Wizard's Masquerade, page 21
“Er, not quite,” Leyna said, but her voice went unheard. Finally, she escaped the jungle of skirts and flaring sleeves and fled the Great Hall, wishing only for her soft bed and to be out of the heavy boots and gown.
Exhaustion pushed on her as she approached the grand stairs, the flights of steps ahead suddenly daunting. It had been an emotional evening, and she was drained from travelling on the road. On top of all that, her leg had begun to ache with small, painful spasms. It was important that she rest—there was no telling what her first day tomorrow as a huskarl would be like.
Tucked in beside the stairs was a padded chaise, and with the Foyer deserted, she made no effort to hide her limp as she shuffled around to sit on the cushioned seat. The events of the day had caught up to her, and it felt good to be sitting again. She just needed a few minutes before tackling the steps.
The Foyer was quiet, the crowd’s noisy commotion now a distant murmur. Every now and then, the doors to the Great Hall would open as people spilt out, chatting animatedly as they walked up the marble steps, unaware that she was sitting in the nook just below them.
Silence fell.
The distant noise of the excited nobles seeped into the cool foyer.
Leyna wondered why more people weren’t exiting the Great Hall. She had expected the evening to end prematurely after the fiasco with the goblet, but it seemed that nearly everyone had stayed in the hall.
What was going on?
Suddenly, the tall windows of the Foyer lit up with bright, colourful lights, and a hush fell over the faraway crowd. A moment later, several bangs sounded, the force of it making Leyna jump, and the Foyer window lit up in an explosion of colour.
Fireworks, she realised, letting out a sigh of relief. It was just the magic show being performed outside on the front lawn. She could only catch glimpses of it from her vantage point, but the show would easily be visible from the Great Hall windows and balcony.
It was a comfort to know that the incident with the king’s goblet would not be the last thing on everyone’s mind tonight. Leyna considered returning to the party, but she was tired and no longer felt the temptation to join the wizards in the performance—she’d drawn enough attention to herself for one evening.
I should just return to bed.
The distant cheers of the crowd gave way to oohs and ahhs, and a moment later, Leyna understood why as several colourful illusions appeared in the Foyer windows. The forms of majestic birds, each one more breath-taking than the last, glowed brightly against the night sky as they flew past. Bringing up the rear was a large, dazzling illusion of a unicorn.
Leyna did a double take, then barked with laughter at the sight of the unicorn, which was as beautiful as depicted in fairy tales, but with one key difference: although the horse-like creature sparkled white and turquoise as it glided through the air on feathered wings, it sported—in addition to its single, spiralling horn and glittering mane—a bulging pink cow udder.
“Bancroft,” Leyna muttered, completely certain that the last illusion had been of his making. She shook with quiet laughter. It was the sort of thing he would do—to add a humorous twist to whatever task he was given.
She allowed herself a long, deep breath as she steadied herself on the chaise, preparing to stand. It was time she returned to her room for some much-needed rest. Before she had risen, however, the door to the Foyer opened again, and a single set of footsteps emerged. They were soft as they padded across the tiles, and did not take the grand stairs, but instead turned down a corridor and faded into the distance. But what caught her attention was the soft jingling that accompanied each step.
Leyna sat bolt upright, holding her breath as she listened.
Yes—it was unmistakable. They were the jester’s bells. Rising slowly, conscious of the rustle of her dress, she peered between the balusters near the foot of the stairs and caught a glimpse of the jester’s tall figure disappearing down a corridor, the dark cape rippling behind him.
Where’s he going? The corridor led to the Gallery, the Garden Room, and the Hall of Statues, as well as a host of other areas that she was sure he had no business being in at this time of night.
Feeling a fresh burst of energy, she followed him, trying to make as little noise as possible as she darted across the tiles. As she entered the corridor, she was grateful for the soft pomegranate-patterned carpets that masked her footsteps.
She couldn’t see Jester anywhere.
She wandered through the Gallery, a narrow corridor lined with paintings and tapestries. She stopped to peek into the adjacent rooms, but she’d lost him.
Gritting her teeth, Leyna contemplated searching for the jester in the Garden Room, but she would have seen him if he’d walked down the entire length of the Gallery—she hadn’t been that far behind. She began to backtrack and was about to give up when she heard the sound of voices.
She edged into a waiting room, which was lined with padded chairs on one wall, and featured an ornate piano with lion claw feet in the corner. There was no one in here, but the voices were louder, emanating from a cream-coloured door on the far side of the room. It led to the Trophy Room beyond. She crept closer.
The door was ajar.
A heated conversation was taking place inside. Much to her frustration, she couldn’t make out the words. The jester—and whoever he was speaking to—were on the far side of the Trophy Room. She would have to get closer.
With trembling hands, Leyna reached forward to touch the door, coaxing it open with her fingers, all the while praying that it wouldn’t creak as it started to swing open.
Thankfully, it didn’t.
The room was dark, the conversation louder but still indistinct.
After pausing to take a steadying breath, Leyna slipped inside, trying to be quiet as the voluminous fabrics of her dress tried to follow.
Walls of shelves and cabinets, some glassed, displayed hundreds of trophies and plaques now lost in shadow. Most of them were awarded for sport, including equestrian events, jousting, hunting and duels, but others were for card games, with the Ruffles tournament being a court favourite that was much favoured by the queen.
A single torch had been lit on the far side of the room, throwing shapes and shadows onto the walls as it flickered. The cabinets closest to her were shrouded in darkness, and she moved into their cover. As she settled beside a cabinet, peering through the glassed corner, she was able to see two figures at the end of the room.
“—what the heck were you thinking?” growled an enormous bear of a man with a rough, bushy beard. Leyna recognised him as Patrick of the castle guard. The other figure she couldn’t see very well from the way the glass distorted the shapes, but when he spoke, she knew that it was Jester from his impish tone:
“It was just a little test. To see if you guards are paying attention. Didn’t you like it, Pat? I thought it was rather entertaining.”
“Drop the fool act. You’re meant to be lying low, not blowing your cover. It’s bad enough that you came as a jester.”
When Jester spoke next, the playfulness in his voice was gone, replaced by seriousness. The change was so radical that she leant forward to try and see him better, just to make sure it was still him speaking.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Jester continued. “Royal Guard, my arse. How is it that a performer like me, only recently arrived at the castle, can get close enough to the king to spike his drink? I shouldn’t even have gotten as far as the dais. Where were the huskarls?”
“The king doesn’t like it if we’re too close to his table,” said Patrick.
“The king doesn’t like it? Or is someone else giving the orders?”
“Is this another one of your conspiracy theories?”
“Patrick, aren’t you even the least bit concerned?”
“Of course, I am. I know something’s not right. That’s why I sent word. Only I didn’t think they’d send you, especially not wearing tights. How are they on the royal jewels, anyway?”
“Tight. But rather flattering, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Patrick snorted. “I wasn’t looking. I prefer not to look at another man’s bagpipe.
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Sod off. I’m not interested in your codpiece.”
“Ah, so you did notice,” smirked Jester. “How flattering.”
“Cut the crap. I’m still not sure what game you were playing at before, drawing attention to yourself in front of everyone.”
There was a pause, before Jester slammed a fist against a panelled wall, which caused the plaques to shake above him.
“Patrick, not one guard noticed me spiking the king’s drink. Not one—the only person who noticed was Leyna.”
Her skin prickled at the sound of her name.
“Yeah, the girl, I get it. I saw you paying her special attention. You interested in her or something?”
“What? No, not in the slightest. I was more entertaining the notion of recruiting her.”
“Ah,” said Patrick, nodding knowingly. “You want to ‘recruit’ her, eh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Cut that out,” said Jester coolly. “Not all roads lead to sex.”
“Well, they should,” said Patrick sulkily. “So, are you gonna recruit her or not?”
“Unlikely. She and Captain Marton are two birds of a feather. Too self-righteous.”
It didn’t sound like a compliment. Leyna’s fists clenched.
“Isn’t that what we want in an asset, someone moral?” asked Patrick.
“More like moralistic.”
“Wouldn’t that make her easy to control?”
“No. It will make her impossible to control. And insufferable.”
A pause.
Then Patrick grinned. “You like her!”
Jester held a hand up.
“I’ll admit, I liked the way she smacked the goblet out of the king’s hand. I didn’t think she had it in her.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t throw your ass in the dungeon.”
“Are you surprised, Pat? Or disappointed?”
“Both. I didn’t fancy hauling your ass out of the dungeon tonight.”
“Yes,” agreed Jester. “Imprisonment is…inconvenient.”
“So, what about the book?” asked Patrick. “Do you know who stole it?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing, Pat.”
“I bet Emsworth is having a fit.”
Jester gave a bitter laugh. “I’m about to have a fit. Do you know what I went through in Kormend to acquire it? Only for it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“The wrong hands? Who would that be, then? I thought you said you didn’t know who stole it?”
“I don’t. But it’s safe to say that any weapon that’s not in our hands is in the wrong hands.”
“True. So, what inspired the jester costume? Shouldn’t you be trying to blend into the shadows?”
“Not at all. That’s the beauty of being a jester. The best-kept secrets are hidden in plain sight.”
“Sounds stupid.”
“Think about it, Pat. A jester is able to move freely between all sorts of people, from the lowliest tavern to the most exclusive noble chambers. It gives me access to places, people, and, more importantly, information.”
“Like information about the Demon Book? Because—"
“Hush,” said Jester suddenly.
Both men stilled.
Leyna, whose face had been pressed against the glass, froze as well. Why had they gone quiet? She fought the urge to duck down, knowing that the movement would only attract attention. They were unlikely to spot her in the darkened room anyway—but it was hard to be logical when her heart was beating so rapidly.
The seconds passed, the silence stretching.
She stopped breathing, waiting.
“What is it?” asked Patrick.
“I smell a rat.”
“A rat?”
“Hm, actually, no, perhaps something a little larger. A sneaky fox.”
Just then, the jester looked in her direction. It took only a moment for his sharp eyes to find her, and when they did, he smiled as he looked at her directly through the glass.
“Your perfume is a delight, my dear.”
Panic seized her as their eyes met, and she felt her heart thundering loudly in her ears, her entire body screaming that she was in danger.
She fled.
Turning on her heel, Leyna gathered her skirts to prevent herself from tripping on them and sprinted for the exit. In the darkness, she heard pounding footsteps that were not her own running down the length of the Trophy Room, and she realised that she was being chased.
She threw herself against the half-open door and ran across the waiting room, pushing her legs to go harder, desperate to get away even as she heard her pursuer closing in, the footsteps growing closer.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
As she reached the carpeted Gallery, a hand seized the back of her cape, and she felt herself jerked to a standstill, gasping as the fabric tightened around her shoulders. In the next moment, she’d been spun around to face the jester, his expression unreadable through the mask as he panted.
“Leyna,” he began, taking hold of her arms.
“Let go of me!” she cried, trying to pull out of his grasp.
“Leyna, listen to me—”
“Let go!” she yelled, her cry sharp and desperate as it echoed along the narrow corridor. The jester released her and she bolted, trying not to whimper as pain shot through her leg. She ignored it, pushing herself forward through the corridors.
In her haste to get away, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going, and instead of returning to the Foyer, she found herself in the Hall of Statues, a vast, eerie place interspersed with statues that matched the Great Hall in its size.
Distressed, she spun around, but there was no one there. Breathing heavily, she waited a minute, listening, but Jester had not followed her.
Should she go back to the Foyer? Or take the back stairs up to her room? The latter was a decent detour, but returning to the Foyer put her at risk of seeing the jester again.
Spinning around again, she appraised the hall. The rear of the castle had several flights of stairs that could lead her up to her quarters. It was the long way back, but at least she wouldn’t have to cross paths with the jester again—or anyone else, for that matter. Nobody would be in this part of the castle now.
She had not taken more than a handful of steps forward, however, when her leg gave out.
Unprepared, Leyna hit the ground heavily, her elbow banging against the tiled floor as she landed. With a cry of anguish, she rolled onto her back, gritting her teeth as a sharp cramp seized her leg.
Tears sprang forth as she crawled towards a nearby pedestal, sitting up to lean against it. As the tears came, she did not bother to hide the whimpers that no one would hear. Eventually, the waves of pain receded, leaving her skin clammy. She pulled her knees up to hug herself.
I just need a moment, she thought, trying to wipe the tears with her gown’s sleeves, but the taffeta and silks were too slippery and shiny to be helpful. At least there’s no one here to hear me cry.
Except someone did hear, because a figure knelt down beside her.
“Leyna? What happened? What are you doing here?”
Through the blur of tears, she was able to make out Quinn’s face.
“Here, try and sit up,” he said, and with the help of his steadying hand, she managed it.
“Thank you.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I just needed some time alone. There were too many people in the hall.”
She could agree with him there.
“So…” Quinn twiddled his thumbs, still crouched beside her as if thinking of what to say. “Do you want to talk about why you’re upset?”
“No, not really.” She wondered if he’d witnessed the drama with the goblet. He didn’t bring it up, and neither did she.
She felt a little better after having cried. Some of the tension had seeped out of her, but her exhaustion had grown deeper, and had there been a pillow here, she would have gladly laid down to sleep. “I just want to go back to my room.”
“Fair enough,” said Quinn. He paused. “Do you…do you need a hand?”
“I need a leg,” she said with a small laugh. It would be a relief to be back in her bed. She wanted the drama of the evening to be over.
“Can you walk?”
“Sort of.” Leyna closed her eyes for a moment, clenching them tight as she realised what she needed to do: ask for help. But she had never been good at that. And to ask Quinn for help was even harder.
“Is it your leg?” he asked. “The one the demon attacked? Is it hurting?”
“Yes. I mean, my leg was fine, it really was. But now, it’s sore, and…” She trailed off, reluctant to admit how much it troubled her. “I’m just not looking forward to all those stairs.”
Her words hung in the air.
“Do you want my help?” asked Quinn.
She nodded reluctantly. “Yes, please.”
He hoisted her up and, still supporting her, helped her walk along the long hall, evading the statues that were arranged like obstacles.
“Quinn?” she asked.
“Hm?”
“Can we take the back stairs?”
He nodded.
“And, Quinn, can you please do me a favour and not—”
“I won’t tell anyone about your leg.”
“Not even Grace?”
He shrugged. “She’ll find out.”
“I know, but I’ll tell her.”
“Alright.”
What should have been a quick trip up the stairs took a long time. They paused on each landing to rest, and by the time they reached the third floor, she was covered in a sheen of sweat. They still had a way to go, as the Saunders’ suite was located on the opposite end of the floor in a different wing, but at least there were no more stairs to contend with. She continued to lean on Quinn as he helped her along the carpeted corridors.
Now that the going was easier, she asked the question that had been weighing on her: “What did you mean when you said that the wolf form was all you had?”
