The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air, #3)

by Holly Black

“Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the brugh.”

“I doubt that boy king ever intended to let you walk out of the Palace of Elfhame alive. He fought hard to keep you.” “Cardan?” That doesn’t sound like him. “Half my knights never made it out,” he informs me grimly. “We got in easily enough, but the brugh itself closed around us. Doorways cracked and shrank. Vines and roots and leaves obstructed our way, closed like vises on our necks, crushed and strangled us.”

He raises his sword, hesitates. My animal instincts kick in, pushing me to my feet. My vision swims a little, but adrenaline is on my side. “Jude,” Madoc says, and for the first time that I can recall, there’s fear in his voice. Fear I don’t understand.

THATS HIS KID 😭😭😭😭😭

Madoc looks in my direction. I must be quite a sight, blood-soaked, hand on my side. He hesitates again. “She’s not going to make it. Let me—”

He hesitates, looking at Grima Mog’s sword, at Vivi’s large black bow, at Taryn and Nightfell. Finally, he looks at me. “Let me take you back to the camp, Jude,” Madoc says. “You’re dying.” I shake my head. “I’m staying here.” “Good-bye, then, daughter,” Madoc says. “You would have made a good redcap.”

Cardan stands over me. His jacket is thrown on a nearby chair, the velvet soaked through with some dark substance. His white sleeves are rolled up, and he’s washing my hands with a wet cloth. Getting the blood off them.

“To you, I offer honey wine and the hospitality of my table. But to traitors and oath breakers, I offer my queen’s hospitality instead. The hospitality of knives.”