Page 37 of Heir of Autumn
“It’s not that,” he snapped. “I’m — I’m packing this, too. Yeah. Forgot about it.”
Sylvain peered over my shoulder. “What is all this commotion about? And why would you need to pack rations knowing you’ll be fed and watered, wined and dined in my mother’s palace?”
“Don’t worry about it, Sylvain. It’s a standard precaution. That’s all. For every expedition out of the Wispwood, it makes sense to take along some supplies from the kitchens. We’ve got plenty of room, anyway. Those tiny bottles Bruna prepared for the Wispwater really helped.”
I picked up the menu card, tapping it once. “Hello, Cutler? You in there, good buddy?”
The menu card chuckled. “Very funny, kiddo. I’m down here in the kitchens prepping your grub. Is it safe to pop in? Are you and your beefy boyfriend playing pin the tail on the donkey?”
Satchel stashed his stuff in a pocket dimension and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“It’s safe, Cutler, they’re not threading the needle. Sticking the pincushion. Poking the — ”
“Enough,” I barked, my skin burning hot. Imp and pixie alike laughed in stereo, the tiny bastards.
But again, this was a very welcome change from the initial pixie-imp gang war I was anticipating. Cutler materialized in a puff of smoke, bearing a basket filled with the standard Wispwood rations. Some things of jerky, bags of trail mix, dark chocolate, juices and water in bottles enchanted to preserve their freshness, the list went on.
Instead of diving face-first into the pile of treats, Satchel went up to give Cutler a high five. See? Progress. But also, conspiracy. They muttered to each other, giving me sidelong glances as they snickered.
“I can hear you gossiping about me,” I said, lying as I strained to make out what they were saying.
“No, you can’t,” Sylvain whispered, laughing softly as he rubbed my shoulders.
Bliss. I leaned into his touch and sighed, then shook my head. “I sure as hell could understand Headmaster Shivers, though. Seriously, what happened back there?”
“Perhaps the headmaster considers you special,” Sylvain said. “I wonder if that’s possible, adjusting their frequency so only you can hear.”
“Like a dog,” Satchel offered, nodding as he helped himself to some trail mix.
I squinted. “You’re on thin ice, buster,” I grumbled.
“That’s what it sounds like, don’t it?” Cutler said. “Headmaster Shivers, their voice? Kinda sounds like cracking ice. Like winter thaw.”
“You’re exactly right.” I tilted my head, curious. “How do you know that?”
Cutler shrugged. “I get around, y’know? I hear the headmasters talking to each other sometimes. Can’t make out a damn word that Shivers is saying, but I sure can hear their voice. Gives me the chills.”
Sylvain frowned. “Come to think of it, I do recall the headmaster making noises. But that was it. Just noises, no words. I figured they were probably breathing, or — well, whatever it is their equivalent of breathing might be.”
I picked a chocolate chip out of the trail of trail mix devastation Satchel left in his wake. “I just don’t understand how I could, you know, understand them.”
“Yeesh,” Cutler said, quivering. “You could understand them? That makes you creepier, kiddo. Whoa, okay, enough with the glowering. Maybe Beefcake McBoulderShoulders here is right. Maybe the headmaster thinks you’re special.”
Roberta Smothers from the Housing Office nearly had a slip of the tongue once, almost naming the headmaster who was allegedly responsible for staying her hand and stopping her from evicting me. I always assumed it was Cornelius, but could it really have been Shivers all along? And why?
“Speaking of special,” Cutler said, glancing over at my bed. “Where the hell are you boys heading, anyway? I had to put in a rush order for all these rations. You’re lucky I like you schmucks so much.”
“Verdance,” Satchel said, forcing the word out through a mouthful of crushed pretzels. This little piggy. “It’ll be Locke’s first trip there. We’re gonna go see Sylvain’s palace, meet his mom, the queen.”
“Satchel!” I said, horrified. “I mean, no offense, Cutler, but Sylvain’s identity — we’ve worked so hard to keep it secret, and — ”
“Hah,” Cutler barked, waving his hand. “Big deal. I’ve known for a while now. Beefcake over here keeps forgetting to glamor his pointy ears behind closed doors.”
Sylvain clapped his hands over his ears, eyes widening. We’d both forgotten all about them, because why would we need to hide his fae nature in our bedchambers, of all places? Oh, gods. How many times had Cutler seen his pointy ears already? I smacked myself in the forehead.
“Relax, kiddo. Your secret’s safe with me. Pixie or fae, doesn’t really matter anymore. There’s good fae, and there’s bad fae. Kind of like imps, too. There’s bad demons, then there’s worse ones. Okay, not the same thing, but you catch my drift.”
“You’re very kind, friend Cutler,” Sylvain said. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to — ”
