Holly Black, No Longer Dry Like a Martini

Ugh. Just ugh.

To distract myself from my foul mood, I will post something I've been holding on to for a little while. I know that a lot of people that come and read this journal are Tithe fans. Of course, in the last little while, and in the forseeable future, there is going to be a lot more Spiderwick news that Tithe II and Troll stuff. Now considering how different these books are, I'm thinking that there may not be that many joint fans. So, to apologise to all you Tithe folks that are being inflicted with Spiderwick, a Tithe vignette:

Untitled Vignette
Set between events of Tithe I and Tithe II (unless I somehow cannibalize it for Tithe II)
Thanks to Steve and Cassie for sitting on my shoulders like good and evil angels, whispering advice.

The servants didn’t like to let Kaye into the Palace of Termites. She could tell by the way they looked at her, as though she was only the scuff of her shoes, the dirt under her fingernails, the stench of coffee and cigarettes that clung to her clothes. They spoke grudgingly, eyes never meeting hers, and they led her through passageways as though their feet were made of lead.

It had been three weeks since Roiben assumed the title of Unseelie King and a few more until his formal coronation, at midwinter. Two nights past he woke her by tapping against her bedroom window and drawing her out to sit on the frozen lawn. He’d seemed restless, but hadn’t said why. Whatever the reason, it was infectious.

There was no telephone, no letterbox, no real way to say anything, except crossing town and coming to the hill. She followed the shuffling feet of a hunchbacked steward to the doors of Roiben’s chambers.
“He will be with you soon,” the steward said, pushing open the heavy door and stepping inside. He lit several fat candles along the floor before retreating silently. Roiben’s rooms were largely unfurnished, an expanse of smooth stone broken up by stacks of books and a bed covered in a brocade throw. There were a few other things, further inside—a jade bowl of washing water, a wardrobe. Despite that, it was formal, austere, and completely unlike her.

Kaye dropped her messenger bag on the end of the bed and sat down beside it. She tried to imagine living in a place like this and failed. The idea of putting a poster on the wall was absurd.

There was a sound in the hall and she stood, but it was only another glowering servant, this one bringing glass of spiced wine as thick and red as blood.

Kaye took the glass and sipped at it politely, then set it down. She flipped through a few books in the flickering candlelight, and waited some more. Eventually, she stretched out at the end of the bed, wrapping the brocade cloth over her.

She woke suddenly, a hand on her arm and Roiben’s impassive face above her. Silvery hair tickled her cheek. She had slept restlessly and the coverlet was half on the floor, soaking up spilled wine and running candle wax.

Embarrassed, she sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He frowned. “No one told me you were here.”

She wasn’t sure if that meant that he wished someone had or that he would have preferred her not here at all. Kaye slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. “I should go.”

He stayed seated on the wreckage of his bed. The scabbard on his hip touched the floor. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s late.”

“Kaye, you have no idea what time it is.” He stood and reached for her arm.

She stepped back.

He sighed. “Stay. Let me beg your forgiveness.”

“Stop it.” She shook her head. “Why aren’t you supposed to see me?”

His mouth curved into a bitter smile. “I am forbidden nothing.”

“No one wants me here. They don’t want me near you. Why?”

He looked startled, ran a hand through silver hair. “Because I’m gentry and you’re…not,” he finished awkwardly.

“I’m low class,” she said dully, turning her back to him. “Nothing new there.”

Roiben’s boots tapped against the stone as he walked behind her and pulled her against his chest. His head rested in the crook of her neck and she felt his breath as he spoke. “I have my own thoughts on the subject. I care nothing for anyone else’s.”

For a moment, she relaxed into his touch. He was warm and his voice was very soft. It would be easy to crawl back under the coverlet and stay. Just stay.

But Kaye turned in his arms. “What’s the big deal about you slumming?”

He snorted, one of his hands lingering on her hip, but he was no longer looking at her. His stare focused on the cold stone floor, the same grey as his eyes. “It is a weakness. My affection for you.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question and closed it again, realizing that he had answered more than she’d asked. Perhaps that was the reason that the servants didn’t like her, perhaps it was the reason that courtiers sneered at her, but it was also what he believed. She could see it in his face.

“I really should go,” she said, backing up. She was relieved to find that her voice didn’t catch.

He nodded and released her from the cradle of his arms.

The door was only a few steps across the floor, but she was conscious of each one, waiting for him to say something, to ask her a question, something. Maybe he was only willing to ask her to stay but so many times, though, because he was silent as she walked out into the rough-hewn hall. From there, she knew her own way outside.





EDITED TO SAY: I did cannibalize this for IRONSIDE - it's quite a bit changed in places, but you may find it interesting to compare how things evolve. I am leaving it up for now, unless I find that it confuses people.