Chapter Thirty-One - The Wardrobe

Sara stood, at the very edge of the balcony, and she watched.

Watched as dark clouds rolled in around the horizon, pricking at the edges of the Heartspire like waves brushing over pale sand. As rain began to fall over the perfect vastness of the ancient stone, filling the avenues with gleaming silver. As lightning started to stab at the dark spines of the first of the stormtowers, filling the dull grey sheen of the stormdrinkers with skyfire. Till the moonsilver was surrounded by their light. Moths drawn to a flame.

There she stood, frozen, as the rain reached the keep, drenching her to the skin in moments. Still, she watched. Watched the shimmering lightness of it, spilt in grey waves over the flawless roofs and walkways. She knew dimly that she was cold, but she barely felt it. It didn’t seem to matter. Just like everything else.

Dana found her first. Folded arms around her narrow shoulders, pulling her out of the rain. Back through the unmarked door, into their quarters, an empty corner where no one else would see. Just for the two of them. There, Dana dropped to her knees without a word, taking her sister into her arms, holding her raven black hair to her chest. Sara let herself be held, limp, numb, soaking. There were fresh tears on her cheeks, but she made no sound. Her breath was even, calm, her heart quiet. Still the tears came, streaming silently down her face without a sound.

‘What is it, Sara?’ Dana murmured. ‘What has happened?’

‘I… I…’

‘Hush now, little rose.’ Her sister told her softly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘She… she knows, Dana.’ Sara whispered, stammering. ‘The Queen. She knows.’

Dana pulled back, holding her by the shoulders and looking her in the face.

‘What does she know, Sara? What did you do?’

‘The door was open.’ Sara told her, staring back at her. 'The cradle door. She was there.’

‘You went in?’

Sara nodded.

‘What did she do, Sara?’

‘Nothing… but… there were… She knows!’

‘About what, Sara?’ Dana demanded, forcing her to meet her eye. ‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing… I mean…’

‘About the King?’

Sara nodded. Another tear trailed, glistening, down her cheek. Dana hesitated, frowning, then pulled her close again. Sara let her limp body be pressed into her sister’s arms. Outside, through the narrow window, the moon blinked through a veil of rain, and, somewhere below them, the orange gleam of the city bled upwards into the night sky, smoky with steaming heat and breath. The Queen stood before her, naked. Pale. Water dripped onto the tiles. Jars stacked the walls. Jars full of... She closed her eyes.

‘You knew.’

Dana blinked. ‘Knew what?’

‘Knew what she was. What she’d done.’

‘Sara-’

‘You… you said it wasn’t safe here, for people like us.’ Sara frowned, looking up at her. ‘What did you mean?’

Dana hesitated, looking away.

‘Do you think you are the first he’s shown interest in?’ She said at last, sighing. ‘People talk, sister. A maid from the kitchens. One of Lady Frindella’s brother’s daughters.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Dark hair. Pale skin. People go missing every day, in this city. What’s a few more?’

‘It’s not the same.’ Sara protested.

‘Maybe not to you. Maybe not to him. But to the Queen?’ Dana told her. ‘Think she cares what he’s told you? Whispered, when there were no ears to listen?’

‘Someone would do something. Someone would stop her!’

‘Who? She’s the Queen, Sara!’

Sara stared up at her sister a moment longer, anger filling her cheeks. Then she crumpled, back into her arms, the breath going out of her in a rush.

‘I’ve been such a fool.’ she sobbed softly. ‘What am I going to do, Dana? She knows!’

‘She hasn’t done anything, yet.’ Dana told her. ‘We’ll get a bird to father, and he’ll send Halin for you, take you back to the Westmere. I have a little coin, hidden away. We’ll get you off the Heartspire, in the meantime. A room down in the Keeper’s Circle. Warm bed, no prying eyes. You’ll be safe.’

Sara didn’t say anything. Not that she didn’t want to go back to the Westmere. Not what she really wanted. She just curled herself into her sister’s arms, and Dana lay her head on top of hers, holding her close.

‘Hush now, little rose.’ she whispered. ‘It’ll be alright.’

There they sat, alone, as the rain hissed down beyond the narrow window, and the water from Sara’s dress leaked cold onto the smooth stone of the floor. Until her tears stopped, and their memory dried on her cheeks. Then, at last, she raised her head, looking up at Dana distantly.

‘Do you remember the wardrobe, sister?’ She asked suddenly. ‘The one in mother’s chambers, back home?’

Dana hesitated, sitting back and giving her a peculiar look. ‘Of course.’

‘I always liked that room.’ Sara told her, looking towards the window again. ‘Remember we used to play ladies in it, when we were little. That wardrobe had all mother’s old gowns. We must have looked ridiculous, tiny little things all swaddled up like babes.’

Dana gave a little snort of laughter, frowning. Sara smiled.

‘The light was always lovely in that room. The way the sun came through the shutters in the afternoon, dozens of little beams of it, picking out the dust.’ She paused, lost for a moment. ‘Do you remember what you told me about the wardrobe?’

‘I… told you it was magic.’ Dana replied, lowering her eyes, embarrassed.

‘This is a magic wardrobe, Sara. It will take you wherever you want to be.’ Sara went on. ‘I can show you. Get inside and close the door. You must not open it, not unless I say. Do you understand? Yes, just like that, nice and tight. Now, where do you want to be most in all the world?’

‘You always said Uldoroth.’ Dana said sadly, looking away.

‘Uldoroth? It’s a long way. You’ll have to concentrate very hard.’ Sara continued, still looking out of the window. ‘Now, close your eyes. Concentrate. Yes, that’s right, even harder than that. Uldoroth is a long way, it could take a while. Keep trying. Remember, you must not open the door. That’ll break the spell.

‘I would sit in that wardrobe for hours. I still remember the smell; mothballs and dust. How old was I? Six? Seven?’

Dana didn’t reply.

‘I would sit there all day, if you left me long enough. Eyes all screwed up, tight as a vice, thinking about it. This place. How it would look. How it would sound. The people I’d meet here. Whether the Heartspire was as tall as in all the stories. What music would I hear, what laughter, what statues and fountains and gardens and… I knew everything about it. Right down to the last block of stone. It was all I wanted, to be here. Turns out it was quite different than I expected, in the end.

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She took a long breath.

‘Then you’d come back to get me. I didn’t concentrate hard enough, you’d tell me. I wasn’t doing it right.’ she went on, a little wistfully. ‘So I’d try again. Day after day. I suppose it kept me out of the way for a while.’

‘A childish joke.’ Dana admitted. They sat in silence for a moment, curled into the corner of the handmaids’ quarters, hidden from the world.

‘Did I ever tell you why I stopped trying?’ Sara after a while.

‘I suppose I always thought you’d figured it out.’ Dana shrugged.

Outside, the moon gleamed, and the city rumbled, whispering with rain.

‘It was summer, the last time I went in. It got so hot in that wardrobe in summer, surrounded by all that fur and lace.’ she began again, glancing at her sister. ‘But I did as you told me. Closed the door nice and tight, screwed my eyes shut, and I concentrated, just like you asked.

‘It was a long wait, that day. Longer than usual. I knew you’d come back, eventually, though. You always did. You’d open the door and I’d be back in mother’s chambers, and Uldoroth would still be a thousand leagues away. So I waited. And I waited. It was so hot I almost couldn’t bear it, but I waited. And eventually, someone did come, but it wasn’t you.’

Dana was watching her, frowning softly.

‘When I heard the door open, I was so happy I’d get to come out. But no one opened the wardrobe.’ Sara paused, taking a small breath. ‘I started to hear voices, quiet at first, then louder. Mother and Father. They were arguing. They were always arguing, before she was ill.

‘I broke your rule, then.’ Sara told her sister, almost apologetically. ‘I had to look. Just a little. Barely a crack in the door.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I’d never seen them argue like that, not before then. I thought someone must hear them and come and stop it. One of the maids. You, maybe. But no one came. They just kept getting louder. I didn’t understand what they were saying. Makers, I was young.’

Dana was sitting very still, the soft lines of her face framed pale and smooth by the light of the moon.

‘I’m not sure who hit first. But he hit the hardest. Knocked her down over the table. Made a sound like a door slamming. She tried to get up, and he hit her again. And again. And again.’ Sara paused, clenching her jaw. ‘She was crying. Begging him. But he didn’t stop. I wanted to cry out, to open the door and stop him, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be anywhere but there. It didn’t matter if it was Uldoroth, anymore. Just anywhere else. He was on top of her. Ripping at her dress. Held her down, right there, over the table.’ Sara felt oddly still. She was distantly aware that there was a fresh tear on her cheek, but the fact didn’t bother her. ‘I did nothing. I could do nothing. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.’

Dana stared back at her silently, eyes wide.

‘I couldn’t even look at him, for the longest time. Mother got ill, not long after that, and he was done with her. That made things easier, for a while. I learned to smile, to pretend, for him. Till I got old enough for him to come for me, too.’ She paused, looking at Dana. ‘Then he sent you away. I would have given anything to go with you, Dana. Anything to be away from him. When I finally came here, I thought it would be to escape. But I’m no safer here than I was there. Not yet.’

Sara took a breath. Dana was still watching her. Frozen.

‘She called me Dana, when I went to say goodbye.’ Sara said at last. ‘Maybe it’s better, that she doesn’t remember. But I do.’

‘Sara…’ Dana began, half-choked. ‘I… I didn’t know.’

‘I know.’ Sara told her, squeezing her hand. ‘I… I was so young. I thought he’d never let me go. Then when he did, I felt nothing. Nothing but empty.’

‘It’s not your fault, Sara. It’s not your fault.’ Dana held her hands, looking into her eyes. ‘It was him. Not you. It’s not who you are.’

‘And who is that, sister?’

Dana stared at her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t reply. How could she? Silence had taken hold of her. A silence of walls, of absences, of dark thoughts, carried without reproach for longer than they should be. That is a hard silence. An angry silence. A silence that trembles at openness. Their eyes were locked, caught in a moment of stasis sharper than ice, waiting for a break that would never arrive.

‘Girls.’

Sara blinked. The Matron was standing in the open doorway, all grey and creased and hunched like an old shrub. Sara watched with an odd detachment as the old woman stared back at her, dark eyes narrowed to beads.

‘Yes?’ Sara replied, lips curving into an easy smile. Dana’s eyes had not moved.

‘That shiny new Black Guard is here. Sir Aron of Stormvalley, or some such. A summons from the King, Lady Sara.’

‘Now?’

‘That’s the message.’ the Matron said, eyes unmoving. ‘The boy says his Majesty is waiting for you.’

‘I… Of course.’ Sara replied, rising to her feet, wiping the tears from her numb cheeks. She snatched up her cloak, turning to leave, but Dana grabbed her hand.

‘Don’t go, Sara.’ her sister whispered, staring at her. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘It’s alright, Dana.’ she told her quietly, smiling. Then she turned and pulled away, heading for the door. She looked back just once, as she passed through into the corridor beyond, and found her sister standing there, wordless, just where she’d left her, dark eyes wet with tears.

*

The halls of the palace were dark, that night, and full of shadows. The young guard went on ahead of her, lamp throwing out amber arcs across the pale stone. His black armour was pristine, polished almost to mirror-fineness, and the visor of his dark helm was up, revealing a pale, handsome smoothness that lacked a warrior’s blemishes. Not Sir Varos, as usual, but the King’s newest recruit, the Knight of Mirrors himself. Sir Aron of Stormvalley. Another time, Sara might have found the handsome stranger’s presence worthy of attempting conversation, but now it hardly seemed to matter. She would be safe, soon. Safe from all of them. That was enough. So she did her best to smooth her soaked hair as she went, combing it away from her face, and swallowed the little thrill of excitement rising in her chest at the thought of the King waiting for her. The Queen could not reach her, now. Or her father. Not there. Not at his side. She almost smiled.

The passageways and corridors drew past them, ancient and still as stone. Occasionally, she would catch a glimpse of the moon through an open window, bleeding silver light around the pale rock. Then the lamplight would fill the dark again, murmuring, and the handsome young warrior’s heels would click like blades against the smooth stone floor. She knew her way, by now. The Skyperch was waiting. The garden… Their garden, in the shadow of the silver tree, the tower. What did it matter why he had chosen it? All that mattered was who he had chosen to share it with. Down through the palace, out through the walls by secret ways, down through the City of the Moon beyond. Sara watched it all pass her by in the giddy blur of relief, following the metallic gleam of her escort. For his part, the young warrior said not a word, and that suited her just fine. She needed no more distractions.

When they came at last to the garden, the archway opened up before her, blinking, filled with the distant flicker of starlight. The pool shimmered, and the dead tree stirred softly over it, watched by the ancient black tower with its turret of moonsilver. The rain had stopped falling, and the clouds had moved on, leaving the grass of the Skyperch slick and gleaming. If lightning had touched the tower, it gave no sign of it, now the storm had passed. The door was still closed, scorched black around hints of silver. All was as she remembered it. As it should be. And she could see him, standing in the shadows near the ledge, looking out over the midnight light of the city below. Waiting for her.

The Knight of Mirrors stopped by the archway, and she turned to him as she went past, smiling. Sir Aron smiled back, smooth cheeks gleaming wetly, and she paid him no more mind. The grass was soft and wet beneath her feet, and the dead tree was stirring quietly. She arranged her hair again as she went, trying to smooth her dress beneath her cloak. Overhead, the moon watched her, silent, and the shadows fled away into the dark, leading her to their place. He was waiting for her, there, half-swallowed by the dark, and he turned as she approached, pale face lined with silver, heavy eyes watching her in that same way they always did. Misplaced familiarity, maybe… But no, not anymore. Now it was earned. She smiled, and her chest filled with lightness. Her feet danced across the grass. Just a few more steps, and she was safe. At the edge of the world, where only air would see. It was done. Safe, at last.

Something moved in the darkness. Behind him, out of sight. Slow footsteps, and a new figure taking shape from gloom. Sara froze.

‘Hello, little rose.’ the Queen whispered.

Sara stared. The King did not stir. The Queen smiled. Her skin gleamed, white as snow, and rubies flashed crimson at her neck.

‘I… I don’t… Please… I never…’ Sara stuttered. She stared at the King, and he stared back, unmoving.

‘Ah, you pretty fool.’ The Queen told her. ‘You look just like her. But you aren’t.’

Sara’s heart thumped in her ears. The King watched her with silent eyes, still as the grave. Something moved behind her, and she whirled about, half-blind, to find a shadow big as a wagon looming out of the grass, pale eyes swollen like broken bellows. Staring at her. Her blood went cold. The Bloodless, motionless, hard as stone, swollen veins bursting grotesquely beneath her ruined face. Shadows were moving in the garden behind her, shadows all in black, whirling across the face of the water, the silver roots of the dead tree. Crawling over the dark walls of the tower. The ruined door gleamed, silver markings catching the moonlight like fire.

‘Only death can pay for life.’ the Queen told her.

She looked at the King, pleading, gasping, but still, he did not stir. He just watched her, and the Queen smiled beside him, waiting. Behind them, the black void beyond the Skyperch churned with shadows, clawing at the edge of the stones. Sara backed away, feet scrabbling at the grass, shadows scraping at her shoulders, but something caught her wrist, lifting her away from the ground. Her shoulder screamed, and she writhed desperately, but the Bloodless bore her to the precipice, dangling from her wrist like a doll. Sara’s feet clawed at nothing, and her heart pounded in her ears, deafening her. The Queen smiled, and the King watched, and voices rose on the wind. The shadows closed in around them, whirling, singing, chanting. Shadows with shape. Shadows in masks. She screamed, but it made no sound.

An offering of blood.

The Queen touched her arm, then. Her skin was very cold, cold as ice, and the ruby pendant about her neck gleamed like blood.

‘Darkness Calls.’ she whispered.

Then the Bloodless let go of Sara’s hand, and she was falling, forever, spinning into the void.