* * *
I don’t see Aspen the next day. Or the next. I hardly see anyone at all, for that matter, save for Foxglove and Lorelei. Since the king has yet to return to his bedroom since our argument, I begin to grow more and more comfortable, taking meals in there, snooping through Aspen’s things. Yet I’ve found nothing to occupy me for long and spend most of my time alternating between grief and boredom.
By the third day, my curiosity is too strong. “Where are King Aspen and Prince Cobalt?” I ask Foxglove, meeting his eyes in the mirror as he twists a lock of my hair. “During the day, that is,” I quickly add, in case I’m supposed to be keeping up the ruse that Aspen and I have been spending the night together.
“Hasn’t your mate told you?” He places a jeweled pin in my hair. “The king has been inundated with correspondences regarding some issue with the humans.”
“What kind of an issue?”
He shrugs. “It’s not my place to know or say. I’m his ambassador, not his confidante. When I’m needed to go smooth things over, I’m sure he’ll let me in on all the details.”
I chew my bottom lip, wondering what this could be about. Is it about Amelie? Has Aspen finally decided to tell my people the truth? Or could he be trying to invalidate our alliance and break the treaty? The blood leaves my face at the thought.
“He must know you’re restless with him so preoccupied,” Foxglove continues. “Which is why he’s brought a guest to visit.”
“A guest? Who?”
His expression brightens. “I went out of my way to make it a quaint little human ritual. What do you call it…sitting for tea? I made up a room like a parlor and imported tea from your village. Isn’t that too cute?”
“But who is my guest, Foxglove?”
He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if I tell you. You don’t know her. Not personally, at least, but once I’m finished with your hair…there!” He steps back and evaluates my auburn tresses. “Now I can take you to meet her.”
I follow Foxglove out of Aspen’s room and down the hall, eager to discover who my mysterious visitor will be. We stop at an open door, and I freeze when I see what’s inside.
“You’re impressed, right?”
I press my lips tight together, the strain of suppressing my laughter almost too much to bear. Inside the little room is a fine couch, a tea table, and an elegant chair. Surrounding these furnishings is an eyesore of human junk, from a grandfather clock to a coat stand dangling with numerous umbrellas, coats, and—oddly—a pair of boots. Everything is coated in doilies and frilly shawls, the floor sprawled with overlapping rugs of unfashionable design.
“Does it remind you of home?”
I’m not sure if I should be offended by that, considering he saw my home and should know this tacky room looks nothing like the parlor at the apothecary. “Yes,” I manage to say. “Just with more…stuff.”
“More character, you mean,” he says. “I love human knickknacks. Some of these were left as offerings at the wall.”
“Is this where our offerings end up?” I ask, lifting a corner of a yellowing doily. “In unused rooms at all the palaces?”
“Of course not.” Foxglove says. “This just so happens to be my personal collection. When the king asked me to make you a private room to take guests, I figured I’d put these things to use. They didn’t come cheap, you know. That rug itself cost me six garnets.”
My eyes widen. “Are you saying our offerings are taken from the wall…and sold?”
“Only the most curious things. The rest is discarded. I’m sure hundreds of years ago, seelie fae were eager to get their hands on anything human. A new emotion to taste from a bite of pastry. A new human-like characteristic to learn from a pair of kid gloves. By now, Faerwyvae has enough human influence to keep the seelie quite satisfied.”
“If our offerings are sold or discarded, how in the name of iron do the fae decide which girls to select for the Reaping?”
Foxglove shoots me an odd look. “The fae don’t choose. Your human council does. The hosting court can override that decision with a choice of their own, of course, but that’s a rare thing.”
My head swims as I ponder the implications of everything he’s saying. All those times Mother brought Amelie and me to the wall with our offering of bread and milk. All that time we thought the gesture would keep me and my sister safe from the Reaping. All that time we were wrong. It was my own people who were in charge all along.
“They’re so precious, don’t you think?” Foxglove says with a sigh, oblivious to my agitation. “Such silly, useless things. Yet, they have an irresistible charm.”
“They sure do,” I mutter.
Foxglove beams. “I’m glad you approve. Aspen will be pleased, and I’m sure your guest will be equally so.”
“Where is my guest, anyhow?”
“She’s waiting below. I wanted you to see your parlor before I brought her in. I can fetch her now if you’re ready.” He takes a step toward the door, then pauses, furrowing his brow. “Youdolike it right?”
