A Strange Hymn
Page 30

“Perhaps if you stopped moving …” the woman says.
“I’ve been holding still for an hour. I’m not a goddamn statue.”
Another fairy intercedes. “My lady, we are terribly sorry for the inconvenience. We’re working as fast as we can.”
Ignoring the second fairy, Temper says to the first, “Prick me again and I’m smite your little pixie ass.”
The tailor working on me pats my arm. “All finished,” he whispers, letting me step off the pedestal I’ve been standing on.
“Aw, hell no,” Temper squawks when she sees I’m done. “Really? You’re done before me? How is that fair? I’m not even an important part of this Solstice shin-dig.”
“Calm down, Temper,” I say, heading over to our things. “You’ll be done soon enough, and I’ll be right here.”
“Actually, my lady,” the tailor interrupts, “the king has asked that you join him once you’re finished.”
“You are not leaving me,” Temper demands.
I shrug my shoulders, gathering my things. “King’s orders,” I say. “I can’t disobey them.” I head for the door.
“Callie—”
I slip out of the dressmaker’s shop before she can finish making her demands.
Do I feel bad running out on Temper?
Not nearly as bad as I do for the fairies that have to finish attending her. She can be a dragon when she wants to be.
Outside, a soldier waits for me. “My lady.” He bows. “I’m here to escort you to the king.”
I nearly roll my eyes. Of all the pomp.
The two of us wind our way through the palace grounds, heading to one of the towers. The soldier stops at an ornately carved wooden door that’s braced with bronze fittings.
He knocks twice on the door, then, bowing again to me, moves into formation against the hallway wall.
Silently, the door swings open, and I step inside. It’s another library—a tower library, judging by the curving walls of books. Several tables take up the center of the room, and on one is a stack of tomes, a partially painted canvas, an abandoned set of paints, and a paintbrush.
But no Night King.
I head over to the table, my footfalls echoing throughout the room.
Curious, I pick up the canvas. At first, all I make out is the curve of a waist, the indent of a bellybutton and the beginnings of a dusky nipple. But then I notice the forearm laying languorously near the corner of the painting, distinct for its rows and rows of golden scales.
I nearly drop the painting.
This is me. Naked. Sure, it doesn’t show my face, but it doesn’t need to. There’s only one person I know of who has scales on their forearm—me.
This is so obviously Des’s doing.
I take in the painting again, and, oh my god, there’s my nipple! My nipple. He’d been in the midst of painting it in when he was called away from his work.
And the fiend isn’t even here for me to confront him.
My eyes move to the pots of paints. On a whim, I grab the paintbrush and dip it into a pot containing black paint. Once I’ve coated the brush, I begin systematically blacking out the painting.
Do I feel guilty about ruining good art?
Not as guilty as I feel about walking out on Temper—which is to say, not guilty at all.
After I finish, I set the wet canvas aside, my hands now covered in smudges of black paint.
Satisfied at my own form of payback, I move on from the canvas to the stack of books. A note sits on top of the stack.
Callypso,
In case you wanted a little extra knowledge on Solstice.
—Jerome
It takes me a moment to place the name, but finally I do. Jerome was the librarian I met a week ago.
Curious about the books he pulled for me, I take the first one from the stack and set it on the table. Pulling up a chair, I open the cover.
Before I can look at the title page or the table of contents, the pages begin to flip themselves, settling on a chapter titled “Solstice.”
My eyes skim the first page, and then the next … and the next. I lose myself in the words, my curiosity about the festival only growing the more I absorb.
From what this chapter says, Solstice is a gathering of all four of the major kingdoms—Night, Day, Flora, and Fauna—which occurs on the week surrounding the longest day of the year. It’s a renewal celebration hosted in the Kingdom of Flora, and its whole purpose is to celebrate the regeneration of life. Bitter rivalries and old enmity is set aside during this week so that all four kingdoms can meet, discuss issues of the realms, and revel together.
Apparently, from a side note I found in one of the books, not attending Solstice is a pretty big taboo, hence why Malaki hounded Des so doggedly to attend.
As soon as I finish the chapter, the book snaps shut.
Alriiight.
I grab the next book in the pile, this one on the Kingdom of Flora. Like the last book, this one flips to a specific page. On it is a painting of a beautiful woman with curling, flame red hair and green eyes, vines of blood red poppies coiling up her arm.
Mara Verdana, the description beneath reads, Queen of Flora, and her consort king, the Green Man.
My eyes flick back to the image, surprise coating my features. There’s a second person in the photo?
But now that I look, there is, he just happens to blend with the green foliage in the background. Off to the Flora Queen’s side is literally a green man, his skin a soft shade of the color, his hair and beard a darker, wilder hue. His eyes sparkle with mischief.
I stare at the image for a long time. Mara Verdana is all bright, blooming colors, like a flower in its prime, and the Green Man is the thicket of shrubs and the soft downy of wild grass; he’s all the bits of plants that go overlooked and underappreciated.
These are the rulers who’ll host Solstice. The same ones who enslave humans.
The thought unsettles me greatly, particularly because these two rulers don’t look evil or unjust. Just like my father didn’t seem like a man who’d abuse his daughter.
I push the book away.
Where is Des?
I realize I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour and he still hasn’t shown up. Absently, I wind my bracelet round and round my wrist. My eyes move to the beads as a thought comes to me.
I don’t need to wait for him if I don’t want to. He has a calling card that’s particularly effective.
“Bargainer,” I call out to the empty room, “I would like to make—”
“—love?” Des’s voice is like smooth Scotch, his breath fanning against my cheek.
I look over my shoulder at him. His body is a wall of very appealing muscle, blocking out the rows of books behind us.
He leans a heavy arm against my desk, his eyes dipping to my mouth. “Because if that’s what you wish, cherub, I’d be happy to arrange that.”
He looks so thrilled to see me, his eyes twinkling. I almost feel bad for being impatient.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask, glancing around the room.
“I assumed you’d want to know more about Solstice.”
I stare at him a beat longer. “It’s sometimes uncanny how well you know me.”
“I am the Lord of Secrets.”
His eyes flick to the remaining stack of books. “Oh, you haven’t even gotten to the books with the really juicy information,” he notes.
His eyes move from the stack to his now blacked-out canvas.
He sucks in a breath. “You naughty, naughty thing,” he says, his lips curving up. He flicks his fingers, beckoning the canvas forward.