“Some look fairly new. You're saying...” Kaya trails off looking sick.
“Yes,” Misty spits the affirmation. “The most recent visit was three weeks ago.” She throws the ring back to the table and scrubs her hand against her pant leg, as though the contact is tainting her skin.
I want to vomit and resurrect Jecka so I can kill her again for what she’s done. He was a child. And even if she’d started last week, Ibor and Misty are pair-bonded and he's been forced to...Misty's had to watch this happen, knowing they'd both be killed if she said anything. They didn't know what pair-bonding was, or why it would feel so unnatural to touch another person in that way. Draven's hand clasps mine beneath the table. I squeeze back.
Ibor grabs one of Misty’s hands. “She may have marked my skin, reminding me of it every time I see it, but she never touched my heart. That is yours alone. It is touched only by your love.”
Misty kisses one of the inverted J scars on Ibor's chest as she tenderly puts his shirt back over his head.
“Wait.” I stand and walk over to them. “May I touch you? It won't take a moment.” I ask both of them—Misty’s his mate and I don’t want to be another Fae woman doing something to her mate without permission from them both. This time Ibor looks to Misty for the answer. She nods, wary but clearly curious, and he gives me permission.
Standing beside him, I gently place a hand on his chest and one on his back.
Show me the roots of the scars.
My God, there are so many of them, more even than can be seen, all over his body.
Don't let this hurt him. Come to the surface, fill the dents left by the scar tissue with new flesh and unblemished skin.
Misty's eyes get big and Ibor's chest inflates with a giant intake of breath as the scars migrate, crusty and ugly, coating the surface of Ibor's skin, making it look so much worse than before now that they’re all visible.
Misty tenses at my side. “What have you—”
“Brush them off,” I tell her.
Ibor stands paralysed by hope or maybe fear that it isn't real. Misty runs a hand across his abs. The scars flake off, revealing smooth, unblemished skin underneath.
“Ibor!” she gasps, as she continues clearing the scars from his body with shaky hands. Every ugly representation of what Jecka did flakes off like it’s nothing.
Tears stream down my face as Ibor joins in, actively erasing the terrible history from his skin. While it doesn’t fix what’s happened to him, at least they don’t have to see the possessive brands. I point at the ring. “Do we need that for anything?”
Draven shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
Using my will, I crumple it like a hunk of aluminum foil and look at the Fae soldiers, crying while they embrace each other. “That bitch is dead. She can't hurt you ever again. You both deserve a fresh start without reminders of Jecka every time you’re...together.”
Misty grabs me in a rib-crushing hug. “You have no idea what you've done for us.” Her voice is quiet enough that only I can hear.
“He is only yours,” I whisper.
“Thank you.” Ibor wipes his tears away. His mate releases me and moves back to his side, something intense burning in his expression when he meets Draven’s gaze. “And thank you.”
“Don't thank me. I only did what was right.”
“You've got the power to destroy them,” Ibor says. “I didn't truly believe it was possible. I wanted it to be true...” He inclines his head at me, showing respect. “Now we are not only not theirs anymore, we are yours.”
Draven shakes his head. “No. You are your own people. Your will is your own.”
I nod and try to clarify. “I didn't do this so you'd fight with us. I did it because what she did was wrong. You owe us nothing.”
“Then we fight by your sides as free Fae,” Misty says.
Ibor nods. “And our knowledge of the army is yours.”
I’d only healed Ibor’s skin because it was the right thing to do, but this is a huge win for us. Ibor and Misty have knowledge that freely given will get us far. We’ve got the names of four of the members—make that three of them with Jecka dead.
Jecka dead and both Sakarias and Draven made it through unharmed.
Finally, something is going our way.
A loud thud from upstairs reverberates through the house.
“What the hell was that?” I ask no one in particular.
Skortia runs into the room. “Janska's tried to kill herself.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ashria got to her first, though none of us lingered in the kitchen, and is moving Janska's unconscious form to the bed when I get to the room behind Skortia.
“Skortia, go grab another blanket please.” Ashria points to the puddle of blood on the floor. “Syxx, clean that up before the others get here.”
We move to do as she asks while she heals Janska’s wounds. I will the blood to disappear just before Ibor and Misty crowd into the room and stand stiffly at the foot of the bed.
Misty sighs. “Judging by the shattered chair in the corner, she used a piece of that.”
“She also used her teeth,” Ashria says.
Holy fuck. “Why would she do this?” I help Skortia smooth the downy quilt over Janska so my hands have something to do.
“Better to die than be a prisoner,” Ibor says.
“The enemy can't get information from a corpse,” Misty adds.
The matter-of-fact way they speak crawls into my spine and unleashes shivers across my skin like a parade of insects. These are the truths they grew up with. Children were taught these horrors from the time they were ripped away from their mothers’ arms.
There’s no remorse in my heart for Jecka's death, and I'm not sure I like what that says about me and how I've changed since this all began, but I regret not using a glamour on Janska last night when I had the chance. It could have made her okay with all of this.
Guilt makes my head pound along with my heart.
No. It's better she comes to it naturally. More spells aren't the answer. Maybe there was something else I could have done differently, said something better. This is still my fault for not finding something that worked.
Maybe Ibor and Misty can reach her. At least they’re on our side now, and if they joined us, more will as well. It's possible, and where there's possibility, there's hope.
Ashria waves a hand over Janska’s head. “She lost a lot of blood, but she'll be fine. A few more minutes, and we'd have been too late. Not even I can bring people back from the dead.”
Janska's eyes flit around beneath her eyelids, dreaming about who knows what. She croons softly, words I can't quite make out.
“What is she singing?”
Misty crosses her arms. “One of the army songs. It celebrates the Fae, our majesty and strength and looks positively to the day when we will take our rightful place above the humans. It was something we were encouraged to think about if we were captured and someone tried to read our thoughts.”
Even unconscious, Janska’s gripped by her indoctrination. Anger grips my heart—not at the soldiers, but at those who taught them propaganda instead of letting them think for themselves. “Were you ever exposed to real songs and pop culture at all?”
Misty nods. “We did hear bits and pieces here and there. Smuggled books, songs we taught each other when we heard them. Sometimes we got to leave on missions to observe the world, learn how to blend in with humans. Most of us would sneak onto the internet and watch music videos when we could at libraries and internet cafes. It was an amazing way to see the world we were supposed to hate.” She goes quiet. “I could never bring myself to hate a world that had so many amazing songs and the people who made them.”
Being a complete audiophile myself, I see why she's particularly affected by sound.
“She's coming around,” Ashria says.
“You'll never win.” Janska's weak voice is resentful.
I'm not surprised that the first word
s out of her mouth are combative. “It's not about winning against your army. We only have to beat the High Fae Council.”
“Which you'll never do,” she sneers.
“One down.”
Her composure doesn't crumble, but its foundation is clearly rocked to the core. “What?”
“Draven killed Jecka,” Misty says.
“Draven?”
“Syxx’s mate.” Misty shoots an awed look my way.
“But, it's Jecka.” Janska's voice is hushed with reverence. “She's stronger than anyone.”
“It was Jecka. And I beg to differ about her strength.” Sakarias moves to her bedside.
“You!” Janska’s eyes bug out. “You're...”
“I know. Please, don’t get up.” He winks at me, a gesture of affection that Janska doesn't miss.
“You're friendly with these people?” She sounds more curious than outraged.
“They are on the side of right. And they're more powerful than you know.”
“No one's more powerful than Jecka.”
Sakarias shrugs. “I am. Draven is. He bested her in battle.”
Her eyes widen. “One-on-one? Impossible. No one can beat her at anything.”
Misty nods. “It's true, Janska, and that’s not all. Ibor, show her your scars.” Ibor lifts his shirt.
Janska struggles to prop herself on her elbows and weakly lifts a hand to touch his unmarked skin. “Impossible.”
“Syxx did it.”
“You healed him? No one can heal scars, and Jecka said it wasn’t possible because of her magic and—”
“Moondreamer, remember?” I interrupt. “And Jecka said a lot of shit that wasn’t true.”
She lies back down. “And you bested Jecka.” Draven nods. “And where is she now?”
“Dead.”
She blinks furiously. “No, you said you bested her in battle, not that...how?”
“Draven and Sakarias are the greatest warriors we've got,” Skortia says. “And Sakarias—”
“I know who he is and what his strengths are,” Janska snaps. “He is a king.” She focuses on Sakarias. “Jecka was more powerful than anyone I've ever known and you took her out. That means you are now my leader.”
“Draven technically bested her. I am your leader, not because Jecka is dead, but because I am King of the Selkie people and you are a Selkie. Whether or not my blood flows through your veins, you are still one of my children and my subject. I lead you and fight for your future as well as my own. The things you have done are not worthy of your ancestors’ blood.”
Blood flushes Janska’s face at her chastisement. Her new idol continues. “Worthy or not, it fills your veins. Their history beats in your heart, pulsing through your body. You are a misguided warrior, but you are still a warrior, that is plain to see. Your actions up to now haven't been honorable, but they weren't your own. You were the High Council's puppet. What you do from here on out is what matters. Now is when you fight for something worthy of your energy, worthy of your strength. If you want direction, I can give you that. If you want to be a part of the Fae heritage beating through your veins, the heritage you cut into and bled all over the floor, then follow me. You are free to refuse, but know that if you try to fight against us, you will lose. I promise you that. You are welcome within our ranks—people can change and we need strong warriors like you. What's it going to be, little Selkie?”
She blinks away the tears in her eyes. “I am yours to command.”
I'm not sure if she's pleased because of his speech or because she has someone to follow again, but the loyalty in her eyes shines true, and I feel the sincerity of her words.
SAKARIAS IS WATCHING over Janska while she sleeps. It's a mammalian thing he said, it sings to the blood of their people and breeds trust. I don’t think he's got anything to worry about. She transferred every bit of devotion from the High Council to Sakarias when we destroyed Jecka. Sakarias replaced her. True soldiers need someone to follow. I'm glad it was Sakarias, a worthy leader if ever there was one.
I've packed a small backpack of things I might need for our trip to see the Sprites. Even in Fae society, it's best not to show up empty-handed, so I've included some provisions and things for the Sprites, for goodwill. They had a rougher time of it than most Fae at The Sowing ceremonies and are eager for the High Council to be ousted. So far there hasn’t been too much resentment toward Ashria, but if it was to come from anyone, I’d bank on the Sprites—and rightfully so.
At The Sowing ceremony, the Council had employed Counters, basically Fae middle managers who ensured selections went well. The matings were always ladies’ choice, but some pairings weren't compatible. Sprites are more delicate than the other types of Fae and have to be careful of who they choose to mate with because a bad pairing can be fatal to them.
I saw the result of that when a Sprite chose a Djinn. She was literally torn apart. It wasn't the Djinn's fault—it was a stunt rigged by Graire. The glamour that was laid upon all the Fae had swept the Sprite away with her lust. She'd chosen poorly and a Counter had allowed it. Aryla, the Sprite, paid with her life. Graire killed the Counter responsible, though it was clear that she'd been under his orders.
If Grayle's anything like his sadistic bro, I'm happy to save him for last. I'd like a few more guaranteed allies in my corner before tangling with him, but if I can get my hands on any of the High Council members, I'll take the chance. Who knows what Jecka's disappearance has done? Some may become more cautious at the very least, and if there are spies in our midst, as Sakarias once hinted at, then the last three High Council members might know she's dead instead of in hiding. They could bump up any plans or retaliate at any time.
The Djinn have shifted alliances, joining the High Council. Maybe they'll reconsider when they learn about Jecka. Not that we want alliances that will turn so willingly, but it's best to have as few enemies as possible.
I toss my backpack on the bed and sit down beside it, overwhelmed. I'm not that different from our Fae army guests. Everything in my life has changed in such a short period with no time to integrate everything. I lie back and cover my eyes with my hands. More and more, I feel like I'm on an obstacle course, only it's set on a treadmill and I keep running and dodging things, but someone keeps increasing the speed.
I'm exhausted without the luxury of stopping.
It's not like I'm in charge, but there are a lot of people counting on me to help fix this situation. All I want to do is sleep for a few months and go back to my life...but my life will never be the same. I haven't even talked to my dad and stepmother about Ashria yet, or the fact I'm not completely human. No, even if I could change things today, I don't want a normal life. Ideally, I’d like a relaxed version of this—magic has enhanced my life in so many ways.
I’d like the excitement without the danger. The breathlessness without the urgency. Excitement is only fun when it's by choice.
I want to spend time with Draven and hang with my friends and get to know them and the world as it truly is. Until recently, I’ve only known a part of it exists. What’s it really like out there? I want to explore that with Draven. With Trina.
My heart spasms as fear for her safety and rage at Mare's actions war for dominance. I lie still as my room trembles, and I breathe deeply to prevent myself from shattering everything in sight.
It takes a few minutes.
Anger abated, doubt wins. Was it a mistake to let Mare live? I can't just take lives when something happens—even horrible things. That makes me a murderer and no better than the High Council. I have to trust that Trina will be returned safely. If she's not...
Everything in my room shakes.
Kill or be killed is different than revenge. Tell that to your heart when someone kills a loved one in front of you.
“Knock, knock.”
The distraction slices through my loss of control, leaving me in stillness.
Damn it. Her voice. Not again. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping this is a
nightmare.
Verica’s heels tap across my floor, and the bed settles beside me as she sits down. “Alone in bed again, Syxxy? I'm not surprised.”
“You remind me of a boomerang.”
“Because I'm sleek yet curvy?”
I glare at her. “No. Because no matter how hard we throw you away, you just keep on coming back.”
“What can I say.” She sniffs Draven's side of the bed. “I know where I'm needed.”
I'm pretty sure I could blast her into tiny enough pieces to flush down the toilet. Would anyone really miss her?
She caresses his pillow and I sit up. This bitch tap-dances all over my buttons. “What do you want, Verica?”
“You mean I need a reason to come by and hang out? Settle down, I was giving your mother some information.”
“Why? I don't get it. Why would you help us, when the Djinn have joined with the High Council, especially when your mate is a Djinn.” Unless you're the spy in our midst and are feeding us false information.
“The truth? I know you guys won't lose and I want to be on the winning side. Caius and I feel the same. Just because he's Djinn doesn't mean he's like the rest of them. They go where the power is, in this case mistakenly thinking the High Council is where it's at.”
“Huh.” If that's true, which I doubt.
“And I like you. Well,” she says in response to my look of sheer disbelief, “not you in particular. Some of your friends are alright.”
“Draven.” I clench my teeth.
“Yes. And Sakarias; I like them big and brawny. Even Ashria is a fabulous role model, such a strong woman.”
“Uh-huh. And what do you get out of all this?”
“We get to be on the winning team. And I get to be closer to the people I like.” Her hand pats Draven's pillow again. “You know what I love about Draven? He’s fuck-hot, for starters, and knows his way around the female anatomy—”
The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2) Page 13