Chapter Thirty-Six #2
“That is no place for you.” Vena frowns. Raph deflates some and frustration reddens his cheeks.
“Raph, I need you,” Shaye says. “I need your little fingers to get into any locked doors that might be standing between me and the rest of our friends. Plus, after we free everyone, we’re going to need a guide back to the main hall.”
“All right.” Raph looks up at Vena. “You’ll free my father, right? He’s in a cage in the main hall.”
“I will,” Vena says.
“I can show you the way,” I say.
Vena shakes her head. “That’s no place for a human either. You should stay here.”
“I’m going to lead you.”
“Vena is right,” Shaye says as she tends to Giles’s wounds. He groans softly. “You should stay here; it will be safer.”
“Let’s go,” I say firmly to Vena.
“This isn’t your fight,” Vena says.
“This is my fight.” I point to the ground as if I’m making my stand, as if I’m swearing on the rock on which the first Fae King was crowned.
“This has been my fight from the moment the magic of the old kings entered my body—from the moment I married Davien back in the Natural World. And then I swore an oath to your people. I followed through on my promises. I want to see this to the end.” I want to see the moment Davien sits on the fae throne.
“Very well.” Vena relents with a glint in her eyes that almost looks like approval. “Lead on.”
We race back through the corridors and rooms. There’s not a sign of a single Butcher on the way. But as we grow near, I can hear why.
The fighting in the main hall has reached a fever pitch.
Screams and explosions of magic rattle the doors that Raph and I escaped through.
Hold on, I plead from the deepest recesses of my heart to Davien, hoping that somehow he can hear me.
Hold on just a little bit longer, I have things I need to tell you.
I hang back and let the fae charge around me. Even if this is my fight, they’re better warriors than I am. Especially since I lack all magic now.
Doors burst open to reveal a hall scarred by magic.
Wispy weapons are flung through the air as Butchers leap from shadow to shadow.
Davien is in the center of it all. He is alight, power still rippling off him as cold flames that deflect most of the attacks.
With a mighty flap of his wings, he launches himself into the air, catches a Butcher by the throat, throws her to the ground, and lands atop her chest before engaging with another.
The fae from Dreamsong flood into the room and further level the playing field. With this many hands, they’re able to free those who are still trapped in the cages hanging from the ceiling, and they join the fight as well.
As the tide of the battle turns, I look at the dais. The smear of blood from Boltov’s head is still there, but Boltov himself is not. I thought he was killed.
Where is he? I don’t see him in the fray, and the fact spurs me to action.
I begin to run along the wall, jumping over debris and dodging deflected attacks that dig pockmarks into the brightly colored frescoes at my side.
Crouching low to make myself small, I inspect the blood trail that leads away from the dais and around the back.
Following it, I find a small door hidden from view of the main room. It’s ajar.
I glance back at the hall. No one seems to have noticed me. They’re all too busy. Before I can think better of it, I cross the threshold.
Behind the door is a low tunnel that I have to crawl through.
It widens and opens to a spiral staircase.
Up and up I spin until I’m spit out into what appears to be a closet.
Dozens of coats and pants, all stained with blood and left on the floor to stink up the room, cushion my feet as I push through the curtain of hung clothes.
Shuffling in the other room makes me halt. I hear Boltov mutter to himself. Footsteps grow near and I crouch, sinking back into the passage before he can see me.
The hanging clothes obscure most of my vision, but I can see him rummaging around in glimpses.
He grabs things frantically, as blood is still streaming from his forehead, painting his face a haunting shade of crimson.
He opens a cabinet revealing daggers but instead goes for the jewels that are laid out beneath them.
When he leaves, I slink back out and take one of the weapons for myself, silently lifting it off its peg. He’s trying to run and I’m not going to let him escape. One bloodline will end tonight, but it’s not Aviness.
I emerge into the king’s bedchambers. He’s in an attached office, flanked by bookshelves on either side, illuminated by a window-filled wall with a view of the city and the stars.
He has an open bag on a desk that he’s trying desperately to stuff too many yards of fabric into.
He curses, frustrated, and sends clothes and jewels scattering with a grunt.
I silently pad up behind him. This is the king who has kept the fae on their knees? No, he’s just a watered-down version of the first usurper, clinging to prestige that no longer exists.
Boltov reaches down for one of the jewels he dropped. He’s far too frantic to notice me. When he’s on his knees, I slip the dagger in front of his throat.
“Don’t move,” I say softly. He looks up at the window that dominates the wall behind his desk. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the dark glass.
“You.” He rasps laughter. “A human girl has come to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” Though I certainly considered it.
“You’re going to show me mercy? I doubt your friends will like that.” His upper lip curls as he sneers.
“I’m going to let the new and rightful king decide what to do with you.” Is there a better coronation gift to give Davien than Boltov’s head?
“The new king…that squalling bastard won’t last a year.”
“A bold statement to make with a knife to your throat.” I press on the dagger just a little for emphasis. Boltov leans his head all the way back to look up at me. His expression is mad glee.
“Davien Aviness—except he’s not really, is he? He wasn’t born with that name. He’s stealing the power of the old kings just as much as I did. There’s not a drop of Aviness blood in him. That crown won’t heed him any more than it heeded me.”
“If you didn’t think he could wear the crown, why try and kill him?” I’m not going to allow him to sway me.
“Because anyone who dares utter that they are part of that family is put to death. That name alone spurs rebellions. As long as people think there’s hope of an Aviness returning, they fight me.” He hisses and exposes all his sharp teeth.
“If Davien wasn’t the heir, why couldn’t you wear the crown?”
“I’m sure there’s some squalling babe or boy, a distant offshoot that has just enough blood in their veins to keep the ritual alive, likely a descendent of the last true Aviness, the one who escaped my clutches.
But who that babe is?” He chuckles darkly.
“Not even I know. And killing every possible Aviness prevents anyone from even thinking to seek their heritage. So the true heir will never know either, and the glass crown will never be worn again. The fae will be at an eternal stalemate.”
“Davien will wear the crown,” I snarl and press the blade even closer. It nicks his neck. Boltov merely smiles wider. “He is the heir.”
All this fighting. All this blood. To think Boltov is right, that all this time he was dissuading anyone from seeking to discover the true bloodline…that killing Davien was a means to shatter the resolve of the Acolytes and he never was chosen for the crown…I can’t bear it. He’s lying; he must be.
“No, he won’t wear the crown. The glass crown will only grace the brow of the true heir, and I swear to you that is not Davien.
” Boltov suddenly grips my wrist with strength I didn’t know he still possessed.
I was a fool for thinking that just because he didn’t have the crown any longer, he would be helpless. He’s still a fae.
The world spins as I’m flung through the air. Boltov tosses me as though I am a rag doll. But I grab onto him with my other hand at the last second and the momentum pulls us both toward the window. Glass shatters, raining down over the High Court.
Wind whips my hair and I feel my stomach sucked out of me as solid ground disappears beneath me. Boltov clings to me, scrambling. It’s just like the day I fell from the roof. I stare up at the sky, just like I did then, the moon a silent observer.
Never climb again.
Monster child.
The smell of the burning flesh on my back singes my nose.
For a moment, everything is clear. What really happened that day returns to me. The world seems to fracture because none of the pieces fit together for me any longer.
“I will not lose to you!” Boltov shouts. It brings me back to life. I have to catch myself. I reach for one of the ornate carvings on the windows and stop my fall with a lily. “You will not—”
I silence him by plunging the bejeweled dagger into his neck. Boltov gurgles blood and his grip goes slack. He slips from me, falling farther and farther until he is nothing more than a speck swallowed by the shadows of the streets of the High Court far below.