Chapter 13 #2
Finally, a man’s rasp came from behind me. “They do not respond to pettifey.”
I glanced back, and my eyes lifted. There stood the largest of last night’s jeering men. His hair was red and wild, beard thick enough to double the size of his head. For all that, he had striking green eyes. He was the one who’d been seated with his pregnant wife earlier today.
Alone, he seemed at once more and less terrifying.
“Here,” he said, and I stepped aside. His enormous hand went over the center of the leftmost door, and the energy around us seemed to change. The doors opened to the empty throne room. “Go in, girl.”
I hesitated, staring into the cavern of the tree.
“Or you could run,” he said. “Might make it all the way to the gates. But then, well…”
I met his eyes. “Then what?”
“You wouldn’t be opening those either, now would you?”
“I could climb over.”
He eyed me, then burst into a laugh. The sound warmed me, despite myself. “Are the small ones all so tenacious?”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“The small ones of your kind. Humans.”
“I suppose you weren’t there when my kingdom was attacked, then.”
He ran a hand down his beard. “So that’s why you tried to kill Dorian this morning.”
“How would you know that?”
“And that’s why you wear hate on your face.” He stroked once more at his beard. “Well, use that. You’ll need whatever advantage you can get in the trials.” He stepped past me into the empty throne room.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re in the trials too. Aren’t you?”
He paused, his back to me. “Of course.”
“What’s your name?”
His face half-turned so I could see his profile. “You certain you want to know? Names are dangerous things.”
I knew instantly what he meant. If I knew his name, he was someone to me—it might take away any edge I’d have if he weren’t just a face.
But there was something about him—perhaps it was how he’d had his arm around his pregnant wife, or the look in his eyes when he laughed. I did want to know. “I’m Eurydice,” I said. “Eurydice Waters.”
“Waters? That’s a bold benediction for a human.”
“It’s a curse,” I said. “In a land where the rains are acid.”
He let out a chuckle. “So you came by that scornfulness honestly. Well, Eurydice Waters, use that, too.”
I stepped forward. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
He raised a hand in parting. “Best you not know.”
I stared after him. My instincts had been right—he wasn’t so cruel as Dorian. He’d given me a small gift of anonymity.
I went up the stairs to my room inside the citadel—and stopped before the door. It was ajar. I hesitated, uncertainty filling me; was someone inside?
“The door’s harmless,” a young woman’s voice said from down the hall. “Can’t say the same for most things in this court.”
To my right, I became aware of a woman my age on her knees with a towel and a bucket. She wore a simple shift and pants and her black hair was tied in a tight, functional braid. She’d been cleaning the hallway floor. Her skin was sun-kissed and her arms were slender reeds.
I turned toward her. “Why are you down there?”
“Down? Oh.” She seemed to understand I was referring to her and rocked back on her heels. Her eyes were sharp on me, two hard green gems. “Where else would I be?”
“On your feet.”
“Some cleans need a close eye.”
I stepped closer. “Did you go into my room?”
“Of course.” She squeezed the towel into the bucket; even when it was gray with dirt, I couldn’t believe how freely she used water. “I go into all the quarters during the day.” She allowed the towel to hang over the bucket as she studied me. “You’re the human.”
“Well, I… yes.”
“You’re small.”
“So are you.”
Her eyes lit, and she revealed her teeth. It wasn’t a smile or a grimace, but fierce. “Why do you think I clean?”
I took another step toward her, feeling a warmth toward the small fae. We were alike. “I don’t know.”
She swung the towel around her hand. “That journal on your bed—does it come from beyond the walls?”
I froze. “Did you move my journal?”
“Of course not.” She gripped the towel and leaned forward once more onto all fours. “But I did look at the cover a long while. And maybe I peeked at the strange marks inside.”
“It’s precious to me,” I said. “It was my mother’s.”
She scrubbed a swath of floor before her. “Was?”
“She was killed four days ago.” My throat tightened, shrinking my voice. “By your people.”
She eyed me but didn’t slow her scrubbing. I began to suspect she’d been waiting for me in this hallway for some time. “Did she die on her feet?”
I blinked. I had been prepared for a wide range of replies, but not that. A human would have apologized or at least feigned sadness; this was disarmingly matter-of-fact.
“Death on your feet is the only way to die,” she said. “We can’t kill a man standing.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head and doubled down on the scrubbing. “Are all humans this thick, or did they scrape the bottom of the barrel for you? You won’t last the first trial.”
“How do you know about the trials?”
She glanced up at me, blue eyes glittering. “Where there are branches to carry a bird’s call, nothing can be kept secret.” As she spoke, her canines flashed. “Best not to wander the citadel. Not a single door would open for a human, anyway.”