“Why I’m doing all this,” he says simply, and for a brief moment, he sounds nearly human. Lonely, tired, and misunderstood. He releases my wrists, dragging his knuckles down my forearm. His eyes have a soft, radiant glow I see for the first time.
“I will not hurt you, Talysse. Not now, not here. I swear it on my Mark.” He pushes himself up to his knees and looks at me, head tilted to the side, a faint smile on his face. Stupid must be my middle name because I believe him.
“Let’s go now before you destroy all my flowers.”
“You’ve planted these?!” Leaning on my elbows, I look around. The flowerbed we’ve landed in is stunning, even if we broke a few forget-me-nots.
“I’m spending a lot of time here, remember? Come on, Desmond must be wondering what’s going on.”
“Who is Desmond?” Instead of answering, Aeidas stretches his hand to help me up and guides me to the cottage. Someone drops a metal plate inside, and the sound of the dish rolling around is followed by soft curses.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
*
“Desmond, I’ve told you not to smuggle food here; we’ll get cockroaches,” Aeidas scolds his invisible friend when we enter. Carefully, I step over pieces of cheese strewn on the thick moss-green carpet, the silver plate lying on the floorboards.
“How’s that a bad thing? Cockroaches are delicious!” a tiny, disembodied voice announces, startling me.
The wide space is a definition of creative chaos. There are tables piled with books, maps and paintings on the walls, trapped light wisps hanging in garlands from the wooden beams, and dozens of flowers and plants in pots, but no sign of Desmond.
The scent of blooming trees and books hangs in the warm air. Fireflies dance in the thick cascades of leaves draping from the ceiling.
I approach the paintings hanging on the dark plank walls—lush green forests and crystal lakes shimmering in the sunlight, creatures big and small flying, swimming, running.
Aeidas slumps into a soft chair; his lips curled up in amusement.
“Where is your friend?”
“He’s probably watching you, making sure you’re not a threat—”
“Are you sure she won’t hurt me?” the tiny voice squeaks again, this time from a working table near me.
Elders, how bad did I hit my head?
A pink, hairless rat climbs a tall tower of books. He’s dressed in a dramatic red velvet vest and bows politely, his tail twitching nervously.
I rub my eyes, then open and shut my mouth.
The prince’s laughter spills into the room, a sound much merrier than I’d imagined.
“M’lady.” The rat faces me, studying me with sparkling beady eyes.
I slap my cheek not so gently and glare, unable to say a word.
“Is she mute? Or is it true that humans have no manners?” Desmond’s voice dripped with mock concern as he shuffles closer to the table and glares at me with his black eyes, nearly spilling an inkwell over the apparently priceless maps strewn around. “My name’s Desmond,” he tries again, drawling the words as if I’m slow.
“Apologies. It was unexpected—” I shuffle my weight from one foot to the other, making a conscious effort not to stare.
“That I speak? Oh, long-term exposure to magic when the prince was experimenting in his youth, but tell me about you! You’re the first lady he brings around—” The rat makes himself comfortable on top of the table, obviously enjoying the attention.
“Shut up, Desmond,” Aeidas cuts him off, obviously not keen on letting him rat out on his solitude. “Talysse, this is a dear friend of mine and a former pet—”
“Pet is a very diminishing way to call me, you know,” the rat squeaks, the fir on his tiny head bristling,
“The experiments with shadow magic gave him—” Aeidas starts. My eyes dart between them. Is this some kind of a trick?
“The ability to give wise advice and guidance to hollow heads like you,” Desmond adds, grooming his tail with fake indifference.
