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He stills, and I’m immediately reminded of the bloodthirsty beast, ready to pounce, that always seems to live inside of him.
I rush to explain. “It’s what you said to me?—”
“At the castle, yes. I remember,” he says. I think just maybe I can hear a touch of genuine humor in his response. “Clever, to use my own words against me. I’ll reward you for it with a new gown,” he says, lifting his hand.
“I don’t want a new dress,” I say quickly. Maybe I’m running out of free passes with him, but he’s not jumped down my throat—or sliced his claws across it—yet.
He arches a brow at my refusal.
“Fae seem to have a different sense of modesty than us Styrlanders when it comes to their clothes. I wouldn’t be comfortable in a dress like the ones I’ve seen.” The fae at the garden party had all been clad in transparent fabrics and fits so tight you could see every detail. I don’t want a dress like that. I feel too exposed already under Ruskin’s piercing gaze.
I continue to look at him, unwavering. There’s a flash of white teeth and he reaches towards me. My heart leaps, wondering what he’s about to do, anticipating his fingers on my skin, but he simply thumbs the hem of my ragged dress.
I watch, fascinated, as the mud caking it melts away and the dress restores itself to its original, undamaged form. It’s just a gown they gave me at Albrecht’s castle, but it’s comfortable enough.
“The dirt is gone, but the other fixes are only an illusion,” he says. “You’ll have to replace it eventually. Perhaps before it completely falls apart.” I think I see the hint of a smirk on his lips at the thought, but then it’s gone again, replaced with a mask of authority.
“Tomorrow, you’ll start your work,” he orders and turns to go. Moments ago, I’d felt something almost close to delight from seeing magic make something better, for once—but now I’m back to feeling angry and on edge, and still so very tired. I want to hurl a stream of refusals at his back, a hundred reminders that he’s asking the impossible, that he’s a low-down conman for the way he’s tricked me, but it feels so pointless. Even if he didn’t hold almost all the cards, one thing has become quite clear in the last few hours: the main thing keeping me alive in Faerie is the fact that Ruskin Blackcoat thinks I’m useful. The problem is, his presence might be keeping me safe, but I’m starting to realize being around him might be dangerous in other ways.
Chapter 10
Isleep, and sleep more, my body soaking up the chance to rest after two straight days spent planning and escaping and getting trapped again...and again. When I wake and the sun is low in the sky, I realize I’ve gone through the night and most of the following day. At first, I feel a certain smugness when I remember I’ve ignored Ruskin’s order to start working on his project today. But then I think he must have chosen to let me sleep. I doubt much happens in this palace without his permission.
I climb out of bed and slip back into my illusioned dress. I at least accepted the offer of a night dress, delivered to me by a Low Fae called Kaline, with hair like seaweed and skin like shells. She’s too well trained to give away any questions she might have about why I’m not being treated like a servant. But I know whatever concessions are being made aren’t really about my comfort. Ruskin just wants me in good form to do this work for him.
As I dress, my mind goes to Dad, waking up on his own in the cottage. I wonder what he ate yesterday, knowing he’s used to me preparing meals. How long will the food even last when he’s not fishing and I’m not there to sell trinkets? My stomach cramps with worry.
Someone outside must hear me moving about, because there’s a knock at the door. I wish I had a mirror to check myself over, but the balm seems to have worked rather well overnight—much more potent than Mom’s version—and I see some of the cuts on my arms and legs already growing pink with healing, helped along by a touch of magic, no doubt.
“Come in!” I call.
“Well, you look a damn sight better than yesterday,” says Destan, one leg tucked over the other as he leans against the doorframe.
He’s a picture of the delicate prettiness some fae men possess, his hair falling in joyous curls around his face, and his clothes enhancing the effect. Where Ruskin’s clothes are simple, well-tailored but austere, Destan is all flair and flourish. His coat is a beautiful burnt orange color, edged top to tail in brass buttons and elaborate embroidery in cream-colored thread.
“Not as nice as you,” I say. It’s not empty flattery—he really does look good—but I also find that I want to be nice to him. He might be in cahoots with Ruskin, but I’m still grateful to him for speaking up at the party. If he hadn’t, who knows if Ruskin would’ve arrived in time to stop what was happening? Anyway, for as long as I’m stuck in this place, I’ll need all the allies I can get.
He smiles, “I know,” he says, without a hint of concern for sounding vain. He straightens up to spin in his coat. “It’s new. Glorious, isn’t it?”
“Very nice,” I say, silently hoping he didn’t gift some mortal tailor a boatload of suffering to get it. Although “new” to the fae was all relative. He might have had it years.
“Anyway, I supposed you might be hungry after not eating all day, and we don’t need a repeat of you running off from the kitchens, so you’re coming with me.”
I frown, unsettled by the news that apparently I won’t be allowed to go anywhere on my own.
“You do eat every day, don’t you?” Destan asks, misinterpreting my expression. He bites his lip. “I don’t really remember.”
“You don’t have human servants?” I ask.
He waves his hand. “Oh, your kind is wonderful at making things, but I’ve never really bothered with stealing you away for domestic work. You’re much slower and, well…” He looks like he’s worried about sounding rude for the first time. “You don’t really stick around very long, do you?”
His tone is so apologetic I can’t help but snort in bemusement, and then accept his invitation to get food.
Destan certainly seems more talkative than Halima, so I ply him with questions on the way to the kitchens. I haven’t given up on my idea of finding Maidar, but when I ask about the Unseelie Court, Destan sees straight through me.
“So that’s where you thought you’d go jaunting off to yesterday?” He gives a light, musical laugh. “I think it might’ve been good luck you ended up at that party. You could have landed yourself in something far worse.”
I’m annoyed at myself for not being more subtle, but make a mental note not to underestimate this fae again. Destan might seem a bit shallow and frivolous, but he’s certainly not stupid.
