Red Palace (19 page)

I’m sick.
I throw up onto the dusty floor of the king’s vision.

I never wanted this.

But somehow I took the responsibility I didn’t want, and I claimed it as my own.

After I’m sick, I cry.

What is it about our lives that make us feel so formidable one moment and so weak the next? Even in moments of pure power we find our true weaknesses.

I stagger back
from the corpse and turn away. The last fear. I’ve been through them all and I have destroyed each and every one of them. If the Nix feeds on the fears of its victims, surely I have done enough to weaken its powers and break the curse. I need to leave this place. The Red Palace should go back to normal. The king will wake up and be alive. I need that reality now. I need it to happen.

But it would seem there is one last vision for me to walk through.

I am in a room I have only ever peeked into before. It is the throne room, a place where the king is supposed to sit and listen to the woes of his subjects. According to the rumours spread amongst the servants, the king spends little time with the public.

The throne sits on an elevated platform at the far end of the room. Running up to the throne
is a long aisle which shifts into steps nearer the dais. The steps lead steeply up to the large, stone chair. It is surprisingly simple. The seat is bare, uncushioned. The back rest is an oval carved to a point, with the image of a bird in flight chiselled into the stone. Around it are markings, like the loops on the brass doors in the palace. I can imagine Beardsley taking inspiration from this ancient stone chair. I think of him standing here, trying to imagine how he will fulfil the king’s latest demand. My heart aches for him. It aches for everyone stuck in this palace with their tyrant king. It aches for the people of Cyne, caught up in the king’s quest for eternal life, suffering because he needs money to finance his diamonds; living with the smoke, the bad soil, the dirty water.

After seeing the king’s living quarters I know he likes to surround himself in the finest of things. Yet the throne is plain. Perhaps it is
the antiquity. Somehow I can’t imagine that the king cares about history. His wants and needs are a priority against the history of the realm. No. If he wanted a fine throne, he would have one made. It would be gold and carved into intricate patterns. There would be a fine velvet cushion to sit on and a boy waiting beside him with wine.

The
king strikes me as a man who would rather be hunting, or brooding around the castle in his finery, than doing his duties. Tough decisions he leaves to his subordinates. That cowardice sums up the king to me. He wants the title and the glory but not the work. I try to imagine him as immortal. In one hundred years, who will he be bullying then? Will the realm even exist?

I think of the men who have sat
on this same throne. Aldrych, Ethelbert, Gregor… men who have been mad or power hungry or weak. Aegunlund has had a bad run of kings. There have been many wars, many years of poverty, too.

As I make my way up the aisle towards the throne I also imagine the many men
, women and children who have implored those kings to help them. I wonder how many went away with their problems solved. Few, if any.

With my body tired from the fight, it is an arduous trip up the stone steps. My muscles ac
he. I move slowly, delaying my ascent to that most coveted of seats. But the suspension only helps to whet my curiosity further. Why am I here? I have been through all the visions now. Is this still the king’s fear? What is going to happen? I imagine a riot of people filing in through the large open doors to the room, incensed by anger and searching for someone to punish. I tremble at the thought of being ripped apart by a mob.

It’s only when I move
closer that I see what sits on the stone chair. It is a crown. I have never seen the crown that the king wears, I have only heard it described as golden, spiked and encrusted with colourful jewels. This one is nothing like that at all. The metal is black and twisted, reaching up like branches. The stones are back, onyx or… black diamonds perhaps. When I reach out to touch the crown, the king appears before me, relaxing on his thrown, one leg thrown out with a mocking grin on his face. I take a step back and a breath escapes my lips, shocked at the sight of his face once more.

Quick as a flash, the sight of the
king disappears and in his place is Lyndon. Stone cold eyes stare at me from beneath the crown. His lips curl back to reveal sharp teeth, I shake my head, shaking the sight of him out of my mind.

And now it is
Cas’s turn, only it is not the Cas I know. He is older, taller, filled out, with a golden beard. His silver eyes are unsure, searching the room. There are worry lines between his eyebrows. He looks as a king should, heavy with the responsibility of his calling. I let out a sigh of relief.

But then the face ch
anges again and I stagger back in shock, my hand coming up to my mouth.

“No, for all the Gods, no,” I mumble.

Sitting on that cold, stone chair, is myself. I am still a girl, still awkward with skinny limbs and curly hair stuck out at every angle. I couldn’t look less like a queen if I tried. The crown is too big for me. It slips down to just above my ears. My eyes are wide with shock as though I am unaware of what is going on around me, unprepared to wear the crown.

“No,” I whisper.

I screw my eyes shut and back away. My back foot trips on the steps, collapsing beneath me. In one uncoordinated move I am falling down, down, down.

My body goes limp as I hit the last step. The room spins, and flashes of images from the visions float around me. The Nix taunts me with more visions of Cas.

“No,” I say. “You must stop this. It is time for it all to end.” And then I close my eyes.

*

When I open them, Sasha kneels beside me,
singing again, a high pitched melodic verse about a poor farmer’s girl who is kidnapped by a nobleman and forced into marriage. My head aches, and my body feels bruised. I lie there and close my eyes. I say nothing, I simply let her continue her song, watching her back, and the way her bright red hair ripples down her shoulders. Marriage. It seems to be what has driven my life so far. I ran from it. I hid my powers. It seems insignificant now.

“You’re awake,” Sasha says. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come back.”

“Did it work?” I ask. “Did I break the curse?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess it’s hard to tell from us being in this part of the castle.”

I climb to my feet, groaning at the stiffness in my muscles.

“Are you all right?” Sasha asks.

I bite down on my lip and nod my head, holding back the bubbling emotions beneath the surface. Working through the fears drained me emotionally and physically. It was as though I was on trial and forced to overcome the worst of humanity. The sight of the King’s fearful eyes will haunt me forever, real or not real.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s explore the rest of the castle.”

I pull the lever and the wall drags away to reveal the crypt. I limp over the broken pieces of Beardsley’s brass dogs, making our way back up to the basement of the castle. I need an outside door to test.

As we are part way through the basement
, Sasha stops. “Something is wrong.” She holds up one hand and I watch her body begin to fade away. “It must be time for me to go.”

“Why?” I say.

“I don’t know,” she replies. “I guess my body wants my soul back.” She shrugs.

“
How can I ever thank you?” I say.

“
There’s no need. I must be your protector now,” she says with a wide grin. “I’ve never had a job before.”

“You’ve done pretty well so far,” I remark.

Her eyes flash with pride.

“Sasha…
tell Allerton that I’m sorry… for what I said. There are more important things to worry about now. I think it’s time to let go of the resentment I’ve been harbouring.”

She nods.
“Of course I will, although if you ask me old baldy needed taking down a peg or two. He is awfully arrogant. Go on now, Mae. Go and wake the others from their slumber and be glad that you have defeated the Nix at its own game.”

“Do you really think I have?”

Sasha’s body fades further and further until I can see right through her.

“I know it,” she says.

“Until next time,” I say.

“Until next time.”

Sasha fades into vapour, leaving me alone in one of the grand corridors of the castle. I shake my head in wonder. Who knew that ghosts could exist without dying first? I wonder what other surprises there are in the world.

I make my way up to the grand hall, to where I know the large doors open out into the
garden. For some reason I am drawn to the fresh air. I long for it. Now is my chance to find out if I really have managed to break the curse. I take in a deep breath, wishing for things to go back to normal. When I have composed myself, I press my palms to the door. In a blissful, beautiful moment, they open, swinging wide and free. My heart soars as I gulp in air no longer tainted with the decaying edge of the Red Palace. Now I can hurry back to Cas and the others, wake them and tell them how I have saved them, how I went into their visions and defeated their nightmares. I’ll be their heroine.

But for now I take in the sight in front of me: the long stretching lawns, the extravagant pond, the tall fo
untain and the colourful floral borders. I hardly notice the weeds poking through the chrysanthemums, or the way the hedges are a little overgrown, I’m too enthralled by the sight of the sun and the green grass; the labyrinth of bushes at the end of the lawn.

Intrigued by the maze garden, I step up
onto the little patio overlooking the water feature. Below me, the intricate square patterns are a fluid dance of interlocking green. I let out a small laugh, ready to hop down and return to the castle. But then a sound makes my muscles clench and the hairs stand up on my arms. The smile fades from my lips as I hear the sound of the beast I had hoped to be rid of.

Click-ick-ick
.

My heart sinks. The fears were not enough.

The words float into my mind.
That’s right, craft-born. You’re not rid of me yet.

I turn, with the strength of wind at my fingertips, but the Nix shoots its par
alysing serum towards me. I dive back, twisting my body out of the way whilst tripping at the same time. I cry out as I tumble into the pond, my arms flapping and floundering. There’s a scratching and clicking noise as the Nix scuttles forward, and I find myself scrabbling back away from it.

You failed, craft-born. I wanted you for one reason o
nly, to get me the Ember Stone, but you failed.

“No,” I shout. “You failed. You were wrong. T
he king hasn’t found the diamond at all. You manipulated me into coming here for no reason. The Ember Stone doesn’t even exist,” I lie.

Which means I don’t need you at all anymore.
I don’t need this castle, or the people in it. It’s all worthless to me.

“You’re disgusting,” I spit. “You think you’re powerful, but you’re just an overgrown cockroach with a brain. You think you can rule the kingdom, but you never could. No one could take
you
seriously.”

An angry jet of serum bursts towards me and I roll from its path just in time. In an instant I’m on my feet, feeling stronger than ever, and the power of air explodes from me like a hurrica
ne, knocking the Nix backwards. I laugh as it tumbles away from me. Why was I ever scared of this creature? I have beaten its false visions, and now I will beat its body, too.

But the Nix is faster than I’d anticipated. The blast of air knocks it over for only an instant. Whilst I regain my strength,
it is scuttling towards me, its teeth gnashing.

I scramble out of the pond and take to my feet as fast as I can,
running towards the labyrinth.

You are not half as strong as you think
, it says to me.

I hate that voice. I hate
the smooth tone, the cold indifference. I hate that it is ingrained in my mind now. It will haunt my nightmares. For the rest of my life.

You should have taken my offer. You would
have been very happy with the prince, but not anymore.

“Shut up!”
As the anger builds in my body, a jet of flames burst forth from my hands.

The Nix lets out a horrifying squeal, akin to a pig being slaughtered, but it dodges my flames. Now I have no choice but to run
. However, I am stuck between the maze garden and the Nix. The space is too open to fight here. There’s nowhere to take cover from the paralysing serum. I have to enter the labyrinth.

I crouch down between the tall hedges, listening to my own breathing. I’m too loud. I must take control. The air is still and quiet, laced with a tension that precedes a storm. My best attack would be to surprise the Nix. But it is me who is surprised by all this. I had thought that my task was over. How wrong I was.

However there is hope.
Allerton was right, the Nix is afraid of fire. For the first time since it began its torment, I have managed to frighten it. I have heard it wail in pain at my own hand. Fire is a power that I have and it does not. I need to make the most of it.

Click-ick-ick-ick
.

When I hear that sound it is as though a thousand ants crawl beneath my skin. With the Nix on my trail and the sweet scent of grass in the air, for a moment I am transported back to the Waerg Woods. I’m the frightened girl grieving for her father. But I am not that girl anymore. I am strong enough to fight through the Nix’s fear visions. That means I can defeat it in battle as well. I just need to believe.

You cannot hide from me, craft-born.

Droplets of sweat form on my forehead and upper lip as I attempt to form another fireball in the palm of my hand. I inwardly swear as my most unpredictable power fails to come to me. If I cannot do this, the fight is over before it begins. I must believe. I must dig deep within myself.

Click-
icker-icker.

The Nix moves
closer as my powers weaken. What I need now is time to recuperate, to gather my thoughts and prepare myself to create fire. That’s the one thing I don’t have. But I can run deeper into the maze.

In an instant I am on my feet and twisting through the la
byrinth. The great green walls loom down at me, closing in on me. My chest tightens with panic, but I lift my shoulders and ignore it. I’ve come too far to let the Nix defeat me at the last hurdle.

Perhaps I can give myself time by tiring
the Nix. Even after everything that has happened, I am much faster than it. My body is made for running where as it is encumbered by its own size. I can force it to chase me through the maze. Then I can double back and strike, killing it once and for all. The only problem is: I don’t know the maze well enough to be able to do that. Cas showed me around when we first came to the palace, but I certainly didn’t memorise the lay out.

When more fearsome clicks sound out
, I rush forwards, no longer caring which direction I head. I trip on my heels and take a sharp left turn. It was a mistake. I’ve come to a dead end. My heart hammers against my ribs as the clicking sound comes even closer.

No, this can’t be the end.

I grasp hold of the prickly, thin branches of the hedge, pulling myself up in an impossible climb. My feet manage to find some purchase as I ram them into the centre of the hedge, breaking many of the smaller branches but managing to lift myself higher. There’s a splat sound as serum hits the hedge. I’m a finger away from the top, moving just faster than the Nix can spray me with its poison. Sweat runs into my eyes but I can’t close them. I just let my eyes burn as I pull myself over the last bit. The Nix sprays its serum at the same time, catching my left foot as I disappear over the hedge and drop to the grass below.

You cannot escape, craft-born
, the Nix taunts.

The effort of climbing has left me shaken, cut
, and bruised, not to mention the paralysis spreading from my foot. It begins with a tingling sensation, followed by numbness. I have to keep moving before the creature finds me. With shaking hands, I push myself up, but my foot is useless. Almost in tears, I fall to the ground.

Why don’t you stop this?
It taunts.
I can help you.

I cry out in pain as more images flash through my mind. Images of
Cas. This time, he is indifferent to me, angry even. As I walk the castle corridors he passes me without a second glance. He remains cold and distant, his eyes narrowed.

You were the one who lied to him, craft-born
, and he will never forgive you. Look what I can give you.

I begin to move
, dragging myself through the maze. All the time, the Nix taunts me from afar.

N
ow I am holding hands with Cas. I feel his warmth, his skin, slightly rough, not too soft, not too calloused. He smiles at me. We kiss, and I feel his lips against mine…

“No. This is not real. You cannot force someone to love me, you don’t have the power. You want me to live in one of your visions forever so you can control me like a pet.
That would be great for you, wouldn’t it? You have no real power yourself, harnessing the powers of the craft-born is perfect for you.” I shake my head. “I won’t fall—”

The next image silences me.

“Father,” I whisper.

He is waiting for me at the hut, leaning on his cane, with firewood tucked under the other arm.
A crooked smile on his face, humour in his eyes, his mouth opening to talk to me once more.

I try to shake the image from my mind. “No. It’s not real.”

It feels real.

The maze fades. I’m smaller, lighter,
swifter as I run through our garden. My craft sprinkles over our plants, bringing butterflies and Glowbugs to the flowers. Bees buzz around my head, dancing in the air. Father is in front of me and I have only a few strides to make before I can throw my arms around him…

“No,” I whisper, dragg
ing my mind out of the vision. “I can’t. I’ll never come back.”

You don’t need to, craft-born. Get me the Ember Stone
, it’s not too late. I know you can. I know it exists. I can read your mind, too, silly peasant girl. Did you forget that?

I have to believe I can do this.

I grit my teeth and drag myself along the grass. Pulling myself forward with my hands and pushing myself with my good foot. There’s no way I can give up now. If I can just find a good corner to hide and wait for the Nix. If I can develop a fireball ready to attack it with… I just need… A little further… No, ignore the paralysis. I must believe.

Green hedges everywhere: t
all and imposing. At least then I had Cas in the Waerg Woods. Even when he wasn’t with me he was looking for me, looking out for me. No one will come now. It’s just me and the Nix.

But I am still me.

Click-ick-icker-rick.

I turn
to see a jet of serum flying towards me. It comes at me so fast that it propels me up off my feet and with little warning I am thrown back against the wall of leaves. The serum traps me like a fly in a spider’s web. Tiny branches poke and scratch the nape of my neck.

I told you I would find you
, it says.

“This is not over,” I say, struggling against my transparent cage. The paralysis works fast through my body, seeping into my skin.

I beg to differ.

The Nix scuttles towards me,
its long, insect-like legs moving in unison, and its shell of a body clicking along. Its teeth clash, gnashing and drooling with saliva.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

The Nix falters. It stops in its tracks and lifts the neck of its ugly head, the green-black eyes reflecting my own image in them.
What are you talking about, craft-born?

“The deaths of your a
ncestors. Does it hurt to think of them? Does the memory keep you awake at night? I know everything. I know how you still feel what they feel—”

Silence.

Another jet of serum coats my face, blocking my airways. For an instant all is hopeless. But I don’t let myself linger on that instant. It could consume me, take me whole, but I won’t let it. I dismiss that thought as easily as one swats away a fly. I am rage. I am anger. I am fighting against my death and the death of everyone I love. I am heat spreading from my belly. I am fire.

The Nix rushes forward, but I am faster.
The ball of flames shoots from me and explodes into the Nix, knocking it over onto its back. It screeches in pain and waggles its legs uselessly into the air.

I
struggle against the hard case of the serum. My feet dangle a few feet from the floor, and my arms are trapped against my sides. I can’t breathe. It suffocates me, pulling me under as though I am drowning. But I am determined that I can escape through sheer force of will. If I can bend nature to my will, surely I can do this. I can hear the blood rushing in my ear; feel my pulse pounding in my front teeth. White spots dart in front of my eyes. Yet I will not give up. I push and shove. I wiggle and wiggle, rejecting the paralysis in my body, summoning the craft to help me. Somehow, bit by bit, the serum cracks, until it lets me free and I gulp in air.

The Nix shrieks as its flesh burns. The smell is acrid and turns my stomach.
My fireball rages on, devouring my foe. I did it. I killed, and it feels… not victorious or powerful… it feels miserable, but also… a relief.

I stand, transfixed by the sight of the flames,
but repulsed by the sickening sight. I wonder whether it would be apt to say a few words as this creature dies before me, but what is there to say? That the world will be better without it? That sounds a lot like being triumphant in the demise of a life, and somehow I don’t feel like being triumphant. I don’t think the loss of a life is something to be celebrated, not even when it is a life so ruined by hatred as the Nix.

I
nstead of letting hatred overcome me, I wobble forward into the flames and press my hand on its burning body. The flames do not hurt me because I am their creator.

“Take him
, wind,” I say.

I’m not ready to go yet.

I let out a scream as the Nix contorts its body and clamps its teeth down onto my wrist. A crunching sound rips through the crackle of the flames. The terrible realisation, the sound, the pain, the sight of those black teeth through the flames, it happens in a moment and yet time seems to slow down. It is as though that one second is frozen as I am aware that I’m losing my hand and I can do nothing about it. The crunch was my own
bone
.

My screech sounds into the empty sky
as the blood gushes from a stump. I stagger back, appalled at the loss of my hand, my eyes wide with utter terror.

I hope you enjoy my parting gift
, the Nix says.

I hardly hear. I’m too transfixed by my own injury, too appalled to move.

A huge plume of black smoke gathers above the large body of the Nix. My knees buckle beneath me and loss of blood drains the thoughts from my mind. A cloud of dizziness fogs my brain. Tendrils of black drift up into the sky like fingers. They stretch and stretch until they circle the Red Palace. Then they disappear.

My knees buckle beneath me as I fall to the ground. The flames have stopped burning. The Nix is
a burnt out husk. I have killed it. At last.

But at what cost?

*

I wake to the sound of chanting in a low, monotonous voice. A holy man’s voice. I haven’t heard the sermon of a holy man since I was in Halts-Walden, and that deep tone takes me back to the church lessons.
Celine God of Wind. Take us with your flight, Celine. Holy God of Wind. Protect our village. Keep us from harm.
I would bow my head and think of flying. I was a bird soaring over the land, watching as the fields went by.

There is a grinding noise that breaks the vision of the peaceful Halts-Walden church. It’s an almighty sound, topped off with
the great clanking of enormous gears. I want to cover my ears, but there is a throbbing in my hand that stops me.

It’s then that I realise that I am face down on the cold flagstones of a floor. The church in Halts-Walden rested atop smooth wooden floorboards made from the trees in the surrounding woods.
But of course, not the Waerg Woods. They would never build a temple from the cursed forest.

“It worked! Ellen, you are so powerful.”

I know that name. It conjures an image in my mind of a beautiful girl. I pity her but am jealous of her. When I turn my head, I see the ankles of the court members. No one seems to notice me on the floor. My right hand keeps on throbbing.

I open my mouth to ask for help when little more than a croak escape
s. Around me, the room fills with enthusiastic voices.

“The craft-born is back!”

“We have magic in the Red Palace once more!”

Ellen’s voice says, “Well, I only, I mean… it wasn’t anything special.”

“Yes it was. It was amazing.”

It comes flooding back to me.
Everything. First, I remember that my father is dead, and the grief is a tidal wave that would have knocked me from my feet had I not already been on the floor. Then I remember the curse. The sleeping bodies.
I left them in Beardsley’s office. Why are they here?

I must have gone back in time to the moment when Ellen ignited the craft within the Red Palace using my blood.
No, I think. This isn’t fair. I helped them all and none of them will know. It has all been erased, all the hard work I put in. The fight with the Nix...