Page 34 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“I’m fine, it’s just a nick,” I say, waving her off. Still, she reaches into her apron and pulls out a kerchief, handing it to me. Dabbing at the cut on my neck, I notice the bracer still on my wrist. Fumbling furiously with the straps, I hurriedly pull it off me and toss it aside. I don’t know why it suddenly feels like acid on my skin. Maybe because holding that bow made me feel more like my old self, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve earned the right to be her again. “Come on, let’s just go.”

I look up, expecting her to be studying me, but I find her eyes trained on something directly behind me. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, every inch of her coated in tension. Turning, I follow the path of her eyes to Doran, leaning against a post in front of the blacksmith, watching us. Or, rather, watching Siobhán. He drags his black eyes away from hers before training them on me. Kicking off the post, he nods his head at me once, then turns and strolls off without another glance in our direction.

“Siobhán,” I say, nudging her shoulder when I turn to face her, and find her eyes trailing after his retreating form. I don’t blame her for being struck numb in his presence. Even if she is accustomed to the other fae, it is nothing like the truly powerful ones.

His aura is daunting, and I swear I can feel a lingering trace of it as he disappears into the crowd. Even still, it is nothing like the all-consuming force of Caden’s power. Doran’s magic is a thunderstorm; Caden’s is world-ending. It bores so deep under my skin that I can never truly scrub the feel of him away. Siobhán shakes herself, loops her arm through mine, and together we walk to the Alley.

“Where’s Bryan?” I ask and she grimaces.

“He left when he heard them say you wanted to be in the prince’s army.”

Fuck.

I knew that was going to be a problem. Sighing deeply, I press a hand to my aching temple. Bryan is just one more headache for me to deal with. I look up at the workhouse and groan inwardly. I’m not exactly looking forward to another day of stabbing myself with needles and arguing with thread. Siobhán pulls her hand from my arm and pushes open the door to the shop and we step into absolute chaos.

“What the hell?” I mutter, staying close to Siobhán, who is leading us to the room with the dress forms.

“It’s like this sometimes,” she says over her shoulder as we weave through the mass of bodies all scurrying about with bolts of fabric and baskets of supplies. “The aristocrats send out invitations to events and suddenly the whole city is demanding a new wardrobe at the last minute.”

We press through the crowd and step into the backroom where one woman is already working on a garment. Yasminda waves to Siobhán, her copper curls tied back with a delicate blue silk ribbon. She’s dressed differently from us. Instead of the plain brown gown, she’s in an elegant, deep azure dress with a lace collar that reaches high up her neck, a jeweled cameo nestled in the hollow of her throat. I wonder if all that lace is there to hide the bite marks.

“What is it this time?” Siobhán asks, as we come to stand by the black dress she had been working on yesterday.

“Some dinner party, as far as I can gather,” Yasminda answers, pulling a blood red thread through the collar of a dinner jacket. She’s embroidering an intricate design on it, stitching interwoven vines of thorns in brilliant detail. Looking up, her deep brown eyes catch mine and she breaks out into a smile. “Hello, there. We didn’t get a chance to meet yesterday. I’m Yasminda.”

“Aoife,” I say in response, giving her a half smile and trying my best to not study the ruby dangling from her ear. I fade into the background as the day starts like a tidal wave and never stops. Siobhán chats animatedly with the humans that flit in and out, gathering as much information as she can. Everyone is saying the same thing, that a party has been announced by the queen, and the invitees are all demanding new designs. Humans are buzzing about the Alley, all rushing to and from shops as everyone prepares for the event.

Watching Siobhán gossip and chat away with the other seamstresses, I could almost think she accepts this life. But there are bags under her eyes, and a slight trembling in her hand. Her smiles are tense, and she flinches whenever someone new enters the room. This isn’t acceptance, this is survival. Even Gia, the fae in charge of overseeing this workhouse, wilts beneath the gaze of the red-eyed fae. They filter in and out every so often, the entire house descending into silence in their presence.

I wonder, briefly, how free Gia really is.

I spend a large portion of the morning running about and gathering supplies for a frazzled Siobhán who is frantically trying to sew for the both of us. It has only been a day and already it is far too obvious that she’s not going to be able to hide my lackluster sewing skills forever. This guise was never going to last.

“Yasminda, deliveries,” Gia says, poking her head into the room. “You’ll need help, there’s quite a few.”

“I can go,” I say quickly when I see Siobhán’s face pale. There’s no way she can leave this work now, and I’m not exactly helping anyways. Gia nods at me, waving us to follow her into the main room. There are several large black boxes tied in red silk ribbons, and she piles them in our arms, before giving Yasminda a list of names and addresses. I’m busy situating the mound of parcels, when I catch Gia shoving several small envelopes into the pocket of Yasminda’s gown. Neither of them mentions it, and without another word we are heading back into the Alley.

“Here, you’ll need this,” Yasminda says, shifting the parcels until she’s awkwardly holding them with one arm, and digging into her pocket with her free hand. I think she’s going to hand me the envelopes that Gia slipped in there, but then I see the earring she holds out to me. The one with a ruby dangling on the end.

“I don’t want—I…no,” I say, stumbling over my words as I shake my head vehemently.

“I know you’re new here, but it’s not what you think,” Yasminda says. “You’re not agreeing to anything, it is just the only way you can leave the Alley. The only humans allowed within the city are Vessels.”

I shake my head again. She lets out a deep, if slightly annoyed, sigh as she leans over and sets her parcels on the ground, before standing up straight and planting her hands on her hips.

“Aoife, is it?” I nod. “No one is going to drink from you.”

“You mean feed,” I say in disgust.

“If that word makes you feel better, then yes, feed.”

“Nothing about this situation makes me feel better.” I don’t know why I’m arguing with her. Maybe it’s because my nerves have been on edge since Bryan’s promise that there is no escaping this land. That there is nothing I can do to help my people. Or maybe it’s from the urge to fight that has only doubled since feeling a bow once again in my hands. Still, she meets my aggression with kindness, stepping closer to me as she continues to hold out the ruby earring.

“These charms do not mark you as someone’s next meal, if that’s what you’re thinking. They actually do quite the opposite.” She says it so gently, and for a moment I am struck by what she must have faced in her life to be so used to the horrors of this one. I wonder how long she’s been here. “It marks you as claimed, to drink from someone else’s Vessel is considered abhorrent.”

“I guess they don’t take kindly to their things being touched,” I sneer. To my surprise, she quickly agrees.

“Yes, exactly.” She holds up a hand when I grimace, cutting me off before I can protest. “I am not agreeing with the sentiment, Aoife, I am merely trying to make you understand. I saw a fight break out once between two men when one had discovered the other had taken from his Vessel. He beat him to death in the middle of the street. No one stopped him. No one even cared. This charm does not mean you’re going to be fed from, it means no one is going to attempt to.”