Page 44 of The Stolen Heir

I feel the feathers in my hands, the softness and lightness of the bones underneath. And I sense the curse reknitting itself inside Hyacinthe, as though it were a living thing.

I reach into the magic and am surprised by the stickiness of the threads. It’s like tugging at a spiderweb. The harder I pull, the more the curse seems to attach itself to me, trying to transform me, too. I feel the draw of the enchantment, the shimmer and burn of it, tugging at something inside me.

“What are you doing?” Hyacinthe asks. His wing pulls free of my fingers.

I open my eyes, only then realizing I’d closed them. “Did it hurt?”

“No—I don’t know,” he says. “It felt like you were touching—under my skin.”

I take a breath and return to the work of pulling apart the curse. But each time I attempt to break it, the strands of the spell slip through my fingers. And each time I am drawn further in, until I feel as though I am choking on feathers. Until I am drowning. The knot inside me, at the center of my magic, is coming undone.

“Stop,” Hyacinthe says, shaking my shoulder. “Enough.”

I find myself on the ground with him kneeling beside me. I can’t seem to get my breath back.

The glaistig’s spells were simple compared with this webbing of enchantment. I grit my teeth. I might be good enough among the solitary fey of the mortal world, but it was sheer arrogance to think that meant I could unstitch the magic of the High Court.

A few feet away, I see Gwen and the merrow looking over at me. He blinks, his nictating membrane following a moment later.

“We puzzled out the riddle together,” Hyacinthe says with a frown at Gwen. “Now let’s go.”

“But—” I start.

“I’ll take her,” he says. “The mortal girl. I will get her out of here, and that creature, too. Just get up.”

I ought to do that. But his words seem to come from far away as I reach for the magic again, and this time when it tries to draw me into it, I pull it into me instead. I let it drag me under. I take the whole curse in a rush.

Everything stops. No air is in my lungs. There is a pain in my chest, as though my heart cannot beat. As though something inside me is cracking. As though I am going to come apart.

I concentrate on the curse. On wrestling that sticky, grasping enchantment and quashing it down until it is a solid thing, heavy and cold. And then I press it further, into nothing.

When I open my eyes, my ragged nails are digging into the skin of Hyacinthe’s arm. Hisarm, which is no longer feathered, no longer a wing. He is on his knees, still. I am trembling all over, so light-headed that I can barely remember where I am.

“You did it. You broke the curse. My lady, I swear fealty to you.” His words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, horror sweeps over me. “To you and you alone. I was wrong to doubt.”

“No,” I manage to choke out.

I do not want that responsibility. I have seen what power does to people. And I have seen how those who pledge loyalty come to resent those oaths and wish for the destruction of the one who holds them. I was never less free than when I ruled.

“I am your servant forevermore,” he says, heedless, pressing his dry lips to the back of my hand. His dark brown hair falls forward in a curtain, brushing my arm like silk. “Obedient to your command.”

I shake my head, but the vow is made. And I’m too tired to even be able to explain why that worries me. My mind feels too adrift.

I look up at the three prisoners I freed and am suddenly, acutely aware of how much trouble I made. I didn’t realize how much I have changed from that terrified girl, forever looking for a place to hide in the Court of Teeth. Breaking spells on mortals has made me rebellious.

And for a moment, I am viciously glad. It doesn’t feel good exactly, to be in danger, but it does feel good to be the cause of events rather than being swept along into them.

“Take off your shoes,” I tell the girl, my voice rasping worse than ever.

She looks down at her sneakers. “What for?”

I give her a commanding look, and she toes them off.

I push myself up, trying to remember my half a plan. Hyacinthe grabs my arm as I sway, and my pride urges me to snap at him, but I am too grateful.

“So that your steps will be quiet,” I explain. “You three can fit behind the water trough. It’s dark, and if you crouch down, you won’t be seen.”

Hyacinthe pauses. “And you?”

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