Page 52

“All right,” I said. “How does this work? Must I stand? I warn you, my balance is unsteady in all forms of watercraft.”

Wendell blinked for a moment. And then his expression flooded with such delight and relief that I was taken aback.

“You thought I would say no!” I exclaimed, batting away his hand in indignation. “Good grief. And you are always boasting about how well you know me.”

He laughed again, a sound that echoed across the lake, and it seemed the trees were stirred by it, raining their leaves down upon the lakeshore. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t think that,” he said. “I didn’t know what you would say. It appears you still have the ability to surprise me, Em.”

I rolled my eyes. There was an echo of nervousness in his gaze, and I decided I’d had enough of that. Additionally, he was looking very handsome just then, with the sunlight picking out at least a dozen shades of gold in his hair, so I took hold of his cloak, thumb looping through one of the buttonholes, and drew him towards me.

“Well, come on, what must we do?” I said when at last we broke apart, breathless. I hoped this tradition would not involve lengthy speeches. I have not improved much when it comes to putting feelings into words.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s done. Look.”

I followed his gaze to the lakeshore. A hundred tiny lights dotted the forest—more than a hundred. A thousand? They kept appearing among the shadows, different in size and luminance depending on the lantern. I hadn’t realized the forest was so full of Folk. And among the trees, the silver faerie stones began to glow.

“All this for a mortal queen?” I muttered, flushed and overwhelmed.

“Too much?” Wendell made a gesture, and the faerie stones dimmed, retaining only a faint luminescence. “That’s as much as I can do. The small Folk will keep to their traditions—they would be greatly offended if I ask them to put their lights out before morning.”

“Very well,” I said. It was easier to bear without the faerie stones, which I’ve always found eerie, the way they hang untethered among the treetops like a strangely shaped mist. I know the curator of Cambridge’s Museum of Dryadology and Ethnofolklore would give her eye teeth for just one of the things—none have ever been smuggled into the mortal world, and their form and size makes them unique among faerie stones. We drifted for a time, watching more lights flicker to life.

“What is that?” I said.

We had floated towards the southern bank of the lake. Now we were not far from where Ariadne and I had sighted the castle for the first time, mirrored in the glasslike water. The lake was shallower here; I could see the algal hue of the rocks at the bottom. And something else.

I reached into the water and seized the edge of the weed. It was long and ropelike, with clusters of leaves branching off the main stem that looked like curls of red-brown hair. I gave it a tug, expecting it to come loose, but it was firmly rooted to the lake bottom. Pain spiked through my hand. I examined my palm—it was coated in tiny grains of green pollen, and two black thorns were embedded in the skin.

I showed Wendell, and he removed his sword and sliced off a chunk of the weed. He swore as he, too, cut his hand on the thorns.

“Two barbs,” I said.

“Yes.” He dropped the weed back into the lake. “They could easily tangle in one’s hair, if one went for a swim.”

My heart thudded in my ears. “We’re not far from shore. You could swim the distance easily. You might not take a boat if you didn’t want anyone to know you were out here.”

We shared a look. Then Wendell adjusted the sail, and we drifted towards the darkest patch of weeds. I saw nothing unusual in the immediate vicinity. Some of the faeries visible on the shore had settled down on the bank—to see what we were up to, I suppose.

Wendell allowed us to drift for a moment through the wide patch of lakeweed, then sent us along the perimeter before plowing into the wet leaves again at a different angle. The weeds made a shhh, shhh sound against the hull, along with the faintest scratching. I began to worry that the thorns would tear a hole in the skin.

Then the boat came to a stop with a gentle thunk.

“I would ask if that was a rock,” I said. My heart was thundering so excitedly now that I felt breathless. “But something tells me I don’t need to.”

Wendell scanned the water, but there was nothing to see—only weeds and darkness. He grimaced. “I don’t much fancy a swim in this muck, but I must risk it, I suppose. What do you think?”

This last was directed to Orga. She gave an unimpressed grunt and hopped up onto his shoulder.

Then he stepped off the prow of the boat.

There was no splash, for he did not fall. He merely vanished, in a similar manner to how he is always vanishing in and out of trees. Quite horribly, in other words.

He reappeared a second later, landing in the boat with a thump that made it rock a little from side to side, evidently having taken a leap out of the nothingness he had vanished into. Having not yet gotten over the first shock, I gave a heartfelt “Goddamn it, Wendell!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking a little stunned himself. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. “Em, you must see this. I was expecting—and still I cannot quite believe—”

And the bloody man yanked me over the side of the boat.

I stumbled onto solid ground, and Wendell caught me before I could fall. He was blathering on at me before I’d found my bearings.