I stay in the exchange for an immeasurable amount of time, hours, days, months, I do not know, but I become aware again to a low murmur. My eyes stay shut as I take stock. Tyton is still here, but he’s arguing with Sari as she tries to wheedle her way past him.
“It’s not safe for you down here, Soren will befuriouswhen he finds out.”
There’s a whine to her voice, a petulant sort of tone that itches at my skin. “I just want to see her once more before I leave! He's taking me home in the morning, and I'll be stuck up at Yris for months by myself again with no one to talk to. Why shouldn't I get to know the newest member of our family?”
I open my eyes in time to see Tyton cringe, repulsion etched into his features, and he doesn't even attempt to mask it. “I wouldn't call her that, Sari, and certainly not in front of Soren. Where's your guard? Where’s Malia? Why did no one stop you from coming down here?!”
She giggles, pressing the back of one of her hands against her forehead in a mockery of a faint. “I told them I have a headache and to leave me be. It’s the only time they ever do! Then I snuck out down one of the servants' staircases, the ones you all seem to forget that I know about. I spent my summers here as a child too, you know. I remember it all, even though you all forgot about me.”
There's real hurt in her voice, though her tone dances around melodically. It’s fascinating, watching her interact with him, like watching a different female to the one who offered me her hand in greeting. There’s nothing about this female that isn’t put together perfectly, as if intended to be pleasing to those around her. She has the same beauty as all the Unseelie high fae, but there’s a reckless edge to Sari’s words that doesn’t fit with her appearance.
The most interesting part of this exchange for me is the hue of her dress, which is still the wrong shade of blue. The Unseelie high fae play their games the same way that the Seelie high fae do, and the color choice is a clear declaration of her allegiance amongst the royals and one I’ve noticed every time I was dragged before the court.
Despite her welcome here in the Savage Prince’s household, she's siding with her father.
Yet here she is, discussing family and loyalty with Tyton. Given Sari’s ties to the regent, the softness with which Tyton regards her is another surprise, not just an anomaly of the Savage Prince, and the care with which he chooses his words as he attempts to cajole her back upstairs and far away from me is striking.
“Things aren’t what they seem. Soren isn't sending you away because he doesn't want to spend time with you. He's taking you home to keep you safe—that’s all he worries about.”
There's a tightness around her eyes, but the smile stays there, her words still dancing gaily out of her mouth as though none of this is hurting her. “Yes, I saw the danger down at the village. But whatever the reason, I have no choice but to submit to his whims, do I? Please, just let me speak to her again for a moment. I promise I won't tell anyone about it. Not Soren or Airlie or Father. She’s the first witch I’ve ever met.”
Tyton reaches up and places both of his hands on her cheeks, leaning forward to meet her eyes. It could be taken as an act between lovers, but the way he regards her is brotherly, as though he’s speaking to a small child and trying to make sure he has her full attention. “And thank the Fates for that, Cousin. We’ve worked hard to ensure that you've been kept out of the war, and here you are, desperately throwing yourself at danger. That's not very appropriate for a princess of your stature.”
She pulls away from him with a pout, turning in his arms, and her skirts swirl, forcing him back a little as if she’s erected a barrier between them. They’re a dramatic length and volume, far more elaborate than I've seen the other females wearing, and yet the look suits her perfectly. Her hair is delicately curled and carefully pinned in place, and the long sleeves of the dress cover the backs of her hands, secured with a loop around each hand’s middle finger, making her limbs look even longer than they already are.
Her gaze collides with mine, and her eyes widen as the pout disappears, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth as the first sign of nervousness crosses her face. For one so desperate to speak with me, she looks downright terrified now that we’re face-to-face. The smiling girl I met is gone, and there’s no sign of what happened to change her attitude so firmly.
I lean back against the wall and plant my feet on the stones, my position as nonthreatening as I can make it. My hands fold in my lap and I attempt to look as docile as I can, feeling compelled to behave well due to the naïvety of the princess.
She watches my slow movements and takes a halting step forward. Her voice is careful as she says, “I wanted to speak to you without Soren here. He said you came from the Northern Lands but that you’re plotting with the witches. He said you’ll kill us all if given the chance.”
Her small offer of kindness and friendship must have really galled the male for him to scare her like that.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes trained on her hands as Tyton begins to fret behind her. “I have no interest in harming you or any of the rest of the high fae here.”
Her eyes flash white in my direction before sliding toward Tyton. “She's telling the truth.”
A small line forms between his brows and he glances at me. “She could be using her own magic. She can hide a lie from your senses, Sari, I’m sure of it. She’s fooling you into believing her until she can use your trust against you.”
She's steps forward again, more confident now. “Can you feel her using magic? Because I can't, but you've always been better with that than anyone I know.”
I let my gaze slide away from her to Tyton. He's looking at my feet, still smeared with remnants of my blood and keeping my connection to the earth, less urgently now but continuing nevertheless.
“The witches are better with magic than we are. It's how things have gotten so bad in the war in the first place! I’d never risk our lives on such a guess.”
I grow tired of their bickering and interrupt them. “You wanted to speak to me, didn't you? Speak and then be on your way before you get yourself into trouble for nothing. All this arguing is doing is upsetting Prince Tyton, and I'd rather not be on the receiving end of his bad mood.”
The corners of Sari’s lips twitch as though she's fighting off a smile. “Tyton doesn't have bad moods. Soren said you were more observant than that.”
She puts a lot of stock in the Savage Prince’s words.
She may wear the color of the regent, but there's a bit of reverent admiration within her for the true heir to the throne, a worship of him that feels almost invasive to witness. How she came by it is a mystery to me—his impatience and frustration with her had rolled off him in waves when I saw them together.
I hold my tongue and wait for her to continue. It doesn't take long, her patience clearly terrible. “How is my cousin going to convince you to marry him if you're down here in this disgusting dungeon? He said he was guarding you, but this is imprisonment. You have to consent to the union, or the Fates won't bind you together. If you're not married in true high-fae tradition, Soren can't take the throne. That’s why he’s waiting until the winter solstice instead of just doing it now. If you say no, my father will stay regent, and nothing will change.”
Another inconsistency—she doesn’t sound happy about that prospect. I look her over once more, but the perfect porcelain features of the high fae are too similar for me to easily see any unique family resemblance to her father.
I nod at her slowly. “You're the current heir to the throne? I suppose you're the one with the most to lose if the marriage goes ahead.”
