I jolt, nerves fraying at the mischievous flicker in her eye. Still, I head from the parlor to the adjacent sky-blue dining area, which similarly soars with gilded ceilings and glitters with ornate flourishes of marble mantels. On the massive oak table rests a glass pitcher filled to the brim. Approaching, I notice that the water does not ripple with my tread. My genius pushes out onto the plane, requesting the water to move. The scent of earth permeates the air.
Nothing, not even the densely packed feeling of a refusal. There is no feeling at all. Setting down the tray, I wave a hand through the Illusion, cold like mist. Great.
The Night Crest, Briar, did not leave the pitcher out, and based on Kassandra’s expression, it was at her behest. All so that I would need to either return to the parlor to admit defeat or waste time chasing down a real water carafe from the kitchens. Everything that is extra work for us is a game to her.
I search a forgotten servants’ cart in the corner of the room for a vase or water sack, but the cart only holds napkins, silverware, and wipes.
A knock inside the wall.
Straining, I feel the pulse of another faerie’s genius on the other side, earthy and sharp. Finding the seam, I open the servants’ door cut from the wallpapered paneling.
“Went to clean the fireplaces and noticed the water was missing for her lessons,” Jeremee whispers on the other side, pressing a heavy carafe into my hands. It’s identical to the Illusion, no doubt what inspired my lady’s trick. For once, I’m grateful he’s here, as selfish as it may be.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. “Now go, before she sees you.”
His green eyes widen. “What happened to your hands?”
The water magnifies my irritated palms cupping the glass.
“Nothing,” I say, bumping the door with my hip. “Talk later.”
He grabs the door before it slams. “I haven’t started on the fireboxes and grates in the dining room yet. She has a guest this evening, so it must be done today, but I can only clear them during her lessons in the parlor.”
“Right, of course.” I move back.
True enough, Jeremee steps inside carrying bags and brass fireplace tools. While my cotton uniform dress may be worn and repaired, it’s still a stark white to his gray tunic. Unlike Crests, Scarps do not need to dress up like window treatments. A Scarp must carefully time their duties to remain invisible to High Fae. Leaving him to his task, I reenter the parlor, closing the door behind me so that he will not be spotted.
“Perfect,” Eli calls, gesturing for me to enter. Beside him, Kassandra squints at the water in my hands.
“Where’d you get that?” she demands.
Her fury is a flame I can’t help stoking. It’s the only control I have.
I lower my head. “From the table, my lady. Like you said.”
“You insolent little—”
“Shall we try butterflies first?” Eli clears his throat. “Please?”
The head of a House, begging for reprieve. So we’re not the only ones who find each other’s company torturous. Why she pointed a painted fingernail at me in that lineup two years ago, I will never know. On either side, Scarps had quaked as the mistress stomped about, having already hired and fired all other backup Crests, at least the ones who hadn’t ended themselves or run away. Untrained at service and manners, the Scarps were still the next best thing compared to Bases, and, freshly grieving my mother, I hadn’t cared when Kassandra picked me. I care now.
She huffs. “Butterflies? Fine, let’s go with bloody butterflies.”
The water sloshes from the carafe in my hands. As I peer overthe lip, a butterfly formed of water smacks me in the face. I jerk away, spluttering, nostrils burning.
“My mistake,” she says.
Outstretching the carafe does nothing. A dove splashes me next, then a bee, a blue jay, a spider, and although they are small, my nose and mouth fill. I gasp for air but inhale only water controlled by root magic. A giant raven floods my face, and for once, I wish it were an Illusion because maybe then I could breathe. My vision blurs.
“Kassandra—” Eli’s voice hardens.
“I’m trying!” she whines. “Like you said, I need to work on my water play.”
“But the faerie—”
My lady shrieks, the water splattering to the ground. I cough viciously, weak with relief, air filling my lungs.
“What is that!” she cries.
