Chapter 9 Silva #4
“Y-your majesty.” Silva’s voice wavered in the cold.
So much for not being afraid. She was terrified, and there was no point in pretending otherwise, but that didn’t mean she would forget her country club courtesies.
She didn’t know if she was meant to bow or curtsey, deciding she was shivering too badly to perform either.
“I apologize if I’m not supposed to be here.
I didn’t know. I-I’m looking for someone, and I thought I had a right to passage.
But I’ll leave right now, with your permission. ”
The ghost of a smile curved the corner of fae woman’s thin lips. “You would leave so quickly after traveling so far? It is not without pain that you obtained a key, I am certain. And yet you would leave without that which you came seeking?”
Silva felt the world slow, even as her pulse raced.
Hope was a dangerous thing to hold onto, she already knew, but her heart didn’t care.
The rest of the room seemed to hold its collective breath, the Queen and the fox both waiting for her answer.
Duration. This is how they kill you. Slowly, in the cold.
“Is he here?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, too afraid to allow her hope to echo through this flat, grey hall.
The Queen cocked her head, the movement so small it was barely a movement at all, appraising Silva. Her eyes were the color of ice, pale and untroubled, they took her in without haste. “You are afraid.”
All Silva could do was nod. Of course, she was afraid.
And yet. There was no alarm bell sounding in her head, no prey instinct screaming at her to flee.
She was afraid, but it was not the same fear she’d possessed standing within view of that placid little pool.
She was afraid, but she was not terrified. Not yet.
“Yet you still crossed. Why, I wonder?”
Don’t cry. If you start crying, you won’t be able to stop.
Her tears seemed intent on not following her directions, burning at the corner of her eyes.
“Because someone was taken from me. And not knowing where he is or if he’ll ever come back .
. . the not knowing isn’t something I can live with.
” They took him. Gone, gone. “He belongs at home, with me. With his family. He was taken from us. And I want him back.”
Another ghost of a smile. The Queen considered her again, slowly. “Not all that is taken has been stolen, child. Do not mistake loss for theft. And not all that is lost must be followed.”
She had spent too many months following this trail. Too many nights holding in her tears, too many days feeling despondent. Too much pain to be told not to follow him now. “And yet I’m here, following,” she gritted out. The heat of her tears was the only warmth in the room.
“That does not make him yours to take.”
“Then what is he?” Silva shot back, a flash of frustrated temper she could scarcely control.
The Queen raised a non-existent eyebrow as she gave a one-shouldered shrug. “A debt collected. Reaped for Autumn’s harvest. As is all.”
Silva breathed out slowly, rattling, hope leaching away like a white puff from her mouth. “Is he here?” she asked again, already knowing the answer was no. He’s in that dark forest. He’s not here, so just let me go home.
“He is not. Autumn makes its claims. Winter is merely the aftermath. But . . .” she paused, eyes rolling up to the open ceiling, as if he might be lurking there.
Silva could barely keep her teeth from chattering as she waited for the Queen to finish her thought.
“He passed through me once, long ago. He will not return.”
There was a note of finality that hung in the air, frozen like one of the icicles suspended from the arms of the throne.
Her tears overflowed at last, catching in her lashes before rolling down the apple of her numb cheek.
They’re going to freeze your eyes shut. Is that what you want?
You’re going to wind up frozen here forever.
A small flutter came from inside her, her hand almost going to rest at her front, catching herself before she could complete the movement.
Too late for the Queen of Ash and Silence cocked her head again. Slow and considering. Duration. For a long time, she said nothing, watching Silva without blinking.
“There is a kiss of fate upon you, I think. And that changes the position of your stars. You might be glad of it, someday. Come. You are hungry, and you are cold.”
It wasn’t a question, and even if it were, Silva was unable to answer.
A sob was brewing in her throat, and it would only take the smallest provocation for it to escape, and that would be the end of her composure.
She was a fool to think any of this would work.
Of course he wasn’t here. He was lost to her, and now she would never see her family again.
You thought you were going to be a dark web sleuth, and these people are going to eat you for dinner.
You’re the only thing here that’s not snow.
“Meat and hot honeyed mead. Something with apples, I think. And bring me the lamplighter.”
Silva sucked in a long, shuddering breath, pushing her tears down as she tried to make sense of the woman’s words, realizing they’d been directed at the fox.
The fox, who’d nodded, and turned out the door.
That’s one of the first rules of treating with the fae, dove.
Don't ever accept gifts. Don’t eat their food.
Careful where you wander. She’d already made a mess of the edict on wandering, and now she was being seated for a meal, no different than the dining room at the club, albeit with a permanent membership here.
“Thank you,” she choked out, “but-but I’m not hungry. I appreciate the offer, but I really should be—”
“It’s not for you.”
It wasn’t the response she was expecting.
Silva swayed. The moth had already left the throne room after bringing her, and there was no one else present besides herself and the Queen.
A tiny volley of kicks, then, nearly indistinguishable from her own breath against her ribs, offended that they’d been excluded from the counting.
She stumbled, realizing she was about to fall.
For the first time since her arrival, the icy Queen broke her torpor, rolling her colorless eyes as she rose from her frozen throne, her dress disengaging in a shimmer of icicles. With a wave of her hand, a chair glided in from somewhere unseen.
“Sit,” the fae woman barked when Silva continued to sway like a tree in the wind.
Her Majesty’s own chair was piled with grey furs, seated beside an enormous hearth, one Silva hadn’t even been able to pick out of the wall until it was lit before her.
The fox returned, carrying a tray with two steaming goblets the color of a frozen lake and a small cauldron, which they placed over the fire.
“You will eat. I’m not feeding you, girl, if that is your fear. But your child will fail to thrive and die.”
The Queen’s words were blunt, but not cruel. Your child. Her tiny flutter, her little wing, a year and a half curled beneath her breast, never showing itself. Silva recoiled, but the fae woman continued, undaunted.
“And I cannot allow that. This is a critical time in our numbers, and the punishment for death is death. You’ll do well to remember that. Drink.” The fae woman sat, holding her own cup aloft, waiting and watching for Silva to take a sip.
You went wandering. Now you’re having lunch.
May as well text her your PoshPoppet wishlist, you might get that purse you wanted as a gift.
In for a penny, in for a pound. The liquid was hot and sweet and strong, like a fortified apple cider, fragrant with cinnamon and clove.
They even have your beverage of choice. Maybe you should just stay.
“You hoped this would be singular,” the Queen continued, taking a long swallow from her own cup. “A door opened. A door closed. A problem resolved.”
She hesitated, hoping the fae woman would continue speaking, but after a moment, it was clear she was waiting for an answer. “I did,” Silva admitted. “I don’t know how any of this works.”
“Yes, well, that is quite evident.”
You came all the way to the other side of the veil to be snarked at.
The obnoxious man from the little shop’s words came back to her.
I’m surprised something hasn’t eaten you already if this is the kind of shocked stupor you go wandering around in regularly.
Silva snorted. She was terrible at this, but she had been very good at getting her way, once, under normal circumstances.
The Queen eyed her with disdain. “Ignorance will not survive on this side, girl. Consider this a mercy.” She paused as their glasses were refilled. “Winter is aftermath,” she said again, after the fox had stepped away. “Nothing begins here. Things only remain.”
“What remains after the harvest is taken,” Silva murmured, echoing the fae’s earlier words.
At that, the Queen tightened her grip on the cup, her smile small and frozen.
“Yes. Winter is what remains after Autumn has taken its due. The bone picked clean. The silence after the feast. We do not bargain here. We do not tempt. Here, nothing is taken that is not ours to claim, and nothing is given.”
“You’re giving me rest and a hot meal,” Silva pointed out.
Her head ached. Silence was smarter, but she was sick and tired of the confusion that had enveloped her since the night of Tate’s party.
It had been a full year and then some, her memories rifled through and changed, no closer to any answers than she’d been the night she’d fallen and struck her head outside the Pixie’s back door.
“You haven’t eaten me yet. Why help me at all? ”