Page 117 of Blood of the Fairest

I could already tell Ida liked her, but as my vantaði holds the fabric up to the light, speaking in seamstress terms I don't know, the never-smiling old woman laughs.

Clara joins the excitement, leaving me alone near the mirror to watch with Eris.

For a moment, I am enthralled by the smile on Verena's face. Whatever enjoyment my beastly heart has in violence and slaughter, she must get from beautiful things.

Perhaps if I spend all the coin I have saved from my hunts and bring her enough beautiful things, she will choose to stay in this world. Eris seems to believe she may be safer here. I believe the same thing, for I will die before letting this woman come to harm again.

Both because of my pledge to her, and because she has won me as easily as she won Ida.

"You said you will teach Verena to read," I murmur to Eris.

"She hopes to find a way home in the many journals hidden in her concealed passage." He sees my jaw clench and sighs. "I dislike this as much as you do, Huntsman, but it's a lesser evil. If I don't help Verena search for answers, she's bound to find some other life-threatening option to rival the faerie debacle."

"How long will it take for her to learn to read?"

"How long do we have left with her, you mean?"

I nod.

Eris watches Verena make the old woman and the girl laugh again, longing clear in his features.

"Hopefully just long enough for us to convince her to stay."

28

Verena

It's official. I've decided to adopt Ida as my fairy godmother.

It's only been a week since I moved the feisty old woman into her own private quarters in Isenmere Castle, but she's already making my fashion dreams come true.

When I showed her my technical drawings of gowns for Snow White, Anika, Ingrid, and a couple for myself, she declared that we would need more skilled hands on deck to get everything sewn immediately.

Merrick took one look at all the gorgeous wispfloss she brought and happily rounded up a couple dozen seamstresses from nearby towns and villages to meet with Ida.

All my spare time is spent sitting by the mirror in the queen's chambers with Eris trying to teach me to read, so I didn't get to see the interview process. Merrick gave me the play-by-play, including that more than half of them left the castle in tears after Ida called them all "clumsy, inept, ass-kissing halfwits sent by Death himself to drive her to an early grave with loud, foolish questions."

Luckily, Ida seems to tolerate me.

With her new team of apprentices, that lady works fast. She's already delivered a few gowns for me to put the final touches on—including one for me and the gorgeous silver mermaid-style dress I just finished adding a ruffled back onto.

Setting the sewing needle down on the writing desk, I shake out the cramp in my hand and flop onto the queen's massive bed. I still haven't changed out of the gauzy nightgown I wore last night, because I've been so busy sewing.

For a moment, I stare at the carved woodwork ceiling overhead, painted in jewel tones reminiscent of the stained glass throughout this castle.

But of course, my gaze lingers on the red paint.

I swallow the insistent burn in my throat, trying not to think about it.

Wulf has started adding his blood to the queen's enchanted wine in the lair, instead of the mulled wine from the kitchen. At this point, I'm beginning to worry my poor Huntsman is anemic.

The new concoction curbs my thirst a bit more—but it's still not enough.

I'm so fucking thirsty, I swear I can sometimes hear the pulse in Wulf's neck whenever he's just standing nearby, guarding me.

It's the worst when Eris is patiently teaching me to read. All those evil little squiggles in Queen Rhinestone's journals shake their asses and grind together as they taunt me—and meanwhile, I retain nothing because all I can think about is blood.

Wulf's blood.