Twenty minutes later, breathless and frazzled, I eased myself into the king’s quarters and leaned heavily against the door. The room was dark, the king’s clothes in a messy pile, boots toppled, sword and sheath abandoned, even his crown—something he rarely wore—sat atop his tunic, like he’d melted into the oak floor and left his clothes behind. There was an emptiness to the room, a melancholic abandonment in the crumpled clothing that had me calling out, as if I could make contact with his thoughts.
Tiras, where are you?
I called again, sending my words outward, flinging them into the darkness, shouting the only way I could. But there was no response. I paused in indecision, afraid to leave the room, uncertain of where to hide myself or what I should do. I walked to the balcony and stepped out into the darkness, my eyes searching the guards below for Kjell, for Boojohni, for something.
Kjell? I pushed the word out into the night air, and it vibrated like a gong in my head. The guard below me didn’t raise his head. I slumped down onto the balcony, pressing my face against the iron rails, weary and uncertain. I could see my chambers across the way. My room was ablaze with light, which was odd, as it had not been night when I’d been escorted through the halls to the banquet and I doubted that the maids awaited me now. I could see the open balcony door and beyond that, a tall shadow loomed. There was someone in my room. Tiras had instructed me to go there, I remembered now. Why hadn’t I gone there first?
I wished again for flight, that I could wing across the distance between the two balconies. I couldn’t change into a bird, a little lark, and flutter up into the sky, but maybe I could still fly.
I retreated back into the king’s chambers and pulled the silk sheet from his bed. Clutching it in my arms, I pressed it to my chest, eyes closed, concentrating on the words that would give it flight. When I was a child, I had pressed the words into inanimate objects with my lips, with sound. This was decidedly more difficult.
Up, away, into the sky
Lift me high and let me fly.
Nothing happened, and I realized I had to be specific. I had to imbue the sheet with a name, and direct it by that name. When the candle had moved, I had called to it specifically. When the fire died, I had done the same. When the glass broke, I had been precise about what I’d wanted. So precise that it had opened the only way it could, by breaking.
Coverlet. It was a coverlet. With the tip of my finger, I traced the word into the silk, focusing on the letters. Then, with not a little dread, I fisted it in my hands and demanded it rise.
Rise, coverlet, from the floor, through the window, to my door.
It rose, billowing, pulling me toward the balcony like it was being sucked into a wind storm. But though it would have flown, I was too heavy to fly with it, and it simply flapped like a sheet in the breeze, helpless against my grip. I clung to it, not sure what to do next, and I didn’t hear the door open behind me.
“What are you doing?”
I started and jumped, almost losing my grip on the coverlet that whipped and tossed in my hands.
Tiras stood in the doorway of his room, clothed like he’d spent the last hour in the stables instead of writhing in pain like I’d envisioned. Kjell stood beside him, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. I gasped and immediately focused on the task at hand.
Coverlet, be still
Obey my will.
It was the first rhyme that came to my head, but the flapping ceased and the coverlet drooped from my fists, the flight removed from every corner.
“Witch,” Kjell breathed. “You are a bloody witch.”
“Kjell!” Tiras said. “Leave us.”
Kjell ignored him. “Tell me, Teller. Did you poison the king’s wine? Did you do your father’s bidding? Does the little lark want to be Princess of Jeru?” He strode forward and ripped the coverlet from my hands. I stepped back, eyes on his, arms at my sides. Kjell was afraid of me. His fear billowed out like the coverlet had moments before, whipping in the air, making me afraid too.
I shook my head. No. I came to help.
He winced as if my voice in his head caused him pain. I looked at Tiras, who hadn’t moved except to shut the door behind him.
“Kjell. Go. I am fine. Go back to the hall and see that all is in order.”
“Tiras, by all the Gods! She is dangerous!”
“She is,” Tiras agreed, nodding, his eyes on mine. “She is that. Now go, Kjell. And make sure Lord Corvyn doesn’t slip away. Poison is more his style, I think. He had help though. I’m guessing certain members of the council are expecting news of my demise. I’ll be down shortly to let them see that they have failed.”
Kjell growled an expletive that made me blush and the king sigh, but he did as he was told, his hand on his sword, stomping to the door and pulling it shut with great force behind him.
“Show me.” Tiras nodded toward the sheet in my hands.
I stayed still, not willing to condemn myself further, and I pled with him silently. It is nothing.
“Show me, Lark,” he demanded. I bunched the sheet in my hands and turned to put it back on the bed. He walked toward me slowly. “Why are you in my chambers?” he asked, allowing me to believe, for a moment, that he was not going to insist on a demonstration.
I thought you were ill.
“And you came to finish me off?” There was a smile in his voice. I looked at him sharply. “The door was locked. How did you get inside?” he asked as he continued to move closer.
I hung my head, having forgotten that detail.
It was not locked.
“It was.”
I wondered if he could feel the lie on me, the way I could feel falsehoods when others told them.