The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air #3)(30)

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. I need to stall him. I need to think.

He goes on relentlessly. “It is no life to be always under someone’s control, subject to their will and whim. I know the geas you asked for from Prince Dain. I know you were willing to murder to receive it. No glamour touches you. Remember when it was otherwise? Remember what it felt like to be powerless?”

Of course I do. And I can’t help thinking of the mortal servant in Balekin’s household, Sophie, with her pockets full of stones. Sophie, lost to the Undersea. A shudder goes through me before I can shrug it off.

“Stop being dramatic.” I draw out the bag of food I had with me and sit down in the dirt to cut up wedges of cheese, apples, and bread. “We’re not out of options yet. You look half-starved, and I need you alive. You could enchant a ragwort stalk and get us out of here—and you owe me that much help, at least.”

He grabs pieces of cheese and apple and shoves them into his mouth. As he eats, I consider the chains holding him. Could I pry apart the links? I note a hole on the plate that seems just the size for a key.

“You’re scheming,” the Ghost says, noticing my gaze. “Grimsen made my restraints to resist all but the most magical of blades.”

“I’m always scheming,” I return. “How much of Madoc’s plan do you know?”

“Very little. Knights bring me food and changes of clothing. I have been allowed to bathe only under a heavy guard. Once, Grimsen came to peer at me, but he was entirely silent, even when I shouted at him.” It is not like the Ghost to shout. Or to scream the way he must have for me to have heard him, to scream out of misery and despair and hopelessness. “Several times, Madoc has come to interrogate me about the Court of Shadows, about the palace, about Cardan and Lady Asha and Dain, even about you. I know he’s searching for weaknesses, for the means to manipulate everyone.”

The Ghost reaches for another slice of the apple and hesitates, looking at the food as though seeing it for the first time. “Why did you have any of this with you? Why bring a picnic to explore a cave?”

“I was planning on running away,” I admit. “Tonight. Before they discover I am not the sister I am pretending to be.”

He looks up at me in horror. “Then go, Jude. Run. You can’t stay for my sake.”

“I’m not—you’re going to help me get out of here,” I insist, cutting him off when he starts to argue. “I can manage for one more day. Tell me how to open your chains.”

Something in my face seems to convince him of my seriousness. “Grimsen has the key,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “But you’d be better served if you used the knife.”

The worst part is, he’s probably right.





When I get back to the tent, the guard isn’t there. Feeling lucky, I slip under the flap, hoping to creep to my bed before Madoc gets home from whatever he’s plotting with his generals.

What I do not expect is for the candles to be lit and Oriana to be sitting at the table, entirely awake. I freeze.

She stands, folding her arms. “Where were you?”

“Uh,” I say, scrambling to figure out what she already knows—and what she’d believe. “There was a knight who asked me to meet him under the stars and—”

Oriana holds up her hand. “I covered for you. I dismissed the guard before he could carry tales. Do not insult me by lying anymore. You are not Taryn.”

The cold horror of discovery settles over me. I want to run back out the way I came, but I think of the Ghost. If I run now, my chances of getting the key are pitiful. He will not be saved. And I will have very little chance of saving myself.

“Don’t tell Madoc,” I say, hoping against hope I can persuade her to be on my side in this. “Please. I never planned on coming here. Madoc rendered me unconscious and dragged me to this camp. I only pretended to be Taryn because I was already pretending to be her in Elfhame.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” she demands, her unblinking pink eyes gazing at me warily. “How do I know you’re not here to murder him?”

“There’s no way I could have known Madoc would come for Taryn,” I insist. “The only reason I’m still here is that I don’t know how to leave—I tried tonight, but I couldn’t. Help me get away,” I say. “Help me, and you will never have to see me again.”

She looks as though that’s an enormously compelling promise. “If you’re gone, he will guess I had a hand in it.”

I shake my head, scrambling for a plan. “Write to Vivi. She can get me. I’ll leave a note that I went to visit her and Oak. He never needs to know Taryn wasn’t here.”

Oriana turns away, pouring a deep green herbal liquor into tiny glasses. “Oak. I do not like how different he is becoming in the mortal world.”

I want to scream in frustration at her abrupt subject change, but I force myself to be calm. I imagine him stirring his brightly colored cereal. “I don’t always like it, either.”

She passes me a delicate cup. “If Madoc can make himself High King, then Oak can come home. He won’t be between Madoc and the crown. He will be safe.”

“Remember your warning about how it was dangerous to be near a king?” I wait until she sips before I do. It is bitter and grassy and explodes on my tongue with the flavors of rosemary and nettle and thyme. I wince but don’t dislike it.