The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air #2) - Holly Black Page 0,59
out onto the lawn and start toward the stables. Heather takes a deep breath of air. Her eyes are drawn to the towers visible above the tree line.
“Did Vee talk to you about rules?” I ask as we walk.
Heather shakes her head, clearly puzzled. “Rules?”
Vivi has come through for me plenty of times when no one else did, so I know she cares. Still, it feels like willful blindness to have overlooked how hard Taryn and I had it as mortals, how careful we had to be, and how careful Heather ought to be while she’s here.
“She said I should stick by her,” Heather says, probably seeing the frustration on my face and wanting to defend Vivi. “That I shouldn’t wander off without one of her family members.”
I shake my head. “Not good enough. Listen, the Folk can glamour things to look different than they do. They can mess with your mind—charm you, persuade you to do things you wouldn’t consider normally. And then there’s everapple, the fruit of Faerie. If you taste it, all you’ll think of is getting more.”
I sound like Oriana.
Heather is looking at me in horror and possibly disbelief. I wonder if I went too far. I try again with a slightly calmer tone. “We’re at a disadvantage here. The Folk, they’re ageless, immortal, and magical. And they’re not all fond of humans. So don’t let your guard down, don’t make any bargains, and keep some specific things on your person at all times—rowan berries and salt.”
“Okay,” she says.
In the distance, I can see Madoc’s two riding toads out on the lawn, being tended by grooms.
“You’re taking this really well,” I say.
“I have two questions.” Something in her voice or her manner makes me realize she is maybe having a harder time than I thought. “One, what are rowan berries? And two, if Faerieland is the way you say, why do you live here?”
I open my mouth, and then shut it. “It’s home,” I say, finally.
“It doesn’t have to be,” she says. “If Vee can leave, so can you. Like you said, you’re not one of them.”
“Come to the kitchens,” I tell her, veering back toward the house.
Once there, Heather is transfixed by the enormous cauldron, big enough for both of us to bathe in. She stares at the plucked bodies of partridges, resting on the counter beside dough rolled out for a pie.
I go over to the glass jars of herbs and draw out a few rowan berries. I take out a thick thread for sewing stuffing inside hens, and I use that and a bit of cheesecloth to make her a small knot of them.
“Put this in your pocket or in your bra,” I tell her. “Keep it on you while you’re here.”
“And this will keep me safe?” Heather asks.
“Safer,” I say, sewing her up a bag of salt. “Sprinkle this on whatever you eat. Don’t forget.”
“Thank you.” She takes my arm, giving it a quick squeeze. “I mean, this doesn’t feel real. I know that must sound ridiculous. I’m standing in front of you. I can smell herbs and blood from those weird little birds. If you stuck me with that needle, it would hurt. But it still doesn’t feel real. Even though it makes sense of all Vee’s stupid evasions about normal stuff like where she went to high school. But it means the whole world is upside down.”
When I’ve been over there—at the mall, in Heather’s apartment—the difference between them and us has seemed so vast that I can’t imagine how Heather is managing to bridge it. “Nothing you could say would sound ridiculous to me,” I tell her.
Her gaze, as she takes in the stronghold, as she drinks in a breath of late-afternoon air, is full of hopeful interest. I have an uncomfortable memory of a girl with stones in her pockets and am desperately relieved that Heather is willing to accept her world being turned over.
Back in the parlor, Vivi grins at us. “Did Jude give you the grand tour?”
“I made her a charm,” I say, my tone making it clear that she should have been the one to do it.
“Good,” Vivi says happily, because it’s going to take much more than a slightly aggrieved tone to get under her skin when things are going her way. “Oriana tells me you haven’t been around much lately. Your feud with dear old Dad sounds pretty serious.”