13. Caged Bird
T hough time passed and her strength returned, the weight of the manacle on Aisling’s wrist never lessened. She’d been in the chamber for five days, and was in the dungeon cell for two before that after Kael had ridden her back from the battlefield. She had gleaned this information from Methild, who now informed her first thing upon entering the chamber whether it was morning, noon, evening, or midnight.
There in the Unseelie Court, Aisling learned, most of the Fae rose in the evening to go about their business. In the absence of sunlight in the Undercastle, her body began to slowly grow accustomed to this timetable, too. By the fourth day, when Methild came in for her evening ministrations, Aisling had just risen after sleeping straight through since she’d closed her eyes that morning .
The wizened faerie had with her the basket of wet rags again, but this time Aisling insisted on cleaning herself. Her movements were stiff and slow. Methild stood by with a look of impatience, obviously keen to do it herself in a more efficient manner. After tapping a toe on the ground for several minutes, she instead busied herself dragging Aisling’s waste bucket out into the hall to be removed. Aisling tried to ignore the slight female’s grunts as she hauled it from the room. Whatever scraps of dignity Aisling had hoped to cling to went out with it.
Methild returned, wiping her hands on a dingy apron, with a Fae soldier in tow. He held a large pail filled to the brim with water that sloshed onto the floor as he walked. Methild shot him dirty looks over her shoulder each time she heard it splash on the stone. He left after he set it down where she indicated, having given little more than a passing glance at Aisling. From her apron pocket, Methild withdrew a small glass bottle.
“Come,” she said, “let me help you with your hair.” Methild had braided it back, but when Aisling felt along her scalp the strands were stiff with dried blood and the sticky remnants of salve that hadn’t soaked in.
The soldier had placed the bucket close enough that Aisling could kneel before it, but only just. She had to extend her arm all the way outward at the end of the length of the thick chain to reach it. The strain made her shoulder ache.
“Can you undo it?” Aisling pleaded with Methild. “Just while you wash my hair? You could even ask the guard to wait by the door. ”
Methild hummed, lips pursed, then shook her head. “I must follow orders.”
Aisling sighed heavily and let the faerie guide her head down into the water. It was cold, nearly freezing, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Methild lifted Aisling’s soaking hair and reached down to tap the side of the bucket, and plumes of steam began to rise from the surface of the now-hot water. When Aisling looked up at her, she held one finger to her lips. A secret—likely, the hob wasn’t permitted to use her magic. At least, not in the service of a human prisoner. As Methild worked her pointed fingertips through Aisling’s tangles, the faerie hummed a melancholy tune in her raspy voice.
Once she was settled back in the bed, wrapped in fresh sheets and draped in a clean cotton shift, Aisling brought the ends of her wet hair to her nose. It smelled of the flowers that bloomed in the night garden, heady and sweet. When it dried, it was soft as silk.
She was still running her fingers through it absentmindedly when the door opened again. This time, Kael leaned against the doorframe. His casual posture made her uneasy—it didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the furrow between his brows. Aisling shifted to sit up straighter against the headboard, everything in her begging to run as he studied her. But she couldn’t. She was acutely aware then of just how thin the slip was, the way its sheer fabric barely concealed her body underneath.
But Kael didn’t seem to notice. His eyes never left hers, even as Aisling’s swept over him, searching for any sign of those misty tendrils reaching out to her. She found none.
“Trying to convince my handservant to set you free, were you?” His voice was cold and dripping with ire. He crossed his arms over his broad chest while he waited for a response.
So it was the king that Methild served, after all. Tension rippled across Aisling’s shoulders unbidden. She hadn’t been; not at all. She’d simply hoped for some relief from the shackle’s weight on her wrist, which was by now raw beneath the metal. But his assumption reignited the defiance in her chest that had been slowly rebuilding with her strength.
“I don’t want to be chained like an animal,” Aisling shot back, her tone sharp.
Kael sneered. “I believe I preferred you when you were too weak to share your opinions.” He pushed himself off the doorway and stalked closer. Despite his obvious disdain, he reached for the wooden chair that Methild had pushed out of the way for Aisling’s bath. He dragged it to her bedside and lowered himself onto its edge. His closeness brought an overwhelming disarray of emotions to wash over her—fear, mostly. But curiosity, too. She avoided letting herself look at his hands, now folded in his lap, to spare herself the shameful reminder of the sparks they’d ignited when he’d traced them down her glamoured spine.
“I only meant for a few minutes, just while she washed my hair.” Aisling conceded finally. She worked two fingers under the cuff to rub her sore wrist.
“Was your mother Fae?” Kael asked abruptly after observing her silently for a moment .
Frowning, Aisling looked up at him and shook her head. “I’ve told you, I’m human.”
“You mentioned she’d told you about our kind.” He leaned back, settling into the chair. It was too small for his height.
Aisling nodded slowly, her hands twisting in the fabric of the blanket that covered her legs. “She used to tell me stories,” she began, a faint smile finding its way to her face as memories flooded back—memories which, most of the time, she kept carefully locked away. “About beings like you, places like this. Not quite like this, though. She made the Wild— Wyldraíocht —sound brighter. More beautiful.”
Kael’s eyebrow lifted, a nearly imperceptible shift in his expression to something like amusement. “Do you think my kingdom isn’t beautiful?”
“In its own way, I suppose,” Aisling admitted thoughtfully. “Like in the way that something sad can have a kind of beauty. But wherever it was that she visited was different. ‘Bathed in golden sunlight,’ she always said. I wanted to go there with her so badly.”
“She never took you?” His tone was softer now, the anger he’d started out with replaced by a hint of curiosity akin to Aisling’s own.
“She said Thin Places were too dangerous,” Aisling replied. Her words were heavy with longing and regret.
“She was right.” Kael’s lips twitched into a wistful half-smile, as if to say she told you so.
“Methild told me that you rarely see humans here. Do you think she ever came?” In spite of herself, there was the smallest ember of hope burning in her heart.
Kael thought for a moment before answering. “She was likely taken to the Seelie Court. They are far more…eager to host human visitors than we tend to be. Does she speak of it still?”
Aisling traced patterns on the blanket, a distant look in her eyes. Her smile faded, and that tiny ember burned itself out as quickly as it had flared. “The people where I’m from thought she was sick,” she said numbly. “They sent her away to a hospital on the mainland. She killed herself there.”
“I am sorry.” Kael’s countenance softened a fraction further. There was an unexpected edge of empathy threading through his apology.
“It was a long time ago now.” Aisling shrugged. “I guess I just hoped that I could find some sign of her here.” As the thought left her mouth, she realized just how true it was. Though she’d come in pursuit of answers to the riddles posed by the prophecy, she’d been much more easily convinced to do so than her cautious nature should have allowed. It was for this reason—seeking a connection to her mother, and maybe some way to redeem herself for her own disbelief, for letting her be taken away in the first place—that she’d gone along so willingly with Rodney’s plan.
“You’ve validated her stories, is that not a sign?” he mused. Kael’s silver eyes held an understanding that seemed almost out of place, but they froze over again when they found their way down to Aisling’s wrist. “Though, at what cost?”
She tugged at the chain instinctively. The connection they had shared, however brief, was slipping away before she could hope to take advantage of it. It was as if Kael had pulled up a drawbridge, shutting her out once again. “This cost is artificial. You’re the one keeping me here; you could let me go.”
“Ah, the brave words of a caged bird. You may have gained Methild’s sympathy, but you will not find the same in me.”
Aisling swallowed the lump in her throat, determined to hold her ground even as Kael’s demeanor shifted. “I’m not asking for your sympathy,” she countered angrily. “I’m asking for my freedom.”
“You’re in no position to be asking for anything at all.” He rose and pushed the chair back against the wall with his foot. Then, he reached into his cloak and withdrew a leather-bound book that he tossed onto the bed beside Aisling. “Here,” he said brusquely. “To keep you entertained. It would serve you well to learn exactly why humans should not simply wander into Wyldraíocht.”
A Historical Record of Fae and Human Relations. Aisling’s nostrils flared, her fingers itching to pick up the book and throw it at his retreating back. “You can’t keep me locked up forever.”
Over his shoulder, he asked: “Can’t I?”
The question hung in the air behind him as a veiled threat, lingering even in his absence.
Bitterly, Aisling flipped open the book in her lap and scanned the first few pages. The volume read like a history textbook, a dry retelling of the establishment of Thin Places at the behest of the Unseelie Court. The print was tiny, the subject was dense, and Aisling had precious little patience for the tedious lecture on Fae diplomacy. Throughout the night she’d try several times more, if for nothing else but a distraction from her own thoughts. Each attempt ended with an irritated sigh when she was unable to maintain focus on its contents for more than a page or two.
Her efforts were interrupted when a robed male entered her room—Rodney’s acquaintance, the Lesser Prelate who had taken her from the dungeon. Lyre, Aisling finally recalled. He hadn’t returned since that night, and she’d been both dreading and anticipating their next meeting.
“Feeling better, I see,” he remarked. He carried a tray of food that he set down at the foot of the bed. His hair—black as the oil slicks that sometimes coated the water near the docks—was combed back from his angular face so stiffly that it didn’t shift as he moved.
Aisling eyed it apprehensively, still wary of anything offered to her here. “Thank you,” she replied. “I appreciate your help.”
He nodded, glancing around the room before he pulled out Kael’s chair and sat down facing her. “How are you finding your accommodations?”
“Better than the dungeon,” she replied cautiously, studying his thin face for any indication of what he was thinking. His vertical-slit pupils were wide in the low light. “Though, I’d prefer a bit more freedom.” She rattled the chain against the bedpost for effect.
The Lesser Prelate’s expression remained neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not within my control, Aisling. I do believe that it’s best for you to remain here for now.”
“Best for whom, Lyre ?” Aisling emphasized the name, as he had hers. It was a shot in the dark whether this faerie was the one who Rodney had described—one she took hoping he would confirm her assumption. Though he didn’t react, that he didn’t correct her was validation enough.
He leaned forward slightly and adjusted his robe around his legs. “Sometimes, what’s best for one is best for us all.”
Aisling’s heart sank at his non-committal answer. It was clear he held information he wasn’t willing to share, and her attempts to glean any bit of it from him would be unsuccessful.
“What business have you here, you and the púca?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“Surely he explained it to you himself.” If he didn’t intend to answer her questions, she wouldn’t answer his, either. She was unsure of what, if anything, Rodney had explained to Lyre of her purpose. For now, until he revealed more, she would dance around it the best she could. “Does he know that I’m a prisoner?”
“I’ve told him of your situation.”
Aisling’s cheeks flushed hot. It had been the last bit of hope she had to hang onto: that when Rodney found out, he’d find a way to help her escape. If Lyre was telling the truth, and Rodney knew what she’d been through, maybe he was less of a friend to her than she thought. “Has he not asked you to get me out?”
He shook his head. “The favor I owe him is far less than that. He knows better than to even ask.”
After a beat of silence, Aisling asked, “You seem to know more about my situation than I do. Is there a reason why you’re here?”
“Because you’re alive,” he said simply. His expression remained impassive when he added, “And you shouldn’t be.”
“Did you finish it?” Kael nodded at the book he’d brought that was lying closed on the bedside table. He had returned the following evening, like clockwork and as aloof as ever, to deliver Aisling’s breakfast and salve instead of Methild. It struck her as odd to see him carrying the tray—the Unseelie King shouldn’t be the one serving her.
“Finish it?” Aisling nearly laughed. “I could hardly make it through the first chapter. I thought you said it was meant to entertain me.”
“History is as entertaining as it is valuable,” he said without a hint of irony.
Aisling rolled her eyes. “We have very different definitions of entertaining.”
“Would you prefer a children’s book then?” Kael shot back. Though slightly annoyed, his response wasn’t particularly unkind.
“I’d prefer to choose a book for myself, if you’d take me to find one?” she tried. It was worth a try. A walk anywhere, even if it was just down the hall and back, sounded better than anything. Her legs hurt from disuse and her back was knotted from sitting against the too-soft pillows.
He didn’t buy it. “Next time I will bring options.”
“Next time? Why waste time visiting a prisoner at all?”
Kael narrowed his eyes. For a long time he stood still and quiet. Thinking of a response, or maybe deciding whether or not to give one at all. Finally, he spoke: “There are things I wish to learn before others can draw their own conclusions.”
Aisling shifted to better face him. “What kind of things? ”
“Things that are none of your concern,” he said coolly.
“Then why do you look at me like I might have the answers?” she challenged. She’d caught that look in his eyes a handful of times—just brief, blink-and-miss-it flashes of curiosity—and she wanted to know why.
“Because you likely do, but I do not wish to ask you the questions.” Kael began moving towards the door. This way, with Aisling chained to the bed as his captive, he maintained control of their conversations. It was infuriating.
“I hate the way you all talk,” Aisling snapped. “Why does everything need to be so cryptic?”
He didn’t answer. “I will return tomorrow with more books for you to choose from.”
Anger overtook the caution that Aisling had been trying hard to maintain and when she spoke again, her tone was biting. “Is it about why I’m still alive?” Kael froze with his back to her, spine and shoulders stiff. She could hear his teeth grinding from across the room. But he hadn’t left yet, so she continued: “The sylph said that the other prisoners had died to feed you. I’m assuming I should have, too, that night in the forest.”
She didn’t mention that Lyre had confirmed the very same during his clandestine visit. Unsurprisingly, Kael left without responding, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass of water on the nightstand. If nothing else, she knew how to get a rise out of him.
But he wasn’t the only one hoping to learn something. She was frustrated and wasting time—she was meant to be making progress towards unraveling the prophecy. Towards understanding how she, as the Red Woman, was meant to end a war. She’d seen the conflict now firsthand; she understood the Shadowwood Mother’s urgency. That the Unseelie warriors had slaughtered the opposing army with such swift, decisive force left a frightening impression. The way Kael’s shadows tore through their bodies as though they were nothing, even more so.