2 LONNIE
THE CUTTHROAT DISTRICT, INBETWIXT
It took several minutes for the stars to stop bursting behind my eyelids, and for both of us to collect ourselves.
Now dressed and looking far less rumpled than I likely did, Bael took a step toward the door. “I told you they would wait, little monster.”
I put a hand out to halt him. “No, let me go. Iola is afraid of you.”
Bael frowned, and one of his bright yellow eyes rolled into the back of his head, showing me the white. I’d seen him do this before, and knew he was simply checking to make sure it really was Iola on the other side of the door. After a fraction of a second, the prince blinked, and grinned at me. “Alright, you go.”
I checked once more that my clothing was back in place, then crossed the small room and swung open the door, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry to make you wait. We were?—”
“Please, save me the explanation,”
Scion said, without inflection. “The entire house could hear you, I don’t need a reenactment.”
Words failed me.
Instead of Iola, it was Prince Scion who stood on the other side of the door, close enough that if I wanted, I could have reached out and touched him.
I looked up to meet his gaze and immediately regretted it.
It had been days since Prince Scion and I had so much as made eye contact, now, our eyes met and a pounding ache radiated through me, settling in my chest, and beneath the bite on my throat. Damn.
Scion had always been almost too-perfect looking. More overtly dangerous than Bael, he seemed at home in armor, and gave the impression that he doled out pain with his pleasure. Since the battle, his flawless features had been marred by a slash that ran the length of his face, from his temple down his cheek to his chin, narrowly missing his silver eye. It had been done with a Source-forged blade during the battle, and therefore would not heal immediately like any other wound, but I’d thought that perhaps Gwydion would be able to fix it for him. Apparently not since the cut was still red and raw, and oozed slightly whenever Scion moved or spoke.
My lips parted, words stalling on the tip of my tongue. Then, silently, Scion quickly averted his gaze, leaving me feeling hollow.
I could have kicked myself. Every. Damn. Time. And yet, I couldn’t simply learn to look away first. Or better yet, never to look at him at all.
It had been like this all week, since that morning in the fishing village when he’d kissed me as if he could not stop himself. I knew the feeling, because that was exactly how I felt every time we grew close.
“Sorry,”
I stammered to my shoes, finally remembering how to speak. “I thought you were Iola. See, Aine keeps making her run errands or do chores, like she’s still a servant, so I thought she’d sent Iola to tell us we were late for the meeting again. Because, well…”
“Stop speaking.”
Scion put up a hand. “I do not care.”
He shouldered past me into the room, knocking a bit too hard against my arm for it to have been an accident. My brow furrowed, my irritation at his dismissal overtaking my embarrassment. “You can’t just barge in here.”
Scion ignored me, instead focusing on Bael. “Have you lost your mind? What the fuck are you doing?”
Bael looked entirely too unfazed. He ran a hand through his ruffled hair, and smiled impishly at his cousin. “I would have thought that was obvious.”
“Let us pretend it is not,”
Scion said, every word sounding like it pained him. “Since I would not have imagined you to be this stupid.”
“Oh?”
Bael quipped, still sounding far too calm. “And I wouldn’t have imagined you to be so transparently jealous, but here we are.”
Scion spluttered, seeming too angry for words. My stomach turned over uncomfortably, and I closed my eyes. I could hardly stand to listen to this.
Only last week, Scion had seemed different—less abrasive, and helpful at times. For the briefest moment, I’d even thought he might have feelings for me. Unfortunately, it seemed like that version of Scion had been the false one, and the cruel, mocking prince had returned with full force.
“Take a breath, Sci.”
Bael said. “I was merely trying to teach Lonnie to shadow walk.”
“That’s an inventive teaching method you’ve devised.”
Scion threw the pair of us a scathing look. “You’re going to kill us all. Is it worth it?”
My heartbeat pounded too hard against my ribs, and a fresh wave of guilt crashed over me.
Scion was right. We were playing with fire, Bael and I, and if something went wrong then it wouldn’t be merely we who got burned. The entire Everlast family, Scion included, were at risk of paying the price for our mistakes.
The Everlast family was cursed, so that they could never experience true happiness. The moment any one of them did, anyone who shared their blood would die. This meant that while Bael had known for some time that we were true mates, and I’d finally been sure of it when I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him during the battle, we couldn’t complete our bond. There was too great a risk that he might experience real joy for the first time, and doom his entire family in the process. It was a miserable curse, in more ways than one.
I glanced up at Bael, and gestured vaguely toward Scion. “Perhaps he’s right.”
“No,”
Bael snapped, finally seeming annoyed. “He’s not. No one is dying today.”
“You’re so sure that you’re willing to bet your life on it?”
Scion sneered, “How’s your control today? Do we need to start looking for another cage?”
“Alright, that’s enough,”
I said. “Maybe we should just?—”
“You want to talk about control?”
Bael took a step forward, reaching for me. Whatever I’d meant to say flew from my mind, as he gripped my hair and pulled my head to the side, just hard enough to expose my neck to the room. “What about your control?”
he demanded of Scion. “I didn’t mark her, you did that.”
A ringing silence filled the room, and I shifted to extricate myself from Bael’s grip. When I stood straight again, it was to find Scion looking resolutely away from me.
“She’s not my mate,”
Scion ground out after a long, tense moment. “It’s different.”
“Like hell it is.”
Bael let out an exasperated sigh. “Part of me would welcome death, if only to spend eternity reminding your immortal soul what a fucking idiot you were.”
I stiffened. If they argued—truly argued—I didn’t know what I would do. For that matter, I didn’t know if we would all survive the carnage. “Stop!”
I said, unsure which of them I was speaking to—perhaps both. Bael let go of me, and I turned to Scion. “Is this really why you came all the way up here?”
Begrudgingly, and perhaps looking a bit embarrassed, Scion shook his head. “No.”
I sighed. “Then what are you doing here?”
The prince took a deep breath through his nose and seemed to struggle to control his anger, before replying calmly. “You are late. Extremely so, in fact.”
Bael rolled his eyes. “I told you, I was teaching her?—”
Scion’s silver eyes flashed, a bit of his rage leaking out. “Teach her to appear downstairs then, quickly, because we’re all growing fucking old waiting for?—”
Scion broke off, coughing, and it took me a beat to realize why. The Fae could not lie—ever. To do so would result in extreme pain, like flames searing one’s throat. Because of this, they made games out of being misleading, while speaking only technical truths, and took great enjoyment out of tricking others into believing a misdirection. But Scion had just lied casually, as if by accident. Looking furious with himself, and still clearing his throat, the prince disappeared.
Baffled, I turned to Bael, “What just happened?”
To my surprise, he grinned in satisfaction at the spot where his cousin had stood a split second before. “Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than when he gets so angry he lies by mistake. It’s hyperbole to the point of insanity.”
I shook my head, trying not to smile. “You would enjoy that, because you’re already insane.”
“Trust me, little monster.”
Bael wrapped his arms around me, and pressed his face into my hair, breathing in, as if not ready to let me go just yet. “You don’t know Scion like I do. I would actually call this outburst progress.”
“You can’t be serious,”
I almost laughed. “Progress toward what? The two of you turning this house to toothpicks?”
He shook his head. “You’ll see. Anger is good. All he’s doing is the same thing he’s been doing for months.”
“Which is what? Trying to murder me? Cursing the day I was born?”
“Proving how much he thinks about you.”
My heartbeat sped up, my chest squeezing uncomfortably. Even if that were true, I couldn’t see why Bael would be so happy about it. Fae as a whole were non-monogamous, but it still seemed like a stretch to expect the cousins to share me equally…if that was even something I wanted. I was not yet sure it was.
With Bael, I never questioned how he felt about me, but with Scion I was in a constant state of confusion. We could hardly stand each other at the best of times, but I’d been unable to keep myself from falling into his bed the night before the castle burned.
Had there been no rebellion, no battle, I was not sure what I’d expected to happen. It had seemed as if our relationship—if there was one—had begun to move beyond barbed banter and threats, yet, Scion never again brought up any of what happened in Inbetwixt or the kiss in the village. He’d hardly spoken a word to me in the last week, and now every time we looked at each other, the mark he’d left on my neck throbbed and my chest felt as if it might burst with...something.
Shaking my head to clear it, I squirmed to escape Bael’s hold. “If you mean that your cousin spends a truly alarming amount of time plotting my demise, then yes, I’d agree.”
Bael shook his head. “You’re both infuriating. I’ve never met two people better at lying to themselves.”
My shoulders slumped. “Regardless, he’s right. We should go, this meeting is important.”
“Whatever you say.”
Bael drew one arm from around my waist, and reached up, brushing a fingertip against the bite on my neck, and chuckled when I shivered. “I’m happy with how things are, you know, I’m just waiting for the two of you to join me.”
I yanked out of his grasp and spun to look him in the eyes, barely registering anything he’d said beyond the word “Happy.”
“You’re not perfectly happy, though, right?”
I demanded. “Not true happiness?”
Bael’s gaze widened, taking in my stricken expression, before his face softened. That word alone gave all the more credence to Scion’s concerns, and if Bael was truly happy…then this could not continue.
He reached out and pushed a rebellious curl behind my ear, then leaned in to kiss my forehead. “No, little monster. I could never be truly happy until you are.”
I relaxed. He didn’t have to worry then, because I might not be cursed, but as long as they were, and as long as the dark cloud of mystery continued to hang over my very existence, I was in no danger of happiness.
Despite Scion’s suggestion, I still couldn’t shadow walk, so Bael and I took the normal, human way down to the secret underground den.
Cross’s home was almost as grand as the obsidian palace had been before it was reduced to ashes. Despite its picturesque interior, however, it was nothing more than a facade for the headquarters of the guild.
Or, it used to be.
When Scion and I stayed here, we’d been the only inhabitants of the townhouse—aside from Cross himself. The other three dozen or so guild members slept in the barracks below ground. Now, the house was being used for the overflow of Everlast loyalists and soldiers who did not want to swear fealty to Ambrose Dullahan and his rebel army.
We passed one such group on the landing. Five or six soldiers in black obsidian armor, who all pressed themselves flat against the wall as Bael and I passed. Bael made no sign to indicate he saw them at all, simply walking on by as if they were not there.
I nodded awkwardly at the nearest man, and turned sideways to pass by. “Sorry.”
The soldier paled beneath his helmet, and his voice shook with fear as he answered. “My fault, my lady.”
I frowned, and opened my mouth to question the odd reaction, but Bael gripped my arm, steering me away with a purposeful stride. When we’d turned a corner into another hall, this one slightly less ornately decorated than the first, with lower lighting and no ornate carpeting along the wooden floors, I looked up at him. “Why stop me from speaking to them? We’re no longer in the palace, it shouldn’t matter if my manners are up to your standard.”
The prince rolled his eyes. “It’s not that, little monster. Don’t always assume you’re being insulted.”
I bit my lip, not wanting to acknowledge that he had a fair point—I did tend to assume I was being insulted, especially when it came to anything any of the Everlasts did. “Well? Why stop me, then?”
“The soldiers are afraid of you,”
he replied easily. “We need all the support we can get, especially from those trained to use a weapon. I’d rather you not scare them away.”
I glanced down, considering this as we approached the door to the tunnels. He was right, of course. In the last months, I’d had to grow used to being treated as something other than a servant, but even with a crown on my head I’d never had any real power—never been shown true respect. Now, I was having to get used to a different kind of reaction: fear. Wariness.
One week ago, Ambrose Dullahan, leader of the rebel army and former crown prince of the Everlast family, seized the capital with his army and took the obsidian crown. In the midst of chaos, he offered me a proposition that led me to unleash my long-concealed magic. The prince turned rebel leader had offered me information about my long-lost family in exchange for my loyalty. According to him, my mother—whom I’d assumed dead for some years now—may still be alive. As Ambrose was a seer, and the Fae could not lie, I had every reason to believe him. But, before I could give him an answer, I watched helplessly as the castle crumbled and—to my knowledge—Bael and Scion were swallowed by the raging flames and collapsing walls. Without meaning to, or fully understanding how I’d done it, I’d channeled all of my pent-up grief and anger into one explosive burst of energy, summoning forth twisted creatures from the depths of my anger—the afflicted.
Now, in the wake of the battle, I was filled with constant conflicting emotions. Not only had I revealed my hidden magic to others, but also to myself.
Throughout my entire life, I’d known in the back of my mind that there was something different about me. Knowing that my mother warned me never to go digging for answers, or worse, to try to use the powers. I’d firmly believed—or perhaps convinced myself—that I was human, and there was nothing more to it.
Now, however, I wasn’t entirely sure.
Even if I hadn’t managed to conjure fire or shadow walk in the past week, I could no longer pretend it was impossible. I could no longer ignore Bael’s comments and explanations of Fae culture, or insist he was a fool to suspect that I might be more than human. Still, that didn’t bring me any closer to knowing the truth of who I was.
Each time someone mentioned my abilities or observed me with inquisitive eyes, my chest tightened and my palms began to sweat. Even Bael pushing me to hone my magic only fueled the anxiety threatening to choke me.
Still, as much as I wanted to deny it, using magic during the fight felt exhilarating. A part of me craved the power, while another part was terrified by it.
Not wishing to think any deeper on the issue, I turned my attention back to Bael. “At least I don’t ignore everyone as you do,”
I mumbled. “Are you not concerned that the few soldiers who have remained loyal will be offended and leave?”
He actually laughed at that. “I pray you never lose your naiveté, because then I’d know we truly ruined you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that if we do not want our guards to fear you, my presence will do you no favors.”
I considered that as we made our way through the tunnels and emerged into the thieves’ den. I supposed, Bael was right, especially now that he’d given up his courtly attire and false smiles. He’d had an entire lifetime of being feared by all those around him—except perhaps his immediate family—and knew that it could be as much a hindrance to leadership as it was a requirement for royalty.
Of course, I didn’t desire to rule anyone.
And thanks to Ambrose Dullahan, I no longer did. In name, or otherwise.