The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,134
to Vivi,” I call to her. The Ghost, realizing his mistake, draws his crossbow and points it at my sister, but there’s no way to shoot his way out of this. She gives me a terrible, betrayed look.
Cardan struggles to his feet. Balekin is up, too, striding across the room.
“Child, if you do not give that to me, I will cut you in half,” Balekin tells Taryn. “I will be the High King, and when I am, I will punish any who inconvenienced me.”
She holds it out, looking between Balekin and Vivi and me. Then she looks at all the lords and ladies watching her.
“Give me my crown,” Balekin says, walking toward her.
Lord Roiben steps into Balekin’s path. He presses his hand to Balekin’s chest. “Wait.” He hasn’t drawn a blade, but I see the shine of knives under his coat.
Balekin tries to push Roiben’s hand away, but he does not move. The Ghost has his crossbow trained on Balekin, and every eye in the room is watching him. Queen Orlagh is several steps away.
Violence hangs heavily in the air.
I move toward Taryn to get in front of her.
If Balekin draws a weapon, if he throws away diplomacy and simply charges, the room seems ready to explode into bloodshed. Some will fight on his side, some against. No vows to the crown matter now, and watching him murder his own family hasn’t left anyone feeling safe. He has brought the lords and ladies of Faerie here to win them over; even he seems to see that more murder is unlikely to do that.
Besides, the Ghost can shoot him before he gets to Taryn, and he wears no armor under his clothes. No matter how heavy the embroidery, it will not save him from a bolt to the heart.
“She’s only a mortal girl,” he says.
“This is a lovely banquet, Balekin, son of Eldred,” Queen Orlagh says. “But sadly lacking in amusements before now. Let this be our entertainment. After all, the crown is secure in this room, is it not? And you or your younger brother are the only ones who can wear it. Let the girl choose whom she will give it to. What does it matter, if neither of you will crown the other?”
I am surprised. I thought Queen Orlagh was his ally, but then I suppose Nicasia’s friendship with Cardan might have made her favor him. Or perhaps she favors neither of them and only wants the sea to have greater power, by diminishing the power of the land.
“This is ridiculous,” he says. “What of the explosion? Didn’t that entertain you sufficiently?”
“It certainly piqued my interest,” Lord Roiben says. “You seem to have lost your general somewhere as well. Your rule hasn’t even formally begun, but it certainly appears chaotic.”
I turn to Taryn and close my fingers over the cool metal of the crown. Up close, it is exquisite. The leaves seem to grow out of the dark gold, to be living things, their stems crossing over one another in a delicate knotwork.
“Please,” I say. There is still so much that’s bad between us. So much anger and betrayal and jealousy.
“What are you doing?” Taryn hisses at me. Behind her, Locke is looking at me with an odd gleam in his eyes. My story just got more interesting, and I know how much he loves story above all else.
“The best I can,” I say.
I tug, and for a long moment, Taryn holds fast. Then she opens her hand, and I stagger back with the crown.
Vivi has brought Oak as close as she dares. Oriana stands with the crowd, clasping and unclasping her hands. She must notice Madoc’s absence, must be wondering what I meant when I spoke of a price.
“Prince Cardan,” I say. “This is for you.”
The crowd parts to let him through, the other key player in this drama. He walks to stand to one side of me and Oak.
“Stop!” Balekin shouts. “Stop them immediately.” He draws a blade, clearly no longer interested in playing politics. Around the room, more swords are unsheathed in a terrible echo of his. I can hear the hum of enchanted steel in the air.
I reach for Nightfell at the moment the Ghost lets his bolt fly.
Balekin staggers back. I hear the sound of indrawn breaths all around the room. Shooting the king, even if he’s not wearing a crown, is no small thing. Then, as Balekin’s sword falls to the ancient rug, I see where he was shot.