Young Immortals

Five: Questions

Madame glares at me when I step through the kitchen doors, her beady eyes just visible through the silts of her gold mask. While everyone else is already halfway done with breakfast, I am the last copper to arrive, having spent my morning painting over my neck bruises. 

Most coppers can enter the kitchen with strange, unexplained marks without anyone batting an eye, but the princess' 'pet copper' would stir gossip and might even reach Aerywna's ears.

"You're late," Madame says. I start to apologize but she holds up a hand. "Just fetch the eggs. And watch out. The pan is hot."

Technically, I am no longer hers to command, but Madame will occasionally do so anyway as a reminder that at the end of the day, no matter whose favor I secure, I am still a copper and she is still a gold; I am still a mortal and she is still a fae. 

Not wanting to draw her attention, I am usually hypervigilant around her, but today I move through the kitchen like the walking dead, my head still stuck in the darkness of the cave. What I wouldn't give to –

"Hey!" someone shouts. "Watch the metal!"

I jerk back my hand, a second too late. The hot metal scalds my skin, forming angry red burns all along my palms. The other coppers are wary of my connection to Aerwyna. They do not reproach me, even though I delayed their preparations back half an hour, at least. 

But Madame does not share their concerns. "Didn't I tell you to be careful? Little fool, pay attention next time."

After I get the burn bandaged, I go to the gardens. Since Aerywna is busy with coronation duties, I'm working on the background alone for the rest of today, or however long I can stand before the burns force me to stop. 

I'm mixing colors when Hunkletoad arrives, skipping the greetings to list all the reasons I must fix his painting. As he moans on and on, I rub my temple, sensing a pounding headache in the near future. 

"Should I just do it for you?" I interrupt.

He stares at me, shocked. Then he practically throws his canvas at me. As I fix his proportions and shading, my mind wanders back to the cave. The light shining off the wall was so bright that it burned into my retinas. With every blink, I see the symbols burned into my eyelids. Each had a different shape, twisting across each other with no rhyme or reason –

"What on earth?" Hunkletoad cries, ripping his paper from my hand. 

I look down, blinking several times. When my vision clears, I realize that I was correcting his painting – that is, at first. Midway down the canvas, I started drawing the symbols from the underground palace, over and over again, so hard the charcoal ripped through the cover at certain points.

"Sorry – I don't – let me fix it." I reach for him, but he jerks his arm back.

"This is the piece I am submitting to The Goblet."

"I don't mean to, I swear."

"You have a problem with me winning?"

"Of course not. I can help you –"

"It's fine. Don't worry, I'll fix it myself." 

His jaw clenched, Hunkletoad stalks back toward the palace and stops dead when he spots Silas approaching. He tries to simultaneously tuck his canvas behind his back and bow, only to accomplish neither and fall flat on his face. 

Without blinking, Silas steps over Hunkletoad's body, continuing at a steady pace until he reaches me.

"Nice company you keep," he says.