I shivered, stuffing my hand into my armpit to warm it. Then I put my clothes down on the covers, sat, unlaced my boots, and slipped beneath the blankets—a fine goose-down coverlet with soft sheets beneath. For some time, I watched the doorway. When Lark didn’t reappear I stole my hand out to feel around in my dress pocket. I held my breath as I blindly searched the folds, imagining what might have happened if a fair one had discovered the iron. But presently my fingertips bumped its reassuring shape, and I twisted beneath the sheets to slip it into one of my stockings in the dark.
Conversation and laughter drifted up from below, almost comfortingly human. Yet I could not, would not fall asleep. Above and all around me, Gadfly’s smile shifted subtly in the winking firefly glow. At the periphery of my vision, the changeable light made his eyes seem to move, and sometimes even blink. I had the feeling of being watched without the luxury of knowing for certain that it was only a feeling. And it occurred to me I hadn’t checked under the bed—a childish notion—but it wasn’t difficult to imagine a fair one lying down there in the dark, spidery fingers folded over his chest like a corpse, smiling to himself as he prepared to leap out and surprise me . . .
Wishing it were safe to wear my ring, I clenched my hand so tightly my nails dug dents in my palm.
It felt like over an hour passed; it might have been less. Something clattered loudly in the hallway.
“Wretched teapot!” Rook’s voice exclaimed in vexation.
Just like that, my fear melted away. My chest shook with laughter at the image of Rook staggering, drunk and affronted, through the labyrinth’s crowded hallways, being assaulted by falling teapots. “Rook,” I whispered, trusting he would hear me, “are you all right out there?”
A mortified silence. Then, coolly: “I haven’t the faintest idea why I wouldn’t be all right.”
“That’s true,” I said. “You slew a Barrow Lord, you shouldn’t have any trouble with a kettle.”
He came into the room, wrestling with Gadfly’s green waistcoat. When he’d gotten it off he cast it aside onto the floor like a piece of rubbish. Then he strode right over and, in one smooth motion, insinuated himself into the bed next to me, facing me, under the covers, with the bold and unselfconscious vanity of a cat sitting down on an open book.
I lifted myself on an elbow. My skin prickled with the awareness that his bent leg was almost touching mine—that I could feel his body heat across the narrow space beneath the linens. Recalling my state of dress, and my dangerous thought from earlier, I drew the blankets close.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You can’t sleep here.”
“Yes, I can. In fact, I must. I can’t let any harm befall you, so it’s best I stay close.”
“You could offer to sleep on the floor, like a gentleman.”
He appeared horrified by the suggestion.
“And I’m not certain you’re in any state to protect me,” I went on, sensing a lost cause. “Just now you were almost assassinated by a teapot.”
“Isobel.” Rook looked at me gravely. “Isobel, listen. The teapot is of no consequence. I can defeat anyone, at any time.”
“Oh, is that so? That’s the truth?”
“Yes,” he replied.
I grappled with exasperated fondness. Despite how annoying he was being, I found it shockingly difficult to resist smiling. “Then you must be very drunk.”
“I am not. There may have been a lot of wine, but I’m royalty, you know. I’m the autumn prince. Therefore, I’m only a little drunk.” With that he closed his eyes.
“You can’t sleep here. You really, really can’t, it’s too—”
The room’s leaves trembled as someone came racing up the hallway. “Oh, no,” I groaned. “Quickly, get under the bed, or transform—”
Wind lifted the covers, and a soft, slithery maelstrom of feathers caressed my arms. When it settled Rook crouched indignantly in raven form among the tousled bedclothes, wings akimbo, as though his body had transformed automatically on my suggestion without his agreeing to it. Before he could change his mind, I snatched him beneath the covers and clasped him against my stomach.
Right as I finished, Lark peered around the doorway. She stared at me for a moment while I pretended to sleep, then giggled and raced away again.
“No,” I said, when Rook began struggling. “If you’re going to stay, you must be subtle about it.”
He kicked his legs and nibbled my fingers, trying to free himself so he could transform again. I saw that more extreme tactics were necessary.
“What a pretty bird you are,” I crooned.
His struggling slowed, then stilled. I felt him cock his head.
“What a lovely bird,” I repeated in a syrupy voice. “Yes, you’re the loveliest bird.” I stroked his back. He made a pleased muttering sound in his breast. Soon his smug silence indicated that he was quite content to remain as he was, so long as I continued my praise.
I knew I wasn’t truly safe now, but Rook’s presence, such as it was, came as an undeniable comfort. The day’s exertions drew over me like heavy wool. Rook’s heart beat against my fingertips through his soft feathers, and my eyes sank closed as I murmured drowsy endearments to the spoiled prince nestled against my stomach, warm within a nest of blankets.
Wink, wink, wink, went Gadfly’s eyes overhead. A hundred of him watched us with unknowable smiles as we drifted off to sleep.
Fourteen
THE LINE of fair folk waiting for a portrait stretched so far down the tree-lined approach to the throne that I couldn’t see the end of it. No evidence of last night’s feast remained. Try as I might, I couldn’t spy a single grape or crumb on the mossy lawn. The entire evening might as well have been an illusion.
Presently Foxglove sat across from me, wearing a smile that suggested her tight collar was slowly asphyxiating her. I wondered how she had achieved the coveted first place in line, and then decided not to think about it too closely.
Queasiness curdled my stomach. Formulating my grand plan had been one thing; executing it was another. What if Foxglove saw the results and flew into a rage as Rook had? She had no reason to, I told myself—the context was completely different—but the fact remained that if they turned on me, I had only my wits and one iron ring for protection, now a hard lump inside my tightly laced boot. And, I thought . . . and Rook.
I knew, with the same unshakable certainty that sunrise came at dawn, that Rook would defend me from the other fair folk even at the cost of his own life. The thought was not romantic. Rather, it was grim. If this scenario ever came to pass, I couldn’t think of any way it might end without both of us dead.