Into the Pit
B ryson awoke with an ache in her temples, her scars itching, and the sensation of her tongue being too dry to even swallow. She smacked her lips and sat up with a groan. Light pierced her eyes and she rubbed at her lids, fingers scraping across the scars on her flesh.
Magic fizzled through the air as she inhaled deep. A second smack of her lips and she nearly gagged at the coppery tang she tasted on her tongue.
“Ugh,” she complained, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth. “What is that?”
She blinked again, her surroundings coming into focus. She was in the same tent she’d gotten dressed in with Weylyn, sitting among a plush pile of pillows and blankets. She was naked, though Bryson didn’t question it, as she vaguely remembered the thin, stringy material being yanked from her body the night before.
Her face flushed at the memory of how she’d all but pounced on Weylyn. Then another sharper memory invaded. Of powder falling against her nose and making her lose her sense of self.
Had that been the reason she’d wanted him so desperately or was there more to it than that? Bryson couldn’t be sure, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy to question it regardless.
Not when the morning sun was peeking through the tent, making her entire brain pound inside her skull. Not when brownies were flittering through the tent, tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied, and pouring buckets of steaming warm water into the tub.
“Up, up, up,” one of the brownies ordered in a squeaky voice. The creature’s skin looked like it was made of red bark, with hair that resembled moss. “The queen requests an audience with you at once.”
Bryson blinked away the bleariness in her vision once again, unsure if she’d heard the brownie correctly. “Me?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Up, up, up.”
The brownie’s rough fingers grasped at Bryson’s legs, tugging on her skin, pinching her in sensitive areas. Bryson obeyed, standing on wobbling legs.
“Where’s Weylyn?” she asked as the brownie guided her towards the tub.
“The Hunt is today,” the brownie offered.
Bryson’s eyebrows lifted as she stepped one foot into the tub and then the other. She sank low in the water. It was biting against her skin, and she let out a hiss as steam rose through her nostrils. “What’s The Hunt?” she asked.
“Tradition. The princes hunt game for the feast. He left early morn.”
Bryson felt a pinch in her chest. He hadn’t woken her; he hadn’t told her where he was going or said goodbye. He’d left her alone, and now the queen was requesting an audience with her. While he was away.
Fear was gripping, and she tried to ignore it by grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing it across her skin until she was sensitive and aching.
“Why does the queen wish to see me?” Bryson asked as she took soap through her hair.
Instead of answering, the brownie hopped up on a stool and took the bar from Bryson to scrub it unkindly through her curls. Bryson winced as her hair was tugged and then blinked as water was poured over her and suds caught in her eyes.
“You are her youngest son’s mate,” the brownie tittered. “She must meet you properly.”
Bryson bit her tongue and didn’t bother mentioning that she had planned on rejecting the mate bond with Weylyn. Because it wasn’t their business, but also because that plan was so far away that she didn’t even know if she wanted that anymore. Things had changed the moment she’d gotten shoved into that Unseelie portal.
Of course, she wouldn’t use Weylyn just because she was afraid of what was to come. She could rely on him, want him, desire him. She could give in to everything she repressed here. Because tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. It was a strange thing how life ruined carefully constructed plans, and Bryson just wasn’t sure if it was for the better or not quite yet.
All she knew was that she needed Weylyn at this very moment. And maybe here, he was her only ally. Here she could learn to trust him.
“Just a taste.” Her words from last night echoed embarrassingly through her head. She’d devoured him. She’d let him give her pleasure.
Bryson’s head submerged beneath the water inch by inch. And when she rose again, she left her mouth underwater. As if that could hide her mortification.
“Shyness is unnecessary, little mate.” Weylyn’s voice appeared in her mind just then, causing her to jolt and slosh at the water. “I would fuck you, even if you did not beg.”
Her face heated and she looked from side to side, almost afraid that others had heard his musings. But no one did. His words were for her alone.
“The Hunt, Weylyn?” she asked in her mind.
“A tedious tradition. And dangerous. I am sure my brothers will make a few attempts on my life on this outing.”
Bryson jolted again and felt her panic rise. “You’re serious.”
“Very. But I will not die today.”
Before Bryson could ask him how he was so sure of that, he responded.
“I still have yet to taste between your thighs. I will not die, because I have much to live for.”
She didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t going to happen. After last night, anything could happen, and she wasn’t going to say no. Especially not when her thighs shook at the promise in his words and a gush of wetness slid from between her legs.
Bryson changed the subject. “The queen wishes to meet me.”
Weylyn was quiet a long while. Then, “Be careful, little mate. She is not to be trusted. I will not be able to tune in to your thoughts the entire time.”
Steely resolve sank into her bones. Bryson straightened her spine.
Predator or prey.
“I’ll be fine,” she told him, and she meant it. She wasn’t some simpering Fae child hiding behind their mother’s skirts. She was an Elemental Fae. She wielded air. She had survived loss and war and near-blindness and iron camps. She could survive the Unseelie queen on her own.
She was strong.
Predator or prey.
Predator.
“I will see you soon.” And then Weylyn’s voice disappeared.
“Up, up, up.” The brownie ushered Bryson to a stand and held out a fluffy towel made of woven flowers and animal skin. “Time for wardrobe. And the goblin has come to see you.”
Water sloshed from the sides of the rim of the tub as Bryson stepped out. She was dried over every inch by the brownies, and then she was dressed in black and gold pants and a shirt that cut off at the midriff. The high neck threatened to choke her, and she stopped herself from fidgeting at the neckline.
The brownies took a brush to her hair, pulling at all the knots, tying it in an elaborate hairstyle Bryson was sure she’d never be able to emulate on her own. Once she was dressed, the brownies opened the tent flaps and a small creature waded through.
She recognized him as the same goblin who had measured her face before.
He yanked on her pants and her knees buckled then hit the ground. His glare met her eyes.
“Here.” He procured a device from his pockets and held it up to her face. Bryson flinched as he forced it onto her, setting it on the bridge of her nose. “Lenses,” he grumped as they settled.
And suddenly the world became so much more...
Clear .
The blur she’d lived with for years ceased. There were no blobs of color. It wasn’t as if someone had taken a brush to the canvas of the world and blurred it.
Her sight was restored.
A small gasp left her lips and the lenses slid down the ridge of her nose. The goblin shoved them back up with a finger.
“H-how—?”
“Magic,” he answered curtly. “And science.”
Bryson leaned back and looked around. The weight of the glasses on her face was strange. They were made of a heavy metallic material, though the lenses were a thick glass. The pressure they put against her nose and ears felt like they didn’t belong. But it didn’t matter because she could see .
She hadn’t seen anything clearly in years.
Doing so now made her eyes mist with emotion that she held back. Every detail was clear to her now. From the threads of the tent, to the textured skin of the brownies, to the creases in the goblin’s old, angry face.
He was observing her with barely concealed annoyance, but also observing the lenses to make sure they were completely adequate. He must have thought they were, because he took a step back and nodded once.
“Do not break them,” the goblin said. “I won’t make you another.”
Before Bryson could reply, he stomped out of the tent.
“Come now.” The brownie tugged at her pants. Bryson looked down, relishing in details she could now make out clearly. The way pink and purple flowers bloomed across the brownie’s brown-green, tree-like skin. The young, expressive face as she smiled up at Bryson. “The queen requests your presence.”
The reminder of that made Bryson’s excitement diminish just a fraction. She took a breath as she pushed herself to her feet. She held her head high as she exited the tent behind the brownie. She tried not to give in, but couldn’t help herself as the sunlight hit her body and colors assaulted her vision.
Her head twisted side to side, absorbing everything around her. Everything felt new, fresh. Her eyes widened as she took in the Unseelie Court in a way she hadn’t been able to do before. It was rife with magic. A part of it reminded her of the Seelie Court before the humans had invaded, but a larger part of her recognized it for what it was. It was more .
It was pixies flying liberally through the air, creating a rainbow of floating lights and different colored powders as they rained down, softly blanketing the ground like snow. Her delicate shoes sunk into the powder, and it flew up with every step, nearly making her sneeze. She tried not to inhale it, though, and the pixies seemed to giggle at her efforts.
Other creatures milled about, a good majority of them goblins, but she caught sight of satyrs, centaurs, and an array of Unseelie Fae with animalistic features as well. Her head lifted to the sky. She caught sight of a tall iron pillar in the distance from which smoke emitted at the tip. She sneezed at that bit of iron in the air.
Her eyes still itched, and her scars still pulsed, but after days surrounded by iron she no longer felt as sick as she had before. Bryson reached for her magic, though that part of her still felt dormant and she couldn’t really make out why.
She hoped it was still growing used to the iron and not because the iron itself had created lasting effects against her magic.
She weaved her way through Unseelie, following after the quick-footed brownie. They walked up a slope and then down. The layout of Unseelie was strange, and that was something she hadn’t noticed before either. It felt like everything was constantly shifting, changing. As they walked down the slope, Bryson looked over her shoulder only to find it had disappeared. Trees groaned like old men complaining about rickety bones and seemed to close in on them from behind.
Bryson picked up the pace. Down the incline, there was a long table carved from tree bark and chairs topped with plush cushions. Atop the table sat a feast, the scent drifting towards Bryson’s nostrils.
Her stomach threatened to growl. She felt she hadn’t eaten in weeks, but she remembered Weylyn’s warning about the food at Unseelie. It would not all be edible. And she couldn’t even be sure what was safe to eat or not.
A part of her longed to reach out to Weylyn to ask for his help, but he was dealing with his own trials, possibly more dangerous than Unseelie food and drink. He was hunting with his siblings. Siblings who wanted him dead.
Bryson refused to be a distraction. She wouldn’t be the reason her only ally—her mate , she thought almost awkwardly—was hurt or killed. She had to deal with this situation on her own. She had to be strong.
Head lifted, the brownie guided her towards that table, where several others already sat around and partook in the feast before them.
At the head of the table was the queen.
Bryson could finally see her clearly.
Weylyn’s mother was as stunningly beautiful as she appeared deadly. All sharp angles like a blade, with a vicious line of a mouth painted red and gold, and long dark hair ornamented with dangling embellishments that looked like butterfly clips.
As Bryson drew closer, she saw they were actual butterflies, their wings flapping against her hair as they struggled to untangle themselves from the strands and failed. Golden powder sprinkled across her skin like rogue.
A great part of her body was exposed to the sunlight, making the coppery tinge of her skin almost sparkle. A sheer gold and black dress molded against her body, and several golden rings sparkled on her fingers, which she flicked carelessly beneath her chin.
“Ah, my dear.” She stood and gestured to a chair at her side. “Sit. Dine with me.”
Bryson neared the queen and forced herself to bow respectfully, lowering to the waist before straightening. “Your Majesty,” she greeted, though the words felt weird leaving her lips.
She hated the contempt that flashed through the queen’s gaze. She hated the way she spoke so hatefully to Weylyn. But this woman, this Unseelie, was still royalty. And Bryson was not. She had to be respectful, even if it churned her gut.
“Sit,” the queen commanded as she herself lowered to her chair. Her fingers reached for a nearby goblet and brought the rim to her lips. Her eyes flicked over Bryson as she drank greedily, and when she pulled the glass away, red Fae wine dripped from the corners of her mouth.
It looked like blood.
Bryson sat quickly where the queen had indicated. Immediately, a plate full of food was placed before her by nearby brownies. The plate was long, extended, piled high and dripping with juicy meats, fruits, breads, and cheeses.
Bryson’s stomach threatened to growl again, but among the spread, she didn’t know what was safe to eat.
She didn’t touch anything.
“What is your name, child?” the queen asked.
Bryson looked at her, weighing the question in her mind. Giving her name to the queen wouldn’t be binding. There had always been rumors to never give an Unseelie your name unless you wanted them to hold power over you. Bryson didn’t believe in that magic, but in case it were true...
“You may call me Varik.”
The queen’s eyes flashed with an anger that didn’t mirror the way her lips twitched with amusement. Bryson held her breath for a moment, waiting to see if anything would come to cutting words or blows.
“I do not see a mating mark,” the queen commented dryly.
Bryson blinked slowly, the lenses sliding down the ridge of her nose just a fraction. She pushed them back up and asked, “What?”
“A mating mark,” the queen repeated. “I do not see one on your skin.”
Bryson swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat.
“That must mean you have not yet accepted him as your mate.” Her eyes flashed again as she steepled her fingers together and rested her chin on top of them. Her following smile was almost malicious. “I know why you have not.”
Bryson’s brows rose. She had to force the words from her tight throat to answer. “And why do you think?”
“He is unworthy.” The queen set her hands down and leaned back in her chair. “You have found him lacking.”
Bryson chewed on the inside of her mouth. She let nothing show on her face, least of all the truth that the queen would find there. Because she was right. At one point, she had found Weylyn unworthy, lacking. Perhaps she hadn’t thought of it in those exact words, but she’d hated him. She hadn’t wanted him. And when he lured her in his mind to spear his cock into her, she’d hated that he’d aided in her betrayal of Everette. But to hear the queen confirm what had been lodged so deeply into Bryson’s heart made her feel like scum.
When Bryson didn’t respond, the queen chuckled. “I will tell you a secret, little blind Fae.” She reached for her goblet again and took a dainty sip. “Most, if not all, men are a disappointment.” Her delicate shoulders shrugged. “I have had many lovers in my lifetime, and the only ones worthy of note were the ones who gave me my children.”
To hear a queen speak so openly about lovers jolted Bryson.
“And yet, the world assumes the Unseelie Court is ruled by a male.” She snorted, took another sip, and her eyes burned on Bryson. “They think a female cannot lead. Yet here I am, and on my throne I have sat for centuries. Do you want to know why that is, Varik?”
“Why?” Her palms grew sweaty as she almost dreaded the answer.
“I have power because I do not suffer men or fools. It is that simple.”
Bryson nodded. “Sage advice,” she said.
“Advice you would do well to take, little blind Fae. Men are useless. They will leash you. My son is no different.” Her eyes flashed again. “He may be the worst of them. Like his father.”
Bryson desperately wanted to ask what had happened with Weylyn’s father, why she hated Weylyn so much, but it felt like prying into a story she shouldn’t. No matter how curious she was, Weylyn was the only Fae she trusted around her, and she wasn’t going to break that trust now. No matter how curious she was.
It didn’t seem to matter what she felt though, because the queen went on anyway.
“Useless. Spineless.” Her eyes flashed again and her hand holding the goblet crushed it. Red wine spilled all over her hand, dripping like blood. “Murdering Fae.”
Bryson’s tongue felt heavy. “Murdering?”
The queen stared at her, though for a moment it felt like she was staring through Bryson and into a past, a present, or a future. She wasn’t sure. Her stare was eerie, entirely Unseelie in its countenance. “Murderer,” she whispered. Then her eyes blinked, seemingly coming back to the moment. “He has not told you? I did not expect him to, I suppose. After all, how can one excuse the crime of murdering their own sister?”
Bryson blinked. “Wh-what?”
The queen’s smile was malicious. Bryson knew, she knew that the words she uttered were meant to unsettle her. They were meant to turn her against Weylyn. They were meant to cause unrest between them. She could not let that happen. But even so the words floored her. Made her head spin.
“You have not touched your food,” the queen said gently. “Eat. You must be ravenous.”
Bryson felt her neck strain from the whiplash the topic of conversation gave her. She looked down at the platters of food. She still wasn’t sure what was safe to eat or drink. Her stomach growled, but she did not wish to touch any of it.
But the queen was looking at her expectantly. Voices drifted around them, those that Bryson had nearly forgotten were there. Behind the queen, guards appeared, dressed in simple cloths around their waists in gold and black, carrying swords and draped in gold and bones.
Bryson gulped.
“Eat, drink, and we will converse,” the queen urged.
Bryson wondered at her insistence, and it made her hesitant to touch anything. She did not want to be tethered to the Unseelie in any way, and choosing the wrong food would do that.
Her hands hovered over the plate, darting from food to food before her fingers finally closed around a goblet of water. She brought it to her lips, sniffed it first, and when she detected no hint of magic, took a small sip.
Setting it back down, she looked back up at the queen, urging her to continue with a delicate nod of her head.
The queen seemed to sneer but sat back. “You are entirely too clever for your own good, little blind Fae. Eat.”
Bryson’s fingers twitched. “I am not hungry.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She could almost taste the blood and rot the ghoul had given her and wanted to gag. She’d not trust an Unseelie with food again.
The queen’s gaze narrowed. “Eat, I said.”
“I must decline, Your Majesty. I do not have an appetite.”
“Of course you do not.” The queen looked her up and down. “You have been sleeping a great part of the day. I’d say you have not exercised your body enough to even feel hunger.”
“Sure,” Bryson agreed slowly. That’s it.
The queen’s lips curled into a smile. “Then I suppose you should get in the proper exercise. To build up that appetite.”
Bryson didn’t see it coming. She barely heard them as they appeared behind her. The guards grabbed her arms, jerking her out of the seat. Her feet kicked out, knocking over the platter of food as she fought back with all her might. But they were too big, too strong, and restraining her seemed to be an easy feat for them.
She tried to tap into her magic to blow them away, but her well felt empty, especially when one of the guards held an iron dagger to her throat.
She choked on the stench of it, gagging as the iron coated her tongue. She heaved and kicked out, but they wrenched her arms behind her. She howled in pain, and the lenses on her face slid down, nearly falling from position.
The scenery shifted as she was hauled back. The once green meadow changed. Darkness seemed to coil around them. Clouds grayed. Thunder bellowed. Bryson held back her scream as a pit opened beside them. The earth caved in on itself, a great tremor shaking through the ground. The guards restraining her held her still as a ravine opened and the stench of mud, rot, and decay filled her nostrils.
“Into the pit,” the queen commanded.
Bryson didn’t even have time to scream as the guards shoved her into the gaping hole and she fell.
And fell.
And fell.