“Yes?”
“If you ask . . . it’ll sing for you.”
The trickster frowned.
“Watch.” The cruel one’s sister bent her face close to the cage and whispered, “Sing.”
Nothing happened.
The trickster made an unimpressed sound.
The wind stroked over the cricket’s hard, shiny back and nudged its forewings.
The cage was illusion made real, but the lucky one wasn’t wrapped in illusion. There was no telltale buzzing or tingle. Besides, while a conjurer could cloak themselves or others in illusion, they couldn’t transform one being into another. This was something else. An object of power? A poison? What?
“Sing!” she said more loudly.
The cricket sat mute.
The cruel one’s sister’s cheeks flushed red. Her face twisted with anger as she stared into the cage. She looked up at the trickster and then back at the cricket.
“Cricket!” she snapped. “I told you that you were a gift for my husband. I told you that you would be happy here. I told you to sing.”
Nothing happened. The cricket kept silent.
“Maybe it’s a female,” the trickster said.
“What?”
“Only males sing. Maybe it’s female.”
“How do you know that if you don’t like crickets?” She sounded offended.
He shrugged.
The cruel one’s sister angrily shook her head. “No. It sings. I made it to sing.” She pursed her lips.
“You could make another,” the trickster said. He was tired and getting impatient. The wind trailed over his shallow breath and the sluggish beat of his heart. “Maybe the next one will sing.”
“It’s because you think it’s ugly,” she said.
“Well, it is ugly. I doubt it cares,” the trickster said, smothering a yawn.
“It’s because you don’t like it.”
The trickster sighed. “Should we go back to the hall?”
“Not until it sings.”
The trickster shook his head, his amused smile back in place. “I’m not sure you can make a cricket sing.”
She stared at him, her cheeks flushed. She’d worn a short dress today, nearly as short as the one she’d been wearing when she confronted the lucky one. She was opal-pale, with hollowed-out cheekbones and sharp, angry angles.
“I wanted you to like my gift,” she whispered.
The trickster nodded. “Done. I like it.” He set the cage on the nightstand. “I’ll keep it right here. Feed it aphids and . . .”
“Larvae.”
