Perhaps an old part of me would deem this unnecessary, but the new me is so very tired in my bones. I still bathe in the shared Illusion washrooms, but when I rub the soaps into my skin and hair, I sigh. It feels luxurious and refreshing, and I want to cry. I remember to tuck the soaps away in my room to cherish them.
I rarely sleep that week, between my workouts and my attempts at lacing foods to the tunnels in the blue hours of the night, when the Day Crests have yet to rise. Fern and Lila have already explained that I can eat any food left out, but still, it feels like a trick. Like a halfling guard is waiting around the corner to catch me and shove spikes under my nails.
The first time had been a bowl of strawberries sitting on the center table, like overplump teardrops of summer. I waited until I was sure no one was around, then snatched a handful and laced. Stretched thin, gasping, it has become a thrill that I have managed. My knee scratched against stone as my body re-formed outside my room. Sticky red juice dripped from my hands, the strawberries gone.
Every night I have tried to lace food back to Illusion, to the Nest and the tunnels beneath. Every night I have failed. The food always disintegrates. I could keep stealing from Illusion, but it would be much more difficult without the cover of being Kassandra’s current Night Crest.
As my first week draws to a close, I find the creditor’s counter, the Nest a loud, dirty bustle that I both miss and want to escape. I don’t see Benji in line. We haven’t spoken since I laced into his room, and missing him is a constant ache. Offering my hand, the teller pricks my finger, and I pay my remaining balance to my debt.
“Congratulations,” he says. “You’ve paid enough to disappear your thinned ring, and another.”
“What?” I blink.
He takes my hand, pricking it again. My arms tingle, and I gawk down at the sight.
Nine on my left arm, nine on my right. Over a month ago, I had twenty from wrist to shoulder.
But I didn’t work harder for it. In fact, I worked less. I just happen to be closer to the center of power. Is this how nobles and highly esteemed halflings feel?
What a load of bullshit.
Staring down at my arms, I finally understand that greater effort does not inherently mean greater impact. In fact, those with the longest hours, the hardest work, the greatest pains would be the Unluckies. The poorest of us all.
Rage chases me up the stairs to my room. My fists tighten and tingle with a fury that I try to rub out on my old cotton skirts.
A burning smell singes my nose.
I stop on the stairs, halfway between above and below, and gasp.
My skirts smolder with shadowy handprints seared into the cotton. I yank at the fabric, warm to the touch. Turning my pulsing palms upward, I see that they are red and mottled, as if I’ve been burned. Yet it doesn’t hurt. It’s as ifIam doing the burning.
Checking in with my genius, I find the organ thrumming and active, almost satisfied.
A late-blooming ability with fire. Just…just like my mother.
What is going on?
My genius only hums in response.
Chapter Sixteen
The king lounges in aleather chair, staring at the simmering fireplace after a meal he took alone in the library. Nearing the end of my second week of his service, I still scarcely see him beyond the occasional meal; he’s constantly been away at meetings with other Houses, sectors, industry rulers. Lila and I clear and clean the space. Having something to focus on, even if it is a High Fae, helps distract from the grief, along with my continued nightly physical and genius routines. I’ve now started trying to coax out the heat in my veins, but it doesn’t always respond. Though now I know the fire is there. It’s almost as if the more I allow my genius to breathe, the stronger it becomes.
Carter hands him letter after letter. The king opens each one and tosses it onto the table. Another, and another. Finally, he sighs. “Do you have blank parchment, Carter?”
“I could retrieve it from your room, Your Magnificence.”
“Please do. I am resting my genius for some new exercises tomorrow.”
Carter nods, then heads out of the library from the servants’ entrance.
“I’ve given more thoughts to your proposal, Lila,” the king says. I glance between the two, and the king explains, “Lila writes out her thoughts on laws we are considering passing in Amyria. I’d like a faerie’s perspective on them, especially a clever one.”
“Thank you, my king,” Lila says.
“We’ll talk more about it, but first, I’d like something sweet from the kitchens.”
“Did you want to speak to Chef Fern?” she asks, and I see the out she gives me to collect myself.
