Chapter Sixteen
Pasiphae did her best to clean up the blood on her face, using the scrap of fabric she had torn from her dress. She suspected there were probably still stains lurking at her chin, so she stared at her feet as she made her way back to Seth's palace, keeping her head inclined away from the watching fae.
By the time Pasiphae had slipped back through the glass doors and into her set of rooms, her heartbeat had calmed, though her horror at what she had done was just as thick and viscous. She couldn't wipe away her guilt like she wiped away the blood.
So when two hands dropped over her shoulders, she almost jumped out of her skin.
"Careful, careful!" Charlize shouted, darting back as Pasiphae brandished the knife.
Breathing hard, Pasiphae hastily stashed away her weapon, but Charlize had already seen the red tint on the metal.
"Sorry, you scared me."
"Clearly," Charlize said. She eyed the pocket that Pasiphae had shoved her hand in, then peered at Pasiphae's face closely. "By Callistra, what happened to you?"
"Nothing, I just ran into some trouble," Pasiphae said. She was barely audible to herself over the sound of blood rushing in her eardrums.
Charlize crinkled her button nose. Wordlessly, she lead Pasiphae across the room, and sat her in front of the vanity mirror.
"Really?"
It was worse than she thought. Pasiphae's entire right eye had swollen up after that graze with the floor. She had thought her vision was acting up because of the blood dripping into it, but there was in fact a killer gouge that ran along the length of her eyebrow to her cheek.
"You're supposed to be presented to the Court tonight," Charlize tutted. "Now don't scream—you brought this onto yourself."
Pasiphae was about to ask why she would scream, but then Charlize was placing two fingers on her injured forehead. Despite the warning, a noise tore from her throat on its accord when agony shot through the entire length of her body. It only lasted for a fraction of a moment, but it felt as if the faery had inserted a large needle into her bloodstream, and now the needle was trying to work its way out.
When the pain eased, however, Pasiphae's face had returned to normal. She looked like she had never been injured in the first place.
She almost laughed. She had held back from screaming until the very end of Morgana's attempt to torture her, and here she was, shrieking with one spritz of low faery magic.
"Better?" Charlize asked.
Pasiphae nodded. "What is this about tonight?"
At the question, Charlize pointed to the wall, where she had hung up several gowns made with fabrics of the brightest colours Pasiphae had ever seen. She almost had to squint just to look directly at the yellow one.
"Pick a dress. I'll go fetch the cosmetics."
Charlize turned on her heel and left, humming under her breath. Pasiphae remained seated, staring numbly into her reflection. She still had a spot of blood smeared along her neck.
"You will remember," she whispered. It felt like a promise when she was speaking aloud. Through the mirror, she could almost fool herself into thinking that it was Circe talking to her instead, reassuring her.
"If you are to live with yourself, you will not make excuses."
Pasiphae stood up then, breaking eye contact with her own reflection. She walked over to the wall, pausing for a short second, before her hands closed around a dress at the very back, the only one that she thought appropriate to wear.
"You are a killer, but you will not become Arche. You did what you did. Take responsibility for it."
She felt her bones harden to steel, she felt her soft breath turn toxic. Clutched between her fingers, there lay crumpled a dress of deep red, the very colour of the blood she had spilled.
***
As Circe dropped her chain into a bowl of water, she wondered if she needed to tell her sister about Rhoden's vision. She wondered if it was worth worrying over, or if it would one day turn out to be a detail so insignificant that when it played out and passed, they would laugh about it for years to come.
And though Circe hadn't yet figured out how being stabbed in the heart could possibly turn out to be insignificant, she pushed it to the back of her mind, pushed it until the thought of it wouldn't show on her face. The last thing Pasiphae needed was to become convinced that she would be the downfall of her own sister one day.
The ceramic bowl trembled suddenly, signalling a connection on the other end. Frantically, Circe found a hair band, pulling her new short tufts into a ponytail to hide the length. Just as Pasiphae appeared through the rippling water, Circe was slicking back the loose strands around her face.
"Has Medeis erupted in flames since my departure?" Pasiphae opened with.
Circe leaned over the bowl, frowning. "Not even funny, Saf. How's Airesi?"
"In flames, actually."
Strangely, Pasiphae kept looking up while she talked, splitting her focus on something other than the bowl of water on her end. It was hard to decipher background images through the connection, but Circe managed to catch a flash of delicate, feminine hands, and realised there was someone else in the room with her sister.
A few murmured words were exchanged, too soft for Circe to discern, before her sister turned her attention back to the water.
"Don't worry, the flames are for disposing the dead victims of the Mors," Pasiphae continued. "The Seelie Queen has yet to be seen and the disease continues while Seth runs background checks on every member of the Court. The alliance, however, is still holding strong. We've yet to be shot down by a noble."
Circe thought it to be a little strange that her sister was calling it the Mors instead of the Somnus now, but she supposed it made sense. Though it was the same disease, the Mors targeted the fae and the Somnus targeted the witches: at this point, all the witches had already awoken.
"That's good," Circe breathed. Everything hinged on the success of their witch-Seelie alliance, including their plans of annexing the Isles. But before she felt safe telling her sister about their plans: "Saf, just wondering, but who's in the room with you?"
"Oh," Pasiphae said. The display in the water changed as she moved the chain around. An unfamiliar face appeared, flashing a quick smile while braiding Pasiphae's hair. "This is Charlize."
Circe eyed Charlize with some hesitation. The brightly dressed faery girl looked young and innocent, but so too did all good traitors.
"You can go ahead," Pasiphae said, noting the hesitation across the connection. She craned her head up at Charlize. "Are you a spy, Charlize?"
Charlize wrinkled her nose distastefully. "I am very loyal to this cause, thank you very much."
The faery seemed trustworthy enough, Circe decided. She brought the bowl close to her face again.
"We're low on options, Saf," she began. "The problem with Medeis is that our offensive forces are even worst than our defence. If we couldn't protect ourselves against incoming fae, where are we going to find the manpower to invade the humans?"
Pasiphae grimaced. "Recruitment across the seven sectors, perhaps?"
Circe shook her head. "I did some asking already," she said. "It won't go down well."
It wasn't a secret anymore that war was coming. Most witches were more focused on defence efforts; they would rather build bunkers and experiment with electricity in case Evara's forces eventually washed ashore than participate in a campaign for the Isles.
Circe understood. For the common civilian, it would be stupid not to focus on becoming stronger at home. It would be stupid to waste time meddling with situations outside their borders when victory was uncertain.
But Circe wasn't a common civilian anymore. It wasn't enough for her to simply protect her own household, she had a duty to protect the longevity of Callistra too.
"We need fae," she said.
Through the water, Pasiphae's mouth dropped open, before promptly closing again. "Come again?"
"Fae," Circe repeated. "There is no magic in the Isles, not for us anyway. If we are to engage in battle against desperate humans who may have held onto archaic weapons, I doubt we will win."
"No, I do understand why you are asking for fae," Pasiphae assured. "But—" she hesitated, chewing on her lower lip, "Kee, it won't be possible at all. We have enough scheming to do as it is actually rebelling against the throne. We don't have the means to send soldiers out. We barely have the means to turn soldiers to our own cause."
Circe sat back in her seat. Though she had hoped otherwise, she had expected this answer.
"I'll think of something else," she sighed.
***
Hours after Pasiphae had disconnected with her sister, following her deliverance of the disappointing news, Charlize was at last finished fiddling with Pasiphae's hair. She stepped back, frowning thoughtfully at the set-up.
Pasiphae could barely keep her head level—the new headdress was that heavy.
"What is this made of?" she asked, reaching up to touch the curved design. "Lead?"
"Gold," Charlize replied. Her frown deepened. "Are you sure you want to wear that dress? It makes you look extremely pale."
Pasiphae brushed her fingers along her bare shoulders. "No matter."
Charlize wasn't having it. "Seth's skin tone is far darker than yours. You don't want to look too different—"
"Charlize," Pasiphae interrupted. "I'm sure it will be fine."
"Right, well," Charlize peered through the glass doors, locating the position of the sun in the sky. "It's almost time. I'll go see where His Highness is."
It took Pasiphae a delayed moment to realise that Charlize was referring to Seth, and she wasn't being sarcastic.
"Oh, sure," she said when it looked like the faery guard was waiting for her dismissal. "Thank you, by the way, for helping with this." Pasiphae gestured vaguely at the giant shape of her hair.
Charlize grinned. "No problem."
With a bob of her head, she made her exit, leaving the paper doors wide open so warm light curled into the room. Though it should have been sunset, the sun was rather hovering above the horizon, brushing the land in long, sweeping strokes before it would soon lift up again to brightly light the night. It was only during this time of the eternal day that the shadows grew long and lingering, at last allowing the bright colours of Airesi to rest as muted, red-hot tones.
Pasiphae sighed wistfully. Reaching past the bowl of water that she had been speaking into earlier, she ran her fingers along the necklaces scattered at the table—strings of jewels and pearls all at her disposal, all glimmering under the carmine light. It was really too much. She grasped at two of the chains, both embedded with a silver gem that glared back with a mind of its own. She could hardly tell the difference between the two jewels, yet she was certain there was probably something unique about each detail that she was simply not seeing.
Pasiphae held up the two chains to her face, looking into the mirror.
She jumped when she caught sight of another figure lurking in the corner of the reflection.
"Relax," Seth laughed, moving out of the shadows. "It's just me."
He had changed his clothes. Instead of a simple dress shirt, he wore a black suit jacket, lined with the exact red of her dress. She wondered when exactly Charlize had reported her clothing choices, since she had only just left.
"How long have you been standing there?" Pasiphae demanded, pivoting around at the waist so she was looking at him and not his reflection.
"Not long enough to make it weird." Seth strode over, plucking one of the necklaces out of her hand. "Are you ready?"
Pasiphae frowned, keeping still as Seth fixed the silver chain around her neck. His fingers were cool as they moved along her skin. "Exactly what am I readying for?"
"Nothing much is supposed to happen tonight," Seth replied. He adjusted the necklace, clearly not liking its fit by his grimace. "A conversation with the King Consort, at the very most. It's going to be tense while we figure out what he's up to and he tries to figure out what we're playing at, but I'm not expecting trouble."
Seth unhooked the necklace, then picked up another that bore an emerald eye. "The trouble lies mostly with the formal approval tomorrow, given that the nobles may try to make a fuss. If—no, when—the formal rites do go through, I am told magic-fuelled fires will be lit in every village across the kingdom of Airesi. Only when they all naturally extinguish can we formally pretend to marry in a ceremony alike to the ones that humans used to engage in."
Pasiphae quirked an eyebrow. "Why must we wait until the fires go out?"
Those fuelled with magic could take an entire moon cycle to extinguish. She could be here for weeks.
"Apparently it is a royal tradition," Seth muttered, "one that I am newly hearing about. Its intention is to be an old magic conduct, wherein those without true intentions will be driven crazy by the slow and steady snuffing of the flames."
Pasiphae scoffed.
Seth nodded in agreement, amused. "My thoughts exactly."
If that was truly all there was to the ceremony, then there was little that Pasiphae actually had to engage in. Attend a banquet and wait around? She could manage that in her sleep. Her role in Khotadi had been far more difficult.
The problem was that Pasiphae didn't handle inactivity well: she needed to be moving, acting, plotting. If there weren't any jobs occupying her time, her mind would wander towards other plans of rally, and that meant she would soon have to decide if she wanted to continue eliminating the knights of each village in her attempt to turn the tide of the throne.
Don't think about that now, she told herself. Worry about it when the time comes. Then, because telling herself not to worry hardly stopped herself from worrying, her gaze darted to Seth in the reflection, and to the blood red colour of her dress.
Should she tell him? Later, she decided.
"How is this?"
It took Pasiphae a while to realise that Seth was referring to the necklace.
"Fine," she answered. "As long as it doesn't drug me, I'm happy with any selection."
"What low standards," Seth remarked.
"I am here with you, after all."
Seth gasped, feigning shock and horror as Pasiphae cackled. They both knew the irony in her statement: in reality, she couldn't possibly have aimed any higher that the Crown Prince of Airesi.
"My feelings," he pretended to sob. "Shattered beyond repair—"
A knock on the door frame interrupted his melodrama. Clearing his throat for their attention, a man dressed in fine robes peered in, his smile bright. His nobility radiated off of him, simply in the way he managed an expression simultaneously conveying both respect and disdain for the prince.
"I must apologise for the interruption, Your Highness," the faery said. "It would be an honour to lead you into the grand hall now."
His baritone voice was such a smooth drawl that Pasiphae almost thought he had the accent of Medeis, until she listened harder and noticed his consonants were just as sharp as the other fae, only slowed down to apply the pretence of eloquence.
"Of course," Seth replied. He held an arm out, prompting Pasiphae to stand and take it.
With that, the noble faery was forced to acknowledge Pasiphae's presence. A smile was fixed to his mouth, but a wariness set into his eyes.
"Is this your bride?" he asked pleasantly.
"Who else would I be, the handmaiden?" Pasiphae snarked before Seth could answer. She didn't know if him saying the necessary yes would have counted as a lie, but if he had choked on the answer, their ruse in Airesi would have been over before it began.
The noble frowned at her aggression. Fortunately, since she was the savage witch from the middle lands, he only inclined his head and gestured for them to follow him, brushing it off.
They stepped out of the rooms, entering the open area within the horseshoe shape of the palace. The twinkling golden pools had turned into the colour of crimson syrup. Pasiphae could feel the heat of the low sun pressing against her back.
"Well," Seth said quietly as they crossed the stone bridge, holding back the laughter in his tone so the noble faery ahead wouldn't hear him, "I see nothing has changed."
Pasiphae winked at him. "I'll always be your liar."