“I want to cut out your tongue,” she murmurs. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“I thought that you would be pleased,” the Druid tries desperately.
“Lock him up with the rest,” Portia tells the Fae, and they move to carry out the order while the Druid loudly objects.
I expect her to round on us, but she turns to face the wall, hiding her expression from the entire room. Her back and shoulders are stiff, and her breathing is shallow and uneven. The warlock returns with the Ripple. The creature transforms into a plethora of people before settling on doubling as one of the Fae.
Portia finally breaks free from her daze and moves towards the strange shapeshifter. While wearing the Faerie’s face, the creature looks afraid. I find myself softening just a touch at the sight. It doesn’t seem to know what or who it is underneath the multitude of masks it wears.
As Portia stares at it, it shifts. To the Druid. Then
to Freddy.
Then to Opal.
The resemblance is so uncanny, Portia takes a step back and I have to look away. It’s too painful. I can hear Freddy whispering to me, but I can’t process
the words.
“You certainly are disconcerting,” Portia tells the Ripple, and her voice sounds different. “You’ll do
just fine.”
She seems almost deflated. As if the news, and her resounding reaction, have robbed her of something.
I glance around the massive chamber, taking account of the different doors. Some leading to cells, others perhaps leading to nowhere. Behind me, about fifty metres away, are large wooden doors. If Camelot did once exist here, those doors are the only reminder, the only nod to the royal and regal.
I wonder if I can make it to those doors without getting hexed by the warlock or seized by the Fae or the Ripple. The idea of running up steep steps, that no doubt await me on the other side, is worrying.
I tick over escape plans in my mind, trying to figure out how to get Murrey and I out of here unharmed. Plus any other Hidden Folk she has chained up.
“So, now what?” I call to the Siren. “If this was all an elaborate scheme to lure my aunt here, sorry to disappoint you. One of your henchmen already got rid of her.”
I spit the words, my emotions unravelling a little. I try to imagine that my anger and pain is made of thread and that I have to bind it into twine. I cannot let the whole thing disentangle and fall apart.
“Yes. So, I suppose I don’t need you anymore.”
Portia speaks with such a detached voice, such a flat and empty tone. I blink. Even Freddy and the Fae
look a little puzzled. She sounds utterly defeated.
She falls into her seat by the wall and gestures limply
to Malachi.
The warlock steps forward dutifully and before I can fully gather myself, he throws a spell at me. I only just dive out of its path.
“Stop!” yells Freddy.
“Restrain my son,” Portia tells the Fae, staring off into space the entire time.
The Ripple, still looking like Opal, glances around at all of us. Confused and constantly learning, as ever.
“Shift into someone else,” Portia tells it, a hint of fury entering her tone. “Now.”
While Freddy is dragged to the side, I back up.
Alona watches in horror as Malachi braces to cast again. He is toying with me, completely unbothered
by my presence.
He doesn’t realise that being underestimated is the key to everything for me.
These last few months, when people have had faith in me, I haven’t known what to do. My entire life has been moulded and shaped around the knowledge of being discounted. I liked being discounted some of the time. When no one had any expectations, anything that I did was a bonus.
Now? Aunt Opal knew I could do better. She told me all the time.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“You can run, I’ll give you a head start,” Malachi calls, as he builds some fire between both of his palms.
I didn’t know then what to do with Opal’s belief.
I do now.
I don’t need a head start. I do not need to run. I face down this dour, grey stranger and I wait. Everything in me is still and composed. The thread wound neatly, but not too tightly. My feelings are not in a box, they are laced within me. Placed inside of me with dignity and privacy because I don’t need to show other people my pain for it to count as real.
The blaze is thrown at me, and I release everything. I poise each muscle and ground my feet into the floor.
