Page 9 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

Once the message is complete and incorruptible, light the candle with the magic spark I mentioned. Burn the bay leaf in the censer while visualizing the joyous outcome of your spell. Mind, the more distracted you are, the more this can go wrong, so don’t risk this working when your mind’s restless. Blessings will keep, but curses run you ragged trying to catch them. Finally, lift the censer and gift the wishes to the wind to unleash the full effect. If the result is good, you’ll hear a sound like tinkling bells, and if something’s gone wrong, a discordant tone along with a deepening chill.

Courtiers have made you feel unwelcome, as if you cause trouble by being different. I wish I knew more about your heritage, but whatever people say, you’re no demon out there devouring souls. Things go wrong for me all the time. Don’t blame yourself if you don’t master a spell on the first try. Your best is good enough.

Thea

I have no words.

In my time on the fringes of the Winter Court, I have been passed over, punished, penalized, and pushed around, but I’ve never been disregarded to this extent. I struggle to get the question out. “Does Da know?”

“He’s currently locked in a cell. His cursing was memorable to say the least. He’s lucky Lord Liskaal didn’t take his head.”

The initial burst of warmth freezes into a kernel of fear, and it burns in my heart with winter frost. Erdene doesn’t need to tell me that my dad will remain a hostage until I comply; I’ve dwelled at the edge of the ice for the entire span of my existence. Slowly, I get to my feet, regarding the brownie with a faint feeling of betrayal, although she couldn’t have stopped this.

She could have warned me.

But she wore a mask of kindness instead, lulled me, who’s never known a mother’s softness or care, and made me waste precious time. Though I don’t know the hour, I collect that I won’t be allowed to try to free Da. The person Erdene spoke to earlier is most likely a guard, if Lord Liskaal operates true to type. There is probably more than one posted outside the bath. I’m not known for my obedience.

“I see,” I say softly. “If you expect me to be meek, even for a moment, I must be allowed to confirm that he’s unharmed. In person.”

I expect Erdene to push back, but two sharp raps sound on the door, and she turns from me to answer it. The gown binds me, and my hair feels like an unbearable weight, exacerbated by the flounces and furbelows in my updo.

She speaks with them briefly, and a moment later, Erdene beckons. “They’re ready for you in the great hall, but you’ll take a detour on the way, my chick. Try not to fret. Things will work out as they’re meant to.” As the guards encircle me, she winks.

Does that mean—do the lesser fae have a plan?

Generally, I’m not the sort to wait around for a rescue, as proven by my pooka-liberation mission earlier. But I don’t know what I can achieve when six armed fae march me with great determination toward my supposed wedding night. Based on what Lady Valnevi said, I’m being used as a peace offering, though as always with the high fae, it can be a double-edged blade. The Winter Court provides fresh blood to Summer while removing a thorn from their own side.

If I had a choice, I’d rather go to the Autumn Court, where they don’t seem to care about such machinations at all. That said, Lady Mirralee holds her cards close to her chest, so perhaps she has an agenda she doesn’t reveal to outsiders. Lord Sorren of House Summer loathes Lord Liskaal and would be delighted to gnaw at Winter’s borders, though he’s a tad too indolent to declare outright war without great provocation. Instead, he pecks at Winter, keeping tensions at a simmer. In fact, even the Springtide Court would be preferable, and allegedly, it’s governed by an eccentric, ancient fae who acts endlessly amused by everything. According to widespread gossip, Pelleril declines the use of a title and tells everyone to call them Pell.

For a moment, I contemplate tearing off this dress and sneaking away from this mess. But considering Da, locked up to keep me in line, love surges through me, deep and powerful and nigh overwhelming. He’s always been there for me. I don’t have to think much; it’s not even a sacrifice, as long as he’s safe. For Da, I’ll marry a boggart or a Dullahan or even a fachan, no questions asked. If I had the focus and the supplies, I’d cast a luck spell for him here and now, but I have to trust that he’s unharmed.

I haven’t been paying attention, but we’re approaching the administrative side of the palace complex. The serving quarters are behind, even farther from the center, and past there, the door to the antechamber leading to the prison. Inside the holding area, a bored boggart picks his teeth with a stone knife. His gray skin is marbled with darker veins, and his eyes are small and red. He has large fur-tufted ears, a scaly, hairless tail, and a round, comfortable belly.

“I wasn’t told to expect visitors!” He frowns at the lot of us.

A guard replies, “She’ll speak with Mudge, so bring him out. We’re not sending her into the cells in such a pretty dress.”

I smile a bit. That’s an entirely fae response, a certain reverence for beauty that I appreciate, although I don’t always agree on the definitions. The boggart grumbles as he passes into the deep with the control stone, and when he returns, Da follows behind him, whistling a song that I could identify in my sleep. The mournful melody speaks to me, as it always does. Da says “Tha Mi Sgìth” is about a fairy who fell for a mortal girl at first sight, but he never says more, just gets a soft and sorrowing look, faraway for a moment.

I scan him from head to toe. Olive-brown skin, hazel, if you will, though I seldom encounter that word applied to anything but nuts and eyes, a tousled mop of silver hair, sharp canines that protrude a bit, and a full underjaw. He has pert ears and a weathered face, and he’s not quite as tall as I am now, shorter by a hand or so. Da has the gentlest eyes of anyone I’ve ever known, sweet and calm like a forest pond, and twice as green.

“You came, my jewel?” He’s always called me that. I think Erdene’s changeable endearments started with him. “There was no need. I’m well enough as you can see.”

Indeed, he doesn’t appear to be injured, just a bit rumpled. “I had to be sure.”

“They’ve promised to let me go. After. But I’ll stay here if you need time to…fix matters. In your own way.” Though his words are vague, he’s giving me permission to run.

Leave him to Lord Liskaal’s uncertain mercies.

Ah, no. I could never.

Before the guards stop me, I take two steps and hug him fiercely, my true dad. He smells of lichens—woody, and sharp, and slightly sweet—cedar, and a bit of brackish water, but not in a bad way. “No. It’s all good. Wish you could be there, though. Maybe for my next wedding?” I manage a lopsided grin as he laughs quietly.

“How many are you planning, then?”

I shrug and step back. “Who knows? I live by my gut most days.”

“Your gut’s golden. It’ll never steer you wrong.”