The fey blinked, and slid a surprised glance Pritkin’s way, but didn’t say anything else. I, on the other hand, had nothing else to do with my mouth, now that my dinner was gone. “Triskelion?” I asked.
“Someone who owns three elements,” Pritkin murmured, before the officer yelled at him to
shut up.
There was silence for a moment.
“Is that unusual?” I asked, because I’d kind of gotten the idea that the fey weren’t allowed to hurt us, and I’d been yelled at before.
“Fairly,” Pritkin said, hiding a smile.
It didn’t look like he liked the officer, either.
“So, how many do most people have?” I asked, and found a fey in my face.
“Be. Silent,” the officer told me, in what was the closest thing I’d ever heard to a genuine hiss.
“Or what? You’ll throw me in a cell and take away my food? Oh, wait.”
“Oh, shit,” Pritkin murmured admonishingly.
And yes, he was right; antagonizing the fey was stupid. But right now not antagonizing them was just as stupid, since nothing was happening. And if nothing continued to happen, we lost.
“How many?” I asked again.
Pritkin looked at the guard, and a little smile escaped his lips. “One.”
And, okay, something was happening now, I thought, as the fey jerked Pritkin up.
And was quickly surrounded by his own guards, looking concerned. One of whom even dared to put a hand on his arm. “Sir, the king said—”
“I don’t take orders from a human king!”
It had been pretty savage, but the fey wasn’t deterred. “But the lord was standing right there, and if he hadn’t agreed . . .”
“We can’t hurt them unless they try to escape,” another fey recited.
The officer looked back at Pritkin. “Try,” he ordered.
But Pritkin just stood there, with that same little half smile.
Until the officer released him with a sound of contempt.
After a moment, everyone settled back down, and the room grew quiet again.
“So,” I asked, “what do they call someone with four?”
I didn’t get an answer, but coincidentally, that was the same number of fey who grabbed the officer, halfway through a lunge. And that included the guy who’d been standing by the door. Which probably explained how we came to be inundated by a flock of beauties bearing gifts.
The door slammed open, showing a bemused, human-looking guard. And a flood of dark-eyed, silk-clad, tassel-bedecked lovelies, each with a platter or basket or pitcher. Or, in the case of one girl with wildly improbable crimson hair, a basket of fresh-baked bread rolls that she started tossing to the famished fey.
“Did you think we forgot you? Poor darlings,” she cooed, to the very surprised, very pleased-looking soldiers.
Well, apart from one.
“Stop that! Stop that immediately!” the officer told her, only to have her laugh and shake her tassels at him. Xanthippe had been a lion tamer’s assistant back in the day, and not much fazed her.
“Who ordered this? Who ordered this?” he demanded, as his men began dividing up the bounty.