Page 35

Chapter 35

Kat

At Rahk’s estate, he immediately hands me off to Edvear. “Have Mrs. Finch tend Lady Vandermore. I shall be in my study.”

Then he strides off without another word.

Edvear’s yellow eyes seem brighter in the darkness. He ushers me into Rahk’s room. Charity comes and helps me undress, making me miss Mary. It also makes me confused about what this night will hold for me.

For . . . us .

I haven’t thought this far ahead. There are hundreds of more important things to consider. For instance, how I shall keep my head intact while married to the Prince of Nothril. For another, how I shall continue my raids.

The wedding night just didn’t make the top of the list. But now that I’m here, I suddenly wish I’d spent a great deal more time considering the possibilities and preparing for each one.

“Wait here,” says Charity, when I’m in a soft-spun nightgown and robe with my short hair combed. “I’ll go get the master.”

“You don’t have to,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’m just fine here by myself.”

She looks at me pityingly, and then leaves.

After several long minutes, I pace back and forth down the length of the room. When I grow weary of that, I sit on the bed, only to leap away from it and start pacing again. Then I sneak into my old room where my things are. My shoulders ease. The box with Mama’s slippers is set beside the bed. The sight of that box comforts me further, though I have no desire to open it and find the blackened remnants of Agatha’s fury. I find my Fool’s Circle board, sit on the foot of my bed cross-legged, and begin playing a game against myself.

I’m finished with the second game before I regard the window and consider whether I ought to climb out and make a run for it.

Footsteps thump down the hallway. The door creaks when it opens.

I stiffen. My first inclination is to hide my Fool’s Circle, but I force myself not to. Maybe if he sees this reminder of our friendship, he will be less inclined to murder me.

The footsteps pause briefly in the bedroom. They come toward my room.

Rahk pushes the door open.

I stare up at him. With the light at his back, he’s nothing but a featureless silhouette. A featureless silhouette that I know far too well.

“Come,” he orders.

I’ve gotten so used to taking orders as his servant, it is not until I’m halfway out of my room that I wonder if I should have given a petulant rejection instead of obeying.

It’s warm enough that there is no fire in the grate, so the only light comes from several flickering candles on the mantle. Without a word, Rahk grabs two chairs from against the window and drags them toward the center of the room. He plants one down, and drops the second two feet away, facing the first. Then he finally looks up at me. Candlelight catches in his dark eyes and plays across the sharp contours of his face, the broad line of his jaw. “Sit.”

I sit.

He takes the chair across from me and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin propped up on one fist. His countenance is deceptively mild. I do not buy it for an instant.

We sit there in silence for several long minutes. His chair is too close to mine, and I struggle to not fidget nervously from the awkwardness of it. I spent our entire wedding ceremony wishing he’d look at me. Now he studies me intently, and I wish he would look anywhere else.

“This is how things will go,” he begins at last. “I will sit here. I will ask you questions. You will answer them. We will talk. And you will not lie to me.”

I swallow hard. A pang goes through my heart.

“Is that amenable to you?” he asks.

I nod.

“Good. Now, my first question. Why did you disguise yourself as a boy and come under false pretenses to be my servant?”

This is vastly worse than the interrogations he’s subjected me to in other situations. I don’t want to continue lying to him, but he cannot know I am the Ivy Mask. I rack my brain for answers that are truthful but omit that part of my reasoning.

“My stepfamily wished me to marry someone I did not want to.”

His lips twist humorlessly. “You certainly avoided that well, didn’t you?”

His sarcasm stings.

“So, your stepmother picked you a husband, and you decided that your only recourse was to run away from home, cut your hair, and pretend to be someone you weren’t?” He gestures at my hair and the rest of me.

That is hardly a fair characterization. I grind my teeth to keep from snapping. “She was going to force me into the marriage.”

“Yes—I understand that. But why this route? Why this scheme? You’re a clever girl. You wouldn’t do something this extreme without good reason. So tell me, Lady Vandermore, what this good reason is.”

He says it all so calmly, but there is just the slightest edge to his tone that betrays his anger.

For a second, I consider telling him that my motive was to kill him to avenge my mother’s death. But I am no killer, and he knows that. “I had to hide in a place where they would never find me. Some place here in Harbright where I could stay hidden until my twenty-first birthday.”

“Why?”

I itch the back of my neck. “Because the terms of my inheritance are that if I remain unmarried until the age of twenty-one, the money reverts to me, and not to my husband. If I married before I was twenty-one, my husband gets the money.”

He massages his chin, a furrow appearing between his brow. “So, this elaborate scheme was for the sole purpose of claiming your inheritance.”

“There were several purposes!” I snap.

“Then enlighten me.”

“It’s hard to do so when you’re staring at me like you’ll bite my head off if I give the wrong answer!”

Rahk leans back in his chair, one hand resting on his thigh. “Better?”

“Hardly!”

“Would you find it easier to talk if we snuggled up in bed together?” He nods his head toward the bed a few feet away.

The cruel remark makes me shove to my feet so quickly I knock my chair over. It hits the ground with a thud. I put as much distance between us as I can manage. When that isn’t enough, I take up pacing. All while Rahk remains seated, watching me with that dreadfully unfazed expression.

“I didn’t know how to avoid the marriage. I needed to be able to stay in town so I could claim my inheritance the day I was due it. I have friends and acquaintances, but I did not feel like I could ask any of them to hide me away from my stepfamily. Perhaps there were plenty of alternatives I could have chosen, but I didn’t have much time to develop an elaborate plan. This was what occurred to me, and seemed to best accomplish what I needed.”

Rahk nods, offering his satisfaction on the subject. I nearly let out a sigh of relief that he accepted my explanation. But we’re far from being finished with this conversation.

“Did you lie about your mother being lost to the Long Lost Wood?”

I shake my head adamantly. “No—well, that is, I lied about the timeline of it. But everything else I said was true. Even the age I was when she was lost.”

“So it is true that Mary is your sister?”

I grimace. “No. That is, she was hired to be my companion when I was younger. When my stepmother and her daughters came into the picture, Mary was reassigned as a house maid instead of my companion. She’s like a sister to me, but we do not share blood.”

He shakes his head, tinges of frustration coming through. “Why did you not confide in me? I would have protected you.”

That elicits a burst of laughter from me. “Yes! Yes, let me run away from my stepfamily and find refuge among the fae who imprisoned and tortured my mother! Yes, let me confide all my secrets to one of their lethal warriors!”

He actually looks taken aback. “After all I have done for you, after all the time we have spent together, do you still believe I intend you harm?”

I throw up my hands, aggravated that he doesn’t seem to understand my situation at all. “Don’t you see? Your intentions never mattered! Yes, it’s true that you’ve been kind—more than kind—to me, but you are a fae ! Why would I show up on your doorstep and beg you to keep me safe? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? How far out of my mind I would have to be to do that?”

“I’m not suggesting you should have told me then ,” he replies, at last struggling to keep his composure. “You could have told me at any point after that. Or did you really think I would turn you out on the street?”

“What does it matter?” I cry. “You’ve clearly known for ages that I am a woman! I am a fool for not realizing it sooner.”

His fingers flex, then curl into a fist. “I was trying to give you the opportunity to tell me of your own will. I worked very hard to avoid forcing your hand.”

I stop pacing, my gaze shooting to his.

His expression has cracked slightly, revealing an underlying sadness that shocks me. “I wish you would have confided in me.”

My gratitude at his unexpected gentleness is swept away yet again by frustration. He still doesn’t understand . And he won’t entirely, because I cannot tell him that I know he hunts me. I growl and rip at my short hair. “But you are a fae ! You are scary ! I knew you were kind to Nat, but I didn’t know if that kindness would extend to someone who had lied to you. You’ve only validated my concern by the way you’ve behaved since discovering my identity! You’ve been nothing but terrifying, refusing to look at me, then looking at me too much—”

“Because I’ve been worried about you!” Rahk exclaims. He seems to regret the outburst a second later, groaning and covering his face with his hand. “Please, sit down. You’re giving me a headache with the constant pacing!”

My feet go still. Then, in a huff, I right the chair, sit, and cross my arms over my chest. Waiting for him to speak.

He pulls his hand away from his face. “Nat—Katherine—whatever I’m supposed to call you. I’ve been worried about you from the day you showed up here. I knew from that moment that you were a woman. At first, I feared that you were a spy sent to be my undoing.”

“What convinced you that I wasn’t?”

A muscle twitches near his nose. “Watching you handle that axe.”

I give a humorless snort.

“As long as you were here,” he continued, “you gave me some cause for worry. First your poisoning, then when I accidentally hit you, then when you got drunk. And another thing you lied about . . .”

I’m not expecting him to lean forward suddenly, to grab my left ankle and bring it to his lap. I startle, trying to pull away, but he swishes aside the fabric of my nightgown to reveal the long, jagged cut down my shin.

His jaw works as he looks at the crooked stitching, the way my skin bunches and folds around the edges of the wound like misaligned fabric. Then he lifts his gaze to me, and it is the Nothril prince who looks at me. “Tell me what happened.”

I curse inwardly. I have no choice but to lie. I lick my lips. “It’s not much of a story. I had a mishap while chopping the wood and I was so embarrassed . . .”

“You stitched it yourself,” he says flatly.

“How can you tell?”

“Aside from the fact that you never summoned a doctor? Anyone who stitched an injury like this would be accused of malpractice. Look at these stitches! You’ll be scarred for life—and an ugly, jagged scar at that. I could have stitched you myself, had you asked!”

I yank my foot free of his hold, and he lets me. I cover my leg with my dress once more. “I can suffer an ugly scar. How did you even hear of it?”

“Charity told me.”

“Ah yes!” I cry. “When she inspected me like chattel! Unblemished virgin! ”

His gaze flashes. “I did that to protect you.”

“Oh really? And I suppose if she hadn’t found me sufficiently virginal , you would have canceled the marriage?” I fling the words at him, too humiliated to acknowledge their unfairness.

“I did not stipulate those requirements because I cared about them.” Rahk pinches the bridge of his nose, massaging his furrowed brow. “I stipulated them because you begged me not to return you to your stepfamily. Do you remember that?”

The sheer desperation of that moment, the way I turned my face into his wrist and begged him not to send me back . . . I am forced to look away to compose myself.

Rahk’s tone gentles slightly. “They have not treated you well—that is easy enough to gather. I did not know the . . . manner of their ill treatment, and I had to make sure no one would lay hands on you while you were out of my protection. I couldn’t take you back into my house, knowing who you were, without ruining both of our reputations here in your human circles. All that I could do was create barriers that your stepfamily or whoever else was mistreating you would be unlikely to cross.”

“It worked,” I say dryly, laughing humorlessly. “My stepmother nearly ordered me horsewhipped.”

His black eyes shoot to me, a violent flash in their pupils that startles me. But he does not move.

“I wish we could have spoken before you signed that marriage agreement,” I mutter. “She hoodwinked you out of your twelve thousand crowns.”

“I was not hoodwinked.”

“You were!” I cry. “We don’t have bride prices! I’m not sure we’ve ever had bride prices, no matter how far back in history you—”

“I know you do not have bride prices. I did my research. I knew they intended to take advantage of my ignorance of your culture. At first, I visited them to cancel our arrangement and discussions. Then your identity was exposed, and suddenly I had no choice. I let them take advantage of me. Because, once again, you were going to be under their roof. If they were giving up you and your fortune, they wouldn’t be incentivized to deliver on their promise. If I promised to pay a handsome sum in exchange for you, however, they wouldn’t dare renege on their promise.”

He sits in that chair, coolly regarding me, and I see reflected in his expression the same frustration I feel: the anger over having our hands tied, and that this sudden, horrible arrangement between us was the only option to rectify the situation.

“Well, I suppose that means you bought me!” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat—likely because it’s true. I try to recover myself and fail miserably. “You’ve bought yourself a bride you didn’t want. Just think—if only you’d cut off Agatha instead of tolerating her politeness when we visited, things never would have changed.”

He clasps both his hands together, leaning his forearms on his legs. “The discovery would have been made. Sooner or later.”

“But it might have been made in such a way that didn’t make us get married.”

“Indeed.”

The sound of my own short breaths fill the room. I rub my arm, and my gaze finds refuge in the dancing flame of the candles.

Rahk opens his mouth and shifts on his chair. “Listen, Kat, I—”

His use of my nickname stuns me yet again like a lightning bolt. I pull away, wishing this chair didn’t have a back so I could retreat further. “How do you know I go by that?”

“Because you told me.”

“When?”

Something in his expression twinges. He looks very subtly uncomfortable. “The night you were drunk.”

The blood drains from my face. What did I tell him? He said I didn’t say anything! I try to return to that memory, but I find nothing except that cursed drinking game.

“Yes, I lied to you,” Rahk says coolly. “You said lots of things. For one, you confessed to being a woman.”

My jaw unhinges. Then blood pounds in my ears. “How dare you take advantage of me like that!”

A muscle jerks in his throat. “I did not!”

I laugh. “That’s right. You’re a fae. You must have different definitions of what it means to take advantage of—”

“You threw yourself in my lap, kissed me, and declared that you were a woman!” Rahk snaps. “I was sitting at my desk. Minding my own business. Telling you to go to bed. You threw yourself at me. You told me your secrets. All I did was ask if you were in danger and what your real name was. Great Kings!”

I . . . what ? I stare at him, mortification coming in such a flood I can hardly bear to be in the same room as him. All at once, my apologies bubble to my lips. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, my lord. I never should have—”

He gets to his feet. One of his broad hands rakes through his long white hair. “I am not your lord anymore. I am your husband. Please address me as such.”

I clamp my lips shut. Those words, that declaration, my mind cannot process.

I am your husband .

“Call me Rahk,” he says, and his voice is quiet once more. He doesn’t look at me. He turns his back, his head bowed as though in thought. Then he gestures to the room. “Please, make yourself comfortable. This room is yours now. You know the servants, so do not hesitate to request anything that you need.”

I watch, not understanding the way my stomach drops at his words.

His hand lands on the door handle. He pauses. Then, without looking at me, he says, “Goodnight.”

The door shuts behind him. I collapse onto the bed, my shoulders vibrating from the belated shock of the day. Just as soon as I do, I bounce upright again. This is his bed. It’s not mine, no matter what he says.

I take myself to my old room, with its familiar comforts and privacy, and slam the door shut.

I drag my hands through my short hair, grabbing it at the roots and pulling as hard as I can. A growl of frustration rips from my throat. The confusion is too overwhelming, too infuriating.

“What now?” I demand into the silence of my room. “What now? What now— what now ?” My voice breaks, my knees buckling as I fall onto my bed and bury my head between my knees. I squeeze as hard as I can, wanting crushing pressure, wanting pain, wanting something to drive all of this away from me.

In one fell swoop, it’s as though I’ve lost everything. My old home. My freedom. My fortune. My easy friendship with Rahk. There is no soothing presence of Mary, no good-natured teasing from my new husband . No ridiculous antics from Bartholomew. Even the servants I’ve gotten to know here feel like strangers now that I am myself and not young Nat.

I do not know how things can proceed. What do I do, now that I’m married to a fae? The very prince of Nothril I despised so vehemently only a few weeks ago? He’s going to kill me. It doesn’t matter how kind he is to me. It doesn’t matter all the sacrifices he endured to save me from my stepfamily. I am a criminal to him, his people, his court.

“Oh dearie.”

The voice startles me so much I shoot backward in the bed, get tangled up in the sheets, and nearly go flying out the window.

It’s only Charity.

She clucks her tongue at my fright and sets a small tray on my short dresser.

I move a few of the blunt strands of hair out of my face. “Forgive me. I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and passes me a hot cup of tea on a warm saucer. “Drink this.”

The tea is spiced and rich, and warmth blooms in my gut with each sip. I drink it slowly. She has taken some small jar, unscrewed the lid, and mixed the contents with a small spoon.

“Your left leg, please.”

I oblige her, sticking out my wounded leg and lifting my skirt enough for her to see the extent of the gash.

“I’ve never used this before,” says Charity, peering into the jar and eyeing the consistency. “It’s some special fae medicine. The master bid me bring it to you.”

“He did?” The words are out before I can stop them. Emotion clogs my throat. “Oh, Charity, what am I to do? I came here to avoid getting married!”

She sets down the jar and gives my foot a gentle squeeze before applying the salve. It’s cold on my skin. But even as she starts applying the second dab, the first part of the wound is already tingling pleasantly. “Marriage is full of trials and travails, even when you enter into it voluntarily.”

I snort dryly. “I suppose that doesn’t leave much hope for those of us who don’t have the privilege to enter it voluntarily.”

“That is the funny thing about marriage,” she says, smiling in the dimness. “I’ve seen those madly in love with each other end up unhappy only a few years in, while others who married for practical reasons have the sweetest relationship that lasts long beyond the grave.”

“So marriage is a gamble. You take it, thinking it’ll increase your chance of happiness when it is just as likely to only increase your misery.”

She pauses her application of my ointment. “My dear, you are too young for such cynicism.”

She says it with such kindness, my welling tears nearly make it past my guard. The lid goes back on the jar with a satisfying roll. She gets off the bed to retrieve a fresh roll of linen bandages.

“What makes marriage challenging,” she says, gently wrapping my wound, “is that both parties must be equally committed. If only one party is committed, you will have such a recipe for heartache and unhappiness. Equally destructive are two apathetic parties. But where there are two people who are committed to working through every little thing, to being strong where the other is weak, to receiving the goodness the other has to offer—there will always be, if nothing else, deep and mutual respect. I was married to my husband ten years before he died. We did not know each other well before the wedding, but we grew to love each other deeply. I have never known a better man.”

“I’m sorry you lost him,” I say quietly. I rub my arms, and the teacup in my hand clatters on its saucer. This is a nice sentiment and all, and I know Charity means every word, but the last priority on my mind is making this marriage with Rahk work. My biggest priority is finding a way to survive and keep rescuing humans from Faerieland.

It just feels like there is only one inevitable outcome for this marriage: that it will end with my death, at Rahk’s hand. I don’t see how there can be an alternative. Now that I no longer have a claim on my own fortune, I cannot even run away and settle elsewhere.

Charity takes my empty cup and saucer, freeing my hands to wind up in my bedspread. “Get some sleep, my lady. I probably shouldn’t let you stay in this servant’s chamber, but I think it’ll be fine for tonight.”

I flop under the covers with a groan. “If he doesn’t want me here, he’ll have to drag me out himself.”

She gives a light laugh, blows out her candle, and shuts the door.

I wait several minutes after her footsteps fade away. Then I fling off my covers, hurry to my dresser, and change swiftly into trousers, a dark tunic, and my coat. All parts of Nat’s uniform, but that cannot be helped as it seems my clothes have not been delivered yet from Vandermore Manor.

Finally, I push open the window and climb out into the night.