Servant of Earth

Chapter 10

10

The day wasn’t over yet.

King Osric was holding a formal dinner, and unlike previous events, this one would include most of the Noble Fae. That meant thousands of eyes on Lara.

I stared at her unbound hair with dread.

She’d already applied cosmetics herself, claiming it was too important to trust me with. Now she sat impatiently waiting for me to craft a hairstyle worthy of the king.

“All I know how to do is braid,” I said in a small voice.

She made an exasperated noise. “Just braid it and pin it up.”

Everything I did was a mess. The braids sagged or the hair pulled out of them or they jumbled together like a tangle of snakes. I was near tears an hour later, and we weren’t any closer to being done.

Lara snatched the brush and pins from me. “Give me that,” she snapped. She yanked aggressively at the knots I’d created, then bound her hair up, fixing it with a small band before braiding the hair into sections. “Here. Do it in three plaits. Then wind them around, pinning as you go.”

Somehow, between the two of us, we wrestled her hair into an enormous bundle of braids on the back of her head. I was panting with exertion by the time it was done.

“Please start practicing,” Lara said as she rose. “I’m honestly embarrassed for you.”

She was wearing the ball gown I’d initially chosen for the Light House lunch. The ivory satin fell in decadent waves to her feet, and the emeralds lining the bodice glittered with every movement. When I’d tried to select a simpler dress, she’d informed me that ball gowns were appropriate for formal dinners because dinners always concluded with dancing. I had a feeling I’d never understand all the rules of the Fae court.

She looked at my sweat-stained dress and tangled hair. “Make yourself presentable.”

I tried. The wardrobe in my room provided an evergreen gown with half sleeves decorated with embroidered vines. I bound my hair into a simple bun, using what must have been a thousand pins to keep it in place. When I returned, she inspected me from all angles. “It’ll do.”

When we emerged, Oriana complimented Lara’s gown while Selwyn pretended to gag behind her back. Lara suppressed a smile at her brother’s antics and swept down the stairs. As I followed, I wondered how she managed to look so elegant all the time. Did young Fae girls practice that precise angle of the head, that swaying stride? I wanted to look elegant, too.

Anya would have laughed at that sentiment, maybe even harder than she would have laughed at my attempts to apply cosmetics. She’d always been naturally graceful, though—her chin had often tipped in that same angle Lara had mastered, like she was a queen without a court.

Oh, Anya , I thought sadly. I wish you were here .

We passed the throne room and descended a wide ramp into a cavernous space. It was shockingly enormous, at least ten stories tall, and I could easily believe the entire Noble Fae population of Mistei would fit inside in their many thousands. Natural stone columns rose to the distant ceiling, where an array of stalactites hung like teeth.

The clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation echoed off stone. Hundreds of round tables had been set up within that vast chamber. The tablecloths displayed the colors of the five houses, and crystal glasses winked under the illumination of floating faerie lights. A dais in the center of the room held a table draped in opalescent lace, and the candleholders atop it were shaped like six jagged stones in red, purple, green, orange, black, and white. A depiction of the Sacred Shards, presumably.

Servants lined up between the tables, their eyes politely downcast. I was dismayed to realize Lara’s table was situated in the very center of the room, mere feet from the dais. There were nine place settings, one for each candidate. I joined the line of servants, nodding to the unknown Void servant next to me. Aidan stood farther down the line, but I couldn’t force my way in to stand next to him with so many eyes on us.

Within minutes, every table had been filled. Once again, the noble houses were segregated. It gave the chamber the appearance of a patchwork quilt—here a patch of onyx, there a cluster of shimmering violet. Other than the candidates’ table, the only table with any variety was atop the dais, where the king sat with the house heads and Lord Kallen.

Underfae in purple livery dashed around the room bearing wine and water. It seemed my job as handmaiden was to stand as stiffly and quietly as possible, ignoring the ache in my feet as I waited for Lara’s snap. A decorative servant rather than a useful one, an accessory she could coordinate to her gown.

Jugglers with mirrorlike skin and eight arms apiece moved between tables, the dozens of balls they threw shining like tiny suns. Hundreds of glittering pixies flew in formation above, creating graceful patterns in the air until the room was aglow with motion and light.

A feast shimmered into existence on the tables, and I stifled a gasp at both the magic and the opulence. There were dozens of varieties of roasted birds, some with fans of bright feathers still attached. They alternated with tureens of soup, soft cheeses, bread so warm it steamed, and mounded salads topped with berries. I watched Lara take small bites of everything, my stomach grumbling in envious want.

The bounty was already more than the assembled guests could possibly eat, but an ululating horn announced the arrival of another course. Entire roasted stags and pigs were carried in on long poles, the ends braced by straining servants. The meat glistened under the faerie light, succulent and juicy. More servants set up stands beside the tables in which to slot the ends of the poles, and then a troop of muscular Underfae with bared bellies and small, bat-like wings arrived beside the meat, bearing two swords apiece. They began an intricate, swirling sword dance, and with every spin, slices of meat dropped onto waiting plates.

The manservants and handmaidens had stopped all pretense of looking at the floor, and we watched avidly as the dancers increased their pace. The deadly steel flashed so quickly that soon I couldn’t track the dancers’ movements. I was aware only of long arcs of silver as the faeries danced a web of violence over the room.

When it was over, each carcass was stripped to the bone.

The Noble Fae had watched the performance with mild amusement or indifference. I supposed every novelty grew stale after a few centuries, but I remained shaken by the artful play of blades. I wanted to move like that: like silk and lightning, like elegant death.

Learn , the dagger purred in my mind.

And who will teach me? I thought back at it, wondering if it could hear. The blade seemed amused but didn’t reply.

The dinner plates were replaced by sumptuous desserts. Each candidate received a different one, as if the cooks had accounted for the individual tastes of every faerie in attendance. Lara’s dessert consisted of a pastry so light it seemed to float. A dusting of sugar and a pool of red sauce decorated the plate around it. As she punctured the pastry with her fork, cream oozed out. She mixed each bite of pastry with the sauce, and her eyes closed blissfully at the first bite.

Dessert. That was a concept I’d never had the chance to grow overly familiar with. It could be found at some formal events in Tumbledown, like weddings or festivals, but my mother and I had rarely had the luxury of considering anything but our most basic needs. I desperately hoped someone was saving the leftovers and that the servants would get to sample them.

King Osric stood, drawing every eye. Conversation and the clink of silverware faded.

“Welcome, friends.” His magically amplified voice echoed through the room. He smiled, and I was struck again by how beautiful he was. His silver doublet was topped with a froth of lace that stretched to his chin, and his tight-fitting trousers were of shining amethyst satin. With a rainbow of jewels on his fingers and glittering powder in his pale hair, he looked like a delicate, exotic dessert himself—except for the brutal crown. “Tonight we celebrate the first immortality trial, which will occur in only a few days. Let us raise a toast to our candidates. May they bring glory to their houses.”

The Noble Fae raised their glasses. Every glass now contained dark red wine, rather than the variety of beverages they had been drinking before.

“These formal dinners bring me joy,” King Osric continued. “It’s not just the sight of so many of my subjects gathered in one place, but also what these dinners represent—our commitment to work together for the good of Mistei. We have diverse gifts but one history. It is only together, united under my rule, that we can be truly strong.”

He paused, one hand extended in a dramatic orator’s pose as he drew out the tension. As his hand dropped, Osric sighed. “I regret that not everyone agrees with this sentiment.”

I heard the creak of heavy doors opening, but I couldn’t look away from the king. He captured my attention utterly, and I had the unsettling sensation he would know the second my gaze wandered. A flickering white light veined with swirling rainbows emanated from him, intensifying until his entire body was encased in it. He glowed like a star, but I could still see that beautiful, stern face as he fixed his attention on whoever was approaching.

“Behold,” he said. “The enemies of Mistei.”

A procession of faeries was making its way between the tables. In front were two winged guards dressed in white, each wielding a razor-sharp axe. Just like the servant who had greeted us at Light House, these had no mouths, but their eyes were pure white, rather than gold. Each wore a single bloodred jewel on a chain around their necks.

I stifled a gasp as I realized what followed behind.

Eight prisoners of varying species shuffled forward in a line, their wrists bound to a shared chain. As they mounted the steps to the dais, an anguished cry sounded from somewhere behind me, only to be cut off immediately. The king’s lips curled.

“Yes, it is shocking.” He stared in the direction of the cry with a wicked smile. The blinding glow of his skin had dimmed to just a hint of radiance. “Shocking to understand that after so long, there are still those who wish to tear this kingdom apart.”

My stomach sank. Something awful was about to happen less than twenty feet from me.

Five of the prisoners were Underfae. They wore tattered gray robes, so I couldn’t tell which houses they had once belonged to. Perhaps that was the point; once you betrayed the king, you no longer belonged anywhere. Three of them were asrai, although their coloring ranged from black to golden, rather than Alodie’s pale blue. One was a female sprite, and the last was a short faerie whose gossamer wings identified him as a sylph.

The other three, though, were what drew my attention.

I knew instantly that two of them were Nasties. One had the flat head and flicking tongue of a snake, albeit one ten times larger than any snake I’d ever seen, but its long body also possessed arms. Pale ooze dripped down its scales to pool on the floor. The other Nasty looked like a naked man from the neck down, but his skin was burnished brick red and he had the horned head of a bull. His eyes were positioned at the front of his face like a predator’s, and they shone with cunning.

The final prisoner was Noble Fae. His posture was straight and tall under the shapeless robe, though his sternly beautiful face was shadowed with exhaustion. The glimmer of his complexion seemed dull in comparison to the rest of the Noble Fae, as if it had been muted by some ordeal.

Osric turned to Prince Hector of Void House. “This is one of yours, I believe.”

Hector studied the prisoner coldly. “I disavow him.”

“And yet he belonged to your house when he was overheard wishing for my death.”

“I had no knowledge of this.”

“Normally the prince of a house would be tainted by association. Do you know why I will choose to believe you this once?”

Hector crossed his arms and looked at the king with an expression that veered dangerously close to boredom. “Because I speak the truth?”

King Osric smiled. “Because Lord Kallen was the one who informed me of his treason.”

Hector glanced at Kallen, but the King’s Vengeance sat in stony silence, seemingly unconcerned at having betrayed a member of his own house. “We are loyal to you, my king,” Hector said, returning his gaze to Osric. “If I had known, I would have told you first. There is no mercy for traitors in Void House.”

Osric clapped his hands, and the cracking sound made me twitch despite my determination to remain stoic. “Excellent. Then the honor of executing this one shall fall to you.”

Somewhere a faerie began weeping.

After a pause that set the hairs on my arms upright, Hector stood and bowed. “It is a privilege, my king.”

I braced myself for violence. The prince would stab the traitor, or perhaps behead him…but all Hector did was stand before him, sword sheathed.

“You should not have spoken,” he said. “You know the laws.”

The prisoner nodded once and bowed his head.

A dark circle appeared in the air to the prisoner’s right, and another blossomed to his left. I squinted, trying to understand what they were. They started small, the size of a coin, but quickly expanded. They gave me chills. It felt like a fundamental piece of the world was missing, as if a hole had been torn in the air and something black and suffocating showed through the rip.

The two expanding spots reached the prisoner at the same time. He screamed once as he was ripped completely in half. Each half crumpled, compressing with horrifying rapidity until the pieces were sucked inside the holes. Even the violent spray of blood hung in the air for less than a blink before the darkness consumed it.

As abruptly as they had appeared, the holes vanished.

There was nothing left of the faerie. My ears rang with his scream, but I couldn’t tell if it was my shock or if his cry still echoed through the cavern.

What was that power?

I stifled the urge to vomit as I remembered the awful ripping sound as his body had been torn in two. His blood had floated in the air like sparkling rubies before vanishing forever, and now there was nothing of him to bury, nothing for the now-wailing faerie somewhere in the crowd to mourn over.

Hector raised a hand, and the crying cut off instantly. His hand shone white and unblemished; no trace of the murder he had just committed remained on those elegant fingers. His face hadn’t even changed expression. He calmly took his seat, picked up his fork, and ate a bite of chocolate cake.

The king laughed. The hair on my neck rose as his laughter rolled through the hall, light and musical, lasting for so long that even a few of the faeries on the dais shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Osric was insane, I realized. Or if not insane, so far removed from humanity—if it could be termed that—that he truly found joy in this moment.

He raised his glass. “A toast! To the annihilation of the unworthy.”

The assembled Fae drank. I watched the bloodred liquid swirl in Lara’s glass as she set it down. Her fingers were trembling, but she hid them in her lap, and her face remained calm. Across from her, the Light candidate Garrick was studying the line of prisoners with a look of sick anticipation. He returned his attention to Lara’s carefully blank face and smirked.

“More wine.” Every glass on the table was abruptly filled to the brim. Osric laughed again. “For the servants, too. Let us all drink together.”

A cup hovered in the air before me, and I took it numbly.

“Drink,” the king commanded.

We drank.

The wine was richer than any I’d tasted before. Beneath the familiar tang were hints of cinnamon and pepper, but the aftertaste contained a horrifying coppery note. I choked it down.

“Prince Drustan.” The king gestured lazily, his rings glittering in the light. “There are seven criminals left. Surely you can eliminate one for me?”

A muscle flexed in Drustan’s jaw as he folded his napkin carefully. “Of course. It would be an honor.” The Fire prince rose, looking so bored I wondered if I had imagined that ticking muscle.

He approached one of the asrai. It was over almost instantly. A pillar of white-hot flame rose from the ground, swallowing the faerie whole. She died without screaming, leaving a pile of ash and bone fragments behind.

Drustan returned to his seat with the same casual air Hector had assumed, but he didn’t touch his dessert again.

The other house heads followed, and each death was a horrifying display of power and brutality.

Oriana looked mildly amused as she pulled a green bracelet from her wrist and tossed it at an asrai. Not a bracelet—a vine. It latched on to the prisoner, elongating and winding around him with stunning speed, binding his arms to his sides as it sent new tendrils snaking over him. At first I thought she would suffocate him, but what she did instead was far worse. The vines tunneled into the faerie’s body, winding through every limb while he screamed, and then they tore him apart into small chunks.

Unlike Hector’s method of execution, this one was slow, and it left plenty of blood behind. Ruby liquid dripped off the dais and pooled on the floor, and spatters of it painted the sky-blue silk of Oriana’s ball gown. She frowned as if disappointed a favorite dress had been stained before returning calmly to her seat.

We raised our glasses.

We drank.

Roland, Prince of Light, took the sprite. When he raised his hands, a light flashed on the dais, so bright I had to look away, so bright that even with my eyes squeezed shut I felt it against my skin. It took several seconds for the afterimage to fade enough for me to see what had happened.

The sprite’s eyes overflowed with blood instead of tears as she stumbled forward with outstretched arms. He’d blinded her. Roland laughed as she staggered, as if this was a game they were playing, that of the hunter and his helpless prey. Then he grabbed one of the guards’ axes and cut off her head. It fell to the floor with a wet thud.

We raised our glasses.

We drank.

I didn’t know what any of the faeries had done to deserve this, other than the Noble Fae who had wished for the king’s death. Was that all it took to be declared a traitor? Expressing a single doubt about the king or his rule?

There were four victims left—the two Nasties, the sylph, and a final asrai. The Nasties looked furious, but the two Underfae trembled in sheer terror.

Would each house head have to kill again? I braced myself, wondering if the murders would be the same or if there were other ways for them to kill. Could Oriana drown a person from within with her water power? Could she bury them alive? How would Roland murder if he used his powers alone, rather than taking a life with his hands?

“It seems the bulk of the work has been left to me,” King Osric announced. “I’m grateful for it. It’s always a pleasure to fight for my kingdom. Let these lives serve as a reminder of your king’s strength and the price of treason.”

His skin glowed, and wisps of iridescent magic twined around his fingers. His hair lifted as if he stood within a lightning storm, each pale strand glittering. “Unchain them,” he told the guards.

The guards didn’t move, but the shackles fell from the prisoners. The two Nasties immediately bolted, the sylph launched into the air, and the asrai ran, only to slip and fall in a puddle of blood. The king laughed as she scrambled away, smearing crimson across the floor.

What was he doing? The prisoners were fleeing, the bull-headed Nasty so fast he was almost out the door. I desperately wanted them to escape, Nasty or not. It didn’t matter what they had done; nothing could be worth this torment.

King Osric raised his hands, and the prisoners stopped. They didn’t freeze in place; rather, they blundered around as if lost in a darkened room. The bull-headed Nasty ducked and spun, growling as he fought an unseen assailant. The sylph screamed and dove as if trying to escape something. I waited for him to stop, but he kept flying, down, down, down, until he crashed into the dais with bone-shattering impact.

The two Nasties were fleeing again, but this time they ran towards the dais. The asrai had stopped trying to escape; she lay dreamily in the pool of blood, moving her arms and legs through it the way I’d once made Fae shapes in the snow with Anya.

Osric was casting illusions and showing each of them something different. He was changing their perception of where they were, who was around them, and where they needed to go.

The winged faerie wept as he dragged his broken body over the floor, and I wanted to weep, too. I was going to vomit if I had to watch this much longer. There was so much blood; the scent of it hung thick in the air.

At the high table, Oriana still looked bored, although she gripped her wineglass tightly. Hector continued eating his cake, but Kallen stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes, as if even he didn’t want to take in the details of this slow execution. Drustan glared at the king’s back, smoke rising from his clenched fists. Only Roland seemed to share the king’s enthusiasm for the kill; his mouth curved in a vicious grin. The smile was mirrored by his nephew, Garrick, the sole candidate at Lara’s table who seemed pleased by the violence.

I understood why Fire, Void, and Blood had rebelled. To destroy a tyrant who laughed at butchery, who had held the throne for centuries by mercilessly eliminating any challengers, even those with no power to defy him at all.

The performance must have been nearing its end, because Osric had gathered all four back on the dais. They looked at one another, but I knew they were seeing whatever he had chosen to show them.

Osric flicked his fingers, and they tore each other apart.

Maybe he had shown them soldiers coming to kill them. Maybe he had forced them to envision themselves trapped underground and clawing through the dirt for air. I didn’t know what they saw, but they used their hands and claws, ripping, shredding, screaming.

The last one standing was the bull-headed Nasty, who calmly walked to one of the guards, grabbed an axe, and cut off his own arm. He bled out silently.

“Four drinks,” King Osric crowed, raising his glass as the Nasty slumped at his feet. “And then it’s time for dancing.”

I fled the cavern, sobbing.

I was going to vomit. Not yet not yet not yet , I silently chanted. I hadn’t passed anyone but a few startled humans carrying baskets of linens, but anyone could be watching in the public spaces.

The dancing had started almost immediately after the massacre. Moments after we finished our final toast, the blood and gore had vanished, along with the wineglasses and tables. The Noble Fae began mingling as the chairs were whisked away as well. Then delicate, lively music floated in from above, played by winged Underfae with flutes and lyres.

I had managed to escape shortly afterwards. Lara had taken one look at my face and jerked her head, clearly dismissing me to compose myself. She had looked shaken, too, her eyes damp, but she’d taken a few deep breaths, downed an entire glass of wine, and pasted a smile on her face before accepting an invitation to dance. Her first partner had unfortunately been Garrick, who had commented on her reddened eyes before clutching her hand so hard I worried he would break her bones. Despite Garrick’s insults and cruel grip, Lara had managed to remain composed. I knew she’d been aware of Oriana watching and judging the entire time.

I wasn’t capable of faking calm after what had happened. Bile rose in my throat. So much blood. So much pain.

The dagger nipped at my arm, jolting me back into my own skin. I swallowed heavily. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but the blade did, and I followed where it urged. Soon the torches dimmed to red, the temperature dropped, and a faint spicy scent drifted through the air.

We had returned to the pitch-black room where I had hidden the previous day. I bolted inside and immediately sank to my knees. My stomach heaved, but I hadn’t eaten much today, and all that came up was a thin stream of acid that burned my throat. I moaned and dropped my head to the ground, panting and crying.

The darkness no longer seemed frightening but comforting, like a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The most horrifying thing I’d ever seen hadn’t been concealed by darkness but performed under bright lights in front of thousands. My fear of an empty room was laughable in comparison.

I thought of my mother as I wept, of her desperate, optimistic faith in the Fae. She’d died with a prayer on her lips, and for what? These monsters had been the object of her dearest hopes, but they were nowhere near worthy of it.

I sat upright at last, wiping away tears and snot. My hair had fallen loose during my run, and tendrils of it clung damply to my temples and fell in heavy tangles down my back. My green gown was wet with sweat. I wouldn’t be presentable when I returned to the cavern, but maybe if I stood in a corner no one would notice.

“Why did you come here?”

I shrieked and scrambled farther into the room at the unknown male voice. “Who’s there?” I couldn’t see anything in the darkness around me, and no one was silhouetted in the doorway.

“Quiet.” A tall figure edged into the pool of light from the hallway, and I recognized Lord Kallen of Void House.

I recoiled. “You followed me.” My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might faint, and my legs shook too badly for me to rise.

“Not precisely.” He sank into what he probably meant to be a nonthreatening crouch just inside the room. It only reminded me of a predator readying to pounce. “I warded the doorway so I would know if you decided to go exploring again.”

My stomach dropped. “You saw me.” He could see in the dark after all, which meant this was it. He would accuse me of trespassing or eavesdropping and send me to the king for execution, assuming he didn’t kill me himself. Then it would be me fleeing through pools of blood while the Noble Fae watched.

“I did.” He studied me with midnight eyes, head slightly tilted. “So why did you come here?”

After a hesitation, I decided on a partial truth that left out the dagger. “It felt safe and quiet. I thought no one would find me if I had to be sick.” I laughed bitterly. “Clearly I was wrong.” I shoved hair out of my face and lifted my chin, determined to regain some composure. He’d startled me badly, but that was no reason to forget Oriana’s lesson about maintaining appearances.

“You did well, you know. At the dinner.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You didn’t let them see this.” He gestured at my tear-streaked face. “That’s the hardest thing to learn, even for young Fae.”

I had to be very careful. Faeries were masters of trickery. Kallen might seem sympathetic now, but I’d seen him kill without hesitation, and he had reported one of his own house members for treason. “I’m not used to violence like that. My lord.”

“Imagine watching it four times a year, every year, for eight hundred years. That’s how long some of the older faeries, like Roland, have been witnessing it.”

“Prince Roland didn’t seem upset.” The most diplomatic way I could put it.

“He wasn’t upset eight hundred years ago, either,” he said. “Which is another lesson—immortality can change many things about someone, but the core stays constant.”

I didn’t understand why he was teaching me lessons. Was it a trick or an honest and bizarre desire to help me, just as Prince Drustan had decided to help? Maybe Lord Kallen had bet gold on me, too. I sighed and asked the question outright. “Why are you telling me this?” Aidan would have laughed at my bluntness.

Kallen shrugged. “I don’t particularly wish to return to the dancing. Besides, I’m curious about you. It’s rare for humans to exhibit even a small amount of magic. Extremely rare, considering our species have lived apart for a thousand years.”

“I don’t know why it happened.” It wasn’t precisely a lie. The dagger had shown me the path through the bog, but I didn’t know if that would have happened to anyone who carried it, or if the dagger had chosen to help me. “I never had any powers before.” Also not a lie, although it contained a glaring omission: I still had no powers whatsoever.

Right? I asked the dagger silently. No Fae blood?

No Fae blood . It seemed amused by the question.

“Perhaps the stress brought it out,” Kallen said.

“Perhaps. Why don’t you want to return to the dancing?” If he wanted to question me, I would question him right back.

The red torchlight from the hallway caught his face at an angle, bringing out sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, a mouth that gave away nothing. A hard face to read. “Maybe I’m a bad dancer,” he said.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“The dancing or the bloodshed?”

“Either.”

“I rarely enjoy dancing. The bloodshed is a hard necessity.”

Of course. He was part of the king’s inner circle, and I couldn’t afford to forget that. He was a spy, pursuing information in every corner, which was probably why we were having this conversation. He likely wanted to hear what I’d experienced in Earth House so far, what I thought about the king, what sort of magic I’d conjured in the bog, and whether or not I would be able to do it again.

“What is this place?” I changed the subject to avoid accidentally revealing my thoughts about King Osric.

“You’re very bold.” His voice was an even baritone, as controlled as the rest of him. “Even most of the Noble Fae don’t dare question me.”

Drustan had commented on my boldness, too, had even seemed to enjoy it. “Who better to question than the King’s Vengeance?” I asked with more confidence than I felt. “You probably know everything.”

His lips curled. “I see you’ve been learning about me. What else have you learned?”

“Nothing.”

“Come now. Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what this room is.” He sounded casual, but I could tell he was interested in the answer.

“You are the second child and heir to Void House. Hector is the eldest and Una the youngest. She’s competing in the trials. That’s it. Oh, and I was told you appear whenever someone thinks about you, so I should try never to think about you.”

It was a risk to take that flippant tone, but it paid off when he smiled slightly. Maybe if I amused him, he would let me go. “I’m afraid the gossips give me powers I don’t possess,” he said dryly. “You are free to think about me whenever—and however—you wish.”

Curse faeries and their insinuations. I hoped he wouldn’t notice my blush in the darkness. “Your turn,” I said.

He looked behind me as if tracing the outlines of the room, but even if I opened my eyes as wide as I could, I still couldn’t penetrate the blackness. “This is the entrance to the sixth house of Mistei. They fought against the king hundreds of years ago and lost and were wiped from memory.”

Blood House. A chill went down my spine. If any of them had survived, they likely would have reveled in tonight’s carnage. “Is there a trap in the room?”

“Guarding the entrance, you mean? No, not in this room. This is an antechamber before the entrance hall. There’s a large archway behind you. I wouldn’t explore beyond it if I were you.”

“What happened to them? The house that rebelled.” Remembering Drustan’s cautioning, I didn’t say the name aloud.

Kallen’s mildly friendly expression faded into his usual cold mask. “Don’t ask that again. If the wrong faerie overheard, you would be in trouble.”

“Aren’t you the wrong faerie?” I dared to ask.

His jaw clenched. “You’re a human and new to this world. You get one warning.” He rose gracefully to his feet. “Go back to the cavern. Don’t return here, and don’t ask too many questions. You may not find future conversations so pleasant.”

I scrambled up far less gracefully, spitefully thinking that he must have a high opinion of himself if he assumed this conversation had been pleasant. “Thank you for the warning, my lord,” I said stiffly. And for not killing me , I didn’t add as I curtsied. Then I brushed past him without a second glance.

It took me a long time to retrace my steps and find the cavern. By the time I slipped back inside, the gathering was far smaller.

Lara was hovering near the wine, but she strode towards me the instant she noticed my return. She belatedly remembered to snap her fingers in command when she was a few paces away. She was drunk, I realized as she came to a swaying stop in front of me. “What took you so long?” she whispered heatedly.

“I was sick.”

“I am so bored,” she said loudly enough for nearby faeries to overhear. “I’m going home.”

“Yes, my lady.” I ducked my head gratefully.

We returned to Earth House in silence. Her face was tight, her mouth clamped in a thin line as if suppressing the words that wanted to burst out. It wasn’t until we were back in her chamber that I felt comfortable enough to speak.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Of course.” She tugged her earrings out and threw them violently onto the desk. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I wasn’t sure how to approach this conversation. I knew she had hated every second of the executions, which was why she was currently drunk, bitter, and going to bed early rather than dancing with some handsome Fae lord. “I found it upsetting.”

“You’re a human,” she said flatly. “I’m not.”

She reached back and started yanking on the ties to her dress. I stepped forward to help, but she shook her head. “I can do it myself,” she snapped.

She couldn’t, though. Every pull on the narrow ribbons was making the tangle worse. She hissed something under her breath, then looked over her shoulder, gaze fixed somewhere to the side of me. “Can you…”

I bit my cheek against the urge to say something rude. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was upset. My own hands were still shaky as I dug my short nails into the knot and pulled on the ribbons. I loosened the lacing on the entire back of the dress, and then Lara stepped away and stripped the gown off, leaving it in a heap on the floor.

She opened her mouth—then closed it again. No thanks for my assistance, apparently. Clad only in her undergarments, she sat down at the vanity, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were reddened and full of misery.

“Should I—” I reached for the hairbrush, but she shook her head.

“No,” she said, just as vehemently but softer this time. Her eyes abruptly welled up, and two tears streaked down her cheeks. She made a distressed noise, then closed her eyes and pressed her fingers into them as if trying to shove the tears back in. Her shoulders shook as her mouth opened around near-silent sobs. “Don’t tell my mother,” she gasped.

My heart broke a little for her then. “I would never.”

She nodded but still didn’t remove her hands from her face. “I usually don’t— I’ve never— I hated that.”

There was a painful lump in my throat. No wonder Lara was so snappish and mistrustful; she didn’t even feel safe crying in private after watching eight people be butchered. “I did, too,” I said. “It was…”

She nodded even though I hadn’t finished my sentence. “It was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I hesitantly offered. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to talk about it.

She shook her head. “I just need to…” She sniffled. “Alone.”

She wanted me to leave, and honestly, I was glad of it. My stomach felt sour and hollow, my mouth tasted awful, and there were horrors echoing in my head. Still, I didn’t feel right abandoning her. At a loss for what else to do, I went to the bathroom to fill a glass of water. “Drink this before you sleep,” I said, placing it on the vanity. I didn’t know if faeries felt ill the morning after drinking, but it would hopefully help her feel better anyway.

She nodded, still hiding her face in her hands. “I—” Her breath hitched. “Water will be good.”

Not quite a thank-you, but close. “Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, Kenna,” she whispered.

I returned to my room, closing the door on the quiet sound of her sobs.

I couldn’t sleep for hours. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the carnage—piles of bodies and ash, shredded chunks of faerie, and that thick pool of blood. The few times I slipped into sleep, I found myself jolting awake, heart pounding, convinced there were corpses in the room. The crystals on the walls brightened each time as if letting me know that I was alone and safe. After my third panicked awakening they stayed lit, and with the room illuminated in soothing blue light, I was finally able to fall asleep.

My last thought before I drifted off was simple. I have to get out of here.