Disturbingly, it is even easier to gain entrance to the Palace of Elfhame in
my servant’s gown than it was to enter Balekin’s household. Everyone, from
goblin to the Gentry to the High King’s mortal Court Poet and Seneschal, barely
gives me a passing look as I find my clumsy way through the labyrinthine halls.
I am nothing, no one, a messenger no more worthy of attention than an animated
twig woman or an owl. My pleasant, placid expression, combined with forward
momentum, gets me to Prince Dain’s chambers without so much as a second
look, even though I lose my way twice and have to retrace my steps.
I rap on his door and am relieved when the prince himself opens it.
He raises both brows, taking in the sight of me in the homespun dress. I
make a formal curtsy, as any servant might. I do not alter my expression, for fear
of his not being alone. “Yes?” he asks.
“I am here with a message for you, Your Highness,” I say, hoping that
sounds right. “I beg for a moment of your time.”
“You’re a natural,” he tells me, grinning. “Come inside.”
It’s a relief to relax my face. I drop the inane smile as I follow him into his
parlor.
Furnished in elaborate velvets, silks, and brocades, it’s a riot of scarlet and
deep blues and greens, everything rich and dark, like overripe fruit. The patterns
on the material are the sorts of things I have become accustomed to—intricate
braids of briars, leaves that might also be spiders when you looked at them from
another angle, and a depiction of a hunt where it is unclear which of the
creatures is hunting the other.
I sigh and sit down in the chair he is pointing me toward, fumbling in my
pocket.
“Here,” I say, drawing out the folded-up note and smoothing it against the
top of a cunning little table with carved bird feet for legs. “He came in while was copying it, so it’s kind of a mess.” I had left the stolen book with the toad;
the last thing I want Prince Dain to know is that I took something for myself.
Dain squints to see the shapes of the letters past my smudges. “And he
didn’t see you?”
“He was distracted,” I say truthfully. “I hid.”
He nods and rings a small bell, probably to summon a servant. I will be
glad of anyone not ensorcelled. “Good. And did you enjoy it?”
I am not sure what to make of that question. I was frightened pretty much
the whole time—how is that enjoyable? But the longer I think about it, the more
I realize that I did sort of enjoy it. Most of my life is dreadful anticipation, a
waiting for the other shoe to drop—at home, in classes, with the Court. Being
afraid I would be caught spying was an entirely new sensation, one where I felt,
at least, as though I knew exactly what to be scared of. I knew what it would
take to win. Sneaking through Balekin’s house had been less frightening than
some revels.
At least until I’d watched Cardan get beaten. Then I’d felt something I
don’t want to examine too closely.
“I liked doing a good job,” I say, finally finding an honest answer.
That makes Dain nod. He’s about to tell me something else when another
faerie enters the room. A male goblin, scarred, his skin the green of ponds. His
nose is long and twists fully around, before bending back toward his face like a
scythe. His hair is a black tuft at the very crown of his head. His eyes are
unreadable. He blinks several times, as though trying to focus on me.
“They call me the Roach,” he says, his voice melodious, completely at odds
with his face. He bows and then cocks the side of his head toward Dain. “At his
service. I guess we both are. You’re the new girl, right?”
I nod. “Am I supposed to tell you my name, or am I supposed to come up
with something clever?”
The Roach grins, which...