Page 53 of The Court the Fae Forgot
Finch winked at the both of us. “Whatever I say to you, don’t let me gamble it all away, Princess,” he said.
Just like that, he was once again disappearing into the throng of shouting men at the far end of the tavern.
A dark cloud had fallen over Zev when I looked back at him.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, nudging Zev playfully when his scowl only deepened.
He shook his head again, but with a little more prodding, and another healthy draught of ale, he let out a resigned sigh.
“Finch and I, we’re opposites,” he said, after a long moment. “I understand your draw to him. Finch and females, women, fae …” he trailed off, his jaw working for a moment. “They’ve never been able to resist his …charms.”
I let my jaw drop open. “Oh, you know, you’re starting to sound awfully close tojealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Zev said, then, when it was clear I didn’t believe him, fixed me with a very serious look. “I’m just worried. For you.”
His hand squeezed mine again, and for a second, it made heat arise in me again, the same feeling that had washed over me when my hands had wandered over his tattooed muscles.
“I don’t want you getting hurt, Princess. There are far more important things for you to be thinking about right now than a fae who can’t keep his heart aligned with his head for more than fifteen minutes.”
I laughed off Zev’s warning, even as it settled into me.
He was right, of course.
I wasn’t so much of a fool to imagine, even for a minute, that Finch’s flirtations were anything more than just that—meaningless words meant to get a rise out of me for his own pleasure. I also wasn’t so much of a fool to think he wouldn’t take advantage of the way he still made me blush, if I let him.
Not that I was going to let him.
CHAPTERTWENTY
By the timeZev and I managed to wrangle Finch from the gambling tables, his purse now empty and his babbling words beseeching me to lend him more of the coin he’d given me for safekeeping, he was already half asleep. The other half of lady slumber claimed him the minute his head hit the lumpy, hay-stuffed mattress at the top of the stairs.
It was hardly a proper room that we’d been rented. At least in that the landlord hadn’t been entirely dishonest when we were initially told there was nothing left. It was more of a half-attic, half storage closet, the angled roof slanting sharply to either side with the bed shoved into the corner and a tiny, half-shattered window at the end, looking out over the street below.
There was no other furniture, there was no room for it—not amidst the crowded tangle of storage boxes and shelves piled high with stained linens, cracked mugs, and more than a few objects so questionable, I didn’t dare look at them too long. It was a sort of collection of found objects, a museum of things that had been left behind, parted from their original owners, and then stowed in the dark recesses of the inn to collect dust.
I found myself drawn to them as Zev began working to untangle Finch from his alcohol-drenched clothes. It was no small feat it seemed, even for the largest of the three fae. The attic was alive with the sounds of grunts from the gentle giant as he attempted to prop Finch up so he could peel off the now see-through fabric of his shirt, and then groans as each attempt was thwarted by Finch’s apparent penchant for sleep-punching.
The floorboards creaked beneath each of my steps, no matter how softly I stepped. The last thing I wanted was to wake any sleeping patrons below, but I couldn’t stop myself from browsing the lengths of the shelves, my fingers leaving tracks in the dust that had settled for years along them.
The tavern was rowdier than ever, now that we were gone. I needn’t have worried about the creaking floorboards, not really, not when the band had begun to play even louder as if to celebrate the fae’s departure from their midst. I could still feel the way eyes watched us, Zev and me, as we half-dragged Finch from the gaming tables. If Finch hadn’t already made a very public display of the fact that only half his money had been lost yet, I wouldn’t have expected them to let us leave. They surely hoped he’d be back to lose the rest of it before we left.
Their greed, it seemed, was stronger than their hatred—and Finch had already given them a taste of his wealth that could make even the most hateful of men willing to put up with our existence, if just for a little while.
I’d be worried they might follow us up with the intention of robbing us, but Zev had been quick to reassure me that was unlikely to happen.
“People here, they might not have gates on their walls, but they have a healthy fear of the fae,” he’d said, one hand around Finch’s waist and the other propping his companion’s head up by pulling on his short hair. He’d taken the rest of Finch’s purse from me at my request, doing so conspicuously in the sight of all the inn before we’d left, just in case anyone had the gall to try and take it from me.
He hadn’t needed to tell me why. I knew why. They were the only ones still certain I was even fae. I didn’t walk onto the street demanding to be looked at, a curiosity to be ogled and whispered about.
I was grateful for that, at least, and would be—however long it lasted. The stares were bad enough just for being with the fae. I could only imagine the weight of them if they knew I was fae, too.
Still, I didn’t feel as confident as Zev that these people were afraid enough of the fae not to trysomething. They might not bother Zev and Finch, the two of them forming a deadly duo, so long as no one heard the depths of Finch’s snores, first. Each breath he drew was loud enough to shake dust from the rafters over his head. Which he did.
“Don’t tell me you’re still worried about him?”
I started a little.
I’d found myself leaning at the far end of the room, my shoulder pressing into the wall beside the window as I looked out into the darkness for any sign of Shiel’s hastily-pitched tent. I’d wondered if he’d fallen asleep already, or if he, like us, had found the city to somehow be even worse company than the forest.
