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Chapter Twelve: Enchantments and a Kiss
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2024-10-29 19:42:56Ilyria lay sprawled against the tiles, frozen with shock. The enchantment which had sprung up around her when she first took the Princess’s hand had fallen away but her body shivered as if it were still in that cavernous space with the Princess and the eyeless man.
The music had stopped, the flautist paused with the flute a breath away from his lips, his eyes on Ilyria. His tranquil absorption had been replaced by a greedy attentiveness. He lifted his arms and Ilyria saw he wore chains on his wrists. These he rattled as he opened his mouth wide to reveal the tongueless space within. The cry that emerged was that of a wretched half-creature, a bleating, savage sound that echoed within the walls of the Princess’s chamber. Ilyria expected the guardians to rush into the room.
Then she remembered that they were forbidden from entering. Instead, she felt hands at once soft and strong dig into her shoulders and haul her up from the floor. The ascetic’s face w
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It was a moment without breath or movement except for the beating of their hearts and the soft strokes of the dress as it wound itself around Ilyria and Astrapi. The light from Astrapi’s wings glowed luminescent around them. Ilyria surrendered to the warmth of Astrapi’s mouth, to the ripple of muscles beneath his skin and the way her own skin sparked with sensation. He was just a boy and she a girl and if he had asked her then to stay with him, Ilyria would have answered yes with everything she had in her. But he didn’t and slowly awareness returned to Ilyria that they were not alone and not safe. She pulled away and Astrapi released her from his arms. His own eyes seemed to echo her own need. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither seemingly knowing where to begin. A clatter jarred them from their reverie. “The merchants,” said Ilyria. Astrapi dropped his wings and they stood surveying the scene. It was still much as they had lef
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Thassa was waiting for her outside the palace gate, as the ascetic had said. When he saw her, he seemed to sag with relief. Then he removed his hooded cloak and placed it around her shoulders. Ilyria had felt dress tiring. Now it was little more than fading rags. She wondered if it might revive with a wash and thought that perhaps with magic cloud silks, anything was possible. “Thank you,” she said, feeling terrible for him as he stood there, his scarring exposed. But neither did she look forward to walking through the streets of Idixat with her tired dress falling off her body. Even with Thassa at her side. “You have managed more than we could ever have hoped, Ilyria,” he said, “allow me to get you back to Madame Skia’s house safely.” “But I didn’t,” said Ilyria, “The Princess is enchanted.” “Yes,” said Thassa, “But you saw her. Which no one else has done in many months. Don’t talk now, we will speak with Madame Skia shortly.” Madame Skia was
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Fifteen: Between
Ilyria looked closer at the shimmering feather in Thassa’s hand. It was at once like water and like mist, pale and dark. She felt that if she looked at it long enough, it could transport her away, perhaps even to Zarmej. When she looked up, Thassa was watching her. “It is from the Lightning Bird,” he said, confirming her fear. “But you said it was from Vatra,” said Ilyria. He had made a mistake, surely? “The place of fire, Vatra, it is the home of the Lightning Bird.” “No,” she said. After all, she had seen his aerie, across the desert sands, a place of clouds and silence. Not fire. “That cannot be.” “Whatever you have seen, Ilyria, it was what he—it—wants you to see. The Lightning Bird cannot stay long here. Whenever it retreats, it is to Vatra. That is where the companions are. I am sure of it.” Ilyria grasped for a meaning but all that she could come up with was what she knew Thassa was thinking—the Lightning Bird had had a
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Ilyria looked around. The place was simultaneously confusing and familiar. She looked down at her feet. They sank into the soft mulch of her father’s garden, the one he kept around the back of the kitchen right next to the wall that separated them from the city. She felt a soft touch on the back of her hand as Astrapi leaned in to kiss her. Before he pulled away, he whispered “Don’t trust what you see, trust only what you feel,” then he spread his wings, and was away, over the kitchen wall. As she watched him, the kitchen wall before her shivered and faded, and she thought she saw beyond it to a hill on which colourful tents had been pitched with lights strung along the edges. A rich, fragrant smell drifted toward her from the hill—a familiar, intoxicating smell like a miasma. Chariko! Then Astrapi and the tents were gone and there was only the kitchen wall and the garden. Her father’s garden. He loved to work there, turning the soil, pulling out the invasive weeds,
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Thassa did his best to allow himself to be led by Ilyria. But he would stop suddenly, or abruptly turn at any noise. Once, he stumbled and pulled Ilyria down with him. Her eyes flew open as she fell, her hands bracing for the fall … … and she found herself kneeling at the door to Daria’s chambers where she was conducting a meeting. Ilryia, had been twelve and spying through the keyhole because her twelve-year old self had already begun to mistrust her mother. She knew they were talking about eliminating a competitor. “I will invite him for a drink,” her mother was saying. The merchant laughed and said, “Your drinks are a health tonic, Merchant Daria, but not a good one.” He didn’t notice that her mother was not laughing as well. Ilyria suspected he should watch his drinks too. Then the merchant had begun to walk toward the door. Feeling the same terror in her body though she tried to tell herself this was not real, Ilyria stumbled backwards again, as
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Ilyria froze. It could not be. Surely this was not her mother? The exquisite Daria Agrio? Ruin of souls. Torment of men and women. The old woman reached out a hand for the wall to steady herself. She looked up and Daria saw her eyes were pale and glassy. She seemed drugged, ill, dying even. She did not see Ilyria, or anything at all. Yet the lines of Daria’s beautiful face were still there, stark beneath the withered flesh but still recognizable. What had Dirk done to her mother? Say something, she told herself. This is your mother. But the nausea had returned, and she found herself unable to hold onto her thoughts. Something about a mother. Whose mother? My mother, this is my mother. Ilyria clutched the map to her chest as if it might still hold some of the protective magic from her father’s chambers. And maybe it did, because her head cleared a little. Her mother opened her mouth and Ilyria saw that all her pretty white teeth were gone, leaving only
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Ilyria woke to the smell of warm bread and blossoming plants, and another damp salty smell she could not recognize. She sighed and turned over. Her eyes flickered half-open as she felt Suluu’s warm body lying on his back next to her. Her hand lazily traced the contours of his smooth chest, delighting in the way his skin puckered beneath her fingers. He turned to look at her, his lips parted in a smile and his eyes hooded with his desire. “Hello,” he murmured, pulling her toward him, “You’re awake.” “I am,” she said, tracing her fingers over his lips. Then her stomach rumbled noisily, “and I am so, so, so, so hungry!” She sat up trying to recall when last she had eaten and suddenly a rush of images flooded over her. She sank her face into her hands. Astrapi, impaled. The Princess and Zlo’s blood dripping from the spines of The Shackled One. Madame Skia’s wounded body lying shrouded by the shimmering moon dust. The monster’s final moments. She looked up
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The monster reached out a nightmarish tendril, twisted and hard and riddled with fungus. The tendril scratched Ilyria under the chin as an overly familiar uncle might and she gagged on the smell of rotten animal flesh. “You don’t look like him at all,” said The Shackled One, “Lucky for you. We hated him for what he did to us.” “Us? There is more than one of you?” “Us,” said The Shackled One, and dark spikes shot out from its body, impaling the Princess and Zlo. A spike missed the Mogul only because Loulou had pushed him out of the way. They stood open-mouthed with dread and fear as the Princess and Zlo twisted and writhed on the spikes, howling in agony, their blood dripping to the ground beneath them. Thassa ran to the frozen pair and pulled them away. Think, Ilyria, what does it want? came Madame Skia’s question. Ilyria tried not to hear the howls of the Princess and her son. She looked around for Madame Skia the darkness was so com
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They all heard it making its way. The ground rumbled with its passage as the Sister Moon shone down with relentless brightness, Brother Moon no longer able to temper her cold light. And Ilyria saw her own fear reflected in the faces of her friends. Even the sirens cowered, and Madame Skia looked uncertain which was maybe the most terrifying thing of all. What could be worse than Zlo? Ilyria knew. It was the thing that Zlo feared. The thing that lived deep within his own dark tower. She looked at the Princess. The Princess knew too. Her face had turned so pale, it seemed to reflect that horrifying moonlight. Suddenly the Princess reached out one hand and the crowd of sirens parted around her as if she had sliced through them. She curled her fingers, and the Mogul was dragged through the mud toward her. He twisted and turned reaching out for Loulou. Loulou, her cheeks flushed, tried to follow but the Princess flung her away with a flick of the other hand. She lifted her summon
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Astrapi fell, Bonbon fell. Sidian, Flame and Loulou, they all fell. But it was not with the bone-rending shatter that Ilyria, Miasma and Thassa anticipated. Thassa, with his arms outstretched was surprised to find them filled with soft, warm, living, breathing Bonbon. Ilyria cried out as Astrapi landed with the thud and slap of flesh hitting floor. Likewise, the other companions, released from their marble prisons, fell to the rumbling, caving floor with cries of surprise and pain. Except for Bonbon whose tears were of joy to be in her lover’s arms. Ilyria had no time to feel bad about her inaction for the white roof and shattered walls of the reception chamber fell away as easily as if the marble had no more substance than eggshell. The smell of the garden filled the space but instead of the intoxicating perfume of earlier, it smelled as over-sweet and rotten, like over-ripe fruit. She held her hand up to her nose. The marble floor beneath their feet dissolved into the dark
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Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Palace
A woman at the back of the procession gave a long guttural howl. Every hair on Ilyria’s body stood on end. “Use the glamour,” said Miasma, “Help me, use the glamour.” “And do what?" said Ilyria, "Where do we even go?” Aerie? No then they would be too far away. They had to be in the Palace. Palace? What part of the Palace? The Princess’s chambers? The Princess’s garden? She felt for the token in her pocket already knowing it wasn’t there and that she wouldn’t use it even if she had it. The Princess, she decided, could not be trusted. Vatra? Yakip?No. They had to be here. “Make a run for it,” said Thassa, readying himself as if to do just that. The procession moved with purpose now, bearing down on them. Their fac
