Chapter 31
I wandered the Earth tunnels for a long time.
The brambles had advanced. I saw them down side passages, coiling dark and angry at the edge of the key’s light. How long before they overtook everything? How long before this haven was added to the list of everything that had been lost with time?
What else—and who else—would I need to mourn before this war was over?
Anya wasn’t dead, but the way I’d wept over her had felt like mourning.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to heal in Blood House.
She was supposed to rediscover what safety and hope felt like, and I was supposed to help her along that path.
The two of us, making our way forward together the way we always had.
Supposed to. A selfish thought. Anya wasn’t a tarnished candlestick that needed to be scrubbed until she shone again, then set back into the neat space she’d always occupied in my life. She didn’t need me telling myself stories about her recovery.
I needed to take a more active role in protecting her, though. I’d been tiptoeing around, obeying her orders to leave her alone, letting her isolate herself with disastrous results. But if I stopped letting her tell me no, would that do more harm than good considering the nature of her trauma?
My mind churned over the problem, finding no easy solutions.
I reached a familiar turning and hesitated. That twisting corridor would lead to the brothel eventually, and I felt a sudden, sick need to revisit the place where Anya had suffered. My feet carried me forward before I was conscious of making the choice.
Moans echoed off the stone as I approached, and my skin crawled.
A quarter of the workers—fifteen humans and Underfae—were being forced, which meant there could be atrocities happening tonight.
Some of the new Blood faeries had fighting experience, which meant I could finally liberate the unwilling victims here.
I just needed to come up with a way to do it without anyone knowing it was me.
Since Imogen had inherited this brothel and its employees from Osric, I wasn’t sure if that would count as attacking another house during the Accord.
I climbed to the crawl space above the scarlet-draped rooms, both dreading and needing to see what was happening within.
Every bed was occupied, but the scenes thankfully seemed pleasure-focused and consensual, though it was impossible to know for sure.
A few couples were cuddling, whispering to each other affectionately as I’d seen on previous visits.
Now I understood why some of the Fae might have a fantasy like that—and why they might need to pay for it.
Despite not seeing anything obviously horrific, my apprehension increased the closer I got to the last and largest room.
The king’s bedchamber, where Osric had destroyed the women he’d called his “pets.” That room was seared in my memory: white walls carved with carnal scenes, opalescent gossamer hangings, a low purple couch.
A fire banked low and candles flickering in a parody of romance.
And in the center of it all, an enormous bed topped with violet sheets.
The room would likely be empty, unless Imogen frequented the brothel, but the thought of seeing it again made me want to vomit.
At the same time, I felt compelled to—as if by seeing the place where Anya had suffered, I could take some of that suffering into myself.
It wasn’t a rational thought, but nothing about my life felt rational anymore.
At last, I reached the grate overlooking the king’s bedchamber. Below was the purple-and-white room of nightmares, illuminated by wavering candles and a crackling blaze in the fireplace.
It wasn’t empty, though. Torin and Rowena were inside with an Underfae.
I froze, shocked at the sight of Mistei’s most famously devoted couple in a pleasure-house.
Rowena sat on the settee in a translucent nightgown, sipping a glass of red wine, and Torin was playing the flute while an Illusion sylph with pretty iridescent wings danced barefoot.
He was fully dressed in leather armor and a sword, face flushed and bronze hair damp with sweat, and I wondered if he’d just returned from training the Illusion army.
The evil bed taking up the center of the chamber was perfectly made—either they’d just begun, or they had no intention of using it.
The sylph pirouetted, wings fluttering and gauzy skirt flaring out. Rowena smiled into her wine. “Lovely,” she said. “You are so light on your feet.”
The sylph giggled. “Thank you, my princess.”
“It’s all so…” Rowena paused, dabbing her tongue to her lower lip. “Predictable, though. I was told you were the best dancer here.”
Torin lowered the flute, cutting off the tune mid-measure.
Worry spiked in my chest. I recognized that look on Torin’s face—the promise of retribution. Because of a dance? No, I thought as he switched his expectant focus to Rowena. Because the sylph had displeased her.
The dancer’s smile faded at the abrupt shift in mood. “Forgive me, my princess,” she said, curtsying. “I can do another dance.”
“Yes,” Rowena said. “You will.” She turned an adoring smile on Torin. “Would you be so kind, darling?”
He set the flute on the bed. “Anything for you, my love.” Then he paced to the fire, grabbed a set of tongs, and shoved them into the flames to adjust the logs.
The sylph looked even more uneasy. “Is it not warm enough, my prince? Do we need more wood? I would be happy to retrieve some.”
Torin prodded at something in the fireplace. It didn’t look like wood, but an oblong shape that burned red hot.
Anxiety squeezed my chest. What was that?
“Restrain her,” Torin said.
I stifled a gasp as Rowena stood and grabbed the Underfae, twisting her arms behind her back. “Don’t scream yet,” Rowena said when the sylph let out a high-pitched sound and started to struggle. “I don’t want you to scream until it’s real. Until you feel it.”
What awful thing was about to happen? Could I stop it? My Blood power surged liquidly to my fingers, fueled by my rising panic.
Frantic thoughts tumbled through my head.
If I did stop this, what would the consequences be?
The Accord was at risk if I attacked Torin and Rowena.
If they knew it was me—and they certainly would if I used the magic of the body to freeze or injure them—they would tell everyone, and then I would be the one who broke the peace early.
Imogen would be able to retaliate with impunity.
Our side would lose popular support. Worse, we would likely lose the war.
Queen Briar’s troops were still on the march, and our side still had no leader because of my indecision.
I could kill Torin and Rowena—but how, without implicating myself? Immortals didn’t drop dead for no reason, and there was only one faerie in Mistei with my abilities. And the sylph belonged to Illusion House—if she witnessed them dying, I couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t report back to Imogen.
I knelt with my fingers curled in the grate, frozen by the enormity of the consequences I’d be risking.
Torin pulled the object out of the fire. He carried it over with the tongs, then set it before the Underfae. It was a shoe, I realized with a surge of sick horror. A glowing-hot metal shoe.
He grabbed the sylph’s ankle and shoved her foot in.
A raw, animal scream ripped out of her. She thrashed, but Rowena held her still.
“One more,” Rowena said, a dreamy smile on her face. “And then you can dance for me again.”
Torin grabbed the second shoe and put it on her just as brutally. My ears rang from her agonized cries, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My stomach threatened to revolt. When Rowena released her, the sylph collapsed and tried to crawl away.
I needed to save her.
And the war that will start in response?
my conscience whispered. And the house you’ve been building that will fail if they kill you in retaliation?
There were humans like Triana and Maude who still needed to evacuate.
There were faeries who had placed their trust in me, risking everything because they believed Blood House was a safe haven.
There was Anya, a breath away from succumbing to her nightmares.
I might stop one faerie’s suffering, but at what cost?
“Up,” Torin said, kicking the sylph’s ribs. “My consort wants to watch you dance.”
The sylph wept as she tried to drag herself upright. She managed to get one foot beneath her before falling again.
I could smell her burning. I could hear it, too, between her desperate cries. A sizzling as her flesh and muscle charred away.
Still, I didn’t move.
“You can’t get up?” Rowena asked. “Just one spin for me and it’ll be done. We’ll take them off.”
The sylph’s wings twitched. She managed to drag herself off the ground, flapping until she was mostly upright, metal-booted feet dangling. She didn’t put weight on them, but the tips scraped over the stone as she fluttered her wings, turning in an unsteady circle. Sobs ripped out of her throat.
Tears streaked down my cheeks. I could heal her. Once they were done with her, I would find her and heal her.
I could help her now , I realized, horrified at the oversight. Magic roiled in my chest, and I imagined numbness spreading through the sylph’s body so she didn’t feel the burning. Her eyes widened, and her wings fluttered faster as she veered towards the door, feet dragging.
“I was hoping this would work better,” Rowena told Torin, frowning.
“It was worth trying.”
The sylph sobbed as she fumbled at the doorknob. Please , I thought, sending strength to her wings. Get out of here. Fly far away.
Torin stalked after her. As the door started to open, he unsheathed his sword, then cut her head off with one brutal stroke.
The sobbing cut off instantly. Her head tumbled away as her body sagged, and the weight of her corpse pushed the door shut once more.
I clenched my jaw against the scream that tried to rip out of me, digging my fingers into the tiny holes of the grate separating me from Torin and Rowena. These monsters. These horrible, cruel, evil creatures.
Rowena’s gauzy gown was splattered with blood. Her hair had come loose, a coil of gold unfurling over her shoulder. She stood on her toes and kissed Torin softly. “Thank you,” she said. “We haven’t done something like this in too long.”
Torin was frowning down at the corpse like it was an inconvenience. “We’ll try a different metal next time,” he said. “Or we won’t leave it in the fire quite as long.”
Rowena smiled, then wrapped her arms around him, kissing him more passionately.
Torin’s sword tumbled to the ground as he pulled her into his embrace.
The desire to kill them burned through me.
I saw it in my mind’s eye—crushing Torin’s feet and ankles in an echo of what he’d done to the sylph, then squeezing his skull until his brain became pulp.
Choking Rowena a little at a time, making her die in small increments next to her lover’s bloody corpse.
Forcing her to watch the ruin I’d made of him, the way she’d watched this atrocity.
I didn’t do it, though.
My tears splatted onto the grate, and I fumbled to wipe away the drops before they could fall into the room. Then I crawled backwards an inch at a time, sick and shaking.
After I finally made it down the ladder, I sagged against the wall, sobbing into my hands. Caedo raced up my arm to coil around my neck, settling the red jewel that was its heart over my own. Soon , the dagger said. Cut them, bleed them, drink them soon.
The moment the Accord was over, Torin and Rowena were dead. I would do it slowly, and I would enjoy it.
The sylph’s screams echoed in my head as I stumbled away from the brothel.