“Please don’t go to the Pith,” I beg.
“I don’t think I will.”
I pause, assessing her, seeing her glowing and happy. It has never been so clear to me as now that I must return to the king to fulfill this favor, whatever it may be. For if I don’t go to him, he might come after my friends.
The question is: How much time do I have before he calls in his due?
Chapter Fifty-one
I hand the vial to Briar.She dumps the pain tonic into her juice as I collect a plate of plain chicken from the Illusion kitchens.
“Want more tonic?” I ask when I return.
“How about a back rub?”
Sighing dramatically, I stand behind her. My hands massage at the tense muscles in her shoulders, careful to not move too deeply in fear of jostling her broken forearm.
Her otherwise unmarked arm. She is now free of debt, as with Kassandra’s signature she deposited the rest of the silver coins. I run through the catalog of faeries I call family: Lila and Briar are completely free, Benji’s Healing debts were paid off this morning, his Illusion debts erased yesterday.
“How long is your sick leave?” I wonder.
“Kassandra said until I feel better.”
“Be sure to milk it.”
Briar grins up at me. “It’s fully paid.”
I snort. “Spoiled faerie.”
“Say that to my arm, again.”
I keep massaging her shoulders, the older faerie leaning into the comfort that I feel honored to provide. It all began with the spry, unassuming faerie in front of me, the wisdom of her years and extension of her heart.
“Why were you kind to me when we first met?” I ask.
“It’s scary, becoming a Night Crest.”
“But you’ve seen so many of us, know we’ll get replaced. Wouldn’t it be easier to just not try, I guess?”
“That’s when someone needs kindness the most.”
“How?” I rest my hands on her shoulders. “How have you not let it all leave you bitter?”
She turns in her seat to look at me square on. “I am bitter, and that is exactly why I must try. Every time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ask yourself, who benefits from your sadness? It’s normal not to want to go on, to wake up and do it all over again. But we don’t do it for them, never for them. We do it for ourselves. We do it because our despair is their success. It slows us, stops us. We can feel sad, but we cannot stop going on.”
“To act like we don’t hurt—is that not a betrayal to ourselves?”
Briar leans into me. “We do not need to be happy. We need to be joyful.” She cups my face in her hand, her dry palm scraping against my cheek. “Joy in the face of such misery is its own rebellion.” She lets me go, then calls, “Silas!”
Briar waves at the befuddled halfling, who strides across the Illusion dining hall to us, adjusting the stack of papers in his hands.
“How are the meetings going?” I ask him.
“The other Illusion families have approved me for the role of accountant.”
