Chapter Forty-Seven #2
I lean forward. “What did you just say?”
“House of Death protects us from the creatures in the borderlands and the Amyrian Desert, does it not?” Kassandra asks.
“It does.”
Blinking, I point to a ring by my elbow. “What’s this for, then? Who do we owe?”
He opens and closes his mouth, an oath silencing him. An oath to his own House?
“House of Reign,” Kassandra answers. “House of Reign charges and collects the military fees.”
The executioner says nothing.
“It can’t be.” I toss the canteen aside. It seems that everything is House Reign—everything. The four Houses are like a shimmering mirage that even their leaders fall for, an illusion of choice and diversity. “Is your House truly banished to the borderlands?”
His head turns slowly in my direction, like a surveying owl. “Yes. Where else would it be?”
“I don’t know, buried?”
“Avery, will you stop bothering her with these mindless questions?” Kassandra sighs.
My mind halts like a rearing horse. Her?
“Who?” I demand.
She glowers at me, gesturing at the executioner. “What do you mean, who? The executioner.”
Between us, Death has gone still.
“But the executioner is a male.”
My mistress groans. “Are you not the one always bemoaning how the High Fae favor one sex over the other? Why is it so hard to understand that Death can be menacing and still have tits!”
“I don’t understand, because I don’t see that.”
“How—” Kassandra stops.
We look to the executioner, crouched, hands flexing on thighs. Their figure seems to flicker. An Illusion? But Death laced me back to this House weeks ago, held me in his arms, stood before all of Versara to execute my friend, and has been at a king’s side for over a century.
Death is watching us.
“You understand now,” they say.
My mistress’s magic reaches across the plane, fluttering the executioner’s cloak. She frowns. “You aren’t an Illusion.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I don’t care what’s under your cloak,” I say. “I just want to know why we perceive you differently.”
“It’s part of the oath I took to represent my House. To become as faceless as death itself.”
My mistress shifts. “So what are you?”
“What you fear most,” Death says. “Usually, a loved one who did not know how to love.”
“I do not seek the approval of males,” I mutter.
“No, you just seek safety in them.”
I flinch, eyes burning. There is no safety in them, I think, and finally understand.
“Enough.” Kassandra stares down the executioner, face smooth and unreadable. “You claim your House collects no debt, yet you still protect Amyria. Why?”
“Because it is needed.”
“And your House grows with anyone who survives the Desert Walk. You must be the biggest House at this point.”
“Few survive the Walk.”
“But some do?” I wonder.
“Yes.”
“But the scorpions and carnivorous sand turtles? The winds of the Amyrian Desert?”
“Are you a child?” Kassandra sighs. “These are ghosts you fear.”
“They exist,” Death says, “but we do not harm the creatures if they do not harm us.”
We fall silent for a moment, the air thick and full of iron.
“Take me to the king,” Kassandra says.
“I can’t do that,” the executioner replies, hands flexing on their—his—thighs, the visage of a male once more to me.
“I’d like to speak to my creditor.”
“He’s…indisposed.”
Kassandra rubs her face, swearing.
“Why?” I ask.
“The anniversary of his mother’s death,” she replies. “He drinks himself stupid for the entire week.”
“Well, if the king can drown himself for his mother, surely he could understand that we—”
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Death mumbles. “It would not be wise.”
Kass glances around. “Could you issue the debt on behalf of House Reign?”
“We would need a teller with Reign blood.”
My ears prick up.
“I know of one,” I say.
—
Silas sits wide-eyed in Kassandra’s parlor. His gaze keeps lowering to the floor, then back up at my mistress.
“Are the terms of the agreement acceptable?” my mistress asks.
“Yes, it’s just that this is highly unusual for a fae. Are you positive, my lady?”
“Yes.”
I shift. “I don’t think there’s a need to self-flagellate—”
She cuts me a look. “The funerals are happening today, no? If it does not fall on my wrists, then it shall land on those of the families—whoever remains. I will not have it.”
Silas scribbles on parchment, reaches for Kassandra’s hand.
“Wait,” she says, putting her palm to her chest. “What of my dowry? Could I pay with that?”
“I’m afraid not, mistress. It’s under your brother’s name.”
“Her apartment allowance?” I supply. “Does that need approval?”
“Dominik doesn’t care about which drapes I order. Besides, what good would that do?”
“Your…your floors needed cleaning,” I say.
The room looks at me, blinking, the tile shining.
“You withdrew money to pay for your floors to be specially cleaned.”
“The money in this account cannot be withdrawn, merely transferred. And the note attached must clarify for what services,” Silas says. “I’m sorry.”
There is another moment of silence as realization dawns. Kassandra faces Silas again.
“I’d like to tip my Illusion Crest attendant Avery for hand-cleaning my floors,” she says. “And the executioner in their assistance.”
Death straightens. “My lady, that’s unnecessary—”
“Use all of it,” she says.
The teller blinks. “This account hasn’t been touched in years. There’s quite a sum.”
“Then split it down the line and pay what is owed.”
“It—” Silas swallows. “I see.”
“Kass,” I start. “You—”
“When that is done, I would like to set up my personal loan to House of Reign for the funerary expenses. Will that do?”
Silas nods again and pricks her finger. Three rings wrap around each arm, her skin reddening, and it strikes me that it has never been marked; it is not used to it. She hisses in pain, clenching her teeth.
“Apologies, mistress,” Silas says.
“You are only doing your job.” Kassandra stands and faces me. My heart stops, my throat thickening with emotion. She looks like a faerie. With her small stature and angular face, she looks more like a faerie than I do.
“Your turn,” she says.
I seat myself next to Silas and offer my finger. He pricks and the information scrolls across the page. “Congratulations,” he says. “You have a tip from Lady Kassandra in the amount of five hundred silvers, or five gold coins.”
I choke.
“Would you like to withdraw, apply toward your current balance, or deposit into your…” His voice trails off. My savings account that will be given to my loved ones upon my death.
“Apply to what is left of my Illusion debt,” I say. “Then deposit the remaining, please.”
Silas exhales, relieved in not having to expose our arrangement. When it is time to prick my finger again, I do not want to feel excitement, a lightness in a time like this. Yet as the Reign magic unlatches its hold of my balances, I feel it as much as I see it.
My rings dwindle to just two on each wrist, the least I’ve ever had. With a cursory glance, I resemble a halfling, especially with my height.
Then it is Death’s turn.
“What do you see when you look at the executioner?” I ask Silas. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
He startles. Death doesn’t move, a hand outstretched to the teller.
“Um,” the halfling stutters, looking down. “Oh, nothing.”
“Please,” Kassandra nudges, brows drawing together. “Who do you see?”
Silas adjusts his glasses, stealing a glance at the executioner. “Apologies, it’s just that you remind me of the first fae I worked under. He was…well, it’s your eyes, you see. They’re violet like his were.”
Gregor the Great.
“How long did you work under him?” I ask.
Silas shifts. “My entire life, until a decade ago. I was…demoted to teller in Illusion when he began his decline—may he wander well—and moved to House Healing for hospice. But before that, I was his valet.”
The air in the room seems to dry up. Kassandra covers her mouth.
“His personal valet?” I gawk. To King Gregor?
“It was an old tradition in House Reign, to have halflings serve as personal valets and ladies-in-waiting for the royal couple. Only when the administration started to transition over to the prince were the faeries brought into those roles. They typically serve the royal children, yes, but never the king and queen.”
Kassandra and I look at each other.
“How’d you end up in Illusion?” she says gently.
He coughs. “The current administration wanted me gone, said I wasn’t young enough to be progressive. But the late king wanted me…taken care of with salary and retirement. It was a favor, really, to the king. A favor granted by the Lynx of the Lowlands.”
Kassandra sucks in a breath. “My father took you in, in exchange for what?”
“I don’t know.” Silas squirms. “I wasn’t allowed in that room.”
“Apologies, we shouldn’t have pried,” I say.
Silas collects his things. “It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about it. My old life.”
Kassandra thanks him and he nods, bowing, and departs. She gives me a look that I know means An in. We might have an in on proving Maxian’s heritage.
“Who else knows about your changing appearance?” I ask Death.
“Whoever asks.” But he stares down at a body obscured by black robes. He shakes his head. “My lady, you…my…my debt is now gone.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“I owe you.”
“You do not.” She glances down at her own skin, tracing a finger along one of her six tattoos.
“I cannot take you to the Pith, as there are wards in place that prevent it,” he says. “You would need to be formally invited.”
“I understand.”
“But,” he says, turning to me, “I can take you. Your invitation hasn’t been revoked yet.”
“Oh,” I blurt. “Well—”
“No.” Kassandra shakes her head. “The king is too unpredictable right now.”
“I don’t need to see him to collect Lila’s belongings.”
Another point of contention between us. While I still have my moth ring, my genius hasn’t been strong enough to lace to Reign. The only reason I was able to summon enough energy to fight was from adrenaline, and now that it’s gone, I feel drained.
“I could smother her genius so that the king can’t detect it on the plane,” Death says.
“What?” I cry.
“Using Death magic, I could mask your genius for about an hour. That way, you can still slip in through the wards without anyone detecting you once there.”
I shrug. “An hour is long enough.”
My mistress studies me. She throws up a hand, and a sparkling wall of air surrounds us. An Illusion or force of some sort. On the other side, the executioner drops his shoulders in a sigh that we cannot hear.
“What are you on about?” she asks.
“I have an idea.”
“That’s why I’m worried. Tell me.”
“It would allow you to become head of House. It would…require it.”
Kassandra’s eyes spark. “Dominik’s death may lead to war between the Houses.”
“He does not have to die to lose his spot as heir.”
She stares at her tattooed arms, rotating them. “I didn’t expect it to feel so painful. So…heavy. Yours used to go up to your shoulders.”
“I am one of the lucky ones. Most palace faeries are.”
“The boy,” she says. “The little brother of your friend Jeremee.”
I blink, shocked to hear his name on her lips. “Yes. What of him?”
“How many debt rings does he have?”
“They spanned all four limbs,” I say. “Until the game. Then you forgave some…” I stop, emotion rising.
“I forgave what I thought we could get away with. It seems I was wrong.”
“They only cover two of his limbs now,” I say. “Benji’s debt.”
“But in a few years, it could be back to four again. Yours could wrap around all four if you anger a fae enough. And…and now me as well, I guess. It’s a rather capricious feeling.”
“The head of House can grant legal protections to avoid that,” I say.
“But not the Heart.” Kassandra chews on her lip. “The head of House can also appoint a new accountant and advisor. One who may have seen personal Vandorne documents in the past.”
I raise a brow. “One who was a personal valet to the king?”
She nods, then looks at me. “I harbor much fear.”
“As do I.”
“So where does that leave us?”
I take a breath. “We can either act while afraid or never act at all.”
Before Kassandra drops the wall of hardened air, she tosses a look to the executioner.
“Bit creepy, no?” she says.
“I thought you liked looking at other females.”
That gets me a shove, but as my mistress turns away, the faintest smile graces her lips.