Trouble is, how do you say, Hey, girl, your dad’s evil when you have absolutely zero proof?
Spoiler alert: you can’t.
And while this is probably a total setup, it’s also literally the first time Roue’s been hopeful about anything other than us. I can’t ruin it for her. Her father was once a decent guy, and she wants to hold onto that. Who am I to stop her?
I can only hope and pray with her that she’s right and her dad’s not just a swarm of evil Moribund wrapped in a dark Fae skinsuit.
I throw up a don’t-see-me Glamoury as I speed into the center of town. Shimmers of Fae magic tingle across my skin as the illusion settles over me. Now, the only people who’ll be able to see me are the Wakeful.
Thankfully, though, there are very few mortals who can see through Fae magic.
Maybe that’s it, the hopeful part of me urges. Maybe I’m just seeing things the wrong way because he’s a dark Fae, I’m a fair Fae, and we’re genetically engineered to be suspicious of each other.
Maybe.
Whatever happens, there’s one thing I do know: I’ll be right at Roue’s side, fighting for her throne.
I leap a speeding car, touching down like a whisper on its roof, then leaping off like a superhero, light as you please. Wooo-hooo! The night blows past me, chill and biting. My fairy wind blasts with Summer heat, carrying me onward.
While other parts about being Fae are complicated, this part’s awesome.
This part. And Roue. She’ll be an amazing queen. I believe in her.
And whatever happens with her dad, the throne, and the dark Fae, I’ll be here to help her. We’re a team.
“Yes we are, princess,” she sends, catching my stray thought down the soul-bond, even from miles away.
I send back all my love. “Kick butt out there tonight.”
“You know it.” And then her presence fades as she turns her attention to playing her set.
More tingles rush through my body, and just between you and me? They’ve got nothing to do with Fae magic and everything to do with my Roue. I can’t wait to get back to her, to have a calm Christmas Eve with her and Mom, stuffing our faces with pork sandwiches and crispy duck rice. Then end the night with some cuddling and kissing under the tree.
Maybe we can have one day without a Fae catastrophe.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Determination buzzing in my brain, I touch down in the alley behind Little Portugal and head inside. Prudence, my second bestie, looks up from behind the counter. “Heyyyy, Syl.” She sweeps her mermaid-blue-green hair from her round face, a genuine smile shining in her dark brown eyes. “Took you long enough.” With one plump hand, she pushes a stuffed paper bag toward me. “Here you go.”
“Cool, thanks.” I reach for the money in my pocket.
“Ah, ah, ah.” She clucks her tongue. “You’re not paying a dime.”
“But— What?”
“On the house.” Pru waves over her shoulder at a stout elderly lady with olive-toned skin, dark brown eyes, and the same dark brown-black hair that Pru’d probably have if she didn’t dye the hell out of hers. “Vovó insists.” She rustles the bag, all the while avoiding taking my money.
“Wow, um, thank you so much!” I wave at Pru’s vovó, and yeahhh… I don’t fight too hard. Mom, me, and Roue can definitely use the extra cash. Things have been tight ever since my dad stopped sending money. Even with Roue’s gigs, we barely scrape by. It took me an entire week’s tips to buy us Christmas Eve takeout.
There was nothing left over for a tree. But now…
On impulse, I go around the counter and give Pru a hug. “Thank you!”
She laughs, surprised. “No prob. You’ll just owe me for the rest of your life,” she deadpans, but I know she’s teasing. “Oh, and I put some bolinhos de bacalhau in there, too. Cod fritters.” She winks at me. “Vovó’s special recipe.”
“Thanks again.” I grab the bag and head out the door. “Merry Christmas!”
Pru waves, and I step into the brisk winter night, feeling a little lighter. Back in the alley, I stop to take a deep breath of the crisp air. Something teeny and cold hits my cheek.
Lazy, fluffy white tufts spiral down out the night, and my heart soars.
Snow! Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas after all.
Tap, tap, scraaaaaape! Tap, tap, scraaaape! A grating, metallic shriek echoes from deeper down the dark alleyway. I clutch my bag of dinner goodies, mentally crossing my fingers.
Please don’t be a Fae catastrophe, please don’t be a Fae catastrophe, please don’t—
Shiiiiing! A glint in the darkness.
Plumes of frost off a blade of ice.
Ice. Frost. Sharp instruments. That can only mean one thing: that’s a dark Fae lurking in the shadows.
My heart slam-dancing, I set the takeout bag down in case I have to fight. “Who’s there?” I manage to keep my voice from shaking.
The rest of me? Not so much.
Even though I’ve fought hell-hounds and Môrgrim, Circuit Fae and Circuit fiends, I’m a live-and-let-live kind of girl. Unlike my Roue, I don’t actually like fighting.
Scraaaaape… chuckle, chuckle. A thin howly voice comes from the darkness. “Blood calls to blood, little princess-poppet.”
Blood calls to blood. One of the oldest dark Fae rules.
Anxiety claws at my nerves. “Who are you?” I summon my Fae-sight that lets me see auras and through Glamouries. My vision blurs for a sec, then settles, but whoever—whatever—this is, their Glamoury’s super-powerful.
I can’t see a thing.
“Reveal yourself!” With the Fae, it’s always good to be direct. Less chance of them twisting your words around.
Another howly chuckle comes from the alley.
Okay, fine. Breathing out, I call upon the Summer in my blood, and with a tingle across my skin— whoosh! —my white flame bursts around my hands, wreathing me in purifying sleeper-princess power. The alleyway lights up in white.
“Yaaaaarghhhh!”
A hunched figure darts from the darkness, its blade flashing for my face. Barely, I leap back, feeling the razor edge slice the very air. Holy—! That knife is crazy sharp.
I felt its kiss, even though it missed me.
From the leaping shadows comes a small, stooped figure. He barely comes up to my chest, solid, barrel-shaped, wrapped in grey rags, skin white as a fish’s belly. His wrinkled face is totally inhuman, his nose a massive red bulb dripping down over a mouth crammed full of serrated teeth. His eyes are like two huge watery poached eggs, dilated and rimmed in red.
Spiked iron boots clunk on his feet. His bloody cap bleeds down over his face in red rivulets. I can smell the copper from here. Copper, rusting iron, and rotted vegetation.
In his hand glints a blade carved of solid, glassy ice.
Shivers claw my spine. A redcap.
Redcaps are super-bad news. Cannibals, they need to dip their caps in their victims’ blood. They’re notoriously tough and vicious.
I could take him.
But, bad fairy or not, he’s one of Roue’s people. Right. Back away slowly, Syl.
At least there’s only one.
A cruel smile carves across the redcap’s face. His form vibrates, and suddenly, there are two, then four, then… The smell of copper, rusting iron, and rotted vegetation intensifies.
Make that sixteen.
Great. I can’t take sixteen by myself.
Besides, this many redcaps? It’s definitely a warning from the Dark Faerie Winter Court.
It’s now that I decide the better part of valor is running my sweet patootie off. I bolt, but the redcap is fast as lightning. All sixteen of them race after me, sixteen sets of iron boots pounding, sixteen gleaming daggers glinting.
I’m surrounded.
I dodge and duck, but there are too many.
Use your flame, dummy!
No. I close my fists, snuffing out my magical fire. I won’t hurt one of Ro
ue’s people.
Slash! Pain prints across my side, leaving me gasping. Every one of the redcaps howls in victory. Their bulbous noses twitch and their eyes flash red, glowing as they freak out at the scent of my blood.
These guys are the piranhas of the dark Fae world.
And they look like they’re about to go on a feeding frenzy.
Crappity, crap, crap, crap. I back away, holding my side. Weirdly, it’s not bleeding. I’ve definitely had worse.
Aaaaand…I can’t believe I just said that.
In my mind, I feel Roue picking up on my panic. “Syl?”
“I’m fine,” I send down the soul-bond, trying to tamp down on my fear as the redcaps surround me. My blood stains every one of their sixteen blades.
But which one is the real one?
My Fae-sight’s no help at all.
Even worse, my wound pulses weirdly, throbbing through me.
“You don’t sound fine, Syl.”
One of the redcaps—the original one, maybe—holds up the blade with my blood and howls. I’m suddenly super-glad the soul-bond isn’t like a smartphone, because if Roue heard that…
She might put two and two together and come up with her dad. I mean, who else has the power to send a dark Fae assassin through the Shroud between realms?
“No, really,” I send back to Roue. “I’m good. No big deal.” I mean, I’ll heal this wound just like any other. Plus, the redcaps have stopped attacking. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” she teases and turns her attention back to the show.
I turn mine to the redcaps, who seem to be holding some kind of whispery conference. One of them snakes a wormy tongue out and touches the tip to my blood. “That’s all we need, princess-poppet. Kingy said not to kill you. Yet.”
“Kingy, huh.” My mood sours even more. We’ve been out of Dark Faerie for two whole days. Forty-eight hours. That’s how long Roue’s father kept his word before sending assassins.
Anger and concern swell in my chest. Roue’s going to be heartbroken.
I flame on, washing the night in white. I might not want to kill these redcaps, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bring the pain.
Teach these jerks and King Liarface a lesson.
I step forward, white flame wreathing my hands.
Immediately, the redcaps hiss, bolting back down the alleyway, colliding and melding together as they go—sixteen becoming eight, becoming four, two, then one... He jumps with both feet, iron boots slamming into the asphalt like a kid puddle-jumping, and the air shimmers weirdly.
I see the Shroud, the barrier between worlds, split open in a seam of darkness, and the redcap slides snickleways, turning two-dimensional, and vanishes. My Fae-sight registers the faint blue of moonlit ley lines, and then those fade, too.
Dread grips me. The redcap escaped with my blood.
He didn’t even use it to dye his cap.
It doesn’t take three guesses to figure out why.
“Roue, your dad’s evil.” I practice it out loud because right after Christmas is over, I’ve gotta tell her. My Roue wants so much to believe her father can be saved, that he can go back to being the Adamant King he once was.
And I’m not looking forward to breaking her heart.
Chapter Three
Rouen
My best self
I am my best
When I’m with you
“With You,” Euphoria
Tonight’s not my most inspired performance. I’m off my A game. Twice, I miss the lead-in for “Heartrend,” but the house bassist, Em, doesn’t miss a beat. She brings the opening hook back around, and I jump in, violin screaming. To the audience, it just looks like an extended intro.
To me, it looks like hot garbage.
This thing with me becoming queen is eating away at me.
My father’s the piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit.
Dark Fae aren’t the soft, falling snow. We’re the biting winds, deadly icicles, and subzero temps. We’re not exactly known for our mercy—or our ability to share. The notion that he’d just step aside without a fight goes against every dark Fae instinct.
Not to mention, he’s changed ever since my mother died.
I pour my sorrow into my vocals, belting power chords as the Nanci’s crowd dances and sways. How I miss my mother! She was pure power and grace, a true queen.
Without her to temper him, the once-just Adamant King slowly fell to his dark self and became a petty tyrant. A man with a short fuse, filled with rage, he saw betrayal in every shadow. He was harsh even with his own daughter, cheating and hiding the rules of the games we played.
Especially battle chess. He could never bear losing. Once, he beat me for taking his king.
I was ten.
Even though I’m grown now, my dark, suspicious self tells me he’s still cheating the rules. Welcome to life as a dark Fae teenager, Roue.
But no. I shake it off as I scream into the final song. Syl’s taught me to see the good in people. Besides, he’s my father. He may have cheated at battle chess, but that was a game.
This is real. He wouldn’t cheat this. He just wouldn’t.
I finish the show with “Nevermore,” one of the songs they play on all the VCU stations, and step offstage to wild clapping and cheers. A few of my superfans holler for an encore. Normally, I’d oblige, but tonight, my every emotion is amped up, and not in a good way.
I want to believe my father’s on the up-and-up. I want so much to believe he could treat me like an equal instead of a little girl. But now that doubt’s crept in, it’s messing with my head.
Not to mention, something’s going on with Syl.
I make a beeline for the dressing room. I can sense she’s close. Maybe a few minutes away, tops. She’s masking her emotions, too, which can only mean one thing.
She’s protecting me from the truth.
We don’t keep secrets, but sometimes, we’re both guilty of being overprotective—plus, it’s hardwired into our Faerie DNA to be secretive. That leads to us playing our cards close to the vest sometimes.
I trust Syl will tell me when she’s ready.
I head into the dressing room, set down my bow and violin, and drop into my favorite lounge chair. Plucking my lyric notebook from the floor, I draft some lyrics while I wait for Syl.
I scent her on the air—sweet summer and vanilla—before I even hear the light footfalls of her Docs. Then the door shoves open.
I know it immediately the second I see her.
My Syl is hurt.
In a burst of notebook pages, I windwarp over to her, vanishing in one spot and the next appearing right before her in a spray of winter sleet and tiny icicles. “Syl, you’re hurt!”
Way to go, Captain Obvious.
“A little.” My girl puts on her brave face, but she winces when she thinks I’m not looking. She’s holding her side. I don’t see any blood, but hoo-boy, its rich, coppery scent makes my fangs ache.
I take a deeper whiff.
Coppery blood. Rusted iron. Rotting vegetation.
Wait a minute…
“Redcaps.” My father’s shock troops. No…it can’t be. Fear and dread tighten my chest. I cup Syl’s face in both hands. “What happened?”
Syl laughs, but it lands a little hollow. She’s spooked, my beautiful girl. I don’t blame her. Redcaps are scary as hell. “I’m okay, really. There was only one—”
“How many did he split into?”
I feel her hesitation as she tries to downplay it. “Sixteen…?”
“Syl!” Concern sweeps through me, and on the heels of that comes rage, cold, calculating, a winter storm winding up into a nor’easter inside me. See? my dark self taunts me. He lied. And you believed him. You let your guard down, and now Syl’s hurt.
My heart aches, but I rein in my runaway fears.
Redcaps are unpredictable, part of the Lamiae species of dark Fae who feed on flesh and blood. They’ve revolted against
my father before—once, when their most powerful elder, Etana Eterne, opposed one of his royal decrees. Since that night, Etana and my father have been bitter rivals.
She must be trying to sabotage my ascension to the throne.
Yes, that makes sense. It’s not my father at all.
Rage kicks me in the gut. Suddenly, I want to smash every redcap in existence, strangle them with their grisly little hats. My voice lowers to a growl. “I swear, I’ll kill every last one of—”
“Roue.” Syl touches my face. Her caress soothes me, and I come down from murderous rage to only semi-murderous rage. “I’m going to be all right. See?” She pulls her top up, showing a strip of pale, freckled skin slashed through by some kind of knife.
It’s already healing, but the thought of a rotty redcap cutting my girl pushes all my rage buttons. I close my eyes, breathing deep, counting to ten in my head.
Anger management, that’s what I need. And to punch Etana’s face off.
“They said the king wanted my blood,” Syl says quietly.
I whirl. “What?” So that’s Etana’s game, is it? To cast my suspicion on my father.
It’s easy enough.
In House Rivoche, we’re all Lamiae, too—baobhan sidhe, the kind of dark Fae that bewitches mortals to feed on their blood. It’s where I get my “euphoria” power that calms people when I perform.
As a side effect, we can also do powerful blood magic. As a side effect of that, we’re driven to prey on mortals for their blood. The fact that I don’t is why I’m always stuffing my face with junk food. Gotta feed the beast somehow.
Etana’s ploy is solid, though. Sleeper-princess blood is extremely powerful.
It would make a twisted sort of sense for my father to go after Syl.
Before I can stuff it down deep, my dark self rears up again. That’s his game, Roue. Dangle the crown in front of your face, then steal Syl’s blood.
Dread coils in my gut. What if my dark self is right? What if—
“Roue?” Syl touches my arm, her concern bleeding down the soul-bond.
“I’m sorry.” I shake off my suspicions. “I know it looks bad, but he’s being set up. Etana’s behind this. She’s always trying to undermine my father’s rule.” I meet Syl’s gaze, hope that I’m right filling me up. “Could we just give him the benefit of the doubt? For now?”
Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella Page 2