The Witch King

by H. E. Edgmon

  When I do, it’s only to roll my way out of his arms, throw my feet over the side of the bed, and jump up.

  “G’mornin,” he drawls at my back. “You sleep okay?”

  “Morning. I slept fine.”

  I snatch my phone from the bedside table and frown. Still nothing from Briar.

  This wouldn’t be concerning most of the time. She can leave her phone lying on the charger for days without care, completely lacking my rabid need for constant entertainment to fill some void. She’d rather be outside getting her hands dirty.

  But she knows I’m in another country, on another continent, with some queens who maybe wanted to kill me. She knows I’m worried about her being left there without me to look out for her. Why wouldn’t she text me back?

  My concern must be bleeding out all over my face, because Emyr asks, “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know. I haven’t heard from Briar since we landed in Bogotá.”

  He’s up and grabbing his own phone from the dresser immediately. “I’ll get in touch with Clarke. I’m sure they’re probably together.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” I stare at the screen a moment longer before shooting off another text, just a series of question marks, double checking that the ringer’s on the highest volume, and setting it down. “When are we getting out of here?”

  “Should start getting ready and head down to say our goodbyes. We’ll need to be at the airport in a few hours.” Emyr sets his own phone down and turns back to me. Tentatively, as if worried I might bespell him, he reaches out one hand for my arm. I think he might be going to stroke his knuckle down the ragged scars trailing from my wrist to my elbow.

  I step back before he can.

  His hand falls limply to his side. “Did I...have I done something wrong?”

  Shit. I don’t want to do this. “No. Not any worse than usual.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  He stares at me for a long moment and then nods, reaching up and twisting his fingers through his curls. “I just want to understand what the rules are.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Sometimes you like me, and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes I can touch you, and sometimes I can’t. I just want to understand where the boundaries are, so I don’t cross them.” He holds his palms open at his sides, a surrender. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

  He isn’t being an asshole. He’s being a perfect gentleman, and I want to stab myself in the neck.

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” I move over to my suitcase and pop it open.

  “Yes, you do.” Emyr moves up behind me and presses his hand down on the suitcase to close it. I note that he’s careful to keep his body from brushing mine, no matter how close we are. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Just say whatever it is that’s on your mind. Just let me know. Help me.”

  “Help you?” I wheel around, eyebrows rising, throat catching. “You forced me to be here. You dragged me away from the life I was trying to build, to come here and be your perfect biological match, and now you’re asking me to help you?”

  He looks at me like I’ve attacked him. He steps back, wings drooping down toward the floor, eyes soft and molten. “I thought... I didn’t realize you were still angry about that.”

  I’m not, really. I’m not angry.

  I want to be. I really, really want to be angry at him, because being angry at him would be so much easier than what I actually am right now.

  “Yeah, well, I have plenty of anger to go around. For you, and the Guard, and all the other fae who treat witches like shit.” And for myself. I’ve got plenty of anger saved up for myself.

  “You know I’m on your side!” Emyr throws his hands up. “What else can I do? How else can I prove to you that I want to protect the witches? Would you like me to break fae law—again?”

  I don’t know what else he could do. He’s trapped in the contract as much as I am. Maybe more so, because of his goddamn bond. What more could he do to show me he wants what’s best for my people? That he isn’t like his cousin? The cousin I’ve made a deal with. The cousin who’s made it perfectly clear he has no problem doing something terrible if he doesn’t get what he wants.

  My chest hurts.

  “Please,” Emyr says when I’ve been quiet for too long. “Tell me what you want from me.”

  What do I want? Not just from Emyr, but in general. What do I want?

  I flounder, tongue twisting behind my teeth, before finally blurting out, “Do you even want to be king?”

  Emyr can only stare back at me. Clearly, that wasn’t what he was expecting.

  I wasn’t expecting it from me, either. But here I am. And now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. “You know I don’t want to sit on the Throne.”

  Actually, he can’t know that, because I don’t even know that anymore. I could do some good for the people of Asalin, I think. I might not be a great person, I might even be a terrible king, but I could help. I could be better than Derek.

  But Derek’s threats linger like smoke in the back of my mind. He’s never said it outright, but I think he’d kill to be king.

  What do I want? I want to protect people. I want to protect Emyr. From Derek. From myself. From the deal I stupidly, selfishly made.

  I babble on. “And you didn’t choose this life any more than I did. Is it really what you want? To spend the rest of your life bound in politics, fighting with the Guard—is that really who you want to be? Because I’m looking at you, and I... I don’t think it is.”

  He looks down at his claws.

  “I think the you who lives in the cabin in the woods, the you who helped me break the witches out of jail, and reads graphic novels about aliens? I think that’s the guy you want to be.”

  “You’re still not giving me—”

  “So, let me ask you something.” I cut him off. “You forced me back here to help you secure the Throne. Because you thought you needed me to be king. But what if you don’t...what if you just don’t need to be king? What if I was willing to give myself to you completely, and the only thing I asked in return was that you walked away from the Throne?”

  At that, Emyr raises his eyes.

  “What if we could disappear together? Start over? Fuck Asalin. Fuck the Throne. Let Derek have it. Let someone else fight for it. I don’t care. I want you. I want you. But I don’t want this.”

  My knees threaten to give out underneath me. Emyr stares, openmouthed, like I’ve just struck him.

  “Given the choice, what would you choose? Me or the Throne?”

  It isn’t fair, and I know it isn’t. The truth of my deal with Derek, the fear that something really, terribly awful is going to happen if Derek doesn’t get the Throne, sits at the back of my throat, threatening to spill out. I should tell Emyr. I should tell him everything.

  That I think I love him. That I think I’ve always loved him. But that I fucked up. I keep fucking up, and now I don’t know how to fix it except to run away again.

  I’m always running away. Because I’m weak. See? I really would make a terrible king.

  Emyr’s silence could smother me.

  One moment ticks by. Then another. Silent moments bleeding into one another until they’re one long stretch of quiet that holds my unspoken answer.

  By the time Emyr finally manages to mumble, “It isn’t that simple,” it doesn’t matter, because I already know.

  “Yeah.” I nod, looking away. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

  Because I’m a coward, I still don’t tell him. But I know I have to. Sooner rather than later, I’m going to have to face up to everything I’ve done. For the first time in my life, it’s time for me to fight to make things right, instead of disappearing.

  Emyr deserves that m
uch from me. All of Asalin does.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TO BE SEEN AS I AM

  By the time we make it back to Asalin, I still haven’t heard from Briar. Emyr got a single text back from Clarke saying she would go check on her, and then nothing more from her, either.

  I have every intention of having a hard conversation with Emyr. Every intention of opening myself up and bleeding all over the metaphorical place. But only after I’ve made sure my best friend isn’t sprawled out dead in a ditch somewhere, that the women in my life aren’t being picked off by a magical serial killer.

  Emyr calls after me when I practically tuck and roll out of the car as it crawls to a stop at the palace steps. I turn my head and raise my eyebrows.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  Because I’m gay and pathetic, I almost tell him yes. What I actually do is give a quick shake of my head and take off. Being around him hurts. And I need to focus.

  Briar isn’t in our bedroom, though I expected as much. Her phone is, though. I pluck it from its resting spot on the bedside table. She’s got seven unread texts from me, one from her mother, one from a number I don’t recognize and that she doesn’t have saved.

  POCKET GOBLIN

  we just landed, thank fuck.

  i don’t think i like first class as, like, a concept.

  eat the rich, basically.

  maybe some of the rich can be saved. these queens are probably loaded but they’re not terrible.

  gonna head to bed soon. text me when you see this, please. love you.

  ??????

  okay, hey, you’re really starting to freak me out, bri.

  I try not to be too indignant about my contact name. I’ve bemoaned it plenty of times. She maintains it’s cute.

  MAMA

  Promise me you’re being careful. You don’t know what they’re capable of, even the ones you call friends.

  Well, that’s...cryptic. I try and scroll up to read the rest of the conversation, but there’s not much. Only texts every few days, one or two at a time, Nadua checking in and Briar confirming everything’s okay. More often than not, they talk on the phone. I wonder what they talked about during their last call.

  I haven’t had time to sit and think much about Nadua since everything blew up and I found myself headed back to Asalin. I haven’t had time to sit and ruminate on her reaction to Emyr, the steadiness of her hand on the shotgun, the complete and utter lack of surprise as she sized him up.

  But reading the message now, I have to ask again. What does she know? What more might Briar have told her?

  My damn head hurts.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER

  Why are you ignoring me? :(

  There’s one other message from the same number, from the night before, the last message it looks like Briar actually read.

  UNKNOWN NUMBER

  Hey, dollface. (: It’s Jin. Clarke finally managed to smuggle my phone out to me. Can we talk?

  Huh. That’s interesting.

  There’s nothing in any of the messages that tells me where Briar might’ve disappeared to. I don’t know if that should make me feel worse, but it sure as shit doesn’t make me feel any better.

  My beloved black hoodie is clean and folded on top of the dresser, so I snatch it up and tug it on before shoving Briar’s phone in the front pocket. I don’t know why. Like maybe at some point, someone will send a message that gives me an idea of where she might be. I pull a pen from her stash of art supplies tucked under the bed and rip off a piece of sketch paper to leave a note on her pillow.

  Where are you?

  Meet me at the cabin tonight.

  Please.

  The rest of the castle feels too normal. Service workers—maids, tailors, butlers, almost all witches—bustle to and fro. I pass Guardspeople and Committee members as I head for the castle’s exit again, each of them glancing in my direction with expressions ranging from a hint of concern to blatant hatred.

  Right. I expected that. I’d worried about Derek piecing together I’d been behind the witches breaking out, and that he and his people would have it out for me now. But in the midst of everything else, somehow I’d managed to forget.

  And speaking of Derek.

  “Wyatt Croft!”

  That lyrical voice sounds a whole lot less so when he barks my name down the hallway. I stop only long enough to turn my head over my shoulder and catch sight of him, shoulders pulled back, mouth set in a furious line, blue energy in convulsions around his body.

  Nope. Do not have time for this. Gotta find Briar. I wheel around and pick up the pace, desperate to make my way into the woods. Maybe she went to see the peryton again. Maybe she and Boom are curled up together in Emyr’s cabin right now. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

  Fingers dig into my arm so hard I can’t help but to yelp. It feels as if my bicep nearly disconnects from my shoulder as I’m yanked back. Derek slams my body into the nearest wall and inverted stars, little bursts of black spots, erupt in my vision as my skull cracks against stone.

  “Don’t you dare walk away from me, witch,” Derek snarls, horns shooting ramrod straight atop his head. He’s managed to trap me in the one deserted hallway. His wings flare out to either side of him. “Who do you think you are?”

  I think, No one. But fire burns underneath my skin and black magic slides its way between our bodies like a shield and I say, “If you don’t get your hands off me, I’m gonna be the guy who turns you into pâté.”

  Unicorn Boy learned that lesson the hard way.

  Derek’s lip comes up over his fangs in a sneer. “And now you threaten me to my face? I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t. You dropped the charges, I’m a free man, sucks to suck. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to do, and—”

  “No, I should’ve disposed of you long before the trial.” Derek breathes the words right into my face, the overwhelming scent of his cologne nearly choking me. “I knew you would grow up to be a thorn in my side. I never should’ve let you.”

  The weight of his words slams into me so hard I can’t breathe for a moment. I’m standing there, pinpoints of my body already throbbing from his manhandling, and he’s telling me he should have murdered me when I was a kid.

  Was there really a time when I wanted Derek Pierce?

  What is wrong with me?

  “We had an agreement, Wyatt. I did what I said I would do. And what have you done with that good faith, hmm? Are you even trying to uphold your end of our deal?”

  The answer leaves me before I can tame my tongue and force it back down my throat. “Not really.”

  When Derek’s hand squeezes tighter, I feel my bones shift. Pain radiates through my entire arm, and I give a shout of pain, trying to wrest my body away from him, but I can’t.

  “Look at me, Wyatt,” Derek growls, leaning his head closer to mine. “Look at me.”

  I meet those bewitching blue eyes again. His energy snakes along my body, wrapping around my skin, tugging at me as if to pull me closer. I can smell him, that crisp, moneyed, masculine scent.

  Maybe he’s right. We did have an agreement. Briar can wait...

  Wait, Briar can wait? I frown. Something tugs at my subconscious. This isn’t right.

  His energy is all over me.

  Influencing me.

  My stomach drops. Rage builds like an inferno in my belly. “How long have you been fucking with my head, Derek?”

  Fire burns in my palms. Blackness shoots up my fingers, slides into my eyes, and flame bursts to life in my hands. I shove at his chest with as much strength as I can summon in my free hand, and my fingers leave five singed holes in his no-doubt-stupid-expensive button-down.

  Derek doesn’t hesitate, just reaches down to grab my other arm and shove it
back, hard, until my elbow smacks against the stone wall. The cry it wrenches from me reverberates off the walls, filling the hallway with the sound of my pain.

  “Ahem.” A quiet voice clears their throat from down the way, and an older woman in a servant’s uniform blinks at the two of us. “Is everything all right?”

  No, everything is not all right, everything is extremely not all right, but her question gives Derek enough of a pause that I can finally rip myself away from him. I take off for the doors at a sprint, moving as quickly as my legs will carry me, doing my best to ignore the throbbing in my arm.

  Derek’s voice follows me, brushes at my back: “You could have avoided what happens next. Remember that.”

  I don’t have time to think about the threat in his words. I have to find Briar.

  The world outside is warm and still. It’s too nice a day, I think, for what’s going on in my head. Where are the storm clouds, the thunder and lightning, the sun eclipsed in the sky? How can the world go on spinning, pretty and peaceful and utterly unbothered by the fact that every single thing in my life feels like it’s falling apart around me?

  The woods, at least, are dark. The trees press in tight, branches trying to snag my hoodie and jeans as I stomp in the direction of the clearing.

  It’s only when I’ve walked halfway there that it occurs to me: What if Derek has Briar?

  I freeze.

  Is that what’s coming next? Would he do something to her to try and get back at me? To force my hand in some way? What about Clarke? Emyr hasn’t heard back from her, either. Would Derek be willing to hurt his own sister in order to further his agenda?

  The question doesn’t linger for long, because I already know the answer. Derek Pierce would do anything to anyone to get what he wants.

  I have to go back to the castle. I have to find Derek again, demand he tell me what he knows.

  The rest of the world seems to warp in my vision. I turn, but I’m not sure where I’ve turned. My body feels hollowed out, like someone’s reached into me and made a chasm of my chest, a gaping hole where my heart and lungs used to be. I can’t breathe.

  Trees move in my vision, or maybe my vision moves against the trees, the world tipping in a way it isn’t supposed to. I have to find Briar, but I can’t find my own feet. Where am I?