The Cruel Prince (The Folk of t -(The Folk of the Air #1) - Holly Black Page 0,24
because he had made me do it.
“I can annoy you in the hills and also the dales,” I say, poking her in the arm. “I will chase you from crag to crag across all three islands until you tell me something.”
“I think we could both bear it better if no one else had to see,” she says, then takes a long pull of her tea.
“What?” I am surprised into not knowing what to say in return. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I think I could stand being teased and being made to cry if you didn’t know about it.” She gives me a steady look, as though evaluating how much truth I can handle. “I can’t just pretend my day was fine with you as a witness to what really happened. Sometimes it makes me not like you.”
“That’s not fair!” I exclaim.
She shrugs. “I know. That’s why I’m telling you. But what Cardan said to me doesn’t matter, and I want to pretend it didn’t happen, so I need you to pretend along with me. No reminders, no questions, no cautions.”
Stung, I stand and walk to her fireplace mantel, leaning my head against the carved stone. I can’t count the number of times she’s told me that messing with Cardan and his friends is stupid. And yet, given what she’s saying now, whatever made her cry this afternoon has nothing to do with me. Which means she’s gotten into some kind of trouble all on her own.
Taryn might have a lot of advice to give; I am not sure she’s taking all of it.
“So what do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I want you to fix things with him,” she says. “Prince Cardan’s got all the power. There’s no winning against him. No matter how brave or clever or even cruel you are, Jude. End this, before you get really hurt.”
I look at her uncomprehendingly. Avoiding Cardan’s wrath now seems impossible. That ship has sailed—and burned up in the harbor. “I can’t,” I tell her.
“You heard what Prince Cardan said by the river—he just wants you to give up. It’s a blow to his pride, and it hurts his status, you acting like you’re not afraid of him.” She takes my arm at the wrist, pulling me close. I can smell the sharp scent of herbs on her breath. “Tell him that he’s won and you’ve lost. They’re just words. You don’t have to mean them.”
I shake my head.
“Don’t fight him tomorrow,” she continues.
“I’m not withdrawing from the tournament,” I tell her.
“Even if it wins you nothing but more woe?” she asks.
“Even then,” I say.
“Do something else,” she insists. “Find a way. Fix it before it’s too late.”
I think of all the things she won’t say, all the things I wish I knew. But since she wants me to pretend everything is fine, all I can do is swallow my questions and leave her to her fire.
In my room, I find my tournament outfit spread out on my bed, scented with verbena and lavender.
It’s a slightly padded tunic stitched with metallic thread. The pattern is of a crescent moon turned on its side like a cup, with a droplet of red falling from one corner and a dagger beneath the whole. Madoc’s crest.
I cannot put on that tunic tomorrow and fail, not without bringing disgrace on my household. And although embarrassing Madoc might give me a contrary pleasure, a small revenge for denying me knighthood, I’d embarrass myself, too.
What I should do is go back to keeping my head down. Be decent, but not memorable. Let Cardan and his friends show off. Save up my skill to surprise the Court when Madoc gives me permission to seek a knighthood. If that ever happens.
That’s what I should do.
I knock the tunic to the floor and climb under the coverlets, pulling them up over my head so that I am slightly smothered. So that I breathe in my own warm breath. I fall asleep like that.
In the afternoon, when I rise, the garment is wrinkled, and I have no one to blame but myself.
“You are a foolish child,” Tatterfell says, scraping my hair into tight warrior braids. “With a memory like that of a sparrow.”
On my way to the kitchens, I pass Madoc in the hall. He is dressed all in green, his mouth pulled into a grim line.
“Hold a moment,” he says.
I do.
He frowns. “I know what it is to be young and hungry for glory.”