Deep Is the Fen, page 19
So much has happened since then.
I turn to face him and see the whole galaxy reflected in his eyes. In some ways it’s easier to look at him with his toad mask on. I don’t get so misled by the coldness of his glamour. Mask upon mask upon mask. We stare at each other for a long moment, so close and silent. Fox and Toad. Then I lean forward a little, so our bodies touch. His hands are still on my waist, and I feel them tighten, pulling me closer. His breath hitches, eyes sliding to my lips. An electric thrill flutters deep in my stomach.
I reach up and push my fingers into his hair, and he tilts his head back a little, lips parting. Around us, the world is inky black, speckled with stars. I forget we’re supposed to be secret agents. Nothing exists but me and Caraway in the beautiful darkness of the night.
The kiss is butterfly-light, the most delicate brushing of lips, but I feel it in every part of my body. My hands are still wound into Caraway’s hair, and I gently pull his head down toward mine. The kiss deepens, and I don’t just feel it in my body anymore. The feeling spreads until it floods the terrace, the whole of Deeping Fen, the whole world. It is everything and everywhere. I imagine people waking up on the other side of the world and putting their fingers to their lips, feeling them tingle. Sailors at sea, gripping the rails of their ships a little tighter as the ocean shudders beneath them. Birds getting caught in the rising current of air generated by our kiss, letting it carry them up toward the stars.
This means something. It means everything. I feel it in the way we hold each other, like we are each a treasure so rare and perfect that we’re afraid to let it go, lest it be destroyed forever.
I know Caraway feels it too.
My fox mask presses against his toad one, and I wonder if the story got it wrong. Perhaps the toad was noble and brave. He did rescue the Fox Bride, after all. Perhaps they fell in love.
Or perhaps tonight we write a new story, witnessed by the stars.
The kiss breaks, and Caraway’s eyes search mine.
“We have to find the stone,” he whispers. “We don’t have much time.”
I nod. The kiss has sharpened my focus, and I let my awareness drift outward until it snags on the familiar silvery trail of Teddy’s mettle, wrapped in thick ropes of Toad magic like parasitic vines. I take Caraway’s hand and lead him back into the apartment, back into the study, running my fingers over leather-bound book spines until I find the one that isn’t a book at all. I pull it out, opening the box to reveal a single stone nestled within, a shiny brown marble.
“Here,” I say, plucking it out.
“Are you sure?”
I smile at Caraway. “Of course I’m sure.”
We found it. Now that we have Teddy’s stone, we can go, and he will be safe from Toadmen.
My attention is caught by a framed photo on the bookshelf. Thurmond Boswell, a little younger perhaps, shaking hands with an angular woman wearing an expensive-looking linen shift.
“This is your father’s office,” I say, as realization dawns. “Is that your mother?”
Caraway glances at the photo. “That’s Ophelia Welch,” he says. “CEO of Welch Wellness.”
“She can’t be a Toad, though. She’s a woman.”
“Not all powerful people are Toads.”
I blink. “So why is your father—”
“Come on,” Caraway interrupts, taking the toadstone from me and slipping it into his pocket. “We have to go.”
He leads me out of the apartment and along the corridor to another flight of stairs. Down, this time. Down and down and down.
“Are we going back to the party?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
The air changes as we descend, growing stale and frigid. I feel a tingle of fear at the base of my spine, and I kind of love it. It’s all part of the adventure. I can feel the kiss still buzzing on my lips, can still taste starlight and champagne.
Eventually we find ourselves in a dark stone passage. Caraway lifts a hand and coaxes a flame to his palm.
“Pretty,” I whisper. The stone walls seem to suck up my voice.
I follow him down the passage, letting my fingers trail along the rough, damp stone of the walls and enjoying the sensation of it on my skin.
The passage ends at another door, and Caraway stops, putting his ear to it. Then we step through to find ourselves in a cavernous hall.
It’s a little bit like the Frater House, but on a much, much bigger scale. Benches fill most of the space, with a wide aisle running down the middle. At one end of the room is a pair of huge oaken doors, intricately carved, and at the other is a dais with a golden throne in front of a weirdly glittery wall.
“What now?” I ask.
Caraway takes my hand and leads me down the aisle toward the dais. I look over my shoulder at the huge carved doors, recognizing the characters from the story he told me about the toads. I spot the Green Knight, looking foppish and confused, surrounded by the twisted vines of the fen. The Fox Bride, a cunning smile on her face. The Howling Toad, its mouth open wide. The Ghost Toad, almost indistinguishable from the foliage. And the King Toad, crowned and noble (or as noble as a toad can be, anyway).
“Why isn’t there a Beast?” I ask. “Isn’t the whole point of the story that the toad saves the people of Deepdene from a Beast?”
But Caraway doesn’t answer. He’s stopped, frozen, head cocked.
I hear it too. Footsteps outside the doors.
Someone is coming.
I hitch up my skirts, and we dash down the aisle and up onto the dais. The wall behind the throne has an odd texture. As I approach I see that it’s a kind of grid, with each square containing a stone, just like Teddy’s one, nestled in Caraway’s pocket, brownish yellow, but highly polished, gleaming in the dim light.
We duck behind a heavy velvet curtain, just as the huge carved doors swing open.
“Do come in,” says a silky, masculine voice from the other end of the room.
I hear two sets of footsteps approaching and peek out from behind the curtain, careful to make sure I can’t be seen.
The grand hall is dimly lit by the same glass-covered lamps as the rest of the Deeping Court, so at first all I can see is two shapes, slowly approaching the throne. Both masked. I feel Caraway tense beside me as they draw closer and I can make them out more clearly.
The first man is wearing a full-face mask, not the half-face kind that the guests at the ball wore. The mask is white, a blank outline in the shape of a toad’s skull.
I suppress a shudder when I see it.
The Ghost Toad.
“The thing is, Brother Alec,” he says over his shoulder at the second figure hovering just behind him, “when you joined us you made certain promises. And while I’m very sympathetic to your position, I fear you have forgotten those promises, and thought that maybe this would be the right place to remind you.”
His voice is familiar, but I can’t quite place it through the champagne fog.
I can sense the fear radiating off the second figure. “My lord,” he says, his voice trembling. “Please…”
He’s clearly come straight from the ball. He wears a tuxedo and a black glittering half mask.
The Ghost Toad wanders up onto the dais with all the calm in the world. He circles behind the throne and looks up at the wall of stones.
“What do you see, Brother Alec?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.
“Stones, my lord,” says the other Toadman, who has crept up behind the Ghost Toad like a dog expecting a beating.
“Do you know what they are?”
The Toadman shakes his head.
“They are toadstones, formed from the strings of Toadmen. One of them is yours, you know. You gifted it to the king when you were initiated, do you remember?”
The Toadman nods, gazing up at the wall.
“You have gifted him strings since then, of course. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. With every string you have given him, he has given you back power tenfold. Riches. Power. Everything your heart has ever desired. Has he not?”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
“Of course only one of your stones is here on the wall. That very first one you gave, when you swore an oath to keep the secrets of the Toadmen.”
My gaze travels up the wall as I take in the Ghost Toad’s words. One stone for every member of the Toadmen. There must be hundreds of thousands of stones on this wall. Maybe a million. I had no idea there were that many Toadmen. I suppose not all of them are still alive, but still. That’s a lot of Toads. A lot of mettle, just to decorate a wall.
I’m suddenly filled with gratitude for Caraway, who helped me steal Teddy’s stone before it made it onto the wall.
“We are a brotherhood,” the Ghost Toad explains. “Each stone is connected to the others through the power of kinship, of fraternity. It is not a connection that can be broken.”
I remember asking Caraway why he couldn’t just walk away from the Toads.
It isn’t that easy.
“I hear you have a new paramour, do you not, Brother Alec?” the Ghost Toad asks.
The Toadman nods.
“What is her name?”
“B-Bessie.”
“And Bessie doesn’t like that you are a Toadman, does she?”
The Toadman shakes his head.
“She is jealous of your brotherhood,” the Ghost Toad says. “She wishes to have you all to herself. She whispers poison into your ears, and weakness seeps into your heart.”
He wheels away from the wall abruptly and stalks over to the throne, laying his hand on one ornate golden armrest.
“Have a seat, my brother.”
The Toadman takes a step back and shakes his head.
“My lord,” he says. “I couldn’t…”
“Go on,” urges the Ghost Toad. “I won’t tell anyone. See how it feels.”
Slowly, the Toadman approaches the throne. I see the tremble in his hands as he gingerly lowers himself to the golden seat.
“What do you think?” the Ghost Toad asks.
“V-v-very nice, my lord.”
The Ghost Toad makes a disapproving sound. “Not very comfortable, though, is it? Leadership never is. For all the gold and riches bestowed upon him, a leader must bear a heavy burden. So it is for our king. And so it is for me. I do not wish to be down here with you, Brother Alec. I would love to be up there, enjoying the revels. But I must do my duty, just as you must do yours.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out what looks like a very sharp silver knitting needle, with a mother-of-pearl handle. He stands behind the trembling Toad, caressing his cheeks softly with the point of the needle.
“What is it she likes best about you?” the Ghost Toad asks, moving the needle down until it is over the Toad’s chest. “Your tender heart?”
He moves the needle lower, and the man whimpers.
“Your impressive manhood?” the Ghost Toad chuckles softly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“P-p-please,” the Toad gasps. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. But you haven’t answered my question. What is it that this girl likes about you, more than anything else?” He taps the needle gently against the man’s temple. “Certainly not your capable mind or quick wit, I think we both know that. Come, now. Tell me.”
“M-m-my s-smile,” says the Toad, his voice turned all squeaky and hoarse. “Sh-she says she likes my smile.”
“Ahhh. A smile can be an incredible thing.”
The needle glides up to the top of the Toad’s skull.
“Your smile starts up here, you know. In your brain. The seventh cranial nerve, here”—the needle taps on one side of his skull and then the other—“and here.”
With a flick of the needle, the Ghost Toad slices through the string attaching the mask to the Toadman’s head. It falls to the ground with a clatter, revealing a pale face shining with sweat.
“Then your smile travels along the hearing nerve,” the Ghost Toad continues, as the needle dips down and circles the Toadman’s ear, “and through the parotid gland before branching out to connect with the facial muscles. But if we stop just before that branching happens…” The needle pauses, just above the hinge of the Toad’s jaw. “Imagine, that beautiful smile of yours controlled by such a tiny little bit of nerve.”
I realize I’m holding my breath.
“One tiny bit of nerve. One tiny little pinch…”
I barely see the needle dip into the man’s flesh. It’s in and out within the space of a heartbeat. The Toad doesn’t cry out. There’s no blood. Just a flash of silver, then one side of the Toad’s face is collapsing like it’s a melting candle. His left eye grows heavy-lidded and starts to water. The left corner of his mouth droops downward in a gaping frown. My fingers dig into the palms of my hand.
“Oh dear,” says the Ghost Toad. “I wonder what Bessie will say about your smile now?”
The Toad takes a shuddering breath, but says nothing.
“I think we’ll leave the other side,” says the Ghost Toad, slipping the needle back into his inside pocket. “For now, anyway. Remember, Brother Alec. We are a family. You can’t give up on your family.” He gestures at the wall of stones. “I’m afraid you are one of us forever.”
The Toadman hesitates for just a fraction of a second, as if not quite believing what has just happened. But then he bows his head.
“Yes, my lord.”
“You may go.”
The Toadman scurries away back up the aisle and through the huge carved doors.
The Ghost Toad stands still for a long moment, one hand resting gently on the throne. Then he straightens his cuffs, and I suddenly realize where I’ve heard his voice before. I squint and look at him threadwise to confirm it, and see the ropes of mettle, toadish and silver, stretching between him and Caraway.
Thurmond Boswell.
The Ghost Toad is Caraway’s father.
The world slows down for a moment. Mild-mannered, tea-sipping Thurmond Boswell. I knew he was powerful—with his job at Ilium and everything. But this is something else. He stole that man’s smile. I remember what Caraway told me about the Ghost Toad.
He has spies everywhere. He knows everything.
The huge doors swing closed with an ominous boom, and I swing to face Caraway.
“You knew,” I accuse him. “Your father is…You knew.”
He doesn’t deny it.
“He’s a…a monster.”
He seemed so mild, earlier today in the library. So kind. He said he’d look after Teddy, and I believed him. “I can’t believe I had tea with him” is all I manage to say.
Caraway’s brow darkens in a frown. “You had tea with him? With my father?”
“I ran into him in the library. He…he was so nice. He gave me a book.”
“And you took it? Did he make you promise anything?”
“N-no,” I stammer. “Nothing.”
Will you help me, Ms. Morgan?
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”
I let out an indelicate snort. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me your father is the Ghost Toad.”
“It never came up in conversation.”
Suddenly, I remember that I hate Caraway Boswell. “You lied to me. You told me all about the three toads, but you didn’t mention that one of them was your father.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You’ve done nothing but lie to me. Everyone in this place is a liar.”
He blows air out of his cheeks. “Good. Finally, you’re getting it.”
We glare at each other for a moment, the heat of our words simmering between us. Then his hands are on me and we’re kissing again, our masks mashed together. This kiss is not a perfect one. It’s heated and furious, teeth grazing skin, fingers pressing hard. I push him back against the wall of stones and he growls, deep in his throat, as I press myself against him.
I yank off his mask and my own and let them fall to the ground, and he cups my face in his hands, his fingers hot against my skin.
“You’ll be the death of me, Morgan,” he mutters into my mouth.
He’s not wrong, because I am absolutely going to kill him, as soon as I get this kissing out of my system.
“Shut up,” I retort.
The searing crush of the kiss is almost too much to bear. I’m on fire, lit up and glowing like a Hollantide lantern.
Then he pulls away. I see his chest rise and fall. Pink splotches color his cheeks. I want more.
“You’ve been drinking,” he says, his face falling.
I shrug. “So?”
“I thought you really…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Come over here.”
He walks to the wall of toadstones, and I follow him, my lips still burning and my head full of stars.
“Tell me which one is mine.”
I want to tell him to eat a bag of toads, but I hear the slight tremble in his voice, and it undoes me. I look threadwise at the wall.
“That one,” I say, pointing.
“Here?” Caraway places his fingers on the stone, and I nod.
“Are you going to take it?” I ask.
Caraway hesitates. “No,” he says at last. “Not yet. They’ll notice if there’s one missing. That’s why we needed to get Evans’s before it went up here.”
I put my hand on Caraway’s shoulder. “Thank you,” I say.
“It’s nothing,” he responds.
But I’m beginning to think that it isn’t nothing. That maybe Caraway is starting to matter, to me. Or has all the champagne and enchantment turned my head? I can’t tell anymore.
The last vestiges of my anger burn away and I’m left with something unexpected.
“Oh dear,” I murmur.
“Are you okay?” Caraway responds.
“I don’t think so,” I say. My face flushes hot as words start to tumble uncontrollably from my mouth. “I—I was talking to Sol about you, and I realized that when you bring me a coffee and a rhubarb muffin at Staunton, I’m actually really happy to see you. And—well, I wasn’t expecting that. You weren’t part of my plan, and now it turns out you’re evil Toad royalty, which makes everything all the more complicated, because I don’t want that for you. Or for me.”
