13 Curses (29 page)

“To what do we owe this interruption of our festivities?” he asked, in a slow, musical drawl.

Red could not decide whether he sounded annoyed or bemused.

Gredin stood up, bowing his head once more before he spoke.

“Forgive us, my lord. We bring two travelers—humans—who would like an audience with you.” He beckoned Red and Stitch forward, and stood aside with Raven.

“You ask for an audience tonight, of all nights? The night of the Unseelie?”

“Yes,” Red managed, finding her voice. Hastily, she added “my lord,” though it pained her.

“The night is not yet yours,” the peacock woman said coldly, staring straight ahead, though her words were clearly directed at the horned man. “Until the witching hour, it belongs to us both. Remember that.” She turned her gaze upon Red and Stitch. “Speak, and quickly. What is your business here?”

Red heard Stitch draw breath to speak, but she got there first.

“I’ve come to ask for my brother.” Her voice carried easily across the silent hall. “He was stolen from me by one of your kind. I don’t know why he was taken, but I want him back.”

Her eyes skittered wildly from one to the other. She still could not see their faces, but she knew she had their utmost attention now. After all, it couldn’t have been often that the relatives of human changelings knew what had happened—let alone entered the fairy court and demanded their return.

“And how is it that you have gained entry to our world?” the horned man asked. “Were either of you invited?”

“No,” Red said quietly. “I willingly took the place of another—someone who was imprisoned here—in order to try and find my brother.”

“Then even if your brother were to be returned to you, you would still be bound by the laws of that
person’s imprisonment,” said the woman. “You cannot simply leave.”

“I understand,” said Red. “And so I’d like to enter into a bargain with you. If you give me my brother—unharmed—and my freedom, then I’ll give you something that you ask in return.” She glanced at Stitch and saw that beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip.

“And you?” the horned man asked him. “How did you come to be here?”

“I was… brought here against my will,” Stitch answered. “By a group of revelers.”

“Then there is nothing to keep you here,” said the horned man dismissively. “You may leave.”

“This girl keeps me here,” said Stitch. “Whatever her task is, I want to help her.”

“Well, well,” said the horned man, rubbing his hands together in cruel delight. “What to do with you?” He glanced from Red to Stitch, and then back again. “What makes you think you have anything that would interest
me
? That you have anything I would like to bargain for?” he sneered.

“I…” she began feebly, but stopped short as the peacock woman slowly turned to face the horned man—the first time she had done so in their presence.

“Their fate does not rest in your hands!” she hissed. “The changing of the court is not yet complete. There is one last hour of Seelie rule here tonight!”

The horned man leapt to his feet, looking down on his female counterpart.

“This is
our
night, as you well know!” he snarled.
“The feast is in progress, and no judgment shall be made that disturbs it. Instead,” he chuckled, “they may wait until midnight is past.
Then
they shall have an audience… with the Unseelie Court alone!”

At this there was a roar of applause from the Unseelie table. Fists flew into the air brandishing roasted drumsticks in approval, and goblets of wine were spilled. This clashed with angry protestations from the Seelie guests nearby.

Red’s knees were quaking now. This was everything she had feared. She could not afford to enter into a bargain with the Unseelie Court. It would be doomed to failure before she had even begun.

The Seelie leader got to her feet also, meeting the horned man’s glare.

“I will not allow it. This court is still under my rule, and the plea has been entered in the presence of us both.”

Red waited for the Unseelie leader to retort—but no objection came. Instead, he stood, staring hatefully at his enemy, his shoulders heaving with angry breaths. He gestured to a leafy curtain behind the two thrones.

“Let us discuss this in the chamber,” he said coldly.

The peacock woman nodded her agreement, and the curtain parted to reveal a glimpse of another room beyond. Through it Red could see a smaller table, and beyond it, a glass case of shining silver. With a jolt she recognized the Thirteen Treasures as the curtain came down like the closing of a theater show.

The whispering in the hall began again. Red turned to Gredin and Raven, her eyes wide with fear.

“What’s going on? Why have they gone back there?”

“To try and reach a decision,” said Raven. “One that will suit them both.”

Whatever decision had been reached, it happened swiftly. For before Raven had even finished speaking, the curtain lifted once more and the two fairy leaders entered the great court again. They did not take up their thrones, but gestured toward the crowd.

“Bring forth the elders!” the horned man roared.

Red turned to Raven and Gredin. “The elders?”

Gredin leaned over and whispered into her ear. “Each court has an elder, a fairy who has served many years upon it and can give advice and wisdom in extreme situations.”

This sent another tingle of apprehension up her spine. Scanning the courtroom, she saw a wizened little figure arise from one table and hobble toward the altar. Another was being pushed across in a wheeled chair by a younger fairy. As the chair rolled closer, Red studied its ancient passenger. Painfully thin arms and legs were twisted and weak-looking, and two bent and useless wings trailed limply over the chair’s sides. From behind a feathered brown mask fashioned to look like an owl’s face, wispy tufts of fluffy white hair stood up at odd angles. The mask obscured only the top half of the face, revealing a droopy white moustache with bits of food caught in it.

The other fairy was female and looked to be in slightly better condition—although no more attractive for it than the first. She had but one long tooth that protruded from her wrinkled lips, and only one functioning eye, for the other had been sewn shut a long time ago. Her working eye peered out from a helmetlike mask decorated with snail shells.

Physically, they looked close to death, but the venomous looks they exchanged as they were assisted up onto the altar suggested that their shared hatred was very much alive. They wheeled and hobbled, respectively, into the chamber beyond the curtain. It fell shut with a swish.

A ripple of excitement went through the courtroom and Red’s heart filled with dread. She could not bring herself to look up at Stitch, for she was afraid of what his face might tell her. However much he had insisted on helping her, she knew now that she should never have agreed to it. Time dragged by unbearably. She caught the rise and fall of an animated conversation from behind the curtain, but the increasing volume from the rest of the hall meant that none of the words were fully audible.

Eventually the fairies emerged from the chamber, the horned man and peacock woman taking up their thrones once more and the decrepit elders returning to their seats in the hall.

“The elders have spoken,” the Seelie leader announced. “And we have decided on a way forward.” She paused to look distastefully at the Unseelie side
of the hall. “This situation has arisen only once before in the known history of the courts,” she continued. “At Beltane, almost three hundred years ago. The course of action taken was this: both courts decided upon an outcome… as one great court.”

A collective gasp filled the hall. Red’s body was taut with anxiety.

“And so now, we will look to the ways of our forbears. Tonight, we have heard your plea as one court, and it is as one that we will decide how it will be resolved. Fetch the stones!”

A goblin woman with a set of keys on her belt hurried to kneel before the thrones. For the first time Red saw a padlocked casket positioned between them. From it the goblin withdrew a drawstring bag of velvet with seven tiny emblems on one side and six on the other. Red could not see what they were, but she saw the silver thread they were embroidered in and remembered the two sides of the coin Gredin had shown her at the Pauper’s Platter.

The goblin snapped the casket shut again and jostled the bag. Its contents clinked softly, like bone on bone.

“You will draw stones,” said the horned man. “Whichever stones you pull will determine a task of some kind for you. If you accept, and complete it, what you have asked of us shall be given. But first you must roll a die from each of us. This will decide how many stones you will draw, and thus how many com
ponents your task will have.” He smiled, flashing a gleam of white, predatory teeth.

Another thrill of anticipation hummed through the court. Red felt sick. It was just a game to them, she realized. Just entertainment. And she was under no illusion that the Seelie leader had insisted on involvement through any kind of pity. It was a power play, pure and simple.

In unison the leaders withdrew two small objects from their robes. The goblin collected both and bounded eagerly over to where Red and Stitch stood, offering them each a die from two equally sweaty hands.

Grimacing, Red took her die, her hand shaking.

“Now throw,” the goblin instructed, poised like a cat about to pounce on a bird.

“Let’s do it together,” Stitch said. “On the count of three. One, two… three!”

The dice clattered across the stone floor, halting just short of the two thrones.

“Read them,” the peacock woman commanded. The goblin scurried to obey.

“It’s a one,” she called eagerly, “and a… another one!”

Stitch shot Red a look of relief. This was a huge stroke of luck in their favor. The more stones they pulled from the bag, the more complicated their task would inevitably become.

“
Two
?” the horned man repeated, seething with this result.

“Yes, my lord,” the goblin said with a bow. She picked up the dice.

“Now this is where it gets interesting,” the Unseelie leader said. “Draw from the bag!”

The goblin giggled, rattling the velvet bag like it was something living that she was trying to throttle.

“Who wants to go first?” she grinned, offering the open neck to them both.

“I will,” said Red, plunging her hand into the bag. Her fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface of stone. She closed her fist around one and pulled it out, keeping her hand wrapped around it.

Stitch reached in after her, making his choice just as swiftly.

They handed their stones over and watched as the goblin skipped over to the two thrones. The horned man plucked the stones from the goblin’s hand and held one up for the court to see.

“The first stone is the Quest!”

“Is that good or bad?” Stitch mouthed to Gredin and Raven, who had moved aside a little.

“It all depends on the second stone,” Gredin said quietly, drawing closer now that the selections had been made.

The Seelie woman held the second stone aloft.

“The girl has pulled the Heart!”

The word echoed in Red’s head. Whatever the symbols stood for, their fate was now sealed.

“The stones have been chosen,” the horned man announced. “Your quest will be something precious
to you, something
close to your heart
!” He threw the two stones back into the velvet bag, and the goblin hopped off to return it to the casket. He held up a hand to a guard nearby.

“Search them!”

“What?” said Red, clutching her belongings fiercely.

Stitch stood his ground, but Red could see that he was as alarmed as she was. “Just cooperate,” he murmured as the guard approached. In one hand he held a cruel-looking spear. Its base hit the ground with a resounding click as he stopped next to them.

“Empty your pockets and your bags,” the guard instructed. “Your possessions are to be reviewed by the court.”

Bewildered but mindful of the weapon in the guard’s hand, Red did as she was told. Kneeling, she undid her bag and rooted around for her precious book, placing it carefully on the floor, then upended the bag so the rest of her belongings came cascading out. Out tumbled her flask, the map, a toothbrush, and numerous other items. Grudgingly, she took the magical scissors from her pocket and her knife from her belt and added them to the pile before stepping back.

“That’s everything of mine,” she said.

Stitch had fewer items than her in his bag, all of them—and the bag itself—taken from the Hedgewitch’s cottage. He slid his knife out of his belt and laid it on the floor. From his pockets he threw some
matches, a coil of string, a bunch of keys, and a pencil stub. But as he reached into his top pocket he flinched as though he’d put his hand into a wasps’ nest. It was then that Red remembered the bracelet. It rattled like a dangerous snake as he pulled it from its pocket, the twelve charms knocking into one another. He placed it on the floor, adding the loose thirteenth charm—the Cauldron—afterward. Then he backed away, looking as uncomfortable as Red felt.