Chapter 26
I have hardly a few minutes of refuge in my room, away from the confusing presence of my husband, before it’s time to leave his quarters and attend to this errand of his.
The first tip I get that this might be more dangerous than he lets on is the fact that he makes me wear a cloak with a hood, and then pulls that hood down over my head. I’m unsure what good it’ll do, considering that a simple cloak cannot hide my humanity, and it’s not as if it’ll be hard to guess who I am when I’m at his side.
When I press him for information, he says we’re merely paying a visit to someone, and it’s unlikely that anyone will follow us.
Perhaps he’s just paranoid.
I draw a deep breath and follow him out of his quarters, through the beautiful gardens and out through a gate in the hedge.
“Is this a secret exit?” I ask, panting a little to keep up with Ash’s long legs.
“No palace exit is secret. The High King always knows when people come and go, as his wards get disturbed. This, however, doesn’t have guards since it’s a servant’s exit. He’ll know that we left, but he won’t know it’s us.”
I follow him, drawing my cloak tighter around my shoulders. “Is it within walking distance?”
“On a Path, yes,” he says, giving me a quick wink before taking my hand and drawing me to the right, away from the golden glow of the palace and the sparkling water toward the same forest we traversed yesterday.
The forest that urged me to flee.
I swallow my premonition, unable to help the way my other hand wraps around Ash’s arm, as if being closer to him will somehow protect me from what he could do to me.
Order a white dress.
“Here’s the Path.” Ash marches straight into the forest, me in tow, and I see no path as he picks his way between trees and low shrubbery, matting pine needles deeper into the ground. His grip tightens on my hand. “Can you see it?”
He’s staring down at me. I swivel my attention to the ground, to the very distinct lack of path before us. I shake my head.
“I didn’t think you would.”
Is that just a smidge of disappointment lacing his words? Something urgent bubbles up within me, the need to shrivel inside myself. I let go of Ash’s arm, but don’t dare pull my hand from his. It would be too obvious. I let my steps flag just slightly and fall a little behind him.
Of course he’s disappointed.How could he not be when I am a human, and he is a fae? Perhaps he lied to me this morning when he said he could never be disappointed in me.
No, he couldn’t have lied. Hylath was there, and she didn’t react.
Then perhaps he merely thought he couldn’t be disappointed. It was an honest statement at the time, proved false in new circumstances.
“Tell me one of those thoughts in your brain,” says Ash abruptly. “They seem to disturb you.”
I blink, looking up at him. “My lord?”
“You’re thinking things. Tell me.”
Absolutely not. He cannot know what I was thinking just now. It would be—
He lets out a great sigh, and I falter. “Oh Stella, must you insult my courage so frequently? It’s quite wounding.”
Is that true? There’s no one here to help me tell if it is a lie. I chew my lip, and something fiery and bitter builds up inside me. Perhaps I should tell him what I’m thinking, and just see if it would make him angry. Maybe it’ll make him stop asking about my thoughts.
Ash stops abruptly, turning back toward me. I don’t have time to think before he’s caught my chin, tilted it up, and pressed a swift kiss to my cheek, dangerously near my lips. “If you delay much longer, I’ll be forced to kiss that mouth of yours. And when I do, it won’t be short and chaste.”
Every thought eddies from my mind. I can think of nothing but how hot this cloak suddenly is, and the looming presence of my husband before me.
He ducks in again while I’m still frozen, kissing my other cheek. I suck in a shallow breath when he draws back a few inches, his mouth hovering over mine. “Last chance, my darling.”
“I c-c-c-can’t th-think,” I gasp, twisting slightly. My lungs scream for air. Why is breathing so hard suddenly? Even if I knew what to say, I could hardly get it out now!
“Then tell me what you feel,” he murmurs gently.
“F-flustered.”
“From me being close, or the thought of me kissing you?”
“All of it!” I burst and wrench free of him, stumbling back a few steps. Surprisingly, he lets me go, and I don’t know what that expression means on his face. I gather the scraps of my composure back together, straighten my spine, run my sweaty hands over my skirts, and set my shoulders back. “Ash,” I say, lifting my chin.
“Stella,” he replies, his voice low.
“I don’t wish to be flustered right now. That is my thought. Now, if you would be so kind as to not purposefully try to induce anxiety in me, I would be grateful. These last few days have been enough by themselves.”
I turn and continue marching forward in the direction he’d been heading, but not before I catch his expression. Thinned lips, without a trace of amusement, and a creased brow. Then he’s at my side, and we walk together through the forest without touching.
“This way,” he says, gesturing for us to skirt a tree, and I wonder if he made up the whole path thing, but I follow anyway.
We perform the rest of our walk in silence. I almost want to ask what he’s thinking, but that would invite more conversation—and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
Before I know it, the forest changes. The ground becomes littered with mushrooms, white and red spotted ones, others brown or gray. The farther we walk, the larger the mushrooms get, and the brighter the colors. They shift slowly enough that I don’t notice it at first, until there is a very distinct mushroom the color of lapis lazuli before me, almost as tall as my knees.
That’s when I realize the trees are also getting taller. Much, much taller. Unease trickles down my spine. I scoot a little closer to Ash, wishing I was brave enough to either face this with straight shoulders or grab hold of my husband’s arm.
“Why are these mushrooms so big?” I whisper.
Ash glances sidelong at me. “They’re normal sized.”
Normal to him, perhaps.
He hesitates then, stealing another glance my way.
“What?” I ask, wrapping my arms around my middle and trying to hide from the deepening sense of premonition.
Ash gives his neck a quick scratch. “I suppose I should probably inform you that as we enter this colony, we’re actually . . . shrinking.”
“Shrinking?” I blurt, and then look around at the mushrooms now tall enough to reach my waist, the trees towering to the heights of heaven above us.
What makes the panic hit past my wall of disbelief is when I look down and discover how large the pine needles are—long enough and fat enough for me to pick one up and use it as a toy sword.
I stop walking. My vision starts to go black.
“Whoa now. Easy there.” Ash’s arm slips around my waist, catching me as I slump, my head falling onto his shoulder. “Forgive me, my love. I forgot this isn’t normal for you humans.”
What won’t be normal is the shape of his nose after I regain my strength enough to swing a blow at him.
Where did that thought come from? It’s hardly a dignified response for a princess.
Despite clinging to consciousness like a barnacle on a turtle’s shell, I mumble against Ash’s neck, “I have the strangest urge to punch you.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” he replies, scooping me up into his arms.
The next thing I’m aware of is a crackling voice permeating through the fog of my awareness. Wobbly, but kind and warm. “Do you want smelling salts for the girl? Fainting is not a good sign, Prince Trenian. Poor thing must be taking the adjustment hard.”
“She’s taking it quite brilliantly,” comes Ash’s voice, oddly close. So close, I’m feeling it more than hearing it. “She has a practical head on her shoulders, especially for a princess. It’s very admirable.”
“I never thought I’d see the day our prince was wed, much less to a human. My boy was honored to serve you all these years. He had nothing but good things to say of the kind master you were when he came to visit.” That crackling voice breaks slightly, punctuated by a sniffle.
My eyes won’t open. I frown.
“Calver was faithful in his work. You should know that he faced his end bravely. He didn’t beg, and his last thought was for you.”
The sniffles grow.
The warmth around me shifts, and a chair creaks. “Here,” comes Ash’s gentle urge.
“Oh, thank you,” is the return half-sob. A loud nose blow follows this.
“I’ve made arrangements with Prince Rahk,” Ash continues, despite the soft weeping. “He will take you to Orawyth, and you’ll be safe there. It’s a human land, but completely disconnected from our continent, like those beyond the Veil, and Faradir does not have access to either of the doors to that world. Once I’m High King, you can return, and you will be under my protection.”
“He said you might make me leave,” the woman responds sadly.
“It’s only temporary. I will place a ward on your home while you’re gone. You will return to it exactly as you left it. But you must leave, because if the High King learns of the bargain I made with your son, he will kill you to spite me. I don’t intend to take chances. Not now.”
My eyes finally manage to open, enough for me to see Ash reach across the table and lay his hand over the woman’s.
“Your son gave his life for your safety. I will not allow his death to be in vain, Mama Bagogs.”
She nods, sniffling, and gives his hand a squeeze. “You are a good man, Prince Trenian. All of Faerieland groans under the hand of your father. We long for the day you will be our High King.”
She’s a human, heavyset, with gray hair bound up in an orderly bun. A patched kerchief covers most of her head, and her simple calico dress is starched smooth, without a single wrinkle. Eyes the color of honey fall on me. “You’re awake, my lady!”
“Decided to join us after all?” says Ash with a quirked lip as he shifts me upward. I catch hold of his collar, suddenly dizzy at the movement.
“F-f-forgive me,” I manage, my vision going in and out of tunnels.
“Do you still have those smelling salts?” Ash asks the woman, studying me as he tilts my head back on his shoulder.
“Of course!” She hops up, hurries to grab something. “Right here, Highness!”
Ash takes the offering, and before I can protest, slides it right beneath my nostrils. Stink flares into my brain, so sharp and startling I let out an unladylike, “Ugh!” and twist away. But when I open my eyes, I’m alert.
Alert—and much too aware of all the places Ash and I are touching.
“Better, love?” he asks.
“Here’s some steamed sap tea, dear. It’ll help restore your strength.”
Before I can protest, an oven-fired clay mug is pressed into my hands. The sweet scents of nutmeg and maple syrup waft to my nostrils, and curiosity replaces my misgivings. I lift the mug, take a tentative sip, and pure goodness blossoms on my tongue. I make quick work of the drink, and when I set the empty mug back on the table, I discover Ash has already downed his.
“Mama Bagogs’ steamed sap tea is the real reason I accepted Calver as my manservant,” Ash whispers to me, loud enough for the elderly woman to hear.
“Oh, enough of your flattery! Let me go find another chair for your wife!” says Mama Bagogs, bouncing up again. “There’s one in the other room—”
“Please, don’t trouble yourself.” Ash flashes one of those devilishly brilliant grins of his and tightens his arm around my waist just as I go to stand. “There’s no need.” And with that, he pulls me right back to perch on his knee.
“Ash!” I give a little protest, trying to calm my whirling thoughts.
“What? Am I scandalizing you? You look scandalized. Do married couples in your land not behave this way?”
“Certainly not!” Not in front of others, that’s for sure. For most couples I know, I highly doubt even their private interactions would share any resemblance to this.
But in the end, it’s Mama Bagogs who rescues me. She grunts while trying to bully a rickety, wide-legged stool through the small, arched doorway of what looks like a cozy bedroom. Ash leaps to his feet, sliding me off his lap, and hurries to the woman’s side. “Please! Don’t trouble yourself! What would your son think if I let you break your back trying to move furniture?”
“Oh, now, Prince Trenian, you mustn’t burden yourself!”
“I’ll burden myself however I please!” And with that, he snatches the stool from her grip, replaces it in the bedroom.
“Now, now—” the woman protests.
“Now, now!” he retorts, wagging his finger in her face. “You might be my most troublesome denizen yet!”
She bursts into a warm chuckle, shaking her head. I stand beside the table, picking at my sleeve with my fingernail as I watch this odd exchange. I’m not quite sure what to make of it when Ash grins down at the little lady, or when he bends and presses a quick kiss to the top of her head.
Have I been misreading his frequent kisses this entire time? His warm demeanor? Perhaps what he feels for me is more platonic than I first thought.
Somehow, I cannot quite make myself believe it.
“Stay safe,” he says to her. “You’ll leave in two days. Pack only what you can carry. I’ll give you funds enough to settle comfortably in Orawyth until it’s safe for you to return.” He comes to my side, stooping from the low ceiling, and briskly slides past his chair. I peer up at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Stay safe yourself, Highness,” the woman responds with a warm smile. “And take care of your sweet wife.”
“With my life,” he replies, laying a warm hand on my low back and escorting me out of the hut. He ducks beneath the lintel.
He closes the door behind us. There’s a strange sort of round roof over—oh. I nearly pass out again as I realize the awning isn’t an awning at all, but the gilled underside of a white-spotted red mushroom. I blink, glancing around to find more people like myself, mingling with . . . mice? They walk upright on their hind legs with tails and everything. They’re clothed, with eyes much more intelligent than a mere rodent’s, and all around are different shapes and varieties of mushroom houses. Their gates are made of chopped pine needles, and I stare agape at the mushroom cap wheels on a cart as it rolls by us. It’s a whole bustling town of tiny people!
“What is this place?” I blurt, awe filling my voice.
“This is Mithral,” replies the prince with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “One of the Small Cities. They’re built by the Mips—the mouse people—but most of the free humans who live in Faerie have taken shelter here. The High King doesn’t know. He knows about the cities, that is. Just not that humans hide here. It makes them a rather ideal place to keep my more at-risk staff and their families, and it’s also where I find most of my human staff.”
He eyes me, and a few different things flash through his gaze. I try to catch hold of them, but they’re gone too quickly.
“How long have they been hiding here?” I ask.
“A little under two hundred years.”
The way he says that . . . I peer up at him. He glances down at me, blinks, quickly looks away. That look confirms it.
He’s the one who started hiding humans here.
“Well!” Ash says brusquely. “This day is certainly getting away from us, isn’t it? Come, come, we mustn’t be late for the feast tonight. The tailor should have delivered your gown by the time we get back.”
With that and nothing else, he takes my hand and pulls me after him. We move briskly through the dirt street, framed by blades of grass tall enough to be trees. I’m forced to dodge around the ruts left behind by acorn wheels.
As we go, a mouse on the other side of the street tips his top hat at Ash. A lady mouse in a pink calico frock and lace-trimmed apron curtsies. A few humans, standing in a group, elbow each other and point—only to bow deeply when Ash spots them. He gives nods and warm smiles to all of them. I gape like a codfish, stumbling along behind him.
They love him. They love him, and they revere him. It’s a completely different reception compared to the High King’s throne room that pulsed with fear.
A sudden shout goes up behind us. I look over my shoulder as a man who looks to be about forty barrels toward us, desperation ringing his eyes.
“My lord! Prince Trenian!”
Ash stops, looks back. He pulls me to his side, keeping his hold on my hand. The man falls to his knees before Ash, and Ash looks down at him with that uncharacteristically serious expression.
“Prince Trenian!” the man gasps, panting for air.
“What is your name?”
“Andrews, my lord. Milton Andrews.”
“What may I do for you, Andrews?”
“It’s my daughter, Highness! Princess Listhra has just bought her years of service, and we all fear for her life.”
Ash gives an acknowledging grunt, apparently well-aware of the princess’ reputation. “You wish for me to buy her into my service?”
“Yes, my lord—but in exchange, I would give twice her years of service myself. Would you accept this bargain?”
Ash says nothing, his brow creasing as though he is deep in thought. “I have no openings on my staff, I’m afraid.”
“Then I would give thrice the years of service, to be fulfilled by anyone of my line, at any time of your choosing. If you would but purchase my daughter back.”
“Very well, I will bargain with you, but only for twice the years. My steward will be in touch with you over the next few days to finalize the bargain. You know the risks, but it’s one of my policies to detail you in full.”
The man clasps his hands together. “Thank you, my lord! Thank you!”
Ash’s grip tightens on my hand, and then he’s helping me up a hill that must be hardly a bump in the ground. I pant as we reach the top, struggling to maintain my decorum as I press my free hand to my chest.
“Ash?” I ask.
“Hmm?”
“Who was that woman? How did you know her son?”
“So you weren’t out that whole time, eh?”
I wasn’t exactly fully conscious! But I keep my mouth shut, waiting for him.
He draws a deep breath. “He was a manservant of mine. He died the day I met you.”
“Died?” There’s something much more ominous behind that word. It’s there, in the sour twist of Ash’s lips. Perhaps I might think it was a lie, but this strikes me as very true. Almost as if the truth tastes worse than a lie ever could.
“My father killed him.”
“Oh.”
We’re silent as we continue our trek. Did he carry me all this way while I was passed out? The mushroom houses only now begin thinning out the further we go. How much longer until we start . . . growing?
It takes me a dozen more steps before I find the courage to ask: “Why did your father kill him?”
He doesn’t answer at first, slowing down to help me over a log that’s probably nothing more than a twig. “Because I rejected his choice of bride.”
“You rejected his choice of bride?” The shocked words are out before I can stop them. I clamp my jaw shut, but not before he shoots a surprised look back at me. “F-forgive me,” I quickly add, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t know anyone could reject a marriage arrangement.”
It sounds foolish once I say it. Perhaps there are many people who reject such a thing. It just seems so . . . utterly . . . impossible. If I had dared to even express displeasure at my father’s choice . . . I barely withhold a shudder.
“Perhaps you forget that the High King is actively searching for ways to end my life. It’s a complicated situation.” He says this with a little smirk and wink, but there’s something else there. Something lurking behind the brightness of his eyes.
My heart gives a twinge. Though my relationship with my own father has always been complicated, he never actively tried to do me harm. There might have been hurt and bitterness between us, but never malice.
My mind flickers back to last night, to the way the air simmered between Ash and his father. The way I’d been caught like a mouse between two predators.
And yet . . .
I give Ash’s hand a little squeeze. It’s not much. Perhaps words would be better, but my tongue is too tired and elegant words have never been my strength. This little hand squeeze will have to suffice for the things I wish to say. A simple I’m sorry, Ash.
A very subtle twitch goes through his fingers, and he half looks back at me, then stops, as if he doesn’t want to meet my eyes. Instead, his hand tightens around mine, and he tugs me a little closer than before.
The mushrooms around us have shrunk to Ash’s height by now, and with each step, we un-shrink, as it were, until finally the trees are a normal height, and the surrounding forest is how it should be. My feet wobble, but my husband’s grip on my hand steadies me.
It’s his hand stiffening in mine that first alerts me to something being wrong.
I look up, find Ash’s piercing eyes scanning the forest, two bright beacons in the dim half-light spilling through the tops of the trees. My heart gives a nervous little putter. I’m really not sure how much I can handle after yesterday. I want to ask what’s wrong—and I almost do. At the last second, I close my lips and seal them shut. I don’t want to distract him.
Oddly enough, despite the mounting unease rippling through my body, there’s an anchor in the fear.
I think I might truly trust my husband, and beyond his mere need to keep me alive for his own purposes. I think—
Ash’s body slams into mine so fast my breath is knocked out of my chest. I land hard on my back, wheezing up at the overwhelming weight of my husband on top of me. His hand claps over my mouth, and my eyes go even wider than they were a split second ago.
Then my gaze latches onto the tree, hardly a foot away—and the black-fletched arrow sticking out of it.
“It seems like Faradir was jealous of our steamed sap tea. Should we make him some, hmm?” Ash’s face splits into a deadly grin. “Do as I say, love, and don’t scream. It’ll simplify things.”