Chapter 39
G etting in to the courtyard is much easier than getting out. I just circle round the castle and walk right in the front door.
Dae isn’t here, neither are Shiva, Abnehor, or Kaya. Instead, a sea of fresh human faces meet my gaze. Where once manic laughter filled the courtyard, now, the high topaz walls loom gloomily, the crushed and muddied ground sinks beneath sad, slow dancer’s feet, and even the air clogs inside my throat—dank and musty. I can’t tell if it’s me who changed, or the courtyard.
The Fae laugh too loudly, pouring drinks awkwardly on the ground and tripping over each other. It feels like a rave that’s extended long past the weekend, into Tuesday afternoon, when no one has showered and barely anyone can see beyond their bleary, swollen eyes.
Sneaking through the courtyard, I keep my eyes and ears peeled for any information from the latest batch of visiting Jinn and Fae, but they seem to be more clueless than the ones that came before. I swipe a long dagger off a side table filled with cake and pie on my way around—just in case.
I peek through doorways and in cupboards, but it’s all the same things I’ve seen a thousand times before.
Maybe I’ll try Hell again. Maybe Aamon told Dae I was trying to make a bargain because I did it so out in the open, and he believed Dae would find out anyway. Maybe, if I find his doorway, he’ll be more amenable to a deal, one that doesn’t involve selling my soul to Feast.
I’d better eat something before heading to Hell, just in case Aamon’s food is more appetising than Feast’s and I’m tempted to bind myself to his realm for an apple or something equally as stupid.
Sneaking to the kitchens, I plunge my hand into a deep bowl of honey glazed roasted walnuts, stuffing several into my mouth at once. I haven’t eaten since we left the library. Finding a bowl of soup and a plate of crusty bread filled with melted goat’s cheese, I plop myself on a metallic kitchen counter and dig in.
The door swings open as a group of Faerie guards enter the kitchens, laughing among themselves. Swinging my legs around the table, I abandon the half eaten food and duck down, hiding from their view. They walk deeper into the kitchens, so I sneak back, back, back, until my head hits a door.
Tugging at the handle, I open the door wide enough so I can slip inside. The room I’ve entered is warm—so warm, sweat immediately pricks at my forehead.
Glancing around, I try to figure out where I am. The room is dark, save for a large fire that crackles and pops in the corner. And beside it?—
No.
No.
No. No. No. No.
Oh god.
My eyes are lying. They must be.
I am drunk from Faerie wine. I have gorged on Faerie fruit. I must have?—
I double over, vomiting on the ground. Blinking, I try to change the scene before me, to make it make sense, but all I can seem to do is vomit. Over and over and over. Until my hands and knees are wet with puke and my stomach is empty. Until I’m heaving, dry coughs tearing their way through my throat and lungs.
“Obi,” I say in a scratchy, tortured voice. “Obi.” Maybe if I say his name enough times, he’ll come back to life. My hands are shaking and I try to take a deep breath but it’s impossible. Tears prick my eyes and I keep gagging.
Hanging upside down from his feet, Obi’s headless body sways gently beside the fireplace. Firelight glints off the pale, bloodless flesh where his neck ends in a ragged stump. A thick rope bites into his ankles—the only thing preventing him from collapsing to the floor.
In a shadowed corner, his severed head rests on a long oak table, eyes and mouth agape in a silent, eternal scream. Even with the fire blazing, a bone-deep chill emanates from Obi’s corpse, as if a spell has been placed on him that preserves him, that holds the decay at bay, but the spell does so by replacing the once warm blood in his body with the icy breath of a grave.
It’s as though the fire burns to hold back the encroaching frost, as if without it, Obi’s lifeless body will sweep the land in eternal night.
The door creaks open and somebody speaks, but I can’t hear them.
They speak again, but all I can do is stare, mouth open and heart crushed.
Finally, I hear the words, as a small, aged Coblynau enters the room and says, “What are you doing in here?”
“What is that?” My voice is nothing but a ragged whisper.
“Dinner,” the Coblynau says. “Now get out of here before you let the chill out.”
I keep shaking my head, as though by refusing to accept this is happening, I might undo it.
He’s sitting by a nice warm fire as we speak.
That’s what Dae said the night he caught me trying to escape. The night Obi went missing.
There’s no more denying it. Dae did this.
He’s a monster.
I always knew he was, but this is something else. He’s an eldritch horror. A goblin man. A villainous imp.
And I’m about to be his bride.
I’m shoved from the room by the impatient Coblynau. The bright lights of the kitchens hit me and I shield my eyes from their judging glare. More voices reach my ears, but again, I can barely hear them from the sound rushing through my veins.
Shoved from the kitchens, I’m manhandled like a rag doll, and half thrown back into a corner of the courtyard. I trip and my hands hit a solid wall of muscle. I glance up, expecting to see Dae, but it’s the Vizier.
A sneer lines his features as he says, “I hear congratulations are in order.” He shoves me back against a wall and as his back turns, mutters, “Never thought he’d manage it.”
My vision blurs and I try to blink back the roaring drum beat thundering through my skull, but it’s impossible. Throwing a cupboard door open with one hand, I use the other to grip the Vizier by the hair and throw him in.
Usually, I’m sure he’d be able to overpower me. But I’ve taken him by surprise—I’ve taken us both by surprise. Following him into the cupboard, I kick the cupboard door shut. Sharp pain rips through my scalp and I’m thrown to the ground. My ears ring. Spots shine in my vision.
The metallic taste of blood explodes in my mouth as I swirl, sweeping my legs across the ground until they ram against the Vizier’s shins.
Clambering on top of him, I drive a knife down into his right leg, tearing through skin and blood and muscle.
“Shhhh,” I whisper in the ear of the screaming Vizier. My voice sounds unhinged, even to me. “I just have a few questions.” Because never thought he’d manage it is not how people greet newly engaged women—that’s how you might greet an errant rat caught in a particularly nasty trap.
I try to ignore my empty, still half-heaving stomach as I pull my knife back out of his leg, then drive it in again, this time aiming for his knee. A crack sounds. His leg fights back as I slide the knife between the cartridge. The Vizier’s scream turns wild as I pull the knife out once more, wiping blood from my eyes.
The Vizier’s head smacks against the concrete. His screams rising and falling as blood spurts out of him. I bring the knife above my head and glare between his eyes as a warning.
“Manage what?” I ask.
He just whimpers.
My hands shake, hovering above my head. I bring them back down, resting them on his chest. “Answer, or die.”
The Vizier’s head lolls to the side, his lips clamped shut. I reach behind myself and press down on his wounded knee. Screaming fills the cupboard anew. It’s ironic that no one will come to save him because the Faeries outside likely believe he’s in here torturing me , not the other way around.
I wipe blood from my eyes. “Say it.”
Shallow pants replace the screaming.
“Say it!!”
“Once Aberith is slain, you take his place. Dae will be your husband, and King of both Ellyllon and Faerie.” The words rush out, frantic and disoriented.
Sitting back on my heels, I keep my breaths even as I hold the knife to the Vizier’s neck. My fingers twitch, almost slitting his throat without approval. There’s a part of me, a small childish being within that will always want to save myself from hating Dae, but I need to let that child die.
“His love is a lie?” I ask, but that’s the wrong question. Dae can’t lie and he’s told me point blank he loves me. But love isn’t the point, power is, and he’s trying to steal his. The Vizier doesn’t answer, but what else is there to say?
Dae’s caught me in a trap. He stole me to make me his bride, he killed Obi to remove the competition, and he’s storming Ellyllon, not for some rebel warfare, not to overthrow the evil dictator that is my father, but to take over a world that isn’t his.
“Why did Dae send away all the grownups?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
The Vizier doesn’t answer. I lean back, this time smashing my palm down and shattering his knee. A grisly crunch fills my ears and I have to wait a very long time for the Vizier to stop screaming.
“I’m not very practised at torture. You might want to hurry this up before you bleed out in a cupboard.” Something about seeing Obi’s severed body has flicked a switch within me.
“They kept trying to tell him what to do. They made him send Delhi away, he wanted the party to last forever, and they kept getting in the way.”
Dae has never been another victim of Faerie culture, he is Faerie culture, or, the bad parts at least, the torturous parts. The bits that steal servants to dance and be silly, the parts enslave the Coblynau.
It’s not that he can’t stop the theft and torture of people, or the storming of Ellyllon. He’s responsible for them. If he takes over Ellyllon, he’ll let the demons slay most of the Nightelves on their way to Arcadia, and rule over the others with capricious cruelty, their lives will be a constant performance for his amusement, a puppet show where the strings are made of fear and the stage is wet with blood.
“Is there any way out of this?”
This time, despite the loll to his head, and the blood trickling from his lips, the Vizier smiles as he says, “No. He was gracious to ask you, but if you change your mind, there is always the fruit.” His eyes flutter closed.
Right—the fruit, the pull, the compulsion to do as he says. Dae doesn’t really need my consent, he only has to feed me an apple or a plum, he only has to say the words in that sing-song voice of his. He only has to want it.
Our shared childhood. His constant companionship. The shadows that ran through the forest, chasing me, watching me. The shaking brambles. All of it was him bringing me closer to this moment. To the moment I fall for the dark King who is awful to everyone else but slowly learning how to be kind to me.
God, I’m an idiot. A fucking cliche.
Put my mother’s life at risk, tell me my father’s a liar, and I fall like a domino, right into Dae’s sick arms.
There is only one way out of this. There is only one way to save Mum, protect Ellyllon, and stop Dae. I have to sell my soul to Feast. Even if Mum’s life wasn’t at risk and Dorian wasn’t the only one willing to save it, I can’t just go back home, Dae would come, feed me a plum, and drag me right back to Ellyllon to steal a crown.
“What about Aamon? What’s his relationship with Dae?”
Silence is the only response.
“Hello,” I say, poking the Vizier with a blood-soaked finger. I bring my ear down to his lips. Shit. “You can’t be dead.” My statement falls on deaf ears. “Fuck!”
I didn’t mean to kill him. This time, I can’t blame the trees at all, they’re not anywhere near me.
Thick blood seeps across the floor. A lot of blood. I poke him again but the Vizier doesn’t respond. I hold two fingers to his throat. No pulse.
It’s Dae’s fault I’ve murdered again.
Except, it can’t be. Dae only played a game, I’m the fucking moron who fell for it. Dae didn’t turn me into the sort of girl who falls for dark, malicious princes. He didn’t turn me into a murderer. I did that all by myself.
God, Obi is dead and Dae is still all I think about.
I drag a hand down my face, stopping at my lips. Blood seeps into my mouth, drenching my tongue in iron and salt. My knees buckle as I try to stand.
I need to get to Feast before Dae catches me running through Faerie covered in his Vizier’s blood and forces a plum down my throat. Before he uses me to steal a crown, my father’s crown. Before I can reconsider spending eternity in Hell.
I almost trip as I sprint from the cupboard. The dull lights of the courtyard hit my retinas like a flame. A Faerie jumps back, alarmed as she takes me in. The knife is still clutched between my fingers. I consider dropping it, but I need to get to the door to Feast and I’m not letting anyone get in the way.
Across the courtyard, up the stairs, past our bedroom, through the castle. My breathing grows ragged as I sprint past confused guards and stolen girls and a lost love.
The doors to other worlds open as I sprint past them, a ghost appearing in their wake—a phantom, a menace who always knows exactly where I am and what I’m doing. I run faster, one eye on the stairs that lead to Hell and the other on Dae.
“Elly,” Dae asks in a soft voice, his cold eyes squinting.
Kaya stands beside him, perfect in a silky white dress, while I am drenched in blood. My mirror opposite.
I careen to the right the second I reach the staircase, catching myself on the mossy indoor ground and scraping my hands. My legs pick up the pace, cantering up the long, dark winding staircase towards Hell, towards salvation.
“Elly!” Dae shouts, a frantic edge rising in his voice. “Elly, what the hell?”
He curses. His footsteps chase me up the stairs, going faster and faster. I don’t glance back. There is nothing there for me.
“Elly!” Dae shouts my name again and again, over and over, his voice drawing near. He is getting far, far too close.
More footsteps follow. Kaya’s scream fills the castle as Abnehor calls Dae’s name. Still, I run. Still, I don’t look back.
The path keeps winding, a twisty, turny route designed to stumble. It wasn’t this difficult to climb the first time I visited Feast. But it doesn’t matter, I’ll make it, I know I will. Stairs move out of my way, roots leave my path. The banister turns into a long branch that lashes out at me, trying to catch me. Behind me, Dae and a team of Fae chase me. The path grows darker and darker.
But then I’m in a long hallway, past the staircase. I pass the doors I’ve seen before. A misty fog seeps out from under Feast.
“Elly!” Dae screams.
I ignore him. The mist is a curtain now.
A black shadow moves in the curtain to the left. Darting right, then back again. Another shimmers right in front of me. Turn back , I’m sure I hear them say, but I must be imagining it. Shadows cannot speak. And even if they do, I don’t care. I can’t face Dae, not after what he did to Obi. Not after what he’s done to me.
Shoving past the mist and the shadows, I throw open the door to Feast as Dae clears the staircase.
I am on the precipice, one foot in Feast, the other in Faerie. Dae screams. How he knows Dorian won’t just bring me back, I don’t know, but I can hear it in his roar. He knows this is goodbye.
I turn, finally peering down the corridor as my body slides into Feast. Dae’s eyes meet mine, tears welling up, his cold eyes turning silver. He reaches his hand out, almost touching the doorway to Hell.
Someone grabs him. The bottom half of his body falls flat to the ground with a hard thump. Abnehor is climbing on top of him and holding his arms down. Dae struggles against Abnehor’s grip, tousling about in the moss.
But it is futile. “You can’t follow. You can’t enter Hell without permission,” Abnehor says, his words far away and distorted. Dae struggles harder. Their bodies are barely shadows now. I lift my second foot and bring it into Feast.
“I love you,” Dae mouths as the door to Faerie slams shut.