The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1)(39)

I forgot that I asked Madoc to teach me swordplay and strategy, but after dinner he gives me a stack of military history books from his personal library.

“When you’re done reading these, we will talk,” he informs me. “I will set you a series of challenges, and you will tell me how you might overcome them with the resources I give you.”

I think he expects me to object and insist on more swordplay, but I am too tired to even think of it.

Flopping down on my bed an hour later, I decide that I am not going to even take off the blue silk dress I am wearing. My hair is still disarranged, although I tried to improve it with a few pretty pins. I should take those out, at least, I tell myself, but I can’t seem to make any movement toward doing so.

My door opens, and Taryn comes in, hopping up onto my bed.

“Okay,” she says, poking me in the side. “What did Locke want? He said he had to talk to you.”

“He’s nice,” I say, rolling over and folding my arms behind my head, staring up at the folds of fabric gathered above me. “Not totally Cardan’s puppet like the rest of them.”

Taryn has an odd expression on her face, like she wants to contradict me but is holding herself back. “Whatever. Spill.”

“About Locke?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes. “About what happened with him and his friends.”

“They’re never going to respect me if I don’t fight back,” I tell her.

She sighs. “They’re never going to respect you, period.”

I think of crawling across the grass, my knees dirty, the savor of the fruit in my mouth. Even now I can taste the echo of it, the emptiness it would fill, the giddy, delirious joy it promises.

Taryn goes on. “You came home practically naked yesterday, smeared with faerie fruit. Isn’t that bad enough? Don’t you care?” Taryn has pulled her whole body back against one of the posts of my bed.

“I am tired of caring,” I say. “Why should I?”

“Because they could kill you!”

“They better,” I say to her. “Because anything less than that isn’t going to work.”

“Do you have a plan for stopping them?” she asks. “You said you were going to defy Cardan by being your awesome self and if he tried to take you down, you’d take him down with you. How are you going to manage that?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I admit.

She throws up her hands in frustration.

“No, look,” I say. “Every day that I don’t beg Cardan for forgiveness over a feud he started is a day I win. He can humiliate me, but every time he does and I don’t back down, he makes himself less powerful. After all, he’s throwing everything he’s got at someone as weak as I am and it’s not working. He’s going to take himself down.”

She sighs and comes over to me, laying her head against my chest, putting her arms around me. Against my shoulder she whispers, “He’s flint, you’re tinder.”

I hug her closer and make no promises.

We stay like that for a long moment.

“Did Locke threaten you?” she asks softly. “It was so odd that he came here looking for you, and then you had such a weird expression when I walked into the stables.”

“No, nothing bad,” I tell her. “I don’t know exactly what he came for, but he kissed my hand. It was nice, like out of a storybook.”

“Nice things don’t happen in storybooks,” Taryn says. “Or when they do happen, something bad happens next. Because otherwise the story would be boring, and no one would read it.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “I know it’s stupid, thinking well of one of Cardan’s friends, but he really did help me. He stood up to Cardan. But I’d rather talk about you. There’s someone, isn’t there? When you said you were going to fall in love, you were talking about someone in particular.”

Not that I’ d be the first to green gown her.

“There’s a boy,” she says slowly. “He’s going to declare himself at Prince Dain’s coronation. He’s going to ask for my hand from Madoc, and then everything is going to change for me.”

I think of her weeping, standing beside Cardan. I think of how angry she’s been that I am feuding with him. I think of that, and a cold and terrible dread creeps over me. “Who? ” I demand.

Please not Cardan. Anyone but Cardan.

“I promised not to tell anyone,” she says. “Even you.”

“Our promises don’t matter,” I say, thinking of Prince Dain’s geas still freezing my tongue, of how little any of them trust us. “No one expects us to have any honor. Everyone knows we lie.”

She gives me a stern, disapproving look. “It’s a faerie prohibition. If I break it, he’ll know. I need to show him I can live like one of the Folk.”

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“Be happy for me,” she says, and I feel cut to the quick. She has found her place in Faerie, and I guess I have found mine. But I can’t help worrying.

“Just tell me something about him. Tell me that he is kind. Tell me that you love him and that he’s promised to be good to you. Tell me.”

“He’s a faerie,” she says. “They don’t love the way we do. And I think you would like him—there, that’s something.”