The Ghost goes over to a cabinet and takes out a half-empty bottle of a pale greenish liquid and a stack of polished acorn cups. He pours out four shots. “Have a drink. And don’t worry,” he tells me. “It won’t befuddle you any more than any other drink.”
I shake my head, thinking of the way I felt after having the golden apple mashed into my face. Never do I want to feel out of control like that again. “I’ll pass.”
The Roach knocks back his drink and makes a face, as though the liquor is scorching his throat. “Suit yourself,” he manages to choke out before he starts to cough.
The Ghost barely winces at the contents of his acorn. The Bomb is taking tiny sips of hers. From her expression, I am extra glad I passed on it.
“Balekin’s going to be a problem,” the Roach says, explaining what I found.
The Bomb puts down her acorn. “I mislike everything about this. If he was going to go to Eldred, he would have done it already.”
I had not considered that he might poison his father.
The Ghost stretches his lanky body as he gets up. “It’s getting late. I should take the girl home.”
“Jude,” I remind him.
He grins. “I know a shortcut.”
We go back into the tunnels, and following him is a challenge because, as his name suggests, he moves almost completely silently. Several times, I think he’s left me alone in the tunnels, but just when I am about to stop walking, I hear the faintest exhalation of breath or shuffle of dirt and persuade myself to go on.
After what feels like an agonizingly long time, a doorway opens. The Ghost is standing in it, and beyond him is the High King’s wine cellar. He makes a small bow.
“This is your shortcut?” I ask.
He winks. “If a few bottles happen to fall into my satchel as we pass through, that’s hardly my fault, is it?”
I force out a laugh, the sound creaky and false in my ears. I’m not used to one of the Folk including me in their jokes, at least not outside my family. I like to believe that I am doing okay here in Faerie. I like to believe that even though I was drugged and nearly murdered at school yesterday, I am able to put that behind me today. I’m fine.
But if I can’t laugh, maybe I’m not so fine after all.
I change into the blue shift I packed in the woods outside Madoc’s grounds, despite being so tired that my joints hurt. I wonder if the Folk are ever tired like that, if they ever ache after a long evening. The toadseems exhausted, too, although maybe she’s just full. As far as I can tell, most of what she did today was snap her tongue at passing butterflies and a mouse or two.
It’s full deep dark when I get back to the estate. The trees are lit with tiny sprites, and I see a laughing Oak racing through them, pursued by Vivi and Taryn and—oh hell—Locke. It’s disorienting to see him here, impossibly out of context. Has he come because of me?
With a shriek, Oak dashes over, clamoring up the saddlebags and onto my lap.
“Chase me!” he yells, out of breath, full of the wriggling ecstasy of childhood.
Even faeries are young once.
Impulsively, I hug him to my chest. He’s warm and smells of grass and deep woods. He lets me do it for a moment, small arms twining around my neck, small horned head butting against my chest. Then, laughing, he slides down and away, throwing a puckish glance back to see if I’ll follow.
Growing up here, in Faerie, will he learn to scorn mortals? When I am old and he is still young, will he scorn me, too? Will he become cruel like Cardan? Will he become brutal like Madoc?
I have no way of knowing.
I step off the toad, foot in the stirrup as I swing my body down. I pat just above her nose, and her golden eyes drift shut. In fact, she seems a little like she might be asleep until I yank on the reins, leading her back toward the stables.
“Hello,” Locke says, jogging up to me. “Now, where might you have gone off to?”
“None of your business,” I tell him, but I soften the words with a smile. I can’t help it.
“Ah! A lady of mystery. My very favorite kind.” He’s wearing a green doublet, with slits to show his silk shirt underneath. His fox eyes are alight. He looks like a faerie lover stepped out of a ballad, the kind where no good comes to the girl who runs away with him. “I hope you’ll consider returning to classes tomorrow,” he says.
Vivi continues to chase Oak, but Taryn has stopped near a large elm tree. She watches me with the same expression she had on the tournament field, as though if she concentrates hard enough, she can will me into not offending Locke.
“You mean so your friends know they haven’t chased me off?” I say. “Does it matter?”
