He knew me too well. I withdrew from the thought, lest I be distracted from our task, and focused instead on our surroundings.
I did not know where we were as we emerged from the fire, only that it seemed to be a series of isles with a low river trickling between them. The water was no higher than my ankle and limned by the light of the huge, golden hunter’s moon.
On each island the trees were in full blossom, the moonlight making pale the soft pinks of the petals that fluttered down in little rains and showers. Between the trees, white stones stood out like sharp teeth and claws, and they had been commandeered into tables and chairs. Adding to them, human chairs and tables were set and heaped with delicacies. And these were not plain chairs or tables, but those from royal courts, carved and inlaid, upholstered, tufted, and brocaded. As if all the wealth of the mortal world had been scattered here, and indeed, did I not see a brightly colored woven rug spread out under one tree, a wine barrel overflowing with gold jewelry under another, and an open chest spilling out pearls under a third?
The island where we emerged was treeless, the fire being the central feature. It had been the focal point of the dancers, but rising before it was a greater island still, set back across the gleaming water a little. Upon that isle, someone had carved a great statue to rival the statue of Death — and the sharpness of the features and rough edges of the work suggested it had been erected in great haste. It was a true likeness of Coppertomb with the rib crown on his head and the Wittenbrand arrow in his hand as a scepter and his lifeless stone eyes faced outward with unflinching calm.
And at the foot of that statue, a throne had been set on a narrow dais, and on that throne sat Coppertomb himself, looking down on us.
Before the dais, a smooth granite dance floor had been carved out of the stone and polished to perfection, ringed in tiny lights and garlanded at intervals with more pink flowers. Drifting petals washed across the slick surface and piled on the edges and I could not help but notice that there were smears of blood hastily wiped from the very edges of that dance floor.
It was the blood smears that made me look more closely at the scene and oh, when I did, I wished I had not.
The dancers were not Wittenbrand. That was my first observation, and whatever magic made them dance had made their feet bloody and broken, and indeed, some had bone sticking through the flesh or were so ragged that every footstep was awash in blood. I was still gagging at the sight when I turned my eyes to the musicians to see their hands were similarly worn from ill-use by those who thought them playthings and not playmates.
And hanging in the blossom-laden trees were broken mortals, ruined by the Wittenbrand and tossed aside like used handkerchiefs. How they had been used was graven on their broken bodies and rent flesh and I fought hard to remain upright as I took in the hidden horrors done to my people under this veneer of ethereal beauty.
I turned to look away from one woman whose huge staring eyes would never see life again, only to set my eyes on an enchanted server offering a platter of fruit to a horned Wittenbrand. He took an apple from her platter, bit it, and then, quick as you please, bit into her flesh and tore a bite from it, too, and all the while she stood motionless, eyes glassy as she was so used.
My heart sped. This could not be allowed to continue. This must end. Immediately.
“A weak display for a weak king,” Bluebeard said in an undertone. “Already their magic fades and their pomp is but the crowning riches of mortals. Dust and ashes and fixed forever within the bounds of time.”
I hummed agreement. “But I am far more concerned by the abuses to my people.”
“Patience wife, for we have come to end exactly that.”
I swallowed down the demand that he end it immediately. Had I not seen him make things right with Bluffroll in Pensmoore? Surely, I could trust him with this, too.
Instead, I cleared my throat. “All of this must have taken time to organize. And Coppertomb told me his Coronation Ball was to be in two days’ time. Surely, that was more than two days ago.”
“But only two in the Wittenhame.” I glanced at him and saw his tight jaw and calculating eyes as his gaze swept around us and the certainty there brought me relief.
“I know you know all things as Bramble King, but how would he know that?” I asked, meeting Bluebeard’s eyes. They twinkled at my admission that he was more than a mere man now.
“All the Wittenbrand will feel it in their bones. They are not of this world, but of another, and just as your mortal body tells you without fail when it is time to sleep and rise in your world, so their bodies do the same. It is the second night at home. And all present here know that.”
“How nice for them,” I said coolly.
He laughed but not in delight. This laugh was more an acknowledgment of all that was and it held a bitter mirth. We stepped together with that laugh, breaking the dancers apart with his inexorable strides. At first, no one seemed to notice except for the dancer he nearly trod on, but three steps in, the music stopped and a gasp tore from every throat at once.
And if there hadn’t been enough proof before that I was married to the King of the Wittenbrand, all it would take was the looks on their faces to confirm it. I’d been there once when General Thistwaite returned from conquering the barbarians in the north and Svetgin had greeted him in estate. The General had marched his great white horse right into the throne room, its hooves still bloody with the deaths of our enemies, and the gasps in the court that day had been nothing compared to the gasps of the Wittenbrand now. They were like lazy children found out by their tutor, thieving servants discovered by their lord.
They knew a conqueror when they saw one. And I knew him, too. For he was my Bluebeard, the Bramble King.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
“Ah, Coppertomb, my dulcet darling,”my husband said, startling me even as his measured pace led us through the flowing water and toward the dance floor. “You’ve put yourself out on my behalf. To have crafted so generous a Coronation Ball on such short notice must have cost you great expense in both wealth and worry. Your endeavor is noted.” He looked to me with mock admiration. “See how he has even kept my seat warm for me, wife. Has ever a manservant been so attentive or a vassal so abundant in generosity?”
Coppertomb came to his feet so suddenly that his throne fell backward, crashing into the feet of his statue with a clatter. His fist wrapped around his arrow-scepter and his mouth twisted into hatred. His face — so much younger than my husband’s — was pale beneath the rib crown he wore, but his fine mortal clothing — fit for any king — looked plain and ephemeral opposite his true king.
Bluebeard’s shadow, long and dark from where he stood before the central fire, was cast across the expanse and it shrouded our adversary so much that I could barely make out those with him.
“This is notyourcoronation ball, Arrow,” Coppertomb said in a poisonous tone.
“Is it not?” Bluebeard said, looking around in mock surprise. “And do not call me Arrow, for the title belongs to another.”
“Who inherited it?” Coppertomb spat the word “inherited” as if to remind us that Bluebeard had died at his hand.
