Chapter Fifty
Dappled sunlight filters through the office, the smell of ink and paper filling my nose.
It has been a few days since what the Nest now calls the Silver Slaughter—Dominik’s massacre and his crippling.
At first, Kassandra and I spent each waking hour in silence, drinking to numb the itching before passing out in various places.
Only once did I arise to find my arms around her before rolling off the settee, face hot and heart heavy.
She didn’t stir until her meetings began, and they have not stopped.
After tending to Briar, I headed to House of Healing.
I approach the grand beveled desk as Eli leans back in his chair.
“Kassandra’s note said it was urgent. How can I help?” he asks.
“First, we would like more pain tonic sent to Briar.”
“Of course.”
I pull out a letter stamped with a wax seal. “As you know, Lady Kassandra has been indisposed in meetings with members of Illusion. I have instructions from her to act as a valet and deliver your response to her directly. She has given permission for me to negotiate on her behalf.”
Eli takes the letter from my hands and breaks the seal, reading.
“As you know, both her brother and father are unavailable, leaving her temporary head of House,” I say, then add, “With the approval of the other Illusion families. Their responses came in today by raven.”
“Go on.”
“The Head of Illusion would like to know more about what this is and why she hasn’t heard of it before.” Digging into my pockets, I pull out a small leather pouch and toss it onto the desk. Eli unties the leather strap and peers inside. The black powder.
“I see.” He takes off his spectacles, rubbing his face. “Do you know where your mistress acquired this?”
I stare at him pointedly.
“Right, of course you couldn’t tell me even if you knew.”
“If it’s any consolation, my oaths to Illusion and Healing would ensure that the truth remains unknown.”
“It’s called Ashent. My father originally developed it as a cure for Molders.”
“But only faeries are Molders.”
He sighs again, looking away. “Because they do not know of the cure. And even if they did, they could not afford it.”
I frown. So, being magically mute is not just a faerie disease. No, the High Fae simply jump-start their magic again with this drug. How many High Fae advantages are just manufactured?
To say this to the Head of Healing would be treasonous. “You said originally? What is Ashent used for now?”
“My cousin oversees its production at our base in Remiti. She’s the Healing advisor and believes that it could be the key to a stronger kingdom. A way to help High Fae, faeries, and Molders alike.”
“And what do you believe?”
“That it’s addictive, especially this new formula. It leaves certain High Fae…not in control of themselves.”
The two black lines on a table between Dominik and Maxian. The twitching that still crawls over my skin.
“How many High Fae know of it?” I ask.
“Just the Council of Keepers. There’s a vote on regulating its distribution in a few months.”
I study him. “You are nervous.”
“I’ve advocated against Ashent from the beginning, but there are many voices at play.”
“How do you imagine it will unfold?”
He eyes me. “Why would you like to know?”
“Lady Kassandra does.”
“The advisors, heads, and heirs of each House typically vote the same. Until recently, House of Illusion and Reign were in favor of broad distribution. House of Death is against, and unfortunately, on this matter, House of Healing is divided between my cousin and me, as we have no Heir of Healing. The heir must be a legitimate successor, not temporarily named for the voting. The king’s vote breaks the tie by counting as one vote if the number of council seats is even, or two votes if the council seats are odd. ”
“So the number of seats a House has on the council can change at any time,” I say.
“Yes, to give each House a…chance.”
“At what?”
“Dominance.”
Another reason why marriages and children are so demanded, even if birthing another baby kills the mother.
I begin counting. “Before King Gregor passed—may he wander well—the vote would’ve been seven in favor of Ashent. Three each for Illusion and Reign, and your cousin. Four would’ve voted against it, including House of Death and you.”
“Correct. But much has changed, as you know. The number of seats has shifted, and so have the Houses.”
“What if the Illusion votes swing the other way?”
Eli scoffs. “It would be easier to secure an heir.”
“That could take decades, it seems.”
“Not if the female can prove her pregnancy. Then she can vote on behalf of the future heir.”
I blink. “The fetus gets a vote…but not the female who carries it?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Why?” I ask, failing to keep the fury from my voice. Others have mentioned this before, but I want a male to say it to my face. “Explain it to me. Please.”
Lord Eli does not meet my eye. “Because there is a chance the fetus could be male. The mother is not.”
Disgusting, I think. This is so violent and volatile and depraved. This is a gambling den, but the stakes are thousands of lives and millions of coins.
“And the Hearts have no votes,” I say.
“No, because they tend to switch Houses once married. They could sit on the council, though, if they fell pregnant with the next heir.”
And what if the royal vote were female? I want to ask. If the council numbers are odd, then could the royal vote count as three for that individual? Or will you change the rules once again?
I do not voice any of this. Instead, I focus on the task at hand, on the bargaining chip Kassandra has given me—my price for paralyzing her brother.
“My mistress has a deal to offer,” I state. “When the time comes, she will vote against Ashent, whether she is heir or head of House, or holds both votes because of pregnancy.”
Eli sputters. “I—I know Kass is my friend, but why support my perspective?”
“Because she agrees with you. It makes the males more violent.”
“What would she like in return?”
I dig out the paper with Benji’s name on it. “For the House to absolve this faerie of his Healing debts. And if Dominik somehow makes a miraculous recovery, then she will personally pay back the balance.”
I hand the paper to Eli, and he scans the name. “That’s it?”
“And,” I venture to say, “the legal protections of Healing for this faerie.”
Once I knew that Benji’s debts—all of ours—are only owed to three Houses because Death does not collect, the plan fell into place.
Dominik needed to be stopped, Kassandra needed power, Benji protection, the king to be isolated.
Kass absolved the remaining Illusion debts of Benji, Briar, herself, and me, and granted us legal protections.
When my power is secured, she said this morning, we can forgive all the debt.
Whether she will doesn’t matter because Benji’s freedom doesn’t rest solely on her or me now. Now Benji is forgiven by two of the three creditor Houses, and protected by them for the foreseeable future.
“Done,” Eli says, scribbling.
My vision blurs. That is all it takes for the fae to free.
Just the scribble of a quill on paper, and a legacy of suffering has ended.
As he hands the message to his valet to take to the teller’s office below, I smile because Benji’s rings will only cover one arm now, like they did before Jae’s death.
There is only one House left that owns him. And I will do anything to set him free of it, even if it means plunging a knife into another fae back.
—
Before I leave the House of Healing, I knock on my friend’s door.
“Come in!” Lila calls.
Opening the door, I stop. She smiles at me from a reading chair, hair in fresh long braids woven with loose curly strands that fall toward the ends. She looks relaxed and refreshed, something I haven’t seen since I’ve known her.
“Your hair!” I gasp. “You look celestial!”
She beams. “I met another black faerie who works in the Healing library, and we got to talking. She knows about my hand and so she offered to come over to help with my braids. Apparently, she does a lot of other girls’ hair as well.”
“The style is so whimsical,” I say, kissing both her cheeks. “Oh, and when you’re ready, I have something for you.”
“I’m ready now.”
Setting my small bag down, I take out the ring of skeleton keys that belonged to her father.
Her eyes well. Then I take the letters out, one by one, from our friends in the Pith.
Lila reads, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Pouring myself some water, I watch my friend work through a myriad of emotions.
Her lips move with each word, as if reciting prayer.
When she’s ready, she looks up, laughing.
“Thank you.”
I wipe my face. “Kass is opening an artist-in-residence program for faeries, sponsored by Illusion. You should apply.”
She gestures to the seat next to me.
We talk for hours. We divulge our feelings, our nerves, details about our fathers and mothers and new favorite herbs, what we had for breakfast that morning and what activities we want to do now that spring has fully formed. We talk until our throats are sore, until there is a knock.
“Oh!” Lila’s eyes widen. “I forgot about my appointment. Hide in the armoire.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not hiding in the armoire—”
“It’s with Hector Vandorne.”
Why in the planes is Hector Vandorne here?
“Get in the closet, now.”
I grab my bag and tread to the giant chest on the far side of the room, and Lila closes me into the armoire.
Lord Hector Vandorne enters, grunting a hello. The chair creaks under his weight.
“Tea?” Lila asks.
“Not today, thank you. Lila, is it?”
My jaw clenches. She has served him her entire life in the Reign Household and he does not know her name.
“Yes,” she confirms. “How can I help?”
“I’m afraid I’ve come to you today out of great desperation,” he says. “The king—he is not the same since the incident in the library.”
“I am not the same, either, as you can tell.”
Hector coughs. “Yes, well—”