The morning of the Souls Night masquerade dawned with an unusual fog, and when Ash went out into the garden to pump water for her stepsisters’ baths, the King’s Forest was invisible behind the cool white mist. It burned off during the course of the morning, and each time she went back outside to empty dirtied bathwater into the meadow, she could see a bit farther, until at last, by noon, the sun was clear and cold above. After lunch, Ash helped Ana into her gown, a green-and-blue velvet dress with a high collar and a feather-trimmed skirt. When Ana held the feathered mask over her eyes, she looked like a peacock. Clara wore a dress of brown and cream velvet, and her feathered mask, in comparison, made her look like a sparrow. Ash spent longer than she should have braiding small pearls into Clara’s hair, so that when Jonas drove into the courtyard with their carriage, they were late. Just before sunset, they left to dine with their cousins in the City before continuing on to the masquerade at the palace.
Ash closed the door behind them and went back into the kitchen, rubbing her hands over her face. She had just begun washing the dishes that were stacked in the sink when there was a knock on the back door. She dried her hands off, took a deep breath, and went to open it. Once again, there was a satchel sitting on the doorstep. This time, it was made of blue velvet tied shut with a fine silver chain; on the ends of the chain dangled sapphire baubles. She picked it up and brought it into her room, where she poured the contents out onto her bed. An ice-blue silk dress flooded out over her patchwork coverlet like a rush of cool water. The bodice was embroidered with hundreds of tiny crystal beads in a complex pattern of flowers, and in the dusky light that came through the window, the bodice shimmered like the scales of a fish.
She took off her faded brown dress and put on the new one, and it felt like wearing the weight of spring: soft and warm, with the breath of an evening breeze over her skin. There were shoes, as well—satin slippers in the same ice blue—and a mask shaped like a butterfly, embedded with what seemed to be hundreds of tiny diamonds and sapphires. There was a shimmering silver rope studded with diamonds that she braided into her hair, and there were diamond pins to fasten her hair in place. At the bottom of the satchel was a black wooden box, and inside on a bed of velvet was a necklace in the shape of a diamond cobweb with a great sapphire at its center. She put it on and looked at herself in the small mirror on the back of her door, and the jewels blazed with an unearthly light, shedding a pale, cold glow over her face. She put on the mask, which was tied with a silken cord so thin she could barely see it, and at last she took out her moonstone ring and slipped it on her right hand. She had a fleeting sensation of eyes on her—Sidhean’s eyes—but when she blinked the feeling was gone, and the ring was only a ring.
She was ready when she heard the knock on the front door. She opened it to find a slender, short man who came barely to her shoulder. He was dressed all in white, and in the light of the lantern he held, his eyes glittered gold. He said to her in a strangely accented voice, “We are here to bring to you to the ball.” Behind him in the courtyard stood an elegant carriage drawn by a pair of matched white horses. A footman stood waiting near the carriage door, dressed like the man in front of her. She knew that they were no more human than the woman she had seen in her kitchen on the day of the hunt, but this time, she did not have any desire to ask questions.
She came outside and closed the door behind her, allowing the footman to help her into the carriage. She felt the carriage shift slightly as the driver and the footman stepped onto the driver’s seat, and then they were off, moving more smoothly than any carriage she had ever ridden in before. The seat was upholstered in white satin, and though it was a cool night, the interior of the carriage was warm as summer. She looked out the window, but she could see nothing; even when she pressed her face to the glass there was only dark outside, and she could hear no passing sounds. They traveled quickly, for it seemed to be scarcely a quarter of an hour before the carriage pulled to a stop and the footman leapt off his perch to open the door for her. She stepped out into the palace courtyard, which was filled with a great many carriages and lit by hundreds of globe-shaped lanterns hanging high overhead. The palace doors were open, and light and sound came at her in a great torrent after the silence of the carriage ride. The masquerade had already begun.
She turned back to the driver to thank him, and he said to her, “Do not forget: All this will end at midnight.”
“I will not forget,” she told him, and then the footman stepped back onto his perch, and the small white carriage rolled away through the crowded courtyard and vanished through the main gates.
She turned back toward the palace and took a deep breath to steady herself, and then she walked carefully through the crowd of carriages and up the steps toward the grand, open doors. As she went into the entry hall, those she passed turned to look at her, and many of them whispered about her in her wake, for none had ever before seen a gown such as hers. She went up the wide marble steps at the end of the hall and passed a set of huge mirrors hanging on the wall that reflected the burning light of the chandeliers. She paused and looked at her reflection in those mirrors, and she could barely recognize herself. The glittering mask over her face and the diamonds around her neck were luminous, and her dress seemed to float over the floor. She looked, she thought, like a fairy woman, and when she raised her hand to touch her face to make sure she was still flesh and blood, she saw the moonstone ring glowing as hot as fire.
She swallowed and turned toward the ballroom, hesitating in the grand doorway to stare at the spectacle ahead of her. The room was hung with silver and gold garlands and heaps of white hothouse camellias. There were hundreds of people dressed in crimson and gold and emerald dancing to the music of flutes and pipes. Directly across from her on the other side of the ballroom, tall glass doors led into the cool night. She had never seen so many people in her life, and she felt overwhelmed, for it seemed that a good many of them were staring at her as she stood there in the doorway of the ballroom in her glimmering fairy gown, searching for the King’s Huntress. When someone came up the stairs toward her and bowed, she did not realize that he was bowing to her until he asked, “Would you like to dance?”
He wore a blue and red uniform with elegantly polished black boots, and his epaulets gleamed gold. He extended a hand to her, and she said in sudden realization, “I do not know how to dance.”
He smiled at her beneath his mask that looked like the face of a hawk—or at least, his mouth curved upward. “Let me show you how,” he said, and again he extended his hand to her.
In something of a daze, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her down the steps. As they descended toward the dance floor, the crowd parted, and the guests in all their multicolored gowns and glittering masks stepped back to watch them take a position in the center of the floor. Her partner bowed to her, and following his lead, she curtsied, and the musicians began to play. Somehow she managed to copy his steps, and as more and more people began to join in the roundelay, it seemed as if her shoes were leading her along, telling her feet and legs where to move. It was a bit unsettling, and as she turned she could feel the gown swirling around her like wings trying to lift off, but her stolid, uncompromising humanity was weighting her down in an eerie battle. When the dance finally concluded, she bowed to the man with relief, for she did not enjoy the feeling that her shoes knew more about dancing than she did.
But her partner had not noticed her discomfort, and he said, “You are a beautiful dancer.” He offered her his arm as he escorted her off the dance floor. “Will you come and have some refreshment?”
“All right,” she answered, and as they walked off the dance floor she wondered why so many people were looking at them. He led her through the tall glass doors and out into the chilly night. They walked across a courtyard paved in white stones, past a fountain shaped like a horse and rider, and toward a grand glass conservatory, lit from within by hanging lanterns.
The guards standing outside the entrance to the conservatory bowed to them as they approached and then opened the door, and Ash realized, suddenly, that the man she had danced with was Prince Aidan, for he wore the royal crest on his shoulder, and when he spoke to her, she remembered, at last, the sound of his voice. “Only my special guests are allowed to enter here,” he said to her, and inside the conservatory was a wonderland of blooming flowers and greenery, and the air was warm from the braziers that were placed down the center gravel aisle. On either side of the path were cushioned couches, and all around were potted plants: artfully trimmed orange trees, flowering camellias, white roses twining up lattices along the glass walls. On the couches and along the paths, there were ladies dressed in gowns of many different colors, their feathered headdresses studded with jewels, and as Ash and Prince Aidan walked down the path, they all turned to look at her. He took her to an armchair and said, “Will you rest for a moment? I will return shortly.”
Ash nodded and sat down. The prince bowed to her and departed, and she watched him proceed down the path, greeting those he knew along the way. There was still no sign of Kaisa. She looked down at her hands to avoid the people who stared at her, and saw that the hanging lanterns were reflected in her ring like small embers. She felt awkward and ungainly and grateful for the mask that hid her face, and she felt Sidhean’s magic all around her in a way she had not felt on the day of the hunt. Perhaps she was far enough away, now, from the Wood that the magic had to be stronger—or perhaps it was this gown, for she felt it must have been worn before by some fairy princess who once lived in an immense palace built of crystal and gold. It was as if she had slipped into someone else’s skin, and it did not quite fit.
Thoroughly discomfited, Ash left her seat rather than wait for Prince Aidan to return. She walked in the opposite direction that he had gone and turned off the central aisle as quickly as she could, making her way past seated couples and boxes of rosebushes. At last she found an exit, and she pushed open the glass door and escaped outside, relieved to be away from the prying eyes of those who had watched her departing. She closed the door behind her and looked around. She was on a brick path that led away from the conservatory, and on either side of the path hedges grew to the height of her shoulders. With no other choice, she went forward and followed the path until it ended in a door in a wall. She reached out and put her hand on the cold brass handle, and it opened into a corridor lit with candles placed in pewter sconces molded into the shapes of tree branches. She was inside the palace again, but she did not know where; the corridor was empty but for her and the shadows made by the flickering candlelight.
Her footsteps were loud on the flagstones as she walked down the corridor. On the wood-paneled walls hung portraits of women dressed in hunting gear, some sitting astride grand horses, some standing stiffly in the foreground of a wooded landscape, and one, with her long blond braid flying out behind her, raising a sword to a rearing stag. The corridor ended in a circular chamber with two black doors on the far side, and to her right, an archway revealed another corridor that turned a corner to an unseen destination. On the floor of the circular chamber, the tiles were inlaid with the image of a horse and rider facing a bowed stag, and as Ash walked around the image, looking at the skill with which the horse’s eye had been shaped, one of the doors opened, and Kaisa emerged. She seemed surprised to see Ash there and said, “Are you lost, madam?”
Ash realized that the huntress did not recognize her, for she was wearing the mask still. “No,” she said in relief. “I was looking for you.”
Kaisa came toward her curiously, recognition dawning in her. “Ash?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Ash. She could see the hollow in the huntress’s throat, now, where the collar of her shirt was open; her skin was colored gold in the candlelight. She came closer to Ash and lifted her hands to the mask, and when the cuffs of Kaisa’s shirt fell back, Ash saw the glint of silver on the huntress’s wrist before she untied the silk cord that held the mask to Ash’s face.
When Kaisa stepped back and saw her, she raised her eyebrows and said, “What a gown you are wearing.”
Without the mask, Ash felt self-conscious; she was not sure if Kaisa had ever looked at her like that before. She held out her hand to take the mask back, but Kaisa did not give it to her. “Let me have it back,” Ash said.
“I prefer to see the face of the person I am talking to,” said Kaisa.
“Then you must not enjoy the masquerade.”
The huntress shook her head. “Not especially. I feel that there are so many opportunities for slights—perceived or real—when we do not know who we are with.”
“You don’t enjoy the mystery of it?”
“There are other mysteries I prefer,” Kaisa said, and then she returned the mask to Ash, who took it but did not put it on. “Shall we go back to the ball?” Kaisa asked. “I am sorry I was not there to greet you.”
Ash laughed nervously. “I can go back…but I must wear my mask.”
“I suppose it is a masquerade,” Kaisa admitted.
“Do you not have a mask?” Ash asked. The huntress wore a dark green shirt, the sleeves laced together with a brown cord from elbow to wrist, and brown breeches with shining boots, but she did not carry a mask.
She shook her head. “I don’t like them.” She gestured toward the corridor that led away from where Ash had come from. “Shall we go?” This corridor was also paneled in wood, but after a short stretch it opened into a wider hall, lit with hanging chandeliers. It was empty but for the two of them. “Why were you in the conservatory?” Kaisa asked as they walked.
“I was with Prince Aidan,” Ash began.
“You were with the prince?” Kaisa said incredulously.
“It is not what you think,” Ash objected, laughing. “He—he asked me to dance. He did not know who I was. Then he took me to the conservatory.”
“Did you tell him who you are?” Kaisa asked.
“No, I—I left,” Ash said, sounding rueful.
The huntress laughed. “This is why masks lead to trouble,” she said.
Ash had a sudden, horrifying thought, and she said, “Please—don’t tell him who I am.”
“Why not? Are you afraid it will ruin your reputation?”
Ash laughed in spite of herself. “Of course not,” she said, “but if my stepmother hears of it…it will do me no good.”
Kaisa seemed amused. “Do you truly believe that Lady Isobel’s opinion would matter more than Prince Aidan’s?”
“You don’t know her as well as I do,” Ash said grimly. “Just—let Prince Aidan remain in the dark about one of his dance partners tonight.”
Kaisa’s mouth twitched in a smile. “All right,” she relented. “He shall have this one mystery, then.”
As they approached the ball they began to hear the music drifting down the corridor, and when they turned the corner they came to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. Ash went to the edge of the balcony and looked down at the dancers, and Kaisa came and stood beside her, leaning on the wide marble balustrade. “It is quite a sight,” Ash said.
“Indeed,” said the huntress. “But your gown puts all of theirs to shame,” she added with a smile.
Ash was embarrassed. “It…is not mine,” she said.
“Whose is it?” Kaisa asked. “The Queen’s?” She straightened up and reached out to touch the jewels around Ash’s neck, her fingers warm against her skin. “These are worth more than a fortune,” she said. Then she moved away, stepping back and crossing her arms, and gave Ash an appraising look. “You look beautiful,” she said, and Ash could not meet her eyes. “But the dress does not suit you.” The warmth that had flooded through her when Kaisa had touched her twisted; she felt her cheeks flaming. “It looks like it is suffocating you,” Kaisa continued. “Who gave you this gown—and that horse you rode to the hunt? You must have a wealthy benefactor.”
“I…yes,” Ash said. She was not sure if she could speak of it, not directly.
“It frightens you,” Kaisa observed.
Ash knew she could not conceal her fear; she felt a prickling sensation along her limbs where the fabric of the dress touched her, as if there were fingers prodding her to move. This gown and this night were the last she could ask of Sidhean; his magic was impatient for payment. She could feel him waiting, as if he were lurking just around the corner, watching her.
Kaisa came closer to her and took her left hand, the one that was not wearing the moonstone ring, for Ash had curled that one away behind her. The mask dangled between them, the cord twined in their fingers. “Let me help you,” Kaisa said. “You don’t need to face it alone.”
Ash heard her speak the words, but it was as though she heard them very distantly, for the dress was still pulling on her, tugging her mind’s eye back to Sidhean. Then the huntress drew Ash’s right hand from behind her back, covering the moonstone ring with her warm, human fingers, and at last Ash felt her there, so close that she could feel the heat from her body. And she said, “You cannot help me; I must finish this on my own.” There is nothing you can do, she thought. I am the debt; not you. For the first time, the consequence of her choice was devastatingly clear: fulfilling her contract with Sidhean meant that she would never see Kaisa again.
“Is it your stepmother?” Kaisa asked.
Ash laughed, for her stepmother’s demands were insignificant in comparison to the enchantment she had tangled herself in. “No,” she answered. “It is nothing so simple.”
“Then what is it?”
“Please,” Ash said, “I must do this alone. You do not need to concern yourself with me—I know you have more important things to attend to.”
Sadness washed over the huntress’s face. “Ash,” she said, “I would do whatever I could to help you. How can I make you understand that?”
“But why?” she could not help asking. “I am no one—a servant in a poor household. What could I give you?”
Kaisa seemed taken aback. “You don’t need to give me anything,” she said. “I offer because I care for you. I thought you felt the same way.”
“I do,” Ash said, and as she said it she knew that it was true. It frightened her more than the dress did, more than the bargain she had struck with Sidhean. It made her skin flush and her hands feel cold, and she had to look away from the huntress, whose eyes were so green at that moment it was like looking at leaves on a tree. Below the balcony, in the ballroom, the dancers whirled in their dresses that had been spun from ordinary human-made looms.
They heard the tolling of a bell, ringing slowly and deeply, and as the hours struck, Ash remembered that the time she had been granted that night was coming to an end. “I must go,” Ash said, and she stepped away from Kaisa, pulling her hands away. When Kaisa’s skin was no longer touching the moonstone ring, it flared into life again, burning as though it were angry with her.
Kaisa lifted her hand to Ash’s chin, turning her face so that she had to look at her, and she was both hopeful and resigned. “You would owe me nothing,” Kaisa said. “But it is your decision to make.” Then she stepped back and took the mask out of Ash’s hand, helping her to fit it back over her face.
They walked together in silence down the corridor, and when it opened into the great hall filled with revelers and laughter and light, the palace doors yawning open at the far end, the huntress stopped. “I will bid you good night here,” she said. Once again she kissed her on both cheeks, but this time Ash kissed her as well, and she wondered when—or if—she would see her again.
“Good night,” Ash said, and then Kaisa turned away and went back into the ballroom. Ash walked the length of the great hall slowly, and as she passed the entrance to the ballroom she turned to look in on the sea of people, a blur of color beneath the flaming chandeliers. Within the crowd she saw Kaisa, the sole unmasked celebrant, turn back to look at her, and it was as if another world was laid over the one she was in. She could see Kaisa and the dancers and the solid heft of the marble pillars, but over it all she could see another ballroom. In this one, the revelers were all dressed as she was, in gowns as light and filmy as butterfly wings, with jewels as delicate as cobwebs slicked with droplets of morning dew, and the music was wilder, as if played on instruments that had not yet been invented. Anchoring the two worlds together was Kaisa, who stood there for one moment looking back at her, and then continued on into the ballroom.
The two worlds slid apart again, and Ash could only see the palace that she stood in. The present rushed back into her as she saw, coming up the steps from the ballroom to the great hall, Lady Isobel, Ana, and Clara. Ash’s stepmother was not wearing a mask, and she looked extremely vexed as she herded her daughters out toward the courtyard and the carriages. With a feeling of panic rising in her, Ash began to run toward the courtyard, realizing that she would need to overtake them in order to arrive home before they did. Outside there was a crush of people waiting for their carriages, and Ash pushed through them, disregarding their comments about her rudeness. But when she could see the line of carriages waiting to drive up to the palace doors, her heart sank, for she could not see hers. She stood there looking desperately into the crowd until someone dressed in royal livery approached and asked if he could help, but then she saw the little white carriage, inexplicably, at the head of the queue. The footman leapt down from his perch and opened the door for her and said, “Hurry; we have very little time.”
She climbed into the carriage and he slammed the door after her, and there was scarcely time for him to jump back onto the driver’s seat before they were moving again. They drove quickly, and once again she could see nothing more than a black square outside the window, but this time she could feel the road beneath them. The carriage jostled uncomfortably as they sped out of the City toward Quinn House, and she had to cling to the edge of the seat. The drive took longer this time as well, and she felt as though the magic were draining out of this night far too quickly. When the carriage came to a stop at last and the footman opened the door for her, they had arrived in the courtyard in front of Quinn House, which loomed dull and stony before her. She stepped out and began to thank the footman, but he was already jumping back up into his seat with the driver, who told her, “Go quickly; they are almost here.” The driver chirruped at the horses, and within the blink of an eye they were gone, and Ash was left standing alone in the dark. She heard, quite distinctly, the sound of ordinary carriage wheels approaching.
She ran toward the front door and fumbled with the knob, but her fingers slipped on it in her haste, and for a moment she could not open it. Just as she managed to push the door open, the carriage rolled into the courtyard, and the carriage lantern shone into the dark doorway. She heard the carriage door open and her stepmother say, “Who is that?” Ash turned around to face them, and her stepmother was standing beside the carriage, the look of surprise on her face turning into anger. She came toward her, her black cloak flying back as she came into the house. “Aisling,” her stepmother said in a cold voice, “what are you doing?”
Ash felt as though her body had just gone numb, and she did not answer. She backed away from the front door, retreating into the dark hall, and her stepmother came after her, blocking the beam of light from the lantern that had thrown their shadows across the wall. “Clara, come and light the candles,” Lady Isobel called to her daughter, and in a moment Clara came into the house. When the match flared up, Ash saw Clara looking frightened and uneasy. Ana was behind her, and when she recognized Ash, her curiosity twisted into a look of fury.
“What are you wearing?” Ana demanded, coming closer to her. Ash tried to back away but Ana reached out and grabbed her wrist, digging her nails into Ash’s skin.
“Where did you get those clothes?” her stepmother asked.
“Mother,” said Ana, “she is the one that they were talking about all night. She is the one who danced with Prince Aidan and then disappeared.”
“That can’t be possible,” Lady Isobel said.
“Look at her,” Ana insisted. “I recognize the gown. Look at it—look at this necklace!” Ana reached for the diamond necklace and yanked at it, pulling it from Ash’s neck, and the delicate strands broke, the large sapphire clattering onto the floor.
Lady Isobel bent to pick up the jewel. “Did you steal this?” she demanded. “How did you get these jewels and this gown? Have you been stealing from me?”
“No,” Ash said.
“She must have been stealing,” Ana said. “These are diamonds, Mother! How else could she afford a gown like this?”
Her stepmother came toward the two of them, and in the dim light she took the strand of diamonds from Ana’s outstretched palm. She held them up to the candlelight and they glittered, cold and hard. She looked from the jewels to Ash, and then said, “Where did you get these things?”
Ash did not answer. What did it matter if her stepmother thought she was a thief? Her time here would come to an end soon enough. Even when Ana put her hand on the collar of Ash’s gown and ripped it from her, Ash did not feel her stepsister’s nails against her skin. “She has more jewels in her hair,” Ana was saying, and her stepsister began to pull at the silver rope braided into her hair. “I can’t get it out,” Ana said in frustration, and Ash put her hands over her head, backing away until her hip struck the doorway to the kitchen. Her stepmother came toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders in a bruising grip and propelled her through the doorway.
“Sit down,” she commanded her, and pushed her toward the kitchen table. Ash knocked against the bench, wincing where it struck the backs of her knees. Her stepmother pulled out a pair of kitchen shears. “You have no respect for me or for what I have done for you,” her stepmother said, her voice hard. “I have fed and clothed you for so many years, and this is how you repay me—by stealing from me. You are an ungrateful bastard, and I wish I had never married your father.” Then she pulled at Ash’s hair and began to cut out the jewels in savage, uneven slices. When she had extricated them all, she handed them to Ana, who was watching with a triumphant smirk on her face. Clara stood behind them both, and in the light of the single candle Ash could not tell whether Clara was happy or horror-struck. She looked down and saw that her hair lay in clumps all over her lap and on the floor, and she began to pick them up with slow, clumsy fingers.
“You can clean up later,” said her stepmother, who went to take the square mirror down from behind Ash’s door, and held it in front of her. “There—see how much better you look now that those jewels are gone? You were always too plain to wear anything so grand. You should never have tried to rise above your station.”
In the mirror, Ash saw a pale, expressionless face with wide brown eyes, and where there had once been a smooth length of dark brown hair, now she saw ragged edges pointing every which way. She looked like a madwoman. She glanced up at her stepmother and said deliberately, “Thank you. I think it suits me.”
Her stepmother exploded with anger. She slammed the mirror down on the table so hard that it cracked, and when she saw the crack she reached out and slapped Ash across the cheek. She caught the edge of Ash’s lip with her signet ring and Ash knew that she had drawn blood, for she tasted it as it ran into her mouth. But she was not afraid anymore, even when her stepmother yanked her up again and pushed her out the back door and down the cellar steps. Before her stepmother locked the door after her, she said, “You’ll starve in there before you speak to me like that again.” She heard the turn of the key in the lock—the well-oiled click of the tumbler falling into place—and then her stepmother slammed the kitchen door shut above her, and her footsteps retreated until, at last, there was silence.