Chapter 8
T he next night, we eat baked pumpkins, honey-glazed pears, and parsnips. The night after, we devour garlic-drizzled radishes and crispy kale. Then, it’s shallot and parsley roasted beetroot with figs and sweetbread.
And raspberries, plums, and pomegranates. Always raspberries, plums, and pomegranates.
“You’ve been eating a lot of fruit, Elysia,” Obi says one night as we dance.
“What else is there to do?” I giggle, my stomach churning, bile rising in my throat.
Obi shrugs. “Good point.”
“Besides, you eat even more,” I drawl, my hand skimming down his hard chest.
“I’m bigger than you. My body can take more.”
Mmmhhh. And what a body it is .
Obi laughs, quirking an eyebrow. “You’ve definitely been eating too much.”
Whoops, was that thought out loud?
“Obi,” I slur, bloodshot eyes peering where they shouldn’t. Reaching a clammy, flushed finger up, I trace the scare. Obi lets me, leaning in to my touch. In for a penny, in for a pound. Dae would laugh if he saw me now. Or maybe not. It didn’t matter anyway—he’s nowhere to be found. “Did you have this scar before you got here?”
Silence. “No.”
“Oh.”
Leaves fall. Just a few. The weakest, smallest ones, floating up to the sky like will-o’-the-wisps. Naked and cold, they enter the abyss with a whimper. No one misses them.
“Obi…” Fruit pours from my lips, in or out. I can’t tell anymore. A scream, kicking legs are dragged up the marble staircase. “Who else has been here as long as you?”
Obi twirls me, a smile tearing across his lips even as tears shine in his eyes, and his pupils beg for release. “Him, him, and him. Oh, and her.”
“They’re all very large, like you, except for her. Is that what’s keeping them here?”
A Faerie laughs. Has it been watching us? Listening? Eyes blink at me from the darkness. I know not to look at the Jinn now. “Don’t worry, fatty,” it tells me, “with hips like that you’ll be here a long while yet.” Tears stream down my big, bright, grinning cheeks.
“Stop!”
A thick London accent bounces across the courtyard. Mum? No. This accent is clipped, clear, and brisk. Raucous laughter follows as I wipe drool from my mouth.
“Abnehor, please, I’m begging you, stop.” Wide eyes glare up at blond locks, a strong jawline, and heart-shaped lips that snort in disgust. A girl’s limp brown hair is whipped around by the swirling purple mass before her.
Shit. Jinn. My eyes dart away. But it doesn’t matter. No one’s coming for my secrets, or my soul. Dropping the plum in my hand, I allow my gaze to trail back to the scene.
Gripping the Jinn’s powerful, naked torso, the brown-haired girl’s hands yank as hard as they can. He laughs, blond hair tipping back as a gust of wind snuffs out the flickering match in his fingers.
“You’re mad,” the Jinn smirks, his easy-going voice floating gently on the breeze. “Completely mad.” He throws the unlit match to a shivering form beneath him—an old man clutching his ears as he soils himself. The Jinn’s amethyst eyes light with fire as he runs the tip of a new match along a wooden table.
The fire is snuffed out by the girl again. “Shiva, stop it,” the Jinn warns, lighting another match. Shiva blows it out, thin lips pursing together in rebellion. “He looked at me, Shiva. You know what happens to little humans who look at me.” His voice is melted butter on a warm winter’s night.
Taking a step forward, I squish the forgotten plum beneath my foot, pressing it into the soil and wildflowers.
“I’m looking at you right now,” Shiva says, her voice clear and firm, hands balled into fists at her sides.
Abnehor’s lips curve. “Don’t tempt me, little dove. I’d love nothing more than to creep inside you .” He gently strokes her high cheekbones. Fingers melt into grey as he presses his translucent form deep inside her hollow cheek, clawing out a shiver. Shiva quivers as he pulls his hand out and shakes it back into solid form.
“Please, Abnehor. He’s an old man.” The man on the floor whimpers, tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks. She clasps her hands before herself, serious eyes glaring. “Forgive him. No more burning tonight. Please.”
Licking his apple-cider lips, Abnehor leers. “Make a deal with me, then. Bargain for his life.”
Shiva’s face twists into an ugly snarl as she turns, pacing two steps ahead before Abnehor grips her forearm and spins her back around. “Look at him, poor whimpering fool. Don’t you want to help him? Don’t you care?”
Tilting her chin up, Shiva keeps her eyes trained on Abnehor as I creep closer.
“Never mind, then. I’ll just take him upstairs. He’s got perfect skin for flaying.”
“What kind of deal?” Shiva snaps quickly. Heart-shaped lips bend down to whisper in her ear. A nod, a handshake, the smell of purple magic in the air, a wide sneer, and twinkling violet eyes.
“Go on then, piss off then, little dove. I’ll see you tonight.” Abnehor and Shiva splinter off in opposite directions, one gliding, the other storming.
Strong arms wrap around my waist, stopping me in my tracks. “Careful, Elysia,” Obi’s deep voice tickles my ear. “He’s Delhi’s cousin. You don’t want to catch his attention.”
I shake my head. Who’s Delhi? “You need to stop eating so much fruit, Obi.” I laugh, pressing a hand against his forearm and pulling. “It’s not him I’m looking at.” I jerk my head. “Who is she? She’s not wearing our uniform.”
“Oh, Shiva? Faerieland’s oldest human resident, and a perfect example of what happens if you refuse to eat the fruit. She was whipped every night for two years, that’s all I remember from my first year of being here—her screams,” Obi shivers, releasing me. “One day they just...stopped.”
“God, that’s horrible.” Maybe she knows more about this place than anyone else, maybe she knows which way the mist is. More of the haze from the Faerie fruit subsides as my legs dart towards Shiva. “Hi.” I thrust my hand out.
“Hi,” Shiva replies, narrowing her eyes at the hand. She picks up my forefinger and shakes it gently, blowing out her cheeks before releasing it.
“Nice to meet you.”
Shiva rolls her eyes. “We’ve met. Several times.”
“Oh... Really?”
“Yeah, really. But this is by far the most sober I’ve seen you.” Shiva shrugs. “It’s the fruit. You shouldn’t eat it.”
“Won’t they punish us if we don’t?”
“Yeah, but what would you rather? Pain, and you’re still your own person, or no pain, and you don’t recognise yourself in the mirror?” I bite my lip. “Look,” Shiva sighs as she puts down a tray of big, juicy parsnips. She licks her finger before pointing it towards an old lady walking into the topaz wall, a middle-aged man stacking musical equipment on top of his head, a crowd of Fae circling him, laughing, and a young woman, completely still, eyes peering out into the void. “What do you see?”
Emptiness. Slack mouths. Slow, mechanical movements. They all blink in perfect time—eight seconds between each blink.
“What are they?” I lean closer.
“They’re you,” Shiva says, and I arch an eyebrow. “They’re you in a completely random amount of time. Could be a few weeks, months, even years. Did you think there were no consequences to dulling your brain every night?”
The fog clears more and more by the second. “How long have I been here?” I ask, eyes darting from sHell to sHell.
“About three weeks,” Shiva replies, picking her parsnips back up and taking a bite.
Fucking Hell.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“Don’t eat the fruit.”
I blow out a breath—very helpful.
As Obi and I drag our feet back to the cells that night, my clearer, more alert mind starts to formulate a plan.
I’m not as brave as Shiva—to me, getting whipped until your screams echoed around the courtyard feels like as terrible a plan as eating the fruit. Hopefully, I can avoid both outcomes.
From my few hours of semi-sobriety, it becomes pretty clear that the Fae aren’t really paying that much attention to individual people. If I can just hold a piece of fruit in my hands, without actually biting, act lost and confused, and sometimes, when things get too much, hide myself away in a corner, then maybe, just maybe, they won’t even notice me.
The next night, I watch, listen, and gather intel on my enemy.
Father was right—Faerieland is madness, utter, bloodthirsty torment. Once, I wondered if he was wrong, if his hatred for the Fae was unfounded. I don’t wonder that anymore.
My plan to carry fruit with me but not eat it works, but it’s not without its difficulties. The worst part of not eating the fruit isn’t ignoring its desperate pleas to take a bite, the delicious way it tickles my skin as I clutch one to deceive the Fae. It’s what being sober forces me to witness. Being one of the only sober people in Faerieland is bone-chilling.
“He’s not going to make it if he keeps eating,” Shiva whispers in my ear as I circle the hall.
I asked Obi to do play pretend with me this morning, but he refused. “He’s too scared to stop. You traumatised him with all that screaming his first year,” I tell Shiva. “You’ve really never seen a wall of mist? Or heard the Fae talk about something called the Nori?”
Shiva narrows her eyes almost imperceptibly before shaking her head.
I say, “I’ve gathered some intel.”
She jumps up onto a table, her feet dangling off the edge. “Oh, yeah? Go on, tell me.”
“The Coblynau create things for the Fae. Furniture, weapons, cups, wine, clothes, the Coblynau make it all for them.”
“So?” Shiva’s hair falls around her face, reminding me of Mum’s shiny, black locks.
“So, maybe they can make us a tool to get out of here.”
Shiva laughs. “If the Coblynau could create a way to escape, they’d use it themselves. What else?”
Okay, next. “I found out who Delhi is. The Queen of the Jinn. She’s off hunting with her court, but apparently, they show up here once in a while.”
“Yeah, I met them once.” Shiva shudders. “All pretence flew out the window. Everyone turned mad. No one was safe. Not something I want to live through again. I’ve made a deal with Abnehor so that I can stay in his room next time.”
That doesn’t sound good, but I still say, “Yes, but don’t you see? If they live in a different world, or court, then how do Delhi and her riders get here? There must be some kind of path, or portal, or road.”
“Sweetheart, listen to me.” She leans close, popping a chilli-buttered radish between her lips. “Your best bet for a long life isn’t finding magical portals; it’s sidling up to someone and hoping for their protection. Give them what they want, and they’ll give you life,” she says between chews. “Like I have, with Abnehor.”
I wouldn’t exactly call what Shiva has protection. But then, what do I know?
A Faerie looks my way, so I act silly and drunk and wander off. I want so desperately to just get up and walk out. To just leave. Why is it so complicated to just leave?
All night, I watch the Fae and Jinn, listen to the harrowing orchestra, the pitiless melody, and gather whatever intel I can to make my escape.
I still have the rest of Spring. Two more months to find the Nori, that’s not so bad. I’ll save Mum, I’m sure of it.
“Obi,” I say through the wall that night, “tell me a story.”
“What kind of story?”
“The one where you ended up here.”
A long while passes, and I start to think Obi won’t answer. Shuffling sounds drift through the wall.
“My mum’s an alcoholic. She got better by the time I got to secondary school, but she was really messed up when I was young. One day, when she was covered in her own sick and too drunk to reach for the bottle of vodka beside her bed, she cried and cried and begged for someone to come and bring it to her.
A short woman with long nails and a curved back came out of some dark corner of the bedroom. There wasn’t a magic flash or anything, she didn’t explode into the room. One minute she wasn’t there, the next it was like she had always been there. She made a deal with Mum; said she would bring her the bottle and pour her a glass if she promised she could take me away on my eighteenth birthday. Mum agreed. I think she thought she was hallucinating.”
“Mum never told me, and I don’t think she realised at the time that I’d been huddled in the corner of the room when it happened. She got clean pretty soon after.
“But then, right on cue, 2 o’clock in the morning on my eighteenth birthday, the same woman melted into my room from the dark and grabbed my arm. One second I was in my bed, the next second I’m standing in the courtyard in Faerieland.”
A hag. I feel bad for getting excited at Obi’s story, but if that’s how you get a hag’s attention, I’m one thousand steps closer to saving Mum. “Did you ever see a woman like that again?”
“Yeah, they come around sometimes. They’re called hags. They’re like nomads, I think. They have a good relationship with the Faeries and bring them things.”
Of course! Because hags are part of Faerie. They answer to the Faerie King.
Was Dae behind this entire thing? Did he manipulate my mother into stealing my fate, just to trap me here? Obi continues, “They grant wishes in exchange for deals. Mum could have gotten a lot more for me than a glass of vodka.” A harsh laugh erupts from him.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Obi. You didn’t deserve it.” He doesn’t respond. “I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.”
“Sure you will.”