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Huldra Stonewhisper materializes at my side so smoothly I don’t clock her until she’s matching my posture, her arms folded with a casualness that looks practiced. She’s watching the room, but when she speaks, her voice is soft enough that it barely ripples the air.
“You know, I’ve seen a lot of visiting dignitaries come through here,” she says. “Most of them do the handshake, take the photo, and maybe say a word or two to the teachers before they’re gone. But he stayed, and he listened to them.” She tilts her head so that the coil of her silver locs glints in the light. “And these kids… They never give anyone an inch, but he played his songs, and they handed him the room.”
I consider whether to deflect with a joke, but it seems like an insult to both of us, so I just say, “He’s nothing like his father.” I let my eyes linger on the way Revelin is letting the gremlin twins pick a tune apart on his lap, their faces pinched in concentration. “Oliver Puck can command a room by making people afraid to lose his favor. Rev? He just—” I shrug. “He cares. Not that he wants the throne, but if he had it, he’d want to lift people up instead of pushing them down.”
Huldra makes a noise in her throat, a low note that’s almost grief. “That’s a rare thing—in this court, especially.”
She goes silent then, and I wonder if she’s weighing what to say next. The pause goes on long enough that I think the moment’s passed, but then she says, so quietly I have to lean to catch it, “There are rumors.” She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even shift her feet. “About what happened at the castle and what happened in the trial. Whispers of a name that hasn’t been spoken here for a long time.”
Uh-oh. I’m not sure I can get into this, and I’m surprised she had the guts to bring it up.
I stand still, but I keep my gaze fixed on the front of the room. It’s easier than looking back at her. I don’t need to ask which name; I already know, and I suspect she knows I know.
The teacher lets the silence stretch before she continues. “Midnight’s been waiting a long time for someone who leads the way your prince does. Not from a dais, but crouched down next to the person who’s fallen behind. That’s why the kids responded, I think. They know the difference between a show and the real thing.”
I keep my mouth shut, but then she shifts just enough that her jacket sleeve slides up to the wrist. There’s a glimpse of ink, a crescent moon tangled with thorns, and I wonder if it’s the school’s mark or if it came before.
“There are people here—hybrids, cast-outs, the ones who don’t fit—who want things to be different. Those who’d risk a lot for a court that belonged to them for once.”
I hum in the back of my throat. “They’d be risking a lot more than just jobs or reputation.”
Huldra huffs a laugh. “That’s why they don’t do it alone. There are quiet, patient groups. Some of them even have leaders who prefer not to show their faces.” She says it like a riddle, but I feel the signal in my bones. I wait, letting her finish. “The fox, the wolf, the owl, and the fawn have been watching you longer than you realize.”
Oh, fuck. I definitely can’t give her anything solid because I don’t know her, but… she knows.
The words trip something in me. At the exact instant she says the names, the marks on my wrists flare blue under my shirt, so sudden and strong I think maybe she sees the pulse of it through the fabric. I fight the urge to look down, but Fidget pops his head out of my hair and freezes, his ears flat and beady eyes wide. For once, he doesn’t peep; he just listens.
I keep my face straight, only nod once, slow and shallow. “I get it. Nothing’s safe unless it’s secret.”
The teacher gives me a sidelong glance. Her eyes are storm-gray, direct and unflinching. “But when the time comes, you’ll have more support here than you know. Remember that.”
Pressing my sleeve flat over my wrist, I plead internally with the last echo of blue glow, and say, “We’re not done with Midnight; we just need to finish what we started in Briarvale first.” My voice comes out firm when I add, “Everything changes, eventually—even the things that haven’t changed in centuries.”
We stand there, two women holding a silence that’s loaded but not uncomfortable. I don’t thank her, and she doesn’t expect it.
Sometimes you just have to sit in a truth until it gets less sharp.
At the front of the room, Tier finally makes his move. He steps into the doorway, hands at his sides, and gives Revelin a look that isn’t a request, but a mute demand. The prince catches it and rises with a smoothness that’s all showman. He closes out the jam with a final chord and a casual, “You guys are awesome. Seriously. This is the best time I’ve had in forever.”
The room explodes in applause, an unruly clatter of kids who don’t want the day to be over. Rev grins, bows, and is immediately mobbed for selfies and autographs. It’s like watching someone get swept off their feet by a wave, but he doesn’t mind. He lets it happen, smiling the whole time.
Huldra straightens, checks that her sleeve is covering her own tattoo again, and nods to me. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Fiadh Morgenstern.”
I want to say a dozen things, but settle for, “I hope so, too.”
She fades back into the crowd, and I give the room one last look—memorizing every face and flicker of pride they didn’t have before.
Tiernan’s already opened the door, holding it for the rest of us, and for the first time all day, his eyes are warm. I let myself have one last, greedy breath of the room—music, sweat, old dust, and hope—then push off the wall and go catch up to my family. The leopard leads us out, his stride unhurried as we head into the hall. Khol falls in on my left, arm pressed close but not possessive, while Dezi ghosts the rear. Revelin’s last out, caught in a knot of students, signing a paper and then a forearm, and finally shaking loose with a sheepish grin and a jacket dangling from one shoulder.
We make it to the front steps, and Huldra’s there waiting. She doesn’t say a word, just offers her hand the same way she did when we arrived. I take it, and she shakes firmly, none of that fae-deferential limpness. Giving each of us a nod, she looks at me with an expression full of respect and gratitude. It’s starkly different from the goodbye at Silvergate, and I scoff to myself at how foolish they were.
Once we’re in the SUV, the gate at the edge of the drive swings open with a clang. I sense eyes on me before I look—it’s Khol, looking over his shoulder. He doesn’t smirk, but there’s a smudge of curiosity, as if he wants to know what I got out of that entire experience and whether it matches what he saw. Dezi’s gaze next to me is more direct; he meets my eyes for a moment and holds for two blinks before letting it drop. I’m used to the vampire’s style of silent interrogation, but this one feels heavier, like he expects me to unload something important and he’s already prepping for the fallout.
I’m not ready for that dissection yet, but we can talk on the bus later.
Revelin is humming, low and off-key, as if he hasn’t wound down yet. His foot taps the floor, and he bounces his knees in time with music only he can hear. He looks happier than I’ve seen him since we crossed into this side of the Veil. That alone is worth every single thing that’s come at us in Faerie, and I’d do it again without hesitation.
As we pull out, the car moves with that panther-smooth grace, and nobody says a thing for a block. The city looks different in the dusk—windows lit up, sidewalks scattered with kids in jackets as the shops close up one by one. When we hit the edge of the necropolis, the purple to green-flamed streetlights flicker on in a chain, guiding us out like a runway.
