“Arran? I don’t see how. Arran is a skilled fighter, but Kesh is… ruthless. Had she not wanted to go, she would not have gone.”
I smiled at all the times Kesh had gotten me on my back, at the precision with which she struck, at the raw, unyielding way with which she fought. She thought herself cumbersome and slow, but I’d stopped holding back in our sparring long ago. And every time I’d seen her in that Faerie coat, her whip at her side, her drone a looming death sentence in her wake—fuck, she’d take my heart and rip it from my chest. Every damn time.
“There was a time, once, when she would have left.” I’d had to lock her up, something I wasn’t proud of, but it had been necessary. I’d known, given enough time, if I showed her another way outside of Faerie, that she’d come around. We all needed perspective before we could change. And she had. She’d more than come around. She’d taken up the challenge of becoming the Messenger and embraced it. To come back from the puppet she’d been and remake herself anew? That took strength and courage. “She chose to fight alongside us.” She made the right choice.
“So, he took her back to Oberon, back to Faerie.”
I turned my back to the bars, leaned against them, and flexed my fingers. “Yeah, by my count, she’s already there.” For all the crimes she had committed, the king would kill her. But he’d draw it out and let all of Faerie watch her demise. Everything was a pantomime with the fae. And I couldn’t get to her. She was millions of miles away, facing her own execution, and I was stuck in this cell.
Talen watched my hands move, knowing me well enough to understand why I had started rattling around this damn cage. I couldn’t afford to free my claws here. I looked human. The Earthens would talk to me, trust me, but if they discovered what I was, they’d kill us both. Earthens had written legends about me. They had turned me into a monster that had rampaged through their ranks, drinking their blood, slaughtering thousands, driving spikes through severed heads, and I couldn’t blame them for that. They were right. I had been that monster.
I winced and pressed my teeth together, forcing back the ache.
Talen’s gaze darkened with knowing. “They shouldn’t have caged us together.”
“They don’t know—” what we are.
It would be fine. Someone would come soon. Once I was out of the cell, I’d get a better idea, the restlessness would pass. Unleashing the beast in me wasn’t an idea I relished, and not with Talen trapped here too. He might not be the Nightshade anymore, but he was nightmare enough for the Earthens to lose their collective shit if we showed our true selves.
Maybe it would come to that. If it did, this cell wouldn’t hold us. We’d have to fight our way out of this mess, Nightshade and Drochfhoula together. That was Plan B, and I hoped I didn’t have to put it into action, even if a deep-seated, raw part of me wanted it all to go sideways so I could tear through the Earthens one more time. It had been a long, long time since I’d been Drochfhoula, but the hunger had never left.
Talen picked a speck of dust or fluff off his leathers. “Attack me and I’ll put you down. Again.”
I grinned. For a fae, his right hook was lethal, and he was fast too. When I’d lost control with Kesh, I didn’t realize he’d moved until after I’d hit the floor. “Try it, fae.”
“And have you lose another bet with Sota?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll let you keep your pride, Marshal.”
I huffed a laugh and felt the tension in my muscles ease.
The distant clanging of doors sounded, and human voices traveled through the walls. I straightened and faced the bars, putting myself between the closed entrance and Talen. The fae could look after himself, but Kesh would kill me if anything happened to him.
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
“With diplomacy.” I looked behind me at the silver-haired fae sitting upright and proper on the floor. He looked harmless, unless you knew the fae, then you’d know he was as lethal as any predator. If I were Earthen and on the other side of the bars, I’d kill him. We just had to hope that whoever was about to greet us had better morals than I had. “If talks fail, we’ll try Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Stardust and shadow.”
Chapter 3
Kesh
My shared chamber with Sirius was in one of the palace’s towers. Had I chosen my quarters, I would have picked a room at ground level so I could slip out the window, but a pair of saru had found Sirius and me and escorted us here. Apparently, Oberon had selected the highest tower chamber.
I entered first, with Sirius close behind. The saru hurried out, eyes downcast. With Sirius here, I couldn’t speak with them. The fae in my shadow would be a royal pain in my ass.
Beyond the window, Faerie’s sprawling city houses glistened like glass pebbles toward the rolling green fells. I opened the window and leaned out. Sweet, magic-kissed air teased with my hair and touched my face, as gentle as a lover. A few hundred feet below, the jewel gardens formed tiny patchwork squares. I couldn’t climb down, but at least nothing could get in either. Nothing without wings, anyway.
“There’s one bed,” Sirius grumbled. “It’s obviously mine.”
I closed the window, leaned back against the sill, and folded my arms, taking in the proud guardian. My guardian. He stood at the bedside, looking down at its fluffed pillows and flower-patterned quilt as though he were offended that someone would think to complement his mighty faeness with flower print.
“It’s my room.” I sighed, an ache blooming behind my eyes. “It’s my bed.”
“You are mistaken.” He tore off his cloak and tossed it on the bed, claiming it. “If you are saru, then this lone bed is meant for a sidhe.” He grabbed a pillow and dumped it on the floor. “You may sleep beside it.”
I’d take that pillow and hold it over his face if he continued to belittle me. “You won’t be sleeping anyway. The second you close your eyes, I’m sneaking out of the room to commit dastardly Wraithmaker deeds, and Oberon will punish you.”
His eyes widened. My lips twitched in response. If I couldn’t get rid of him, I could at least screw with him. Maybe he’d get so tired of my company he’d risk Oberon’s wrath just to be free of me.
He threw his glare at the ceiling. “Faerie, I have done nothing to deserve this torture.”
I sauntered over, scooped up the pillow, dumped it on the bed, and lay down over the quilt, trapping his cloak beneath me. His green eyes had tracked me the whole way, sizzling with hatred. “Go ahead and move me.”
He reached down.
“But remember Oberon’s interest in the other fae who had touched me.”
He straightened and scowled. That scowl was a beautiful thing.
I admired my chipped nails and added, “If you were to touch me and Oberon asked that same question again, well… I could hardly lie to my king, could I?”
With a snarl, he yanked the pillow out from under my head and threw it at the wall. “I will not be sleeping, therefore I will not require the bed. You may have it. May you dream of the Hunt and wake up screaming.”
I beamed at him. He glowered back.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I would very much like to sleep.” I made a show of fluffing my remaining pillow on my bed.
He stalked around the room, looking for a corner to brood in, but as we were in a tower, there wasn’t one. We didn’t have much. A single paper screen, a dresser with its mirror facing the wall, and a few mismatched chairs. Sparse, even by saru standards, and practically a prison cell compared to the luxury Sirius was used to.
He dropped to the floor and leaned his back against the wall below the window. He drew a knee up, laid his metal arm over it, rested his head back, and locked his stare on me. So, this was how it was going to be.
I shuffled onto my side and breathed in the spicy, autumnal scents rising off his cloak. Sleep tugged at my senses. I needed it. The last time I’d slept soundly, Talen’s arms had been wrapped around me. My heart stuttered
at the memory. He was worlds away, if he was alive at all. I couldn’t feel the bond. Did that mean he was dead? I’d give almost anything to know he and Kellee were safe, even if they thought me a traitor. It didn’t matter. I’d only ever wanted them, my silver fae and unseelie monster, to survive.
Click-clack, click-clack.
Sirius rippled his tek fingers.
He saw me watching and froze, then, with a sly grin, started up again. Click-clack, click-clack. Stop me, his smile said.
I turned on the bed, keeping my back to him, but that didn’t block out the noise. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, over and over and over.
“Must you?!”
“This wretched arm is your gift. Live with it, like I must.”
I buried my head under the pillow and clamped down on it. The constant clicking faded into the background. I needed to sleep, to dream… Arran’s life depended on it.
Slowly and carefully, like a thief, sleep crept in…
Sirius’s clicking changed into the click-clack of unseelie claws. A storm raged ahead, a great swirling vortex of dark bodies and dark wings. Hapters. Enormous cracks cleaved the ground, opening a deep gash in the plain, and on the other side of the chasm, winged unseelie tore into Talen. He looked like them, both hideous and beautiful. His wings, like theirs, were leathery, but his were studded with stars. His body was painted with darkness. I called his name, but the wind tore it away. I couldn’t reach him.
The chasm yawned deep into nothingness.
This wasn’t right.
I wasn’t here for this, for them, for Talen… I was here for something else… for someone else.
Arran held his hand out beside me.
“We’ll go somewhere,” he said. “I’ll always keep you safe.”
His hand turned into talons and claws. His mouth opened too wide, yawning like the chasm behind me and threatening to swallow me down.
I snapped awake to the sounds of Sirius’s clicking fingers. The dream had only lasted moments, but it had felt longer, and I had no wish to revisit it. I twisted and glared at the guardian.
“Having trouble sleeping?” Click-clack. Click-clack.
I sprang to my feet and headed for the door. “Best keep up, Guardian.”
He was on his feet and striding after me before I made it around the tower’s tightly packed steps.
“I need something to help me sleep soundly,” I told the saru.
He had been the only one brave enough to meet my eyes when I’d entered the kitchen. The rest had scattered, melting into the shadows and disappearing into servants’ doorways to escape the imposing sight of the Wraithmaker and a Royal Guardian.
The saru boy stood at a large island counter, chopping a vegetable into precise slices. No older than fifteen years old, he had the rough but clean hands of a household saru and a fresh face. His family would be nearby, watching and whispering or passing words from palm to palm.
“How long?” he asked briskly.
“A few hours.”
The vegetable pieces fell. He stabbed at a piece of fruit like he might prefer to stab me.
A woman approached, wiping her hands on her apron. She’d bundled her hair up, though curls had sprung loose, and had a splash of flour smudged across her chin. “Here.” She dumped a small glass bottle on the counter between her son and me. “Now, be gone. We don’t want you here.” Her words were fire, but her old eyes were cold.
“What is it?” I picked up the bottle of clear liquid and gave it a shake.
“A mixture that will help you slumber, but you won’t sleep too deeply. We have been forbidden to make anything stronger of late.”
“Why?”
She winced, and her son blurted, “Nightmares.”
“Nightmares?”
The boy caught his mother’s scowl and dropped his gaze.
Collective nightmares… how interesting. Did Oberon know Eledan was dreamwalking among the saru? A good saru would tell their house manager of the intrusion, but I knew how persuasive Eledan could be. He likely scared them until they wanted more. His illusions had a way of twisting fear and desire until they became indistinguishable. They could never admit the things the Dreamweaver had them dreaming.
Sirius snatched the bottle from me with his good hand. His metal arm he held out of sight, behind his back and under his cloak. “What is in this exactly?” he demanded.
“The main ingredient is valerian root, Guardian,” the mother replied.
“Side effects?” he grunted.
“Prolonged lethargy, vivid dreams—”
I snatched it back. “Thank you. It’ll do just fine.”
She bowed her head low, posture wooden. Her son eyed me from behind her, knife in hand. Sonia, a saru friend, had told me the Wraithmaker was a horror story among the saru. These were not the people of Halow. They did not know or see me as their Messenger. To them, I was a saru gladiator turned traitor and queen-killer. If her son plunged his knife into my chest, the saru would hail him as a hero. I was the villain in this picture. These sentiments weren’t isolated to the saru, either. The fae believed them too. All of Faerie wanted me dead. That reality was only now beginning to surface around me.
I ached to tell these saru not to fear me, that I was on their side, that I would fight for them and free them, but Sirius would report every word back to Oberon, and these saru were not ready for the truth, just like I hadn’t been. It would take more than empty words to free them.
Sirius wordlessly followed me back to the tower. “I will need to sample the mixture myself—”
I popped the cork and downed the bottle, tapping the bottom to free every last drop.
Sirius slammed the chamber door behind us, rattling its frame, and squeezed his eyes closed. He clenched his fists, one flesh and one tek, at his sides, fighting the urge to leap across the room and throttle the life out of me. “What if it’s poison?” he asked through gritted teeth. When he opened his eyes, fury had them glowing. “What then?”
I shrugged. “Then you’ll get your wish and I’ll be dead.”
“No.” He glared. “I will have to drag your carcass to the throne room, where Oberon will, in turn, poison me.” He crossed the room to the dresser, boots striking the wide floorboards. It didn’t take long, with those long legs of his. He seemed to consider pacing back again, but instead, he leaned against the dresser and looked at me like my old jailor, Dagnu, used to. Like he knew I could do more but wasn’t out of pure obstinacy. “Most of Faerie wants you dead. There are numerous ways in which they could see it done. This room is not a fortress, and I am but one guardian. Do you understand how despised you are?”
Sjora and the Game of Lies had made that perfectly clear.
I snorted a dry laugh. The question was rhetorical.
“I would poison you myself if I thought I could survive the king’s wrath,” he said. “His obsession with you is baffling. It makes him weak. Killing the gladiator will not appease the court.”
“Careful now. You wouldn’t want him to hear your doubts.” I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off my boots. “He’s using me. I am a tool, nothing more.”
Sirius looked over, his permanent frown in place.
“Didn’t you realize?” I asked. “It was never about me. The marks, all those hours he spent pouring pain under my skin, they were never gifts. It has nothing to do with me at all.”
“To what end?”
To hide a weapon capable of banishing the dark. “I don’t know,” I lied.
Sirius scoffed. “You’re wrong. The way he behaves with you, he isn’t like that with anyone else.”
Because he made me. I couldn’t tell Sirius that either. “Fine, you’re right and I’m wrong. He’s obsessed with a saru. What other explanation could there be?”
His pretty sidhe face sharpened into a scowl as he tried to read between the lines. Oberon’s behavior made no sense to anyone who didn’t know what the king had done to me. His apparent affection for me unde
rmined the king’s reign and things would only get worse if he killed Arran. Why, some might wonder if the Wraithmaker had her claws in their king and was trying to take down Faerie from inside the glass palace. It had crossed my mind, but I only appeared that powerful from the outside. Inside, I was alone and didn’t stand a chance against Oberon or Faerie.
Exhaustion ate at my mood. I needed to sleep. Arran didn’t have long…
I lay on my side and pulled the sheet over me. The sweet sunbaked taste of autumn landed on my lips. I’d pulled Sirius’s cloak over me. He hadn’t protested, and I didn’t feel much like giving it back. Maybe he’d steal it back while I slept. I closed my eyes, head full of autumn, and waited for sleep’s embrace.
This dream was different. Glass and steel shimmered and sparkled so brightly it hurt to look at for long. Outside, the inward sloping windows, the long-dead city of Calicto bristled with Arcon tek. This was Arcon. And here, in this illusion-wrapped world, a different king occupied the throne.
“You’ve been looking for me.” The timbre of his voice, which had haunted me for months, spilled shivers down my spine.
My heart thump-thumped in my ears. I turned to find Eledan sprawled carelessly on his oak throne, one leg draped over the chair’s arm. A crown of twigs sat askew on his head. The Mad Prince. The Dreamweaver. Oberon’s brother. My nemesis. He wore a smirk as crooked as his pretend crown. He looked so much like his brother, as though the same cosmic designer had crafted them both, but Oberon’s design was one of love, whereas Eledan’s cutting edges had been born of anger.
I knew I was dreaming, but that didn’t make the experience any less real. Not so long ago, Eledan had trapped me in a fantasy where time had held no meaning. I still wasn’t sure if the dreams had been his fantasies or mine. And here we were, together again.
Prince of Dreams (Messenger Chronicles Book 4) Page 3