“I hate it when you get like this,” Locke says under his breath.
Cardan pulls a pin from his coat, a glittering, filigree thing in the shape of an acorn with an oak leaf behind it. For a delirious moment, I think he’s going to give it to Locke in exchange for leaving me there. That seems impossible, even to my wild mind.
Then Cardan takes hold of my hand, which seems even less possible. His fingers are overwarm against my skin. He stabs the point of his pin into my thumb.
“Ow,” I say, pulling away from him and putting the injured digit into my mouth. My own blood is metallic against my tongue.
“Have a nice walk home,” he tells me.
Locke guides me away, stopping to grab up someone’s blanket, which he wraps around my shoulders. Faeries are staring at us as we pass out of the grove, me stumbling, him holding me up. The few teachers I see do not meet my gaze.
I suck on my injured thumb, feeling odd. My head is still swimming, but not like it was. Something’s wrong. A moment later, I realize what. There’s salt in my human blood.
My stomach lurches.
I look back at Cardan, who is laughing with Valerian and Nicasia. Moragna is on his arm. Another of our lecturers, a sinewy elf-woman from an island to the east, is trying to begin her talk.
I hate them. I hate them all so much. For a moment, there is only that, the heat of my fury turning my every thought to ash. With shaking hands, I clutch the blanket more tightly around my shoulders and let Locke lead me into the woods.
“I owe you a debt,” I grit out after we walk for a little while. “For getting me out of there.”
He gives me an appraising look. I am struck all over again by how handsome he is, by the soft curls falling around his face. It’s awful to be alone with him, knowing he’s seen me in my underwear and crawling around on the ground, but I am too angry for embarrassment.
He shakes his head. “You don’t owe anyone anything, Jude. Especially not today.”
“How can you stand them?” I ask, fury making me turn on Locke, even though he’s the only one I’m not mad at. “They’re horrible. They’re monsters.”
He doesn’t answer me. We walk along, and when I come to the patch of windfall apples, I kick one so hard it ricochets off the trunk of an elm tree.
“There is a pleasure in being with them,” he says. “Taking what we wish, indulging in every terrible thought. There’s safety in being awful.”
“Because at least they’re not terrible to you?” I ask.
Again, he does not answer.
When we get close to Madoc’s estate, I stop. “I should go alone from here.” I give him a smile that probably wavers a little bit. It’s hard to keep it on my face.
“Wait,” he says, taking a step toward me. “I want to see you again.”
I groan, too exasperated for surprise. I am standing here in a borrowed blanket, boots, and mall-bought underwear. I am smeared in soil, and I have just made a fool of myself. “Why?”
He looks at me as though he sees something else entirely. There’s an intensity in his gaze that makes me stand up a little straighter, despite the dirt. “Because you’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. Because I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale.”
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but I guess I’ll take it.
He lifts my hand—the same one Cardan stabbed with the pin—and kisses the very tips of my fingers. “Until tomorrow,” he says, making a bow.
And so, in that borrowed blanket, boots, and mall-bought underwear, I walk on by myself, heading for home.
“Tell me who did this,” Madoc insists, over and over again, but I won’t. He stomps around, explaining in detail how he will find the faeries responsible and destroy them. He will rip out their hearts. He will cut off their heads and mount them on the roof of our house as a warning to others.
I know it’s not me he’s threatening, but it’s still me he’s yelling at.
When I am scared, I can’t forget that no matter how well he plays the role of father, he will always and forever also be my father’s murderer.
I don’t say anything. I think about how Oriana was afraid that Taryn or I would misbehave at the Court and cause Madoc embarrassment. Now I wonder if she was more worried about how he’d react if something did happen. Cutting off Valerian’s and Nicasia’s heads is bad politics. Hurting Cardan amounts to treason.
“I did it myself,” I say finally, to make this stop. “I saw the fruit and it looked good, so I ate it.”
“How could you be so foolish?” Oriana says, whirling around. She doesn’t look surprised; she looks as though I am confirming her worst suspicions. “Jude, you know better.”
“I wanted to have fun. It’s supposed to be fun,” I tell her, playing the disobedient daughter for all it’s worth. “And it was. It was like a beautiful dream—”
“Be quiet!” Madoc shouts, shocking us both into silence. “Both of you, quiet!”
I cringe involuntarily.
“Jude, stop trying to annoy Oriana,” he says, giving me an exasperated look I am not sure he’s ever given me before, but has turned it on Vivi plenty.
He knows I’m lying.
“And, Oriana, don’t be so gullible.” When she realizes what he means, a small, delicate hand comes up to cover her mouth.
“When I find out whom you’re protecting,” he tells me, “they will be sorry they ever drew breath.”
“This is not helping,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
He kneels down in front of me and takes my hand in his rough green fingers. He must be able to feel how I am trembling. He lets out a long sigh, probably discarding more threats. “Then tell me what will help, Jude. Tell me, and I will do it.”
I wonder what would happen if I said the words: Nicasia humiliated me. Valerian tried to murder me. They did it to impress Prince Cardan, who hates me. I am scared of them. I am more scared of them than I am of you, and you terrify me. Make them stop. Make them leave me alone.
But I won’t. Madoc’s anger is fathomless. I have seen it in my mother’s blood on the kitchen floor. Once summoned, it cannot be called back.
What if he murdered Cardan? What if he killed them all? His answer to so many problems is bloodshed. If they were dead, their parents would demand satisfaction. The wrath of the High King would fall on him. I would be worse off than I am now, and Madoc would likely be dead.
“Teach me more,” I say instead. “More strategy. More bladework. Teach me everything you know.” Prince Dain may want me for a spy, but that doesn’t mean giving up my sword.
Madoc looks impressed, and Oriana, annoyed. I can tell she thinks that I am manipulating him and that I am doing a good job of it.