Chapter Twenty-Four
I exit the storage room, clutching the new uniform to my chest, to see a stout halfling in a black teller’s tunic waiting for me in the hall.
Only a day has passed since Lila and I spent all of her free time chatting before she departed for her shift.
Eli and I met for one more Healing session to fully repair the wound.
My shift restarts tomorrow, and the bloodied silk of my other uniform had been beyond saving.
The halfling clasps his hands behind his back. His tan skin has only just started to mature, with crinkles around his bespectacled silver eyes, matching the silver threaded through his dark hair.
“Avery, Night Crest of both House Illusion and Reign?”
“Yes?”
“You may call me Silas. I’m a teller for the creditor’s counter at Illusion. There’s been atypical activity on your account, and I thought it best to go over it with you.”
“Oh.” I clutch the unstained silk to my chest. “Yes, of course.”
With his own golden ring, Silas laces us from Reign to the Nest back at Illusion, the smell of watery broth curling in the air.
We pass the creditor’s counter, a short line of faeries waiting to check their balances.
The teller stops before a plain wooden door around the corner.
The lock clicks, opening to a small office.
Inside, the space has a few cabinets, and a table and chairs in the center, with a blank piece of parchment. I force myself to exhale, fingers tightening around the fabric.
“Was there some sort of mistake on my part?” I ask.
“Oh, not at all.” Silas reaches for the cabinet on the opposite wall, taking out a tray with teacups and herbs, and gestures for me to sit. I catch a glimpse of small pantry items and think it pays to be a teller—to have a private lunch.
The chair squeaks against the floor as I settle into it. The sweat on my palms leaves faint imprints on the gold fabric. I wipe my hands on my cotton dress as he hands me a cup.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a kettle in here,” he says. “So you’ll need to heat the water yourself, or I can do it, if your magic doesn’t extend that far.”
“Thank you, but I’ve been practicing firework.”
Every hour that I’m alone, and since I haven’t gone back to work yet, it has been many hours.
I reach for the cup, conjuring the feeling of ire; a rush of breath, and my tea warms. “So what’s this about, may I ask?”
“Sometimes we speak to faeries in private when there are several deposits and withdrawals happening in their account at the same time.”
My back stiffens. “But I haven’t…”
“Yes, so let’s start from the first deposit.”
The teller slides his tea aside and holds out a hand, a quill in his other. I offer a finger to prick, and as he touches the nib to the parchment, letters and numbers scrawl across it. He analyzes the information.
“So.” He glances up. “You’ve received a bonus payment from House of Reign. It’s categorized as a tip, though the amount is quite large. We’ve triple-checked with the House, and it’s the correct number.”
My mouth dries. I take a sip of the tea, a mint concoction.
“How much?” I ask.
“Ten gold coins.”
The cup slips from my grasp. Silas shoots out a hand, magic bending the plane around the cup to catch it midair. Reign magic.
“I-I’m so—”
“It’s all right.”
“I didn’t expect—”
“It’s okay.”
My trembling hands pluck the cup from his, and his hand retreats back through the plane. I gulp down the drink, the liquid scalding my throat. Ten gold coins? That’s—that’s…
I think of that glittering gold coin that the debt-ridden faerie sprinted toward during Prize of the Pith. The hours in the sun sweating, burning, the false starts and punishments, and all of it worth it for the one gold coin that eradicated half a small limb of debt on Benji.
Swallowing, my throat tight, I realize my cheeks are wet. I am crying silent, awkward tears that I swipe away. “Sorry.”
“It’s a shock, I know.”
The table and my tea blur before me, my face burning. In a moment, a sun-spotted hand holds out a handkerchief. But not even embarrassment can stop the stream of tears, so I take it.
“I never thought…I didn’t realize it was possible,” I say after wiping my face.
The teller nods, pushing up his sleeves. Like most halflings, he has one debt tattoo on each wrist. “It is quite rare. Usually after a particularly good night, the servants sometimes receive it in the form of thanks.”
“Oh, I’m not—I didn’t—”
“It’s not illegal.” Silas clears his throat. “Just an uncommonly large pay.”
He thinks I spent the night in the king’s bed. When I shift in my chair, I shudder at the memory of teeth ripping into my skin. Is that the reason for the tip? Because of what I endured?
“What would you like to do with this payment?”
I want to give it to Benji, but the king might notice. Safer to keep the boy off his radar.
“All toward the debt,” I reply. “Save for ten copper coins to spend.”
He nods, and as he scratches something across the parchment, he asks: “Would you like to be relieved of your debt rings now?”
There’s no question. Offering my finger again, he pricks once more. I feel dizzy and take the deepest inhale I’ve taken in months. Then I watch my arm.
Benji is right. It tickles.
The first tattoo tingles, then fades, then another. Eight rings on each arm, the least I’ve ever had. But it doesn’t stop there. The rings continue to dissipate on each limb until both of my forearms are visible.
My debt has been halved.
My fingers graze the unmarked skin from wrist to elbow. There is the occasional freckle, a little birthmark there, a small nick of a scar. Now each upper arm only bears five rings, ten total. A month ago, I had twenty.
This, I realize, is true power.
One stroke of the quill to dissolve another’s debt or damn them with more.
“Congratulations,” Silas says. “Before we move on, do you have any questions?”
My attention flicks between the first tattoo—cut across my elbows—then to his on each wrist.
“Why are our tattoo placements different?” I ask. “My debt disappeared from the bottom up, but it looks as though yours was erased from the top down.”
“Ah, great question.” He leans back. “Each ring represents more than just a certain amount; it also embodies the debt owed to that specific House. Any money paid to you from a House will first counteract the balance owed to that House. So while the rings look all the same to us, the magic is specific.”
“So the debt that I just paid off could’ve been the ring from House of Reign I received at birth, and the years since for maintaining the kingdom?”
“Absolutely.”
I think of what Kassandra revealed in the state garden during the game.
It’s about who owns whom, and for how long.
In all the commotion later that evening, this crucial epiphany slipped by me.
If members of the Upper Court can buy and sell one hundred thousand debt rings for an afternoon game, what do the Houses do?
Could they trade millions in just one afternoon?
The thought feels sickening, gluttonous.
I clear my throat. “Or could it be debt from Illusion that Reign later acquired?”
Silas adjusts his glasses. “Oh, um—I am unsure of that.”
I’m not ready to drop the subject. His silver eyes spark as I twist the gold ring on my finger.
“I didn’t realize all tellers, even those in Illusion, have a gold ring.”
“They don’t.” He clears his throat. “Though highly unusual, you’re not the first attendant to serve more than one House.”
He tilts the engraved signet toward me. Feathery, spotted wings.
“An owl,” he says.
“A moth, for me.”
“Perhaps you were always meant to be a night faerie.”
I take a breath, hoping that because I have now inquired more about his background, he may give me something else. “I just want to better understand what I’ve overheard. The king sometimes asks the opinions of his faeries, and I don’t want to appear ignorant.”
“A progressive habit of the late queen.” Silas pours us more tea. Wrapping my fingers around the cup, I feel the heat transfer to the liquid inside, steam curling up. The water starts to boil, the glass burning. I let go, stunned. Same effort, greater result.
My magic is done maturing, I told the king only a few nights ago.
But it isn’t.
With every debt ring off, my body fills with renewed vigor, with energy.
“Hope.” Silas smiles. “Quite a powerful thing. It can impact not just our minds but our bodies, too.”
“First, I want to better understand why the Houses buy and sell debt. They already collect interest from their own faeries.”
“Think of purchasing swaths of faerie debt like buying a piece of a greater trade. A sliver of a business. Say you purchase the debt of ten faeries who work in the mines. You do not just gain their payments and interest—you are profiting off their labor. You don’t need to own the mine to make money off it. You just need to own the workers.”
I sit back in my chair, hands falling to my lap. Glancing down at the new uniform paid from my own pocket, I wonder who owns this portion of my debt, who owns me.
“It’s very confusing, I know,” Silas answers.
I’m not confused, I want to say, but I bite my lip.
Let him read my revulsion as befuddlement.
He was kind enough to explain; I will be kind enough not to because I understand perfectly.
There is an invisible economy on top of the one we participate in as workers.
It is the bigger game, the great game, the one you must buy your way into at a cost so large, only those with inherited wealth can do so.
“Can faeries purchase the debt of other faeries?” I ask. “So that the indebted faerie makes payments to the other?”
“Theoretically, yes. But it’s difficult for a faerie to front the sum all at once. And the House would have to be willing to sell the debt in the first place. It’s improbable, but not impossible.”
I keep my expression from souring. It feels dirty, perverted.
It feels like the trickery of fae, and while I am not above blackmailing the High Fae, I do not think I could exploit a fellow faerie.
The thought feels comforting, to know that no matter how much I change to venture further into this labyrinth, I still hold some core values.
“Are you ready for the next transaction?” he asks.
I sit up straight. “What do you mean?”
“There are two more transactions we must settle.” Silas pulls the parchment closer. “First, there’s a fee owed to you from Illusion for a recent assault. The payer is offering the legal minimum.”
My stomach plummets.
“I didn’t report an incident,” I say.
“It was reported by a third party.”
No, I think. No, not this. My hand finds the ghost of the bite mark on my shoulder.
“I don’t want to report it,” I say.
“It’s already been verified by House of Healing.”
Eli? My head drops into my hands. How? How could he be so ignorant?
“Can we scratch it from my record?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then at least allow me to deny the payment.”
Silas sighs. “I’m sorry. Once it was verified, the fee was already withdrawn from Illusion. When you’re ready, I’ll take your hand.”
I lift my head, groaning. Dominik has been charged with this fee, knowing it was from me, fueling and justifying his malice. I offer my finger. Whatever the assault fee is, it’s not enough to thin a debt ring.
When I’m sure there will be no change in my tattoos, I ask: “And the final transaction?”
Silas nods, pushing my tea closer to me. I shoot him a look. He clears his throat. “There’s been a complaint against you from the House of Illusion.”
I jerk back. “For what?”
“It says for endangerment.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Although Silas looks appalled, I scoff again. No. No, this can’t be happening. Dominik gets to harm me, threaten to kill me, assault me, and pay a menial fee. Yet he can level any complaint he wants without question.
No matter what protections lie in place, the faeries will pay the price.
I have no words when Silas pricks my finger one last time. There is nothing to say as the balance slams into my body, the pain ripping across my skin. I double over as new debt rings swallow up my freckles and little birthmark and that nick of a scar once more. Will I ever see them again?
A month ago, I had twenty rings; a minute ago, I had ten. Now I have sixteen.
Just like Benji’s new limb of freedom after the Prize of the Pith—even if I pay everything off, a fae could levy him with restrictions once more. I could do everything in my power, I could pay off all his debt, and they could just add it back.
My hands begin to tingle, my mug of tea boiling.
“I count down from ten backward,” Silas rushes to say, eyeing the bubbling drink. “Anytime I need help breathing.”
I follow his suggestion, taking breaths until I can see straight again, and the heat calms. Finally, I ask, jaw clenched, “How can we stop the complaints without being High Fae? How do the halflings do it?”
“The only way is if a House grants you the status of legal protection. Any complaint against you would need to be explained and justified, not just automatically accepted.”
“And how do I get that?”
“Only a head of House can grant it.”
My heart sinks, because I already know what I must do. Kassandra’s and my plan for financial freedom isn’t enough. I must secure protections, and to ensure that Benji will be as safe as he could be, I must barter with the head of the most powerful House.
The king.