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I think I hear Destan snort over Ruskin’s shoulder, clearly tickled by my response, and Ruskin’s eyes narrow.
A scraping noise above my head makes me jump and as much as I hate it, a squeak of fear escapes me. Ruskin drops his arm, and I glance up to see four white lines where his curved claws have marked the stone. When I look back to him, I flush at my show of fear and see his face shift in a moment of triumph.
The prince steps away, sweeping into the orchard. I can only drop my head and ball my hand into a useless fist, angry at myself and him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Destan says brightly as he shows me into the dining hall, acting as if I wasn’t just threatened by a clawed maniac. “He’s always in a bad mood when he dines at court.”
I try to compose myself as Destan and Halima escort me down the room like my own personal security. Hundreds of violet and amber gazes swivel towards me. I recognize plenty of High Fae from the party, to my discomfort, but luckily there’s no sign of Hortense or Vanis, even though the room teems with people. It seems this is an occasion where most of the High Fae of the Seelie Court gather together, although from Halima and Destan’s discussion in the kitchen, it isn’t common.
Ruskin is already sat in the center of a table at the head of the room. Its surface is groaning with expensive plates and the dishes carefully prepared by the Low Fae we’ve just left in the kitchens. The food still calls to me, the aromas alone giving me a whiff of second-hand euphoria, but I’m determined to never know what it actually tastes like, given Fiona’s warning.
I study Ruskin as we near him, his animal eyes watching the room balefully. Now he’s not bearing down on me I can contemplate the fact he’s wearing what I’ve come to think of as his Unseelie features again, all except his claws, which appear to have been tucked away while he eats. I’ve begun to mentally record the pattern of him bringing out these beastly features in front of the other High Fae, and despite myself, I want to know what it means. Despite his brutish behavior a moment ago—perhaps a little because of it—he lights a curiosity within me. That’s dangerous, because I can rarely let go of a question until I’ve answered it.
“Sit,” Ruskin snaps at me when we near him, and I suppress a wince. I try to push away the questions I have about him, reminding myself that now’s hardly the time to be philosophical about Ruskin when I’m in a room full of vicious fae with no real understanding of why I’m here.
The dining hall is filled with low chatter and the clattering of silver knives and forks. Servants come and go with food in an endless carousel. I watch Ruskin carefully out the corner of my eyes and feel that half the dining hall is doing the same. It seems the High Fae are always wary of their prince, the atmosphere of the room heavy with tension.
Human food is brought to me and I pick at it, finding it difficult to stomach with so many deadly creatures in the room with me, including the one who seems to be the most dangerous and feared of them all. I pick up how many fae look away as Ruskin’s gaze sweeps over them, trying to avoid capturing his attention by ducking their heads and busying themselves with their meal. Still others strain to win his interest, acting as if their goal is to mingle with someone at a neighboring table, but then hovering near our seats with hopeful expressions, talking loudly so their conversation carries. Ruskin appears to simply ignore them. A servant passes by me with an empty dish, then pauses.
“Eleanor,” Fiona whispers.
Relief floods through me stronger than it probably should. Fiona being here doesn’t make me any safer, but I feel that way anyway. It’s just so good to see a friendly face.
“Fiona,” I say, touching her arm. “Am I glad to see you. Is your mistress here?” I ask, glancing around.
She jerks her head a few seats down. “Lady Rivera’s down there, with the red hair.”
I still, because the hair of Fiona’s mistress is red as blood, and I instantly recognize her as the fae lady I sold a ring to at the last market.
“I know her,” I say, then my eyes shoot to Ruskin. He hasn’t looked at us, but I have no doubt his superior fae hearing is catching every word, and I’m reminded he may not want me going around advertising my skills. I don’t think Fiona’s mistress would recognize me anyway.
“I’ve seen her at the markets, I think,” I say in way of explanation.
Fiona’s eyes have a skeptical glint, like she’s noticed I’m holding something back, but I’m grateful when she doesn’t comment on it.
“I heard you got into some trouble after I left you yesterday,” she murmurs, her face dropping with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I ran into someone who needed a talking to,” I say with a wry smile. “It didn’t go so well for me.”
There’s a strange noise behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Ruskin clearing his throat. I think he might’ve snorted at my words and tried to stifle it, but I shake the idea off, turning back to Fiona.
“But yes, thank you. I’m mostly okay now.”
Fiona smiles, then glances down at the dish she’s holding. “I better get going, but it was good to see you.”
“Yes, I’ll…come find you some time, all right?” I hesitate, wondering if this woman with her hard, difficult life would do better without my friendship right now. She’s about the one person in this place I don’t want to cause trouble for, but her answer is so sincere my heart lifts.
“I’d like that,” she says, with a wide smile that makes me think of Sanna. “Lady Rivera’s quarters are near the Sun Room in the north wing. I’m often there.” She winks at me and hurries away, while I return to my food, my appetite suddenly improved.
During our conversation, another has started up down the table from Ruskin, close enough that I can hear a fae with unusual blue hair espousing the workmanship of a new artist she’s just found. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about a human, because even though pretty much all the artistry in Faerie is man-made—or perhaps made using talents they’ve stolen from humans through unfair bargains—she sounds so enthused. I wonder how they can justify it, these people, coveting our creations while scorning its creators. It requires mental acrobatics I can’t wrap my own head around.
“And might I ask after your guest this evening, my Lord?” the blue-haired lady says, obviously thinking that my place at the table might mean I have some skill of worth also.
For a moment I think the prince is going to ignore her like everyone else, but it’s the first direct question he’s been asked during the meal. The room strains with renewed tension. Then Ruskin glances at me as if he’d forgotten I was there.
“Her? She’s just some fool who still owes me from a deal we made. Insignificant by most standards, but we can’t have humans thinking they can con us out of what’s rightfully ours, can we?” He lets his sharp, vampiric teeth shine in a cruel grin, and there are murmurs of eager agreement from around the table. His smile drops as quickly as it came, his mood a roiling, shifting thing that appears to change moment by moment. “She should be eating with the servants right now,” he says darkly, irritation lacing his voice. “But as it seems I can’t leave her alone without one of you leeches trying to kill her, I’m keeping an eye on her until her debt is repaid.”
I feel my face burn with humiliation and I clutch my fork tight. I want to ram it right into his arrogant, hateful hand, but instead, I have to sit here and listen to him talking about me like I’m not there, like I’m some animal that has to be brought to heel.
