𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞
𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 ☕
She was having the dream again.
The superficial details of it tended to vary, like the location or people present, but the beginning and ending were painfully consistent.
The dream always began with Madoc at the door.
Last time, she had dreamed herself big enough to fend him off. Vivienne and Taryn had been with her, and both were able to escape while she wrestled their fey father. She wasn't so lucky this time. This time, Jude was small. She looked down at her stubby little fingers, covered in ketchup, and knew she would not be able to put up another fight.
She could only hope it would be over quickly.
Her old apartment with Heather and Vivi was the location for tonight's iteration of the dream. Heather was standing behind her, just a pink-haired teenager here, screaming at the sight of Madoc's sword as it hissed free of its sheath. Madoc never spoke in the dreams, he only carried out his task in icy silence. Jude wished he would speak. She wanted to argue with him, to scream and swear and bask in the catharsis of mutual anger. She hated the wondering. The waiting.
Madoc took a step forward. Heather's hands landed protectively on her shoulders.
It suddenly occurred to Jude that this was the first time Heather had been present in the dream. She had witnessed Madoc carrying out the silent, slow-motion murders of her sisters, birth parents and members of the court of shadows, but never Heather. Sweet, hospitable Heather. Her subconscious was cruel in its casting.
Deciding she was not ready for the sight of Heather bleeding out on the floor, Jude put her tiny self in the way of Madoc's sword. It didn't hurt. Not really. It just made the world spin.
The dream always ended with her.
When she fell, she always landed on the fancy rug. The one her mother wouldn't let her walk on in muddy boots. It didn't matter whether or not the dream took place in her childhood home, because it always ended with this rug turning red all around her.
☕ 🐍 🗡️ 🍄 🖤
Jude woke on the couch clutching an empty teacup between strained, sweaty hands.
Her phone was buzzing in her pocket. She had missed three calls from her milkman and just one from Bryern. She quickly returned the milkman's calls, her voice little more than a croak as she explained why she hadn't been at the cafe for her delivery. She spun a lie about a head cold and emphasised her sleepy timbre to make it convincing. Being the grandfatherly sort, the milkman required a lot of assurance before he believed she was indeed safe.
Jude didn't return Bryern's call.
Instead, she stole a desperate minute to shake off the dream. Counting things usually helped quell the shaking.
One, an airbed on the floor, left exactly as she had made it. Two, another empty teacup on the coffee table. Three, crisp beams of sunlight streaming in from the balcony where the door had been left open and the curtains left to billow in the breeze. Despite the chill, she was grateful for the fresh circulation of air.
Four, the man on the balcony.
Beyond the open door, Cardan's silhouette was spread comfortably across a pair of deck chairs. He had a book in his hands and a dozen more piled beside him. He had not noticed her stirring, so she didn't bother greeting him. Not before she had showered.
Gritty bits of dirt and leaves swirled down the drain as the hot water washed away the river's filth. It took several vigorous lathers of shampoo to have her hair feeling like hair again, rather than matted weeds. She scrubbed and dried herself and faced the woman in the mirror without enthusiasm. All the hallmarks of someone who had fallen asleep at stupid o'clock on the couch were there on her face, but at least she smelled better.
Cardan started at the sight of her padding out onto the balcony in little more than a bathrobe. Ironic, considering the state she had discovered him in last night. It was a harmless wrap of green terry cloth; he would just have to endure. She set her back to him and leaned over the balcony to brush her hair, letting the wind carry her stray ends to the streets below. Her tawny curls were still warm and frizzy from the hairdryer. She held them up to the sunlight and picked away any remaining bits of leaf.
'Morning,' she called over her shoulder.
The chair squeaked as Cardan sat a little straighter. 'Good morning.'
He turned a page, then another too quickly.
Jude gestured to the untouched airbed. 'Couldn't sleep?'
'Not a wink.'
'The tea wasn't caffeinated,' she said defensively. She was too used to customers accusing her of secretly caffeinating or decaffeinating their beverages. 'Maybe it's the change of scenery that kept you awake?'
'Yes, the change in scenery.' He swept a slow, contemplative gaze out over the city. 'The ocean was so dense and quiet, you never knew whether it was morning or night; this season or that season. It is bliss to see the sky again. To feel the wind in my hair. To hear birdsong.'
'And sirens?' Jude added unhelpfully. 'Horns? Drunk people screaming at each other from opposite sides of the intersection?'
Cardan seemed unperturbed by her cynicism. 'I watched the sun rise, Jude. My first in a long, long time. It was quite a thing to behold from this height, I almost woke you to keep you from missing it.'
'Oh, what stopped you?'
'Well, you were snoring.'
'That's interesting, I didn't know I snored.' Jude set her brush down and joined him, settling into a chair as soon as she had shooed his feet off it. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the light. He was right, it really was bliss. 'I'm usually at work before the sun rises, I should wake up earlier for it on the weekend.'
That furrowed his brows. 'What is week-end?'
Jude let the question hang unanswered in the air, her eyes were closed as she basked in the morning glow. For a brief and beautiful moment, Cardan decided to keep his mouth shut.
The very air seemed charged with the flow of life, it caught her curls and tossed them playfully about her cheeks. She drank the sunlight like a greedy flower, letting it thaw her body in a way the dusty cafe heater never could. It felt like falling under a spell; if she lingered any longer, she might lose the will to open her eyes and face the day.
But she did open her eyes eventually, because it had been a suspiciously long while since Cardan had turned any pages in the book he was meant to be reading. Sure enough, she met his gaze and knew instantly where his focus had been directed.
'I half expected you to start snoring again,' he said with an unconvincing amount of nonchalance.
Jude ignored him. She was busy scanning all the books he had accumulated, curious about his taste in literature. Her eyes narrowed. Most of these were from her private collection. Her very private collection.
Her bedroom shelf.
'I see you went into my room and helped yourself to my library,' she accused.
Cardan fluttered his lashes in exaggerated offence. 'Oh? And you take issue with that, Jude?'
'Of course—'
'Because—' he lifted his book to reveal its cover '—I see you went into my room and helped yourself to my library.'
Jude felt her stomach sink. Cardan's dark eyes were peeking over the top of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. They were wrinkled at the edges and full of mischief.
'Oh, that.' She untucked her hair to obscure the traitorous blush prickling all the way from her cheeks to her ears. 'I picked that copy up at a book fair.'
'Filthy liar, I know exactly where you found this.'
Jude watched as Cardan licked one finger, slow and intentional, and took his time skimming through pages until at last he came upon the inevitable. The loose bit of parchment. He lifted his proof with a little flourish but he did not open it. He didn't really need to; the many passionate renderings of her name were projected clearly through a beam of sunlight like an army of twisted shadow puppets.
'Do you wish to explain how this particular copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland came into your possession?'
'Not really,' she admitted. 'Do you wish to explain the nature of the parchment?'
'Not really.'
'Cool.'
'Lovely.'
Cardan nestled the parchment back in the heart of the book, then closed it with a dramatic clap.
'I had forgotten how dull this story was,' he sighed, sliding some of the books across the table toward her. The damning copy of Alice had been planted at the top where it might more effectively mock her. 'Here. If they're to remain in your room, take them all back.'
Jude shuffled Alice from the top of the pile, hesitating when she saw one of the books that had been stacked beneath it. A photo album. Its cover was composed of forget-me-not blue fabric with the words "Jude and David" printed on it in vivid marker. She took it from the pile and opened it somewhere near the beginning, turning the pages as casually as one might a morning paper.
'I had wondered how you came by such ill-fitting garments as these,' chimed Cardan, tugging at the generous sweater he still wore. David's sweater. 'The fellow in those pictures fills this out much better than I.'
Jude gave a little snort of agreement as she turned the plastic pages. Idly at first, then slow. Remembering.
David had been a tall, broad and ultimately brief boyfriend. He came and went in the breadth of one summer. A rugby player? Well, a player of some contact-heavy sport that required much grunting and tackling. A human tank on the field, but the most soft-hearted and tender gentleman off it. He had lived in the city for a season with his team during a sports tournament, or championship, or something along those lines. The details were fuzzy, but she would never forget how they met. She had served him a few days in a row at the cafe where they maintained a friendly flirtation.
One day, when David had ordered his usual mochaccino, he started reciting the digits of his phone number instead of the name that Jude had asked for. The gimmick shouldn't have worked on her, but David radiated just enough charm to make it cute. Adorable, even. She had decided not to write down the number he had given her because she had a better idea. Instead, she pretended not to understand him and continued to press him for a name. He conceded, David.
He did not discover the trick she had played until he had already left the cafe; Jude had written her own name and number on the cup for him.
'You had me for a minute there,' came his first message.
'Can I have you for another minute?' she replied. 'Meet me back here at five?'
They shared a few tooth-achingly sweet months together before David had to go home. He told her that he lived somewhere on the other side of the world, and she believed it. She rarely heard an accent quite like his. They had tried long-distance for a while, but Jude had not been equipped with the right technology to make it work in the way such things were supposed to. They stuck to emails, and these became shorter and more sporadic before they ceased entirely.
The relationship had ended quietly and without heartache. He never made her cry, and she was grateful for that. He could have been married now. He might be a professional athlete. A parent with a pair of giggling children dangling from his tree-trunk arms. Yeah, that happily ever after suited him nicely.
Jude shut the album gently. She took a deep breath, but it did little to alleviate the sudden heaviness within her chest.
'Do you preserve all your conquests in pretty picture books?' Cardan asked, a little too casually.
Her response came in the form of a hard glare. She gathered the scavenged collection of books to her chest and found a few more photo albums in the pile as she went. These would remain closed. There were quite enough ghosts from her past haunting her at present, and she didn't have the energy to exhume any more.
'Have you eaten?' she asked, redirecting the focus back to Cardan where he probably liked it most.
'I subjected myself to a box of those foul biscuits you keep in shiny bags.'
'Those are called pop-tarts,' she explained. 'You're supposed to toast them first.'
He wrinkled his nose. 'You say that as though it might have improved them.'
'Then why did you eat the whole—'
'Foul, dry, crumbly little things. I hope you serve more palatable food at your cafe.'
'I do, and speaking of.' She rose from her seat, arms stuffed with books. 'I have to get to work. Can you be ready to leave in five minutes?'
'For you, I can certainly try.'
'Five minutes,' she repeated, taking a step through the doorway.
'Jude, hold a moment.' He had one of her pot plants in his hands. He held it like a child with a broken toy. 'What happened to these plants?'
'Look, we don't have time for this.'
'So many dead,' he marvelled, looking this way and that at the graveyard of greenery. 'Look at them. Quite dead.'
She shrugged. 'Maybe they'll grow back after winter?'
'I see.'
She looked at the forlorn collection of foliage and sighed bitterly. These pots of wilted peace lilies, crumbling ivy and shrivelled ferns served as wasteful evidence of how busy she had let herself become, and how little she let herself sit outside among them. She felt tired. Tense. Her body was a compressed coil ready to spring out of shape at any moment.
She really did not need this. She needed to get to work.
'Your clothes are on the couch,' she told Cardan. 'I don't care where you get ready, just stay the hell out of my room from now on.'
'That shouldn't be a problem. It was such a tedious—'
Jude bared her teeth. 'Do I need to make you vow?'
He flinched, playing the expression off with a too-wide smile. 'That won't be necessary.'
A long silence stretched between them. She wanted to walk away, but it felt wrong to leave the conversation hanging on a threat. It was too beautiful a morning for intimidation.
'I didn't like it either,' she said softly, 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It was okay when mom read it, but now it just seems weird for the sake of weirdness. I don't know, I hate that sort of thing.'
Cardan clicked his tongue. 'Can any genre be spared your hate, Jude?'
She thought for a moment. 'Yes. Mecha Anime.'
☕ 🐍 🗡️ 🍄 🖤
Jude dressed quickly in her bedroom with one ear directed toward the door. She didn't trust Cardan as far as she could throw him, especially now that he was so mobile again. She knew all the places he had snooped because he had a bad habit of leaving cupboards and drawers open in his wake. It had been quite a busy night for the sly-footed prince, apparently.
At least he was feeling better.
Perhaps he would be well enough to go find his own way in the mortal lands? If not, she could try to convince Nicasia to take him back to the Undersea. But, if the princess didn't show up to claim Cardan today, Jude had already made peace with the outcome of being stuck with him for another night.
She just had a few preparations to make first.
Beneath a fluffy rug near her wardrobe was a safe place for secrets. Jude removed a few floorboards and slipped her hand down the narrow chasm of hidden things. Things like Mr Hiss, the two halves of the blood crown (wrapped in an old tea-towel), Liriopes' tiny golden acorn, and a wooden knight she had swiped from Madoc's personal chess set. She felt around beneath the floorboards blindly until her fingertips brushed the velvet box.
Inside the box was a gun. Just a little one.
The pistol sat untouched along with half a dozen iron-coated bullets. The purest iron she could afford. She had purchased the piece from a seedy market hosted by the solitary fey. It had never seen action, and perhaps it never would. It was merely a purchase inspired by the foreboding dreams of Madoc, red and recurring. Jude refused to die unprepared as her mother had. It would be the ultimate insult to her memory. Though Madoc might call the use of bullets "cheating" or "a defence without honour", Jude knew she could live with that shame. Damn straight, she could. With this pistol, she felt confident that she would never go gently.
The pistol proper lay beneath a stack of useless instruction manuals with a price sticker still attached to the barrel. She loaded it with a few bullets and flicked the safety latch on as the salesman had shown her. It fit awkwardly in her pocket, but it would only sit there until she arrived at the cafe where it could be stored somewhere safe. She intended to keep it loaded and close as long as Cardan was present. Fortunately for the prince, these expensive bullets were not for him; they were for anyone Bryern sent to finish the job of killing him.
And sure, maybe they were for Madoc in case he suddenly decided to go hunting in the mortal lands again. To personally tie the loose end of the last living Greenbriar.
Madoc had waited several years to find and murder her mother. He was a patient man, until he wasn't. Jude doubted a few more years would dull his interest in the task of purging Elfhame's royal family. As long as Cardan lived, and at the behest of some complicated blood-magic, Madoc was technically just keeping the throne warm. If he had spies in the mortal lands, and she knew that he did, then the news of Balekin's death and Cardan's survival might inspire him to take action.
Cardan could make a claim to the throne now, if he wanted.
The thought came to her like a hungry whisper. A summons. She entertained it, because the very idea of the pop-tart prince ruling Elfhame seemed wonderful and ridiculous and infinitely less terrifying than Madoc's red reign. She doubted the inhabitants of Elfhame would disagree; they would welcome Cardan's wine-sodden rule and the return of endless revels.
All he needed was a crown.
Even just the suggestion of a crown would be enough, and she just so happened to have the pieces handy. Being the last descendant of Mab, Jude wagered the thing would automatically pass to Cardan, or else be rendered a useless leafy paperweight.
Maybe, if she hot-glued the two pieces of the crown together—
'Jude? Jude.'
A sudden knock at the door had her nearly jumping out of her skin. She spread her palm across her heart to sooth its wild beating.
'What do you want?' she snapped, still a little shaky.
'I want clothing that does not sag with the burden of its own crochet sunflowers,' Cardan called through the door. At least he had gained the good sense not to open it. 'Do you own a single tailored shirt?'
'Look, just shut up and wear what you're given.'
'Oh, is that how it is? Excuse me for a moment, would you?' She heard Cardan's footsteps marching down the hallway. There was a long silence, then another knock. 'Jude, me again. I regret to inform you that the garment took a tumble off the balcony.'
Her mouth fell open. 'I regret to inform you that I'm going to kick your ass.'
'Sounds lovely, but before you do, would you be so kind as to present me with a less odious piece of knitwear? I anxiously await your reply, shivering and shirtless in your hallway.'
Jude threw open the door and shoved the whole damn box of hand-me-down sweaters into Cardan's arms. He grunted at the impact.
'Here,' she snapped. 'Go. Nuts.'
☕ 🐍 🗡️ 🍄 🖤
Six thirty stained the city purple and peach. The evening air was still, poised to nip at the noses of commuters as they trickled out of buildings and flowed along the streets. Many cold hands went in search of warm paper cups.
It had been another busy afternoon for Jude.
Another hot chocolate rush, another late close. With no sign of Nicasia, it looked like she would be putting up the prince for another night. She could only hope he didn't feel as strongly about pizza as he did about pop-tarts.
The ties of Jude's apron came away with an easy swish. She hung it on a hook behind the office door and made her final rounds of the cafe, checking under tables for any used sugar packets or stirring sticks she might have missed. Toad worked his way noisily through a few espresso machine cleaning tablets, serenaded by the last mellow tracks of Cosmic Brew's all-day playlist.
It was a spotless close. Jude would accept no less.
She stepped outside and inhaled the twilight deeply. Above the hum of traffic and shuffling of shoes, she could hear the nearby station jingle announcing trains, times and destinations. Commuters going to and from that station made up the majority of her customers. A sudden burst of laughter bubbled up from the group of schoolgirls occupying her outdoor furniture. Because her close had run so late, she hadn't seen any sense in shooing them from her chairs prematurely. But she did need to bring everything inside, now.
'Sorry to break up the party, girls.'
They cleared away, carrying their laughter with them toward the station. Jude took the chairs one at a time, unable to hurry the task with her injured foot. As she hobbled out for another chair, a cheeky bicycle cut directly across her path. The cyclist announced himself with an obnoxious ding ding.
Cardan was the cyclist.
And it was her bicycle, of course. She had peddled them to the cafe that morning with him perched on the back pegs. After a long nap in her office chair and a feast of whatever was in her staff fridge, Cardan must have wandered outside and helped himself to the bicycle. She had been far too busy to notice, or to stop him.
But the exercise seemed to have done him a world of good. His eyes were bright and his cheeks rosy. He wore a natural smile that suited him well. Very well.
He looked...taller.
'You're limping,' he said, dismounting.
'I got hurt yesterday.'
Cardan went quite still. 'Was it the snake?'
'Yeah,' she sighed, unable to deny herself such a golden opportunity for being an asshole. 'You bit me real bad.'
That sent all the rosiness seeping from his cheeks. 'Now Jude, you must believe—'
'Actually,' she continued, 'I think I'm starting to feel a little faint. It might be all that toxic venom.'
'I-I was venomous?'
She gave a solemn nod. 'I should go sit down, shouldn't I? Why don't you take the rest of this furniture inside for me? Mind the umbrella, the knot can be a little fussy. Oh, and don't forget the bin.'
Cardan dropped his chin a few degrees to aim a fierce glare at her. 'Filthy, filthy liar.'
'See you inside,' she called, halfway back to the cafe door.
'I hate it when you—' he halted, his next word stolen right from the tip of his tongue '—I hate that you, ugh!'
'What?' she teased. 'What do you hate?'
Cardan could not answer. Instead, he leaned the bicycle against the cafe and walked briskly past her, clipping her shoulder lightly with his own as he went. Despite her trickery and teasing, he did make short work of the remaining furniture. She decided he had earned himself something nice and hot to drink.
She waited until he came inside with the bin before she extended a peace offering of coffee.
'I thought I was forbidden from the stuff,' he said dryly.
'And I thought you would be tripping over yourself to make orders. I was hoping you'd challenge me! I'm so damn sick of hot chocolates.'
'I'm not sure how it all works,' he admitted, eyes grazing her menu board. 'I wouldn't know where to begin, I've never had coffee.'
Something inside Jude shattered a little every time she heard someone make this confession. She felt morally compelled to personally amend it. It was probably a healthier form of proving herself than spying, or violence.
'Cardan,' she said, 'I think I'm about to change your life.'
It felt strange to say his name. A little too friendly. He seemed a little ruffled by it too.
'I could certainly use a change,' he admitted quietly.
🌊 🐚 🐠 🦪 🌅
Poised in the shadow of a not-too-distant ginkgo tree, Nicasia sat in watchful silence.
Despite the distance, her keen fey sight and hearing allowed her to observe the cafe before her unseen. Inside, she could see Jude preparing coffee while Cardan watched, utterly mesmerised by the process. The voices within the cafe flowed easily. They seemed to be getting along a lot better than they had as youths.
It had been an age since she could recall hearing her friend speak with such quickness, such clarity of mind. Her heart ached as she remembered how sluggish he had become during his last months in the Undersea. He would forget himself mid-thought. Sometimes he would even forget his own name.
Jude and Cardan laughed at something. Nicasia indulged a sigh of relief.
He was safe.
Maybe better than safe, if the contented swish of his tail was anything to go by. It was brave of him to have the thing out and unglamoured in the mortal lands, but the amber lights of the cafe were dimmed enough that a passer-by might mistake it for a shadow. He really should have been more cautious, though.
No, she needed to stop worrying about him. He wasn't hers to guard anymore. She dabbed a few tears from her cheeks with her shawl and sniffed.
She would never forgive her mother for the way all of this had unfolded. For the danger placed upon Cardan, and the part Orlagh had forced her own daughter to play. At least Balekin had paid dearly for his role in the devious plot. Good riddance.
Nicasia reached into the pocket of her pants and found an envelope. It was addressed to Jude, and it contained the truth. Her truth. While Orlagh and Balekin might have forced her to take vow of silence regarding all matters of their nefarious plans, neither had thought to prohibit her from written dialogue. From letters. This was the safest way to convey her side of the story while avoiding inviting a curse upon herself for a broken vow. She didn't care whether or not Jude believed the contents of the letter, she just hoped the girl would be decent enough to share some of it with Cardan. It wasn't a foolish hope. Jude was a brat, but she wasn't completely heartless.
Rising to her feet, Nicasia looked skyward and saw that the last of the pink had faded from the horizon. Everything had become bitter and dry and greyish. She shivered, eager to be back beneath the waves. Somewhere warm, maybe? She certainly wouldn't be returning to her mother's kingdom any time soon, but she had cousins in the Pacific Ocean who regularly begged her to visit. It would be summer in their hemisphere. How perfect.
She waited until Jude and Cardan were both sipping from their coffee cups, then moved swiftly to plant her letter on the cafe door with a sticky bit of kelp. Neither of them noticed her.
Being rid of that letter made her feel instantly lighter. She lifted her chin and walked with renewed bounce in her step.
It was still too light for her to navigate by the constellations, so she sought direction from a human mother walking with her young daughter. She asked the mother for a map, or a full globe if she had one available. Humans carried all sorts of things in their satchels, so she figured her chances were good. The mother produced a small glass box with a map that could be made bigger or smaller by pinching it. Nicasia used it to plot a course to the Pacific, adding a few scenic stops along the way.
The little girl was whispering to her mother, 'Mama she's so pretty, do you think she's a princess?'
'Maybe,' the mother replied gently. 'She has seashells in her hair. Maybe a mermaid-princess?'
'Yes, mama. Definitely.'
Nicasia smiled. She plucked a single melo melo pearl from her hair and handed it to the girl, who took it gratefully. As long as little girls could sense her royalty, Nicasia knew she would not need a kingdom or queen-mother to make her feel like a proper princess. She strode into self-imposed exile with a light heart and a fortification of confidence, courtesy of one small human.