Chapter 38
When a normal, run-of-the-mill fae is stabbed with iron, they’re sent back to the Otherworld instead of killed. Their bodies are sort of sucked into themselves and…poof, they’re gone. No mess. No cleanup. Same happens when you kill them. They just evaporate almost immediately.
The same cannot be said about Ancients.
When you kill them, their bodies remain, at least for a little while. They decompose like mortals, but it’s rapid in comparison.
I sat on the stone floor, watching Aric’s skin darken and start to flake, his stomach sinking in instead of bloating, and his body shrinking inside its clothes.
That took minutes. The rest took hours. But on day forty-nine, the following day, he was nothing more than an oily, clumpy stain on the floor, and the seeping wound on my arm left behind by his bite had finally stopped bleeding.
I had a feeling that it needed stitches, and would probably get massively, grossly infected without them and some antibiotics.
Unless there was a doctor hidden among the vines, there was nothing I could do about that.
There was nothing I could do about any of the pains or the weird, random waves of nausea that ended in another round of vomiting either.
But I waited.
My knuckles ached from how tightly I held onto the dagger, knowing that there was no way I could take two or three fae at once, even if they weren’t Ancients. But I refused to go out without a fight.
No one came.
Not the female fae who bathed me, or the male ones who carried the tub in and out of the room. There were at least three of them that had to be aware of where I was held, who I assumed would come looking for Aric at some point, especially since he appeared to be their leader.
Eventually, my attention shifted from the stain to the door.
I imagined it wasn’t locked. Freedom was just a few feet from my reach, and I tried, stretching as far as I could.
I did this for hours, and then I used the dagger, prying at the bolt in the floor and then the clasp that connected the chain to the band around my throat until I felt the blade about to break, and then I stopped.
I couldn’t risk losing my only weapon if other fae did finally show.
But no one did.
Hours turned into another day, and that day slowly churned into more. I’d lost my grip on the dagger, letting it rest in my lap.
Hunger set in, overshadowing the aches and the nausea, and all I could think about were burgers and steaks, leafy salads, and chocolate cakes.
I even fantasized about all-you-can-eat buffets, and then I stopped thinking about food.
Either my body and mind had become used to the hunger, or I just no longer felt it.
I no longer really felt the coldness or the throbbing either.
Bone-deep tiredness set in, a lethargy that wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, weighing down my limbs.
I stopped tracking days after forty-eight, unable to rally the strength to pick up the shard of rock or use the dagger to scratch the mark into the stone.
I didn’t know if it was the hunger or all the feedings or the wounds finally catching up to me, but I slept where I sat, propped against the slab. And then I couldn’t sit up any longer.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but I only became aware of lying on my side when I opened my eyes again. The dagger had slipped from my lap, resting a few inches from me on the floor.
I needed to get it, keep it close, but I simply could not do it.
And as I drifted off again, I told myself that it would be okay if I didn’t wake up.
I’d killed Aric. I’d completed what I’d set out to do two years ago.
I had honored my mother’s death. Dying in the stale, damp chamber didn’t matter. Not anymore.
But then I lost more than my grip on the dagger. I lost my grip on…everything.
I did wake up again. Or maybe I dreamed.
Or I was awake and hallucinating. I wasn’t sure, but I saw people.
My mother pacing in front of me, dressed in her pink housecoat flapping like wings behind her.
She was speaking, but I couldn’t hear her, and when I called out to her, there was no response.
And then she was gone. Later, it was a girl with curly, fiery red hair, and a man with wavy brown hair.
I knew them. I thought I did, but their names were lost to me as the chamber faded and was replaced by a restaurant lit by warm, twinkling, white lights.
The group was talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about…Christmas mornings and hot cocoa and the good moments with my mother, times where she remembered where she was and—
Fingers snapped, drawing my attention.
“Sorry.” My lips moved, my voice hoarse. “I spaced out. Were you saying something?”
“I was saying that I was about to strip naked and run outside,” the girl said.
The male smiled as he stared at the girl. “I am so down for that.”
“Of course, you are.” She grinned, pointing to a menu. “Did you want dessert, Bri?”
Bri.
Only she called me Bri.
Bri stood for…Brighton. That was my name, and she was…
I blinked, and they were gone. The restaurant was gone, replaced by the round, vine-covered walls and flickering torches. Then I faded out, and there was nothing until I heard someone again.
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes fluttered open, and he was standing there, dressed in a dark shirt that was like a second layer of skin, clinging to his chest and tapered waist. His blond hair brushed the width of his broad shoulders as he bowed his head.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“You’re sorry?” I heard myself say, and my chest… God, it hurt. It broke. “Which part are you sorry about? What happened between us? Or the fact that you failed to mention you’re engaged?”
A muscle tensed along his jaw. “All of it.”
What broke then cracked wide open, shattering. “God,” I whispered.
“You don’t understand.” He looked over at me. “You cannot possibly understand—”
“Because I’m not a fae?”
His eyes met mine, and an eternity stretched out between us as a wild array of emotion flickered across his face. And then it all went away, as if he shut down whatever it was he felt. “Yes, because you are not like me. I am a King. I must have a Queen.”
The word was a stab to the heart. My cheeks dampened, and the world around me seemed to shift again. He wasn’t in a hallway anymore but standing in a brightly lit room that smelled like crisp apples. And there were others. The girl with the red hair and people with no faces, no names.
“Listen to Ivy,” he urged. “You cannot interact with either of them. The fact that they already know you’re involved is bad enough.”
“I can handle myself,” I said, repeating what felt like a script—one I didn’t want to read. “Pretty sure I’ve proven that.”
“All you’ve proven is that you’re incredibly lucky,” he fired back. “You’re not like them.” He gestured at the others. “You’re not a warrior with years of experience under your belt.”
“I’m a member of the Order. I’m trained and—”
“You are a member, but this is not your job,” the girl said.
“If hunting and killing evil fae isn’t my job, then what is?”
Silence from them, from the others, and in the silence, I heard Aric say, “You were born into the Order, but you’re not a true member.”
Confusion swept through me as the room and everyone in it seemed to flicker in and out. Aric was dead. I’d killed him. He couldn’t be here—
Caden faded out and then back in again. “You’re a distraction. A weakness that I will not allow to be exploited….”
“I’m not weak.” The words scraped against my throat. “I killed Aric. I…killed him.”
The space in front of me was empty.
He was gone.
And then I was gone.
I wasn’t sure what stirred me, tugging me out of the emptiness, but I could feel the coldness of the tomb when I’d felt nothing before.
A distant part of me acknowledged that I didn’t feel as cold as I should, and that perhaps that was concerning, but I was too tired to care, and too grateful that I didn’t hurt.
That I felt…okay, just tired. So very tired.
I started to slip away again when I heard it.
Footsteps?
No. It was too loud, too many thumps coming too fast. Banging?
Yes, it sounded like banging. Was it the other fae finally checking on Aric?
The Ancient would be pissed to realize it had taken so long.
It was sort of insulting. A small grin cracked my dry lips.
There was a burst of pain as if the flesh were too thin or raw, but it was okay.
I needed to open my eyes, but my lids were too heavy. I just wanted to sleep. That was all I wanted.
Voices.
That’s what I heard next, or at least thought I heard. I wasn’t sure. Shouts. Names that teased at the disjointed memories. Pounding footsteps followed—
The world seemed to explode. Wood cracked and splintered, and air—fresh, rose-scented air—flowed into the chamber.
“Brighton?”
The voice. His voice. I recognized it. The deep, melodious baritone that had whispered against my skin. But it sounded different now, full of relief and horror, fury tinged with desperation.
A curse was uttered, and then warmth flowed over me like sunlight breaking through the clouds. The air stirred.
“Brighton?” He was closer, and I tried to open my eyes, but it was of no use. A moment passed, and then I felt warmth against my cheek. Fingertips. Warm hands smoothing back the matted strands of hair— “Dear God.”
The two words sounded as if they took the speaker to their knees. My eyelids fluttered. Finally, I was able to open both of them halfway. The blurry image of a man dressed in black formed.
He was on his knees.
I knew him. I knew I did, but I couldn’t remember his name.