Page 38 of Queen of Thorns
I had private lessons with several tutors inside the Luminescent palace. She had hers in a field of tall black grass.
We continue up the small hill then reach the first row of wooden, hand-built houses, and the air becomes stagnant. Three fae up the street freeze, eyes turned toward us, their dark clothes little more than scraps. Caelynn keeps walking down the soggy pathway, and so I follow her lead.
My heart pounds as we pass the staring fae with gaunt faces.
At the next street, wafting smells of sewage reach me, and I recoil.
“No plumbing,” Caelynn tells me with a sad smile. “My family had an outhouse, but not all do.”
My eyebrows rise, but I don’t ask any additional questions. The high-pitched squealing of windows pulling open catches my attention. Heads pop out from several winders lining the street.
“It’s a small town,” she tells me. “They notice when someone doesn’t belong.”
Heads with pointed ears and scraggly hair pop out of the windows. Dark eyes watch us, their expressions blank.
“Do they recognize either of us?”Will we be safe?Is the question I don’t ask. Because I know there are people in this part of the fae realm that celebrated my brother’s death. The death of the High Heir.
Caelynn shrugs, but I don’t suspect she grasps my meaning. She seems unbothered or at least too distracted to dwell on it. Her eyes flicker with bright golden light. She must feel some pain or worry being back here after so long, but obviously the good outweighs the bad.
A murmuring crowd gathers, watching us. No one approaches.
“It’s Caelynn,” I hear someone say in the crowd.
“What’s she doing here?”
“Who is that with her?”
I keep close to Caelynn as she walks slowly toward the center of town, nearer to the small crowd. They’re so thin, I realize. Children with bloated bellies but nail-thin limbs. Adults with sunken eyes, gaunt faces, and raged clothing.
I don’t comment. I don’t dare let my eyes linger too long on any one of them, even the children that laugh and point in our direction.
The crowd shifts to the side as one as we pass through the town square. There is a tiny, dry well. Dirty streets, lined with trash and weeds.
I have so many questions. Was it like this when she lived here? I heard her speak a little bit about her life in this village, but not enough. There is so much more to know.
But now is not the time to ask it.
The crowd doesn’t move to follow us, but their eyes never leave us as we venture down a side street until we reach a small home with a thatched roof and crooked wooden door.
Caelynn stops in front of the door and goes entirely still. I don’t have to ask if this is it, her childhood home.
I let her stare for several moments while the crowd still watches us. Then, finally, I knock. The gentle pounding echoes through the quiet streets.
Without even a moment of pause, the door swings open, and I hold my breath as a female with pitch-black eyes and long black hair opens the door.
Caelynn releases a breath. “Hello, Mother.”
