Chapter 33 Fae Jail #2
The “trial” portion that ensued was, of course, a travesty, though mostly harmless.
Her expectations remained low to abysmal for any happy outcome for her and she couldn’t follow most of it.
The trial involved a lot of posturing by various lovely, prancing Moonstone fae who argued amongst themselves in such ethereal, fluting tones that they sounded like an angelic choir.
Cha might have enjoyed the pretty music, if not for the part where the lyrics were no doubt all about her imminent execution.
Trapped in a booth like an egg with the top cut off, pain washing over her in waves, and strapped in so she couldn’t even adjust to alleviate the stiffness setting in, and surrounded entirely by fae speaking in a language she didn’t understand, Cha had never felt so miserably alone in her entire life.
I will be missed if I don’t return, Dy had said, and it hit Cha with full, humiliating and agonizing force that she was going to die alone, and no one would know what had happened to her.
And no one would miss her, not really. Dy would have Phinny and the kids.
Azul would probably never give her another thought.
Depression set into Cha like a damp, winter chill, making her heavy and lethargic. She couldn’t do anything to affect her fate and that ground down her spirits even more.
And that was before the interrogation and accompanying torture began.
Abruptly done with their arguments, the Moonstone fae all turned to her, forming a loose circle of sneers. One produced the Moonruby wand and shook it in Cha’s face, demanding to know where she got it.
“It just appeared one day,” Cha replied with her best innocent expression.
The wand-wielding fae punched her in the face with the cloven hoof hand fisted around the wand.
It hurt exactly as much as you’d think it would.
Stars in her vision, blood in her mouth, Cha missed answering the next question, until a hoof-punch to her sternum sent streaks of pain straight to her flagging brain, waking her up a little.
Unfortunately, that also kicked her thoughts into awareness that something might be seriously wrong with her inside, that she might already be dying.
Another fae demanded to know where the astra was, to which she responded, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.
” That earned her even more punches to the face and her already battered ribs.
Her breath became labored along with an extraordinarily sharp stabbing feeling in her chest that she worried might be a piece of fractured rib lodged in her lung.
On top of having no food or water for an indiscernible amount of time, Cha began to feel seriously weak and light-headed.
Both of the answers she’d given had the benefit of being true, which allowed her to lie freely about everything else, at least as much as she could get the words out. Not that it saved her from the increasingly violent and damaging blows, but lying allowed her to protect Dy.
That was one of the few benefits to being human as opposed to fae: the ability to lie and do so outrageously.
If the situation had been less dire and had Cha felt a tiny bit less like her mortal flesh was being stripped of in tiny pieces, she might have enjoyed the tales she spun for them.
Because the fae were unable to lie, the concept of it pretty much baffled them.
Just as they had contempt for humans in general, they seemed unable to comprehend that humans could do what they couldn’t.
So, Cha lied. She lied colorfully and extensively—possibly delusionally, given her weakened state of mind—weaving a complex history behind her appearance in Moonstone that sounded improbable even to her own ears.
She lied so extravagantly that she countered her own assertions several times, tripping over her stated timeline, and belying things she’d said only minutes earlier.
These mistakes only further confused the fae interrogators who could only believe that the conflicting truths were somehow simultaneously valid.
Cha only stuck to the truth on those two key points so as to be sure not to reveal anything important.
She didn’t know how Giant Jo had come to possess the magic wand, but no way would she get the woman in trouble with the fae.
And, regarding the astra, whatever it was, Cha retained the hope that Dy and Phin could profit from it, so she wasn’t risking losing control of that information.
Not that she really had any to begin with, but she kept hoping that the Moonstone fae might spill more details in their quest to get coherent information out of her.
Of course, information-gathering was unwarrantedly optimistic of her, as that was assuming she’d live to make use of that information.
Or that her bruised and no doubt bleeding brain from all the blows to the head would retain any of it.
Eventually, the fae began discussing her immediate execution in tones of resignation, as she clearly had nothing to offer about this astra they wanted.
They discussed that part in her language, clearly hoping that would break her where nothing else had.
Ha to that. Cha could die on her own without their help.
When they began seriously debating the least-effort way to kill her that would also efficiently dispose of her human corpse without polluting their pristine environment, Cha found the prospect of her imminent death less consoling.
She considered that her approach of claiming total ignorance about astra had been a Bad Idea.
That information was likely the only reason she’d lived this long.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t figure out a way to walk that back. She was furiously concocting an alternate storyline that wouldn’t contradict what she’d already said more than necessary, when they settled on dropping her in a pit of acid.
That experience would probably be just as bad as it sounded.
Worse, part of their argument for that method involved a discussion of a human who could only be Monat having been tossed in this same pool and disappearing with a satisfying lack of lingering human stench.
If Cha hadn’t already been weeping from the torture, she’d have broken down at the news of Monat’s terrible and lonely death.
A miserable fate Cha would share, and she hadn’t even contrived to leave a clue behind.
And back in Rockton, Garaile would share the gossip about Cha’s disappearance, sharing a beer with someone else.
And Dy and Phinny and the kids would have a little memorial by the pond for Cha, eventually, when they finally gave up hope, Zazu tossing petals onto the water in memory of her ill-fated auntie.
Even though sobbing hurt her lungs and ribs worse, Cha couldn’t help it as two Sugarplums lifted her between them and carried her out of the courtroom, handing her over to a small herd of puttoes.
The cute and nasty little creatures crowd-surfed her with those strong, bruising, and careless white doughy hands, through twisting corridors of breathtaking architecture.
They seemed intent on hurting her as much as possible along the way, as if taking revenge for how she’d treated their fellows in the docking bay.
She refused to be entirely crushed by it all, however.
Maybe no one would ever know it, but she’d be damned if she’d go to her death sobbing like a toddler deprived of a toy.
From the depths of her will, she summoned the energy to curse the brutal puttoes in an unrelenting streak that at least made her feel better.
She’d at least be able to tell herself that she’d gone down fighting to the very end.
They brought her into a circular hall with a high, beautifully arched open dome revealing a dazzlingly bright white sky beyond. Beneath, an unpleasantly piss-green pool vented noxious steam that burned Cha’s lungs and made her eyes water. Not how she imagined going.
As they chanted to the count of three, giggling all the while, and tossed her in, she punched both hands into the air, middle fingers high.
Fuck them if they couldn’t take a joke.