Chapter Eighteen
I have a vague recollection of Marion reading at my bedside by candlelight.
Then, of Greer rebandaging my hands. “This is what you get for jumping into the Thames with open wounds,” she lectures, but her voice is gentle, her face etched with concern.
Will the Crown pay my family if I die like this, or will I become just another Benton girl sacrificed to the gossip mill? It is a little funny, I suppose, to attempt a coup against the queen and die of an infection instead.
The dreams set in, places where the colors bend all wrong. I’m at a coronation, a crown on my head. I’m at a tea party, and the walls are melting like chocolate left out in the sun. I’m cantering on the back of a horse through a land that looks nothing like this one.
There’s a strong, calloused hand against my forehead, soothing, like he
could brush away the fever.
Brown hair. Sharp eyes.
That one feels the most real.
When I wake again, it’s Olive who is keeping watch. She gasps from where she sits on the chair placed next to my bed and drops her book to the
floor.
“You’re up!” she exclaims.
I’m more lucid than I’ve been in days, though still too weak to lift my head.
“We thought you were going to die for certain!” she continues, and I wonder if Olive has ever had a thought she didn’t immediately voice aloud.
Emmy appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Don’t say that.” She turns to call down the staircase. “Ivy is awake!”
There’s a flurry of footsteps, then a pile of girls tripping into my room.
They’re wearing silk gowns, diamonds in their hair, dressed for a ball. Greer drops her fan of albatross feathers as she rushes to me. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” I croak. The other girls laugh, but something
brittle and sorrowful crosses Greer’s beautiful face.
Lottie pushes past where everyone is congregated in the doorway. “Give her space!” she calls as she wipes away the hair plastered to my forehead and props me up with pillows. My bones feel one hundred years old, but the burning of the fever has receded. I test the joints of my fingers and find them
less swollen. I’m past the worst of it.
“How long have I been out?” I ask.
“Three days,” Olive chirps.y candlelight.
I’ve missed Wednesday’s string quartet concert, and now I’m missing thejumping into Harrowfields’ ball. I assume there have been no more trials in my absence,ntle, her face given that no one is sporting visible wounds, but I’ve wasted so much potential time with Bram.become just Lottie disappears to find broth for my dinner, and each girl bids me herttle funny, I best before filing out the door for the carriages.
It’s another day before I’m out of bed and allowed to continue activitiesng. I’m at a with the others. Everyone but Faith babies me, even Greer, who seems tos are melting have softened.horse through I remember what Olive said the first day in Caledonia Cottage: I was hoping we’d all be friends. I never shared her hope, but perhaps a near-deathhing, like he experience was all it took. Faith hasn’t brought up my late-night escapade again.
The next day, I’m finally strong enough to be out of bed, and I’m eager to be outside. Lottie is dressing me for my first full outing since my sickness, ae gasps from turn around the park, when she slips a note into my hand. She continues tor book to the button my dress as if nothing has happened, but I tuck the square of parchment away in my palm. I can’t read it now, with Faith watching.
The larger green of the palace grounds is open to the public, and today’sak to lift my walk feels as if we are on display. People whisper behind fans as we pass, judgments on our beauty, our charms, which of us will make the besttinues, and I princess.
I’ve got a lace parasol in one hand and the other looped through the crookhe doorjamb. of Olive’s arm. Olive is a perfect companion for these sorts of things, as she never stops talking, so I don’t need to say a word.nto my room.
“The thing about croissants is you have to fold the dough into layers—”a ball. Greer She’s been droning on about dough lamination and filling technique for ages.ght you were I tune Olive out and take in the gardens, vibrantly green from a damp English winter. There’s a patch of purple crocuses along the gentle hill and aut something
tangle of rosebushes beyond that. orway. “GiveThere’s a gentle breeze today, but the shawl tied in a knot around my ribs forehead andkeeps me from shivering. My bonnet hangs loose down my back; it’s not old, but theexactly proper, but the sun on my skin after so many days indoors feels like nd find themheaven.
Faith and Marion stroll arm in arm ahead of us, Emmy and Greer at our heels.
Our group stills as two horses round the path. The riders slow to a walk m missing theand take off their top hats as they approach. my absence,“Lady Ivy, you’re up!” Bram hops down from his horse, a wide smile on ted so muchhis face. Emmett stays mounted, looking down at me with an expression I can’t decipher. bids me herThere’s a flurry of skirts as the other girls crowd around us, all talking over each other at Bram. Greer is asking if he likes her new hat. Olive is nue activitiesasking if he got the basket of scones she sent over. Faith trips over the toe of who seems toher shoe artfully and ends up in Bram’s arms.
He rights her quickly with a grin. Emmy sidesteps in front of her, saying, I was“I’ve always been praised for my balance.” a near-deathHigh up on his horse, Emmett jerks his chin at me. Do something, he ght escapademouths. The other girls are too distracted by Bram to see.
What? I mouth back.
I’m eager toEmmett raises a gloved hand to his forehead and mimics swooning. my sickness, aThat sounds humiliating. No. continues toEmmett clears his throat loudly. “My, Lady Ivy, you look rather wan.” he square of“I’m feeling quite well, thank you for your concern, Your Highness.”
“No. No. Brother, doesn’t she look poorly? You’d best get her inside.” If , and today’sEmmett weren’t so out of reach, I’d kick him in the shins. s as we pass,Bram looks down at me with concern. “Yes, you’ve been so ill.” ake the bestI swallow my annoyance at Emmett and remind myself that I’ve got a role to play. I have to make Bram love me. Emmett is right, even if he is ugh the crookannoying about it. hings, as she“I’ll ask the other girls to take me back to the cottage,” I say weakly. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining your nice afternoon.” I dab a handkerchief at my nto layers—”brow and flutter my eyes, really selling it. que for ages.“You’re not ruining anything. I insist on seeing you home safely.” He’s from a dampas chivalrous as I expected he’d be. ntle hill and aI catch Emmett’s eye just as I go to turn down the path. “Your horse is a
beauty,” I say to Bram, remembering Emmett’s advice. ound my ribsEmmett canters off, leaving in a cloud of dust. back; it’s notHis eyes crinkle as he grins. “Her name is Mab, and I promise she’s more
ors feels likepolite than my brother.”
“Do you have any others?” I ask.
Greer at our“A few, though none I like as much as her.”
“I’m feeling better, now that I’m out of the direct sun. Perhaps we could ow to a walktake a detour to the stables? I’d like to see them.”
Bram considers for a moment. “You sure you’re feeling well enough?” wide smile on“Very sure.” expression IWe cut across the lawn to the mews on the other side of the palace, shaded by trees and far from the watchful eyes of the viscountess and the s, all talkingother girls. It’s improper, but unlikely anyone will see us. hat. Olive isAs we walk, I remember something else Emmett said, about Bram liking ver the toe ofthe fruit here, since it’s different from what grows in the Otherworld.
I produce a green apple and a pocketknife from the tie-on pocket hanging f her, saying,down the hip of my walking dress.
I always thought the ability to cut slices of fruit while walking was one of , hethe more stupid etiquette lessons we were given, but I liked that it gave me an excuse to carry a knife, and it’s certainly coming in handy now.
I pierce the skin and carve out a neat little wedge. “Would you like some?” I offer it to Bram on the tip of my knife.
He grins and takes it. “You know,” he says, still chewing, “we have different fruits in the Otherworld.”
I could laugh. Emmett clearly knows his brother well. her inside.” If“Really?” I ask.
“Oh yes. Something like a pomegranate but as big as a dinner plate, with seeds as sweet as sugar, and berries blacker than night that taste of smoke and got asalt.” I wish I had a notepad. I can’t wait to write Ethel about all of this. even if he is“Which do you like better, the food here or back—” I nearly say home but I don’t know if Bram considers the Otherworld home anymore. It’s an ay weakly. “Iunsettling concept, a world near to ours but somewhere just out of reach, erchief at mymaybe that’s why I was so obsessed with the idea of it as a child.
Bram must glean my meaning because he takes a moment to consider, safely.” He’sthen answers. “The food here, but the drinks there. Fizzy cordials that taste of lemon and roses, wine brewed from night-blooming flowers . . .” He’s got a our horse is afar-off look in his eyes as he imagines a place I can’t see.
“You must miss it.” I think of my own golden childhood, how it pains me that I can never go back. se she’s moreHe thinks for a moment, and our boots crunch along the gravel path. I take the opportunity to look up at him, haloed by green leaves. He’s got a freckle on his angular jawline I hadn’t noticed before. He’s so beautiful it hurts to see him straight-on like this, like looking directly into the sun. I aps we couldwonder if I will ever get used to it if I marry him, or if I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling this starstruck.
He runs a hand through his wavy hair, streaked with sun-bleached gold.
Brown hair. A strong hand on my forehead soothing away a fever. f the palace,The stable boys scatter as we enter the sun-dappled barn. We walk slowly ntess and thealong the stalls, petting the velvety noses of the horses.
“I want to thank you for visiting me while I was ill.”
Bram likingHe furrows his brows in confusion. “I’ve been away.”
“Oh, it must have been something I dreamed.” That’s humiliating. cket hangingHe stops in his tracks and gestures to a stack of hay bales. He lays out his coat for me, and I lower myself beside him. was one ofThere’s a deep furrow between his brows, and he twirls the thick gold it gave me anring on his pinkie. “I actually wanted to apologize for that. I sent flowers but you deserve more than that. I wish I could have helped.” uld you like“Healed me like you did the day of the Pact Parade, you mean?”
A crease appears between his brows. “No. I would’ve if I could’ve, g, “we havethough. My magic isn’t as developed as my mother’s—more parlor tricks than anything. I can manage small cuts and bruises, but not much more.”
Emmett’s face flashes into my mind. I reach out and brush the sleeve of Bram’s shirt. “I want to get to know you better.” er plate, withHis mouth pulls into a half smile. “Is that so?” of smoke andI nod. “Tell me more about magic.” Emmett did say that people valued authenticity. I spent most of my life longing for information about faeries. If home,only ten-year-old Ivy could see me now. more. It’s an“No one ever asks me these things.” He smiles. “Small magic, the kind I out of reach,can do, is innate.” There’s a dandelion patch growing along the edge of the barn. Bram waves his hand, and it bursts into a cluster of pink tulips. I gasp. to consider,Bram just laughs. “It’s really not all that useful.” The tulips crumble to s that taste ofash as he says it. .” He’s got aHe closes his fist and opens it, revealing a shiny gold coin. He hands it to me, and I’m surprised to find it ice cold.
w it pains me“Wait,” he says softly. And the coin melts into a small puddle of water in
my palm. gravel path. II laugh in awe. s. He’s got a“Big magic, the kind my mother has, is the product of years of study in o beautiful itpalace schools. I never had the patience for it, and I came here when I was so to the sun. Iyoung. There’s no one to teach me but her, and she doesn’t have the time or nd the rest ofthe interest.”
My breath catches at the mention of the Otherworld. There are a million other questions on the tip of my tongue. What does it look like, what does it smell like, does it rain all the time like it does here, is everyone there as walk slowlybeautiful as you, how does the magic work?
“I have a confession,” I say.
He raises his brows. “Is that so?”
Color rises in my face, and I suddenly regret saying it, but there’s no turning back now. “I spent half my life completely obsessed with faeries. I e lays out hiscollected every bit of information I could, drew pictures of the Otherworld, made my sister and Greer play faeries with me.” I don’t say that I never quite he thick goldgrew out of it. “We had this book that our old cook would read to us, Faeries nt flowers butof the British Isles. I must have traced the artwork inside at least a hundred times.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth. I shouldn’t have admitted to owning f I could’ve,illegal information about faeries to the son of the queen. “I’m sorry!” I parlor tricksexclaim. “The book was burned the moment my mother realized what it was.” the sleeve ofBram studies my face. “I’m not going to tell. In fact, I’m a little relieved.
No one ever talks to me about this. It’s like they’re uncomfortable with the idea of me being different.” eople valued“I like that you’re different.” I mean it. “And never doubt that I’ll always out faeries. Ifwant to hear more.”
He presses his lips together. “Home can be difficult to talk about. Things kind Ididn’t end well between my parents. I felt stuck in the middle.” e edge of the“Is that why you decided to come here?”
He shrugs. “It wasn’t much of a decision. My mother and father once s crumble toruled together as king and queen of the Otherworld, but they disagreed on a few things, particularly on how humans should be treated. My mother, like He hands it tomany in her court, was fond of using humans as playthings, but my father had a soft heart and no stomach for it. When my mother tried to oust him in a
le of water incoup soon after I was born, he had no choice but to close the door permanently between our worlds.”
“That’s how she ended up on the battlefield that day?” I marvel. “How s of study indid you father defeat her?” when I was soHe looks so sad I regret asking. “Iron.” The word is only vaguely e the time orfamiliar. I must have read it in Mrs. Osbourne’s faerie book.
“I don’t know what that is.” are a millionBram shrugs. “I suppose you wouldn’t. It’s a natural element, a type of what does itmetal you can melt down to make things like weapons, tools, chains. She had one there asall mention of it scrubbed from history.”
“And your father used it against her?”
“He was afraid of her. He had good reason to be.”
“So she came here instead.” ut there’s noBram nods. “She couldn’t go home, but she still needed to be queen of with faeries. Isomething.”
Otherworld,“If the door was locked, how did you get in?”
I never quiteBram looks down at the ground solemnly. “My father may have been Faeriessofthearted, but he was still a king, and the closer I came to being of age, the ast a hundredbigger threat I was to him. Court in the Otherworld is vicious and competitive. Everyone lives forever, so the only way to succeed to the throne ed to owningis by killing its previous occupant. My father feared that I was still loyal to ’m sorry!” Imy mother, or maybe just plain old ambitious, and he became paranoid that I lized what itwas trying to kill him. The enchantments he put on the door allowed only our bloodline to travel through. He threw me out in the middle of the night and ittle relieved.locked it permanently behind me.” able with theGrief roars through me, grief for Bram at being cast out of his homeland, for his father’s betrayal, and grief for myself at this final blow to my theory at I’ll alwaysthat Lydia could have fallen through to another world. She was right, I am childish. Lydia isn’t a girl from a faerie tale, she’s just a girl. about. ThingsBut Bram has shown me that magic does exist, even if it’s small.
“I’m so sorry, Bram.”
He reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I d father oncewas crying. It’s on the tip of his finger, and he turns it into a snowflake sagreed on abefore it melts into a bead of liquid once more. mother, like“It’s all right,” he says. “I’m here, aren’t I?” my father had“It’s so stupid. When my sister went missing, I thought that maybe she oust him in awas . . . there.”
ose the doorBram looks at me, not with pity but with shared sadness. “I’m so sorry, Ivy.” marvel. “HowHe fidgets with the ring on his right pinkie finger. He has a band of gold on all ten of his fingers, but this is the most delicate band, inlaid with a tiny only vaguelypearl.
I gesture to the rings. “Do they mean anything?”
Bram shrugs. “Tokens from home.” ent, a type ofHe slips the pearl ring onto my pointer finger. ains. She had“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Why?”
“When I look across ballrooms and see it on your finger, it will feel like I am touching you, even when I’m not.” be queen ofI blush, and he reaches out and tips my chin up to look at him. “I want to know you too, Ivy Benton.”
I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to kiss me, and I want to kiss him too, in y have beenan abstract sort of way, but I don’t feel ready. I take the apple and knife out ng of age, theof my pocket just to have something to do with my hands. Bram watches vicious andintently as I carve out another wedge. I offer it to him on the tip of my knife to the throneonce more. still loyal toHis eyes bore directly into mine as he leans down, as if to kiss me, then aranoid that Iwraps his full lips around the slice and eats it directly off the knife. wed only ourI exhale shakily, but he just grins as he chews. the night andI place the apple and the knife back in my pocket, but my knuckles bump the folded-up note Lottie handed me earlier in the day. is homeland,Later, in the privacy of my room, I unfold it. In unfamiliar, boyish to my theoryhandwriting are the words I believe in you. EDV. And below that, a tiny s right, I amsketch of a shrimp with a heart right in the middle of its head.
en realized I a snowflake
at maybe she
Bram looks at me, not with pity but with shared sadness. “I’m so sorry, Ivy.”
He fidgets with the ring on his right pinkie finger. He has a band of gold on all ten of his fingers, but this is the most delicate band, inlaid with a tiny pearl.
I gesture to the rings. “Do they mean anything?”
Bram shrugs. “Tokens from home.”
He slips the pearl ring onto my pointer finger.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“Why?”
“When I look across ballrooms and see it on your finger, it will feel like I am touching you, even when I’m not.”
I blush, and he reaches out and tips my chin up to look at him. “I want to know you too, Ivy Benton.”
I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to kiss me, and I want to kiss him too, in an abstract sort of way, but I don’t feel ready. I take the apple and knife out of my pocket just to have something to do with my hands. Bram watches intently as I carve out another wedge. I offer it to him on the tip of my knife once more.
His eyes bore directly into mine as he leans down, as if to kiss me, then wraps his full lips around the slice and eats it directly off the knife.
I exhale shakily, but he just grins as he chews.
I place the apple and the knife back in my pocket, but my knuckles bump the folded-up note Lottie handed me earlier in the day.
Later, in the privacy of my room, I unfold it. In unfamiliar, boyish handwriting are the words I believe in you. EDV. And below that, a tiny sketch of a shrimp with a heart right in the middle of its head.
