and sits on the cleared edge.
“Thank you for your help,” he says with a nod to the piece I’m working on now. I use my thick-bristled brush to spread a clear, quick-drying glue over the strips of black bark I’ve stretched over the leather. The bark is tough and nearly impossible to cut. The fae harvest it by pulling off whole pieces from the jaedric tree. Once the paper-thin, lightweight strips dry over the cuirass, they can stop arrows as effectively as police vests stop bullets.
Yes, there’s a certain irony to my making armor for the Court’s enemies, but it gives me something to do. Plus, every so often I stretch only four layers of bark over the shell rather than the five Kelia told me to. Despite her random inspections, I haven’t been caught yet.
“No problem,” I say and pick up another strip of jaedric from the dwindling stack at my feet.
“The Court has treated you well, hasn’t it?”
I stretch the bark across the middle of the cuirass, using my knee to keep one end held in place. Without looking up, I say curtly, “Yes.”
“The king provides for you.”
“Yes,” I answer again. Shadow-reading is my job. The king gives me just enough cash each month to pay my tuition and bills, to buy groceries. I could probably live in a threethousand-square-foot house if I wanted to—Atroth would pay me more if I asked—but I live cheaply because I don’t want anyone asking where my money comes from.
“We could provide for you, too,” Sethan says.
This time, I do look up. “ Are you trying to buy me?”
“It’s preferable to other methods of coercion, is it not?”
I keep my expression blank. “My loyalty’s not for sale.”
Sethan’s lips thin. I don’t think he likes me much more than Lena does. I’m surprised he’s letting Aren have his way instead of his sister, who still wants me dead. But then, from what Kelia’s told me, Sethan and Aren are practically brothers.
Speaking of Sethan’s family, Lena’s voice carries across the clearing. I miss what she says, but she’s striding toward us carrying a cloth sack. An unfamiliar fae trails behind her, his face drawn and ragged.
Sethan stands, but I don’t move from my perch straddling the picnic bench, not until Lena overturns the sack and a severed head thumps onto the table.
I leap away. My boots slip on the rock bed and I crash down on my ass. The stench hits me a second later. My stomach lurches, but I can’t take my eyes off its eyes. The head rests on its left ear. The right eye is open, but the silver iris and gray pupil are nearly invisible beneath a white film. I can’t see the iris and pupil in the left eye because of the stake jammed into the socket. A part of my brain registers the fact that the metal also spikes through a bloodstained note. The other part of my brain registers nothing.
Aren pulls me to my feet. I don’t know where he came from. I hear his voice, but can’t make myself understand his words. He’s not talking to me anyway. He’s speaking in Fae to Lena and the man who followed her.
I make myself focus on them, on Aren actually, hoping his face can block out the image of the thing on the table.
He glances at me. “Is the Court not as benevolent as you thought?” he asks.
My gut tightens. I’ve heard of the rebellion sending heads with messages, but I’ve never seen it before. When fae die, they disappear in a flash of light and their soul-shadows—white mists visible only to humans with the Sight—dissolve into the air. Kyol calls it “going into the ether,” which I guess is their equivalent to going to heaven. Severing a fae’s head prevents that, though, and it’s considered exceptionally malicious.
“You do it, too,” I say quietly.
Lena snorts. “So of course that makes it okay for them to do.”
No. It doesn’t make it okay. A trace of doubt snakes through my confidence. What if I’m wrong about the Court? What if I’ve spent ten years reading shadows for the wrong
“Thank you for your help,” he says with a nod to the piece I’m working on now. I use my thick-bristled brush to spread a clear, quick-drying glue over the strips of black bark I’ve stretched over the leather. The bark is tough and nearly impossible to cut. The fae harvest it by pulling off whole pieces from the jaedric tree. Once the paper-thin, lightweight strips dry over the cuirass, they can stop arrows as effectively as police vests stop bullets.
Yes, there’s a certain irony to my making armor for the Court’s enemies, but it gives me something to do. Plus, every so often I stretch only four layers of bark over the shell rather than the five Kelia told me to. Despite her random inspections, I haven’t been caught yet.
“No problem,” I say and pick up another strip of jaedric from the dwindling stack at my feet.
“The Court has treated you well, hasn’t it?”
I stretch the bark across the middle of the cuirass, using my knee to keep one end held in place. Without looking up, I say curtly, “Yes.”
“The king provides for you.”
“Yes,” I answer again. Shadow-reading is my job. The king gives me just enough cash each month to pay my tuition and bills, to buy groceries. I could probably live in a threethousand-square-foot house if I wanted to—Atroth would pay me more if I asked—but I live cheaply because I don’t want anyone asking where my money comes from.
“We could provide for you, too,” Sethan says.
This time, I do look up. “ Are you trying to buy me?”
“It’s preferable to other methods of coercion, is it not?”
I keep my expression blank. “My loyalty’s not for sale.”
Sethan’s lips thin. I don’t think he likes me much more than Lena does. I’m surprised he’s letting Aren have his way instead of his sister, who still wants me dead. But then, from what Kelia’s told me, Sethan and Aren are practically brothers.
Speaking of Sethan’s family, Lena’s voice carries across the clearing. I miss what she says, but she’s striding toward us carrying a cloth sack. An unfamiliar fae trails behind her, his face drawn and ragged.
Sethan stands, but I don’t move from my perch straddling the picnic bench, not until Lena overturns the sack and a severed head thumps onto the table.
I leap away. My boots slip on the rock bed and I crash down on my ass. The stench hits me a second later. My stomach lurches, but I can’t take my eyes off its eyes. The head rests on its left ear. The right eye is open, but the silver iris and gray pupil are nearly invisible beneath a white film. I can’t see the iris and pupil in the left eye because of the stake jammed into the socket. A part of my brain registers the fact that the metal also spikes through a bloodstained note. The other part of my brain registers nothing.
Aren pulls me to my feet. I don’t know where he came from. I hear his voice, but can’t make myself understand his words. He’s not talking to me anyway. He’s speaking in Fae to Lena and the man who followed her.
I make myself focus on them, on Aren actually, hoping his face can block out the image of the thing on the table.
He glances at me. “Is the Court not as benevolent as you thought?” he asks.
My gut tightens. I’ve heard of the rebellion sending heads with messages, but I’ve never seen it before. When fae die, they disappear in a flash of light and their soul-shadows—white mists visible only to humans with the Sight—dissolve into the air. Kyol calls it “going into the ether,” which I guess is their equivalent to going to heaven. Severing a fae’s head prevents that, though, and it’s considered exceptionally malicious.
“You do it, too,” I say quietly.
Lena snorts. “So of course that makes it okay for them to do.”
No. It doesn’t make it okay. A trace of doubt snakes through my confidence. What if I’m wrong about the Court? What if I’ve spent ten years reading shadows for the wrong
Similar Books
