Chapter 5 #2
The water seemed to flatten against the glass floor before retreating, as if being sucked back into the pool it had come from.
“Are you alright?” Kye stood over me.
He moved to offer me a hand to help me up, then thought better of it and hid both his hands behind his back.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping back to a safe distance.
I gingerly pulled my legs up to my chest through the wet shards of glass littering the floor. I felt no pain, just the sickly dregs of terror.
“I’m okay. I think?” I mumbled, trying to regain my composure when every nerve in my body still vibrated like a pinched string.
Kye shoved away the shards with his foot, clearing the way. “Here, come this way.”
He led me back to the bedroom, where I leaned against the closest wall. With my body still shaking from shock, my legs could barely hold my weight.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere? Any cuts? Should I call for a hag to heal you?” Kye fussed over me.
Unable to touch me, he just hovered around, trying to visually inspect me from every angle. I had no idea if I had any cuts. But I just didn’t care enough to look.
“You’re wet,” he stated, taking a step toward the closed trunk but stopping short of touching it. “I don’t even know if there are any towels in there. I’ll get the servants.”
He rushed to the exit from the bedroom, but I stopped him.
“Please, I’d rather not see anyone right now,” I said.
It was bad enough that he saw me in this state. I didn’t need anyone else to stare at me or prod for injuries. At least Kye wouldn’t prod, since he couldn’t even touch.
He stepped out into the dining room anyway but promptly returned with the half-full bottle of wine left from our dinner.
“The servants would be able to do what I can’t,” he said. “They’d help you get dry and tend to any cuts you may have. All I can do is offer you this.”
Holding the bottle by its bottom, he thrust it to me, neck first.
“That’ll do,” I croaked, grabbing the bottle from him.
I uncorked it and took a big gulp. The refreshingly tart wine coated my mouth with flavor, but I didn’t savor it, taking a few more desperate swallows. The effect of intoxication was almost immediate, cuddling my mind in a blissful, fuzzy warmth.
Kye watched me through a squint.
“You shouldn’t accept food or drink so easily from anyone in this world,” he warned.
“Why? Are you out to poison me?” I wiped my mouth with my forearm before slumping against the wall again.
“It’s not in my interests to wish you dead,” he reminded. “The deal I made with the brack requires me to keep you safe.”
“Like Leslo would try to avenge me if you don’t keep your word,” I snorted a laugh, taking another swig from the bottle.
At this point, I wouldn’t even care if it were poisoned, welcoming the lightness it brought while helping me conquer the jittery fear.
“The brack wouldn’t have to do a thing,” Kye said casually. “Breaking a promise would kill me more effectively than he ever could.”
I frowned at him, with the bottle poised for another swig.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Although every kind of fae in Nerifir has different kinds of magic, we’re all governed by the same fundamental rules,” he explained. “One of them is that we can’t break promises given. If we do, we die. In a rather gruesome, painful way, too.”
He winced, moving his shoulders uncomfortably.
“Why did you make the deal with him then? Why risk it?” I asked, incredulously.
At the same time, I wondered how much easier life back home would be if everyone kept their promises. But then of course, I’d probably be out of a job if the entire judiciary system could be replaced by magic.
On the other hand, knowing the conniving nature of some of my fellow humans, there’d probably be a million creative ways invented to word contracts without giving any promises at all.
“Making the deal backed by a formal promise was the only way to convince the brack to risk his life for a bolt of silk.” Kye shrugged.
“What did you promise him in return?” I’d heard their entire conversation but understood very little from it.
“Womora.”
“What’s that?” I shook my head.
“A tree,” he explained. “The smoke of womora leaves temporarily lessens the effects of all fae magic. The brack’s disgraced goddess needs it for some nefarious purposes, no doubt.
But womora leaves can only be gathered in Sarnala on the night of full moon.
As former werewolves, I suspect bracks aren’t up to the task on those nights.
Or maybe Ghata just doesn’t have enough bracks to get her all the womora she needs.
It takes at least three people and the entire night to fill in a small jar.
The werewolves of Sarnala aren’t capable of doing anything but hunting, fighting, and fucking on those nights.
Conveniently, Olathana shares a shore with Sarnala, our border is next to the forest where womora trees grow.
We’ve had temporary agreements with Ghata before when our sirens gathered the leaves in exchange for whatever favors she traded.
But ultimately, sirens aren’t the only fae who can gather the leaves.
The brack very well could’ve found someone else to make the deal with.
But then, I wouldn’t have...” He slid his gaze down my frame then up to my face again with a confident, possessive smile.
“But then I wouldn’t have the silk,” he finished with a brief sigh.
He tipped his chin at the bottle in my hand.
“Did it help? Are you feeling any better now?”
“I do. Thanks. It did help,” I admitted.
“Come. Let’s get you back to bed then.” Kye gestured at the wooden screen with my bed behind it.
I lingered, hugging the nearly empty bottle to me. “What if...that thing comes back?”
“It couldn’t even if it tried.” Kye shook his head with that cocky smirk. “There are only shards of glass left of it on the bottom of the ocean now.”
“What if there are more of them out there? What are those things anyway?”
An unsettling flicker of uncertainty passed through his expression before his usual confidence settled over his face again.
“Creatures from the Abyss, most likely,” he replied.
“Most likely? You aren’t sure? Have you seen them before?”
“They don’t come up very often.”
“How often do they come?”
He made a vague gesture in the air. “Once in a while. Maybe.”
“How often?” I wouldn’t give up.
He tilted his head with a wince. “You truly are a stubborn little thing, aren't you?”
“When I ask a question, I need an answer. It’s not my job to give up.”
“What job was that?”
“Is,” I corrected. “I still have it, and I will come back to it, I told you I would.”
He shook his head. “Small like a minnow but stubborn like a bull whale.”
“Not sure what a bull whale is in this world,” I said, “but I’ve been called stubborn more times than I can count.
You still haven’t answered my question. How often do these things come up to the surface?
I mean, you’ve been alive for a hundred and twenty-one years and haven’t seen them before.
That means this is the first time they have come in over a century. Is that correct?”
Without much effort on my part, my voice turned to the one I employed when questioning at work—clear and confident, with just enough pressure for the person to believe in my leniency if they cooperated.
Kye arched an eyebrow at my persistence but cooperated.
“Correct,” he said.
“Then why would it come up now? What did it want?” I frowned, remembering the voice I’d heard before the tentacles appeared.
The voice had called me. But was it the voice of the tentacle monster? The monster didn’t talk to me when it grabbed me. The way the voice had resonated inside my head, maybe it didn’t belong to anyone at all?
Had it been just my overtired, overstimulated mind playing tricks on me?
I rubbed my forehead. My brain struggled to process everything that had happened, and I couldn't blame it. It had a lot to process in a very short time.
“Listen, my little—” Kye started, taking a step toward me, but I raised a hand, cutting him off.
“One more thing, Kye. If I’m to spend any amount of time in your company, give all those nicknames a rest, will you?”
He looked taken aback.
“What do you have against my endearments?”
“There isn’t anything endearing about them. No more ‘human’ or ‘woman,’ and definitely nothing ‘little’ please.” I grimaced.
He looked either offended or puzzled, but most likely both. “What will you have me call you then, child?”
“Ugr!” I pointed my bottle at him decisively.
“Definitely not that one. I stopped being a child fifteen years ago. Besides, you calling me that would make all this...” I pointed at his very bare groin, meaning his dick’s noticeable excitement during the dinner, “...extremely inappropriate. Just call me Maren. It’s my name. ”
“Maren?” he said slowly, staring at me as if matching the name to my face and trying to decide whether the two went well together.
“Yes. Or better yet, call me Miss Blackwell, then I may even address you as ‘Your Majesty’ in turn.”
He took the bottle from me, tossed back a drink directly from it, then straightened his spine and raised his chin.
“Your Majesty is the only acceptable way to address a king,” he said haughtily, then added in a slightly softer tone of voice. “Now, let’s go back to bed. I’m tired.” He yawned openly.
I glanced back at the great hall through the glass walls. The water rippled peacefully in all its pools. The one where it had splashed out from before was also placid now.
“Are you sure more of these things won’t come?” I asked, biting my lip.
He shrugged, unconcerned. “Two visits in one night after over a century of none? Highly unlikely. That said, I don’t want you to leave the bedroom at night anymore. If you need anything, ask for it before we go to bed or wake me up.”
“Only at night?”
“These creatures come from the dark depths of the Abyss. Daylight kills them.”