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no matter how soft he seemed or how young, he was as capable of cruelty as the rest. But cruel or not, his help could still be won.
But when he reaches for my hand, I take it and feel the nervous, awful pleasure of his fingers threading through mine. “Trust me, Wren,” he says. “Help me.” Love-talker. Schemer.
“Gift cards are worse,” Oak says when I do not respond. “I would bring shame on the entire Greenbriar line if I left a gift card.”
I am foolish for my delight, but I am delighted all the same.
Though he means me harm, I will miss him. I will miss the way he moves through the world, as though nothing could be so terrible that he might not laugh at it.
I look up at the sky overhead, the intense blue that follows a storm, and let myself believe I am not in danger. Not right then. Not from him.
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Green as poison. Red as blood. Black as the heart of the King of Elfhame.”
He gives me a steady look. “I hope you’re not about to tell me that you hate it and you were just being polite.” “I don’t hate it,” I say softly. “And I am not polite.”
“So we’re prisoners?” I whisper. He sighs. “We are indulging the fiction that we are not.”
“My sister thinks that she’s the only one who can take poison, but I am poison,” he whispers, eyes half-closed, talking to himself. “Poison in my blood. I poison everything I touch.”
My blood was spilled for the glory of the Kings of Stone who rule from beneath the world, but my body belongs to the Queen of Snow.
“Let me say it in full so you will not worry over being deceived,” Oak says. “I have brought Mellith’s heart.”
“Just because I’m bad,” Madoc says with a grunt, “doesn’t mean the advice is.”
“I’m so tired. I’m so tired of being scared.”
Madoc looks at me as though he would like to cut me to pieces. But he cannot.
