wine. 'Your Majesty,' he said, in a rich, deep voice that made her shiver.

'No, thank you,' she replied. He nodded and stepped away.

She'd barely made it a pace further when a second figure approached. 'Your Majesty,' said a high-pitched female voice, 'please accept a honeyed fig … my gift to you.'

Fyia shook her head. 'I thank you for the gift, but I am not hungry.'

'Not for food, at least,' said the woman, in a singsong voice. 'Smart of you to eat before the party.' She clicked her fingers and disappeared.

After three further attempts to lure her, Fyia finally made it to the tree and leaned back against the trunk. Feet appeared in her eyeline. She looked up just in time to see a man jump down and land lithely. He claimed the remaining section of trunk, nudging her over a little to make room for his wide shoulders. By the time he'd made himself sufficiently comfortable, the whole side of his body pressed against hers.

She turned her head to look at him, finding his eyes already seeking hers. They were brown, and deep, and clever. His head was shaved, or at least, it looked that way from what she could see, her fingers itching to reach out and touch it. She clenched her fingers into fists, fighting the sensation—probably a side effect of all the magic, or maybe the Fae'ch were purposefully scrambling her emotions.

He reached down and took her hand, her breath catching at the unexpected contact. 'We should dance,' he said, in an unfamiliar accent, then tugged her away from the tree, towards an open area where others frolicked to the music.

She opened her mouth to protest, telling her limbs not to comply, but her feet seemed to move of their own accord … and it was a party after all.

The man slid a hand to the small of her back, and she placed her free hand on his shoulder, then looked up into his eyes. His features were mischievous as he whirled them across the moss-covered ground, bits of plant sliding between Fyia's toes. His sure movements convinced her to trust him, so she didn't fight his lead … she even let herself enjoy it.

They danced at a furious pace for … she had no idea how long, but when the music mellowed, and he slowed them, she was breathless, a beaming smile across her face.

'You're not what I expected,' he said, with an enticing smile.

She cocked an eyebrow. Of course he knew who she was; everyone in this room probably did. Maybe she was the only one who saw the cloaks. Maybe everyone else was watching her dance in the clothes she'd donned in her room. The man spun her under his arm, and she laughed.

'Who are you?' she asked.

---