Sorrel would never forget the agony of learning where Gwynn had went. As she remembered it, one moment Gwynn was with them, and the next. . .
“She traded places to save me,” Princess Misha sobbed. “Please, you have to help her, that warrior took her—“
“We will,” Coppelius assured her, playing as always the part of the fairytale prince, and so perfectly. He glanced to Sorrel, his gaze soft and sympathetic. “I swear that we will.”
“Then we should go, maybe we can catch up to them—“
Coppeliuss shook his head. “I’m sorry. We need to be careful, it’s clearly a trap—“
“She’s my sister!” Sorrel found herself tearing strands of her blood-red hair free of her coronet braids. “She’s scared, she never does anything reckless like this—“
Coppelius turned away from Misha and placed his hands on Sorrel’s shoulders. “We will find her and save her, I promise we will. But we have to be smart about this. She wouldn’t want for you to risk everything just to rescue her.”
“You don’t know that!” Sorrel tried to pull away, but Coppelius held tight. “She’s not like me.”
“If I may—“ Queen Berangere of Otso stepped forward. “I thank you for your assistance in rescuing my daughter. But I am sorry to hear about your sister, Miss—“
“Marchand.” Sorrel stepped back, and Coppelius finally let go. “Sorrel Marchand.”
Queen Berangere nodded. “We will help you find your sister as best as we can. In the meantime, you are free to enjoy the hospitality of Artorias Palace. We will see what resources we can spare to her rescue. Tonight, however, we will hold a feast in your honor.”
“Thank you.” Coppelius bowed his head gracefully.
Sorrel didn’t want it. She didn’t want any of this. She wanted her sister back. Was this how she had felt all of these years, when Sorrel did something heroic and stupid and reckless? Shame washed over her. She had to find Gwynn, to tell her that she was sorry at the very least.
The Queen continued to speak, but Sorrel could not hear a single word.
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That night, she dreamed of her sister.
She’d departed the banquet early and retired to the room provided to her in the Artorias Palace. She’d flung herself into the four-posted bed and sleep instantly washed over her. But the dreams that ensued were distressing and confusing, to say the very least.
She could not remember all of it. A howling vortex of stars, her sister’s face, their hands outstretched for each other but never able to touch. Snatches of her voice, warning her—
“Don’t trust Coppelius.”
It all had her waking in a cold sweat, awash with a deep sense of dread.
Sorrel never had reason to doubt Coppelius before. She’d thought him a lost prince, an adventurer from a fairytale doing his best to be a hero. But she could not shake the doubts the dream had seeded within her. It was a common superstition, that dreams meant something. What if it was Gwynn, trying to communicate with her?
She tried to go back to sleep, turned over in the bed. But her mind raced with it. Her mother had been right, that their lives had been nothing but trouble since Coppelius had entered it. What if the Spider-Queen wasn’t the evil she’d thought, it wasn’t as if she’d harmed anyone really until Coppelius turned up.
She was haunted by Castle Fantasma and Castle Arcadia. Spider-Queens and dreamlands and haunted castles—it made her head spin, the new reality she’d found herself in. There was no climbing out or going back to the way it was before. She couldn’t just close her eyes and go back to sleep.
Instead, she slipped out into the hallway in her nightgown, holding the crystal sword.
There were no guards outside, and only the night-lights lit the hallway. Artorias Palace took on a more eerie, sinister appearance in the darkness. It only reaffirmed what Sorrel felt she had to do. She gripped the hilt of the sword so tightly that her knuckles went white and her hand shook. The carpet masked her footsteps as she approached Coppelius’s door. The lock upon it taunted her in its gilded gold.
She drew herself to her full height. She wouldn’t let her courage fail her now.
She lifted the crystal blade and called on that spark within her. The door opened itself with a click.
She was in.
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It was dark in the room. She stepped carefully and quietly, trying not to make a sound. She wasn’t entirely sure why—she was propelled by a trance woven from fear and doubt. Only for it to give way to the sight of Coppelius.
He was curled in a nest of pillows and blankets that Gwynn struggled to consider a bed. Still, the sight of him briefly took her breath away. He was beautiful, with a serene face and white hair like moonlight.
But Sorrel knew better than trust appearances.
She inhaled, slowly, as to not make a sound.
Coppelius frowned, and shifted, twisting himself beneath the heap of colorful blankets.
Now or never.
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She leapt foreword, hovering over Coppelius’s body as she held the sharp end to his throat.
His eyes flew open, and he blinked, a fog still in their depths.
“Sorrel?”
He was quick, like a snake. His hands ensnared her wrists. She struggled to move the sword back towards his throat, but he was physically stronger than her.
She’d also placed her focus in the wrong place, to grapple for the one weapon between them. Otherwise, she might have noticed him shifting beneath her before it was too late.
Sorrel cried out as she was flipped onto her back, a reverse of the situation before. Still, he didn’t try to push the sword to her throat, as she might’ve done.
He instead pried it free from her fingers and tossed it aside.
“Get off me,” Sorrel snarled.
“I will, if we can talk.” He was maddeningly calm about it.
Sorrel stopped, reading his face carefully. “How do I know you won’t lie more to me?”
“I haven’t lied to you yet.” His cheeks turned pink. “Listen, the Spider-Queen is lying to you. I don’t know what you saw or heard—but she does this, remember? She climbs into your dreams, gets inside your head. She wants to turn us against each other, and she knows that if she turns you, that she becomes all the more powerful.”
Shame came flooding in. It was as if she were truly awake now.
“What have I done?” She whispered, looking into his eyes. “Coppelius—I’m sorry—“
“Shh, it’s alright.” He rolled to the side of her, but drew her in closer. “We’re going to be alright.”
Lying there in the dark, Sorrel could only hope so. “We are going to rescue Gwynn, aren’t we?”
“We are.” He looked down at her, indigo eyes solemn. “I promise, on everything I am, I will help you rescue her.”
“I heard her, crying out for me. Telling me not to trust you,” Sorrel confessed. “I thought it was an omen.”
“Not from her.” Coppelius sighed.
“I’m so sorry.” How could she have almost hurt the boy she loved or worse? Sorrel tried not to think about it, but she could still remember the rage, the fear, the doubt. It no longer felt like her own, it was so distant even within seconds.
“I know.”
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The next morning, the crew of the East Sun met up in a guest area lounge within Artorias Palace to come up with a plan. Coppelius, to his credit, did not bring up anything that had happened with him and Sorrel the night before. He had somehow forgiven her so quickly. But Sorrel would not forgive herself.
They all sat there in silence, unsure of how to begin. It was a trap, that was as clear as day. Princess Misha had told them this. But how to retrieve Gwynn without springing the trap?
This was the dilemma. They were all deep into their thoughts when came a knock at the door.
“Come in.” Delphine reclined on her chaise.
In entered Prince Armel. He was a handsome youth, and there was something awfully familiar about him to Sorrel. She couldn’t entirely explain why. He avoided her eyes at the banquet and now. Although when their gazes did cross, he turned pink.
“Oh good, you’re all in one place, that makes this easier.” Prince Armel coughed awkwardly into his elbow. He then straightened his posture. “You have a guest.”
“We do?” Sorrel squeaked in surprise.
“Let him in, then,” Pirlipat ordered.
“I’m afraid it’s not so simple—he came in the dead of the night and requires absolute secrecy.” Prince Armel frowned apologetically. “I’m to take you to him.”
“I suppose we shouldn’t leave him waiting then.” Coppelius sighed and rose to his feet. He offered his hand to Sorrel, as if the previous night hadn’t happened. She accepted.
He smiled—it was a step forward.
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The group proceeded to follow Prince Armel down the corridors, and into another sitting room, one that had no windows or doors, although there were curtains draped over portions of the walls to simulate the appearance of windows. There was a scattering of armchairs and more outdated artisanal furniture—and sitting on one of the armchairs like it was a throne was an Annwynese nobleman.
He was young, like Versailles or Coppelius in appearance. He was about Sorrel’s height standing, she estimated—a bit tall for an Annwynese gentleman. His hair was dark as night, and there was a scattering of ruby freckles across his face and eyes like garnets. He dressed entirely in black—mourning garb, she realized.
“Coppelius Ondrina and friends, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” the nobleman drawled as Prince Armel shut the door behind them. “I’m sure you have your reasons to doubt my allegiances. But I come to you with a proposition—one that I think could suit our mutual needs.”
“What do you mean?” Coppelius sank into an armchair, while Sorrel took the armrest.
The nobleman raised a hand to his chin. “I suppose I should backtrack, make introductions. I know who all of you are—I am Lord Tristan Caliburn of the Lyonnesse territory of Annwyn. And I intend to depose the Emperor Kyudan and the Spider-Queen.”
“Wait, you do?” Coppelius and Sorrel shared a look.
“Why?” Sorrel asked.
Lord Caliburn chuckled. “I wouldn’t think you’d have much need for the reason.”
“We wouldn’t want to put another tyrant on the throne.” Coppelius looked wary.
“Ah.” Lord Caliburn nodded in approval. “I see we’re going to get along quite well. Tell me, what do you know about the Annwynese?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.” Coppelius leaned forward. “I know that our seat of power was once in Annwyn. That I’ve been on the run from your armies all my life, for the Spider-Queen commands them.”
“Do you know why they follow her orders?”
“I would assume all the reasons anyone follows anyone.” Sorrel shrugged. “A lot of people follow evil for their own reasons.”
Lord Caliburn nodded, more to himself. “That’s true. But it’s different for us.”
“What do you mean?” Akira asked.
“It was said that the Royal House of Ondrina created all of us a long time ago to serve them,” Lord Caliburn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Pretty dolls to serve them. We had to follow their orders, no matter our conscience. But don’t get any ideas—we’ve intermixed with humans and other races enough that it isn’t so much a compulsion anymore. But there is. . . a culture, I’d say. There’s still an instinct, to do so without question.”
“How awful!” Sorrel cried. It reminded her of the shadows she’d seen in Castle Arcadia and Castle Fantasma.
What other evils were lurking in the history of the House of Ondrina? Coppelius and the others certainly weren’t so sinister—but what was this family, really?
“Emperor Kyudan is a puppet of hers, since Ondrina has ceased to remember the legend that we live,” Lord Caliburn continued. “He has a brother that’s away, but he wouldn’t be much better. No, we need new leadership—and I have the resources and support to do so.”
“Sounds like you don’t need us, then.” Coppelius narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, but we do.” Lord Caliburn leaned forward. “Our problem is Versailles Ondrina. He’s the Spider-Queen’s champion, her favored enforcer. Even with the power of a witch on our side, we cannot win against him. But you—you’re his family. You’ve evaded him for centuries. At the very least, you’d be the right bait to draw him away from the scene as we take the crown.”
“Hold on, a witch?” Delphine frowned, then groaned. “Oh, you’re one of their children, aren't you?”
“Yes, I’ve been trained in the ways of my mother, the Astral Witches.” His red eyes flicked towards her, but then to Sorrel. “If we retake Annwyn, we can easily rescue your sister. All you have to do is keep Versailles occupied. One of my close friends when I served in the guard is still in it—and he’s one of the ones trusted to assist Versailles. He’s seen your sister and knows where she is.”
Sorrel’s heart leapt. She reached for Coppelius’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at her, as her eyes pleaded her case. “We have to try, Coppelius. For Gwynn.”
“For Gwynn,” he echoed, placing his hand over hers.
He turned back to Lord Caliburn. “Tell us the plan.”
Lord Caliburn smiled. “There will be a masquerade ball in the Emperor’s honor. Seems like an auspicious occasion for a coronation.”