Page 139 of Trick

Nicu’s shaggy head lolled against me, and his ear pressed to my bodice. I covered his other ear to protect him from the noises surrounding us. Prisoners bellowed, cackled, or wept through the cage bars. Outlines bumped into walls, and hands slapped the grilles. Across the way, one hunched body said nothing, did nothing but rock in place.

A tale leaked out of Nicu about anthills and half-wit guards, which made less and less sense as the child drifted. At last, his words faded into sleep. When he next awoke, I prayed this place would be nothing but a bad dream.

I eased Nicu down and noticed a familiar red band peeking from his pocket. Dirt smudged the ribbon, the material identical to the one around his wrist.

A memory surged to the forefront. It yanked me back to a time when I’d tied a similar ribbon to a bush while chasing after Poet. My gut churned. I had an awful vision of Nicu finding it when he wandered from Jinny and ventured farther from the woods, expecting to see more strips, as he would have in the cottage.

Then the carnival and its garlands had come into view. Then the castle.

With all that had happened, I’d forgotten about that ribbon. If I hadn’t, Nicu might not have ended up here. The possibility ran its awful course, the truth clenching my stomach.

I rolled the hood of my cloak into a pillow for Nicu, tucked the material snug around him, and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat made of straw, brittle and thin.

I swiped my sleeve across my eyes, ridding myself of the evidence that I’d been crying. I stood, crossed a thousand leagues to the cell door, and bade the guard to let me out. I had to do this. The sooner I left, the sooner I would return prepared.

If need be, I would reduce this pit to rubble.

And I wouldn’t do it alone.

31

Poet

I knew it by then. For she taught it to me by then.

Yet I was about to learn that lesson once again.

A jester doesn’t see everything that’s coming …

*

The artist wing was deserted when we reached the private hollow leading to my chambers. We walked without speaking, our footfalls echoing. Two motives split me in half, and the closer we got to my rooms, the more tangibly I felt that divide.

Eliot paused beside the door. An uncertain look crossed his face as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, it’s been a long day. I should go.”

Indeed, no truer words could be spoken. He should leave, though not before I made something clear. Thusly, I jutted my head toward the entrance. “A word first?”

The minstrel blinked. “In there?”

My lips quirked. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t. It’s just that …”

“Eliot, I might have a reputation for fuckery and mockery, but not when it comes to anyone who lives in this wing.”

He laughed, nervous. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I didn’t think so. Nevertheless, it warranted saying.” I inclined my head toward the room. “’Tis only for a moment, for this can’t be uttered in public.”

“I … yes, of course.”

I stepped in after him and closed the door behind us, keenly aware of the motions. A fire crackled in the grate, spreading warmth through the room. It illuminated the rug, where I once draped Briar after we danced, where I lowered myself over her body and—

A muscle pounded in my temple. I wrenched my gaze from the rug.

Eliot glanced around with interest, having never been inside before. I motioned to the chairs standing before the flames, then reclined into one and waited as Eliot hedged.

So I wasn’t the only one conflicted. I knew why on both our parts, and it was precisely for that same reason I needed to talk to him.