I nod before retreating so he can return to his conversation.
“Good luck, miss,” Tannin says, and, with a grateful wink and a half bow, leaves me alone in a sea of people I barely know who’re full of blatant gawks and wearing giant, poofed hats that look exactly like the black-and-red Bron airships. Complete with larva-shaped balloons.
I swallow and head to the balcony’s ledge and glare over it. Colin and Eogan should be here with me, mocking the ridiculousness of the outfits, of the luxury, listening while I scream that Draewulf is not dead.
Instead I swear I hear their ghosts whispering that he’s going to wipe out this entire room and take Faelen. Just like he tried to at the Keep.
I grit my teeth and lean over the gilt railing to peer down below to look for him.
The lights flicker oddly, urging me to hurry my scan of the faces. Where is he?
Nervous chuckles break out as the candle lights blink again. I straighten and look up just as the glow flickers a third time and the crowd’s laughter ceases.
“What’s going on?” someone whispers. “Who’s putting out the lights?”
CHAPTER 3
TWAS A HUNDRED YEARS AGO AND THE BLOODIEST night in Faelen history.”
The creepy voice is accentuated by dimming candles and a low rumble of drums, and the entire room is instantly focused on the ten-foot-tall speaker in front of the stage.
My relieved sigh slips out. I don’t even have to see the man to recognize him as the funny dwarf, wearing stilts, from the Travellers’ Carnival who gave me, Colin, and Eogan breakfast the morning after I caused an avalanche. The morning after Eogan first kissed me.
Allen the Fabler, Travelling Baronet. A smile rises at his kindness, at the memory he brings, but I’m fairly certain acknowledging it would dissolve what wisps of sanity I have left.
He looms over the audience, flourishing his short arms to make shadows on the wall. “Three kingdoms—Faelen, Bron, an’ Drust were at war.” His voice booms through the air. “Except the real war was here, near where you’re all standin’. And Faelen’s streets began runnin’ with blooooood.”
I recoil and go back to my search just as shivers and whistles reverberate through the crowd, urging on the dwarf’s recount of Faelen’s most horrific legend—The Monster and the Sea of Elisedd’s Sadness. As if the story is somehow now of interest to those high courtiers who doubted Draewulf ever existed as anything more than a past rival king. Have they decided to acknowledge him now that he’s supposedly dead? Or maybe they’re simply celebrating the happier ending tacked on. What has King Sedric told them?
“Under a fog-cloaked night,” the dwarf continues, “Drust’s evil king, Draewulf, snuck through these streets.” Behind him a group of wild-looking actors emerge on the low stage.
“Shape-shiftin’ into human form to draw in men, women, and youngsters. Then returnin’ to his wolf form to slay ’em, one by one.”
“Stop,” I want to hiss at him. “You’re only encouraging whatever Draewulf’s got planned.” But I keep my mouth shut and the dwarf keeps going as I push my way through the audience. The men and women I bump into give me startled looks followed by comments of “well done” and “Faelen’s weapon.” I ignore them. Where is he? He should be close, enjoying the sound of his own disgusting story.
A loud growl from the dwarf just about yanks me from my skin. My swearing is met by that of the spellbound listeners as the performers do five flips before falling theatrically on the ground—all except for the one dressed as a wolf, who pretends to devour them.
The dwarf laughs. “But when the captain o’ the guard caught up with him that evenin’, Draewulf was dressed up like one o’ the men he’d just killed. Climbed inside his body and slowly absorbed his soul. ’Til there was nothin’ left except his wolf self hidin’ inside the man’s flesh.”
I should’ve plugged my ears. My stomach turns. I begin weaving faster through the balcony crowd. There are too many bodies and giant hats swaying to the dwarf’s word rhythm. C’mon, Eogan, where are you?
“An’ the only reason the captain was able to catch him and bring him in? The shape-shifter allowed it. Wanted an audience with Faelen’s King Willem.”
Someone tumbles against me and I reach out to keep from tripping. “Beg your pardon,” I mutter, before recognizing one of the few Bron guards allowed in the Castle this week. Part of Eogan’s personal protection unit left here from Bron. He stares coolly, but there’s a slight awareness in his gaze that says he knows who I am.
He doesn’t move.
I don’t either.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“For twenty months he’d been makin’ war with Bron and Faelen.” The entertainer’s voice grows more exuberant by the second. “Now he was lookin’ to make a deal! Swore he’d become Faelen’s ally. For a price. Which was . . .”
The guard in front of me glances at the dwarf and smiles.