A Little Night Muse(2)

                No shining proof of her innocence would be allowed. Not that                     Adelyn believed her guilt or innocence was at all relevant.

                “Take her away.” The chamberlain’s peg-toothed sneer reflected                     in the blank screens of stolen smart phones strung around his scaly neck. “She                     is nothing to us now.”

                As one, the courtiers in all their phae glamour furled their wings or tightened the luxurious falls of                     their cloaks or closed their eyes. Shutting her out. Their whispers chased to                     the far edges of the hall like the distant hiss of a retreating tide.

                As if the terror wasn’t bad enough. For a musetta like her—desired for her power of inspiration that compelled                     thoughts and dreams to dizzying heights—such rejection burned worse than                     iron.

                Hands reached for her, but she strained away, tearing the                     spider silk of her veils. She had wrapped herself in the fluttering scarves—an                     age ago, it seemed—to emphasize her dusky-skinned, dark-haired beauty. Now the                     pale veils only served as a stark backdrop for her blood. “You can’t send me                     away!”

                “Silence,” the goblin barked. Everyone knew the last words of                     the condemned held particular power.

                Drawing in a deep breath, she forced down the pain of her                     scorched wrists and the humiliation of exposing her knack of jeweled tears.                     Every reluctant eye was on her now. Musetta inspired                     music and poetry, art and science, the wildest flights of fancy.

                But she could also inspire fear.

                Adelyn took no pleasure in the stark faces, but she would not                     let them pretend as she had pretended she was untouchable. She swept her gaze                     around the hall, slashing at the phae with a glare                     as edged as a shattered jewel. “Any of you could be next.”

                Adelyn had time for nothing else as she was pushed into the                     dark corridor that led to her death.

                Her tears—mere water now, her knack drained—blinded her.                     Unbalanced by her bound hands, she stumbled. The rip in her veils dipped forward                     over her breasts. Stupid gilded slippers had no traction.

                A sudden burst of illumination flared beyond her tears.