Cinnamon Rolls and Villainy

Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

NOW

T he day before the Trials start, the castle of Wyntra hosts yet another party. The night holds the first true warmth of spring, so the event fills the courtyard instead of the great hall. The training equipment has been tucked into storage to make room, and the gardeners have trimmed the hedges back into orderly rows. The tall pots, which have been empty all winter, now display flowers imported from the Bromalis greenhouses. A band of string and brass instruments performs on a makeshift stage, amplified so they can be heard over the wind that always breezes through Wyntra. Their tune might be a little too lively, considering that half the party guests might slaughter each other tomorrow. And the other half have come to cheer on their favorite victor in that slaughtering.

Ayc, for once, is invited to be a guest at the party, not to serve at it. But still, he carries a tray of layered cakes, fruit tarts, and bite-sized cinnamon rolls, as he traverses the crowd. He learned long ago that the best way to overhear the most tantalizing gossip at a party is not to attend it, but to serve at it. No one ever sees the staff.

He mills around the crowd, tucking little pieces of information away in his mental pocket. He notes little details, people whispering, snippets of conversations, bets placed and money exchanged. Wylder—fucking Wylder—is the favorite to win, even in clans outside Noxumbra. Ayc hopes many people will be losing a lot of money, and then tosses that information out of his head as soon as he hears it. There are far more important things to learn.

After a week of getting to know the rest of Lora’s Five better, he’s now even more certain he brings little to the table, but at least, he can do this.

Later, he finds Bronwen and Tavish standing near one of the fountains on the outskirts of the crowd. Tavish presses so close to one of the roaring gryphon statues carved into the fountain’s tall basin, he might actually be trying to hide behind it. He grips his cane with one hand and the other coils around Saga’s guide handle. The leash of the Kindred collar is also wrapped carefully around the handle, but Tavish is careful not to touch it. Saga pants happily, weaving his head this way and that to take in the dancing, thriving crowd. Tavish wears a long, silver coat over his vest, but he looks as uncomfortable and unnatural as a boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes.

Bronwen leans against the side of the fountain, dressed as she did for the last party: in the form fitting armor and green sorcerer’s cloak. Her makeup is done with artful precision, the wings of her violet eyeliner so sharp they might be lethal .

In the last few days, Ayc has learned more about Bronwen and Tavish. Bronwen’s story unraveled piece by piece, while Tavish blurted his own on a single afternoon.

Bronwen attended two renowned schools. She was born in Lux Aester to parents she stated she’d scarcely seen since the age of nine, when she demonstrated affinity for sorcery and was sent to Velphin, School of Sorcery. When she tested at Wyntra in her eighteenth year, she tested into both Adamant and further instruction at the School of Sorcery. She chose Adamant and became both a warrior and a sorcerer.

It’s impressive how much she’s managed to accomplish in her relatively few years, particularly because she’s a female born in Lux Aester. Frequently, girls from Lux Aester are prevented from participating in the formal schooling process. Most are married before their Final Testing at Wyntra would take place, and Lux Aester certainly doesn’t usually send their girls to learn sorcery or to become warriors. The Lux Aester’s brand of religion teaches that those gifts are best left in the hands of males. That females are too volatile.

More likely, Ayc thinks, Lux Aester knows that educated women are impossible to control.

Tavish has an even more unlikely story. He told Xylie and Ayc one afternoon after they left another meeting at Peregrin’s house. As they all walked along the shore, Tavish retraced his life, almost all twenty years of it. He stumbled with his words, but once spoken, they hung in the air, joining the forceful sea breeze that whipped at their skin.

His mother was a successful Sal Maris merchant who had a brief, but loving affair with a sea nymph. Tavish was born and lived on the sea until it became clear he was blind. He spent a few years on land because his mother was too terrified he’d slip overboard and be lost to the ocean. But when his divina gift began to manifest, he begged his mother to take him back to sea. She assembled a crew, and they became treasure hunters, searching the seas for downed ships or finding pearls like the one that Tavish still wears on his neck.

“The sea wasn’t something I could see then,” Tavish explained. “But it was something I could hear and smell. More importantly, it was something I could feel.” He touched his sternum, right over his heart, with the hand wrapped in Saga’s leash. As they walked, the dog looked frequently out to the crashing, gray waves. Ayc has noticed that Tavish mostly relies on his cane and the guide handle on Saga’s harness, as though perhaps looking through Saga’s eyes can be too much. But Tavish didn’t seem to mind it then, walking beside the sea.

“Only now,” Tavish continued, “I can see it through Saga’s eyes. Somehow, it’s so much better than I imagined it.”

Tavish had a wonderful life, until he was ten, and his mother’s ship was overtaken by pirates. The only thing that saved Tavish was his divina gift. His mother’s last act was to explain to the pirate captain exactly what the boy could do, and the pirate captain—a Tenebra fae known as Zephen—saw it for the advantage it was. He spared the boy and had everyone else tossed to the sea.

It was a story that felt all too familiar to Ayc—like the same knife had given them both equally brutal wounds. Ayc kept his gaze fixed on the ocean, not glancing at Xylie even when she stepped closer, brushing her shoulder against his. Luckily, Tavish didn’t notice and continued his story .

Tavish spent years trapped in a life he didn’t want, navigating pirates to lost treasure, to merchant ships, to get-rich-quick-schemes, and away from oncoming storms. He told Xylie and Ayc about finding Saga and sneaking him aboard. When Zephen inevitably found the pup, he nearly tossed him into the sea, but Tavish made a deal: Saga’s life in exchange for leading Zephen to his biggest payload yet. Tavish could feel the value of it, though he didn’t know what they would find until they came upon it.

On Tavish’s guidance, the pirates overtook a ship of Drakr by surprise. The element of surprise was perhaps the only reason the pirates were able to overcome the Drakr. One skilled Drakr could outmatch all but the most highly trained fae. To Tavish’s dismay, the Drakr didn’t have treasure in their holds; they had children . Children who were being transported from Tenebra to Drakr—for slavery. And it was, indeed, lucrative for the pirates when Zephen sold the children himself.

Tavish was quiet for quite some time after that, watching the sea. The tide rolled in, hissing along the sand. But slowly, stroking Saga’s head, he told the rest.

After that, Tavish never knew whether his gift was leading the pirates to a treasure of goods or people.

“I thought about jumping into the sea so many times,” Tavish admitted. At this point in the story, the three had stopped to sit in the sand, watching the waves. They’d all removed their shoes and ground their toes in the cool sand. “So, Zephen couldn’t use me anymore. But Saga…”

That, too, felt all too familiar to Ayc.

“It wasn’t your fault, Tavish,” Ayc told him. The words felt hollow, even to him .

Tavish shrugged. “It was Bronwen and Lora who saved me.”

Ayc leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and chin in his hand. “Tell me everything .”

Tavish explained that, apparently, Adamant puts their first-year students through ‘survival training’—which involves throwing eighteen-year-olds into hazardous conditions and seeing if they survive. During theirs, Bronwen and Lora were abandoned on a driftwood in the middle of the Southernmost Sea. And who would have come upon the thirsty, slightly delirious, beautiful fae but Captain Zephen?

The captain believed he’d discovered a magnificent treasure. How could he have ever guessed that he’d brought aboard the most dangerous creature at sea?

Leviathans have nothing on Loraphne.

“Well,” Tavish said, fiddling with the pearl at his neck, “the Maiden’s Tears had a hull and deck full of children in cages. Bronwen and Lora took one look at those kids… and everything turned to chaos. I think Bronwen would have let a few of the pirates live or dumped them overboard. But Lora… Lora slaughtered every single one of them.”

A chill swept over Ayc’s arms. He could imagine it clearly: the way Lora’s eyes would have sparked to silver rage when she saw the children. The way it looked like dancing when she fought with her twin blades. And there must be something, deeply, profoundly wrong with him, because there were only two words that came to Ayc’s mind. And one was vicious , yes. But the other was beautiful .

“I think Lora might have killed me, too.” Tavish laughed nervously. “She had her knife to my throat when Bronwen reasoned that I clearly wasn’t one of them. They let me explain, and I told them about my gift. Told them, I could navigate them back home… and the kids, too. And so that’s what we did. We made sure all the kids made it home.”

In the three years since, Tavish had been living in self-imposed isolation in the Forest of Elodie, among the Totus Omni. He enjoyed a quiet life walking the woods with Saga by his side, always missing the sea. Lora and Bronwen wrote to him, sent him gifts, but they hadn’t visited until Lora returned to place her name for consideration as victor of the Totus Omni. And once she was elected as victor, she showed up at Tavish’s little house, built into the side of a tree, and asked him to be her Fourth.

“And here you are,” Ayc said.

“And here I am,” Tavish agreed.

Now, a few days later at the party, Ayc offers his new friends his tray. “Cake?”

Bronwen lays a hand over her stomach. “I don’t know that I can. I’ve had three already.”

“I mean, we all might die tomorrow,” Ayc encourages.

Tavish makes a noise that sounds like the squeak of a mouse.

Bronwen purses her lips and hums softly as she considers. “You’re not wrong.” She takes another cake. “Learn anything interesting?”

“It depends,” Ayc says. “Do we care that Ruatha and Mienna were each other’s first lovers when they were teens orienting at Bromalis?”

Bronwen raises her eyebrows. “Are they still fucking? ”

“Per Mienna’s Third, it was a brief affair that turned into ruin in the span of two weeks. As such things generally go between the young. And now, it appears they are completely apathetic towards one another.”

“Pity. I suppose it’s not much use then. Anything else?”

Ayc hesitates. In truth, he saw Hason, the Sal Maris victor, and Mienna whispering behind a hedge. Ayc crept close and overheard a plan that’s imperative for Lora and her Five to know or else the Trials may be over for them almost as soon as it begins. But right now, too many people might overhear Ayc and know exactly whose throat to slit.

“Yes, but let’s not discuss it here. Later, in private.”

Bronwen nods and takes the last cinnamon roll off the plate.

“One more cake left, Tavish. Tray is just in front of you, chest height.” Ayc positions the tray accordingly. “Sorry, none for you, Saga. Chocolate will make you sick, but I’m sure Tavish has been sneaking you plenty of jerky and cheese from the table.”

“I have.” Tavish lifts a hand until he brushes the edge of the tray and then takes the cake quickly. He only holds it awkwardly in his hand. Sweat beads on his upper lip.

“Why are you hiding over here, anyway?” Ayc asks.

Bronwen eyes Tavish. The lines that form around her lips spell worry, confirming Ayc’s suspicion that she hasn’t wanted to leave her friend’s side.

Ayc sets the tray down on the edge of the fountain and clasps a hand on Tavish’s shoulder. “What do you say, Tavish? Why don’t we go have some fun? It’s your last chance to flirt with some beautiful people, whatever your preference.”

Tavish’ s eyes fly wide. “I… well I can’t— I don’t think. Oh divine! Surely I?—”

Ayc looks at Bronwen, alarmed. “Did I break him?”

Tavish presses the fist that holds the cake to his mouth, biting a knuckle. Bronwen bumps him gently with her shoulder. “I think Lora and I have let you stay holed up in the woods too long.”

“Have you never been to a party before?” Ayc asks kindly. “The Totus Omni have some wonderful parties.”

At least, judging by the parties he has attended, when he’s been in Elodie for festivals. Despite also being deeply spiritual in their connection to the divine, the Totus Omni couldn’t be more unlike the Lux Aester. Their parties are always filled with laughter and good food and people who accept one another just as they are. He always returned to Wyntra reluctantly. If Ayc had choices, he would call the Totus Omni lands his home.

Tavish drops his hand and shakes his head. “I’m not really a party person. I haven’t been to one before… at least one that didn’t involve pirates. Which I tried my best to stay far away from, because it generally ended in someone being stabbed.” He nearly crushes the little cake. “Oh no, someone’s going to get stabbed, aren’t they?”

“No.” Bronwen lays a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Victors would be disqualified if they or their Five harmed anyone before the Trials officially begin tomorrow.”

“Speaking of which, where is Lora?” Ayc asks.

He spotted Peregrin sitting on a set of stairs that leads onto the wall surrounding the courtyard. Their stormy eyes have been studying everything all night. Ayc is sure Xylie is inside, avoiding the crowd, but Ayc hasn’t seen their victor since the party began .

“She’s inside,” Bronwen replies, the lines reappearing on the corner of her lips. “With Xylie.”

“Why?” Ayc asks.

“I think she’s trying to give moral support.”

“Moral support? For what?”

An edge Ayc has never heard before enters Bronwen’s voice, as razor sharp as the dagger on her belt. “Yris is insisting Xylie must come out for the formal introductions. Lora tried to argue her on it, but Yris threatened that she won’t let Xylie participate in the Trials if she doesn’t.”

Anger flickers beneath Ayc’s skin like flames and makes the sore muscles in his back tighten. He snuck a pain tonic from Xylie’s stores before the party, but nothing can flare his pain like strong emotion. Anger can feel so much like pain.

“Can Yris do that?” Ayc asks through his teeth.

Bronwen tosses up her hands. “I don’t know. Lora didn’t know. Xylie researched, but she hadn’t found an answer yet. Yris didn’t exactly give us much time.” Bronwen growls. “Fuck. Every time I think Lora has managed to find the courage to get out of her mother’s claws, Yris finds a way to stab them back in.”

“Yris’s claws go deep,” Ayc says, his fingers touching his chin, where little white crescent scars still exist from the day beside the water. From a dozen other days too. He certainly has never found a way out of her claws, and Lora? He’s always known Yris’s claws embed themselves in both his and Lora’s spine. But he never thought Lora to be unwilling.

How much can change in four years? Surely, not that.

“Maybe, I should go—” Ayc begins, but the music dies out.

The musicians scurry off the stage, and Yris sweeps onto it, wearing a deep red gown that’s the exact shade of dried blood.

Fuck. Too late to save Xylie now.

“My good Everadyn fae,” Yris announces, her voice carrying through the courtyard. Ayc swears he sees some of the potted flowers shrivel in response. “Are you ready to meet your victors?”

The crowd cheers.

“From Bromalis,” Yris says, “I give you Sterling and their chosen Five.”

Enthusiastic clapping breaks out among the crowd. Ayc joins in until Bronwen frowns at him and arches an eyebrow in a silent question. He swiftly drops his hands. Sterling takes their place center stage, followed closely by their Five—who are a set of fierce looking fae, most of who are dressed in chainmail that shimmers like a rainbow in the torchlight that illuminates the courtyard. There, on Sterling’s right, in her rightful place as their First, is Wren.

Ayc has somehow not crossed paths with her all night, though he certainly has looked for her—the fool he is. Instead of armor, a pink and orange gauzy dress drapes over Wren’s body, making her appear as though she’s wearing the sunset, an outfit that compliments her twin’s tunic. It dips low on her chest, hinting at her full breasts, before it stops below her sternum.

Every nerve in Ayc’s body stands at attention. As though sensing his gaze, Wren turns her head toward him. Their eyes connect. The feeling is heady, like drinking fae wine too fast. He knows better than to hope, but a smile curls on her face, just for him, and fuck, he hopes .

“A friend of yours?” Bronwen whispers in Ayc’s ear.

Sterling and their Five make their way from the stage. Ayc doesn’t say anything before he springs forward, pushing through the crowd, and to his relief, Wren heads straight toward him.

They meet in the center of the crowd. Bodies press around him, but all his senses focus on her. The slow, silky smile she gives him feels like a gift he doesn’t deserve. “Hello, Ayc.”

Something tightens in his spine at the sound of his name on her lips. “Hello, Wren.”

Wren leans close so she can whisper in his ear. She smells like lavender, and it conjures the memory of her taste. He shivers. “So I was thinking?—”

“For Totus Omni!” Yris calls on the stage. “We introduce Loraphne and her chosen Five.”

“Shit!” Ayc holds up a finger. “Hold that thought.”

When he turns toward the stage, Loraphne is already standing at the center, her chin held high and her face cool as stone. She’s accented her dark armor with a cape that flows to her ankles like a tapestry. A tree embroiders the rich, dark velvet. The spiraling, entwining branches bear vibrant shades of leaves: red, yellow, and orange until the cape perfectly captures the beauty of autumn in the forest.

Bronwen stops at Lora’s right side, and Xylie stands on her left. Ayc can see ornate hoops dangling around the tops of Xylie’s pointed ears—ones that Ayc found at a fair and bought for her. They’re enchanted to dull noise, but they’ve never been enough to help her join a party before. She looks like she might vomit, her eyes pressed closed, her head bowed. Beside her, Tavish forces a smile, Saga sitting at his feet. Peregrin stands as straight as the army leader they once were .

Ayc rushes forward a step, but Wren catches his hand. “Wait.”

“I have to go,” he says apologetically, pulling away.

“Ayc, what—” She begins to protest again, but he rushes to the stage stairs and takes them two at a time.

A few cheers soar through the courtyard at the sight of the Sovereign’s daughter, not only from the few Totus Omni present, but scattered through all the clans, some polite, some enthusiastic. And then Ayc comes to a halt beside Tavish and stands to face the crowd, Lora’s Fifth, and the cheers slow and then stop.

Fuck.

Ayc sees the expressions change through the crowd: many curious, some confused, and some—like Marcellus and his Lux Aester crew—furious. In the center of the crowd, Wren’s face flashes through a variety of emotions, first confusion, then disbelief, and finally, horror.

“She can’t choose him,” a Lux Aester fae says, not even trying to whisper. “He’s human.”

“That’s good,” says someone closer to the back—Hason, the navy captain. “It means he’ll be easy to kill.”

Laughs scatter through the crowd, loudest from someone close to the stage. Him, Ayc recognizes all too well. He hasn’t changed much in four years. He’s still all dark hair, pale, chiseled cheekbones, and narrow dark eyes. The kind of handsome the world pauses to notice.

Wylder.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Is this Yris’s plan? A way to get rid of Ayc, once and for all. Someone will kill him and take the curse upon themselves and their clan, instead of on all of Everadyn.

Ayc’s vision tunnels. He barely sees Xylie turning to him, her eyes wide, or Peregrin stepping in his direction. The laughter of the few rattles through his ears, but it pales in volume to the silence of the majority. They don’t join, but they say nothing to those who do. Then a growl cuts through it all, one fierce and loud enough to silence the laughter.

Ayc’s vision widens and snaps toward the center of the stage, where Lora stands. Her eyes glow silver as she locks on to Hason; her lips draw back, revealing sharpened canines. Her voice is more vicious than he’s ever heard it, not like her mother’s, but entirely her own. Utterly cold, utterly lethal, utterly sincere. “If you touch him, I will rip out your heart and shove it down your throat before it stops beating. He’s mine! ”

Silence.

The crowd doesn’t utter a sound. Even the wind quiets. But Ayc’s head has never been so loud. It feels as though a lightning bolt has struck his chest. Explosive. Electric. Lora turns to look at him, her eyes still glowing silver, and she is glorious. Fierce. Breathtaking. His skin vibrates in the wake of her words, and he ignites, every part of him set ablaze—not in pain, but in something far more consuming. Something he doesn’t dare name.

But it’s just a flash. The lightning fades, and the realization of the true meaning of her words sinks in. His own personal villain just told the entire court Ayc belongs to her.

And the fire—still all-consuming—turns to rage.

No, to hate .

“Enough,” Yris snarls, breaking the tension in the air. “Must I remind you all there will be no bloodshed here until the trumpets sound tomorrow? Anyone who tries will be disqualified from competing in the Trials.” Her eyes flick to Lora, silver momentarily flashing. “Thank you, victor. You may leave.”

Ayc doesn’t wait another moment. He throws himself toward the stage stairs. The only one who is faster is Xylie, who darts past him and toward the safety of inside the castle. But the thought of being inside is too hot and stifling to Ayc. He would like very much to plunge himself into the icy waters of the Bellum Sea. Anything to stop this fire within him.

He’s only made it to the exit of the courtyard that leads to the barracks and the Bellum, when a hand catches his wrist. He whips away, already knowing who he’ll find. He supposes Lora is using restraint not to just pin him to the wall with a knife at his throat, like she did when they were kids. Behind her, Bronwen races after them, Saga guides Tavish toward them, and Peregrin’s limp grows more pronounced with every step as they hurry to catch up.

“Ayc,” Lora says, “there’s no reason to be afraid. I won’t?—”

“I. Am. Not. Afraid.” Ayc snarls each word through his teeth. “Why would you say that? ‘ He’s mine?’ What the fuck, Lora?”

She casts her gaze away from him, toward the wall, and lingers there, as though counting stones to avoid looking at him. Both Bronwen and Tavish are standing a few feet away by the time Lora inhales through her nose and speaks, “Because I couldn’t let myself or my Five seem vulnerable. But more importantly, I’m trying to protect you.”

Ayc snorts. “No, you’re trying to let people know I’m your pet now, instead of your mother’s.”

“ What ?” Lora snaps, and the word is both shocked and angry. She steps forward this time and draws herself to her full height. He doesn’t cower back. He lets her put her face inches from his, so when she speaks again, he can feel the force of her words against his neck. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

From somewhere, Ayc hears Bronwen hiss, “I think we need to calm down” while Tavish curses, “Damn, I knew someone was gonna get stabbed.” Distantly, Ayc is aware of cheering back in the courtyard, of Yris’s voice echoing. But Ayc’s entire existence has narrowed down to only this woman before him. The stubborn set of her jaw, the angry rise and fall of her chest, her eyes transforming from a deep violet all the way to black. All that exists is the way he feels like he is on fucking fire with her this close, with her words still pounding in his head. He hates that she still impacts him like this. He wants to tear off his skin if it means he’ll just stop feeling this .

“As I said,” Lora says through her teeth, the sharpened canines contrasting against the darkness of the tunnel, “I was trying to protect you.”

Ayc cracks a smile, but he’s sure it looks mean instead of carefree. “That’s real cute. You’re trying to protect me now ? You’ve never wanted to before.”

“Are you serious?” Lora seethes. “All I’ve ever tried to do is protect you, you unbelievably obtuse asshole!”

He laughs—humorless and cold. It may be the best joke he’s ever heard, if it wasn’t so cruel.

“Shut up, both of you!” Peregrin snaps, shoving a hand between them. “Stop acting like fucking children. You can’t do this here. Not where people can see.”

“Fine.” Ayc flings himself around and marches away .

“Wait, Ayc.” The heat in Lora’s tone fractures, and in its place, her voice is almost colored in panic. “Will you be here in the morning?”

He doesn’t turn back. “Of course I will!”

Not that he has a fucking choice.