by H. E. Edgmon
Briar eyes him like she’s not so sure what to make of that, either.
Wanting to talk about anything but this, I ask, “So, how do you do it? The disappearing act there?”
“Hmm? Oh. It’s this.” Again, Emyr holds up his phone and flashes it toward us.
I frown, looking between him and the device. “I don’t get it.”
Emyr holds the phone out to me and, after a moment of hesitation, I take it. At first, I think it’s just an iPhone. It looks close enough to one. But upon further inspection, I realize it isn’t. It’s close enough that no one would be able to tell without holding it in their hand, but it’s heavier. The casing is made from something different than whatever most cell phones are made from—it looks like gold, and I guess there’s a chance it is. Emyr doesn’t have a wallpaper; instead, the touch screen is plain black with a simple analog clock in the center.
“Still don’t get it, dude.”
“The phone carries magic.”
When I glance up at him, he’s grinning. The smile takes me aback, throwing me off balance. He looks so damn happy. He has dimples. The corners of his eyes crinkle.
For the briefest, most ridiculous moment I can see something in my mind’s eye. Emyr’s head turned up to look at the sun, that perfect dimpled smile etched onto his mouth, our hands entwined so I can feel his life pulsing in my palm—
I swallow and look back down at the screen. No. I’m not doing that.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Another pet project. A witch friend of mine is working on it with me. They have one phone, I have the other. The phones were created using Influencer magic. They’re sort of like...vessels. But it’s not all magic. There’s some coding involved, too. We have phone numbers, so we can make calls or send texts. But they can also send me spells.”
“Send you spells?” That doesn’t make any sense. Or maybe I’m just having trouble keeping up.
Emyr holds out a hand for his phone and I set it in his palm, careful not to let my skin brush his when I do. He punches in his pin with his thumb and then shows me the screen again. He’s opened up an app I don’t recognize. The coding is simplistic, but I realize what he’s talking about right away. There’s a list of spells going down the app, each with buttons next to them to Delete or Download.
“Well, shit.” I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s beyond impressive. But I don’t tell him that.
“Like I said, it’s not perfect, but we’re getting there. It’s how I managed to find you actually. They worked up a tracking spell, using the blood from our contract and the GPS system built into the phone.” He sounds proud, praising the nameless witch in a way fae are not known to do.
I’m not swayed.
“So, they just send you these spells through the app, and you can access them anywhere in the world?”
“Exactly.” He grins again.
“So, you’ve found a way to keep the witches literally in your pocket instead of just figuratively.”
Emyr’s smile vanishes.
Briar pipes up for the first time during this demonstration. “So, riddle me this—you’re more than happy to take things from the human world when it suits your needs. The good stuff. But what about the bad stuff?”
He eyes me with annoyance for a moment longer, before he finally drags his gaze to Briar. “What are you talking about?”
“There are people among you who could snap their fingers and give every city in the world clean water, right? You could save the planet from all the evils currently wrecking this place, but you’re only looking out for yourselves. How do you stomach that?”
“Ah.” Emyr looks at me, as if seeking help. I smirk at him and wave my hand in her direction. This is Briar.
“If we overextend our magic, it can have negative effects on the environment.”
“Our environment is already a disaster. You sure your presence here doesn’t have anything to do with that?”
He leans toward her, eyes narrowing. I lean in closer, too, trying to wedge myself between them. I don’t want him getting near her. “I suppose I’ve never considered that. We don’t tend to mingle in human affairs unless necessary.”
“You share a planet with humans. That feels necessary.”
“That is certainly a perspective I hadn’t considered.” Emyr nods, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long before he leans back in his seat again. “Perhaps that is something we can discuss as things move forward. Many things are changing in Asalin. I would like to see them continue to do so—to the benefit of us all.”
After a moment, as if assessing his sincerity, Briar gives a firm nod. She smiles at me, tender and small, reaching over and taking my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
I can feel Emyr’s gaze on me the rest of the ride, but I refuse to look at him. I stare down at my knuckles, fingers threaded with Briar’s. My hands are all bone, long and sharp. Hers are plush and soft. The tips of my fingers are always freezing, like they’re missing the rush of fire they know they can produce. Her grip is warm around mine.
Though I’m not sure how I know, I know the minute we pass from human territory into Asalin. Things feel different here, like suddenly my body is extra alive, nerves thrumming, heart beating harder.
Or maybe that’s the old trauma, making me hyperaware of my surroundings.
The limo’s tires crunch against rocks and twigs underfoot, jostling our bodies back and forth. The forest looming on either side of the winding dirt road is made of a thick cluster of honey locust trees standing nearly a hundred feet tall. When I see a peryton darting through them, I’m certain we’ve arrived. I try and point the animal out to Briar, but it’s gone by the time she twists her head to look.
Suddenly, I’m anxious to get out of the car. To look around and see this place again. How much has it changed? How much did I change it? The idea that I might feel the shock waves of the night I left, that I might see some visual reminder of the worst thing I’ve ever done, doesn’t escape me. It makes my knees shake.
And still, I want to see it all. To stretch my legs and walk this ground. To feel this kingdom under me, around me, and know I’m home.
Home. It’s been so long since I considered Asalin home that the thought strikes me as odd. I was born here. I come from here. But is it home? The gnawing sensation in my gut might be a yes. Or it might mean I should have eaten the free lunch they offered on the plane.
After a few minutes, the village itself comes into view. Here, the dirt road turns to rough pavement that shakes the car just as hard, but in a new way. The first thing I notice are the power lines stretching down the street, a new addition in the years since I’ve been gone. Other than that, things look almost exactly the same.
It’s as if I was never here. As if that night never happened. Time has all but erased me from this place. If only that were true in more ways than one.
The main road is lined with little log cabins with green tin roofs, pushed back so tightly against the tree line they almost disappear as part of the woods themselves. Some of the houses are private homes, decorated with flower boxes in the windows or ugly figurines on the lawn, and a handful of them have cars parked in rock beds out front. Others are businesses, marked by signs hanging from the front doors.
One building appears closed down, lights off inside, two-by-fours nailed in an X across the front door. A sigil I don’t recognize is sprayed over it in red paint, like blood, like a warning. A chill creeps up the back of my neck.
I might not know what it means, but I know what the sign hanging in the window next door is.
To someone who’s never seen the Faery flag before, it wouldn’t be anything special. A rectangle of white cloth with a red hand in the center, surrounded by a pair of black wings. Along the edges is an inscription in the Old Language. I can’t be sure of the word-f
or-word translation, but I’ve been told it means something along the lines of Fae first, Fae forever.
It’s anti-witch dog-whistling, and it isn’t new.
On the streets, fae and a few witches cluster in groups of their own kind. But everyone stops to turn and look in our direction, pointing and calling out to one another or whispering behind cupped hands. I can guess what they’re saying, and I’m betting it’s for the best I can’t hear them.
The people here can’t possibly have anything good to say about me.
Moot, though. I don’t have anything good to say about myself, either.
Eventually, we leave the village behind, and the road becomes dirt again. We make our way up the long winding path toward the castle, my gut aching more and more with each second that passes. Anticipation tightens my lungs until I can hardly breathe. Suddenly, the car is too small. I can’t be in this back seat anymore. I’m going to pass out. As soon as we come to a stop, I jump for the door handle, yank it open, and clamber into the open air.
The drive has delivered us directly to the steps of the palace. Made from mountain stone, each cut with precise magic into massive bricks, it looms hundreds upon hundreds of feet tall, the sharp tops of each turret looking like knifepoints. Ivy and moss have grown together from the roots of the palace to wrap around the walls, draping daintily over balcony ledges and obscuring most of the windows. Carved into the stone above the steps is Vorgaine, Faery’s ancient deity, her face covered in a hundred eyes, her wings tipped with flame. The New York flora has almost obscured her entirely.
To humans, the castle would probably look like an old, broken-down building cobbled together with rocks. Nothing too impressive. But I’m struggling to catch my breath, and I have no idea why.
Briar brushes up against my side, leaning her cheek against the top of my head.
Emyr moves around from the other side of the car to stand in front of us both, blocking half my view of the castle and forcing me to look at him. That unreadable something or other has returned to his expression again. “Welcome home.”
Something inside me shifts in a way I don’t appreciate.
I open my mouth to offer a nasty retort—lest things get too comfortable—but the doors to the castle fling open and cut me off.
Five fae stomp out onto the front steps, their pace quick as they descend. Each wears the red-and-black uniform of the Guard, red pants tucked into black boots, and a thick black jacket that hangs down to midthigh, cinched at the waist with a red rope and emblazoned with red stripes on the chest. Each stripe denotes a different rank in their militia, ranging from one to five. Their hands are covered in black gloves, holes pricked in the tip of each finger to let their claws through.
Iron shackles hang from chains at their waists. The gloves are to make sure they don’t have to touch the cuffs directly. Though it wouldn’t kill a fae, iron would burn like hell if it touched their skin.
Emyr turns to look as they storm toward Briar and me with those shackles.
One of the Guard grabs me by the back of my neck and yanks me forward while another jerks my arms behind my back and presses my wrists together. Cool metal clicks over my skin, holding my hands in place. It doesn’t burn me the same way it would a fae, but it does sting enough to hurt.
“What the fuck?” I demand, struggling to free myself. I throw my body upright, out of the grip on my neck, and press my back into the chest of the Guard behind me, trying to kick the one in front. He grabs my ankles and tosses them toward the ground, putting his hand on my shoulder to hold me in place.
“What are you doing?” Emyr shouts, reaching up to place a hand on the arm of the Guard in front of me. “Release him at once!”
I try to bring my fire to the surface, willfully try to summon my magic for the first time in a long, long time, and it doesn’t work. The shackles render my power dormant. I’m even more useless than usual.
Still, when I see them handcuff Briar, my efforts double. If I can’t curse them, I can bite them. I snap my teeth and turn my head to the side, fangs clamping down on the wrist of the guy touching my shoulder and sinking in as deep as they’ll go, until I can taste the wet, coppery rush of blood against my tongue.
He yelps and yanks his hand back. It gets caught on my fangs and tears, a bit of his skin getting stuck between my teeth. With a snarl, the Guard raises his other hand and brings it down hard against the side of my head. Suddenly, the world is swimming.
“Get your hands off him!” Emyr demands. I can’t see him through the black spots in my vision, but he sounds panicked. “I was told he would be allowed to turn himself in. My parents assured me he would not be taken into custody.”
Finally, a far-off voice responds, one I recognize, though I can’t see through the haze to pinpoint where it’s coming from. “Your parents are not the head of the Guard, Emyr. I am.” Derek almost sounds like he’s laughing. “And by my order, your mate will be put to death.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SELF-APPOINTED HEAD
GAYS OF ASALIN
I don’t have the patience to deal with the fae boys tonight. I’ve just left Emyr at the palace after yet another fight. I don’t understand why we can’t stop fighting these days. He hasn’t changed. He’s as good to me as he’s ever been. He loves me so much, and he tells me often.
But there is something ugly in me, I think. Something wicked growing that I can’t put a name to. When he whispers to me how I will be queen of Asalin someday soon, this ugliness winds its way up my windpipe until I can’t breathe. I find myself lashing out, even when I don’t mean to. I blame him for things that aren’t his fault, not really. He doesn’t understand me anymore. Truthfully, I don’t understand me, either.
Now, headed home alone, I just want to nurse my wounded feelings. Instead, I have to listen to these boys.
They’re all older than me, some by several years. I’ve gotten used to their jeering, their lewd taunts, as I walk home each night from the palace. Emyr tells me every time that I should let one of his Guard walk me home. He doesn’t understand that the Guard can be just as bad, if not worse.
There are so many things about this kingdom Emyr fails to understand.
Tonight, there are five of them, trailing down the winding path behind me, calling out disgusting questions I fight to ignore.
It’s the same disturbing interrogation every night.
Has the prince put it in you, yet? Is that what the two of you do all night up in the castle? Play house? Maybe you could use some extra practice. C’mon, little witch, why don’t you practice with me?
They’re gross, but they don’t scare me. I can handle myself against the boys if I have to. They won’t do anything, anyway. They’re all scared of Emyr. They don’t talk to me like this when we’re together.
Someone grabs my arm. I narrow my eyes, turning my head over my shoulder to glare at the boy touching me.
He’s their ringleader, a skinny little shit a few years older than me, with orange hair and a single straight horn in the center of his head like a freaking unicorn. As he stares down at me, the others start to circle, their wings spreading out to create a dome, trapping me like a bug under a tipped glass.
I’m still not afraid. I am annoyed, though.
“I’m getting sick of you ignoring us,” Unicorn Boy sneers, his grip on me tight. “Why are you such a bitch?”
The others crow their agreement.
“Why are you such an ass?” I counter, snatching my arm to try and jostle free from his hold. It doesn’t work, and his fingers tighten hard enough that pain shoots across my skin.
“That wasn’t very queenly,” he sneers, stepping closer to me. His energy, bright white like bleached linoleum, creeps toward my throat. “We should teach you some manners.”
The other boys continue to hoot and holler.
The redhead shoves me with his
fae strength and speed, the hit so fast my body can’t keep up. My belly hits the dirt and knocks the wind out of me, my lungs suddenly sore.
When the fear finally comes, it hits me all at once, a chill that shoots through my body, icy cold and turning my veins brittle. Adrenaline bursts like bullets into my chest cavity and I struggle against them, kicking and scratching and biting to try and break free.
Their hands are too strong. These fae boys are too big, too powerful. I don’t know how to fight them. I don’t know how to win.
Over the rushing in my ears, I can barely hear their taunts now. But my anger returns. It’s a fire that burns through my body, replacing the chill of fear. It winds its way across my bones, flooding every cell that makes up my system, and whispers, “You are not a queen. You are a witch. Teach them who should be afraid.”
When blackness drips across my arms and eyes, the boys still their advances. When fire buds in my palms and lurches forward like a flamethrower, they give their own cries of panic, scrambling away from me.
I rise. Fury rumbles through me, my familiar anger finally finding a proper target. I will teach the fae who should be afraid.
With a scream, I unfurl a gust of flame from my hands, watching as the tendrils of fire lick across the ground, searching for a safe place to land. They leave scorch marks along the dirt road in their wake. But that isn’t enough. It’s not enough! They need to learn! They all need to learn!
I throw my head back and raise my hands above me. Black magic slides up my arms to my throat. Thick, black smoke surrounds me, billowing from the palms of my hands and draping down like a cloak. Fire shoots from my fingers like fireworks, soaring off in every direction, hunting for targets.
All around me, fae begin to scream as houses are caught in the blaze.
Asalin burns.
* * *
An hour later, my head is still pounding from the Guard’s beating when a Committee member arrives to release us.