Chapter 6
Ash
This. Bitch.
Thorns burn through layers of flesh and erupt from my skin. They slice through the air, wrapping around Amarantha’s hand, the one where she still holds the knife. To keep her from dropping it I tie it to her hand with more ivy, the thorns piercing her skin to hold her in place.
Then I spin her against the wall, her one hand hovering over her heart, the knife pressed to her flesh.
A slight tear rips the fabric as the tip presses as close as I dare. Though I imagine ripping through her perfect flesh.
“Oh and there she is.” Moros begins to slowly clap, his laughter haunting as it floats around the dining room.
“Remember, if you draw my blood then—” I tighten a vine around her throat to shut her up.
I don’t care about rules and politics anymore. The Fae are exhausting in their word play.
The rage bubbles inside me. Burns through me until I shake with it. I want, no, need to look at my mom. But Amarantha is a crafty bitch.
And she isn’t above stabbing me in the back with my head turned. It doesn’t matter that I have control over her.
So I don’t dare look away. Despite Moros’s dark energy pulsing nearby, it’s a standstill.
Three courts.
A king. Two queens.
Only one bound. Me.
And isn’t that just fucking hilarious. The Wild Court heir, the one destined to unite them all according to some bullshit prophecy, and I’m the only one in chains. Magical or otherwise.
The irony isn’t lost on me. It’s just not funny.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll hesitate to kill her if she tries that bullshit again. Damn the consequences.
“Now Ash.” Moros steps up beside me. “Do think before you act. You wouldn’t want to take on two courts now, would you?”
“Excuse you?” I look at him for a moment then back to Amarantha, who’s smiling now despite the vines.
“There is an entire world you know nothing about. One you’ve claimed.” His voice is so smooth and cunning I tune it out completely.
“Tell me now.”
“You expect me to fill you in on eons of Fae politics in a moment?” He laughs. “Set her down. Come, sit, have breakfast.”
“My mother.”
“Isn’t even in here.”
This time I do drop her and turn. She’s gone. “Where did you send her>“ I turn that fury onto Moros. “Tell me where she is!” I yell, my voice echoing through the hall.
“She had a stab wound, Ashlynne. Do you think me so much of a monster that I wouldn’t send her off to a healer?” He presses a hand to his chest.
“What’s going on?” I squint at him. “You were mean and now,” I wave my hand up and down. “What the fuck this is?”
“As I said. Fae.” He steps back and around the table. “Sit?”
I step back, seeing Amarantha moving. Then go around the table to the other side, this time facing the open archways. And I put a chair between me and his spot.
Somewhere in this castle my mother is bleeding. The thought pulses at the back of my skull with every heartbeat. I should be with her. I should be holding her hand and telling her it’s going to be okay even if I don’t believe it.
Instead I’m here. Playing politics with monsters.
“My mother?” I don’t know what I’m asking. Not really. Assurance she’s okay? That he will prove it? All of that? Everything in between? I don’t know.
“I’ll have Kestra bring you to her later,” he says.
My shoulders drop a fraction. Because even if I bring it up to her and he didn’t say anything, Kestra will follow through. She’s the only one in this court I trust.
That ease vanishes when the bitch sits across from me, her strange eyes glaring at me, while a few thorns remain in her hair. Good.
“With my death you inherit the Seelie Court.” She says the words casually when they’re anything but casual.
“What?”
The word comes out hollow. Because she can’t be serious. Me. Queen of the Seelie Court. The court of light and faux beauty and cruelty wrapped in silk.
I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.
But a dark part of me whispers that if I killed her right here, right now, I could have it anyway. I could burn her court from the inside out.
And for one heartbeat, I want to.
Not for power. Not for the throne.
Just to watch her die.
I shove that thought down deep where it belongs. Bury it with all the other things I refuse to become.
Her lips twitch. “I believe you were challenged? By what was his name?”
“Thornback,” I remember. “His name was Thornback.”
“Was it not to the death?” Why is her voice always so condescending? It’s as though she only has one setting. Condescending.
But she’s also right. It should have been to the death. But I put a stop to that. I just didn’t know. I didn’t understand. And what the hell would that have meant for him if he had beaten me?
“If another were to kill me?” I need some Prilosec.
“They would assume the throne,” she says.
“After the trials,” Moros tacks on.
“Seriously.” I gape at them. “The trials.”
“Of which you have one left,” Amarantha says, finally noticing she has thorns in her hair and picking them out one by one.
“You can’t be serious.” I rip a roll in half, shoving one half in my mouth to keep from putting my foot there. “You want me to finish another trial?”
“What? Did you think you didn’t have to complete the trial of survival because you are here?” Her eye twitches. “Well, you killed that pretty plan when you chose to toss out a suggestion to a life debt.” Her voice rises with each word.
And I laugh. At her. At her fucking audacity. “Has no one ever told you no?”
She pauses, her head tilting to the side; her face has this faraway look to it before she smirks, her fingernails tapping on the table. “Finnian.” She shrugs before continuing. “After he said yes.”
Something detonates in my chest.
My magic surges, thorns pressing against the underside of my skin, begging to be released. To wrap around her throat and squeeze until that smug smile turns purple.
Finnian. My Finnian. The one who looks at me like I hung the stars.
I can still feel his hand on the back of my neck. The way his thumb traced circles there when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I was always paying attention.
And now this bitch wants me to believe she touched him first.
She’s lying. She has to be lying.
But what if she isn’t? Fae can’t lie.
The thought alone makes me want to vomit.
My eyes drop to my wrist before I can stop them.
Finnian’s gold band still glows. Steady. Warm.
It doesn’t prove anything. Bonds don’t care about history. They only care about now.
But I stare at it anyway. Willing it to tell me she’s lying.
It doesn’t.
Logically, I know she is baiting me. And I’m letting her do it.
“Kestra!” Moros shouts. “Fucking imbecile. Amarantha, leave at once.”
Amarantha slowly stands, smiling. For a moment her glamour falls and I can see through it, deep down into the beast that sleeps just beneath her flesh.
She isn’t just ugly. She’s ugly all the way down.
We both silently watch her leave with a petty smile on her face.
“Amarantha,” Moros begins.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare make excuses for that woman.” I see Kestra’s outline, just barely at the door.
I’m done with this breakfast.
Done with this room. Done with these monsters wearing Fae skin.
There are a thousand things I want to say. A thousand thorns I want to bury in Amarantha’s chest. But if I open my mouth right now I will burn this entire court to the ground and my mother is still somewhere in it.
So I swallow it all down. Every word. Every scream. Every thorn.
Without looking back, I leave the dining room.
My hands shake the entire way out.