Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set

by C. N. Crawford

  At least, not since the time I stabbed him.

  “They’ve got to get back here soon, right?” asked Ciara.

  “I don’t know. Ruadan has sort of ghosted me recently.”

  Loneliness corroded me. I’d never told him how I really felt. Was it too late now? The weight of unspoken words pressed on me like a ton of craggy rocks. The assassin might have already killed him, and I’d never told him the truth.

  I hugged myself, staring at the fortress. It’s not like I could just barge in there. I wouldn’t be able to get beyond that bloody golden moat without an invitation.

  Fatigue seeped into my brain like a toxin, and I wavered on my feet.

  With one hand, I gripped the balcony rail to steady myself. I studied the Tower until something caught my eye. It wasn’t the mist soldiers, though. No, my blood thundered at the sight of a powerful fae male on the Tower walls, gilded by the light of the moat, his silver crown gleaming. The wind whipped at his cloak, and a few tendrils of fog snaked around him. Strands of pale, blond hair lifted in the breeze.

  My blood warmed, cheeks heating at the sight of him. He was all right.

  Ruadan. I’m going to see you soon.

  I clutched the balcony rail so hard I was at risk of breaking it.

  But as I stared at Ruadan across the stony courtyard, the shadows seemed to consume him—a midnight darkness flecked with stars, tinged with moonlight. For a moment, he looked like a god of night, as if he’d been sewn from a starry cloth. Then, he just disappeared into the darkness as if he’d never been there at all.

  My heart was beating out of control, and I wondered if I’d just hallucinated him. In the tiny iron box where Baleros had kept me—those times I’d angered him—I’d had plenty of hallucinations. Sometimes I even thought I’d gotten out.

  And now that I’d been avoiding dreams, maybe they were creeping into my waking life.

  At last, the distinct silhouettes of soldiers became clearer in the misty courtyard below us. My body vibrated with tension. Was one of them holding a note?

  “Arianna,” said Ciara.

  The name irritated me. I wasn’t Arianna—not anymore. The death fluttering in my chest did not belong to an Arianna. Arianna lived in a cage and scrambled over the floor for sweets. She was nearly as pathetic as Jared in his plastic ears.

  Liora was vengeance incarnate.

  With my free hand, I still gripped the balcony rail. My shoulder blades began to tingle, wings ready to erupt. “My name is Liora.”

  “Liora,” Ciara corrected herself from behind me. “Sometimes you can be a bit … intense about things. I think this might be one of those times. I can kind of see it in the way you look like you’re about to break the railing.”

  “What?”

  She rose from the sofa. “Look, I sense something bad coming up. My Aunt Starlene always told me that I had a knack for predicting the future. She once put a rattlesnake in her pants when someone offered her five dollars, and I said it would end badly because I just had like a sick sense about it—”

  “Not now, Ciara. I need silence.”

  “Her swelling never went down,” she continued. “So as you can see, I was right. And my point is, when you get this message back, I don’t want you doing anything crazy, because my sick sense tells me something crazy might be the first thing on your agenda.”

  “Sixth.”

  “The first thing,” she repeated more sternly.

  I slid the whiskey back onto the table. “Never mind. Look, the Shadow Fae are dying in there,” I said. “Someone in there is going to assassinate Ruadan. They think I’m to blame, and I’m running out of options.”

  Jared’s door opened. Plumes of fog billowed into the room, and my blood pounded as the mist soldiers marched in. Anticipation lit my nerves on fire as one of the soldiers held out the paper to me.

  Now, I’d find out what I’d been waiting for.

  I’d expected to find a note of some kind. Instead, someone had just marked my own letter with a red X over the words I’d written. It looked like someone had actually just slashed blood over the page. What the hells…?

  You know, they could have at least explained:

  You’re not wanted.

  No death angels allowed.

  Will probably kill you, k thx bye.

  Any of those things would be preferable to this godsdamned silence. Then again, what if the mist soldiers had given the letter right to the traitor? I needed a new plan.

  I gripped the paper hard, my emotions roiling.

  Then, I whirled. I snatched my bug-out bag off the ground. I rifled through it for my weapons, and I strapped myself with knives—one holstered around each thigh. I jammed my headlamp on my head.

  “I mean, this is exactly what I was talking about,” said Ciara. “You have a murdery look, and now you’re strapping weapons to your body.”

  I will crawl up the throats of my enemies and steal their final breaths.

  Death pounded in my blood, and I willed my mind to calm. I had to keep that monster in its cage, but I could feel it growing stronger, darkness seeping from my pores.

  My foes will choke on their own blood. “Maybe I should kill everyone,” I muttered.

  Had I said that out loud?

  Ciara wrinkled her nose. “Or just a nap, maybe, before you do anything rash? I could get you some of those cheesy crackers you like…?”

  I snatched the whiskey off the table and flicked on my headlamp. “I’m going to speak to the Grand Master of the Institute.”

  “Now how the hells do you think you’re going to get into that Tower?” Ciara chided.

  Without replying, I marched past her, into the hall. I was done waiting to find out if Ruadan was okay or not. The walls, the moat of light—they were for lesser beings, not the angel of death.

  Not Liora.

  Chapter 103

  On the winding, ancient road, darkness spilled through my veins.

  They thought I was a monster, and I wasn’t about to prove them right.

  With another long sip of whiskey, I grew a little bit bolder. A little thing like a magical moat couldn’t keep me out.

  I dimmed my headlamp a bit, accidentally sloshing a little whiskey onto my own face. Maybe I’d been drinking a bit too fast, but at least the buzz was helping to calm my death angel side. I was no longer thinking things like the death of mortals feeds my soul.

  Good, good. If I could permanently stay just the right amount drunk, I might not lay waste to life on Earth.

  As the death drive dissipated, mental images of Ruadan replaced it: the gentle curve of his lips, the way he wrapped his hand around my neck when he kissed me, the spark of hurt in his eyes when I told him nothing could happen between us. I could almost feel the soothing stroke of his magic licking at my throat.

  Desire roared in my chest, so fierce my body trembled.

  The wind rushed over my skin, and my purple hair whipped into my face.

  If you loved someone, you did everything within your power to keep them safe. If I found Ruadan dead when I broke into the Tower, I wasn’t sure what I would do. I wasn’t sure if anyone would survive my fury—

  Another slug of whiskey to calm the monster within. Take it easy, Liora. Keep the dark angel locked away before she kills the whole world.

  Somewhere under the roaring river of my thoughts, I had a vague sense of losing control. A drowning voice was saying that the drunk stumbling through the streets with a crooked headlamp and a rage problem might not be living her best life right now.

  Still, I kept walking. I crossed under a bridge, where pigeons and sparrows roosted above me. They stopped cooing as death approached, flapping away, frantic. I had the sense that the grass and dandelions were wilting around me, that I was a toxic thing.

  I am ashen skin, the blood in your lungs.

  What I needed was a slightly stronger buzz.

  All creatures fear me. All life crumbles to dust before me.

  I hiccupped,
taking another sip.

  Across the street, a group of men laughed raucously over their pints. Didn’t they know death itself was near?

  Watching them, I stumbled, nearly falling before I righted myself again.

  “Hello, darling!” It was one of the men across the street—one wearing a white T-shirt with the cross of St. George. “I like your pretty little headlamp. Give us a smile, darling.”

  I smiled, then added. “How about I engrave a permanent smile on your face with one of my knives?”

  “Ooh, she’s a feisty one, isn’t she? Come on over here, love. I’d like to tussle with you.” He seemed to think I was joking about the knives, although they were clearly strapped to my legs, and I was clearly a monster. Idiot. He pointed to his crotch. “Come on. It’s not going to suck itself, is it?”

  His friends burst into raucous laughter. I understood how this worked. Not about seduction, was it? Just a performance for the benefit of his friends.

  Cold fury simmered, burning away my drunken clumsiness.

  I held out my hands to either side, a smile curling my lips. “All right, lads. You want a show? I’ll give you a show.”

  The one in the St. George’s cross T-shirt stumbled across the street toward me. “That’s a good girl. Give us a show, then.”

  In a flash of an instant, I was by his side. I touched his cheek, letting the death magic spill out of my fingertips, charcoal gray like smoke. Images flickered in my mind: the bare bones of trees, a cathedral of thin stones arching above, the ribs of a spare skeleton.

  “When I’m done with you, you human beast, your skin will curl off your body and your guts will blacken and liquefy. Your life has no meaning. After you putrefy, no one will remember your name.”

  The full force of my anger terrified even me, and I stumbled back from him. Shit, shit, shit.

  The human gaped at me, fear freezing him.

  “Nope,” I held up my hands. “Nope, I’m good. I’m in control. No liquefying organs tonight. Everything is lovely. Nice to meet you, fine sirs.” I jabbed St. George’s Cross in the chest. “But do not harass any more women or I really will peel your skin off. Not even joking.”

  Nausea crept into my gut as I moved away from them. I’d nearly let the death angel take over completely. If it had, I could have hit the Institute with another dose of the Plague. I could have finished them off before I even got to warn them.

  My whiskey buzz had grown richer and deeper, and I nearly didn’t notice the tingle of magic down my shoulder blades as I walked away from the humans.

  Thing was, I needed to let the monster out just a little in order to get into the Tower.

  I will rot your food until your cheeks hollow out, and bony fingers stuff your gullet with grass.

  Feathered wings erupted from my back in a burst of euphoria. The scent of myrrh enveloped me. In a wave of ecstasy, I lifted into the air.

  Ahhh, this is what I was meant for.

  The river wind rushed over my skin. My wings were a rhythmic heartbeat as I lifted into the air. I was born for this—flight in the skies. As my angelic form took over, I could only regret all the years I’d spent tethering myself to the earth, living like a caged beast.

  What a waste. A goddess locked in a cage.

  Kings and beggars, queens and strumpets. All fall at my feet.

  Fifty feet in the air, I skimmed over the stony courtyard. I’d nearly reached the Tower gate.

  The Tower: forbidding and silent, secrets locked inside. The fortress and its Grand Master were two peas in a pod.

  “Two peas in a fucking pod,” I yelled at no one. Apparently, I still had a very good whiskey buzz going, even in my angel form.

  The Tower’s stone walls failed to respond to my comment. Not a flicker of light, not a twitch of a curtain. The golden moat loomed far below. Still flying, I corked the whiskey bottle. There was a bit left, and I didn’t want it spilling.

  My wings beat the air, lifting me higher. The Shadow Fae hadn’t thought about angels when they’d designed their magical moat. They thought we were all gone. Fools. I giggled as I soared higher.

  I flew parallel to magical barrier, feeling it tingle on my skin. I raced up toward the heavens, wind tearing at my hair.

  A moat would keep out the demons, yes, but demons couldn’t fly as high as angels. We were meant for the heavens, creatures of the celestial realm. Laugher kept bubbling up, and the dark night winds kissed my skin as I raced higher.

  Who needed sleep, anyway? I could do this forever, just me and the sky. Up here, I didn’t hear Baleros’s voice.

  When the air began to thin, and the clouds spread out far below me, the power of the barrier seemed to fade. At last, it glimmered away to nothing.

  I’d made it above the protections.

  I circled over a moment, looking down at the Tower. I couldn’t even see it from here, but I was certain I just had to fly straight down.

  I angled my wings, then pressed them flat against my back. I dove in a wild free fall. The rush of the flight was burning away some of my whiskey buzz, and my thoughts started to grow slightly clearer.

  I’ll admit that at this point the plan didn’t seem like the best of ideas, but I was already committed to it.

  I plummeted, swooping lower and lower, diving, exhilarated. Then, when I could see the stone rings of the Tower below me, I spread my wings out to either side, slowing my descent.

  I knew what I was up against. If the Shadow Fae were healthy enough to defend the fortress, I was about to face iron arrows. They’d pierce my flesh, knock me out of my flight, and sap my magic.

  I knew they’d hurt, but could iron arrows kill me? Iron didn’t hurt angels, but it did hurt the fae. And if my life was in danger, I’d have to fight back with my knives. Granted, throwing knives at the knights wouldn’t entirely help the legitimacy of my look, we’re all on the same side here argument.

  As I dove lower, I needed to position myself as close as possible to the entrance of the Cailleach Tower. I hoped to find Ruadan there on his throne, although who knew where he was. I wasn’t even entirely sure what time of night it was.

  Now, I was only a hundred feet above it. Something whooshed past my head. Another shot skimmed my thigh.

  Ah. So the Shadow Fae were healthy enough to shoot. In a way, that was good—

  Another arrow zipped past me, and adrenaline surged. I altered my flight path a bit, zig-zagging to make myself hard to hit.

  Under attack, the worst part of me longed to unleash the full force of my death magic. I wanted to let it burst from my chest like a plume of black smoke.

  I was hurtling for the ground, faster and faster, starting to wonder if I could nail the landing. I mean, flying came naturally to me, but landing? I had no idea. I’d never done this before. Still, I had to stay laser-focused right now on one thing, one person.

  Ruadan.

  And oh, gods, the earth is coming for me fast.

  BAM. The force of the fall rattled my bones. I landed hard in the tall grasses outside the Cailleach Tower, grunting as I rolled. The Tower’s bells tolled, signaling danger. The impact dazed me, and I scrambled to think of my next move.

  Hide, Liora. I hunched down, as if that would somehow make the giant black wings inconspicuous.

  Nothing to see here, folks. Just the angel of death invading your fortress, drunk as shit.

  Another arrow slammed down in the ground by my side, shouts ringing out. Then another, piercing my thigh. This was getting real. The pain ripped through me, sharp as a hot razor. It definitely felt like iron arrows could kill me, angel or not.

  I whirled, scanning the battlements. A flicker of movement on one of the Tower walls—a Shadow Fae readying another arrow. My mind whirred with the calculations, my vision suddenly focused. I could disable him before he shot me, not risk another arrow while I ran for the Tower doors.

  As he nocked his arrow, I unleashed my knife, and it sped through the air. The blade found its mark right in the Shado
w Fae’s wrist.

  Before another Shadow Fae got the chance, I pivoted and sprinted into the Cailleach Tower. With the arrow in my leg, I stumbled on the stairs. The weight of my wings threw me off a bit, too. I didn’t know how to get rid of them, or if I had any control over that at all.

  Nausea was still rising in my gut—either from the whiskey or the iron, or the realization that I’d decided to take on an entire fortress of knights who wanted me dead. I had a terrible feeling I could end up puking in the throne room as soon as I saw Ruadan, and I wanted to avoid that as much as possible. I was here to state my case—that I was a rational person with helpful information, and not just a crazy drunk with an arrow in her leg and wings she couldn’t control.

  At last, I reached the top of the stairs, and I kicked through the oak doors.

  There, I found Ruadan, slumped on the throne, his eyes dark and lifeless. Shadows writhed around him. He wasn’t moving. In fact, I saw not a single sign of life apart from the movement of his magic.

  Panic thundered through my blood. Had the Plague taken the demigod already?

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter 104

  “Ruadan?” My voiced echoed off the high stone ceiling. I took a nervous step closer.

  Even now, his otherworldly beauty stole my breath— the cheekbones sharp as blades, pale hair cascading over powerful shoulders. His stillness sent shivers dancing up my spine.

  My legs shook. “Ruadan—”

  Something slammed into my back, and pain blazed from the rear of my shoulder. An iron arrow in my back had knocked me forward, hard, onto my hands and knees.

  The whiskey bottle shattered, broken glass cutting my palms. Then, my wings retracted into my body. Already, I was growing weaker from the iron. Whatever happened next, I wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.

  I reached for another one of my knives and looked behind me. Aengus was pointing an arrow at me. Blood poured from his wrist, a wound that had been ripped right open. So that’s who I’d hit with the knife.