She raised her eyebrows, intrigued. “Does that include the blanket?”
“Yes. The water will run off the fabric and rinse away any dirt. If you ruin your blanket or your clothes, you’ll have to account for your things to the laundry mistress. She doesn’t take kindly to people who make unnecessary work for her, do you understand? And I won’t take it kindly if people come to me to complain about you.”
“I understand,” Sid told her.
Kallah assessed her with a cautious gaze. “Good. Now as soon as you change out of those horrible clothes, I’ll cut your hair. Then I’ll show you to the music hall so you can get started.”
Setting her jaw, Sid did as she was told. Both her new outfits were a nondescript brown, so she chose the dress and the leather slippers. She wasn’t quite sure how such a plain dress could be so ugly, but she couldn’t care less what it looked like. It was clean, and while the slippers were used, they fit well enough to stay on her feet.
When she folded up her dirty Earth outfit, surreptitiously she slipped her hand into her jeans pocket and scooped out her twenty-one pebbles. As she transferred them to the pocket of her dress, Kallah held her hands out. “Give me those clothes.”
This time it was Sid who gave her a narrow-eyed glance. “Why?”
Kallah’s nostrils curled in disgust. “They’re disgusting. I’m going to have them burned.”
Rage flashed through Sid’s body again. Filthy as they were, the jeans, T-shirt, shoes, and underwear were the only things she had in this place that were truly her own.
She wanted to lash out so badly it left her shaking again, but now was not the time to show a rebellious streak. She had barely gotten herself out of prison.
When she felt she could speak calmly, she dropped the pile of clothes in one corner of the room while she suggested, “Why don’t you leave that to me? I can take care of it later. The sooner you cut my hair and show me to some musical instruments, the sooner I can start practicing, and you can get on with your regular duties.”
There was a brief hesitation while Kallah thought that over. Then the Light Fae woman shrugged and picked up the scissors. “Very well. Sit down.”
As Sid perched on the corner of the bed, Kallah cut off her shoulder-length hair.
She’d already had her moment of outrage. Now she felt unmoved as she watched the long, silken black strands fall to the floor. Isabeau had meant the order as an assault on her autonomy, but Sid wasn’t going to let her have the victory. What happened to her hair was the least important thing about all this. It would grow back soon enough if she wanted it to.
Kallah didn’t spare an extra inch but snipped the hair as close to her scalp as she could. When she was finished, Sid ran her fingers through the short length. She’d worn her hair short before, and remembered how much she had liked the sensation as it lay against the curve of her scalp. Shorter haircuts highlighted her best features, making her eyes seem larger while accentuating her cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, and her neck.
As she looked up, she caught Kallah staring at her with an odd expression. Sid didn’t know the other woman, but if she had to guess, Kallah looked troubled, almost pitying.
“What is it?” Sid asked. “Aren’t you done?”
“I don’t think her majesty will be quite as pleased with this new look as she thinks she will,” Kallah murmured.
Oh, for crying out loud.
“Why not?” Sid demanded. “She said she wanted it gone, and you followed her orders to the letter. You barely left anything for me to run my fingers through.”
Kallah’s expression closed. “Never mind. Yes, I am done. You will clean this up later when you burn your clothes. Most of the castle is cleaned with magic, but the servants’ rooms are their own responsibility.”
The castle was cleaned by magic? But they couldn’t manage to share any of that with the servants?
Exasperated, Sid said, “Fine.”
Standing, she shook her dress to rid herself of the last of the loose hair and brushed off the back of her neck. When she was finished, Kallah led her back to the richer part of the castle.
“Remember this route, human,” Kallah said. “For the next few days, you will either be in the music hall or in your room. You will take your meals in the servants’ quarters. I do not expect to hear reports of you going anywhere else, do you hear? You have been granted leave from prison to do this one thing. Don’t waste the opportunity.”
“I understand,” she muttered grimly. She hadn’t won her way out of that prison cell yet. She had only won the chance to try to stay out of prison. “Believe me, I have no intention of doing anything but getting ready for my next audience with the Queen.”
“As you should.”
Kallah stopped at tall double doors made of rich, polished wood. Opening one door, she stood back to let Sid step inside.
Stepping into the music hall, Sid’s curious gaze ran over the room. Horror blindsided her, followed by a flash of panic.
The door settled into place behind her. Kallah hadn’t bothered to step inside the room. Instead, Sid could hear the rapid click of footsteps fading down the hall as the Light Fae woman left her to her fate.
The richness of the music hall revealed just how much music meant to the Queen. The space was large and beautiful, decorated with paintings, intricate tapestries, and bookshelves, and what looked like crystal globes attached to the walls in iron sconces.
Tall windows let in copious amounts of light, and there was comfortable furniture grouped around a large fireplace—couches and chairs, and a table strewn with parchment paper, inkwells, and pens. There was a variety of musical instruments set on wooden stands—tall, stately floor harps, lap harps and lyres, flutes, dulcimers, and lutes.
Sid’s primary instrument was the violin. That was her performance instrument, her area of expertise, the one she knew she could always pick up and create a soaring crescendo of music. She was also quite comfortable playing a viola, a cello, a guitar, and she did a lot of her composing on a piano.
Her confidence had been built on a lifetime of study, practice, testing, and performance. It had been built from a very early age, when her mother had forced her to practice, whether she wanted to or not, and had stood over her to make sure it happened. Then she had discovered she loved music and practiced of her own accord, while her parents showered her with praise and encouragement.
It had never occurred to her to question her own proficiency, or what kinds of music the Light Fae Queen might prefer, because she had an entire library of music living in her head.
Aside from her own burgeoning body of original work, she knew whole concertos by Bach, Brahms, Saint-Saëns, Vivaldi, Mendelssohn, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Paganini, and Mozart by heart. She also knew pop and jazz, and could make her violin weep when she played the blues.
But she had never once played any of the instruments sitting in Isabeau’s music hall.
Moving like a sleepwalker, she went to one of the couches, sat, and put her face in her hands as she breathed, “I am so fucked.”
* * *
After returning to the cottage to drop off the supplies, Morgan went on the hunt to find the source of the scent that by all rights shouldn’t have been at the night market and yet had been.
He knew that meant the scent would be elsewhere as well, its source delving into places it shouldn’t be, snooping and spying. Causing dangerous mischief without regard to consequences. Hurting innocent people.
He ignored the moon’s passage across the heavens and the approaching dawn. His sole focus was on catching his prey.
He caught the scent again two miles outside the city. The source had hidden its trail with a lavish array of cloaking spells and spells of aversion, but Morgan was the better sorcerer. He shredded those spells like they were so much tissue paper.
Finally he came upon a cold camp hidden in a dense thicket of trees and overgrown foliage. No fire ring or woodsmoke gave the location away. It was how Morgan would camp if he wanted to keep his presence a secret.
The camp appeared to be empty, but his sharp, inhuman gaze caught the subtle, stealthy slither of a snake slipping away in the underbrush.
Gathering himself into a lunge, he caught the snake by its tail. Hissing, it whipped around and would have bitten him, except he grabbed it by the throat. The snake’s body heaved and bucked in his hands, and changed, and suddenly he clutched a lion by the throat. It roared in his face and thrust its powerful body forward for the kill.