She’d pleased the king of the wood.
Emeline grinned, happy. Her face warmed as she sang on, and her hairline beaded with cool sweat. Soon there was only one more song to sing, and then Pa would be free.
She started the last one.Hersong. The one she’d written to the tune of the Song Mage’s waltz.
“Breathing slow and steady
Sleep has settled in
I trace the pathways, midnight blue
That run beneath your skin”
When the song began, the king was clear-eyed and quiet. As she continued, though, his soft edges began to change.
Or maybe she was imagining it.
“Some spirit I have lost somewhere
I search for it in vain
Some beauty I’ve forgotten
Since you forgot my name”
By the time she finished the second verse, the king’s eyes had narrowed to slits and his bark-like hands curled into claws.
Fear nipped at her.
The king is getting increasingly unstable,Hawthorne had said.I’m worried about what he’ ll do tonight …
As she waded into the third verse, the king rose to his feet, his face full of fire. The moths clothing him opened and closed their wings erratically. Some flew off and darted into the shadows.
“You dare defy meagain,singer?” His voice was harsh, like the caw of a crow.
A chill swept through Emeline.
“I rewrote it,” she explained, backing up as he stalked like a wolf towards her. “There were pages missing. I wouldn’t be able to sing it otherwise.”
“Seize her.”
“But I—”
Hands clamped down on her arms.
“You have greatly displeased me, Emeline Lark.” The king stood over her, the smell of him enveloping her like dirt and rot. Like he was decaying from the inside out. “I asked for my Mage’s songs.Notyours. You think your music, your talent, could possibly compare tohis?”
Her throat stung at the insult. It was nothing she hadn’t heard before—her songs weren’t good enough;shewasn’t good enough—but it still hurt. It always hurt.
His black gaze fixed on her like a viper waiting to strike. “As punishment for your defiance, you will be executed. Tonight.”
Emeline’s blood turned to ice.“What?”
At the edge of her vision, she saw movement in the crowd of courtiers. She looked for Pa, but the crowd was blocked by a row of hedgemen moving into formation, trapping Emeline inside the clearing.
When she turned back to the king, she found instead the biggest, burliest man she’d ever seen stepping into the circle with her. He wore the same helmet and livery as the other hedgemen, but instead of a spear, his hand gripped a massive cleaver. Moonlight glinted off the blade.
Emeline’s palms grew damp.
