“Right. Larvae. I’ll never give it a dish of water, and I’ll . . .”—he shrugged—“enjoy it. Thank you.”
The cruel one’s sister smiled and then held out the bracelet the trickster had given her. “Put it on me?”
He unlatched the bracelet and wrapped it around her wrist. The wind slipped over the cold chain, diving through the metal links.
“Ready?” the trickster asked.
He stood, and the cruel one’s sister stared up at him, a pleased smile on her lips.
“We never liked each other. But I bet you like me better than that insect.”
The trickster blinked.
“Admit it. After all, we’re going to have children together.”
At that, the cricket began to sing. It was a low, mournful melody. A sad, last-days-of-summer song.
The cruel one’s sister clapped. “See? I told you it could sing. Isn’t it pretty?”
The trickster didn’t look at the cage—he only watched the cruel one’s sister. “As long as we’re being honest,” he said, “we won’t be having children. I won’t be touching you. Ever. Thanks for the wedding gift.”
He turned and strode out of the bedroom.
The cruel one’s sister stared after him, a wide smile on her face. After the door shut and the trickster was gone, she smiled over her shoulder.
“Next time, when I tell you to sing, you sing, or I’ll pull off your legs.” She laughed, and the sound was like the clinking of champagne glasses. “By the way, did you see his shudder? He hates crickets. He thinks you’re disgusting. He nearly let me kill you.” She shook the cage, rattling the cricket against the walls. “I suppose he’s only seeing your true form. Ugly, disgusting thing. You may think you were once something besides a creature, but you weren’t. That’s a lie you told yourself. You’ve always been just an insect. You’ve always been just a bug in my cage. You may think otherwise, but that’ll pass. Until then, enjoy the show. Tomorrow, my fiancé and I are getting married, and then . . .” She stroked the satin duvet. “We’ll see.”
She gave the lucky one a small wave and flounced from the room.
The wind moaned and settled on the soft bed, listening to the cricket’s frightened song.
Hours later, after the wind had trailed over the wedding hall and the poisoned arch and had listened to the Bards’ and the Clarks’ plans and precautions for the wedding, the trickster came back to his room. The wind trailed him, watching his shoulders sink as he shut and locked the door.
The Bards still lived in the penthouse downtown, but tonight, they and the Clarks would be staying in the half-constructed mansion. No conjurer ever left the site of their hall before a wedding.
The trickster stood at the closed door, his face wiped of all emotion.
Then he let out a ragged breath and scrubbed his hand over his exhausted features.
He looked so worn, so tired, and so much without hope that the wind wove a figure eight between his legs and then wrapped itself comfortingly around him. He shivered and then looked bleakly at the indentations where he and the cruel one’s sister had sat.
“What am I going to do?”
The cricket began a low, urgent song, and the trickster jerked in its direction.
“Oh.” He laughed and shook his head, then he thrust his hand through his dark hair. “I forgot you were in here.”
He strode to the nightstand and crouched down in front of the cage. He touched the bars, running his finger over the smooth wood.
The cricket’s song grew louder.
“If she made you, are you a listening device? Do you report back everything I say?” The cricket sang even louder, and the trickster’s eyes lit with amusement. “Or are you an evil cricket? As twisted as she is? Or . . .”—he tapped the bars—“are you like me? Caught.”
His mouth tightened, and then he lifted the latch and opened the door. “I don’t like seeing anything in a cage.”
The cricket stared at him, and he stared back.
“Go on. You’re free.”
