Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ava watched as Valroy settled onto the rooftop with all the grace of a hunting jungle cat, his massive wings folding behind him as he straightened to his full imposing height.
Despite the chaos he'd been orchestrating across the city, despite the blood that still stained his clothes, his expression was almost… peaceful.
She wasn’t buying it for a motherfucking second.
“Abigail,” he said, his voice carrying genuine affection. “I am truly happy to find you. I was worried about you.”
Ava felt Serrik tense behind her, could practically feel the spider’s rage. Around them, the others had gone still with the particular kind of alertness that came from being faced with a apex predator.
But Valroy made no aggressive moves. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and smiled—not the cruel, manic grin Ava had expected, but something almost…sad.
“I have not come here for a fight.” He shrugged.
“Contrary to what you might think, I am not a fool. Even I cannot defeat you all at once. Not here, not now.” His blue eyes swept over their assembled group, cataloging threats with the efficiency of a military strategist. “The spider, the Weaver, my lovely Queen, and the Weaver’s bizarre collection of dreams. No, a direct assault would be utterly pointless. ”
“Then why the fuck are you even here?” Ava demanded, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.
“To make an offer,” Valroy replied, his attention shifting to his wife. “To speak with the woman I love. To ask her, once more, to stand at my side.”
Abigail's expression remained carefully neutral, but Ava could see the pain that flickered in her green eyes. “You know I cannot.”
“Cannot? Or will not?” Valroy took a step closer, and for a moment, the mask of casual indifference slipped.
Raw, desperate need showed through—the hunger of someone who had spent centuries loving something they couldn't possess.
“I offer you everything, Abigail. A chance to reshape these worlds according to our vision. No more hiding, no more careful political maneuvering, no more pretending that coexistence is possible.”
“Your vision,” Abigail corrected softly. “Not ours. It has never been ours. You would leave me a Queen in chains, ruling over a world of burnt ash you have left for me.”
The words visibly struck him. He winced, his shoulders sagged, and suddenly he looked every one of his years of age.
“Yes. I would.” He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the transformed cityscape.
“You know, I told myself that when this moment came—when I finally had the freedom to act—you would understand.”
“I do understand. But that does not mean I agree. Killing innocents is not something I can be a party to.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm tenderly. “And you know why.”
“Innocents.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “Still, you side with them. Is that what you call them? The species that has systematically destroyed every sacred grove, every place of power, every trace of magic they could find?”
“Not all of them—”
“Enough of them.” Valroy's voice hardened. “And the rest? They would do the same, given the chance. They cannot help themselves, Abigail. It is their nature to destroy what they do not understand. You know this.”
Bitty, who had been hovering near the edge of the group, suddenly spoke up. “But you're destroying them for the same reason! Because you don't understand that some of them are good!”
Valroy's attention shifted to the tiny Seelie, and his expression, remarkably, softened.
“Ah, the little powerless dream-creature. No, little one. I understand perfectly well that some humans are ‘good.’ But what you do not understand is that I simply do not care. Their goodness is meaningless to me. They are nothing but meat to be devoured. Wood to be reduced to cinders.”
“You killed Izael.” Abigail said quietly. “For questioning the totality of your destruction. For questioning what would follow in your wake.”
“I killed Izael for betraying his oath. For choosing sentiment over duty. For caring more about some abstract future than the reality of what we face now.” His expression grew cold.
“He questioned whether the Unseelie would have anything left to rule over when my war concluded. As if that mattered. As if our purpose was to build something rather than to tear down what should never have been allowed to exist.”
“And what about the Unseelie who served him?” Nos asked, his mismatched expression withdrawn drawn and careful. “What about those who might have agreed with his concerns?”
“They will learn to adapt.” Valroy shrugged idly. “Or they will join him in oblivion. I am not particularly concerned with which they choose.”
The casual dismissal of his own people's lives sent a chill through Ava. She’d been warned. But now she understood. “You really don't care, do you?” Lysander’s voice reflected Ava’s horrified realization. “About what happens after. About whether any of us survive this.”
“And why should I?” Valroy tilted his head, genuinely curious.
“I was created for a purpose, cat. To be the void that swallows excess life, to be the entropy that erases cosmic mistakes.
That purpose doesn't include ensuring anyone's happiness or survival.” His gaze fell pointedly on Abigail. “Not even my own. Or my Queen’s.”
Oh. Fuck.
Did he know?
How could he?
Before Ava could process his seeming threat, Valroy turned to Serrik, who was still looming silently behind Ava. Serrik had been remaining silent throughout the exchange. Valroy grinned fiendishly. “Which brings me to you, dear half-brother. I have a proposition.”
Serrik’s tone and face were perfectly blank. “Which is?”
“I find myself curious what it would be like to face one of my own ilk. Or, perhaps, as close as I shall ever achieve after a fashion.” Valroy studied his nails.
“But what is a brawl without proper stakes? So. Here is my bargain to you, brother. You and I, in single combat. Winner takes all. If you can defeat me, I will surrender. I will stop my war and submit to whatever judgment you and my lovely wife see fit to levy upon me.”
“And if you win?” Serrik’s voice gave away nothing.
“The same. You surrender. Unconditionally. And only you. Your dear friends may continue to meddle as they see fit.” His smile was sharp and vicious. “Is that not generous? What say you?”
“No.” The refusal from the spider was immediate and left no room for argument.
Valroy’s laugh was one of honest delight. “Damn! And here I was hoping you might be foolish enough to accept. I had heard such legends of your hunger for revenge and your overwhelming rage at our kind, after all. But I was fairly certain you wouldn’t be such a fool.”
“You know you would win. As do I.” Serrik’s hands on Ava’s shoulders tightened just slightly. “It was a simple ploy to remove me from the board.”
“Indeed it was.” Valroy unfurled his wings with a wistful sigh. “I was, however, eager to see what the exiled spider was capable of. Perhaps I might still be so lucky. But that will have to wait, it seems. For shame. You are not one to gamble.”
“No. I am not. And certainly not when the other party holds loaded dice.”
“And it seems you have now something to lose.” Valroy turned those faintly-glowing blue eyes to Ava. “Love makes cowards of us all.”
“Mm. Interesting.” Serrik lifted a hand from Ava’s shoulder to gently comb his golden nails through her hair.
“In that, I believe you may be correct. I find myself reluctant to take unnecessary risks, now that I have more to lose. Which in turn casts the morning light of doubt, King Valroy…” The spider’s voice dropped low.
“Upon the words of love you claim you feel yourself…”
Valroy growled, baring his teeth at Serrik, a feral expression. “Mind your tongue. Lest I follow in the footsteps of Dagda and Bres and cut it from you. I suddenly find myself curious what spider meat tastes like.”
Flashes of a dream she’d shared with him. A knife. Laughter. Serrik screaming in pain. Yet like a dream, she couldn’t remember the details. She glanced up at Serrik. But the looming creature behind her was expressionless and cold. If the threat bothered him, he didn’t show it.
And now wasn’t the time to ask for details.
“So. I have to ask again. Do all of you ever get sick of being the Morrigan’s puppets?
Of dancing to her tune?” Ava huffed a half-laugh.
“Because she created all of you—me, too, I guess—to play her stupid fucking games. And here we are, playing them like obedient little toys. And I’m fucking sick of it. ”
For the first time since he’d shown up, Valroy looked genuinely surprised. He began to laugh. Not bitter or mocking her, but with real amusement. “A puppet? Oh, dear girl. I am terribly sorry. You simply do not understand, do you?”
She hated being talked to like she was a child. But she supposed to him, she was. She sighed. “Understand what, Valroy?”
“The part of me that is the void that hungers joined in this game with her willingly.” He placed a hand to his chest over the tattoo of the maze emblazoned on his skin.
“When she bred the fallen archangel to create this cage of flesh for the power I contain, she called upon the entropy between worlds and this—my existence as you see it now—was our agreement.”
“Moreover,” he continued, “know this, Weaver—it was her design that gave me the capacity to enjoy it!” Laughing, he spread his arms wide.
“She made me what I am! A creature of entropy and destruction, with the intelligence to appreciate the artistry of it all. The perfect irony, the elegant chaos, the beautiful futility of mortal ambition.” He gestured toward the burning settlements in the distance.
“This is not destruction, little Weaver. This is not dancing upon her puppet strings. This is paradise.”
“You're insane,” Bitty whispered.
“Perhaps.” Valroy's expression grew serious as he turned back to Abigail. “Which brings me to my final offer, my beloved wife.”
“As always, I shall listen.” The poor Seelie Queen looked exhausted and heartbroken.
“Stand at my side. Willingly. Be my queen in blazing glory, not in opposition. In truth, not in name.” His voice grew softer, almost pleading.
“I will grant you the gift of building something new from the ashes of the old. I swear to you, the Seelie will be spared. Your people will live in peace, allowed to thrive in whatever form this new world takes.”
“And if I refuse?”
Valroy's expression hardened. “They shall burn with the rest.”
“That is no choice,” Abigail said quietly. “That is coercion.”
“Yes, my love. And it was always destined to come to this moment.” Valroy's voice was gentle, almost sad.
“I will not stop this war. I cannot stop it. You know I cannot. It is what I was made for, and I have waited too long to be denied now. But I can choose how it ends. I can choose whether your people survive it.”
Abigail stepped close to him, placing her palms to his chest. “You're asking me to betray everything I believe in. Everything I have stood guard against—that my kind have stood guard against for centuries upon centuries.”
“I’m asking you to choose love.” Valroy placed his hands over the backs of hers. “To choose the survival of your people. I am asking you to save them the only way they can be saved.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Ava could see the debate playing out on Abigail's face—duty versus love, principle versus pragmatism, the weight of thousands of lives hanging in the balance.
“I will need time to consider this.” Abigail bowed her head.
“Midnight.” Valroy bowed his own head to kiss the top of hers.
“You shall have until then to make up your mind.” He glanced up at the strange aurora lights dancing overhead.
“It seems appropriate, somehow. Does it not?” Valroy spread his wings and took to the air.
Within moments, he was gone, leaving only the echo of his ultimatum.
The group stood in stunned silence for a long moment. It was Ibin who spoke first. “We can't let that knobhead win.”
“Nor can we let him slaughter the Seelie,” Nos added grimly.
“There has to be another way…” Lysander’s tone lacked conviction. Or hope.
Ava felt the crushing realization that once again, everything hinged on choices she didn't feel qualified to make. But this time, there was something else too. A growing anger that burned hotter than her fear. “I need to talk to that raging twat-waffle myself.”
Serrik blinked at the invective. “Who?”
“The fucking Morrigan!” Ava turned away from the group, heading toward the door to the opera house. “This is all her game. Her console, her setup, her rules! And I'm sick of playing it blind. I’m going to go get the cheat codes.”
“Ava, wait—” Abigail called after her.
“No.” Ava spun around, fury making her face warm. “No more standing around debating. No more accepting that this is just how things have to be. She created this mess—Valroy, Serrik, me. She's been pulling strings from the beginning, and I want to know why.”
“You can't just summon a goddess,” Bitty said nervously, picking at the hem of her shirt.
“Oh yeah? Fuckin’ watch me.” Ava's power was already beginning to respond to her anger. She felt reality bending around her like heated glass. “I’m the Weaver now. I'm connected to the same cosmic forces she is, aren’t I? And if she wants to play games with our lives, then she can damn well explain the rules. I’m going to put some space between us, though, in case I rip another hole through space-time or some shit. ”
Serrik stepped forward. “I shall come with you.”
“Serrik—”
“No.” His voice was firm. “You may need my assistance in holding reality together.” He reached out his hand to her.
Ava looked into his golden eyes and saw the same anger there that burned in her own chest. The fury of someone who had spent too long being manipulated, too long accepting that their pain was necessary for some greater purpose.
“Fine.” She took his hand. “But we do this my way.”
“As you wish, Weaver.”
Together, they headed for the opera house, leaving the others to grapple with Valroy's ultimatum.
But Ava's mind was already elsewhere, focused on the confrontation to come.
The Morrigan had set this game in motion—had created the very beings who were now tearing reality apart in their cosmic dance of love and war.
It was time for the puppets to have a word with their maker.
Whether she wanted to hear from them or not.