CHAPTER 23

ELLIE

“You’re going to give me hives with all that jittering of yours. I’m allergic to anxiety.”

Blaise stared at my fingers, which were tapping against the library table where we were supposed to be studying decorum, with a look of revulsion.

“I’m not anxious,” I corrected. “I’m just unable to ignore the fact that my father, who typically depends on my labor to fulfill his orders, is now short a pair of hands.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Evander and I had spent the better half of the day yesterday crafting windows, which he’d promised would be delivered to my father this week. Evander had said that in my free time, I was free to use the workshop, but given the reason Blaise and I were currently in the library, I didn’t know how much free time I’d actually have.

Besides, the king still hadn’t allowed me a key to my room, so I would have to have someone from the palace escort me anytime I wished to use the workshop.

I also had a feeling that my jittering wasn’t isolated to my concern that my father’s business might crumble. The phantom heat of Evander’s chest permanently seared into my back, his fingers caressing mine as we maneuvered the blow pipe, likely also had something to do with it.

“There’s a word for that, you know?” Blaise said, saving me from unwittingly replaying my and Evander’s interaction in the sweltering workshop for the seventy-eighth time.

I raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

“It’s called anxiety.” Blaise rolled her eyes, then flopped her hands onto mine dramatically.

She’d been assigned to me for the afternoon with the task of preparing me for the queen’s luncheon tomorrow. The queen herself was busy with preparations and, though she was the one requiring me to attend, she couldn’t seem to be bothered with helping me navigate the tedious rules of high society.

So they’d made Blaise do it, who I was fairly sure wouldn’t know decorum if it sniffed at her with an upturned nose while drinking bland tea, pinky-up.

Blaise slammed the book in front of her, the one we’d gotten about three pages into.

That was fine with me. I might not have been of royal blood, but my father’s income kept us if not in high society, then at least adjacent to it. Our neighbors had never considered us truly wealthy. For some reason, it was more notable to have had money handed to you by your parents than to earn it yourself. But still. I knew a thing or two about which side of my plate the salad fork should go.

It was the left, by the way.

“We’ve got to find you something to do. I’m already going to hear your fingers tapping in my sleep. I’d rather it not persist to my grave.”

My jaw hung open a little, and I considered spitting back a retort, but then again…

It really would be nice to have something to do other than want to claw my ears out as Blaise droned on reading the Handbook for Proper Ladies aloud.

“Fine,” I said, wrestling the book from Blaise before she drooled on it, or worse. I rose and tucked the book safely back into its place on the library shelf and approached her. “What do you propose we do?”

Blaise brightened at that, her rusty brown eyes practically gleaming with mischief.

Blaise wasn’t what I would consider a pretty girl—at least, not when I’d first met her. But when she smiled at you like that, like there was nothing in the world she’d rather be doing than doing nothing by your side—I could see why the servant boys, and even some of the fae courtiers, fell all over her.

“Glad you finally asked.”

I would not have thought that the King of Dwellen would allow such a thing as a servant girl fencing, especially while borrowing from the king’s personal store of equipment, but according to Blaise she did it all the time.

I didn’t believe her until she jabbed me in the crook of my shoulder before I even had time to flourish my weapon.

“Ow,” I said as she pulled her helmet over her face, imitating me.

The courtyard had warmed in the midday sun. I might have flopped on the ground and soaked it up were I not so busy dodging Blaise’s attacks. Still, there were bumblebees flitting between the tulips that decorated the grounds, and the breeze was ruffling the grass, and I couldn’t have been more content.

We must have looked ridiculous. Well, Blaise certainly looked ridiculous. The fae were so large, there hadn’t been a single adult fencing outfit for either of us to fit into back in the changing rooms. Blaise hadn’t seemed worried about it, and she’d tossed me an outfit, telling me it was made for fae children, but that it would most likely fit.

Fit turned out to be a loose interpretation of the word. The white fabric was snug, but whatever fae material it was made of stretched. So there was that.

Blaise’s hung off her slight frame instead of clinging to it, and the metallic mesh that shielded our faces while still allowing us to see one another left her looking like little more than a pale shadow.

A fast shadow. She moved in a blur of white and struck my belly this time.

I narrowed my eyes.

“Again?” she asked.

I nodded. This time when she struck, I was ready, and though I had few skills as far as sword play was concerned, I at least had the wherewithal to block her blow.

“Nice,” she said. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Put my stick in front of your stick. It’s not that difficult to intuit.”

To my surprise, she laughed, her pale face lighting up.

“You’re funny, Ellie Payne. I might not mind having you around after all.”

After that, Blaise seemed more willing to actually explain to me the rules, the moves, and even a few strategies she claimed to have developed herself.

After about half an hour of haphazardly defending her strikes and parrying, I finally landed a blow on her shoulder. “Nice!” she said. “You’re a quick learner.”

I shrugged.

I didn’t realize I’d be any good at hitting another person with a stick.

Then again, this was the first time I’d tried.

Hitting other people in a controlled environment turned out to be rather cathartic.

SWACK. I got Blaise one good time in the chest, and she coughed, a sputtering laugh spilling out of her. “Remind me not to put persimmon juice in your coffee,” she giggled.

When she landed a blow to my side that had me clenching my waist, breathless, I said, “Remind me not to make you read boring etiquette manuals.”

She laughed at that. “The only thing worse than etiquette manuals are the luncheons you’re supposed to show off your skills at.”

Apparently, she glimpsed my confusion through my mesh, because she explained, “My father was the king’s ambassador to the humans for many years. He wasn’t of noble blood, but the king treated him like he was.” A sad smile shadowed her face. “He used to dread dragging me to dinners when all the families were invited. I always ended up with pudding on my gown or a slice in my finger or a bug in my hair—though come to think of it, I can’t imagine how that was my fault.”

I frowned, lowering my sword. “What happened to him?”

She shrugged. “He died.”