The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,117
place where he was raised and the people he met there.
Ten years. If we could keep Oak out of Faerie for ten years, he could grow into the person he’s going to be.
Of course, by then, he might have to fight to get his throne back. Someone—probably Madoc, possibly Balekin, maybe even one of the other minor kings or queens—could squat there like a spider, consolidating power.
I squint at the black water. If only there were a way to keep the throne unoccupied for long enough that Oak becomes his own person, without Madoc making war, without any regent at all.
I stand up, having made my decision. For good or ill, I know what I am going to do. I have my plan. Madoc would not approve of this strategy. It’s not the kind he likes, where there are multiple ways to win. It’s the kind where there’s only one way, and it’s kind of a long shot.
As I stand, I catch my own reflection in the water. I look again and realize that it can’t be me. The Lake of Masks never shows you your own face. I creep closer. The full moon is bright in the sky, bright enough to show me my mother looking back at me. She’s younger than I remember her. And she’s laughing, calling over someone I cannot see.
Through time, she points at me. When she speaks, I can read her lips. Look! A human girl. She appears delighted.
Then Madoc’s reflection joins hers, his hand going around her waist. He looks no younger then, but there is an openness in his face that I have never seen. He waves to me.
I am a stranger to them.
Run! I want to shout. But, of course, that’s the one thing I don’t need to tell her to do.
The Bomb looks up when I enter. She’s sitting at the wooden table, measuring out a grayish powder. Beside her are several spun glass globes, corked shut. Her magnificent white hair is tied up with what looks like a piece of dirty string. A smear of grime streaks over her nose.
“The rest of them are in the back,” she says. “With the princeling, getting some sleep.”
I sit down at the table with a sigh. I’d been tensed up to explain myself, and now all that energy has nowhere to go. “Is there anything around to eat?”
She gives me a quick grin as she fills another globe and sets it gingerly in a basket by her feet. “The Ghost picked up some black bread and butter. We ate the sausages, and the wine’s gone, but there might still be some cheese.”
I rummage through the cupboard, take out the food, and then eat it mechanically. I pour myself a cup of bracing and bitter fennel tea. It makes me feel a little steadier. I watch her make explosives for a while. As she works, she whistles a little, off-key. It’s odd to hear; most of the Folk are musically gifted, but I like her tune better for being imperfect. It seems happier, easier, less haunting.
“Where will you go when all this is done?” I ask her.
She glances over at me, puzzled. “What makes you think I’m going anywhere?”
I frown at my nearly empty cup of tea. “Because Dain’s gone. I mean, isn’t that what the Ghost and the Roach are going to do? Aren’t you going with them?”
The Bomb shrugs her narrow shoulders and points a bare toe at the basket of globes. “See all these?”
I nod.
“They don’t travel well,” she says. “I’m going to stay here, with you. You’ve got a plan, right?”
I am too flummoxed to know what to say. I open my mouth and begin to stammer. She laughs. “Cardan said that you did. That if you were just making a trade, you would have done it already. And if you were going to betray us, you’d have done that by now, too.”
“But, um,” I say, and then lose my train of thought. Something about how he wasn’t supposed to be paying that much attention. “What do the others think?”
She goes back to filling globes. “They didn’t say, but none of us likes Balekin. If you’ve got a plan, well, good for you. But if you want us on your side, maybe you could be a little less cagey about it.”
I take a deep breath and decide that if I am really going to do this, I could use some help. “What do you think about stealing a crown?