“See you at the coronation, little faerie.”
The doors slam shut.
A coin circles at my feet, metal clinking until it falls flat. A silver medallion. More money than I have ever beheld in my entire life. The sight of it makes my skin slither.
Briar was right. The coin is good, but the price is high.
Chapter Six
Briar and I take shiftsby the bedside, where Kassandra moans and writhes as muscles and tendons and bones contort and sew together beneath pale skin. There is no time to stash the extra food from the dinner. Briar sends it down to the kitchens to be tossed.
Because faeries rarely can afford Healers, we are taught a myriad of herbal remedies, salves, and tinctures. I use the techniques my mother did to tend my father after a bad fight in the pits, the same ones she needed after their own fights when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. They don’t shake now.
When my mistress cries out in agony, I mix a ginger-turmeric remedy to slip into her mouth alongside water. When her eyes flutter open, I give her chamomile tea. While she rests, I dab lavender oil across her forehead with a damp cloth. With my magic, I keep her pillow cool.
It is not enough.
Dawn breaks. When the new Day Crest knocks on the door, I dismiss them. The faerie passes a silver tray into my hands. Toast and grapes and coffee and cream. A simple breakfast—one that I delighted in stealing when my mistress turned down her meals. Now I know why Kassandra so often refuses to eat.
As I take the tray into the room, I stare at the reclined figure. Her pale face peeks above the duvet, a yellowing bruise on hercheek, lips chapped, silver hair falling to her shoulders. Neither of us says a word.
I set the tray on the serving table to the left of her bed and mix another tincture. “This will help with the pain.”
“Go away.”
“After you take this medicine.” With downcast eyes, she opens her mouth. Just slightly. When I lean forward, Kassandra winces. I pull back. “I’ll need to be near your face to give this to you. When you’re ready.”
My voice comes out soft and deep, a tone I’ve never used with her before. She has heard my fear, pain, forced respect, and apathy. Until last night, I did not think this High Fae, the Heart of Illusion, ever needed anything from a faerie other than obedience. Kassandra licks her wounds in a canopy bed while I must tend to mine in a cot. Yet despite her privilege, I would not want to trade places.
Silver hair swishes as she gives a curt nod. Leaning over her, I catch the faintest tug of magic. The smallest trickle of the plane that wraps around her pinky.
“How are you doing that?” I ask before I can stop myself. “You’re still siphoning power? Even while healing?”
She shrugs. I tip the vial into her mouth, and she swallows.
“You tried to stop him,” she croaks.
“I am sorry for failing.”
“I…I leveled a complaint, though.”
I wince.I know,I want to say, but understand she’s asking something else. Why help her?
“No one deserves that,” I reply.
She watches me for a few moments, frowning. Then the sheets rustle as she sinks lower into the bed, face once again hidden. In a moment come the soft sounds of her sleeping. I do not feel relieved.
I have seen many shades of my mistress, from taunting to dismissive to downright cruel. This numb, silent shell of a creature may be the most disturbing of them all.
—
Wind rips atmy clothes, stings my skin; I am in a tempest. I lurch from sleep, gasping, fumbling for a candle in the dark—but it is daytime. The plane whips around, the room spinning and swirling. Someone is screaming.
Kassandra. I stumble toward the bed, her body thrashing, kicking. Phantom nails rake across the sheets, shredding the fabric. The linen canopy rips on one side.
“My lady!” I yank the rest of the sheets off her twisting body, tears and spittle running down her anguished face. Do I wake her? Will that worsen this pain?
She wails louder.
