The Cruel Prince Read online

  I wait a few hopeful moments. If the Roach and the Ghost climb through, I can explain the crown’s location. But, instead, the doors to the banquet open, and I hear Madoc order the knights off. I move so that he can see me. When he does, he comes toward me with purpose. “Jude. I thought you came this way.”

  “I needed some fresh air,” I tell him, which is indicative of how nerved up I am. I have answered the question he hasn’t yet asked.

  He waves it off, though. “You should have come to me first when you found Prince Cardan. We could have negotiated from a position of strength.”

  “I thought you might say something like that,” I tell him.

  “What matters now is that I need to speak with him alone. I’d like you to go inside and bring him out here, so we can talk. All three of us can talk.”

  I move away from the window, into the open space of the hall. The Ghost and the Roach will be here in a moment, and I don’t want Madoc to spot them. “About Oak?” I ask.

  As I had hoped, Madoc follows me away from the window, frowning. “You knew?”

  “That you have a plan for ruling Elfhame yourself?” I ask him. “I figured it out.”

  He stares at me as though I am a stranger, but I have never felt less like one. For the first time, we are both unmasked.

  “And yet you brought Prince Cardan here, right to Balekin,” he says. “Or to me? Is that it? Are we to bargain now?”

  “It must be one or the other, right?” I say.

  He’s growing angry. “Would you prefer no High King at all? If the crown is destroyed, there will be war, and if there’s war, I will win it. One way or another, I will have that crown, Jude. And you stand to benefit when I do. There’s no reason to oppose me. You can have your knighthood. You can have all the things you’ve ever dreamed of.” He takes another step toward me. We are in striking distance of each other.

  “You said, ‘I will have that crown.’ You,” I remind him, my hand going to the hilt of my sword. “You’ve barely spoken Oak’s name. He is just a means to an end, and that end is power. Power for you.”

  “Jude—” he begins, but I cut him off.

  “I’ll make a bargain. Swear to me that you’ll never raise a hand against Oak, and I’ll help. Promise me that when he comes of age, you will immediately step down as regent. You’ll give him whatever power you’ll have amassed, and you’ll do it willingly.”

  Madoc’s mouth twists. His hands fist. I know he loves Oak. He loves me. I’m sure he loved my mother, too, in his own way. But he is who and what he is. I know he cannot promise.

  I draw my sword, and he does, too, the scrape of metal loud in the room. I hear distant laughter, but here in the hall, we are alone.

  My hands are sweating, but this has the feeling of inevitability, as though this is what I was careening toward the whole time, my whole life.

  “You can’t beat me,” Madoc says, moving into a fighting stance.

  “I already have,” I say.

  “You have no way to win.” Madoc flicks his blade, encouraging me to come toward him, as though this is just some practice bout. “What can you hope to do with one missing prince, here in Balekin’s stronghold? I will knock you down, and then I will take him from you. You could have had anything you wanted, but now you will be left with nothing.”

  “Oh, yes, let me tell you my whole plan. You’ve goaded me right into it.” I make a face. “Let’s not stall anymore. This is the part where we fight.”

  “At least you’re no coward.” He rushes at me with such force that even though I block the blow, I am thrown to the floor. I roll into a standing position, but I am shaken. He has never fought me like this, full out. This will be no genteel exchange of blows.

  He’s the High King’s general. I knew he was better than me, but not how much better.

  I cheat a glance toward the window. I can’t be stronger than him, but I don’t need to be. I just need to keep on my feet a little while longer. I strike out, hoping to catch him by surprise. He knocks me back again. I dodge and turn, but he expects the blow, and I have to stumble inelegantly back, blocking yet another heavy chop of his blade. My arms hurt from the strength behind his blows.

  This is all happening too fast.

  I come in with a series of techniques he’s taught me and then use a bit of swordplay I learned from the Ghost. I feign left and then land a clever slice to his side. It’s a shallow hit, but it surprises us both when a line of red wets his coat. He thrusts toward me. I jump to one side, and he elbows me in the face, knocking me back to the ground. Blood gushes over my mouth from my nose.

  I push myself dizzily to my feet.

  I’m scared, no matter how I try to play it off. I was arrogant. I am trying to buy time, but one of his blows could split me in half.

  “Surrender,” he tells me, sword pointed toward my throat. “It was well tried. I will forgive you, Jude, and we will go back into the banquet. You will persuade Cardan to do what I need him to. All will be as it should be.”

  I spit blood on the stone tiles.

  His sword arm trembles a little.

  “You surrender,” I say.

  He laughs, as though I have told a particularly rich joke. Then he stops, grimacing.

  “I imagine you’re not feeling quite yourself,” I tell him.

  His sword sags a little, and he looks at me in sudden comprehension. “What have you done?”

  “I poisoned you. Don’t worry. It was a small enough dose. You’ll live.”

  “The cups of wine,” he says. “But how did you know which one I would choose?”

  “I didn’t,” I tell him, thinking that he’ll be at least a little pleased by the answer, despite himself. It is the kind of strategy he likes best. “I poisoned them both.”

  “You will be very sorry,” he says. The tremble is in his legs now. I know. I feel the echo of it in my own. But by now, I am used to drinking poison.

  I look deep into his eyes as I sheathe my sword. “Father, I am what you made me. I’ve become your daughter after all.”

  Madoc lifts his blade again, as though he’s going to rush at me one final time. But then it falls from his hand, and he falls, too, sprawling on the stone floor.

  When the Ghost and the Roach come in, a few tense minutes later, they find me sitting beside him, too tired to even think of moving his body.

  Wordlessly, the Roach hands me a handkerchief, and I start to wipe the blood from my nose.

  “On to phase three,” the Ghost says.

  When I rejoin the feast, everyone is taking their place at the long table. I walk straight to Balekin and curtsy.

  “My lord,” I say, pitching my voice low. “Madoc asked me to tell you that he is delayed and to begin without him. He wishes you not to worry, but some of Dain’s spies are here. He will send you word when he’s caught or killed them.”

  Balekin regards me with slightly pursed lips and narrowed eyes. He takes in whatever traces of blood I couldn’t wash from my nostrils and my teeth, whatever sweat I couldn’t wipe away. Madoc slumbers in Cardan’s old room, and by my calculations, we have at least an hour before he wakes. It feels as though if Balekin looked carefully, he could see that on my face, too.

  “You have been more helpful than I would have guessed,” Balekin says, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. He seems to have forgotten how furious he was when I first came in with Cardan and expects me to forget it, too. “Continue and you will find yourself rewarded. Would you like to live as one of us? Would you like to be one of us?”

  Could the High King of Faerie really give me that? Could he make me something other than human, something other than mortal?

  I think of Valerian’s words when he tried to glamour me into jumping out of the tower. Being born mortal is like being born already dead.

  He sees the look on my face and smiles, sure that he has ferreted out the secret desire of my heart.

  And, indeed, as I walk to my seat, I am troubled. I should feel t
riumphant, but, instead, I feel sick. Outmaneuvering Madoc wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I wanted it to be, especially since I was able to do it because he never thought of me as someone who would betray him. Perhaps years from now, my faith in this plan will prove justified, but until then I will have to live with this acid in the pit of my stomach.

  The future of Faerie depends on my playing a long game and playing it perfectly.

  I spot Vivi, sitting between Nicasia and Lord Severin, and I give her a quick smile. She gives me a grim one in return.

  Lord Roiben looks at me askance. Beside him, the green pixie whispers something in his ear, and he shakes his head. At the other end of the table, Locke kisses Taryn’s hand. Queen Orlagh looks over at me curiously. There are only three mortals here—Taryn, me, and the redhead with Severin—and from the way she regards us, Orlagh is imagining mice presiding over a convocation of cats.

  Above hangs a chandelier made from thin sheets of mica. Tiny glowing faeries are trapped inside for the purpose of adding a warm glow to the room. Occasionally, they fly, making shadows dance.

  “Jude,” Locke says, touching my arm, startling me. His fox eyes crinkle in amusement. “I admit, I am a little jealous to see Cardan parading you around on his arm.”

  I take a step back. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “I liked you, you know,” he says. “I like you still.”

  For a moment, I wonder what would happen if I hauled off and punched him.

  “Go away, Locke,” I tell him.

  His smile returns. “The thing I like best is how you never do what I imagine you will. For instance, I didn’t think you’d duel over me.”

  “I didn’t.” I pull away from him and head to the table, a little unsteady on my feet.

  “There you are,” Cardan says as I take my place beside him. “How has the night been going for you? Mine has been full of dull conversations about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.”

  My hands shake as I take my place. I tell myself that it’s just the poison. My mouth is dry. I find myself without the wit for verbal sparring. Servants set down dishes—roasted goose shining with currant glaze, oysters and stewed ramps, acorn cakes and whole fish stuffed with rose hips. Wine is poured, dark green with pieces of gold floating in it. I watch them sink to the bottom of the glass, shining sediment.

  “Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?” Cardan asks, leaning back in the elaborately carved chair, the warmth of his words turning the question into something like a compliment.

  “No,” I say, glad to be annoyed back into the present. “Tell me.”

  “I cannot,” he says, then frowns. “Jude?” I may never be used to the sound of my name on his lips. His brows draw together. “There’s a bruise coming up on your jaw.”

  I take a deep drink of water. “I’m fine,” I tell him.

  It’s not long now.

  Balekin stands and raises his glass.

  I shove back my chair, so that I am on my feet when the explosion happens. For a moment, everything is so loud that it feels like the room is tilting sideways. The Folk scream. Crystal goblets fall and shatter.

  The Bomb has struck.

  In the confusion, a single black bolt flies from a shadowed alcove and sinks into the wooden table right in front of Cardan.

  Balekin leaps to his feet. “There,” he shouts. “The assassin!” Knights run toward the Roach, who leaps out of the gloom and shoots again.

  Another bolt flies toward Cardan, who pretends to be too stunned to move, just the way we practiced. The Roach explained to Cardan in great detail how it would be much safer to be still, much easier to miss him that way.

  What we didn’t count on is Balekin. He knocks Cardan out of the chair, throws him to the floor, and covers Cardan’s body with his own. As I stare at them, I realize how little I’ve understood their relationship. Because, yes, Balekin hasn’t noticed that the Ghost has climbed onto the ledge with the Blood Crown. Yes, he sent his knights after the Roach, allowing the Bomb to bar the doors of this room.

  But he has also reminded Cardan of why not to go forward with this plan.

  I have been thinking of Balekin as the brother Cardan hated, as the brother who’d murdered their whole family. I’d forgotten that Balekin is Cardan’s family. Balekin is the person who raised him when Dain plotted against him, when his father sent him from the palace. Balekin is all he has left.

  And, although I am sure Balekin would make for a terrible king, one who would hurt Cardan along with many others—I am equally sure that he would give Cardan power. Cardan would be allowed to be cruel, so long as it was clear that Balekin was crueler.

  Putting the crown on Balekin’s head was a safe bet. Much safer than trusting me, than believing in some future Oak. He’s pledged himself to me. I just need to take care he doesn’t find some way around my commands.

  I am a beat behind, and it’s harder to push through the crowd than I thought, so I am not where I told the Ghost I would be. When I look up at the ledge, he’s there, moving out of shadow. He throws the crown, but not to me. The Ghost tosses the crown to my identical twin. It falls at Taryn’s feet.

  Vivi has taken Oak’s hand. Lord Roiben is pushing through the crowd.

  Taryn picks up the crown.

  “Give it 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 c
lose, 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.

  His hand is pinioned to the dining table by a crossbow bolt. One that appears to be iron.

  “Cardan,” Balekin calls. “I know you. I know that you’d prefer I did the difficult work of ruling while you enjoyed the power. I know that you despise mortals and ruffians and fools. Come, I have not always danced to your piping, but you haven’t the stomach to truly cross me. Bring me the crown.”

  I gather Oak close to me and put the crown into his hands, so that he can see it. So that he can get used to holding it. Vivi pats him encouragingly on his back.