Page 12 of Amidst the Insidious Courts
His hand strokes down my back, brushing my wings, which tremble beneath his touch. Like last time, I’ve lost control of my glamour, and just like last time, Jaro’s front is plastered with the shimmering dust that proves exactly how well he pleasured me.
“Rest,” Jaro adds. “When you wake up, we’ll have food ready for you.”
My stomach growls, as if threatening to hold him to that promise, and I smile softly as he plays with my hair, lulling me into a nap I didn’t know I needed.
Four
Caed
“How do I look?” I ask, spreading my arms to display my new outfit.
Prae just snorts. “Like a fairy farmer. I still think you should’ve gone with blond.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn back to my reflection in the stream. My blue skin has been glamoured a sun-darkened bronze, my hair is an unremarkable brown, and my eyes match. I even gave myself fae ears and a scruffy stubble I’ve never been able to grow naturally.
I look like a fae.
The only problem is Danu’s damned mark. It refuses to respond to glamour. I can turn my arm invisible, but every time I try to put an image of unblemished skin, or even the illusion of clothes, over that arm, the stupid knotwork returns with a vengeance.
So long sleeves and gloves it is.
Unfortunately, the fae clothes we borrowed—stole—from a hut a few miles back are not my size. The baggy trousers and itchy shirt are plain linen, and the waistcoat doesn’t do much for me either. I’m pretty sure the shifter couple who hung them so carefully on their line never expected them to be worn by Fomorian fugitives.
At least our iron weapons won’t give us away. The ones Prae nabbed from the Palace of Elfhame are fae-made silver. She managed swords for both of us, and daggers that are sturdy but have clearly seen a lot of action if the nicks and scratches on the blades are anything to go by. Stupid fae, not caring for their weapons properly. As a child, I would’ve been beaten within an inch of my life for letting my weapon get into such a state. The only sword that’s been properly maintained is the knight commander’s, which is currently strapped to Prae’s saddle, wrapped in leather to hide it.
“We can buy new clothes at the next town,” I mumble. “And maybe a glamour charm to keep you hidden when I’m not nearby.”
I can manage to disguise us both for an hour or so, but if my cousin strays too far away from me, it won’t work. My glamour isn’t strong enough to keep both of us looking fae for long periods of time. So far, Rose’s route has avoided the busier roads, but that won’t always be the case. And I haven’t even thought about what we’re going to do with the drakes. Their proportions are so different from horses that it’s not worth even trying to make them look like fat, squat ponies.
Better to just stay off the main roads and leave them behind if we need to enter a city or town.
“With what money?” she asks, then continues as if I haven’t spoken. “The dark hair doesn’t suit you. Can’t you try something with more… colour? If not blond, what about red?”
I fold my arms. “We’re not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves. And we’ll get money… somehow. You could sell that sword—”
“No way. Did you see how pretty it is?” Prae scoffs, turning away. “It’s my trophy to remind me of the time I bit the fae princeling and got away with it. You’ll have to take up some kind of honest work or something.”
I raise my brow at her. “Says the skilled smith—”
“Inventor! And I amnotlowering myself to creating blades out of substandard, soft-ass metals. There’s a reason Fomorian steel is superior to this stupid fairy alloy—”
“All right. I get the point.” I should’ve known better than to get her started on this rant, and now I need to change the subject fast before she gets on to her favourite lecture about how magic is the only reason the fae haven’t succumbed to our iron weapons. “Have you come up with a plan?”
She blinks at me. “Me?! You’re the one who fucked up.”
“You’re a female.” I wave my hand at her. “What do I have to say to fix it?”
My cousin shakes her head, turning and striding away from me. “Ancestors, Caedmon! You can’t just waltz up to Rose, say some magic words, and expect her to take you back! If she was any other female, she’d chop off your balls for the insult. In fact, I’m pretty sure the rest of her Guard will do that for her.”
I roll my eyes. “So flowers?” Fae love flowers, right?
I look around at the ridiculous amount surrounding us—trying to figure out which ones Rose would like best.
Something pink like her cheeks when she blushes? Or purple like her eyes? I bend down, plucking a long stem of pale bell-shaped blooms that seem delicate, like her.
“Ancestors’ balls,” Prae groans, rolling her good eye. “Do you not think perhaps you should work on showing her you’re a changed male?”
“How exactly am I supposed to do that when I can’t get anywhere near her?” The stem crumples easily in my fist, and I discard the broken bloom without a second thought.
