The Stolen Heir by Holly Black

“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 savor.”

Oak says nothing for a long moment. I think about the way he took an arrow while grinning reassuringly, how he gulped down poison. How, back in Elfhame, he apparently draws out assassins by being an excellent target. Madoc’s not wrong that Oak throws himself at things. In fact, I am not sure if Madoc realizes the extent of his rightness.

“I despair of you,” says the redcap finally. “You have no instinct to take power, even when it is offering you its very throat to tear out.”

“Enough,” says Oak, as if this isn’t the first time they’ve gone through this argument. “This—all of it—is your fault. Why couldn’t you just have the patience to stay in exile? To resign yourself to your fate?”

“That’s not my nature,” the redcap says softly, as though Oak should have known better. “And I didn’t know it would be you who came.”

The prince gives a shuddering sigh. I hear rustling. “Let me look at those bandages.”

“Stop fussing,” says Madoc. “If pain bothered me, I went into the wrong trade.”

There is a long silence, and I wonder if I should pretend to yawn or something else to indicate that I am waking.

“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.

I lie very still for a while after that. Eventually, I hear the shuffling of a servant and the clank of platters, and use that as an excuse to give an awkward moan and turn over.

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.

What happens when she discovers how you’ve deceived her? When she realizes her role in your plan?

If I hadn’t overheard what he’d said to his father, I would never have believed he had a secret so terrible he thought I would hate him for it.

The servant girl places bowls in front of the cells, on the ground. Cruel, since the bowls are too big to fit between the bars, which means that one must put one’s wrist against iron with every bite. Our dinner appears to be a pungent, oily soup that has barley in it and probably the meat of seabirds.

I shift myself into a sitting position.

“We’re going to get out of this,” Oak tells me. “I’ll try to pick the lock if you loan me your hairpin.”

I nod to show I understand and unclasp it.

His expression grows grave. “Wren—”

“Stop fussing at her now. She can’t even complain over it.” The redcap smiles in my direction, as though inviting me into laughing at his son.

Who he told to kill me.

The prince withdraws his hand from between the bars and turns away. He doesn’t seem to notice the burn on his arm as he pushes himself to his feet.

What could he have done that’s so awful? All I can think of is that he really does have Mellith’s heart and that he really is planning on turning it over to Lady Nore.

“Hurclaw is a problem,” Madoc says as he watches Oak bend the sharp end of my pin and slide it into the lock. “If it wasn’t for his people, I believe I could have escaped this place, perhaps even taken the Citadel. But Lady Nore has promised that she will soon be able to break the curse on the Stone Forest.”

“Take the Citadel? That’s quite a boast,” Oak says, twisting the pin and frowning.

Madoc makes a snorting sound, then turns to me. “I am sure that Wren here wouldn’t mind taking Lady Nore’s castle and lands for herself.”

I shake my head at the absurdity of the statement.

He raises his brows. “No? Still sitting at the table and waiting for permission to start eating?”

That’s an uncomfortably accurate way of describing how I’ve lived my life.

“I was like that once,” he tells me, his sharp lower incisors visible when he speaks. I know this conversation is an effort to assess an opponent and keep me off-balance. Still, the thought of him waiting for anyone’s permission is ridiculous. He’s the former Grand General of Elfhame and a redcap, delighting in bloodshed. He’s probably eaten people. No, he’s definitely eaten people.

I shake my head again. Oak looks over at us and frowns, as though his father talking with me makes him nervous.

Madoc grins. “No? I can hardly believe it myself, in truth. But I spent most of my life on campaigns, making war in Eldred’s name. Did I enjoy my work? Certainly, but I also obeyed. I took what rewards I was given, and I was grateful for them. And what did I get for my trouble? My wife fell in love with someone else, someone who was there when I was gone.”

His former wife, whom he murdered. The mother of his three girls. Somehow, I’d always assumed that she left him because she was afraid, not because she was lonely.

Madoc glances at Oak again before returning his attention to me. “I vowed I would use the strategy I studied for my own benefit. I would find a way to take all that I wanted, for myself and for my family. What a freeing thought it was to no longer believe I had to deserve something in order to get it.”