A cruel smile curled Marikoth’s lips. Finn winced. He knew Marikoth was right. It was why his stepfamily wasn’t accepted by the nobles as one of their own. For as open-minded as Rohan seemed, he likely thought the same way on some level.
Had Finn been unconsciously telling himself a lie that Rohan would end up throwing convention out of the window and choose him over everything? A noble and a servant? Together? In front of everyone? Really?
He had suspected that he was starting to feel something more than he should have the other day. He had warned himself not to place any significance on anything that had occurred between him and Rohan. Yet he felt, deep in his bones, that Rohan was honorable and that he would do whatever it took to save Finn’s life.
“Besides, you know nothing other than what you wish to believe. Your life is so pathetic that the least bit of kindness and respect makes you spin whole stories of noble lords who fall in love with servants because they are good and pure.” Marikoth’s tone was cutting as were his words.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Finn said evenly, as he swallowed his own fears about this, reminding himself that he knew nothing of Marikoth either. Why should he take what the Fae said as truth over his own experience? “But I know that Rohan is trying to help me nonetheless.”
Marikoth’s expression went slightly blank as if he hadn’t expected Finn to behave so reasonably but to break down and sob and shout that he was wrong. Finn’s life had taught him all too well that people could and would disappoint him.
“He will try to help you, but he will not be able to,” Marikoth said finally and rose to his feet.
“Can you help me?” Finn asked.
“You shouldn’t ask help from a Fae. Besides, you dying might be best. Yes, I think it is best. No matter how interesting you are.”
Marikoth began to pace the interior of the cabin, but with every step he took the floor and walls disappeared. They were now just in the clearing in the Lupine Woods with the cabin stripped away. The trees looked like an artist’s inked sketch. Sweetfire was not there chomping on grass, but Finn reminded himself that this was not real. Sweetfire was with him in the Empire. He was relieved at that.
“If you are so certain that Rohan will fail and--and that I am d-dying then why are you here?” Finn asked, stammering over his supposed fate.
“Because I’m interested in you. Didn’t I say that? I’m sure I’ve said it several times,” Marikoth answered with a graceful wave of his hand. “And there is the slenderest thread of hope that you could survive.”
“What hope?” Finn asked.
Too quick. I shouldn’t have asked that so quickly, Finn realized as he saw the satisfied smile on the Fae’s face.
“Again with asking for my help! You really are tempting fate here!” The Fae wagged a finger at him. “Surely you are aware that the Fae give nothing for free. Especially not hope to a dying boy.”
Finn frowned. He had always thought the claims of deals with Fae were overblown. Now, he wondered if he was wrong. He also wondered if the other part of Fae deals was true, which was that the only one to ever come out on top of them was the Fae.
“You were the one who wanted to know about me first,” Finn said. “Shouldn’t I be the one to set the deal? I’ll tell you about myself if you help me.”
Marikoth shrugged. “I do not want to know about you that badly, and, like I said, you dying might be altogether better. You’re an unknown quantity, Finn, and I am in the midst of a plan that has been in the making for ages. I cannot have it disrupted by you.”
“If you think I could disrupt your plan then I must be someone important, right? You scoffed at me being no one so… don’t you want to know all about me just in case my--my death doesn’t end my danger to you?” Finn grimaced as fresh pain bloomed in his side as if he had shifted. Or maybe someone had shifted him. Like Rohan.
Marikoth tapped his chin. “Why do I have a feeling you know little about yourself? After all if you knew anything of interest you wouldn’t be so ignorant of Death Magic. And yet…”
As Marikoth paced, more the garments he had worn as Rohan disappeared and were replaced just as the cabin had been. Marikoth was now clad in shimmering green silk robes with silver embroidery of skulls threaded through with vines. There was an elaborate black leather belt with silver buckle that cinched the robes at his slender waist. The robes had a stiff collar that rose just below the level of his chin. A white, linen undershirt could be seen at his throat where the outer robes parted. His skin was nearly as pale as the shirt. His feet were surprisingly bare. It was an almost sensual thing to see bare feet when the rest of him was mostly covered in layers of fine cloth.
He’s royal, I think, Finn realized as he studied the Fae. His clothes are more like a king’s. But the Fae king is Thalanil, and Marikoth is clearly not him. Yet there is something similar about them. At least the version of Thalanil I dreamed of… but why would I dream of the Fae king’s true face? It’s absurd!
Marikoth’s eyes slid to him and another of those thin smiles appeared. “Trying to figure out something about me? We’re in a dream. Anything you’re seeing is a lie.”
“Well, I see how you would like me to see you,” Finn pointed out.
Marikoth stopped mid-step and whirled towards him. “How is that?”
“You want me to think you’re royalty,” Finn answered evenly, not rising to the bait to answer sharply, arrogantly or churlishly. The years of dealing with his stepfather’s temper had taught him well.
“And you think I’m not?” Those crimson eyes flared.
He’s very touchy about this. Perhaps he lost his position? Finn wondered.
He said out loud, “Actually, I think you are.”
Marikoth blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that answer either.
“But something is wrong,” Finn continued.
“Wrong?” Marikoth mocked, but his gaze had not left Finn.
“Yes, I believe… I believe you might have lost your title,” Finn answered and his voice went dreamy. He had these epiphanies about people oftentimes. “You’ve lost something because, though you look and move well in those kingly vestments, there’s a part of you that…”
“That what?” Marikoth’s voice was soft, almost silky.
Finn knew this was a warning. His stepfather’s voice became the equivalent of this when Finn was treading too near some painful truth. It was like touching a bear’s claw that was inflamed from a bite and hot with infection.
“You shouldn’t worry what I think,” Finn stated.
If this is a dream, I have to wake up. How do I do that? Finn wondered again. And how do I get Marikoth to tell me what he knows before that so I can save myself?
“Why shouldn’t I care what you think, Finn?” Marikoth asked.
“Because we’re strangers.” Finn shrugged helplessly.
“Strangers? True! We are at that. I notice that you didn’t say because you’re a peasant. A nobody.” That evil smile was back. “At least we’ve gone beyond that.”
“As much as the distance between nobility and peasantry is meant to keep the nobles in power, how a peasant feels about them does that as well,” Finn snapped back.