The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1)(37)

I nod. After seeing what Balekin is like, I want Dain on the throne more than ever. Madoc will be by his side, and if I can make myself useful enough, maybe they’ll get the rest of the Gentry off my back.

“You can do two things the rest of us can’t,” the Roach says. “One, you can blend in with the human servants. Two, you can move among the Gentry. We’re going to teach you some other tricks. So until you get another mission directly from the prince, your job is what I say it is.”

I nod. I expected something like that. “I can’t always get away. I skipped classes today, but I can’t do that all the time or someone will notice and ask where I’ve been. And Madoc expects me to have dinner with him and Oriana and the rest of the family around midnight.”

The Roach looks over at the Ghost and shrugs. “This is always the problem with infiltrating the Court. Lots of etiquette taking up time. When can you get away?”

“I could sneak out after I’m supposed to be in bed,” I tell them.

“Good enough,” the Roach says. “One of us will meet you near the house and either train you or give you assignments. You need not always come here, to the nest.” The Ghost nods, as though my problems are reasonable, part of the job, but I feel childish. They are a child’s problems.

“So let’s initiate her,” the Bomb says, walking up to me.

I catch my breath. Whatever happens next, I can endure it. I have endured more than they can guess.

But the Bomb only starts laughing, and the Roach gives her a playful shove.

The Ghost gives me a sympathetic look and shakes his head. His eyes, I notice, are a shifting hazel. “If Prince Dain says you are part of the Court of Shadows, then you are. Try not to be too much of a disappointment and we’ll have your back.”

I let out my breath. I am not sure that I wouldn’t have preferred some ordeal, some way to prove myself.

The Bomb makes a face. “You’ll know you’re really one of us when you get your name. Don’t expect it anytime soon.”

The Ghost goes over to a cabinet and takes out a half-empty bottle of a pale greenish liquid and a stack of polished acorn cups. He pours out four shots. “Have a drink. And don’t worry,” he tells me. “It won’t befuddle you any more than any other drink.”

I shake my head, thinking of the way I felt after having the golden apple mashed into my face. Never do I want to feel out of control like that again. “I’ll pass.”

The Roach knocks back his drink and makes a face, as though the liquor is scorching his throat. “Suit yourself,” he manages to choke out before he starts to cough.

The Ghost barely winces at the contents of his acorn. The Bomb is taking tiny sips of hers. From her expression, I am extra glad I passed on it.

“Balekin’s going to be a problem,” the Roach says, explaining what I found.

The Bomb puts down her acorn. “I mislike everything about this. If he was going to go to Eldred, he would have done it already.”

I had not considered that he might poison his father.

The Ghost stretches his lanky body as he gets up. “It’s getting late. I should take the girl home.”

“Jude,” I remind him.

He grins. “I know a shortcut.”

We go back into the tunnels, and following him is a challenge because, as his name suggests, he moves almost completely silently. Several times, I think he’s left me alone in the tunnels, but just when I am about to stop walking, I hear the faintest exhalation of breath or shuffle of dirt and persuade myself to go on.

After what feels like an agonizingly long time, a doorway opens. The Ghost is standing in it, and beyond him is the High King’s wine cellar. He makes a small bow.

“This is your shortcut?” I ask.

He winks. “If a few bottles happen to fall into my satchel as we pass through, that’s hardly my fault, is it?”

I force out a laugh, the sound creaky and false in my ears. I’m not used to one of the Folk including me in their jokes, at least not outside my family. I like to believe that I am doing okay here in Faerie. I like to believe that even though I was drugged and nearly murdered at school yesterday, I am able to put that behind me today. I’m fine.

But if I can’t laugh, maybe I’m not so fine after all.



I change into the blue shift I packed in the woods outside Madoc’s grounds, despite being so tired that my joints hurt. I wonder if the Folk are ever tired like that, if they ever ache after a long evening. The toad seems exhausted, too, although maybe she’s just full. As far as I can tell, most of what she did today was snap her tongue at passing butterflies and a mouse or two.

It’s full deep dark when I get back to the estate. The trees are lit with tiny sprites, and I see a laughing Oak racing through them, pursued by Vivi and Taryn and—oh hell—Locke. It’s disorienting to see him here, impossibly out of context. Has he come because of me?

With a shriek, Oak dashes over, clamoring up the saddlebags and onto my lap.

“Chase me!” he yells, out of breath, full of the wriggling ecstasy of childhood.

Even faeries are young once.

Impulsively, I hug him to my chest. He’s warm and smells of grass and deep woods. He lets me do it for a moment, small arms twining around my neck, small horned head butting against my chest. Then, laughing, he slides down and away, throwing a puckish glance back to see if I’ll follow.