“Then if I’m to be killed, so must everyone in Whimsy down to the last child. We all secretly carry iron from the day we’re born until the day we die.”
“You dreadful—” Under other circumstances his consternation would have been comical. “First you betray me, and now—now you tell me—” He groped for words. Clearly he wasn’t accustomed to being beaten at his own game. Because of course the fair folk couldn’t go about killing everyone in Whimsy; they coveted Craft too much to even consider it.
I drew a fortifying breath. “I know I can’t escape you. Charming me to walk makes no difference, aside from using energy you could spend on something else.” This, I admit, was a complete gamble, but the way Rook pressed his lips together told me I’d struck close to the mark. “So let me walk freely, let me keep my iron, and I’ll go with you willingly—in body if not in spirit.”
He stepped back from me once, twice, three times through the wheat, then pivoted and stalked off toward the trees. I stumbled after him, the charm’s evaporation his only answer.
My mind clamored for escape. But I knew I’d harm my chances, perhaps destroy them for good if I tried running now. I had no choice but to follow him through the field, through the weeds, and into the forest waiting beyond, where only a handful of humans had set foot before—and not one among them returned.
Every muscle in my body clenched with the expectation of more fairy devilry, but my initial obstacles proved surprisingly, unpleasantly mundane. My breath blew harshly in my ears and my skirts clung to the sweat on my legs as I trudged through the undergrowth. Burs burrowed their way into my stockings, and I tripped over roots and stones every other step. Meanwhile Rook might as well have not existed, he slipped through the vegetation so smoothly. Every once in a while a branch did catch on his shoulder, only to pull back, release, and smack me in the face, but I think he was doing that on purpose.
“Rook.”
He said nothing.
“It’s getting too dark—the moonlight’s gone. I can’t see.”
A fairy light bloomed above his upraised hand. It was purple, the same color as his eyes, and about the size of a fist, vaporous and shimmering. It floated down to skim along the ground, edging the leaves with a spectral glow. My mother telling me to never follow such lights numbered among my earliest memories.
On and on we trudged.
“Um.” I’d gone for as long as I could without bringing this up. “I, um, need to relieve myself.” When he didn’t show any indication of hearing I added, “Right now.”
His head turned a fraction, his profile lined with fairy light. “Do it quickly.”
I certainly wasn’t going to linger with my underthings down in a dark forest next to a fairy prince. He seemed to expect me to squat down and pee where I stood, which I suppose made little difference; we weren’t on any sort of path. But I still wanted to maintain some semblance of dignity, so I crashed a few steps through a stand of honeysuckles and settled down on the other side. The light bobbed obediently at my heels.
I almost screamed when I glanced over my shoulder to find Rook looming behind me.
“Turn around!” I exclaimed.
Again that mystified look he’d first given me in the kitchen, but it vanished so swiftly I couldn’t be sure I’d truly glimpsed it. “Why must I?” he asked, in a cold and princely tone.
“Because this is private! You’ve spent the entire walk with your back turned, surely you can manage it again for a few seconds. And I won’t be able to do anything with you watching.”
That, at least, got through to him. But as I wallowed there in the underbrush like a nesting hen with my skirts piled up around me, Rook’s fine coat fabric brushing my hair whenever he shifted, my bladder simply wouldn’t cooperate. Even more so when I glanced around the woods for a distraction and saw a mushroom circle nearby. Each toadstool cap was as wide as a dinner plate, the moss between them peppered with tiny white flowers. Legend had it that fair folk used portals like these to travel the fairy paths. The thought of a second fair one appearing suddenly out of thin air made my insides clench tighter.
A horn sounded. All the hair stood up on my body at the high, quavering melody, and I’m not proud to say I ended up watering the honeysuckles right then and there.
Rook seized my arm, pulling me to my feet as I wrestled my clothes to rights.
“The Wild Hunt,” he said. He drew his sword in front of me and dragged me back through the bushes with the other arm across my chest as though he were holding me at ransom. “It shouldn’t have found us here, especially not so quickly. Something’s wrong.”