Because You Love to Hate Me(64)

“Good evening, Isaac.”

Sharply, he turned. When he saw the familiar smile, so like hers, he let out his breath.

“George,” he said, and smiled back. “My friend.”

George Beath stood in the doorway. Tall and fine of feature, with a head of golden curls he must have purloined from an angel, he might have been the most eligible bachelor in London if not for his name—Beath, a name that reeked of scandal. Everyone with ears knew about his late father’s affair and the child he had brought back from India. His wife had chosen to take poison rather than live with the shame of his infidelity, and the man himself had soon followed her to the grave. George had been six years old at the time.

Now he was nineteen, and although he shared blood with Marigold, he was nothing like her physically. Marigold took very much after her mother; he took after his. Where she was dark and brittle, George was broad-shouldered and fair as a snowdrop. His clothes were always a little behind the fashion, and he often wore the same attire for several days at a time.

Isaac had long since forgotten to mind. Londoners had remarkable memories when it came to scandal, but George Beath was his dearest friend and had helped him countless times throughout their three-year acquaintance.

“The Erl-queen has had my sister for long enough.” George showed him his pistol. “Let us teach her what we do to thieves in England.”

Isaac nodded silently.

“You look pale.” George clapped him on the back. “Better have a little brandy before we leave. Marigold won’t want a milksop saving her from the Erl-queen, will she?”

“No. Yes, of course. But I shan’t need brandy.”

“Come, now, Ise. We all need a little brandy now and then.”

“No. Thank you, but no. My head must be clear.” He risked a glance at George and found a look of faint disappointment on his face. How he hated to turn down his counsel. “We are about to enter the Erl-queen’s lands,” he said with a nervous laugh. “And I doubt very much that her warriors drink brandy before battle.”

“Oh, of course they do—or some preternatural cousin of it, in any case. Elves are hedonists.” George took his hip flask from his coat. There were shadows under his eyes, mirrors of the ones beneath his own. “Come. Her Majesty will forget about the treaty once her nemesis is defeated. Put some fire in your belly.”

The hip flask was presented a second time. Isaac looked at it weakly before gulping a little. It burned him to the navel.

He had never cared for brandy.

“How can you be so certain?” Already, he felt light-headed. “Even if Queen Victoria remains ignorant of our plan, the Erl-queen will know. They say she can feel every movement in every forest. She knew as soon as Princess Alice entered.”

“Princess Alice was not armed with steel.” George grasped his shoulder. “You are no child. You are no woman. You will be the one to slay the Erl-creature, Ise. For Marigold. You will be a hero of the empire, and to her, you will be king of it.”

A handkerchief was presented. Isaac used it to smudge the perspiration from his temples.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. For Marigold.”

George extinguished the oil lamp before he peeled apart the curtains and gazed at the street. Now the only light in the house was from the streetlamp outside.

“The cab is waiting for us at the end of Gower Street. Remember,” George said, “when we arrive, we must resist the sounds of the forest. Everything there is a siren call.” He faced Isaac with a weary smile, a smile that promised an end to their suffering. His eyes were forget-me-not blue, so unlike hers. “By dawn, Marigold will be back in your arms. Imagine how much more she’ll love you.”

George always filled him with such surety. Isaac glanced at the glass one more time, feeling a streamlet of warmth in his blood. His sword was at his side, and he wore a simple black coat over his clothing, the better to disguise himself in the shadows of the forest. He had turned eighteen in April, but for the first time in his life, it seemed to him that a man was looking back.





Princess Alice had disappeared from a forest in Scotland, where the royal family had been staying at the time, but the Erl-queen’s territory was in all forests. It was what had been agreed to when the first railway had been built, when the Erl-queen began to steal the girls in revenge for the destruction of the natural world, for the vapors and the blackened trees and the scars of industry. The elves preferred to dwell in savage ignorance than embrace the nineteenth century. It was said that their queen felt every footstep in every forest in the country, as closely as a man felt the heartbeat in his chest.

“Tell me,” Isaac ventured, once they were safely ensconced in the hansom cab, “is it true what Princess Alice said when she returned?”

George sighed. “The child is a fool. The Erl-queen’s feasts must have rotted her mind.”

“But it is true.”

His friend looked through the window. All was quiet on the streets of London.

“So a servant told me,” he finally said. “The princess was weeping when she returned. She made it perfectly clear to her mother that she did not want to be back with her family. That she wanted to stay with ‘the other queen of England.’ ”

Isaac shivered. “Why do you suppose the child would have wanted to stay with the elves?”