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It’s not exactly wise to insult one’s supremely powerful kidnapper, but the thought of him anywhere near Dad or Sanna makes me want to tear something apart. Still, I regret the words almost as soon as they’re said. I’m at his mercy, and we both know it. Lashing out just gives him another reason to put me in my place—and more proof of where my soft spots are. I can’t afford either one.
He just grins again though, and this time those fangs are glinting. He seems to be able to shapeshift his features, and I wonder if they’re some kind of illusion magic. But no, I recall the gouges he made in the desk. Those claws were all too real.
Perhaps the beast was his true form, and anything more refined was the illusion.
“I’ve been called much worse, Gold Weaver. Fortunately, you don’t need a high opinion of me to understand the importance of completing your task, for your sake if not mine.”
I shake my head, lost for words, but wanting to deny, once again, that I’m capable of what he asked. Just like before, my anger dies almost as quickly as it came, giving way to creeping despair.
“And what if I can’t do it? How long will you keep me here? Isn’t there anything else you want?”
He watches me, thoughtful. “There is much I want, but this is the most important thing you can give me. And time is not the same in Faerie as in your human world. We have plenty of it to go around. You needn’t worry about growing old as you work for me.”
His words come to rest upon me, heavy as the lead I use in my metallurgy. This is a prospect more terrifying than not making it back home at all. I shudder as I imagine finally earning my freedom…only to return and find everyone I know and love turned to dust, my village swept away with time.
I sink back down onto the futon, contemplating the decades which might seem like little more than a passing season to Ruskin.
“Send word when you’re ready to get started, then,” he says. I imagine he’s tricked enough of us to recognize defeated acceptance when he sees it.
Still he’s not done, stopping at the door to say one last thing.
“Until then, be careful where you stray in the land of Faerie.” I lift my face to see that his expression, for once, doesn’t have a menacing edge, his mouth is simply a straight line, his eyes serious.
The warning pulls sarcasm from the swirl of emotions within me: “Worried that your latest victim will get herself lost?” I throw at him.
“That would be one of the better scenarios, Gold Weaver. Not everyone in Seelie is as nice as me.”
Chapter 7
Idon’t know what “Seelie” is, or how a man who’s trapped me in Faerie could possibly think he’s being nice, but I do know that for the second time today I’m trapped, afraid, and need to pull myself together. On the bright side, there isn’t anyone knocking down my door this time, so I have time to calm myself and pack away the despair that threatens to paralyze me.
I sit down and put my hands on my knees, trying to focus. Then I imagine a metal box crafted by my own hands where I put away the unhelpful emotions, locking them up tight. It’s a trick I’ve done before, more times than I can count, but it takes longer than usual now. I guess I’ve never actually been this upset before. When I’m finally done, I exhale and feel more collected. Better able to think clearly and evaluate my new prison.
I go to the window. As I suspected, once again I’m thwarted by the inability to jump five stories without breaking all my bones. But at least my tower room offers me a view of this new world.
I can’t see much of the building below me, thanks to the height and angle of the tower, but ahead lies winding streets and a cluster of dwellings. Except they aren’t brick and mortar so much as grassy hillocks and elaborately shaped trees with windows, doors, and chimneys. Even the roads, such as they are, look grown, made up of compacted dirt channeled between tree roots.
Beyond these signs of civilization is what I’m looking for: a forest. Its leaves are a brilliant emerald, proving it really is spring here, and the trees stretch out to the horizon. I can’t know for certain that the gate back to the human realm is in a forest like the Kilda…but it’s the best guess I’ve got. It at least gives me something to aim for if I can ever find my way out of here.
I move closer to the door Ruskin left by. I’d assumed he’d seal me in here, maybe locked the door with magic, but then why give me the warning about going wandering? I remember, then, the terms of our deal. “No locking me away,” I’d said. He’d agreed, because he only needed to bring me to Faerie to ensure I can’t run home, but it also means he can’t chain me up in here and leave me to slave away.
I twist the handle and the door clicks open.
On the other side is a wall of solid metal. I blink at it until the wall moves, the discs of polished steel sliding against each other, and I look up to see a large, muscular woman in an impressive set of armor scowling down at me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, sounding annoyed.
“Um…I’m hungry,” I say, realizing it’s actually true the moment I say it. I need to get this woman away from my door. Maybe sending her for sustenance is the answer. But she just huffs.
“Typical. All right, then.” She turns, nearly taking me out with a huge shoulder, and beckons me to follow. “As if I didn’t have better things to do today than traipse about showing you where the kitchens are.”
Her skin is brown, dappled around the face, with auburn hair that falls in an interesting pattern, reminding me of catkins. I notice as she lifts an arm that some of her skin is an unusual texture, almost bark-like, but only in patches.
“Ruskin didn’t say anything about me not being allowed to explore his house,” I say. It’s true, in a way, but I’m also fishing for information. Anything I might be able to store away to use later.
She snorts. “House? I’ve seen the hovels you humans call houses. Don’t insult the Seelie palace by lumping it in with one of those. And don’t insult our ruler either. That’s Prince Ruskin to you.”
It takes conscious effort not to stop walking entirely.
