Once Upon a Forbidden Desire, page 2
I wasn’t angry, I told myself sternly, squashing the rebellious feeling down. The ball would probably be deadly dull anyway. Even if I loved dancing. It wasn’t my stepsisters’ fault. I was grateful for what I had, for food and shelter and family that cared for me, in their way. Some of them, at least. Many couldn’t boast so much. I had no right to yearn for more. I stomped as I made each point. Healthful morning exercise and all that.
With only a few minutes to spare before dawn, I turned back toward the boundary. A whirr of dark wings caught my attention. The bird followed my path, flitting from tree to tree beside me. A tūī, iridescent blue-black feathers sparkling in the pre-dawn, its crisp white throat tuft bobbing. They were common in the Golden Wood, though I’d heard that hadn’t been the case before King Tawhiri’s rule. The Wood changes to reflect its ruler, they say.
Other birds called in the still air, but the tūī didn’t join them with its distinctive song. It moved instead with odd deliberateness, approaching the same garden wall as me tree-by-tree in careful stages, until—
“No!” I gasped, too late. The tūī landed on the deceptively smooth-barked tree that marked Bloodthorn Manor’s entrance, and all the tree’s thorns sprang from their retracted sheaths. The tūī squawked and took flight—or tried to. The branches had already closed around it, forming an ever-tightening cage, long cruel thorns turning inward toward their prey.
I sprinted the distance to the bloodthorn and slammed my hand against the trunk. The thorns retracted around my hand just in time, forming a palm-shaped hollow. “Stop!”
The tree shuddered, and I could feel its reluctance to obey, the desire for blood that its maker had impressed upon it.
“I am a daughter of the house, and you may not hurt me! Stop!” I cried again.
With a final shiver, the thorns stopped tightening, but they didn’t retract. I peered up through interlaced thorns and branches. The bird huddled in a cage of thorns, trapped, but at least none had yet penetrated its flesh. The dark eyes of the tūī met mine.
“Let it go,” I told the tree.
The tree ignored me.
I shouted at the tree for a bit, and it pretended not to hear me. The bloodthorn only barely respected the authority I’d claimed over it. It wasn’t going to do anything more, and I knew as soon as I removed my hand from the trunk, the tree would leap back into action. It was hungry; the local wildlife had long since learnt to give it a wide berth.
Dawn was nearly upon me, and I could feel the tether in my chest beginning to grow tight. But if I left the tree to cross the bounds, it would kill the bird before I could make it back.
“Fool bird,” I grumbled up at the tūī, tucking my skirts up in a way that would outrage my stepmother’s sense of propriety and starting to unlace my boots. I kept a palm against the trunk the entire time.
I climbed, the tether in my chest growing tighter, hotter. It was slow going, the thorns retracting sullenly as I reached for each handhold, as if the tree were making a point of being as unhelpful as possible. It was Lord Bloodthorn’s creation, and it was just as resentful of me as he was. But oaths bind fae and their magic, and the tree could not harm those who belonged to the manor, no matter how much it might want to in my case.
When I reached the branch that held the tūī at its far end, I thought the tree might give in, but no, it continued to make me fight for every inch. Obstinate bloody thing.
“Hang on,” I told the bird.
I scarcely see what else I could be doing at this moment.
I nearly fell off the branch. The voice had sounded in my head, deep and resonant, prickling with sarcasm. A magic-touched creature, then. They weren’t so uncommon in Faerie, though I would have thought a wyrling would have more sense than to alight on a bloodthorn.
“A bit of gratefulness wouldn’t go astray, since I’m rescuing you,” I said as I eased my body along the branch.
A very slow rescue, I might note.
“Any more helpful comments before I leave the tree to eat you?”
The tūī said nothing. The branch grew thin as I neared his thorny cage, trembling under my weight, and the stinging in my chest had become a burning, a line of fire spreading out from my heart. Tears filled my eyes as the first rays of dawn lapped over the garden wall.
Even when I reached out to touch the thorny cage, the tree reacted sluggishly, so that I had to wrap my hand around each thorn and force the tree to withdraw them one by one. By the time I’d forced a big enough gap, I was panting and weeping, my limbs shaking with pain, but at last it was done. The tūī darted free.
As soon as the tūī took flight, the bloodthorn relaxed, all its thorns smoothing out. I dropped to the soft earth, my knees threatening to give out, and stumbled across the bounds in blind agony to collapse in the meadow. The pain slowly ebbed, and I gasped myself back to awareness.
A beak filled my field of vision. What ails you, my lady?
I yelped and sat up. The tūī flew out of the way to perch on a nearby tree stump.
You are human, aren’t you?
“Well spotted. Also, you’re welcome for the rescue.” My arms and bare feet were dirty and scratched. I got up stiffly and stomped back over the boundary to my boots. I couldn’t help tensing as I did so, even knowing the curse wouldn’t reactivate until tomorrow’s dawn.
That was a curse that struck just now, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” I said tiredly, lacing up my boots.
How does it work? He had the kind of voice that sounded like it was used to being obeyed without question, which was somewhat amusing coming from a bird not even a foot high.
“That’s a very personal question, and we haven’t even been introduced,” I pointed out. “Besides, I have to go.”
The tūī puffed himself up. You may call me Golden. An odd name for a dark-colored bird, but it’s a rare fae creature who gives their true name to a stranger. I owe you a debt for saving me. Perhaps I can free you from this curse, if you tell me what it is, Daughter of Bloodthorn Manor. Is that something you would want?
Freedom. My heart gave a single hard beat. “Yes,” I whispered. In concise, detached sentences, I told him about the dawn-curse.
When I was done, he sat motionless. I owe you more than I realized, for saving me at the cost of your own pain. I will try to free you. I felt the echo of something in my chest, but then the sensation faded, and he shook his head. This curse cannot be broken by force alone.
I gave myself a shake, forced a laugh. “Never mind, then. It’s fine.”
In what manner is this curse fine?
I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever questioned my statements of fine-ness before. “I mean, thank you for trying, but you don’t owe me anything.”
I disagree.
“Grant me a feather or a song whenever it suits you, then, if you feel you must.” I hurried back to the manor before he could respond.
MY STEPMOTHER WAS already up and preparing for the long day ahead when I returned. At my disheveled appearance, her thin eyebrows nearly merged with her hairline.
“Whatever happened?”
“A fight with a tree.”
“Oh, dear heart, I thought you’d outgrown the tree climbing! Go and wash up, hurry now. There’s so much we need to get through, and I know you want to help your sisters make the best possible impression!”
My stepmother was determined that every nook and cranny be made suitable for a royal visit. I considered pointing out that even if Acantha snagged King Tawhiri on the very first night, what were the chances he’d be inspecting the broom closets of Bloodthorn Manor the same day? Besides, if he was going to marry her, surely he wouldn’t care about our broom closets? But Lady Bloodthorn kept rubbing at her left horn, which she only did when she was agitated, so I didn’t argue.
While the house brownies cleaned, I spent the better part of the morning on tasks Lady Bloodthorn didn’t trust them with: swapping the cushion covers for our fanciest embroidered ones, polishing the brass noses of the gargoyles that decorated the entrance stairs, rearranging the bushy pōhuehue vine that had sprung up only last year to twine nicely with the older ivy and fall around the balconies just so. Lady Bloodthorn refreshed the house spells, the clip-clop of her hooves on the marble stairs a constant background drum as she walked between floors, checking and re-checking all was being done to her satisfaction. Meanwhile, my stepsisters were whisked to bathing chambers to begin their own scrubbing and polishing.
“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Rose admitted later as I was called to help her dress. “I hate dancing, and it’s not as if his majesty is going to choose me, anyway.” She touched her dark hair, arranged so that it covered her curling horns.
I dredged up some sympathy, even though my every muscle ached from the day’s cleaning marathon and I felt like saying at least she was allowed to go. Unlike some other members of this family.
“Why shouldn’t the king want to marry you?” I said. “You’re a daughter of the twelve houses just as much as anyone else, and who’s to say you might not suit? Maybe King Tawhiri hates balls too. Do you know what he’s like at all?”
Rose shuddered. “We’ve spoken a handful of times, and he was perfectly well-mannered. A bit cold. But it doesn’t matter what he’s like; I’m not earning the ire of every noble scion of the Golden Wood. How could anyone want that? No, Acantha is welcome to him. I’ll just be glad when we’re done with all these balls.”
I thought of all the balls at Bloodthorn Manor I’d watched from a hidden, yearning distance and swallowed down bitterness. Instead, I thought of the tales of King Tawhiri I’d heard. A boy-king who’d inherited the throne and managed to keep it until he reached manhood despite the many challengers. Not pure sidhe himself, though apparently enough of a hypocrite to value that in a bride. A powerful illusionist who’d once single-handedly defeated a lion-drake. Acantha had once said the curve of his profile put the sharp turn of the river’s cliffs to shame. I tried to imagine what that must actually look like in person, and my brain helpfully supplied the image of a rock with nice teeth draped in expensive fabric.
But the king’s supposedly poetic jawline wasn’t what captured my imagination. As my mind’s eye spun out the full scene, what I saw most vividly was the court’s attention falling enviously upon his bride, a woman who held her head high—who everyone acknowledged as worthy. A sharp, secret longing went through me.
“Cinders?”
I gave myself a shake. Of course I didn’t want that. Obviously. Not that it was a possibility. Even if I was technically a daughter of the twelve houses too, just as much as Rose. Lord Bloodthorn thought the king wouldn’t choose even a noble fae bride who showed evidence of the less-aristocratic kinds of fae ancestry. A base-born human would no doubt disgust him.
It was hard not to feel my own lacking at the end of the day, when my stepsisters were dressed in their finery, impossibly beautiful and graceful as a pair of deer. In comparison, I felt every speck of dust on me, the plainness of my clothing, the blunt ordinariness of my features. I stood at the top of the entrance hall, looking down at my family together, feeling the vast distance between us. They didn’t look up.
And then they were gone, leaving me alone in the empty house. I gave a deep sigh, went to eat supper with the house brownies, washed up, and dragged my aching body up to my bedroom in the attic.
And froze.
On my bed lay an elegantly wrapped package tied with silver string and a long, dark feather.
The note tucked under the string read: A feather and a song, my lady. They will not know you for human if you wear the mask. Transportation will be provided to return you before the dawn.
With shaking hands, I unwrapped the package and spread the contents out on the bed. I then spent several long minutes afraid to touch them. A ball gown. A mask. And an invitation.
The mask was black and smooth, decorated with shining tūī feathers. There were no ribbons to attach it with. Without letting myself think too much, I held the mask up to my face in the mirror.
The mask shifted subtly.
I gasped and snatched it away, thinking of the tale of the Enchanted Beast, who’d lived for years unable to remove his bespelled mask. But my mask came away cleanly, thank the Thorned Sister. When my heart had stopped pounding, I examined it and found that the mask’s contours had altered to match my own face.
Warily, I replaced the mask, and the fit was now so perfect that it held firmly in place even without a ribbon.
I gasped again when I looked in the mirror. The disguise did more than hide the upper half of my face, and I touched my ears wonderingly. They still felt round, but in the mirror, they were pointed, and the bits of my face not hidden by the mask gave an impression of fantastical beauty.
I squashed the sudden urge to smash the mirror to smithereens, turning away and taking the mask off instead. I looked again at the things laid out on the bed. Did I dare? If anyone discovered the ruse, my stepfamily would be furious, and the fae court might be more than furious. Humans are forbidden at the Golden Hall. I didn’t know what the punishment might be for breaking that. Was the risk worth it? What if I ruined Acantha’s chances of marrying royalty?
The king will never know she exists.
I shrugged out of my clothes. Maybe I could just sneak into the edges of the ball, and if the illusion didn’t seem to hold, I could come away again, having at least enjoyed a glimpse of it. It seemed a shame to let the efforts of the tūī go to waste. How had he managed this?
The dress was midnight green, darkly iridescent as a tūī’s feathers, with silver beading up its front and feathers worked into the design at the neckline. Silver shoes to match, which underwent the same disconcerting personalization as the mask when I put them on.
I considered my hair uncertainly, and then let it out of its tight braid. It fell in a dark brown wave halfway down my back. The mask’s enchantment somehow managed to make this look glamorous and interesting.
My heart hammered as I crept down through the quiet house, but none of the house brownies stirred. Outside, the moon had risen, and I saw the transportation: a black carriage pulled by a white stag. I got in.
I HAD SEEN the Golden Hall only at a distance before, its organic form blending with the forest, the yellow-tiled roofs of its tallest towers rising above the canopy in bursts of color. My hands trembled as I showed my invitation, but the guards let me through without challenge, and I was abruptly here, on forbidden ground, swelling with excitement mixed with terror. I couldn’t believe my own daring.
The great ballroom lay open to the stars and was bordered by gnarled, twining kōwhai trees, their golden flowers in full bloom. I searched their branches, wondering whether Golden was hiding there. Or was he among the crowd? I’d heard it was possible for a powerful fae to shape-change, but I’d never met one that could before. Golden’s magic was certainly powerful, because fae lords and ladies dipped their heads in acknowledgment as I passed, accepting me as one of them.
I spotted my stepsisters on the dance floor and hastily huddled toward the edges of the room. The twisting yearning that had driven me here wavered.
“—yes, I have only the two daughters.” Lady Bloodthorn’s voice nearby.
I froze and slowly turned my head. My stepmother stood talking to a fae with gossamer dragonfly wings. They looked to belong to House Sweetgrass.
“I had heard you kept a human changeling in your household?” the dragonfly fae asked in a tone of honeyed poison.
Lady Bloodthorn tittered. “Who doesn’t? I am fond of the pet, but it is not the same thing as family, of course.”
Lady Bloodthorn turned before I could hide, but her gaze skimmed over me without recognition. The illusion was holding. Great. Fine. I was fine. I was grateful my stepmother was fond of me.
But my hands shook, and I glared at the whirling dancers. I wasn’t grateful; I was angry. The dark, reckless emotion rose up through my cracks. I wanted to do something ill-advised. Something to force all these fine fae lords and ladies to acknowledge the lowly human.
That was when I saw the lord of the golden wood, King Tawhiri. Tall, with deep bronze skin and dark hair that sparkled in the feylights, he would have been arresting even without the antlers and the great feathered wings. Those were a bit of a surprise, more of a sign of mixed blood than I’d expected, but there was no mistaking him. When he came off the dance floor, men and women crowded in, vying to be next. And yet there was a sense of stillness about him, as if he were the eye of the hurricane around which the rest of the world turned. With his face in profile, half-covered by a mask, I couldn’t help considering his jawline. It was well enough, I supposed, but, really, Acantha—river cliffs? You didn’t think to mention the enormous feathery wings while you were getting caught up in poetic detail? Or that he had antlers? How dare he scorn Rose’s appearance, the hypocrite!
Tawhiri opened his mouth to answer one of the courtiers—and then saw me and broke off mid-sentence. Oh no. Just what sort of magic had the tūī imbued my mask with? Had the king seen through it? Should I run? What if that made things worse? Could I bluff it out? At the same time, that simmering anger bubbled up, and I found myself lifting my chin, refusing to look away.
Had I gone mad? But it was too late to run now, so I held myself with a stiff confidence I didn’t feel as he strode toward me. As he drew closer, I saw that his mask was accented with the same feathers as my own. The same feathers that made up his vast wings, currently furled tightly against his back.
I’m not an idiot. My building panic flooded right back into anger, even hotter than before. Call me Golden, my left foot. Up close, I could see his blue-black hair was tipped with bright silver, like the back of a tūī’s head. His snowy-white cravat evoked the tuft at a tūī’s throat. A feather and a song, indeed! He could have granted me true freedom, but instead he’d played me for a fool.
“Will you dance, my lady?” he said in the same smooth midnight voice I’d heard from a bird much earlier that day.
