Chapter 23
As I follow the Piper through the castle, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s an enigma. I cannot get a grip on which version of him is true. The one who tended to me, or the one who keeps punching into me with hostility.
Regardless, I don’t trust him, so that alone keeps my guard up.
He leads me down wide corridors and elaborate staircases, the castle speaking of past centuries, of old monarchs who used to live within these walls.
I might not have been born until after the world cracked and changed, but I know that before Core fae became rulers, we had fae kings and queens.
Which means he probably stole this castle from some poor schmuck who died or lost the right to rule.
We pass by a decorative inlay along the wall, ornamented and pearlescent, like someone pried open an oyster. Then the corridor flares out to accommodate a set of double doors where two guards stand.
“My lord,” they both intone, before reaching over to open the doors.
The Piper strides inside first, and I follow behind him, my steps hesitant.
Truth be told, I’m expecting the worst when I go in, but it’s just a normal sitting room, cheerful and feminine, wallpaper lined in cream and pink, and a window tasseled with flowering vines.
“What, no torture chamber?” I ask mockingly.
“That’s entirely up to you.”
My steps falter, eyes shooting to him. “I was joking,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “I wasn’t.”
I eye him as I cross my arms. “So you don’t like fiends either.”
The Piper ignores my comment as he strides for a door at the other end of the room and knocks. Someone on the other side opens it slightly, but not enough for me to see who. He exchanges a few murmured words with them before the door shuts again.
“You don’t like fiends,” I repeat. “And yet, you took me away from the healer who was hurting me and put me in your personal rooms. In your bed. And you stayed with me at my bedside.”
He finally turns to face me, only to give me a flat look. “It’s my bedside. And you’re boring me with this summary of events you keep bringing up.”
“I’d like an explanation.”
“I brought you here for a reason.”
My words nearly gnash through my teeth. “And what reason is that?”
The door where he’d knocked opens, and a woman walks in with rosy cheeks and blond hair tucked within a veillet beaded with pearls. Her dress is a soft blue tone, and as she nears, I see the red-stained tips of her ears through the sheer fabric of her hair veil.
It’s the Core fae woman who circled around our table when we first arrived here.
“Ah, so this is the sickly one?” she asks, and I stiffen.
“Yes,” the Piper answers, gaze dragging from me to her.
Just then, three guards and a servant file in. One of the guards breaks off and heads directly for the Piper. “My lord,” he says with a head bow. “You’re needed in the main hall.”
“Can it wait?”
The guard shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Govern, it’s urgent.”
The Piper nods tersely and looks over at the woman. “Ciona, I can bring her back another time—”
“Nonsense. You go handle your duties.”
He seems hesitant, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing for me.
“Alright,” he relents. Then he turns to me with a narrowed look. “Behave yourself.”
I bristle as he turns and walks out with the guard, the door shutting behind them.
Turning, I nervously face the other Core fae again, watching as she perches on the yellow settee. She looks older than Lacera, and the Piper too. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her forties or fifties. But based on the Core magic affecting their ages, she’s probably much older.
The servant goes to the table that’s against the wall to my right. I can hear her moving things around, but I can’t see what she’s doing.
“I’m Ciona,” the Core says, drawing my attention. “What’s your name?”
“Esti.” I look at her warily, just as the other two guards walk over and stand on either side of me, like they’re ready to take me down if I so much as blink.
“Won’t you please sit?”
With stilted steps, I round the settee, coming to stop in front of her. Her blue eyes meet mine, and I read the stars that appear at the center of her pink cheek.
Pragmatic. Fair. Driven by questions.
Okay, that’s not so bad.
“What are you going to do? Why am I here?” Since she’s driven by questions, I figure she might appreciate someone else who is too.
“I’d like to take a bit of your blood,” she answers in a light tone.
“My blood? For what?”
She blinks at my tense tone. “To check and see if your infection has cleared.”
My concern ebbs. “Oh. How do you check that?”
“By scenting it. It’s part of my power,” she replies, tapping her red-tipped ear with her slender finger. “I can scent people’s blood even without drawing any, but in your case, I’d like to actually do an incision to get a clearer trace, if that’s alright?”
I hesitate. “Okay.”
Slowly, I find myself lowering onto the settee beside her.
“Wonderful.” She beams.
The servant comes over holding a shallow silver bowl in one hand and a small blade in the other. “Here you are, Lady Ciona.”
“Thank you.” She grabs the blade. “Push up your sleeve, please.”
With a cautious nod, I shove it up, and as soon as my forearm is bared, Ciona takes hold of my wrist and drags the sharp metal down my vein, slicing into my skin and making my inhale stutter.
Lacera’s magic doesn’t spread to this, so I can feel the bite of pain as I’m cut. I watch my blood start to gather in beads down the line. Ciona turns my arm wound-down, and then the servant is there, catching the drops as they fall into the small bowl.
When my blood covers the bottom of it in a shallow scrape, Ciona nods. “That’s plenty.”
The servant takes the bowl to the table, while Ciona pulls out a tightly wound roll of cloth. “There, that wasn’t bad, was it?”
“I’ve had worse,” I admit, watching as she begins to wrap the bandage around the cut, before tying it off with a tense knot to staunch the blood.
As soon as she finishes, she stands and goes over to the table where the servant placed the bowl.
I watch as Ciona leans close. Back bent, she hovers over it like a basin of steam you breathe in when you’re sick.
She begins to take in slow, exaggerated inhales, and I get to my feet for a better look.
Her eyes are closed and her blond eyebrows pulled low in concentration as she takes in deep breaths through her nose like a sniffing wolf.
When I move to go even closer, one of the guards steps in, stopping me without words. I peer around him just as her eyes snap open and she straightens up. She stares down at the bowl for several long, silent seconds, making me tense.
“Hmm. That’s unfortunate,” she murmurs.
A feeling of unease spreads in my belly. “What?”
Ciona digs her thumb and finger into her eye sockets like she’s trying to massage an ache from her skull. “Your infection lingers.”
“I’m still sick?” I ask, glancing down at my arm like I might be able to see it beneath my skin.
Her hand drops, and I gasp when she turns to face me again. Her eyes are now bloodshot through, red veins nearly overtaking her blue irises, the whites splattered crimson. I stare at her in horror. “What—”
“Yes,” she cuts in, her voice sounding fatigued and fragile. “It’s a good thing I checked. But it should be gone soon.”
I absently rub my fingers over the bandage. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Not to worry. Varrik will keep a close eye.”
I frown. “Who’s that?”
She gives a small laugh. “You should probably know his name. You’ve been sleeping in his bed.”
“The Piper’s name is . . . Varrik?”
Saying his actual name feels odd.
“Yes,” she says tiredly. Her blood-splotched eyes make her look strained, and she presses a hand to her forehead, though she tries to give me an encouraging smile.
“I’ll see you in a couple days.” She then glances over at the guards as she turns to leave through the adjoining door. “You can escort her out.”