Page 101 of The Prisoner's Throne
Your fate is cast in acorn shape
In the shadows, you’ ll dwell and wait
The world seems to grow larger and smaller at the same time. Darkness rushes up and over him. He does, in fact, feel quite foolish. And very disoriented.
Inside of the nut are curved walls, polished to a high mahogany-like shine. The floor is covered in straw. Thin light seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.
He hears a sharp gasp from behind him. His hand goes automatically to his sword as he turns, and he has to force himself not to draw it from the rag sheath.
A mortal girl stands among baskets and barrels and jars, against the curved wall of her prison. In the dim glow, her skin is the pale brown of early fall leaves, and she wears a white puffer coat, which swallows her up. Her arms are crossed over each other as though she’s holding herself for comfort or warmth or to keep herself from coming apart.
“Don’t scream,” Oak says, holding up his hands to show that they’re empty.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” the girl asks.
Oak takes a breath and tries to think of what he ought to say. He doesn’t want to frighten her, but he can see from the way she’s looking at his hooves and horns that it’s possible that ship has already sailed. “I’d like to believe that we’re going to be friends,” he says. “If you tell me who you are, I will do the same.”
The mortal girl hesitates. “There was a witch, and she brought me here to see my sister. But I haven’t seen her yet. The witch says she’s in trouble.”
“A witch . . . ,” he echoes. He wonders how aware the girl has been of the passage of time. “You’re Wren’s sister, Bex?”
“Bex, yes.” A small smile pulls at her mouth. “You know Wren?”
“Since we were quite young,” he says, and Bex relaxes a little. “Do you know what she is? What I am?”
“Faeries.”Monsters, her expression says. “I keep rowan on me at all times. And iron.”
When Oak was a child, living in the mortal world with his oldest sister, Vivi, he was super excited to show her girlfriend, Heather, magic. He took his glamour off and was crushed when she looked at him in horror, as though he wasn’t the same little boy she took to the park or tickled. He thought of the news as a surprise present, but it turned out to be a jump scare.
He didn’t realize then how vulnerable a mortal in Faerie can be. He should have, though, living with two mortal sisters. He should have, but he didn’t.
“That’s good,” he says, thinking of the burn of the iron bars in the Citadel. “Rowan to break spells, and iron to burn us.”
“Your turn,” Bex says. “Who are you?”
“Oak,” he says.
“The prince,” Bex says flatly, all the friendliness gone from her voice.
He nods.
She takes two steps forward and spits at his feet. “The witch told me about you,” Bex says. “That you steal hearts, and you were going to steal my sister’s. That if I ever saw you, I ought to run.”
Used to people liking him, or at least used to having to court dislike, Oak is a little stunned. “I would never—” he begins, but she’s already moving across the room, flattening herself against the curved wall as though he’s going to come after her.
There’s a sound in the distance, loud and sharp. The walls shake.
“What’s that?” she demands, stumbling.
“My friends,” Oak says. “I hope.”
Bright light flashes, and the prison tilts to one side. Bex is thrown against him, and then they’re both on the floor of Mother Marrow’s cottage.
Hyacinthe has a crossbow pointed at Mother Marrow. The window Oak unlatched is open, and Jack is inside. The kelpie stoops down to lift an acorn, unbroken.
Mother Marrow glowers. “A bad-mannered lot,” she grouses.
“You found her!” says Jack. “And what a toothsome morsel—I meanmortal.”
