24. Makings of a pact

Ada had never considered herself particularly scary. Her siblings had joked that, as a child, she always took the role of the monster in their games. But to Ada, there was nothing horrifying about a make-believe dragon, even one with wings so large that it could level a village from its home upon the hillside.

It was Lucille who had played the hero armoured in mist and shadows, her weapons finding their marks under the cover of darkness. That was a far more terrifying concept to Ada; the darkness and its vast infinity. Games were things of daylight and mischief, and the evenings that came after seemed to dredge away young Ada's sleep into a misty consciousness filled with nightmares.

Rosamund pretended not to notice the candle stubs that went missing from her cottage; the ones that, in her childhood, Ada lit each night beneath her bedroom rafters. She would place them on her windowsill and then race to bed faster than the wick could reach its own of panned wax. Each night she prayed that sleep would take her faster than the darkness could.

Ada had never felt that emotion return to her quite so strongly as it did now. She could feel hot wax running rivulets down her spine and, one by one, she watched the lights in the three fae's eyes flicker out.

Armestrong spoke first, her cheerful hum long since lost as she choked out, "How could you bring such a thing here?"

There was no sign of the kindly woman who had bustled about Ada's room and brought her stew and gentle company. She only stared now as if Ada held a match and the room was soaked in oil.

Raeph was completely stoic, his cold fingers trapping Ada's hair in its tangles. She thought she might be holding her breath, though couldn't entirely tell as she listened for another thump of Lark's boots against the bar. But he, too, was sitting perfectly silent, as though forcing himself not to flinch back once more.

The scent of sweet honey had become sickly as Ada's shocked senses returned. With a swipe, she pushed against Raeph, his fingers snapping back as though she had burnt him, and Ada stumbled away.

She had expected Solen to recoil from the abrupt movement, but her previous gasp was the only evidence that she had ever been taken by surprise. Her face was now unwaveringly impassive, her lips sewn straight across as her eyes caught upon every aspect of Ada's being.

Ada tried to mask her frantic glances as she looked for an escape. If any sense of safety had once encompassed the room, it had abruptly fizzled away. These fae were like summer rains, their tones and tempers changing as quickly as the seconds could tick by.

The back door still swung open, though Ada would have to pass Lark and Armestrong to reach it, and, as she pivoted to glimpse the outside bushes, Raeph caught her eye. His head tilted slightly to the left; a dare for her to try and escape him.

"Human," Solen mused, the word coiling around her tongue.

Lark's breath huffed out of him at once, as though a fist had just descended into his lower gut. His eyes still refused to meet Ada's, and Armestrong began to desperately shake her head.

"That's why you've been in such a frenzy looking for her?" Solen continued, now turning to Raeph. "How much of it was actually for the knife?"

"You want to use her?" Lark gasped.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not in the room with you," Ada said, her voice splintering past her lips.

Raeph had yet to even glance away from her face, so she met his gaze straight on. He was indeed still a young man, though his eyes were darkly aged with lines and furrows. But she did not flinch back towards the fireplace, even as he took a step towards her.

It was like they were the only two people in the room, the painted stars above them hushed and listening when Raeph finally said, "I still possess your letter. Perhaps there is a way you could acquire it back from me."

Ada did not miss the long fingers that ghosted to his breast pocket as she asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I know that you are unlikely educated in our history, but your kind holds certain skills that may be of use to our cause. Agree to help us, and I'll return the letter that I've so kindly not yet disposed of."

His taunting tone was sandpaper upon her ears, but Ada reined in her temper as she thought of Rosamund's message, carefully inked and tucked away for her granddaughter to find. Smothering her desperation she replied, "I'm hardly going to agree to help you in return for a simple letter."

The edges of Raeph's lips twisted into a snarl, black hair falling across his eyes as he opened his mouth to spit something back.

"What would be a worthy exchange, then? What could we help you with?" Solen asked, cutting Raeph off and now perched at the edge of the scarlet settee.

Ada had been so caught up with Raeph scorching the space in front of her that she had not noticed Solen straighten up and Lark slide warily to her side. Only Armestrong remained by the bar, no longer shaking her head but seemingly refusing to pay any attention to their ongoing conversation.

Solen's question hung in the air, and each thought that brushed against Ada's mind seemed rushed and jumbled, like she was trying to solve a puzzle with all the wrong pieces. But she knew what she wanted, letter or not: to return home.

"I need a name. The name of someone going by Saltsworn. Give me that and I'll help you." The words came tumbling from Ada's mouth before the chiming voices from the Wishing Well had even finished replaying themselves in her mind.

Solen's face revealed nothing, as though she were used to making deals and getting her way. But she gave a reserved nod before saying, "A name is a very difficult currency to be dealing with in Wysthaven."

Ada didn't respond, her condition remaining resolute.

"I could always give you to the Hounds if you're less than willing to aid us. I'm sure they'd be intrigued with such a rare plaything." Raeph's voice was low and laced with poison.

But Ada didn't baulk. "It sounds like you've gone through too much trouble to get me here to be considering a move like that."

She could see the pale points of his teeth, but a flicker of amusement seemed to light the recesses of his eyes. He rolled back his shoulders and reverted to his languid drawl, "A name for your service, then."

"My help and my letter," Ada corrected, matching his posture. "And what, exactly, is the service you require me for?"

Raeph simply smiled. "Does it matter when you only have a single option?"

Min had warned her to never make a pact with the fae, though Ada's choice of pathways had indeed dwindled down to all but one. It only took a thought of her family for Ada to reach out a hand to Raeph, watching his brow crease and his shoulders tense. If she was going to enter blindly into a faery's den of trickery, she would at least do it on her own terms. She would meet the gaze of danger under a spurious sky and dare to withstand its storms.

Raeph was still staring at her fingers. They stood face to face, and she could almost make out the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to decipher her action. Ada let the corners of her mouth turn up, a renewed strength running through her blood as she reached out to take his hand instead.

He seemed too shocked to resist at first, his body taut as Ada curled her fingers over his. She could feel every odd joint past his knuckle, which were quick to tighten against her skin as his eyes grew wide, flickering between her face and their connected hands.

"It's a deal," was all that Ada said.