Deep is the fen, p.23
Deep Is the Fen, page 23
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THE GREAT HALL IS as solemn and ostentatious as it was last night—more so, even, with torches burning in sconces on the walls, throwing light around to create leaping, sinister shadows and causing the wall of toadstones to glitter, like hundreds of thousands of watching eyes. Toadmen fill the wooden benches, robed and masked. Most of the hall is filled with garden-variety Toads—their masks brown and simple under frilly white bonnets, with more frills on the white sleeves under their black broadcloth vestments.
At the front sit two rows of Toads with silver masks, like the one Mr. Gray and the other VIP Toads were wearing at the ball last night. Their robes are simple—somber and black, with no frills or bonnets or bows. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can see that each of them has one toad eye, yellowy brown with a horizontal slit and that unnerving double lid. No glamours today. Caraway sits there with them. I recognize him instantly. He tries to meet my eyes, but I look away.
On the dais, the King Toad sits once more on his throne, huge and imposing under his golden mask. Or at least he would be imposing, if I didn’t know he was just a big old pile of toads. I wonder how many of the men in this room know the truth. That Thurmond Boswell pulls all the strings of this puppet king.
Thurmond Boswell, masked and robed, standing at the shoulder of the king. The sight of him makes my hands curl into fists.
On the other side of the king is the Howling Toad. He isn’t as tall as I expected, but his mask is terrifying enough. It’s the color of dried blood, the mouth open wide in a silent black scream. Is there a real man under there? Or is he another puppet?
The Master of Toads stands at the front of the dais in his red robe, and then there’s me, off to the side at the very front of the stage, looking like a giant meringue.
The bridal gown is enormous and weighs a ton. And it’s enchanted, so I know that the weight of it is deliberate. A millstone around my neck. Layer upon layer of white tulle and satin and lace, binding me up like a trussed chicken. Every part of the dress is heavily embroidered with pearls and dainty beads, from the enormously wide skirt to the shoulder-crushing puffed sleeves. I have a new fox mask, full-faced this time and glittering with ornamentation. The fox fur is made from finely hammered sheets of bright copper and white gold, overlapping in scales. Rubies stud the edges of it and surround the eyeholes. And topping it all off is an enormous white headdress dripping with lace and jewels and strings of pearls. I can barely turn my head under the weight of it. I’m afraid my neck will snap.
Stand still and be silent. Those were my instructions. I can see my father sitting off to the side of the hall, right in my eyeline. He is the only person in the room who isn’t masked. He stares into space with a vacant grin, quiet and unheeding of all that is going on around him. I want to gather him into my arms and protect him, and then tear down every pillar of this hideous Toad shrine.
The ceremony begins, and of course it’s more mettle for the King Toad.
I watch threadwise as one by one, the garden-variety Toads step forward and kneel before the king. The Master of Toads swings the black iron hook and snags a mettle string. Some are more resistant than others. The first few snap with very little pressure, giving way as if they are no stronger than spiderwebs or strands of hair. But then there is one as tough as catgut. The Master of Toads has to haul on it for several minutes before it snaps with an audible twang.
Each string curls in on itself, forming a ball, which is shaken from the end of the hook into a large copper bowl, held by another robed Toad. Soon the bowl is nearly overflowing with strings.
I wonder how they turn the strings into toadstones. And what do they use them for, if only the first one goes onto the wall?
I remember the power I sensed underneath the Deeping Court. I guess the stones are a convenient way to store mettle.
I prickle again at the thought of them getting away with all this. Magic restrictions were created for a reason. Auditors take hedgewitches off to recovery centers all the time for selling noncovenant healing potions or charmed poppets. That’s nothing compared to this.
I guess when you’re powerful enough, you can get away with anything.
When each Toad has gifted his string, he files back along the central aisle and retakes his seat. The shock of strings snapping dulls after the first fifty, and I enter a kind of daze. My body is going numb under the crushing weight of the bridal gown, but there’s something in the delicate white satin slippers—enchanted, of course—that keeps me upright.
Every now and then, my eyes turn to the hulking mass of the King Toad, and I imagine I see the fabric moving a little as the toads inside crawl over each other. Thurmond Boswell is the real power here, collecting all the mettle and…what? Selling it to Ilium? Where it’s used to make glamour patches and enchanted energy drinks?
I glance over at the Howling Toad, trying to glimpse any signs of humanity beneath that mask.
A familiar set of shoulders catches my eye, and I watch as Teddy approaches the dais and sinks down on one knee. He doesn’t even glance at me.
What would have happened if I hadn’t snuck into the Candlecott Frater House? I wouldn’t be here, for one. Nor would Da. Caraway Boswell would still be someone I view with uncomplicated loathing, instead of the tumultuous storm that currently rages in my heart.
It seems like such a long time ago. I can’t believe it was only a few days. All I could think about then was my one perfect summer. Now I’ll take any kind of summer. I just want to get out of here with Da.
The Master of Toads swings the hook, slicing through one of Teddy’s strings like it’s butter. I feel it as sharply as if it were one of my own.
I thought I could help him. But I made everything worse. I ran roughshod over all of Teddy’s hopes and dreams, and the only thing I achieved was turning him against me.
The string coils in on itself and drops into the bowl. Teddy rises to his feet and retreats down the aisle. Hopefully the next time I see him, all this will be over, and I won’t remember any of it.
I’m not counting my chickens.
Eventually, every garden-variety Toad has gifted a string.
“And now we welcome our newest brother into the Inner Council of Toadmen,” the Master of Toads declares.
A black-robed Toad stands and kneels before the King Toad. One of his eyes beneath his silver mask is swollen and red. A brand-new toad eye. I wonder how he got chosen. What he had to sacrifice.
Just as he did with the others, the Master of Toads swings his hook and takes a string from the kneeling Toad. Then, one by one, the remaining two rows come up and pledge themselves to the king.
As Caraway kneels before the King Toad, I half expect him to do something reckless. But he just bows his head. His string breaks with barely any resistance, like a loose thread of hair being tugged free by a comb.
And it’s done. Every Toad has gifted a string.
I guess it’s time for the wedding part of the proceedings.
Thurmond Boswell turns to me as the Master of Toads speaks. “The wedding gifts have been presented. Now the Fox Bride shall pledge herself to her king.”
I wish someone had let me see a script before we started this. The Ghost Toad didn’t mention anything about a pledge when he came to my room, but then again, I knew he wasn’t telling me everything. He gestures for me to approach the throne, and I see his eyes flick toward Da, who is staring vacantly into space.
I swallow and shuffle forward, the dress making it almost impossible to move.
The Master of Toads gestures toward me. “You are the Fox Bride, are you not?”
I swallow. “I guess so.”
He opens a small lacquered box. Inside is a golden ring, nestled in silk.
“Make your bridal vow. Do you pledge yourself to the King of Toads? Give yourself whole and unblemished to him? Pledge your undying allegiance, and the allegiance of any children you bear henceforth, to him? Swear to spend your days in fealty to the mightiest authority, to serve and honor him with your words, your deeds and your body.”
I feel the weight of his words.
Feel them in my bones.
Of course this is no pantomime ceremony. I should have known.
I remember the promise I made to Thurmond Boswell in the library, the feeling of it binding me. If I make this pledge, I will be bound to it.
Forever.
I will be a Toadwife. Bearing little Toad children to…whoever they decree. To Caraway? Or to Thurmond Boswell himself? I will lose my free will. My family. I’ll lose everything.
Caraway’s head snaps to the red mask of the Master of Toads, then to his father. Did he know this was going to happen?
“I—I can’t,” I stammer.
There is a long moment of silence. Then Thurmond Boswell speaks. “I think our blushing young bride might prefer a more…intimate ceremony.”
The Master of Toads nods, and gestures toward the rows and rows of seated Toads. They stand and shuffle out of the room. Nobody speaks. The only sounds are the scuff of shoes on the stone floor and the swishing of robes.
I watch Teddy leave and feel more alone than ever.
The Howling Toad descends the steps from the dais and goes to stand over by my father.
Caraway stands to leave, but his father shakes his head. “No,” he says. “You can stay.”
I look at Caraway and silently implore him with my eyes.
Do something. Help me.
But Caraway doesn’t do anything. I guess now that he has his stone, he doesn’t need me anymore. He just wants out, and can I really blame him?
I look back at Da, the Howling Toad looming over him. I see that he is wearing heavy leather gloves, plated in black iron.
“N-no—” I stammer. “Wait—”
But the Howling Toad makes a fist and smashes it right into Da’s face. Da isn’t expecting it, so his head snaps back in his seat. Blood pours from his nose and over his lips into his mouth. He licks his lips and blows a sticky red raspberry, then giggles once more. His right eye is starting to swell shut already. The Howling Toad pulls his fist back again.
“No!” I cry out. “Please.”
The Master of Toads gestures toward the King Toad. “Make your vow.”
Swear to spend your days in fealty to the mightiest authority, to serve and honor him with your words, your deeds and your body.
“I c-c-an’t.”
Crunch. Another blow to Da’s face. His nose is a bloody pulp now, completely shattered under the force of the Howling Toad’s iron-gloved fist.
It’s as if they are tearing my own heart from my chest. How can I choose? My beautiful da, the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met. Or my whole life. My children. My future.
“If I may, Brother.” It’s the Ghost Toad, stepping forward and putting a hand on the Howling Toad’s shoulder. “This may take a little more…finesse.”
The Howling Toad moves away from Da, but I feel no sense of relief as I watch the Ghost Toad pull the silver needle from inside his robes.
“He has a beautiful smile, your father,” the Ghost Toad says in that infuriatingly calm voice.
I remember the quick flash of the needle, the sudden slackness of the Toad’s face.
He’s going to take Da’s smile.
Ma always said that Da’s smile was the first thing she noticed about him. They’d met at a market in Fyansford where Da was selling eggs. Ma was there with her friends, shopping for ribbons and good-luck charms for their upcoming exams. Da said she was the prettiest girl in the market. He abandoned his egg stall and followed her like a lost puppy to a big marquee where people were dancing. But some other fellow asked Ma to dance before Da could get there first. Dejected, he had returned to his egg stall only to discover that it had been knocked over by an escaped ram. Smashed eggs everywhere. He crouched down on the grass, trying to clean up the mess before the eggs started to smell. Then he looked up and Ma was there. She’d noticed him too, and followed him after her dance ended.
Surrounded by eggshells and broken yolks, he was, Ma would say. But when our eyes met he smiled, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.
I think of the proud smile on Da’s face when I told him I was joint dux of Candlecott School. Of the triumphant smile when he unfurled Bran the Blessed’s extraordinary golden tail, winning the Candlecott Poultry Prize for the tenth year running. Of the fond, gentle smile he’d give me when I said good night. The surprised smile when I made him laugh.
Da is smiling right now, but it’s not his true smile. This dazed, vacant smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It doesn’t warm my heart. The idea that I might never see the sparkle of his true smile again is almost too much to bear.
“Will you let him go?” I ask Thurmond Boswell. “Will you make him whole again?”
The silver needle glints as the Ghost Toad rests the tip on the hinge of Da’s jaw. “I swear it.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice low. “I’ll make the pledge.”
The Ghost Toad doesn’t withdraw the needle, but he doesn’t press any harder either. He’s not going to back off until I’ve done it.
The Master of Toads proffers the box to me. The golden ring glints in the torchlight.
How did it come to this? Four days ago the most important thing in my life was avoiding conversations about going to Staunton. I was afraid to leave Candlecott. To leave Da and Teddy and step into a terrifying world of magic and witches. I just wanted everything to stay the same. I thought that was what I was going to get here. Thurmond Boswell promised that if I participate in the Trothal, then Da and I could go home. We could go back to normal, without any memory of this awful place.
But he lied to me.
Of course he did.
And now everything will change. I’m about to pledge myself to the King Toad. To give up everything I love in order to serve this horrific brotherhood of selfish, cruel old men.
The Ghost Toad might still be lying. Maybe he’s going to hurt Da no matter what I do.
But I have to do everything I can to save him, and this is all I have.
I reach out to take the ring.
“Stop.” The voice rings out as clear as a bell, and my knees tremble with relief.
The Ghost Toad turns to Caraway. “She is the Fox Bride. She must swear.”
“She is unworthy. She is no witch.”
“She is far better than a witch,” the Ghost Toad replies. “Her mettle is as strong as a witch’s, but she has no power of her own. She will make a fine wife for our king, and cause no trouble.”
Any doubt I might have had that my mettle-tracking ability is a result of the witch’s curse evaporates.
“There’s more,” Caraway says. “She—she’s not unblemished. Her virtue is ruptured.”
A murmur passes through the silver-masked Toads.
“Do you have evidence?” the Master of Toads asks.
Caraway reaches up and slowly removes his mask, his hands lingering over his chin. Then he saunters casually up onto the dais. He takes my chin in his hand and inspects me for a moment. I see no warmth in his expression. No compassion. His mouth is twisted in a sardonic smile, his one toad eye narrowed with haughty disdain, even without his glamour on. He leans forward and kisses me roughly on the mouth, like he’s claiming me as his own. I stiffen in shock. This kiss is nothing like the ones we shared before. I feel something press against my lips, and he pushes something cold into my mouth with his tongue. Then he pulls away.
“I took it,” he says with a smirk. “Her virtue. Her maidenhead. You can inspect the sheets in our apartment.”
I feel fire spread to my cheeks. Caraway and I…we didn’t…He’s lying, but why? And what did he just put in my mouth?
A toadstone. The one from his pocket. His stone. He slipped it into his mouth when he took his mask off.
But why?
The Ghost Toad spreads his hands. “I believe we can make an exception to the rule of chastity.”
A murmur of surprise goes through the remaining Toads.
“My lord,” the Master of Toads responds. “The girl is not virtuous. She cannot wed our king.”
“You could give her to me.” It’s the first time the Howling Toad has spoken. His voice is reedy, with a singsong quality to it.
He advances on me, slow and predatory. I lift up my hands, as if to protect myself from him, taking a step backward as the bridal gown rustles around me.
Da tilts his head to one side, blood still streaming from the crushed mess of his face. His left eye is swollen completely shut now.
“No,” the Ghost Toad says with a sigh. “We don’t have a backup. She’ll have to—”
He breaks off suddenly. His eyes through the mask turn milk white. The room goes completely silent, everyone watching him.
The Ghost Toad’s lips curl in a smile, and the cloudy white fades from his eyes. “Auditors have found the Hag,” he says. “They have taken her to Ruddock Farm.”
A noise comes from under the Howling Toad’s mask, like he’s smacking his lips.
“So we don’t need this one after all,” the Master of Toads says, glancing at me. “We should kill her.”
The Ghost Toad shakes his head. “I still think this one is better. Less dangerous.” He sighs. “I’ll have to consider it further.”
“Send her to Ruddock Farm too,” Caraway says suddenly. “She won’t be able to get into any more trouble there. You can send for her when you’re ready.”
I want to protest, but the toadstone is cold and hard in my mouth.
Ruddock Farm. Caraway wants to send me to a recovery center. A place where witches and traitors go. The government claims they are just work camps, designed to rehabilitate dissidents. I’ve never believed the other rumors about them. That the camps drain mettle. That nobody returns, unless it’s dead in a box or as a vacant husk. But now…I don’t know what to believe.
