Chapter 9 #2
“You have succinctly proven my point, Weaver. You cannot control your power. And I am still uncertain as to how much of mine I can wield without disastrous results.” Serrik folded his hands behind his back.
“Stop using that as a cover.” She glowered at him. “I’m not going to get into a circular argument with you.”
“Then I suggest you simply agree with me and be done with it.” His tone was once more hard, his momentary crack sealed once more behind a wall of stone.
“My reasoning for wishing to retreat from this location can be multitudinous and complicated. Your reasons for wishing to stay may be flawed in just as many facets.”
“I swear to fuck Serrik, have you ever seen the movie The Fly? Because—” There she went again, getting angry. “Stop pushing my buttons, will you? Are you trying to cause a fracture in reality?”
His expression softened, if slightly. “What do you see, when you look at me, Ava?”
She threw up her hands again in frustration. “The hell kind of question is that?”
“You see a creature pretending at humanity.” He placed a palm to his chest. “A creature made of nightmares who has managed to convince you that he is capable of something more than revenge. But that is all that it is—pretense. A lie. A trick of the light and nothing more.”
“Here goes that ‘woe is me, I’m a monster’ shit all over again.
” Ava was starting to get to the point where she wanted to cry.
“What do you want me to say? That you’re right?
Because you’re not. If you were a monster, you’d be out there slaughtering every fae you met right now, indiscriminately, the same as Valroy is probably doing to innocent humans. And you said you—”
“What? Love you?” He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “Perhaps. If something like me can know love. Valroy claims to know love. But creatures such as we…what we say is love is merely a facsimile.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she shot at him. “You’re scared! Scared that if you face Valroy, you’ll have to choose between your stupid revenge fetish and—” She stopped.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.
Serrik’s expression said nothing and everything all at once. “And there it is.”
“There’s…what?” Lysander blinked.
Ava felt sick. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to flip the board and start over. She wanted to smash a bunch of realities together out of desperation and fury. But, hey, she’d already done that once. She didn’t get to pull that stunt twice.
“He’ll have to pick between his revenge and me.” She walked over to one of the seats, folded it down—now with bonus legroom since row BB was a theatre-seat centipede—and sat. “Because he knows that I’ll try to stop him.”
“There is only one way to end Valroy. Only one. And it is to pull up his corruption by the roots and to burn and salt the ground upon which it grows. Tir n’Aill will be destroyed.
The Maze will be destroyed. They will all be destroyed.
” Serrik’s words were clinical. Simple. “I will turn my rage upon them all, Seelie and Unseelie alike. You will be forced to destroy me. It is this, that I am attempting to spare you.”
“Valroy kills everyone, and I kill you to save his life. Or I let you kill all the fae.” A deluxe genocide that involved all the humans and the Seelie, or a fae genocide.
“Your love for me would fade along with their lives. And Valroy, despite his claim that his purpose ends with the Seelie and the humans? He is a burning fire. It must be fed. It will not stop.” Serrik sighed.
“The only logical course of action is to retreat—gather our own strength. Brace yourself for what must be done. Allow me to stand against Valroy…and commit myself and my people to the grave where we belong. Once Tir n’Aill is destroyed, you will have an easier time separating the Web from Earth and righting the worlds, or finding a way to ease this chaos without impending war. ”
The stubborn, self-defeating logic of it made Ava want to scream.
Here was a man—creature, being, whatever—who had spent two millennia convinced he was irredeemable, and the moment he found something worth redeeming himself for, he was prepared to throw it all away rather than risk proving himself right.
She did everything she could to keep her frustration from bleeding into her voice. “You're so convinced you're a monster that you're willing to act like one just to prove your point.”
“This is who I am. This is who I have always been. And this is the path I was destined to walk.”
“No, it isn’t.” Ava pointed up at the ceiling. “The man who spent hours creating that beautiful web just to keep us safe—”
“Created to trap prey,” Serrik interrupted harshly. “Just like everything else I do. I am what I am, Ava. A predator. A killer. A creature of darkness and entropy. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
“The man I made love with under the aurora lights isn't a monster,” Ava continued, ignoring his interruption.
And the fact that they had company. Whatever.
Fae. “And the man who's so terrified of losing my love that he'd rather push me away than risk it—he's not a monster either. He's just fucking scared.”
“If it convinces you, so be it. Perhaps being ‘scared’ is the wisest course of action.”
Nos, who had been listening to this exchange with growing alarm, finally spoke up. “With respect to both of you, we don't have time for this. Every moment we delay gives Valroy more time to gather his forces. If we're going to act, it has to be now.”
“We are not acting,” Serrik said firmly. “I have made my position clear.”
“Then I'll go without you.” Ava stood. “I caused this mess. I'm not going to stand by and watch innocent people die because you're having an existential crisis. I don’t care.”
“You'll be slaughtered. Or worse.” Serrik's composure finally cracked completely, raw fear bleeding into his voice. “Valroy has had millennia to master his power. You've had days. You cannot face him alone. He will capture you. Torture you. Wield you.”
“Then come with me,” Ava challenged. “Help me stop him.”
“I cannot.” Serrik's hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Ava, you don't understand what you're asking of me. You don't understand what I become when—”
He was interrupted by a sound that made everyone in the theater freeze—a soft rustling, like leaves in a gentle breeze. But there was no wind in the opera house, and the sound was coming from the wall.
As they watched in stunned silence, vines began growing from the marble wall beside the stage.
Not the twisted, thorny things that had overtaken the building's exterior, but delicate climbing things with red blooms that seemed to capture and hold light.
The vines spread rapidly, forming an archway in the solid stone, their flowers releasing a fragrance that was both familiar and otherworldly.
“What the hell is it now? I really hope—” Ava’s words died as a figure stepped through the impossible doorway.
The woman who emerged moved with a grace that seemed to make the very air around her dance, her presence filling the theater with a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. Her hair was a cascade of red waves that seemed to hold spring sunlight, and her eyes were the deep green of forests.
She wore a dress that appeared to be woven from flower petals and morning mist, and when she smiled, Ava felt something in her chest respond as if recognizing kindred magic.
Abigail. Queen of the Seelie Court.
She smiled at Ava.
“So.” Abigail smirked. “You’ve gone and really done it now, haven’t you?”
The silence in the theater was absolute. Everyone seemed frozen in place, unsure how to respond to the sudden appearance of someone who was, by all accounts, one of the most powerful beings in existence.
It was Nos who recovered first, dropping into a bow that was somehow both respectful and wary. “Your Majesty.”
“Oh, please,” Abigail waved a hand dismissively, though there was affection in her voice.
“None of that formal nonsense. We're all family here, after a fashion.” Her gaze moved from Nos to Serrik and then to the others, taking in their little group with obvious interest. “Though I must admit, this isn't quite the gathering I expected to find.”
“You're looking for Valroy,” Ava said, finding her voice at last.
“I know quite well where he is.” Abigail's smile was enigmatic. “He is hardly subtle.”
“Ma'am,” Bitty squeaked, finally finding her voice, “are you here to stop the war?”
Abigail turned her attention to the tiny fae, and her expression softened. “Hello, little one. You’re that little dream-Seelie, aren’t you? I’m so very sorry that you believed I sent you away. I hope you know I never would have done such a terrible thing. What's your name?”
“B-Bitty, Your Majesty.” Bitty looked like she was going to cry. “And I—I’m sorry I thought…”
“A lovely name for a lovely soul.” Abigail's gaze shifted to include them all. “And to answer your question—yes, I am here to stop the war. But not in the way any of you might expect.”
“What do you mean?” Ava asked, though she had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.
“I mean,” Abigail said, her voice taking on a note of steel beneath the warmth, “that my husband has finally pushed beyond the boundaries of what I am willing to tolerate. The time has come for him to face the consequences of his deeds.” She stepped further into the theater, and with each step, flowers bloomed in her wake—not just on the floor, but growing from the seats, the walls, even the ceiling.
The theater was rapidly transforming into something that belonged more in a fairy tale than reality.
“But that's a conversation for later. Right now, I'm more interested in understanding exactly what you have all gotten yourselves into.” Her gaze fixed on Ava, and suddenly the young woman felt as if she were being examined by something vast and ancient and utterly beyond her comprehension.
“You have merged three realities. Impressive work.”
“I didn't mean to—” Ava began. She paused.
“Of course you didn’t.” Abigail waved away her protests.
“No one ever means to reshape the fundamental nature of existence.
It just sort of happens when you're not paying attention.” The casual way she dismissed the magnitude of what Ava had done should have been reassuring. Instead, it was terrifying.
“Your Majesty,” Nos ventured, “if you're here to stop Valroy, we should coordinate our efforts. He's already gathering forces, and—”
“And you think you're going to stop him through force?” Abigail's laugh was like silver bells. "Oh, my poor man, you really don't understand my husband at all, do you?”
“Then how?” Ibin demanded. “How do we stop him from going to war?”
Abigail's expression grew serious. “We do not. There is no stopping the war. There is only one way to end this, now.”
Ava thought she might know the answer to her question, but she had to ask it. “Which would be…what?”
Abigail smiled grimly. “By destroying him, of course.”