The Prince of Secrets

by A J Lancaster

  Irokoi had had the misfortune to be the oldest of them. Fae usually gained in power as they aged, and Aroset had taken it upon herself to rid herself of a potential rival, with the result that Irokoi was…damaged.

  “Our mother remains conspicuous in her absence,” Rakken continued. “And Father…” Darkness flickered in his eyes, and he didn’t finish his sentence. A chill fell over the room, one that had nothing to do with temperature.

  “So things are much as they were, then,” Wyn said flatly. “That is Faerie, Rake: where change comes slowly if it comes at all.”

  Rakken smiled, the nonchalant mask back in place as if it had never slipped. “Are you trying to persuade me of the benefits of mortality, brother? Where the humans flicker in and out of existence like fireflies?”

  “At least fireflies live. The fae just…exist.”

  Rakken’s eyes turned knowing. “Do you think if you play at being human for long enough, it will become truth?” His smile sharpened. “Oh, Hallowyn, you fool.”

  Wyn didn’t respond, and Rakken shook his head, dismissing him. He tilted his rings this way and that so that the light made the gemstones glow with inner fire. Wyn thought of the gem-studded walls of the capital, Aerest. ThousandSpire was rich in mineral wealth.

  “Here is a change of note for you, then,” Rakken said after the silence had lengthened, the minutes ticking away. “Torquil defected.” He sat back casually, as if he had not just lobbed an incendiary into the quiet study. Torquil was the sibling nearest in age to Wyn, though they weren’t close in any other sense.

  Wyn couldn’t hide his shock. “Defected to where?” Torquil was rigidly dutiful—probably the most so of any of them. It beggared belief that he would do something so dishonourable as defect from ThousandSpire. Or that their father had allowed it.

  For a moment he thought Rakken would not answer; he looked pleased with Wyn’s reaction, and it would be like him to revel in Wyn’s ignorance for as long as possible. But eventually he said, “EdgeSmoke. He thought he would be more at home in one of the light courts. Perhaps you are not the most naïve of us after all.”

  Wyn ignored the jab. “And Father?” He didn’t need to specify what he meant; that Father would tolerate a defection was more incredible than Torquil choosing to do so.

  Rakken steepled his fingers, again weighing Wyn for some unspecified quality. “Hmmm.”

  “Was that supposed to be an answer?”

  A faint smile. “You’ve been among mortals too long, Hallowyn, if you expect all answers to be spelled out plainly.”

  Wyn was about to respond when he sensed it through the leylines: ripe cherries and beeswax. Rakken went as still as a hunting hound catching a scent.

  “DuskRose,” he growled, at the same time as Wyn said,

  “Princess Sunnika.”

  25

  Princess Sunnika

  “What do I have to say to make the two of you understand that the fae aren’t something to be treated lightly?” Hetta scowled at her younger brother and sister in exasperated wrath.

  She’d just finished explaining the situation to Jack, Caro, and Marius when Stariel had alerted her to the new presence within her borders. She would’ve immediately repelled it, but Alexandra and Gregory had come rushing into the room with cries of: “We can explain!” so she’d held off.

  “Don’t blame me!” Gregory said indignantly. “This wasn’t my idea! And I already told Alex it was a stupid one!”

  “This isn’t my idea either!” Alexandra said hotly. “I’m just passing on a message!”

  “Yes, but you shouldn’t be passing on messages on behalf of the fae at all!”

  Hetta was inclined to agree with him, but she stepped in before the two of them could devolve into further argument.

  “Never mind!” she said. “Just what is this message and what has it got to do with Princess Sunnika popping up in the Home Wood?”

  “It’s from Gwen,” Alexandra said. “She just sent me a message saying it was urgent and that her princess was about to visit us and that I should warn you in case you thought she was attacking us or something.”

  “And just how is Gwendelfear sending you messages?” Marius said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hetta, equally displeased with their younger siblings.

  “Um,” said Alexandra. She took refuge in petting Plumpuff, who’d been asleep on the sofa arm and gave a conversational meow at the touch. Some of Hetta’s irritation transferred to the cat. Shouldn’t she be down in the kitchen with her kittens, anyway?

  “Gwendelfear gave her a locket that sends messages!” Gregory said, earning him a glare from his younger sister.

  Hetta held out her hand imperiously, and Alexandra reluctantly undid the necklace she was wearing.

  “It warms up if she has something to say,” she said, not meeting Hetta’s eyes. “But she can’t say much because not much writing can fit on the inside of the locket. You see?” She showed Hetta the tiny script on the inside of the metal shape. It was as Alexandra had said: Princess arriving. Not an attack. Warn Lord V. Urgent! Sorry.

  Hetta found the apology the most interesting part of the message. Gwendelfear had struck her as a singularly unapologetic personage, but her fondness for Alexandra was apparently sincere. Or possibly merely a useful conceit. Alexandra took the locket back, shoulders hunching as if she thought Hetta would refuse. Hetta considered it but decided it was an argument best had another day. She wasn’t her sister’s keeper, and Gwendelfear had saved Alexandra’s life.

  “And how did you get embroiled in this, Gregory?” Hetta asked.

  “Well, I was with Alex down in the stables, and she yelped and grabbed at her necklace, so of course I made her tell me what was going on!”

  “Well, I suppose we ought to go down to the Home Wood, then.” Hetta didn’t see anything else for it but to ask the source of the disturbance herself.

  “We’re not inviting another fairy into Stariel, surely?” Jack objected. He’d been pacing off his agitation at the earlier revelations on the other side of the room, but at this he came over to glower at Alexandra too.

  Alexandra and Gregory said, nearly in unison, “Another fairy?” And Hetta realised they’d been absent for the entirety of Prince Rakken’s dramatic entrance and apparently no one had told them anything about him yet.

  Gregory’s expression darkened. “Do you mean Wyn?” he said, half-defiant, half-ashamed.

  “You knew Wyn was a fairy too?” Alexandra exclaimed.

  Caro looked up from where she’d been sitting quietly at the other end of the sofa, a rueful smile twitching at her lips. “So who exactly doesn’t know yet, then?”

  Hetta rubbed at her temples. “Most of the family, present company excepted.” Keeping track of who knew what was becoming exhausting. She turned back to her siblings. “In short, no, I wasn’t referring to Wyn. I was talking about his brother, who’s assumed the identity of Lord Featherstone for reasons best known to himself.”

  This necessitated rather more explaining than Hetta had patience for, but fortunately Marius took over the bulk of it and she was able to get them all moving at the same time.

  “Should I get my gun?” Jack quietly asked Hetta as they swarmed out of the entrance hall.

  Hetta stumbled and righted herself. “What? No!”

  “I don’t doubt your magic,” Jack said, “but what about the rest of us?”

  “I’m not an expert on the fae, but I’m fairly certain that threatening their princess with an iron weapon would be extremely likely to offend them.”

  Jack looked unconvinced. “Am I supposed to care about that?”

  “You’re supposed to care about Wyn, and this is one of the courts that has it in for him. Antagonising them is unlikely to make matters better.”

  Jack grunted but didn’t argue further as they pulled on coats and boots from the nook next to the entrance.

  Hetta thought of Alexandra seeing the housefae and said thoughtfully, “Also, you might
all think of yourselves as magic-less, but you actually aren’t, you know.”

  Jack made a wordless sound of disagreement, grimacing.

  “Most people aren’t magically connected to their homeland,” Hetta pointed out.

  “That hardly counts,” Jack said, pulling on an ugly woollen hat that Grandmamma had knitted.

  “And it’s not like any of you have ever been properly tested for magegift,” Hetta continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “My own talents were strong enough that they were rather hard to ignore, but not everyone’s magic manifests so obviously.”

  “You think we might have magic?” Alexandra said, overhearing them. Her eyes shone. Hetta had a jarring realisation that to her younger sister, Hetta and her gifts were something to aspire to.

  Jack certainly looked less than thrilled at the idea. Of course, Jack was of an age to remember the shouting matches between Hetta and her father on the subject.

  “As I’ve been telling Jack, you already do have magic,” Hetta said. “With the land-sense. Whether you might have more, I don’t know, but it seems to me it might be worth getting you all tested.”

  “Wouldn’t be any point,” Jack said with a shrug, keen to get away from the subject. “Wouldn’t change anything for me.”

  Hetta thought her cousin was lying to himself as much as her, but she conceded that perhaps now wasn’t the time to pursue the matter.

  The path through the Home Wood had been cleared of snow, but away from the path, the snow lay fluffy and undisturbed but for the occasional tracks of small animals, giving the atmosphere a curiously muffled feeling. Dark tree trunks stood in stark contrast to the overwhelming whiteness. The native forests of Stariel included a lot of evergreens, but the Home Wood had been planted with more decorative deciduous trees from the South. On the other side of the Home Wood were the equally uniquely named Home Farm and Home Orchards. Hetta assumed one or other of her ancestors had decided that being able to see people actually working spoiled the view from the house and had so begun the Home Wood to hide that unpleasant reality; subsequent ancestors had added to it.

  How was Wyn getting on with his brother? Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she remembered Wyn’s expression at the sight of Prince Rakken. He would stay, wouldn’t he? He’d agreed to let her bargain, but what if this was the point where he decided the risk was too great and that they’d all be better off without him? She’d known they couldn’t keep on like this, dancing on the knife edge of maybe, but she’d thought they’d have more time to sort it all out between them before the fae descended on them.

  Distracted as she was by these thoughts, the sudden appearance of Princess Sunnika next to the path made her jump. Stariel had warned her, but it wasn’t quite the same as seeing with her own eyes. The fae woman hadn’t teleported, but she might as well have, so smoothly did she coalesce from the shadows beneath the trees. How did the fae do that? It wasn’t glamour, if Wyn was right about Hetta having the Sight now. Maybe fae just got lessons in sneaking.

  “Lord Valstar,” Princess Sunnika said, inclining her head.

  The others all jumped as well. Princess Sunnika was in her fae form, and it was hard not to stare at the sleek points of her ears or the curl of her tail.

  “Princess Sunnika,” Hetta said evenly, giving a much smaller curtsey than one really ought to give visiting royalty. Instinct told her not to treat Princess Sunnika too deferentially. This was Hetta’s faeland they stood on; Princess Sunnika should be the one seeking her favour, not the other way around.

  The princess surveyed Hetta’s family without a change in expression. They didn’t appear to intimidate her, though there were six of them to her one, and they were all taller than her—even Alexandra. Hetta’s one brief encounter with Princess Sunnika hadn’t been sufficient for Hetta to realise quite how short she was. Hetta had been assuming tallness was a fae trait, based purely on Wyn and his brother, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

  “Why are you here?” Hetta asked when it seemed like the fae woman was in no rush to explain herself.

  “I am here, Lord Valstar, as an ambassador from the Court of Dusken Roses to the Court of Falling Stars.”

  “And you decided now was the perfect time to drop by?” The timing was too neat to be coincidental; she must be here because Wyn’s brother was here. Here to make sure Hetta didn’t ‘buy’ Wyn’s debt from ThousandSpire? “And this has nothing to do with oaths and debts?”

  Her relatives shifted, curious glances passing between them, but didn’t interrupt. She hadn’t got as far as explaining the full tale of Wyn’s debt to them yet—hadn’t, in fact, decided if it was her place to tell them or not. But the time for secrets was fast disappearing; Wyn would just have to live with that. The knots in her stomach tightened.

  Princess Sunnika smiled. “It has been remiss of us to let relations with this faeland lapse, and my queen is most anxious to ensure we make the most of the opportunity to renew them.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Hetta said. “I’m very keen for the fae to stop attacking me and my staff.”

  “It wasn’t DuskRose that attacked your staff,” Princess Sunnika said pointedly. “Lord Valstar, I appreciate your caution, but I am not used to being so insulted as an emissary.”

  “I’m not sure how I’ve insulted you.” If only Wyn was here—this was his area of expertise, not hers. Heavens knew she hadn’t yet grasped her new role in human politics, let alone fae ones. But she supposed it was rather too much to expect Wyn to be in two places at once, and she had a feeling that keeping Prince Rakken away from Princess Sunnika might be important.

  “Is it because we haven’t invited you in?” Marius blurted. He shot Hetta an apologetic look, but she moved to squeeze his arm, grateful both for his insight and the reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in this.

  Princess Sunnika considered Marius with cool eyes. Her long hair hung perfectly straight and glossy despite the slight breeze, and for the first time in many years, Hetta had a pang of regret for the short hairstyle she’d adopted within three days of leaving home at eighteen. But hair that perfect couldn’t be natural, she consoled herself. It must be magic of some sort. Maybe Hetta could learn it too.

  “You have offered guestright to an ambassador of another court,” Princess Sunnika said eventually. Hetta took that as a ‘yes’ in response to Marius’s question. How had the princess known Prince Rakken was here? Had there been fae eyes watching the borders?

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Hetta said, “I didn’t particularly wish to invite Prince Rakken in either.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from both Gregory and Alexandra, and Hetta realised she’d again lost track of which pieces of information were known to who. It only bolstered her determination to make a clean breast of the whole affair as soon as possible. This was getting silly. And she didn’t like the way Princess Sunnika’s dark eyes tracked her younger siblings’ reactions like a predator looking for signs of weakness.

  Princess Sunnika’s tail drew an idle shape, like a fern frond swaying in the breeze. “DuskRose has never acted with hostility to the Court of Falling Stars—a stance that ThousandSpire cannot claim.”

  Jack made an exasperated noise. “What are you talking about and what do you want?”

  Well, Hetta supposed it had been too much to hope that her audience would remain silent forever. And she broadly agreed with Jack’s impatience.

  Princess Sunnika’s eyes flashed, but her voice remained level when she spoke: “I had thought the word ‘ambassador’ carried a similar meaning to mortals, Jonathan Langley-Valstar. I am here to further the interests of my court and my queen. As at this moment, we bear FallingStar no ill will.” Unsaid was that that could change.

  “You’re here for Wyn,” Marius said flatly.

  “We have an interest in one who claims sanctuary here,” Princess Sunnika allowed.

  “What would it take for you to give up your claim on him?” Hetta asked. She’d
promised Wyn she wouldn’t agree to anything without him, but surely it couldn’t hurt to ask?

  Princess Sunnika blinked, taken aback by their bluntness. Did the fae find plain speaking as disorienting as Hetta found their roundabout phrases? The princess’ eyelashes were ridiculously long, another tiny unfairness. The longer Hetta looked at her, the more she wondered if Wyn had looked forward to marrying this beautiful fae princess, before his father’s plot came to light. She grew irritated with herself in equal measure for wondering about such a trivial thing. It didn’t matter what he’d thought of his fiancée ten years ago, not when Hetta knew he loved her now and not some foreign princess. Unfortunately, this encouraging thought didn’t make Princess Sunnika’s eyelashes any less irritatingly luxuriant.

  “I do not know you or FallingStar well enough to know if you have anything of sufficient value to trade for such a debt,” Princess Sunnika said after a pause. There was a hint of sarcasm in her next words. “Perhaps I would be better able to make such a judgement call if I spent some time here. Under guestright. Such as is usually extended to ambassadors from foreign nations.”

  Hetta shook her head without meaning to. She wanted both royals out of Stariel as soon as possible. She could make them leave, of course—Stariel was bristling at them already, waiting for the slightest encouragement to bear down on them with the full force of its displeasure. Greater fae or not, Hetta was pretty sure no one would be able to stand up to that for long. But wasn’t this opportunity what she wanted? A chance to free Wyn from his previous entanglements once and for all?

  “Can you and Prince Rakken be in the same house together without starting a war?” she asked.

  Princess Sunnika’s expression grew haughty. “I make some allowance for your mortality, Lord Valstar, but as a guest one does not shed blood in the house of one’s host. DuskRose respects the laws of hospitality. Whether other courts do so is beyond my ability to predict.”