by K. J. Sutton
Nausea gripped my stomach. No, I thought with gritted teeth. You are not going to puke in front of these creatures. I was about to suggest we end the meeting when Chandrelle said, “There is one more matter I’d like to present to our vivacious queen.”
I suppressed a sigh. “Go ahead.”
“You mentioned Gwyn. This cannot be a coincidence, as one of my descendants informed me she’s made camp near one of our doorways.” She paused, probably giving me a chance to explain. I remained silent, my face expressionless, and hoped no one could hear my racing heart. After another moment Chandrelle continued, “She hasn’t attempted to enter, but it has been eighty years since the Wild Hunt returned to Court. It’s common knowledge that Gwyn’s… cooperation with us isn’t entirely willing.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I said dryly. The Tongue shot me a sharp look.
Chandrelle acted as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’d like to suggest a celebration. Gwyn and her riders will be the guests of honor, of course, and the theme of the food and decor will be Welsh.”
The Tongue’s hot breath touched my ear. Despite his bulk, he’d moved silently. “Creiddylad was born in the British Isles.”
Now I understood the irony of calling it a celebration. Chandrelle was clever, I’d give her that. Throwing a party in Gwyn’s name would reassure the bloodlines that she was still on a leash, while at the same time reminding the powerful faerie of what they held over her. The Welsh theme was just a way to create the pretense of welcome… or maybe push the knife in a little deeper. It was probably something I should’ve suggested.
Suddenly I realized the table was waiting for my response.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t.” Even as I said the words, I tried to think of a reason. What if this supposed celebration only pissed Gwyn off more, and she did something drastic? What if she used the opportunity to kill me?
She could’ve done that already, logic pointed out. That was true. Collith believed there was a reason she hadn’t moved against me yet. Maybe I could discover why at this feast.
Despite my unenthusiastic response, Chandrelle accepted it. As she continued discussing the upcoming party, I felt something push inside my mind. Before I could panic, the Tongue began to speak. His voice had a distinctly oily feel to it. Micah is right, isn’t he? he asked. The king did die. But he was brought back, somehow. That is how your voice rings with truth when you claim he’s alive, and why we never feel him anymore. But what of your mating bond? Did that survive?
I didn’t look in his direction. I didn’t answer. We might’ve gotten more friendly lately, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. The Tongue knew he was right, though, because I felt his certainty as he retreated. Then I was alone in my head again. Chandrelle’s voice became louder, as if I’d just tuned in to a radio station.
Anxiety rushed through me. Would the Tongue use his new knowledge against us? What if his display of benevolence after Shameek’s funeral had been an act? I clenched my hands, grateful they were hidden beneath the table.
I tried to catch the Tongue’s attention as everyone left the room, but he appeared deep in conversation with Eamon. Damn it. I wiped the frustration from my face and turned to acknowledge Yarrow, who had been our hostess for this meeting. She swept into a dramatic curtsey, her ringlets bobbing, and told me sweetly that it was an honor. Another excellent liar—not a single muscle in her face twitched as she said the words.
With Nuvian leading the way and Lyari bringing up the rear, Finn at my side, we filed out the French doors someone had gone through a lot of trouble to install down here.
The instant we were in the passageway, Nuvian whirled on me.
“Are you trying to make my job harder?” the faerie snarled. He put his face so close to mine that I could smell him, a combination of sweat and leather. Apparently he’d taken my promise to heart, because the fear I could usually sense around him was gone. Lyari appeared next to me, and Nuvian’s gaze darted to her, taking note of this. Something like surprise shone in his eyes.
“Oh, relax,” I snapped, losing the last of my patience. “Most of them are too cowardly to actually make a move against me.”
For a moment, Nuvian was silent. The air thickened with his anger. Another whisper of unease went through me, and I lifted my chin to hide it. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Nightmare,” Nuvian said at last. “I’m good, but even I can’t protect you if there’s an uprising.”
The fight seeped out of me. It was obvious in my voice as I said, “There won’t be. As I’ve told you before, Collith is coming back. I just need to buy him a little more time.”
The faerie’s doubt was like a perfume. I turned away, closing my ears to whatever response he gave. I considered paying a visit to Nym or Naevys, but I’d had enough of faeries today. Even the ones I liked. I started in the direction of Collith’s rooms, my fingers brushing the ridge of fur along Finn’s back.
Ten minutes later I emerged from behind a privacy screen, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Lyari automatically moved toward the door again.
“We’re not leaving quite yet,” I told her, walking over to the small room that housed Collith’s book collection. Finn stayed in his spot, but his bright eyes tracked my movements.
The smell of dust and old paper greeted me as I stepped over the threshold. There was no form of organization to Collith’s library—not alphabetical, or by subject, or even date—so it didn’t matter where I looked. I started toward shelves in the farthest corner. Gwyn of the bloodline Nudd, Collith had said when we spoke the night of my birthday. Maybe my survival was in the story of her bloodline.
Lyari watched from the doorway. “What are you looking for?” I heard her ask.
“Anything I can get my hands on about Gwyn,” I muttered. There was a leather-bound tome on the bottom shelf. I pulled it out, using both hands because of its substantial weight, and opened it to a random page. The spine creaked like the bones of an old person. Damn it. It was just a record of the Court’s finances, dating back to 1877. This could be useful the next time I had trouble falling asleep, though.
Seconds ticked by and Lyari didn’t respond. Her continued silence made me turn, and something about her expression betrayed her doubt. “You think it’s pointless, too,” I stated. It wasn’t a question.
For the first time since I’d met her, Lyari hesitated. From how slowly she spoke, I knew she was choosing her words carefully. “No one has ever survived the Hunt, Your Majesty.”
“Then why bother guarding me, at this point? If it’s so inevitable?” I demanded, holding the book tightly. The fact that Lyari—fierce, proud Lyari—was willing to give up sent a bolt of terror through my heart.
The faerie opened her mouth as if she was going to answer, but nothing came out. After a moment, her mask slid back into place and she looked like the other Guardians. Alert. Cold. Disinterested. “Are you finished here?” she asked instead.
I knew if I stayed, Lyari would stay, too. She would pass the hours standing ramrod straight, listening for potential threats, even though the room was protected by a spell. I’d probably be back tomorrow, anyway. A sigh stuck in my throat as I put the enormous book back. “Finished for now, at least. Let’s go.”
Finn looked asleep when I walked out, but the instant he heard my footsteps his eyes snapped open. He got to his feet and followed us to the door. It opened with a slight scraping sound. There were two Guardians in the passageway, and neither of them moved or blinked while we passed.
More time passed in the dark, but it was unmarked by urgency or conversation. The torches crackled and our shoes made soft sounds against the dirt. It wasn’t until we reached the surface that I faced Lyari again. We stood just beyond the door, in a smattering of shadow and dying sunlight. Finn must’ve spotted something in the trees, because he was off like a shot. “Nuvian has guards out there, right? Waiting to follow me home?” I asked.
“Yes,” my Right Hand said curtly. She already knew what
was coming.
“Then why you don’t you—”
“—take the night off,” Lyari finished. “Did you miss the part where I promised the Seelie King I would never leave you alone?”
“Okay, your first mistake was promising Laurie anything. But between Finn and a dozen faerie warriors, I’ll hardly be alone. Look, it’s been one hell of a week. After meeting an ancient huntress who’s been sent here to kill me, enduring that disastrous birthday dinner, and going to my first therapy session… I just need to process. I want to walk through the woods and forget that I’m the Unseelie Queen for a while. Will you let me do that?”
She didn’t approve, I could see that plainly. She was Lyari, a faerie who valued being strong above all else. But I thought there was strength in admitting that I’d been affected by the past few days.
Maybe some part of Lyari secretly agreed, because she made a weary sound of defeat. “I will check my phone every hour—” she started.
“I’m living with a werewolf, a Nightmare, and a faerie. If anything happens, I’m sure we can manage.”
Lyari didn’t bother to say goodbye; she just glared at me and sifted out of sight. I turned around and scanned the trees, but Nuvian’s warriors were on top of their game tonight. Nothing moved, not even my werewolf. For the first time in days, I was beneath open sky with no one else around. Dusk shone through the spaces between dead branches. I walked over leaves and ice, staring toward that fading light. I knew I needed to consider the real possibility that Gwyn might kill me. Not right now, I told myself. Right now, I would watch the sun complete its journey, and try to enjoy my own.
But less than a minute later, a sound reached my ears—a cry that was not human. My head swiveled, and beneath a nearby aspen, I spotted movement. There was something small and struggling at the base of the tree. Wary of fae tricks, I edged closer on silent feet, keeping my breathing low and even.
When I saw it was a fox, the dread left me in a whoosh. I hurried over to it, straining to see in the thickening darkness. Shock vibrated through me when I saw the reason for the creature’s mewling—someone had set out a trap, and one of its paws was caught in those cruel, glinting teeth.
As I approached, the fox had gone completely still, save for the rapid breaths it took. When the silence grew long, it let out a faint whine. This jarred me into action, and I got down on my knees. The fox recoiled, but the trap stopped it from going anywhere and it shrieked with pain. I guessed from its size that it was young, and I could see ribs moving beneath the thin, dirty fur.
Focus, an inner voice instructed, sharp as a whiplash. I turned my attention to the trap. Within moments, everything else faded away. The trap’s design was uncomplicated, with two jaws, two springs, and a round trigger in the middle. It was made of rusted metal and secured to the ground by a chain.
Speckling the dirt and snow around this chain were ruby drops, and it was clear that the fox had been trying to pull free for quite some time. I knew that if I didn’t succeed in one attempt, I could cause more damage to its mangled leg. I put my hands close to the jaws in order to achieve the most leverage, and the fox lunged at me as soon as I was within reach.
“Fuck.” I jerked back and held my hand against me. Its bite had been startlingly vicious and strong, reminding me that this was not a pet, but something wild and afraid. Though I trembled from the pain, it didn’t deter me—once we were past puberty, Fallenkind didn’t need to worry about things like rabies or getting sick. I put my hand back on the trap, and this time the fox remained frozen, quivering in fear. I took a brief, bracing breath and applied force to the springs.
The teeth sprang open. The fox instantly veered for the safety of trees and shadows, but it stumbled on that injured foot. I caught it without thinking. Claws latched into my skin. Agony radiated through my chest, but I didn’t care—the fox now clung to me as though I were a ship on a raging sea. I reveled in the feel of its heartbeat against my palms. Its poor paw dangled uselessly to one side, and the fox tried in vain to lick it.
“This pain is temporary,” I whispered. Its golden eyes watched my mouth with interest. Encouraged, I got to my feet and started back toward the house, releasing a string of words the entire way. The fox learned about Granby and Bea’s. When I ran out of things to say about these, I told the creature about my childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian. All the while, Finn wove through trees and pockets of darkness, his bright tail swishing. I was so focused on the fox that I hadn’t noticed him coming back.
Minutes later, I was home. I struggled to hold the fox in one arm as I fumbled with the doorknob. Finn stood on my other side. He was still in his wolf form—turning back wasn’t a swift or tidy process—so all he could do was watch. At last, I got the door open and hurried inside. My werewolf brushed past me, the tips of his fur covered in snow, and plopped down on the living room rug. His tongue lolled to the side. I kicked my boots off, and the smell of recently-fried taco meat wafted through the air.
Clattering sounds came from the kitchen. I went to the doorway and watched Emma, who hummed a jaunty tune while she filled the dishwasher. She didn’t notice me, but it would’ve been impossible not to notice her—in the handful of hours I was away, Emma had died her hair orange. Presumably, she’d been going for red, but the result was candy corn orange. I almost burst out laughing. Instead, I pressed my lips together and waited for the old woman to turn in my direction, wary of scaring her. The fox was not feeling so patient, however, and stirred restlessly in my grasp. The movement disturbed its leg, and the small creature yipped.
Emma screamed and spun around. With one hand she brandished a wooden spoon and the other pressed against her chest. When she realized it was me, Emma let out a strangled gasp. The spoon fell against her thigh as her arm dropped. “Oh, thank God, Fortuna! I thought you were a serial killer. There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. What’s that?”
She’d noticed the bundle in my arms and came closer to investigate. When the fox yipped again, Emma jerked back, her eyes round as saucers.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t get us a pet fox. I found it in a trap. There’s a place nearby called the Greenwood Wildlife Rehabilitation Center, and I thought I’d head there in the morning.” Adjusting my hold, I glanced toward the living room—the TV was off and, for once, no one sat on the couches. Cyrus was probably at the bar, and Damon had undoubtedly fallen asleep while he was convincing Matthew to do it. “Is Collith here?”
Emma walked to the table, where there was a joint resting on a plate. She picked it up and took a lighter out of her pocket. “Yes. He’s in his room. I’ll be outside if you need me, honey.”
I caught her peeking at the fox again as she passed. I crooned nonsensical words of comfort to its whiskered face, then walked carefully down the hall toward Collith’s room. We were long overdue for a conversation about the Unseelie Court. These past few weeks, I’d been keeping things from him—namely, the fae’s suspicion that I had murdered their precious king.
They weren’t wrong, but that was beside the point.
I’d wanted Collith to heal on his own time, without any pressure or obligation. But he needed to know what was said at tonight’s council meeting; something told me Thuridan and Micah’s accusations were only the beginning.
When I arrived, Collith’s door was open and there were no lights on. Had he gone to sleep already? I stopped in the doorway and peered into the darkened room.
Collith sat on the floor. His back was to the bed, his legs stretched out before him, and his eyes were closed. There was no moonlight coming through the window, but light shone from behind me. It slanted over the carpet and onto Collith’s jeans. He wore nothing else.
“Meditating?” I ventured.
“Trying to,” the Unseelie King said. His eyes were still closed as he asked, “Would you like to join me?”
I glanced down at the creature in my arms. “Uh, maybe next time.”
The fox whined, then, and Collith’s
eyes snapped open. He saw the bundle I was holding and raised his eyebrows. “What do you have there?”
“Look, honey, I got us a new pet!” I chirped, leaning down so Collith could see. It was obvious from his expression that he couldn’t decide if I was joking or not. Before I could mess with him a little more, the fox started squirming again. Its sharp cry of pain pierced my eardrum. Wincing, I straightened and took a few steps back. “It has a bad leg. I’m taking it to a wildlife center in the morning.”
“Fortuna and her strays,” Collith murmured. There was something in his voice I didn’t understand.
Clearly tonight wasn’t the time to have a conversation. I tried to hide my frown as I said good night, but Collith had closed his eyes again. He didn’t say anything else. I left his room and creaked my way down the hall again. In the bathroom, I took Cyrus’s first aid kit out from beneath the sink. The fox didn’t make another sound—it just watched with yellow, unblinking eyes. Holding a white plastic box in one hand, I finally headed for my room.
“This one is mine,” I whispered to the small creature, pushing the door open with my foot. “I know it’s a little plain. Maybe I should add some color for Cyrus, before we move out, huh?”
Its ears twitched, as though the fox were truly listening to my meaningless string of words. Steeling myself for the possibility of getting bit again, I set the first aid kit down on the bed. Just as I undid the latch, I heard the front door close. I thought it was Emma coming inside after a smoke. But then I saw Collith through the window, crossing the yard in urgent long-legged strides. He went into the barn, and a moment later it flooded with light. He moved past one and I caught a glimpse of his brooding expression. Even after he was gone, I stared at that bright pane of glass, wishing I could use our mating bond to know what he was feeling. The mating bond that no longer existed. Because of me.
The fox released a sound very much like a sigh.
As I turned away to open the first aid kit, I let out a sigh of my own.