In Which the Dame Has the Last Word
With sleep came nightmares.
Tala stood before two heavy gates against a background of endless, swirling black. One stood to her left, crumbling and in disrepair, of aged bone. The other on her right, white and gleaming.
“Choose,” a voice whispered, a slow rattling hiss not unlike the ice maiden’s. Alex’s face, pale and exhausted, drifted into her line of vision, but faded from view just as quickly.
“Choose.”
Beyond the left gate she saw fire. Screams rang through the raging inferno, and the flames reached out for her, the heat searing her skin. Tala stumbled back, coughing.
Zoe, Kensington, and West sat motionless before her with heads bowed, indifferent to the loud roaring from the skies. Above them, several hundred—perhaps even thousands—of creatures made of fire raked the ground with flames. Tala found herself yelling to warn them, pleading with them to run, but a large fireball engulfed the trio, and they disappeared in the smoke.
She saw Alex kneeling before a curved hook suspended in the air. She saw Cole lying motionless on his side, a sword through his back while wolves made of ice worried at his hands and feet. She saw figures rising from the blood-soaked ground—corpses, crawling and snarling and clawing their way out from black soil—and she saw Ken again, only this time withered and drawn and no longer laughing, leading them away into darkness.
“Choose,” another voice cackled, and this time it sounded like the Dame of Tintagel’s.
Beyond the right gate a crystal castle stood. Tala saw the Snow Queen, so lovely and elegant and cold, sitting on an ice throne at the center of a frozen lake. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene.
She saw Loki, sitting in a chair forged from steel and knives. They swung at a mirror with a heavy cudgel, which broke into thousands of pieces.
She saw a woman rising from the sea, skin a dark brown and black hair long and flowing. She held a curved dagger in one hand and a bright, shining sword in the other. Her eyes were oddly mismatched; brown in one, and golden in the other. Tala watched as she bestowed both weapons on Kensington, who raised the sword and stabbed himself with the dagger without hesitation.
She saw another Zoe running across a snowy field, pursued by a magnificent hawk, while just beyond her vision a shadow lurked in wait, biding its time to strike.
“Choose,” the voices whispered again and again, quickening and overlapping among themselves until a multitude of choruses called down on her. “Choose.”
Tala took a step toward one of the gates—
—and awoke, panting, in her bed. It was still dark outside, snow thudding violently against the windows. The curtains blocked her view of the sky, but bright flashes of lightning streaked from behind the thin material. She’d never seen thundersnow in action before, and for a few minutes she remained rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes away from the horrifying display of nature.
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, willing her breathing back to normal. She could still remember snatches of her dream, her mind recoiling from the memory, and wondered why it frightened her, though she could scarcely understand what it all meant.
She got out of bed and stepped into the hallway. The door next to hers was open, the room empty.
Tala groaned. Hunting for firebirds in large drafty castles was not something she relished, and hunting for best friends who also happened to be heirs to kingdoms under siege an even less welcome idea.
She slipped into the hallway, careful not to wake the others. She considered sounding the alarm, then decided to make sure if Alex was actually missing. The floorboards creaked slightly underneath her feet, but Tala made it to the first-floor landing without incident.
A faint light glowed from within the main hall.
Peering inside, she saw a boy standing before the fireplace, staring sternly down at it like the flames had secrets to unlock. The boy’s shirt and coat, damp and muddy from the hail, were spread out on the floor. Numerous scars lined his back and waist; some small and thin, others deep and jagged and puckered white, and it was all she could do not to gasp aloud at the sight. But it was his right arm that had suffered the most injuries, the fresh marks red and carved deeply over old scabs. He turned at some sound Tala didn’t hear, and she saw that it was Cole. His scythe, the one the count had called the Gravekeeper, lay nearby; its curved blade menacing, even in the gloom.
He wasn’t alone. Alex stood at the opposite end of the room, arms folded, wearing one of the count’s more expensive, slightly garish robes. The rich-looking material pooled down around his ankles, revealing that he was also barefoot despite the cold tiles.
Neither was aware of her presence. As Alex stepped forward, Cole’s voice stopped him in his tracks, brusque and low but strangely with none of the harshness he’d displayed back at Elsmore. “What do you want?”
“That’s not a very polite thing to say to your king,” Alex said, sounding amused. He gestured at the scythe with its twisted hilt. “After all, I did do you a favor.”
Cole said nothing, and Alex took several more steps forward. “I met your grandfather once, when I was very young; he terrified me, though I never knew why back then. He wasn’t imposing like Andre Gallagher, and he didn’t cover himself with war medals and armor like the Valencias. Looking back, I think it was because my father was always careful around him, like he was a little bit afraid despite himself too.”
“My grandfather is loyal to the crown,” Cole said, sounding like he didn’t mean it at all.
“I know. And that’s why I agreed when you asked to join this group. It’s why I asked the Cheshire to send for you without the rest of them knowing.”
“Why?”
Alex tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“All you needed was a command, and I would have obeyed. You didn’t need favors.”
“You know what happened at Reykjavik, right?”
The other boy froze, the wariness apparent in his eyes.
“Stand down, Nottingham. I’m not going to dangle that over your head. I only mention it because you were a witness to everything that happened. Not only did you choose to keep your silence, you helped cover it up. That kind of loyalty, I respect. And until I can reclaim Avalon, I am the king of nothing, and my words hold no power or authority.” A faint sneer crossed Alex’s face, though it seemed directed at himself more than at anyone else. “I’m not asking as the heir of Avalon. I’m asking you as someone who understands exactly the kind of situation I’m in…a situation I’m sure you know all too well.”
The silence seemed to drag on before Cole spoke again. “I owe you my loyalty, not an explanation.”
Alex chuckled. “And I won’t ask you for one. But a favor is a favor. I upheld my end of the bargain.”
“And you want to pull a Bogart on me, tell me this is the start of a beautiful friendship?”
“Pardon?”
A ghost of a grin crossed Cole’s face. “Just a line I heard from somewhere. What do you want me to do?”
“An old woman—a seeress—foretold my doom once, and it’s been repeated so many times that I know her words by heart: Pledge your love to the blackest flag, and only then shall you lift that which was forbidden. I am sure you know the prophecy; most Avalonians have heard of it. Even that foul ice maiden knew.”
“I do.”
“You know how that prophecy ends. There’s a decision I have to make, and if I choose wrong, we lose everything—the throne, Avalon, magic as we know it. And on the chance that I do fuck everything up, I want you to be the one to kill me before I do more damage.”
Tala clapped a hand over her mouth to swallow her gasp. To his credit, Cole said nothing, though his face grew even more expressionless than before.
“That’s a big favor compared to what I’d asked for,” he said.
Alex smiled grimly. “You know that isn’t true.”
Another pause. Cole inclined his head in agreement. “I’ll do it. But why me?”
“We never met before Reykjavik, yet you did what no one else had there. I trusted you immediately, then, and I trust you now. Maybe you can say fate has thrown us together.”
Cole laughed, the sound a rough scrape against stone. “I hate fate,” he said, his mouth curled in contempt, and reached for his shirt.
He stopped, looking at something behind him. His eyes narrowed. Alex whirled around with a muttered oath.
The Dame had stolen into the room so quietly, no one had noticed her presence. The old woman wore a loose dressing gown, and her long hair fell down her shoulders, sweeping at her waist. She reminded Tala of a ghostly specter, like the spirit of a disgraced noblewoman who haunted castles and wrung her hands in royal dismay over the crimes she was falsely accused of while living.
“Your Majesty,” the Dame said faintly. She looked tired and frail, less elegant than she had at the supper table, less threatening. But something not unlike pleasure seasoned her tone, as if relishing her interruption. “Kings should not be wandering in large castles so late at night. Odd little things can happen to kings in large castles.”
Alex took another step back. “You don’t scare me.”
“No,” the Dame said. “It is not me that you fear. An outland kiss is not enough to break so great a curse, my liege. To you, a kiss will always be a question. Are you the one? Are you? Will you break this curse? Will you break me? Will you make me whole? Will I let you?”
Alex paled.
“Only when those that were missing shall fly again; when those that were dead shall rise again; when that which was cold offers warmth again. That is how your curse shall be broken, Your Majesty.”
“Good night, milady,” Alex said curtly as he whirled away, robe flapping behind him, and strode purposely out of the room, head held high. It was only when he was safely past the Dame, out of both their views but not quite completely out of Tala’s, did he abandon all pretense at saving face; his expression crumpled, anguish replacing the cold haughtiness, even as he fled up the stairs. The firebird remained inside the fireplace, seemingly unaware or uncaring of its master’s anguish.
Tala wanted to run after him, to make sure he was all right even if she had to admit having eavesdropped, but the Dame’s next words halted her steps.
“Wolf king,” the old woman purred.
Cole stiffened, but said nothing. The woman moved closer, laid a withered hand against the hilt of the scythe. Tala was almost sure it was a trick of the light, but the blade shone dimly, a dark opaque glow. The Dame took her hand away, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I knew your grandfather well in my youth. He carried Gravekeeper well. Few could match him in battle. You are his very image. The same haunted look in your eyes. All Nottinghams who bear this scythe wear that look.”
“I am not like William,” Cole said roughly.
“You are. My eyes are weak, but I am not too old to see. When I see your face, I remember his.”
“I don’t care what you think, old woman.”
“But you do care. Sometimes you care too much, and the tragedy is that no one else must know. A long, painful road is before you, wolf king, and you will grieve more than you can ever imagine.”
Cole snatched up his wet clothes.
“I know the reason you asked, no, demanded, to join the Cheshire’s cause.”
“You’re lying.”
“Do they know? Why you push everyone away? Despite all you say against fate, you know you believe it.”
In the flickering firelight, Cole’s face looked wan. The old woman continued.
“You fear the lilacs in their hair, the softness of their smile, the tips of their feet. You will save them from death, I can see, once from frogs and once from fire and once from winter. And they will save you thrice more, once from poison and once from sword and once from madness.”
“How did you know?” Cole’s voice was hoarse.
“I was close once, to your grandmother. A seer she was, just as a seer I am. She frightened you as a child, did she not? You believed her, and you believe me now. I know, too, that eight shall fight at the end of the world. Only seven shall return. You know this, and I know this, and that is why you are here. The paths are long, but at its end, you will choose to die so she will not. That is what you believe. The frogs, for instance. Ugly detestable creatures. They take what they want. Do not let them take what you want.”
Cole grabbed his scythe. The blade retracted into itself.
“A traitor; a traitor, hiding. The wolves know the traitor. Do you?”
The boy didn’t answer. He strode away, toward the castle’s main doors.
The old woman laughed softly. She turned then and looked straight at where Tala lay concealed.
“Come out, come out, sweet Makiling girl. Nothing escapes the eyes of the Hag, oh no.”
Her cheeks scarlet, Tala crept out. The Dame crooked a finger at her, and she obeyed until she was no more than a few feet away from her, fidgeting uneasily. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she began.
“Perhaps it is best that you did. One hundred of us, dead and dying. When the last one dies, the dice are cast. And you too, little firebird. I can see you hiding there by the flames.”
The firebird flew out of the fireplace, perching by the grate to squawk questioningly.
“The keep shall burn before it can rise. You and His Majesty both stand at the center of the maelstrom. Two paths lie in your way, as his does. Life in one, death in the other. But I cannot see so far ahead as to tell which path is which. I never could predict the dooms of you Makilings, as your esteemed ancestor intended. Perhaps it’s for the best. Do you know why Maria Makiling chose this curse?”
Wordless, Tala shook her head.
“Three hundred years of Spanish rule in the Philippines. Three hundred years of subjugation and forced labor and abuse, and still they could not wrest the magic from the Makilings and the Mai-i tribe. The Americans paid them twenty million dollars for your country, at the chance to usurp the magic, and they were even more ruthless. No amount of spells could withstand the massive army they brought to bear on your ancestors’ village, and so their leader, Maria, made a painful choice. For the longest time, the Americans believed the Makilings had destroyed their own magic rather than allow them access. The Royal States’ interest waned after that, allowing many of your countrymen to survive, to flee and claim sanctuary at Avalon. They have been fighting alongside its kings and its firebird ever since.”
The Dame patted the firebird fondly on the head. It cooed, scuttling closer to Tala. “Trust in the firebirds, young Makiling, even against all evidence. Whatever they say and whatever they do, you must trust firebirds. Without them, all will have been for naught, and winter shall remain. You have fire in you, young Makiling, the hardest to master. But nothing would ever be worthwhile if it were easy.”
Wark, the firebird agreed, now clinging to Tala.
“They have lovely dances in Ikpe. It would be a shame not to spend the night. May you find something worthwhile there. This is not the last you will hear from me, young Makiling.” The Dame turned to leave. But before the darkness swallowed her up, it seemed to Tala that she aged several decades again within those few seconds; the Dame’s head now bent from age, her gait slowed and halting, and still she laughed all the while as she took her leave, a sound both soft and slow.