I start toward the steps, but he stops me. “Not like that. Your father’s knights will recognize you.”
“I’m not the one they’re looking for,” I remind him.
He frowns, although his mask hides most of it. Still, I can see it inthe turn of his mouth. “If they see your face, they may pay too much attention to whom you’re with.”
Annoyingly, he’s right. “If they knew me at all, they’d know I’d never be with you.” Which is ridiculous, since I am currently standing beside him, although it makes me feel better to say it. With a sigh, I take down my braids, rubbing my hands through my hair until it hangs wild in my face.
“You look…” he says, and then trails off, blinking a few times, not seeming able to finish. I am guessing the hair thing worked better than he had expected.
“Give me a second,” I say, and I plunge into the crowd. I don’t like risking this, but covering my face is safer than not. I spot a nixie in a black velvet mask eating a tiny sparrow’s heart off a long pin. Slyfooting up behind her, I cut the ribbons and catch the mask before it hits the floor. She turns, searching for where it fell, but I am already away. Soon she will abandon looking and eat another delicacy—or at least I hope she will. It is just a mask, after all.
When I return, Cardan is swilling down more wine, his gaze burning into me. I have no idea what he sees, what he’s even looking for. A thin rivulet of green liquid pours over his cheek. He reaches for the heavy silver pitcher as if to pour himself another cup.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing for his gloved hand with mine.
We’re to the steps out of the hall when three knights move to block our way. “Look elsewhere for your pleasure,” one informs us. “This is the way to the palace, and it is barred to common Folk.”
I feel Cardan stiffen beside me, because he’s an idiot and cares more about being called common than anyone’s safety, sadly even his own. Itug his arm. “We will do as we are bid,” I assure the knight, trying to move Cardan away before he does something we will both regret.
Cardan, however, will not be moved. “You are much mistaken in us.”
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
“The High King Balekin is a friend to my lady’s Court,” Cardan says, silver-tongued in his silver fox mask. He wears an easy half smile. He’s speaking the language of privilege, speaking it with his drawling tone, with the looseness of his limbs, as though he thinks he owns everything he can see. Even drunk, he’s convincing. “You may have heard of Queen Gliten in the Northwest. Balekin sent a message about the missing prince. He is waiting for an answer.”
“I don’t suppose you have any proof of that?” one of the knights asks.
“Of course.” Cardan holds out a fisted hand and opens it to reveal a royal ring gleaming in the center of his palm. I have no idea when he took it off his finger, a neat bit of sleight of hand that I had no idea he could do, no less while inebriated. “I was given this token so you would know me.”
At the sight of the ring, they step back.
With an obnoxious, too-charming smile, Cardan grabs my arm and hauls me past them. Although I have to grit my teeth, I let him. We’re on the steps, and it’s because of him.
“What about the mortal?” one of the guards calls. Cardan turns.
“Oh, well, you aren’tentirelymistaken in me. I intended to keep some of the delights of the revel for myself,” he says, and they all smirk.
It is all I can do not to knock him to the ground, but there’s nodispute he’s clever with words. According to the baroque rules that govern fey tongues, everything he said was true enough, so long as you concentrate only on the words. Balekin is Madoc’s friend, and I am part of Madoc’s Court, if you squint a little. So I am the “lady.” And the knights probablyhaveheard of Queen Gliten; she’s famous enough. I’m sure Balekiniswaiting for an answer about the missing prince. He’s probably desperate for one. And no one can claim that Cardan’s ring isn’t meant to be a token by which he’s known.
As for what he wants to keep from the revel, it could be anything.
Cardan is clever, but it’s not a nice kind of cleverness. And it’s a little too close to my own propensity for lying to be comfortable. Still, we’re free. Behind us, what should have been a celebration of a new High King continues: the shrieking, the feasting, the whirling around in endless looping dances. I glance back once as we climb, taking in the sea of bodies and wings, inkdrop eyes and sharp teeth.
I shudder.
We climb the steps together. I let him keep his possessive grip on my arm, guiding me. I let him open the doors with his own keys. I let him do whatever he wants. And then, once we’re in the empty hall in the upper level of the palace, I turn and press the point of my knife directly underneath his chin.
“Jude?” he asks, up against the wall, pronouncing my name carefully, as though to avoid slurring. I am not sure I have ever heard him use my actual name before.
“Surprised?” I ask, a fierce grin starting on my face. The most important boy in Faerie and my enemy, finally in my power. It feels even better than I thought it would. “You shouldn’t be.”
Ipress the tip of the knife against his skin so he can feel the bite. His black eyes focus on me with new intensity. “Why?” he asks. Just that.
Seldom have I felt such a rush of triumph. I have to concentrate on keeping it from going to my head, stronger than wine. “Because your luck is terrible and mine is great. Do what I say and I’ll delay the pleasure of hurting you.”
“Planning to spill a little more royal blood tonight?” He sneers, moving as if to shrug off the knife. I move with him, keeping it against his throat. He keeps talking. “Feeling left out of the slaughter?”
“You’re drunk,” I say.
