Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
They descended through parts of the castle she hadn't seen before. The halls grew grander, with soaring ceilings and walls that shifted between living wood and polished stone. Other fae passed them, regarding her with expressions that ranged from curiosity to hunger.
"They're all talking about you, you know," Thaine said conversationally. "The human who survived a night in the bone garden. Some of them lost considerable wagers because you still live."
"Sorry to disappoint them."
"Oh, I wouldn't say they're disappointed.
Just... recalculating." He paused at a set of massive doors carved with scenes of hunts and revelries.
"A word of advice, rabbit. Speak only when spoken to.
Eat only what's placed directly before you…
and whatever you do, don't reach across the table.
Some of our kind consider that an invitation… "
An invitation for what exactly?
The doors swung open before she could ask, revealing a dining hall that defied mortal architecture.
The ceiling was the night sky itself, complete with slowly wheeling stars.
The table stretched impossibly long, set with plates that gleamed with their own light and cutlery that shifted material between silver and bone.
Fae of every description filled the seats. She recognized some from court, Lady Sarelle near the head, her white gown making her look carved from winter. Others were new, beautiful and terrible in equal measure. And at the far end, on a chair more throne than seat, Eliam waited.
Like her he wore midnight blue, but it was darker than her gown, almost black, the fabric drinking in light.
His hair was bound back with a circlet of dark thorns, and his expression was perfectly neutral as he watched her approach.
An empty chair waited three seats to his left, close enough to mark possession, far enough to establish hierarchy.
"Ah," said a fae with golden skin and eyes that burned, "the survivor arrives."
Conversations stilled as Thaine led her to her seat. She felt the weight of dozens of inhuman gazes, evaluating, measuring, finding her wanting. Her hands trembled slightly as she sat, and she clasped them in her lap to hide it.
She’d survived razor weeds and marrow vines, how difficult could a few hours at a dinner table be?
"It's prettier than the last one," someone said, voice carrying clearly in the sudden quiet. "Though the marks are spreading fast. How long do you give it? A month? Two?"
"The betting pools are already open," another replied. "Though after the garden, the odds have shifted considerably."
Heat flooded her face as she realized they were discussing her death like weather predictions. She kept her eyes on her empty plate.
"Look how it sits," Lady Sarelle's voice cut through the murmur. "So still. So quiet. Almost like it understands its place."
"Does it though?" The golden skinned fae leaned forward. "Tell us, Lord Eliam, does your pet perform tricks? Or is it merely decorative?"
Briar's hands tightened in her lap. The urge to speak, to defend herself, burned in her throat. But Thaine's warning echoed in her mind.
"She serves her purpose," Eliam said, tone giving nothing away.
"Which is?" Lady Sarelle pressed.
"Mine to determine."
Perhaps it was his tone, icy and final, but none inquired further and Briar resisted the urge to meet Eliam’s gaze though she could feel it searing into her like a brand.
The first course appeared without warning offering much needed distraction. It was bowls of something that looked deceptively normal until Briar noticed it moving. Soup that swirled without being stirred, with things floating in it that might have been vegetables or might have been alive.
She watched the others, trying to determine which spoon to use. There were five beside her bowl, each slightly different. The fae picked up various implements without a pattern she could discern.
"Oh, this is painful to watch," the golden skinned fae said. "It doesn't even know how to eat."
"Perhaps it wasn't trained properly," Lady Sarelle suggested. "Some masters prefer their pets ignorant. Makes them more... malleable."
Briar reached for what looked like the safest spoon.
"No."
Eliam's voice stopped her cold. She looked up to find him still watching her with those inhuman eyes.
"The third one," he said.
She switched spoons, face burning. The soup, when she managed to bring it to her lips without spilling, tasted familiar and foreign simultaneously, like beef… or chicken… but wrong somehow. She forced herself to swallow, though it seemed to writhe down her throat.
"How was the bone garden?" a new voice asked. Briar looked to see a fae with bark-brown skin and moss in her hair watching her, gaze hungry with anticipation. Her gaze shifted to Eliam. "We heard the screaming from the Summer Tower. Very impressive."
They weren't addressing her directly. Of course they weren't. She was a thing to be discussed, not spoken to.
"The marks suggest it was educational," Lady Sarelle observed. "Look how they've spread. Like his lordship's claim is eating it alive."
"Three months," someone wagered. "Before they reach its heart."
"Two," another countered. "Look at the rate of spread. It won't last winter."
"Unless his lordship intervenes," the golden skinned fae said slyly. "He does seem... attached to this one."
Dangerous silence fell. Briar risked a glance at Eliam, but his expression remained still stone and equally as unreadable.
"Attachment suggests choice," he said finally. "I merely maintain my property until it serves its purpose."
"And then?"
"Then it ends. As all mortal things do."
The casual discussion of her death made her stomach turn. She set down her spoon carefully, afraid she'd be sick if she continued eating.
The second course materialized producing an unrecognizable meat that bled golden ichor when cut. The smell made her eyes water, sweet and rotten at once. This time there were three knives to choose from, each wickedly sharp.
She hesitated too long.
"This is ridiculous," Lady Sarelle said. "Shall we watch it fumble through every course? How tedious."
"Perhaps a demonstration would help," the bark-skinned fae suggested. "Show it how civilized beings dine."
"Or," Eliam said, voice cutting through their amusement, "we could acknowledge that expecting human table manners to translate to fae custom is deliberately absurd."
"Then why bring it at all?" Lady Sarelle challenged. "If it can't manage basic etiquette—"
"Because I wished to." He rose from his seat with fluid grace. "And because watching you all pretend superiority over a creature you're clearly threatened by amuses me."
"Threatened?" The golden skinned fae laughed. "By that?"
"Why else would you work so hard to see it fail, Lord Tamiel?" Eliam moved down the table toward Briar. "Unless you're afraid of what it means that a human survived where fae have died?"
He stopped beside her chair, one hand settling on her shoulder. The touch was light but commanding.
"The third knife," he said quietly. "Cut twice, horizontal, then vertical. Eat only the center piece."
She followed his instructions, trying to ignore how every eye tracked her movements. The meat tasted of honey and copper, coating her throat with sweetness that bordered on pain.
"Better?" he asked the table at large. "Or shall I continue teaching basic lessons while you pretend not to watch?"
"We're merely curious, majesty…," Lady Sarelle said, but something in her tone had shifted. "After all, your last human barely lasted a week."
"My last human tried to burn down the east wing." His hand tightened slightly on Briar's shoulder. "This one has proven more... adaptable."
The third course arrived at last, fruit that changed color when touched. Briar didn't even try to determine which implement to use. She sat still, waiting, hating herself for it.
"Pathetic," someone whispered.
Rage flared hot in her chest. These creatures who'd never known helplessness, who'd never been stripped of choice, dared judge and mock her? Her hands clenched around her napkin hard enough to hurt.
Eliam must have felt the tension in her because his thumb pressed in warning where it still rested against her back. When she looked up at him, his expression was sharp with something that might have been concern.
Or calculation.
"The fruit requires no utensils," he said. "But only eat the flesh that turns silver. The gold is toxic to mortals."
She reached for a piece that looked safe, but he caught her wrist.
"No. That one attempted to seduce a king once. It remembers." He selected different fruit, setting it on her plate. "This."
"How sweet," Lady Sarelle purred. "It needs such careful tending. Like a delicate flower. Or a particularly slow child."
The bark-skinned fae laughed. "Remember the human who ate the remembering fruit? It spent three days reliving every humiliation of its life."
"That was entertainment," Lord Tamiel agreed. "This is just... sad."
Briar bit into the fruit with perhaps more force than necessary. It tasted of bitter herbs and honey, with an aftertaste that numbed her tongue slightly. At least it didn't fight back. Around her, the fae continued their meal, discussing her between bites with casual cruelty.
"The marks are fascinating," one observed. "Look how they pulse. Like they're feeding on something."
"Or being fed on," Lady Sarelle suggested. "His majesty's magic is notoriously hungry."
Through it all, Eliam's hand remained on her shoulder. Not comforting, she doubted he knew how, but present. A reminder of ownership that somehow felt like protection.
The fourth course was wine that sparkled with captured moonlight. One sip made her dizzy, two would have had her on the floor. She set the glass aside, earning more whispers about human weakness.