The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1)(90)

“Where will you go when all this is done?” I ask her.

She glances over at me, puzzled. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

I frown at my nearly empty cup of tea. “Because Dain’s gone. I mean, isn’t that what the Ghost and the Roach are going to do? Aren’t you going with them?”

The Bomb shrugs her narrow shoulders and points a bare toe at the basket of globes. “See all these?”

I nod.

“They don’t travel well,” she says. “I’m going to stay here, with you. You’ve got a plan, right?”

I am too flummoxed to know what to say. I open my mouth and begin to stammer. She laughs. “Cardan said that you did. That if you were just making a trade, you would have done it already. And if you were going to betray us, you’d have done that by now, too.”

“But, um,” I say, and then lose my train of thought. Something about how he wasn’t supposed to be paying that much attention. “What do the others think?”

She goes back to filling globes. “They didn’t say, but none of us likes Balekin. If you’ve got a plan, well, good for you. But if you want us on your side, maybe you could be a little less cagey about it.”

I take a deep breath and decide that if I am really going to do this, I could use some help. “What do you think about stealing a crown? Right in front of the kings and queens of Faerie?”

Her grin curls up at the corners. “Just tell me what I get to blow up.”



Twenty minutes later, I light the stub of a candle and make my way to the room with the cots. As the Bomb said, Cardan is stretched out on one, looking sickeningly handsome. He’s washed his face and taken off his jacket, which he has folded up under his head for a pillow. I poke him in the arm, and he comes awake instantly, raising his hand as though to ward me off.

“Shhhh,” I whisper. “Don’t wake the others. I need to talk to you.”

“Go away. You told me you wouldn’t kill me if I answered your questions, and I did.” He doesn’t sound like the boy who kissed me, sick with desire, just hours ago. He sounds sleepy, arrogant, and annoyed.

“I am going to offer you something better than your life,” I say. “Now, come on.”

He stands, shouldering on his jacket, and then follows me into Dain’s office. Once we’re there, he leans against the doorjamb. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his hair messy from the bed. Just looking at him makes me feel hot with shame. “You sure you brought me here just to talk?”

It turns out that having kissed someone, the possibility of kissing hangs over everything, no matter how terrible an idea it was the first time. The memory of his mouth on mine shimmers in the air between us. “I brought you here to make a deal with you.”

His eyebrow goes up. “Intriguing.”

“What if you didn’t have to go hide somewhere in the countryside? What if there were an alternative to Balekin’s being on the throne?” That’s clearly not what he was expecting me to say. For a moment, his insouciant swagger fails him.

“There is,” he says slowly. “Me. Except I would be a terrible king, and I would hate it. Besides, Balekin is unlikely to put the crown on my head. He and I have never gotten on particularly well.”

“I thought you lived in his house.” I cross my arms over my chest protectively, trying to push away the image of Balekin punishing Cardan. I can’t have any sympathy now.

He tips his head back, looking at me through dark lashes. “Maybe living together is the reason we don’t get on.”

“I don’t like you, either,” I remind him.

“So you’ve said.” He gives me a lazy grin. “So if it’s not me and it’s not Balekin, then who?”

“My brother, Oak,” I tell him. “I’m not going to go into how, but he’s of the right bloodline. Your bloodline. He can wear the crown.”

Cardan frowns. “You’re sure?”

I nod. I don’t like telling him this before I ask him to do what I need, but there’s little he can do with the knowledge. I will never trade him to Balekin. There is no one to tell but Madoc, and he already knows.

“So Madoc will be regent,” Cardan says.

I shake my head. “That’s why I need your help. I want you to crown Oak the High King, and then I’m going to send him to the mortal world. Let him have a chance to be a kid. Let him have a chance at being a good king someday.”

“Oak might make different choices than the ones you want him to,” Cardan says. “He might, for instance, prefer Madoc to you.”

“I have been a stolen child,” I tell him. “I grew up in a foreign land for a far lonelier and worse reason than this. Vivi will care for him. And if you agree to my plan, I’ll get you everything you asked for and more. But I need something from you—an oath. I want you to swear yourself into my service.”

He barks out the same surprised laugh he made when I threw my knife at the desk. “You want me to put myself in your power? Voluntarily?”

“You don’t think I’m serious, but I am. I couldn’t be more serious.” Inside my crossed arms, I pinch my own skin to prevent any twitches, any tells. I need to seem completely composed, completely confident. My heart is speeding. I feel the way I did when I was a child, playing chess with Madoc—I would see the winning moves ahead of me, forget to be cautious, and then be brought up short by a move of his I hadn’t predicted. I remind myself to breathe, to concentrate.