The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air #2)(88)

Vivi takes a fish stick off my plate and dredges it through the ketchup. “How long you going to keep sulking? You were exhausted from being locked up in the Undersea. You were off your game. He got one over on you. It happens.”

“Whatever,” I say as she eats my food.

“If you hadn’t gotten captured, you would have mopped the floor with him.”

I am not even sure what that means, but it’s nice to hear.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She turns to me with her cat eyes, eyes just like her father. “I wanted you to come to the mortal world and stay. Maybe you will. Maybe you’ll love it. I want you to give it a chance.”

I nod noncommittally.

“And if you don’t love it,” she says, lifting an eyebrow. “You can always join Madoc.”

“I can’t,” I say. “He tried and tried to recruit me, but I kept turning him down. That ship sailed.”

She shrugs. “He wouldn’t—okay, he would care. He’d make you grovel a lot, and he’d bring it up awkwardly in war councils for the next couple of decades. But he’d take you.”

I give her a stern look. “And what? Work to put Oak on the throne?”

“Who cares about that? Work to hurt Cardan,” Vivi says, with a fierce light in her eyes. She has never been particularly forgiving.

Right now, I am glad of it.

“How?” I say, but the strategic part of my brain is grinding slowly back into action. Grimsen is still in play. If he could make a crown for Balekin, what could he do for me?

“I don’t know, but don’t worry about it yet,” Vivi says, getting up. “Revenge is sweet, but ice cream is sweeter.” She goes to the freezer and removes a tub of mint chocolate chip. She brings that and two spoons back to the sofa. “For now, accept this delight, unworthy though it is for the Queen of Faerie in exile.”

I know she doesn’t mean to mock me, but the title stings anyway. I pick up my spoon.

You must be strong enough to strike and strike and strike again without tiring. The first lesson is to make yourself that strong.

We eat bathed in the flickering light of the screen. Vivi’s phone is silent on the coffee table. My mind is whirling.