The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air 2)

With half of the army gone along with the general, if Orlagh decides to strike, I have no idea how to repel her. Cardan will have to choose another Grand General and quickly.

And he will have to inform the lower Courts of Madoc’s defection, to make sure it is known he doesn’t speak with the voice of the High King. There must be a way to drive him back to the High Court. He is proud but practical. Perhaps the answer lies in something to do with Oak. Perhaps it means I ought to make my hopes for Oak’s rule less opaque. But all that depends on his not being seen as a traitor, although he is one. I am thinking over all this when a knock comes to my door.

Outside, a messenger, a lilac-skinned girl in royal livery. “The High King requires your presence. I am to conduct you to his chambers.”

I take an unsteady breath. No one else might have seen me, but Cardan cannot fail to guess. He knows whom I went to meet and how late I returned from that meeting. He saw the blood on my sleeve. You command the High King, not the other way around, I remind myself, but the reminder feels hollow.

“Let me change,” I say.

The messenger shakes her head. “The king made it clear I was to ask you to come at once.”

When I get to the royal chambers, I find Cardan alone, dressed simply, sitting in a throne-like chair. He looks wan, and his eyes still shine a bit too much, as though maybe poison lingers in his blood.

“Please,” he says. “Sit.”

Warily, I do.

“Once, you had a proposal for me,” he says. “Now I have one for you. Give me back my will. Give me back my freedom.”

I suck in a breath. I’m surprised, although I guess I shouldn’t be. No one wants to be under the control of another person, although the balance of power between us, in my view, has careened back and forth, despite his vow. My having command of him has felt like balancing a knife on its point, nearly impossible and probably dangerous. To give it up would mean giving up any semblance of power. It would be giving up everything. “You know I won’t do that.”

He doesn’t seem particularly put off by my refusal. “Hear me out. What you want from me is obedience for longer than a year and a day. More than half your time is gone. Are you ready to put Oak on the throne?”

I don’t speak for a moment, hoping he might think his question was rhetorical. When it becomes clear that’s not the case, I shake my head.

“And so you thought to extend my vow. Just how were you imagining doing that?”

Again, I have no answer. Certainly no good one.

It’s his turn to smile. “You thought I had nothing to bargain with.”

Underestimating him is a problem I’ve had before, and I fear will have again. “What bargain is possible?” I ask. “When what I want is for you to make the vow again, for at least another year, if not a decade, and what you want is for me to rescind the vow entirely?”

“Your father and sister tricked me,” Cardan says. “If Taryn had given me a command, I would have known it wasn’t you. But I was sick and tired and didn’t want to refuse you. I didn’t even ask why, Jude. I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that you didn’t need to give me orders for me to do things. I wanted to show you that I believed you’d thought it all through. But that’s no way to rule. And it’s not really even trust, when someone can order you to do it anyway.

“Faerie suffered with us at each other’s throats. You attempted to make me do what you thought needed to be done, and if we disagreed, we could do nothing but manipulate each other. That wasn’t working, but simply giving in is no solution. We cannot continue like this. Tonight is proof of that. I need to make my own decisions.”

“You said you didn’t mind so much, listening to my orders.” It’s a paltry attempt at humor, and he doesn’t smile.

Instead, he looks away, as though he can’t quite meet my eyes. “All the more reason not to allow myself that luxury. You made me the High King, Jude. Let me be the High King.”

I fold my arms protectively over my chest. “And what will I be? Your servant?” I hate that he’s making sense, because there is no way I can give him what he’s asking. I can’t step aside, not with Madoc out there, not with so many threats. And yet I cannot help recalling what the Bomb said about Cardan’s not knowing how to invoke his connection to the land. Or what the Roach said, about Cardan’s thinking of himself as a spy pretending to be a monarch.

“Marry me,” he says. “Become the Queen of Elfhame.”

I feel a kind of cold shock come over me, as though someone has told a particularly cruel joke, with me its target. As though someone looked into my heart and saw the most ridiculous, most childish desire there and used it against me. “But you can’t.”

“I can,” he says. “Kings and queens don’t often marry for something other than a political alliance, true, but consider this a version of that. And were you queen, you wouldn’t need my obedience. You could issue all your own orders. And I would be free.”

I can’t help thinking of how mere months ago I fought for a place in the Court, hoping desperately for knighthood and didn’t even get that.

The irony that it’s Cardan, who insisted that I didn’t belong in Faerie at all, offering me this makes it all the more shocking.

He goes on. “Moreover, since you plan on forcing me into abdicating for your brother, it’s not as though we’d be married forever. Marriages between kings and queens must last as long as they rule, but in our case, that’s not so long. You could have everything you want at the price of merely releasing me from my vow of obedience.”

My heart is pounding so hard that I fear it will stutter to a stop.

“You’re serious?” I manage.

“Of course I am. In earnest as well.”

I look for the trick, because this must be one of those faerie bargains that sound like one thing but turn out to be something very different. “So let me guess, you want me to release you from your vow for your promise to marry me? But then the marriage will take place in the month of never when the moon rises in the west and the tides flow backward.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “If you agree, I will marry you tonight,” he says. “Now, even. Right here. We exchange vows, and it is done. This is no mortal marriage, to require being presided over and witnessed. I cannot lie. I cannot deny you.”

“It’s not long until your vow is up,” I say, because the idea of taking what he’s offering—the idea that I could not only be part of the Court, but the head of it—is so tempting that it’s hard to believe it might not be a trap. “Surely the idea of a few more months tied to me can’t be such a hardship that you’d like to tie yourself to me for years.”

“As I said before, a lot can happen in a year and a day. Much has happened in half that time.”

We sit silently for a moment as I try to think. For the last seven months, the question of what would happen after a year and a day has haunted me. This is a solution, but it doesn’t feel at all practical. It’s the stuff of absurd daydream, imagined while dozing in a mossy glen, too embarrassing to even confess to my sisters.

Mortal girls do not become queens of Faerieland.

I imagine what it would be like to have my own crown, my own power. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be afraid to love him. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be scared of all the things I’ve been scared of my whole life, of being diminished and weak and lesser. Maybe I would become a little bit magic.

“Yes,” I say, but my voice fails me. It comes out all breath. “Yes.”

He leans forward in the chair, eyebrows raised, but he doesn’t wear his usual arrogant mien. I cannot read his expression. “To what are you agreeing?”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”

He gives me a wicked grin. “I had no idea it would be such a sacrifice.”

Frustrated, I flop over on the couch. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Marriage to the High King of Elfhame is largely thought to be a prize, a honor of which few are worthy.”

I suppose his sincerity could last but only so long. I roll my eyes, grateful that he’s acting like himself again, so I can better pretend not to be overawed by what’s about to happen. “So what do we do?”

I think of Taryn’s wedding and the part of the ceremony we did not witness. I think of my mother’s wedding, too, the vows she must have made to Madoc, and abruptly a shiver goes through me that I hope has nothing to do with premonition.

“It’s simple,” he says, moving to the edge of the chair. “We pledge our troth. I’ll go first—unless you wish to wait. Perhaps you imagined something more romantic.”

“No,” I say quickly, unwilling to admit to imagining anything to do with marriage at all.

He slides my ruby ring off his finger. “I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte, mortal ward of Madoc, to be my bride and my queen. Let us be wed until we wish for it to be otherwise and the crown has passed from our hands.”

As he speaks, I begin to tremble with something between hope and fear. The words he’s saying are so momentous that they’re surreal, especially here, in Eldred’s own rooms. Time seems to stretch out. Above us, the branches begin to bud, as though the land itself heard the words he spoke.

Catching my hand, he slides the ring on. The exchange of rings is not a faerie ritual, and I am surprised by it.

“Your turn,” he says into the silence. He gives me a grin. “I’m trusting you to keep your word and release me from my bond of obedience after this.”

I smile back, which maybe makes up for the way that I froze after he finished speaking. I still can’t quite believe this is happening. My hand tightens on his as I speak. “I, Jude Duarte, take Cardan, High King of Elfhame, to be my husband. Let us be wed until we don’t want to be and the crown has passed from our hands.”