Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
I donned my best behavior like stage makeup and went out of my way to be pleasant, upbeat. I ate under Andrei and Constin’s beady eyes, and otherwise gave the performance of my life.
A performance made difficult because the man I was trying to convince had at least partial, and growing, access to my mind and emotions. I didn't know how to mount a defense except to convince myself of my positive, energetic mood, and pull all happy, looking forward to the future thoughts to the forefront of my mind.
Like a good little mortal.
But a tiny part of me planned.
I rose early the next morning and left after eating a full breakfast. Which might have been a mistake, with Constin giving me an odd look. I never ate a full breakfast.
I decided to lie by telling the truth. “I'm on good behavior as long as possible,” I joked, waving at him.
His expression relaxed, and he grinned, the curve of his lips vulpine. “We'll see how long that lasts.”
“Bet not long!”
The smile didn't drop from my face until I was in the coach. Mathen always rode on the outside, the better to watch our surroundings I guessed. So at least for these few moments traveling to the Sahakian building, I didn't have to pretend I wasn't seething.
Did I understand why Andreien had done what he'd done? Of course. I could justify his actions a hundred different ways. His upbringing, his culture, his entrenched power, his clear anxiety about my safety. All genuine concerns made legitimate simply because this was literally his city.
It didn't take away the fact that he'd ripped away my autonomy.
Denied me the one thing that when denied, threatened my life and sanity.
No person should have such power over another.
Worse, Constin and Mathen had gone along with the punishment. They'd empathized, they hadn't liked the necessity of it, but if I had broken Andrei’s edict and danced in the privacy of my bedroom, one of them would have told on me. Nothing in my mind doubted their absolute loyalty to Andrei, to House Casakraine. And therefore, to the High Lord.
So what was I going to do?
Not throw the baby out with the bath water. My goals hadn't changed. Just because I had a fuller understanding of the dark side of these people didn't mean I no longer wanted a part in the Sahakian Company.
But I would plan. I’d put up with their b.s. until I couldn’t anymore, or it was no longer worth the benefit. Even if I had to rip out my own heart to protect the rest of me.
Taima squealed and threw her arms around my neck when I entered the rehearsal room.
“I'm here to observe,” I warned her.
I saw no reason not to be honest about the punishment. Let it serve as a warning to them.
She pulled back, searching my face as Coralene and Samuel approached.
“Girl, what did you do?” Samuel asked. “All the mistress would tell us was you've been excused for a week on orders of Lord Andreien.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m being punished for pulling a fast one on my guard at the party. There were. . . political consequences and Lord Andreien felt he had to visit some of those consequences on me.”
I glanced at Coralene. The others were worried, but her eyes held knowledge. She understood what I wasn't saying, understood everything beneath my bland, peppy tone.
I didn't let myself feel gratitude that Andrei relaxed the punishment. Though observing the rehearsals eased some of the crawling need inside of me.
No, if I lived with these people for another hundred years, I would never let myself forget what they were. I would never let myself accept it. I might live with it, but I wouldn't accept it. Not until they learned that it was wrong to chain someone to you, even if you loved them. Especially if you loved them. Love wasn’t a cage.
When group rehearsals were done, I met Coralene's eyes across the room and nodded my head towards the hallway.
She joined me a few moments later. “Can we talk?” I asked.
Her gaze flickered over my shoulder. Mathen was around somewhere. “Alone?”
Code for, out of earshot of your guard? I nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
She led me to the solo practice room she'd claimed at the beginning of the season.
“There are extra wards,” she said after shutting the door. “Though I can't guarantee your guard can't get through them. He's older and has access to better training.”
I rubbed my palms on my hips. “I need a favor. A big favor.”
Her eyebrows disappeared under dark bangs.
“Since you're the consort of the city Heir and can have almost anything you want within reason, I'm assuming he wouldn’t approve of this favor, that it might, in fact, anger him.”
“I need an exit plan.”
She didn't move. That was the thing about Coralene. The Fae woman could go from fidgeting or dancing or hitting someone upside the head to completely still. In a way as if she was looking beyond me—judging how much longer I’d live and whether she could take advantage of either my life or my death.
“An. . .exit plan. What did he do to you, Hasannah?”
“He grounded me from dance for a week.”
“You're occasionally foolish, but you never struck me as particularly stupid. There must be something more to this punishment.”
“They think it's my lamia blood,” I said, clasping my hands in front of me. “When I can't dance. . .” I frowned, trying to remember those days when I sank into a spiral. “I think Andrei and Constin said I needed the dance to feed?”
Her eyes widened. “I see.”
I shook my head. “I can't go through that again. I won't. I don't care what documents I signed when I came to Casakraine, he has no right.”
“The humans have a saying. Might makes right.”
“And that's why I need an exit plan.” My voice was low, cold, determined. “I won't be threatened, and I won't be controlled. If I stay with Andrei, it'll be because I want to, not because I'm afraid of the consequences.”
Once again I wondered how old she was. The look she gave me now spoke of weariness beyond the three decades I’d been alive.
“You know if you try to leave him, he’ll likely kill you.”
I tried to smile. “Only if your plan is terrible.”
Her silence filled the small space with a tingling energy. When she spoke, there was the gravity of a scale and the tension of a roulette wheel in her voice.
Her eyes sparked with power. “This is quite the gamble. The favor you want could get me killed or start a war with my uncles’ Lord. Ashlyun,” she added. “And he is vicious .”
“He was kind to me,” I said quietly. “Lord Ashlyun.”
“How so?”
I shrugged. “He talked to me without condescension. Offered to send me a jar of his honey. I think he was trying to soothe me. He told Andrei to be nice because I’d suffered enough.”
Cora stared at me, arrested. “Ashlyun? Kind. That isn’t a word anyone has ever used to describe him.” She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Even so, I don't want to be in the middle of a dispute between the Vice Lord and the city Heir.”
I sighed, resigned. “You won't help me.”
“Don't put words in my mouth.” Her eyes narrowed. “I'm saying the favor could get me killed. The amount of luck I’d need to call on. . .you'll be in my debt, Hasannah. A substantial debt and I will absolutely collect.”
“Not my first-born kind of big?” I wasn't joking. Neither was she.
“No. Though I can't promise when I call upon you the favor won't be of similar import.”
“But if your exit plan works, and I'm safely gone, how will you?—”
Cora held up a hand. “Oh, you misunderstand me, mortal. You'll owe me for creating the exit plan, whether you use it or not. You need peace of mind. Peace of mind will allow you to make decisions based solely on your own agenda, and not fear of consequences.”
I grimaced, because she was right. The favor I asked for placed her at risk, whether I followed through on it or not. If Andrei would whip his own luudthen, I was under no delusion about what he would do to Coralene.
What Ashlyun would do to Coralene. I hadn’t known she was connected to him before now, but the new knowledge added another layer of potential crap that could hit the fans. Or blood that could hit the walls.
“All right,” I said. “Do I have to bargain for the quality of the exit plan?”
Cora shook her head. “No. If I fail you, it'll be both of our necks. Give me a couple of days.” She paused. “Are you in any immediate danger?”
“No. He doesn't abuse me. He's just. . .a High Lord.”
Her lips thinned.
Enough said.
Because Samuel didn't mind company, I lounged in his solo room while he practiced, offering a few strictly verbal pointers. Highly cognizant if I so much as twitched a toe, any leniency Mihaela had bargained for would evaporate.
I lingered in the cafeteria for a few minutes when everyone gathered for our habitual decompression and snack time.
“Come out with us, Han,” Taima urged. “A new dance club opened up and we were going to grab a drink. Oh, and I have something to tell you. I think I may have a patron!”
I hugged her. “I’m so happy for you, and I want all the details. But I'm on curfew.”
“Your patron has you on a curfew?” someone asked.
“I don't have a patron.” Though it occurred to me, belatedly, I should have let them think that. It was a little less embarrassing than the truth.
“She's fucking the High Lord’s son,” Xavi muttered. Loudly. “She doesn't need a patron.”
My cue to leave. I stood, grabbing my bag.
“Ignore those jealous bitches,” Samuel said with a sharp look in their direction. “Any of them would have seized the chance if it was offered. They're mad you got there first.”
“Well, let them be mad when I'm not here to listen to it.”
“But how can he put you on a curfew?” Taima asked. “That's so weird. You can't let him control you like that. Just fight back.”
I wanted to grimace. She was so young.
“She's lying,” Xavi said with a sneer as he walked past us. “It's an excuse because she doesn't want to hang out with you low caste losers anymore.”
Hurt flickered in Taima’s eyes; the arrow had found its mark.
“I really do have a curfew,” I said, “but there's a cafe on this block. I can swing a ten-minute coffee.”
If we stayed on the block, that wasn't a detour. I'd still have some fast talking to do, but I figured if I distracted Andrei with the nasty words the other dancers had flung at me, his protective instincts would obliterate any thought of my mild disobedience.
“Come on,” Samuel said. “I guess we have to accommodate you if he's got you locked down like an old married lady.”
. . .or something like that.
“Now tell me everything,” I demanded as we sat at a corner table with our coffees. “The short version because I can’t stay long.”
She was nearly bouncing in her seat. “It’s a Lord! The one who was scouting the other day. He approached me at the party.”
I mourned the lack of naiveté that in the past would have allowed me to believe her words were a coincidence.
I inhaled fragrant steam. “If I guess the name of the Lord, then you owe me coffee for a week.”
Taima blinked. “How many guesses?”
Samuel eyed me sideways.
“One.” I didn't bother to lighten my flat tone.
She frowned. “Not that your expression isn't creepy or anything right now.”
“Lord Dartanyon.”
Samuel and Taima stared at me. “How did you know that?” Samuel asked. He narrowed his eyes. He wasn't nearly as naive as Taima. “You've got dirt on him. Dish.”
Taima sighed, lowering her head to the table. “I knew it was too good to be true,” she said, her voice muffled.
“You haven't even heard what I have to say yet,” I pointed out.
“I don't have to hear it.” She straightened, glaring at me. “I'm young, not stupid. So what's the problem?”
I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip, and glanced towards where Mathen skulked in a corner, not glowering at me because he would never glower in public, but from the set of his shoulders he was distinctly unhappy.
“Look, I can't really get into this because I have to go, I'm already late. But stay away from Lord Dartanyon. You remember that Stephen King movie? Misery?”
Taima’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. So which one is Dartanyon?”
“He's definitely Annie. Just the High Fae Court version. I promise to give you all the details but suffice it to say Andrei told me Lord D has a giant cage on his estate that he likes to stuff full of his very own live ballerinas.”
Samuel choked on his drink. “Why are the beautiful ones always so fucking crazy?”
I stood. “This is Casakraine. They're all crazy.”
“You would know, since you're fucking the craziest one,” a male voice said from the side of us.
I turned. “Xavi.”
He stood a few feet away, a bright grin on his face, his eyes glittering. I frowned at him. He wasn’t usually the smiley type.
“You know,” Samuel said behind me, “I'm just about getting sick of you. Why don't you go slither off and find a rock to crawl underneath and stop riding Han’s ass?”
“Didn't you know?” Taima said, not bothering to lower her voice as she gave Xavi a vicious little smile. “He wanted to ride it, and she said no. It's why he's been such a little bitch all season. Can't take rejection.”
“You can’t touch me,” Xavi said, moving forward. “And when?—”
“All right,” I said. “Maybe we should all retire for the evening. There’s no need to?—”
I didn’t quite hear what Xavi said in return.
I did hear Taima’s shriek of fury.
“You promise Samuel won't get kicked out of the program?”
“For fisticuffs?” Mathen’s voice was terse with worry. “No.” He slammed the coach door.
Ten minutes, a cup of coffee, that's all I'd intended. But Xavi had had the same idea as us—or followed with the intent to pick a fight. The cafe wasn’t owned by any High Fae we knew of, so he felt free to escalate his insults.
Usually I turned my nose up at altercations with children. As one of the older dancers this season, I shouldered a slight responsibility to set an example of mature conduct.
Because Coralene’s luck wasn’t with us when Taima snapped, Samuel went to her rescue—except Samuel could actually throw a punch.
Mathen tried to herd me out, but I’d discovered he still wouldn't put his hands on me to forcibly move me out of the cafe. Maybe he would if the situation was life and death? I didn't know.
By the time the brawl dispersed, almost thirty minutes had passed. We'd taken Taima back to the locker rooms to dab at her minor injuries—which could be covered by makeup. None of the injuries impacted her dancing.
Samuel had been the one to throw the worst of the punches, so I was worried about the instigator tattle telling. I wasn't above putting in a word with Andrei, but my ten-minute skim the rules had turned into an hour-long detour and I needed to determine how to spin it.
“I'll grovel,” I muttered as our coach pulled away. “I'll walk in apologizing. Own up to my bad behavior and look as pathetic as possible. Tears will help. Everyone says so.”
After all, Mathen could attest we hadn't been more than a half block away from the coach, and I'd verbalized my intent not to be more than ten minutes before the fight kicked off. It wasn't my fault.
As soon as the coach pulled up to the house, I hopped out and rushed inside.