Page 33 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
He leans against a wall that has risen from nowhere behind us. “I hope so. It’s terribly funny watching you suffer.”
I curse at him as I drag myself up.
The great limestone wall curves away from us, reaching high enough to caress the sky. The casual ease with which Neirin touches it is unnerving. He’s a member of this court, and his fortune and power depend on this king that hates him—and yet he treats its greatest fortification like it’s no more than an old fence.
“Remind me what I must do,” I huff. I’m acutely aware that I’m about to meet a king in my nightgown, coat and old boots, with unbound hair and little dignity. I try to feel careless about it, but I just can’t. It’s humiliating.
“Announce yourself as a potential champion,” Neirin says. “You’ll be invited in. The king won’t ask too many questions. He is bound to accept any human that offers, so you won’t interest him. You’ll just be cannon fodder.”
I nod, more to myself than to him. “And that’s all?”
“That’s all,” he confirms. “It’s easy to say you are a champion, Habren, and far harder to become one. Your word is your bond, and by presenting your intent, the king is bound too, to fulfill our request when you win.”
Somehow, my mind manages to gloss over “our request” and snag, instead, on how certain he sounds when he says that I will succeed. He was sure I would fail when we first met. I wonder what’s changed. It’s almost enough to make me believe, too, but then he steps away from me, taking his warmth and confidence with him.
“It’ll be simple,” Neirin assures me. “Just don’t punch the king or something idiotic like that.”
I arch a brow. “You think I’d be that foolish?”
“You’ve never had an impulsive thought that you could ignore, Habren. Two days with you is enough to know that.”
Two days.I suppose I should count myself lucky that I haven’t lost more time than that, but all I can think of is Ceridwen and how far ahead she could be by now. I square my shoulders, more determined than ever to get to the king and get out with his acceptance as fast as I can.
Neirin curls four fingers toward his palm, leaving the thumb up, a ridiculous grin on his face. “You’ll do fabulously.”
My eyes narrow at the gesture. “What is this?”
His eyes widen with surprise. “Thumbs up. Universal sign of positivity.”
I frown in confusion. “Is this a fairy gesture?”
“Decidedly human. I learned it from another traveler.” He waves his hands at me, insistent. “Go on.”
I copy him uncertainly, awkwardly making a fist and sticking my thumb up.
Neirin tuts. “Maybe not so universal. Either way, go forth and conquer!”
I step toward the gate. “And what will you be doing while I’m conquering?”
Neirin grins. “I thought that was obvious.”
I glance around him to the forest and sigh. “Hiding behind a tree?”
“Hiding behind a tree,” he confirms.
I watch as he goes, his dark hair and clothes merging easily with the shadows until one last wink of a silver button is all that remains of him. Then I’m alone, standing before a very tall gate.
I knock on the great wooden door, and it groans and opens a crack. A guard clad in periwinkle blue fills the gap. He’s tall and broad, with ram’s horns curling down from his temples to frame his cheeks. He looks me up and down, eyes snagging on my blunt ears and shabby clothes.Is this a joke?lingers in the air, before he bursts out laughing.
I stand as straight as I can. “I’m here to—”
“I know what you’re here for, human,” he says. “It’s all any of you come for these days.”
Despite his laughter, the door opens. I cross the threshold into a small town of outbuildings. Smiths, hunters’ huts, barns and stables, all built to serve the great house. Other guards lounge around a fortified square. Some bear swords or polearms; others appear unarmed, perhaps protected by magic instead. Some look ellyll, their difference from us marked only by pointed ears, while others have more animalistic qualities—horns and tails and feathered wings poking from their uniforms.
The ram guard leads me on a winding path. The grounds are hectic. It must take a great many organs to keep the body of a palace alive, even one run partly on magic.
Above it all towers the ellyll palace. Like the Branshaws’ house, it’s startlingly white against the blue sky, and it casts a shadow over the servants’ village.
