“What’s your name?”
His face half-turned so I could see his profile. “You certain you want to know? Names are dangerous things.”
I knew instantly what he meant. If I knew his name, he was someone to me—it might take away any edge I’d have if he weren’t just a face.
But there was something about him—perhaps it was how he’d had his arm around his pregnant wife, or the look in his eyes when he laughed. I did want to know. “I’m Eurydice,” I said. “Eurydice Waters.”
“Waters? That’s a bold benediction for a human.”
“It’s a curse,” I said. “In a land where the rains are acid.”
He let out a chuckle. “So you came by that scornfulness honestly. Well, Eurydice Waters, use that, too.”
I stepped forward. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
He raised a hand in parting. “Best you not know.”
I stared after him. My instincts had been right—he wasn’t so cruel as Dorian. He’d given me a small gift of anonymity.
I went up the stairs to my room inside the citadel—and stopped before the door. It was ajar. I hesitated, uncertainty filling me; was someone inside?
“The door’s harmless,” a young woman’s voice said from down the hall. “Can’t say the same for most things in this court.”
To my right, I became aware of a woman my age on her knees with a towel and a bucket. She wore a simple shift and pants and herblack hair was tied in a tight, functional braid. She’d been cleaning the hallway floor. Her skin was sun-kissed and her arms were slender reeds.
I turned toward her. “Why are you down there?”
“Down? Oh.” She seemed to understand I was referring to her and rocked back on her heels. Her eyes were sharp on me, two hard green gems. “Where else would I be?”
“On your feet.”
“Some cleans need a close eye.”
I stepped closer. “Did you go into my room?”
“Of course.” She squeezed the towel into the bucket; even when it was gray with dirt, I couldn’t believe how freely she used water. “I go into all the quarters during the day.” She allowed the towel to hang over the bucket as she studied me. “You’re the human.”
“Well, I… yes.”
“You’re small.”
“So are you.”
Her eyes lit, and she revealed her teeth. It wasn’t a smile or a grimace, but fierce. “Why do you think I clean?”
I took another step toward her, feeling a warmth toward the small fae. We were alike. “I don’t know.”
She swung the towel around her hand. “That journal on your bed—does it come from beyond the walls?”
I froze. “Did you move my journal?”
“Of course not.” She gripped the towel and leaned forward once more onto all fours. “But I did look at the cover a long while. And maybe I peeked at the strange marks inside.”
“It’s precious to me,” I said. “It was my mother’s.”
She scrubbed a swath of floor before her. “Was?”
“She was killed four days ago.” My throat tightened, shrinking my voice. “By your people.”
