He looked as though he hailed from the Lost-Lands.
Not that Inis had ever seen a fae in the flesh. But there were tales passed down in legend, images scrawled on ancient stonework and in equally old books, and while the picture might have been distorted over the hundreds of years since the fae’s extinction, the truth remained, a grain of sand at the center of the embellishment.
The long, tapered points of his ears were the main giveaway.
Inis took a step back. A frightened child inside her wailed at her to run! Protect Ivy, before the Folk kidnapped her for Oberon’s Bone Court.
She should have felt her astonishment. If disbelief was going to register as an emotion outside of anger, it should have arrived precisely now.
It didn’t.
The only other nod toward surprise her body gave was the faint flutter of her heart skipping a single beat. She accepted it as no more and no less strange than the talking silver cat who knew her, who’d changed her with a single touch, and no less real.
She turned back to the Queensguard, who knelt in the dirt behind the lizard, his head bowed. Rust-black hair, the back stained with dirt from when he’d hit the ground. Inis hadn’t seen his face, didn’t know or care what it looked like. All that mattered now was the real child in all this, likely terrified out of her wits.
“Ivy,” she said. The name cracked between her tongue and teeth. “Did you—”
Your little egg is fine. Two’s voice hushed her the way her mother’s had, when Mother could still chase away Inis’s childhood nightmares. This soldier-smelling boy is not your enemy. My sister One, whom you recognize as a lizard, says that he is strong of heart and pleasing of face, and that he has come bearing a heavy burden on his shoulders.
Inis snorted. A heavy burden? No heavier than what she’d carried for the past year, and his burden had been his choice.
“Get up,” she ground out. Louder, toward the broken pieces of the cottage, she added, “Ivy? Little egg?”
Silence, but movement stirred on the other side of the door. Ivy’s eyes peered out from behind a splintered plank.
Inis held up her hands. “See? All’s well. No one’s here to hurt us. No need to be afraid.” She could hear that her voice had changed, strong city vowels lilting back after a long absence. The sound of a true smile.
“Cat,” Ivy whispered.
“His name is Two,” Inis replied.
40
Rags
Despite missing a wall from their cottage, the Ever-Loyals knew their hospitality from their assholes. After belated introductions and explanations, they’d invited Rags and the rest inside for tea. A steady-handed butler had poured it straight from the pot, asking, One cube or two?
A cursory glance around the room told Rags what he’d already suspected: nothing in this house was worth stealing.
Especially since all their silver was currently cat shaped and sentient.
A closed door on one side of the kitchen, a sitting room on the other, and a perilous staircase leading up to the second floor. The furnishings were so plain as to be anonymous. Even the ladies—both the tiny one who’d screamed and the one who looked like she could break Rags over her knee—wore unadorned mourning weeds.
What he wouldn’t give for one black veil embroidered with jet beads. . . .
Silence since the tea was poured. Since Shining Talon had given Inis the Great Paragon speech, explaining her new silver beastie. The only person who seemed to be having any reaction to the situation was Cabhan, who kept staring at the wrecked wall: a calculating look, responsible and guilty, like he was planning how to fix it.
“So there you have it,” Rags said. Couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Surprise! You’ve got a fae-entwined destiny. And a really big cat.”
This was more or less exactly what Shining Talon had told Inis Ever-Loyal, but Lady Inis hadn’t warmed to the big guy. One might say she was outright ignoring him.
Could she teach Rags how to do that? He’d welcome being less aware of every swelling breath in Shining Talon’s chest, every silken lock of hair stirred by the breeze streaming in through the gaping hole in the wall.
“I’m mostly sure it’s true about him being a fae prince,” Rags added, mouth running to fill the quiet. “I’ve seen him in the rain. The tattoos don’t run off. They’re legitimate.”
“How can you joke about something as serious as collaboration with the fae?” Color flowed hotly into Inis Ever-Loyal’s voice.