Cobweb Bride (34 page)

This time there was no kiss, but she drowned, just the same.

Chapter 14

T
he hall of shadows was dissolving. The whole world was like the surface of a deflating bellows, and everything seemed to be
converging
—the distant columns, the bone arches strung in spider silk, the unseen darkened walls, the swaying cobweb ceiling. . . .

When the floor of granite started to
soften
underfoot, Beltain was absolutely sure the grey hall of bones was coming undone around them.

And then he saw the girl named Percy reach out to grab Death’s hand.
 . . . In those moments, Death was fading, becoming translucent, and as she touched him, Beltain could have sworn there was a peculiar flash, as if dark lightning had struck her fingers. . . .

And then Death, the
man
, had disappeared, and Percy collapsed in a faint at the dais of the empty throne.

Meanwhile, she who had turned out to be the Emperor’s dead daughter, the Grand Princess they called “The Infanta,” stood upright like a pillar of tragedy, stunned by Death’s rejection. She had been so certain she would be chosen as the Cobweb Bride, Beltain realized, that now she had lost all remaining purpose. And the courtier at her side, the strangely intense marquis, seemed just as confounded by the circumstances.

What had come to pass between those two, Beltain did not even venture to guess. He and his ducal father, in their remote Chidair territories on the northernmost edges of the Kingdom of Lethe, kept themselves habitually and generally uninformed of the latest goings-on at the distant southern Silver Court. Thus, any news of the Infanta’s untimely “death” and its gruesome details had not even reached them. Even had the news been circulated, Duke Ian Chidair and his son cared very little about court intrigue and politics. At the Silver Court, the Chidair were considered “wild” and “uncouth savages,” good only for “warring and jousting,” and their extremely rare appearances had done them little to no credit in the eyes of
le belle monde. . . .

But none of it mattered in the here and now.

Beltain saw Death disappear and Percy fall in a faint.

The other girls were screaming in terror. And she just lay there, motionless, one hand thrust out, and her ash-brown hair tangled up in her woolen shawl. From where he stood, Beltain could not even see her face.

“What’s happening, oh dear Lord, what’s happening!” a thin, tall, spindly blond girl bewailed. He recalled her name was Flor, or maybe it was Niosta.

“Someone, assist her
 . . .” uttered the Infanta, pointing at the fallen girl.

He was not sure why, but he took a step, and then another, feeling himself initially reeling from his weakened state. In those excruciating moments he was aware of deep soreness down to the bones. He was now suffering the full extent of his malady, muscles aching all over his body. But the next few steps were easier.
 . . . And then somehow he had moved past the morass of cobwebs near the throne, and he bent down to where she lay.

Up close, in the pale, constant, disembodied illumination of the hall, she was such a plain thing, with rounded features in an ordinary peasant face. Her cheeks were more plump and ruddy than was even remotely allowed by courtly beauty standards. Her equally reddened nose was somewhat blunt and wide, and her lips chronically chapped from the cold.

For a span of three heartbeats he observed her closed eyelids, thick eyelashes, and the well-defined straight dark eyebrows—probably the only pleasing aspect of her appearance, giving her forehead and brow line a determined intensity.

And the next instant her eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes with a shuddering inhalation of breath, and saw
him
hovering above
her
.

He stared down at her, saw the dull indeterminate color of her eyes, and also their cool, rational, indeed,
hard
expression. It immediately jolted him into the moment, reminding him of how abrasive she was, and also, that the world was coming down around them. Thus, he took hold of her, and raised her up with sure ease, even though he was not at his full strength.

“Let me go! What is happening? How long was I gone?” she muttered.

“Hmmm . . .” he said, while checking the side and back of her temples and behind her ears, as he held her up in a seated position, then pulled up her woolen shawl back over the soft, listless hair. “Nothing seems to be damaged.”

Then he added: “How long have you been gone, you say? Long enough for us to see you fall, and for me to walk five paces.”

“Percy! Oh, Percy!” exclaimed Jenna, coming in that moment to crouch at her side. “Oh, what did Death do to you when you grabbed him?”

“He didn’t do anything, Jen. We had a long talk, looked into a big mirror.
 . . . Oh, and now I know the Meaning of Life—or rather, a few insane things about the nature of existence that I didn’t know before,” Percy said flippantly, putting one hand down on the floor to prop herself up, and attempting to stand, while pushing back against Beltain’s chest with the other, without directly looking at him.

But he anticipated her, and had his hand around her back and arms, and lifted her to her feet.

“Thank you. . . . I see you are in better health, Sir Knight,” she told him with a guarded glance at his large hands. No, she definitely did not trust him.

“I appear to be, indeed.” And he released her absently. “Though I am still far from my usual, at least now I can stand and walk on my own—precisely like a healthy three-year-old. The extended rest in the cart did me some good, and I owe you thanks for that, at least. The irony is intolerable.”

He spoke thus, looking at her, and seeing from the corner of his eyes a strange monochrome chaos taking hold around them.

“Why didn’t he choose one of us for a Cobweb Bride? Is he punishing us now?” Another nondescript girl, the one called Gloria, spoke up, woefully glancing around them, while barely holding up and embracing the very ill girl—what was her name, Emilie?

Beltain assumed that by “he” she meant Death.

And as he pondered this, more and more distant lines of perspective skewed, and the shadows moved in closer. The throne of bone now seemed to be the only structure of solid matter standing in a fluid, rapidly dissolving universe.

“What should we do?” some other girl cried.

“Oh Lord, I think I know what is happening!” said the shrill one called Lizabette. “This strange hall, this
everything
—we are inside Death’s Keep, yes? Well, the entirety of Death’s Keep is
fading
, in the same manner as Death himself has just disappeared.”

“Yes.
 . . . Since this is a place wrought of shadows, it only makes sense that it would,” the Infanta spoke.

“Then we need to leave
 . . .” Vlau Fiomarre said suddenly. He held Claere’s elbow, and attempted to pull her after him, in a direction
away
from Death’s throne. “Quickly! We must return back the way we came from.”

“Agreed,” said Beltain. “And not a moment too soon.
 . . .”

But Percy remained standing calmly, and she took the youngster Jenna by the hand.

“Yes, Death’s Keep is fading,” she said, “but there is nothing to fear. We cannot outrun it, nor should we try. . . . The shadows of death cannot take us with them. Indeed, they cannot hold us back or even
touch
us—neither the living nor the dead—because the
connection
between Life and Death has been
broken
. Don’t ask me how I know this—too long to explain now. Just believe me that if we merely
stand in place
, remain here, right where we are, it will all soon disappear altogether.”

“But—” Jenna clutched Percy’s hand, and the child was shaking.

The others also had paused, and everyone was looking at Percy, at this inexplicable strange girl, giving her the burden of their hope and their expectation.

“What if you’re wrong? What if it swallows us along with it?” Beltain said.

The world was so close now, silver chaos and cobwebs. . . . And the ivory of the throne was turning to translucent smoke. . . .

In that moment Percy looked up at him and met his eyes.

“It’s almost done . . .” she said. And although she spoke to everyone, it seemed in that heartbeat that she was speaking directly to
him
. “Close your eyes now. It will be easier thus. Close your eyes, Jen, Marie, all of you. . . .”

And compelled strangely by the quiet steadiness of her voice, Beltain lowered his eyelids, thus shutting out the shadows rushing at him, shutting out the feel of the unearthly wind against his skin, the universal silver.
 . . .

And the next time he opened his eyes, it was to snow. And then, cold blasted his senses.

A wintry scene of indigo night was all around—the familiar clearing surrounded by forest—and moonlight painted the world with immortal glamour.

P
ercy helplessly shut her own eyes in that last instant of vertigo, as the shadows flooded in, and she was drowning. . . . For a moment she doubted her own claim that Death’s Keep would simply fade and return them to mortal reality.

But suddenly there was a blast of cold air. And then Betsy’s wonderful familiar neigh came from nearby.

They were back in the
world!

Percy felt unimaginable relief. She and the others were standing not too far from the edge of the clearing, in the pristine snow, with no footprints to mark their passage to this spot, and thus no explanation other than a supernatural one.

She inhaled the icy cold, and could not help grinning, because they were all “safe,” at least for the time being—back in the here and now, and no one was dead, or better to say, no one had to die for real, and no one was chosen for a Cobweb Bride. . . .

But oh God, no! There was still all that had to be done, so much! She had promised Death to find his Cobweb Bride.
 . . .

The shadows were so prominent now, so tangible.
 . . . Everything was different now, after Death’s kiss. . . .

And then she felt Jenna’s cold little hand still desperately clutching her own.

“Oh, thank the Lord!” exclaimed Flor and Gloria, shivering a few feet away.

Percy blinked, and she hugged Jenna, saying, “See, Jen, all is well! We’re back!”

Behind her, the tall black knight stood regarding her, with an unreadable gaze of his shadowed eyes.

“Blessedly, you were right. What now?” he said.

“I don’t know . . . I cannot think!” she replied honestly. “First, we must all have fire and hot tea! And Emilie needs to go back in the cart and lie down—”

Percy turned her back on him and left to check on Betsy, while Emilie was helped by three girls to gently crawl back into the chilly snow-sprinkled interior of the cart, and shiver under her usual blanket.

“We might as well camp for the night right here,” said Flor to Gloria and Niosta, pointing them to brush and twigs for kindling. Thank goodness for moonlight, else they would have been stumbling along in the darkness.

While everyone rushed about, getting the fire going in the same spot they had the afternoon before twilight came, the Infanta stood motionless. They walked around her with frightened courtesy, and she was a column of futility.

Vlau Fiomarre was a similar dejected sight, standing next to her like a loyal sentinel. At some point, when others had moved away, she whispered, drawing in enough breath so that only
he
would hear. “Leave me.”

The dark haired man glanced at her, and said, “No.”

“Why not? It is all done. I am of no use to anyone, not even Death.
Leave me!
”

But he remained, silent and steady, frozen in his place.

“Why?” she said. “What more despair must I have, to have my murderer at my side, always?”

“I cannot
 . . . leave you.”

“Oh, Heaven and Hell!” she uttered, then sat down in the snow.

Drawing his poor cloak closer around himself, he sat down beside her.

Meanwhile the fire was a healthy small blaze in the pit, tended by Flor, who pored over it, sprinkling twigs, and finally allowed Marie and Jenna to suspend the snow-packed kettle over it with a thick branch, balanced on top of two pails—a newest contraption she came up with to keep the kettle hanging just right.

But no one was giggling, and there was little talk.

“What will happen now? What about all that Cobweb Bride unfinished business? Should we go home?” someone spoke up, now and then, but no one had an answer, and occasionally they all glanced at Percy, who did not speak much either, but busied herself with passing around mugs.

They had no food left.

“I am hungry
 . . .” whispered Jenna, but was hushed. And then she received a full mug of hot brew to mollify her.

“Drink, child,” said Lizabette.