Chapter 63
I refuse to cry. Somehow, I knew this was going to happen. I knew last night was our last together. My heart is a conflicted storm of hating myself for being so petty as to not want Ash to see my gray skin after being poisoned, for not asking for the one thing we had deprived ourselves of since our marriage—while simultaneously being glad to be spared the multiplied pain that I would have suffered if I had.
At some point, I give up screaming for my husband. I give up fighting Edvear. He’s not as strong as Ash, but he is still far stronger than I am.
This is how things are unfolding, apparently.
Edvear is taking me to the servant’s exit in the gardens where Ash and I were dancing. I’m leaving Faerieland. The Ivy Mask will take me . . . somewhere. Probably not to the human worlds, if they’re to be razed tomorrow. But if I am taken back there, perhaps I can warn my family in time to help them escape?
I need to be careful about this and not lose my senses, even if I want to just curl into a ball and cry over my broken heart. So I keep my eyes and ears alert, my glamours ready at a second’s notice.
I want to take Ash by the shoulders and give him a ferocious shake.
Instead, Edvear is quickly navigating through the palace corridors, taking the quietest routes with the least traffic. Still, when we come upon a split in the hallway and Edvear takes me toward the right, I frown.
“Shouldn’t we be going left?” I ask, glad I always paid attention when Ash walked me places.
“There’s a short-cut in this direction,” Edvear replies.
And my nose instantly fills with iron-stink.
It’s so shocking, I almost give into a coughing fit. Instead, my face contorts—and would have given me away, if Edvear was looking at me.
Shock hits me, followed by such a profound certainty, it almost makes me freeze in my tracks.
Edvear lied to me.
He isn’t taking me to the Ivy Mask.
Hewas the one who betrayed us. Not one of the human servants Ash and Oleria hired from the Small Cities.
I know why he did it, too. His words from yesterday ring through my head.
“Surely there has been enough death!How much more can we endure? How much more until we admit the High King is the High King and we cannot gainsay him?”
Dread fills me to the brim. I need to get out of here. I need to somehow escape Edvear, and I cannot let him realize that I know he betrayed me. First, however, I need to find out the truth of his betrayal.
“Did you see what happened to Oleria?” I manage to ask. “Through your mirror?”
“Yes. Milton was there, spying for us again. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was horrifying.”
All of it rings true.
Which means . . . it’s possible he didn’t betray us of his own will. Perhaps he was forced to.
But perhaps the knowledge about Oleria wasn’t the first thing he leaked.
His grip doesn’t slacken on my arm as we reach a spiral staircase that opens into the night air. Surely, he doesn’t think me so stupid as to believe climbing a staircase will get us closer to the garden on the ground level?
I need to get out of this.
Think, Stella. Think, think!
“We’re almost there,” Edvear says as the full moon comes into view over the stair’s railing. It is almost to its zenith. I swallow against my parchment-dry throat.
Then I give a sudden sharp yank on Edvear’s arm and throw my weight into him, pressing him against the stair railing. It catches him off-guard just long enough for me to pin him.
And to press a glamoured knife to his throat.
The knife isn’t real, but I send the illusion of its sharpness, its lethal tip into Edvear’s mind.
He freezes, his cat’s eyes dilating in sudden fear.
“What have you told the High King?” I demand.
His hands come up in surrender, his face crumpling. “He was going to kill every one of my staff! I didn’t know what to do! I never wanted—”
Heavy, armed footsteps sound at the top of the staircase, beginning their descent. I react immediately, covering Edvear’s mouth with my hand and losing the glamoured knife.
They cannot find us like this, with me in control of Edvear, knowing the truth behind his betrayal. Not unless I want the High King to carry out his threats.
I could run, but the outcome would assuredly be the same.
“Grab me,” I mouth, and when he doesn’t move, I take his hand and clamp it down on my upper arm. Then I begin pulling against him, struggling just enough to get his eyes to widen, his mind to catch up with what I’m doing. Horror makes his mouth fall open, but he still does what I say, and begins dragging me the rest of the way up the steps.
Two winged guards meet us only a second later, and I don’t even have a chance to look back at Edvear before they grab me, lift me straight off my feet, and carry me between them the rest of the stairs. I struggle against their relentless grips even as my heart races and I wonder if I have just sacrificed myself for nothing.
Then, just before a strange, black door at the top of the staircase is opened, I tilt back my head and scream at the top of my lungs: “Ash!”
I’m flung to my hands and knees on a woven red rug, and the door behind me slams shut.
My hair falls around my face as I breathe in and out. I become aware of a second, softer breathing rhythm in the room with me.
Slowly, I lift my head.
The golden, sandaled feet before me are framed by heavy, white-gold robes that land in elegant folds on the ground. Two bejeweled hands hold the carved lion heads of the chair’s armrests.
Above that is a broad chest, an elegant neck, and a mask of living fire. The sunbeam crown glows upon his glorious head. Faradir takes one graceful hand, removes his mask, and lets his bright blue eyes fall to me. “Hello, Princess Stella.”
Coldness like winter rushes through my blood.
“I have bided my time until now,” the High King says. He reaches out one long-fingered hand, takes my jaw, and tilts it up so my neck is taut, exposed. I cannot even swallow, not as he strokes one line down my throat with his sharp nail.
I keep my eyes locked on his, on the way his gaze runs over me. My skin crawls, but I refuse to look away. Refuse to cower. Refuse to let my guard down for even a second.
He wants something from me. That is why he has brought me here, why he hasn’t slaughtered me already. If he wants something from me, then that means I have power. And if I have even a shred of power, then I am not completely helpless.
Not even before the High King of the Fae.
So I let him hold my jaw. I let him touch my neck—as if he wants to sink his fangs into my vulnerable flesh. I say nothing.
And I wait.
“You seem to have woven some spell over my son,” Faradir says, clicking his tongue. “Which shouldn’t surprise me, considering that you”—he gives the tip of my nose a little tap—“have glamour magic, don’t you?”
I keep my mouth firmly shut.
The room isn’t particularly large. Neither is it especially beautiful, or perhaps it only seems that way when a fae of such magnificent beauty such as the High King sits between its four dark mahogany walls. Vases with liquid of various levels line a row of shelves toward the back of the room. A table sits to one side with discarded cloths, discarded trays, little measuring beakers, funnels, and worn notebooks. Behind the rickety chair Faradir sits in now is another shelf that bears what almost seem like bits of flesh, floating in liquid.
Is this some sort of poison study room?
If it belongs to the High King, I can see where Ash got his fascination with poisons.
Faradir’s lips pull to one corner. “It seems he’s wrought a spell over you, too. Humans can be so disgustingly loyal. But I suppose you must be. Sad little race of sad little men, with your sad little wars and your sad little kingdoms.”
I suppose he would see us that way, grand and glorious being that he is. He’s probably glad I’m keeping my sad little mouth closed.
“Let us discuss business then, shall we, little mortal?” He doesn’t loosen his grip on my jaw, but tilts my face to the side, as if to get a better view of my rounded ear. “Would you bargain with me for the fate of your world?”
“I do not think it would be very smart of me to bargain with you,” I reply honestly.
That earns me a wide, sharp-toothed grin. “Prudent girl. Though, we must agree, the human lands are in a bit of a predicament, are they not? Your Prince Trenian will leave at dawn to destroy your world and your family. Unless, of course, he kills me to negate the bargain. Which, I think you can understand, will be challenging for him to accomplish when I have his favorite little morsel of mortal flesh. Do not presume that I have missed how he looks at you—like he’d devour you whole if he could.”
“Demeaning me will not make me more likely to bargain with you.”
“The shrinking flower has a sharp tongue.” Faradir gives another grin, releases my face, and leans back in his chair. It gives a long, protesting creeeeak.
I take that opportunity to get my feet beneath me and rise. No use kneeling when I don’t have to.
Faradir regards me as I smooth the front of my gown and tuck my hair out of my face. Vaguely, I process that my tiara is gone. It must have fallen out of my hair at some point.
“The current state of your human lands is dire,” Faradir continues. “Your options are to let tomorrow happen, or to bargain with me to prevent it. So, human princess, which will it be?”
Is he actually tempting me? If I somehow bargained with him to spare my people, could I buy Ash time to win his throne? So he wouldn’t be forced to try to kill Faradir tonight and give up the crown?
And Faradir does have a point: he has me.
If I refuse to give an inch here, then he may decide I’m of no use to him and kill me, or brutalize me to shock Ash. But, to bargain with the High King is to give up what little power I have now, and probably not even get what I want in return.
Stalling seems like my best option. Maybe Edvear will find Ash and tell him where I am.
I dare not glamour myself, so I try to hide my shaking hands in the folds of my skirts. “What do you want from me in exchange for you vowing to relinquish all claim to the human lands, from now until the end of your reign?”
“There are a great many things you could offer. Your youth and vitality. Your will. Your marriage to my son. You could vow your loyalty to me instead of Trenian. You could offer even yourself. Do not underestimate what you have to give, my dear.”
I take that to mean: Do not underestimate what I can take from you. “I see. And I should assume that you will try to trick me with this bargain?”
Faradir waves one hand. “Of course. That’s how bargains work. But I do not have endless time to waste with you. Do you want your human lands spared?”
I see no point in denying that.
“Then what if I propose this: I will nullify my bargain with Trenian—with his agreement, of course—in exchange for you to belong to me for just one day, from sun up to sun down.”
“Which bargain?” I ask, immediately suspicious.
He smiles. “We can clarify that it is the bargain to raze the human lands. Surely a few hours of your freedom are worth a continent of lives.”
If I were the only one affected, I would be tempted. Faradir would use that time to publicly torment, humiliate, and torture me. But I wouldn’t be the true target: it would be Ash.
After seeing how he reacted to Oleria’s fate, I know the aftermath of this would be so much worse. Ash is already planning to kill Faradir and end their line tonight, which he told me will result in war across Faerieland and the dissolving of any barriers between the fae and the humans.
The human lands are no safer if I take this bargain.
Still, I pretend I’m turning the offer over in my mind, willing the sweat sliding down my back to not give away how terrified I am. “Will this bargain keep my people safe from the swords and magic of the fae?” I ask, testing his reply.
“While I cannot predict everything that might—”
“I assumed the answer was no,” I say, cutting him off. “Thank you for confirming.”
For once, he looks taken aback.
I remember the story Ash told me last night. How Faradir only wanted to play games he could win.
I’ve made a mistake.
Faradir’s eyes dilate suddenly. Instinctively, I throw myself backward against the door. Frantically, I reach for the knob, as if I could open it and run for freedom.
Faradir’s forearm slams into the wall above my head. His bare hand closes around my throat, cutting off my scream. I scrabble with my useless fingers at his hold. It tightens, tightens, until I cannot breathe.
“I have tried to be patient with Trenian, and with you, but enough is enough,” he snarls into my face, his incisors lengthening to fangs. “I am your High King, and you belong to me. Your life is in my hands. Submit to your King.”
He loosens his grip on my throat just enough for me to drag in one desperate gulp of air before blackness completely swallows my vision.
“You may be their High King,” I rasp, choking. “But you were never mine.”
His furious blue eyes are the last thing I see.