Oak Greenbriar Quotes

I raise a plastic glass. “To family.” “And Faerieland,” says Taryn, raising hers. “And pizza,” says Oak. “And stories,” says Heather. “And new beginnings,” says Vivi. Cardan smiles, his gaze on me. “And scheming great schemes.” To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.

But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.

I adore you. I want to play games with you. I want to tell you all the truths I have to give. And if you really think you’re a monster, then let’s be monsters together.

I feel a little pummelled by Oak's beauty. If I look at him too long, I want to take a bite out of him.

Madoc seemed like the sort to roast him over a fire, consume his flesh, and call it love. By then, I had become familiar with love of that kind.

Oak desperately wants to stop Cardan from talking, but short of kicking him or throwing something at his head, he has no idea how.

Whom have you fallen in love with?' I ask. 'Well, there was you,' the prince says. 'When we were children.' 'Me?' I ask incredulously. 'You didn't know?' He appears to be merry in the face of my astonishment. 'Oh yes. Though you were a year my senior, and it was hopeless, I absolutely mooned over you. When you were gone from Court, I refused any food but tea and toast for a month.' I cannot help snorting at the sheer absurdity of his statement. He puts a hand to my heart. 'Ah, and now you laugh. It is my curse to adore cruel women.

Have I ever told you how much you sound like Madoc when you talk about murder?” Cardan said, opening one eye. “Because you do.” Oak expected his sister to be angry, but she only laughed. “That must be what you like about me.” “That you’re terrifying?” he asked, his drawl becoming exaggeratedly languorous, almost a purr. “I adore it.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes. The king’s arms came around her, and she shivered once, as though letting something fall away.

You will make an interesting High King,' I tell him. He looks alarmed. 'I most definitely will not. The Folk adore Cardan and they're terrified of my sister, two excellent things. I hope they rule Elfhame for a thousand years and then pass it down to one of a dozen offspring. No need for me to be involved.

I am ready to eat out of the prince's hand as tamely as a dove. It's too easy. I'm hungry for kindness. Hungry for attention. I want and want and want.

Who calls at Habetrot's chamber?' comes a whispery voice. Oak raises his eyebrows at me, as though he intends me to answer. Fine, if that's what he wants. 'Suren, whose garb has been deemed inadequate by an obnoxious prince, despite the fact I've seen people go naked to revels.' Rather than be insulted, Oak laughs delightedly.

They taught you a lot of things, your family,' I say. The sleight of hand, the wall climbing, the swordsmanship. 'Not to die,' he says. 'That's what they attempted to teach me, anyway. Not to die.' Considering how often he throws himself directly into the path of danger, I do not think they taught him well enough.

She's going to want to wear your skull for a hat,' Oak warns. There is an uncomfortable shifting among the ex-falcons. Perhaps they are recalling their own choice to denounce her, their own punishment. 'And Cardan is going to laugh and laugh when she does.

Vow she won't be harmed,' Oak says, breathing hard. 'Also me. I would like not to be harmed as well.

Pain is better than being dead.

You ought to be on my side,' he says, looking hurt. 'I was poisoned.' 'That's another good reason for me to go in your place,' Tiernan puts in. 'Pragmatist,' says Oak, as though it's a dirty word.

I raise a plastic glass. 'To family.' 'And Faerieland,' says Taryn, raising hers. 'And pizza,' says Oak. 'And stories,' says Heather. 'And new beginnings,' says Vivi. Cardan smiles, his gaze on me. 'And scheming great schemes.' To family and Faerieland and pizza and stories and new beginnings and scheming great schemes. I can toast to that.

The money,' I ask. 'Was it real?' 'Oh, yes,' the Prince confirms. 'My sister would be wroth with us otherwise.' 'Wroth.' I echo the archaic word, although I know what it means. Pissed off. 'Super wroth,' he says with a grin.

I'm never killing her,' Oak says softly, so softly I almost don't hear. 'Then you better hope she doesn't kill you,' the general replies.

You can't help trying to charm every snake you come upon, no matter how cold-blooded or vicious. Let that one be.

Nothing he says is a lie, but all his words are riddles.

We don't need her!' Oak shouts, the first time I have really seen his emotions out of his control. 'And I don't want her.' The words hurt, the more because he cannot lie.

If I fall, you must promise not to laugh. I may still be a little bit poisoned.' ... I wonder exactly how much a little bit means. 'Maybe I should be the one to go first.' 'Nonsense,' he says. 'If you weren't behind me, then who would break my fall?

Next time you'll remember not to drop your guard,' the knight says, observing the wounds on Oak's cheek. 'My vanity took the worst of the blow,' he says. 'Worried about your pretty face?' the knight asks. 'There is too little beauty in the world,' says the prince airily. 'But that is not my area of greatest conceit.

Would you consider actually marrying me?” She looks up at him, obviously surprised and a little suspicious. “Really?” He presses a kiss to her hair. “If you did, I would be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to prove the sincerity of my feelings.” “What’s that?” she asks, peering up at him. “Become a king of some place instead of running away from all royal responsibility.” She laughs. “You wouldn’t rather sit by my throne on a leash?” “That does seem easier,” he admits. “I would make an excellent consort.” “Then I’ll have to marry you, Prince Oak of the Greenbriar line,” Wren says, with a sharp-toothed smile. “Just to make you suffer.

He touches my cheek lightly with his fingers. 'You- I thought-' I stare up into his eyes, puzzled by his expression. 'Are you hurt?' he asks. I shake my head. The prince turns away from me abruptly.

Someone tried to kill me. Again. Poison. Again. Someone else tried to recruit me into a scheme where we would kill my sister and Cardan, so I could rule in their place. When I told them no, they tried to kill me. With a knife, that time.' 'A poisoned knife?' He laughed. 'No, just a regular one. But it hurt.

When we return from the north,” he promises, hand to his heart in an exaggerated way that lets me know he considers this a silly vow rather than a solemn one, “they will wake to find their shoes filled with fine, fat rubies. They can use them to buy new leggings and another roast chicken.” “How will they sell rubies?” I ask him. “Why not leave them something more practical?” He rolls his eyes. “As a prince of Faerie, I flatly refuse to leave cash. It’s inelegant.” Tiernan shakes his head at both of us, then pokes at the foodstuffs, selecting a handful of nuts. “Gift cards are worse,” Oak says when I do not respond. “I would bring shame on the entire Greenbriar line if I left a gift card.” At that, I can’t help smiling a little, despite my heavy heart. “You’re ridiculous.

I have struck the Prince of Elfhame. Oh, I am in trouble now.

I feel helpless, as though he's herding me around a chessboard to checkmate.

The prince opens his tawny fox eyes and looks around. When he sees me, he slumps back down, as though relieved that I am still here.

It's beautiful, no?' he asks, a little smile on his face. A light in his fox eyes. It is, of course. All of Faerie is beautiful like this, with carnage hidden just beneath.

You're in a prickly mood,' he tells me. As though I am not all-over briars at all times.

Oak makes a low moan and tries to sit up. 'Jude,' he mutters. 'Jude, we can't just let him die.

When he lay down in a pile of rushes and closed his eyes, I crept up to him and carefully covered him in dry leaves so that he would be warm.

They say that he can talk flowers into opening their petals at night, as though his face were that of the sun. He'll steal your heart.

And while I didn't think he was my friend, it didn't mean I couldn't be his.

Will you tell me about the constellations?' I asked him. 'I thought you didn't like me,' he said. 'I can pretend,' I told him. 'For one night.

He gives me a smile, a strange light in his eyes. 'If we were capable of putting mistrust aside, we might be a formidable pair.

Though he means me harm, I will miss him. I will miss the way he moves through the world, as though nothing could be so terrible that he might not laugh at it.

Come with me beneath the waves,' she calls to him. 'Drown with me in delight.' He laughs a little shakily. 'A compelling offer, but I must see my quest to its conclusion.

Because I don't like being the fool who'd been tricked. I like games, but I hate to lose.

He is wearing his golden armour again, the boy who'd been my friend disappearing into a man I don't know.

Have you ridden before?' he asks me, and I return him the look he deserves. ... 'No? And yet you would look so well with your hair whipping behind you.' Oak says. 'Wild as the Folk of old.

Isn't that sweet?' Hyacinthe says, the first words I've heard him speak. 'Riding your sister's horse into battle. Have you anything of your own, prince? Or just girls' castoffs and scraps?

I know you're angry with me...' I begin. 'Am I?' he asks, looking up at me as though there is a bitter taste in his mouth. 'Maybe I'm glad that you gave me an opportunity to be my worst self.

Don't listen to him.' He shakes his head with an exasperated look at his father. 'He's full of bad old-guy advice.' 'Just because I'm bad,' Madoc says with a grunt, 'doesn't mean the advice is.

Oak was never taught to fight any way but to kill. He doesn't know any elegant parries. He cannot show off. All he can do is deal death. And once he starts, he doesn't stop. I'm not sure he can.

His grin broadens, that charming smile, with which he could coax ducks to bring their own eggs to him for his breakfast. With which he could make delicate negotiations over a prisoner seem like nothing more than a game.

At seventeen, he has grown tall, towering over me, lithe and finely muscled. His hair catches the moonlight, warm gold threaded with platinum, bangs parting around small goat horns, eyes of shocking amber, and a constellation of freckles across his nose. He has a trickster's mouth and the swagger of someone used to people doing what he wanted.

He loves that she knows he's not peaceful. Loves that she doesn't think him kind. He doesn't know how, but from the first she seemed to recognize something in him that no one else does - that inner kernel of hardness, of coldness.

I thought love was a fascination, or a desire to be around someone, or wanting to make them happy. I believed it just happened, like a slap to the face, and left the way the sting from such a blow fades. That’s why it was easy for me to believe it could be false or manipulated or influenced by magic. Until I met you, I didn’t understand to feel loved, one has to feel known. And that, outside of my family, I had never really loved because I hadn’t bothered to know the other person. But I know you. And you have to come back to me, Wren, because no one gets us but us. You know why you’re not a monster, but I might be. I know why throwing me in your dungeon meant there was still something between us. We are messes and we are messed up and I don’t want to go through this world without the one person I can’t hide from and who can’t hide from me.

Oak's hooves clatter against the floor, and then he's on his knees in front of me, all golden hair and fox eyes and worry. 'Wren,' he breathes, reaching through the iron bars, even though they singe his wrists. His fingers run through my hair.

The prince doesn't even know what you are,' she says with a glance toward Oak. 'Barely one of the Folk. Nothing but a manikin, little more than the stock left behind when a changeling is taken, a thing meant to wither and die.' Despite myself, my gaze goes to Oak. To see if he understands. But I cannot read anything but pity on his face. I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her. I am no one's child. That makes me smile, showing red teeth.

My greatest weakness has always been my desire for love. It is a yawning chasm within me, and the more than I reach for it, the more easily I am tricked. I am a walking bruise, an open sore. If Oak is masked, I am a face with all the skin ripped off. Over and over, I have told myself that I need to guard against my own yearnings, but that hasn't worked. I must try something new.

You know, until this trip, I thought I liked the cold. One can dress extravagantly when there's no risk of sweating- brocades, gold trims, hats. But I am reevaluating.' ... I roll my eyes. 'You have an understated elegance, so no need to worry about weather.

I'm fine,' Oak says, sliding off the horse and immediately collapsing onto the asphalt. 'Fine?' the knight echoes, eyebrows raised. 'I couldn't say it if it wasn't true,' says the prince, and manages to stagger to his feet. He leans heavily on a nearby car.

In that moment, I hated him for being so precious to them, for being cosseted and treated as though he was deserving of protection when I had none. Maybe I still hate him a little. But he was kind when we were children. It's possible there's a part of him that's still kind.

What if,' he says, mischief in his eyes, 'in the interest of saving time, we pretend that we've played twice more and I won once, so you owe me a dance. But you won the second time, so if you have anything else to ask me, you may.' They are teasing words, and I am suddenly in a teasing mood.

For a moment, I stare at him stupidly. I am reeling from the kiss, from the swiftness of the violence. I am not yet used to Oak's ability to kill without hesitation and then chagrined about it, as though he did something in slightly poor taste. Spilled a rare vintage of wine, perhaps. Mismatched his trousers to his shirt.

My sister thinks that she's the only one who can take poison, but I am poison,' he whispers, eyes half-closed, talking to himself. 'Poison in my blood. I poison everything I touch.' That's such a strange thing to hear him say. Everyone adores him. And yet, I recall him running away at thirteen, sure so many things were his fault.

Only to see Oak, the heir to Elfhame, standing in a clearing. All my memories of him were of a merry young boy. But he'd become tall and rawboned, in the manner of children who have grown suddenly and too fast. When he moved, it was with coltish uncertainty, as though not used to his body. He would be thirteen. And he had no reason to be in my woods.

Lulled by his conversation, I let myself believe I had fooled him at the very moment he was fooling me. He was as deceptive as the rest of his family. More, maybe. He never let down his guard with me, not once. Too late, I understand what's terrifying about his charm. He seems entirely open when he is unknowable. Every smile is painted on, a mask.

You may command the sky,' the horned man in the golden scale mail returns. 'But alas, we are here on the ground.

However secretive his nature, however foolish his reasons for loving his father, I like that he does.

It's supposed to be very beautiful, the Citadel,' Oak says. 'It is beautiful, Wren?' When the light went through the ice of the castle, it made rainbows that danced along its cold halls. You could almost see through the walls, as though the whole place was one large, cloudy window. When I was brought to it for the first time, I thought it was like living inside a sparkling diamond. 'It's not,' I say. 'It's an ugly place.

There are rumours that Cardan never wanted the throne, that he will hand it over to Oak willingly at some vague future time. But when I think of High King Cardan with his black curls and cruel mouth, the way he behaves- silly and dangersome all at once- I don't believe he would relinquish power. He might, however, trick Oak into going on a quest he wouldn't return from. Build him up with stories of honour and valiant deeds.

Wren?' he says. 'Talk to me.' I don't reply. What would be the point? I know he will twist me around his finger with words. I know that if I give him half the chance, love-starved creature that I am, I will be under his spell again. With him, I am forever a night-blooming flower, attracted and repelled by the heat of the sun. 'Let me explain,' he calls to me. 'Let me atone.' I bite the tip of my tongue to keep myself from snapping at him. He meant to keep me ignorant. He tricked me. He lied with every smile. With every kiss. With the warmth in his eyes that should have been impossible to fake. I'd know what he was capable of. Over and over, he'd shown me. And over and over, I believed there would be no more tricks. No more secrets. Not anymore. 'You have good cause to be furious. But you couldn't have lied, had you known the truth. I was afraid you'd have to lie.' He waits, and when I say nothing, rolls into a sitting position. 'Wren?' I can see the leather straps running across his cheeks. If he wears the bridle long enough, he'll have scars. 'Talk to me!' he shouts, standing and coming to the bars. I see the gold of his hair, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the glint of his fox eyes. 'Wren! Wren!' Coward that I am, I flee. My heart thundering, my hands shaking. But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.

We're here to take Suren,' Revindra goes on. 'And we will take it ill if you attempt to prevent us.' The gaze that Oak slants towards me is as cold as the one he bestowed the ogres. 'Oh,' he says. 'I wouldn't dream of stopping you.

Then he gives me his quicksilver smile, the kind that makes me feel as though we are friends conspiring together. 'Since you're in a benevolent mood, perhaps you'll also dance with me.' My surprise must be evident. 'Why?' He grins. 'To celebrate you continuing with this quest. Because we're at a party. So that Queen Annet believes we've got nothing to hide.' 'Do we have something to hide?' I ask. He smiles wider, giving me a tug toward the revellers. 'Always.

He also says you fall in love a lot.' That surprises a laugh out of him, although he doesn't deny any of it. 'There are certain expectations of a prince in Court.' 'You cannot be serious,' I say. 'You feel obliged to be in love?' 'I told you- I am a courtier, versed in all the courtly arts.' He's grinning as he says it, though, acknowledging the absurdity of the statement. I find myself shaking my head and grinning, too. He's being ridiculous, but I am not sure how ridiculous. 'I do have a bad habit, he says. 'Of falling in love. With great regularity and to spectacular effect. You see, it never goes well.' I wonder if this conversation makes him think of our kiss, but then, I was the one who kissed him. He'd only kissed back. 'As charming as you are, how can that be?' I say. He laughs again. 'That's what my sister Taryn always says. She tells me that I remind her of her late husband. Which makes some sense, since I would have been his half brother. But it's also alarming, because she's the one who murdered him.' Much as when he spoke about Madoc, it's strange how fond oak can sound when he tells me a horrifying thing a member of his family has done.

We learned something of her capabilities.' 'And you want me to tell you that was worth you being poisoned?' the knight demands. 'I'm always being poisoned. Alas, that it wasn't blusher mushroom,' the prince said nonsensically. Tiernan nods his chin at me. 'That girl thinks you're a fool for even being here.' I scowl, because that's not what I meant. 'Ah, Lady Wren,' Oak says, a lazy smile on his mouth. Marigold hair brushing his forehead, half-hiding his horns. 'You wound me.

You have an unusual voice,' he says. 'Raspy. Quite fetching, really.' 'I damaged my vocal cords a long time ago,' I inform him. 'Screaming.' Oak steps between us, and I am grateful for the reprieve. 'What a fine gentleman you make, Jack.' Jack turns to the prince, his sinister smile dropped back into place. 'Oak and Wren, Wren and Oak. Delightful. Named for woodland creatures, but neither of you so simple.' He glances at Tiernan and Hyacinthe. 'Not nearly as simple as these two.

Oak's eyes widen satisfyingly at the sound of my voice. 'How are you speaking?' 'I used a shard of Mab's bones,' I tell him, and if I shiver a little at the memory, he cannot guess the reason. 'So you're saying that while my father and I were asleep, you found the reliquary- all by yourself- and then single-handedly subdued Lady Nore?' He laughs. 'You might have woken me. I could have done something, surely. Applauded at the right moments? Held your bag?' I am flattered into a small smile.

So I am going to run away from Faerie. Like you.' That's not how I'd thought of myself, as a runaway. I was someone with nowhere to go. Waiting until I was older. Or less afraid. Or more powerful. 'The Prince of Elfhame can't up and disappear.' 'They'd probably be happier if I did,' he told me. 'I'm the reason my father is in exile. The reason my mother married him in the first place. My one sister and her girlfriend had to take care of me when I was little, even though they were barely more than kids themselves. My other sister almost got killed lots of times to keep me safe. Things will be easier without me around. They'll see that.' 'They won't,' I told him, trying to ignore the intense surge of envy that came with knowing he would be missed.

I stomp back through the hall to my room and swing open the door, only to find Oak lounging in one of the chairs, his long limbs spread out in shameless comfort. A flower crown of myrtle rests just above his horns. With it, he wears a new shirt of white linen and scarlet trousers embroidered with vines. Even his hooves appear polished. He looks every bit the handsome faerie prince, beloved by everyone and everything. Rabbits probably eat from his hands. Blue jays try to feed him worms meant for their own children.

I take the comb from a pocket of my new dress and then hesitate. If I begin to untangle my nimbus of snarls, he will see how badly my hair is matted and be reminded of where he found me. He stands. Good. He will leave, and then I will be able to wrangle my hair alone. But instead he steps behind me and takes the comb from my hands. 'Let me do that,' he says, taking strands of my hair in his fingers. 'It's the colour of primroses.' My shoulders tense. I am unused to people touching me. 'You don't need to-' I start. 'It's no trouble,' he says. 'I had three older sisters brushing and braiding mine, no matter how I howled. I had to learn to do theirs, in self-defence. And my mother...' His fingers are clever. He holds each lock at the base, slowly teasing out the knots at the very end and then working backward to the scalp. Under his hands, it becomes smooth ribbons. If I had done this, I would have yanked half of it out in frustration. 'Your mother...,' I echo, prompting him to continue in a voice that shakes only a little. He begins to braid, sweeping my hair up so that thick plaits become something like his circlet, wrapping around my head. 'When we were in the mortal world, away from her servants, she needed help arranging it.' His voice is soft. This, along with the slightly painful pull against my scalp, the brush of his fingertips against my neck as he separates a section, the slight frown of concentration on his face, is overwhelming. I am not accustomed to someone being this close. When I look up, his smile is all invitation. We are no longer children, playing games and hiding beneath his bed, but I feel as though this is a different kind of game, one where I do not understand the rules. With a shiver, I take up the mirror from the dresser. In this hair, and with this dress, I look pretty. The kind of pretty that allows monsters to deceive people into forests, into dances where they will find their doom.

You might be better served if she didn't wake. What happens when she discovers how you've deceived her? When she realises her role in your plan?' I try not to move, try not to let a twitch of muscle or a tightening of my body give away that I am conscious and listening. Oak's voice is full of resignation. 'She will have to decide how much she hates me.' 'Kill her while you can,' says the old general, softly. He sounds regretful but also resigned. 'That's your answer to everything,' Oak says. 'And yours is to throw yourself into the mouth of the lion and hope it doesn't like your savour.

Oak puts his hands on my shoulders, pushing my back to the wall. 'Pretend with me,' he whispers. And then he presses his mouth to mine. A soldier kissing one of the serving girls. A bored ex-falcon attempting to amuse himself. Oak hiding our faces, giving us a reason to be overlooked. I understand the game. This is no declaration of desire. And yet, I am rooted in place by the shocking heat of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the way one of his hands goes to the ice wall to brace himself and the other to my waist, and then to the hilt of my knife as they draw closer. He doesn't want me. This doesn't mean he wants me. I repeat that over and over as I let him part my lips with his tongue. I run my hands up his back under his shirt, letting my nails trail over his skin. I have been trained in all the arts of a courtier. Dancing and duelling, kissing and deceiving. Still, I am gratified when he shudders, when the hand he was bracing with lifts to thread through my hair, to cup my head. My mouth slides over his jaw to his throat, then against his shoulder, where I press the points of my teeth. His body stiffens, his fingers gripping me harder, pulling me closer to him. When I bite down, he gasps.

What's the number of times that someone tried to assassinate you?' He gives a one-shouldered shrug, his attention on the tableau below. 'Hard to know, but I'd guess there were a few dozen attempts since my sister came to power.' That would be more than twice a year for every year since I met him. And that scar on his neck suggests that someone got very, very close. I think of him as he was in the woods at thirteen, wanting to run away. Angry and afraid. I think of him lying on the sled this morning. I poison everything I touch. Every time I feel as though I know him, it seems there is another Oak underneath.

When it is time to sleep, Tiernan and Oak wrap themselves in bearskins. Oak drapes one over my shoulders. I say nothing to indicate that I don't need it, that I am never too cold. When we lie down by the fire, he watches me. The light dances in his eyes. 'Come here,' he says, beckoning with a hand. I am not sure I know the me who moves, who shifts so that I am resting my head against his shoulder. The me who feels his breath against my hair and the pressure of his splayed fingers at the small of my back. His feet tangle with mine, my toes brushing against the fur just above his hooves. My fingers are resting against his stomach, and I cannot help feeling the hard planes of him, the muscles and the scars. When I move my hand, his breath catches. We both go still. Tiernan, close to the fire, turns in his sleep. In the firelight, the prince's amber eyes are molten gold. I am aware of my skin in a way I have never been before, of the slight movements of my limbs, of the rise and fall of my chest. I can hear the beat of his heart against my cheek. I feel as though I am shouting kiss me with every restless shift of my body. But he does not, and I am too much of a coward to do more than lie there and yearn until my eyes drift closed at last.

He talked about you,' Tiernan says. I feel like an animal after all, one that's been baited in its den. I both dread and desire him to keep talking. 'What did he say?' 'That you didn't like him.' He gives me an evaluating look. 'I thought maybe you'd had a falling-out when you were younger. But I think you do like him. You just don't want him to know it.' The truth of that hurts. I grind my sharp teeth together. 'The prince is a flatterer. And a charmer. And a wormer around things,' Tiernan informs me, entirely unnecessarily. 'That makes it harder for him to be believed when he has something sincere to say. But no one would ever accuse me of being a flatterer...

His hand touches my back lightly, making me shiver. 'Do you know what I admire about you?' Truly, I cannot imagine what he will say next. 'That you never stopped being angry,' he tells me. 'It can be brave to hate. Sometimes it's like hope.' I hadn't felt brave in the Court of Teeth. I had felt only a clawing desperation, as though I was forever drowning in some vast sea, gulping seawater as I sank, and then just when I felt I was going to let myself drop beneath the waves, something would make me kick one more time. Maybe that thing was hate. Hating requires going on, even when you can no longer believe in any better future. But I am shocked that Oak, of all people, would know that.

Vivi and Heather take them out for bubble tea. There are no actual bubbles. Instead, he is served toothsome balls soaked in a sweet, milky tea. Vivi orders grass jelly, and Heather gets a lavender drink that is the colour of the flowers and just as fragrant. Cardan is fascinated and insists on having a sip of each. Then he eats a bite of the half-dozen types of dumplings they order- mushroom, cabbage and pork, cilantro and beef, hot-oil chicken dumplings that numb his tongue, then creamy custard to cool it, along with sweet red bean that sticks to his teeth. Heather glares at Cardan as though he bit the head off a sprite in the middle of a banquet. 'You can't eat some of a dumpling and put it back,' Oak insists. 'That's revolting.' Cardan considers villainy takes many forms, and he is good at all of them. Jude stabs the remainder of the bean bun with a single chopstick, popping it into her mouth and chewing with obvious satisfaction. 'Gooh,' she gets out when she notices the others looking at her. Vivi laughs and orders more dumplings.

Wren, you have plenty of reasons not to trust me right now, but I do intend to stop Lady Nore. And I believe we can. Though I plan on bringing back Madoc, we will still have gone a deed no one can deny was of service to Elfhame. Whatever trouble I will be in, you'll be a hero.' I am not sure anyone has considered me that, not even the people I've saved. 'And if I decide to part ways? Are you going to tie my hands and drag me along with you?' He looks at me with trickster eyes beneath arched golden brows. 'Not unless you scratch me again.' 'Why do you want to help him?' I ask. Madoc had been willing to use Oak as a path to power, at the least. 'He's my father,' he says, as though that should be enough.

Oak puts a hand on my arm. I startle. 'You all right?' he asks. 'When they first took me from the mortal world to the Court of Teeth, Lord Jarel and Lady Nore tried to be nice to me. They gave me good things to eat and dressed me in fancy dresses and told me that I was their princess and would be a beautiful and beloved queen,' I tell him, the words slipping from my lips before I can call them back. I occupy myself with searching deeper in the closet so I don't have to see his face as I speak. 'I cried constantly, ceaselessly. For a week, I wept and wept until they could bear it no more.' Oak is silent. Though he knew me as a child, he never knew me as that child, the one who still believed the world could be kind. But then, he had sisters who were stolen. Perhaps they had cried, too. 'Lord Jarel and Lady Nore told their servants to enchant me to sleep, and the servants did. But it never lasted. I kept weeping.' He nods, just a little, as though more movement might break the spell of my speaking. 'Lord Jarel came to me with a beautiful glass dish in which there was flavoured ice,' I tell him. 'When I took a bite, the flavour was indescribably delicious. It was as though I were eating dreams.' 'You will have this every day if you cease you're crying,' he said. 'But I couldn't stop. 'Then he came to me with a necklace of diamonds, as cold and beautiful as ice. When I put it on, my eyes shone, my hair sparkled, and my skin shimmered as though glitter had been poured over it. I looked wondrously beautiful. But when he told me to stop crying, I couldn't. 'Then he became angry, and he told me that if I didn't stop, he would turn my tears to glass that would cut my cheeks. And that's what he did. 'But I cried until it was hard to tell the difference between tears and blood. And after that, I began to teach myself how to break their curses. They didn't like that. 'And so they told me I would be able to see the humans again- that's what they called them, the humans- in a year, for a visit, but only if I was good. 'I tried. I choked back tears. And on the wall beside my bed, I scratched the number of days in the ice. 'One night I returned to my room to find the scratches weren't the way I remembered. I was sure it had been five months, but the scratches made it seem as though it had been only a little more than three. 'And that was when I realised I was never going home, but by then the tears wouldn't come, no matter how much I willed them. And I never cried again.' His eyes shone with horror.

You think because you've got that good royal blood in you, you're better than us,' says the ogre, pressing one long fingernail against the prince's shoulder. 'Maybe you are. Only way to be sure is to have a taste.' There's a drunken wobble to Oak's movements as he pushes off the ogre's hand and obvious contempt in his voice. 'The difference in flavour would be too subtle for your palate.

I let myself relax into the moment, into friendship. 'Now what about my hairpin?' He grins and hands it over. I smooth my thumb over the silver bird, then use it to pull back his hair, instead of mine. As my fingers skim over his neck, threading through the silk of his locks, he shudders from something I do not think is cold. I am suddenly too aware of the physicality of him, his long legs and the curve of his mouth, the hollow of his throat and the sharp point of his ears, where earrings once hung. Of the hairs hanging loose from my pin, falling across one light brown horn to rest on his cheekbone. When his eyes meet mine, desire, as keen as any blade, bends the air between us. The moment slows. I want to bite his lip. To feel the heat of his skin. To slide my hands beneath his armour and trace the map of his scars.

Dear lady,' says a faerie, coming toward us from a shop that sells jewels. He has the eyes of a snake and forked tongue that darts out when he speaks. 'This hairpin looks as though it were made for you.' It's beautiful, woven gold and silver in the shape of a bird, a single green bead in its mouth. Had it been in a display, my eyes would have passed over it as one of a dozen unobtainable things. But as he holds it out, I can't help imaging it as as mine. 'I have no money and little to trade,' I tell him regretfully, shaking my head. The shopkeeper's gaze goes to Oak. I think he believes the prince is my lover. Oak plays the part, reaching out his hand for the pin. 'How much is it? And will you take silver, or must it be the last wish of my heart?' 'Silver is excellent.' The shopkeeper smiles as Oak fishes through his bag for some coins. Part of me wants to demur, but I let him buy it, and then I let him use it to pin back my hair. His fingers on my neck are warm. It's only when he lets go that I shiver. He gives me a steady look. 'I hope you're not about to tell me that you hate it and you were just being polite.' 'I don't hate it,' I say softly. 'And I am not polite.' He laughs at that. A delightful quality. I admire the hairpin in every reflective surface we pass.

When he meets my eyes, his expression is anguished. He cannot help me. I fight as they press me down to the floor. Bite when they try to pry open my mouth. But it's all for nothing. Two soldiers hold my wrists, and a third hooks a barbed instrument through the end of my tongue. He pulls it taut. Then a fourth begins slicing through it with a curved dagger. The sharp, searing pain makes me want to cry out, but I cannot with my tongue nailed in place. My mouth goes from dry from being held open to full of blood. Flooded with it. Gagging. Drowning. I choke as they release me, the scream dying in my throat. Scarlet flows over my chin. When I move, flecks of red fly. The pain swallows me whole so that I barely can concentrate, but I know I am losing too much blood. It spills from between my lips, slicks my neck, stains the collar of my dress. This is going to kill me. I am going to die, here on the ice floor of the Citadel.

...she speculates about all the aspects of the mortal world she's going to have to explain to Dad. 'Like cell phones,' she says. 'Or self-checkout in the grocery store. Oh, this is going to be amazing. Seriously, his exile is the best present you ever got me.' 'You know that he's going to be so bored that he's going to try to micromanage your life,' Taryn says. 'Or plan your invasion of a neighbouring apartment building.' At that, Vivi stops smiling. It makes Oak giggle, though.

Once this is over,' he says, 'there are some things I want to tell you. Some explanation I have to give.' 'Like what?' I ask, keeping my voice low. He looks away, toward the edge of the pine forest. 'I let you believe- well, something that's untrue.' I think about the feeling of Oak's breath against my neck, the way his fox eyes looked with the pupils gone wide and black, the way it felt to bite his shoulder almost hard enough to break skin. 'Tell me, then.' He shakes his head, looking pained, but so many of his expressions are masks that I can no longer tell what is real. 'If I did, it would serve nothing but to clear my conscience and would put you in danger.' 'Tell me anyway,' I say. But Oak only shakes his head again. 'Then let me tell you something,' I say. 'I know why you smile and jest and flatter, even when you don't need to. At first I thought it was to make people like you, then I thought it was to keep them off-balance. But it's more than that. You're worried they're scared of you.' Wariness comes into his face. 'Why ever would they be?' 'Because you terrify yourself,' I say. 'Once you start killing, you don't want to stop. You like it. Your sister may have inherited your father's gift for strategy, but you're the one who got his bloodlust.' A muscle moves in his jaw. 'Are you afraid of me?' 'Not because of that.' The intensity of his gaze is blistering. It doesn't matter. It feels good to pierce his armour, but it doesn't change anything.

Oak gave up his room so they could sleep there, and although the bed is small, Cardan cannot mind when he takes Jude in his arms. 'You're probably missing your fancy palace right about now,' she whispers to him in the dark. He traces the edge of her lip, runs his finger over the soft human hair of her cheek, pausing on a freckle and comes to rest on a tiny scar, a line of pale skin drawn there by some blade. He considers explaining how much he despised the palace as a child, how he dreamed of escaping Elfhame. She knows most of that already. Then he considers reminding her that the fancy palace is now as much hers as his. 'Not in the least,' he says instead, and feels her smile against his skin. But once he starts recalling his desire to leave Elfhame, he can't help but also recall how desperately she wanted to stay. And how difficult that had been, how hard she had fought, how hard she was still fighting, even now that she didn't have to. 'Why didn't you hate everyone?' he asks. 'Everyone, all the time.' 'I hated you,' Jude reassures him, bringing her mouth to his.

A young man with goat feet and horns, wearing a shirt of golden scale mail and holding a thing-bladed rapier, steps in the pool of light near a building. His face is expressionless, like someone in a dream. I note the curls of his tawny blond hair tucked behind his pointed ears, the garnet-coloured cloak tossed over wide shoulders, the scar along one side of his throat, a circlet at his brow. He moves as though he expects the world to bend to his will. ... His amber eyes are bright, like those of a fox, but there is nothing warm in them.

I lean toward him, expecting him to unconsciously move away. To be repulsed. But he only watches me curiously. As I draw closer, his eyes widen a little. 'Wren,' he whispers. I am not sure if it's a warning or not. I hate that I don't know. At every moment, I expect him to flinch or pull back as I put one hand on his shoulder, then go up on my toes, and kiss him. This is ridiculous. Kissing him is profane. It gives me all the horrible satisfaction of smashing a crystal goblet. It's quick. Just the quick press of my dry mouth against his lips. A brief senses of softness, the warmth of breath, and then I pull away, my heart thrumming with fear, with the expectation that he will be disgusted. With the certainty that I have well and truly punished him for trying to flirt with me. The angry, feral part of me feels so close to the surface that I can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. I want to lick the scratches I made. He doesn't look alarmed, though. He's studying my face, as though he's trying to work something out. After a moment, his eyes close, pale lashes against his cheek, and he dips foward to press his mouth to mine again. He goes slower, one of his hands cupping my head. A shivery feeling courses down my spine, a flush coming up on my skin. When he draws back, he is not wearing his usual complicated smile. Instead, he looks as though someone just slapped him. I wonder if a kiss from me is like being clawed on the cheek. Did he force himself to go through with it? For the sake of keeping me on this quest? For the sake of his father and his plans? I thought to punish him, but all I have succeeded in doing is punishing myself.

He wants me to be charmed by him so that I will stay by his side and do what he asks of me. No doubt he believes that a little attention and a few smiles will be all it requires of him. He expects me to be as malleable as one of the ladies of the Court. So much of me wants to give in and pretend with him that it makes me hot with rage. If he wants to charm me, the least I can do is make it cost him. I won't settle for smiles and a dance. I am going to call his bluff, I am going to prove to myself- prove to us both- that his flirtation isn't sincere.

Greenery Juniper, Oracle Oak and Hop Tree, California Buckeye, and Elderberry. Pacific Dogwood and the pale green Eucalyptus, Quaking Aspen and Flannelbush. raw, sprouting, lush green love green with envy green with youth green with early spring olive, emerald, avocado, greenlight ready, set, GO! greenhouse, greenbelts, ocean kelp, cucumber, lizard, lime and forest green, spruce, teal, and putting green. green-eyed, verdant, grassy, immature green and leafy green half-formed tender, pleasant, alluring temperate freshly sawed vigorous not ripe yet promising greenbriar, greenbug, green dragon greenshanks running along the ocean's edge greenlings swimming greenlets singing greengage plums green thumbs greenhorns and greenflies- how on earth amid sage swells kelly hillsides and swirls of firs did I ever find that green of hers? holly, drake, and brewster green, pistachio, shamrock, serpentine terre verde, Brunswick, tourmaline, lotus, jade, and spinach green: start to finish lowlands to highs no field, no forest, no leaf, no blade can catch the light or trap the shade; no earthly tones will ever rise to match the green enchantment of her eyes.

Shall we put our dance practice to some purpose?' he asks. 'Dance?' I ask, my voice coming out a little high. His gaze goes to the circles of leaping and cavorting Folk. I wonder if he is in shock. I have just come from betraying him. I feel rather shocked about it. I put my hand in his as if mesmerised. There is only the warmth of his fingers against my chilly skin. His amber fox eyes, pupils wide and dark. His teeth catch his lip, as though he's nervous. I reach up and touch his cheek. Blood and freckles. He's shaking a little. I guess if I'd done what he did, I'd still be shaking, too.

Will you tell me how you came to be living...' He stops, as if trying to find the words. 'As you were.' I remember the care I'd given that he not know. How could I explain the way time seemed to slip from my fingers, the way I became incrementally more detached, more unable to reach out a hand to take something I wanted? I will not allow him to pity me any more than he does. 'You could have come to see me,' he says. 'If you need something.' I laugh at that. 'You?' He frowns down at me with his amber eyes. 'Why not?' The enormity of the reasons catches in my mouth. He's a prince of Elfhame, and I am the disgraced child of traitors. He befriends everyone, from the troll guard at the entrance to all those Tiernan mentioned back in the High Court, while I have spent years alone in the woods. But most of all, because he could have asked his sister to allow me to stay on the Shifting Isles and didn't. 'Perhaps I wanted to save that favour you still owe me,' I say. He laughs at that. Oak liking me is as silly as the sun liking a storm, but that doesn't stop my desire for it. Me, with my sharp teeth and chilly skin. It's absurd. It's grotesque. And yet, the way he looks at me, it almost seems possible.

Cardan pulls a pin from his coat, a glittering, filigree thing in the shape of an acorn with an oak leaf behind it. For a delirious moment, I think he's going to give it to Locke in exchange for leaving me there. That seems impossible, even to my wild mind. Then Cardan takes hold of my hand, which seems even less possible. His fingers are overwarm against my skin. He stabs the point of his pin into my thumb. 'Ow,' I say, pulling away from him and putting the injured digit in my mouth. My own blood is metallic against my tongue. 'Have a nice walk home,' he tells me. ... I suck on my injured thumb, feeling odd. My head is still swimming, but not like it was. Something's wrong. A moment later, I realise what. There's salt in human blood. My stomach lurches.