The Cruel Prince Holly Black - Literatura Inglesa (2024)

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ContentsTitle PageDedicationMapBook OnePrologueChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Book TwoChapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30EpilogueAcknowledgmentsCopyrightFor Cassandra Clare, who was finally lured into FaerielandOn a drowsy Sunday afternoon, a man in a long dark coat hesitated in frontof a house on a tree-lined street. He hadn’t parked a car, nor had he come bytaxi. No neighbor had seen him strolling along the sidewalk. He simplyappeared, as if stepping between one shadow and the next.The man walked to the door and lifted his fist to knock.Inside the house, Jude sat on the living room rug and ate fish sticks,soggy from the microwave and dragged through a sludge of ketchup. Hertwin sister, Taryn, napped on the couch, curled around a blanket, thumb inher fruit-punch-stained mouth. And on the other end of the sofa, their oldersister, Vivienne, stared at the television screen, her eerie, split-pupiled gazefixed on the cartoon mouse as it ran from the cartoon cat. She laughed whenit seemed as if the mouse was about to get eaten.Vivi was different from other big sisters, but since seven-year-old Judeand Taryn were identical, with the same shaggy brown hair and heart-shaped faces, they were different, too. Vivi’s eyes and the lightly furredpoints of her ears were, to Jude, not so much more strange than being themirror version of another person.And if sometimes she noticed the way the neighborhood kids avoidedVivi or the way their parents talked about her in low, worried voices, Judedidn’t think it was anything important. Grown-ups were always worried,always whispering.Taryn yawned and stretched, pressing her cheek against Vivi’s knee.Outside, the sun was shining, scorching the asphalt of driveways. Lawnmower engines whirred, and children splashed in backyard pools. Dad wasin the outbuilding, where he had a forge. Mom was in the kitchen cookinghamburgers. Everything was boring. Everything was fine.When the knock came, Jude hopped up to answer it. She hoped it mightbe one of the girls from across the street, wanting to play video games orinviting her for an after-dinner swim.The tall man stood on their mat, glaring down at her. He wore a brownleather duster despite the heat. His shoes were shod with silver, and theyrang hollowly as he stepped over the threshold. Jude looked up into hisshadowed face and shivered.“Mom,” she yelled. “Mooooooooom. Someone’s here.”Her mother came from the kitchen, wiping wet hands on her jeans. Whenshe saw the man, she went pale. “Go to your room,” she told Jude in a scaryvoice. “Now!”“Whose child is that?” the man asked, pointing at her. His voice wasoddly accented. “Yours? His?”“No one’s.” Mom didn’t even look in Jude’s direction. “She’s no one’schild.”That wasn’t right. Jude and Taryn looked just like their dad. Everyonesaid so. She took a few steps toward the stairs but didn’t want to be alone inher room. Vivi, Jude thought. Vivi will know who the tall man is. Vivi willknow what to do.But Jude couldn’t seem to make herself move any farther.“I’ve seen many impossible things,” the man said. “I have seen the acornbefore the oak. I have seen the spark before the flame. But never have Iseen such as this: A dead woman living. A child born from nothing.”Mom seemed at a loss for words. Her body was vibrating with tension.Jude wanted to take her hand and squeeze it, but she didn’t dare.“I doubted Balekin when he told me I’d find you here,” said the man, hisvoice softening. “The bones of an earthly woman and her unborn child inthe burned remains of my estate were convincing. Do you know what it isto return from battle to find your wife dead, your only heir with her? To findyour life reduced to ash?”Mom shook her head, not as if she was answering him, but as though shewas trying to shake off the words.He took a step toward her, and she took a step back. There wassomething wrong with the tall man’s leg. He moved stiffly, as though it hurthim. The light was different in the entry hall, and Jude could see the oddgreen tint of his skin and the way his lower teeth seemed too large for hismouth.She was able to see that his eyes were like Vivi’s.“I was never going to be happy with you,” Mom told him. “Your worldisn’t for people like me.”The tall man regarded her for a long moment. “You made vows,” he saidfinally.She lifted her chin. “And then I renounced them.”His gaze went to Jude, and his expression hardened. “What is a promisefrom a mortal wife worth? I suppose I have my answer.”Mom turned. At her mother’s look, Jude dashed into the living room.Taryn was still sleeping. The television was still on. Vivienne looked upwith half-lidded cat eyes. “Who’s at the door?” she asked. “I heardarguing.”“A scary man,” Jude told her, out of breath even though she’d barely runat all. Her heart was pounding. “We’re supposed to go upstairs.”She didn’t care that Mom had told only her to go upstairs. She wasn’tgoing by herself. With a sigh, Vivi unfolded from the couch and shookTaryn awake. Drowsily, Jude’s twin followed them into the hallway.As they started toward the carpet-covered steps, Jude saw her fathercome in from the back garden. He held an axe in his hand—forged to be anear replica of one he’d studied in a museum in Iceland. It wasn’t weird tosee Dad with an axe. He and his friends were into old weapons and wouldspend lots of time talking about “material culture” and sketching ideas forfantastical blades. What was odd was the way he held the weapon, as if hewas going to—Her father swung the axe toward the tall man.He had never raised a hand to discipline Jude or her sisters, even whenthey got into big trouble. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. He just wouldn’t.And yet. And yet.The axe went past the tall man, biting into the wood trim of the door.Taryn made an odd, high keening noise and slapped her palms over hermouth.The tall man drew a curved blade from beneath his leather coat. A sword,like from a storybook. Dad was trying to pull the axe free from thedoorframe when the man plunged the sword into Dad’s stomach, pushing itupward. There was a sound, like sticks snapping, and an animal cry. Dadfell to the vestibule carpet, the one Mom always yelled about when theytracked mud on it.The rug that was turning red.Mom screamed. Jude screamed. Taryn and Vivi screamed. Everyoneseemed to be screaming, except the tall man.“Come here,” he said, looking directly at Vivi.“Y-you monster,” their mother shouted, moving toward the kitchen.“He’s dead!”“Do not run from me,” the man told her. “Not after what you’ve done. Ifyou run again, I swear I—”But she did run. She was almost around the corner when his blade struckher in the back. She crumpled to the linoleum, falling arms knockingmagnets off the fridge.The smell of fresh blood was heavy in the air, like wet, hot metal. Likethose scrubbing pads Mom used to clean the frying pan when stuff wasreally stuck on.Jude ran at the man, slamming her fists against his chest, kicking at hislegs. She wasn’t even scared. She wasn’t sure she felt anything at all.The man paid Jude no mind. For a long moment, he just stood there, asthough he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done. As though he wished hecould take back the last five minutes. Then he sank to one knee and caughthold of Jude’s shoulders. He pinned her arms to her sides so she couldn’t hithim anymore, but he wasn’t even looking at her.His gaze was on Vivienne.“You were stolen from me,” he told her. “I have come to take you to yourtrue home, in Elfhame beneath the hill. There, you will be rich beyondmeasure. There, you will be with your own kind.”“No,” Vivi told him in hersomber little voice. “I’m never goinganywhere with you.”“I’m your father,” he told her, his voice harsh, rising like the crack of alash. “You are my heir and my blood, and you will obey me in this as in allthings.”She didn’t move, but her jaw set.“You’re not her father,” Jude shouted at the man. Even though he andVivi had the same eyes, she wouldn’t let herself believe it.His grip tightened on her shoulders, and she made a little squeezed,squeaking sound, but she stared up defiantly. She’d won plenty of staringcontests.He looked away first, turning to watch Taryn, on her knees, shakingMom while she sobbed, as though she was trying to wake her up. Momdidn’t move. Mom and Dad were dead. They were never going to moveagain.“I hate you,” Vivi proclaimed to the tall man with a viciousness that Judewas glad of. “I will always hate you. I vow it.”The man’s stony expression didn’t change. “Nonetheless, you will comewith me. Ready these little humans. Pack light. We ride before dark.”Vivienne’s chin came up. “Leave them alone. If you have to, take me, butnot them.”He stared at Vivi, and then he snorted. “You’d protect your sisters fromme, would you? Tell me, then, where would you have them go?”Vivi didn’t answer. They had no grandparents, no living family at all. Atleast, none they knew.He looked at Jude again, released her shoulders, and rose to his feet.“They are the progeny of my wife and, thus, my responsibility. I may becruel, a monster, and a murderer, but I do not shirk my responsibilities. Norshould you shirk yours as the eldest.”Years later, when Jude told herself the story of what happened, shecouldn’t recall the part where they packed. Shock seemed to have erasedthat hour entirely. Somehow Vivi must have found bags, must have put intheir favorite picture books and their most beloved toys, along withphotographs and pajamas and coats and shirts.Or maybe Jude had packed for herself. She was never sure.She couldn’t imagine how they’d done it, with their parents’ bodiescooling downstairs. She couldn’t imagine how it had felt, and as the yearswent by, she couldn’t make herself feel it again. The horror of the murdersdulled with time. Her memories of the day blurred.A black horse was nibbling the grass of the lawn when they went outside.Its eyes were big and soft. Jude wanted to throw her arms around its neckand press her wet face into its silky mane. Before she could, the tall manswung her and then Taryn across the saddle, handling them like baggagerather than children. He put Vivi up behind him.“Hold on,” he said.Jude and her sisters wept the whole way to Faerieland.In Faerie, there are no fish sticks, no ketchup, no television.I sit on a cushion as an imp braids my hair back from my face. The imp’sfingers are long, her nails sharp. I wince. Her black eyes meet mine in theclaw-footed mirror on my dressing table.“The tournament is still four nights away,” the creature says. Her name isTatterfell, and she’s a servant in Madoc’s household, stuck here until sheworks off her debt to him. She’s cared for me since I was a child. It wasTatterfell who smeared stinging faerie ointment over my eyes to give meTrue Sight so that I could see through most glamours, who brushed the mudfrom my boots, and who strung dried rowan berries for me to wear aroundmy neck so I might resist enchantments. She wiped my wet nose andreminded me to wear my stockings inside out, so I’d never be led astray inthe forest. “And no matter how eager you are for it, you cannot make themoon set nor rise any faster. Try to bring glory to the general’s householdtonight by appearing as comely as we can make you.”I sigh.She’s never had much patience with my peevishness. “It’s an honor todance with the High King’s Court under the hill.”The servants are overfond of telling me how fortunate I am, a bastarddaughter of a faithless wife, a human without a drop of faerie blood, to betreated like a trueborn child of Faerie. They tell Taryn much the same thing.I know it’s an honor to be raised alongside the Gentry’s own children. Aterrifying honor, of which I will never be worthy.It would be hard to forget it, with all the reminders I am given.“Yes,” I say instead, because she is trying to be kind. “It’s great.”Faeries can’t lie, so they tend to concentrate on words and ignore tone,especially if they haven’t lived among humans. Tatterfell gives me anapproving nod, her eyes like two wet beads of jet, neither pupil nor irisvisible. “Perhaps someone will ask for your hand and you’ll be made apermanent member of the High Court.”“I want to win my place,” I tell her.The imp pauses, hairpin between her fingers, probably consideringpricking me with it. “Don’t be foolish.”There’s no point in arguing, no point to reminding her of my mother’sdisastrous marriage. There are two ways for mortals to become permanentsubjects of the Court: marrying into it or honing some great skill—inmetallurgy or lute playing or whatever. Not interested in the first, I have tohope I can be talented enough for the second.She finishes braiding my hair into an elaborate style that makes me lookas though I have horns. She dresses me in sapphire velvet. None of itdisguises what I am: human.“I put in three knots for luck,” the little faerie says, not unkindly.I sigh as she scuttles toward the door, getting up from my dressing tableto sprawl facedown on my tapestry-covered bed. I am used to havingservants attend to me. Imps and hobs, goblins and grigs. Gossamer wingsand green nails, horns and fangs. I have been in Faerie for ten years. Noneof it seems all that strange anymore. Here, I am the strange one, with myblunt fingers, round ears, and mayfly life.Ten years is a long time for a human.After Madoc stole us from the human world, he brought us to his estateson Insmire, the Isle of Might, where the High King of Elfhame keeps hisstronghold. There, Madoc raised us—me and Vivienne and Taryn—out ofan obligation of honor. Even though Taryn and I are the evidence of Mom’sbetrayal, by the customs of Faerie, we’re his wife’s kids, so we’re hisproblem.As the High King’s general, Madoc was away often, fighting for thecrown. We were well cared for nonetheless. We slept on mattresses stuffedwith the soft seed-heads of dandelions. Madoc personally instructed us inthe art of fighting with the cutlass and dagger, the falchion and our fists. Heplayed Nine Men’s Morris, Fidchell, and Fox and Geese with us before afire. He let us sit on his knee and eat off his plate.Many nights I drifted off to sleep to his rumbling voice reading from abook of battle strategy. And despite myself, despite what he’d done andwhat he was, I came to love him. I do love him.It’s just not a comfortable kind of love.“Nice braids,” Taryn says, rushing into my room. She’s dressed incrimson velvet. Her hair is loose—long chestnut curls that fly behind herlike a capelet, a few strands braided with gleaming silver thread. She hopsonto the bed beside me, disarranging my small pile of threadbare stuffedanimals—a koala, a snake, a black cat—all beloved of my seven-year-oldself. I cannot bear to throw out any of my relics.I sit up to take a self-conscious look in the mirror. “I like them.”“I’m having a premonition,” Taryn says, surprising me. “We’re going tohave fun tonight.”“Fun?” I’d been imagining myself frowning at the crowd from our usualbolt-hole and worrying over whether I’d do well enough in the tournamentto impress one of the royal family into granting me knighthood. Justthinking about it makes me fidgety, yet I think about it constantly. Mythumb brushes over the missing tip of my ring finger, my nervous tic.“Yes,” she says, poking me in the side.“Hey! Ow!” I scoot out of range. “What exactly does this plan entail?”Mostly, when we go to Court, we hide ourselves away. We’ve watchedsome very interesting things, but from a distance.She throws up her hands.“What do you mean, what does fun entail? It’sfun!”I laugh a little nervously. “You have no idea, either, do you? Fine. Let’sgo see if you have a gift for prophecy.”We are getting older and things are changing. We are changing. And aseager as I am for it, I am also afraid.Taryn pushes herself off my bed and holds out her arm, as though she’smy escort for a dance. I allow myself to be guided from the room, my handgoing automatically to assure myself that my knife is still strapped to myhip.The interior of Madoc’s house is whitewashed plaster and massive,rough-cut wooden beams. The glass panes in the windows are stained grayas trapped smoke, making the light strange. As Taryn and I go down thespiral stairs, I spot Vivi hiding in a little balcony, frowning over a comicszine stolen from the human world.Vivi grins at me. She’s in jeans and a billowy shirt—obviously notintending to go to the revel. Being Madoc’s legitimate daughter, she feelsno pressure to please him. She does what she likes. Including readingmagazines that might have iron staples rather than glue binding their pages,not caring if her fingers get singed.“Heading somewhere?” she asks softly from the shadows, startlingTaryn.Vivi knows perfectly well where we’re heading.When we first came here, Taryn and Vivi and I would huddle in Vivi’sbig bed and talk about what we remembered from home. We’d talk aboutthe meals Mom burned and the popcorn Dad made. Our next-doorneighbors’ names, the way the house smelled, what school was like, theholidays, the taste of icing on birthday cakes. We’d talk about the showswe’d watched, rehashing the plots, recalling the dialogue until all ourmemories were polished smooth and false.There’s no more huddling in bed now, rehashing anything. All our newmemories are of here, and Vivi has only a passing interest in those.She’d vowed to hate Madoc, and she stuck to her vow. When Vivi wasn’treminiscing about home, she was a terror. She broke things. She screamedand raged and pinched us when we were content. Eventually, she stoppedall of it, but I believe there is a part of her that hates us for adapting. Formaking the best of things. For making this our home.“You should come,” I tell her. “Taryn’s in a weird mood.”Vivi gives her a speculative look and then shakes her head. “I’ve gotother plans.” Which might mean she’s going to sneak over to the mortalworld for the evening or it might mean she’s going to spend it on thebalcony, reading.Either way, if it annoys Madoc, it pleases Vivi.He’s waiting for us in the hall with his second wife, Oriana. Her skin isthe bluish color of skim milk, and her hair is as white as fresh-fallen snow.She is beautiful but unnerving to look at, like a ghost. Tonight she iswearing green and gold, a mossy dress with an elaborate shining collar thatmakes the pink of her mouth, her ears, and her eyes stand out. Madoc isdressed in green, too, the color of deep forests. The sword at his hip is noornament.Outside, past the open double doors, a hob waits, holding the silverbridles of five dappled faerie steeds, their manes braided in complicated andprobably magical knots. I think of the knots in my hair and wonder howsimilar they are.“You both look well,” Madoc says to Taryn and me, the warmth in histone making the words a rare compliment. His gaze goes to the stairs. “Isyour sister on her way?”“I don’t know where Vivi is,” I lie. Lying is so easy here. I can do it allday long and never be caught. “She must have forgotten.”Disappointment passes over Madoc’s face, but not surprise. He headsoutside to say something to the hob holding the reins. Nearby, I see one ofhis spies, a wrinkled creature with a nose like a parsnip and a back hunchedhigher than her head. She slips a note into his hand and darts off withsurprising nimbleness.Oriana looks us over carefully, as though she expects to find somethingamiss.“Be careful tonight,” Oriana says. “Promise me you will neither eat nordrink nor dance.”“We’ve been to Court before,” I remind her, a Faerie nonanswer if everthere was one.“You may think salt is sufficient protection, but you children areforgetful. Better to go without. As for dancing, once begun, you mortalswill dance yourselves to death if we don’t prevent it.”I look at my feet and say nothing.We children are not forgetful.Madoc married her seven years ago, and shortly after, she gave him achild, a sickly boy named Oak, with tiny, adorable horns on his head. It hasalways been clear that Oriana puts up with me and Taryn only for Madoc’ssake. She seems to think of us as her husband’s favored hounds: poorlytrained and likely to turn on our master at any moment.Oak thinks of us as sisters, which I can tell makes Oriana nervous, eventhough I would never do anything to hurt him.“You are under Madoc’s protection, and he has the favor of the HighKing,” Oriana says. “I will not see Madoc made to look foolish because ofyour mistakes.”With that little speech complete, she walks out toward the horses. Onesnorts and strikes the ground with a hoof.Taryn and I share a look and then follow her. Madoc is already seated onthe largest of the faerie steeds, an impressive creature with a scar beneathone eye. Its nostrils flare with impatience. It tosses its mane restlessly.I swing up onto a pale green horse with sharp teeth and a swampy odor.Taryn chooses a rouncy and kicks her heels against its flanks. She takes offlike a shot, and I follow, plunging into the night.Faeries are twilight creatures, and I have become one, too. We rise whenthe shadows grow long and head to our beds before the sun rises. It is wellafter midnight when we arrive at the great hill at the Palace of Elfhame. Togo inside, we must ride between two trees, an oak and a thorn, and thenstraight into what appears to be the stone wall of an abandoned folly. I’vedone it hundreds of times, but I flinch anyway. My whole body braces, Igrip the reins hard, and my eyes mash shut.When I open them, I am inside the hill.We ride on through a cavern, between pillars of roots, over packed earth.There are dozens of the Folk here, crowding around the entrance to thevast throne room, where Court is being held—long-nosed pixies withtattered wings; elegant, green-skinned ladies in long gowns with goblinsholding up their trains; tricksy boggans; laughing foxkin; a boy in an owlmask and a golden headdress; an elderly woman with crows crowding hershoulders; a gaggle of girls with wild roses in their hair; a bark-skinned boywith feathers around his neck; a group of knights all in scarab-green armor.Many I’ve seen before; a few I have spoken with. Too many for my eyes todrink them all in, yet I cannot look away.I never get tired of this—of the spectacle, of the pageantry. Maybe Orianaisn’t entirely wrong to worry that we might one day get caught up in it, becarried away by it, and forget to take care. I can see why humans succumbto the beautiful nightmare of the Court, why they willingly drown in it.I know I shouldn’t love it as I do, stolen as I am from the mortal world,my parents murdered. But I love it all the same.Madoc swings down from his horse. Oriana and Taryn are already offtheirs, handing them over to grooms. It’s me they’re waiting for. Madocreaches out his fingers like he is going to help me, but I hop off the saddleon my own. My leather slippers hit the ground like a slap.I hope that I look like a knight to him.Oriana steps forward, probably to remind Taryn and me of all the thingsshe doesn’t want us to do. I don’t give her the chance. Instead, I hook myarm through Taryn’s and hurry along inside. The room is redolent withburning rosemary and crushed herbs. Behind us, I can hear Madoc’s heavystep, but I know where I am going. The first thing we have to do when weget to Court is greet the king.The High King Eldred sits on his throne in gray robes of state, a heavygolden oak-leaf crownholding down his thin, spun-gold hair. When webow, he touches our heads lightly with his knobby, be-ringed hands, andthen we rise.His grandmother was Queen Mab, of the House of the Greenbriar. Shelived as one of the solitary fey before she began to conquer Faerie with herhorned consort and his stag-riders. Because of him, each of Eldred’s sixheirs are said to have some animal characteristic, a thing that is not unusualin Faerie but is unusual among the trooping Gentry of the Courts.The eldest prince, Balekin, and his younger brother, Dain, stand nearby,drinking wine from wooden cups banded in silver. Dain wears breeches thatstop at his knees, showing his hooves and deer legs. Bale-kin wears thegreatcoat he favors, with a collar of bear fur. His fingers have a thorn ateach knuckle, and thorns ridge his arm, running up under the cuffs of hisshirt, visible when he and Dain urge Madoc over.Oriana curtsies to them. Although Dain and Balekin are standingtogether, they are often at odds with each other and with their sister Elowyn—so often that the Court is considered to be divided into three warringcircles of influence.Prince Balekin, the firstborn, and his set are known as the Circle ofGrackles, for those who enjoy merriment and who scorn anything getting inthe way of it. They drink themselves sick and numb themselves withpoisonous and delightful powders. His is the wildest circle, although he hasalways been perfectly composed and sober when speaking with me. Isuppose I could throw myself into debauchery and hope to impress them.I’d rather not, though.Princess Elowyn, the second-born, and her companions have the Circleof Larks. They value art above all else. Several mortals have found favor inher circle, but since I have no real skill with a lute or declaiming, I have nochance of being one of them.Prince Dain, third-born, leads what’s known as the Circle of Falcons.Knights, warriors, and strategists are in their favor. Madoc, obviously,belongs to this circle. They talk about honor, but what they really care aboutis power. I am good enough with a blade, knowledgeable in strategy. All Ineed is a chance to prove myself.“Go enjoy yourselves,” Madoc tells us. With a look back at the princes,Taryn and I head out into the throng.The palace of the King of Elfhame has many secret alcoves and hiddencorridors, perfect for trysts or assassins or staying out of the way and beingreally dull at parties. When Taryn and I were little, we would hide under thelong banquet tables. But since she determined we were elegant ladies, toobig to get our dresses dirty crawling around on the floor, we had to find abetter spot. Just past the second landing of stone steps is an area where alarge mass of shimmering rock juts out, creating a ledge. Normally, that’swhere we settle ourselves to listen to the music and watch all the fun wearen’t supposed to be having.Tonight, however, Taryn has a different idea. She passes the steps andgrabs food off a silver tray—a green apple and a wedge of blue-veinedcheese. Not bothering with salt, she takes a bite of each, holding the appleout for me to bite. Oriana thinks we can’t tell the difference between regularfruit and faerie fruit, which blooms a deep gold. Its flesh is red and dense,and the cloying smell of it fills the forests at harvest time.The apple is crisp and cold in my mouth. We pass it back and forth,sharing down to the core, which I eat in two bites.Near where I am standing, a tiny faerie girl with a clock of white hair,like that of a dandelion, and a little knife cuts the strap of an ogre’s belt. It’sslick work. A moment later, his sword and pouch are gone, she’s losingherself in the crowd, and I can almost believe it didn’t happen. Until the girllooks back at me.She winks.A moment after that, the ogre realizes he was robbed.“I smell a thief!” he shouts, casting around him, knocking over a tankardof dark brown beer, his warty nose sniffing the air.Nearby, there’s a commotion—one of the candles flares up in bluecrackling flames, sparking loudly and distracting even the ogre. By the timeit returns to normal, the white-haired thief is well gone.With a half smile, I turn back to Taryn, who watches the dancers withlonging, oblivious to much else.“We could take turns,” she proposes. “If you can’t stop, I’ll pull you out.Then you’ll do the same for me.”My heartbeat speeds at the thought. I look at the throng of revelers, tryingto build up the daring of someone who would rob an ogre right under hisnose.Princess Elowyn whirls at the center of a circle of Larks. Her skin is aglittering gold, her hair the deep green of ivy. Beside her, a human boyplays the fiddle. Two more mortals accompany him less skillfully, but morejoyfully, on ukuleles. Elowyn’s younger sister Caelia spins nearby, withcorn silk hair like her father’s and a crown of flowers in it.A new ballad begins, and the words drift up to me. “Of all the sons KingWilliam had, Prince Jamie was the worst,” they sing. “And what made thesorrow even greater, Prince Jamie was the first.”I’ve never much liked that song because it reminds me of someone else.Someone who, along with Princess Rhyia, doesn’t appear to be attendingtonight. But—oh no. I do see him.Prince Cardan, sixth-born to the High King Eldred, yet still the absoluteworst, strides across the floor toward us.Valerian, Nicasia, and Locke—his three meanest, fanciest, and most loyalfriends—follow him. The crowd parts and hushes, bowing as they pass.Cardan is wearing his usual scowl, accessorized with kohl under his eyesand a circlet of gold in his midnight hair. He has on a long black coat with ahigh, jagged collar, the whole thing stitched with a pattern of constellations.Valerian is in deep red, cabochon rubies sparkling on his cuffs, each like adrop of frozen blood. Nicasia’s hair is the blue-green of the ocean, crownedwith a diadem of pearls. A glittering cobweb net covers her braids. Lockebrings up the rear, looking bored, his hair the precise color of fox fur.“They’re ridiculous,” I say to Taryn, who follows my gaze. I cannot denythat they’re also beautiful. Faerie lords and ladies, just like in the songs. Ifwe didn’t have to take lessons alongside them, if I didn’t know firsthandwhat a scourge they were to those who displeased them, I’d probably be asin love with them as everyone else is.“Vivi says that Cardan has a tail,” Taryn whispers. “She saw it when shewas swimming in the lake with him and Princess Rhyia this past full moonnight.”I can’t imagine Cardan swimming in a lake, jumping in the water,splashing people, laughing at something other than their suffering. “A tail?”I echo, an incredulous smile starting on my face and then fading when Iremember that Vivi didn’t bother to tell me the story, even though it musthave happened days ago. Three is an odd configuration of sisters. There’salways one on the outside.“With a tuft on the end! It coils up under his clothes and unfurls like awhip.” She giggles, and I can barely understand her next words. “Vivi saidshe wishes she had one.”“I’m glad she doesn’t,” I say firmly, which is stupid. I have nothingagainst tails.Then Cardan and his companions are too close for us to safely talk aboutthem. I turn my gaze to the floor. Though I hate it, I sink to the ground onone knee, bend my head, and grit my teeth. By my side, Taryn doessomething similar. All around us, people are making obeisances.Don’t look at us, I think. Don’t look.As Valerian passes, he grabs one of my braided horns. The others moveon through the throng as Valerian sneers down at me.“Did you think I didn’t see you there? You and your sister stand out inany crowd,” he says, leaning in close. His breath is heavy with the scent ofhoney wine. My hand balls into a fist at my side, and I am conscious of thenearness of my knife. Still, I do not look him in the eye. “No other head ofhair so dull, no other face soplain.”“Valerian,” Prince Cardan calls. He is glowering already and when hesees me, his eyes narrow further.Valerian gives my braid a hard tug. I wince, useless fury coiling in mybelly. He laughs and moves on.My fury curdles into shame. I wish I had smacked his hand away, eventhough it would have made everything worse.Taryn sees something in my face. “What did he say to you?”I shake my head.Cardan has stopped beside a boy with long copper hair and a pair ofsmall moth wings—a boy who isn’t bowing. The boy laughs and Cardanlunges. Between one eyeblink and the next, the prince’s balled fist strikesthe boy hard across the jaw, sending him sprawling. As the boy falls,Cardan grabs one of his wings. It tears like paper. The boy’s scream is thinand reedy. He curls up into himself on the ground, agony plain on his face. Iwonder if faerie wings grow back; I know that butterflies that lose a wingnever fly again.The courtiers around us gape and titter, but only for a moment. Then theygo back to their dancing and their songs, and the revel spirals on.This is how they are. Someone gets in Cardan’s way, and they’reinstantly and brutally punished. Driven from taking lessons at the palace,sometimes out of the Court entirely. Hurt. Broken.As Cardan walks past the boy, apparently done with him, I am gratefulthat Cardan has five more worthy brothers and sisters; it’s practicallyguaranteed that he’ll never sit on the throne. I don’t want to think of himwith more power than he has.Even Nicasia and Valerian share a weighted glance. Then Valerian shrugsand follows Cardan. But Locke pauses by the boy, bending down to helphim to his feet.The boy’s friends come over to lead him away, and at that moment,improbably, Locke’s gaze lifts. His tawny fox eyes meet mine and widen insurprise. I am immobilized, my heart speeding. I brace myself for morescorn, but then one corner of his mouth lifts. He winks, as if inacknowledgment of being caught out. As if we’re sharing a secret. As if hethinks I am not loathly, as though he does not find my mortality contagious.“Stop staring at him,” Taryn demands.“Didn’t you see—” I start to explain, but she cuts me off, grabbing holdof me and hauling us toward the stairs, toward our landing of shimmeringstone, where we can hide. Her nails sink into my skin.“Don’t give them any more reason to bother you than they’ve alreadygot!” The intensity of her response surprises me into snatching back myhand. Angry red half moons mark where she grabbed me.I look back toward where Locke was, but the crowd has swallowed himup.As dawn breaks, I open the windows to my bedroom and let the last of thecool night air flow in as I strip off my Court dress. I feel hot all over. Myskin feels too tight, and my heart won’t stop racing.I’ve been to Court before many times. I’ve been witness to moreawfulness than wings being torn or my person insulted. Faeries make up fortheir inability to lie with a panoply of deceptions and cruelties. Twistedwords, pranks, omissions, riddles, scandals, not to mention their revengesupon one another for ancient, half-remembered slights. Storms are lessfickle than they are, seas less capricious.Like, for example, as a redcap, Madoc needs bloodshed the way amermaid needs the salt spray of the sea. After every battle, he ritually dipshis hood into the blood of his enemies. I’ve seen the hood, kept under glassin the armory. The fabric is stiff and stained a brown so deep it’s almostblack, except for a few smears of green.Sometimes I go down and stare at it, trying to see my parents in the tidelines of dried blood. I want to feel something, something besides a vaguequeasiness. I want to feel more, but every time I look at it, I feel less.I think about going to the armory now, but I don’t. I stand in front of mywindow and imagine myself a fearless knight, imagine myself a witch whohid her heart in her finger and then chopped her finger off.“I’m so tired,” I say out loud. “So tired.”I sit there for a long time, watching the rising sun gild the sky, listeningto the waves crash as the tide goes out, when a creature flies up to alight onthe edge of my window. At first it seems like an owl, but it’s got hob eyes.“Tired of what, sweetmeat?” it asks me.I sigh and answer honestly for once. “Of being powerless.”The hob studies my face, then flies off into the night.I sleep the day away and wake disoriented, battling my way out of the long,embroidered curtains around my bed. Drool has dried along one of mycheeks.I find bathwater waiting for me, but it has gone tepid. Servants must havecome and gone. I climb in anyway and splash my face. Living in Faerie, it’simpossible not to notice that everyone else smells like verbena or crushedpine needles, dried blood or milkweed. I smell like pit sweat and sourbreath unless I scrub myself clean.When Tatterfell comes in to light the lamps, she finds me dressing for alecture, which begins in the late afternoons and stretches on into someevenings. I wear gray leather boots and a tunic with Madoc’s crest—adagger, a crescent moon turned on its side so it rests like a cup, and a singledrop of blood falling from one corner embroidered in silk thread.Downstairs, I find Taryn at the banquet table, alone, nursing a cup ofnettle tea and picking at a bannock. Today, she does not suggest anythingwill be fun.Madoc insists—perhaps out of guilt or shame—that we be treated like thechildren of Faerie. That we take the same lessons, that we be givenwhatever they have. Changelings have been brought to the High Courtbefore, but none of them has been raised like Gentry.He doesn’t understand how much that makes them loathe us.Not that I am not grateful. I like the lessons. Answering the lecturerscleverly is something no one can take from me, even if the lecturersthemselves occasionally pretend otherwise. I will take a frustrated nod inplace of effusive praise. I will take it and be glad because it means I canbelong whether they like it or not.Vivi used to go with us, but then she became bored and didn’t bother.Madoc raged, but since his approval of a thing only makes her despise it, allhis railing just made her more determined to never, ever go back. She hastried to persuade us to stay home with her, but if Taryn and I cannot managethe machinations of the children of Faerie without quitting our lessons orrunning to Madoc, how will he ever believe we can manage the Court,where those same machinations will play out on a grander and more deadlyscale?Taryn and I set off, swinging our baskets. We don’t have to leave Ins-mire to get to the High King’s palace, but we do skirt the edge of two othertiny islands, Insmoor, Isle of Stone, and Insweal, Isle of Woe. All three areconnected by half-submerged rocky paths and stones large enough that it’spossible to leap your way from one to the next. A herd of stags isswimming toward Insmoor, seeking the best grazing. Taryn and I walk pastthe Lake of Masks and through the far corner of the Milkwood, picking ourway past the pale, silvery trunks and bleached leaves. From there, we spotmermaids and merrows sunning themselves near craggy caves, their scalesreflecting the amber glow of the late-afternoon sun.All the children of the Gentry, regardless of age, are taught by lecturersfrom all over the kingdom on the grounds of the palace. Some afternoonswe sit in groves carpeted with emerald moss, and other evenings we spendin high towers or up in trees. We learn about the movements ofconstellations in the sky, the medicinal and magical properties of herbs, thelanguages of birds and flowers and people as well as the language of theFolk (though it occasionally twists in my mouth), the composition ofriddles, and how to walk soft-footed over leaves and brambles to leaveneither trace nor sound. We are instructed in the finer points of the harp andthe lute, the bow and the blade. Taryn and I watch themas they practiceenchantments. For a break, we all play at war in a green field with a broadarc of trees.Madoc trained me to be formidable even with a wooden sword. Tarynisn’t bad, either, even though she doesn’t bother practicing anymore. At theSummer Tournament, in only a few days, our mock war will take place infront of the royal family. With Madoc’s endorsem*nt, one of the princes orprincesses might choose to grant me knighthood and take me into theirpersonal guard. It would be a kind of power, a kind of protection.And with it, I could protect Taryn, too.We arrive at school. Prince Cardan, Locke, Valerian, and Nicasia arealready sprawled in the grass with a few other faeries. A girl with deerhorns—Poesy—is giggling over something Cardan has said. They do not somuch as look at us as we spread our blanket and set out our notebooks andpens and pots of ink.My relief is immense.Our lesson involves the history of the delicately negotiated peacebetween Orlagh, Queen of the Undersea, and the various faerie kings andqueens of the land. Nicasia is Orlagh’s daughter, sent to be fostered in theHigh King’s Court. Many odes have been composed to Queen Orlagh’sbeauty, although, if she’s anything like her daughter, not to her personality.Nicasia gloats through the lesson, proud of her heritage. When theinstructor moves on to Lord Roiben of the Court of Termites, I lose interest.My thoughts drift. Instead, I find myself thinking through combinations—strike, thrust, parry, block. I grip my pen as though it were the hilt of ablade and forget to take notes.As the sun dips low in the sky, Taryn and I unpack our baskets fromhome, which contain bread, butter, cheese, and plums. I butter a piece ofbread hungrily.Passing us, Cardan kicks dirt onto my food right before I put it into mymouth. The other faeries laugh.I look up to see him watching me with cruel delight, like a raptor birdtrying to decide whether to be bothered devouring a small mouse. He’swearing a high-collared tunic embroidered with thorns, his fingers heavywith rings. His sneer is well-practiced.I grit my teeth. I tell myself that if I let the taunts roll off me, he will loseinterest. He will go away. I can endure this a little longer, a few more days.“Something the matter?” Nicasia asks sweetly, wandering up and drapingher arm over Cardan’s shoulder. “Dirt. It’s what you came from, mortal. It’swhat you’ll return to soon enough. Take a big bite.”“Make me,” I say before I can stop myself. Not the greatest comeback,but my palms begin to sweat. Taryn looks startled.“I could, you know,” says Cardan, grinning as though nothing wouldplease him more. My heart speeds. If I weren’t wearing a string of rowanberries, he could ensorcell me so that I thought dirt was some kind ofdelicacy. Only Madoc’s position would give him reason to hesitate. I do notmove, do not touch the necklace hidden under the bodice of my tunic, theone that I hope will stop any glamour from working. The one I hope hedoesn’t discover and rip from my throat.I glance in the direction of the day’s lecturer, but the elderly phooka hashis nose buried in a book.Since Cardan’s a prince, it’s more than likely no one has ever cautionedhim, has ever stayed his hand. I never know how far he’ll go, and I neverknow how far our instructors will let him.“You don’t want that, do you?” Valerian asks with mock sympathy as hekicks more dirt onto our lunch. I didn’t even see him come over. Once,Valerian stole a silver pen of mine, and Madoc replaced it with a ruby-studded one from his own desk. This threw Valerian into such a rage that hecracked me in the back of the head with his wooden practice sword. “Whatif we promise to be nice to you for the whole afternoon if you eateverything in your baskets?” His smile is wide and false. “Don’t you wantus for friends?”Taryn looks down at her lap. No, I want to say. We don’t want you forfriends.I don’t answer, but I don’t look down, either. I meet Cardan’s gaze. Thereis nothing I can say to make them stop, and I know it. I have no power here.But today I can’t seem to choke down my anger at my own impotence.Nicasia pulls a pin from my hair, causing one of my braids to fall againstmy neck. I swat at her hand, but it happens too fast.“What’s this?” She’s holding up the golden pin, with a tiny cluster offiligree hawthorn berries at the top. “Did you steal it? Did you think itwould make you beautiful? Did you think it would make you as we are?”I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course I want to be like them. They’rebeautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever.Valerian’s hair shines like polished gold. Nicasia’s limbs are long andperfectly shaped, her mouth the pink of coral, her hair the color of thedeepest, coldest part of the sea. Fox-eyed Locke, standing silently behindValerian, his expression schooled to careful indifference, has a chin aspointed as the tips of his ears. And Cardan is even more beautiful than therest, with black hair as iridescent as a raven’s wing and cheekbones sharpenough to cut out a girl’s heart. I hate him more than all the others. I hatehim so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.“You’ll never be our equal,” Nicasia says.Of course I won’t.“Oh, come on,” Locke says with a careless laugh, his hand going aroundNicasia’s waist. “Let’s leave them to their misery.”“Jude’s sorry,” Taryn says quickly. “We’re both really sorry.”“She can show us how sorry she is,” Cardan drawls. “Tell her she doesn’tbelong in the Summer Tournament.”“Afraid I’ll win?” I ask, which isn’t smart.“It’s not for mortals,” he informs us, voice chilly. “Withdraw, or wish thatyou had.”I open my mouth, but Taryn speaks before I can. “I’ll talk to her about it.It’s nothing, just a game.”Nicasia gives my sister a magnanimous smile. Valerian leers at Taryn, hiseyes lingering on her curves. “It’s all just a game.”Cardan’s gaze meets mine, and I know he isn’t finished with me, not by along shot.“Why did you dare them like that?” Taryn asks when they’ve walkedback to their own merry luncheon, all spread out for them. “Talking back tohim—that’s just stupid.”Make me.Afraid I’ll win?“I know,” I tell her. “I’ll shut up. I just—I got angry.”“You’re better off being scared,” she advises. And then, shaking herhead, she packs up our ruined food. My stomach growls, and I try to ignoreit.They want me to be afraid, I know that. During the mock war that veryafternoon, Valerian trips me, and Cardan whispers foul things in my ear. Ihead home with bruises on my skin from kicks, from falls.What they don’t realize is this: Yes, they frighten me, but I have alwaysbeen scared, since the day I got here. I was raised by the man who murderedmy parents, reared in a land of monsters. I live with that fear, let it settleinto my bones, and ignore it. If I didn’t pretend not to be scared, I wouldhide under my owl-down coverlets in Madoc’s estate forever. I would liethere and scream until there was nothing left of me. I refuse to do that. Iwill not do that.Nicasia’s wrong about me. I don’t desire to do as well in the tournamentas one of the fey. I want to win. I do not yearn to be their equal.In my heart, I yearn to best them.On our way home, Taryn stops and picks blackberries beside the Lake ofMasks. I sit on a rock in the moonlight and deliberately do not look into thewater. The lake doesn’t reflect your own face—it shows you someone elsewho has looked or will look into it. When I was little, I used to sit at thebank all day, staring at faerie countenances instead of my own, hoping that Imight someday catch a glimpse of my mother looking back at me.Eventually, it hurt too much to try.“Are you going to quit the tournament?” Taryn asks, shoveling a handfulof berries into her mouth. We are hungry children. Already we are tallerthan Vivi, our hips wider, and our breasts heavier.I open my basketand take out a dirty plum, wiping it on my shirt. It’sstill more or less edible. I eat it slowly, considering. “You mean because ofCardan and his Court of Jerks?”She frowns with an expression just like one I might make if she wasbeing particularly thickheaded. “Do you know what they call us?” shedemands. “The Circle of Worms.”I hurl the pit at the water, watching ripples destroy the possibility of anyreflections. My lip curls.“You’re littering in a magical lake,” she tells me.“It’ll rot,” I say. “And so will we. They’re right. We are the Circle ofWorms. We’re mortal. We don’t have forever to wait for them to let us dothe things we want. I don’t care if they don’t like my being in thetournament. Once I become a knight, I’ll be beyond their reach.”“Do you think Madoc’s going to allow that?” Taryn asks, giving up onthe bush after the brambles make her fingers bleed. “Answering to someoneother than him?”“What else has he been training us for?” I ask. Wordlessly, we fall intostep together, making our way home.“Not me.” She shakes her head. “I am going to fall in love.”I am surprised into laughter. “So you’ve just decided? I didn’t think itworked like that. I thought love was supposed to happen when you leastexpected it, like a sap to the skull.”“Well, I have decided,” she says. I consider mentioning her last ill-fateddecision—the one about having fun at the revel—but that will just annoyher. Instead, I try to imagine someone she might fall in love with. Maybe itwill be a merrow, and he will give her the gift of breathing underwater and acrown of pearls and take her to his bed under the sea.Actually, that sounds amazing. Maybe I am making all the wrongchoices.“How much do you like swimming?” I ask her.“What?” she asks.“Nothing,” I say.She, suspecting some sort of teasing, elbows me in the side.We head through the Crooked Forest, with its bent trunks, since theMilkwood is dangerous at night. We have to stop to let some root men pass,for fear they might step on us if we didn’t keep out of their way. Mosscovers their shoulders and crawls up their bark cheeks. Wind whistlesthrough their ribs.They make a beautiful and solemn procession.“If you’re so sure Madoc is going to give you permission, why haven’tyou asked him yet?” Taryn whispers. “The tournament is only three daysaway.”Anyone can fight in the Summer Tournament, but if I want to be a knight,I must declare my candidacy by wearing a green sash across my chest. Andif Madoc will not allow me that, then no amount of skill will help me. I willnot be a candidate, and I will not be chosen.I am glad the root men give me an excuse not to answer, because, ofcourse, she’s right. I haven’t asked Madoc because I am afraid of what hewill say.When we get home, pushing open the enormous wooden door with itslooping ironwork, someone is shouting upstairs, as though in distress. I runtoward the sound, heart in my mouth, only to find Vivi in her room, chasinga cloud of sprites. They streak past me into the hall in a blast of gossamer,and she slams the book she was swinging at them into the door casing.“Look!” Vivi yells at me, pointing toward her closet. “Look what theydid.”The doors are open, and I see a sprawl of things stolen from the humanworld, matchbooks, newspapers, empty bottles, novels, and Polaroids. Thesprites had turned the matchbooks into beds and tables, shredded all thepaper, and ripped out the centers of the books to nest inside. It was a full-onsprite infestation.But I am more baffled by the quantity of things Vivi has and how manyof them don’t seem to have any value. It’s just junk. Mortal junk.“What is all that?” Taryn asks, coming into the room. She bends downand extracts a strip of pictures, only gently chewed by sprites. The picturesare taken one right after the other, the kind you have to sit in a booth for.Vivi is in the photos, her arm draped over the shoulders of a grinning, pink-haired mortal girl.Maybe Taryn isn’t the only one who has decided to fall in love.At dinner, we sit at a massive table carved along all four sides with imagesof piping fauns and dancing imps. Fat wax pillar candles burn at the center,beside a carved stone vase full of wood sorrel. Servants bring us silverplates piled with food. We eat fresh broad beans, venison with scatteredpomegranate seeds, grilled brown trout with butter, a salad of bitter herbs,and, for after, raisin cakes smothered in apple syrup. Madoc and Orianadrink canary wine; we children mix ours with water.Next to my plate and Taryn’s is a bowl of salt.Vivi pokes at her venison and then licks blood from her knife.Oak grins across the table and starts to mimic Vivi, but Oriana snatchesthe cutlery from his grasp before he can slice his tongue open. Oak gigglesand picks up his meat with his fingers, tearing at it with sharp teeth.“You should know that the king will soon abdicate his throne in favor ofone of his children,” Madoc says, looking at all of us. “It is likely that hewill choose Prince Dain.”It doesn’t matter that Dain is third-born. The High Ruler chooses theirsuccessor—that’s how the stability of Elfhame is ensured. The first HighQueen, Mab, had her smith forge a crown. Lore has it that the blacksmithwas a creature called Grimsen, who could shape anything from metal—birds that trill and necklaces that slither over throats, twin swords calledHeartseeker and Heartsworn that never missed a strike. Queen Mab’s crownwas magically and wondrously wrought so that it passes only from oneblood relation to another, in an unbroken line. With the crown passes theoaths of all those sworn to it. Although her subjects gather at each newcoronation to renew their fealty, authority still rests in the crown.“Why’s he abdicating?” Taryn asks.Vivi’s smirk has turned nasty. “His children got impatient with him forremaining alive.”A wash of rage passes over Madoc’s face. Taryn and I don’t dare bait himfor fear that his patience with us stretches only so far, but Vivi is expert atit. When he answers her, I can see the effort he’s making to bite his tongue.“Few kings of Faerie have ruled so well for so long as Eldred. Now he goesto seek the Land of Promise.”As far as I can tell, the Land of Promise is their euphemism for death,although they do not admit it. They say it is the place that the Folk camefrom and to which they will eventually return.“Are you saying he’s leaving the throne because he’s old?” I ask,wondering if I’m being impolite. There are hobs born with lined faces liketiny, hairless cats and smooth-limbed nixies whose true age shows only intheir ancient eyes. I didn’t think time mattered to them.Oriana doesn’t look happy, but she isn’t actively shushing me, either, somaybe it’s not that rude. Or maybe she doesn’t expect any better than badmanners out of me.“We may not die from age, but we grow weary with it,” Madoc says witha heavy sigh. “I have made war in Eldred’s name. I have broken Courts thatdenied him fealty. I have even led skirmishes against the Queen of theUndersea. But Eldred has lost his taste for bloodshed. He allows thoseunder his banners to rebel in small and large ways even as other Courtsrefuse to submit to us. It’s time to ride to battle. It’s time for a newmonarch, a hungry one.”Oriana furrows her brow in mild confusion. “By preference, your kinwould have you safe.”“What good is a general with no war?” Madoc takes a large, restlessswallow of wine. I wonder how often he needs to wet his cap with freshblood. “The new king’s coronation will be at the autumn solstice. Worrynot. I have a plan to ensure our futures. Only concern yourselves withmaking ready for a great deal of dancing.”I am wondering what his plan might be when Taryn kicks me under thetable. When I turn to glare at her, she raises both brows. “Ask him,” shemouths.Madoc looks in her direction. “Yes?”“Jude wants to ask you something,” Taryn says. The worst partis, I thinkshe believes she’s helping.I take a deep breath. At least he seems to be in a good mood. “I’ve beenthinking about the tournament.” I imagined saying these words many, manytimes, but now that I am actually doing it, they don’t seem to come out theway I planned. “I’m not bad with a sword.”“You do yourself too modest,” Madoc says. “Your salesmanship isexcellent.”That seems encouraging. I look over at Taryn, who appears to be holdingher breath. Everyone at the table has gone still except for Oak, who taps hisglass against the side of his plate. “I am going to fight in the SummerTournament, and I want declare myself ready to be chosen for knighthood.”Madoc’s brows go up. “That’s what you want? It’s dangerous work.”I nod. “I’m not afraid.”“Interesting,” he says. My heart thuds dully in my chest. I have thoughtthrough every aspect of this plan except for the possibility that he won’tallow it.“I want to make my own way at the Court,” I say.“You’re no killer,” he tells me. I flinch, my gaze coming up to his. Helooks back at me steadily with his golden cat eyes.“I could be,” I insist. “I’ve been training for a decade.”Since you took me, I do not say, although it must be in my eyes.He shakes his head sadly. “What you lack is nothing to do withexperience.”“No, but—” I begin.“Enough. I have made my decision,” he says, raising his voice to cut meoff. After a moment when we both are silent, he gives me a conciliatory halfsmile. “Fight in the tournament if you like, for sport, but you will not put onthe green sash. You’re not ready to be a knight. You can ask me again afterthe coronation, if your heart’s still set on it. And if it’s a whim, that will betime enough for it to pass.”“This is no whim!” I hate the desperation in my voice, but I have beencounting down the days to the tournament. The idea of waiting months, justso he can turn me down again, fills me with wild despair.Madoc gives me an unreadable look. “After the coronation,” he repeats.I want to scream at him: Do you know how hard it is to always keep yourhead down? To swallow insults and endure outright threats? And yet I havedone so. I thought it proved my toughness. I thought if you saw I could takewhatever came at me and still smile, you would see that I was worthy.You’re no killer.He has no idea what I am.Maybe I don’t know, either. Maybe I never let myself find out.“Prince Dain will make a fine king,” Oriana says, deftly shifting theconversation back to pleasant things. “A coronation means a month of balls.We will need new dresses.” She seems to include Taryn and me in thissweeping statement. “Magnificent ones.”Madoc nods, smiling his toothy smile. “Yes, yes, as many as you like. Iwould have you look your finest and dance your hardest.”I try to breathe slowly, to concentrate on just one thing. The pomegranateseeds on my plate, shining like rubies, wet with venison blood.After the coronation, Madoc said. I try to focus on that. It only feels likenever.I’d love to have a Court dress like the ones I have seen in Oriana’swardrobe, opulent patterns intricately stitched on skirts of gold and silver,each as beautiful as the dawn. I focus on that, too.But then I go too far and imagine myself in that dress, sword at my hip,transformed, a true member of the Court, a knight in the Circle of Falcons.And Cardan watching me from across the room, standing beside the king,laughing at my pretension.Laughing like he knows this is a fantasy that won’t ever be real.I pinch my leg until pain washes everything away.“You’ll have to wear out the soles of your shoes, just like the rest of us,”Vivi says to me and Taryn. “I bet Oriana’s sick with worry that since Madocencouraged you to dance, she can’t stop you. Horror of horrors, you mighthave a good time.”Oriana presses her lips together. “That’s not fair, nor is it true.”Vivi rolls her eyes. “If it wasn’t true, I couldn’t say it.”“Enough, all of you!” Madoc slams his hand down on the table, makingus all jump. “Coronations are a time when many things are possible.Change is coming, and there is no wisdom in crossing me.”I can’t tell if he’s talking about Prince Dain or ungrateful daughters orboth.“Are you afraid someone is going to try for the throne?” Taryn asks. Likeme, she has been raised on strategy, moves and countermoves, ambushesand upper hands. But unlike me, she has Oriana’s talent for asking thequestion that will steer a conversation toward less rocky shores.“The Greenbriar line ought to worry, not me,” Madoc says, but he lookspleased to be asked. “Doubtless some of their subjects wish there was noBlood Crown and no High King at all. His heirs ought to be particularlycareful that the armies of Faerie are satisfied. A well-seasoned strategistwaits for the right opportunity.”“Only someone with nothing to lose would attack the throne with youthere to protect it,” Oriana says primly.“There’s always something left to lose,” Vivi says, and then makes ahideous face at Oak. He giggles.Oriana reaches for him and then stops herself. Nothing bad is actuallyhappening. And yet I see the gleam in Vivi’s cat eyes, and I’m not sureOriana’s wrong to be nervous.Vivi would like to punish Madoc, but her only power is to be a thorn inhis side. Which means occasionally tormenting Oriana through Oak. I knowVivi loves Oak—he’s our brother, after all—but that doesn’t mean she’sabove teaching him bad things.Madoc smiles at all of us, now the picture of contentment. I used to thinkhe didn’t notice all the currents of tension that ran through the family, but asI get older, I see that barely suppressed conflict doesn’t bother him in theleast. He likes it just as well as open war. “Perhaps none of our enemies areparticularly good strategists.”“Let’s hope not,” Oriana says distractedly, her eyes on Oak, lifting herglass of canary wine.“Indeed,” says Madoc. “Let’s have a toast. To the incompetence of ourenemies.”I pick up my glass and knock it into Taryn’s, then drain it to the verydregs.There’s always something left to lose.I think about that all through the dawn, turning it over in my head.Finally, when I can toss and turn no more, I pull on a robe over mynightgown and go outside into the late-morning sun. Bright as hammeredgold, it hurts my eyes when I sit down on a patch of clover near the stables,looking back at the house.All of this was my mother’s before it was Oriana’s. Mom must have beenyoung and in love with Madoc back then. I wonder what it was like for her.I wonder if she thought she was going to be happy here.I wonder when she realized she wasn’t.I have heard the rumors. It is no small thing to confound the High King’sgeneral, to sneak out of Faerie with his baby in your belly and hide foralmost ten years. She left behind the burned remains of another woman inthe blackened husk of his estate. No one can say she didn’t prove hertoughness. If she’d just been a little luckier, Madoc would have neverrealized she was still alive.She had a lot to lose, I guess.I’ve got a lot to lose, too.But so what?“Skip our lessons today,” I tell Taryn that afternoon. I am dressed and readyearly. Though I have not slept, I do not feel at all tired. “Stay home.”She gives me a look of deep concern as a pixie boy, newly indebted toMadoc, braids her chestnut hair into a crown. She is sitting primly at herdressing table, clad all in brown and gold. “Telling me not to go means Ishould. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I know you’re disappointed aboutthe tournament—”“It doesn’t matter,” I say, although, of course, it does. It matters so muchthat, now, without hope of knighthood, I feel like a hole has opened upunder me and I am falling through it.“Madoc might change his mind.” She follows me down the stairs,grabbing up our baskets before I can. “And at least now you won’t have todefy Cardan.”I turn on her, even though none of this is her fault. “Do you knowwhyMadoc won’t let me try for knighthood? Because he thinks I’m weak.”“Jude,” she cautions.“I thought I was supposed to be good and follow the rules,” I say. “But Iam done with being weak. I am done with being good. I think I am going tobe something else.”“Only idiots aren’t scared of things that are scary,” Taryn says, which isundoubtedly true, but still fails to dissuade me.“Skip lessons today,” I tell her again, but she won’t, so we go to schooltogether.Taryn watches me warily as I talk with the leader of the mock war, Fand,a pixie girl with skin the blue of flower petals. She reminds me that there’sa run-through tomorrow in preparation for the tournament.I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. No one needs to know that my hopeswere dashed. No one needs to know I ever had any hope at all.Later, when Cardan, Locke, Nicasia, and Valerian sit down to their lunch,they have to spit out their food in choking horror. All around them are theless awful children of faerie nobles, eating their bread and honey, theircakes and roasted pigeons, their elderflower jam with biscuits and cheeseand the fat globes of grapes. But every single morsel in each of myenemies’ baskets has been well and thoroughly salted.Cardan’s gaze catches mine, and I can’t help the evil smile that pulls upthe corners of my mouth. His eyes are bright as coals, his hatred a livingthing, shimmering in the air between us like the air above black rocks on ablazing summer day.“Have you lost your wits?” Taryn demands, shaking my shoulder so thatI have to turn to her. “You’re making everything worse. There’s a reason noone stands up to them.”“I know,” I say softly, unable to keep the smile off my lips. “A lot ofreasons.”She’s right to be worried. I just declared war.I’ve told this story all wrong. There are things I really ought to have saidabout growing up in Faerie. I left them out of the story, mostly because I ama coward. I don’t even like to let myself think about them. But maybeknowing a few relevant details about my past will make more sense of whyI’m the way I am. How fear seeped into my marrow. How I learned topretend it away.So here are three things I should have told you about myself before, butdidn’t:1. When I was nine, one of Madoc’s guards bit off the very top of thering finger on my left hand. We were outside, and when I screamed,he pushed me hard enough that my head smacked into a woodenpost in the stables. Then he made me stand there while he chewedthe piece he’d bitten off. He told me exactly how much he hatedmortals. I bled so much—you wouldn’t think that much blood couldcome out of a finger. When it was over, he explained that I betterkeep what happened secret, because if I didn’t, he’d eat the rest ofme. So, obviously, I didn’t tell anyone. Until now, when I am tellingyou. 2. When I was eleven, I was spotted hiding under the banquet table atone of the revels by a particularly bored member of the Gentry. Hedragged me out by one foot, kicking and squirming. I don’t think heknew who I was—at least, I tell myself he didn’t. But he compelledme to drink, and so I drank; the grass-green faerie wine slippingdown my throat like nectar. He danced me around the hill. It was funat first, the kind of terrifying fun that makes you screech to be putdown half the time and feel dizzy and sick the rest. But when the funwore off and I still couldn’t stop, it was just terrifying. It turned outthat my fear was equally amusing to him, though. Princess Elowynfound me at the end of the revel, puking and crying. She didn’t askme a single thing about how I got that way, she just handed me overto Oriana like I was a misplaced jacket. We never told Madoc aboutit. What would have been the point? Everyone who saw meprobably thought I was having a grand old time. 3. When I was fourteen and Oak was four, he glamoured me. He didn’tmean to—well, at least he didn’t really understand why heshouldn’t. I wasn’t wearing any protective charms because I’d justcome out of a bath. Oak didn’t want to go to bed. He told me to playdolls with him, so we played. He commanded me to chase him, sowe played chase through the halls. Then he figured out he couldmake me slap myself, which was very funny. Tatterfell came uponus hours later, took a good look at my reddened cheeks and the tearsin my eyes, and then ran for Oriana. For weeks, a giggling Oak triedto glamour me into getting him sweets or lifting him above my heador spitting at the dinner table. Even though it never worked, eventhough I wore a strand of rowan berries everywhere after that, it wasall I could do for months not to strike him to the floor. Oriana hasnever forgiven me for that restraint—she believes my not revengingmyself on him then means I plan to revenge myself in the future.Here’s why I don’t like these stories: They highlight that I am vulnerable.No matter how careful I am, eventually I’ll make another misstep. I amweak. I am fragile. I am mortal.I hate that most of all.Even if, by some miracle, I could be better than them, I will never be oneof them.They don’t wait long to retaliate.For the rest of the afternoon and early evening, we receive lessons inhistory. A cat-headed goblin named Yarrow recites ballads and asks usquestions. The more correct answers I give, the angrier Cardan grows. Hemakes no secret of his displeasure, drawling to Locke about how boringthese lessons are and sneering at the lecturer.For once, we’re done before dark has fully fallen. Taryn and I start forhome, with her giving me concerned glances. The light of sunset filtersthrough the trees, and I take a deep breath, drinking in the scent of pineneedles. I feel a kind of weird calm, despite the stupidity of what I’ve done.“This isn’t like you,” Taryn says finally. “You don’t pick fights withpeople.”“Appeasing them won’t help.” I toe a stone with a slipper-covered foot.“The more they get away with, the more they believe they’re entitled tohave.”“So you’re going to, what—teach them manners?” Taryn sighs. “Even ifsomeone should do it, that someone doesn’t have to be you.”She’s right. I know she’s right. The giddy fury of this afternoon will fade,and I will regret what I’ve done. Probably after a good, long sleep, I’ll be ashorrified as Taryn is. All I have bought myself is worse problems, no matterhow good it felt to salve my pride.You’re no killer.What you lack is nothing to do with experience.And yet, I don’t regret it now. Having stepped off the edge, what I wantto do is fall.I begin to speak when a hand claps down over my mouth. Fingers sinkinto the skin around my lips. I strike out, swinging my body around, and seeLocke grabbing Taryn’s waist. Someone has my wrists. I wrench my mouthfree and scream, but screams in Faerie are like birdsong, too common toattract much attention.They push us through the woods, laughing. I hear a whoop from one ofthe boys. I think I hear Locke say something about larks being over quickly,but it’s swallowed up in the merriment.Then a shove at my shoulders and the horrible shock of cold waterclosing over me. I sputter, trying to breathe. I taste mud and reeds. I shovemyself up. Taryn and I are waist-high in the river, the current pushing usdownstream toward a deeper, rougher part. I dig my feet into the muck atthe bottom to keep from being swept away. Taryn is gripping a boulder, herhair wet. She must have slipped.“There are nixies in this river,” Valerian says. “If you don’t get out beforethey find you, they’ll pull you under and hold you there. Their sharp teethwill sink into your skin.” He mimes taking a bite.They’re all along the riverbank, Cardan closest, Valerian beside him.Locke brushes his hand over the tops of cattails and bulrushes, lookingabstracted. He does not seem kind now. He seems bored with his friendsand with us, too.“Nixies can’t help what they are,” Nicasia says, kicking the water so thatit splashesmy face. “Just like you won’t be able to help drowning.”I dig my feet deeper into the mud. The water filling my boots makes ithard to move my legs, but the mud locks them in place when I manage tostand still. I don’t know how I am going to get to Taryn without slipping.Valerian is emptying our schoolbags onto the riverbank. He and Nicasiaand Locke take turns hurling the contents into the water. My leather-boundnotebooks. Rolls of paper that disintegrate as they sink. The books ofballads and histories make an enormous splash, then lodge between twostones and will not budge. My fine pen and nibs shimmer along the bottom.My inkpot shatters on the rocks, turning the river vermilion.Cardan watches me. Although he doesn’t lift a finger, I know this is allhis doing. In his eyes, I see all the vast alienness of Faerie.“Is this fun?” I call to the shore. I am so furious that there’s no room forbeing scared. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”“Enormously,” says Cardan. Then his gaze slides from me to whereshadows rest under the water. Are those nixies? I cannot tell. I just keepmoving toward Taryn.“This is just a game,” Nicasia says. “But sometimes we play too hardwith our toys. And then they break.”“It’s not like we drowned you ourselves,” Valerian calls.My foot slips on slick rocks, and I am under, swept downstreamhelplessly, gulping muddy water. I panic, snorting into my lungs. I thrustout a hand, and it closes on the root of a tree. I get my balance again,gasping and coughing.Nicasia and Valerian are laughing. Locke’s expression is unreadable.Cardan has one foot in the reeds, as though to get a better look. Furious andsputtering, I push my way back to Taryn, who comes forward to grab myhand and squeeze it hard.“I thought you were going to drown,” she says, the edge of hysteria inher voice.“We’re fine,” I tell her. Digging my feet into the murk, I reach down for arock. I find a large one and heft it up, green and slick with algae. “If thenixies come at us, I’ll hold them off.”“Quit,” Cardan says. He’s looking directly at me. He does not even sparea glance for Taryn. “You should never have been tutored with us. Abandonthoughts of the tourney. Tell Madoc you don’t belong with us, your betters.Do that and I’ll save you.”I stare at him.“All you have to do is give in,” he says. “Easy.”I look over at my sister. It’s my fault she’s wet and scared. The river iscold, despite the heat of summer, the current strong. “And you’ll saveTaryn, too?”“Oh, so you’ll do what I say for her sake?” Cardan’s gaze is hungry,devouring. “Does that feel noble?” He pauses, and in that silence, all I hearis Taryn’s hitched breath. “Well, does it?”I look at the nixies, watch them for any sign of movement. “Why don’tyou tell me how you want me to feel?”“Interesting.” He takes another step closer, squatting and regarding usfrom eye level. “There are so few children in Faerie that I’ve never seen oneof us twinned. Is it like being doubled or more like being divided in half?”I don’t answer.Behind him, I see Nicasia thread her arm through Locke’s and whispersomething to him. He gives her a scathing look, and she pouts. Maybethey’re annoyed that we’re not currently being eaten.Cardan frowns. “Twin sister,” he says, turning to Taryn. A smile returnsto his mouth, as though a terrible new idea has come to delight him. “Wouldyou make a similar sacrifice? Let’s find out. I have a most generous offerfor you. Climb up the bank and kiss me on both my cheeks. Once that’sdone, so long as you don’t defend your sister by word or deed, I won’t holdyou accountable for her defiance. Now, isn’t that a good bargain? But youget it only if you come to us now and leave her there to drown. Show herthat she will always be alone.”For a moment, Taryn stands still, as if frozen.“Go,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”It still hurts when she wades toward the bank. But of course she shouldgo. She will be safe, and the price is nothing that matters.One of the pale shapes detaches from the others and swims toward her,but my shadow in the water makes it hesitate. I mime throwing the rock,and it jolts a little. They like easy prey.Valerian takes Taryn’s hand and helps her out of the water as if she werea great lady. Her dress is soaked, dripping as she moves, like the dresses ofwater sprites or sea nymphs. She presses her bluish lips to Cardan’s cheeks,one and then the other. She keeps her eyes closed, but his are open,watching me.“Say ‘I forsake my sister Jude,’ ” Nicasia tells her. “ ‘I won’t help her. Idon’t even like her.’ ”Taryn looks in my direction, quick and apologetic. “I don’t have to saythat. That wasn’t part of the bargain.” The others laugh.Cardan’s boot parts the thistles and bulrushes. Locke starts to speak, butCardan cuts him off. “Your sister abandoned you. See what we can do witha few words? And everything can get so much worse. We can enchant youto run around on all fours, barking like a dog. We can curse you to witheraway for want of a song you’ll never hear again or a kind word from mylips. We’re not mortal. We will break you. You’re a fragile little thing; we’dhardly need to try. Give up.”“Never,” I say.He smiles, smug. “Never? Never is like forever—too big for mortals tocomprehend.”The shape in the water remains where it is, probably because thepresence of Cardan and the others makes it seem like I have friends whomight defend me if I were attacked. I wait for Cardan’s next move,watching him carefully. I hope I look defiant. He scrutinizes me for a long,awful moment.“Think on us,” he says to me. “All through your long, sodden, shamefulwalk home. Think on your answer. This is the least of what we can do.”With that, he turns away from us, and after a moment, the others turn, too. Iwatch him go. I watch them all go.When they’re out of sight, I pull myself onto the bank, flopping onto myback in the mud next to where Taryn is standing. I take big, gulping breathsof air. The nixies begin to surface, looking at us with hungry, opalescenteyes. They peer at us through a patch of foxtails. One begins to crawl ontoland.I throw my rock. It doesn’t come close to hitting, but the splash startlesthem into not coming closer.Grunting, I force myself up to begin walking. And all through our walkhome, while Taryn makes soft, sobbing sounds, I think about how much Ihate them and how much I hate myself. And then I don’t think aboutanything but lifting my wet boots, one step after another carrying me pastthe briars and fiddleheads and elms, past bushes of red-lipped cherries,barberries and damsons, past the wood sprites who nest in the rosebushes,home to a bath and a bed in a world that isn’t mine and might never be.My head is pounding when Vivienne shakes me awake. She jumps up ontothe bed, kicking off the coverlets and making the frame groan. I press acushion over my face and curl up on my side, trying to ignore her and goback to dreamless slumber.“Get up, sleepyhead,” she says, pulling back my blankets. “We’re goingto the mall.”I make a strangled noise and wave her away.“Up!” she commands, leaping again.“No,” I moan, burrowing deeper in what’s left of the blankets. “I’ve gotto rehearse for the tournament.”Vivi stops bouncing, and I realize that it’s no longer true. I don’t have tofight. Except that I foolishly told Cardan I would never quit.Which makes me remember the river and the nixies and Taryn.How she was right, and I was magnificently, extravagantly wrong.“I’ll buy you coffee when we get there, coffee with chocolate andwhipped cream.” Vivi is relentless. “Come on. Taryn’s waiting.”I half-stumble out of bed. Standing, I scratch my hip and glare. She givesme her most charming smile, and I find my annoyance fading, despitemyself. Vivi is often selfish, but she’s so cheerful about it and soencouraging of cheerful selfishness in others that it’s easy to have fun withher.I dress quickly in the modern