Resistance (16 page)

“Murphy!” I hear from behind us once we get inside
the courthouse. It’s my father. I start crying harder and try to
smother them in this guard’s shoulder. For a minute I think he will
continue on and ignore the man, but instead he puts me on my feet
and turns to face his king. It takes everything in me not to fall
to my knees. “She can walk,” he says to the guard. “Don’t baby
her.”

Taking the hint, Murphy leaves my side and follows
after Khan. Father looks down at me with a cruel smirk. “Now was
that so bad?”

Still unable to stop the sobs wracking my body, I
don’t respond. I wish I was made of ice, because I would make
myself melt into the ground and ruin the perfect wood floors.

Father’s eyes get icy the moment everyone leaves his
side, and he forces my chin up with his forefinger and thumb. “If
you ever embarrass me like this again I will personally execute you
— do you understand me?”

I manage a nod; choking on my tears. He nods back and
storms away, and I feel my knees buckle. Someone catches me — a
sister, a guard, I do not know for sure — and leads me after my
family. I am led upstairs to Sindri’s room and settled on her bed.
Small hands start to clean my new permanent marking, but I jerk my
hand away and try to hide it. It hurts too much to be toyed with. I
hear a sigh and suddenly I am being taken out of the confining
dress, put in an airy nightdress and settled onto the mattress.

My eyes focus on Sindri’s face then. She still isn’t
looking at me the way she always did, but I do see a hint of
sympathy. “I’m terribly sorry it came to this.”

I can’t reply, so I don’t. She frowns and kneels in
front of me. “It could have been worse,” she says, and then meets
my eyes. “Perhaps next time you feel the urge to converse with
humans, you’ll just follow in mother’s footsteps and visit some of
the gentlemen in the ‘entertaining’ line of work.”

Prostitutes, she means. The poor, captured men who
have been left in motel-like faery camps, who are abused until
they’ve either gone mute or mad, who the royal women in my family
use on a weekly basis (on the down low, of course). I turn my face
into the pillow and try to smother my sobs. She thinks so little of
me now.

I hear her leave and still I do not look up. I’m sure
I cried all the way until morning light, over the pain in my arm
and chest, my mind, heart and soul. Lying there, I feel a
deep-rooted loathing start in the pit of my stomach and a cold
settles over me when I realize…

…I would have preferred the public execution.

Chapter 11—Fi

May 2102

Juggling a thermos of hot coffee, a basket of
muffins, mugs and sugar, I climb the front staircase heading
towards my father’s office. I need to find something to make notes
on while I discuss the Winter Court with Flint, and I know there
will be a stash in the desk. The trick will be getting everything
to the office and then over to the library by myself. I make it to
the office on the second floor before I have to put the thermos
down to open the door. I curse my lack of foresight. If I’d grabbed
a bigger basket I would have had a free hand. You could say I’m a
bit distracted today.

Once inside, I am overwhelmed with memories of
countless hours spent in here curled up in a chair reading while my
father worked. I set the basket and thermos down on the coffee
table situated in the middle of the room between the armchairs and
the sofa, directly in front of the desk. I take my time moving
through the room and breathing in the scents my father left behind.
Spearmint, like the leaves he loved to chew, and another distinct
but not unpleasant male smell. I breathe deeply and try to convince
myself my eyes are misting over because it’s dusty in here from
being shut up for so long. I sit in my father’s chair and pretend
for a moment that he’s alive and he’ll step in the room any moment
to scold me for stealing his seat. I sniffle a little as I remember
happier times and stare at the paintings on the wall; wishing I
could turn the clock back.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here lost in
thoughts of my parents and the past when I hear a noise from the
hallway. Startled, I look up and see Flint leaning in the open
doorway studying me. I refrain from slapping myself in the
forehead. How could I have forgotten our meeting — the sole reason
I came up here to begin with? “For heaven's sake, I'm late! I'm
sorry, Flint. Come in.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t even worry about it. It’s
fine.” He enters the room almost reverently, as if he knows what
this place means to me, and sits down in an armchair; surprising me
by asking, “Are you okay?"

It unnerves me that he seems to pick up on my moods
so easily, but I nod. “I am. Thank you for asking. It's just odd
being in here without my dad. I never realized how much he filled
up a room. Do you mind if we work in here instead?” Suddenly I
can’t bear the thought of leaving this place.

He gives me a kind of half-smile and settles into the
chair. “Sure.”

I smile, grateful for his understanding, and get out
of my dad's desk chair holding what I came in here for: one of the
empty journals and a pen. I’m about to settle myself on the sofa
across from Flint when I remember the coffee and muffins on the
table in between us. “Oh, help yourself to coffee and my aunt’s
cinnamon muffins. I thought this might be better with
refreshments.” I busy myself pulling the two spoons I had in my
pocket out, and lay them next to the thermos on the table. Stirring
some sugar into my own coffee and selecting a muffin from the
basket, I sit back down and tuck my feet under me on the sofa and
look up at him. “So, what can you tell me about the Winter
Court?”

“That’s a broad question. What would you like to
know?” he asks; lifting a brow and settling back into the chair
with his own coffee.

“Honestly, anything that might help break us into
their Court and leave with one of their daughters without being
killed would be very helpful.” I take a sip of my coffee and sigh;
perfection in a cup. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact
that I’m having this conversation. “In the specific, do you know
how many guards they have around their home?”

“A friend of mine once told me that Landric hardly
ever has guards posted on the outside of his home. They mostly
remain indoors, specifically around his dungeon and his bedroom.
You don’t really have to worry about that. He has a guard on his
son at all times, but that’s of no concern to us.”

I do my best to hide my shudder of revulsion as I
make notes. Who needs guards at their bedroom? I can’t help but
wonder if he’s keeping someone in there against their will, or
trying to protect himself from imagined dangers. And he guards his
son but not his daughters? I’ve never been happier to be human. The
more I hear about this man, the more I feel we are saving his
daughter from what I’m certain is a hellish existence. At the same
time, she could hate us just as much as the rest of her family
apparently does. We’ll just have to take it as it comes.

“Okay. That's good to know. I have a recipe for a
sort of sleeping draught I can prepare for her — it won't hurt her.
It will just enable us to keep her quiet and unaware for the return
trip.” I stop and shake my head in horror at the words that just
fell from my mouth. “Wow, that sounded awful. Does this feel
surreal to you? Or is it just me?”

He snorts like I’ve asked a silly question. “Honestly
I can’t believe half of the things that have happened in the past
few months...” he trails off with a sort of half-grimace on his
face.

I grin at him; secretly relieved I’m not the only one
whose life has been turned upside down. “I agree. I never expected
this — any of this — all I wanted was to teach kids about our
history and well, everything else. Like my Gran did for me. Oh,
well.” I shake my head. There’s really no sense in dwelling on what
can’t be changed. “I just keep telling myself there is a point to
all of this insanity.”

“You teach?” he asks. He looks somewhat stunned by
the statement.

I nod happily and smile just thinking of my students.
I’m thinking people may find me prickly to be around at first,
judging from the shock in his voice. “You sound so surprised.” I
can’t help but laugh. “I promise I have more patience with children
than I do adults. They're done for the year right now. From
September through April, though, I teach with Seamus' wife,
Ruth.”

He laughs and I’m caught in the pure timbre of the
sound; his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. He doesn’t look
snarky for once, like he’s in on some fantastic cosmic joke the
rest of us can’t handle. “I am surprised... I—I don’t know… You
don’t strike me as the type who would voluntarily put herself in a
room full of children.”

I feel my face flush and admit, “I've heard that
before.” I sigh. “I love kids, though. I always thought I'd have a
house full of them...” I trail off, shocked at my big mouth once
again.

“And why can’t you?” he asks plainly; watching me
like it’s really that simple. I silently curse his ability to make
me forget that he hasn’t always been a part of my life. He has no
idea about my whole first-boyfriend-debacle, and heaven knows I
don’t want to fill him in.

“It's just not that simple for me anymore.” I pause,
trying to explain as honestly as I can without over-sharing. He
certainly doesn’t need the whole story, but I did bring it up. “I
trusted the wrong person and it didn't end well. I don't know if
I'd be strong enough to do it again. Eir needs me now anyway. He's
the only family I have left.”

His brow furrows. “Well it’s none of my business what
you decide to do with your days. But you’re a very nice young lady,
Fi, and I hope one day you’ll let someone love you for all he’s
worth.” He looks a bit shocked at himself for saying that, and I
feel my face flame at his words.

“My goodness, we've gone off topic here, haven't we?”
What is it about this man that makes my mouth just run away without
my good sense? Embarrassed, I start rambling to cover the
awkwardness. “I'm sorry...so back to the Winter princess. I don't
know about you, but I don't think we should bring very many people
when we do this.”

He clears his throat and lets me change the subject,
although he seems slightly embarrassed himself…though I don’t know
why he would be. “No, not many at all. The fewer you take, the less
attention we’ll draw. Better chance of getting away with this.”

“Yes, I think just you and me…and maybe Sean should
be good enough. Don’t you?” I ask, glad to be off the topic of my
past mistakes and dreams for the future.

He huffs out a breath and shrugs like it doesn’t
matter. “Yes, I suppose we can take the overgrown toddler.”

I try not to grin at his assessment of Sean. I fail.
“I really do wish you wouldn't antagonize him, Flint.” I shake my
head, completely bewildered by my cousin’s behavior since my
parents’ death. “I swear he's never been this aggressive
before.”

“I tend to have that effect on people,” he says with
a grin of his own.

I laugh outright and meet his gaze. “Yes, I can see
how that could be. I think bringing Sean would be easier than
dealing with the fallout of trying to go without him, or trying to
keep him from following us and ruining everything.”

He looks away for a moment. “You don’t have to
justify yourself to me, love. I trust your judgment.”

“Ah, that's something I never get tired of hearing,”
I say, still grinning at him.

“And here I thought you hated that nickname.” He
winks at my confusion and barely contains his laughter when I blush
as I realize what he means.

I shake my head at him, still blushing. I try
clearing my throat and open my mouth to speak, but honestly I have
no idea what to say so I shut it again. “You do love to infuriate
people, don't you?” I finally manage.

He shakes his head; something between an amused smile
and a smirk on his handsome face. “Just you,” he insists, and I
feel something shift in my chest. Panic follows closely behind.

I definitely should not believe that I’m somehow
special to him. It scares me how easily I forget he’s a faery. My
mother drilled it into my head that they are silver-tongued devils,
and I cannot afford to be wrong again. My parents paid the price
last time for my naïve ways. He might not mean the people here any
physical harm, but I’m not planning on risking anything more
personal than that.

My own version of his snarky smirk is in place on my
face when I say, “I'm sure I can’t possibly be the only one. So
what can you tell me about this Winter princess, Lumi?”

His jaw tightens for a moment and if I didn’t know
better, I’d think I offended him. His tone isn’t light and teasing
any longer when he says, “She’s little and has a thing for wolves.
She hasn’t mastered her affinity with air very well, and since
she’s made so many errors in her life she’s been forbidden from
having a husband for ‘fear’ that she might inherit the throne one
day.” He shakes his head at the idiocy of the Winter King. “She’s
basically the royal misfit.”