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There are so many things sitting on the tip of my tongue that I have to physically bite them back to stop them spilling out. But this invitation feels very much like a trap. I won’t walk into it like his last one.
Instead, I take a deep breath as I loosen the jaw I’d clamped shut.
“I’ve just been admiring your palace,” I say. It’s innocuous enough, but he seems to understand what I’m getting at.
“I suppose you imagined something else for the likes of Ruskin Blackcoat?” I guess he’s well aware of his reputation in Styrland. “A dank cave, perhaps, or some other kind of sinister lair?”
I feel a blush rise to my cheeks, because I did kind of imagine something a bit creepier.
His chuckle is soft and disquieting.
“Things will go much smoother, Gold Weaver, if you remember that not everything is as it seems.”
I don’t know what he means by that, and that bugs me almost as much as the arrogance. But I’m also aware that the longer I stick around, the greater the chance of him losing his temper again. And he might not confine himself to taking it out on a chair this time. I step back, edging myself towards the archway.
“I think I’ll go eat,” I say. For some reason this seems to amuse him, his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile, before he turns back to Halima.
“I need to speak with you,” he says.
I don’t hear what he has to say to the armored fae, because the next moment I’m ducking in between the trees and into the kitchens.
If I thought the food in Albrecht’s castle smelled tempting, then this is like being woken from a dream to find your fantasies made real, tangible, right in front of you. Everywhere I look there’s sizzling meat, bowls of fruit with berries so red and ripe I can smell their sweetness from feet away, crusty bread shining with thick layers of butter. What must be the “Low Fae” Halima mentioned bustle about, dishing up, searing food in pans, or mixing pots of something steaming and fragrant. My mouth waters, and no one even looks at me as I move towards the left side of the stoves as Halima directed, where a table of prepared food sits. I reach towards a plate on the side piled with glossy green grapes. It seems they’re happy for me to help myself, so I pick one off the bunch and lift it to my mouth.
A hand comes out to grab my wrist. “Don’t!”
I whirl to see a woman, her brown eyes wide with concern. She’s human, I can tell from the tops of her ears and her unassuming appearance—a plain dress and brown hair tied back without embellishment.
“What are you doing?!” she says, still not letting go of my wrist.
I swiftly drop the grape back onto the table.
“Is it not safe to eat?” I ask, putting two and two together.
“Not fae food, not for humans,” she says.
“Will it kill me?” The inviting shine on the fruit now looks menacing to my eyes.
“No, but it can mess you up. Make you act strange, or sick, or simply lose consciousness.”
I shudder, thinking about what it would be like to be incapacitated in this strange new world. I definitely need to keep my wits about me…and it occurs to me that Halima didn’t warn me about this. Was that an oversight, or could it have been deliberate? Did she want me to fall foul of it? Or maybe Ruskin did…but that doesn’t make sense, does it? Because I can hardly uphold my end of the deal if I’m stupefied by fae magic.
I eye up the human woman. She’s thin, but doesn’t look like she’s starving. “What do you eat, then?”
“They bring food from the human realm specially for the human servants,” she says. “I can show you where it is.”
“Thank you.”
“I suppose you couldn’t know,” she says, seeming to have calmed a bit now that I don’t have the food in my hand. “You must be new to Faerie.”
I don’t like the way she phrases it, like I’m a visitor or fresh resident, not like I’ve been dragged here against my will.
“Not through any choice of mine,” I say bitterly.
She looks at me questioningly and I wonder if it’s safe to be so honest. Perhaps she’s a spy for Ruskin, sent to find out what I’m willing to tell total strangers. But then, she did just save me from the food, which is more than Halima did.
I feel all twisted up like a rope of knots. Every choice I make here, every interaction, has me terrified I’ll be tricked. I have no idea who I can trust—if anyone—and I’m already exhausted from always second-guessing their motives. If nothing else, it reminds me how alone I am. I have to be wary, because it feels like there’s no one else here on my side.
Except when I look at this woman’s pleasant, normal, and utterly human face, I feel a trace of hope.
