The Winged Assassin

by Gwynn White

  That didn’t sound right.

  “Bonded? I thought that was limited to fae couples.”

  “A different type of bonding,” Klaus said softly. “This is between a master and servant. That’s how Nyx explained it. He told us how he and Averin had bonded back when Nyx was a hatchling. Averin had visited Nyx’s nest, looking for a messenger sprite. Apparently, spirit touched spirit, and they chose each other simultaneously. According to Nyx, they’ve become so close, he now takes care of everything in Averin’s home. He said he’ll never serve anyone else for as long as he lives.”

  Her heart dropped. “That means Ildrim answers to no one but Averin, doesn’t it?” They all nodded.

  “Not even the King of Zephyr can command him,” Suren almost whispered, as if he knew how much the words must pain her.

  “Nyx also said there are other birds available at the palace who will take us anywhere we want to go in Zephyr—without royal permission.” Klaus sounded bleak that Averin had lied to her.

  Her stomach looped, not with desire but with nausea. She shook her head to will it away, but it refused to shift. Her sheath protecting Averin’s feather hung heavy at her side.

  “It’s not really a lie,” Klaus said softly. How well he knew her that he could read her thoughts from nothing more than the horror twisting her face. “He just masked the truth.”

  “That makes it sound even worse.”

  Suren sighed. “Stasha, I’m the same age as Averin. For as long as I’ve known of him, Prince Averin of Zephyr has always managed to walk a tightrope of absolute ruthlessness tempered by honor. He’s known throughout the kingdoms for it. Things in Zephyr have to be truly dire for him to sink to such depths.”

  Her head had begun to pound again. She rubbed her temples as she considered their options.

  Feral Fox picked at a fleck of silver in the wall. “It answers a question that’s puzzled me since Angharad.”

  When he said nothing more, she snapped, “And that is?”

  He turned his muddy brown eyes on her. “How the head of the Zephyr military and his two most powerful generals had time to roam the continent in search of you.” He dipped his head. “No disrespect intended, but no matter how powerful you are, surely that was a job for his troops? A Radomir, perhaps?”

  The strangeness of Averin’s actions had never crossed her mind. Yet it was true. King Darrien Pyreaxos hadn’t come snooping around the Atrian fighting pits looking for her.

  Feral Fox continued. “It makes sense now if Zephyr is in as much trouble as Suren suggests it is.”

  She closed her eyes to ward off that awful truth. If Zephyr was truly in so much difficulty, who would help her destroy Darien?

  Klaus shuffled, breaking the numbing silence. She looked up at him. “In some good news, the healer said if she works on my leg every day, I could be walking properly by the Hiding of the Moon. That’s just three weeks away.” Klaus frowned uncertainly, like he didn’t quite believe it possible.

  She brushed the rippled skin on his neck tenderly. “Don’t underestimate the power of magic. It practically brought you back to life after the fire. Why shouldn’t this work too?”

  He brushed his loose curls off his forehead and fixed her with piercing brown eyes. “Stasha, it’s my turn to protect you. If there’s any risk to you, no matter how slight, we leave here immediately, regardless of my leg.”

  Not in a billion years. It didn’t matter what the what the Zephyr royals tossed at her, she’d stay until the Hiding of the Moon if that meant Klaus could be healed. But knowing Klaus—and Suren and Feral Fox—they’d resist if she argued, so she nodded mutely.

  Klaus gave her a wan smile. “You’ve dragged us all the way here; now show us your home.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. It’s nothing like Averin’s.” She lumbered to her feet and stumbled down the stairs into the greenhouse—or, rather, to use its fancy name, the solarium. “One good thing–the flowers. Aren’t they lovely?”

  Feral Fox and Suren looked at each other and shrugged. “Sure,” Suren said, clearly humoring her. Only Klaus smiled.

  Not sure whether to dread or be excited about what Maelia had done to her home, she pushed past them into the octangular room.

  It had changed color. She sucked in a breath at the sparkling saffron-yellow walls encircling a pale-gold carpet. It took her straight back to Averin’s carpet she’d ruined. Heart pounding, she took in the pair of golden, intricately carved two-seater sofas perched on it. Bright red, blue, yellow, and green flowers had been embroidered into the silk that covered their seats, backs, and a sliver of padding on each ornate arm. The room was magnificent. And totally ridiculous. She’d grown up with rough, practical furniture that could take a beating. She could scuff these spindly sofas just by looking at them. Also, magic came at a price, and someone had picked up the bill for this furniture—Maelia, perhaps. It seemed like a tragedy to spoil something that must have cost so much.

  Klaus gulped, took a step onto the carpet, and sunk onto the closest sofa.

  “Off,” she commanded. “They’re for looking at. We sit on the floor.”

  He shot up and stood to attention on his good leg. Feral Fox attempted to brush the creases out of his new tunic. Even Suren pulled himself up.

  A skirt rustled behind her. “My lady, I was beginning to worry about you.” Maelia floated in the doorway, blocking the view to the room behind her. Even without drapes, Stasha couldn’t see through the golden glass walls. “I have your clothes ready for you. And your bath has been drawn.” She shifted enough for Stasha to see an enormous brass bed covered with a golden quilt and a pile of blue and red cushions.

  Klaus pushed past Maelia. He sucked in a breath and then lumbered to the bathing room. “No way! The whole battalion could fit into that tub and still have room for more.” Eyes the size of full moons, he turned to her. “Seems to me, someone is being bought.”

  Surprisingly tactless for Klaus.

  Maelia cleared her throat. “My lady, I’m sorry to rush you, but the time.” She waved at a fancy clock set in a tall, golden case that matched the sofas in the octagonal yellow parlor.

  “We’ll leave you,” Suren said quickly, like he knew he didn’t fit in the fancy surroundings.

  Neither did she.

  Klaus leaned in and surprised her by planting a kiss on her cheek. “Come back as soon as you can.” He, Suren, and Feral Fox almost ran out of the room. She waved them goodbye, not stopping even when they were gone. Heavy to the core, she forced a bright smile and sashayed to her bathroom.

  Maelia darted to her. “About the time, my lady.” She glanced at the clock. “It will chime on the hour. Can you be bathed and dressed by then?”

  That was less than thirty minutes away.

  Suspicion pricked in Stasha’s chest. “What’s the rush?”

  “Her Majesty’s instructions, my lady.” This had to have something to do with the party in the carnival. Over her dead body….

  “I’ll be done when I’m done.” She yanked the bathroom door closed, forcing Maelia to flit away. She turned slowly to see her battalion-sized bathtub.

  More than half of the sapphire-colored room was given over to a sunken bath tub. Maelia had certainly taken the hint of Stasha’s affection for Averin to extremes. Given how annoyed she was with Averin now, it couldn’t have been a worse choice. That Averin needed dealing with wasn’t in question. The how was another matter. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she tried to gather her thoughts. They were addled by the heady, sweet scent of waterlilies. It billowed up from the steaming pink water, which tumbled out of one wall and into the tub, a tub half filled with shimmering water and pink petals.

  Despite how much Averin had hurt her, she cooed with delight. Almost nervously, she shrugged off her rags and tiptoed down two short stairs. A huge breath and she lowered herself into the tub. Her muscles groaned with relief as the silky, hot water washed over them. She lay back, only to have her butt slide across the huge
tub. Thoroughly dunked, she spat out a mouthful of water. So much for battalion-sized baths.

  Her water magic gurgled with laughter, and she couldn’t bring herself to reprimand it. Spluttering, she righted herself and propped one leg against the stairs to prevent drowning. Once she was sure she was secure, she closed her eyes and tried to block out her water magic’s joyous shrieks.

  How was she going to avoid the party in the carnival?

  You’re not. A curl of fire swished through the boisterous wave, and her water magic fell silent. It sat upright, listening to its fiery brother.

  You’re crazy if you think I’m going to show support for that evil by putting one foot into that tent.

  Her fire sizzled. Are you a weapon, or is that just a fancy title?

  I’m not going to answer that. She picked up a pink cake of soap and a blue sponge and gave her face a thorough scrubbing.

  Then be a weapon, her water magic hissed. Show them what they’re dealing with. Let them know what awaits Zephyr if they don’t get into line.

  She shivered at the casual malice in her water magic’s tone. “And what ‘line’ is that exactly?” she murmured beneath the splash of her washing.

  If they don’t do as you tell them, we flood this island. Her water magic smirked. Let the Zephyr windbags blow all they want; water tops air. Every time. Why do you think Boa and Averin struggle so much with each other?

  She paused in her scrubbing. It had never occurred to her that an elemental conflict could be at the root of their problem. Had that influenced Averin’s decision to refuse the troops Boa and her father had asked for to wage the battle of the Blue Desert?

  Tosh! Her fire snorted. Power tops everything. The fae with the most power wins. Every time. Our orphan from Askoval has all the power. She’ll win in any fight. Which is why we must go to the party tonight. These puny fae need to see her power. And majesty. And might.

  Her fire magic made a valid point. She’d already set Zephyr talking today. Perhaps it was wise to follow that up with a mighty statement. Where better to do it than in the Zephyr court’s playground? It would also send Averin a reminder of who and what she was, lest he’d forgotten who really wielded the power in their strange relationship.

  She threw the sponge into the grimy bath water—she’d scrubbed every part she could reach—and stood under the waterfall. As she massaged the grit out of her golden-blond hair, she mulled her powers’ conflicting views.

  Was it actually possible to unite the fae royal houses and their kingdoms against Darien? Or would suspicion, rivalry, and conflict continue to win out as it had for the last thousand years?

  A knock sounded on her door. “My lady, I hate to nag, but there are only a few minutes left, and I still need to dry your hair and help you dress.” The door didn’t quite muffle the anxiety in Maelia’s voice.

  She let the clean water rinse her hair. “Have my dress ready.” A fluffy pink towel rested on the edge of the tub. She grabbed it and clambered out. “I’ll braid my hair, so there’s no need to dry it.

  “Braid?” Maelia squeaked. “Surely a more elaborate style, my lady?”

  Towel wrapped around her, Stasha threw open the door and stepped into her lavish bedroom. Four ornately carved cream-colored wardrobes lined one wall. The open doors revealed more clothes, in every color imaginable, than she’d ever seen in one place. On her meadow-sized brass bed lay a long dress. The embroidered silk shimmered in the yellow fae light cast by an exquisite crystal chandelier. Never had she seen such a stunning gown. Her pulse raced with anticipation and dread at having to wear it. “Is that my dress for the party tonight?”

  “Yes, my lady. Fire seemed appropriate.” Maelia wrung her hands. “I hope you like it.” She half turned to the wardrobes. “If not, I’ve made other dresses.”

  That’s meant to be fire? Her water laughed so hard, it almost doubled Stasha over.

  “Thank you,” she said more sternly than she’d intended. “I’m not really a fan of dresses, but this is lovely.”

  Maelia smiled uncertainly, then gestured to the underwear on the bed. “As soon as my lady is ready, I’ll help with the dress.”

  Tell her to leave before I scorch her butt.

  Her fire sounded so outraged, she stuttered, “Maelia, I’ve got this. I won’t let you down.” She eased Maelia through the door and closed it behind her. Maelia didn’t even protest. Clearly, the sprite wished to be gone.

  She dressed in the soft, clean smallclothes Maelia had left next to the dress, then braided her wet hair. At the last twists, she pouted. All she had to tie it with was her ratty leather thong.

  Allow me. A ribbon of bright-red flame curled around the tip of the braid and held her hair together. Now let’s show that sprite what real fire looks like.

  Expecting a show from her fire, she grinned as she slipped the fabulous silk dress over her head. The hem hadn’t even hit the pale-gold carpet when blue and green wildfire roared across the fabric to replace the embroidered swirls. In a cheval mirror, she watched flames shoot up her back into a collar of flame that stood up behind her head like a small peacock tail. If that wasn’t flamboyant enough, a three-foot-long burning train blazed behind her. In all this fiery splendor, not a single spark singed the carpet.

  Jubilant at her magic’s control, she lifted the train and tried to twirl, while watching herself in the mirror.

  Her mouth dropped. With flames swirling across her body, she was a terrifying sight. No wonder even Pyreack fae cowered before her. Add her white heat to it…. She narrowed her eyes at her reflection. If only she could arrange a meeting with Darien. She could possibly end the war without further blood loss, apart from his, of course.

  “Is she ready?” Brock’s booming voice reached her.

  She pulled her eyes away from her magnificence and called, “Just looking for shoes.”

  “There are some gold slippers on the floor next to the bed.” Maelia knocked and opened the door at the same time. “I’ll get them for you.” She was halfway into the room when she did a double take and then froze. “My lady,” she breathed. “The dress… the—the queen.” She gnawed her mauve lip. “I—I’m not sure—”

  Stasha tossed her head back just as blue flame sheathed her hands like gloves. “She did say I was to make my own stuff, so I have.” Trying to keep up her haughty stance, she clawed her toes across the carpet in search of her shoes. They brushed silk. She dragged the shoes closer and buried her feet into two golden slippers. “I’m ready.” Flaming train flowing behind her like a molten river, she glided past Maelia to join Brock, who waited in her parlor.

  Brock’s bushy brown eyebrows fluttered. He cleared his throat. “I’m to take you to Her Majesty.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Arm held out for her, he looked pointedly at her burning hand. “My lady has spirited before?”

  “Ah. Right. My glove.” She addressed her fire. Pull back.

  Her glove burned brighter.

  Brock huffed.

  Maelia shifted.

  Her water magic moaned. Not fair. I’m more powerful than him, and I’ve been totally upstaged here.

  Brock will think I cannot control you, Stasha snarled as a blush tore across her skin. Obey me.

  Her fire crackled. No. You’re a weapon. Not a bauble on some insect’s arm.

  He’s a fairy! How was it possible that she was having this discussion? And we’re supposed to be showing everyone that the different kinds of magic can work together.

  Her flames burned brighter. In fact, they were giving off so much heat, it must have melted the ice clinging to the outside of her glass walls, if the condensation running down to pool on the golden carpet was anything to judge by. Seemed it was her day to ruin carpets. She smiled sweetly at Brock while racking her brain for the words to explain all the craziness away.

  Brock took a step back from the heat. “My lady, His Majesty King Seph of Zephyr does not like to be kept waiting.” He wasn’t returning her sm
ile. “We need to leave now, or we will be late.”

  Maelia clapped her hands, and a cobalt-blue fan appeared out of nothing. She handed it to Stasha. “Maybe Brock Winkleglow will take the other end?”

  At least someone’s brain was working. She shot Maelia a grateful smile as she took the fan. Without opening it, she handed one end to Brock. Eyebrows knotted beneath his horned hair, he took his end. A loud snap, and they were flying to Zephyr’s human-taunting playground and their king.

  The evening was unlikely to end well.

  Brock dropped Stasha onto a narrow, rocky ledge and then spirited away. Waves of sulphurous heat assailed her. Gagging, she doubled over and almost dropped her fan. She righted gingerly and looked around.

  Night had closed in, hiding everything but a bloodred glutinous mass popping and bubbling like soup in a rocky cauldron below her. With no idea where she was or what she was supposed to be doing, she let rip a string of curses.

  “Pit princess, did you have to? I was just telling my father and Rican what a delight you are.”

  Weighed down by her fiery train, she lumbered around to Averin. He stood on the ledge just a few paces away. No weapons in sight, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his black trousers. Despite the dagger of his betrayal piercing her chest, she heaved a sigh of relief to see him. “Where in all the darkness are we?”

  Averin looked her up and down, and his eyes danced. “Love the dress. You’ll fit right in. And as to where you are? I’d think that was obvious. Welcome to the Zephyr carnival. The theme for tonight’s frivolities is fire. In honor of your arrival. Hence the volcano. It’s a glamour.”

  Fire indeed. Her magic scoffed. I’ll show them what real fire looks like.

  No, you won’t. She spoke firmly, like she really believed in the outcome of her command, and then said quickly to Averin before her fire could counter, “How innovative.” She scrunched her nose. “The carnival stinks just as much as I thought it would.”