Page 55 of Hidden

He vanished in the direction of his chambers, giving no sign that he’d even noticed she was there. Lila shifted uncertainly from foot to foot, the wake of his anger like a scent in the air.

The brass door handle had left a dent where it smashed into the wall. Lila fingered the damage, wondering at the force of Ademar’s rage. He’d called them both game pieces. What exactly had he meant?

Her mother’s steps sounded from inside the room. She was pacing like a frustrated cat, back and forth across the polished floor.

Lila pressed her palm to the wood, covering the damage the handle had left. Magic surged beneath her hand, warm and smooth. It only took a whisper of power to heal every flaw. When she pulled her hand away, the panel showed no trace of what had happened.

Her mother had appeared at Lila’s elbow, startling her. Lila stifled a curse.

“Very good,” Galeeta said. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Lila replied. “I do this at work all the time.”

It was true. She designed and built places—homes, galleries, commercial spaces—much the way Farras had created the way station from living wood. Except, of course, hers didn’t include prison cells, and she understood the use of colors beyond black and white.

She looked away from her handiwork and met her mother’s eyes. “Shall we talk?”

Apprehension flickered over Galeeta’s face—she was no doubt tired of arguing with her children—but she gestured for Lila to enter the room. “Please.”

Lila fell into step beside her, stopping only when she reached the windows at the far side of the chamber. The view was a river of emerald forest under a clear blue sky.

Lila put her back to it to face her mother. “What’s going on? I know there’s more than a simple banquet afoot. Give me respect enough to tell the truth.”

Her mother glanced aside as if unwilling to meet Lila’s eyes. “Lord Farras sent you a gift. His courier brought it earlier today.”

Crossing to a side table, she picked up a cube-shaped box about eight inches across. It was fashioned from pale oak wood deeply carved with leaves and vines.

Lila accepted it reluctantly. “I heard you arguing with Ademar. He accused you of using us as bait.”

Her mother cast her a sharp look. “Open your gift before you decide anything. You might change your mind about Lord Farras.”

Frowning, Lila balanced the box in one hand and released the brass clasp with the other. The lid sprang open to reveal a lining of padded azure silk. On a velvet cushion of the same hue sat a pair of hair combs glittering with gems. Lila’s stomach knotted with anxiety.

The box alone was worth more than Lila’s bank balance. The combs must have cost a king’s ransom. This was no casual reward for putting on a nice party. The lord definitely wanted something from her.

She snapped the lid shut and carefully placed the box back on the table. “I won’t accept anything from Farras.”

Galeeta made an exasperated sound. “What has he done to you, one fae to another, to earn such animosity?”

A small spark of surprise made Lila straighten. Despite her clear dislike of the lord, it was the first time her mother had asked the question. “What does it matter to you?”

Galeeta’s expression softened. “You’re my daughter. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

Lila hesitated, wanting to push back but knowing it would get them nowhere. With some misgivings, she opted for a plain answer. “Do you remember the time we visited the castle in Gilden Wood? The first time, when King Elroth was in residence?”

“You were about ten,” her mother replied, folding her arms over her stomach. “I remember the jester scared you. What was his name?”

“Bronkin.” He’d been a twisted, half-mad creature, less a clown than a vengeful imp lurking behind Elroth’s throne. Spiteful and cruel to anything weaker than himself, it was as if the jester had been distilled from every dark impulse of the faery court.

“That’s right,” her mother said. “He liked to leap out from behind the tapestries and startle the servants.”

“He bit them.”

“So he did. He tried biting one of the king’s mastiffs once, but only once.”

Lila grimaced. Years later, she’d heard one of the courtiers had finally run Bronkin through with their sword. No one had objected.

“My story actually starts with the jester,” Lila said. “He chased me down the castle hall and threatened to feed me to the pigs. I ran out through the kitchen and into the stables to hide. Bronkin didn’t like the big warhorses because they’d kick him if he got near.”

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