“You really loved him.”
Glenn glances around the crowded space. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I would never report,” I say, low.
His eyes fill, and he glances away. This time, my hand finds his shoulder. We stand apart, wordless, as the room bustles around us. Faeries rush by with clothing, halflings with their creditor’s papers, the general mirth and convivial nature of the Nest restored for most. The death of a palace faerie is not uncommon.
Even if Jeremee were still alive, he and Glenn could never officially pledge to each other, never receive the one-time, one-ring debt forgiveness bestowed to married faeries of opposite sex. They could never have been together in public, never have told anyone except those they trusted to keep a secret. But it’s no matter. A loss is a loss is a loss.
“I am sorry,” I rasp. “It is all so unfair.”
“I was happy to love him in secret until I no longer had the breath to tell him,” he says. My chest cracks just a little more, but then Glenn clears his throat. “Benji cannot carry all that guilt and anger and sorrow, so he’s taking it out on others.”
I rummage in my apron and offer up two copper coins. “Say this is from you. Spending money, so he can put his entire salary toward the debts.”
“He loved you as well.” Glenn cradles the money as if it’s something precious. “I wish you safety, Avery.”
He runs a trembling hand through blond hair, trying to grant luck and outweigh Benji’s wish. An old faerie tradition, but from what faith I do not know. The plane now has two requests it could fulfill: to harm or harbor me.
To Glenn, I can’t voice the lurking thoughts. That I agree with Benji. I want to take the punishment, all of it. Enough pain, and maybe it will tip the scales, bring Jeremee back. I wish for it.
“See you,” he attempts, giving me a final hug before disappearing into the crowd again.
“See you,” I say to no one.
But I don’t see how to put back together my family.
Maybe Briar was right. You can’t own something that was never yours.
Chapter Eleven
That evening, the muggy aircoats my clammy skin. I scratch at my hairline, then lift my waves to cool my neck.
“Will you stop fidgeting?” Kassandra hisses ahead, never looking back at me. Her dusty-rose gown cuts into a V down her back and flutters away from her waist.
“Apologies,” I mutter. We stroll in the cloisters surrounding the Illusion courtyards, the evening light dipping every leaf and stem in scarlet.
To our left, the hedge heights rise and fall like rolling hills. Even now, I still have yet to grasp the shape of the Illusion grounds, a winding labyrinth that twists on precarious whims. Only from the movements of the sun that stream through her windows have I been able to gather that Kassandra’s apartments occupy the southern wall, her parents’ apartments on the eastern side, above us at this moment.
I barely spoke a word to Kassandra when I appeared for service early in the evening. I could hardly look at her without thinking of Jae, of him catching her in his arms after she formed the diamond dagger. That she and the king’s executioner were the last to touch him. Stemming the grief and rage and hatred in order to function felt like choking down more faerie food.
If Kassandra hadn’t saddled him with more debt, I never would have become her Night Crest. Wouldn’t have suggested the schemein the first place. If she had just stopped at the water foal, the plan would have gone perfectly.
Yes, Jeremee’s death is my fault. It is also hers.
Dread grips me now at where we are headed. An invitation to Kassandra from the king had popped into the air early into my shift, asking her to accompany him tonight for a stroll through the Illusion courtyards.
To distract myself, I ask, “How did the king make that note appear?”
“Ah, finally decided to talk to me tonight?” Kassandra says, and I feel a flash of loathing. “The note was laced,” she explains. “Moved through the plane like Hector did with the crown box at the coronation.” I try to ignore the rise of memories. Kassandra goes on. “There’s an old fae nursery rhyme, ‘Houses and Mouses,’ to help children remember the abilities of each House in addition to root magic. ‘Matter and Mind / Blood and Bone / The Many Senses / The Severed Soul / Live one / Wed another’—” She stops. “You get the point. ‘The Many Senses’ refers to Illusion’s ability to manipulate the senses into perceiving what isn’t there. ‘Blood and Bone’ is Healing’s power to stimulate blood flow and mend bones. ‘Severed Soul’ is Death.”
“And ‘Matter and Mind’ is Reign,” I say.
“What does control look like, exactly? Is it the rock that directs where a river flows? Or is it the river that erodes the rock over time, carving its path? Control takes many forms, and Reign decided to name itself. Matter and Mind.”
“And lacing is the control of matter?” I ask.
“It’s Reign magic that works in tandem with the plane. The king broke down the very matter of the parchment so he could weave its essence into the plane on the smallest level. He can then zip the letter through the plane to a desired location and separate out its essence into earthly matter once more. Hector laced the box and crown from a safe location to his hands last week.”
