I sink onto the edge of the bed. The mattress is thin, stuffed with straw that rustles as I shift, but after days of forest ground, it feels softer than my bed at home.
A knock at the door brings him around to face it, the glamour settling back into place with a speed that startles me. He crosses the room to unlock the door. It opens to reveal a young serving girl with a tray balanced on one arm and a steaming pitcher of water in the other.
Her eyes linger on him, on the collar, and down to where the tunic ends at his thighs. Her tongue comes out to sweep across her lips.
“Mistress sent this up,” she says without taking her eyes off him. “Food and hot water.”
“Thank you.”
She sets the tray on the tiny table beneath the window—bread, cheese, a bowl of stew, and a mug of ale. One serving. Just one. The implications of that hit me. They’re feedingme, not him.
The girl pours the water into the washbasin, still casting glances in his direction.
“That’s a fine one. Where did you get it?”
The question catches me off guard. “My … my father bought him for me.”
“Lucky.” She looks him over again, slowly. “My aunt rented one once. We all took turns. I’ll never forget it.”
Took turns? Rented?
“Oh …” Took turns and rented forwhat?
“Well, enjoy your meal.” Her gaze slides back to him. “If you want to earn some gold, you could hire it out … you’d make good money for this one.” Her words clear up my confusion of what she meant bytookturns. My cheeks heat up.
The docile slump of the fae’s shoulders turns rigid. The empty look he’s been performing vanishes, and his eyes track her the way a wolf tracks a rabbit.
“No. No, that’s okay.” The words come out too fast.Please leave. Please go before he kills you.
“Ring the bell if you need anything.” She indicates the cord hanging near the door. “It’ll sound in the kitchen, and let someone know you’re calling.” The door closes behind her.
The fae locks it again, the glamour dropping. He lowers himself to the floor, back to the door, legs stretched out in front of him, and his arms cross over his chest. His eyes fix on me.
“Eat.”
I wash first, the water turning gray with dirt, sweat, and dried blood. It makes me glad there are no mirrors to show how I must look. Once I feel cleaner, I reach for the food with hands that won’t stop shaking. The bread is fresh, still faintly warm. I tear it in two, and set part of it aside. The stew is hot and rich, but I force myself to leave half, and only take a few sips of the ale. He hasn’t eaten either. I don’t know if fae need food the way humans do, but I can’t eat everything and leave him with nothing, no matter how much he scares me.
All the while, I’m conscious of him sitting there, watching me.
When I’m done, I return to sit on the bed, with my hands tucked between my thighs. In the silence, while the afternoonlight filters through the shutters, the enormity of my situation crashes over me.
No one knows where I am. No one is coming to save me.
NINE
She falls asleep eventually,slumping back onto the mattress gracelessly. Even after cleaning up in the washbasin, she’s filthy, with dirt ground into her skin, her hair matted, and her clothes are torn in at least a dozen places. Three days ago she was a noblewoman, confident and certain of her place in the world. Now, she looks more like the fae I’ve left behind at the Dell—a terrified captive, fighting to stay alive.
I wait until I’m sure her breathing has evened out, and her heartbeat slows to the steady rhythm of deep sleep, then I ward the room. It takes longer than it should to form the thin barrier across the door and window. It’s nothing that would stop a determined mage from getting in, or hold against a real assault, but it’s enough to alert me if anyone tries to enter, and will buy me a few seconds.
Every thread of magic I draw on is a struggle. Being bound so long with iron has left my power a guttering flame where it should be a bonfire. It will come back,allof it, eventually. For now, it leaves me weaker than a child.
The food she left sits on the small table, and my attentionkeeps going to it. I look away. Look back. My mouth waters, despite every effort to ignore it.
Hunger is a distraction. One I’ve learned to push down and ignore. For years, I’ve lived on scraps and filthy water. I should be able to ignore this now. But …
She tore the bread in half, while I watched. She didn’t eat the entire bowl of stew, and I know she was hungry. I heard her stomach grumbling. She had every reason to eat it all. Yet she didn’t.
I don’t know what to do with that knowledge.
