I flinch, something in me breaking. The Unluckies are worked beyond the bone, for even their bones are not free from debt, nor the whites of their eyes from the involuntary ink. They are skilled, even if they don’t work, though many do. And how can they step out of immense poverty when there are no stepping stones?
“A hungry people are an angry people,” the king tries.
“And a fed people are a strong people.”
“But wouldn’t that be better—”
“To give up your way of life? Trust me, you do not remember what Healing had to quell in the west in the years following the rebellion.”
In Remiti, we do not make windows so large, and the High Fae especially do not purchase this much glass,the faerie from the coronation had said.Windows can be shattered.
The High Fae stare down each other, the plane pulling taut, neither male blinking. Finally, the king looks away, and something in me sags.
“Shall I do with this what I do with all of her proposals you bring me?” Hector says, voice like iron.
Her.Lila. Lila’s proposals she writes to the king, the ones he asks for—
Maxian doesn’t even look his uncle in the eye when he nods.
Hector snaps his fingers, a flame on his thumb, then touches it to the parchment. In the silence, the thought and effort and hope for a better future shrivel to ash.
That’s it?I want to snap.You’re going to lie down so easily?
I should’ve known. He’s the kissing king, after all.
When he looks my way, he almost looks chagrined.
Maxian does not want to be good. He wants to seem good. He wants to seem good so much that he is malicious enough to waste Lila’s heart and hours.
My eyes water at the images that play through my mind. Lila,staying up all night trying to envision a better world, an artist at work, drafting page after page to give to the king who signs his own name, to a council who will never read them, all for the vicious ruse of hope. Lila, befriending those around her and trying each day like a schoolteacher to make the king better. As if he were a troubled boy in need of love. As if he did not perceive her as a decent dog that never pissed inside, withholding everything but occasional pats on the head for good measure.
“Here.” Maxian crouches before me, voice calm. My body goes rigid, though not with his magic. This time, however, the royal does not seem insulted by my self-preservation, merely sad. He pushes a strand of hair from my eyes, his fingers leaving a trail of rot behind.
Cool, heavy metal presses into my hand. I glance down at the glimmering myth in my grasp. A gold coin. My fingers trace the rays of the sun, turning it over. I read the words printed above and below the Reign crest:Matter and Mind.
The rising eagle, spread wings, each claw clutching an item. One set of talons holds a branch from Lucan’s Tree, a peace offering. In the other, the bird clutches a whip.
The question never was whether to bring a sack of food to one Unluckie each week or try to change the law for all. It was never about getting a menial raise for the illusion of safety. Not when the answer was always going to beno.I have been begging for shallower wounds to a general who will never release his grip. The High Fae will never grant us anything, even when they already have everything. And the king—the head of this violent system—has the most to lose.
The House will never risk its foundation.
My fingers wrap around the money as I meet his violet eyes.
“Thank you, my king,” I say.
He nods, patting my cheek. “Clever faerie.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Immediately upon lacing back toIllusion, I find Briar in the kitchens, apple in hand. Tugging her into the pantry for privacy, I pass over the small purse, swallowing the lump in my throat, steeling myself against my own emotions. She crinkles her brow, untying the cord.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“What you should’ve won,” I say, but the words stick in my mouth, for no one truly deserves to lose or win.
“Where’d you get this?” she hisses, face blanching at the gold coin.
I point to my throat. My oath.
