15. Haters Gonna Hate
15
Haters Gonna Hate
Aliza
T he clock on the mantlepiece ticked insistently, a constant reminder that it was almost three in the morning. I ignored it, despite my heavy eyes, and extricated myself from the nest I’d made in the armchair. The fire was burning low, and nighttime inside these thick stone walls was rather chilly. I set down my book–a study on fae bonds, borrowed from Nairsgarth’s library–and crossed to the hearth with trepidation.
When a witch had come by my room yesterday evening, and set about building the fire, I’d almost sent her away. It was only a vague, morbid curiosity and a determination not to let Maelgwyn win that had stilled my tongue. Much to my surprise, the sight of orange flames dancing in the hearth hadn’t brought about a panic attack, and after a while, I’d dared to sit in the armchair and let the heat wash over me. I’d stayed there, bundled under a blanket, reading by the flickering glow.
Sitting nearby was one thing; stoking the damn thing was quite another.
I flexed my bare toes. I was safe in Nairsgarth. It was a rug beneath my feet, not bundles of kindling. Nothing bad was going to happen to me .
I retrieved a log from the wicker basket beside the hearth and tossed it into the grate. The flames swelled, accepting my offering with a merry crackle. It wasn’t so bad. With a smile, I plucked up the poker and stirred the charred logs.
I was doing it! I wasn’t afraid. I was a strong, independent woman, and I’d survived–albeit due to heavy interference–what had taken the lives of countless women before me.
Bolstered by my success, I threw another log into the flames and turned away.
My bed caught my eye. I’d slept plenty of nights nestled amongst those cloud-like pillows, but tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to face it. It was my first night alone since becoming immortal. There was nobody here to comfort me when I inevitably woke from another imagined burning.
That did frighten me. Here, in the waking world, I was in control. The fire was safely confined to its designated place. It wouldn’t touch me, wouldn’t hurt me. In my dreams, it would come for me. I would burn, and the pain and terror would be real.
I didn’t want to sleep.
Instead, I retreated to my chair, tucking my legs under me and arranging my blanket. Maybe if I read until I fell asleep, my dreams would focus on my research, instead.
It was interesting stuff, though admittedly, I’d only skimmed the chapter dedicated to bonds created by Rhodd Anfarwol. After my earlier conversation with Anwir, it was the study of mate bonds that snared my attention. Even though Anwir was a liar, even though he was probably trying to manipulate me, I couldn’t help but drink in every scrap of information .
Mate bonds were considered sacred; predestined but rare, even among fae couples. Human and fae pairings were almost unheard of, whether because the bonds themselves were uncommon, or because the impracticality of differing lifespans created a level of reluctance, I couldn’t say. The book didn’t enlighten me about that particular matter. It did tell me that when a bond was discovered, it was world-altering. Everything shifted, focusing on that connection, on protecting their partner at any cost, even if it meant their own life. All other connections and relationships paled by comparison. There were even records of married fae abandoning their spouse in favour of their newfound mate, and such things were, apparently, accepted. Understood.
If Anwir spoke the truth—and I wasn’t convinced he was capable of such things—then Idris had been incredibly lucky to find Jane, his human mate.
My stomach soured, and I reached blindly for the little dish on the side table, brimming with hard-boiled sweets, and popped one into my mouth.
The more I read, the worse my mood became, until I was quietly seething and wide awake for it. Mates were inexplicably drawn to each other. They felt each other's emotions, and once the bond had been accepted and sealed–by the exchange of blood, no less–they tuned into each other's physical feelings as well, and even their thoughts . Had it been like that for Idris and Jane? Had they shared everything?
There had been a handful of times when Idris had let me feel his emotions. The first time had been the night of Anwir’s ball, when he’d all but crippled me with what I now knew was the grief of a bereaved father. He’d done it on purpose, looking me in the eyes as he let me glimpse his soul. He’d done it a few more times since I’d turned fae, but even then, he only shared the bad. Pain and sorrow. Had Jane known what his joy felt like? His love? Had he readily shared everything with her, instead of just the brief glimpses into the bad that he afforded me?
My guts twisted. I’d glowed at my ability to make him smile, however reluctantly, sometimes even laugh. It was pathetic, really, when there’d once existed a woman who could make him feel all the things this book reported.
Only, Anwir was a liar. He had to be a liar. And if he wasn’t, so what? Jane was dead. Idris couldn’t be expected to remain in mourning forever. He’d kissed me. Maybe he’d never feel for me the way he had for Jane, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have something.
A faint click had me lifting my eyes from the infuriating pages of the old book. The firelight gleamed on the facets of my crystal doorknob as it slowly turned.
Despite everything I’d just read, my heart lightened with hope. There was only one person it could be. One person who knew of my nightmares, and cared enough to check on me.
But it wasn’t Idris who cracked the door open and peered through the gap. It was a witch.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me looking back at her, but she slipped into my room, closing the door behind her. I’d seen her about the place but never spoken to her.
“Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty,” she said in a hushed voice as she approached, “but I was patrolling the corridors and noticed the light under the door. Is everything alright? Would you like me to put the fire out? ”
I closed my book, setting it aside. It was reassuring to know that nighttime patrols had been introduced, though my insides squirmed at the knowledge. They were probably something to do with a recent vampire attack, and therefore, everything to do with my stupidity. Worse than that, the witch was armed. A short sword and dagger hung from her belt, and though I doubted she would have the speed and strength required to fight Jacques, the fact remained that they were intended to kill him.
“I couldn’t sleep, but no thank you, leave the fire.”
I should probably at least try to get some rest, and if I couldn’t have my handsome fae prince, I could at least have the reassurance of the light. The witch hesitated before the fire, her hand halfway to the poker.
I rose to my feet, stretching, and headed to the dais. “Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Aliza.” The witch’s voice was right behind me.
Startled, I spun, just in time to see the poker swinging through the air, aiming straight at my head. I ducked on sheer instinct, and the metal pole skimmed the top of my head, snagging my hair.
The witch tossed it aside with a clatter, snatching her dagger from its sheath and charging at me before I’d even had time to widen my eyes. I threw myself aside, and the blade plunged into my duvet. The witch wrenched it free, sending feathers whirling into the air, and turned on me with a snarl curling her lip.
What the fuck? Was this a dream? Had I dozed off in my chair, after all? As the witch hurtled at me again, I decided not to test my theory.
Maybe it was because I was now fae, but my body reacted with a speed I hadn’t realised I was capable of. I shot to my wardrobe, my long legs making the distance across the room seem short, and wrenched it open. In the dim light, my hands scrambled blindly over the shelf, closing around my target. I leapt aside, but not fast enough. The witch’s dagger caught my upper arm before colliding with the wardrobe with a thud.
A second later, I felt the sting and clapped my free hand over the bleeding gash. My other hand tightened around the hilt of Queen Claudia’s dagger.
The witch’s blade was embedded in the wardrobe door. She tugged it fruitlessly before drawing the short sword and facing me.
“Stop,” I panted, backing away on hollow legs. Why was she trying to kill me? I was on her side. “Don’t do this.”
My words had no effect. The witch came at me again, and my senses honed, focusing. As though in slow motion, I watched her raise the sword, and I knew. Knew she wasn’t going to stop. She’d lied about patrolling the corridors. For whatever reason, she’d come here to kill me. The only reason I wasn’t dead already was because she hadn’t found me sleeping, as she’d expected.
The knowledge didn’t ignite fear, but rather the slow, heavy sinking of regret. Inevitability. The firelight caught on her blade as it swung toward me.
I lunged, catching her wrist in a hand stained by my own blood. Her swing came to an abrupt halt, but mine didn’t. Claudia’s dagger sank between her ribs with horrifying ease.
The witch’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a little o for half a heartbeat before the dagger’s magic set to work. My assailant’s face shrivelled in on itself, the flesh sucked away, wrinkling and shrinking like the contents of a vacuum bag. Her eyes disappeared into the sockets. Her wasted lips pulled back, baring her teeth in a hideous, eternal smile. Beneath my hand, her wrist reduced to bone.
I didn’t hear the clatter of her fallen sword, or the papery whoomph of her too-light corpse as I let it drop to the floor. All I heard was my breath, sawing in and out, and my pulse ratcheting in my ears.
I’d killed a person. The witch was dead because of me.
“Aliza!”
My already fraught body tensed further, but when I spun, dagger poised, it was Idris I found hurtling toward me. He skidded to a halt when he spotted the corpse. My blade slipped through my suddenly limp fingers with an echoing clang.
“I didn’t want to.” My voice was high and wild. “I don’t know what happened.”
Peridot eyes darted over my body, settling on my injured arm. Those lovely orbs hardened into something glacial. He stalked closer and lifted my arm with a touch that was at odds with the fury on his face. “You’re hurt.”
I looked down. Blood streaked down to my wrist in little rivers. It had splattered over my cropped cami, ruining the sugary shade of lilac.
My eyes flooded as I lifted them to Idris. “These were my favourite pyjamas.”
What was I saying? Someone had just tried to murder me, and I was worrying about a few blood stains?
“We’ll get you new ones.”
“I don’t want new ones.” My voice rose hysterically. “I’ve already got new hair, a new body, a new life, and a new world. I don’t want new pyjamas . ”
I wanted some things to stay the same. Was that too much to ask? Could I not even have the familiar comfort of my favourite nightwear? Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I shivered. Had it always been so cold?
I was a killer. I’d stabbed a witch, and now she was dead on my bedroom floor.
I wrapped my arms around myself. They weren’t the only ones. Idris folded me against his chest, holding me tight.
There it was again, that faint pulse of regret that didn’t belong to me. I focused on it, noting the way it travelled between us, on some unseen but softly glowing thread that tied behind my sternum. Was that the bond of Rhodd Anfarwol? It was so real, I almost believed I could touch it. That I could pick it up and follow it, to him. I shifted my hand, sandwiched between our bodies, and pressed it to my chest, to that ache of remorse that was the manifestation of our bond. Would I ever feel anything good there, as Jane once had?
I lifted my eyes, but I couldn’t summon any words. I didn’t need to. Idris kissed my forehead, and asked, “What happened?”
My throat was suddenly dry. I swallowed, trying to make sense of it all. It had happened so fast. “I don’t know. I was reading, and the witch came in, asking if I wanted the fire put out, and the next thing I know, she’s attacking me.” I gulped again, lowering my eyes. “I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t have a choice.”
Idris’ arms, a warm, safe cocoon around me, disappeared, only for his finger to touch the point of my chin. He tilted it until I was forced to meet his gaze. I found no judgement there, only concern, and… pride?
“You did what you had to. ”
Was he telling the truth? I’d gone for Claudia’s dagger, after all, knowing what it was capable of. I could have picked up the fallen poker and knocked the bitch out, but instead, I’d killed her. The urge to look over my shoulder, to confirm that the shrivelled body was really there, grew and grew, until, in desperation, I surged to my tiptoes and kissed the prince.