Oh shit. I really truly hope he doesn’t ask me how I know this. I don’t want to rat Dyfri out.
Rhydian continues to stare at me for a long, long time. I’m lost in his gaze, but I have no idea what he is thinking.
“I can’t help you prepare,” he says eventually. “It goes against the rules of a challenge.”
Well, that’s shitty news, but strangely, not exactly surprising. Maybe I am finally getting a feel for how the fey think and how their world works.
“Okay,” I say. “Can anyone help me?”
It might just be a pet and owner thing. If Dyfri can help me, this will be a breeze. But Rhydian shakes his head and dashes my tentative hope. Looks like I’m on my own. My heart beats against my ribs in protest at that idea.
“Can you give me internet access?” I ask.
Rhydian nods. “That, I can do.”
I grin at him and squeeze his hand. See? It’s fine. Everything is going to be fine. Google knows the answer to everything. It is going to know how to defeat an evil fey vizier in a duel.
A wave of dizziness washes over me. Rhydian steadies me. Oh, my god. What the hell have I got myself into?
Along with all the many other ways this is a mess, research is going to be a disaster. There is going to be a ton of crap about horseshoes and not stepping into mushroom rings, and putting your clothes on inside out. Loads of stuff from fairytales, left over from the last time they were here, and diluted by the passage of time. How am I ever going to decipher what is true and what is nonsense?
Rhydian slides another plate of snacks next to my new laptop. I pull off my cat ear headphones and smile at him.
“Do you need anything else?” he asks.
I look over at the table that has been turned into my desk. Several notebooks. An abundance of pens. Six different drinks and now, three different snacks. Not to mention the comfy cushion under my butt and the one at my lower back.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I say.
I pull my headphones back up and get back to work, but I can see Rhydian’s reflection on the laptop screen. Frustration and a little bit of fear flash through me. My, ‘Get Shit Done’ Spotify playlist isn’t going to make me able to tune him out, and I’m terrible at focusing at the best of times.
“Gah! Stop hovering!” I snap as I twist around in my chair to glare at him.
One look at his stricken face has me instantly repenting. He is trying to help. He is frantic with worry. It must be awful to feel so very powerless. I’d be an absolute mess if the roles were reversed.
As it is, I hate seeing him like this. He has spent a lifetime being aloof and living behind meticulously crafted walls. If I am seeing this many cracks in the facade, the depth of emotion he must be drowning in, has to be immense.
And I am the cause of it all.
“Sorry,” I say. “How about you give me a nice shoulder massage while I work?”
I turn back around and start writing notes about this Wikipedia page. Some of this stuff sounds like it might actually be useful. It was clearly written back when we allthought fairies were nonsense, but it is a careful catalogue of the oral storytelling traditions of the Hebrides. There is going to be great information in here, I’m sure of it. If anything is going to stand the test of time, surely it is going to be stories handed down the generations in remote Scottish islands?
Long cool fingers dig into my shoulder. Oh my god! He is actually doing it. My fey prince is giving me a massage because I requested it! I want to squeal and squirm in elation. Who is the pet now, your highness? Hmm? Looks like I have you wrapped around my little finger. Mum did always say I was going to end up a pampered princess. She thinks I deserve no less and I’m inclined to agree with her.
I start to hum along to the music as I work. Between the songs, my humming and Rhydian’s gentle touch, my brain is satisfied enough to actually concentrate for a change.
I zone in and lose myself in the task at hand. After a while, I realise that Rhydian’s hands have moved from my shoulders to playing with my hair. Wow, that feels so nice.
Oh gosh! I freeze as my brain finally catches up with what is going on. Rhydian is not simply playing with my hair. He is weaving braids into it. I don’t understand the full significance of it, but I know it means something. It feels monumental. Hair is super important to fey. If unbinding someone’s hair is so devastating, braiding a pet’s hair for the first time has to be wonderful.
But I can’t acknowledge it. I can’t react at all. Because if I do, I’ll start crying hysterical tears of joy and I don’t have time for that. I have to figure out how to defeat Iestyn. Because sod dying.
Rhydian is being attentive and sweet, and we got into this mess because he flew into a rage over me being hurt, and now he is braiding my hair.
So yes, sod dying. I’m going to live.
Chapter thirty-eight
