Claire wept.
Sobs shook her, but she kept them silent. Who knew what other horrors lurked among the trees?
The king slept beside her, gaunt and pale and uncomprehending.
Eventually her tears died away. Hungry and exhausted, she sat by the king, not knowing what to do.
Now I’m the one with the thousand-yard stare.
The tree bark dug into her back, and she shifted her shoulders.
Something knobby in her pocket pulled against the fabric, and she frowned. What could possibly be in her pocket? She dug her hand into the cloth and pulled out a slightly mashed scone.
Her eyes widened. From her other pocket, she produced a chunk of cheese, several slices of apple, and a handful of dried cranberries.
“I thought that was a dream,” she murmured.
The king, unconscious on the leaves beside her, let out a soft, pained breath.
Hunger clawed at her belly; besides in the dream, she had eaten nothing since she had entered Faerie. That meant… what? Three days? No, probably more like four.
Claire frowned, looking at the king’s face again. Four days was longer than she’d ever gone without eating before. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, especially with the running and jumping and terror. But… well, she was alive, and though her stomach growled and she felt an odd, tingly emptiness at the ends of her fingers, she wasn’t exactly dying of hunger. Hungry, yes. Starving, not yet.
The king, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t eaten in months. He’d been wiry and lean; now he was emaciated.
Her mouth watered, and she closed her eyes, imagining the tart sweetness of the cranberries against her tongue. She imagined the rich creaminess of the cheese and the cinnamon spice of the scone.
She broke the scone into two pieces and then hesitated. One portion was noticeably larger than the other. She put the bigger piece on an enormous flat leaf, then divided the cheese into roughly equal pieces and put the larger one next to the larger piece of scone. She divided the apple slices and cranberries in a similar manner.
Claire ate the scone first, taking tiny bites hoping it would be more satisfying to eat it slowly. It was dry, and though the flavor was exquisite, the texture reminded her of the thirst that had been lurking at the edge of her awareness for hours.
The king studied her for some time before she noticed he was awake.
“Here.” She gestured toward the leaf with the larger portion of food. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
His strange, blank eyes slid to the scone and his eyebrows drew down. “Where did you get that?”
The lump in her throat seemed to choke her. “From you, I think. In a dream.”
One corner of his mouth rose in a quick, bemused smile. “Interesting,” he murmured. His lips tightened in pain as he sat up.
Claire motioned at the food, her mouth full.
He glanced at her, and there was a flicker in his eyes, a glimmer of comprehension that gave her hope for an instant before it faded. He looked back at the food and swallowed. “You need it more than I do,” he muttered.
“That is ridiculous.” Her voice cracked. “How long has it been since you ate anything?”
He rose gracefully to his feet. Then he staggered against the tree, catching himself with his wounded arm with an almost stifled grunt of pain. “It doesn’t matter.” His strange, blank eyes turned toward her. “Come. The border is miles away, and we are pursued.”
Claire’s stomach dropped into her toes. “We’re pursued?”
He swayed, his eyelids fluttering closed. He would have fallen but for his convulsive grip on the tree.
“Please eat something. I don’t even know how you’re alive.”
The king gave a tiny, secretive smile. “I think I do.” He leaned heavily against the tree, his eyes playing over her face, down her neck, lingering on the pendant. He turned away. “Eat as you walk. They are not far behind us.”
Claire gathered the food hurriedly and jogged after him.
“I thought you were dying,” she said. Way to repeat myself. He probably thinks I’m stupid.
“I was.”
“But now you’re better.” She frowned at his back.
He stumbled and caught himself with a quick intake of breath that made her think he was barely keeping himself upright. “No, not really. But you are.”
With a sigh, she took another bite of cheese.
“Why are you back in the straightjacket? I thought I freed you.”
“I thought it best. I’m still insane; it seemed a wise choice.”
The harsh fluorescent lights gleamed on the tile floor. It had been clean last time, or so she had thought, but now there were dust bunnies in the corners and faint shadows of dust along the tops of the chalkboards.
“You put yourself in the straightjacket?”
“Of course not. You did.”
She scowled at him. That doesn’t make any sense at all.
Claire ran her thumb over the familiar pattern on her pendant, at first absently, then with a thoughtful frown. She walked to a chalkboard and looked for chalk.
The ledge was empty. She frowned and glanced at the king, who stood in the middle of the room, his eyebrows raised inquiringly.
“Why isn’t there any chalk here?”
“Perhaps it’s a representation of something.” The king smiled, showing his teeth.
“Of what? Your inability to communicate clearly?” Claire snapped.
He turned away without saying anything, and guilt assailed her. “I’m sorry. That was cruel.”
The king made a thoughtful sort of noise. “So it was,” he murmured. “No matter. I’d hoped…” He clicked his teeth shut, biting back words.
“Hoped what?” She chewed her lip. “That I’d be kinder? I’m working on it.”
“Are you?” He raised an eyebrow, and she couldn’t tell if the gesture was inquisitive or mocking.
She kept her voice even. “I am. It’s hard. I’ve discovered that I’m a rather selfish person. I’m trying to change but it’s work.”
“So it is.” His eyes were on her face, bright and wild, and she looked away.
“I wish there was chalk!” she muttered.
Then she saw chalk on a ledge she had not previously searched. She glanced at the king, wondering if he had made the chalk appear. He merely studied her with his lips pressed together.
She examined the pendant, then drew the symbol on the chalkboard, with three straight lines converging at the top and splaying outward at the bottom, three dots at the top, all enclosed in a neat circle. “What does this symbol mean?” she asked as she turned to him.
He stared at it, his face tight. “Where did you see that?” he asked, his elegant voice strangely rough.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t remember. I should remember but I don’t. Power. Authority. A marriage proposal. A reservoir. A symbol of reality that isn’t.”
Claire blinked. “Is that supposed to make sense?”
The king strained against the straightjacket for a moment, then relaxed, breathing heavily. “Does anything make sense? Is it supposed to?” He rocked back on his heels and forward again, bare toes spreading against the floor as if to keep himself anchored. “It isn’t and it is. It wasn’t and might be. Power. A gift unaccepted.” His gaze fixed on her face. “Don’t forget, Claire. It’s important.”
“All right.”
He stiffened. “Wake up, Claire.” His eyes widened. “Wake up! Now, Claire. Wake up now. NOW!”