Chapter Thirty-Three
I slam into Kassandra’s vanity, her pots and lotions flying and smashing onto the floor.
Kassandra screams and springs out of bed in a pink nightgown, glass of red wine in hand that sloshes onto the carpet.
“What the fuck are you doing!” she shrieks, her magic tickling the plane.
Thank the planes she’s here.
I gasp for breath, leaning against the wall. Panic clings to me like spiderwebs. After seeing a shaking Lila to the Mouth for some water, I laced straight to Illusion.
“The king,” I try again, but the oath starts to block my throat. “I found—”
“Who gives a fuck?” Kassandra snaps, little invisible hands trying to piece back together a jar of something glittery. “Do you know how expensive this is? It’s from a Remiti artist who only releases products once a century!”
The bedroom doors burst open, Briar clutching a fireplace poker. “My lady!”
“It’s me,” I manage to say, sliding down the wall. “It’s me.”
Briar lets out a string of curses, lowering the poker. Kassandra tips back the rest of her wine, then blasts the residue with hot air. She places the dry goblet on the ground as bits of glitter rise from the carpet like snow. They collect in a small pile at the bottom of the glass.
“Briar, can you find this a more suitable container?” she says, the cup lifting in the air and floating toward the faerie.
Briar looks between us. “You two are keeping secrets.”
“Nothing exciting,” my mistress says. “Can you give us some privacy?”
She tuts but follows instructions and departs.
Kassandra looks at me, planting hands on her hips. Her silver hair falls around her, sleek and shiny, while I’m sure mine now looks like a bird’s nest. I’d never cared about my appearance in front of her before, but even in the evening light, it’s stark, her prettiness to my roughness.
She points a painted nail at me. “Next time, don’t talk so loudly about the king like that. I refuse to implicate Briar in this. Now, what did you find out?”
I swallow, standing once more. “The Mountain…the mountain is half dirt.”
She rolls her eyes. “What else are mountains made of?”
“Rock,” I say. “Every mountain is made of rock, no?”
“Okay…” She paces. “Maxian is a Reign fae, we know this, just like all the other kings. But you’re also saying he’s part dirt. Who’s dirt?”
“Me.”
Kassandra stops. “What did you just say?”
“I am dirt, as you always say. Well, so is…the Mountain.”
She just stares at me, paling. “How.”
“How else are…half mountains made.”
But she’s shaking her head, as if banishing the thought. “Impossible.”
“I found the little mountain. The one that’s made only of rock but has crumbled since—”
“Stop!” Kassandra flies forward, one hand clamping over my mouth. We stumble against the wall, and she hisses, eyes wide and afraid. “Stop. Please stop.”
I tense, peering into her face. Her skin is soft, body flushed against mine. She blinks, then steps away, rubbing her arms as if cold.
“You…you know,” I say.
“About the little mountain, not the dirt.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before? This is what we’ve needed.”
Her shoulders curl inward. “Can’t.”
“You’re sworn to a blood oath.”
She shakes her head. “Worse.”
A blood bargain. In which two parties make a deal and the party to break it loses their magic.
“Who’s his true mother, if not the queen?” Kassandra whispers, then looks my way. “Someone like you?”
I nod, my head against the wall. She lets out a curse and paces again.
“How do you know of this?” she demands.
A headache pulses in my temples. I rub them. “I can’t explain.”
“You have to. Or else who will believe us?”
“We don’t need anyone to believe us,” I snap. “You need to tell him you know—”
“And risk death? No. No, I will not speak of this anymore.”
Pushing off the wall, I start toward her. “But—”
“This is treason,” she seethes. “To talk like this. If I’m to use this, I need real proof or else it’s just his word against mine, or worse, your word against his.”
I halt, stung. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe.” She reaches over to her vanity, grabbing a pink pigment that didn’t fall. “Now, Briar’s coming back, and I want her staying innocent. So that means you can’t be.”
“What are you—”
Kassandra reaches up, smearing the pigment on my lips. I freeze, throat bobbing, as her thumb smudges it across my mouth, then across her own.
“Let her think this is what you’re doing here,” she whispers, snapping the lid back on.
“I’ll get in trouble!” I hiss.
She raises a brow. “Are you proposing to me? Are we in public? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, you think Briar cares? Now, go and get me proof.”
The doors click open again, and Briar stops in her tracks. Kassandra rubs the back of her hand across her face.
“What are you doing back so quickly?” she squeaks, then turns to me. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me be?”
Giving a shocked Briar a quick glance, I lace away.
—
In the hall outside the royal library, I stumble into a body.
“Oof,” Carter says, righting me and pulling away. “Where’d you come from?”
I adjust my clothes. My head spins with all this lacing and secrets, and I rub the pink pigment off my lips altogether. “Checking in with Lila. You?”
“She’s still in the Mouth. And I’m on my way to clean up all the rejected plates Dominik thought were poisoned.”
I wince. “What’s he doing here?”
“Guess they’re friends again.” Carter shrugs, then turns to walk down the hall.
The last time I saw Dominik, I was bleeding out from his bite and he was choking from my body oil. The last time I saw the king, I was making him and his lover come. It would only make sense for me to join Lila now, to make sure she’s okay in the wake of learning the truth of the king.
But I need proof of that truth. I need to see the halfling bastard beneath the crown. I need to know why none of us can tell what he is.
I follow Carter. “Here, let me help you clean up.”
“Okay, but they’re both not in the best of moods,” he warns, then falls silent as we approach the door to the dining room.
Conversation dies out. The two most dangerous males in Amyria stare at me.
Maxian is seated at the head, Dominik to his right, drumming his fingers on the table.
Maxian’s gaze drags over me, eyes glinting, brighter and more viscous than they were in the tapestry.
Cold sweat slides down my spine, and I rein in my emotions.
I pray to the planes that he thinks my nerves are from seeing him for the first time since we were together four nights ago, and not from the weight of the kingdom-shattering secret I now carry. Does he know that I know?
He cannot. I would have been killed on the spot if he knew what Lila and I discovered.
Taking a steadying breath, I reach for the dirty dishes and cups, stacking them in my arms.
The plane thrums with energy. My gaze snags on something dark spread on the table between plates, two black lines of what looks like ashy powder.
“You may leave us,” the king commands.
Carter bows. “Yes, my king.”
The servants’ door opens on its own, our cue to hurry the fuck up. Balancing the dishes, we rush out. The two males continue watching us from the shimmering light of the room, their eyes dilating. Then, the king flicks his wrist, and the door slams shut. I nearly sag with relief.
“What was that on the table?” I hiss as we walk away.
Carter’s gaze slides to me. “You’ve seen coca powder before?”
“I’m from House Illusion, of course I have.”
“It’s like that.”
“Carter, coca is white. This stuff was black.”
“I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“Even with other Reign servants?”
“It was a mistake to let you in there,” he breathes, tipping his head back. “I’m going to get so much shi—”
“I’m sworn to both Houses.”
“Does that matter now? They’ve seen you see it.”
“But I cannot speak of it.”
We trend down the hall in silence, the light and merriment of the Mouth growing closer.
He shakes his head. “You cannot tell anyone. It’s…different. It’s not like other drugs. It affects your genius directly.”
My brow furrows. “All drugs impact the genius because they impact our minds.”
“It’s not…” The valet groans. “Never mind.”
Why wouldn’t the faeries know of an Upper Court’s favorite substance, even the most exclusive? We are the ones who bring it out, then hide the evidence.
When Carter opens the door to the kitchens, his somber air falls away, and reluctantly, so do my questions. Lila and Fern sit at the table together, two goblets and a plate of little dessert squares in front of them. At the sight of us, Lila gives a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Carter and I bring the dishes over to the sink.
“You ladies have fun.” He sighs. “I have to wait awkwardly in the hall until His Magnificence summons me to help take off his tight leather trousers.”
Fern snorts as he leaves, and for a moment I’m tempted to follow once more.
“Saved you some chocolate,” Lila says, pushing the plate forward.
“I’m working on a new recipe, one with milk,” Fern says. “I need some taste testers.”
From Lila’s glum expression, I feel that Fern conjured up the role of taste testers, especially for High Fae dishes, but for that I am even more grateful.
When I pop one in my mouth, it’s soft and sweet and creamy.
“Fern, I’ve never had something more delicious in my life.
” I’ve been at Reign for over a moon, and still the difference in faerie food access amazes me.
Fern chuckles, a pleased sparkle in her eye. “Flatterer.”
Lila grabs a bottle of liquor from the floor, clinking it against the table, and pours each of us a glass. She drains hers. “Fern was telling me about her uncle who used to work for a Healing botanist. They studied trees and found out they can talk, right?”
Saplings spring up from the grass. A growing network, a family, someone with whom to share roots.
My pulse quickens. While I was relaying a secret that should’ve never been unearthed, Lila was poking around and conducting her own investigation.
The cook sips her cup. “In Healing, they do experiments. They tap into the plane of magic and observe pulses of energy sent through the roots. Not just their geniuses, but information in those pulses. Scents that the trees would release to inform one another of dangerous animals that might eat them. When to drop leaves, if at all. The roots, you see, are like the mind. They store memories.”
The life of a chestnut tree flickers before my eyes.
“It happens slowly, and so it is not always considered intelligence,” Lila says. Then she looks to me with a lopsided smile. “You’re very smart, Avery, and even if you weren’t, I would still like you. I like you, Avery.”
“Fae wine, is it? That stuff is strong,” I say, grinning.
“Did Avery ever tell you about how she and her friend Briar got drunk at the coronation?” Lila blurts. “It was—oh. Oh no, Avery, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up—”
“It’s okay,” I say. A smile tugs at my lips, for Lila’s consideration and because for the first time since the coronation, I remember that moment fondly, and because I am so tired of frowning. I turn to Fern. “We heard the executioner was coming and I was already bored to death.”
Fern gasps. “Naughty faerie!”
Lila reaches for the bottle to pour again, and I sniff the floral wine in my cup. “What is this?”
“The king sent it back earlier. Wasn’t dry enough for him.” Fern hiccups. “We’re just sampling it.”
I glance between the pair of flushed faces, then drain my glass. They squeal and refill the cups and we clink them together, the air warm.
“Oh no!” Lila gasps. “How are we going to get you back to Illusion? We can’t drink and lace. We might end up in a bush somewhere!”
A laugh bursts from me, light and bright. It breaks up the heaviness of the night, the fear and dread churning in my stomach. It’s a temporary distraction, and this time not a harmful one.
“What’s this?” Fern demands. “You don’t have a room in Reign?”
“We didn’t know what was going to happen between the two Houses, so I kept my old room,” I explain. “I’ve been going back and forth.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Fern exclaims. “Why not have two rooms?”
“Is that allowed?”
“I’m in charge of the rooms, so I say yes!” she shouts, wrapping a thick arm around me. She is sweaty and her embrace is warm. “Pour me another drink, will you, Lila? Aw, come on—more than that. After all, no one is drinking and lacing tonight!”
“Would you like that, Avery?” Lila asks, her face shining. “Would you like a room at Reign?”
“I think I would.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She smiles. I smile back.
“Well, then.” Fern raises her mug, and so does Lila. “Welcome home, Avery.”
They glance at me expectantly, gleefully, hopefully.
I blush. “Thank you.”
They squeal in glee again, the sound bright and high and irresistible.
For the second time on this long, hard day, I find myself glad I stayed after Jeremee left.
If I had followed him, I would not have this.
A deeper, darker, more desperate side knows that in the coming days and weeks and months, I will need these friends, this network, and they will need me.
Friends are the only thing on this earthly plane worth fighting for.