by Alex Rivers
“I don’t know,” he stammered. “It’s in Hawkwood Forest, near Macklinstone Grove somewhere. That’s all I know. It’s her most closely-guarded secret. She’d never tell another person which tree is hers.”
“I need more than that, Abellio!” I roared.
“I don’t know more, Cassandra, I swear…”
I nodded slowly. That would have to do. But before I left, I had a couple more questions. “Remember killing Nerius? And Drustan? Remember torturing me? Did you see what they did to Branwen?”
“I’m sorry! Please make it stop!”
“You’ll get used to it.” I crossed out of the room. “The terror is part of you now.”
His pleading screams escorted me out. Turned out, I was pretty angry after all.
Chapter 38
In a dark corner of Cingeto’s Fortress—tucked in the war room—stood an oaken table with a map of the Hawkwood Forest.
I sat in an oak chair, staring at the vast expanse of trees that spread out over the woods. Alvin and Roan sat across from me, frowning at the map. Idelisa sat a bit further away, her eyes sharp and alert. This was the entirety of our war council, in a war waged against one human.
“Siofra won’t stop.” My voice pierced the silence. “Not until she’s dead. She’s obsessed with destroying me, and it’s safe to assume that she wants to destroy everything and everyone I’m connected to. She’s a direct risk to all of us, to the Unseelie, to any humans who get in her way.”
Here, in the windowless war room, nothing reflected light. I’d left my mirror bracelets outside. Still, I reflexively searched for any reflections that Siofra could use. I felt nothing.
“Are you sure he’s telling the truth about Macklinstone Grove?” Idelisa asked.
I nodded. “He wouldn’t dare lie to me. I think he believes I can read his thoughts.”
Alvin circled a wide expanse of the map with his fingertip. “Pretty much guarantee it’s right here.”
Roan shook his head. “No. I told you. Macklinstone Grove is more to the east.”
Alvin folded his arms. “Nah, bruv. It’s north of Weylin Lake. I know this whole forest, innit.”
“You’re from London,” Roan cut him off. “I’ve lived in this forest for five centuries. I know every stone and tree, every patch of moss.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice sharp. “I’m sure you can both find the way there. That’s not the point. More importantly—how do we kill the damn tree spirit?”
Alvin shrugged. “You kill the tree.”
Roan sighed. “I think she means how do we find the specific tree. That’s the difficult part.”
I frowned. “Can we just clear the entire grove? Burn it, maybe?”
A shocked silence fell over the room.
At last, Roan spoke. “Cassandra, there are hundreds of tree spirits in that grove. They’re living, magical beings, just like us. More than that, the fire could spread out of control. It could destroy the entire forest.”
Dammit. “Right. Okay. Not my best idea.”
“On the other hand,” said Idelisa, “I believe I know a fae who can create a blight that would kill only the trees in the immediate area.”
“You want to slaughter the tree spirits, too?” Roan growled.
“This is a Weala Broc matter,” Idelisa said coldly. “We’re fighting a powerful and devious enemy. We need to strike fast and hard. We can’t afford to be weak now—not when we’ve accomplished so much.”
Alvin ran a hand through his hair, obviously stressed. “You want us to just kill thousands of tree spirits because we’re vexed about one of them?”
“It’s what Ogmios would have done,” Idelisa said.
I winced. “Not the best example. We’re trying not to be like a tyrannical, murderous maniac.”
Idelisa met my gaze. “We are members of the Court of Terror, and the house of Weala Broc is a ruthless one. Killing Grendel publicly as you did earned you a lot of respect. You’ll lose that respect if you let Siofra live, and she’ll continue to plague us until you destroy her powers. You need to kill her.”
Roan shifted in his chair. “We can ask the help of the Elder Fae. It’s possible they could find Siofra’s tree spirit.”
“No one’s ever succeeded in doing something like that before,” Idelisa said. “Even if they managed it, it could take months. Enough time for Siofra to attack and kill at will.”
“If we straight up merk hundreds of tree spirits,” said Alvin, “how does that make us any better than Ogmios or Grendel or Siofra? Answer me that, terror fae.”
I watched them arguing, knowing that this was one of the first decisions I had to make as the head of the House of Weala Broc. Would it get easier? I doubted it.
I cleared my throat. “I know what we need to do.”
Roan arched an eyebrow. “And what is that, exactly?”
I was pretty sure it would work—assuming Siofra was watching our every move. “Get your riding clothes on. We’re going to the grove.”
Deep in the Hawkwood Forest, an icy wind breathed through the branches, rustling the leaves. I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter. Only Roan’s body warmed me, his arm brushing against mine.
From our hiding spot, I peered over the blackberry shrubs at the Macklinstone Grove. Golden light streamed through the trees, flecking the mossy ground with chinks of light.
A flicker of movement caught my eye, and my body tensed. I loosed a breath as I realized it was just a bird—a strange bird, but just an animal nonetheless.
“What?” asked Roan quietly.
“A white owl.”
His green eyes flashed with gold for a moment. “A messenger from the otherworld. The realm of death.”
“So, not a good omen, then.”
He fell silent again, his body as still as the oak and yew trunks. I used to think of myself as patient—the endless nights I’d spent in stakeouts had taught me well. But I couldn’t even try to imitate Roan’s ability of sitting still for hours on end, moving less than the plants around us. It was some kind of inhuman thing that a mere pixie like me couldn’t replicate.
I scanned the forest’s blighted trees, their branches caked in a sickly green fungus, trunks crawling with rot. The sight creeped me out, and I knew it spread into the forest for miles around us.
A dozen yards away from us, sunlight and a cloudless sky shone off Weylin Lake’s glassy surface, the wind hardly even creating ripples in the water.
The lake was the only reflective surface for miles.
I’d made sure of that. I’d spent two days scouring the area, feeling for reflections, draining every puddle in the vicinity. Both Roan and I picked our clothing free of buttons and metal. We just had to hope it wouldn’t rain.
I crouched down again, my thighs aching. We’d been waiting for over five hours now. Had I screwed this up? Maybe Siofra hadn’t been following us as closely as I had assumed. Perhaps she didn’t know or understand what was going on. Or maybe Abellio had lied after all, and her tree spirit was nowhere near this part of the forest.
I was about to turn to Roan and ask him what he thought, when I felt something thrumming over my skin.
Fear. Human fear.
Through the blackberry branches, I watched as a head emerged from the lake—Siofra’s sodden hair, then her drenched shoulders. She hugged herself, teeth chattering.
Roan touched my arm lightly, cautioning me to be still.
Hard not to react when Siofra’s fear slammed into me. It sounded like the fear of a woman who knew she was about to lose everything. To my surprise, I also heard the terror of losing a loved one—the way a mother worried for her child, or the way I’d felt about Roan in battle. Siofra’s connection with the tree spirit went much further than I could have ever imagined.
Even from here, I could feel the reflections she’d brought with her. In fact, she’d come with her own arsenal: mirrors on her wrists, in her pockets, stuffed in the bag on her back. What else had she tucked into her le
ather backpack? Weapons? Tree medicine?
In any case, I did my best to hold myself as still as Roan. One false move and she’d jump into her mirrors, never to be seen again.
I barely breathed as she stalked purposefully into the grove. Roan touched my arm again, signaling for me to wait. We didn’t need to see where she was going. I could simply follow the sound of fear.
Finally, Roan and I looked at each other, then slowly rose. Carefully, quietly, we followed the trail of Siofra’s fear. Occasionally, Roan would point to a broken twig, a wet footprint, or a depression in the leaves. He could probably track her even without feeling her emotions, but for me, her fear rang out like an alarm bell.
When I sensed we were getting close to her, I nodded to Roan. She’d stopped moving.
She’d reached her tree.
Moving fluidly, Roan slipped back into a verdant hazel shrub, hardly making a noise at all. If I hadn’t been able to feel our bond, I would have thought he’d vanished completely.
I swallowed hard, waiting for the right moment. After a few minutes, I could feel her moving. She was walking back to me now, her fear rapidly lessening. She had been to her tree, had verified that it was safe
I heard her before I saw her, tromping through the forest, and when she emerged from behind an oak, our eyes met. Instantly, her fear blossomed, and I cursed myself. I’d revealed myself too early. For a long moment, silence hung over us like a funeral pall.
Then, to my relief, a rhythmic sound interrupted my thoughts—hard, methodical thumps. I knew what they were, but Siofra didn’t.
Her eyes flicked to the mirror on her wrist, and my heart skipped a beat as I felt her about to slip away. Maybe Roan had been too late. Maybe she was about to get away.
But in the next moment, I felt the connection sever between Siofra and her reflection. She gasped, her eyes widening. Frantically, she lifted her other bracelet. It wouldn’t do her any good. I could imagine her trying to feel a connection to that reflection, to any reflection, only to find them all gone.
“What did you do?” she screamed, cheeks reddening. “You killed all those trees? Spread this sickness? Just to get to me?” Her eyes were wide, furious and terrified.
“There is no sickness,” I said calmly.
As I spoke, the fungus and rot that covered the trees shimmered away. The green moss disappeared, the trickles of sap dissipated. We now stood in a grove of perfectly healthy oaks.
“What…” She blinked, failing to catch up.
“It was all glamour,” I said. “We wanted to lure you here, to lead us to your tree.”
She let out a small shriek and turned around, bolting into the forest. I took off after her as she frantically sprinted back to her oak.
By the time we arrived, it lay on the forest floor, the trunk severed. Roan stood over it, holding his ax. He was staring sadly at the dead tree, which had been helpless against his blade.
Siofra shrieked, lunged at him. She scratched at him with her fingernails. “What did you do? What did you do?”
He took a graceful step away from her, and she fell to the ground, sobbing.
“We did what we had to,” I said.
“You killed her,” she said in a shaking voice. “Murdered her! Just like you killed the Rix. I should have known. You always destroyed everything I cared for. Always.”
I almost felt bad for her. What the hell was wrong with me? “I didn’t want to kill her. She did nothing to me. But I had to stop you. She gave you the power, and you used it to kill.”
“Go to Hell!” she railed. “And that’s it? What now? Will you trap me between the mirrors again? Like some sort of animal?”
I hesitated. Would I? I could, perhaps, let her walk. She was harmless now, just a deranged, helpless human with no power.
I couldn’t forget the images I’d seen of her sad little life. A girl, desperate for love, raised by the cold Rix. A father who’d abused and shunned her, left her constantly lonely and afraid. A girl deprived of a normal human life with loving parents—one that I got instead.
I stared at her tear-streaked face.
I could let her live.
And yet, Siofra had murdered my parents. She’d led us into a trap that killed Nerius and Drustan, and she wouldn’t stop until I ended her—magic or no magic.
Reality hit me and I knew the truth. The Weala Broc were ruthless, and I was their leader.
My blade flashed fast, cutting her throat, and our eyes met one final time. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a sad little sound came out.
A wheeze, a gurgle.
And she was gone.
Chapter 39
We’d spent three days in Roan’s mansion—three glorious days, in which I’d started to feel that it was my own, with Odin flapping around the halls, screeching obscenities.
Wrapped in his sheets, I ran my finger down Roan’s muscled chest, marveling at how smooth his skin was, how perfect. My finger plunged down to his stomach, twirling around. His skin still mesmerized me.
“What are you doing?” Roan said sleepily.
“Shh, I’m busy.”
“You’re tickling my bellybutton.”
“Correction,” I said. “It’s my bellybutton. I’m eternally bound to this bellybutton.”
We lay wrapped in the silky sheets of his bed. No—our bed, in our mansion. We’d fumbled onto it last night, and were still in it even as the afternoon sun rose higher in the sky, glowing through the curtains.
My mind was coming to terms with the past few days, going over my memories, dissecting them, analyzing each one. “You know…” I said thoughtfully. “When I met the First Weala Broc, she settled our little debate. She said she was the first of her siblings, that she fed on the only emotion humans knew at the time. Fear. So fear is the most ancient emotion.”
Roan stretched, blinking, and stared at me. “So she didn’t tell you about her twin.”
I wrapped a strand of his hair around my fingertips. “She had a twin?”
“She was the first terror fae. And her twin brother was the first lust fae. Or love, as we called it once.”
I grinned. “Is that right? Love and dread, the twin souls.” My stomach rumbled loudly, ruining the moment.
“We need to get you something to eat, Mistress of Dread.”
“Right.”
“In just a minute.” Roan stroked his fingertips over my thighs, sending a fresh rush of shivers through my body. Neither of us made a move to go to the kitchen. Maybe starving to death in bed with Roan wouldn’t be so bad.
“You have at least one servant, right? We can ask him to buy us some Doritos or something. Bring them to our bed.”
Roan’s fingertips moved higher up my thighs, and I pressed my body into him. The warmth from his embrace heated me all over.
“Have you noticed our surroundings?” he asked.
“I haven’t looked at anything besides you in over twelve hours.” I craned my neck, finally looking around the room. My bra lay crumpled three feet from the bed. My undies had ended up on a candlestick. Roan’s clothes were scattered around the room as if one of his storms had ripped the place apart. Which may have happened last night. Certainly felt that way.
His hand tightened around my hips. “I don’t think I want any servants here right now.”
“Maybe not.” I bit my lip. “Do we have any responsibilities we’re ignoring right now, besides eating?”
“Not just yet. The Republic’s council will be gathering soon,” Roan said. “Six fae, tasked with restoring the Unseelie people to their former glory.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the topic of actual work. I really didn’t want to think about anything outside this bed right now, apart from the snacks.
The six fae concept had proven trickier than we’d imagined. The Court of Dreams was gone. Disappeared completely, as a matter of fact. No one had any idea where they had gone to. Only Abellio was left behind, languishing in the keep’
s dungeons, waiting for his public hanging.
But there would be a sixth seat in the Republic after all. At our last meeting, I’d proposed that a commoner—a gutter fae, as they were called—should be represented in the Republic’s council. Lord Balor had been shocked by the notion, and Nyfain Ernmas was strictly against it. But Roan supported it, and so did Elrine, who had bent Judoc to her will. His opinion carried weight in the Arawn court. So when it came to a vote, it had passed.
Branwen—the war hero—had been elected as leader of the Common Court. Still, grief weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her brother’s death had shattered her, and she had hardly talked to anyone since we’d freed her. She wouldn’t allow anyone by her side but Elrine.
A wave of concern washed off Roan, and I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck. “You’re worrying about something. Branwen?”
“No. I’m worried about… the head of the Taranis Court.”
I grinned at him, but my smile faded when I realized he was serious.
“You’re the head of the Taranis court,” I said. “What are you worried about?”
“I won’t be the head for much longer.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I’m eternally bound to you,” Roan said. “When we perform the snaring ceremony, I join your court. It’s the way of the old Republic.”
“So we won’t do that.” Clearly, Roan couldn’t give up his family name. He’d spent five hundred years fighting for it. “I don’t really care about the ceremony. We’re soulmates. It’s more important than a wedding certificate.”
“There are already those who question your position,” Roan said. “There are those who think that someone else should be leading the Court of Weala Broc. Someone stronger. Someone whose loyalty is not divided.”
“We can’t stop people from questioning those things.”
“In fae politics, these questions often lead to death,” Roan said quietly. “The fact that you’re a pixie, maybe people can accept. But an unmarried pixie female—one who killed Grendel—it will sow divisions within your court. Someone will try to usurp your position.”