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I stare at her, slightly dazed. She’s right. It really is that simple. It’s only been me getting in my own way, keeping me from the thing I need most: home.
“I should go home,” I say it aloud, the statement solidifying it for me.
“There are so many of us who can’t.” Sadness laces Fiona’s voice. “I have to say it. You’d be a fool not to go back.”
Guilt prickles at me, and I place a hand on hers.
“I know I’ve asked this before. I know it’s probably needlessly painful for me to bring it up again, but is there really no way you can come with me? What about using the prince’s true name? Could he force your mistress to free you?”
“You shouldn’t risk it,” Fiona says. “Prince Ruskin has a dangerous side to him. If you tell him to have me freed, he’ll know that you’re leaving—and I don’t think he’ll be happy about it. He has grown attached to you during your stay here, yes?”
I think about this. Minutes ago, before the pool, it felt as if he was trying to convince me to go. But did he mean it, or was it just another game of his, a test to see if I would go back on my commitment? If he knew I was truly trying to leave, would he stop me? Restrain me? Punish me? I don’t want to believe he would physically harm me the way he had with the guards…but how far can I really trust him when he is so unwilling to trust me? How much of what I think I know about him is really true?
“I understand what you mean,” I say, conceding her point. “But I wish I could take you with me.”
She smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I can’t leave Faerie without there being serious magical consequences. It’s safer for me here.”
I nod, accepting the idea that I won’t be able to save my friend. Not today, at least.
“Now, you hurry to your quarters and try to avoid people,” she counseled. “I’ll go to the kitchens and get you supplies for the journey.”
“I won’t need them; I’m not going through the Emerald Forest. The way out is actually here, in the palace.” By now I don’t see any harm hinting at Ruskin’s secrets. In a few hours I’ll probably be seeing this place for the last time.
“But what about the other side? If you’re traveling through Styrland you’ll need food.”
She’s right, of course. How foolish of me not to even consider where the Monarch Gate would take me, or how far I might be from home. For all I know, Ruskin’s door could lead to the middle of nowhere.
“Thank you,” I say, realizing this isn’t the first time Fiona is saving my skin.
“I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”
I narrow my mind to my purpose, blocking out all other thoughts. In truth, I’m afraid if I give them free rein they’ll dig their little hooks into me, trying to fasten me to Faerie, to Ruskin.
I don’t make eye contact with the Low Fae still cleaning the mess in the corridor, averting my gaze from the evidence of Ruskin’s anger. I sweep into my room and pull together the few things I need or actually care about: my notes, a few pieces of gold I made myself in case I need to buy things on my journey, a thick coat, and some proper shoes. I put my work in a satchel. I’m a bit annoyed that I’ll have to be leaving so much of it behind in the workshop, but like Fiona said, I don’t want to risk hanging around too long.
Finally, before leaving the room, my hand goes to my petal pendant. I won’t be needing it to find Ruskin, not anymore, and if I keep it, it feels too much like temptation hanging around my neck. I’ve decided now, but what if I change my mind?
I slip it off my neck, leaving it at my bedside. I won’t need it. I’m not coming back.
Fiona is waiting with a sack of food and a skein of water when I arrive.
“Here, I’ll come with you to the door,” she says. “That way, if we meet trouble maybe I can provide a distraction.”
I feel oddly nervous as I try to recall the route to the little garden where Ruskin told me his true name. It will take courage to step through that gate, even knowing how much I miss Dad and home, because leaving is the equivalent of admitting that all this was just some insane dream. That whatever has passed between me and Ruskin, that the sense of purpose and the importance of my work, was all just a fantasy, locked up behind a one-way door.
“You look pale,” Fiona says. She must notice my nerves. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Um…yesterday?” I realize.
She tuts, pulling an apple from the bag of food. “Come on, you’re about to go on a big journey. Get some sweetness in you.”
I obediently take the fruit, doubting it will make me feel better, but shoving a bite into my mouth anyway. I must be hungrier than I realized, because it’s absolutely delicious in the way that food only is when you’re truly ravenous. My animal instinct takes over, and I hungrily cram in another mouthful, the juice sweet as syrup, the flesh crunchy and satisfying. The sugar hits me in a rush, making my head spin, except…no…that’s not right. Fruit doesn’t do that to you.
I look down, examining the apple—the exquisite redness of its unblemished flesh, shiny and perfect. How had I not noticed it before? The smell, the look of it.
This isn’t human food. This is from Faerie.
I turn to Fiona, but even that gesture seems to take an age. I feel drunker than I’ve ever been, my limbs heavy, and when I open my mouth the words slur.
