Page 31 of A Fae in Finance
“Is this new life in Faerie a gift or a curse, lady?” the Princeling asked.
I frowned. The obvious answer—A curse, you insufferable man—was also obviously wrong. “It depends on your perspective,” I said. “And perhaps it depends if you agree to my bargain.” I sounded cool, calm, collected. Suave, even.
Internally, I was shitting myself. But I was more afraid of telling my mom that I was never coming home than I was of the Princeling.
“Eat,” the Gray Knight interrupted, pointing at the tray.
I picked up half of the sandwich and stared at it. Some sort of spread that looked creamy and purple had been slathered thick through the middle, and sprouts with crisp white roots stuck out from the sides. I tried to take a bite but couldn’t; my throat had started to close, the way it always did before I cried.
The Princeling sighed. “It is an intriguing proposition,” he said. “And I do not lose much. Nor do I gain much. Your presence here will provide my people with some knowledge of humans, with or without your active instruction. Perhaps that will be sufficient.”
“My lord, I will serve Faerie better in the human realm,” I said, dropping the sandwich and pushing the tray aside. I’d lost the battle with my tears; I could feel them leaking down the side of my nose. I leaned across the table toward him. “I can advocate for you better in New York. I can help you integrate into human society. If we get enough investors for your company, people won’t care what species you are.”
His eyes flashed. “You presume much, lady, about what will help my people.”
I shrank back, mortified and horrified. “I didn’t mean—” I started, but he cut me off.
“It is interesting. I do wonder…” He glanced at the Crone, who nodded minutely.
“Then here is our bargain,” he said, splaying his hands out on the table. “You will teach my people of humans, whenever they ask and whatever they ask, for thirty years. For that period, you will also retain your job—this should be manageable for you. And if you can complete both of these tasks to my satisfaction, then all of my resources will be laid at your feet.”
Thirty years?????I didn’t want to be starting an escape postmenopause. And what resources was he talking about anyway?
“Oneyear,” I said. “Not thirty.”
“One year, thirty years,” he sighed, waving a hand in exasperation. “I forget myself. Your lives are short.”
He glanced at the Crone again. Though her face appeared not to change, he turned back to me with a frown. “Ten years,” he said, “or do not take the bargain.”
He held a hand out to me across the table; it was completely smooth. No tendons, no veins. Just a covering of unblemished skin like the stem of some creeping ivy.
Before I could think, I took it and jerked back at the shock I felt in my palm.
“The bargain is sealed,” he said, a tiny smile creeping onto his face.
I glanced down at my palm—a long white scar appeared, like a single blade of grass. As I watched, it faded back into my skin, dissolved into my blood. Then it was gone.
The Princeling did something with his fingers, and the green brambles dropped.
I expected him to leave in a dramatic and exceptional manner, the Crone and the Gray Knight flanking him. But instead, he leaned back, settling onto his stool.
“Thank you. I don’t want to be here forever,” I said, feeling vaguely embarrassed, like I was turning down a second date. “It’s not personal.”
The Princeling nodded. “Change is no easier for us who live beneath the hill.”
“Are webeneatha hill?”
The Princeling’s shoulders loosened. “We are… sideways. Above. Inverted. And beneath, yes.”
How did faerie truths apply to such nonsense? I looked at the Crone, as though she would provide some insight.
“Look,” I started, and stopped. “Sorry, I mean, my lord, please, look.”
“Why do you speak this way?” the Gray Knight interrupted.
“What?”
She’d leaned forward, forearm on the table, her body tense. Her hair fell forward around her cheeks in sleek curtains. “You speak and stop and speak. You apologize when there is no wrong.”
