The Stolen Heir by Holly Black

He doesn’t defend himself. “And not hideous, even. In case you wondered what I thought, which I am fairly sure you didn’t.”

“Why are you saying all this?” I ask, my voice low. I glance back at Oak, but he is staring at the sky, laughing a little to himself. “You can’t possibly care what I look like.”

“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, and he—”

He bites off the rest because, there, in the distance, rising out of the snow, is the Ice Needle Citadel.

One of the towers has fallen. The castle of cloudy ice, like some enormous piece of quartz, was once full of spires and points, but many of them have cracked and splintered. The jagged icicles that were once ornamentation have grown into elephantine structures that cover some of the windows and cascade down the sides. My breath stutters. I have seen this place so many times in my night terrors that, even half-demolished, I cannot help but feel like I am in another awful dream.





CHAPTER

14

R

ays of sunlight strike the snow, melting an ice layer that freezes and re-forms every day. As I take a step, I feel the sheet break, a craquelure spreading from my feet.

This time, I do not fall. In that reflective, glittering brightness, though, it is hard to hide.

During our trudge toward the Citadel, Oak untied himself and crawled from the sled, declaring he was well enough, and then proved that his definition of “well enough” wasn’t the same as “well,” since he has spent the time since staggering along as though drunk.

Titch found us again, swooping low and settling on Tiernan’s shoulder. The knight sent the hob off to scout ahead.

“Let’s stop here,” Tiernan says, and Oak collapses gratefully into the snow. “Wren has suggested we change clothes.”

“I do appreciate your commitment to us looking our best,” says the prince.

By now, I am used to Oak and do not think for a moment he doesn’t understand the plan. I haul out the uniforms I stole from Gorga. For myself, with my bluish skin, I take the dress of one of the castle servants. Huldufólk, like Lady Nore, have gray skin and tails. My skin isn’t quite right, and I have no tail, but its absence is hidden by the long skirts.

I wrap the bridle in a strip of cloth around my waist, then tie it on underneath the dress like a girdle. My knife goes into my pocket.

I change quickly. So does Oak, who shivers as he pulls rough woolen pants over his smooth linen ones. They hang low enough that his hooves look passably like boots when half-covered with snow. Tiernan shivers almost continuously as he pulls on the new uniform.

“You’re still likely to be identified if anyone sees you close-up,” I warn Oak.

He is the prince, after all, with hooves not unlike the former Prince Dain’s.

“Which is why I should go in, not you,” says Tiernan for what feels like the millionth time.

“Nonsense; if they catch me, they won’t immediately put my head on a spike,” Oak returns.

He’s probably right. Still. “Yes, but they’re more likely to catch you,” I say.

“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.

We get as close as we dare and then hollow out snow into a cavern to wait in until nightfall. Oak and Tiernan pull their hands and feet tight to their bodies, but the prince’s lips still take on a bluish color.

I unclasp the cloak that I’ve been wearing and pass it to him.

He shakes his head. “Keep it. You’ll freeze.”

I push it at him. “I’m never cold.”

He gives me an odd look, perhaps thinking of me lying with him by the fire, but must be too chilled to debate.

As they go over our plan one more time, I start to believe that this is possible. We get in, steal back Mab’s remains, and leave with the general. If something goes wrong, I suppose we have the deer heart in the reliquary, but since Oak’s bluff seems like a long shot, I hope we don’t have to rely on it. Instead, I concentrate on remembering that I still have the power of command over Lady Nore.

And yet, as we approach the Citadel, I cannot help but recall being lost in this snow, weeping while tears froze on my cheeks. Just being here makes me feel like that monster child again, unloved and unlovable.

As night falls, Tiernan crawls out of our makeshift dwelling. “If you’re going in, then at least let me be the one to go down and make sure all is how we expect it.”

“You need not—” Oak begins, but Tiernan cuts him off with a glare.