The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1)(45)

Locke starts toward us, all loose limbs and shining eyes. He gives me a wave. For a moment, I feel almost safe. I am immensely grateful to Taryn, for sending him over. I am immensely grateful to Locke, for coming.

“You think I don’t deserve him,” I say to Cardan.

He smiles slowly, like the moon slipping beneath the waves of the lake. “Oh no, I think you’re perfect for each other.”

A few moments later, Locke has an arm thrown around my shoulders. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

And so, without a backward glance at any of them, we do.



We walk through the Crooked Forest, where all the trees are bowed in the same direction as though they’ve been blown by a strong wind since they were saplings. I stop to pick a few blackberries from prickly stems of bushes growing between them. I have to blow tiny sugar ants from each before putting it in my mouth.

I offer a berry to Locke, but he demurs.

“So, in short, Valerian tried to kill me,” I say, finishing my story. “And I stabbed him.”

His fox eyes are steady on me. “You stabbed Valerian.”

“So I might be in some trouble.” I take a deep breath.

He shakes his head. “Valerian won’t tell anyone he was bested by a mortal girl.”

“What about Cardan? Won’t he be disappointed his plan didn’t work?” I gaze out at the sea, visible between the trunks of the trees. It seems to stretch on to forever.

“I doubt he even knew about it,” Locke says, and smiles at my surprise. “Oh, he’d like to make you believe he’s our leader, but it’s more that Nicasia likes power, I like dramatics, and Valerian likes violence. Cardan can provide us with all three, or at least excuses for all three.”

“Dramatics?” I echo.

“I like for things to happen, for stories to unfold. And if I can’t find a good enough story, I make one.” He looks every inch the trickster in that moment. “I know you overheard Nicasia talking about what was between us. She had Cardan, but only in leaving him for me did she gain power over him.”

I ponder that for a moment, and while I do, I realize we’re not taking our usual path to Madoc’s grounds. Locke has been leading me another way. “Where are we going?”

“My demesne,” he says with a grin, happy to be caught out. “It’s not far. I think you’ll like the hedge maze.”

I have never been to one of their estates, save for Hollow Hall. In the human world, we children were always in the neighbors’ yards, swinging and swimming and jumping, but the rules here are nothing the same. Most of the children in the High King’s Court are royals, sent from smaller Courts to gain influence with the princes and princesses, and have no time for much else.

Of course, in the mortal world, there are such things as backyards. Here, there are forest and sea, rocks and mazes, and flowers that are red only when they get fresh blood. I don’t much like the idea of getting lost deliberately in a hedge maze, but I smile as though nothing could ever delight me more. I don’t want to disappoint him.

“There will be a gathering later,” Locke continues. “You should stay. I promise it will be diverting.”

At that, my stomach clenches. I doubt he’s having a party without his friends. “That seems foolish,” I say, to avoid refusing the invitation outright.

“Your father doesn’t like you to stay out late?” Locke gives me a pitying look.

I know he’s just trying to make me feel childish when he knows perfectly well why I shouldn’t be there, but even though I am aware of what he’s doing, it works.

Locke’s estate is more modest than Madoc’s and less fortified. Tall spires covered in shingles of mossy bark rise between the trees. The spiraling vines of ivy and honeysuckle that twine up the sides turn the whole thing green and leafy.

“Wow,” I say. I have ridden by here and seen those spires in the distance, but I never knew to whose house they belonged. “Beautiful.”

He gives me a quick grin. “Let’s go inside.”

Although there is a pair of grand doors in the front, he takes me around to a small door on the side that leads directly to the kitchens. A fresh loaf of bread rests on the counter, along with apples, currants, and a soft cheese, but I do not see any servants who might have prepared this.

I think, involuntarily, of the girl in Hollow Hall cleaning Cardan’s fireplace. I wonder where her family thinks she is and what bargain she made. I wonder how easily I could have been her.

“Is your family home?” I ask, pushing that thought away.

“I have none,” he tells me. “My father was too wild for the Court. He liked the deep, feral woods far better than my mother’s intrigues. He left, and then she died. Now it’s just me.”

“That’s terrible,” I say. “And lonely.”

He shakes off my words. “I’ve heard the story of your parents. A tragedy suitable for a ballad.”

“It was a long time ago.” The last thing I want to talk about is Madoc and murder. “What happened to your mother?”

He makes a dismissive gesture in the air. “She got involved with the High King. In this Court, that’s enough. There was a child—his child, I suppose—and someone didn’t want it born. Blusher mushroom.” Although he began his speech airily, it doesn’t end that way.