Page 40 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
I stare at him open-mouthed, but he only smiles back.
“What? Did you think I was just a pretty face?”
I school my expression back to indifference. “Well, yes, actually.”
“So, you think I’m pretty.” He winks.
I leave Peg and Neirin with a huff. In the corridor, I go for the nearest trunk and yank it open. There are riches and wonders in abundance, of course, and beaded fabrics sparkling among the mess, but those won’t do. I suspect they may be previous payments made to Peg, thousands of tributes paid over the centuries. Eventually, I find a trunk of discarded clothes and claim a new set of bloomers, stockings, a shift, a billowing white shirt that ties at the collar and a mossy skirt with flower-embroidered braces. I dress quickly, and there’s a matching moss-green coat too, with long puffed sleeves and gold buttons in the shape of leaves. The weave is a heavy wool unlike any I’ve worn before, and I savor the slide of the silk lining as I draw it on.
“Habren!” Neirin calls.
I return to find him standing by the cauldron, where Peg holds a shining blade aloft. Its gold hilt, fashioned with silver ivy creeping over it, shines in the firelight. The ivy encroaches on the base of its blade, which is narrow and precise, but so tiny—so slim and flimsy-looking—that I feel rather affronted. My hair in exchange for something so small seems like a poor deal.
“That’s a toothpick!”
Peg only chuckles and begins polishing it, as if I said nothing at all.
I loom over her. “Answer me, witch. You took my hair and for what?”
“Habren,” Neirin cautions, but I don’t heed him. I’m sick to death of fairies and their silly little tricks.
“You are only small, mayfly,” Peg says calmly.
“I’m taller than most girls in town.” I turn my nose up indignantly.
“Then what a stunted species you humans must be.”
I jab a furious finger. “You are all rude and—”
She seizes my wrist and pulls me in close, her cold, clammy lips brushing my ear as she whispers so low only I can hear.
“You’re not the first mayfly to buzz around that apple thinking it’s a feast. Don’t forget, he’s rotten underneath.” She pushes me away with a dry laugh.
Neirin takes the blade and marches me out of the cottage, our exit plagued by Peg’s twisted shrieks. He thrusts the rapier into my arms once we are outside, and I clutch it awkwardly. I’ve never even fenced before, but now I have a rapier of my own and who knows how many targets waiting somewhere deep beneath the ground.
“Must you antagonize everyone?” Neirin says as the door slams shut behind us.
I roll my eyes. “Must you teg turn everything into a silly game?”
“She was right to make this for you, Habren—this rapier will be easier to wield.” He gives me an uncertain look, then jerks his head back toward the cottage. “What did she say to you?”
Neirin didn’t hear Peg because she didn’t want him to. That cryptic sentence was for me and me alone, so I keep my mouth shut and let her words settle in my ears. They feel meaningless, a nonsensical taunt from a witch. I catch my reflection in Peg’s dirty window. I almost jump. The girl staring back at me is a stranger. My curls are bouncing against my jaw, and I look almost boyish, but, to my surprise, my heart doesn’t sink. I grip the sword hilt tight, and this foreigner, this girl straight out of a storybook who wears my face, mirrors me.
“Ah, more secrets.” Neirin’s eyes find mine in our shared reflection. “Will you be considered ugly in your village now?”
I shrug, still unable to tear my eyes away from my reflection. That’s never happened before.
“I was always plain,” I tell him. “Now I get to be interesting.”
I laugh and see the expression light up my face as I realize exactly why I’m so fascinating now.
“What is it?” Neirin asks.
“I look like Joan of Arc.”
He squints at me. “Who?”
I chuckle at the scholar who doesn’t know much at all, not really.
