The hair stands up on my arms. Why do humans wish for magic when this is what is done with it? I can’t imagine a world in which the greediest of my kind could wield that kind of power.
Then the implications of this click into place, and I have to wrap my arms around myself. They have to take human lives to heal or have access to their powers, and that was why the tribute showed up when Finn was sick. But no. Finn wouldn’t do that. He’s not a murderer. He must have found some work-around for the curse.
I lock the thought away and rub my hands over my arms, trying to find warmth. “Why don’t they just . . . curse her back?”
“Their power is too weak, even as they sacrifice human after human.” His eyes grow distant—as if he’s not even there. As if he’s looking far into the past and not at me.
“How is this even possible? Why hasn’t this happened before if it’s so easy to cripple an entire court?”
He shakes his head. “Because the cost of such power is too great. The queen was mad with jealousy when she made this curse, and alongside her summer solstice sacrifice, she gave something else to bend the magic to her will. She made the Seelie powerless to hurt the Unseelie—thus the end of the Great Fae War.”
“That can’t be true,” I say, shaking my head. “Finn was hurt by one of the queen’s sentries. I stitched him up myself.”
“Perhaps the sentry worked for the queen, but the Seelie cannot wound the Unseelie.”
I remember what Finn said about assuming that the guards were Seelie when they were actually Wild Fae working for the golden queen. I couldn’t understand why the Wild Fae were more dangerous to him than the Seelie. Now I know. “Why did no one tell me any of this?”
“The curse prevents the fae from speaking of it—a clever loophole the queen included to keep humans from learning the truth.”
“Then why can you speak of it?”
“Goblins are the keepers of realms. We gather the secrets, the histories, and the stories. No curse or spell can keep us from gathering or sharing any information we wish, though my kin and I know better than to anger the queen by sharing her secrets widely. Her wrath is great. Just ask the Sluagh that lurk about the seaside palace.” He grins at this.
“Why would she allow them to use humans to get their powers back? Why give them that opportunity when the fae have so little regard for human life as it is?”
“Because the queen wanted the Unseelie to become as evil as they’re rumored to be. She wants them to kill humans. It’s her way of punishing all humans for the one who stole King Oberon’s heart.”
“And yet she wants her own son to marry a human.” I’ve never liked the queen. I may have pitied her that first night when I saw the emptiness in her eyes, but when I learned about the camps, I began to hate her. But it is still hard to imagine the sweet mage’s apprentice I fell for coming from someone so spiteful. So diabolical.
“She wants her son to thrive, to continue on after her and to be more powerful than even she could be. It is her son who wants to marry a human—a very specific human with the loveliest fire-red hair.”
He tucks my hair into the pouch at his waist. “I’ve given you more than is fair for your offering.” He lifts his hand, his fingers pressed together to snap.
“Wait!”
His hand drops to his side. “Yes?”
“Can the curse be broken?”
He shakes his head. “You push your luck. Good night, Fire Girl.”
“Stop.” I pull another lock forward from the back of my hair. “If I give you more hair, will you tell me how to break the curse?”
He merely extends a hand and slowly opens his palm.
I close my eyes as I shear away another lock. My maids will have a fit when they see what I’ve done to myself. But if I can save Finn and those children in the camps, if I can save Lark and keep Pretha from having something as simple as a scrape cause that look of terror on her face . . .
I place the lock in the palm of his wrinkled hand.
“You can break the curse. For twenty years the Unseelie have tried and failed, but you are unique in that there are two paths to end the Unseelie’s torment.”
He starts to tuck my hair away, but I grab it before he can. “How?”
His eyes blaze in anger, and he yanks the hair out of my grasp. “The curse comes from the queen’s blackened bitter heart. As long as she sacrifices one of her own each year to feed the curse, it stands.”