“I haven’t! Can you hurry?”
He went back to work, muttering something, although whether at the sword or at me, I wasn’t sure. But a moment later, it sprang off the wall. “What did I just say?” he asked, pulling it away when I reached for it.
“I was just going to hold it while you got down!”
He jumped down beside me. “I’ll manage.”
“You think I’m going to disappear with it, don’t you?”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t have helped you. But you know what they say. There’s no honor among thieves—”
“So it would appear.”
My head jerked up, because that voice hadn’t been Pritkin’s.
Only to see a furious, damp, blood-splattered king of the fey breathing at me from the doorway.
Goddamn it.
*
Half an hour later, I was in a dank cell, stuffing my face. It wasn’t my idea; Caedmon’s fancy-dressed officer, who had shown up with him for some sort of parlay with Arthur, had gotten it into his head that we’d not only planned to steal from the king, but to poison him, too. So he was letting the punishment fit the crime.
The tasty, tasty punishment.
God, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was!
“More bread?” I asked Pritkin, who was being forced to eat, too, only not looking so happy about it. He shook his head. “Then do you mind if I—?”
He passed me the bread.
The officer’s eyes narrowed as I used it to sop up the last of the lamb and nettle stew, which hadn’t sounded particularly appetizing, but tasted divine. But not as much as the pork, with its crispy caramelized skin, like meat candy. Or the blueberries, plump and sweet, and swimming in warm cream. I made a desperate little sound and saw some of the guards looking at the depleted tray with envy.
They were missing dinner because of us, or more accurately, because Arthur had a problem with their boss just killing us. Of course, he also had a problem with us stealing his stuff, even though Pritkin had tried his best to explain. But that was a little hard with Arthur yelling and Morgaine staring and Caedmon demanding his staff back—until I happened to mention that Nimue probably had it. . . .
Which might have worked better if she hadn’t been standing right there.
But we weren’t dead yet, and we’d even gotten dinner. Most of it, I corrected, as the officer reached over and snatched the tray away. I didn’t know why; it was pretty much empty at this point. But I supposed he thought it could be used as a weapon or something.
Sure, I thought resentfully, one wooden tray and my skinny arms against a roomful of fey, thick stone walls, and nothing to cheat with.
Like nothing, because I’d been calling Billy for almost the whole time, and where was he?
Of course, he might not know that. Sometimes I thought we had a connection: I’d feel him before I saw him, or he’d swear he heard me calling. But sometimes he said that when I hadn’t called, too, so who knew? But damn, I wanted out of here!
Apparently, the fey felt the same, because one of them cleared his throat.
“Sir, perhaps we could cycle out—”
“He’s a triskelion,” the officer snapped. “You’re going nowhere.”
The fey blinked, and slid a surprised glance Pritkin’s way, but didn’t say anything else. I, on the other hand, had nothing else to do with my mouth, now that my dinner was gone. “Triskelion?” I asked.
“Someone who owns three elements,” Pritkin murmured, before the officer yelled at him to shut up.
There was silence for a moment.
“Is that unusual?” I asked, because I’d kind of gotten the idea that the fey weren’t allowed to hurt us, and I’d been yelled at before.
“Fairly,” Pritkin said, hiding a smile.
It didn’t look like he liked the officer, either.
“So, how many do most people have?” I asked, and found a fey in my face.
“Be. Silent,” the officer told me, in what was the closest thing I’d ever heard to a genuine hiss.
“Or what? You’ll throw me in a cell and take away my food? Oh, wait.”
“Oh, shit,” Pritkin murmured admonishingly.
And yes, he was right; antagonizing the fey was stupid. But right now not antagonizing them was just as stupid, since nothing was happening. And if nothing continued to happen, we lost.
“How many?” I asked again.
Pritkin looked at the guard, and a little smile escaped his lips. “One.”
And, okay, something was happening now, I thought, as the fey jerked Pritkin up.
And was quickly surrounded by his own guards, looking concerned. One of whom even dared to put a hand on his arm. “Sir, the king said—”
“I don’t take orders from a human king!”
It had been pretty savage, but the fey wasn’t deterred. “But the lord was standing right there, and if he hadn’t agreed . . .”
“We can’t hurt them unless they try to escape,” another fey recited.
The officer looked back at Pritkin. “Try,” he ordered.
But Pritkin just stood there, with that same little half smile.
Until the officer released him with a sound of contempt.
After a moment, everyone settled back down, and the room grew quiet again.
“So,” I asked, “what do they call someone with four?”
I didn’t get an answer, but coincidentally, that was the same number of fey who grabbed the officer, halfway through a lunge. And that included the guy who’d been standing by the door. Which probably explained how we came to be inundated by a flock of beauties bearing gifts.
The door slammed open, showing a bemused, human-looking guard. And a flood of dark-eyed, silk-clad, tassel-bedecked lovelies, each with a platter or basket or pitcher. Or, in the case of one girl with wildly improbable crimson hair, a basket of fresh-baked bread rolls that she started tossing to the famished fey.
“Did you think we forgot you? Poor darlings,” she cooed, to the very surprised, very pleased-looking soldiers.
Well, apart from one.
“Stop that! Stop that immediately!” the officer told her, only to have her laugh and shake her tassels at him. Xanthippe had been a lion tamer’s assistant back in the day, and not much fazed her.
“Who ordered this? Who ordered this?” he demanded, as his men began dividing up the bounty.
“The princess, handsome one,” a dark-haired girl with some of the biggest tassels I’d ever seen said. And smacked a kiss on his outraged cheek. “She thought you might be lonely, all the way down here.”
Several of the men sniggered, but the officer didn’t seem amused. “I wasn’t informed. And what is that?” he demanded, focusing on the two large pitchers a dark-skinned beauty in yellow fringe was carrying in.
“Relax, lover,” Xanthippe said. “We know the rules. It’s just wine.”
“Wine! Do you have any idea what he can do with wine?” He gestured savagely back at Pritkin. “Get it out!”
“But what are they supposed to drink?” the dark-skinned girl asked. “The men look thirsty.” She looked around. “Aren’t you thirsty?”