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I clear my throat, making my decision, but Ruskin doesn’t seem to hear.
“Prince Ruskin,” I say to his swiftly retreating back. “Prince Ruskin!” Nothing. Is he purposely ignoring me?
I take a deep breath, fishing in my skirt pocket for the rose petal he gave me.
“Will you bloody well wait a minute!” I shout.
He stops mid-stride and turns. There’s that look of surprise again, the one that appears when I do something he doesn’t understand. It’s worlds apart from the glower of the prince who just threatened his court with blade and claw.
But it’s the same man, I remind myself. He’s just as dangerous. More so, because these many faces are there to confuse you, Eleanor, remember that.
“What was that?” he asks, an incredulous note in the question.
I push my hair out of my face, which is all askew from rushing after him, and I inhale.
“I need to say something to you, my Lord.” I hate the taste of the formal address in my mouth, but I’m not so reckless that I won’t try to stay just this side of civil with this prince. For now.
He quirks an eyebrow, and I see his mood from before has relaxed a bit. I think he may even be amused by my formality now. But though amusement looks pretty good on him, warming his face, it still feels like it’s at my expense. I feel my anger rising, at having to give in to this man who’s all scariness one moment and all sarcasm the next.
“Yes?” he asks. In a few steps he is back beside me. I just about come up to the top of his chest, and my eyes fall on the sliver of exposed skin where his shirt hangs open. This constant closeness he forces between us is deliberate, I’m sure, a tactic of physical intimidation he uses to throw people off balance. I’m not too proud to admit that it works rather well—again—though this time I have to swallow to alleviate the dryness of my throat. Something I’m not sure is completely to do with fear. Warily, I step back, dragging my eyes from the curve of a toned pectoral I can see disappearing under the fabric.
“I’ve decided,” I say, as confidently as I can muster. “I’ll attempt what you’ve asked. I make no promises mind you, but I can at least start. I’ll need equipment, though, and other ingredients… And a separate workspace with a fireplace,” I add, having realized that most rooms don’t seem to have one. It’s not surprising, since this place is so warm, but it’s something I’ll certainly need.
Ruskin’s lips curve into an infuriatingly smug shape. “Oh, Gold Weaver, it’s almost sweet, the way you thought you ever had a choice.”
He waves his hand and Halima appears.
“Take her back to her room,” he says, before sweeping away.
My ears ring with frustration. Just when I think he’s going to be reasonable—when I’m ready to be reasonable—he goes and treats me like an object to be handed over and put back in its place. The prospect of dining with the court might’ve put him in a bad mood—hanging out with those people would be unpleasant for anyone—but he doesn’t have that excuse now. We’re not in front of the court in this moment, and he doesn’t have to play this part, yet he acts like I exist solely to blindly do his bidding. It seems he really is the villain he presents himself as: cruel, selfish, and conceited.
As Halima escorts me away, I think to myself that Ruskin should thank the stars I don’t have magic, because I’m just about ready to throw every curse I know at his stupid, arrogant back.
Chapter 12
“You really need all this?” Destan asks, unfurling the list of tools and ingredients I’ve made.
“Well, I’ve never actually done this before, so I don’t know for certain what I’ll need. This is just my best guess.” I put my hands on my hips, daring him to refuse me. Admittedly, some of my requests might not have been entirely necessary, but I really do need most of it. For one thing, all my stock of basic equipment needs to be built up from scratch. My mother’s alchemy kit is still lying in Albrecht’s castle somewhere, and the thought of having lost it sends a pang through my chest.
“And what is it you’re doing exactly?” Halima asks, tightening the strap of leather pack around her breastplate. I imagine as she’s the biggest of us, she’s planning to carry a lot of these supplies.
I open my mouth and hesitate. “Ruskin didn’t tell you?”
“Prince Ruskin, and no…” Halima and Destan exchange a look. “So don’t tell us, actually. If Dawnsong thought we needed to know, he’d make sure we did.”
Halima does a good job of sounding convinced, but I wonder if it doesn’t sting. From what I’ve seen, the pair are really the only High Fae Ruskin keeps close, and yet here they are, running errands for a purpose he won’t divulge. If I was in their shoes, the lack of answers would drive me insane.
“I still don’t see why I have to come along,” Destan pouts as we make our way out of the palace. He’s in a peacock blue get-up today, held together with a thick belt with a buckle big enough to wear as a bracelet. He made me admire it twice before we left.
“Because you’re the best at shopping,” Halima says. She’s still grumpy about watching me instead of Ruskin, but since he told her it’s important, her resentment seems to have eased a little.
We’re out of the palace complex before I know it. I find that I want to stop for a moment and take it in. The way the palace oscillates between the indoors and outdoors means it doesn’t feel claustrophobic like Albrecht’s castle, but still, this is the first time I’ve been beyond its walls. I breathe in the air and let my eyes fall on our destination: the Low Fae town on the edges of the Emerald Forest.
I couldn’t pick out the details from my window before, but as we approach, I can see the precise formation of the grass mounds—hills the size of houses—crowding together to make circles of homes and shops. Their fronts are hollowed out and fitted with wooden frames for windows and doors, giving the sense that whole buildings have sprung up out of the earth. Beside them stand structures of another sort, sets of branches and roots twisting together to make towers and halls. Like the fae furniture in the palace—the items not bought or coerced from humans—these places look grown rather than built, walls merged together with interlocking limbs and, I’m sure, a touch of magic.
“Are you sure we can get everything on my list there?” I ask. “I didn’t think fae could make things like this.” I point to the various sizes of mortar I’ll need, and my set of crucible and tongs.
Halima and Destan look at each other and burst out laughing.
