“It’s so much to catch her up on. I don’t want to spring this on her when I might be able to protect her from the worst of it. Then instead of it being all doom and gloom and an army of Fae, she’ll only have to deal with me being a Moondreamer.” I laugh. “As if that’s less weird.”
“I see what you mean. This way she can focus on your news instead of having to learn about the war.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to war. Something that no one's really explained to me...” I form the questions as I go.
“About what?”
“I know what The Sowing was. What exactly was The Reaping?”
“Ashria never filled you in?”
I shake my head. “We don’t talk much when she trains me, other than commands.”
“Who knows how much of this is true now—I only know what I've been told, what we all grew up knowing to be true. After the women conceive at The Sowing, they were monitored very closely by the Council. If the Council thought a woman, or her family, were likely to cause trouble—”
“Gee, can't imagine why they might be a bit resentful.”
“I know. If they weren't as compliant as the Council thought they should be, they were taken.”
“Where?”
“No one knows. The women were heavily glamoured to protect the location.”
“Were they glamoured to forget the actual...Reaping?” I swallow, imagining the pain of giving birth to a child you knew was about to be taken from you.
“I don’t know. Some, I guess, but they all felt the loss anyways—the Council never removed memories of the entire pregnancy, just the births.”
“Assholes.” It’s so unnecessarily cruel. “And after? When they were allowed to come back to be with their families again?”
He shakes his head. “The women who were taken didn’t speak of it publicly. You have to remember that we were raised not to question the Council. You weren't to even think about questioning their methods. The mothers kept their silence, letting their horrendous experiences fester inside themselves.”
“And the children were raised to hate the rest of us. To hate humans.” And we’re both.
“We don’t know all the details. It could all be true, or it could all be wild rumours. There's only one among us who knows the truth.”
“Ashria.”
He nods. “Your mother is the only one who can say for sure—and I’m not even sure the High Fae Council trusted her with everything. Anything I tell you is only conjecture.”
Times like this, shame at the things my mother has done overwhelms me. Back then I didn’t know about her or the Fae at all. It's still one hell of a shitty legacy. 'Have you met my mother? She was the leader of an evil Fae Council who glamoured hundreds, if not thousands, of Fae beings into breeding ceremonies through the years, then took their children. She's nice now, apparently, not evil at all. What's your mom like?'
I pull my hair over my shoulder and nuzzle my back against Draven’s chest. “Looks like I'm going to have to have a talk with her.”
“Yes.”
Yippee. Talk to my mother, who is trying to convince my soulmate that betraying me somehow is for my own good.
I think I'd rather she just sprayed some more glass into my face.
CHAPTER NINE
Coldness caresses my back instead of Draven when I wake up. Is it too much to ask for a consecutive day and night together? I stare at the ceiling for a while before getting up and dawdling over what to wear, even though I know I'm going to default to jeans and a t-shirt. The truth is, I don’t want to have this conversation with Ashria, so I'm putting off the inevitable, scared of what I might find out. But I can't shrink back from truth no matter how ugly it might be, so I get dressed and stride purposefully out of my room and downstairs.
Of course, by the time I’ve sucked up the nerve to confront her, the house is empty and there’s a note on the kitchen table.
Syxx,
Stay close to home today. A Corvidae shifter will be stopping by to stay with us. Make him welcome and find out everything he knows, by any means necessary. He is extremely important to us, so do not alienate him. It is vital that he does not leave. I return in a few days.
~Ashria
“By any means necessary, but do not alienate him?” What the hell is that supposed to mean? I ball up the note and toss it in the garbage. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.
So maybe my last information-seeking mission didn't go so well—the Witch has hard feelings—but I got the information. Making an enemy wasn't from lack of diplomacy on my part—she was extortion-happy.
And why is this Shifter coming? Why is he vital? How many days exactly will Ashria be gone? She's really got to be more specific with these things. I'm sick of going into situations half blind because she doesn't think it’s necessary to fill me in on all the details beforehand, then giving me shit when things aren’t butter-smooth in the aftermath.
The whole thing is sand-in-the-vagina irritating. She's taking it for granted I'll be okay when I'm sent on these missions. She takes it for granted that our relationship is strong enough that she can go behind my back and try to convince Draven of...well, I'm not even sure what she tried to convince him of, but she takes me for granted.
I had a life before all of this. I didn't do anything earth-shatteringly important, but it was the life I chose and it was just starting to get good. I suppose I chose this as well, though it was either join the fight or wait for the end of the world and I'm not much for ducking and covering. If a wall is coming down, I'm going to grab a sledgehammer and get a few swings in.
I don't miss my dad, or Janelle, or my job.
If I hadn't gone to the Beajenn concert, I never would have been in range of The Sowing. Instead, I’d be blissfully unaware of this mess.
Then again, I wouldn't have met Tipper, the Leprechaun who told me I'm a Moondreamer. He was like a father to Draven, leader of The Resistance, and he died saving us from a Council member.
If I hadn't gone to the concert, I never would have met Draven. He’s not the piece of me that was missing—I don’t believe we’re not whole on our own—but he makes me better, enriches my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined had I not met him.
I never would have met Ashria—though at the moment I'm not sure if that tic goes under the pro or con column.
Other than the laughable simplicity of my life before The Sowing—B.S. indeed—the part I miss the hell out of is Trina. She has this awesomely sarcastic sense of humor, and she loves fucking with people. Sometimes if we were out and a guy she wasn't interested in would talk to her, she'd pull the Asian tourist bit and pretend she didn't speak English. Sometimes I'd pretend to translate into English, more often I'd deliberately mistranslate and see how far I could go before she'd break character in response to the things I pretended she was saying. It was hilarious and all kinds of wrong.
We’re bad for each other in the best possible ways, as only best friends can be.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll through the contacts until I get to her name. My thumb twitches toward the screen. I’m stalled by indecision—what the hell would I say? Texts are safer because she won't hear the lies living inside the words I tell her. As her roommate, there are responsibilities I've upheld; I wired Trina some money for rent and bills, but I couldn't give her the truth about what’s happened.
I've failed in my responsibilities as a best friend.
To justify staying away for so long, I told her most of the truth. That Janelle isn't my real mother and I’m staying with my biological mom to get to know her better. I left out the part about The Sowing and finding out I'm only half-human. How could I weave that into a sentence on the phone and expect her not to hang up on me or think I’m nuts? No, the Moondreamer revelation will have to be face-to-face, and I have no idea when that will be. Until we figure out everything with the High Council, it's best to keep Trina out of this.
Not for the first time I wish I c
ould teleport.
I set my phone on the table and push it away. All the ways to communicate in the world and the words are lodged inside me.
Stalking over to the coffee maker, I brew a fresh pot and paw disinterestedly through the cupboards for something to eat. The mini croissants I find in the breadbox win because I can just stuff them in my mouth no muss, no fuss, no plate. They could use some jam, though. Chipmunk-cheeked, I glare at the coffee maker like it owes me money, waiting for the last drops to pass through the filter.
“Come on.” I impatiently jiggle the pot by the handle and toss a croissant in the air with the other, trying to catch it in my mouth. It smacks me just under the nose and hits the floor with a small thud. The floor’s pretty clean. I shrug. Five second rule.
“You're not really going to eat that, are you?”
I spin, drop the croissant, and back up until my butt hits the counter, gaining another foot or so of space to work with. My lower body is all warrior—relaxed crouch, wide stance, but my upper half is all Moondreamer magic—hands at the ready to blast the stranger into a thousand painful pieces should he make the wrong move. I won't initiate the fighting, Skortia's taught me to wait for my opponent to strike first so I might find a weakness, or at least learn whether they’ll use magic or physical might, and I don't want my own momentum used against me. I'm focusing on his body—faces are easier to bluff with than body language. He's athletic, closer to lean, but size has nothing to do with strength.
“Whoa, easy.” He eases his hands up in front of him. “I'm expected. My name is Kaya.” Porcelain pale skin makes for a stark contrast with his black hair, streaked with iridescent green and blue highlights. Pretty, if somewhat fussy; it's longish and combed back from the front. His huge eyes are black and sparkle in his narrow face.
“You're the shifter?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Prove it.” The fact he's in the house is almost good enough. Almost.
The shift is violent and nearly instantaneous. He’s disappeared and a large magpie stands on the table. It makes a cooing noise and hops over to my cell phone. The cooing gets louder as the magpie tips his head from side to side and puts a foot on the screen, clawing it closer to him. He pecks at the charms attached to the top.
“Hey!” I snatch it away. “That's mine.”
The bird hops off the table and transforms back into the man before it hits the floor.
“Sorry.” Kaya’s grin is rueful. “Shiny.”
Ah, right. Magpies like shiny things. Don't we all. “Yeah, well, keep your beak to yourself.” I smile. “I'm Syxx.” Making like a good ambassador, I offer my hand for him to shake.
He takes it. “Nice to meet you, Syxx.”
“Want some coffee or a croissant? I promise they all haven’t been dropped on the floor.”
He laughs. “I’d love some coffee.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just black, thanks.”
I have no idea how to go about finding out what Kaya knows—I’m not an interrogator. I’m not supposed to alienate him, so I should keep it friendly? Stalling for time, I pour his cup and add cream to mine. If he’s here, it means he wants to talk. Ugh, what if I do the wrong thing? Screw manipulations and strategy—keeping it straightforward is the way to go.
I set his coffee on the table and sit in the chair across from him. He sips and makes an appreciative noise. Making kick-ass coffee is one of my skills—I add a pinch of chicory to the grounds before the water goes in. Bending a leg to rest one heel on the seat of my chair, I bite the bullet. “Hungry?” Wow, Syxx. Stunning show of bravery. Stunning.
“I ate earlier.”
“Ah.” Just ask him. “So what do you know about all this?” I gesture around at everything and nothing.
“The war?”
I nod. “Specifically, the reason Ashria invited you here.”
He grimaces as though tasting an awful truth and takes a sip of coffee. “It's my sister. I think she's a member of the High Council.”
Fear, celebration, and doubt battle for dominance of my nerves. If she is truly a member of the High Council, that means we'll have identified three out of the four members and we’re one step closer to ending the war—or at least one step closer to the beginning of the end. “You think?”
He sighs, a deep and haggard sound. “No, I know it. I know she is.”
“And she’s a Corvidae shifter as well?” Ugh, duh, she's his sister. “I don’t know if you have the same parents and abilities.”
He nods. “She is. I'm stronger than she is in human form. She's way more dominant when we shift.”
“Do you know where she is now or any of her usual haunts?”
“I used to. I hardly see her anymore. Last time was about a month ago.”
Just before The Sowing. “Do you think she fell in with the wrong people and has been influenced into this against her will? Glamoured, maybe?”
The harsh ugly sound devoid of humor that comes from his mouth makes me wince. “She isn't the type that falls victim to peer pressure. She's always had a harsh streak. The older we've gotten, the more ruthless she's become.”
“How do you know she's on the Fae High Council and not simply working for them?”
“I found a letter I wasn't supposed to. It made a lot of things less confusing, explained her recent actions.” Weary, he closes his eyes. The dark circles stained underneath them are like bruises.
This sucks. “Do you have the letter?”
“I gave it to Ashria. She didn't have much time to talk, except to tell me how to get inside the safe house and when to come.”
Details. I should get more details. “What does your sister look like?”
“We're twins. Same height and wiry build, same coloring. Her hair is longer with a white streak.”
I pictured the High Council members more like Graire was—wizened and shriveled from the malevolence inside them. “You can't be that old. How is she a member of the Fae High Council?”
“She's driven. And we’re not as young as we look—we’re twenty-six.”
“Seriously?” I'd have pegged him at barely twenty.
“It's the Corvidae blood.”
Interesting. “It keeps you looking young?”
“When have you ever seen an old-looking bird?”
I shrug. “I don't know. They could be super wrinkly underneath all those shiny feathers.”
His face goes slack for a second, then he laughs until tears roll down his cheeks. I join in.
He finishes his coffee. “I wish my mother could have heard that.”
“Would she have thought it was funny?”
“No,” he chokes. “She takes an inordinate amount of pride in her youthful appearance.” His laughter tapers off. “My sister gets her vanity from her...and her ruthlessness. Our parents raised us to be cold. There was no point showing kindness to us as children—we weren't interesting enough to waste the energy on. Not until we were older and our powers could be used to their advantage.”
“Brutal.”
He nods. “I'm not making excuses for her, but she never used to be like this. She had a mean streak, but nothing like this. God. It happened so gradually that I don't even know when she stopped being my sister and went completely rotten inside.” He props his head on his hand, elbow on the table. “It was one breath at a time.”
I can't imagine how hard it would be to watch your loved one slip away more with every heartbeat. Pumping him for information like this when he's clearly still raw makes me feel like I’m exploiting his pain. His wounds aren't old enough to be scars—they are fresh and agonizing, but I've got to.
“Her strengths?”
“She's scarily intelligent. Ruthless. Don't underestimate her. She won't hesitate to take you out if she sees an opening. In Corvidae form, she’s fast and heals quickly.”
“Her weaknesses?”
He bites his lip and toys with his cup. I reach across the table and take his hand
in mine. While I’m not normally one to initiate contact with strangers, it feels right.
He squeezes it, and for a moment his face shows the hurt he's been hiding so well. Then he takes a deep breath and nods. “She's weak in human form. And she can always be distracted by something if it's shiny enough, if she's in either human or Corvi form.”
“What's her name?” I ask gently. Even if she's one of the bad guys, she's still his sister.
“Nakayla.”
She's still his sister, which makes me wonder—can we trust someone who sells out their family? What would it take for me to betray Trina or Draven the way Kaya's betraying Nakayla? Then again, if someone I loved was a High Council member, I suppose the decision would be a lot easier to make.
It’s not my place to judge his motivations—he’s turning her in and Ashria believes him. Even though she may not be my favorite person at the moment, she’s not an idiot.
“You tired?”
He nods, sagging in his chair. “I've been travelling for days.”
“Come on. I'll show you to your room.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Good, Syxx. Ten...nine...eight...seven, come on, push, you can do this! Three...two...and now ten more!”
My arms wobble. “That's the third”—I grunt, pushing up again—“time you've...said that.”
“Save your breath for the work-out,” Skortia trills in a disgustingly chipper tone. “We've got someone coming today to show you advanced hand-to-hand combat. I can't stay until they get here, so I need you limber and ready to go. Don’t make me look bad.”
Skortia is the toughest person I know and an absolute fighting machine. I can't imagine anyone better than she is.
Today is going to suuuuck.
“Get into plank position.”
Yup. Today sucks and it's just started. Ashria comes back today, which means I finally get to confront her. Before that delight of a conversation, I get to have my ass handed to me by a new trainer. Whee.
The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2) Page 6