How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories - Holly Black Page 0,15
Locke landed, his knuckles burning from the punches he’d thrown, and Nicasia before him.
“Forgive me.” She looked up, a little smile at the corners of her mouth. “I do care for you. I always shall.”
He wanted to ask if Locke was right, if friendship had stolen the thrill from being lovers. But looking at her, he knew the answer. And he knew the only way he could possibly keep his dignity.
“You have cast your lot with him,” he said. “There is nothing to forgive. But if you regret it, do not think that you will be able to call me back to your side like some forgotten plaything you mislaid for a while.”
Nicasia looked at him, a little frown forming between her brows. “I wouldn’t—”
“Then we understand each other.” Cardan turned and stalked from the parlor.
Valerian and Locke had disappeared from the hall.
To Cardan, there seemed little purpose to do anything but resume drinking before he properly sobered up. The shouting and punching had disturbed enough revelers to wake them. Most were glad to join Cardan in new bouts of merriment.
He licked golden dust from collarbones and drank strong, grass-scented liquor from the belly button of a phooka. By the time it occurred to him that he had missed school, he had been drunk for three days and consumed enough powders and potions to have been awake for most of that time.
If he stank of wine before, now he reeked of it, and if he’d felt light-headed then, now he was reeling.
But it seemed to him that he ought to present himself to his tutors and show the children of the Gentry that no matter what they’d heard, he was fine. In fact, he had seldom felt so fine before in his life.
He staggered through the hall and out the door.
“My prince?” The door’s wooden face was the picture of distress. “You’re not truly going out like that, are you?”
“My door,” Cardan replied. “I most certainly am.”
He promptly fell down the front steps.
At the stables, he began to laugh. He had to lie down in the hay he was laughing so hard. Tears leaked out of his eyes.
He thought of Nicasia and Locke and dalliances and stories and lies, but it all jumbled together. He saw himself drowning in a sea of red wine from which an enormous moth was steadily drinking; saw Nicasia with a fish’s head instead of a tail; saw his hands around Dain’s throat; saw Margaret looming over him with a strap, giggling, as she transformed into Aslog.
Dizzily, he climbed up onto the back of a horse. He ought to tell Nicasia she was no longer welcome on the land, that he, son of the High King, was disinviting her. And he was going to exile Locke. No, he was going to find someone to put a curse on Locke so that he vomited eels every time he spoke.
And then he was going to tell the tutors and everyone else at the palace exactly how wonderful he felt.
Riding was a blur of forest and path. At one point, he found himself hanging off the side of the saddle. He almost slipped into a thicket of briars before he managed to pull himself upright again. But nearly falling made him briefly feel clearheaded.
He looked out at the horizon, where the blue sky met the black sea, and he thought of how he no longer would spend his days beneath it.
You hated it there, he reminded himself.
But his future stretched in front of him, and he no longer saw any path through it.
He blinked. Or closed his eyes for longer than a blink. When he opened them, he was at the edge of the palace grounds. Soon grooms would come and lead his horse to the stables, leaving him to stagger onto the green. But the distance seemed too great. No, digging his heels into the flanks of his horse, he careened toward where all the other children of the Gentry demurely waited to get their lessons.
At the sound of the horse’s hoofbeats, a few got to their feet.
“Ha!” he shouted at them as they scattered. He chased after several, then veered widdershins to run down others who’d thought themselves safe. Another laugh bubbled up.
A few more turns and he spotted Nicasia, standing beside Locke, sheltered beneath the canopy of a tree. Nicasia looked horrified. But Locke couldn’t hide his utter delight at this turn of events.
Whatever flame lived inside Cardan, it burned only hotter and brighter.
“Lessons are