Chapter 28
A cramp in my hand forces me to set down the quill and rub the sore muscles. I roll one shoulder, then the other. I pop my neck and release a great sigh, leaning my forehead against my palm and staring down at the half-scrawled coded letter before me. A request for Rahk to take Mama Bagogs to Orawyth. And a notice that it’s time for him to propose to Lord and Lady Nothril the absorption of the Neverseen King’s portal to Orawyth.
The Neverseen King will be suspicious at such a request, but I know he hates the Orawyth portal. The Nothril Court will be happy to have it completely under their control. It’ll make everyone happy, if the deal goes through, and I will be one step closer to allying my father’s two biggest threats.
They’ll have to come to Valehaven and present the news to the High King. And that’s the distraction I’ll need to make Faradir forget about Stella long enough to ensure the rest of my plan works.
I massage the bridge of my nose. Maybe one of these days, my scheming will pay off in the form of a crown. Or perhaps I’ll just end up as dead as my mother.
Once my hand stops hurting, I pick up the quill and finish the letter. It goes in the stack on my desk of outgoing mail. From the other stack left by Edvear, I pick up the next thing. It’s that request from Milton Andrews, signed by Edvear, indicating that it’s been taken care of. Which means I’m now obligated to buy this slave girl. The tattoo itches on the inner skin of my forearm. I roll up my sleeve to scratch it.
Humans in Faerieland. Such a complicated problem. They don’t belong here, and yet here they are. But the laws must stand. If a human enters Faerie in breach of terms, then they are enslaved. There must be punishment—otherwise humans will find it quite thrilling to run amok in our forests, getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. I cannot thwart the law.
But I do what I can to mitigate its abuse.
It’s just . . . it’s never enough. And in fact, it’s often almost too much of a risk for me to take. If I go buy this girl from Princess Listhra, someone will report it to the High King. He’ll think I have an attachment to her, and then she’ll be the next on his list to demonstrate his wrath.
I’ll have to send her back to a Small City and accept her father’s service in her stead.
A knock sounds on my door.
I look up through the strands of hair fallen in my face. Part of me lifts in sudden hope—but I squash it immediately. I know this knock as well as I know my own name. It’s not the soft little knock I cannot deny I’ve been hoping to hear all afternoon.
Edvear opens the door.
“Yes?” I ask, raking my hair out of my face and leaning back in my chair.
“The banquet is fast approaching, my lord. Do you care to dress appropriately?”
I glance down at my blousy white shirt, its throat strings loose, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. My bare feet. I sigh again. I half-consider just glamouring myself for the evening, but then I remember I’ll be maintaining Stella’s glamour. Best not to stretch myself too thin in case something goes . . . sour tonight. My awareness goes to the vials in the secret compartment of my desk.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” I say, picking up my quill again.
But Edvear doesn’t leave.
“Yes?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
“The Lady Stella . . .”
My alertness sharpens. “Yes?”
“She’s still asleep, my lord.”
My other eyebrow joins the first. “She’s still asleep? That’s . . .” My voice trails off as I check my pocket watch. “Four hours, now?”
Poor thing. I need to stop frightening her so much. I forget how taxing close calls with death are for humans. I’ve grown too used to this dance.
“Indeed, my lord. Shall I wake her? Or would you rather leave her behind for this evening?”
I sigh, dropping my head. It seems a cruel thing to wake her when she’s clearly so exhausted. But the prospect of going without her makes my teeth tighten. It wouldn’t be a good look. Perhaps I could play it to my advantage? Maybe if I presented it like an insult to Valehaven’s hospitality . . .
“I’ll check on her,” I say, rising to my feet. “Please have someone select tonight’s clothes for me. I don’t think I have time. Did Stella’s dress arrive?”
“Indeed. Several hours ago, in fact.”
Perhaps the biggest travesty of not bringing Stella tonight would be not seeing her wear the beautiful new gown. I picked it specifically for her. It’s a mesmerizing blend of fae and human fashion, and conservative enough to be comfortable to her sensibilities. I’m probably too eager to see how she likes it.
Edvear closes the door behind him. I pause, then slip my hand along the hidden latch. It springs open, and I open the drawer. Vials of poison gleam back at me.
I let out a deep sigh. Always best to be prepared in my father’s presence. Even if he cannot kill me yet . . .
It doesn’t hurt to expect the unexpected.
I dare not underestimate the High King.
Quickly, I take a draught of each, wincing as the last slug-like black liquid crawls down my throat. With a shudder, I pull my composure back together and return the vials to their hiding spot.
I march out of the room, cross the hallway to the bedroom. I skirt around the untouched bed that I haven’t slept in for over a week and pretend it isn’t looming in my periphery as I stop before Stella’s door. There are those familiar soft snores.
I smile despite myself.
What if I declined tonight’s banquet, too? Perhaps I could work that to my advantage. Then, instead of playing political games with fools, fops, and worse, I could slip beneath the covers beside her and hold her in my arms while she sleeps.
I blink. Shake the thought away. Silently, I turn the latch and push the door open.
She’s curled in a little ball, her mouth hidden beneath the covers. Her dark lashes fan her cheeks, her hair a disastrous mess with half of it fallen free of her bun. The sight of her like this, sweet and beautiful and completely lost to her dreams, could stir even the blackest heart to soften.
My shoulders slump slightly. If I’d had any intention of waking her before now, it has flown away like a bird from its coop. I’ll just have to go without her, then.
I should be relieved. She’s safer here, after all.
A snore turns into a snort. Stella’s brow puckers faintly, and she rolls onto her back and stretches her arms above her head. Oh Great Kings, is she waking up? I can’t let her catch me—
Her eyes open. Blink thrice up at the ceiling. Then they swivel straight to me, puffy with sleep.
“Ash!” she gasps, clutching the covers to her chest and sitting upright, hair falling everywhere. Hastily, she tries to comb it back, succeeding only in making it worse.
I put up my hands quickly, and in my surprise, my glamoured control over my flush slips away. I reassert it and hope she doesn’t notice. Then I take a step backward, moving my foot beyond the threshold of her room. “My apologies! I didn’t mean to wake you. I merely intended to check on you.”
She stares at me, her own flush brightening. She looks down, seems to realize she’s fully dressed, and lets the quilt fall into her lap. Twisting the fabric of her skirt between two fingers, she glances around, her eyes lighting over the space—everywhere except me.
Her eyes aren’t puffy from sleep. She was crying.
Mountains of Ildrid, I’m such a cad for taking her today. I should have left her behind. I’d mistakenly thought we wouldn’t encounter trouble, and hadn’t anticipated all the adjustments she’d face along the way.
“How long have I been asleep?”
Her voice startles me back to the present. “Four hours,” I answer.
“Four hours?” she gasps. “Oh! Don’t we have . . . something tonight?”
I clear my throat, turning my head away. “A banquet. But you seem fatigued . . .”
Her lips spread in a wry smile. “I should hope myself rested after four hours.”
She wants to come? My gaze shoots to hers, and something about her seems different. Different from even a few hours ago.
“You don’t have to come,” I say, clearing my throat again. “I can think of an excuse—”
She sits up straighter, leveling her narrow shoulders. “I’d like to come.”
I blink, certain I didn’t just hear those words cross her lips. “It will be dangerous,” I say quickly, and I’m not sure why I’m trying to dissuade her. “Only fae will be present, aside from the human servants. The High King will be there. I will have to be the way I was. Last night.”
A slight shudder passes through her at the mention of the High King. But as fast as it comes, it’s gone, and when she looks up at me again, determination flashes in those soft eyes.
“Would it help your . . . goal if I came?”
I lick my lips. “Yes.”
“Then I will come.” She pushes aside the blankets, swinging her legs and long skirt over the edge of the bed. She stands, and my throat goes dry as she takes the three steps separating us, tilting her face up toward mine.
I stare down at her. Kiss her, every fiber of my awareness begs. I swallow, struggling to keep my glamour in place as she gives me a coy little smile.
“If it’s dangerous, you’ll just have to protect me,” she says.
I watch her lips form the words, hardly hearing them over the sudden roaring in my ears. Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.
That’s when it clicks—what is different about her.
She’s not stuttering. Not even slightly.
Which means . . .
She’s not afraid.
Something shifted after our conversation in the entry hall. I’m not sure what it is, only that there’s no denying it. This is what I saw during our first dance back in Aursailles, that spark of something buried deep inside her. It burns brighter now, and it is undeniably compelling.
She makes to walk past me, to leave her room. My self-control breaks with a resounding snap. My hand darts out and I catch her around the waist. She gives a small, surprised yelp, but doesn’t resist when I pull her back against my chest.
I love the feel of her.
Swiftly, hardly trusting myself if I linger too much, I sweep her tangled hair to one side and bend down, pressing my lips to the gray fabric covering her shoulder. Her breath catches, her hands flying to grip the arm I have around her waist. I don’t want to let her go. But I’ll do something I regret if I don’t.
I cannot help indulging in a quick squeeze to bring her closer, one more inhale of her sweet scent. Then I let go, and she scampers out of the door. The little bit of her face that I catch before she’s beyond my range of vision is bright red.
Perhaps I’d chuckle if I didn’t feel so bereft.