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Holly Black

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“My greatest weakness has always been my desire for love. It is a yawning chasm within me, and the more than I reach for it, the more easily I am tricked. I am a walking bruise, an open sore. If Oak is masked, I am a face with all the skin ripped off. Over and over, I have told myself that I need to guard against my own yearnings, but that hasn't worked. I must try something new.”

“The prince doesn't even know what you are,' she says with a glance toward Oak. 'Barely one of the Folk. Nothing but a manikin, little more than the stock left behind when a changeling is taken, a thing meant to wither and die.' Despite myself, my gaze goes to Oak. To see if he understands. But I cannot read anything but pity on his face. I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her. I am no one's child. That makes me smile, showing red teeth.”

“You might be better served if she didn't wake. What happens when she discovers how you've deceived her? When she realises her role in your plan?' I try not to move, try not to let a twitch of muscle or a tightening of my body give away that I am conscious and listening. Oak's voice is full of resignation. 'She will have to decide how much she hates me.' 'Kill her while you can,' says the old general, softly. He sounds regretful but also resigned. 'That's your answer to everything,' Oak says. 'And yours is to throw yourself into the mouth of the lion and hope it doesn't like your savour.”

“Well, come on,' said Hyacinthe. 'Unless you want me to carry you.'' 'Carry me? What a delightful offer. You can bear me in your arms like a maiden in a fairy tale.' Hyacinthe rolls his eyes. 'I can throw you over my shoulder like a sack of grain.' 'Then I suppose I shall walk,' Oak says, hoping he can.”

“Why not whip me now?' he asks, a challenge in his voice. 'Spending a night dreading what will come in the morning is it's own punishment.' She pauses. 'Especially as you now know your own hand can be turned against you.' Oak looks directly into her eyes. 'Why are you keeping me at all, Wren? Am I a hostage to command? A lover to be punished? A possession to be locked away?' 'That,' she said, bitterness in her voice, 'is what I am trying to figure out myself.”

“Oak puts a hand on my arm. I startle. 'You all right?' he asks. 'When they first took me from the mortal world to the Court of Teeth, Lord Jarel and Lady Nore tried to be nice to me. They gave me good things to eat and dressed me in fancy dresses and told me that I was their princess and would be a beautiful and beloved queen,' I tell him, the words slipping from my lips before I can call them back. I occupy myself with searching deeper in the closet so I don't have to see his face as I speak. 'I cried constantly, ceaselessly. For a week, I wept and wept until they could bear it no more.' Oak is silent. Though he knew me as a child, he never knew me as that child, the one who still believed the world could be kind. But then, he had sisters who were stolen. Perhaps they had cried, too. 'Lord Jarel and Lady Nore told their servants to enchant me to sleep, and the servants did. But it never lasted. I kept weeping.' He nods, just a little, as though more movement might break the spell of my speaking. 'Lord Jarel came to me with a beautiful glass dish in which there was flavoured ice,' I tell him. 'When I took a bite, the flavour was indescribably delicious. It was as though I were eating dreams.' 'You will have this every day if you cease you're crying,' he said. 'But I couldn't stop. 'Then he came to me with a necklace of diamonds, as cold and beautiful as ice. When I put it on, my eyes shone, my hair sparkled, and my skin shimmered as though glitter had been poured over it. I looked wondrously beautiful. But when he told me to stop crying, I couldn't. 'Then he became angry, and he told me that if I didn't stop, he would turn my tears to glass that would cut my cheeks. And that's what he did. 'But I cried until it was hard to tell the difference between tears and blood. And after that, I began to teach myself how to break their curses. They didn't like that. 'And so they told me I would be able to see the humans again- that's what they called them, the humans- in a year, for a visit, but only if I was good. 'I tried. I choked back tears. And on the wall beside my bed, I scratched the number of days in the ice. 'One night I returned to my room to find the scratches weren't the way I remembered. I was sure it had been five months, but the scratches made it seem as though it had been only a little more than three. 'And that was when I realised I was never going home, but by then the tears wouldn't come, no matter how much I willed them. And I never cried again.' His eyes shone with horror.”

“He also says you fall in love a lot.' That surprises a laugh out of him, although he doesn't deny any of it. 'There are certain expectations of a prince in Court.' 'You cannot be serious,' I say. 'You feel obliged to be in love?' 'I told you- I am a courtier, versed in all the courtly arts.' He's grinning as he says it, though, acknowledging the absurdity of the statement. I find myself shaking my head and grinning, too. He's being ridiculous, but I am not sure how ridiculous. 'I do have a bad habit, he says. 'Of falling in love. With great regularity and to spectacular effect. You see, it never goes well.' I wonder if this conversation makes him think of our kiss, but then, I was the one who kissed him. He'd only kissed back. 'As charming as you are, how can that be?' I say. He laughs again. 'That's what my sister Taryn always says. She tells me that I remind her of her late husband. Which makes some sense, since I would have been his half brother. But it's also alarming, because she's the one who murdered him.' Much as when he spoke about Madoc, it's strange how fond oak can sound when he tells me a horrifying thing a member of his family has done.”

“You like games,' I tell him. 'How about we play one?' 'What's the wager?' 'If I win,' I say, 'You answer my question. Without evasion.' Nothing about the way he looks at me suggests that he does not consider these to be large stakes. Still, he nods. 'And what is the game?' 'You have the piece. Just as when we were children, let's see which of us throws better.' He nods again, taking it from his pocket. The peridot eyes glimmer. 'And if I win?' 'What do you want?' I ask. He studies me and I study him in return. No smile now can disguise the steel underneath. 'You promise to dance with me so that our practice back in the Court of Moths won't be for nothing.' 'Those are absurd stakes,' I tell him, my cheeks hot. 'And yet they are mine,' he says.”

“My sister thinks that she's the only one who can take poison, but I am poison,' he whispers, eyes half-closed, talking to himself. 'Poison in my blood. I poison everything I touch.' That's such a strange thing to hear him say. Everyone adores him. And yet, I recall him running away at thirteen, sure so many things were his fault.”

“He talked about you,' Tiernan says. I feel like an animal after all, one that's been baited in its den. I both dread and desire him to keep talking. 'What did he say?' 'That you didn't like him.' He gives me an evaluating look. 'I thought maybe you'd had a falling-out when you were younger. But I think you do like him. You just don't want him to know it.' The truth of that hurts. I grind my sharp teeth together. 'The prince is a flatterer. And a charmer. And a wormer around things,' Tiernan informs me, entirely unnecessarily. 'That makes it harder for him to be believed when he has something sincere to say. But no one would ever accuse me of being a flatterer...”

“I should never have asked you to come back here.' 'Just don't leave me behind,' I say, feeling immensely vulnerable. 'That's what I want, for the game I won all those years ago.' 'I promise you,' he says. 'If it is within my power, we leave together.' I nod. 'We will find the reliquary and ruin her,' I tell him. 'And then I will never come back.”

“Do you think he will protect you now? You're useless. The heir to Elfhame has no reason to spend any further time with an untutored savage of a girl. But think, you wouldn't remember him. You wouldn't even have to remember yourself.' 'I'm not half as practical as you suppose,' Oak says. 'I like many useless things. I've been called useless myself from time to time.”

“Only to see Oak, the heir to Elfhame, standing in a clearing. All my memories of him were of a merry young boy. But he'd become tall and rawboned, in the manner of children who have grown suddenly and too fast. When he moved, it was with coltish uncertainty, as though not used to his body. He would be thirteen. And he had no reason to be in my woods.”