The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,101

stairs to my room, where I wash the paint off my face and the mud off my feet. Vivi follows me, perches on a stool. Her cat eyes are bright gold in the sunlight streaming in from my balcony. She doesn’t speak as I take a comb to my hair, raking through the tangles. I dress myself in dark colors, in a deep blue tunic with a high collar and tight sleeves, in shiny black boots, with new gloves to cover my hands. I strap Nightfell onto a heavier belt and surreptitiously put the ring with the royal seal into my pocket.

It feels so surreal to be in my room, with my stuffed animals and my books and my collection of poisons. With Cardan’s copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass sitting on my bedside table. A new wave of panic passes over me. I’m supposed to figure out how to turn the capture of the missing prince of Faerie to my advantage. Here, in my childhood home, I want to laugh at my daring. Just who do I think I am?

“What happened to your throat?” Vivi asks, frowning at me. “And what’s wrong with your left hand?”

I forgot how carefully I had concealed those injuries. “They’re not important, not with everything that happened. Why did he do it?”

“You mean, why did Madoc help Balekin?” she says, lowering her voice. “I don’t know. Politics. He doesn’t care about murder. He doesn’t care that it’s his fault Princess Rhyia is dead. He doesn’t care, Jude. He’s never cared. That’s what makes him a monster.”

“Madoc can’t really want Balekin to rule Elfhame,” I say. Balekin would influence how Faerie interacts with the mortal world for centuries, how much blood is shed, and whose. All of Faerie will be like Hollow Hall.

That’s when I hear Taryn’s voice float up the stairwell. “Locke has been in with Madoc for ages. He doesn’t know anything about where Cardan is hiding.”

Vivi goes still, watching my face. “Jude—” she says. Her voice is mostly breath.

“Madoc’s probably just trying to frighten him,” Oriana says. “You know he’s not keen on arranging a marriage in the middle of all this turmoil.”

Before Vivi can say anything else, before she can stop me, I’ve gone to the top of the stairs.

I recall the words Locke said to me after I’d fought in the tournament and pissed off Cardan: You’re like a story that hasn’t happened yet. I want to see what you will do. I want to be part of the unfolding of the tale. When he said that he wanted to see what I would do, did he mean to find out what would happen if he broke my heart?

If I can’t find a good enough story, I make one.

Cardan’s words when I asked if he thought I didn’t deserve Locke echo in my head. Oh no, he’d said with a smirk. You’re perfect for each other. And at the coronation: Time to change partners. Oh, did I steal your line?

He knew. How he must have laughed. How they all must have laughed.

“So I suppose I know who your lover is now,” I call to my twin sister.

Taryn looks up and blanches. I descend the stairs slowly, carefully.

I wonder if, when Locke and his friends laughed, she laughed with them.

All the odd looks, the tension in her voice when I talked about Locke, her concern about what he and I were doing in the stables, what we’d done at his house—all of it makes sudden, awful sense. I feel the sharp stab of betrayal.

I draw Nightfell.

“I challenge you,” I tell Taryn. “To a duel. For my honor, which was grievously betrayed.”

Taryn’s eyes widen. “I wanted to tell you,” she says. “There were so many times I started to say something, but I just couldn’t. Locke said if I could endure, it would be a test of love.”

I remember his words from the revel: Do you love me enough to give me up? Isn’t that a test of love?

I guess she passed the test, and I failed.

“So he proposed to you,” I say. “While the royal family got butchered. That’s so romantic.”

Oriana gives a little gasp, probably afraid that Madoc would hear me, that he’d object to my characterization. Taryn looks a little pale, too. I suppose since none of them actually saw it, they could have been told nearly anything. One doesn’t have to lie to deceive.

My hand tightens on the hilt of Nightfell. “What did