Madness

by Rebecca Grey

  Their powers were awakening and messy, and it made it that much more satisfying when the castle looked like it had been abandoned for years. When the destruction finally stopped, some nymphs fled for the forest, while others stayed to fight.

  Outraged questions pushed up at me as I stood on my tiptoes at the top of what used to be Ganglin’s dais. Dirt and blood still streaked their faces, and mine. Their bodies pushed against each other as they surged forward with every new question.

  “Everybody, please!” I waved my hands trying to calm them down.

  Daethian stood on the bottom step, stretching out an arm to stop anyone who tried to get too close to me. His shirt was tattered and splattered in red. Dirt was smudged along his dark brown hairline and across his cheeks. His brown eyes glared down at the unruly crowd.

  Behind me, I could hear Graceson using what was left of his strength to keep Randsin propped up. Together they leaned against Ganglin’s throne that was now covered in intricately weaved vines. A new throne for a new people.

  In the raid of the castle, the prisoners had been released. One prisoner though, had not been nymph. Randsin was nearly killed. Had it not been for Daethian, who kept him safe, he would be in much worse condition than he was now. The long, protective clothing he normally wore no longer covered his chest and arms. Black, detailed images covered every inch of his skin, tattoos that still remained visible despite the blood that covered him. His breathing was shallow, but he was still alive. Ganglin had meant to kill him.

  “Why are there still fae here?” People shouted in agreement as the question rose louder above the rest.

  How was I supposed to explain that these were the good guys? That there were fae out there who wanted to help, who were not the enemy? I had known all too well those feelings of unease and distrust.

  “There are fae who want to aid us. More than you would think, who want to right the wrong that was done to us.” I clasped my hands in front of me, my body swaying with exhaustion.

  “They aren’t one of us,” voices cried out, “They are lying!”

  “Look, I can’t calm your feelings of doubt toward the fae. Trust me, it takes time and action for them to show you that they mean what they say. But some of them are good,” my voice broke, my eyes wide and red.

  “We will do our best to make camp here. Make this our home as we decide the next step. We will not give up this territory to the fae.” This sentence seemed to calm them. Their shouts lowered to mumbles and whispered questions.

  “I’ll continue to cook the meals,” one nymph raised his hand.

  “We can do patrols of the ground and bring any unwanted visitors into the dungeons,” a group from the back agreed.

  “Yes, this is good!” I clapped. “Feel free to claim a room and let's try to make life normal here. If there is a job you wish to do to keep this place running, please do. What you do will be your choice.”

  Daethian’s head bobbed from where he stood. “Let’s make this our home,” his eyes bore into me as he spoke. I swallowed the feeling that left my throat dry.

  “Please, take ease in knowing that we will get through this together,” my voice was hoarse from all the yelling I’d done. “Because we are going to need each other.”

  The crowd nodded and began to disperse into smaller groups or leave the room altogether. Their attention no longer needed to be held. As soon as I knew eyes were no longer looking to me for answers, my knees buckled and I sat myself down on the dais. Daethian came to my side, grabbing my hand and supporting my back.

  “You need to rest,” he looked up at Graceson and Randsin. “We all do.”

  “Where is Hattie?” I whispered. My hands shook as I brought them up to cover my face in an attempt to hide the tears that gathered at my eyelids.

  “I’m sure Hattie is fine. She is a big girl and she can take care of herself.”

  But could she? She had run after Ganglin, so wild and reckless. I was supposed to be the reckless one. Even after I had asked her to stay, she had still darted away. Worry sickened me, turning like food poisoning inside my stomach.

  Daethian’s hand drew long, soothing circles over my shoulder blades. He licked his lips, pausing, “Look we can’t do anything more until you rest. Let’s pick you out a room. One with a good view, you deserve it.”

  The skin on the back of my calf had knitted itself back together, but the wound was still incredibly pink and the muscle strained to keep from giving out at every movement. My neck stung every time I twisted my head. Burns that would likely scar.

  “Here,” he whispered, tucking his arm under my armpit and helping me to stand. “There are a few rooms back down this hall used for guests. Let’s get you all laid down.”

  Graceson let out a long sigh as he lifted Randsin with a grunt. What was left of Graceson’s wings was tucked close to his back, strips of the reptilian flesh moving with any small breeze. Sweat glistened against his forehead, but he didn’t quit moving. He would have to soon though. There would be a point when he couldn’t push through the pain any longer.

  Daethian’s trusted arms helped to guide me through what was left of the crowd. Fatigue made me lean into every inch of his warm body. His attention shifted between watching where we were going and glancing down to make sure I was okay. Muscles in his jaw chorded when he caught me flinch in pain.

  “Daethian,” my voice came out with hardly a sound, but he caught it and lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment. “How are you here? You were supposed to be in the Acture Court.”

  He cleared his throat, pointing toward a door, “In here.” The wood was smooth, detailed with intricate designs that had been burned into it by an artist who had taken their time on their work. The fanciest door I had ever been allowed to walk through.

  It was clear as we entered that this room wasn't meant to house guests, but was made and designed to fit someone with particular interests, someone who lived here. Plush and perfectly white bedding was still pushed away and unmade. Nymphs hadn’t gotten to making the bed back up before all hell had broken loose.

  Sheer, blood-red curtains hung over the three large windows that ran nearly the entire length of the wall, only stopping where a wardrobe was still propped open. An array of clothing, of all shades and colors, poked out like the inhabitant had only just begun to peruse their options. Glitter and bits of sheer materials caught my attention. Gowns. This had been a woman's room. A mistress, perhaps? A lady of the court?

  There were many women in Ganglin’s court, but only one came to mind that had yet to be married. The seamstress. She had been sought out by so many people that Ganglin decided to scoop her up and keep her for himself, offering her an opportunity to stay here, should she fancy making his own personal attire. No matter how much the fae tried to not care about their appearance, they were still unmatched in their vain natures. The urge to own and wear one of the many gowns I had seen her in, or seen her create, was a nagging and impulsive thought that distracted me.

  My teeth pressed together hard as I tried to breathe through the pain of my calf stretching with each step. Daethian sighed, giving me the gentlest of squeezes. He turned his head away to talk.

  “There is a room across the hall that is in good condition,” he called to Graceson.

  “He is going to need to see a healer before long,” Graceson shouted weakly in response.

  “You’re going to need to see a healer!” Daethian’s shout was rough.

  We all needed a healer. After the war that had raged on this land, not only had the building begun to crumple around us, but many of us were broken too. Had anyone stayed who had medical experience? I prayed to the Mother that they had.

  Daethian set me on the edge of the bed, lowering himself to untie my boots. From this angle it was easy to see a bruise that ran down the length of his neck and under his shirt to his shoulder.

  “Are you avoiding my question?” I tried again.

  His easygoing smile disappeared as he looked back up at me.
Both hands held on to my ankle. “Ryker Avery, where you go, I am bound to go, too. I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth if I have to, to make you safe,” he paused, his tongue racing over the fullness of his lower lip. “Windre received a tip that you had been attacked on the way home. I traveled with no rest to get here, only arriving as the fighting began.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to be helping train? Wasn’t Windre upset?” He had left it all to come find me in the pits of hell, even when there was a bigger picture to look at, even when I was barely somebody.

  But hadn’t I been willing to do that for him? Yes. I was willing to steal and hurt and try whatever I could to get sent to a place I thought would try to break me, just so he wouldn’t have to bear it alone.

  “I didn’t give Windre the option.” He glanced back down at my feet, slipping the boots off one by one.

  Even though I felt too worn out to smile, my lips still turned up at his words, “I’m glad you came. This would have been a lot scarier without my best friend.”

  Daethian hummed, a poor cover-up for the disappointment in his face. “You’re my best friend, too. Now,” he grunted and stood, his frame tall and wide, filling the space between the bed canopy and me. “Rest.”

  With his tattered and dirty shirt, and the peek at his muscular stomach as his arms hung from the canopy posts, he looked so much less like a sidekick and so much more like a hero. My gaze traveled back up to his face. The seriousness of his reciprocal attention made my body go still.

  One hand dropped from its hold, lowering slowly, as he traced the marks on my face. His thumb trailed down my neck, my skin burning with a blush, stopping just short of the tamer's claiming marks.

  With time, those marks would fade, his scent along with them. He hadn’t taken what would have made those two small imprints last my lifetime. Another reason to thank the Mother.

  A cough broke the silence. Daethian’s hand fell to his side as Graceson’s pale face appeared in the doorway. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.” His eyebrows still rose with mild curiosity despite the pain he was clearly in.

  “No, no, you’re fine,” I shook my head, angling myself away from Dae and toward the door. My muscles screamed at the small movement of lifting my legs to the top of the bed.

  “Don’t move too quickly,” Daethian reminded me, before his attention narrowed back to Graceson.

  “Randsin is laid down in that room, but I think at this point it is in my best interest to return to the Acture Court and report to Windre. I need to seek medical help myself.” He swayed in the doorframe, making my worry for him spike. “I’ll return when I can, hopefully with help. It seems I’m not very welcome here anyway.”

  He was right. His presence was a sore spot for many of the nymphs here. It would take a bit more persuasion, and proof of their kindness, for fae to walk around these people without lingering glares and threats.

  “Take what you need. And, please, be careful. Are you sure you can make it there in your condition?”

  “I’m older than you think,” Graceson winked. “I’ve fought through wars in worse condition than this.” He turned to walk away, but paused and poked his head back into the room, “Oh, and I would maybe put someone with Randsin to keep an eye on him and make sure someone doesn’t sneak in to kill him.”

  Randsin was high on many nymph's shit lists. As the head guard, there had been a lot of punishment that had to be dealt out by his hand. Not his own orders, but Ganglin's. Even though he had taken me to the Acture Court, I still had a thread of concern that his closeness with Ganglin made him a threat to us. A seed of distrust that was growing inside my head.

  “I’ll stay with him,” Daethian managed, finally pulling himself away from my side.

  Graceson gave him a small bow and disappeared from the room, leaving us alone once more. Daethian turned back to me, slipping his hands into his deep pockets.

  “Well,” he started.

  “Well,” I whispered in return.

  “Rest and I’ll see if I can find someone who can help us find a healer. You need to start healing.” Anything else he had wanted to say stopped as he clamped his jaw firmly shut and closed the door quietly behind him.

  I sagged against the bed, the fullness of the pillow cupping the sides of my face. Voices carried through the hall as nymphs made themselves busy. Either finding places to sleep, pillage, or work in the meantime.

  My eyes closed, but my mind couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened over and over again. What was in that box that Ganglin needed so badly? Why did it seem so familiar? Like deja vu.

  Whatever it was, Daethian was right. We needed to start healing. Because this was only the beginning.

  THREE

  Dace

  Shavarra’s modest home was our biggest blessing in disguise. Local traffic didn’t travel as far as her front porch, which limited the number of wandering eyes. She had stocked the home well. Well enough to keep the number of people crammed into the small space sufficiently fed.

  Old worn maps, which she said had belonged to her grandmother, were rolled and stored in cylinders along her bookshelf. They were dated at best, with the edges crinkled and the landmarks fading from the hand drawn images, but they told me everything I needed to know.

  My city of Caratona was one of the largest settlements in the Twinity Court, not unusual given that this was where my royal family resided. However, people often commented on the fact that they were not central to the Twinity Court. Our castle was too near the border of the Acture Court, a foolish place to have our capital. But the location had been picked many, many centuries ago by my ancestors who drew near their allies and placed distance between themselves and their enemies.

  It was convenient now that we needed to travel with this large group that there would be less Twinity Court land that we would have to pass through. My finger drew a path over the crinkled map of an old, forgotten road that used to carry exports to the other courts before we created new, more direct routes. It would be an extra day of travel, but it was the safer option. As a group, we would travel along the Acture Court and Obtune Court border, within the Acture Court, until we made it to the Heathern Court.

  The nymphs were bandaged as well as they could be, many already on the road to recovery, a few being transported on cots and carried by those who could.

  Silently, I rolled the map back up, slipped it back into its canister, and deposited it into the side pocket of my backpack. The bag that I carried was stuffed to near eruption. Essentials only, clearly. But I had to carry for those who could not. A sense of regret echoed within me. My wasted opportunity as a prince. I could have stayed quiet. I could have upheld my responsibilities without bickering. Biding my time would have been good enough to get me to the crown, to get me in a position to actually help these people. The people that Ryker belonged to. She had been fighting for her freedom for so long in my dreams that her passion sometimes felt like mine. And I supposed that was okay.

  Far to my left, Jesseline walked on the outskirts of the dirt road, her body relaxed as she kicked at the dirt with her boots. It was all for show. I could see the way her eyes drifted along the woods. On occasion her hand pulled her hood down as she listened intently to the woods that surrounded us on either side.

  Another assassin had joined our ranks. A tall, muscular man, who surprised me with his nimbleness despite how broad he was. Jesseline called him Slyke. From the back, he helped carry a woman whose tendon had somehow been severed as she fled the refuge, her leg not able to support her. The woman seemed happy enough as she leaned against him and stared warmly up at his navy blue skin and metallic grey hair.

  Slyke was the messenger, Jesseline had informed me. When he had appeared, materializing inside Shavarra’s living room just before we left, I had nearly had a panic attack. Only royal blood carried that magical ability. Though it made sense, once explained, I was still in disbelief when they told me that all assassins distantly belonged to royal blo
odlines. They were scouted and recruited because of this ability. My tutors clearly skipped that lesson in my history books.

  So Jesseline could do it too, appear and disappear at her will. It’s what made them good assassins. But their indirect bloodlines diluted the power enough that their ability to transport someone or something with them was limited to the weapons they packed.

  I had just nodded. They didn’t have to know that I had never been well practiced enough, or cared enough, to expand my powers to their full potential. I knew it was within me, but I wasn’t strong enough. Yet.

  To my right, Shavarra breathed heavily, supporting one end of a cot on her shoulders. Her cropped shirt lifted just enough to see a large blue bruise, that wasn’t healing as fast at it should, over her ribs. All of her blonde strands were piled in a hastily made bun to keep the hair away from her face. Her attention was focused on the snow covered path. Perhaps planning her steps helped to distance her mind from the pain.

  “Here,” I stopped her. “Let me carry him for a little bit.” The man on the cot was unconscious, so he clearly wouldn’t mind.

  “No, you already have enough to carry.”

  Shavarra was sometimes too strong for her own good. But mostly, too stubborn.

  “You’re injured,” I flicked my finger at the hem of her shirt, meaning to point out the bruise. The material rose enough to reveal the indigo bra underneath. My lips lifted into a cheeky smile.

  “I’m bruised,” she panted. “Not injured.”

  “Oh come on, Princess, move over.” I snuck a shoulder under the cot, bumping my hip against hers to move her out of the way. The weight of the cot combined with the weight of the backpack in a way that made my bones feel like they were moaning in protest. I wouldn’t tell her that.

  Her cheeks flushed and she moved, playfully swatting my arm. For a moment she walked in silence next to me, glancing from the ground to my face. In turn, I watched where I was stepping, then briefly made eye contact with her. She was amusing sometimes.