A Court of Thorns and Roses Read online

  The invisible bonds loosened, and I winced as I whacked my hands on the underside of the table. The bonds on my legs and middle remained intact. One glance at Tamlin’s smoldering green eyes told me what I wanted to know: his guest or not, I wasn’t going to get up from this table until I’d eaten something. I’d think about the sudden change in my plans to escape later. Now … for now I eyed the silver fork and carefully picked it up.

  They still watched me—watched my every move, the flare of my nostrils as I sniffed the food on my plate. No metallic stench of magic. And faeries couldn’t lie. So he had to be right about the food, then. Stabbing a piece of chicken, I took a bite.

  It was an effort to keep from grunting. I hadn’t had food this good in years. Even the meals we’d had before our downfall were little more than ashes compared to this. I ate my entire plate in silence, too aware of the High Fae observing every bite, but as I reached for a second helping of chocolate torte, the food vanished. Just—vanished, as if it had never existed, not a crumb left behind.

  Swallowing hard, I set my fork down so they wouldn’t see my hand start to shake.

  “One more bite and you’ll hurl your guts up,” Tamlin said, drinking deeply from his goblet.

  The bonds holding me loosened. Silent permission to leave.

  “Thank you for the meal,” I said. It was all I could think of.

  “Won’t you stay for wine?” Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat.

  I braced my hands on my chair to rise. “I’m tired. I’d like to sleep.”

  “It’s been a few decades since I last saw one of you,” Lucien drawled, “but you humans never change, so I don’t think I’m wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren’t much to look at.”

  At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it.

  “You’re High Fae,” I said tightly. “I’d ask why you’d even bother inviting me here at all—or dining with me.” Fool—I really should have been killed ten times over already.

  Lucien said, “True. But indulge me: you’re a human woman, and yet you’d rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this”—he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face—“surely we’re not so miserable to look at.” Typical faerie vanity and arrogance. That, at least, the legends had been right about. I tucked the knowledge away. “Unless you have someone back home. Unless there’s a line of suitors out the door of your hovel that makes us seem like worms in comparison.”

  There was enough dismissal there that I took a little bit of satisfaction in saying, “I was close with a man back in my village.” Before that Treaty ripped me away—before it became clear that you are allowed to do as you please to us, but we can hardly strike back against you.

  Tamlin and Lucien exchanged glances, but it was Tamlin who said, “Are you in love with this man?”

  “No,” I said as casually as I could. It wasn’t a lie—but even if I’d felt anything like that for Isaac, my answer would have been the same. It was bad enough that High Fae now knew my family existed. I didn’t need to add Isaac to that list.

  Again, that shared look between the two males. “And do you … love anyone else?” Tamlin said through clenched teeth.

  A laugh burst out of me, tinged with hysteria. “No.” I looked between them. Nonsense. These lethal, immortal beings really had nothing better to do than this? “Is this really what you care to know about me? If I find you more handsome than human men, and if I have a man back home? Why bother to ask at all, when I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life?” A hot line of anger sliced through my senses.

  “We wanted to learn more about you, since you’ll be here for a good while,” Tamlin said, his lips a thin line. “But Lucien’s pride tends to get in the way of his manners.” He sighed, as if ready to be done with me, and said, “Go rest. We’re both busy most days, so if you need anything, ask the staff. They’ll help you.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why be so generous?” Lucien gave me a look that suggested he had no idea, either, given that I’d murdered their companion, but Tamlin stared at me for a long moment.

  “I kill too often as it is,” Tamlin said finally, shrugging his broad shoulders. “And you’re insignificant enough to not ruffle this estate. Unless you decide to start killing us.”

  A faint warmth bloomed in my cheeks, my neck. Insignificant—yes, I was insignificant to their lives, their power. As insignificant as the fading, chipped designs I’d painted around the cottage. “Well …,” I said, not quite feeling grateful at all, “thank you.”

  He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile.

  Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door.

  A moment later, Lucien’s barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

  I slept fitfully that night, and the lock on my bedroom door felt more like a joke than anything.

  I was wide awake before dawn, but I remained staring at the filigreed ceiling, watching the growing light creep between the drapes, savoring the softness of the down mattress. I was usually out of the cottage by first light—though my sisters hissed at me every morning for waking them so early. If I were home, I’d already be entering the woods, not wasting a moment of precious sunlight, listening to the drowsy chatter of the few winter birds. Instead, this bedroom and the house beyond were silent, the enormous bed foreign and empty. A small part of me missed the warmth of my sisters’ bodies overlapping with mine.

  Nesta must be stretching her legs and smiling at the extra room. She was probably content imagining me in the belly of a faerie—probably using the news as a chance to be fussed over by the villagers. Maybe my fate would prompt them to give my family some handouts. Or maybe Tamlin had given them enough money—or food, or whatever he thought “taking care” of them consisted of—to last through the winter. Or maybe the villagers would turn on my family, not wanting to be associated with people tied with Prythian, and run them out of town.

  I buried my face in the pillow, pulling the blankets higher. If Tamlin had indeed provided for them, if those benefits would cease the moment I crossed the wall, then they’d likely resent my return more than celebrate it.

  Your hair is … clean.

  A pathetic compliment. I supposed that if he’d invited me to live here, to spare my life, he couldn’t be completely … wicked. Perhaps he’d just been trying to smooth over our very, very rough beginning. Maybe there would be some way to persuade him to find some loophole, to get whatever magic that bound the Treaty to spare me. And if not some way, then someone …

  I was drifting from one thought to another, trying to sort through the jumble, when the lock on the door clicked, and—

  There was a screech and a thud, and I bolted upright to find Alis in a heap on the floor. The length of rope I’d made from the curtain trimmings now hung loosely from where I’d rigged it to snap into anyone’s face. It had been the best I could do with what I had.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I blurted, leaping from the bed, but Alis was already up, hissing at me as she brushed off her apron. She frowned at the rope dangling from the light fixture.

  “What in the bottomless depths of the Cauldron is—”

  “I didn’t think anyone would be in here so early, and I meant to take it down, and—”

  Alis looked me over from head to toe. “You think a bit of rope snapping in my face will keep me from breaking your bones?” My blood went cold. “You think that will do anything against one of us?”

  I might have kept apologizing were it not for the sneer she gave me. I crossed my arms. “It was a warning bell to give me time to run. Not a trap.
”

  She seemed poised to spit on me, but then her sharp brown eyes narrowed. “You can’t outrun us, either, girl.”

  “I know,” I said, my heart calming at last. “But at least I wouldn’t face my death unaware.”

  Alis barked out a laugh. “My master gave his word that you could live here—live, not die. We will obey.” She studied the hanging bit of rope. “But did you have to wreck those lovely curtains?”

  I didn’t want to—tried not to, but a hint of a smile tugged on my lips. Alis strode over to the remnants of the curtains and threw them open, revealing a sky that was still a deep periwinkle, splashed with hues of pumpkin and magenta from the rising dawn. “I am sorry,” I said again.

  Alis clicked her tongue. “At least you’re willing to put up a fight, girl. I’ll give you that.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but another female servant with a bird mask entered, a breakfast tray in hand. She bid me a curt good morning, set the tray on a small table by the window, and disappeared into the attached bathing chamber. The sound of running water filled the room.

  I sat at the table and studied the porridge and eggs and bacon—bacon. Again, such similar food to what we ate across the wall. I don’t know why I’d expected otherwise. Alis poured me a cup of what looked and smelled like tea: full-bodied, aromatic tea, no doubt imported at great expense. Prythian and my adjoining homeland weren’t exactly easy to reach. “What is this place?” I asked her quietly. “Where is this place?”

  “It’s safe, and that’s all you need to know,” Alis said, setting down the teapot. “At least the house is. If you go poking about the grounds, keep your wits about you.”

  Fine—if she wouldn’t answer that … I tried again. “What sort of—faeries should I look out for?”

  “All of them,” Alis said. “My master’s protection only goes so far. They’ll want to hunt and kill you just for being a human—regardless of what you did to Andras.”

  Another useless answer. I dug into my breakfast, savoring each rich sip of tea, and she slipped into the bathing chamber. When I was done eating and bathing, I refused Alis’s offer and dressed myself in another exquisite tunic—this one of purple so deep it could have been black. I wished I knew the name for the color, but cataloged it anyway. I pulled on the brown boots I’d worn the night before, and as I sat before a marble vanity letting Alis braid my wet hair, I cringed at my reflection.

  It wasn’t pleasing—though not for its actual appearance. While my nose was relatively straight, it was the other feature I’d inherited from my mother. I could still remember how her nose would crinkle with feigned amusement when one of her fabulously wealthy friends made some unfunny joke.

  At least I had my father’s soft mouth, though it made a mockery of my too-sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. I couldn’t bring myself to look at my slightly uptilted eyes. I knew I’d see Nesta or my mother looking back at me. I’d sometimes wondered if that was why my sister had insulted me about my looks. I was a far cry from ugly, but … I bore too much of the people we’d hated and loved for Nesta to stand it. For me to stand it, too.

  Though I supposed that for Tamlin—for High Fae used to ethereal, flawless beauty—it had been a struggle to find a compliment. Faerie bastard.

  Alis finished my plait, and I jumped from the bench before she could weave in little flowers from the basket she’d brought. I would have lived up to my namesake were it not for the effects of poverty, but I’d never particularly cared. Beauty didn’t mean anything in the forest.

  When I asked Alis what I was to do now—what I was to do with the entirety of my mortal life—she shrugged and suggested a walk in the gardens. I almost laughed, but I kept my tongue still. I’d be foolish to push aside potential allies. I doubted she had Tamlin’s ear, and I couldn’t press her about it yet, but … At least a walk provided a chance to glean some sense of my surroundings—and whether there was anyone else who might plead my case to Tamlin.

  The halls were silent and empty—strange for such a large estate. They’d mentioned others the night before, but I saw and heard no sign of them. A balmy breeze scented with … hyacinth, I realized—if only from Elain’s small garden—floated down the halls, carrying with it the pleasant chirping of a bunting, a bird I wouldn’t hear back home for months—if I ever heard them at all.

  I was almost to the grand staircase when I noticed the paintings.

  I hadn’t let myself really look yesterday, but now, in the empty hall with no one to see me … a flash of color amid a shadowy, gloomy background made me stop, a riot of color and texture that compelled me to face the gilded frame.

  I’d never—never—seen anything like it.

  It’s just a still life, a part of me said. And it was: a green glass vase with an assortment of flowers drooping over its narrow top, blossoms and leaves of every shape and size and color—roses, tulips, morning glory, goldenrod, maiden’s lace, peonies …

  The skill it must have taken to make them look so lifelike, to make them more than lifelike … Just a vase of flowers against a dark background—but more than that; the flowers seemed to be vibrant with their own light, as if in defiance of the shadows gathered around them. The mastery needed to make the glass vase hold that light, to bend the light with the water within, as if the vase did indeed have weight to it atop its stone pedestal … Remarkable.

  I could have stared at it for hours—and the countless paintings along this hall alone could have occupied my entire day—but … garden. Plans.

  Still, as I moved on, I couldn’t deny that this place was far more … civilized than I’d thought. Peaceful, even, if I was willing to admit it.

  And if the High Fae were indeed gentler than human legend and rumor had led me to believe, then maybe convincing Alis of my misery might not be too hard. If I could win over Alis, convince her that the Treaty had been wrong to demand such payment from me, she might indeed see if there was anything to get me out of this debt and—

  “You,” someone said, and I jumped back a step. In the light of the open glass doors to the garden, a towering male figure stood silhouetted before me.

  Tamlin. He wore those warrior’s clothes, cut close to show off his toned body, and three simple knives were now sheathed along his baldric—each long enough to look like it could gut me as easily as his beast’s claws. His blond hair had been tied back from his face, revealing those pointed ears and that strange, beautiful mask. “Where are you going?” he said, gruffly enough that it almost sounded like a demand. You—I wondered if he even remembered my name.

  It took a moment to will enough strength into my legs to rise from my half crouch. “Good morning,” I said flatly. At least it was a better greeting than You. “You said my time was to be spent however I wanted. I didn’t realize I was under house arrest.”

  His jaw tightened. “Of course you’re not under house arrest.” Even as he bit out the words, I couldn’t ignore the sheer male beauty of that strong jaw, the richness of his golden-tan skin. He was probably handsome—if he ever took off that mask.

  When he realized that I wasn’t going to respond, he bared his teeth in what I supposed was an attempt at a smile and said, “Do you want a tour?”

  “No, thank you,” I managed to get out, conscious of every awkward motion of my body as I edged around him.

  He stepped into my path—close enough that he conceded a step back. “I’ve been sitting inside all morning. I need some fresh air.” And you’re insignificant enough that you wouldn’t be a bother.

  “I’m fine,” I said, casually dodging him. “You’ve … been generous enough.” I tried to sound like I meant it.

  A half smile, not so pleasant, no doubt unused to being denied. “Do you have some sort of problem with me?”

  “No,” I said quietly, and walked through the doors.

  He let out a low snarl. “I’m not going to kill you, Feyre. I don’t break my promises.”

  I almost stumbled down the garden steps as I glanced
over my shoulder. He stood atop the stairs, as solid and ancient as the pale stones of the manor. “Kill—but not harm? Is that another loophole? One that Lucien might use against me—or anyone else here?”

  “They’re under orders not to even touch you.”

  “Yet I’m still trapped in your realm, for breaking a rule I didn’t know existed. Why was your friend even in the woods that day? I thought the Treaty banned your kind from entering our lands.”

  He just stared at me. Perhaps I’d gone too far, questioned him too much. Perhaps he could tell why I’d really asked.

  “That Treaty,” he said quietly, “doesn’t ban us from doing anything, except for enslaving you. The wall is an inconvenience. If we cared to, we could shatter it and march through to kill you all.”

  I might be forced to live in Prythian forever, but my family … I dared ask, “And do you care to destroy the wall?”

  He looked me up and down, as if deciding whether I was worth the effort of explaining. “I have no interest in the mortal lands, though I can’t speak for my kind.”

  But he still hadn’t answered my question. “Then what was your friend doing there?”

  Tamlin stilled. Such unearthly, primal grace, even to his breathing. “There is … a sickness in these lands. Across Prythian. There has been for almost fifty years now. It is why this house and these lands are so empty: most have left. The blight spreads slowly, but it has made magic act … strangely. My own powers are diminished due to it. These masks”—he tapped on his—“are the result of a surge of it that occurred during a masquerade forty-nine years ago. Even now, we can’t remove them.”

  Stuck in masks—for nearly fifty years. I would have gone mad, would have peeled my skin off my face. “You didn’t have a mask as a beast—and neither did your friend.”

  “The blight is cruel like that.”