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Valdred glances at Ryther, but those unnerving starry eyes remain set on me.
My ideas are met with silence, which is the last thing I want. They should be telling meSure, Rina. Great idea. Enjoy the trip back. Don’t forget to write!
“Right?” I repeat pointedly, staring straight at Ryther.
He’s the one who seems to hold the most knowledge and authority between these two. He’s also the one who didn’t shove his cock in my mouth while I was completely helpless to refuse him, moments ago.
Although he did toss me into a deadly pool, so there’s that.
But it’s Valdred who replies. “Half of the Hollow is already privy to this conversation.”
He says that like I should know what it means.“The Hollow?”
“This island. It’s a valley surrounded by mountains, right between the seelie and unseelie shores. We’ve made a ruckus and the Hollow is busy because of the conclave. There are thousands of unseen eyes around us right this moment. Dryads and hobs in the trees, pixies flying like little lights, brownie servants minding their tasks, invisible to the eye until they wish to be seen, and the wild folk, who would have remained in shadow, away from the fae of the court, but still watching. They’re here to witness the rites—see who’ll become the next regent of Ilvaris.”
I look around frantically, but I don’t see anything. We’re in dark, quiet, wild gardens.
There are lights coming from the party under the large canopy, but it’s too far for anyone to hear us even if they cared to, isn’t it? From this distance, I can only hear a dim whisper of the heavy drums, a hint of laughter and, I think, a few screams. No distinctive words can be discerned so far away.
Blissfully, there’s no nasty noise coming from the rut, but thinking back to that place makes me wrinkle my nose anyway.
Otherwise I don’t sense anything close by. It’s a cold, quiet night by the seemingly peacefullakeside. The expanse of water seems too vast to be called a pool.
The moon’s a little too bright, and there are little noises—crickets chirping, maybe. But I certainly can’t see thousands of people lurking, looking at us.
Ryther flicks his wrist, seemingly reaching into the empty air and pinching the void. A small squeal penetrates the silence, and before my baffled eyes, a creature smaller than my hand appears, its bright, sheer paper-thin wings batting like a moth’s.
“Ouch!” it squeaks.
“That’s what one gets for spying, devas.” There’s no true anger in Ryther’s voice—he seems matter-of-fact, indifferent.
As he lets her wing go, she falls to the ground, but once her skin hits the frosty grass, she morphs into a normal person—taller than me, and entirely naked. I can only stare, baffled.
“There’s a reason mortals call us the little people. Many of the lower fae can diminish their heights.”
Her wings wrap around her shoulders, one of them torn. Seeing the look of pain etched on her face, I wince on her behalf.
“Away with you before I tear it up,” Ryther warns, again, too calm to seem upset.
The fae wisely takes the threat at face value, jumps to her feet and runs for it.
“Was that necessary?” I grunt, watching her sniffle, holding her battered wing.
“She was in my space, and I have a reputation to maintain.” Ryther sounds completely indifferent to causing pain.
I make myself take note of that.
“Devas are unbearably nosy,” Valdred adds. “And she’s seen you. Hundreds of little folk have. Inside of the hour, the entire isle will know of your arrival. And by morning, there will be dispatches to all corners of Ilvaris. They’ll write a song by next day’s end.”
I shake my head in disbelief, in denial. “That doesn’t mean I have to stay here. In fact, I’m pretty certain it means Ishouldn’t.”
My heartbeat’s thundering, panic threatening to overtake me again.Take me home,I want to implore. Please, take me home. I’ll be good like Rachel. I’ll never go to Night Hall again.
And if I had any indication that either of them would do it, I would be on my knees, shamelessly begging.But I’m fairly certain it would be useless, so I spare myself the humiliation.
I’ve spent two days in this world and already, I intuit begging will get me nowhere. They’ll do what they believe is in their interest. Everything I’ve witnessed of the fae makes that clear. More than that; I know it inside me, in my core.
They’re like me, in that respect. I might very well grant favors, but I don’t relinquish anything of mine without keeping score, ensuring that I’m fairly compensated. I am always fair and rarely kind. My parents have tried to train those traits out of me, to force goodwill into my thought process, and I’d like to think they mostly managed.
