The Winged Assassin

by Gwynn White

  “Food,” Rican said briskly. Arms swinging, he strode across the sand, calling over his shoulder, “Averin, I’ve suggested to Stasha that we spend the evening in the Oddity.”

  “It’ll certainly be less crowded.” Averin smiled at her. “Only fae who share your views about humans tend to hang out there. Hence the nickname.” He waved for her to follow Rican.

  Sandwiched between them, she plodded through the sand, past fae who bowed to the princes. Averin soon fell behind, stopped by a cheering crowd. Most of them slapped him on the back or jostled him between them. He laughed with them. Presumably his friends.

  She breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t seem interested in mingling with her—the reason for the celebration and Averin’s victory. Far too many of them were trailed by gaunt humans dressed in fine clothes that matched their fae owners’ costumes. Sunken yet adoring eyes fixated on their masters and mistresses to the exclusion of all else. It was unlikely the starving wretches would see a good meal if it was shoved under their noses. Stasha’s fists clenched, and she bit down hard. The putrid stink of decay and desperation stung her nose.

  “The kiss did that to them, I presume?” she asked Rican, not bothering to keep the disgust out of her voice or from twisting her face. “How long before they die of hunger?”

  Rican didn’t meet her scathing gaze. “They will all be released by royal decree long before that happens. Averin never allows his friends to kill their pets. He’s known for it. And now that he has human guests, his friends will have to think twice about what they do to their humans.”

  Heat flooded Stasha’s head. “And the rest of the pets who aren’t so lucky to have a royal patron? What about them?” Her throat locked on the word “pets.”

  Rican shrugged. “I know you want me to decry this, but there are bigger fish to fry in Zephyr. You’ll discover that tomorrow morning. All of this will pale into—” He cleared his throat. “Not quite insignificance, but it won’t seem quite as horrific as it does now.”

  “Those fish had better be whoppers to justify this.” She pointed at a human licking the rough sand as he shuffled on all fours after his haughty fae mistress, much to the amusement of the onlookers. At least Averin wasn’t part of that group.

  “Trust me; they’re the biggest fish you’ve ever seen.” Rican shot her a flinty look, then sighed. “Stasha, I give you my word. As soon as we’ve fixed the real issue in Zephyr, we’ll tackle this. Together, we can change things.” His voice had dropped so low, she struggled to hear him above the waves and celebrating fae. “Until then…”

  Rican gestured to a bubbling lava pathway that opened between the strange vines, monstrous plants, and fiery-red flowering bushes. The stench of sulfur gave way to a fabulous perfume she didn’t recognize but that would become cloying if breathed too long. Brightly colored birds squawked as they flitted through the leafy canopy. Before joining the lava path, she stopped to tip sand out of her slippers and mope over her blistered feet. “For a glamour, that sand sure chaffs.”

  “The brilliance of the magic. Wait until you feel the lava. The conjurers worked all day to get it hot enough to be uncomfortable but not burn.” He shot her a disarming smile. “Lest we all forget that the Pyreack are the enemy.”

  “The war seems very far away from all this.” She shook her head in bemusement as her first steps into the flowing red-and-black rock proved him right. It was almost unpleasantly hot, and she was used to fire on her skin. “It’s like they’ve all allowed themselves to forget what’s going on in the real world. Almost like Queen Calarel. And how can a glamour this hot be fun?”

  He snorted. “You haven’t started drinking yet. Everything changes after a few goblets of epiphany. As a novice to the carnival’s favorite drink, I suggest you go easy to start.” His white teeth flashed at her. “It’s a powerful hallucinogen.”

  Zephyr was as twisted as Atria, in its own sick way.

  “That was the smoking red stuff your father drank for the toast?”

  Rican nodded. “Epiphany has the advantage of being easily glamoured without losing its…” Another wry smile. “Efficacy.”

  “Ability to drug, you mean?” Rican said he believed in truth, so why hide the reality of what epiphany was?

  He nodded and gave another shrug. Hmm… perhaps it was easier to talk about truth than to live it.

  “You drink it?” What she really wanted to know was whether Averin, Trystaen, and Eliezar slurped the stuff. Why did the thought of them with their minds blown feel so desperately wrong? And nothing she’d seen of, or heard about, King Seph supported this depravity. No wonder Averin was such a riddle—he was a son of Zephyr, the land of contradictions.

  “Do I drink it? On occasion.” Rican sounded bleak. “I’m sure you can appreciate that real escape isn’t always possible.”

  She wanted to scoff that he was a prince. What did he need to escape from? But she didn’t. In that moment, Crown Prince Rican Trysael of Zephyr radiated the same desperate hopelessness as his brother. She gnawed her lip at all the evidence of deep trouble in Zephyr. What did they expect her to do to fix it?

  The humid forest with the cloying sweetness gave way to a glowing tunnel that oozed its way through almost solidified rock. Stiflingly hot, sweat beaded her face as she and Rican joined a throng of fae and their humans pushing their way through the lava. They all bowed to Rican while staring at her with cautious interest. Her flames surged, and the fae skittered back until pressed into the fake rock walls. They must have been excruciatingly hot because sweat streamed down their faces and drooped their ridiculous hairstyles. Even their fancy clothes clung damply to them. Head held high and hips swaying her fiery train, she sauntered between them.

  Rican—also keeping his distance from her—chuckled. “Stasha, no wonder Averin’s eyes glow when he speaks of you. I think you’re going to turn Zephyr on its head.”

  Surprised by the approval in his tone, she slowed. “And that’s a good thing?”

  He rubbed his hands together and muttered. “A very good thing.” Well, well, well. What could that mean?

  The tunnel oozed into a fork ahead of them, with the majority of the fae going left. She and Rican went right. She couldn’t help but ask, “What’s down there?”

  “The labyrinth. Casinos and other kinds of gambling.” He shot her a sideways look. “The last place in the carnival I’d take you.”

  She didn’t even want to imagine what horrors they inflicted on their pets in there.

  They reached a dark shadow in the glowing red wall. Although Rican showed no interest in it, she slowed, drawn by the delicious smell of warm honey cake drizzled with clotted cream and topped with sour black cherries.

  To die for.

  She closed her eyes and breathed it in. When she opened them, an arched doorway had replaced the shadow. It led into a room with a white-clothed table spread with a dozen silver platters of the treat. Her mouth watered, and her stomach roared with—not hunger—need. She had to eat that cake right now, or she’d be hungry for the rest of her life. Hands outstretched, she strode into the room to grab a couple of fistfuls of cake.

  “Oh no! Not you.” Rican grabbed her under both arms and pulled her back. “You don’t want to go in there.” The urgency in his voice and the speed with which he shoved her away from the shadow—the doorway had vanished—made her blink. Not even the flames pouring off her dress stopped him from hustling her along the tunnel with both hands.

  She tried to turn back. “But the cake… I must have some.”

  “I’ll get you every cake in Zephyr once we reach the Oddity. In the meantime, pit princess, keep moving.” Where had Averin come from? And why was he helping Rican drag her away from something so important?

  She lashed out at him. “Let me go.”

  “Not this again,” Averin growled. “Like I said last time, I care too much about you to let you get into trouble—no matter how much you might seek it out.” He shoved her around a bend.

/>   The tantalizing aroma vanished, and she stopped swiveling and squirming to go back to find the source. Suddenly exhausted, she slumped against the lava wall. It sagged behind her but held her weight. She ran a hand across her sweaty face. “What was that all about?” She snorted to clear her head. “Why wouldn’t you let me eat that scrumptious honey cake?” Even now, her mouth watered at the thought of its warm sweetness offset by the sour cherries. Even the pastry shop in Teagarta hadn’t sold anything as delectable as that.

  “It wasn’t real.” Rican’s heavy blond eyebrows bunched. “I’d never have guessed that you’d be susceptible.” He ran a hand through his curls. “This is bad. Really bad. You’ll have to be extra vigilant.”

  Her dress blazed like a burning barrel of lantern fuel, and water raced to her fingernails. Icy claws were held back only by the tree’s whispered command.

  “Please just tell me what that place was.” Fear rattled her voice.

  “We don’t grace it with a name,” Averin said grimly. “It manifests differently to everyone who sees it. But we call the fae who get sucked into it the Lost. It usually only happens in the carnival, and then randomly, although we have had cases in other parts of Zephyr. We think it looks for fae with obscure magic. The next thing, it lures its victim in. No one ever returns.” His eyes darkened. “This is the last time you come near the carnival.” He wrapped a warm hand around hers. “We’re leaving, now.”

  Before he could spirit her out, Rican grabbed both of them. “Averin, no. Stasha is supposed to be invincible. Our people need to believe she can’t be beaten. Everything rides on that.” She barely made out his whisper, and he looked around furtively. This had to very serious. “If news spreads that she was targeted and we ran, it could ruin everything.”

  “Surely Averin’s right, and we should leave? I really had no control over that compulsion. No one saw us, so who will talk?” Heart racing, she glanced around to confirm her assertion. No one shared the tunnel with them. “And what happens if a shadow appears somewhere else on the island when you aren’t around to rescue me?”

  “The wind could whisper to everyone that we slunk out of the carnival with our tails between our legs.” Averin blew out a short breath. “Sometimes it does things just to spite us. Magic is like that.” He released her hand. She fought the urge to reach for him. “As much as I hate this, we can’t show weakness. We have to brazen it out. As for everywhere else on the island, Eliezar will have to work with you on your mental shields. It’s the only way to guarantee your safety in Zephyr.” His eyes narrowed. “But success is predicated on trust, Stasha. I can’t stress how vital that is.”

  A reference to his doubts about what she and her magic had done on the Topaz Run? It had to be. She rubbed her temple—her head throbbed. “Why would air magic target me? Surely it knows I’m here as a friend and ally. Even King Seph agrees on that.”

  “Gray eyes. That’s the first clue,” Rican said bleakly. “It singles you out as something different. Starting tomorrow, I’ll scour the library again. Maybe now that I’ve met you, I’ll have more success in finding out who and what you are.” He brushed her hand with cool fingers. “If that’s okay with you?”

  She nodded. “Klaus… Klaus can help you. He knows everything about me. Or at least about the girl I was.”

  Rican caught Averin’s eye. “The human boy you told me about?”

  “The same. He’s smart and quick to learn. Ideal for this. Let’s get some food into Stasha and then we can leave the carnival without shame. And, Stasha, I meant it when I said you’re never coming back here.” Averin turned icy blue eyes on Rican. “Don’t cross me on this.”

  Rican almost bobbed a bow. “Averin, you know me better than that. I would never risk anything happening to her. We all know what’s at stake.”

  She glowered at both of them. “I’m glad you do, but I’m still totally in the dark, and it’s almost killing me.”

  Averin took her hand, squeezed it, then let go after a quick, shielded glance at Rican.

  She stomped her foot. “Enough of all this craziness. I’m done with this day. Give me food and then let me go back to my rooms to sleep.”

  Averin and Rican frog-marched her to a stone-and-wood cabin at the very end of the tunnel. A signpost hailed it The Askoval Tavern.

  They stepped inside a cozy room lit by a stream of lava flowing through the middle of it, and starlight beaming in through the partially exposed roof. Arching rock walls partitioned it into booths to give diners some privacy. That might have been necessary had there been any other fae in the tavern, but as Averin had intimated, it was anything but crowded. As far as she could make out, they were the only customers.

  She followed Rican to the back of the tavern. It opened onto a pine forest, rich with the scent of resin. He chose a table entirely shielded by stone walls.

  Her butt had barely hit the rustic wooden bench, set before an equally cheerful wooden table, when a blue-and-yellow sylph drifted over to hover expectantly. He must have recognized the two princes because he bowed.

  “Nithrah.” Averin smiled warmly. “Good to see you looking well. How’s the family? Last time I was here, your wife was expecting. Was it twins, like you hoped?”

  The sylph flickered. “Prince Averin is kind to remember such a trifle.” His ethereal blue face split into what she assumed was a smile. “Lemnos and Iloo are almost three months old. My wife is tired but happy.”

  Averin rocked back. “Three months since I was last home.” He shot her a racy smile. “Just as well I was having fun. Or, at least, the last two weeks have been fun.”

  She was too strained to join in his banter.

  “If I may offer my congratulations on your great victory, my prince.” Nithrah’s horned head nodded in her direction. “Welcome to Zephyr, my lady. How might I serve you?”

  Her mouth gaped. She’d heard of such fancy places in Ruepa, where waiters asked what you wanted to eat, then brought it to you. Who knew that she’d end up eating in one with a fae prince at her side, and another sitting opposite her?

  Averin kicked her under the table. “Today, pit princess. What do you fancy to eat?”

  She kicked him straight back, making him smile. “Anything? I can just name what I want?”

  “That’s the way the carnival works.” Elbows on the table, Rican leaned into her. “Even in the Oddity.”

  “What to choose.…” She slumped back in her bench, partly because her flames crackled at Rican, and partly to give herself time to think. It was a testament to her power that her flames still burned unabated. A strong message to the Zephyr fae, told to believe she was invincible. Yet another lie.

  “While you deliberate…” Averin lifted a finger. “My usual, please.”

  “Same for me,” Rican added.

  All three of them looked at her. “I’ll have a slice of warm honey cake, with thick cream, and sour black cherries. And to drink…” She frowned. “A—a spiced chai. Is that possible?” She wiped her clammy hands on her dress—it didn’t help—and smiled uncertainly.

  “That’s dinner?” Rican frowned as his eyes roved down her body.

  “That’s Stasha,” Averin said. “No doubt, she’ll end up eating mine.” He nodded to Nithrah. “Thanks. That will be all.” He settled back against his bench as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  She wasn’t fooled. That tight furrow between his brows was a dead giveaway that Averin was worried. She didn’t know Rican well, but his shoulder and arm muscles were taut. To break the tension, she asked, “What did your father mean when he said we both wear our weapons for the world to see?”

  Averin rolled his eyes. “Leave it to you to hit on the most awkward of subjects.”

  “He brought it up.”

  Rican laughed openly. “She has a point, Av.”

  Averin glanced in the direction Nithrah had gone. “Our food is coming. Let’s talk while we eat.”

  Rican steepled his fingers and waited without commen
t. He might have been the crown prince, but he had no trouble deferring to his younger brother.

  Nithrah sailed into view, bearing a wooden tray that matched the comforting wood-and-stone décor she was so familiar with. It held steaming food. After a head dip at the princes, he placed a crusty pie and roasted vegetables circled with gravy before Rican. It smelt delicious. A mug of ale followed. Next, he laid a platter of pan-fried fish, drenched in fragrant herb sauce, with baby potatoes, and a salad stuffed with fresh vegetables in front of Averin. She was reaching for a strip of Averin’s carrot when Nithrah slid a mug of ale next to his knife and placed a jug of frothy, golden beer in the center of the table.

  “Get your grubby little fingers off my carrots.” Averin swatted her hand, then looked up at Nithrah. “You should have fed the savage first.”

  Nithrah smiled. “I’ll remember for next time, my prince.” He scooped a plate of honey cake off his tray and laid it before her. “I trust it tastes as excellent as you hoped, my lady.” A steaming cup of chai followed. Its heady spices evoked Averin. Even though he sat in front of her, she wrapped her hands around the cup, not wanting to let it go—not even to snag a piece of superbly cooked fish off his plate. Why had she been so silly to order cake when Averin’s dinner would’ve been perfect? Her stomach gnawed at her spine. Reluctantly, she put her cup down to pluck up a soft black cherry. She popped it into her mouth and closed her eyes, marveling at how the sweet sourness puckered her cheeks.

  “Enjoying it, pit princess?”

  She opened her eyes to drink Averin in as she smiled. “Best food I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Is she always so easy to please?” Rican lifted his mug of ale for a toast.

  “I’m a breeze.” She clinked her teacup against it.

  Averin snorted. “A hurricane, more like it.” His tankard joined the toast; then he took a swig of his ale.