Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Holly Black and her Folk of the Air series. I have no rights to them. I write this out of whimsy. The characters and dialogue are taken from The Cruel Prince; many sentences of dialogue are taken straight from the text to be true to canon.
I wake to the sound of screams. It takes me a moment to recognize that the screams were coming from a dream, a nightmare, not from the dark room I'm trapped in. It takes a moment longer for my mind to sort out nightmare from reality, but I find that they are largely the same: nearly everyone in my family is dead, and I am tied up, having been captured at knifepoint by my enemy.
In truth, I had been passed out while my father and siblings were slaughtered. I never saw them die. It was only in my nightmare that I saw their deaths—Balekin cutting them down, one by one, with a slash to the throat. I still don't know how they actually died. I only came to learn of their deaths from being awoken by all the screaming in the great hall.
I find that my chin is resting on my chest, and it pains me to lift it up. Not the first time that I've fallen into a drunken sleep while sitting in a chair. How long had I been asleep? And where was I? Yes, in the lair of Dain's spies, brought here by none other than Jude herself. Yes, her luck is great and mine is terrible. Though perhaps some bit of good fortune might come to me yet. I am a Prince of Faerie after all. Though still mockingly cursed.
Perhaps it is a good fortune; if I was to be kidnapped by anyone, I'm glad it's her. Even though it might be to my detriment. Still, the situation offered the opportunity of retribution; absolution of the crimes and cruelties I have enacted against her. How fitting for her to tie me up like a monster. Is that not what I am? What I've let myself become?
I'm not in a mood to wallow in self-pity. I ought to be doing something to get me out of my predicament. I recall how I got here, how Jude put a blade to my throat. The flash in her eyes as she pressed it there. I recall that same flash in her eyes from earlier in the night, dancing with her.
Oh, the dress. My mind lushes over the memory of seeing her in it. The white, scalloped neckline that looked like daisy petals feathering her neck. Those flower petals keeping her bosom wrapped up while still revealing its shape. (Oh, it would have been too much to see her in a low-cut gown; and she might have refused to wear it). The color of the gown fading from white, to sky blue, to midnight blue towards the hem. Stars scattered throughout the material—nearly hidden at the top but becoming more striking as the color deepened. Hidden gems, like her. It was not until I saw her in it that I realized why I must have picked that color. From dawn 'til midnight, all I do is think of her. All I do is look at her, no matter the time of day.
And now that dress was in tatters. Cut into strips to keep me tied to this chair. How fitting to be trapped by it, by her. Trapped by the very gift I gave her—no, gave to myself to have the satisfaction of seeing her in it. I hope she never learns it was I who designed it and gave it to her. I look to find blood splattered on the fabric. Had she been close enough to my family's slaughter to have been sprayed by their blood?
Better not to think of that. Better to dwell on my greatest triumph of the night—dancing with Jude. How perfectly her hand fit into mine as we danced. Not just dancing with her, but the satisfaction of taking her away from Locke. The words felt delicious on my tongue: 'Time to switch partners—Oh, did I steal your line?'
'So, you're going to say something nice? I don't think so. Faeries can't lie.' She told me. Yes, Faeries like me cannot lie. And drunk as I was, I thankfully kept my lips shut, though my hands betrayed me. My hand on her hip, to feel the roundness of it—as round as the curve of her ear, visible as she turned away from me.
'You really hate me.' I told her. Surely she did. I deserved as much.
And her response: 'Almost as much as you hate me.' Oh, if only she knew the truth. Oh, but if she did, I would have to bury myself from shame.
That was when I knew I had to end the dance; there was not wine enough to numb my intolerable feelings. 'Until we spar again.' Those were telling words I gave her. She had beaten me in a prior spar, and now beaten me again, hence why I am now tied up. I deserve as much.
Yes, the wine from the night has nearly left me, leaving my emotions raw. How does one know how to properly show someone love if it had never been shown to them? To think of my family, nearly all dead, and none of them had ever shown love to me. What would it feel like—to be loved? Will I ever know it? Not from Nicasia. Not from my family. Even shunned by my own mother. I must be unlovable.
The best I know to do is how to get someone's attention. And surely I had gotten Jude's attention. Only it was the opposite of what I really wanted. How pathetic I am. How fitting to be tied up and hidden away in a dungeon. My only use in life now is as a pawn for others to pass around. But that is a higher status than I once had. I think of my childhood, crawling around on the dirt to hide or find scraps of food. The memory of that came to me after I woke to the screams in the grand hall, and in the chaos saw Jude crawl under a table. I felt I had found a friend. Until she punched me in the stomach. But I deserved that too.
Oh, but for a moment, I had control. My silver tongue getting us past the guards. It was not in jest that I told of my aim 'to keep some of the delights of the revel for myself.' And she followed my lead as I showed her ever deeper into the palace, closer to the secluded room where I knew my father stored his best wine. Perhaps if she was feeling lost in the chaos of the night, lost from Locke's tossing her aside for her sister, she might be amenable to me. Perhaps, after witnessing such a glut of death, she was feeling a similar desire for life and all the pleasure that can be had from it. Or, failing that, perhaps she might pity me for having lost nearly all my family.
Those were the feelings that I hoped she might feel. The one I knew she would find (once I realized it for myself) was that my blood was suddenly far more powerful than I ever imagined it could be. Whoever held me, held power. And who did I want to hold me? Jude, my mind rang. Jude, Jude, always Jude. She never leaves my mind, however much I wish it would. I realize how unlikely it is that she would ever hold me the way I've dreamed she would, but I don't think it is unreasonable that we might form a mutually beneficial alliance.
Jude.
She is everything I am not: diligent, capable, and determined. Fearless; the daughter raised by the Grand General. Daring; enough to go up against those who might have advantages over her. Smart; one of the most studious in our class. Talented; enough to best me and for Dain to make her his spy. If there was anyone who I could trust to help me bargain a good position for myself, it would be her.
Jude.
I should have kept the idea of an alliance with her at the forefront of my mind instead of letting myself get wrapped up in the idea of having her all to myself for a night. Yes, Jude, you were right—I should have seen it coming when you pulled a knife to my throat. I should have recognized that your aim was for power, not pleasure. But no, I did not suspect that you were a killer. That you had killed Valerian. I feel the cut she left on my finger. She was not afraid to hurt me; I should not doubt that she would do so again with her next opportunity. I ought to be more cautious if I want to stay alive.
My bindings chafe, and I'm reminded who tied me here.
Jude.
My loathing for her returns. Indeed, she is everything I am not: lowly born, mortal, spiteful, slow to laugh or even smile. And yet she is my better despite that. Perhaps because she has what I do not: a caring family, beloved siblings, a mother who loved her enough to die for her, the ability to lie and get away with it, the ability to keep her determination and not be swayed by pathetic emotions, the ability to hold her head up high because she earned that power fist by fist.
Jude.
Frustrated by my own thoughts, I toss my head back recklessly only to find that it leaves me unbalanced on the chair. I'm slow to realize this and too slow to correct it. I hear a crack and hope it is only the chair that broke. My senses still slowed by wine, I am fearful it is my back that has cracked once the pain hits me.
"What's this, an escape attempt?" I hear a man's voice before I see his face looming over me—Locke's man, Garrett. I was surprised to find him among Dain's spies.
"Just trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep in." I grit my teeth waiting for the pain in my back to subside. It doesn't feel broken. I've had worse injuries from Balekin's hand.
"Well, perhaps you ought to stay there then."
"I'm guessing I will until Jude comes back."
"Good guess."
Jude.
My mind returns to her. To think of her as lowly is to recognize that I am even lower.
Jude.
She is everything I am not: stealthy, driven, calculated, able to control herself, and not be in need of wine to keep herself calm.
Jude.
Was she really so unobtainable? Was she really so different from me? Motherless, seemingly futureless, living with hidden pains, longing for love, to be understood and accepted rather than be looked down upon as a cursed child.
Jude.
She told me what she wanted—power. I have the power she wants; I am that power. Oh, that is too seductive of a thought. No, she wants my power, not me. I am merely the nuisance she needs to tolerate to reach that power. And if I give her that power, would she even thank me for it? Would it be enough to erase all the awful things that I allowed to happen to her?
Jude.
Was it possible for her to ever want me? How could I ever know her true desires? Perhaps I should focus on my own. What did I really want?
Jude.
And if I couldn't have her, what would I want then?
Jude.
And if she loathed me for eternity—was forever unobtainable to me?
Jude. Jude. Jude. A thousand times, Jude.
I am sick, I am mad, and I need to get her out of my head. Yes, that is my true desire; or at least the realistic one. If I can never have Jude, then I wanted the next best thing—a means of forgetting her. Where was the wine? I need more wine.
"Garrett?" I know he hasn't gone far. "I don't suppose you'd be amenable to getting some more wine for us here. Being that you're the one who is free to walk around to do such."
His face looms above me again.
"Don't worry, Garrett, I won't command you by your true name." I see his eyes flare with fear, and I worry he might gag me. "I admit that I don't know the full of it. I only know who does. Imagine that, if you know the true name of someone who knows the true name of someone else, you control them both."
The fear does not leave his eyes. It's odd to see a known killer like him with fear on his face.
"Don't worry, I don't know Locke's true name either. Just that your mother was a mortal, right? Or was it your father? Mortals seem to have a funny way they go about naming their young. Lives as short as theirs, they recycle so many. I'm told they have a habit of naming their young after deceased family members—perhaps your mother named you after a great-grandfather or something. They seem limited to just a few dozen names or so. Perhaps I could try them out one by one."
"What makes you think I was given the name of a mortal when I am not?"
"You're right, I don't know you nearly as well as I'd like. We should become better acquainted if we're to work together."
"Work together? Do I need to remind you that you are the prisoner, and I am the guard?"
"I do very well recognize that. But putting that aside, I'm sure we have other common interests that we could work toward. Like gathering the best of the wine in the palace."
"So tell me where it is."
"Sit me up, and I'll tell you."
He does so and takes a seat at the table himself. "So where is it?"
"Untie one of my hands, and I'll tell you."
"You're not getting out of here that easy. I've already sat you up like you asked."
"You needed to sit me up anyway so that Jude can be reassured to find me just where she left me. Now, I can tell you where the wine is, the good stuff, that is, but what good would it do me to tell you if you're just going to drink it all up for yourself and not give me a drop?"
The girl returns. The one Jude referred to as the Bomb.
"What's going on in here?" She looks at us as if something exciting is about to happen. Perhaps she is aptly named. Someone who lives for drama. This could be a boon.
"It appears that our prisoner is trying to use his silver tongue to convince us to release him," Garrett says with a look of amusement.
"Not at all", I say with a smile. "Thus far, I'm already enjoying your company. And I'd like to enjoy it some more. I think we'd all enjoy each other's company a little more with some good wine.
"So, you're looking to get your guards drunk so you can escape?" The Bomb asks.
"Hardly, I know that each of you, alone, is capable enough to take me down even if I'm sober as a swan and you're too drunk to know my name. Jude tied my binds so tight, there's no way to remove them unless they are cut, and I have no knife. My desire to have you release one of my arms is so that I can pour the wine into my own mouth and not have to suffer someone else attempting the job for me. I don't want any of the good stuff wasted by running down my face. Really, it's probably best for us all if I'm drunk. You know that I'll be a much more agreeable prisoner if I am."
"What are you scheming at?" Garrett's look never softens.
"Oh, you overestimate me to think that I'm a schemer. I live for pleasure. Just try it out now. Cut the bind of one of my hands—your pick, I'm capable of drunkening myself with either one—and you can convince yourself that I'll still not be able to escape. If I give any sign that I'm trying to escape, you'd be right to tie me up again. Just know that I'll still be expecting you to pour the wine into my mouth for repayment for telling you where the good stuff is."
"Fair enough," the Bomb gives a shrug. They work out between them that the Ghost (as the Bomb calls him) will get the wine while the Bomb babysits me. She is here waiting for the Roach, though she won't tell me any more about what is going on between her and the rest of Dian's spies. I'm shocked that they're still loyal to Dain after his death. Or perhaps, just loyal to each other being that they seem so friendly with one another.
Envy begins to rise inside of me. I regret that all of my friends are no longer: Valerian dead, Nicasia aloof and looking to return to the sea, and Locke back-stabbing me more times than I ever suspected he was capable of. How is it now that the person I feel most able to trust is the one who tied me up and threatened to kill me? It would do me well to find better friends.
I try to get information from the Bomb about what sort of relationship she has with Jude, with everyone else in Dain's group of spies. But the Bomb becomes playfully coy and accuses me of trying to work out a scheme.
"You flatter me to think that I'm capable of scheming," I tell her.
"It seems like that's all your family has ever done. I imagine it runs in the Greenbriar blood."
"Well, if I am capable of scheming, perhaps you can draw it out of me."
"Hmm," she gives me another sly grin. "The start of a scheme begins with a desire for something difficult to obtain. What is it you desire, little Prince?"
I hope she doesn't see the blush creep onto my face in the dim light. I am saved from answering at the sound of an opening door. The Roach has returned. I catch a telling look on the Bomb's face when she turns her head to see him. She appears to have her own desires written all over her face.
The Roach is quick to express his concern to find my left hand untied, but the Bomb is easily able to reassure him of the situation with the promise that good wine is on its way.
"I doubt Jude would be pleased to find us allowing him any comfort," the Roach says, giving the Bomb a look.
"She just doesn't want him to escape is all."
"Don't be naive that he wants to work with us here. Knowing his reputation, he seems to take pleasure in doing anything to torment Jude. No doubt he'd like some revenge for being tied up."
"I don't understand why you all think that I'm working against Jude when our interests happen to align."
"Your interests align—is that why she has you tied up here?" The Bomb gives me a grin.
"A small matter. I'm hoping to convince her that I do intend to be her ally. I think we all have mutual interests that align."
The Ghost returns, having heard me speak based on his response: "Well, if our mutual interest is in wine, then we have accomplished that end." He begins to unload five bottles of wine onto the table.
"Let's see if you got the right ones." I gesture to the Ghost to hand me a bottle for inspection. "The label looks right. We'll have to open it to taste to be sure. I'd do it myself, but clearly, I will have to rely on you to do so since I'm doubtful any of you would be kind enough to untie both my hands."
"No, we won't be letting you squirm out of here," the Ghost says firmly as he pulls out a corkscrew.
"Well, the least we can do is give him the first pour." The Roach's voice is full of skepticism. "That way we can be convinced that he's not trying to poison us all."
"I'm flattered that you think me capable of thinking such a plot." I reach for one of the goblets that the Bomb has just set on the table. "But why would I wish to harm good folk like yourselves? Really, I feel like the three of you are my biggest boon yet since I awoke to a blood bath. I had hoped that Jude would've been easier to work with, but she clearly hates me. Why have you all decided to put your lot in with her?"
"Who says we have?" The Ghost says as he reaches to fill another empty cup with wine.
The Roach reaches for the one just filled, though leaves it on the table untouched. "The powers have shifted, new alliances need to be drawn. We could all simply work for ourselves, though there are greater gains to be had when we work together."
"For the three of us here," the Bomb begins as she takes her winecup, "I suppose we all work together out of habit. Or, to say it better, out of appreciation for each other's talents."
"And how does Jude fit in with you?" I ask, looking between them.
"She's proven herself loyal and capable," the Ghost answers. "And she has Madoc's affection while still being able to oppose him and not follow him into his blood-thirst. I find that position to be advantageous."
"I'm curious of your interest in Jude," the Roach looks at me. "It's no secret that you've long been tormenting Jude. I'm sure she's eager to enact some revenge. And you'd be eager to escape that."
"Clearly, she's given me no less than I deserve for having played along with my friends in their torment of her."
"So it was they who tormented her, not you?" The Bomb questions. "You had no role in it?"
"They enjoyed toying with morals, and I regretfully played along with it since I wanted to maintain my friendship with them. Clearly, I picked the wrong friends. I'm looking to find some better friends now."
"You think that will be us?" The Ghost motions his wine goblet towards me to prompt me to take my first drink to prove it safe.
"We've already worked together just now for a good end. I propose a toast—to the future of our friendship here." I raise my goblet though no one else does. They are waiting for me to take the first sip, which I do savor. I then take a larger portion into my mouth, half the goblet's contents, puffing my cheeks out so that they know I am not feigning my consumption.
"Well, I'll toast to that—to friendship." The Bomb smiles before tossing her head back for a full sip.
The Ghost and the Roach raise their cups but say nothing as they take their first taste.
"You've gained my trust in your taste for wine—at least, that this is the good stuff," the Ghost turns towards me, relaxing in his chair.
"I hope we can come to trust each other further still." I look him in the eye. "And also work to have Jude trust me, as I know I have much work to do there."
"So what is your interest in her?" The Bomb asks, and for a moment I worry she has discovered the truth of it.
"She's in a good position to negotiate something good for me, for us all, in exchange for my crown-bequeathing-hands. I think it is in all of our interests to work together." I reach for the open wine bottle to refill my own cup.
"And you think you can convince her to do something in your favor," the Roach gives me a skeptical look. "Despite all the ways you've tormented her before?
"You think I'm a fool to think that we might be able to get along?" I take another large swallow of wine. Already, I feel myself fast becoming a fool again.
Before the Roach can answer, the Bomb inserts her own question, giving me a smirk as she does: "How was it that she came to capture you?"
"I went to her, hoping to convince her of this plan."
"Really? Did you let her take you captive?" Her grin widens and continues to widen for every second I remain silent. "I saw you dancing with her—with a lustful look about you."
The Roach gives a smile to match that of the Bomb. "I imagine you'd like for us to believe that it is the wine that is causing you to blush just now."
"I would not have guessed that this fledgling grackle has a taste for mortal flesh," the Ghost gives me a grin as he adds more wine to my goblet after filling his. "I would have thought someone raised by Balekin would carry the same disregard he has towards mortals."
"Balekin doesn't own me."
"Clearly not, now it's Jude who does." The Ghost moves to open the second bottle of wine while the Bomb brings out a deck of cards. I agree to play with them. We're all friends here, after all. And, miraculously, they agree to keep my secret to themselves.
A power that they now hold over me. In my mind, I begin to curse Jude again. But as before, as always, there is not enough wine in the kingdom to get her out of my head. The Roach was right, I am a fool to think that I can convince Jude to do anything in my favor.
As the cards are passed and played, we bargain with dried beans found in the storeroom. I think of what I have to bargain with Jude. She could prod me around with the tip of her knife; tie me up, cut me down if I refuse to play her game. What was my bargaining chip? How might I reach her? How might I possibly be able to change her mind about me? She wanted power. Beyond my blood, what power did I have? Knowledge. Knowledge is power, and I do have that.
I have just proven to myself how powerful my knowledge is—powerful enough to bridge new friendships. And there is more that I have to share. I likely know many things she does not that could be very useful to her schemes, to all of our schemes.
As my new friends blather on about what they intend to buy with the wealth of beans they win, I decide to give them more knowledge to deepen our trust in one another.
"You don't seem to have much luck with cards," the Roach tells me as he makes off with more of my beans.
"Hard to have luck when I still only have one hand to use while you are each free to use two. I'd be happy to take on the burden of shuffling the deck if you'd untie my other one."
"Jude would be furious to see you here with both your hands untied," the Ghost says as he collects the cards to be shuffled.
"So let her be furious," I say. I touch the wine to my lips but never consume anything more than the liquid that lingers on them. I no longer want to be drunk but want my companions to think that I am to continue their trust in me. The Bomb was right. Scheming starts when there is a desire for something that is difficult to obtain. "Jude seems to do good work when she is furious. Though I'll give you something she can't give you—knowledge of where to find a lot of gold and jewels hidden here in the palace."
"You know of more than just wine as bounty for us to gather?" The Roach looks hungry from my mention of wealth.
"Untie my other hand, and I'll tell you where you can find a handsome pile of jewels whose owner no longer has the need for them."
Knowledge is power. Perhaps the one thing I have to use as a bargaining chip with Jude as well. Step 1: Get Jude to trust me, the quickest way of which is to tell her everything I know that would help her (our) scheme. Step 2: Convince her to bargain with Balekin or Madoc on my behalf—hopefully an estate far from Elfhame, far from all the hostility where I can spend my days in peace and revelry. Step 3: To have Jude; woo her if she is capable of being wooed (not an unreasonable thought being that Locke had gotten more than halfway there); gain her love—if it is possible for me to be loved.