Ironside

Ruddles was right; they had little chance of wi

And if all the Unseelie Court died along with them, so be it.

Corny knocked on the back door of Kaye's grandmother's house and smiled through the glass window. He hadn't had much sleep, but he was flushed and giddy with knowledge. The tiny hob he'd captured had talked all night, telling Corny anything that might make him more likely to let it go. He'd uncaged it at dawn, but true knowledge seemed closer to him now than it ever had before.

"Come in," Kaye's grandmother called from inside the kitchen.

He turned the cold metal knob. The kitchen was cluttered with old cooking supplies; dozens of pots were stacked in piles, cast iron with rusted steel. Kaye's grandmother couldn't bear to throw things away.

"What kind of trouble did the two of you get into last night?" The old woman loaded two plates into the dishwasher.

Corny looked blank for a moment, then forced a frown. "Last night. Right. Well, I left early.”

"What kind of gentleman leaves a girl alone like that, Cornelius? She's been sick all morning and her door's locked.”

The microwave beeped.

"We're supposed to go to New York tonight.”

Kaye's grandmother opened the microwave. "Well, I don't think she's going to be up to it. Here, take her this. See if she can keep something down.”

Corny took the mug and bounded up the stairs. Tea sloshed as he went, leaving a trail of steaming droplets behind him. In the hall outside Kaye's door, he stopped and listened for a moment. Hearing nothing, he knocked on the door.

There was no response.

"Kaye, it's me," he said. "Hey, Kaye, come on and open the door." Corny knocked again. "Kaye!”

He heard shuffling and a click, then the door swung open. He took an involuntary step backward.

He'd seen her faerie form before, but he hadn't been prepared to see it here. The grasshopper green of her skin looked especially strange when contrasted with a white T-shirt and faded pink underwear. Her shiny black eyes were rimmed with red, and the room beyond her smelled sour.

She lay back on the mattress, bundling the comforter around her and smothering her face against the pillow. He could see only the tangled green of her hair and the overly long fingers that pulled the fabric against her chest as though it were a stuffed toy. She seemed like a cat resting, more alert than it looked.

Corny came and sat down on the floor near her, leaning back on a satiny tag-sale pillow.

"Must have been a great night," he whispered, experimentally, and her ink black eyes did flicker open for a second. She made a sound like a snort. "Come on. It's the ass crack of noon. Time to get up.”

Lutie swooped down from the top of the bookshelves, the sudde

"Roiben's chamberlain, Ruddles himself, along with a bogan and a puck, carried her back. Imagine a bogan gently tucking a pixie into bed!”

Kaye groaned. "I don't think he was that gentle. Now, can everyone be quiet? I'm trying to sleep.”

"Your grandma sent up this tea. You want it? If not, I'll drink it.”

Kaye flipped over onto her back with a groan. "Give it to me.”

He handed over the mug as she shifted into a sitting position. One of her cellophane-like wings rubbed against the wall, sending a shower of powder down onto the sheets.

"Doesn't that hurt?”

She looked over her shoulder and shrugged. Her long fingers turned the tea cup, warming her hands against it.

"I take it we're not going to make it to your mother's show.”

She looked up at him and he was surprised to see that her eyes were wet.

"I don't know," she said. "How am I supposed to know? I don't know much about anything.”

"Okay, okay. What the hell happened?”

"I told Roiben I loved him. Really loudly. In front of a huge audience.”

"So, what did he say?”

"It was this thing called a declaration. They said—I don't know why I even listened—that if I didn't do it someone would beat me to it.”

"And they are . . . ?”

"Don't ask," Kaye said, taking a sip of the tea and shaking her head. "I was so drunk, Corny. I don't ever want to be that drunk again.”

"Sorry. ... Go on.”

"These faeries told me about the declaration thing. They were kind of—I don't know—bragging, I guess. Anyway, Roiben told me I had to stay in the audience for the ceremony, and I kept thinking about how I didn't fit in and how maybe he was disappointed, you know? I thought that maybe he secretly wished I knew more of their customs— maybe he wished I would do something like that before he had to send someone else on a quest.”

Corny frowned. "What? A quest?”

"A quest to prove your love.”

"So dramatic. And you did this declaration thing? You declared.”

Kaye turned her face, so that he couldn't read her expression. "Yeah, but Roiben wasn't happy about it, as in not at all." She put her head in her hands. "I think I really fucked up.”

"What's your quest?”

"To find a faery that lies." Her voice was very low.

"I thought faeries couldn't lie.”

Kaye just looked at him.

Suddenly, horribly, Corny understood her meaning. "Okay, hold on. You are saying that he sent you on a quest that you couldn't possibly complete.”

"And I'm not allowed to see him again until I do complete it. So basically, I'm not going to see him ever again.”

"No faery can tell an untruth. That is why it is one of the nice quests given to put off a declarer— no endless labor," said Lutie suddenly. "There are others, like 'Siphon all the salt from all the seas.' That's a nasty one. And then there are the ones that seem impossible, but might not be, like 'Weave a coat of stars.'“

Corny moved onto the bed next to Kaye, dislodging Lutie from his knee. "There has to be a way. There has to be something you can do.”

The little faery fluttered in the air, then settled in the lap of a large porcelain doll. She curled up and yawned.

Kaye shook her head. "But, Corny, he doesn't want me to finish the quest.”

"That's bullshit.”

"You heard what Lutie just said.”

"It's still bullshit." Corny kicked at a stray pillow with his toe. "What about seriously stretching the truth?”

"That's not lying," Kaye said, taking a deep swig out of the mug.

"Say that the tea is cold. Just try. Maybe you can lie if you push yourself.”

"The tea is . . . ," Kaye said, and stopped. Her mouth was still open, but it was as though her tongue were frozen.

"What's stopping you?" Corny asked.

"I don't know. I feel panicked and my mind starts racing, looking for a safe way to say it. I feel like I'm suffocating. My jaw just locks. I can't make any sound come out.”

"God, I don't know what I would do if I couldn't lie.”

Kaye flopped back down. "It's not so bad. You mostly can make people believe things without actually lying.”

"Like how you made your grandmother believe I was with you last night?”

He noticed that she wore a small smile as she took the next sip from the cup.

"Well, what if you said you were going to do something and didn't? Wouldn't that be lying?”