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LET'S TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER

T he room was generous and clean, but most importantly, it contained only herself, and she was desperately grateful for that.

The Malediction had seemed to know it too, leaving her there with an invitation to take as much time as she needed and the information that the house could bring her up food if she didn’t want to eat with him, to which there had been no other option but to snap that of course she’d be down for dinner.

She wasn’t some fragile flower, and she did not need anyone’s solicitude, least of all his.

He had wisely refrained from saying anything else.

She collapsed onto the enormous bed, wallowing in a puddle of emotions that took her a while to sort out.

Shame again, she identified with a long sigh, picking out the hyacinths on the painted wallpaper.

She was ashamed of how she’d reacted in the library, ashamed of how she couldn’t seem to act like the pragmatic, cool-hearted woman she wanted to believe herself.

Ashamed that she’d forgotten to keep her guard up, lulled by conversation and more intimacy than she’d experienced in longer than she could remember.

And, worst and most nonsensically of all, ashamed that she’d felt sorry for her Malediction and vaguely guilty both for stabbing him and for inflicting herself upon him as an unwanted houseguest. He deserves to be inflicted upon, she told herself sternly. You are the victim here, not him.

Additionally, some embarrassing part of her had apparently been hoping for her Malediction to take one look at her and say that of course he’d meant to come and claim her all along, only he hadn’t been able to. Some external force had prevented him. That part of her was angry . Ugh. How mortifying.

She dug the shame out of her chest. What person wouldn’t have behaved uncharacteristically today after all of the surprises, piled atop each other?

But no more of that. From now on, she would be coolly focused on her goal, civil but distant to her unlikely host. No more worrying about what he thought of her.

Hadn’t she learnt the hard way that she needed to stop worrying so much about pleasing others?

No one else was going to fight her battles for her.

Rest and quiet soothed the sharpest edges of her mood, as did discovering that her room came with its own bathroom and more importantly bath tub— or rather bath pool— set into the floor with running hot and cold water.

It was so much easier to be a collected, optimistic woman when clean and wrapped in a lovely silk robe, even with all the casual goldwork in the room that she had to skirt around.

Washed and dried and feeling altogether much better about the world, she went to her pack and fished out her comb, intending to unsnarl the knots in her hair. She paused, frowning.

The comb was made of the same walnut tree as her desk.

She’d forgotten that detail until now, holding it in her hands.

Her heart pounded as she stared at it with fresh eyes.

The wood was unusual, with gold-like flecks amidst the dark grain; she’d always admired the pattern.

Could that be a sign of magic? Could her Malediction’s name still be held within it?

In which case, could they get it back out?

Definitely something to ask him at dinner.

If it was, she might be free before the day’s end. The thought filled her with relief mixed with another, less easy emotion. Would her family have found her note yet? They must have noticed her absence by now, surely? Surely.

Unsettled, she went out on the balcony while she dealt with her hair. Possibly she ought not to keep using the comb until she confirmed whether it contained the Malediction’s name, but what was one more use on top of several decades?

The balcony held a small table and chairs, both thankfully not inlaid with gold, and the outside heat had cooled to something more pleasant thanks to the earlier rain and the breeze at this level.

Below, butterflies the size of dinner plates flitted from flower to flower.

There were plants down there that she’d never seen before, some of which appeared to be magical, judging from the way they sparkled in the same way that the wards had.

The garden sprawled to the back of the house, merging into what was probably an orchard underneath masses of bindweed. A darker patch amidst the riotous greenery made her frown, though she couldn’t work out exactly why.

I’m in Fairyland , she thought with bemused wonder, letting her gaze move on.

She’d never let herself get too far imagining what it would be like if her fae nemesis took her back to his terrible lair, but even her vague expectation hadn’t included anything like this chaotically overgrown natural wonder.

Baskets of geraniums hung from the balcony railing, thick with grass and other weeds that had taken root. Before she could stop herself, she had set the comb aside, tied her hair in a knot, and begun pulling weeds.

The action both soothed and set her mind turning.

How did fae names even work? Did they have family names?

Could her Malediction’s past provide a clue there?

He’d shut down questions about his family earlier, but she wouldn’t let him get away with such evasive behaviour again.

She ought to write down the names she’d already tried, even if he didn’t think simply guessing was a good method.

She eyed the large pile of weeds she’d created.

“Is there a basket somewhere I can take these down to the garden with?” she tentatively asked the house.

In response, the tiles of the balcony rippled, and the house… ate the pile of weeds. Gisele stared at the now-empty space for a few long moments.

“Or that works too,” she said faintly. “Thank you.”

Would the house be similarly helpful if she began weeding down in the garden as well? It really needed an army of gardeners thrown at it, but she was nonetheless tempted by the idea of experimenting. She missed the solidity of earth under her hands, and the garden would be far from any gold.

Wait, no! She was not going to improve the Malediction’s garden! Not only did the man not deserve the help, but there wasn’t any point, since she would be gone sooner rather than later.

With a thump, Zingiber leaped onto the balcony, chasing after a butterfly, which fluttered lazily out of reach. The cat glared after it.

“Hello,” she greeted him.

He deigned to notice her, turning about and sprawling himself on top of the table. Oh, it’s you. Pet me.

Gisele almost did and then smiled ruefully at the dirt under her fingernails. Gloves—this is why you remember to wear gloves. “I need to wash the dirt off first. And get dressed. Give me a moment.”

There was a clean day dress in her pack, which was now going to be hopelessly wrinkled, but there was nothing else for it.

But before she could search her pack for it, the wardrobe doors sprung open, and an explosion of fabric poured forth.

Racks holding fine court shoes, silks, and laces, a rainbow of colours and glittering jewels were rolled out, alongside every possible undergarment one could desire, from the practical to the old-fashioned to the exotic.

“Goodness!” She stroked a soft silk. “This is… overwhelming. Is it all right to borrow something?”

A shoe rolled across the floor to bump against her feet, which she took as a yes. Why did Malediction even have all this clothing for women, though? Why did he have undergarments for women, especially?

She frowned at a particularly racy piece of lace. “Does Malediction have a mistress? Other guests who stay in this room?”

Zingiber lolled about in the dying sunlight. No.

“Why does he have all this clothing, then?”

The house likes to make it. The fae who lives here gives it fabric sometimes. He bargains with outsiders to finish the fine needlework parts. The house wants to adopt a local family of brownies to help with that and other things, but he won’t let it.

“Oh. It’s lovely. You’re very talented,” she told Skymallow, even though she now wanted to know how a house knew about human underwear. The racks of clothing shivered. “Is adopting brownies a usual fairy house custom?” she asked Zingiber and got a mental shrug in return.

All the old houses have creatures who are loyal to them.

An extravagant court gown drew her, but she realised at the last moment that it was woven with gold thread and hastily pulled her hand back. “Nothing with gold in the fabric, please,” she said.

The tide of extravagant clothing rearranged itself, and a slightly less ornate selection of evening gowns was offered.

Once again she was torn between conflicting impulses.

She liked pretty things. She wanted to force her Malediction to notice her in the same way she’d been uncomfortably forced to notice him.

Simultaneously, she didn’t want him to think she’d put effort into her appearance on his account or that she gave two figs for his opinion of her.

Maybe she should turn up to dinner in a potato sack.

Ah yes, that would definitely make her appear not a lunatic overly concerned by what he thought.

She took herself by the metaphorical scruff of the neck and gave herself a hard shake.

Pick a damn dress and stop thinking about the man.

You’re not a young maiden to be sent into a tizzy over this sort of thing.

You’ve met a lot of handsome men; the court is littered with them.

They’re a dennig a dozen. It’s just dinner.

You’ve attended thousands of court dinners. How awkward could it get?

This was the most awkward dinner she’d ever attended.