Page 27 of Lord of the Hollow Court
“Sure you’re not.” Rineke rolled her eyes.
“I’m not.” Katty found herself balling her hands into fists, determination making her stand tall. “I don’t run from things.”
Headless horsemen notwithstanding,she thought, then visibly cringed.
“I don’t know, Rineke,” Bibi said in her high, fuzzy voice. “If she was a witch, she could stretch the geas a bit—maybe enough to break it.”
Rineke thought on this a moment, nodding—as though it were perfectly logical. Witches. Faeries. Why not? “You’re not a witch, are you?” Rineke asked.
“Of course not!” Katty recoiled at the thought.
“Don’t be so sure. Lots of humans have some bit of magic in their blood, most of it dormant.” Rineke leaned in and—sniffed.Frost ran up Katty’s spine as she thought of the High Fae, searching through the night for her and Ichabod. She hoped the poor man was safe somewhere well away from here.
“I can’t tell,” Rineke concluded.
“Probably dormant,” Bibi agreed. She nudged Rineke. “Have you started in on the book I lent you?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, youshould.I can’t wait to talk to you about it!”
As they returned to the garden beds, they prattled on as if all of this was ordinary—as if magic was something commonplace. Except for them, it likely was.
Katty was learning to be used to a great many things she never thought she would. Cleaning fae dung, however, was never imagined by her, even in her wildest nightmares. Every step here was a surprise.
And she’d thought the fae so beautiful—like the cruel-mouthed one who stumbled in that morning, and the one who’d led her from the garden. Both of them were so handsome in their own way. But seeing this? She’d never look at the fae without wondering what else they’d done, or what else they were capable of.
As best she could tell, there was a key difference between those two men: her captor was one of the more human-like (though sometimes horned and winged) low fae like Rineke, Hugo and Bibi, and the pretty one who’d eyed them all in the foyer was a High Fae. And for some reason, it was those feral High Fae animals who ruled everything.
But was the human world, with all its restrictions, demands and injustices, any better? There were a great many people who would say no, who would long for the freedom of a geas. Who would die for a chance at anything else. There were no slaves in the fae world, and from what she’d heard, no restrictions on women. It sounded as though a great many of them ruled courts of their own.
If Katty did flee, what would she run to? How much opportunity would she be leaving behind her? Yet she could not deny a longing to see her sister, to see the nieces and nephews she would bear. To see her father again—and, though their meeting would bring far more complications, her mother.
But her family’s reputation would be ruined, along with her chances for a marriage. Katty knew that one day her father would be unable to work; marrying was a necessity for young women like her. Perhaps she could go to New York City or Philadelphia and start anew—if rumor did not follow her. She’d probably end up scrubbing chamber pots anyway.
And then there was the geas.
Here would have to do. For now.
With one last, longing look at the woods, Katty returned to the gardens and the shovel they’d given her. The sooner she completed this task and could wash it all off her, the better.
Katty van der Vos always finished what she started. Today would be no different. She put the sachet to her nose, inhaled until the herbal scent filled her nostrils and the mint made her eyes water, and then tied the cloth tightly over her nose.
She returned to work.
By day’s end, Katty’s hands were cracked, her feet sore, and the backs of her legs protesting every movement. She took an extremely long soak following an extraordinarily thorough scrub in the servants’ bath, where she’d quickly learned modesty had little place. There were a dozen baths lined in a row, the water reused until it was cold, since bathers were expected to wash before getting in. Had she bathed in all twelve tonight, she still would not feel clean. Even when a kindly pixie offered her lavender oil to put in her hair, Katty could not get that smell of excrement from her nostrils.
Sighing, she wrapped her wet hair in a towel, grateful, for once, that the herbal sachet was all the more fragrant for the steam of the bathing room. Wrapped in a borrowed robe, Katty made her way up the servants’ stair, only to be stopped by Bibi’s high, perky voice.
“Where are you going? Misman’s going to tell a story!”
Katty turned slowly, achingly. Every joint of her fingers ached. Her knuckles ached. Her wrists were starting to swell and her back was all agony. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and forget about today.
“I’m not fit for company,” she said, pointing to the towel swaddling her wet hair. The robe did not much matter; evidently, if it was after supper, the fae were perfectly comfortable wandering around in their bathrobes and nightdresses—or less. It had shocked Katty for the first two days. By the third, she was simply glad the robes were so plush, and slept in hers.
“Oh, don’t worry about that! No one will care a wit about your appearance.”
Gripping the edges of her robe, Katty hesitated. She couldn’t remember a time when she needn’t carry about her appearance—once she’d reached marriageable age, every inch of her presentation mattered. “Being here at night, it’s rather like being a child again.”
