by A. K. Koonce
Should, but it doesn’t.
Shadows of large mounds fill the courtyard. The pile, not yet lit, has grown with dead bodies. All these waiting dead are just too seemingly unimportant or utterly similar to fae the coroner has already seen. Often, I wonder how she chooses who she examines and who she does not.
Hemphway holds open the carriage door while his companion trails behind me in silence. My foot lifts and as I turn, I meet dark eyes staring out a window in a tower high above.
Broodingly dark eyes.
Bear’s head tilts at me as if he wants to scream at me from all the way across his castle.
My heart drills at the sight of someone who could tell me to worry less about flowers and more about marriages. He wanted revenge so badly after that night. But he wants those around him to stop talking more. He’s stopped me time and time again from making waves in his kingdom until things die down.
He has to realize everything here dies down within this place though.
He could stop me right now, just as he always does.
But I’m down here, and he’s up there.
My hand lifts and my fingers sway one after the other with a little kiss-my-ass wave of my hand. I can’t make out his features from this distance, but I can feel his ever-constant glare.
I lift myself into the carriage and seat myself, trying to smooth at my dress like it would unwrinkle the messy thoughts inside my brain and make everything clear again. Both guards slide into the seat across from me without a word. Hemphway glances from me, to the door, to the floor, and back out the window on a nervous repeat. His friend only stares into the distance with perfect posture.
“Where to?” The driver calls through the small vented window between us.
Where to? Now that’s the real question. Where do I begin?
“Where would you go if you wanted to purchase a flower?”
I can hear the tap, tap, tap of the driver’s foot as he pauses. When his foot stops moving, he finally speaks. “There are two local florists who make lovely arrangements, though there aren’t many flowers to choose from with the current state of the curse on our lands. Um,” He clears his throat gruffly, “We also have two local herbalist which sell less aesthetically-pleasing arrangements and more medicinal options. So I suppose it depends on what type of flowers you’re needin’, Princess.”
If I were a criminal, where would I go? I ponder, giving my skirt one final skim of my palm.
“Criminals are everywhere.” The quieter guard finally says.
I blink, unaware that I had spoken out loud. “Excuse me?”
Two forest-green eyes slowly meet mine. “Citizens are leaving. Fleeing. After the engagement party, everyone knows that the disease is thriving in the capital now. It’s hardly safe to breathe the air. The soil grows colder, the plants withering away to nothing with each passing minute. Good fae leave. Fae who have nothing to lose, stay. Criminals stay to pillage what’s left behind. And soon that’s all Nalerpera will have left.”
Acid burns my throat. I grab a fistful of skirt between my fingers, trying to squeeze every ounce of uncertainty out of me. I am safe. I am loved by the people. I can defend myself.
“Take me to a florist to start. Then we will see if time is on our side or not for another visit.” I call out, keeping my eyes locked on the blunt guard.
His emerald eyes are hard as he stares back at me.
I am not afraid. Some small piece of me thinks Bear placed this guard with me merely to scare me should the opportunity arise.
The carriage lurches forward, horse hooves clacking against the pavement as they begin a slow trot. Hemphway bumps against the other guard, breaking our untrusting glares.
Every second his companion looks at me, it’s like his eyes are pleading with me. Marry King Iri. End it. End it all. Fix what the ancestors have broken.
If only it was that easy. If only I thought that were true.
Big, thriving trees among the castle turn into small cluttered shop and quiet streets. Vendors toting carts call out to the few fae who still pursue the streets. The farther we travel, the more unkept things become. I recognize the large town square where the Cursebreaker festival had once been. Only tattered banners and dirty ribbons remain.
When the carriage comes to a jolting halt, the door opens and the driver gives me a tense smile. “There’s a shop on this street and a herbalist a few paces pas’ this store. Should you like transport elsewhere, I’ll be waitin’ here.” His fast-spoken accent is hard to grasp, but I nod to him anyway.
I take his palm, standing to step down and out to the waiting street, but a trembling hand stops me.
“Please put up your hood, Princess.” Hemphway stammers. Even he appears to be more on edge than usual.
“Of course.” I tug at the velvet fabric to hide my face, mumbling to myself as I step down. “It’s not like the royal carriage isn’t telling enough, but sure, I’ll hide my royal face for good sport.”
With the cool breeze, the smell of dead bodies lingers here, too. I wish it was the sweet scent of baked goods and spun sugar like it had been during the festival. But nothing could cover the scent of rotting flesh now. It hangs in the air so thick, I cup my hand over my mouth and nose, contemplating the chances there is a body decomposing somewhere on this road.
Coated in a thin layer of dust, what I suppose would have been an otherwise lovely sign swings in the nipping winter breeze. The name Anne’s Bouquet is arranged in thorny overgrown flowers planted inside the sign. It could have been pleasant if it didn’t appear so unattended. A weed-filled arrow points to an entrance around the side of the building.
Both guards glue themselves so close to my sides, our cloaks tangle together as we move, snapping against each other like flags in the wind. One pink door stands out against the red stone of the building. One crooked, half-ripped, and totally heart-stopping sign hangs in the dark window.
Closed.
The damn shop is closed. With an unladylike curse, I stomp my feet, nearly knocking Hemphway to the ground as I turn back in the direction we just traveled. Together, the guards still linger, but the space between us grows.
No, no, no. This isn’t supposed to be this hard. I yank my hood down, unconcerned by the near-empty street.
“Let’s try the herbor—” I lose the words as a vendor I hadn’t noticed before waves at me across the street.
“You need information? We got it! Find the answers you seek here where they are sold for the lowest price in the kingdom! Buy two, and we throw in a special gift!”
Buy two . . . Two what?
My shoulders straighten as intrigue brings a hopeful smile to my face. I take one step toward the vendor, then another, and another until I’m hurriedly crossing the cobbled street to the short, muscular man with a velvet green top hat on his head.
“Be wary.” One of the guards behind me warns, likely not Hemphway, seeing as the voice was low and gravelly. And Hemphway wouldn’t have the balls to tell me what to do.
This guard, I swear. It’s like Bear has a twin he never told me about. They share the same identical asshole genetics.
My taste in men is so bad, I’m stunned I’m not attracted to him, too.
His warning goes ignored.
The excited beat of my heart reminds me of what this kingdom once was when I was a child and makes my steps that much faster. With a sweet smile, the vendor tips his hat to me.
“My child, could I offer you a secret? What do you wish to know?”
I hold up one finger to the vendor, twisting toward my entourage. “Please, please just take a small stroll out of hearing range?” I bat my eyelashes. “Just far enough, but close enough that you can see me.”
Hemphway shrugs and walks away to my right. The other guard watches me, then watches the vendor who raises his thick eyebrows expectantly.
“I’ll be close enough,” the guard warns sternly before backing away with his gaze still firmly set on me and my soon-to-be purchase.
His glare is still burning into me and the stranger.
Seriously, Bear has a bit of competition if this guard keeps tossing swoon-worthy hateful glares my way.
Or maybe the King will be one guard short if this man keeps fucking testing me.
Behind the vendor is a small cart containing different bottles of liquids. Every color imaginable is represented before me. Vibrant sunflower yellow and sparkling emerald green sit in large bottles while muted lavender and haunting midnight blue only have small vials. Some liquids look thin, some thick like mud, but some are bubbly, like a fizzy champagne glass, or spark, like living fire is within them.
“I’ll take one secret, please.” I bring my gaze back to the vendor.
“Tell me what you really want to know, and I’ll show you what elixir to drink.” His hands clap together excitedly, and he motions to the expanse of odd-looking beverages.
“I want to know where to find Bloodroot.”
“Oh, I would think you are an assassin, searching for such an item while being driven in such a fine vehicle, but an assassin wouldn’t need guards. So a countess, maybe? Or another official title?”
I try to keep my smile subdued. “You are not from around here, are you?”
“I travel,” he admits with a flirtatious smirk. One hand hovers over the bottles, aimlessly trying to decide which is the best. Until it doesn't move anymore. With long fingers, reminding me of the long legs of a spider, he plucks a swirling periwinkle bottle. The contents inside don’t look at all like liquid but more like smoke. “This is the one for you. Here, drink.”
The bottle feels empty as I cradle the tiny glass jar with the shiny gem-covered cork. This could be everything I need. This could give me the answers I’m looking for. Hope spikes through me in a thrilling surge of anticipation.
Even the air around us feels different. It’s thick with magic. It’s the strong scent of cinnamon and coconut mixing. I shiver under my cloak, feeling the goosebumps rise over my skin.
I can’t drink something a stranger gives me.
But his magic is real. I can feel the presence of it.
But still . . .
“Did you ever meet Earl Donovan Gregor?” I ask slowly, my heart panging at the sound of his name.
The man nods. “I did. He dabbled in my secrets whenever I came to town. He—he was a man of many secrets and many sources. It doesn’t surprise me he would know a pretty woman like yourself.”
He was a man of many secrets and many sources. That’s definitely true.
Donovan used this man. Just as I am now.
He found knowledge here. Did he find his death as well?
My fingers slide back and forth along the glass bottle.
“How do I drink a cloud?” I ponder out loud, my fingers gripping the shiny cork.
“Open, drop contents into your mouth, swallow.” He gives me an easy-going smile.
I give him my final nod. One hard yank and the cork pops loudly, clouds already trying to escape.
“Go! Drink quickly before your magic escapes.” The gentleman waves frantically at me to hurry.
Nothing physical hits my tongue, yet flavor explodes against my taste buds. Sugar berries, kiwi, tiny explosions of tart, then sweet, then tart again burst all at once. I try to swallow quickly, gulping until there is no longer any swirling magic in the air.
“Very good.” The merchant nods with a grin that changes from soft and caring to harsh and wolfish. “Now it’s only a matter of your payment.”
“Yes, how many talkens do I owe you?”
“Oh, I don’t deal in talkens, dearie. Think bigger. Think more important.” The air feels hot around me as he takes one large step closer to me.
“Excuse me? What do I pay in?” I glance over my shoulder, giving my new guard a nervous look. Immediately, he growls for Hemphway and angrily walks over to my side.
“Time, blood, or truth.”
Both Hemphway and the other guard linger behind me, poised to intervene at any moment. I lean away from the man and closer to my guards, tugging my cloak tighter against me.
“Elaborate,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You see,” He folds his hands in front of him carefully. “You can pay me in time. Meaning I’ll take seven days off of your life span, whatever that may come to be. You can pay me in blood. I’m partial to first-born children, but I’ll take the second or third. Whichever you dislike the most is fine by me. Sometimes even distant cousins work, as long as it’s someone you love. Or you can pay with truth. I sell secrets, do I not? You give me a simple secret, and your debt is paid.”
“I don’t like that you call it a debt.”
“I don’t like that you didn’t ask the price prior to consuming the product. Too rich to stop and think it might happen to be out of your fucking price range? Well, time is ticking.” He snaps his fingers impatiently. “What will it be?”
“I-I don’t know.” My new guard steps up to me, gently grabbing my wrist.
“No, let’s go. You don’t owe him anything. And let’s get you to a physician. This man is a joke.” I try to follow my guard, try to turn back to my waiting carriage, but one ice-cold hand stops me.
“What she has done cannot be undone.” The merchant hisses. “She will pay, and if she cannot choose, I will choose for her.”
“She will do no such thing.” Hemphway tries to say confidently. His voice is strong, but his shrinking demeanor tells another story.
The sound of my pulse pounds in my ears. My heart rises in loud thuds inside my chest.
“Choose,” the stranger sneers.
Choose? How can I choose? It’s an impossible choice.
What did Donovan choose? Did he give seven days one too many times?
“I don’t know.” The choice is too difficult. Losing seven days of my life may not be too awful. I wouldn’t even know it if I died seven days early. Blood. I couldn’t do that to someone. I couldn’t sell them to this evil man. Then last, truth. What secrets do I have that are of worth?
“Time’s up.” He snaps his fingers. The sound echoes in my ears as pain slices through my chest like a twisting knife.
“What did you do?” I say frantically, looking myself over. My hands tremble, and my feet feel tingly all over. Black begins to blur the edges of my vision. I lean into Hemphway. My racing heart now feels sluggish.
The merchant doesn’t even bother to glance at me any longer. He looks past me to the guards. “I took seven days. She’ll die, but as long as you keep her body warm and up to temp, she’ll come right back once her time is paid.”
Come right back? What does that mean?
Each heartbeat is like my body is working through thick heavy mud.
“No, no, no,” I say, the words sloppily sliding off my heavy tongue. “This can’t be happening.”
“Don’t worry, dearie. You’ll find the answers you seek by the end of the week. I always keep my end of the bargain.”
Trembles race up my arm as I reach for the thieving merchant’s neck. Deadly cold skin brushes my fingers as my hand fails to gain any grip on this throat. His wolfish smile grows wider.
Everything starts to look as though I’m peering through a tiny pin hole, my eyelids heavy and drooping. My muscles liquify as my full weight falls into Hemphway’s arms. Breathing is far too hard. It’s really hard. I struggle to hold on, to stay awake.
I’m not ready to die.
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Nothing.
How can I know I’ll come back?
One heartbeat.
Nothing.
One heartbeat.
Nothing.
Nothing.
One quiet heartbeat.
What have I done?
Silence.
Three
Dark Silence
Syren
Death is not kind.
Four
Back From the Dead
Syren
Screaming and pulling, death tries
to hold me in its torturous grip. High-pitched ringing overwhelms my ears and everything I can hear. It’s the sound of nothing. Warm air rushes down my dry, aching throat before I can register that I’m sitting up with the skirt of my dress bunching inside of my fists.
Mounds of thick blankets slide off of me like a coffin lid hiding a corpse.
“You’re awake.” Bear’s voice is harsh with impatience.
Barely beating at the pace it should be, my heart stutters at the sound of his voice. Deep, dark, and angry. The black sightless view of death fades. When it does, it isn’t plush pink or silky creams, grays and blues that surround me.
Black pants hang loosely on his tilted hips, making it easy to see the hard lines of the muscles pointing exactly where my eyes shamelessly wander. The scars that run over his shoulders are clearly visible, nearly silver and catching the light as he breathes. Very slowly, I bring my eyes up to his, fighting the urge to look away from his seething wrath.
His scars are one of his features that I actually love more than many other desirable traits he’s blessed with. They make him look like an actual monster. The monster he had become in my mind back when I was alone on that island. I want nothing more than to touch them now, to trace the long lines over his shoulders and down his spine.
He looks god-like. His hovering posture makes me feel like a girl who was found by the handsome god who favors her. My fingers itch to brush away the long dark hair that hangs in his face, fallen from the messy twist of the gathered back ponytail, and press a hungry kiss to his lips. And maybe a few more kisses along his stubble-covered jaw line.
I died, and I never did all those things enough before I left.
I died holding onto the deliberate wall we’ve always clung to that separates us.
Bear looks like all the stories I ever dreamt of as a child where the man would come and save me. He looks like a fallen angel who kissed me out of death. With his half-hooded eyes and stare so intense it could set his room on fire, with intent he clears his throat.