Page 35 of Heart of the Raven Prince

“If that’s the case, why doesn’t everyone wear them?” I ask, eyeing the shining red gem as I shift the parcels, my arms beginning to get tired. We’re going to have to leave, eventually, and I know I am just delaying the inevitable. Because if I refuse, someone else will have to go in my place, and I refuse to risk it being Siobhán.

“Well, for one thing there aren’t exactly an endless supply of them. The Barracks Master keeps all the marks locked up, but we’ve been able to secure a few here and there. They come in handy, surprisingly.”

“We?”

“The other Vessels like me. We’re able to come and go easier than those that live in the houses they service. It’s good to have a spare on hand, for instances like this. But you should know, it’s not…”

“Not what?” I ask, narrowing my gaze as she bites her lip, clearly not wanting to continue.

“It’s not foolproof. It’s true that it protects you from the vast majority of them, but not all. Those in power, those with power, they don’t live by the same rules. However,” she says hurriedly when my eyes widen, “We are not delivering anything to the palace, and besides, we won’t even be speaking to anyone but other humans. Think of it as wearing a disguise, if it helps. You’re not really a Vessel; you’re just masquerading as one.”

She dangles the charm in front of me, and it slowly spins between us, glinting in the moonlight. A disguise. All I have been doing since the moment I was dropped in front of Caden is pretend to be someone I am not. I can’t help but wonder how long it will take before my true self melts away, and this mask is all that remains.

Knowing I can put it off no longer, I set my parcels on the ground as well, then I slip the needle and thread charm out of my ear. Yasminda gives me a comforting smile as she steps forward and places the ruby earring in my outstretched hand. I’m sick to my stomach, but I force that feeling from my mind as I slip the ruby charm into my ear. If exchanging my crown for this earring keeps even one of my people safe, then I will gladly wear it.

We retrieve our parcels, and I follow Yasminda out of the Alley. The streets look different, now that I’m not viewing them from shadows between frantic sprints across the road. The area of town closest to the Alley is filled mostly with humans and black-eyed fae, but we do not deliver a single package to any of the homes we stop at. I’m confused as to why we keep stopping, knocking on the back door just to have Yasminda whisper something to the human who answers. On the third stop, I note her slipping something into a woman’s hand. It appears to be one of the crumpled envelopes shoved into her pocket earlier.

I start seeing her in a different light then. As we ferry from one house to the next, never once delivering a single package, I watch how easily she moves through the city. The streets are filled with fae, but they spare barely a glance in our direction. She is unnoticed, a ghost blending easily into the throng. I glance at that glinting gem at her ear. It’s such a small thing to have made her truly invisible.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have their family remain together. Few are, actually,” she says as we walk away from yet another house where she whispered with the human who answered the back door. “I try to keep them connected, as much as I am able, even if it’s in only a few hushed words, a confirmation that their loved one still lives.”

“I get the distinct feeling they don’t like us communicating.”

“No, they do not,” she confirms as we weave in and out of the bustling crowd. I settle into that thought for a moment. Could they be scared of us, of our numbers?

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be caught delivering those notes? Why risk it?” I ask, not because I need to know why someone would be self-sacrificing, but because I’m trying to learn why she does it.

“When I first found myself trapped in this realm, and realized the reality of the beings in control, I knew I could do one of two things," she says, looking straight ahead with a sad but determined expression. "I could crumble and break, or I could use the one resource I have that is worth spending to help aid in whatever way I can. I attached myself to power, and I pay for my protection with the only currency that matters.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “Fighting doesn’t always look like exchanging blows. Sometimes fighting is quiet, sometimes fighting is adapting, and sometimes fighting is merely refusing to stop. I do this because I can’t do anything else, and if all it costs me is a little blood along the way, then so be it.”

Her words stay with me long after we lapse into silence.

We leave that part of the city behind, entering the area with far more red-eyed fae. I remember Caden’s gaze boring into me with a burning hatred when I called Lochlan and his asshole friends fae. I glance at the creatures that pass, with their otherworldly angles and pointed ears, they look remarkably similar.

If they’re not fae, what are they?

I want to ask her about it, but I don’t wish to speak freely in front of them. I'll have to question her about it when we’re back in the Alley. We finally begin to actually deliver the parcels, my tired arms only too grateful to have some of the weight lifted. She also delivers far more envelopes to this section of town.

One parcel remains, and I’m finding myself desperate to be back in the Alley. Being surrounded by the fae is a suffocating feeling, accompanied by the presence of their itchy power that plagues my senses. Their magic clings to me like sap, coating me more and more the longer I am around them. It feels like I'm carrying a layer of it over my entire body, and it is taking nearly all my concentration to block it out.

The final home we deliver to is the largest of the stone houses by far. It’s several stories higher than the rest, surrounded by a twisting iron gate, setting it apart from the tall, interconnected buildings that line the streets. With every other delivery we’ve scurried around the back and spoken with whoever answered the door, so I cast a questioning look to Yasminda as we cross through the gates and begin to ascend the stairs leading to the guarded front door.

“The Duchess is very particular about her deliveries,” Yasminda explains. “She demands to inspect her packages herself before allowing us to leave.”

Yasminda speaks to the guards and we are left waiting for a few minutes before the door opens. A Vessel appears and ushers us inside, a young man who looks to be about Falen’s age. His memory hits me like a bolt, and I have to swallow hard to get the tightness out of my throat. The Vessel leads us down a short hallway to a sitting room, instructing us to wait here.

I nod, but say nothing else as I study the luxury of the room we’re in. Everything is painted in dark, shadowy tones. The wooden shelves lining the wall are stained black, with that familiar thorny design adorning every surface. There is one large window, letting in the red-tinged light of the ever-present moon. Silver and glinting obsidian stones drip from every surface. The décor is trying for a broody, dark atmosphere, but it is far too gaudy, too opulent to be anything but garish. After barely a moment, a woman comes sauntering into the room, pulling my attention to her. Yasminda leans over, and whispers in my ear, “The Duchess Duvessa. She’s the queen’s right hand.”

Duvessa’s cold black eyes barely skim over us, as though we are nothing more than a lamp or fainting couch scattered around the room. We rank as high as a piece of furniture in her eyes. She’s got what appears to be some sort of powder several shades too pale on her face, judging by her neck which is a starkly different color. Her hair is pulled back in a tight, harsh hairstyle, and something about all her sharp angles and dramatic coloring gives me the impression that she’s trying to be something she’s not.

She’s dressed in a near skintight bodice of deep red, the color sinking into black the further down the full skirts it goes. A fur shawl is draped around her, the head of the fox lolling off her arms, its glass eyes staring into the void. I’m no stranger to fur, we use our fair share of it to warm against the harsh coastal winters in Gaelynn, but something about her shawl looks closer to a celebration of death than a means of survival. I frown at the thought.

She would be strikingly pretty, but there is a decaying presence that leaches out of her that I can’t shake. Almost like she’s got a soul that’s rotting her from the inside out. Tugging off a pair of black lace gloves, she steps towards the parcel set on a low table, tossing the gloves casually on the floor. She doesn’t even glance at us as she rips the ribbon off the box and flips the lid open. Her face is set in a grimace. The corners of her eyes pinch, her nose crinkles, her red-painted lips turn down in a deep frown as she picks through the garment in the box. In every harshly etched line of her expression, she exudes disgust.

“Where is the second dress?”

“Second dress?” Yasminda asks, appearing just as confused as me.

“Yes, the second dress,” the Duchess sneers, giving us a look that makes me think she just smelled rotten fish. Standing up straight and peering down her nose at us, she snaps, “Am I to understand you don’t have it with you?”