Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I take in my mistress pointing at something behind me. I whirl around.
Jeremee stands on the threshold, bag of ash in hand, arms and face dirty, an angry glint in his gaze. My heart turns to ice. He doesn’t move, as if he wants the High Fae to truly see him. As if he violates the rules for a good reason.
I need to bring her attention back to me.
Pivoting to my lady, I let the carafe slip through my fingers. Water arcs through the air, splashing her. She screams again, jumping back. Meeting her bedraggled appearance and gaping stare, I keep my expression flat and try not to show any hint of satisfaction.
“My mistake,” I say.
The plane of magic yanks in her direction, the air pressurizing like a killing freeze. I fall to my hands and knees, and Jeremee stumbles, gripping the frame for a hold. I grab the pitcher, my genius calling to the puddles seeping into the oak. The water rises and coils into the glass once more. The stench of swamp pollutes the plane.
The High Fae may be stronger than any faerie, but that doesn’t mean we’re weak. Especially not my genius. For years, my mother begged me to hide its strength. Back then, I didn’t want to, but now—I can’t. In the days after her death, my magic putrefied to something sour and persistent.
Any other High Fae would kill me for the display of power, and for disobedience. But not Kassandra. No, something deep and delicious flickers in her gaze instead. Like the cat that plays with its food but finds the rat’s hide tougher than expected.
Lord Eli frowns, glancing between us.
As if remembering herself, Kassandra covers her mouth, flushing again. “Ugh, I don’t care why you’re here, justget out!”
“Yes, my lady,” Jeremee says.
“And drag her out by the hair if you have to. She reeks!”
I stand, pitcher in hand like a weapon, and curtsy. “My lady.”
“Disgusting faerie.”
My indiscretion now eclipses Jeremee’s. I will be the one remembered and punished. As we scurry away, I almost laugh.
The only thing my mistress and I agree on is how much we hate each other.
Chapter Three
Later that afternoon before dinnerservice, I join the line for the creditor’s counter, a niche carved into the bedrock wall of the Nest. Kassandra needs more time alone; when I stuck my head into her chambers an hour ago, I had to dodge a silver-backed hairbrush she hurled at me. Jae should be back from his extra Scarp work soon, and normally I wait for him to collect our paydays together, but in case Kassandra leverages a complaint against me—
Someone throws arms around my waist, and blond curls brush against my nose. “Got you!”
“You did.” I smile. “How’s it going, Benji?”
“I got to scoop horse shite today.” The young faerie pulls away, cheeks shining.
I laugh. “Don’t let your brother hear you say that.”
“Hey, you think I’m gonna get this one off today?” He points to the first of his six debt rings. Such a rarity to have so little.
“Do you know which House it belongs to?” I ask.
“It’s my birth debt, so Healing.”
“It could! My first Reign ring disappeared last year, and you have fewer tattoos.”
The boy counts the three on his small wrist. “The birth ring to House of Healing for delivering me. Then the additional Healing ring for general care. This one is for Reign, for ruling over us andfixing things like the roads and wells.” He points to the three debt rings on the other wrist. “This one is House Illusion for the arts and the parties. And this is to House of Death, for protecting our borderlands and…” He looks up, puffing out his cheeks.
“What is it?”
“I heard that the Death faeries have to fight white scorpions, and that the giant sand turtles can swallow us whole.”
Suppressing a smile, I say, “Well, those creatures remain in the Amyrian Desert, and besides, it’s like you said. House of Death protects us from them.”
