“Sometimes we speak to faeries in private when there are several deposits and withdrawals happening in their account at the same time.”
My back stiffens. “But I haven’t…”
“Yes, so let’s start from the first deposit.”
The teller slides his tea aside and holds out a hand, a quill in his other. I offer a finger to prick, and as he touches the nib to the parchment, letters and numbers scrawl across it. He analyzes the information.
“So.” He glances up. “You’ve received a bonus payment from House of Reign. It’s categorized as a tip, though the amount is quite large. We’ve triple-checked with the House, and it’s the correct number.”
My mouth dries. I take a sip of the tea, a mint concoction.
“How much?” I ask.
“Ten gold coins.”
The cup slips from my grasp. Silas shoots out a hand, magicbending the plane around the cup to catch it midair. Reign magic.
“I-I’m so—”
“It’s all right.”
“I didn’t expect—”
“It’s okay.”
My trembling hands pluck the cup from his, and his hand retreats back through the plane. I gulp down the drink, the liquid scalding my throat.Ten gold coins? That’s—that’s…
I think of that glittering gold coin that the debt-ridden faerie sprinted toward during Prize of the Pith. The hours in the sun sweating, burning, the false starts and punishments, and all of it worth it for the one gold coin that eradicated half a small limb of debt on Benji.
Swallowing, my throat tight, I realize my cheeks are wet. I am crying silent, awkward tears that I swipe away. “Sorry.”
“It’s a shock, I know.”
The table and my tea blur before me, my face burning. In a moment, a sun-spotted hand holds out a handkerchief. But not even embarrassment can stop the stream of tears, so I take it.
“I never thought…I didn’t realize it was possible,” I say after wiping my face.
The teller nods, pushing up his sleeves. Like most halflings, he has one debt tattoo on each wrist. “Itisquite rare. Usually after a particularly good night, the servants sometimes receive it in the form of thanks.”
“Oh, I’m not—I didn’t—”
“It’s not illegal.” Silas clears his throat. “Just an uncommonly large pay.”
He thinks I spent the night in the king’s bed.When I shift in my chair, I shudder at the memory of teeth ripping into my skin. Is that the reason for the tip? Because of what I endured?
“What would you like to do with this payment?”
I want to give it to Benji, but the king might notice. Safer to keep the boy off his radar.
“All toward the debt,” I reply. “Save for ten copper coins to spend.”
He nods, and as he scratches something across the parchment, he asks: “Would you like to be relieved of your debt rings now?”
There’s no question. Offering my finger again, he pricks once more. I feel dizzy and take the deepest inhale I’ve taken in months. Then I watch my arm.
Benji is right. It tickles.
The first tattoo tingles, then fades, then another. Eight rings on each arm, the least I’ve ever had. But it doesn’t stop there. The rings continue to dissipate on each limb until both of my forearms are visible.
