AS A LITTLE GIRL, I believed in happy endings, in love, true love…
I wanted to believe that anything was possible, so long as you had enough hope, everything would turn out okay.
At birth, I lost my mother.
At sixteen I lost my family.
At seventeen I was spirited away to a place so alien to me.
In the weeks to come, I let hope get the better of me, and I let reality steal my breath.
AHIRU WAS ESCORTED BACK to her room, where she was left alone.
Her cheek ached, and her fists clenched in rage, she shook and more than anything she wanted to scream.
Instead, she walked to her vanity, sat heavily down on the stool and looked at her face.
She was no longer a person she recognized.
"Argh!"
She ripped the circlet from her head, the earrings from her ears, the chains from her throat, she cast them aside and in the silence she heard the metal scraping the floor.
Whatever pins kept her hair off her face, she pulled out letting them go as soon as they were free from their entanglement in her hair.
With quick hands, she wrapped three strands around the other and wrapped the end with an old leather cord.
She wiped at her face, wiping away the powder and the paint, and when it only smeared, she rose, knocking down her stool, and poured water into a basin, cleaning her face of the impurities.
Water dripped, dripped, dripped down onto her silk gown, she growled under her breath and ripped away the useless thread that tied it to her back; she could hear the seams straining.
Ahiru tore the gown away from her skin, stumbling away from it as if it was a snake, and when she looked in the mirror, she finally recognized her reflection.
The Princess Odette Ahiru of Schleswig-Holstein was gone, and who she saw was Ahiru Alder.
The daughter of a fisherman.
There was a knock at her door.
"Go away." She rasped.
"Ahiru? Ahiru, are you alright?" It was Rue.
Ahiru's lip trembled, oh how could she show such callousness to Rue? She fell to her knees, her braid falling over her shoulder, she touched her finger tips to her temple, she felt the dry riverbeds moistened at the return of tears.
"Come in." She called so softly she wasn't sure if Rue heard her.
She didn't hear the door, but the swish of fabric as Rue knelt down beside her. "Oh, my dear, I heard. I heard what happened." Her arms carefully folded around Ahiru's shoulders, her hand guiding Ahiru to her soft shoulder.
Ahiru sniffled, her hands clinging to Rue's back, grabbing at fabric. "He's gone." She moaned. "They took him."
Rue sighed. "Yes, I know. Shh, it'll be alright. I'm here."
AHIRU STOOD AT THE end of the dock, she leaned against the mast and smiled wistly, if she squinted hard enough she could just see the white sails of her father's ship.
"What are you doing out here, stupid!"
Ahiru turned on her heel, her fisted hands landed on her hips and she stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm watching for papa! Don't call me stupid!"
"He's not due back for three more weeks. And I can call you stupid all I want!"
"Takes one to know one!"
"Hey!" The little boy marched forward. "You can't call me stupid!"
Ahiru pouted her lips, but soon her knit eyebrows pulled apart and she laughed at him, shoving his shoulder. "We should get back."
He smiled. "Yeah, you shouldn't worry so much, your dad's the best sailor there is."
"I'm not worried." Ahiru said, she started walking back down the dock, past familiar faces, other fishermen, their wives, their children. They would all leave soon, too. "I just miss him! No offense, but living at the palace is the worst!"
He giggled. "You're right, it is the worst! I should run away and live with you when your dad gets back."
"No, I don't think that'd be a good idea." Ahiru shook her head, clambering down from the side of the dock onto the rocky shore.
"Why not?" He whined, following her as a wave came and rose above the rocks, getting their feet wet.
Ahiru squealed in delight. "Because papa doesn't like you!"
He gasped. "Your father loves me! I think he loves me more than you sometimes!"
Ahiru looked back and stuck out her tongue at him, she cut across the stones until she was on sturdy ground and made a run for it.
"Hey!" He called, but they both knew he wouldn't catch up.
Ahiru giggled. "You have to keep up, Gero!"
AHIRU PULLED AWAY, A hand raised to dry her tears.
"Are you better now?" Rue asked.
Ahiru nodded, she sniffled. "I don't know what to do."
"Well, perhaps the charges will clear. Do they even have proof about this?" Rue humphed. "'Conspiring against the crown', how idiotic when they claim that anyone can run the Koningsspiel."
Ahiru stood, she walked to her nightstand and pulled open the drawer where her leatherbound diary lay. She pulled the ruby locket off her neck and clicked it open until the key fell out.
She handed both to Rue.
"RUDOLF, IVAN, PETER, AND-" The head of the house sighed, "Where's Gero?"
The three princes refused to look in her eye, and only the sound of the great door scraping open, the pounding of feet, and the loud giggling gave them their answer.
The head of house turned to the door where she knew Gero and that little brat would enter, the door opened and banged against the wall, and their laughter died as their eyes met the expression on her face.
"Gero, how wonderful of you to join us." The head of house strode forward, her tongue clicking as she observed his muddy feet, his wet pant legs, the grass stains that covered his shirt. She sent a sideways glance at the girl, but she wasn't looking much better.
In fact, she looked worse.
"I'm sorry, it's my fault-"
"I don't care." She cut off the little girl with little concern before clapping both her hands, and two maids came to attention. "Clean up Gero and have him ready for tonight's ball, and please escort… Ahiru home."
Ahiru and Gero shared a guilty glance, the corners of their lips twisting upward.
AHIRU WENT TO BED, as Rue instructed, and she felt utterly useless, but her hand gripped the pillow, and her brows furrowed in determination.
Once the dawn broke she was going to find Charon.
AHIRU WANDERED THE HALLS of the small palace by the sea, she was expecting her father home any minute, and she wanted to bother Gero one last time before she went home.
She heard him before she saw him.
The older he got, the more intrigued by swordplay he became.
Ahiru walked into the practice room, watching the four princes - so easily identifiable by their matching curls, dark brown, just like their mothers - Rudolf and Ivan battled each other, while Peter and Gero were swatting each others swords, passing witty banter with every strike.
"En guard!" Peter called.
"En guard? Where are we? France? I'd much rather stay right here, thank you." Gero grunted, doing his best to keep up with his older brother.
"Right there? Right where you're standing, that would get rather dull, don't you think?"
"On the contrary, here I can plant roots, grow strong and sturdy."
"Only to be chopped down by a much more cultured man."
Ahiru smiled, watching their physical and verbal battle.
In truth, there was another purpose to her visit, she had something to give Gero, an early birthday gift.
She hadn't been spotted before, but now Gero's eyes flashed to the side of the room, and when he caught her eye, a lopsided grin overtook his features.
Peter took the chance and stabbed his brother with the nonfatal tip of his fencing sword. "Haha! Victory is mine."
Gero pushed the sword away and punched Peter in the shoulder.
"Boys!"
Every action that took place in the room came to a grinding halt.
Many clapped his fists over their heart and gave a bow, bent at the waist.
The boys gave their mother a guilty smile. "Sorry, mom." They said.
Her Majesty the Queen, Paulamoni of the sea shook her head at them, but couldn't stop the smile that grabbed her features.
"Hurry up and get clean, we have a visitor that wishes to discuss your future."
Gero pushed Peter out of the way and the two raced out of the room.
"Do I have to, ma?" Rudolf asked, "I thought my future was all set?"
"Yes, your attendance would just be polite."
Rudolf and Ivan groaned, following Gero and Peter to wash and get changed.
Paulamoni stood beside Ahiru and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ahiru, dear, why don't we talk?"
Ahiru gave her a smile, still holding the present behind her back. "S-sure."
They walked out of the practice room and Paulamoni took her to an open hall that looked out over the sea.
"Ahiru, I'm very sorry but I'm afraid I have to ask something of you."
Ahiru swallowed hard. "You can ask me anything." She gave a shaky smile.
"Dear, you know that our state isn't doing as well as others. Others like Bavaria." She began.
"I know, but I thought we were doing okay?"
"Oh, we are, however…" Paulamoni cleared her throat. "One can always strive to do better, and if some form of help came along… wouldn't you want to help your country?"
The wind blew and tugged at her braid, the loose bangs and baby hair jabbed her eye. "I would."
"Today, an ambassador has come from Bavaria to offer such help, but I think there is only one way to get it."
AHIRU ROSE BEFORE DAWN, her hair she brushed for herself for the first time in months, she left her face bare, and the only bit of jewelry that touched her skin was the red locket.
She pulled on a wool dress, a pale green, with ties in the front, before clasping a brown colored cloak over her head, leaving the castle before the first rays of the sun touched even the tips of the roof.
AHIRU SAT AT THE end of the dock, unable to stop the bitter tears from rolling down her face.
"It's… not that bad." Gero said.
She locked her jaw, she couldn't talk to him.
"Ahiru, please? Isn't it your duty to-"
"My duty?" She looked up at him, sending him a scathing look. "My duty to my people? I'm not a princess! My duty is to my father! To take care of his business once he passes! To make sure his ship has a good captain and that people get fed!"
"But this will be just like that! Your father will get more business and he can choose and train a successor. It won't be on your shoulders."
"I wanted it to be... You didn't stop them either."
Gero was silent, and when she thought he wasn't going to defend himself he said: "What was I supposed to say? Call my mother a liar, or say I was in love with my sister?"
She couldn't stop the burning of her eyes.
"Ahiru, this is for the best. You'll get to marry a prince, be a real princess."
"What about us?" She slammed her fist against the dock. "What about you and me?"
He was silent again, and she was sure he wouldn't answer again when he said. "There never was an 'us'. There never was a you and me, Ahiru, because I never loved you!"
His words were harsh, and she felt her heart ripping in two, but somehow she wasn't sad, or upset, but she was angry.
She was horribly and terribly angry at him.
Ahiru popped up from the dock and turned on him, her finger jutting out at his chest. "You promised me that I would get to be happy!"
He glared at her, too. "And so what? I don't get to be happy either? You'd rather force me into a loveless marriage with you? You'd rather force me to spend the rest of my life making sure that you were happy?"
"We would have made each other happy! We're best friends and I-"
"Don't."
She glared at him, her teeth clenched, her heart in torment. "I love you."
"And I never did."
SHE WENT TO THE blacksmith's house and knocked at his door, but perhaps she had come too early.
Perhaps he was still asleep only to be rudely awoken by her, coming and demanding he tell her what Fakir meant when they took him away from her.
She was about to run away when the door pulled open.
Charon looked around fearfully before his eyes landed on her and he sighed in relief. "Your grace."
Ahiru shook her head. "Please, don't call me that."
"Of course, my apologies." He held the door open for her.
She stepped inside and pushed her hood back.
He lead her to a kitchen where two women were seated at the table, their hands held tightly to each other.
"Ahiru."
"Pique?"
Ahiru put a hand to her chest when Pique stood, her hair was down from it's bun, and her eyes were red.
"Is he alright? Do you know anything?"
The other woman looked to Ahiru, and she felt Charon's eyes on her as well.
She shook her head, ashamed that she couldn't give them hope. "No. I know nothing. I- Fakir, he said…" Ahiru wrapped her arms around herself. These were people who loved him, who had known him all his life and she thought that she could just waltz in there and demand they tell her about Fakir?
"Ahiru." Charon laid a large, comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you sit down?"
Ahiru swallowed hard, and nodded, sitting beside the familiar woman.
"Raetsel, why don't you make her a cup of tea?"
The woman smiled and nodded.
Raetsel was the woman who had helped her to her feet before.
A cup of tea was placed in front of her and she whispered a thank you.
"So," Charon cleared his throat, taking the last seat at the table. "Why have you come?"
Ahiru ran a finger over the rim of her cup, every passing minute she felt ruder and ruder. "Fakir told me to come and ask about the leaves?" Ahiru sighed and shook her head. "I don't know."
Ahiru planted her elbows on the table and held her head with her hands.
"Ah, why don't you come with me?"
Ahiru turned her head to Charon, he had a warm pleasant face, smiling softly, he held out his hand.
Ahiru nodded.
SHE REFUSED TO MARRY that prince, that stupid, horrible, no good Prince Seigfried or whatever his name was!
Perhaps it was in spite of Gero or Paulamoni, or even herself, but she refused and she wouldn't let herself get pushed around.
Rudolf came to her, it was an odd choice, at one time she looked up to him, but now…
She wondered how loyal of a man he was.
"Come on, Ahiru, don't be a brat, you think I wanted to marry Princess Anna?" He nudged her shoulder.
Ahiru pouted. "No."
"I love her now, don't you know?" He smiled softly, "We're expecting another baby come winter."
"It isn't about that."
"No? Then what is it? Huh?"
"I want to stay here, with my father. I'm all he has."
Rudolf rolled his eyes, but didn't let her see. "Don't you think if he knew what your future might hold, he would want you to stay here? Or to go to Bavaria and marry that prince?"
"I'm sure he would, but then he'd get lonely." Ahiru let a bittersweet smile overtake her features. "You know, whenever he comes back home, and he can see me waiting at the dock, even from far away, he waves and starts calling out my name until I can hear and call back to him." She let her smile fade. "Who will call back to him if I'm gone?"
"Well, what was your plan? You marry Gero and you two become fish people?"
"Fishermen."
Rudolf shook his head. "Gero is a Prince, it never would have happened."
"He's the fourth Prince, and why does that matter? You want me to marry some other Prince now."
"Yes, but here, everyone knows you're not a Princess, over there..." He made some vague gestures with his head. "No one knows. Besides, this will make our state richer, stronger, isn't that what you want?"
"I want to be with my father." She paused. "Perhaps at one time I wanted to marry Gero, and... I even thought it was possible for me to do so. But I don't care about that anymore, I don't want to be used in your political game!"
"My political game—?"
"And I don't want to be alone."
Ahiru left the palace, determined never to go back, even if tonight was Gero's sixteenth birthday ball.
She was sure he didn't want her there.
Instead she went down to the docks, to wait for her father to come home, so he could wrap her up in his arms and tell her that they would figure this out.
Together.
All day she waited, even when the sky grew dark, she waited, even when the wind started to rise, she waited, even when the rain grew heavy and painful, she waited, even when the waves grew wild and crashed onto the dock…
She waited.
CHARON LEAD HER TO a room upstairs; neat. A writing desk. A bed.
"This is Fakir's room." Charon walked forward, to the writing desk, and pulled from the drawer a thick journal. "This is what he meant by leaves."
Charon handed her the book and walked over to the door, "I'll- uh, give you a minute." He gave her a timid smile, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
She ran her hand over the cover of the book, soft leather like her own, but a crescent moon was embossed in the calf skin.
Inside, she found stories like no other.
Stories of the past, of the present. Some clearer than the others, in a passage about a farmer, he wrote about clear skies, but the heat, sweat running down his back, his tired hands getting swollen, the deep brown dirt, the smell that rose from the toiled earth.
He wrote stories about the first King, Lohengrin, racing through the forest, but shadows lurked in the corners of his description, she could hear trampling feet over crunching leaves, and feel her heartbeat rising, and she saw the path before her, but she was blind to what lay in the forest, he would draw his sword, he would fight. A blurry vision of the past.
In a similar manner, she read the story of Drosselmeyer gaining his haunting talent. But when? How? The tips of his fingers graced the rough bark of a tree, and lightning filled his bones. But what did that mean? If it meant anything at all?
Then, there was a story that wasn't like the rest.
Fakir himself played the leading role. A normal day at some pond or another, but the wooden seat and cover gave her the hint that it was somewhere secret.
He spotted a duck on the water, minding her business, occasionally dipping her head under the water and letting the droplets run down her waterproof back.
And then the duck put her head and water.
It was blatant and forward, so unlike the rest of his writing, and he made a note.
Did she listen to me? Or was it merely coincidence?
Ahiru sat up straighter, there was an odd sensation that filled her, a chill that ran down her spine.
He tried something more complex, something less likely to be an accident.
The duck flew around the pond.
Strange… she obeys my command. But to what extent?
The duck would fly, she would dive down deep, and stay down until Fakir let her back up, she would waddle around the bank, she would even come close enough for Fakir to touch her.
Perhaps there is a little more of my grandfather in me than I had thought, and I can't help but wonder...?
Ahiru almost couldn't read the next part of the story.
Fakir nearly killed the duck to see how far she would go, if she was able to break free, or if she would do as he commanded. Forever.
She's different now. I know ducks aren't human, but anything that made her special is gone, she sits on the water like a pawn, waiting for me to move her, to tell her what to do next. If I never wrote her free would she stay there? Would she die? What am I to make of this? Is this the fate of my mother? Of anyone Drosselmeyer chooses to control?
Can she break free?
When he came back the next day, the duck had not moved, other than with the idle ripples that traversed across the pond.
Ahiru could feel herself shaking. How could he leave the duck for a whole day? She must have been so hungry!
He added later:
I will never use this power again. I will never use it to control anyone or anything.
May I be damned if I do.
"PAPA!" SHE CRIED, CLINGING to the mast, her hair, her cheeks, her eyes, her dress, soaked.
She could see, just out in the distance, his boat fighting against the waves.
He would hear her, if she was just a little louder.
Lightning filled the sky and lit up the sea and she watched as a great wave rose up behind her father's ship.
"Papa!" She cried, her hand reaching out for him, the tips of her fingers scraping against the distant boat as it was eaten by the wave.
Then, as if the ocean was satisfied, the wind calmed, the waves calmed, the rain calmed.
"Papa!" She screamed. "Papa!" Over and over until her voice was hoarse, until the waves returned to the ocean, and the dock was safe again. "Papa!"
Her eyes scanned uselessly over the dark ocean, she couldn't see anything, not under this moonless sky, not when everything was consumed by darkness.
She stayed until a scrap of wood floated to the dock, and it was stupid, but she fell to her hands and reached into the water, but she was too high up. She gritted her teeth and jumped into the water, swimming to the wooden board and holding it with her hands.
It was a piece of wood from her father's ship, a piece that she had carved the shape of a heart into when she was a little girl, when the ship was still being made. A crude carving, but a damning one.
She clung to the dock as the water rocked against her.
She let the waves push her to shore, clambering over the smooth, slippery rocks, she made her way to the muddy ground and carved her path to the castle.
She no longer cried, it simply wasn't in her heart to, there was no use. Her tears feed the rain that stirred the sea into turmoil.
She could see the golden light of the palace by the sea, and with every step the music grew louder over the still drizzling rain. At the steps of the palace, the guards tried to stop her, thinking her some lowly peasant, but stopped when they met her eyes.
The little brat that roamed the halls with the princes.
They opened the doors for her, her feet, her dress her hair dripping on every square tile she stepped on until she walked into the ballroom, and she looked at the splendour of it all.
The myriad of dresses the women wore, the feathers sprouted from hair pieces and hats, the clacking of dry heels on dry tile as her wet feet slopped over the floor.
Every person she passed stopped to gawk, and when she had drawn enough attention, the music paused, the chitter chatter halted, she looked to Paulamoni, in her pale blue gown, an honor to the sea and all it gave them.
But Ahiru wore the sea, and she represented all it took away.
"I'll do it." She spoke clearly, enough for Paulamoni to hear.
Paulamoni and Paulo stepped forward, Paulo took the plank in her hand and Paulamoni drew her close to her breast.
"Oh thank you, Ahiru." She praised.
Paulamoni was quick to usher her away, and Paulo gave some excuse for her presence, she didn't hear what it was but it made their guests laugh and as she departed the jaunty music started again.
AHIRU SAT DOWN ON Fakir's bed, the book in her hand, and she understood.
He had been granted the same power as his grandfather before him.
He could control others.
He promised that he wouldn't.
That he would never use his gift again and she struggled to think what had happened to that duck that made him take such an oath.
It would be a lie to say that this didn't frighten her, the blank faces she had seen in the Queen, in Autor, in the guards…
Fakir could do the same.
"No, no Fakir's not like that!" She laid down on the bed and brought her legs to her chest.
There was a reason that he wanted her to know, maybe he was laying all his cards out on the table, she would know everything about him, there would be no secrets.
She took the edge of the blanket and wrapped it around herself, lost in it's warmth, in his scent.
He had a plan, she was certain.
Even as he was being escorted away to the dungeon, he wasn't afraid.
He would use this gift, he could free himself and win the Köningsspiel and be crowned King.
Fakir told her that she could stay here, that she didn't have to go back to Arnis.
Truth be told, she didn't want to leave here, not when she had made so many friends, like Rue and Mytho, not when she had…
She buried herself deeper into the blankets, a red blush spreading across her face like wildfire.
He had kissed her.
In the intensity of the moment, she hadn't let herself get embarrassed.
Or let herself enjoy it.
"HELLO, MY NAME IS Edel." A woman, with pale skin, and pale eyes and a warmer smile held out her hand for Ahiru to take. "I am a governess, here to make you a princess."
"When do I leave?" Ahiru asked, no one had told her and she was finding she wanted to know.
It had been almost a year since she promised Paulamoni she would take the Prince's hand in marriage to create a trade bond.
In that year, they had tried to teach her, the head of house, an awful woman - Ahiru knew that woman disliked her - but had failed because every time Ahiru got something wrong she yelled and scolded and lost her mind! It was hardly a good place for her to grow.
She supposed now, at a year in, they were finally getting desperate.
"We will leave in five months, in November."
Ahiru nodded.
"Alright, first I will show you how to hold a spoon."
"What?"
She had five months to learn how to be a princess.
FAKIR DIDN'T GET MUCH time to himself, soon a guard stepped into his cell and cracked his knuckles.
"I hardly call this a fair fight."
The guard said nothing and Fakir scrambled to his feet.
Damn, this really wasn't going to be a fair fight.
PULLED AWAY FROM THE warmth of Fakir's bed, she went back to the palace.
She had one last fitting before the ball.
Before her wedding.
She waited in her room, and when Femio came in he flinched at her appearance.
But, she couldn't even muster a smile in greeting.
"Oh." He sighed, he bowed his head, almost in apology, before clapping his hands together.
She was pulled from her bed, out of her wool dress, and was tucked and pulled into the dress that rested on a mannequin in her room, so it wouldn't get wrinkles, Femio had said.
She didn't want this, being poked and prodded, her cheek still stinging as Fakir was still down in the dungeon.
The thing was on when Femio started making his final adjustments, walking around her, snipping at loose thread, or telling someone to fix an unfinished seam.
"Come." He commanded, holding out his hands. "Dance with me."
"I'd rather not."
"How will we know how well you can move in it if you don't dance now?"
Ahiru shrugged.
She put her hands in Femio's and he lead her in a lazy waltz, and dipped her, spun her around, made her curtsy.
And when he approved it, it was removed from her skin and she was placed inside of her wedding dress.
It fit like a glove, the stark white nearly blinding.
"Magnifique." Femio whispered. He grabbed a small veil and placed it over her head, blocking her vision. "Oh, mon petit cheri, you are the perfect bride."
Ahiru looked at the full length mirror, brought in for these fittings, she pulled the veil from her eyes and thought, yes, but I'm not marrying the right groom.
FAKIR WAS RUDELY AWOKEN by someone pulling his head off the floor by grabbing the base of his ponytail.
"Bastard." He swore.
"Oh Fakir, that's no way to talk to a friend."
Fakir's eyes went wide and he looked up at the cloaked bookmen, his hood fell back to reveal his face.
"Spion. I knew I never should have trusted you."
"But you did, didn't you?" Spion's grin fell to an uncaring frown. "Drosselmeyer only wants one thing from you. And if you give it to him, he'll let you go."
Fakir licked his lips, he rose to his knees to get a better look at the youngest Bookman.
Fakir spit at his shoes. "Fuck you."
Spion raised his hand and struck Fakir on the cheek, sending him to the ground, but it was nothing he hadn't felt before. He spit blood at Spion's shoes this time.
"I already know about Ebine, Lillie and Pique but that's not what Drosselmeyer wants." Spion snapped his fingers and two guards came in, they grabbed Fakir under his arms and hoisted him up, and a third guard came in.
"Drosselmeyer wants the names of the Nobles that show you support."
The third guard drew back his hand, his fist colliding with Fakir's stomach.
"Now."
Fakir swallowed a groan, he lowered an angry scowl at Spion. "You'll kill me before I tell you."
Spion narrowed his eyes at Fakir. "Do you know why I told you our secrets?"
Fakir was silent, but that was enough for Spion to continue.
"Because I believed that you could come to power, but now I see." Spion's eyes lazily rolled over Fakir. "You are weak."
The guard hit him again, the blow landing on his rib.
Fakir took a staggered breath, unsure if that rib broke or not.
Suddenly, the guards dropped him and the cage was empty.
AHIRU HELD HER HAND on Author's elbow, they continued their walks, but Autor spoke not.
Not when he was under Drosselmeyer's control.
She didn't even try to speak to him, she let him wander around the palace grounds.
EVERYDAY, THE GUARDS CAME, some days Spion with them, some days someone else, but Fakir didn't pay attention to them.
He kept his thoughts on Ahiru.
So long as he thought of her, he would be okay.
He would get out soon, and he would see her again.
Every punch, every kick, every whip, every cut, every hair pull, every word that was uttered to him was nothing, all the pain he endured, he endured not only for his kingdom, for his people, for all of Bavaria, but for Ahiru.
They wouldn't kill him, no—when Drosselmeyer wanted him dead, he would do that himself.
He was dropped to the floor once more, but Spion lifted him by his hair and whispered a threat in his ear.
He didn't even register the threat, he was just sick and tired of them using his hair like a leash.
There was a myth he heard once, about the Kings of old Germany, a tradition they held.
Taking his hands out of the ropes was too easy.
It was said that a King that lived in peace, that never saw war, never cut his hair, letting it grow to show his civility.
He was glad those bastards didn't do a proper check, that he still had possession of the dagger, hidden just at his hip.
There were two Kings, one with hair that dragged on the floor behind him, and one with hair that never grew more than an inch.
The wise king and the foolish they were called.
The foolish threatened the wise over and over and over again, and each time, the wise king refused.
Until, finally, the wise king became foolish and gave in to the foolish king's childish pestering.
With the sharp blade of a sword, the wise king cut his hair as a sign of war.
With a great army, the wise man killed the foolish.
Fakir held tight to the base of his ponytail and angled the blade of the dagger, and with a quick swipe, his long hair was gone.
If it was war Drosselmeyer wanted, it was war he would get.
FAKIR WAS SURPRISED WHEN the next day he wasn't assaulted and was instead met with a familiar face.
"Mytho." He felt relief wash over him.
"Fakir." Mytho knelt beside him, taking his hand. "What have they done to you?"
Mytho raised his hand to Fakir's swollen face.
"I've had worse."
Mytho's eyes darted over Fakir's features, finally landing on his eyes. "Your eyes aren't like Charon's." He said. "Everyone told me that Charon was your father, and you his bastard son."
Fakir started to shake his head.
"But your eyes. You look so much like her. More than I ever have."
Fakir's lips parted, for a moment he felt an ounce of hope.
"So it's true, isn't it? That awful story." Mytho shook his head. "What Drosselmeyer did to you…"
"What he did to us. He robbed us of each other."
Mytho stifled a laugh, "You know I always saw you as a brother."
"He robbed Autor of his family as well."
"What are you going to do?"
"Mytho, I am the true King." Fakir swallowed hard. "I'm going to take what's rightfully mine."
Mytho pressed his forehead to Fakir's, he wrapped his hand around the back of Fakir's neck. "Then I bow to the true King." His thumb started making circles. "Fakir, your hair is gone."
Fakir gave an airy chuckle. "Yes, it is."
Mytho stood. "You will make a great King."
Mytho placed his hand over his heart and bowed at the waist.
THE DAY DROSSELMEYER ARRIVED came as no surprise.
Fakir leaned against the opposing wall, his arms resting on his knees. "I was wondering when you'd make your appearance."
Drosselmeyer shut the door behind him, leaving himself alone with Fakir.
"I've heard that you've been a nuisance. But, I fear that comes as no surprise."
"So you think you can do better than anyone else?" Fakir sneered. "You can't hurt me more than they already have."
"No." Drosselmeyer gave him a wicked, beaming smile. "But I can hurt her."
Fakir's eyes went wide. "No, no don't you dare touch her."
He laughed. "I won't touch a hair on her head, but I do have something wonderful in store for her."
Fakir rose to his feet and staggered toward Drosselmeyer.
"Do you know what day it is?" Drosselmeyer gave him a twisted grin. "Today is the twenty-fourth, you're out of time."
"No, I'll get out of here and I'll put at end to this, to you." Fakir panted, after days of endless abuse, of little food, little water, he was weak.
Drosselmeyer threw back his head. "Like this? You couldn't hurt a fly! No, you couldn't hurt Autor!"
Drosselmeyer strode up to him and pushed his shoulder, it was enough to send him staggering back, he hit his head against the stone floor.
"No, I like my odds with you like this." Drosselmeyer leisurely walked around Fakir and stepped on his chest. "But, before I send you out into the forest like a wounded lamb, I want to tell you what will happen to your precious Ahiru."
Fakir grabbed Drosselmeyer's ankle with the intention of throwing him off, but he couldn't.
"Tomorrow, she will marry Autor and while you and Autor run around in the forest like blind animals, I will make sure that you die."
"Then what, you'll run? I don't think your chances are any better than mine."
Drosselmeyer chuckled, he dug his heel into Fakir's sternum. "No, when Autor wins, he will return and be crowned King, and with him Ahiru will be crowned Queen.
"Did you know, Fakir, that so long as someone is under the pen, they can't die unless the writer brings their death upon them? Do you know how old I am? Do you know how long I have been waiting for my opportunity?"
Fakir grew uncomfortable, the wooden heel only a slight pressure, but Fakir knew very little of what he and Drosselmeyer could do. He never used the power himself and he sure as hell didn't have anyone to teach him how to use the horrid gift.
Drosselmeyer was an old man, he was Fakir's grandfather, but by the wrinkles that covered his forehead, and the hair that grew grey, Fakir had put the man at sixty.
"I was given my gift fifty years ago, but I wasn't the ten year old boy that everyone believes me to have been."
Fakir leveled him a glare, he didn't care how old the bastard was.
"I have been sixty-two for the last fifty years."
"What?"
Drosselmeyer smiled. "My dear boy, I have put myself under the pen, I control myself and I have had yet to die, to grow old."
"What about my mother? She grows older."
"Aw, a keen eye." Drosslemeyer released his foot from Fakir's chest. But nonetheless, Fakir couldn't find the strength to rise. "At night, when she sleeps, I give her freedom, and it is then when she ages. But soon I won't need her. Soon, she won't matter. What was I saying? Ah, yes, Ahiru."
Fakir grit his teeth, his gaze became murderous, and he was sure it only fueled Drosselmeyer, but he didn't care, he simply couldn't control the absolute hatred he felt for the man.
Drosselmeyer came back and swiftly kicked his side.
Fakir groaned in pain, he heard the crack more than felt it, the favorite target of the third guard, he was sure that was just the last straw.
"The plan is complicated, more than it needs to be, but I like that!"
"You're ridiculous, you're a fool." Fakir rolled to his side, holding onto it as he rose onto his elbow.
"Helmia will die in her sleep." Drosselmeyer laughed. "It will be fitting, the instant she's free, is the instant she dies."
"If you kill my mother I will rip your throat out."
"What will it matter, you'll be dead by then!
"And in despair, Autor will take his own life, leaving his young Queen left all by herself."
"Shut up."
"I will take it upon myself to make sure that she is no longer alone, and by marriage I will be crowned King!"
"Shut up!" Fakir struggled to rise to his feet, he let go of his side and placed both hands on the floor.
"And then, with my own hands, I will kill her."
"Shut up!" With a vicious roar, Fakir rose to his feet, he raised his hand and socked Drosselmeyer's jaw, a weak punch, but still one that hurt the old man.
"You will pay dearly for tha- no! No. She will pay dearly for that." Drosselmeyer pushed Fakir again, laughing with mirth as he fell to the floor, his laughter echoing in Fakir's head even after he left.
Fakir took a deep breath, he had to get to the forest.
He took the dagger out from its hidden spot.
He didn't have ink or a quill, so he would just have make his own.
Fakir slashed the blade across his palm and began writing on the floor.
The door opened and he looked up at the guard, free from Drosselmeyer's control, but now under his own.
He shook his head, tears welled in the corner of his eye. "I'm so sorry."
The guard didn't seem to hear, he came in and pulled Fakir from the earth and he was taken out of the cell.
He was lead out of the castle, out of the city, and deposited at the forest, and as soon as he was let go, the guard groaned.
He was no longer under anyone's control.
Fakir reached out to him, but knew it was best to leave him be, who knew what Drosselmeyer could pull from him if the guard realized what he had just done, how much of a traitor he could be labeled as.
The forest was different at night, there was no easy path to follow. He wouldn't be hurt, he knew he couldn't be, but that still didn't quell his fears.
He could feel the eyes of thousands of creatures following him, their breath on his neck.
He had seen the run of Lohengrin, with his pen he could look through the eyes of others, see their path, even if they had long since passed.
He knew that with very little effort, Lohengrin moved through the forest like Fakir had when he held Ahiru's hand, but he knew that he was still tested.
Five tests.
Intelligence.
Strategy.
Mediation.
Morale.
Strength.
He knew that when he ran, he would face the same, ancient tests, and he knew he could win.
But tonight wasn't the Königsspiel.
Tonight was just a night, it was up to fate if he would be killed here.
He heard a familiar rustle, and when he looked to the side of him he saw the giant salamander.
He sighed in relief as the creature led him through the forest, but the damn thing was fast, and it blended into the world around it.
"Wait!" He called, picking up the pace even with his bruised knees, the broken rib bringing him pain with each breath.
The thing stopped, only enough time for Fakir to catch up to it before it moved again, but that didn't matter.
He could hear their destination.
He could hear the water pour down over the rocks into the healing pool.
Past one last tree branch, he came to the pool and staggered into it before his foot caught on a rock and he fell in, but when he rose from the water, his head cleared.
The swelling that consumed his face was gone, the bruises that covered his stomach were gone, and his rib was healed.
The slash on his palm, vanished.
He stepped out of the pond and he was new.
FAKIR LEFT THE FOREST quickly, going to the last place he expected to go.
He knocked heavily at the door and when it opened he was surprised to find the master of the house rather than a servant.
"Oh! Mon roi, tu es arrivé!"
Femio wrapped his arms around Fakir, but not for long as Fakir pushed him away.
"I was worried you would never arrive but look at you! Mwuah, as handsome as ever."
"I'm going to the ball, is the costume ready?"
"Yes, but." Femio tsked, he reached out and touched the choppy ends of Fakir's hair. "Let me clean this up."
Fakir only gave him a glare.
"Don't you want to look your best! Think! You descend the stairs, you catch her eye, and after weeks of being apart she sees-" Femio pulled at a strand of hair. "This."
"Fine, but make it quick."
Femio smiled, he clapped his hands and Fakir was pulled inside, his hair was trimmed, the bottom half of his scalp was shaven, and it was brushed into something that looked like a passable hairstyle.
He supposed a thank you would have been in order, but he didn't have time-
Fakir stopped, the image of Ahiru coming to mind, how quick she was to show her gratitude…
She would want him to do the same.
"Thank you."
Femio smiled, and bowed. "For you, moi roi, anything."
"I- I need you to do something for me." Fakir said, grabbing Femio's arm. "Tomorrow, when I'm in the forest, you need to keep an eye on Ahiru, please."
"I won't let her leave my sight."
Fakir swallowed hard, he nodded.
"Now." Femio lead Fakir into the largest room his home housed. Two stories tall, shelves holding bolts of fabric. "This is a costume I am quite proud of." He showcased a simple outfit, one that Fakir would probably actually choose to wear.
"A blue coat, like the night sky." Femio wiggled his fingers before he pulled the jacket off.
Underneath was a billowing white shirt, tucked into high waisted pants, black in color, made with a thicker material, made for travel, not parties.
"And this, will be what you wear to run the Königsspiel. Made with the sturdiest materials I have, it will last you on your trek through the wilderness."
Fakir reached forward and touched the collar.
Again, she popped into his head, her bright smile and kind eyes.
"Thank you."
Fakir cleared his throat and Femio gave him a slight smile.
"And the mask?"
"Ah." Femio frowned. "It is… simple, like you asked. But, are you sure you don't want me to add more detail? Just some paint, like craters, a bit of blue to bring out what you are."
"No."
Femio slapped the back of his hand to his forehead. "Oh, how it pains me to send you out in something so plain."
Fakir walked around the mannequin, his hand rising to run over the coat, he hadn't noticed before, but thousands of tiny, silver stars had been embroidered, making it appear like the night sky.
Ahiru would like it.
He was sure of that.
Femio cleared his throat and Fakir looked over at him.
He held up a plain mask, made of metal, oval in shape, that would keep his face hidden, and two thin slots for his eyes to see.
"Hurry!" Femio called and clapped his hands, and Fakir was surrounded by Femio's personal servants. "We don't have much time!"
Fakir was stripped of his clothes, his arms and legs threaded through the new, the mask tied around his face.
He felt foolish.
"Wait ten mintues." Femio said, adjusting his own, feather filled mask. "And then leave."
Fakir nodded.
He watched Femio leave and stood… Awkwardly.
He wasn't sure if this was worth it, he was sure that Drosselmeyer knew by now that he had gotten away, and going back to the palace, it felt like a trap.
But Drosselmeyer wanted him to run the Königsspiel, at least as a free man, he had the choice to stand up and say something, that he would run, that he would challenge Autor.
Of course, now running the Königsspiel was dangerous, he could die if he wasn't careful, if his plan went awry.
He thought of his mother, or Autor if he failed, what their fates would be.
But mostly, he thought of Ahiru, who would be used, more than anyone for Drosselmeyer's plans.
If he failed, it wouldn't just be him who died, but everyone he loved.
He waited ten minutes, kicked away from the door and went outside to find a saddled horse waiting to be ridden.
He stirred the horse into a full gallop in his desperation to reach the palace.
Over the houses and trees he could see the lights that flooded from the castle's windows, like champagne that flooded the night with warmth.
He could hear the music, and as he snuck over the garden wall, looking through the large glass windows, he could see everyone in attendance, every Noble that had a right to call themselves Nobles were there, he saw Mytho and Rue, he even saw Drosselmeyer.
But he didn't see her.
He snuck to the castle wall and pushed on it until it opened just on the other side.
He would need to get to the second story, to walk into the ballroom's grand entrance.
Fakir was quiet, sneaking on tiptoe, but every once in a while, he stopped when he heard murmuring.
It might have even been about him, half the servants wore an oak tree on their person, and the other half would have loved the gossip.
The prisoner escaped.
He stopped before the door, he could almost feel the warmth radiating from inside.
Fakir took a deep breath and pushed at the doors until they parted, flinching when they rebounded against the wall.
The music stopped, no one was expecting such a late guest.
Fakir held his shoulders back, held his chin high, and walked down the stairs, his eyes darting all over the room, looking for her.
It wasn't that hard.
The fashion this year, Fakir observed as he watched the other ladies brush their hands against their skirts, empire lined, or simple column, skirts with much fabric but ultimately stayed close to their body.
He had to stop when he saw her, her dress unlike any other, and when he looked down at her, catching her eyes through the mask, he saw her wonder, her disbelief.
Her fear.
At the bottom of the staircase he offered her his hand, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She looked like the sun.