22. MOON! #2
She cuts me off, her red-rimmed eyes shining with unrestrained loathing, “Not Darro, you fucking bitch. You think I give a shit about Darro?” This time her laugh is less controlled—sharp and hollow, and ending on a sob.
“You just had to be good!” She spits out the last word as if it were the filthiest one in her vocabulary. Probably because for her it is.
“I-I don’t understand. Is there someone else? Why do the stones matter to you so much? Talk to me, Saskia. Maybe I can hel—”
“Don’t you DARE finish that sentence, Tarynn. Don’t you dare!” Her anger is palpable, but underneath it, so is her pain. Genuine pain—not the kind used for show.
Despite everything, I never wanted to hurt my family.
I just wanted to be free. Saskia’s shoulders slump as tears start trailing down her ruddy cheeks, and I hesitate.
Guilt churns in my stomach, but I can’t bring myself to offer her comfort.
Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t trust her.
Saskia has never been an overly emotional person. It really appears this pain she’s displaying is real, and I believe that maybe it is. But I don’t believe she wouldn’t exploit it. After all, she drew me here with death threats to innocent people, one of whom is a child.
I settle for the only courtesy I feel comfortable giving—averting my eyes and waiting for her to pull herself together and mask her weakness. Still keeping her feet in my line of sight to make sure she doesn’t ambush me, I realize the mistake I’ve made too late.
The clink of a glass vial hitting the ground is all the warning I get before the hiss of what I assume is sleeping smoke fills the room.
My eyes skate over a victorious-looking Saskia—devoid of tears, with a maniacal grin plastered on her devious little face, and lock onto Sam and Eilidh just to the side of her.
I don’t have much time. Sleeping smoke works fast, and I can already feel the beginnings of sluggishness setting in.
Sliding my hand into my pocket, I wrap clumsy fingers around my necklace, rubbing them over the smooth surface of the beads to signal Seth.
With as much alertness as I can muster, I pull it out and fling it as close to Sam and Eilidh as possible.
Before the jewelry even hits the ground, thick swirling shadows burst forth, as if Seth was just waiting for the smallest sign to protect me.
My eyes fill with tears as his shadows cocoon Sam and Eilidh, hardening into a pitch-black shield that allows me to sag to the floor with a breath of relief.
I know Seth will be pissed when he realizes the shield wasn’t for me, but I also know he’ll understand—he’d do the same.
I use what little energy I have left to glance toward the door, willing Darro to show his pretentious Unseelie face. But no one is there. The little sting of hurt surprises me—I really thought he would show up. What a fucking idiot.
Saskia leans over me, crowding my field of vision. “Such a stupid girl.” Her lip curls as she continues, “To think, my Brenyn is gone because of you, and your stupid fucking do-gooder bullshit.”
Brenyn? My eyes are heavy, and it’s a strain to keep them open.
Saskia growls a moment before rearing back and smacking me across the face with as much strength as her compact frame can muster.
Spots dance in my vision, and the tang of blood fills my mouth.
I must have bitten my tongue, or maybe my cheek.
My body is mostly numb now, although I can admit that slap still hurt like hell.
If she wanted to have a conversation, she really shouldn’t have drugged me, the witch.
And then my eyes widen, her Brenyn? He’s gone?
As in—dead? Dread wraps its clingy tendrils around my heart and tugs, because Darro definitely forgot to mention that on the phone.
And that, paired with his absence, is leading me to think that I, once again, put my eggs in the wrong basket. Fuck. Fucking Unseelie assholes!
Small hands wrap around my ankles and start dragging me toward an open procedure table.
A small grunt escapes me as Saskia lets my limp body bump against minor obstacles on the way there—a deliberate move, because she could have just moved me with magic.
At the foot of the table, she proves me right, waving a hand and levitating me onto the table, with another quick flick to strap me down.
I can’t keep my heavy eyes open anymore, but I hold on to consciousness with all of my remaining strength and will.
A sharp prick on the tip of my finger makes my blood run cold. I must have tensed without realizing it, because Saskia lets out an amused chuckle.
“Still awake, yes? Good. Let me fill that beautifully stupid head with some nightmare fuel, hmm? You asked me why I cared so much about the stones. At first, they were just a spite project. You finally did the thing you abandoned us to do, and I wanted to sully it, somehow."
I can hear the organic printer interface signaling input data, and I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. If I weren’t drugged, my heart would be pounding out of my chest.
"I needed access to the dust, so I started sleeping with Brenyn. Everyone knew he was a drunken playboy—I figured he'd be a passably decent fuck, and fairly easy to manipulate. Much easier than his prick of brother. Weeks of sleeping with Darro, and it got me fucking nowhere."
The organic printer beeps in a sequence that means it’s ready to print, and despite the sleeping smoke, my heart rate picks up.
Saskia sniffs, and her voice sounds brittle as she continues, "He was different from what I expected.
Not kind, per se, but not cruel. I always said I could never abide some simpering idiot—and Brenyn certainly isn't that.
" She falters, "Wasn't. He wasn't." Her throat clears, and she starts again with more conviction, "The sex was amazing.
I mean, I never had to fake an orgasm—not once!
The man could eat pussy like he was staving for it. "
A metal thwang breaks up her story, and I jump in place, wishing I could open my eyes to see what's happening. A shuddering sob breaks the silence, and I realize Saskia must have hit something, maybe one of the empty procedure tables.
"We—we started talking. He was really very clever, you know, a brilliant alchemist. He tried to help Kier in the past, but that cocksucker belittled him.
He told him to use his alchemical knowledge to make stronger mead, without the killjoy of a hangover.
He turned him into that drunken playboy and tossed him aside, despite the fact that he was just as fucking royal as Darro!
We could have ruled together, with the safety net of the soul-stones.
No one would have been able to stop us. Not even Darro. "
A shiver crawls down my spine as I listen to Saskia initiate a print. Oh gods.