I go to sleep early, and when I wake, it is full dark. My head hurts—maybe
from sleeping too long—and my body aches. I must have slept with all my
muscles tensed.
The lectures of that day have already begun. It doesn’t matter. I’m not
going.
Tatterfell has left me a tray with coffee on it, spiced with cinnamon and
cloves and a little bit of pepper. I pour a cup. It’s lukewarm, which means it has
been there for a while. There’s toast, too, which softens up when I dunk it a few
times.
Then I wash my face, which is still sticky with pulp, and then the rest of
me. I brush my hair roughly, and then I pull it into a bun by knotting it around a
twig.
I refuse to think about what happened the day before. I refuse to think about
anything but today and my mission for Prince Dain.
Go to Hollow Hall. Find us a secret the king won’t like. Find treason.
So Dain wants me to help ensure that Balekin isn’t chosen to be the next
High King. Eldred can choose any of his children for the throne, but he favors
the three eldest: Balekin, Dain, and Elowyn—and Dain above the others. I
wonder if spies help keep it that way.
If I can be good at this, then Dain will give me power when he ascends the
throne. And after yesterday, I crave it. I crave it like I craved the taste of faerie
fruit.
I put on the servant’s dress without any of my mall-acquired underclothes
to make sure I am as authentic as possible. For shoes, I dig out a pair of old
leather slippers from the back of my closet. They have a hole through the toe that
I tried to fix nearly a year ago, but my sewing skills are poor, and I wound up
just making them ugly. They fit, though, and all my other shoes are tobeautifully made.
We do not have human servants at Madoc’s estate, but I have seen them in
other parts of Faerie. Human midwives to deliver babies from human consorts.
Human artisans cursed or blessed with tempting skill. Human wet nurses to
suckle sickly faerie infants. Little human changelings, raised in Faerie, but not
educated with the Gentry as we are. Cheerful magic-seekers who don’t mind a
little drudgery in exchange for some wish of their heart. When our paths cross, I
try to talk to them. Sometimes they want to, and sometimes they don’t. Most
nonartisans have been at least slightly glamoured to smooth out their memories.
They think they’re in a hospital or at a rich person’s house. And when they’re
returned home—and Madoc has assured me that they are—they’re paid well and
even given gifts, such as good luck or shiny hair or a knack for guessing the
right lotto numbers.
But I know there are also humans who make bad bargains or offend the
wrong faerie and who are not treated so well. Taryn and I hear things, even if no
one means for us to—stories of humans sleeping on stone floors and eating
refuse, believing themselves to be resting on feather beds and supping on
delicacies. Humans drugged out of their minds on faerie fruit. Balekin’s servants
are rumored to be the latter, ill-favored and worse-treated.
I shudder at the thought of it. And yet I can see why a mortal would make a
useful spy, beyond the ability to lie. A mortal can pass into low places and high
without much notice. Holding a harp, we’re bards. In homespun, we’re servants.
In gowns, we’re wives with squalling goblin children.
I guess being beneath notice has advantages.
Next I pack a leather bag with a shift and a knife, throw a thick velvet cloak
over my dress, and descend the stairs. The coffee churns in my gut. I am almost
to the door when I see Vivi seated on the tapestry-covered window seat.
“You’re up,” she says, standing. “Good. Do you want to shoot things? I’ve
got arrows.”
“Maybe later.” I keep my cloak clutched tightly around me and try to move
past her, keeping a blandly happy expression on my face.
It doesn’t work. Her arm shoots out to block me. “Taryn told me what you
said to the prince at the tournament,” she says. “And Oriana told me how you
came home last night. I can guess the rest.”
“I don’t need another lecture,” I say to her. This mission from Dain is the
only thing keeping me from being haunted by what happened the day before. I
don’t want to lose focus. I am afraid that if I do, I will lose my composure, too.
“Taryn feels awful,” Vivi says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sometimes it sucks to be right.“Stop it.” She grabs for my arm, looking at me with her split-pupiled eyes.
“You can talk to me. You can trust me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I made a mistake. I got angry. I wanted to prove
something. It was stupid.”
“Was it because of what I said?” Her fingers are gripping my arm hard.
The Folk are going to keep treating you like crap.
“Vivi, there’s no way my deciding to mess up my life is your fault,” I tell
her. “But I will make them regret crossing me.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” Vivi asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, pulling free. I head toward the door, and this time she
doesn’t stop me. Once I’m out, I rush across the lawn to the stables.
I know I am not being fair to Vivi, who hasn’t done anything. She just
wanted to help.
Maybe I don’t know how to be a good sister anymore.
At the stables, I have to stop and lean against a wall while I take deep
breaths. For more than half my life, I’ve been fighting down panic. Maybe it’s
not the best thing for a constant rattle of nerves to seem normal, even necessary.
But at this point, I wouldn’t know how to live without it.
The most important thing is to impress Prince Dain. I can’t let Cardan and
his friends take that from me.
To get to Hollow Hall, I decide to take one of the toads, since only the
Gentry ride silver-shod horses. Although a servant would probably not have a
mount of any kind, at least the toad is less conspicuous.
Only in Faerieland is a giant toad the less conspicuous choice.
I saddle and bridle a spotted one and lead her out onto the grass. Her long
tongue lashes one of her golden eyes, making me take an involuntary step back.
I hook my foot in the stirrup and swing up onto the seat. With one hand, I
pull on the reins, and with the other, I pat the soft,...