Part One
House of Illusion
Matter and Mind
Blood and Bone
The Many Senses
The Severed Soul
Live one
Wed another
Bear greater power still—
’tis duty to steer the mouse’s will
—“Houses and Mouses,”
High Fae nursery rhyme
Chapter One
I cannot be late this morning,lest someone discovers I’m smuggling a feast fit for a king. And I am no king.
My mistress rarely rises before noon, but the other faerie servants have already scattered about the palace of Versara, polishing it to perfection for the coming coronation. If I’m found for a thief and not among them, my hand will be forfeit. I’d like to keep all my limbs.
I tighten my grip on the pack slung over my shoulder, passing the subterranean pantries of dried meats and canned goods, closets of cleaning supplies, washing rooms, the icehouses, storage filled with spare furniture and linens and silver. The underground tunnels allow us to move beneath the sprawling labyrinthian palace without disturbing the High Fae above. It is the Nest, the common room for faeries, that is always the most difficult to navigate.
Already, I feel my genius fluttering awake, humming in the back of my skull. While my eyes and ears take in light and shouts and laughter spilling outward from the end of the tunnel, my genius detects the magic of others and helps me perform my own.
Stepping into the Nest, I am hit hard by the hundreds of faerie geniuses, sweet and cool as fresh soil between the toes, that crowd the ever-present plane of magic. Hordes of inked faeries clusteraround long tables lined with stinking pots of cabbage stew. Only in the Nest can Base servants come in from the farms, Scarps from washrooms and kitchens, and Crests from High Fae chambers to sit and share a meal. It’s the one place in Versara I have found my shoulders dropping, stomach aching with laughter—and the rotten leftovers we’re allowed to eat. I keep my head down and cross the room, avoiding—
“Avery!”
Shit.
A gentle tattooed hand grasps my shoulder. Reluctantly, I look at the tall, leanly muscled Scarp faerie. Black ring tattoos mark him fingertip to neck, whereas mine start at my wrists and reach my shoulders. Whispers in the Nest claim that a single gold coin tipped from a High Fae could clear away an entire debt ring, no matter how thick with interest it is. I wouldn’t know; our salaries only come in coppers, and the interest for our debts builds every month. Yet even several gold coins couldn’t make up the difference between Jeremee’s and my balances. While I have twenty rings, he bears over thirty. He could be indebted for a century more than me. Focusing on his angular face, I take in the dark auburn hair, straight nose, and warm moss-green eyes, his lips tugging into a half smile, and ignore a pull in my chest.
“Hey, Jeremee,” I say, forcing a casual tone.
“What’s in the pack?”
“King Gregor’s corpse, what else?”
He coughs, flushing to the points of his ears. “You shouldn’t joke like that.”
“You shouldn’t ask like that, Jae.”
He surveys the room, worrying his lower lip. “Well? Lead the way.”
I groan, then motion for him to follow. “Fine, let’s go.”
We reach the far end of the room, then head down a passageway, the scent of boiled food fading to damp stone and earth. Soon the only sound is that of our footsteps, mine clipped and his an awkward clop.
“I’m buying you new shoes at the next Full Moon Festival, I don’t care,” I mutter.
