Chapter 11

Thelia

The light’s fading in our two tiny windows when the dungeon door opens again. I jump up and peer through the bars. Fourth time today.

Sapphire trots down the steps carrying rope, and my heart sinks into my feet. We’ve been sentenced to die by hanging, all because Parsifal used Magic. It’s like I always told Bayled when he first arrived here. Maybe Magic can clean your floors and empty the ashes from your fireplaces, but what do you have when it turns on you?

“Hold out yo-o-o-our hands,” the elf says. They no longer sound like their mouth’s completely full of mothballs. We do as we’re told. What choice do we have left? When our hands are tied, Sapphire pulls on our ropes. “Come.”

Only a few prisoners can get up on their knees and stick their arms through the bars as we pass. The rest stay down, dead or dying. I don’t breathe through my nose until we reach the stairs. At least we’re leaving this horrid place.

The dungeon door opens. Bright evening light assaults us—real light. Everywhere, reddish sunset filters through the windows, and I have to shut my eyes. I’ve forgotten what it’s like.

Instead of taking us to the courtyard, the elf leads us deeper into the castle. Parsifal and I look at each other, daring the other to guess where we’re headed. When the halls get dark, a tiny pink light appears.

A stone sticks in my throat. “What’s that?” I hiss, grabbing Parsifal’s sleeve. A small bauble of light bobs out of a pouch at Sapphire’s waist, floating up in the air in front of us.

“A wisp,” Sapphire says. “Old, old friends. They go wherever Magic is.”

Parsifal watches in curiosity as it circles us. “It’s cute.”

“If the critter likes Magic,” I growl, “it’s obviously evil.”

Sapphire sighs. “Magic is not evil. Only those who use it.”

Easy enough for them to say from where they’re standing. But I know better.

We end up on the second floor of North Hall, the wisp leading the way. Is Corene still here hiding in the walls? Or are we being released because they’ve finally found her? Sapphire stops at a familiar door—the room that was ours before this nightmare began. They open up a pouch on their belt and usher the little glow ball in, then snap the top closed.

Inside the room, everything is upside-down, emptied out, and scattered across the floor. “You’re staying here for now,” Sapphire says.

“Here?” Parsifal cranes his head to look at the elf, who towers over us. “Why?”

Sapphire looks at him like he’s defective. “Are you not grateful?”

Cold fear fills my bones.

“No, no,” Parsifal says, giving an awkward smile. “We’re very grateful to not be in that shithole anymore.”

Sapphire makes a face and nods. Guilt. I’m sure that’s what it was. Sapphire didn’t want to keep us in that dungeon. I grip this new piece of information close like a dagger to use later.

Returning to the doorway, Sapphire holds up their hands, palms out. At first nothing happens, and they look intently focused. After a moment, a colorful shimmer rises from the base of the doorframe, rippling like oil on the surface of water. It flows upward, past Sapphire’s hands, all the way to the top. In a moment, the doorframe around the door is filled with a nearly-invisible, shining something.

“Do not try to leave,” Sapphire says. “It will stop you.” They fiddle for a moment with the ropes binding our hands. Then we’re free.

I massage the spots where the rope bit into my flesh. Parsifal and I have tracked filth all over the clean floor. It reminds me that once upon a time, I was also clean, and didn’t reek of body odor and shit. I wonder how far I can push our luck today.

Pressing my mouth into a smile, I gaze up at Sapphire. “How should I get water up for a bath?”

Parsifal covers his mouth, like he’s embarassed to be seen with me. But what’s the worst the elf can do after our stint in the dungeon?

Sapphire heads for the fireplace, leans down toward the charred remains of the last logs, and breathes onto them. The logs burst into flame. I gasp and recoil, while Parsifal leans in.

“Fascinating,” he says. I glare at him.

Then Sapphire flicks a hand. The bedroom door flies open and a bucket sails in, unimpeded by the shimmering wall. I hold in a shriek. The bucket hangs itself from the hook over the fire, wobbling back and forth until the water inside is steaming.

Parsifal’s entranced. “This must be how they go about things in the Northern Republic,” he murmurs. “No wonder Bayled thought us all complete asses. Much less work.”

Unhooking itself, the bucket flies into the washing room and dumps the boiling water into Corene’s huge wooden washtub, only to depart again for more. Again and again, the bucket performs these tasks until the tub’s full, and the water’s still steaming. By this time it’s usually tepid.

“Get in,” Sapphire says, pointing to the tub. I don’t need to be told twice. I barely realize Sapphire’s watching as I strip. I probably look like a dirty, disgusting dog to them. I climb into the bathtub and grab the soap. Sapphire’s still staring, so I slide down into the tub until my breasts vanish under the surface of the water. Squeaking and clanging echoes in the other room as Parsifal rights his furniture and returns his belongings to their proper places. I ignore it, focusing on this small moment: the scent of soap. The gentle lather and foamy bubbles. The evidence of my imprisonment sliding off me, vanishing into the hot water until my smooth, oaky skin reveals its perfect self.

I don’t get out until the water’s completely cold. I’m new. I’m alive. And I will never again let them make me into that weak, hopeless thing I was in the dungeon.

Parsifal

Once Thelia’s finished, I get to indulge myself in a bath. As I scrub the dirt and shit from every wrinkle in my skin, I promise Melidia—and the demons, while I’m at it—that I’ll never again take cleanliness for granted.

The sun has almost set by the time I’m dressed in fresh clothes. Sapphire’s still here, watching us.

Standing under an oil lamp, I go to strike a fire starter, but the wick bursts into flame on its own. One at a time, poof, poof, poof, every oil lamp ignites. “That wasn’t me,” I say to Sapphire, holding up my hands to show I’m blameless.

“I asked the lamps to do the lighting,” they say, with the faintest smile. That’s what I did too. I asked the cell door to open, and it did. It just wanted me to be polite. Is that how Magic works?

A shimmer outside the window grabs my eye. Something’s there, in the sky beyond the walls of the castle. I walk to the sill and peer out.

A glowing blue barrier surrounds Four Halls. It only becomes visible at choice moments, like when it reflects a flicker of moonlight, and the whole outer layer sparkles for a second before vanishing. Before I can ask about it, the oil-sheen barrier in the doorway dissipates with a sound like wind blowing through, and the bedroom door flies open. Thelia and I both jump in surprise as a little service cart wheels itself in, unhindered. It’s covered in plates of food, probably enough to feed four people. Thelia and I advance on it, so hungry we can’t restrain ourselves. I’m about to take a plate when I realize that I don’t even recognize what’s on it.

Sapphire anticipates my question. “Everything in the kitchens ran out. We have not been able to copy exa-a-a-actly what was here when we arrived, but I am doing my best.” I take note of the way Sapphire says it, like we’re going to give them a poor progress report later.

Thelia takes a bite of a misshapen, cake-like object, topped with a blackened vegetable. It looks awful. “Not bad,” she says encouragingly. Sapphire’s lips tweak, but they don’t smile. Thelia looks even less pleased with the next cake, but once I have food moving into my mouth—as unfortunate as the collision of flavors might be—I can’t stop. The texture is wrong and it tastes like someone mixed dirt with salt, but Thelia and I keep going until we can’t eat any more. Feeling full for the first time in a week, I collapse into a chair in front of the fire.

The cart rolls itself back out and the door closes, the Magic barrier filling the doorframe once again. I return to my room, only to find that the broom and dustpan I’d been using to clean up broken glass are now shuffling about, completely on their own. The broom sweeps debris into the pan, then skips on to the main room, where Thelia sleeps.

“Watch out,” I call through the door. “Broom incoming.”

“You don’t need to clean my room for me, P—oh, for Melidia’s sake!” Thelia holds her chest, gasping, as the broom works past her. “Everything has a mind of its own all of the sudden.”

We both look Sapphire. “This is why we-e-e are here,” is all they say, not meeting our eyes.

Thelia frowns. “Because the brooms have suddenly learned self-determination?”

“It is spillage.”

I repeat it. “Spillage?”

“Too much Magic. Dangerous.” Sapphire gestures at the shimmering wall outside the window. “We built that to keep all the Magic in.”

I’m lost. “Where’s it coming from? Did you bring it with you?”

Sapphire laughs—a rare sound, like wind chimes. “You think The People bring Magic here? You understand no-o-o-othing.” They flick their hand across their nose and say derisively, “Humans.”

“The Magic was already here?”

“U-u-underground, yes.” Sapphire spreads their arms wide. “Magic’s heart lives deep in Helyanda. Beneath us all. From time to time, the surface cracks. It bubbles over.”

“That doesn’t explain you being here.”

Sapphire lets out an impatient breath. “This much Magic is dangerous. In the wro-o-o-ong hands.”

I know they mean human hands. “So what does keeping us all prisoner accomplish?” I ask tartly.

“We will fix,” Sapphire says.

“How?”

“You would not understa-a-a-and.”

“Try us.” Thelia says it like a dare.

Sapphire crosses their arms. “No more. Time for sleeping.” Something about the authoritative way they say it makes me wonder what other delicious things they might demand in that tone.

Sleeping on my couch instead of a hard stone floor is the most precious thing in the world. I sink into its cushions and run my face along the fur trim of my blanket. In the main room, Sapphire lies down on the floor in front of my door. I can’t go by, and neither can Thelia, without stepping over them. They plan to stay and keep watch—probably to make sure I don’t do more Magic. Not that I actually can on request.

The lamps all go out at once, but I’m too tired to get my trews in a twist. I’m asleep the moment I close my eyes.

Bayled

Where do I go from here? The castle, the kingdom—gone. The army—stolen. Corene—imprisoned at best, dead at worst. I can still smell her hair in my hands, taste her lips on mine, feel what she felt like—

“What about the Baron?” asks Harged.

I’m so tired from trying to heal after Sasel used her good hand to stitch me up that I answer dryly, “What about him?”

“He’s still out there in the Crimson Woods thinking he got away with deserting.”

I shake my head. “We go after Nul se Lan. Fight back.”

“How?” Harged presses. “We’re more than two days behind them, and they’re off wandering through the forest far from the Low Road. How would we find ’em?”

Sasel nods. “And the men with him are loyal to him now—not you.”

It hurts to hear, but it’s the truth. He’s the King, however awful that feels. “Fine. We’ll go find the Baron. I don’t want to be out on this road any longer than we have to be.” I still don’t know where the full elven host is, and I don’t want to find out.

Clouds drift in as we climb on our horses and start off down the same road we took yesterday. The men complain a lot more this time. Before long, the clouds darken and gather so thick that the sky vanishes, so there’s no way to know when the sun finally sets.

“Gonna snow,” Harged says, glancing skyward.

“It’s too early in the cycle.”

“Early or not, snowin’ is what these clouds are here to do.” Injury on top of insult on top of your king’s death.

We stop to find dinner and the men hobble their horses. I step into the woods to search out branches for a fire—I need a distraction. Harged stands up. “Boss, I’m going with you.”

I want to roll my eyes, but wandering off alone did go pretty poorly for me last time. “Come on, then.”

Thick, fat snowflakes are falling by the time we return. I drag our prisoner under the shelter of a tree and she curses at me. By the time we get four tents up, the snow is cascading down in waves of white. The sky lights up as the moon rises, reflecting off the thick layer of clouds and casting the world in pale, eerie silver.

As we huddle together, the temperature drops. In the corner, the prisoner glares at us whenever we catch her eye. I listen to Halrendar’s hooves shuffling, wishing I was back at the castle.

I should have stayed and fought.

We wake up to heavy snow cover and gray skies. As soon as it’s light enough to see, we pack up our makeshift tents and ride on.

Plodding through the snow and bramble, none of us speak until our path is blocked by what looks like the rotted-out beams of an old shack, covered in snow and brush. “Hey, boss,” one of the men calls. “Look.”

One of the men drags away some branches that have been draped across the skeletal wooden mass. “I think it’s a catapult.”

“It’s been camouflaged,” I say. Someone hid this here. “Maybe it belongs to the Baron.”

We descend deeper into the woods and pass a brush-covered wagon that I forbid the men from investigating, in case it’s rigged. Harged spots a trap in the forest floor before anyone can step on it. We get off our horses and make a wide arc around it. I keep my gaze pinned on the ground, looking for more traps, until I hear one of the men shout.

My hand is on the hilt of my sword before someone strong grabs me by the back of my coat and yanks. I stumble backward, toppling into the freezing snow.

Three men in fur coats and fur-lined helmets stand above me, swords pointed at my face. I raise my hands in the air. I recognize their colors right away—the red, white, and black of the Crimson Woods. Baron Durnhal’s men. Just who I was looking for.

“Don’t move,” one says.

“Relax.” I show my empty hands. My sword never made it out of its sheath. “You’re the Baron’s soldiers? We’ve been looking for you. I want to talk to him.”

They don’t answer and their faces are unyielding. One drags me over to the rest of my men, who’ve been surrounded. The prisoner laughs hysterically, even when one of the soldiers growls at her. She flaps her broken wrists at him.

The Baron had an entire army hidden away out here. Why did I think coming to the Crimson Woods was a good idea?

We’re tied up and tossed back on our horses like vegetables. There’s an old saying my dad used at times like this: Free from one jaw of a biylar bear, swallowed up by the other.

Sapphire

I leave the room in North Hall before the humans awaken and head to the kitchens to make breakfast. As I step into the dark room, the wisp lighting my way, a shriek greets me. A figure darts in front of me, and reflexively, I grab it. Disgruntled pots and pans hop and float out of our way as we collide on top of the counter.

“Let me go!” she wails in her human language, blue eyes flashing with maddened fear, long red hair in messy tangles all over her head.

I know that red hair, those fearful blue eyes—just like her father, the King. “Princess?” I ask. She cowers like a starving animal and tries again to escape my grip, but her body is like a twig in the wind. She has spent too long hiding.

The door flies open and Ellze stumbles in. He must have heard us screeching. He rushes over to us, pulls a rope from his belt, and ties the Princess’s wrists. She screams and sobs, the noise drawing other elves in. “I got her!” Ellze crows. “I found the Princess. Someone tell my uncle.”

His green eyes flash to me, and then away. She keeps screaming.

The Commander is smiling for the first time in days, but it shows more lines on his face than there ever have been before. He walks around the Princess in circles as she kneels on the floor, crying. “I want to see my dad,” she whimpers.

“I will allow it,” the Commander says in her language. He kneels and lifts her chin with one hand. “If you send a smoke message to each of your sworn lords telling them to surrender to us.” She may be starving, but she has enough spirit left to spit on his shoes. The Commander sighs and stands up. “Put her in the dungeon until she is more agreeable.”

“Should my humans know we have found her?” I ask.

Ellze snickers. “Your humans?”

I scowl back at him—my supposed friend. He finds nothing wrong with the Commander believing it was he who found the Princess. “You know my intent.”

“Say nothing to them,” Commander Valya says. “We face even greater obstacles now. Our squadron leaders back with the rest of our force should have encountered the King’s army by now . . . but it appears they have gone missing.”

“The King must know where they are,” I say.

“I doubt we will glean anything of value from him. His mind is going. And your humans, Sapphire.” Commander Valya looks hard at me. “If the Princess refuses to talk, they are the ones who can tell us where their army has gone. Find out.”

I nod, though I wish I could tell the Commander how wrong he is. And I fear what will become of Thelia and Parsifal when they cannot provide the information he demands.

Thelia

When I wake, Sapphire’s gone. Parsifal and I both let out our breath.

Breakfast arrives on the cart—some kind of starchy egg mush that tastes nothing like eggs. “What is this?” I ask, choking it down. I need the nutrients, but it’s agony.

“Certainly not eggs.” Parsifal picks at it. “Didn’t Sapphire say the castle is out of food? This wasn’t laid by a chicken. It was made.”

I choke down as much as I can. Now it’s time to get out of here.

When the cart skitters out of the room and the door starts to swing closed, I lunge to catch it before it slams—and my outstretched arm smashes into a hard, flat surface. The air around the door ripples.

I howl, clutching my hand, and stagger back. In terms of pain, this doesn’t compare to most things Mother did. But something about this hurts much more.

Parsifal helps me to one of the chairs by the fire. “So much for getting out that way.”

I sit up, the pain only emboldening me. “What about the secret place? It’s connected to this room, right? If we can’t get out through the door, maybe we can find Corene—if she hasn’t already starved to death. Then we could try again for the sewers.”

Following the wall, I tap with my good hand and hope the secret place passes through here. I tap and tap, but it doesn’t have the hollow sound I was hoping for. Parsifal joins me and we keep going, tapping along the wall in his room together. Nothing.

The doorknob twists in the main room. We scramble onto Parsifal’s couch and pretend to be reading as Sapphire walks in. They look exhausted, and it’s still morning.

“Do you want to go out?” they ask, holding up a length of rope. “Outside?”

We both glance out the window. Oh, to feel daylight on my skin again, to feel fresh air through my hair . . . “Yes!” I jump from the couch. “Yes, please.” I don’t even have a plan. I just want to see the outside. I can figure it out as I go.

Sapphire winds a rope around each of us at the hip and holds the end. At the door, they wave one hand in front of the shimmering emptiness that I know from hard-earned experience is a solid, hard wall. “Open, please.”

With a familiar shhhhh sound, the door opens. We pass through the doorway unimpeded.

The castle is empty and silent, the little pink wisp leading the way down the dark hallways. On the ground floor, Sapphire takes an abrupt turn to pass through the stable. I yank at the rope. “Parlor Trick!” I holler. “Please, Sapphire. I miss my horse.”

Sapphire sighs and lets me walk over to Parlor Trick’s stall. She shoves her head eagerly over the door and lips at my hands. “I’m sorry, girl. I don’t have any treats.” I pat her nose and she snorts, annoyed.

“Hold your hand out.” Sapphire drops a whole apple into my palms.

“Where’d this come from?” Parlor Trick’s perfect white ears flick forward and her huge nostrils widen.

“I made it out of hay.”

I let her have it all, and she’s in bliss. The other horses’ heads are all bowed, and their stall doors bear chew marks. “Are you feeding them?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Exercising them?” Sapphire looks down at the ground, and I want to break Parlor Trick out of here right now. “Horses need exercise or they’ll be miserable. Let them run around the courtyard, or in the paddock behind the castle at least.”

“I will try,” Sapphire says.

I scowl. “If you won’t exercise them, then let them go. Keeping them in here is cruel.”

Sapphire glances at me and then away, face full of guilt. The long ears don’t know what they’re doing, not at all.

I have to say good-bye to Parlor Trick, and Sapphire leads us out of the stable into the muddy courtyard. I expected we’d be alone out here—until we turn a corner.

Peasants, dozens of them, are trapped in wooden cages. They reach for us through the gaps, calling out. Some are sobbing; others lie on the cage floors, staring straight up.

Parsifal gasps and covers his mouth, then runs toward the cage dragging me with him. “Derk!”

Sapphire tries to pull him away, but Parsifal digs his feet in. On the other side of the wooden bars, at the very back, sits Derk the baker—his clothes torn, and his hair and face covered with mud. He barely lifts his head. “Parsifal?”

Parsifal sinks to his knees, reaching through the bars.

I turn to Sapphire. “What are you going to do with them?” This is no better than the dungeon—worse, since it’s colder out here.

“Wash, relocate,” Sapphire says, not meeting my eyes.

Parsifal stretches a hand out. “Derk, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Are you?” the thin, dirty baker asks. “I’d say you’re more glad that you’re not in here with me.”

A fragile, elderly man rises up next to Derk. “Traitors,” he snarls at us. “Working with them.”

“What?” Parsifal stands up again, his face red. “That’s not at all—”

“Then why else are you out there with one of them?” Derk asks with a rueful laugh. “You’ve never cared what becomes of commoners like me. And neither do they.”

I reach for Parsifal’s arm and pull him away. This will do no one any good. He lets me, and Sapphire pulls us along through the muddy courtyard. I apply steady pressure to his arm through his shirt—Derk didn’t mean it. Though I know better.

“Sapphire,” I ask. “What did you mean by washing? And relocating where?” They don’t answer. I refuse to move, letting the rope stretch taut in Sapphire’s hand.

Sapphire lets out a frustrated sigh. “We must not be seen,” they say. “Keep moving.”

So they’ve disobeyed orders to bring us out here. Another little piece of what Sapphire’s thinking.

Soon we’re returning to the castle, and I say good-bye to the sky. The trip to North Hall is a blur. Wherever our parents are, I hope they’re being treated better than those people in the cage.

Sapphire leaves us in our room in silence, sealing the door behind them. Parsifal and I sit in front of the empty hearth together, not speaking. I think about my lovely Parlor Trick, alone in the stable. She must be bored and lonely, like us. And all those people like Derk, crammed into wooden crates. At least I get my lunch on a sentient cart—they probably eat from a trough.

It’s almost sundown, and getting cold. I turn to Parsifal. “Wouldn’t a fire be nice right now?” I miss the old days—falling asleep together in front of the fire with the dogs.

Parsifal nods. “I wouldn’t mind.” There’s a sound like a spark, and the logs in the hearth burst into flame, showering us with warmth. We’re not even surprised anymore.

“This is just . . . so beyond reality,” I say. “It all feels like a nightmare we can’t escape.” My hand finds its way into his. I’ve never craved someone’s touch like I do now.

“At least we’re here and not down in the dungeon anymore.”

He’s right. In a way, though, this is worse. The fire in the hearth. The walk around the courtyard. Morsels of kindness, of comfort—enough that we want to feel grateful, when really, we deserve our lives back.

“We’re still prisoners,” I say. “What about Daddy? And your parents? I want to see them.” I get up and pace to the window. “I want to know if they’re alive.”

In the reflection I see Parsifal approach me. He places his hands on my shoulders, and I don’t move as he sinks his fingers into my tough flesh. I didn’t realize how tense my iron muscles have been, how much pain they’ve been waiting to release.

I don’t look at his face in the window. My eyes are riveted on the castle’s high walls, and the occasional shimmer of blue that keeps us all trapped here. “Patience,” Parsifal says. “Every time Sapphire speaks, we learn something new. Like today—washing. Relocating. Each one is another piece of the puzzle.”

But what image does the puzzle make? I’m tired of being a pa-chi-chi stone for others to use. “Percy,” I say, and his hands stop. It felt so good. “I won’t wait. I don’t want to end up like Derk. I want to choose where I go next.”

I reach out and pull the handle on the window. It doesn’t budge. Locked—and frigid cold. Taking a breath, I reel my arm back and punch the glass. My fist crashes through the window, scattering glass all over the floor.

Parsifal stumbles back. “Maybe some warning next time?”

I ignore him. My hand burns from tiny cuts, but I’m setting myself free.

Reaching through the hole in the glass, I grab and pull the exposed window frame. Nothing happens, so I pull harder, with my entire body weight. It gives way and opens.

When I climb up on the sill, shards of broken glass bite through the soles of my shoes. “What are you going to do?” Parsifal asks. Not bothering to answer, I step over the side and start climbing down the stone wall. “Is your head full of mincemeat?” he calls after me.

“I’m making it up as I go.” I find the next ledge with the toe of one shoe and start to bring my other foot down. I lean back and—

I can’t move. A glance over my shoulder tells me there’s nothing behind me, or under me.

I’m stuck in mid-air. “What’s happening?” I mutter. I’m still holding onto the sill, so I try to climb back up to the window where I started—but something holds me back. I’m riveted to the spot, hanging in emptiness.

Parsifal’s head appears over the sill. “Oh, demons. Why are you floating?”

“I don’t know!” I let go of the sill with one hand. As I’d feared, I don’t fall. I’m trapped like a bug in a spider’s web. I reach back with my free hand to find out what’s caught me, but all I feel is something soft and sticky, like wet sand. I try to pull my hand away but it’s stuck now too, and whatever is holding me back tears the hairs out of my skin. “Percy! Help!”