Page 44 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 44

T hat night, the Nomad requests that I not leave his quarters. Outside of the glass-paneled doors on the opposite end of his room is a starlit balcony. Tonight, it’s dressed for dinner, the silk tablecloth the perfect match to the silks draped across the banister.

A faerie dust lantern serves as the centerpiece for the table.

When I go to take my seat, the Nomad beats me to it, pulling it out for me.

“You’re being quite the gentleman tonight.”

“You don’t consider me a gentleman most nights?” the Nomad asks with a sly wink.

The Nomad takes his seat across from me, smoothing his tuxedo toward his belly with an open palm. A servant then appears and places a covered tray in front of me. When he removes the lid, a flurry of steam shoots forth, revealing what looks to be an entire fish, eyeballs and all.

I pick at the greens upon which the fish is perched.

Sensing my distaste, the Nomad turns to the servant. “Take the fish away and bring the lady something more palatable.”

The servant nods, then silently whisks my plate from in front of me.

“What do you want?” I ask the Nomad.

He leans back in his chair. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m already bound to help you find Tink. What more could you want from me?”

Another servant appears with the Nomad’s dish and reveals what looks to be the twin of my previous meal. The Nomad tucks his napkin into his collar, then grabbing his silverware, asks, “Do you mind? It’s been a long day.”

“Go ahead,” I say, whisking my hand toward the displeasing meal.

“To answer your question,” the Nomad says between bites, “I don’t particularly like our situation—you feeling as if I’m forcing you into something you don’t want to do.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point of fae bargains?”

The Nomad shrugs. “Well, I suppose. Except usually, both parties end up with something that they want. And while it’s not my fault you made a sorry deal for yourself in freeing our winged friend of his curse, I must say—I feel a tad sorry for you.”

“Mhm,” I say, just as the servant reappears with what appears to be a roasted turkey—no eyeballs this time. Cautiously, I take a forkful to my mouth and try not to let my eyes roll back in my head from the rich flavor. “So you wish to convince me that it’s for the best that I hand over Tink?”

“Something like that.”

I gesture for him to go on.

“There’s more at stake here than you know,” he says.

“If you’re trying to convince me, tell me why she’s so important to you.”

The Nomad smirks. “What if I told you she and I are supposed to fall in love and live happily ever after?”

I roll my eyes. “Even if I believed you? It wouldn’t change my mind. I’m tired of obsessive men thinking they own women’s futures because of these stupid marks or something they were shown in a tapestry.”

The Nomad sets down his fork. Watches me carefully as he smiles faintly. “Fine, then. I should have known better than to think you’d be persuaded by fanciful tales of love. I’m sure life has made you too much of a cynic for such trivial things. So, you want the truth, Wendy Darling?”

I don’t answer. Don’t have to. Because I get the sense that the Nomad is going to tell me anyway. His version of the truth, that is.

“I am not from this world. Not originally, at least. I must say, it’s not my favorite.”

I cross my arms to hide the faint bit of flesh left bare between my gloves and sleeves, that way the Nomad won’t see the gooseflesh breaking out. “So you get to live a thousand lives like the legends say? How horrible for you.”

“I would have thought the girl who was planning to let her bargain expire would understand,” he says, and when I don’t react, shrugs and continues. “I’m stuck in a rather unpleasant cycle that more times than not, ends even more unpleasantly.”

“I thought the Fates favored you.”

The Nomad huffs. “That is how the rumor got twisted, isn’t it? I think they just enjoy seeing me falling into trouble, like an ox into a pit.”

“What does this have to do with Tink?”

The Nomad leans forward and props his elbows on the table, folding his hands together. “Did you ever stop to wonder why the Sister needed Tink’s voice to bind Neverland? Why her? Why go to the trouble of seducing a girl Peter would have to break out of a carnival, rather than seducing a free girl on the streets?”

“I’ve wondered,” I say, fighting the urge to fidget in my chair. “It didn’t seem like the kind of question she’d have the words to answer. Though now I’m wondering if it was presumptuous of me not to at least ask.”

Something indecipherable flashes in the Nomad’s eyes. He returns to leaning back in his chair. “Well, without going into all the details, I have reason to believe that your friend has a gift. One that would help me with my predicament.”

“Sounds like something you could pay her for.”

The Nomad’s smile is knowing, more eyes than anything. “And I will, should she accept it.”

I straighten in my chair. “And if she doesn’t accept the job?”

“I’m confident she will.”

“Confident enough that we’re instructed to take her by any means necessary?”

“Only if your friend proves to be difficult to convince initially,” says the Nomad.

Irritation flares in my chest. “What makes you so confident she’ll be convinced eventually?”

“Just a gut feeling,” he says.

“She’s not particularly materialistic.”

The Nomad taps his forefinger against the silk tablecloth. “Everyone has a price, Darling. Thankfully, I’m particularly good at finding it.”

“So you don’t intend to traffic her then? Or harvest her faerie dust?”

“Do you even know how faerie dust is harvested?”

I shake my head, dreading what I’m sure I’m about to learn.

“On their own, a faerie’s wings aren’t aerodynamic enough to support flight. It takes something more than that, the magic that flows through the faerie’s blood and nourishes their wings. Typically, a faerie’s blood isn’t concentrated enough to be to anyone’s financial benefit. But…if you shear a faerie’s wings, they begin overproducing magic to compensate. It doesn’t fix the flying problem, of course, but it leaves their blood highly concentrated. After the blood is harvested, all one has to do is allow the liquid in the blood to evaporate. What’s left behind is…well, you know about faerie dust.”

I squirm in my chair, shame washing over me as I consider how often Peter must have hunted Tink down, sheared her wings, and bloodlet her, all for me to get high off of her pain.

“If it comforts you, I have no intention of doing such a thing,” the Nomad says, a bit too deliberately for my tastes.

“But you will if it’s necessary.”

This time, it’s the Nomad’s turn to sound annoyed. “Like I said, Darling. I’m afraid without all the information, you’re blissfully ignorant of the stakes.”

“Then enlighten me,” I say, finding myself bunching the tablecloth in my palm.

“I don’t have to,” he says, eyes flickering like an impudent child on a playground. “Because while you insist that not everyone has a price, you certainly do. That’s why there’s a bargain on the back of your neck. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Speaking of the bargain on my neck, it’s an urn,” I say, remembering how the witch who had strapped me to her table had commented on it. “What’s the significance?”

The Nomad flashes me a smile that’s all teeth.

“Why bother calling me in here?” I knock at the turkey with my fork. “Going to the trouble of making sure I enjoy my meal, if you’re not going to tell me anything of importance?”

“Because you’ve been forced to do plenty you didn’t want to do, it seems. I thought I’d give my best shot at convincing you.”

I snort. “You can’t claim you’re convincing me when you’re going to force me to do it anyway.”

The Nomad stares up at the starry night for a moment before he answers. “If you could change your tapestry, would you?”

I squirm in my chair, suddenly wondering if the Nomad was eavesdropping on my and Astor’s conversation in the crow’s nest. “That’s already been done for me.”

“Is that why you don’t want me taking Tink?” the Nomad asks, still examining the heavens. The stars sprinkle light over the balcony, across the Nomad’s face, giving him an almost wistful air. “You’re afraid I’ll be messing with her Fate as well?”

I don’t answer.

Finally, he turns his sharp blue eyes on me. “And what if I told you that by saving myself, I can save her, too?”

I pause a moment before answering. “Then I’d think you would have led with that if that were the case.”

The Nomad laughs softly, as if to himself. “You can’t blame a man for wishing to keep his cards close to his chest. There are details that are better kept from the ears of others, details that have a tendency to spread.”

“It’s not as though I have anyone to tell.”

The Nomad watches me for a moment, and all of a sudden, it’s me being examined, not the stars. Me being traced for patterns. Whether the goal is to ascertain the weather or the direction or the future, I can’t decipher from his gaze. The Nomad opens his mouth, just slightly, and leans forward. I can almost taste his secret on the air, the one he’s not ready to reveal.

I find myself leaning forward too, heart pounding against my chest.

But then chair legs scrape against the balcony floorboards, and the Nomad stands, straightening his coat. “I sense my efforts were in vain. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

And before I can stop him, he’s gone.