“She once told a visiting dignitary she could stir dreams right into his teacup,” Poppy added. “Or nightmares, rather.”
“And what happened?”
“The dignitary—who happened to be very important—left in a huff,” Poppy said. “Aesra heard all about it, of course, and Jace ended up with a week’s duty in the ice vault.”
“The dignitary was a glimmerleech,” Jace said. “I found him with Maeve behind the west stairwell. He’d cornered her and was fumbling at her corset. If I didn’t help her, who would?”
“Who’s Maeve?” Willow asked. “And why wouldn’t someone else step in? Surely visitors can’t just... do that.”
“Certainly not!” Poppy said. “This isn’t like where you’re from, Willow. In Eryth, we have rules. Politenesses.”
“Only they don’t apply to Maeve,” Jace said evenly. “She’s Blighted.”
“Blighted?” Willow echoed.
A silence fell over the room. Jace busied herself with dabbing a spot of chocolate from the spout of the ceramic pot, while Poppy turned pink with consternation.
“Jace, you just hush,” she said at last. “You don’t want that spoon of yours stirring up nightmares in Willow’s pretty little head, do you?”
Poppy turned to Willow with a bright smile. “Now, is my favorite mortal ready to have her pillow plumped?”
~
Willow must’ve slept at some point, but it wasn’t the deep, cottony sleep she’d fallen into the night before. This time, her rest was ragged and restless, broken by dreams of dead birdsspringing to life. She could still feel the real one in her hands: small and trembling, its heartbeat fluttering against her skin.
When light finally yielded to dawn, a chorus of birds began trilling outside Willow’s window. She imagined, for a wild and unreasonable moment, that one of them might be searching for a missing child.
“Up, up!” came Poppy’s singsong voice. “It’s a beautiful day, and the queen expects you for breakfast!”
“Again?” Willow groaned, dragging the covers over her head.
“Stixie pix, miss, it’s an honor! What do you mean, ‘again’?”
Willow shoved back the covers. “Nothing. Sorry. Grumbly morning.”
“Well, un-grumble yourself. Today’s not just breakfast. It’s your first debut.”
“My what?”
“Your debut, silly. You’re to dine in the Hall of Mornings. Half the court will be watching.” Poppy widened her eyes. “It’s not just about eggs and fruit today. It’s about impressions.”
“So it’ll be worse than breakfast with the queen.”
“Oh piddle-paddle,” Poppy said. She pulled at the sleeves of Willow’s nightclothes and clucked under her breath. “Goodness, did you get any rest at all last night? Your eyes are smudgy, and your skin is sallow, even for a mortal. And goodness gravy, your hair! It looks like a nest where all the eggs hatched at once and then caught fire.”
Poppy produced a silver-handled brush from some hidden pocket and began working through the knots. The bristles glided gently, the strokes long and even. Willow’s shoulders relaxed as the tension began to ease from her scalp.
“I didn’t get much rest last night,” she admitted. “I couldn’t get my mind to be quiet.”
“Why, sure!” Poppy said. “If I’d conjured a bird from thin air, I’d have lain awake too, counting its feathers in my head.”
Willow blinked. “You know about that?”
“About what? The bird?” Poppy said. “Why, sure I do. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Among other things.”
Willow felt uneasy. It had felt like a secret—what had transpired at the pond. A secret because it was sacred, but still. “Does everyone know?”
“Oh, no. Oh my!” Poppy stopped brushing. “I’m allowed to know because I’m your handmaiden. Same for Jace. We need to know everything about you. Otherwise how could we best tend to your needs?”
