Page 53 of The Vanishing Throne

Chapter 19

I sleep another day. Though my limbs are still shaking when I pull myself out of bed, I’m able to walk steadily to my closet. I press my ear to the door and listen, smiling when I hear Derrick inside singing a bawdy jig. His voice is drowned out by the occasional rustle of fabric.

I knock twice before opening the door. And there he is, sprawled on a mountain of multicoloured silks, his needle and thread in hand. ‘Aileanaaaa,’ he sings, wings fanning behind him. ‘You’re better! You’re awake! You look like you were run over by a carriage and tossed into the river.’

Leaning against the door frame, I say, ‘Had to add that last bit, did you?’ I flex my limbs; they still ache. ‘In any case, I swear this is worse. Wisps are vicious.’

Derrick’s golden halo turns red at the reminder. ‘I should have known that Seer was lying. If he weren’t your friend, I would have flayed him alive and taken his skin as a trophy.’ He pulls over one of the silks, a deep royal blue. ‘But since you seem to value his life, I bit the bastard on the arm. Tit for tat. He tastes like misery.’

‘And I see you came right back to my closet afterward.’

Derrick threads a needle that’s almost half the size of his entire body. ‘I was so happy you created it for me! I’ve been sleeping in my own version of your closet for the last three years and it never smelled the same. Just of wood. I hate the smell of wood.’ He looks up at me. ‘You’ve made it smell like roses in here again. And lovely waterfalls.’ He smiles lazily. ‘And ladies.’

I almost tell him that I didn’t create the closet forhimspecifically, but he looks so pleased that saying so would make me feel like a right killjoy. So I sigh inwardly and nudge one of the silks with my toe. ‘What’s all this?’

‘I’m sewing dresses. When I came in here, the closet looked like hell.’

‘Empty, I assume?’

Derrick blinks at me as if I’ve suddenly turned daft. ‘Of course, you silly human. What use is an empty closet? As it is, you’re walking around in those hideous clothes lent out by your friend, wisp spit all over your skin.’Wisp spit? Good heavens. He begins stitching again, moving so quickly that all I see are streams of light. ‘I even made you silk. So much better than your human silk, not that you ever asked me for it before.’

I look at him suspiciously. Pixies normally move quickly, but he’s got the same twitchy movements that he gets when he’s – ‘Did someone give you honey?’

‘Aithinne gave me just a wee dram.’ He holds out his thumb and forefinger, a mere fraction apart. ‘A thimbleful. Iloveher. I should make her a dress.’

Oh, for goodness’ sake. Honey does make Derrick productive to a fault. Sewing, cleaning, polishing. He could build a season’s wardrobe after a bowlful. ‘We don’t require dresses. There aren’t any balls or assemblies. Remember?’

He pauses and looks up at me. ‘So just because the world ends you can’t dress fancy any more?’

I sigh. This must be a trick. Is there a right answer to this question? ‘Well, no, but—’

‘Good! Anyway, I made these for you, too.’ Derrick tosses clothes at me, and I’m still too damn slow from the wisp bites to catch them. They drop to my feet in a heap. ‘Hunting clothes. Now kindly remove those hideous, ill-fitting ones, clean the foul-smelling wisp slobber off you, and put these on.’

‘Brilliant,’ I say drily. ‘I’ll do that.’ I look down at the clothes Catherine dressed me in. They don’t seem to be her own– they’re about two sizes too big and I’m drowning in the shirt. I probably look ridiculous.

‘It’s all right if you smell bad,’ Derrick says serenely. ‘You’re still my favourite.’

He goes right back to singing the bawdy jig he was in the middle of when I came in, a hint for me to close the door and leave him in peace. I respect his wishes and bend to pick up the bundle at my feet.

I lay the clothes out on my bed. The wool is flawlessly woven; I didn’t think it was possible for raploch to be this soft. The stitching is, of course, perfect. The pixie could never do anything less than impeccable work.

Slowly I remove my borrowed clothes, wincing at how my muscles ache. As I do, I notice the new injuries along my arms and legs. Thewee bites from the wisps are now scarred over.

The oval mirror in the corner of the room shows me the angles of my body. Even before I became a hunter, I never fit the ideal of beauty expected for a woman in society; my skin was considered so freckled that my governess once advised me to slather myself with cream to achieve smooth ivory skin. Now my peers would have considered me too muscled, the pockmarks and grooves from my healed injuries unfeminine and, in their minds, undesirable.

But after everything I’ve been through, I’m proud to have a body that’s strong, that bears the marks of how much it has endured. No matter how painful those memories might be.

I quickly clean myself up in the basin and pull on my new clothes over my new scars. Just as I’m tucking the shirt into the trousers, the bedroom door opens.

‘Oh!’ Catherine says, stopping short. She has a tray in her hands. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I expected you to still be in bed.’ She frowns, shutting the door behind her. ‘Youshouldbe in bed.’

‘I’ve been awake five minutes and you’re already mothering me?’ I say, raising my eyebrow. I take a closer look at the steaming dish she carries. ‘Is that food?’

She rolls her eyes and passes me the tray and I set it down. A steak of some kind with a white sauce that looks utterly unfamiliar. Not at all what I’m used to eating in the morning.

‘What is this?’ I’m so hungry, I hardly care. I dig in, stuffing the lean meat in my mouth. It could be as bland as scones and it would still taste like the best meal I’ve ever had.

‘Venison. The fae here hunt and bring back the meat for us.’

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