15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Kat
The next morning, I am not as mad at the prince as I ought to be. True to his word, he leaves me alone. I work hard at my usual tasks, sore from yesterday, but I focus quietly instead of fuming. My body is already adjusting to my new routine of vigorous activity. There is something very satisfying and very simple about working hard all day, and then when I’m finished—I’m finished.
Prince Rahk leaves mid-morning and doesn’t return until nearly evening. I’m not the only one who is relieved to have him gone. All the staff, even Mrs. Banks, are extra chipper, chatting more while they work. I find myself smiling when Becky waves from her stool. Edvear is in good spirits too, his characteristic furrowed brow smooth as he talks to Charity.
I’m not the only one frightened by the prospect of living with a fae prince, it seems.
The prince returns as I am setting out his supper. He strides into the room, a package tucked under one arm. He wears human garb for the first time—an embroidered vest over a collared shirt and a pair of dark brown trousers—and with his hair tied back, he . . . still doesn’t look human.
I skitter to one side and bow.
The prince looks at me before noting his meal. He takes the package from under his arm and holds it out to me. I hesitate for a second before walking forward and taking it from him.
“Where do you want me to put it?” I ask.
“It’s for you.”
“For me?” I blurt, turning the package over in my arms. It’s some large tome, wrapped in brown paper. “What do you mean?”
“Open it.”
Curiosity overtakes me. I tear open the wrapping to reveal an embossed title. The Complete Guide to Fool’s Circle. My lips part. I stare at the book in my hands, comprehending and yet more confused than ever. “I—what is . . . This is for me?”
His mouth is lifted in a smirk again, but this smirk is different than his others. There is no lurking danger behind it. “Yes, Nat, it is for you. I think you will like it. It’s written by a human who lived in Faerieland most of his life as a slave. His story at the beginning is quite fascinating.”
I run my fingertips over the title and stitching along the thick spine. Are my cheeks turning warm? “Oh,” I say stupidly. Then I look up. “Do you want me to beat you, Master?”
He laughs. The sound is quiet, but deep and rich. It’s far more pleasant than I ever anticipated a fae’s laugh sounding. “I like to encourage potential when I see it. Now, sit down with me while I eat and play so I might trounce you once more before you become too good for me.”
A smile spreads across my face despite my best efforts. The last thing I wanted to do last night was play Fool’s Circle. Now, it is all I want to do. I sit down quickly and set aside my present.
We play until it grows dark. I take his dishes to the kitchen and then return to my own room for sleep. He seems to only rarely come to bed, and when he does, it is much later than when I do. Finally alone, sequestered safely inside my room, I hold the book to my chest and inhale the scent of ink deep into my lungs.
Then I dive into its pages, devouring the contents. The prince was right—the story at the beginning is fascinating. I’m immediately drawn in. This man, Abraham Felton, stumbled into the Long Lost Wood by accident and wound up a slave for “invading” the fae lands, like most of the people I rescue during my raids. He served a cruel master who decided to trick him by bargaining that, instead of fulfilling his sentence, he could remain a slave just until the day he beat the master in Fool’s Circle. The master was the best in all the Courts at the game, and opponents would come far and wide to play him. Abraham served his refreshments during the games, and while he stood silently and awaited his master’s bidding, he observed. He quickly figured out the rules and began assembling different players’ strategies. Soon, he could see the flaws in his master’s opponents’ games. He constructed his own board with a large leaf and smears of mud. Once every week, he would play his master, and every time, he lost. But soon he shifted from losing on accident to losing on purpose. He carefully wove different strategies into his attempts, testing how his master would counter each one. He finally acquired ink and paper and catalogued his findings until, at last, it was time to play the master in earnest.
He knew he had to be careful, however. If he wasn’t, he could easily end up being killed the second he won the game. So he faked illness to be dismissed from service until he had recovered. Then, he disguised himself in tattered rags and smeared mud over every inch of himself. He fashioned a cane, made his voice crackly and thin, and made his appearance in front of all the Court of Valehaven, when his master was entertaining his challengers. Everyone thought this stranger, who gave no name, was curious. The master let him play.
Abraham played better than the master. So much better, that he made the master believe he was winning, until the very last second. When he claimed the Fool.
Silence fell in the court.
Abraham got up immediately and fled. Everyone was so shocked, and the Court was in such an uproar trying to find out who this mysterious stranger was, they lost themselves to confusion and no one could stop him. He’d smeared himself with fae mud, so they’d lost his scent and when he disappeared into the forest, no one could find him again.
He vanished, until the day his book was published in the human lands—
“Your candle is about to burn out. And you need sleep.”
The voice startles me so hard I drop the book, knocking my candle, and snuffing it out. “Master!”
The prince’s white hair stands out in the dimness, as does the flash of his pearlescent teeth when he smiles—a sight I am still adjusting to. “Do you have any clue how late it is?”
I blink.
“It’s past midnight.”
“Saints!” I cry, shoving the book away from me as the prince chuckles. “I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t keep you awake with the candle!”
“Get some sleep.”
Then he shuts the door. I mentally kick myself. But when I lay down, my mind is so full I can barely let my exhausted body fall asleep.
The queen’s ball falls on the night of my next raid. I couldn’t have picked better timing. Prince Rahk will be gone all night and won’t notice my conspicuous absence. I don’t know how I will handle future raids when he is home, but I will deal with that problem later. For now, I count my blessings.
I am a bundle of nerves helping him get ready. He wears human fashion—a blousy linen shirt with ruffled sleeves, blue velvet doublet embroidered in silver thread, straight legged trousers, and leather shoes—and I watch Edvear struggle to fasten a bejeweled cravat to his throat.
Don’t intervene, I instruct myself severely. I cannot reveal how familiar I am with upper class fashion.
Edvear steps back. It’s a little lopsided. Prince Rahk looks at me. “Is it correct?”
I tilt my head, getting a better look at it. I shrug. “I think so?”
“It’s not right,” the prince interprets. He marches to the mirror and fiddles with it himself. Then he turns around. “Is it right now, Nat?”
It is, indeed. “That looks better, Master.”
“Excellent.” He turns as Edvear holds out a decorative knife for his belt. He shakes his head. “The queen doesn’t want me wearing weapons.”
“It’s decorative,” says Edvear. “It barely counts as a weapon. All the human men wear them at balls—as I’m told.”
“I’m not wearing a weapon, no matter how impractical and silly the weapon may be.” He then turns to me, spreading his arms wide. “Well, Nat, lend me your human eyes. Do I look presentable? Am I sufficiently humanlike?”
I look him over. In his new garb, tailored perfectly to his form, he looks human from the neck down. A very large human, yes, but still human. He followed my suggestion to wear his hair in a queue and cover his long ears. The color of his hair is very noticeable, but that cannot be helped.
The main problem, however, is his face.
It’s like I realize for the first time just how overwhelmingly beautiful he is. Fae are always beautiful beyond imagination, and over the years I’ve learned to see past their glamours to their wicked core. I don’t even notice their beauty anymore—only their power. Looking at the prince now, though, I do see it. It is a rugged sort of beauty, hard-edged and flintlike. One can scarcely look into his endless black eyes and think he was anything short of other .
I find my voice with difficulty. “I think we’ve done the best we can to make you look human.”
Edvear shoots me a sharp glare, wordlessly chastising me to always praise. But the prince seems to appreciate my honesty and nods consideringly.
“You both have done well tonight. Are you ready, Edvear?” he asks, turning toward his steward.
Edvear wears his own finery, though it is significantly plainer than the prince’s. A smart feathered cap hides his horns. “Yes, my lord.”
The prince’s gaze returns to me. His mouth tilts upward. “Don’t stay up too late reading.”
“You don’t want me to wait up for you?” I ask. Mary always waited up for me.
He shakes his head. “Edvear and I will manage. Take your rest.”
With that, the two of them head out to the waiting carriage. I run to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer into the dusk as they climb inside the cabby and the footman clicks the horses into motion.
An enormous sigh whooshes out of me.
It’s time for my raid.
I close the doors to the prince’s bedroom and my own. Once it is fully dark, I push open my window and climb out.
I sneak to the outhouse and dig up the small box Mary left for me—my Ivy Mask costume and ollea . I dress quickly, keeping watch for signs of movement, and replace my uniform in the box. The ollea , I smear on the bottoms of my shoes and rub across my hands. I don’t know how long it lasts or how much I need, but judging by the size of the bottle, a little goes a very long way.
Then I’m off. I rotate between jogging and walking the several miles across farmland to the Wood’s edge, mourning the loss of Bartholomew once more, hoping she’s doing well, panicking slightly but remind myself that I’ve just got to get through this month, claim my inheritance, and then I can buy her back.
If she’s still alive. If I can even find her.
Stop thinking about the horse.
I make it to the edge of the Wood before midnight, panting and dripping in sweat. How dare this night be as hot as it is? I’m only hoping my ollea hasn’t lost its effectiveness yet.
I stop before the Path I usually take, an image of the destination shining across my vision in fragments. It’s so strange to be on foot again after all these years. It takes me back to that moment I stood here, on the edge of the Wood, as it came rushing toward me and Mama. I can still feel that cold sweep of wind that threatened to devour me, the gangly tree limbs that shot toward my throat.
I grit my teeth.
The cart is where I left it. I don’t bother with it this time. Everyone will just have to try not to step off the Path.
I pull my mask over my face, yank my hood low, and plunge into the Wood.