headachy sleep in the late afternoon, when the rest of Faerie was just rising. I
took to wandering the corridors of the house like a restless spirit, thumbing
through ancient books, moving around the game pieces on the Fox and Geese
board, toasting cheese in the kitchens, and staring at Madoc’s blood-soaked cap,
as though it contained the answers to the universe in its tide lines. One of the
hobs who used to work here, Nell Uther, would find me and guide me back to
my room, telling me that if I couldn’t sleep, then I ought to just close my eyes
and lie still. That at least my body could rest, even if my mind wouldn’t.
I am lying like that when I hear a rustling on the balcony. I turn, fully
expecting to see the Ghost. I am about to tease him for actually making a sound
when I realize the person rattling the doors isn’t the Ghost at all. It’s Valerian,
and he has a long, curving knife in one hand and a smile every bit as sharp
pulling at his mouth.
“What…” I scramble into a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”
I realize that I am whispering, as though I am afraid of his being
discovered.
You are my creature, Jude Duarte. You will strike only when I tell you to
strike. Otherwise, stay your hand.
At least Prince Dain didn’t glamour me to obey those orders.
“Why shouldn’t I be here?” Valerian asks me, striding closer. He smells
like pinesap and burned hair, and there is a light dusting of golden powder
streaked over one cheek. I am not sure where he’s been before this, but I don’t
think he’s sober.
“This is my home.” I am prepared for training with the Ghost. I have a
knife in my boot and another at my hip, but thinking of Dain’s command,
thinking of how not to disappoint him further, I reach for neither. I am
flummoxed by Valerian’s being here, in my room.
He walks up to my bed. He’s holding the knife well enough, but I can tell
he’s not particularly practiced with it. He is no general’s son. “None of this is
your home,” he tells me, voice shaking with anger.
“If Cardan put you up to this, you should really rethink your relationship,” I
say, finally, now, afraid. By some miracle, my voice stays steady. “Because if I
scream, there are guards in the hall. They’ll come. They’ve got big, pointy
swords. Huge. Your friend is going to get you killed.”
Show your power by appearing powerless.
He doesn’t seem to be absorbing my words. His eyes are wild, red-rimmed,
and not entirely focused on me. “Do you know what he said when I told him
you’d stabbed me? He told me it was no more than I deserved.”
That’s impossible; Valerian must have...