Rook and Shadow (Salarian Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Long ago, fairies lived in the Weeping Mountains. The salt they used for their magic ran down the mountains as the snow melted. The salt poisoned the land, killing every green thing and ruining the water. When the fairies left the mountains, they created an enchanted snow to heal the land. The people gave the land a new name. Salaria: the Kingdom of Salt.

  Plot Summary by Queen Ingrid

  I left my dressing room to watch the opera from backstage. The audience knew the story of the fairy snow, so Sir Quill had taken a lot of poetic license with the lyrics. Mostly the queen fairy sang about how beautiful the land had been before her salt poisoned it and how difficult it was to leave her beloved home. The ballerinas danced around her, agreeing without saying a word. I looked up into the royal box. Still no sign of Divinia. There was plenty of time for me to sneak up and say hello to Sir Gilbert, but Mother would be furious if I left the backstage area.

  I stepped back from the curtain and stumbled onto the invisible platform. I pulled the bracelets off to reset them and fell back to the floor.

  The opera continued.

  I turned back to my room and stumbled into a stage hand. Her ring dug into my arm. It flashed silver in the low light as she hurried away without a word.

  I watched her go and noticed the other stage hands. Black clad figures moved in the dark backstage with ease. They ran around, climbing ropes, pulling curtains, and running the show from the darkness.

  I stepped into my dressing room and blinked. It was far too bright. I waited for my eyes to adjust, but they didn’t. I snapped my fingers to dim the lamps.

  Nothing happened.

  It really was annoying, not being able to work magic. These enchanted lamps obeyed magical commands, but the hand gestures never worked for me, no matter how much I read and practiced.

  I turned a knob on the side to dim the lamps to a reasonable brightness and sat. The stage hand’s ring had left a red mark on my arm. I rubbed the sore spot and hummed along with the music to warm up my voice. The audience applauded as the first song ended.

  I picked up my mask and traced the lines of the lace. Mother had planned a masquerade for the after party when the plot of the opera had featured me as a shepherdess in disguise. The silver lace was coated with salt. It hardly covered any of my face. But that didn’t matter. No one else would be wearing a salt shaker dress. I would hardly be in disguise.

  I leaned my head back and fell asleep. The noise of the door opening woke me some time later.

  Lady Alma entered my room and turned up the lamps. I blinked in the sudden brightness.

  “What in the world happened to your arm?”

  “I bumped into someone.”

  She pulled something from her sleeve and rubbed it on my arm. The mark disappeared.

  “A bracelet on each wrist!” she said.

  I moved the bracelet and followed her to the stage. The entire chorus of green clad fairies sang a spell to create snow. Dancers in blue swirled around them as the enchantment grew stronger. The lights dimmed, and I walked onstage. The musicians stopped playing. My footsteps echoed through the hall. The entire audience held its breath.

  The lights came back on, and I found myself surrounded by white. I couldn’t see my parents and Sir Gilbert. I couldn’t tell if Divinia had come. I couldn’t even see the dancers I knew were standing next to me. Had the stage lights always been that bright?

  The orchestra played, and I danced. I knew the moves well enough that I didn’t need to see to perform them. I heard shuffling as everyone leaned forward and gasps as I rose above the stage. The dancers should be offstage now. I couldn’t see the stage floor in the brightness, but I felt every eye on me.

  My diamond rays spread out across the stage, and my skirt expanded to a full circle. I stood in the middle, at the top of the stage, took a few deep breaths, and sang. Enchantment swept over the crowd. Music echoed through the theater. There were no clinking dinner forks. No scratching quills. I had everyone’s full attention. My voice rang through the opera house.

  I began my final note and took a step forward to descend. The invisible platform collapsed. My feet landed on another platform a few inches below. I waved my arms until I caught my balance and glanced backstage. Lady Alma stood somewhere in the darkness. What should I do?

  Keep singing, for one thing. I caught my breath, sang my final note again, and took baby steps down the invisible staircase. Halfway down, I stepped into nothing. My song became a scream as I fell towards the stage. The diamonds wrapped around me and pulled me back to an upright position. They slowed my descent but did not stop it. My right ankle hit the stage. Something cracked, and I collapsed to the floor.

  Diamonds scattered across the stage and into the orchestra pit. Someone closed the curtain as the audience burst into applause. Lady Alma ran out to me.

  “They will riot if we don’t open the curtain,” she whispered. “Can you stand?”

  I tried and bit back a scream when I put weight on my ankle. Lady Alma wrapped my arm around her shoulder and propped me up. The curtain opened, and the audience stood and cheered for me.

  Mother ran onto the stage and bowed until the curtains closed.

  “Really, Alma, trying to steal the spotlight,” she said.

  Then the curtains opened again, and she resumed her bowing.

  The audience wanted more. An encore. Another song. Another dance.

  We had prepared several, of course, but my whole leg throbbed. Pain shot through my ankle when I put weight on it. I leaned against Lady Alma and waved. Finally the curtains closed and didn’t open again. Mother slipped between them to the front of the stage to continue bowing and invite the audience to the masquerade in the gardens.

  “Bring a chair!” Lady Alma said.

  Singers and stage hands brought chairs from backstage. I eased into one and propped my foot up on another. Lady Alma snapped my boots off, and I groaned. My ankle had swollen to three times the normal size and turned purple.

  “I’ll fetch a doctor,” the lead soprano said.

  “No need,” said Lady Alma.

  She pulled a flat silver disk from somewhere in her dress and sprinkled it with salt from a crystal vial. She fastened it around my neck, and silver swirls of magic cascaded over my leg. The pain stopped, the skin’s color returned to normal, and the swelling lessened.

  Mother slipped back through the curtain. Behind it, applause gave way to general commotion as everyone scrambled to find their way to the garden for the party.

  “How dare you rewrite the scene without my permission? Improvising in this carefully planned masterpiece? Do you know how many times I revised?”

  “I fell.”

  “The fairy snow crashing to earth like a rock! And changing the notes of your song! I have never been so insulted.”

  Lady Alma sighed.

  “Our sincerest apologies, Queen Ingrid, but the audience loved it nonetheless. Go on to the party, we’ll join you shortly.”

  “And find a way to ruin it, no doubt. Come help me change, Alma. I can’t stand this green dress another moment. The whole chorus looked dreadful in those green gowns.”

  “Just because Divinia did not come-”

  “Don’t speak her name! I declare from this day forth the name Divinia and the color green are banished from Salaria!”

  Lady Alma looked at me.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Stay here and leave the charm on until I come back.”

  Mother had already gone. Lady Alma hurried after her.

  I glanced around the empty stage. Everyone had rushed away to the garden to prepare for the masquerade. I put weight on my ankle. The pain had disappeared. I took a few steps, testing it, and picked up my boots.

  I was supposed to go out and address the crowd now, but how could I after ruining the opera? Why didn't I stay in the air when I realized the charm was failing? They could have brought me down with a ladder after the curtains closed.

  I felt so stupi
d.

  I wandered around the empty theater and found myself in the chorus dressing room. Props and costumes draped over chairs and tables. I found a spare charm on a table and tapped it.

  A red dress wrapped around me. The skirt fell just past my knees. One of the ballerina costumes! A pair of brown leather ballet slippers appeared on my feet, and my white boots vanished. I stared at my ankle. No trace of the injury remained. I glanced in a mirror and jumped at my reflection. The charm had given me a long blond wig. I looked just like a member of the chorus! My bracelets glittered as I twirled around, imitating the dance moves from the first act.

  I wandered back to my dressing room. No sign of Lady Alma. I tied the silver lace mask around my head and looked in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. The charm had sent my white saltshaker dress and boots to the wardrobe in the corner. The hat sat upside down, filled with the diamonds.

  I slipped the silver bracelets onto my right arm and stared in the mirror

  Sometime tonight, I would address Salaria as heir to the throne.

  But did it have to be right now?

  I slipped out the back door and into the garden.

  I hardly dared to breathe as I entered the bustle of the party, expecting each person to stop and shout, “I’ve found her!”

  But no one did. One by one, people passed by me. I stood still, savoring the experience. The ballerinas and chorus members still wore their costumes. I blended into the sea of blond hair and red silk.

  “May I have this dance?”

  I turned and froze. Sir Inkling smiled at me and held out his hand. I shook my head. He had written so many odes to my enchanted voice, he would recognize me if I answered out loud.

  “If you can dance on the stage, you can dance in the garden,” he said. He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the dance floor at the center of the party.

  I resisted as quietly as possible, pushing him away. If I made a scene or spoke a word, I would be discovered. The poet ignored me and pulled me behind him. My ankle buckled, and I grimaced in pain until the charm provided relief. Sir Inkling caught me as I fell and pulled me close.

  “Tipsy?” he asked, smiling.

  I found myself staring up his nose again. I closed my eyes and turned my head. The mask hid my face, but not very well.

  Sir Inkling pulled me closer and closer to the dance floor. Were they always lit so brightly? Ladies’ gems sparkled as their partners twirled them. Courtiers stood on raised platforms watching. Mask or not, someone would recognize me by the way I moved.

  “I do not wish to dance,” I whispered, trying to disguise my voice.

  What scandal would there be if Princess Salara was caught attending her own party disguised as a ballerina? On the evening she came of age and was pronounced heir? Plus I had already ruined the opera. My face burned red. No wonder they didn’t take me seriously.

  I tried to push his hand off my waist, but Sir Inkling was stronger than he looked. Lights from the shimmering marble dance floor blinded me. We stood on the edge. I leaned back and pushed against his chest as he pulled me forward.

  “I believe your partner has had enough dancing for one night,” a voice behind me said.

  Sir Inkling stopped. We both turned. A dark haired courtier about my own age smiled at us. His black mask covered most of his face and matched his gloves and clothes.

  “It is an honor to dance with a poet,” Sir Inkling said.

  “And an honor to take refreshments with a nobleman. Let the lady choose which honor will be hers.”

  I glanced at the refreshment table. Crowded, but not as well lit as the dance floor. I shook my arm out of Sir Inkling’s grip and accepted the courtier’s hand. I smiled at him, hoping that was thanks enough to be polite. He did not look familiar, but my voice could still give me away.

  Sir Inkling bowed and stalked off in search of another partner.

  Chapter 7

  I examined the interrupter. Behind his mask, dark eyes reflected the bright lights of the dance floor. He took my hand and led me to the refreshment table. I accepted the glass of punch he offered and sipped it in silence. He did the same. The silence should have been awkward, but somehow it felt comfortable.

  Sir Gilbert approached the table. I wanted to speak to him, but what would he think of me in this state? I turned to my companion. He also had noticed Sir Gilbert and stared at him.

  “He is from the Colonial Delegation,” I whispered, trying to make my voice sound raspy. “His skin is tanned from sailing.”

  “I know who he is.”

  But he did not know me, thank goodness.

  “Thank you for earlier. I did not wish to cause a scene.”

  “Poets are idiots.”

  I nearly spit punch out my nose. I swallowed and regained my composure.

  “You dare to criticize the Queen’s favorites so freely?”

  “Why not? You agree with me.”

  I laughed.

  “What is your name? I must have seen you somewhere in the palace before,” I asked.

  “Excuse me.”

  He grabbed a handful of boiled eggs with my portrait on them from the table, tucked them into his sleeve, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Behind me, Sir Gilbert moved nearer. I ducked my head and examined an egg. It featured a close up portrait of me surrounded by gems, flowers, and salt crystals. My nose was crooked.

  I reached to put the egg back, and my hand brushed against someone’s skin.

  I raised my head to apologize and found myself face to face with Sir Gilbert.

  We stared at each other. He searched my face as if trying to remember why he should know me.

  I didn’t dare talk to him surrounded by so many people. I grabbed a glass of the nearest drink and limped away. He did not follow. I made it to the edge of the garden and stood alone in the moonlight. An ocean breeze stole the warmth from my body.

  The edges of the garden were empty and dimly lit. I walked into the darkness and stared over the wall at the moon’s reflection on the sea.

  This night seemed to be the fulfillment of a wish I had never found the courage to make. For one night, I was free.

  I stared back at the light. The dazzling crowd swirled around the dance floor. I should join them. I should be the center. But I couldn’t quite do it yet. I wandered back through the grove of evenly spaced trees, watching everything. Servants ran behind the scenes like stage hands, bringing food and drinks and taking empty plates. Everyone whispered when Mother arrived dressed in a gown of white lace trimmed in blue. In certain light, the blue looked green. She must have had Lady Alma change the color. Sir Gilbert spoke with her for a moment then walked to the theater. Was he looking for me?

  I walked towards the theater and passed the dark clothed courtier. I hesitated. He had saved me from Sir Inkling. I should at least learn his name. I could grant him a favor as thanks. Perhaps a place at the next portrait sitting. It wouldn’t take long. I could find Sir Gilbert afterward.

  I turned and followed the courtier. He slipped behind a bush in the corner of the garden. I followed and descended the dark staircase I found on the other side. Flickering light grew stronger the lower I went. Where was he going?

  A smoky haze enveloped me as I reached the bottom of the stairs. My eyes watered, blurring my vision. Servants rushed past me carrying overflowing trays of food. A huge fire filled a corner of the room. The light from it glinted off knives wielded by muscular servants carving meat. Red faced lads threw logs into the fire. Chefs used large bronze charms to adjust the heat to suit what they were cooking. I had read about charms like this, but never seen them. I stood for a moment watching their technique. It was a simple motion. I mimicked it, trying to dim the fire in a lantern.

  The fire flickered as bright as ever.

  The dark clothed courtier was not in the room.

  I had no idea where the door at the end of the kitchen might lead, but I followed it anyway and found myself in an art studio. Painters co
pied famous portraits of me onto cakes and boiled eggs. I recognized Lacquer, the red haired painter from my latest portrait session. Were unskilled painters banished to the kitchen, then? Other artists sculpted bits of sugar into replicas of my shoes, clothes and even hairstyles. I grimaced at the butterfly chignon. Servants examined each finished work and put them in baskets.

  I ran to the doorway across the room, keeping my head down. It would be foolish to linger in a room filled with my portraits.

  Still no courtier.

  The rooms grew calmer and calmer the farther I went. Some were empty. Some held piles of food. A few servants gave me strange looks, but most were too busy to care that a dancer had lost her way in the kitchens.

  The heat from fires and the weight of the wig made me sweat. I passed a door with a cool breeze blowing through it and hurried inside.

  Or should I say outside? I entered a small garden filled with rows of ugly plants without flowers or even ornamental leaves. Were unskilled gardeners banished to the kitchens as well? At least the plants smelled nice. A short wall separated the outer edge of the garden from the seaside wall. I stood for a moment, grateful for the cool air. A small fountain bubbled in the center. I sat on it and scooped up water with my hands. My ankle tingled as I took weight off it, but the pain did not return. Moonlight sparkled in the fountain.

  How would I explain my presence here if a servant came? I found a corner of the garden hidden by a plant with giant bushy leaves and sat underneath it. I just needed a few more moments to catch my breath before I returned. Surely they had missed me by now. If I could find Lady Alma, she would help me make an excuse for my absence.

  I heard a rustling in the leaves and turned my head. A pair of dark, shining eyes stared at me from under the bush.

  I gasped, and a gloved hand shot out from behind the leaves and covered my mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” someone whispered. The hand released me.

  I sat still for a moment catching my breath. The eyes belonged to a face in a black mask. His dark clothes blended with the plants, making it difficult to see him. Only the whites of his eyes and thin rim of pale skin surrounding them were visible as they reflected the moonlight. Even his eyelashes disappeared in the darkness.