Page 49 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
“He’s an idiot. And not an idiot like Caer, who is clever but foolishly impulsive. In the Scarecrow’s case, I’m afraid there isn’t much inside that golden head.”
“Does there have to be?” I glance at Jasper, who is stroking Caer’s mane and talking quietly to him. “Not everyone needs to be as intelligent as you.”
Riordan scoffs. “That’s fortunate, because so few beings are.”
“So humble,” I say dryly. “I may be centuries behind in my education, but I intend to catch up to you one day, you know. Humans don’t age here in Faerie, right?”
“They do, but far more slowly than in your world. Here, with some luck and the right healing potions, they can live for hundreds of years.” A few moments pass, and then he says, “So you intend to stay.”
“You don’t have your precious pocketwatch with you. You can’t send me back this time.”
“I have nothing.” His voice is taut, pained. “Nothing to offer you.”
My face heats, but I force the words out. “Nothing except your love. That’s all I need, Riordan. To know that you regret sending me away. That you love me, with the passion I tasted when you saved my life. You remember, don’t you?”
“Remember?” he says hoarsely. “I will never forget how it felt, when my heart’s-blood gushed into your body. When I kissed your mouthful of fangs and felt your claws slicing my flesh. When I drove myself inside you, invaded you with all the strength of my will. It hurt me to do that. But it was also the greatest ecstasy I have ever felt—so great I thought my heart would crack from the force of it.”
“You tore yourself open for me. Risked your own life to save mine. Why are you holding back now?” I curl my fingers into fists, crushing two handfuls of poppies. “I’ve given you every opportunity to tell me outright that you care, that anger isn’t all that’s left inside you. That you love me, and Caer, too.”
“Love.” There’s a dark twist to the word, a dreadful pathos in his tone. “I loved my father, and he tortured me. I loved my brother, and Drosselmeyer killed him. I loved you, and I had to sacrifice you and send you away. I can’t love you again, and I can’t lovehim, because to lose either of you would finish me. I can’t do it, kitten. Please don’t ask me.”
“The terror of losing someone doesn’t kill your love for them,” I reply. “The love remains, no matter how you deny it. The fear only holds you back, keeps you from enjoying a life with them while you can. It steals the futureandthe present from you and the one you crave. Fear is a stupid reason not to love.” I jump up, brushing flowers and frost from my makeshift garment. “I thought you were smarter than that.”
I stalk away before he can reply, and I help Jasper get Caer on his feet. Once he sees me, Caer’s monstrous shape recedes until he looks more like himself and less like the beast.
“Your neck.” He speaks to Jasper through his wide jaws, his voice slightly clearer than before. “I struck you. I heard your spine snap…”
“I’m all right.” Jasper grins and rubs the back of his neck. “I survived.” He cups Caer’s muzzle and plants a kiss on the beast’s nose. “You’re forgiven.”
It’s a marvel to me how Jasper has so much love, poured out so freely, while Riordan keeps his affections barricaded inside his chest. And Caer is an altogether different matter—he seems shaken from the experience, and slinks along next to me as we find the yellow brick road and continue our journey. He walks on two legs this time, and I loop my arm through his bulky furred one, since it seems to steady him.
When we left the forest, the fields seemed to stretch on forever, and the Emerald City was a green jewel in the distance. But now it seems much closer, as if the golden road has folded on itself, bringing our current location and our goal much closer together. By mid-morning we’re standing at the edge of a broad moat, eyeing the translucent emerald bridge leading to the gates.
The Emerald City is like nothing I’ve ever seen, not even in the paintings and books of Lord Drosselmeyer’s mansion. Towers pile upon towers, all of them glittering green, and where the sun shines on the jeweled walls it’s painfully bright. There’s something uncanny in the height of the towers, their clustered forms—something soaring and dreadful, terrifying and ethereal. It affects me like the overwhelming brilliance of Faerie, but instead of delirious madness I feel a horrible, sickening weight in my stomach, a hollow void opening in my mind.
“It feels wrong,” I murmur. “So wrong.”
The others don’t reply. We move ahead, crossing the bridge to the entrance. Riordan clasps the knocker in metal fingers and bangs it three times—each impact a hollow, booming thud that seems to echo through the sky and across the landscape.
No porters or guards appear, but the gates split and fold back to reveal houses and shops of pale-green stone—rows and rows of them, bordering narrow streets paved with yellow bricks. Even the sky overhead has a green tint.
Tall green-clad Fae move silently here and there. They seem to be occupied with daily tasks, but sometimes one will pause and stare into the distance, as if they’ve forgotten what they meant to do. The silence is uncanny—unlike any town or village I’ve ever seen.
No one stops or questions us as we wend our way through the city, toward the central cluster of towers. When we reach the palace, motionless guards, armored and helmeted in jade-green metal, flank a broad flight of emerald steps. They don’t try to prevent us from mounting the steps or entering the great doors.
My jaw drops as we step into the grand hall. I’ve never seen such a place, not in paintings or storybooks or my most fantastical dreams. It’s as if the entire palace was grown from a gemstone, rooms and staircases cut from its faceted heart, crystals allowed to bloom along its walls and ceilings. The entire place is a glittering haven set with ornate furniture in pristine jade and rich gold. There are green marble tables, crystalline settees covered in tasseled pillows, and jade fountains trickling with green-tinted water.
Jasper’s eyes are wide and wondering, and Riordan is moving forward mechanically, wordlessly. Caer is panting, his form rippling and shifting under the influence of clashing emotions. Dorothy stares around, an odd smile on her face, but Fiero squirms in her arms, barking and snarling our surroundings.
Something about Dorothy’s expression frightens me. She looks dazed and compliant—the complete opposite of her nature. Riordan mentioned feeling a magical effect when he was last here—a kind of blurred trance. But Dorothy is half-human—she should be able to shake off the enchantment.
I step in front of her and grab her shoulders. “Wake up,” I tell her, low and urgent. “Something about this place is very wrong.”
She blinks, and the glaze of her eyes clears a little.
“The Emerald Palace affects the Fae,” I say tightly. “You have to fight it. Your human side is a strength now, not a weakness. You and I have to keep our heads. We have to remember why we’re here.”
“Our wishes,” she says, blinking. “Yes. We need to be careful.”
