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Holly Black

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“His grin widens, shows teeth. 'I don't think I will be a good king. I never wanted to be one, certainly not a good one. You made me your puppet. Very well, Jude, daughter of Madoc, I will be your puppet. You rule. You contend with Balekin, with Roiben, with Orlagh of the Undersea. You be my seneschal, do the work, and I will drink wine and make my subjects laugh. I may be the useless shield you put in front of your brother, but don't expect me to start being useful.' I expected something else, a direct threat, perhaps. Somehow, this is worse. He rises from the throne. 'Come, have a seat.' His voice is replete with danger, lush with menace. The flowering branches have sprouted thorns so thickly that petals are barely visible. 'This is what you wanted, isn't it?' he asks. 'What you sacrificed everything for. Go on. It's all yours.”

“What did he offer you?' I ask, like we're all in on the same joke. Yes, it's a gamble. Maybe Cardan didn't offer them anything at all. I try not to seem like I'm holding my breathe. I try not to show how small Cardan makes me feel. The Ghost gives me one of his rare smiles. 'Mostly gold, but also power. Position.' 'A lot of things he hasn't got,' said the Bomb. 'I thought we were friends,' Cardan says halfheartedly.”

“What do you want to know?' 'I found a piece of paper with my name on it,' I say. 'Over and over, just my name.' He flinches a little but doesn't say anything. 'Well?' I prompt. 'That's not a question,' he groans, as though exasperated. 'Ask me a proper question, and I'll give you an answer.' 'You're terrible at this whole "telling me whatever I want to know" thing.' My hand goes to the crossbow, but I don't pick it up. He sighs. 'Just ask me something. Ask about my tail. Don't you want to see it?' He raises his brows. I have seen his tail, but I am not going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that. 'You want me to ask you something? Fine. When did Taryn start whatever it is she has with Locke?' He laughs with delight. This appears to be a discussion he isn't interested in avoiding. Typical. 'Oh, I wondered when you would ask about that. It was some months ago. He told us all about it- throwing stones at her window, leaving her notes to meet him in the woods, wooing her by moonlight. He swore us to silence, made it all seem like a lark. I think, in the beginning, he did it to make Nicasia jealous. But later...' 'How did he know it was her room?' I ask, frowning. That makes his smile grow. 'Maybe he didn't. Maybe either of you would have done as his first mortal conquest. I believe his goal is to have both of you in the end.' I don't like this. 'What about you?' He gives me a quick, odd look. 'Locke hasn't gotten around to seducing me yet, if that's what you're asking. I suppose I should be insulted.”

“He made me a story, and now I am going to make a story out of someone else. 'So I am to sit here and feed you information,' Cardan says, leaning against a hickory tree. 'And you're to go charm royalty? That seems entirely backward.' I fix him a look. 'I can be charming. I charmed you, didn't I?' He rolls his eyes. 'Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes.”

“The crossbow is where I left it, in the drawer of Dain's desk. I draw it out, cock it back, and point it at Cardan. He draws a ragged breath. 'You're going to shoot me?' He blinks. 'Right now?' My finger caresses the trigger. I feel calm, gloriously calm. This is weakness, to put fear above ambition, above family, above love, but it feels good. It feels like being powerful. 'I can see why you'd want to,' he says, as though reading my face, and coming to some decision. 'But I'd really prefer if you didn't.' 'Then you shouldn't have smirked at me constantly- you think I am going to stand being mocked, here, now? You still so sure you're better than me?' My voice shakes a little, and I hate him even more for it. I have trained every day to be dangerous, and he is entirely in my power, yet I'm the one who is afraid. Fearing him is a habit, a habit I could break with a bolt to his heart. He holds up his hands in protest, long bare fingers splayed. I am the one with the royal ring. 'I'm nervous,' he says. 'I smile a lot when I'm nervous. I can't help it.' That is not at all what I expected him to say. I lower the crossbow momentarily. He keeps talking, as though he doesn't want to leave me too much time to think. 'You are terrifying. Nearly my whole family is dead, and while they never had much love for me, I don't want to join them. I've spent all night worrying what you're going to do, and I know exactly what I deserve. I have a reason to be nervous.' He's talking to me as though we're friends instead of enemies. It works, too; I relax a little. When I realise that, I am nearly freaked out enough to shoot him outright.”

“Tell me, could you love me?' he asks, seemingly out of nowhere. 'Of course.' I laugh, not sure of the answer I am supposed to give. But the question is so oddly phrased that I can hardly deny him. I love my parents' murderer; I suppose I could love anyone. I'd like to love him. 'I wonder,' he says. 'What would you do for me?' 'I don't know what you mean.' This riddling figure with flinty eyes isn't the Locke who stood on the rooftop of his estate and spoke so gently to me or who chased me, laughing, through its halls. I am not quite sure who this Locke is, but he has put me entirely off balance. 'Would you forswear a promise for me?' He is smiling at me as though he's teasing. 'What promise?' He sweeps me around him, my leather slippers pirouetting over the packed earth. In the distance, a piper begins to play. 'Any promise,' he says lightly, although it is no light thing he is asking. 'I guess it depends,' I say, because the real answer, a flat no, isn't what anyone wants to hear. 'Do you love me enough to give me up?' I am sure my expression is stricken. He leans closer. 'Isn't that a test of love?' 'I- I don't know,' I say. All this must be leading up to some declaration on his part, either of affection or of a lack of it. 'Do you love me enough to weep over me?' The words are spoken against my neck. I can feel his breath, making the tiny hairs stand up, making me shudder with an odd combination of desire and discomfort. 'You mean if you were hurt?' 'I mean if I hurt you.' My skin prickles. I don't like this. But at least I know what to say. 'If you hurt me, I wouldn't cry. I would hurt you back.' His step falters as we sweep over the floor. 'I'm sure you'd-' And then he breaks off speaking, looking behind him. I can barely think. My face is hot. I dread what he will say next. 'Time to change partners,' a voice says, and I look to see that it's the worst possible person: Cardan. 'Oh,' he says to Locke. 'Did I steal your line?”

“Looking up at Cardan, though, something strikes me wrong. His eyes are glittering with fury and desire and maybe even shame. A moment later, he blinks, and it's just his usual chilly arrogance. 'Well? Be quick about it,' he says impatiently. 'Kiss my foot and tell me how great I am. Tell me how much you admire me.' 'Enough,' Locke says sharply to Cardan. He's got his hands on my shoulders and is pulling me roughly to my feet. 'I'm taking her home.' 'Are you now?' Cardan asks him, eyebrows raised. 'Interesting timing. You like the savour of a little humiliation, just not too much?' 'I hate it when you get like this,' Locke says under his breath.”

“I wonder what would happen if I said the words: Nicasia humiliated me. Valerian tried to murder me. They did it to impress Prince Cardan, who hates me. I am scared of them. I am more scared of them than I am of you, and you terrify me. Make them stop. Make them leave me alone. But I won't. Madoc's anger is fathomless. I have seen it in my mother's blood on the kitchen floor. Once summoned, it cannot be called back.”

“He'd like to make you believe he's our leader, but it's more than Nicasia likes power, I like dramatics, and Valerian likes violence. Cardan can provide us with all three, or at least excuses for all three.' 'Dramatics?' I echo. 'I like for things to happen, for stories to unfold. And if I can't find a good enough story, I make one.' He looks every inch the trickster in that moment.”

“Prince Cardan watched me all night, a shark restlessly circling, waiting for the right moment to bite. Even now I can conjure the memory of the scorched black of his eyes. And if I laughed louder for the sake of angering him, if I smiled wider, and kissed Locke longer, that is a kind of deceit that even the Folk cannot condemn.”

“He takes my wounded hand in his. He's wearing black gloves, the leather warm even through the silk over my fingers, and black suit of clothes. Raven feathers cover the upper half of his doublet, and his boots have excessively pointed metal toes that make me conscious of how easy it will be to kick me savagely once we've begun dancing. At his brow, he wears a crown of woven metal branches, cocked slightly askew. Dark silver paint streaks over his cheekbones, and black lines run along his lashes. The left one is smeared, as though he forgot about it and wiped his eye.”

“...I turn and press the point of my knife directly underneath his chin. 'Jude?' he asks, up against the wall, pronouncing my name carefully, as though to avoid slurring. I am not sure I have ever heard him use my actual name before. 'Surprised?' I ask, a fierce grin starting on my face. The most important boy in Faerie and my enemy, finally in my power. It feels even better than I thought it would. 'You shouldn't be.”

“Get down on your knees,' Cardan says, looking insufferably pleased with himself. His fury has transmuted in to gloating. 'Beg. Make it pretty. Flowery. Worthy of me.' ... 'Beg? I echo. For a moment, he looks surprised, but that's quickly replaced by even greater malice. 'You defied me. More than once. Your only hope is to throw yourself on my mercy in front of everyone. Do it, or I will keep hurting you until there is nothing left to hurt.' ... There is no shame in surrender. As Taryn said, they're just words. I don't have to mean them. I can lie. I start to lower myself to the ground. This will be over quickly, every word will taste like bile, and then it will be over. When I open my mouth, though, nothing comes out. I can't do it. Instead I shake my head at the thrill running through me at the sheer lunacy of what I'm about to do. It's the thrill of leaping without being able to see the ground below you, right before you realise that's called falling. 'You think because you can humiliate me, you can control me?' I say, looking him in those black eyes. 'Well, I think you're an idiot. Since we started being tutored together, you've gone out of your way to make me feel like I'm less than you. And to coddle your ego, I have made myself less. I have made myself small, I have kept my head down. But it wasn't enough to make you leave Taryn and me alone, so I'm not going to do that anymore. 'I am going to keep on defying you. I am going to shame you with my defiance. You remind me that I am a mere mortal and you are a prince of Faerie. Well, let me remind you that means you have much to lose and I have nothing. You may win in the end, you may ensorcell me and hurt me and humiliate me, but I will make sure you lose everything I can take from you on the way down. I promise you this'- I throw his own words back at him- 'this is the least of what I can do.' Cardan looks at me as though he's never seen me before. He looks at me as though no one has ever spoken to him like this. Maybe no one has.”

“Of course I want to be like them. They're beautiful as blades forged in some divine fire. They will live forever. Valerian's hair shines like polished gold. Nicasia's limbs are long and perfectly shaped, her mouth the pink of coral, her hair the colour of the deepest, coldest part of the sea. Fox-eyed Locke, standing silently behind Valerian, his expression schooled to careful indifference, has a chin as pointed as the tips of his ears. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest, with black hair as iridescent as a raven's wing and cheekbones sharp enough to cut out a girl's heart. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe.”

“We can enchant you to run around on all fours, barking like a dog. We can curse you to wither away for want of a song you'll never hear again or a kind word from my lips. We're not mortal. We will break you. You're a fragile little thing; we'd hardly need to try. Give up.' 'Never,' I say. He smiles, smug. 'Never? Never is like forever- too big for mortals to comprehend.”

“Cardan is waiting for me when I get off the field. I am struck suddenly be his height, by the arrogant sneer he wears like a crown. He would seem like a prince even dressed in rags. Cardan grabs my face, fingers splayed against my neck. His breath is against my cheek. His other hand grabs my hair, winding it in to a rope. 'Do you know what mortal means? It means born to die. It means deserving of death. That's what you are, what defines you- dying. And yet here you stand, determined to oppose me even as you rot away from the inside out, you corrupt, corrosive mortal creature. Tell me how that is. Do you really think you can win against me? Against a prince of Faerie?' I swallow hard. 'No,' I say. His black eyes simmer with rage. 'So you're not completely lacking in some small amount of animal cunning. Good. Now, beg my forgiveness.' I take a step back and tug, trying to wrench free of his grasp. He holds on to my braid, staring down in to my face with hungry eyes and a small, awful smile. Then he opens his hand, letting me stagger free. Individual strands of hair flutter through the air.”

“I leave my books and cross the grass toward them. Cardan half-turns and I shove him so hard that his back hits one of the trees. His eyes go wide. 'I don't know what you said to her, but don't you ever go near my sister again,' I tell him, my hand still on the front of his velvet doublet. 'You gave her your word.' I can feel the eyes of all the other students on me. Everyone's breath is drawn. For a moment, Cardan just stares at me with stupid, crow-black eyes. Then one corner of his mouth curls. 'Oh,' he says. 'You're going to regret doing that.' I don't think he realises just how angry I am or how good it feels, for once, to give up on regrets.”

“Mother Marrow gestures to the soup, and I, who can afford no more enemies, bring it to my lips. It tastes of a memory I cannot quite place, warm afternoons and splashing in pools and kicking plastic toys across the brown grass of summer lawns. Tears spring to my eyes. I want to spill it out in to the dirt. I want to drink it down to the dregs.”

“She is plunging soundlessly through the night sky, toward the mirrored darkness of the sea. When she hits, there is barely even a splash. I cannot speak. Everything seems to slow around me. I think of Sophie's cracked lips, think of her saying, Please, just tell me this isn't real. I don't think I can live with any of this being real. I think of the stones she filled her pockets with. I hadn't been listening. I hadn't wanted to hear her; I'd just wanted to save her. And now, because of me, she is dead.”

“You put a curse on that girl over there,' I tell him. 'Fix her immediately.' 'She admired my ears,' the boy says. 'I was only giving her what she desired. A party favour.' 'That's what I'm going to say after I gut you and use your entrails as streamers,' I tell him. 'I was only giving him what he wanted. After all, if he didn't want to be eviscerated, he would have honoured my very reasonable request.”

“Get down here before you’re recognized.” “Playing hide-and-seek under the table? Crouching in the dirt? Typical of your kind, but far beneath my dignity.” He laughs unsteadily, like he expects I am going to laugh, too. I don’t. I ball up my fist and punch him in the stomach, right where I know it will hurt. He staggers to his knees. The goblet drops to the dirt, making a hollow clanking sound. “Ow!” he shouts, and lets me tug him under the table.”