I smile like a raging loon as I picture Konstantin’s stern face and the horror that’s sure to cut across it. I take my unclassy appearance a step further by slapping on stripes that resemble a cheap masquerade mask. And then I fluff my hair with my fingers, not bothering to run a brush through it. I look positively frightening—demonic, even.
After one final twirl in front of my mirror, I return to my bedchamber. Reflexively, I peer up at the skylight to glean the time of day—manifestly pointless.
Mórrígan, how I miss home. More than ever tonight. I massage my breastbone as snowflake after snowflake nudges itself onto my domed window, obscuring the too-bright sky beyond.
I’m not his captive…I’m no one’s captive.
Resolve blights my glumness. I will leave Glace after supper. By dawn, I’ll be in Luce, breakfasting with my parents and Shoshair. Or I can hitch a ride on Naeva’s Shabbin-bound galleon and journey the rest of the way home with her and Lachlano. I’m so buoyed by my decision that when Konstantin knocks on my door a moment later, it’s with renewed enthusiasm that I join him.
As always, his hair has been gathered in an effortless knot.
As always, his suit is woven from such fine wool that the fabric appears pearlescent.
As always, the fur cloak that grips his shoulders is white, like his land and his coloring.
His mouth pinches as he takes in my getup. I wait for him to ask me to change, but the directive never comes.
Glaring at the wall behind my bed, he mutters, “You’ll want a cloak. It’s particularly brisk out tonight.”
I return to my walk-in closet to grab a black one, then meet him in the hallway. As we start down the long runner, I sidle close so that my murmur bangs into his ear but no one else’s.
“Just so we’re clear, I don’t give a single fuck if my appearance isn’t to your liking, or if it rubs your governors the wrong way. I willalwaysharbor my heritage with pride, so don’t bother asking me to flounce around in pastels or wash my face, or Cauldron forbid, mask my feather. Not if you care for my enduring cooperation.”
He peers down at me. Yes, down. I should’ve worn stilts.
“I’m not sure what gave me the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that diatribe, but I’ve no qualms with your makeup or feather,yegma.”
Does he truly need to call mewitch? “Just with my dress then,fay?”
“I would’ve preferred for you to be clad in my kingdom’s colors, but it is your body.”
“Funny that you wouldn’t care what I put on the outside of my body but care what goes inside.”
Loaded silence coils around us.
“After careful consideration, I’ve realized that I have no right to tell you what to do.” He clicks his fingers and calls out to Borat. “Please see that a bowl of birdseed and a pitcher of blood are brought to the Lodge.”
The sprite’s mouth rounds. “B-blood?”
“Do you have a preference for the source, Miss Ríhbiadh?” Konstantin’s expression is stone. “Faerie? Swine? Human?”
I don’t dignify his ridiculous query with an answer.
“Bring her a sampling of all three, as well as a thimble of sprite blood.”
Borat balks, then shudders, then blinks, brown skin glossed with perspiration.
“Best head to the kitchen immediately, Borat, so it arrives in time with our food.”
The look Borat flashes me before flitting away burns with disgust.
“I thought you were trying to get your people tolikeCrows?” I murmur, barely shifting my lips.
Konstantin says nothing, merely redirects his gaze to the path we’re walking.
My vindictiveness grows tenfold…a hundred-fold. Perhaps Iwillchug down that blood tonight. Might even spill some down my chin while doing it.
By the time we penetrate the Great Hall, I’m so fucking wound-up that I snap, “I’ll be leaving after dinner to visit my parents.”
