“‘Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky.’” Ariel smiled and offered her a bouquet. The flowers gave off the scent of a forgotten garden at dusk, of lovers meeting in secret under an arbor, of kisses stolen in the half light.
“We don’t have time for Victorian niceties—” Bertie started to explain, but Ariel interrupted by pressing his lips to hers. The kiss deepened immediately, his arms encircling her waist as he pulled her against his chest. Fireworks exploded in Bertie’s mind, her heart, her gut, burning up every speck of rhyme and reason. Amber sparks she imagined rather than saw sizzled on the cobblestones as Ariel threaded his hands through her newly silvered hair.
“Fire!” someone above them shouted.
Yes, she was on fire, burning like a Roman candle, her head spinning like a Catherine wheel.…
“Fire!” the voice screamed again. “Someone call the brigade!”
Another shower of sparks cascaded over Bertie, falling from the balcony overhead. A knotted rug burned merrily, its fringes already reduced to frizzled embers. She stared at it, appalled.
“Tell me I didn’t do that.”
Ariel’s answering laughter summoned the joyous winds, the zephyrs and the mistrals, as he drew her further down the alley, away from the influx of shouting homeowners. “Most likely someone grew careless with a candle or their evening cigar.”
“Or the fire got a taste of me in the Aerie, and it’s giving chase—”
Overhead, a shrieking housewife tossed a pitcher of dishwater over the flames, spattering the cobblestones below. Occupants of nearby apartments cast the contents of their buckets and basins, provoking hisses and snarls from the fire. Soon, rivulets of water snaked their way between the cobblestones toward Ariel and Bertie.
She took a step back. As though encouraged by her fear, the water’s progress hastened, gathering speed and strength until it oozed about her feet, tracing the tips of her silver slippers with dirty fingers, licking at the fabric with eager, ash-coated tongues. The moment the damp seeped in far enough to make contact with her toes, Bertie heard the faintest of salt-tinged whispers:
“I will destroy everything you love.”
Whirling about, Bertie picked up her skirts and ran. The sound of her heels striking the street matched the panicked heartbeat thudding in her ears. Her shoulder slammed into a passerby. He shouted deep blue epithets at her back, but still she didn’t slow.
“Bertie!” Ariel called after her.
When she didn’t turn to heed him, a sudden gust of wind signaled his pursuit. It was like being caught in a hurricane, her hair and skirts whipped into a frothing frenzy. Then his arms caught her, one about the waist, the other under her knees, and he launched them into the sky.
“I gather something disturbed you?”
As they soared over the Caravanserai, Bertie allowed her arms to slip about him. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and kicked off her water-dampened slippers, belatedly realizing that at some point Ariel would land. But she told herself she’d rather run barefoot over broken glass and flaming hot coals than wear anything Sedna had touched.
At last she spoke, her lips grazing his skin. “She’s getting stronger, Ariel.”
“The Sea Goddess?” When Bertie only nodded, his grip upon her tightened. “If you’re determined to quit this place, allow me to carry us away to the nearest fairy-tale castle or ancient stone city or temple devoted to the worship of cupcakes.”
“A cupcake temple?” Her chest still tight with anxiety, Bertie forced herself to imagine it: bricks of pound cake mortared with buttercream and chocolate ganache, torches like striped birthday candles set into the walls, pilgrims upon the Path of Delectable Righteousness delivering daily tributes of almond paste and raspberry filling.…
“If there isn’t one already, we could build one,” Ariel said, only half teasing until the moment clouds covered the moon and his eyes went dark. “We’ll find paradise together, whatever form that might take.”
What is it you want? the voices in her heart of hearts demanded, and she knew at least part of the answer.
To quit this place, to let the starshine and blessedly cold night air wash away my every care and trouble, freezing my fears and worries into diamonds I can fling away with both hands.
Inexorable gravity pressed down upon her chest, silent and suffocating.
If this is how Ariel feels all the time, I don’t know how he stands it.
Ariel saw the hairline crack in her resolve and set about breaking her completely by placing his mouth very near her skin when next he spoke. “A whirlwind tour, I think, with each day starting in a different city, you wearing a different silk dress, tasting food the likes of which you cannot even imagine and learning how to weave your word-spells in all the world’s languages.”
“What about Peaseblossom and the boys?” Bertie only managed the protest with great reluctance, her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as though affixed by sticky toffee candy. “Waschbär?” Her voice dropped a notch when she added, “And Nate? Would you have me just abandon them?”
A curious expression twisted his face into something of a mask. “Never, in all the years that I’ve known you, have I thought of you as the responsible one, Bertie, so why start now?”
Rather than answer the question—for which she could summon no good rejoinder—Bertie whispered, “Put us down, Ariel.”
It came as something of a surprise that the air elemental immediately obeyed, altering his course only slightly to land upon a sand-scattered rooftop. When Bertie found that her legs wobbled more than a dish of blancmange, he held her arm most solicitously until she gathered both her strength and her bearings. Without slippers, her bare feet managed to locate every bit of broken shell and rough tile as she made her way to the low balustrade that encircled the roof. Over the course of their short flight, they’d reached the center of the Caravanserai. The sigil-etched entrance portal winked at them in the distance, and torchlight marked the twisted path that led away from the outer wall, away from the White Cliffs, away from the goddess-haunted waters seeping in from the beach. When a flock of birds took wing, their silhouettes were outlined against the moon.
Bertie tracked their upward journey, her gaze coming to rest on the night sky. Without warning, fresh disappointment settled in her throat, thick and cloying. “He’s not coming back, is he?”
“Your father?” The hesitation in Ariel’s words came as something of a surprise. “I … don’t know.”
Bertie swayed a bit, unconsciously mimicking the velvet-draped elephants walking trunk to tail on the road just below them. When she spoke, she couldn’t keep the pleading note out of her voice, hard as she tried. “You know every breath of wind that stirs as a friend, Ariel. Couldn’t you search him out for me? Deliver a message?”
His slow exhalation was like a hand skimming over her bare arm. “As the Mistress of Revels commands, but I would beg one favor first.”
“And that would be?”
“I want you to tell me you love me.”
Had he betrayed a glimmer of amusement, some hint he was teasing her, Bertie would have laughed and welcomed the release of tension, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest he spoke in jest. “Why would you ask for such a thing?”
Ariel deftly edged around the question, around her. “We both know it to be true.”
“I don’t deny that it’s true,” she said, though the admission was made treacle slow. “I just wonder why the words mean so very much to you all of a sudden.”
“Indulge a poor fool who would have an even playing field before the scenery shifts about him again.”
Bertie wished she could employ a cavalier delivery that would indicate he was a ridiculous boy for demanding such a thing of her, but the words came only with great reluctance, as though she pulled stitches from some part of her soul to give them over to him. “I love you.”
The three words separated them for an infinite moment, then Ariel stepped fo
rward. He stood close enough that Bertie’s curls discharged blue-white static electricity every time they made contact with the longest tendrils of his own silver hair. A new flavor of panic coated the back of her throat when she saw the haunted look in his eyes.
“I thought there would be more to it than this,” he finally said.
Frost settled on Bertie’s bare shoulders and upturned face, and she almost welcomed the cold as her cheeks went numb. “More to it than what?”
Tiny bits of wind rushed over Ariel’s shoulders, carrying incoming fog that swirled about him to create the illusion of wings before the imagined feathers were dispersed. “Have you ever seen a falcon, hooded and jessed for the hunt?”
Bertie’s lips were so dry that she thought they might crack and bleed when she answered, “No.”
“You wear a light glove, milady, but you’ve no need of straps to bind. It’s love that tethers me to you.” He tilted his head back; though the muscles in his throat worked, he couldn’t seem to swallow, and his next words were hoarse. “Do you have any idea how much it pains me to remain at your side when my soul longs to be airborne?”
The question hit her as hard as a physical blow to the middle. The cravings in her heart of hearts were probably nothing at all compared to what he must endure every moment he spent upon the ground … at her side … by choice. “A mirror reflection only of what you feel, but I think I can imagine it.”
Ariel looked at her then, instead of the sky, instead of the horizon that surely beckoned to him. “Out of a thousand different winds, I think I can resist nine hundred and ninety-nine of them.”
Now she was the one unable to swallow. “And the last one?”
“That one wrenches the beating heart from my chest, the blood from my veins, the marrow from my bones.” Grasping her hand, he brought it up to his face and rubbed it against his cheek. Pain radiated from his pale skin, from his eyes, from his lips when they grazed her knuckles. “You’ve two birds to do your bidding, my fair huntress, but I want you to choose me, to love me above all others, to make the pain in my soul worthwhile … or I would be free of you.”
The very idea that he would leave caused electrical charges to pop and snap in a halo around her head. Thinking she might conjure lightning bolts for earrings at any second and frizzle them both to a crisp, Bertie forced her mind to go carefully blank. The expression she summoned was deceptively serene as she imagined the death masks of Sedna’s Guardians, felt the cool glass slide into place over her features. “I don’t want you to be in pain. The next time that one in a thousand winds calls to you, heed it if you must, and come back if you desire it.”
Ariel went similarly still, all winds disappearing into some unseen, dark place inside him. His eyes were a glassy black, though not with anger. Bertie had witnessed Ariel’s temper before, strong enough to shatter glass, or subtle with a cutting edge; this was more frightening than that. “The illusion of freedom is just another sort of prison—”
But whatever else he might have said, the words were silenced by the sudden and disconcerting appearance of Waschbär at Bertie’s elbow. A droplet of sweat—a portent most ominous—trickled down the side of the sneak-thief’s whisker-bristled face.
“I apologize for interrupting, but you’re wanted in the main square,” he said, very nearly out of breath. “The Queen has sent a messenger for you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Another Spur to My Departure
“Come!” Waschbär continued, infecting both of them with his urgency. “Nate and the others are waiting in the central marketplace!”
Bertie trailed him down the nearest set of stairs, casting a desperate glance over her shoulder to see if Ariel followed, but the air elemental had turned away, his hands clenched and shoulders hunched.
Is tonight the night he’ll scent that one-in-a-thousand wind and leave for good?
She would have turned back to ask, but the sneak-thief had a death grip upon her elbow and gave every indication he would toss her bodily over his shoulder if she resisted. Dozens of childhood memories surfaced of the Stage Manager hauling her off to the Theater Manager’s Office while uttering no end of dire threats and recriminations, usually warranted. Dread and guilt formed a sickly ball in her middle as Bertie wondered what sort of crime she might have inadvertently committed.
“What does the Queen’s Messenger want with me?” she finally demanded.
“A better question is what Her Gracious Majesty wants with you.” Reaching the street, Waschbär avoided all the lesser-trafficked walkways in favor of a main thoroughfare, clogged though it was with late-night diners, eager merchants, and moonlit performance artists.
“That’s no reason to be nervous,” Bertie said through clenched teeth when a bit of rough stone scraped the bottom of her bare foot. “Plenty of royalty graced the seats at the theater. One queen can’t be that different from the others I’ve met.”
Waschbär stopped then, only to turn on her, a near snarl raising one corner of his mouth. “Pah! Those queens were mere shadows of Her Gracious Majesty, reflections cast by mirror and glass and water.”
“It’s not like I could know that!” Wholly taken aback by his unusual behavior, Bertie drew herself up to her fullest height and gave him the sternest of her Mistress of Revels expressions, which, considering the knocking of her knees, wasn’t as impressive as it might have been. Still, this queen wasn’t the only one who could manage imperious behavior with little notice. “And you won’t speak to me in that tone again if you value your place in the troupe. Now kindly remove your hand from my person.”
He obeyed, albeit with visible reluctance. “We oughtn’t keep her messenger waiting.” Another turn, and snapping banners overhead announced their arrival at the innermost heart of the Caravanserai.
“Understood, but neither will I be dragged into the marketplace like a criminal before the magistrate.” Bertie took a moment to smooth down her dress and regret her castaway shoes; bare feet certainly did suggest she was more pickpocket than playwright!
Nudging aside a small clot of traders haggling over the price of a horse and sidestepping a woman carrying a tray of steaming meat pies, Nate appeared before the two of them. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere fer ye.” Despite his words, he didn’t look all that happy to see her. “What ha’e ye done t’ yer head?”
“Silver wasn’t my choice. I made the mistake of giving the colorist carte blanche to do as she liked.”
He took her by the arm; though the gesture was a gentle one, the roughened patches of skin on his palms still caught the fine threads of the moonlight dress as they continued through the marketplace.
“Say something,” Bertie demanded, unable to suffer the walk in silence.
“I’ve seen yer head blue an’ black, pink an’ red, an’ everythin’ in between, an’ no color’s ever given me pause before. It’s like…” Though his steps didn’t falter, Nate’s voice did, either because he couldn’t find the words to finish, or they were too terrible to voice aloud.
“Like I’m a stranger?” The thought terrified Bertie, opening a dark place in her stomach and her heart both.
“Worse.”
The horrible feeling expanded, and her voice dropped another notch. “Like I’m the enemy?”
“Ariel’s not my enemy, lass. I can call him by a lot o’ names, but that wouldn’t be one o’ them.”
“I think you have called him a lot of names over recent months.” She meant it to sound lighthearted, to derail the serious turn the conversation had taken, but she didn’t quite manage it.
“Ne’er mind him now, we ha’e enough t’ deal wi’ as it is.” Reaching the edge of an enormous crowd, Nate began clearing a path for her.
Bertie followed him, hardly able to believe the number of people crammed into the central square. The usual dance of buying, selling, and coaxing coins from pockets had stilled, an eerie quiet settling over the throng as she approached. A bewigged courier, dressed in immaculate white and
gold livery, waited at the decorative fountain. A row of similarly attired personages stood behind him, their gazes fixed upon her most disconcertingly.
Oblivious to the solemnity of the occasion, the fairies arrived on the scene carrying a large skewer of meat between them and arguing over the top of their charred prize.
“Don’t you blame me for this,” Peaseblossom was saying, “I wanted deep-fried yogurt doughnuts with jam!”
“But I told him I didn’t want sauce on my bit.”
“It’s just the smallest helping!”
“Yeah, of hellfire-hot, melt-your-mouth sauce! I’ll be farting flames for a week—” Here, Cobweb broke off his diatribe, nose and eyes streaming, to contemplate Bertie. “Good grief, you look just like Ariel!”
“Not now!” She issued the command between clenched teeth as she joined Nate at the front of the crowd.
Waschbär surprised them all by giving the Messenger a most courtly bow, remaining folded in half while he spoke to the man’s knees. “Permit me the grand and glorious honor of announcing you are in the presence of Beatrice Shakespeare Smith, Mistress of Revels, Emissary of the Théâtre Illuminata.”
The Messenger matched the sneak-thief’s bow, inch for inch. Straightening, he lifted a polished brass trumpet to his lips and issued a precise blast of air and noise directly in Bertie’s face. She only heard his next words through the tinny ringing in her ears.
“From Her Gracious Majesty the Queen!” The courier extended a thick parchment envelope, sealed with a great deal of wax bearing the royal crest and satin ribbon embroidered with the same.
Nate leaned in to stage-whisper, “I hope ’tisn’t an invitation fer a game o’ croquet, because ye can’t play wi’out cheatin’.”
“I highly doubt it.” The Mistress of Revels received missives from royalty all the time, so it must have been Bertie’s hands doing the shaking when she broke the seal on the parchment. She tilted it toward the irregular torchlight to make out the gilt-engraved words.