The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air Book 1)

Disturbingly, it is even easier to gain entrance to the Palace of Elfhame in my servant’s gown than it was to enter Balekin’s household. Everyone, from goblin to the Gentry to the High King’s mortal Court Poet and Seneschal, barely gives me a passing look as I find my clumsy way through the labyrinthine halls. I am nothing, no one, a messenger no more worthy of attention than an animated twig woman or an owl. My pleasant, placid expression, combined with forward momentum, gets me to Prince Dain’s chambers without so much as a second look, even though I lose my way twice and have to retrace my steps.

I rap on his door and am relieved when the prince himself opens it.

He raises both brows, taking in the sight of me in the homespun dress. I make a formal curtsy, as any servant might. I do not alter my expression, for fear of his not being alone. “Yes?” he asks.

“I am here with a message for you, Your Highness,” I say, hoping that sounds right. “I beg for a moment of your time.”

“You’re a natural,” he tells me, grinning. “Come inside.”

It’s a relief to relax my face. I drop the inane smile as I follow him into his parlor.

Furnished in elaborate velvets, silks, and brocades, it’s a riot of scarlet and deep blues and greens, everything rich and dark, like overripe fruit. The patterns on the material are the sorts of things I have become accustomed to—intricate braids of briars, leaves that might also be spiders when you looked at them from another angle, and a depiction of a hunt where it is unclear which of the creatures is hunting the other.

I sigh and sit down in the chair he is pointing me toward, fumbling in my pocket.

“Here,” I say, drawing out the folded-up note and smoothing it against the top of a cunning little table with carved bird feet for legs. “He came in while I was copying it, so it’s kind of a mess.” I had left the stolen book with the toad; the last thing I want Prince Dain to know is that I took something for myself.

Dain squints to see the shapes of the letters past my smudges. “And he didn’t see you?”

“He was distracted,” I say truthfully. “I hid.”

He nods and rings a small bell, probably to summon a servant. I will be glad of anyone not ensorcelled. “Good. And did you enjoy it?”

I am not sure what to make of that question. I was frightened pretty much the whole time—how is that enjoyable? But the longer I think about it, the more I realize that I did sort of enjoy it. Most of my life is dreadful anticipation, a waiting for the other shoe to drop—at home, in classes, with the Court. Being afraid I would be caught spying was an entirely new sensation, one where I felt, at least, as though I knew exactly what to be scared of. I knew what it would take to win. Sneaking through Balekin’s house had been less frightening than some revels.

At least until I’d watched Cardan get beaten. Then I’d felt something I don’t want to examine too closely.

“I liked doing a good job,” I say, finally finding an honest answer.

That makes Dain nod. He’s about to tell me something else when another faerie enters the room. A male goblin, scarred, his skin the green of ponds. His nose is long and twists fully around, before bending back toward his face like a scythe. His hair is a black tuft at the very crown of his head. His eyes are unreadable. He blinks several times, as though trying to focus on me.

“They call me the Roach,” he says, his voice melodious, completely at odds with his face. He bows and then cocks the side of his head toward Dain. “At his service. I guess we both are. You’re the new girl, right?”

I nod. “Am I supposed to tell you my name, or am I supposed to come up with something clever?”

The Roach grins, which twists his whole face up even more hideously. “I am supposed to take you to meet the troupe. And don’t worry about what we’re going to call you. We decide that for ourselves. You think anyone in their right mind would want to be called the Roach?”

“Great,” I say, and sigh.

He gives me a long look. “Yeah, I can see how that’s a real talent. Not having to say what you mean.”

He’s dressed in an imitation of a court doublet, except his doublet is made from scraps of leather. I wonder what Madoc would say if he knew where I was and with whom. I do not think he would be pleased.

I don’t think he’d be pleased by anything I did today. Soldiers have a peculiar kind of honor, even those who dip their caps in the blood of their enemies. Sneaking around houses and stealing papers is not at all in line with it. Even though Madoc has spies of his own, I don’t think he’d like my being one.

“So he’s been blackmailing Queen Orlagh,” Dain says, and the Roach and I look over at him.

Prince Dain is frowning over the letter, and suddenly I understand—he recognizes my copy of the handwriting. Nicasia’s mother, Queen Orlagh, must be the woman who obtained poison for Balekin. She wrote that she was repaying a debt, although knowing Nicasia, I would guess a little nastiness wouldn’t give her mother much pause. But the Queen of the Undersea’s kingdom is vast and mighty. It is hard to imagine what Balekin could have over her.

Dain hands my letter to the Roach. “So do you still believe he will use it before the coronation?”

The goblin’s nose quivers. “That’s the smart move. Once the crown is on your head, nothing’s going to get it off.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t been sure whom the poison was for. I open my mouth and then bite the side of my cheek to stop myself from saying something foolish. Of course it must be for Prince Dain. Whom else would Balekin need some special poison to kill? If he were going to put regular people to death, he’d probably use some kind of cheap, regular-person poison.

Dain seems to notice my surprise. “We have never gotten along, my brother and I. He has always been too ambitious for that. And yet I had hoped…” He waves his hand around, dismissing whatever he was about to say. “Poison may be a coward’s weapon, but it is an effective one.”

“What about Princess Elowyn?” I ask, and then wish I could take back the question. Poison for her, too, probably. Queen Orlagh must have a cartload of it.

This time, Dain doesn’t answer me.

“Maybe Balekin plans on marrying her,” the Roach says, surprising us both. At our expressions, he shrugs. “What? If he makes things too obvious, he’s going to be the next one to get a knife in the back. And he wouldn’t be the first member of the Gentry to wed a sister.”

“If he marries her,” Dain says, laughing for the first time in this conversation, “he’ll get a knife in the front.”

I had always thought of Elowyn as the gentle sister. Again, I am aware of how little I really know about the world I am trying to navigate.

“Come,” says the Roach, waving me to my feet. “It’s time you met the others.”

I cast a plaintive look in Dain’s direction. I don’t want to go with the Roach, whom I have just met and whom I am not at all sure I trust. Even I, who have grown up in the house of a redcap, fear goblins.

“Before you go.” Dain walks over until he’s standing directly in front of me. “I promised that none might compel you, save for me. I am afraid I am going to have to use that power. Jude Duarte, I forbid you from speaking aloud about your service to me. I forbid you from putting it into writing or into song. You will never tell anyone of the Roach. You will never tell anyone of any of my spies. You will never reveal their secrets, their meeting places, their safe houses. So long as I live, you will obey this.”

I am wearing my necklace of rowan berries, but they are no protection against the magic of the geas. This is no regular glamour, no simple sorcery.

The weight of the geas slams down on me, and I know that if I tried to speak, my mouth wouldn’t be able to form those forbidden words. I hate it. It’s an awful, out-of-control feeling. It makes me scramble around in my head, trying to imagine my way around his commandment, but I cannot.

I think of my first ride to Faerie and the sound of Taryn and Vivi wailing. I think of Madoc’s grim expression, jaw locked, doubtlessly unused to children, no less human ones. His ears must have been ringing. He must have wanted us to shut up. It’s hard to think anything good about Madoc in that moment, with our parents’ heartsblood on his hands. But I will say this for him—he never enchanted away our grief or took our voices. He never did any of the things that might have made the trip easier for him.

I try to convince myself that Prince Dain is only doing the smart thing, the necessary thing, in binding me. But it makes my skin crawl.

For a moment, I am unsure of my decision to serve him.

“Oh,” Dain says as I am about to leave. “One more thing. Do you know what mithridatism is?”

I shake my head, not sure I am interested in anything he has to say right now.

“Look into it.” He smiles. “That’s not a command, only a sug- gestion.”

I follow the Roach through the palace, keeping back from him a few steps so it doesn’t seem like we’re together. We pass a general Madoc knows, and I make sure to keep my head bowed. I don’t think he would look closely enough to recognize me, but I cannot be sure.

“Where are we going?” I whisper after several minutes of walking through the halls.

“Just a little farther,” he says gruffly, opening a cupboard and climbing inside. His eyes reflect orange, like a bear’s. “Well, come on, get in and close the door.”

“I can’t see in the dark,” I remind him, because that is one of the many things the Folk never remember about us.

He grunts.

I get in, folding myself up tightly so that no part of me touches him, and then I close the cabinet door behind me. I hear the slide of wood and feel the rush of cold, damp air. The scent of wet stone fills the space.

His hand on my arm is careful, but I can feel his claws. I let him pull me forward, allow him to press my head so I know when to duck. When I straighten out, I am on a narrow platform above what appears to be the palace’s wine cellars.

My eyes are still adjusting, but from what I can see, there is a network of passageways worming below the palace. I wonder how many people know about them. I smile at the thought of having a secret about this place. Me, of all people.

I wonder if Madoc knows.

I bet Cardan doesn’t.

I grin, wider than before.

“Enough gawping?” the Roach asks. “I can wait.”

“Are you ready to tell me anything?” I ask him. “Like, where we’re going or what’s going to happen when we get there?”

“Figure it out,” he says, the growl in his voice. “Go on.”

“You said we were going to meet the others,” I tell him, starting with what I know, trying to keep up and avoid stumbling on the uneven ground. “And Prince Dain made me promise not to reveal any hidden locations, so obviously we’re going to your lair. But that doesn’t tell me what we’re going to do when we get there.”

“Maybe we’re going to show you secret handshakes,” the Roach says. He’s doing something I can’t quite see, but a moment later, I hear a click—as though a lock was tripped or a trap disarmed. A gentle shove against the small of my back and I am heading down a new, even more dimly lit tunnel.

I know when we come to a door because I walk straight into it, much to the Roach’s amusement. “You really can’t see,” he says.

I rub my forehead. “I told you I couldn’t!”

“Yes, but you’re the liar,” he reminds me. “I’m not supposed to believe anything you say.”

“Why would I lie about something like that?” I demand, still annoyed.

He lets my question hang in the air. The answer is obvious—so I could retrace my steps. So he might accidentally show me something he wouldn’t show someone else. So that he would be incautious.

I really need to stop asking stupid questions.

And maybe he really needs to be less paranoid, since Dain put a geas on me so I can’t tell anyone no matter what.

The Roach opens the door, and light floods the hallway, causing me to throw my arm up in front of my face. Blinking, I look into the secret lair of Prince Dain’s spies. It’s packed earth on all four sides, with walls that curve inward and a rounded ceiling. A large table dominates the room, and sitting at it are two faeries I’ve never met—both of them gazing at me unhappily.

“Welcome,” says the Roach, “to the Court of Shadows.”