I wished I’d thought of that before . . . before what? I didn’t know. Before I’d boarded the airship? Told Fin about Mr. Candery’s letter?
The halls Mr. Candery and I wound through seemed to have no logic at all, no sense of geometric order. I tried to picture the layout of the Fey barracks but only became more confused. I thought it must be more like a beehive than a building. I remembered the first explorers’ description of the Fey capital as a honeycomb of interconnected small spaces, but even that would surely have clearer pathways, more straight lines.
Mr. Candery ushered me into another room. He was supposed to be taking me to his superiors, and I’d expected something grand, a long reception hall, perhaps, or a war room. But this office was even smaller than the last one.
Mr. Candery settled into a chair and looked at the floor, frowning. His expression was both sad and kind. I watched him for a moment, willing him to look up at me, but he wouldn’t.
I forced myself to ignore the tight new knot in my stomach so that I could examine my surroundings.
The desk was small but ornate, and the chairs around it were carved from chalky, faintly translucent stone. A shade blossom floated in a shallow glass bowl on the desktop, slipping and twirling on the surface in some sourceless current.
The walls were covered in floral wallpaper like we used to have at home, before Mother died and Father’d had it painted over, with flowers that moved against their butter-yellow background, drifting in a breeze that wasn’t there. They were large, blowzy pink blossoms with dense multitudes of fringed petals, and I found it hard to draw my eyes away from their delicate, shivering movements . . .
I could even smell something rich and heady, as if the flowers dripped honey. I stepped forward, barely aware of the way my feet moved, or how my hands reached out to touch the blossoms, or the slight sting as my fingertips slipped through the place where the wallpaper should have been . . .
“Nicolette!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
The edges of my vision seemed to tremble as I pulled myself away from the wall. I felt something sucking at my hand, but I couldn’t quite focus on what it was. I couldn’t quite focus on anything.
Mr. Candery was there at my side before I’d even finished turning around. He took my hand and examined it carefully, and I was startled to see a ring of tiny marks on the tip of my index finger, like a perfectly round set of little teeth.
Mr. Candery looked in my eyes for a long moment, as if he were searching for something. There was still that trembling at the edge of my vision, but it was beginning to fade. When the last wiggling corners of my sight grew still again, he nodded and let out a long breath that he seemed to have been holding.
“You’re lucky,” he whispered, squeezing my finger so that a few drops of dark blood beaded out. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood away, then repeated the process. “You need to be careful here, Nicolette.”
I swallowed, trying to clear my throat, which felt as if it were filled with syrup.
“So must we all,” said someone else.
This voice was quieter and gentler than Mr. Candery’s had ever been, even when I was small, and yet it held a certain authority that compelled me to look up and find the speaker.
A person a little bit shorter than I, and quite a bit wider, smiled softly at me. “I am Talis,” fe said, giving a brief, fluid bow.
I knew at once that Talis was the Fey ruler. It wasn’t that I’d heard the name before or seen the face that smiled at me now on any royal portraits or currency. But there was a royalty about this person that even Fin didn’t have, charming prince that he was. It went deeper than likability or charisma; I felt a natural trust toward fer, the same way I trusted that each morning the sun would rise.
I reminded myself that I was supposed to be royal too: the Heiress Apparent. The syrupy feeling in my throat had finally vanished, as had the stinging in my hand, and I was able to curtsy and then hold my head high as I met Talis’s level, mild gaze. My mind spun through all the tactical arguments Fin and I had talked about, all the rhetorical leaps we’d make to try to persuade this leader to trust us, despite so many reasons why fe shouldn’t.
I’d had only a year to observe Fin being a prince, but I’d learned a few things. For instance: If you want to make people believe in you, you must act as if you believe in yourself.
“I am Nicolette Lampton, Heiress Apparent to Esting,” I said. “I am glad to meet you at last.” Each time I made myself pretend to have some authority, it came more naturally—I thought even I might believe it eventually.
“And I you,” Talis said. “I was curious about your mother’s daughter years before I heard you were the Esting prince’s betrothed.” Fe smiled. “But I’m afraid I have defined you too much by those around you,” fe added thoughtfully.
I blinked. I’d worried about just that for so long: that I would always be seen in relation to Fin, that no matter what I accomplished I would always be Mechanica from the stories instead of Nick the inventor.
I looked more closely at the face of the Fey ruler. Fer skin was so covered in freckles that it was almost entirely blue; the thin skin of fer lips and eyelids was blue indeed.
Talis regarded me thoughtfully, almost shyly. I felt that sense of obvious authority again as I looked into fer blue-black eyes, even though fe was so different from the military leader I’d imagined. Talis reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t place who; someone else who was quiet and shy, whose kindness spoke for itself.
Wheelock. Talis was like Wheelock. I looked down at the floor, steadying myself. For a moment I felt the pitch and roll of the Imperator’s deck again, and remembered the way it had felt to watch from the sky as the ship crashed into the water.
“Are you all right, lada?” fe asked.
I looked back up.
Talis’s face showed only concern; not cunning, not even curiosity. Had fe seen what was in my mind?
And fe called me lada. I knew the word from the Fey history books I’d read as a child. It meant something that we didn’t have a word for in Esting, something between cousin and loved one that also meant “pulse” or “heartbeat.” The Fey lived in groups of friends, and they bore and raised their children that way too; they might call their children or siblings or any of their parents lada. It was a word for someone who wasn’t just family but a part of oneself.
I looked at this person who was so gentle, so concerned, and I nodded. I remembered another moment with Wheelock: when he’d declared his allegiance to Fin after we’d saved the merman. How he had shrugged off his stiff formality like a cloak and shown us who he really was.
I understood why he’d done that now.
I reached out and took Talis’s hand, ignoring Mr. Candery’s soft, disapproving gasp. “Please,” I said. “Please take me to Fin. I promise he means you no harm.”
Talis’s cool, dry, callused hand squeezed mine before letting go. Fe walked around to the chair behind the desk and sat down, gesturing with fer free hand for me to sit in the chair opposite.
Fe leaned forward. “May I tell you a story, lada?”
I felt my jaw tightening. I just wanted to get Fin free. What was the point of a story?
I glanced at Mr. Candery. His eyes closed and he gave the briefest, shallowest nod.
I turned back to Talis and smiled, then sat in the chair fe had indicated.
Fe settled in fer own seat, pushing back fer thick gray hair.
“Many years ago in this country,” fe said, “not long after the first arrivals from your own land, there lived a poor family who wished for a child. They kept wishing, but it took a very long time for their wish to be granted, so long that the one who gave birth, the one you would call mother, had grown old and frail, and fe died in delivery. A new illness from Esting swept through the country soon after and killed all but one of the child’s other parents.”
I recalled the Fey’s croup that had killed Mother—that
I thought had killed her. Rage and grief roiled inside me as Talis continued the story quietly.
“The surviving parent, Cal, was struck blind by the illness. Fe tried fer best to look after the child, whose name was Shim, but soon they were reduced to living in the streets, begging for scraps, and no one would help them. There was a healer in the city who Shim believed could restore fer parent’s sight, but the healer’s price was a hundred times more than the two of them could save in a lifetime.” Talis’s voice had grown louder and clearer. The idea of beggars on the streets of Faerie clearly enraged fer.
I thought of little Runner back home, the girl who had slept on a shelf to avoid the rats, when she was lucky. I thought of all the other beggars in Esting City, too many to remember, far too many to name. Fin was so concerned with righting our wrongs against Faerie, but had I ever heard him speak with such passion about the injustice at home? Was there something more glamorous about fighting for justice here? What did we really seek from our journey?
“One day, an Estinger sea merchant walked through the city, speaking with every beggar he found. The Estinger had angered a sea monster, and the monster stirred up storms whenever the merchant tried to make his voyage back home. Only the sacrifice of a child would appease the monster.”
I started to feel sick.
“The merchant said that anyone willing to pay the monster’s price could name their reward. Shim immediately stepped forward. ‘If you will pay to bring back my parent’s sight,’ fe said, ‘I will go to the monster for you.’ Cal wept and pleaded with Shim not to make that bargain, and then fe begged the merchant not to accept.
“But the merchant laughed at them both, because to him the cost was less than a week’s wages, and he could not reject such an offer. He tied the child’s hands and dragged fer on board the ship, even though fe would have gone of fer own free will.
“As soon as they left the port, a storm began to rise. Huge waves slammed against the merchant’s ship, and inside the masses of dark water Shim could see the shining coils of a huge sea serpent.
“Shim walked calmly to the stern of the ship and stepped overboard. The ocean grew still at once, and the merchant sailed back to Esting.”
“Did he pay?” The words were out of my mouth before I could tell myself not to interrupt.
Talis’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “Pay the monster? Of course. The storm stopped at once, as I said.”
“No. The merchant. Did he pay for Cal’s sight to be restored?”
Talis waved a hand. “That’s not the point.”
But it suddenly seemed very important to me that the Estinger in the story had stuck to his bargain. I wanted to tell Talis that it did matter—I wanted to shout it at fer—but I looked at Mr. Candery again, and I made myself remember Fin, and all the danger he was in, and how it seemed I was the only person who could get him back.
I settled into my chair and kept listening.
“As Shim plunged lower and lower into the cold darkness, fe began to see white shapes moving in the depths. They were the ghosts of Shim’s other parents. ‘Open your mouth,’ the ghosts said, and their voices crashed and rang like waves on the shore. Shim obeyed, and even though water rushed into fer mouth, fe began to breathe.
“Shim followed fer parents’ ghosts to the monster’s kingdom under the sea. There were many other spirits in the serpent’s kingdom, and sea-people too, thousands of them, and soon Shim found a place there among new friends. But still fe missed fer living parent and the world above the waves.
“Eventually Shim grew so sad that the serpent came to speak with fer. ‘I spared your life because you gave it so selflessly,’ he said, ‘and I will send you back home again if you wish. But it will be different for you now.’
“Even so, Shim readily agreed. The serpent sent fer back to the land in the form of a giant shade blossom.”
Talis’s fingertips brushed over the water in the cut-glass bowl. The little shade blossom there twirled in the ripples.
“The flower bloomed in the river that cuts through our capital city, where Shim and fer parent had once begged together. It was so large and beautiful that every day Fey and Estingers alike came to admire it and breathe its scent.
“Every night when the moon rose, Shim emerged from the flower and walked through the streets as if fe too were a ghost, searching for fer parent. But Shim didn’t recognize anyone in the city anymore. And when the moon set each morning, Shim vanished inside the shade blossom again.
“But one night, Shim saw a familiar face. It was the Estinger prince who had come to Faerie searching for a bride. Though they’d never met before, they recognized each other instantly, as if from another life.” Talis smiled in a way that was both fond and lonely. I wondered whether fe had any consorts here, any family. But then, most of the citizens of Faerie were Talis’s parents. When I’d learned as a child about the way Fey rulers were wished into being by the whole population, I’d envied those leaders. When my own mother and father were gone I’d imagined so many times what it would be like to have myriad parents. It had never occurred to me that it could be lonely.
“At moonset Shim brought the prince back to the shade blossom, but it had vanished. Fe was a person again.
“The prince begged Shim to return to Esting and marry him.
“‘I will go with you, and gladly,’ Shim said, ‘but first there is something I must do.’ Shim asked the prince to help fer establish a healers’ hall for the beggars. ‘I must bring every beggar in the city there before I leave,’ fe explained.
“In the time that Shim had spent in the sea, Estinger forces had taken over all of Faerie—colonized it, you would say,” Talis added drily. “It was easy for the prince to command every beggar in the city to appear at the healers’ hall he and Shim established. Shim met each and every one of them, spoke to them, and made sure their ailments were treated and that each was fed and clothed. But not until fe met the very last of them did fe find Cal.
“Shim held fer parent’s hand, weeping. ‘It’s me, lada,’ fe said. ‘I’ve come back.’
“‘Shim is dead,’ Cal said.
“‘Open your eyes and look at me.’
“Shim’s voice was full of so much love and conviction that Cal obeyed, and when fer eyes were opened, fe could see.”
Talis leaned forward in fer chair, watching me. Watching for what? Fe said nothing. Fe barely moved.
I had tried hard to pay attention to every part of the story. I was sure the moral would be obvious at the end, like the morals in the stories that we called Faerie tales back home. I’d thought Talis might even say it directly. But now my head was full of flowers and serpents and blind parents and moonsets—just images, and no morals at all.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “What exactly was the point of that story?”
Talis looked behind me. “Open your eyes, Heiress,” fe said.
I spun around, and there was Fin.
Haggard, thin-faced, bruised under his right eye and clutching his old bullet wound with his good arm as if it freshly pained him, but standing before me.
I sprang from my seat. With all of his injuries I couldn’t embrace him; I could only lean my cheek against his. I laughed and trembled, and in spite of Talis’s edict I closed my eyes as I brushed my forehead against the few days’ stubble on Fin’s jaw.
He leaned against me too, warm and solid.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw Mr. Candery watching us, smiling with a little bit of bemusement.
“Are you sure you’re not getting married?” he asked.
Fin raised his eyebrows at me.
I glanced back at Talis, who was still seated at fer desk and watching me mildly—watching me more than Fin, which I thought was strange. But who knew how much time they’d already had to talk together.
“I never said I didn’t love him,” I told Mr. Candery carefully.
Fin tutted. “Well, I’m in love with her, sir, and with Caroline H
art as well. And I don’t think Nick could say anything different herself.”
I grinned and found myself blushing when Mr. Candery’s gaze wouldn’t stop moving from one to the other of us.
Finally Talis stood. “Anyone in Faerie would call you a family,” fe said. “I can see that much myself.”
Fin smiled at Talis, and it wasn’t just his charming-prince smile; it was warm and familiar. Had they already gotten to know each other? Had it been foolish of me to be so afraid for Fin’s safety?
No. I was relieved he was near me again, and I’d stay with him now as long as I could. I’d come here vowing to keep him safe; Caro and I both had.
Mr. Candery nodded again. “I suppose I must find a way to round up this beloved Miss Hart as well,” he said, as if he knew my thoughts. He cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his fist. “She might be harder to extricate than the charming prince.”
My heart leaped in fear and anger.
“Where’s Caro?” Fin snapped, suddenly all business.
Mr. Candery held up two open palms. “She’s with your mother, Nicolette. Margot is introducing her to the healers in the nearest halls.”
Fin stiffened. “Your mother?” he whispered, staring at me.
“She’s here,” I said. “She’s . . . it’s complicated.”
I couldn’t spare the energy to explain everything to Fin just then. I was fixated on Caro, Caro with my mother; this felt like a greater betrayal than Mr. Candery’s. Caro’s own mother had nearly died of Fey’s croup; she’d grown up with the motherless Fin. Did she not understand what my mother had done to me?
“Shall I take you to her?” Mr. Candery asked. “Or would you like me to bring her here, if I can persuade her?”
I recoiled at the possibility of seeing my mother again so soon.
“Not yet,” I said. “There is still something I must discuss with Talis, as—as Heiress.” The ruler’s gentility and kindness, and the unexpected, confusing power of fer story, had lured me out of the cloak of authority I’d placed around myself. I pulled it back again. “We must tell fer now, Fin,” I said. “The Estinger army—”
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