“Is this what you’ve been up to? Perfecting the recipe?”
“Um, no, that’s just hot needle juice.” Her lip biting turned fidgety, and her gaze shot to the fae who had managed to get Kaz out of one sweater and was tugging on the next, caught on his talons. Voice much lower, she leaned in. “Did you know, his name is Wil? Just Wil. Well, King Wil of the Winter Court, but still. Isn’t that sort of silly? I would have thought fae would be named, you know, long, pompous-sounding, nigh-impossible things.”
Damien chuckled lightly. “You certainly are judgmental about other peoples’ names, considering.”
“Considering what?”
He shook his head. “Nevermind, Amma. Fae can’t give you their true names or else your mind will devour itself, or so they insist. Tell me about your time withWilif it was not just boiling needles and throwing snowballs.”
“Right, well, he’s apparently been alone in Winter for quite a long time—I guess he lost some game or something, and everyone left—and it’s gotten him a bit down, but it turns out fae don’t really do any of the fun, snowy things, which explains why the others won’t come back to Winter. So, I’ve been showing him some of the things we do in Faebarrow when it’s cold, and helovesthem.” Her eyes lit up. “Especially the kind of things you do to keep warm afterwards.”
Damien’s stomach knotted. “What kinds of things to keep warm?”
“Making hemlock tea, having actual fire, boiling big pots of stew, you know.” She gestured to the hearth and its many pots then dropped her voice even lower. “They seemed fairly obvious to me, but sort of extraordinary to him, so I thought, at first, he had gone a little mad with no other fae around since all he does is sit around playing with himself.”
The copper mug in Damien’s hand almost gave way under his grip. “Hetoldyou that?”
She shot a covert look over at the fae and then pointed through an archway to an adjoining room, the one Damien had found himself in on his search of the palace with the strange, small table. A chair was placed on either side of the table, each carved from ice. “Yes, practicing the game I mentioned that he lost to someone named Norm, of all things—that’s the Emperor of the Summer Court. Sounds like a jerk to me, though, honestly. Anyway, Wil tried to show me how to play, but I couldn’t get the hang of it. The pieces need magic, and it’s like all of mine is suddenly gone.” Amma’s mouth turned down, hands held out and small fingers flexing.
“It’s just the plane,” Damien assured her.
“Maybe. Anyway, King Wil won’t exactly admit to it, but he isdreadfullylonely.” Her eyes went exceptionally wide, the blue of them glassy under the frosted chandeliers. “It’s why, you know, he sort of imprisoned us when we got here.”
At this, Damien grunted.
“I know, I know, not an excuse, but itisa bargaining chip.” That sadness in her eyes sharpened, like a furry, forest creature turning feral.
Damien slowly took another sip, brow pinched over the mug’s rim as he watched Amma’s mouth twist up. What a quick shift—when had she become so dangerous? Something in his chest twitched fondly, and then there was another twitch, lower, and he was glad for the pink cloak even if he did look ridiculous in it.
“So, Wil and I made a deal.”
Hot tea came out of Damien’s nose as he tried to hold back the outburst that came anyway. He hurried to put the cup down and wipe at his face. “Amma,” he choked out, “you made adealwith afae?”
“She did.”
Even as the frosty voice rippled up Damien’s back, a blazing fury took the rest of him. Tugging at the knot Amma had made around his neck, Damien pulled off her cloak and pushed it into her hands, whirling around and snarling. “You’ll get whatever it is you think you’ve tricked out of her with the Summer court freezes over.”
King Wil was taller than even Damien, and though he was thin, his presence was menacing. That was how fae were: ethereal, delicate-looking things until their intentions came to the surface, followed swiftly by their true visage. Shadows fell in the hollows of his face, features so cutting Damien could practically feel the welts forming on his own skin. “I have promised to give her anything she requests,” said the king in a voice deeper than the chasm in Bloodthorne Keep. “She has not yet named her desire, but I’ve assured her that I can fulfill whatever it may be.”
Amma’s fingers were cool against the heat of Damien’s skin as she touched his arm. “And I only promised to help bring the other courtiers back.”
Damien swallowed, eyes still boring into Wil as he addressed her. “You mean to say you promised a fae that you wouldsway the willof other fae?”
She snorted with irritation, a thing she so infrequently did that it pulled Damien’s gaze back to her. “Oh, Damien, it’s not that serious. We’re throwing a party for goodness’s sake, that’s all.”
“Which, I must say, there is much left to do before the festivities on the morrow.” The king’s face had gone softer again, but his smile was all fangs. “We should return to planning while the demonling roots about in the kitchens for sustenance as I do believe your bodies wither away without food. It appears to already be happening.”
Damien glanced down at himself, bare-chested with his pants falling low on his hips but far from withering. He puffed out his chest and snarled again, but a pang in his stomach made him deflate again. Amma’s hand taking him by the elbow, however, was enough to make him back down.
After being dropped off in the nearly bare but enormous kitchens, Damien found he had to scrounge for sustenance, but Kaz remained with him. Alone, Damien questioned the imp as he ripped into some dried meats and continued to poke about in every cabinet.
No, the fae hadn’t touched Amma, Kaz confirmed, but, yes, Amma seemed to like him. “Explain,” Damien had demanded.
“I do not know, Master,”—the imp clacked his talons together nervously—“but shesmilesand isniceto him.”
Well, that certainly described how she was with nearly everyone.
Damien took a breath, peering into the emptiness of the larder and swallowing the salted mystery meat. “And at night? Where does she go?”
