It’s a Nice Hat
The vicar waits for me to speak. I don’t rush, taking time to gather my thoughts and choose my words carefully. “I do not intend to marry you, Hugh—or Fitzhugh, or whatever your name is. I am not bound by your promise.” Hugh hisses in annoyance. I pull my hands out of his and press one to his chest. His heart flutters rapidly beneath my touch. “You say I’m part Folk—well, maybe you’re right.” The vicar stammers something, but I ignore him, my voice growing more confident. “But even so, I’m not all Folk. I’m a human. A vow I didn’t ask for and didn’t even witness can’t bind me.”
Hugh’s eyes narrow, pinpricks of dark light focused on me.
“I’ve been trying to think like the Folk—all my life, I’ve been trying to think like you,” I say. “But I’m not one of you, am I? I don’t have to bargain.” My smile grows joyful and real. I close my eyes briefly, willing the ache in my chest to fade. “I release you from your promise, Hugh.”
He starts, surprise and irritation dancing over his features. “You can’t just release me.”
“Why not? ”
“I’m bound,” he insists. “I’m bound!”
I press my hand more firmly onto his chest, willing the bond to break, willing to calm him. Something else chivvies at the back of my mind—something about changelings, about Hugh, something Mum said. A mother always knows.
“Hugh,” I say slowly, “ are you a changeling?” The vicar yelps and takes a stumbling step backward. “Or are you just half -Folk?” I think of the beautiful, youthful queen who shares Hugh’s golden hair and gleaming eyes. “Why would you say our children could end up like Lucas if you’re not actually his brother—” I gasp. “Are you saying Lucas is Folk ?”
Hugh grabs my shoulders to hold me upright. “Standing at the altar with me, and still thinking about my brother,” he mutters. “I tried to get him to do it! Threw you together as much as I could!”
“This is very irregular,” the vicar quivers. Poor old man; I hope he has a stout constitution. “Shall we postpone, then?”
“Either way,” I say to Hugh, “whatever your nature is made of, you can choose to be free. Whether you accept your freedom or not, you’re free . I won’t be bound by a bargain I never made.” I step backward, shaking his hands off.
Hugh takes a sharp breath through his nose. “You can’t do that,” he insists, his gaze flicking around the room. “You can’t do that! You’re changing the rules!”
“I am not.” I straighten my shoulders. “I am following the human rules.” I think of what Lucas tried to tell me and smile ruefully. “Humans can give freely. We don’t have to bargain all the time.”
The vicar coughs. “Am I correct in presuming that this young man, is, er, one of Them?”
“It’s all fine,” I say. “Hugh is going to act human.”
Hugh’s eyes are still fixed on me with a wild intensity—but I think I see a spark in them now, something that wasn’t there before. I reach out and take his hand.
“Here—to prove it—” I stretch up on my tiptoes and give him the only thing I can think of, a soft kiss on his lips. “A gift, freely given and freely received. It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”
Surprise lights his face. His pallid cheeks gradually regain their color, and he presses a palm to his heart, slowly and wonderingly. “It—you can’t do that!” Then he grins, the wildness replaced by his usual mirth. “Your great-great-great-great grandmother was Folk,” he says. “On your mother’s side, anyhow. I wasn’t paying attention to your father’s.”
The vicar sputters.
Hugh puts his hands in his pockets lazily and saunters over to the blue-and-green window. He gazes curiously out at the village. “Does everyone here use those pointless wards?” He spins and strolls back to me. “I’m not sure if you’re right, Miss Smith—”
“Miss Smith?” the vicar echoes.
“—but I’ll make a new promise now: in exchange for my freedom, I will teach your village about proper warding.” He shows a few more teeth. “Are we both satisfied?”
“Very, thank you,” I say.
Hugh nods at me once and strolls down the aisle, humming an off-key tune. At the door, he stops. “That letter you wrote Luke—not very romantic, by-the-by! No wonder you couldn’t catch him!—I took it. Needed your address, you see! Anyhow, if you still like him, you’ll have to write again.” He retrieves a fistful of bank notes from his pocket and stuffs them in the tithe box by the door. “For your service, old man!” he calls to the vicar before he disappears.
“Wait!” I rush after him, leaving the befuddled vicar behind. Hugh’s already up on Kelpie.
“Well?”
“Was I right? Is Lucas really—?” I hang on to the edge of the doorway.
“He doesn’t know,” Hugh twinkles. “Mother’s kept her secret pretty well, hasn’t she!” He winks and wheels Kelpie away, but stops when I call him again.
“Would you really have killed someone?”
His face loses its humor. “You don’t know how much pain I was in! I—I was not myself.”
“I think you were yourself.” I flatten my lips. “The worst version of yourself, I mean.”
A flicker of shame crosses his face, but he only shrugs. “Well, well, it turned out all right, so let’s say no more about it.”
“It turned out alright because—Hugh! You can’t just threaten my parents and then run away without even an apology! Hugh! ”
He can, actually, and he does. Kelpie rears and whinnies, and Hugh shoots me one last grin before they dart off. “I’m telling Luke you kissed me! He’ll hate it!”
It takes them only a moment to disappear down the road. My legs suddenly tremble, and I cling to the doorframe for support, holding my breath for several long heartbeats. The ache that’s plagued me for so long is gone. I hadn’t realized how much it hurt until now.
There are still other aches, though.
I wipe my hand across my brow, weary. I’ve freed myself from Hugh—maybe freed Hugh from himself, too. And he repaid me by leaving me stranded and hungry in Upper Splott!
He really is the most annoying man!
It takes over an hour to follow the coiling, hilly road back to Lower Splott. The wind has died down, although the air smells like rain and quiet thunder growls in the distance. My newfound lightness—and my desire to stay dry—speeds me on my way.
I mean, I still have plenty of problems: Dad still needs a surgeon, and apparently the queen is Folk, and apparently I’m Folk, and I’m still in love with a man who’s more unapproachable than ever. But if I don’t think about those things for a few minutes, I’m actually doing quite well.
Writing to Lucas again is out of the question. Not because I’m afraid of accepting favors now, but because I feel the impropriety more after almost marrying his brother. I did kiss Hugh, technically, so it wouldn’t be very polite to start asking Lucas for help again.
But Lucas is not my only friend. If we sell all the hogs, and I sell the book Lucas gave me, and maybe if Chemmy can loan us a little bit, I could at least send Dad and Mum to Wellington-upon-Chesbury to see another doctor. I’ll hire myself out as a hogmaid to someone around here and live in a sty if I have to.
I’m nearly to Lower Splott when I see a carriage stopped in the middle of the road. A dark figure leans against a nearby tree. I hope it’s not a highwayman; of course, no one would call the Upper-Lower Splott road a highway.
I slow my steps and walk along the other ditch, just in case.
Once I get closer, I realize the figure is a man—a tall man—a tall man in a very princely jacket—my jaw drops. “ Lucas ?”
Lucas turns, his face mirroring my own surprise. “Miss Flanders?”
“What are you doing here?” I say. “I thought you were a highwayman! You shouldn’t lurk beneath trees, Your Highness!”
“The wheel broke,” Lucas says, dipping his head toward the tilting carriage. “The driver walked on to find the nearest wheelwright.”
“He’ll be walking a while,” I say, moving over to inspect the damage. “No wheelwrights in Lower Splott, or Upper Splott for that matter.” I bend and wriggle the broken spokes.
“Oh?” Lucas follows me over to the carriage. “Where will he have to go, then?”
I dust my hands on my skirt. “Well, if he says the right thing to the right person in Lower Splott, he might get someone who can help. Otherwise, the nearest actual wheelwright is all the way in Splott Superior.”
“Splott—Hester, there is not a village called Splott Superior!”
“Cross my heart,” I say. The organ in question is fluttering rather vigorously. Why is Lucas here, and why is he acting as if we’ve just met under the most usual of circumstances—as if he’s not stranded on a narrow, rutted lane, miles from his palace and whatever princely business he’s supposed to be doing, and as if his mother is not Folk, and as if he doesn’t know that I am wholeheartedly in love with him!
I rescind my opinion of Hugh. Lucas may be the most annoying man.
The clouds cease threatening and start acting. Fat drops plop and splash around us. Lucas takes my hand, tugging me into the carriage for shelter.
I don’t mind that he’s holding my hand, not even a little bit, and I don’t object to the fact that he doesn’t drop it when we’re both safely inside, seated opposite from each other on plush seats. The carriage’s windows are covered, and the interior is dim.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is low. I wish the carriage were brighter so I could see his face better; on the other hand, there is something thrilling about having a whispered conversation in the darkness with an attractive man.
An attractive man who is about to be very disgruntled when I tell him his mother is, in fact, something quite inhuman. I tug my hand away.
“I live here, or hereabouts, anyhow,” I say. “Why are you here?”
Lucas huffs something that might be a humorless laugh, or might be the noise an injured hog would make when another hog stepped on its tail. I blink. Did he answer? I got lost in my metaphor.
He reaches up and takes off his hat. “Looking for you, as a matter of fact. Is this your farmland?”
“This? Oh, no. We’re a few miles beyond the village.”
“Why are you out walking in the rain?”
“Well, it wasn’t raining when I left.” I thread my fingers together. “You know how your brother—well, you remember—wait!” I squint into the shadows. “You are Lucas, aren’t you?”
“Who else would I be?”
“Prove it,” I say. “So I know you’re human, or at least mostly human. Tell me a lie. ”
“Err—my name is Flower?”
I stare. “Your name is Flower ?”
He throws up his hands. He’s still holding his hat, and it knocks into the carriage roof. “I’m not used to thinking up lies on the spot!”
“Of course you are,” I scoff. “You’re a politician, aren’t you?”
“That doesn’t mean I go around lying on purpose.”
We’re getting off-track. “What color is the grass?”
“Well, right now I can’t see any—”
I heave a deep sigh. “I’m getting you a book on botany next. Let’s try this: what direction is the sunrise?”
“East.”
“Good. Now say the sun rises in the west. That’s an objective lie.”
“The sun rises in the west,” Lucas repeats obediently. “And grass is blue, and you hate cheese.”
I smile. That’s a relief, anyhow.
Lucas clears his throat. “But about—about humans and Folk.”
“I need to tell you something about that,” I say. I bite my lip and try to think of a gentle way to suggest that his mother is not human. “I don’t think your mother is human,” I finally blurt.
“What do you think she is?” Lucas’ voice is measured and guarded, but not angry.
“Folk. I don’t know how, or why, just—”
“Was Hugh here?” Lucas twists the hat in his hands.
“You’re ruining that hat, you know.”
He barks a laugh and passes a hand over his face. “First you say that my mother is not human, and then you tell me to worry about my hat.”
“It’s a nice hat!” I protest, tugging it out of his grip and trying to punch it back into shape.
“Forget the hat, Hester! It’s not important right now!” He sighs, then takes my hand again. “You’re getting cold.”
“Less important than the hat.”
“Let me put the blanket on you.” His voice grows a bit thick and he releases my hand to rummage under the seat. He leans across the carriage and spreads a blanket over my lap carefully. He pauses, still close to me. “You never lied to me.”
I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I think your eyes are very ugly.”
He blinks. “I—I don’t know if that’s a lie or not.”
“I have six fingers on my right hand.” Lucas looks down at my hand, picks it up, and runs his thumb over my fingers before releasing me.
“I count five,” he says. His eyes find mine again. “So I can trust that you’re not a faerie?”
“Of course I’m not. Or at least, not much. ”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Hugh said one of my great-great-great-grandmothers—or it may have been great-great-great-great? I wasn’t paying very close attention—was Folk. But I’ve decided to ignore it.”
“How did Hugh know?”
“Said he could tell when I kissed him,” I say absently, still trying to remember the number of greats and calculate the percentage of Folk blood that gives me.
Lucas doesn’t squawk—that would be undignified—but the noise he makes would be classified as a bleat, at the very least. “You kissed him?”
“It’s a long story!” I’m not sure where to start, but I don’t get a chance. A rattle sounds outside the carriage, and the door swings open. I blink against the light.
“Your Highness?” the man says. “I’ve found someone for the wheel.”
The light pouring through the door illuminates Lucas’ very red face. We weren’t doing anything improper, so he needn’t look so embarrassed to be caught with me!
The man—the driver, I presume—spares me a curious glance before backing away so we can exit the carriage. Lucas goes first, then hands me down. A Lower Splott villager waits outside with a tool chest .
“Well! Your wheel should be fixed soon, and I really should be getting on home.” I curtsy.
“Wait—Hester.” Lucas follows me when I begin walking back down the road. “I need to speak to you.”
“We’ve been speaking, Your Highness.” My heart warms at the sound of my name in his voice.
“Yes, and there’s more to say.” He touches my shoulder to make me stop walking. A raindrop lands on his bare head; he’s left his misshapen hat in the carriage. “If you’ll wait, I’ll give you a ride back to your home. But no bargains between us, Hester.” His dark eyes bore into mine. “I’m not here to trap you.”
My heart is fluttering, all my instincts at war. “Are you offering to help me?”
“You don’t need to make it sound like such an insult.” His lips quirk up into a lopsided smile. “I won’t force you,” he adds. “But we are friends, are we not?”
I stretch out my hand and place it in his. “No bargains,” I say in a whisper. “And I’d be grateful for the use of your carriage.”
His lopsided smile grows into a real one, warm and delighted and a bit surprised.
“You don’t need to look so shocked,” I sniff. “I’m more human than you are.”
His fingers close around mine. I like the way they feel. He leans a tiny bit closer. “Because of my mother, you mean? Then here’s a lie to reassure you—I think your eyes are very ugly, too.”
I’m surprised into a laugh, even as I blush furiously. I pluck my hand out of his and tuck a curl behind my ear. “That is reassuring. Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Well,” he says, flexing his fingers before clasping his hands behind his back, “while we wait, I’d like to hear more about why you were kissing my brother.” The makeshift wheelwright produces a series of thuds and clunks behind us.
“I almost kissed you once, you know,” I say, wiping a raindrop off my cheek. “At that ball, when I was dressed like a pumpkin. ”
Lucas swallows and steps closer to me. “You should have. You—you should kiss me whenever you want to.”
“Oh?” I take two steps toward him, holding his gaze, then stretch up to my tiptoes and brush a feather-light kiss across his lips. He stands still. I back away. “Well then,” I say. He needn’t be so cold about it; it was his idea—
Lucas closes the distance between us in one sudden movement, arms wrapping around my waist and pressing me to his chest. He bends his head, finding my lips with his own, and his kiss is not feather-light. “Hester,” he says when he finally stops to breathe, “we have much more to discuss.”
One of the men from the carriage whistles. I’m sure Lucas would blush if he weren’t already so rosy.
“Were we discussing something?” I pant.
Lucas traces circles over my back and chuckles. “I have a—an idea to present to you. The paperwork is in the carriage.”
“Paperwork?” My eyebrows raise to the sky. “You kiss me like that, and then talk about paperwork ?”
“It’s interesting paperwork,” Lucas murmurs. Then he kisses me again.