The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,127
I’ll stay here and make sure he has something to come back to.”
Vivi puts her hands on her hips, a gesture that reminds me of our mother. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”
“Leave that part to me,” I say, wishing that Vivi didn’t know me quite as well as she does. To distract her, I explain about Balekin’s banquet, about how the Court of Shadows is going to help me get the crown. I am going to need her to prep Oak for the coronation. “Whoever controls the king, controls the kingdom,” I say. “If Madoc is regent, you know that Faerie will always be at war.”
“So let me get this straight: You want me to take Oak away from Faerie, away from everyone he knows, and teach him how to be a good king?” She laughs mirthlessly. “Our mother once stole a faerie child away—me. You know what happened. How will this be any different? How will you keep Madoc and Balekin from hunting Oak to the ends of the earth?”
“Someone can be sent to guard him, to guard all of you—but, as for the rest, I have a plan. Madoc won’t follow.” With Vivi, I feel forever doomed to be the little sister, foolish and about to topple over onto my face.
“Maybe I don’t want to play nursemaid,” Vivi says. “Maybe I will lose him in a parking garage or forget him at school. Maybe I would teach him awful tricks. Maybe he would blame me for all this.”
“Give me another solution. You really think this is what I want?” I know I sound like I am pleading with her, but I can’t help it.
For a tense moment, we look at each other. Then she sits down hard in a chair and lets her head fall back against the cushion. “How am I going to explain this to Heather?”
“I think Oak is the least shocking part of what you have to tell her,” I say. “And it’s just for a few years. You’re immortal. Which, by the way, is one of the more shocking things you have to tell her.”
She gives me a glare fit to singe hair. “Make me a promise that this is going to save Oak’s life.”
“I promise,” I tell her.
“And make me another promise that it’s not going to cost you yours.”
I nod. “It won’t.”
“Liar,” she says. “You’re a dirty liar and I hate it and I hate this.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
At least she didn’t say she hated me, too.
I am on my way out of the house when Taryn opens her bedroom door. She’s dressed in a skirt the color of ivy, with stitching picking out a pattern of falling leaves.
My breath catches. I wasn’t planning to see her.
We regard each other for a long moment. She takes in that there’s a bag over my shoulder and that I’m in the same clothes I wore when we fought.
Then she closes her door again, leaving me to my fate.
Never have I walked through the front doors of Hollow Hall. Always before I have come skulking through the kitchens, dressed as a servant. Now I stand in front of the polished wood doors, lit by two lamps of trapped sprites who fly in desperate circles. They illuminate a carving of an enormous and sinister face. The knocker, a circle piercing its nose.
Cardan reaches for it, and because I have grown up in Faerie, I am not entirely surprised into a scream when the door’s eyes open.
“My prince,” it says.
“My door,” he says in return, with a smile that conveys both affection and familiarity. It’s bizarre to see his obnoxious charm used for something other than evil.
“Hail and welcome,” the door says, swinging open to reveal one of Balekin’s faerie servants. He stares openmouthed at Cardan, missing prince of Faerie. “The other guests are through there,” the servant finally manages.
Cardan tucks my arm firmly through his before striding into the entryway, and I feel a rush of warmth as I match his step. I can’t afford to be less than ruthlessly honest with myself. Against my better judgment, despite the fact that he is terrible, Cardan is also fun.
Maybe I should be glad of how little it will matter.
But for now, it’s immensely unnerving. Cardan is dressed in a suit of Dain’s clothes, stolen from the palace wardrobes and altered by a clever-fingered brownie that owed the Roach a gambling debt. He looks regal in different shades of cream—a coat over a