Chapter 4
Durin
The nobles stand frozen at the sight of Mitah’s lifeless body. They should be used to gruesome scenes like this. But a common fae triumphantly standing over a high-ranking noble’s mutilated body is something they likely don’t encounter often.
I would love to use their shock to my advantage. I could fight them off and escape, but my broken hands are useless. They need a healer’s touch, and I doubt I’ll be seeing one any time soon.
The noble with long, purple hair and a crooked nose curses as he examines Mitah’s torn throat. “What the fuck?” He glances at my mangled hands in disbelief and asks, “Did you do this?”
I try to cover my ass and claim we were both attacked by someone else, but the words turn to stone in my throat. My breaths are cut off, and it will remain that way until I choose honest words to replace them. Lying means certain death for a fae.
I don’t have time to come up with a believable workaround. An honest answer is all I can give. “Yes,” I say firmly, unwilling to feign any remorse.
“What power do you possess to have defeated Mitah?” the other soldier with glowing silver eyes demands. “He was the queen’s most powerful warrior.”
I realize they aren’t interested in why I killed Mitah. They’re only interested in how–in my magic. Despite my injured hands, they may still fear me. They don’t know what I’m capable of. But I will need to answer them. Hopefully, they’ll be too intrigued by my magic to simply kill me.
“Heat,” I tell them.
“Heat?” the first soldier scoffs. “Heat did this?”
“Yes,” I say with a fake smirk. “I boiled his blood until he burst. You should throw a feast for the ogres. I hear they have a taste for roasted fae.”
“Damn,” the silver-eyed noble says with a grin. “The queen is going to love you.”
His words should put me at ease, but the thought of being looked on favorably by the queen makes my stomach revolt. She’ll just use me for my power. Still, it’s a better fate than being killed by these soldiers. At least this way, I’ll have a chance to do something good with my influence.
“Let’s bring him to the queen,” the second fae says. “No healer. I don’t trust him.”
Smart move. I would fry him in seconds if my hands were healed.
As I’m escorted to the castle, panic starts to creep in. It’s been years since I felt anything but determination and anger. This feeling reminds me of how helpless I once was. Panic is weak. Anger is much more powerful. I pull it forward, burning through the nerves, and let it simmer just beneath the surface in case I decide to use it.
My hands and wrists ache as we walk, reminding me of the shifter who sparked all of this. His hands were crushed, too. It seems fitting that I should experience some of his suffering.
Towering trees and lush plants thrive over almost every inch of Faerie, especially during the Awakening Season. The warm, pink sun highlights the vibrant colors of the land. It’s beautiful.
But when we emerge from the trees, the white castle stands out against the lively forest like a dead spot. I suppose it could be beautiful, like a snowy mountain with sharp, frosted peaks. But it looks out of place, jutting out of the ground like a jagged thorn in Faerie’s flesh.
The queen is said to have a unique bond with the realm, drawing her power directly from its source. I’d always thought that meant they were in harmony with each other. But the desolate land surrounding the castle makes it look more like Faerie is slowly dying as the queen sucks it dry. As if the magic is being stolen, not shared.
Could that be true? Is the queen somehow leeching magic from the land in order to make herself more powerful? If so, the lifeless castle stands as a grim monument for the parts of Faerie’s soul she’s destroyed.
The ground grows harder beneath my boots, and the castle seems to grow uglier as we approach it. How could anyone willingly live here? I feel as though I’m returning to sickness. Like death is waiting at the door to welcome me home.
We pass through gardens of dirt and dried sticks where beautiful bushes and flowers should grow. It’s as if the sun never shines here. Like life itself is unwelcome.
Two guards open the main gates, and I expect much of the same once we pass through. It’s somehow worse. There’s nothing but cold, sharp stone, glass, and those menacing, thorny vines from the queen’s crest. The twisted, gray stems creep along the castle walls and across the grounds, breaking up all the white but offering no comfort.
The land outside the gates looked abandoned and neglected, but inside, it seems to have been decorated with death.
The soldiers lead me up a white path to two massive white doors. As our boots thud against the stone, I realize how quiet and lifeless it is. There are no flourishing fae tending the gardens. No laughter from anyone drunk on wine or potion. It’s somber and still like a graveyard. I worry the path might crumble beneath my feet and bury me here, too.
As depressing as it all is, my hatred and anger are running wild inside me. I’m having to fight to keep them under control. I’ve never even seen the queen before, let alone stood before her. Letting my emotions lead my interactions with her would be a horrible mistake.
I’ve only heard tales of what her magic can do. They say she took down herds of kelpies with a flick of her finger. I’ve also been told she once turned an entire pack of shifters into ice with a single glance. And it’s rumored that she plays for hours in her dungeons, satisfying her bloodlust on those unfortunate enough to end up there.
No one knows the extent of her power. The only thing I can be sure of is that if I displease her, she could end my life in seconds, mended hands or not.
As we approach the grand, arched doors of the castle, I feel a tickle on my neck and realize that Farris has been with us all along, illusioned as something tiny and harmless. If he’s been noticed, he’s not been given a second thought. I just hope Vernan isn’t here to see through the illusion and give us away. Farris is smart and resourceful, though. I’m sure he layered his illusion. He’ll find a way to keep hidden regardless of who we encounter in this cold, dead place.
More guards open the doors for us, and the soldiers push me through. I jump back as two gryphons swoop inside the doors and fly over our heads. I’d heard that some of them live in the castle guarding the queen’s treasure, but it’s still shocking to see the beautiful creatures entering this death cave.
I admire their broad wings and strong feline bodies as they soar up to a passageway at the top of the tall room. One lets out a shriek from its sharp, solid beak, and the sound echoes around us like a warning. But no one would be foolish enough to approach their treasure.
I prepare myself for more safeguards as we walk down a vaulted corridor. Windows reach almost to the ceiling on one side, yet the hallway is dim and littered with shadows. It’s a fitting path to the dungeons, which is where I assume I’ll be for a while.
But instead of the dungeons, we enter a great hall with a raised dais and an intricately carved wooden throne at its center. The wood is ashen, colorless, just like the rest of the place.
There is an open, unguarded door on the other side of the room, and there’s a fae with curly green hair lingering around the steps of the dais. The hall is otherwise empty. The lone fae approaches us as soon as we enter, his thick, white robes billowing out around him as he hurries over. He wears a weak glamour of a stern brow and a taller frame. He’s even glamoured his ears to look longer. Am I the only one who can see right through it?
The silver-eyed soldier exchanges some hushed words with him. He nods before they hurry back out the door we came in. I stand stiffly with the other guard, not daring to utter a word. If my assumptions are correct, we’re waiting for the queen.
Nerves send chills down my back, and I can do nothing to stop them. In all my years of preparation, I couldn’t have trained for this. I’m a common fae. I had no access to information on what happens inside the walls of the castle with the queen and her court.
I keep my breaths even, trying to trick my brain into thinking I’m calm. We wait for ages until I finally see movement from the doorway the fae disappeared into. I expect a company of guards surrounding the queen, ready to protect her if I try anything. But what comes in is even more unexpected than I could have even imagined.
The robed fae strides back into the room, followed by a creature handler and a group of about ten chained mixed fae shifters.
Mixed fae shifters are a crossbreed between shifters and fae. Normally, one could identify them only by their slightly shorter ears and muted colorings. But these mixed fae are crazed, having succumbed to their bloodlust.
Even though the mixed fae are only part fae, the bloodlust still courses through them. For some reason, they aren’t able to handle the urges very well. The bloodlust becomes unstable, often leading to fits of uncontrollable rage where they take down anything in their path. Fear is forgotten; only fury and the lust for death and destruction guide them. They are incredibly dangerous in those states.
Rumors say the queen uses them as a sentence for those who have disrespected her. That she watches as they drain every ounce of their fury and mania on the offender. Ears are ripped from heads and often eaten. Limbs are flattened into rugs for her feet. Faces are removed. So many stories of torture.
I’ve even heard stories of single mixed fae taking down multiple nobles. Others have been said to have taken out their own families in their blind rage. We’ve been told that mixed fae shifters are to be eliminated if found, but I’ve never encountered one this lost to the bloodlust. I’ve only come across a couple of them in all my years, and they seemed perfectly normal. They weren’t a threat to me, so I turned a blind eye and continued on my way.
But these ones… they’re raving. Some are foaming at the mouth or drooling as they growl and shriek. They stumble and tug at the shackles around their necks and wrists. Their eyes are wide, searching for a victim. Incredibly, they don’t target each other. Instead, they shove one another aside as they reach for everyone else in the room.
I can see why the queen and other fae might view them as beasts. But they are still part fae. Our own kind. And, as terrifying as they are, I don’t think they represent the majority of shifters. Definitely not the one I saw begging Mitah for his life.
The handler is calm, his face expressionless. His light blue hair is braided behind him with not a strand out of place. He casually leads the creatures to two large metal loops bolted to the floor on either side of the throne. He attaches the chains to the loops and steps back, unharmed and completely unafraid. There must be magic involved because no one should be able to control them so easily.
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is why they’re here. Will they carry out the queen’s judgment on me? Will she hand me over and laugh as they rip me apart? Perhaps they’re just here to protect her. That seems unnecessary, though. The queen is the most powerful fae alive. Why would she feel the need for protection? I’m just one fae, useless with broken hands. Surely, she can’t think their presence is necessary.
The only sounds are the growling of the creatures and their rattling chains. But soon, even that fades away as the queen’s magic seeps into the room. Invisible tendrils wrap around my ankles and neck while others slither across the rest of my body, lingering on my injured hands.
She’s surveying the room before even stepping a foot inside. Wise, but unsettling. This is my first taste of her power, and it’s alarming. But I won’t turn away from my mission. This much power should be used to protect, not terrorize. She doesn’t deserve to be a ruler.
She emerges through the doors and smugly glides across the hall to her throne. Her long, white hair falls straight down her back like it’s reaching for the darkness below. Her light gray eyes pass over me flippantly as if I’m not worth her attention. But I see the icy-blue slivers in her irises flash, just for a second, when they cross my face.
She’s intrigued, and that’s much more promising than the anger I expected.
Her light blue dress hugs her gentle curves as she walks. Whether she’s naturally beautiful or she’s glamoured herself to be more appealing, she stands out with a beauty others could only dream of finding.
The mixed fae shifters seem to settle as she climbs the steps up to her throne, though she doesn’t acknowledge them in any way. At first, this strikes me as odd. But when I think about it, what could calm a bloodthirsty beast but a bloodlust more profound than their own? Perhaps they heel to it.
The queen gracefully takes her seat on the throne, pulling my attention away from the mixed fae. Instead of meeting my eyes, she smirks down at my broken hands. I’m immediately consumed with rage. I thought I’d melted that smirk out of existence, but Mitah apparently adopted it from her.
My heat boils beneath my skin, but it has nowhere to go. I grit my teeth, trying not to let my pain or disgust for the queen show. I manage to keep my expression blank, but my body vibrates with the strain of suppressing my angry magic. The fight awakens my bloodlust, and it demands to see what color the queen bleeds.
I feel my lips begin to turn up into a smirk of my own as I give in to my fury. I no longer care about anything except roasting her lips off her face.
But before I can lunge at her, the soldier who led me here grips my shoulder. A sense of trust and adoration washes over me, dousing my anger. I feel safe. Relaxed and peaceful. And I suddenly want to confess everything. To beg the queen’s forgiveness for Mitah’s death and pledge my loyalty to her.
Farris snaps me out of it with a pinch on the back of my neck. I realize that the fae gripping my shoulder must be an empath. I’m an idiot for not considering the magic of the soldiers who brought me here. The queen only selects the strongest fae for her court. I need to stay alert. I still don’t know what anyone else in the room is capable of.
Grateful for Farris’s silent warning, I take a deep breath and lower my head in deference. I can still make it out of this alive, maybe to end her reign another day. I tell myself I’m ready for anything, but what she has in store for me is a worse sacrifice than I could have ever prepared for.