A Little Night Muse

Chapter 1

                “...For the crime of treason against the phaedrealii, the court of our steel-born Queen, the                     punishment is—and seriously, this should surprise no one—death.”

                As the goblin chamberlain made the pronouncement, Adelyn stared                     down at her clasped hands where the iron chains burned. True enough, everyone                     knew the penalty for treason. It was easy enough to remember. The same sentence                     was meted out for sedition, insubordination, noncompliance, obstructionism,                     incompetence, various forms of folly, and—sometimes—yawning in the presence of                     the Queen.

                So, no, Adelyn wasn’t surprised. But terror squeezed her heart.                     With each frantic beat, crimson welled from her blackened wrists to smoke                     against the manacles. Even looking at the dull metal brought tears to her phae eyes.

                Phae blood in every rainbow                     color—red like her own, yellow, green, purple, even black—had been shed in the                     Queen’s court. But Adelyn never imagined she would be the one in chains. She was                     best beloved of all the musetta who served as                     inspiration to the phaedrealii courtiers. How had                     she fallen so far?

                Though she could not flee the iron agony, one tear did escape.                     She ducked her head to hide her emotion, but the droplet traced a cool path down                     her cheek. For a heartbeat, it trembled at the edge of her jaw, refracting                     shards of light. The sparkles danced across the nearest courtiers who leaped                     back, swatting at the unseemly display as if they could knock away her forbidden                     expression of feeling.

                The tear fell. It struck the marble floor not with a splash but                     a chiming ping.

                The faceted emerald teardrop bounced away from her gilded                     slippers—less gilded after what seemed like an eternity in her iron-clad prison                     cell. Cursing courtiers scrambled from the stone’s path. No one wanted to be                     touched by her disgrace.

                Between the fleeing bodies darted one of the chamberlain’s                     imps, freakishly fast on three crabbed limbs. It snatched the rolling emerald                     between its rubbery lips. A single bulbous eye boggled at her before the imp                     tipped back its head and swallowed. Then the wretched little monster burped.