who smuggle pixie dust out of Fairytown, to be used as a drug. I’m told the effects on a human are quite… potent.”
Yvette wrinkled her nose. “I can’t imagine inhaling that filthy stuff.”
Febblekeck’s smile grew. “Inhaling. Yes, let’s say that’s what they do.”
If Snow were here, she would be whispering crude comments to Talia regarding the mechanics of pixie/human relations, trying to crack Talia’s composure and make her laugh. But Snow had been spending all her time cleaning the debris from her broken mirrors and repairing the damage to her library. Given Snow’s vanity, Talia suspected she would try to keep to herself until her wounds healed.
Talia stared at one of the windows, trying to push the image of Snow’s bloody face from her mind. Had the glass cut any deeper, or if one of the shards had struck her throat… Snow could have bled to death, and it would have been hours before anyone found her.
“What did you say to my wife?” Lord Oren struck the table hard enough to rattle his plate, jolting Talia’s attention back to the conversation. The room fell silent.
Febblekeck’s wings blurred, raising him to eye level with Oren and showering the table in glowing pixie dander. “I merely asked if she might join me for breakfast tomorrow. I’ve a bottle of syrup from Fairytown that’s far too much for one pixie.” Glittering eyebrows wagged. “Tapped from the maple of a dryad, with all of the associated
… benefits that come from a nymph’s magic.”
“You miserable little insect!” Oren kicked back his chair and stood. Talia was already circling the table.
“Lord Oren, stop.” Danielle’s tone was the one she used when Jakob refused to listen, and it cut through Oren’s bellowing as easily as a sword. “Would you play into the pixie’s hands?”
“If he’d keep those hands where they belong-”
“He’s not touched your wife,” Danielle said. “He’s committed no crime.” She glanced at Febblekeck. “There’s no law against behaving like an ass. However, if you were to attack him-an ambassador from Fairytown-”
“What kind of ambassador dishonors the very people he’s supposed to work with?” Oren demanded. By now, Talia was in position behind them both, ready to seize human or pixie should the need arise.
Danielle gave Talia a slight nod of appreciation before turning her glare on Febblekeck. “The kind who’s more interested in leverage than peace. The kind who views politics as a game, seeking to score points for himself and his masters.”
Febblekeck flashed a disarming smile. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Princess. And yours, Lord Oren. I was overcome by your wife’s attractiveness, and forgot myself. It’s a flaw of the fairy race. We’re far too susceptible to beauty.”
Prince Armand snorted. Without looking up from his meal, he said, “Pixies have an unfortunate sense of beauty.”
Talia froze. Even Febblekeck appeared taken aback.
“Excuse me, Your Highness?” Lord Oren appeared torn between anger and uncertainty. “I… believe I misheard you.”
Armand took a drink, then returned his cup to the table. “Lady Yvette has the complexion of a plucked boar, and her voice grates the very soul. Febblekeck might as well seduce one of the hunting dogs from the kennel.”
Oren’s cheeks went blood red. His hands balled into fists. Talia swore softly and moved to the left, to better intercept him if he forgot himself and lunged for the prince.
“Forgive my son,” said King Theodore, speaking for the first time since dinner began. He stared at Armand as though seeing a stranger. “Beatrice’s death has been a strain upon us all, but grief is no excuse for such behavior. My apologies, Lord Oren.”
Armand stood. “Do we now beg forgiveness for speaking the truth?”
“Armand, sit down.” Danielle grabbed his hand, but he pulled away.
“I take no orders from commoners.”
Danielle jerked back as though struck. Lady Jeraldsen started to speak, trying to intervene, but Armand ignored her.
“You’ve nothing to fear,” he went on. “Oren is a fat old coward, no threat to anyone.”
Oren snarled and started toward the prince, one arm pulled back to strike.
Talia hooked her arm through Oren’s and yanked him off-balance. A kick to the back of his leg spilled him to the floor. “Would you assault the Prince of Lorindar in his own hall?” Talia whispered.
Oren shoved her away and pushed himself upright. His hands were shaking and his face was red, but he made no further move toward the prince. Armand stood with arms folded, an expression of boredom on his face.
Talia glanced around the table, making sure nobody tried to take advantage of the chaos. Most of the assembled nobles had risen and backed away, distancing themselves from the fight. Danielle was talking to the king. Febblekeck had flown up to the rafters.
“Have you suffered humiliation enough?” Armand asked. “If being knocked down by a servant doesn’t satisfy your need to look the fool, perhaps I could summon a young child to trounce you next.”
Oren moved before Talia could stop him. She couldn’t tell which of the two men struck first as they crashed together. Oren punched the prince in the jaw, even as Armand buried his fist in Oren’s stomach. Talia jumped onto the table, dancing between plates and platters as she grabbed a silver pitcher of wine and emptied the contents over both men.
Oren sputtered and reached for Talia. She swung the pitcher, which rang like a gong against his knuckles. He howled and spun away.
“Enough!” King Theodore’s voice thundered through the hall. “If either of you so much as sneer at the other, I will have you both locked away. Is that clear?”
Armand gave his father an exaggerated bow. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty.” Without another word, he spun and left the hall.
Oren was clutching his fist. The knuckles had already begun to swell. “My deepest sympathies on the death of your wife, King Theodore.” He stared after Armand. “I hope you’ll forgive me if my family chooses not to attend the funeral. We will be departing tonight.”
Talia returned to Danielle’s side. “What just happened?”
“That was not the man I married.” Danielle shook her head. “I’ve seen him angry, but never cruel.”
Oren and Yvette were already leaving-through a different doorway than the one Armand had used, thankfully. The rest of the people slowly settled back into their seats, all save Febblekeck. The pixie remained overhead, giggling to himself as he sipped his drink.
“Armand has insulted you like that once before,” Talia said. “When he was under your stepsisters’ spell.”
“Get Snow.” Danielle left to follow her husband.
Talia palmed a roll from the table as she slipped away. She glanced back to make sure Febblekeck’s attention was elsewhere. There was one last thing she needed to attend to.
Febblekeck squawked as the roll struck his head. He fell in a cloud of glowing dust, nearly striking the table before he recovered enough to take flight. He whirled, glaring from one human to the next. Talia smiled and pulled the door shut behind her.
Snow walked slowly along the northern edge of the courtyard. The roof extended overhead, sheltering her path. Icicles as thick as her arm hung from the copper gutters. The evening air was chillier than usual, and the sun had dipped low enough that the castle wall blocked its light.
At the woodpile, she dropped to one knee to retrieve the broken fragments of another mirror. She tossed the pieces into the sack she had carried since yesterday. The leather was thick enough to keep the sharp corners from jabbing her, though she could see a small hole near the bottom where the glass had cut the seam.
She sat beside the pile, leaning against one of the iron rods that held the logs in place. Old spiderwebs stretched from the bottom logs to the base of the wall, though the weavers of those webs were nowhere to be seen. Deep within the woodpile, she could sense the warmth from a family of mice.
With a touch of her mind, she summoned one of the mice to her hand. The magic flowed so easily, with no
