They were kind, in their way. They did not prick me with pins just to see me bleed, as some of the others did. I am surprised by how sunken-eyed they look. Their clothing is worn at the hems and sleeves. I think of the briar-and-stick spiders hunting across the swells of snow and wonder how much worse it is to be in the Citadel now than it was then.
I choose a dress from Lady Nore’s closet and sit on a fur-covered stool while Doe pulls it over my head. Fernwaif arranges my hair with combs of bone and onyx. Then Doe brushes my lips with the juice of berries to stain them red, and does the same to my cheeks. It happens in a blur.
Kill her while you can.
Oak and I have been playing games for a long time. This game, I have to win.
Outside, we meet more guards and Madoc, brought up from the prisons. I look for Hyacinthe, but he isn’t there. I can only hope he received my note. A former falcon hands over a brace, hastily made from a branch. Madoc props it under his arm gratefully.
I see Lady Nore, mounting a reindeer, reliquary in her arms. Her hair, the color of dirty snow, blows in the wind. I see the gleam of greed in her yellow eyes, and the way Lord Jarel’s grim gray hands tighten on her throat.
When I was here as a child, I was afraid all the time. I will not give in to that fear now.
We set off through the drifts. Oak maneuvers himself close to me. “Once this is over,” he says, “there are some things I want to tell you. Some explanations I have to give.”
“Like what?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He looks away, toward the edge of the pine forest. “I let you believe—well, something that’s untrue.”
I think about the feeling of Oak’s breath against my neck, the way his fox eyes looked with the pupils gone wide and black, the way it felt to bite his shoulder almost hard enough to break skin. “Tell me, then.”
He shakes his head, looking pained, but so many of his expressions are masks that I can no longer tell what is real. “If I did, it would serve nothing but to clear my conscience and would put you in danger.”
“Tell me anyway,” I say.
But Oak only shakes his head again.
“Then let me tell you something,” I say. “I know why you smile and jest and flatter, even when you don’t need to. At first I thought it was to make people like you, then I thought it was to keep them off-balance. But it’s more than that. You’re worried they’re scared of you.”
Wariness comes into his face. “Why ever would they be?”
“Because you terrify yourself,” I say. “Once you start killing, you don’t want to stop. You like it. Your sister may have inherited your father’s gift for strategy, but you’re the one who got his bloodlust.”
A muscle moves in his jaw. “And are you afraid of me?”
“Not because of that.”
The intensity of his gaze is blistering.
It doesn’t matter. It feels good to pierce his armor, but it doesn’t change anything.
My greatest weakness has always been my desire for love. It is a yawning chasm within me, and the more that I reach for it, the more easily I am tricked. I am a walking bruise, an open sore. If Oak is masked, I am a face with all the skin ripped off. Over and over, I have told myself that I need to guard against my own yearnings, but that hasn’t worked.
I must try something new.
As we trek across the snow, I am careful to walk lightly so that I can stay on top of the icy crust. But it still spiderwebs with every step. My dress billows around me, caught by the cold wind. I realize that I am still barefoot.
Another girl might have frozen, but I am cold all the way through.
CHAPTER
17
A
head of us, Lady Nore rides a shaggy reindeer. She is in a dress of scarlet with a cloak of deeper red over it, long enough to cover the back of the deer. The reliquary sits in her lap.
The troll king is mounted on an elk, its horns rising in an enormous branching crown of spikes over its head. Its bridle is all green and gold. He himself has coppery armor, beaten into that same strange pattern again, as though each piece contains a maze.
I think of how Tiernan must have passed these last two days. At first, hoping we would return, and then panicking as the night wore on. By the time day dawned, he would have known he had to come with the heart and play out Oak’s scheme. He might have embroidered the plans as he sat in the cold, angry with the prince and terrified for him. He had no way to tell us.
And we had no way to tell him that Madoc had recruited so many of the former falcons to his side.
Lady Nore swings down from her reindeer, her long scarlet cloak dragging through the snow like a shifting tide of blood.
“Take the storm hag,” she orders, just as we planned. Just as she was commanded.
Stick soldiers grab for Bogdana. The ancient faerie sinks her nails into one of them. Lightning strikes in the distance, but she has no time to summon it closer. Her hands are caught by more stick creatures. The storm hag rips apart a stick man, but there are too many and all are armed with iron. Soon she is pressed down in the snow, iron manacles burning on her wrists.
“What is the reason for this betrayal?” Bogdana shouts at Lady Nore.
Lady Nore glances at me but does not answer.
The storm hag croaks. “Have I not done what you asked of me? Have I not conjured you a daughter from nothing? Have I not helped you make yourself great?”
“And what a daughter you have conjured,” Lady Nore says, scorn in her voice.
Bogdana’s eyes go to me, a new gleam in them. She sees something, I think, but is not yet sure what exactly she’s seeing.
“And now, prince,” Lady Nore says, returning to the plan. “Where is Mellith’s heart?”
Oak is not armed, although the former falcon at his side carries the prince’s sword where he can easily get it. And though his wrists appear to be tied, the cords are so loose that he can free himself whenever he wishes. The prince looks up at the moon. “My companion is supposed to be here presently.”
I glance around at the assembled Folk. Part of me wants to give the signal now, to take command of Lady Nore’s stick creatures and force the trolls into a surrender. But better for Tiernan to be in sight, to be sure he won’t arrive at the wrong moment and jump into the fray, not knowing friend from foe.
I shift nervously, watching Lady Nore. Noting the hands of Lord Jarel around her neck, a reminder that if she could find comfort in something like that, her other actions may be impossible for me to anticipate. My gaze goes to King Hurclaw, tall and fierce-looking. For all the rumors of his madness, I understand his motives far better than hers. Still, the thirty trolls behind him are formidable.
“Perhaps you are used to your subjects biding at your pleasure, heir to Elfhame,” Hurclaw says, “but we grow impatient.”
“I am waiting just as you are,” Oak reminds him.
Twenty minutes pass before Tiernan appears, walking over the snow, Titch on his shoulder. It feels far longer than that with Lady Nore glaring at me and Hurclaw grumbling. Madoc leans heavily on his stick and does not complain, although I worry he might collapse. At perhaps half a league off, Titch springs into the air, flapping wide wings.
The owl-faced hob circles once, then lands on Oak’s arm and whispers in his ear.