Chapter 57
Zadriel
A thunderous beat pounded in Zadriel’s skull, the cacophony of pain tearing away the last dregs of a heavenly dream, no matter how hard he fought to keep it.
His mind digging through the darkness and finding nothing.
He groaned, pressing his head against the hard surface at his back, hating that the pressure worsened the percussive ache.
When he inhaled, Zadriel could smell her—lavender wrapped in embers and a new, pleasing wave of pine.
Her essence clung to his hair and seeped into his tunic, her taste lingering on his tongue, her warmth coating his skin.
Moments ago, they lay together, wrapped in gold, a sea of glittering daisies fluttering in a light breeze while gilded leaves watched from above.
The Mother alive. Arcadia awakened. A reality he longed for desperately.
“I know you’re awake, Fae.” Silas’s low tone was grating, eliciting another clap of thunder in Zadriel’s head.
Mother help him, he’d give anything to crawl back into the arms of oblivion and dream of the Little Witch. Of home.
What hell awaited?
“I can’t say I’m pleased to return to this realm,” Zadriel rasped, his throat painfully dry—when had he last taken a drink? How long had it been since he’d passed out on the beach?
Peeling an eye open, he was assaulted by red—Elodie’s tent was akin to a demon’s maw, swallowing Zadriel whole. He blinked, hissing against the sting, but when he tried to lift his hand to cover his eyes, rope dug into his wrists, binding them behind his back.
“You won’t be moving until we have answers,” Silas said, crouching in front of Zadriel and waving something in front of his face, silver glinting in his grip.
When sapphires and diamonds shimmered and Zadriel’s vision cleared, he realized it was Cillian’s crown. “What the fuck do you want, human?” he seethed.
“Your kind like bargains, do they not? I’ll give you this crown, but in return you’ll fix my Elodie.”
Zadriel was cautious when he leaned against the support pole at his back, careful not to jostle his bindings or anger the temperamental beast thrashing in his skull.
He heard Elodie’s shallow breaths before he saw her, wrapped in silken sheets and Silas’s cloak, a sheen of sweat soaking her brow.
A faint shimmer of gold lingered on her skin, her freckles standing out starkly like a splash of blood on pale cheeks.
“Is a crown fair trade for her life?” he asked, a challenge in his dark stare.
Silas bristled. “You wanted Cillian’s things.”
Zadriel regarded the relic with a bored look. “Unfortunately for you, the crown is the one thing I couldn’t care less about.”
“But you travel with the queen?”
Zadriel shrugged.
Muscles flexed in Silas’s arms, biceps bulging against his gaudy, red tunic, his grip on the crown tightening. “Then what do you want?”
“You must be smart enough to know.” A grin tugged on Zadriel’s cheek while he ran his tongue over a sharp canine. “Your lady lost a few fingers over it.”
Wind crashed into the tent, howling against the trembling canvas, and Zadriel half expected Silas to howl too.
His eyes darkened, jaw working, stark knuckles flexing so hard the crown cut into his palm.
“I can’t find the ring or the pouch on the beach,” he finally said, tossing the crown aside.
Unfazed by the blood seeping through the thin slice on his hand.
A cold wave of dread rushed up Zadriel’s spine, but he kept his face stony. “That’s too bad.”
Silas grabbed Zadriel’s cloak, jerking him close, the support beam creaking in protest. “You pulled gold from my woman’s body and nearly stole her gods damned life. Either you bargain with me to fix it, or I make you.”
A laugh crept up Zadriel’s dry throat, cracking on his tongue until he coughed. “It sounds like your woman got what she deserved.”
The words barely left his mouth before Silas slammed his fist into Zadriel’s face, his cheekbone cracking beneath the blow. A canine slicing through his bottom lip.
“Silence your tongue or I’ll cut it from your mouth,” the brute snarled.
Zadriel’s head spun, a pounding ache in his jaw, but he held Silas’s stare, baring his bloody teeth. “A Halfling who harms her own kind has no right to her power.”
“She was born with it; that power is hers,” Silas muttered, his grip tightening.
Zadriel’s tunic bunched in Silas’s fist, the material digging into his nape, his wrists screaming under tightening bonds, yet he leaned closer, a promise in his low voice. “We all belong to the Mother in the end.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“A history her kind has forgotten too quickly,” Zadriel snarled, ignoring the bark of pain as the rope tried to pull him back.
“When Elodie wakes, tell her I took her power. That I tore it from her blood, and if she has anything left in her well, she should thank her Gods, because I intended to take it all. I intended to end her.”
A fire blazed in Silas’s navy eyes. “Fix it.”
Tipping his head back, Zadriel enjoyed another breath of the Little Witch’s scent, imagining a canopy of gilded leaves, until they fell to a wall of flames, sparks of gold floating through an endless wave of black smoke.
A reality he couldn’t escape. “I can’t,” he offered.
Not without the ring. If he couldn’t see magic, he had no idea how to weave sap back into someone’s blood without causing more harm.
Not to mention, soon it would be out of reach—as they spoke, Elodie’s sap saturated the Fendu Bay’s sand, waiting until the tide returned and consumed it whole.
“You did this!” Silas shouted, spittle landing on Zadriel’s cheek. “You can undo it.”
A low chuckle rumbled. How wrong Silas was—Zadriel destroyed things, whether he liked it or not, but for the first time he felt proud of the damage he’d done, Elodie’s undoing a worthy feat.
“Silas,” Elodie whimpered, shivering under the covers, and the brute stilled, his eyes darting between Zadriel and his lover. Elodie remained unconscious, tossing and turning beneath her sheets, muttering nonsense about kings and crowns. Face flushed. Droplets of sweat trickling down her brow.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Silas muttered, shoving Zadriel against the tent pole.
Wood dug into his spine, bindings chafing his skin. “I’ll consider it.”
With an unamused sigh, Silas rose and went to Elodie’s side. “I’m here, sweetling,” he cooed, smoothing back her hair, his face softening when she calmed.
“Don’t let them lock me away,” she mumbled. “Cas... cas... our castle. The crown.”
“I won’t let you go back there, my lady.” Silas pressed a kiss to her forehead, his attention flicking to Zadriel, a silent demand he fix this in that stare.
The Fae rolled his eyes.
A breeze twisted around them, circling the tent before embracing Zadriel, its cool touch soothing his throbbing head.
He peeked outside, marveling at the parade of white, fluffy clouds marching through a bright, blue sky, the sun beaming down on the lands.
Water dripped from the trees, snow melting away to make way for spring.
To tear through death and decay and breathe life into the world again.
Zadriel stretched his long legs, trying to find the most comfortable position.
Thumbing the knots on his bindings and wondering if he could unravel them fast enough to slip away before Elodie woke.
She’d bled so much of her sap on the beach, but was it enough?
Could she still enthrall him? He had no interest in finding out.
No interest in ever experiencing a blood thrall again...
The wind hit his cheek, snapping like a whip, a sting blooming.
He hissed a breath, eyes widening when that same tether of air pushed against his chin, forcing him to look back outside.
It slipped over him, tousling his messy black hair before pulling away, rustling the tent flaps.
His dark eyes roved over rough sprigs of beach grass peppering the hill, to a cluster of pine trees, watching the wind slither through the remaining piles of snow lingering between them.
It curled over rough bark, jostling branches and making the shadows dance, stormy, sea-green glinting among them. Aoife watching from the darkness.