Page 6

THE TALE OF THE LOST NAME

W alking into the wall of wet heat almost immediately dampened her temper.

Still, she kept going, moving further into the garden until she stood under the shade of a magnolia tree.

Having already stormed out, it wasn’t as if she could pretend she hadn’t lost control.

Might as well take the time to calm down.

Ominous clouds were gathering on the horizon, preparing for an afternoon downpour. Hopefully it would take the edge off the heat. Breathing deeply, she tried to draw in composure alongside the heady scent of magnolia.

She was amazed by her own rudeness. It had been drummed into her from birth that royalty did not react emotionally. Why had she let Malediction’s words get to her? She had a lifetime’s practice at appearing unruffled. Why had the skill deserted her now? This wasn’t like her at all.

Maybe it was simply that her manners had atrophied from so little recent social interaction.

Maybe the cumulative weight of today’s shocks had been sufficient to wear through even her training.

Or maybe, for the first time in her life, she felt (ironically) free of constraint.

Malediction was the villain of the piece, after all. Who cared whether he thought her rude?

What does he know about your life or your family? Nothing—he wasn’t there. That’s the entire point. Therefore, his words mean nothing.

If her parents could have undone her curse, they would have.

The simple fact was that they hadn’t been able to.

They were only human, and it wasn’t fair of Malediction to speak as if any of this were their fault rather than his.

He was the treacherous, murderous sorcerer who’d caused this whole mess.

Except, in the story she’d been told her whole life, the old king had been found dead in his tower with a knife in his back, with nobody having gone in or out. Of course it must have been the same evil fairy who’d so recently cursed his son’s chosen bride, her mother.

But… the Malediction wasn’t a knife fighter; he’d responded to her drawn dagger before like a rank amateur. And wasn’t stabbing someone in the back a strange murder method for a supposedly powerful sorcerer? Why assume magic was involved at all?

On top of this was the fact that her mother was… well, she certainly wasn’t a murderer, Gisele told herself, but there was a worm of doubt there now, a question mark she couldn’t un-wonder.

The problem was that Queen Bianka was not and never had been a helpless damsel, and now that Gisele thought about it, it seemed obvious that the old king wouldn’t have kept his promise to let her marry his son, gold or no gold, not if he’d already been at the point of trying to kill her off to prevent it.

It was impossible that her mother hadn’t known that and just as impossible to imagine she wouldn’t have made whatever plans necessary to deal with it.

Gisele felt the evil fairy of the tale approach. Felt, not heard. The bond between them was the oddest thing, a faint impression of old paper and hot metal and awkwardness. Perhaps that last one was her own emotion; she hated that she’d let him see that he’d upset her.

She took a deep breath, vowing not to let it happen again, and turned to face him, disconcerted once again by the mirror reflection of her own mismatched eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, half reaching out towards her and then aborting the motion, looking startled at his own impulse.

“Good. You should be sorry. Regardless of who killed the old king or not, you cursed me , and you’re the one refusing to fix it now. Don’t try to pin the blame for that on my family.”

His ears flattened, and he curled his fingers into fists. “I’m not refusing . I told you that I couldn’t . Fae can’t lie, you know.”

“That’s a convenient piece of folklore to claim, with no way for me to prove it,” she pointed out. “You must see that it’s not very convincing. Why can’t you fix the magic you created in the first place?”

His tail lashed, and for a long moment it seemed like they were at an impasse again. “Come back inside and I’ll tell you,” he said heavily. “Skymallow’s wards extend to the garden, but there is still a chance of being overheard in the open air through mundane means.”

She followed him back inside, welcoming the cooler air. “Is it magic that keeps the heat out?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Yes,” he said. “The house keeps it cool in summer and warm in winter, unless it’s annoyed with me, in which case the temperature can get rather exciting.”

She wanted to ask more about his fascinating house, but she held her tongue and closed the kitchen door. “All right; we’re inside. Tell me why you’re being so cryptic.”

He shook his head. “This way. I need to sit, thanks to your knife-wielding. Or perhaps I’m dying of poison already.”

Impatient with her stopping to glare at him, he took hold of her hand with a shocking degree of intimacy and led her out of the kitchen.

Probably she ought to have yanked her hand back, except that she was so startled by the impropriety and the way the touch vibrated through her that they were already halfway across the kitchen, and by then it seemed rude to make a fuss.

She started as they went through the door opposite, as it no longer led directly to the entrance hall. Instead, they were in a wood-panelled hallway adorned with elaborately worked lamps. Malediction’s hand was warm in hers.

He released her hand a few steps along, as if he’d only just realised the liberty he’d taken. His ears twitched. “Ah, here.”

The next door opened to a cosy sitting room with large windows.

It looked out to the meadow, though the view was partially obscured by a tumble of overgrown asters.

Gisele sank into an armchair, extremely suspicious and also wondering exactly how many rooms there were in this house and how lost a person could get trying to find them all.

The Malediction chose an armchair opposite, curling his tail neatly beside him. Absently, he ran the fingertips of his good hand up and down the bandage on the other. His gaze settled on her, peculiarly penetrating.

“Well?” she prompted when he failed to say anything more. “Are you going to explain why you’re claiming impotence?”

He bristled. “It’s… somewhat awkward to explain.”

“I think I can cope.”

“I was… hiding from someone. An enemy,” he said cagily. The slant of his ears suggested he was more than embarrassed; they’d flattened against his skull. Whoever this ‘someone’ was, even the thought of them made him deeply unhappy.

Good , she thought vindictively.

He swallowed. “I went to the mortal world, where I knew I would be harder to track. I had a plan to disappear more permanently. That’s where your mother came in.”

Everything in her tensed.

He cast her a dry look. “I don’t know what story you were told, but she’d been caught in a cruel bit of politics.

The crown prince was courting her, and her father had consequently boasted that she could spin straw into gold.

It was a play on her hair colour and her marriage prospects, but the old king heard it and said that they would test the man’s words.

If he was telling the truth, then the king would let his son marry a commoner.

If he’d lied, well, the penalty for lying to the king was death.

It was meant to be a death sentence, played out as theatre, to punish your mother’s father for daring to set his gaze so high. ”

Her mother had never told the story in her own words, even though Gisele had longed to hear it.

She’d snuck into theatres and dredged up copies of old newspapers and gossip sheets, absorbing every mangled version she could get her hands on.

It had somehow never occurred to her that there was someone other than her mother who knew the truth of the original story just as intimately.

She swallowed. “That’s the story I was told as well. Opa was wealthy, but he wasn’t of noble blood. His money came from flour mills. The old king didn’t think a miller’s daughter was good enough for his son.”

“Yes. So. Well, that’s where I found your mother: locked in a room full of straw, with the threat of death hanging over her if she didn’t complete an impossible task. She was desperate. Desperate enough to bargain with a fae.”

Gisele frowned. This wasn’t quite the version she knew. “My mother didn’t think she was bargaining with a fae; she prayed to Euryfessa for mercy, and you presented yourself as her agent.”

The Malediction raised an ironic eyebrow. “Did I?”

Gisele glared at him because she had personally always found that part dubious.

Queen Bianka was not an especially pious person.

But then, who knew what anyone might do under threat of death?

“In any case, you’re saying that you went to the human world deliberately searching for someone desperate—someone whom you could take advantage of. ”

His ears had come up again; whatever dread the memory of his enemy inspired, it didn’t extend to these events.

He seemed dismissive, even. “Fae bargains aren’t a casual magic.

There has to be an equivalent exchange of value, and I was offering to save her life and see her married to a prince, plus a roomful of gold. ”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why in the world did you ask for a firstborn, if you never wanted one?”

“I did not ask for a firstborn. It was supposed to be leverage.” He emphasised the word with a flash of teeth.

“Leverage for what?”

His ears had gone flat again. Did he know he had such obvious physical tells? He must play a dreadful game of knüffeln. “If I tell you, will you give me the antidote?”

“No,” she said. “I want my freedom, not a piece of information I don’t even know the value of yet. It’s in your best interests to persuade me to your side of this.”