“But you won’t. It’s impossible.”
“Fine,” he hissed, and I fought down my smile of triumph.
He angled the book away from me, his glare shifting between me and the pages he turned. Finally, he settled on a suitable image and turned the book.
“Oh my God.”
The page was yellowed with age, but from edge to edge it was full of feathers, a study of a wing, maybe. It was incredible. Lifelike. Almost like a black-and-white photograph.
“Idris, that’s amazing.” I leaned in closer, studying the tiny, intricate details that I couldn’t quite fathom a person creating. Every barb was shaded and defined, and yet impossibly soft. If I touched the page, I could almost believe it wouldn’t be paper that brushed against my fingertips. It must have taken him hours. Days. Who was I kidding, I had no idea how long such masterpieces took to create. The prince’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his precious book, as though afraid I’d make a grab for it. “Is that what you were drawing before?”
“No. It’s an old one. I drew it a few… well, a few hundred years ago, I suppose.”
I met his eyes. “I don’t understand. Did you have this with you? In the tomb?”
“No. I went home for it.”
“What? When?”
“The night we got to Nairsgarth.”
“But—”
“As you know, fae can move between places,” he explained before I had a chance to pry. “As long as we know where we’re going. The castle itself is warded against such movement, but I left the grounds and went home for this. It’s how I was able to take you with me, the day we flew Saeth. Technically, that beach isn’t protected by wards as it’s a border line.”
“But, Idris, going home was really dangerous. What if there’d been a trap waiting for you?” It was bad enough that he’d frequented Tir o Hydref in his hunt for the horse, never mind returning to his house.
“If I’d gone to the palace, I’m sure there would have been, but that’s not my home. Anyway, I needed this. It was worth the risk.”
Where was his home if not the palace? Did he have a castle of his own, or did he mean wherever his wife had lived? Anger mingled with belated panic swirled in my veins. “It’s just paper, it’s not worth your life. I’ve got paper in my room. I’m sure if you’d have asked—”
Idris flicked through the pages, catching my attention. My words dried up in my throat when he stopped on a sketch of a smiling little boy with a shock of dark hair and wide, round eyes.
“Is that…” I whispered.
Idris nodded silently. I reached for the book. He allowed me to grasp it, but didn’t let go as I steered it closer.
“I needed this with me.” His voice was little more than a broken croak.
I pressed my lips together, fighting the dreadful sadness rising inside me. I didn’t dare risk meeting Idris’ eye, and not just because my own were suddenly watery. I hadn’t forgotten the rush of pain he’d sent into me last night, and I was struggling to hold my tears at bay as it was. I was under no illusions that the prince would forgive me if a teardrop landed on his drawing, ruining it forever.
“He was beautiful.” Was. Was. I hated that word at times like this. It felt like kicking the grieving person in the gut when they were already down, but what else could I say?
I drank in the image, the little peg teeth revealed by a cheeky, lopsided smile. Tiny fangs. The gleaming eyes that Idris had somehow managed to make shine like light on water. The round cheeks, rosy even in their grey shading. “He looked like you.”
Past tense to talk about such an adorable little boy. God, the world was cruel. No, people were cruel. How could King Maelgwyn, Idris’ own uncle, have ordered the death of such a sweet angel? I couldn’t even begin to fathom the evil of such a mind, and I didn’t want to. For the first time, Anwir’s whole ‘saving the world’ spiel felt personal. I finally had a real stake in the game. I wanted justice for that little boy, and for Idris. I wanted it with a burning fire I’d rarely felt before in any of my endeavours. This wasn’t mere obligation. I wanted justice.
“His name was Taryn.”
“Taryn,” I repeated, my voice soft, pretending I didn’t already know. “I like it. It’s beautiful, like him.”
We lapsed into silence, each still clinging to the book, balanced between us. Finally, I loosened my hold.
“I’ve decided to stay, just for a little while,” I whispered. “I don’t want to be queen or anything. I know Anwir can’t give me immortality, and that’s fine.” I felt rather than saw Idris’ gaze drift to me, felt it brush over my skin like feathers. “I just want to help in any way I can, so I’ll stay for a bit, see if I can get Anwir on the throne somehow. Mum and Dad will understand.”
“You love your parents.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “Of course I do. I wish I could show you a picture of them.” I reached into the back pocket of my shorts, retrieving my long-dead phone. “This used to be full of pictures of everything I loved. Now they’re all gone. Or maybe they’re not, but ever since I came here, it doesn’t work anymore. I can’t give it up though. I guess what I’m saying is… I might not be a parent myself, and I don’t know the pain of losing a kid, but… I understand why you went back for that book.”
“That’s the thing you almost got us killed for in the tunnels.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, it was stupid and irrational. Thank you,” I looked up, meeting his red-rimmed eyes, “for not abandoning me.”
I wouldn’t abandon him.
Idris closed his book with all the tenderness of a father kissing his son goodnight and laid it on the bench between us. I tried not to marvel at that tiny gesture of trust. Not only had he let me see his work, and his child, but now he left his most treasured possession, which he’d guarded so fiercely, where I might grab it and run. How far we’d come. I should probably thank the fairy wine.
“What is it? That thing?” He jerked his head at the device in my hands.
“This? It’s a phone.” It was easy to forget just how little these people knew of modern humans and their conveniences. Electricity hadn’t even been invented when Idris was cursed. The thought boggled my mind. “It’s basically my whole life in one little rectangle. I can use it to take pictures, or speak to my friends and family, organise my calendar, pay for things. Most importantly, I can look at cute animals on the internet.”
“What’s the internet?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said hurriedly, unconvinced I was capable of explaining such things. “The point is, this little thing is like my window back to my own world. My life. But it's broken, so the window is dark and I can’t see.”
“What happened to it? How did it break?”
“Well, I don’t think I ever told you how I got here, but it involved a lot of water. Phones aren’t supposed to get wet, but I hoped it’d dry out and start working again. Only, the battery drained too, I guess, and I have no way to charge it to see if it’s broken or just dead.”
