Page 62 of Lord of the Hollow Court
And if he couldn’t help her—and if Braam was still absent—it suddenly became hard to breathe.
“It’s called Fae Wasting,” Katty said, forcing herself to breathe. “Since I’m human, it should bring me no trouble.” She caught the worry lines on Bibi’s brow. “Don’t worry. I’ll stand far from him to be safe.”
The kitchen was in chaos by the time they arrived, full of pixies fretting aloud over how close was too close, and the fae chef shouting at everyone. Lula was barking orders, too, urging the ones who’d been too near Misman to go outside while Chef tried to stop her from taking his best people. All of it ground to a halt when they saw Katty.
“Where is Misman now?” she demanded.
“Out in the gardens,” Lula said. “You aren’t going near him, are you? You’re mad, girl—Hollow Hall needs you!”
Katty shut her eyes tightly. Is this what being a Court’s Lady was? So many voices demanding her attention, so many in need—she already wished there were three more of her. She turned and made for the very door she’d stumbled through on Halloween night, calling for Misman through the dark, misty garden.
“Here, m’lady,” he said. “Don’t come too close.”
She halted, the stubborn fog slipping between her ankles and hiding the hem of her skirt. Standing here now, in perhaps the exact spot as on the night that earned her the geas, made her keenly aware there was no one at her back this time, no Braam to find her and have her carried from danger. Rineke and Bibi watched anxiously from the doorway, squinting through the night-darkened haze.
“I’m sorry, m’lady,” Misman said. That was the perfect word for the way his voice sounded—sorrowful. “I tried to find a fae sorcerer, one who came here on Samhain. I was sure he would help us find his lordship.”
Katty’s nostrils flared, taking in the smell of decaying leaves and night dew. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Only, next time, if you would consider leaving a note?”
Misman laughed. There was a dryness to the sound Katty didn’t like.
“I shouldn’t complain of your absence,” Katty said, “I slept through most of the day after the apple harvest.”
“You had an ordeal, m’lady. You needed your rest.”
Tears bloomed in the corners of Katty’s eyes. She wished she could see him, but the night and miasma kept him well-shrouded. She could make out nothing but a vague outline shifting in the darkness. “You shouldn’t be comforting me. I should be the one who knows where my own husband is!” Her voice softened. “They tell me this Fae Wasting is usually deadly.”
“They tell it rightly, m’lady.” She heard a rattling sigh. “It comes on so quickly. You won’t have much time.”
Katty’s hand froze as she wiped at her cheek. “Me? For what?”
“He said he’d meet you—the sorcerer, m’lady. He said he would speak with you and only you, on the place where you met him first.”
“Met him? But who—”
“Muis,” Misman said, sounding painfully weary. “His name is Janus Muis.”
Katty froze. “But—but I met himhere.”
“Then it can’t be—there must’ve been another time.”
Another time. Katty carded through her memories, searching for another day when she might’ve met the tall fae with the fall of dark hair. She felt sure she’d remember him. Except—
“I was told I met with an illusion, or some kind of glamour, on the road—a black horse with a headless rider.”
She heard movement from Misman—the jangle of keys in his pocket. “Good. That is good, m’lady—do you remember exactly where?”
“On the footbridge,” she said, the memories of that night making her breathing come up short.
“Go quickly,” Misman said. “I have business of my own I must see to, before it is too late. But remember, m’lady. To the fae, names have a certain power. If he gave his to you freely, it must be for some reason. He might well expect something from you in return.” Misman coughed raggedly. “We ought never to have turned him away on Samhain.”
Katty stepped toward the sound, then stopped. She might not get the Fae Wasting, but what if she could pass it on to Rineke and Bibi, the way her mother had passed influenza to her after nursing her sister when they were ten and eight, though she herself did not seem to get sick? She could not chance it.
“I’ll be back soon, Misman.”
“Take a horse,” he urged. “The groom can glamour it so it will look like any other steed.”
“Thank you,” she said. She turned, the red skirt unfurling. Before she reached the kitchen door, she had already called for Bibi and Rineke. They ran forward to meet her without hesitation.
