I pretended to meander through the sublime and silent gardens, mentally marking the paths and clever places for hiding if I ever needed them. He'd taken my weapons, but his baldric had been laden with knives which meant there had to be an armoury somewhere in this estate. And if not, I would find another weapon, then—steal it if I had to. Just in case.
Upon inspection the night before, I'd learnt that there was no lock on my window. Sneaking out and barrelling down the vines wouldn't be difficult at all—I'd climbed enough trees to not mind the height. Not that I planned to escape, but ... it was good to know, at least, how I might do so should I ever be desperate enough to risk it.
I didn't doubt Phoebus's claim that the rest of Asteria was deadly for a human—and if there was indeed some attacks on these lands ... I was better off here for the time being.
But not without trying to find someone who might help me with my assassination.
Though Kallistê, she could do with someone snapping at her, she is quite controlling sometimes, that is of course if you have the courage for it, Willodean had said to me yesterday.
I chewed on my stubby nails as I walked, considering every plan and drawback. I'd never been particularly good with words, had never learnt the social skills my brothers and mother had been so adept at, but ... I'd been decent enough when selling hides at the village market.
So perhaps I'd seek out Phoebus's court advisor, even if she detested me. She clearly had little interest in my living here—she'd suggested killing me. Perhaps she would be eager to send me away, to persuade Phoebus to find some other way to fulfill the Covenant. That way I was free to roam and search for the faevenom. Though I wasn't sure if there was another way.
I approached the towering entrance to the maze, the hedges trimmed and tidy. My eyes scanned the rows of foxglove blooming beside the entrance, hoping for any signs of black petals or even a hint of something that looks like black milkweed. I sighed as I found none, my legs aching from walking laps around the gardens. I had been stupid clinging on to the shred of hope that I could find black milkweed in the garden. What manner of faerie would be foolish enough to plant a faevenom in their garden? At this point, I had an almost impossible chance at fulfilling the bargain.
I glanced back at the dark opening of the maze. A chilly breeze tinged with the smell of—hyacinth, I realised, emitted from the maze, tempting. The tug in my gut told me something important I needed to find was in there though the voice in my head screaming at me not to overpowered it. I exhaled—maybe next time.
I made to turn and head back to the estate when the sound of steps on shifting gravel filled the air. Two pairs of light, quick feet. I straightened, peering down the way I'd come, but the path was empty.
I scoured the garden, carefully watching and listening for those two sets of feet.
There was no one in the garden, except me.
A prickling sensation ran down my spine. I'd spent enough time in the woods to trust my instincts.
Someone stood behind me—perhaps two of them. A faint sniff and a quiet giggle issued from far too close. My heart leaped into my throat.
I cast a subtle glance over my shoulder. But only a shimmering silvery light flickered in the corner of my vision.
I had to turn around. I had to face it—or whatever it was.
The gravel crunched, nearer now. The shining in the corner of my eye grew larger, separating into two small figures no taller than my waist. My hands clenched into fists.
"Eleena!" Willodean's voice cut across the garden. I jumped out of my skin as she called again. "Eleena, lunch!" she hollered. I whirled, a shout forming on my lips to alert her to whatever stood behind me, raising my fists, however futile it would be.
But the shimmering things had vanished, along with their sniffing and giggling, and I found myself facing a weathered statue of a kneeling angel, wings stretched to the sky. I rubbed my neck.
Willodean called me again, and I took a shuddering breath as I returned to the manor. But even as I strode through the flowering bushes, carefully retracing each step back to the house, I couldn't erase the creeping feeling that someone still watched me, curious and wanting to play.
.____________________.
I stole a knife from dinner that night. Just to have something—anything—to defend myself with.
It turned out dinner was the only meal I was invited to attend, which was fine. Three meals a day with the Seelie Faeries would have been torturous. I could endure an hour of sitting at their fancy table if it made them think I was docile and had no plans to change my fate.
While Kallistê ranted to Phoebus about some unfairness in the faerie city's taxation, I slipped a knife down my sleeve of my tunic. My heart beat so fast that I thought they could hear it, but Kallistê continued speaking, and Phoebus's and Oberon's focus remained on their companion.
The less I interacted with them the better, especially when Oberon and Kallistê seemed to find everything I said to be hilariously human and uneducated. Snapping at them wouldn't help my plans. It would be an uphill battle to win their favour.
Oberon's platinum white hair shone in the firelight, the colours flickering with every movement he made, and the jewels in the hilt of his sword glinted—the ornate blade so unlike the baldric of knives still strapped onto Phoebus's chest. But there was no one here to use that sword against. And while the sword was embedded with jewels and filigree, it was large enough to be more than decoration. After all, he was the general of Phoebus's armies. I fought against a shudder.
Willodean had said the house was safe, but warned me to keep my wits about me. What might lurk beyond the house—or be able to use my human senses against me? Just how far would Phoebus's order not to harm me stretch? What kind of authority did he hold?
Oberon paused, and I found him smirking at me. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating to kill me, Eleena?"
"Of course not," I said softly, and glanced at Phoebus. The gold flecks in his eyes glowed, even from the other end of the table. My heart beat a gallop. Had he somehow heard me take the knife, the whisper of metal on wood? I forced myself to look again at Oberon.
His lazy, vicious grin was still there. Act civilized, behave, possibly win him to my side ... I could do that.
Phoebus broke the silence. "Eleena likes to hunt."
"I don't like to hunt." I should have probably used a more polite tone, but I went on. "I hunted out of necessity. And how did you know that?"
Phoebus's stare was plain, assessing. "Why else were you in the woods that day? You had your bow and arrows in your hov- ... house." I wondered if he had almost said hovel. "When I saw your father's and brother's hands, I knew they weren't the ones using them." He gestured to my scarred, calloused hands. "You told him about the rations and where to hunt. Faeries might be many things, but we are not stupid. Unless your ridiculous legends claim that about us too."
Ridiculous, insignificant.
I stared at the crumbs and swirls of remaining sauce on my golden plate. Had I been at home, I would have licked my plate clean, desperate for any extra bit of nourishment. And the plates ... I could have bought a cottage, a plough, and a field for just one of them. Disgusting.
Oberon cleared his throat. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Eighteen." Pleasant, civilized, obedient ...
Kallistê tsked. "So young, and so grave. And a skilled killer hunter already. Oh, I would love to see your skills at work. I am free late tomorrow morning, care for a hunt?"
I tightened my hands into fists, my ears perked at what Kallistê said. Yes. Yes, I would join her tomorrow, that way I could use the chance to gain her trust. Perhaps nudge her to tell me where I could gain the information I needed so badly. Any bit of information would help, and if I showed interest in them, maybe they would warm to me. So I said, "Yes, that would be lovely. It's so kind of you."
She gave a small smile, leaning back in her chair. Silence settled in around us. I shifted in my seat.
"What are humans in your village like?" Phoebus asked suddenly, the question seemingly perking everyone's interest in the room.
"Well," I started, uncomfortable with the question, though my eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I can't say much as my family doesn't have a good past with them, but the village Elders," I shuddered involuntarily. "They are truly horrible if you ask me. Men with wicked hearts and greedy minds. Why do you want to know?" A casual question pitched in their direction.
Oberon and Kallistê stiffened, but Phoebus answered smoothly, "Can't I get to know you better? And I haven't seen one of your kind in a while, it seems humans have changed in majority."
Oberon smirked. "He has a point you know."
I dug my fingernails deeper into my palms, the metal of the knife now warm against my skin. Docile, unthreatening, tame. That wild, small dream could still come to pass: my brothers comfortably married off, and a lifetime in my cottage, perhaps with my father, with enough food for us both and enough time to maybe paint a little—or to maybe learn what I wanted. It could still happen—in a faraway land, perhaps—if I ever completed my side of the bargain. I could still cling to that scrap of a dream, though these Seelie Faeries would likely laugh at how typically human it was to think so small, to want so little.
Yet I knew any bit of information might be useful. What was this but another trap in the woods? And so I said, "So is this what you do with your lives? Spare poor humans from the Covenant and have fine meals?" I gave an obvious glance towards Phoebus's baldric and Oberon's sword.
Kallistê leered. "We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings—"
"Didn't ...," Phoebus interrupted, his deep voice surprisingly gentle, "didn't your mother tell you anything about us?"
I prodded the table with my forefinger, digging my short nails into the wood. "My mother didn't have time to tell me stories." I could reveal that part of my life, at least.
Oberon and Kallistê, for once, didn't laugh. After a rather stilted pause, Phoebus asked, "How did she die?" When I lifted my brows, he added a bit more softly, "I didn't see any signs of an older woman in your cottage."
Predator or not, I didn't need his pity. But I said, "Typhus. When I was seven." I rose from my seat to leave.
"Eleena," Phoebus called, and I half turned. A muscle feathered in his cheek.
Kallistê glanced between us, but kept silent. Then Phoebus shook his head, the movement more animal than anything, and murmured, "I'm sorry for your loss."
I tried to keep from grimacing as I turned on my heel and left. I didn't want or need his condolences—not for my mother, not when I hadn't missed her in years. Let Phoebus dismiss me as a rude, uncouth human, not worth of his careful watch.
I'd be better off persuading Kallistê or Oberon to speak to Phoebus on my behalf—and soon, before any of the others whom they'd mentioned appeared, or these attacks of theirs grew. Tomorrow—I'd speak to Kallistê first then, test her out a bit.
In my room, I found a small satchel in the armoire and filled it with a spare set of clothes, along with my stolen knife. It was a pitiful blade, but a piece of cutlery was better than nothing. Just in case I was ever allowed to meander—and had to leave at moment's notice.
Just in case.