by Kyra Quinn
Viktor’s eyes flickered towards the street. Remiel would want him to hurry back with the wood for the fire. The house would develop a terrible draft without it.
But if Remiel wanted it back in a hurry, he could’ve come and fetched it himself.
“Why not?” Viktor said. “Not like I need a sober mind to pick up firewood.”
Celia’s upturned nose wrinkled as she led him through the heavy black door and into The Den. “More errands for your angel overlord? Does he do nothing for himself?”
Viktor snickered as he slid into one of the empty seats. “I’ll never understand why you despise his lineage so much. Aren’t your people descended from angels?”
Celia’s lips curled. “Our ancestors, perhaps. But what have they done for the faeries of today? Only the ones who live in the Queen’s Court are still brainwashed by that spiritual nonsense. Make yourself at home. I’ll prepare a pipe.”
Viktor opened his mouth to object—he hadn’t intended to consume anything—but the breakneck speed Celia shuffled away at forced him to swallow his protests. Celia had listened to him bitch and complain about his frustrations with Remiel on more than one occasion. He owed her at least a few hours of his time for her kindness.
While he waited for her to return, he took a moment to study the room. An older man sat slumped against the wall snoozing, the only customer in the establishment. She’d painted the walls the same deep shade of red as a puddle of fresh blood. Crimson and gold pillar candles scattered throughout The Den gave an intimate mood to the cozy space. No music or conversation distracted from the silence of the emptiness. A slight chill lingered in the air as Viktor rubbed his hands together in his lap.
“Sad, isn’t it?” Celia asked when she returned. She shot a wistful look around the room as her lips pressed into a thin line. “Father would die twice if he could see how pitiful this place is now.”
“Stop.” Viktor held up a hand. “I’ve spent enough time in this place over the years to know what Geoffroy would tell you: these things come and go in cycles. Ambrosia is the sparkly new import from Carramar that has everyone’s attention. Wait until it isn’t so new anymore, though. Interest will fade, and people will resume their daily pipe habit once more.”
Celia’s shoulders sagged as she dropped next to him. She crossed her legs and said, “I hope you’re right, my friend. I don’t know how much longer I can stand talking to an empty room all day without going mad.”
Viktor glanced at the lavish golden pipe in her hands. A lion’s head sat on the front end, his mouth open in a fierce snarl. Flakes of green and purple leaves filled the small raised circular bowl in the middle. Celia smirked as she caught him staring.
“I have something new in for you to try this time.” She pressed the pipe into his hands. “They call it Grave Dust.”
Viktor frowned. “I don’t see how that’s supposed to inspire me to inhale this.”
Celia cackled as she slapped his arm. “Come on, wolf boy. Surely a Fey as strapping as you has nothing to fear from a little herbal remedy.”
Viktor clenched his teeth. “I’m a shifter, not an immortal. It may take a few hundred years longer, but I die the same as any other man.”
“Give it a taste,” Celia urged. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You need it as bad as I do by the looks.”
Out of arguments, Viktor pressed the pipe to his lips. Celia struck a match and pressed the small flame into the bowl of leaves. She grinned and rubbed her hands together as Viktor inhaled the smoke into his lungs.
“My turn.” She snatched the pipe from his hands. “Give it a moment to work its magic.”
Viktor watched as Celia took her turn. The pipe felt awkward in his hands. Celia moved with the fluid grace of an experienced user. As she exhaled the smoke to the ceiling, Viktor couldn’t help but ponder how he might have fallen for her in another life. Easy on the eyes and engaging in conversation, Celia had more to offer than most men could dream of finding in a wife.
“How are things with the angel, anyway?” Celia passed the pipe back to him and leaned back against her seat. Her eyelids drooped as she stretched her arms above her head and rolled her neck. “Mm, there it is. Do you feel it yet?”
He didn’t, but Viktor nodded anyway. “Things with Remiel are as well as ever, I suppose. He still treats me like a child, but I don’t expect it will ever change.”
“Figures. Angels consider everyone beneath them. Has he relaxed any about the wolf thing?”
Viktor ignored the question and pressed the pipe to his lips. He gestured for a light, hopeful Celia’s inebriated state might distract her from the conversation at hand. She voiced her disapproval over Remiel’s attitude towards his shifter abilities every time they spoke. He didn’t have time to spare on one of her anti-angel rants.
Celia struck another match. “It isn’t right, the way he forces you to live. You’re not some passive with no better use for your time than to run his piddly errands. You’re a Kinzhal.”
“Shh!” Viktor hissed. “What did we talk about?”
“Because there are so many people in here to overhear us?” Celia raised a brow. “Face it, Vik. You know I’m right. You just don’t know how to tell that angelic asshat you’re done.”
Viktor shook his head. “Not that simple. Remiel—”
“Saved your life and made you his slave? I know the story, dear. You’ve told it a thousand times. But as admirable as his actions were then, he keeps you captive as his personal pet. He forces you to ignore your primal instincts and cut off an entire side of yourself. He’s no hero, Viktor. He’s brainwashed you into seeing him as one.”
Viktor rose to his feet. His head spun as he muttered, “I should go.”
“Wait.” Celia sprang to her feet and reached for his arm. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek before whispering, “Consider what I’ve said, please. Even if you don’t act on it, don’t dismiss it.”
“I will,” he lied as he pressed the pipe back into her hands. “We must do this again soon.”
“I’d like that,” Celia said. Her lips tugged into a weak smile her voice didn’t quite match. “Take care of yourself, Viktor.”
“I always do.”
CHAPTER SIX
Beggar’s End
From the steaming pile of green-brown goo Maev slopped onto the plate set in front of me, I could only hope someone else oversaw the kitchen during the Tavern’s busier hours. As much as I appreciated her efforts, Maev’s culinary skills did not match her hospitality. I poked a fork into the china dish as my stomach lurched.
“You’ll like it,” she said. “It’s a local delicacy. We call it comfort stew.”
I had eaten nothing since my last dinner with Father. Why did I have no urge to eat or drink? Maev’s cooking couldn’t be blamed, though I found nothing comforting about the prospect of eating the mystery meat on my plate. Everything from the rancid odor to the texture resembled something a horse might regurgitate. I offered a feeble smile as I moved the meat around and made polite conversation.
Fate soon smiled on me once more. A woman scampered into the tavern and distracted Maev from my full dish. She clutched a bundle of fabric to her chest, her expression guarded but curious. Wild dark curls framed her wrinkled tawny face, a few of her teeth absent when she smiled.
“You must be Maev’s new friend. I’m Thalia. My husband and I work a little way up at the bakery.”
No flour dusted her sunset blouse, but I dismissed the thought and gave an awkward wave. How did people in Mulgrave introduce themselves? Would a curtsey be too formal? Would I embarrass myself further if I bowed before a lowly baker? Panic tightened my throat as I choked out, “Lili.”
“These are for you.” She shoved the stack of clothes in my arms. “My grandson is about your size. The trousers may be tight, but they should fit well enough.”
“Thank you.” I reached for the bundle. “I can’t put into words how much I appreciate this, or all Maev’s
done for me.”
Thalia shook her head. “That’s how people are in Mulgrave. We do anything we can to help someone in need.”
“Get changed, Lili,” Maev added. “We’ll be here when you’re done.”
I hastened back into the washroom, eager to slip into anything not shredded to pieces or stained. I slipped the nightdress down my shoulders. As it fell to the floor at my feet, I examined the top and trousers Thalia gave me. The gray sweater fit my longer torso like a glove. The slacks, however, I had less fortune with. They hugged my hips so tight it hurt to move, the bottoms cut too short for my legs. The ensemble hurt more than a corset, but at least I no longer resembled a madwoman.
When I left the washroom, Thalia’s voice echoed through the empty kitchen from the other side of the door. “I see what you meant about her. I’ve never met a girl so young and defeated. It’s a pity, what happened to her father.”
“Indeed,” Maev answered. “A damn shame. So young to be so damaged.”
Heat crawled up my neck to my face. So damaged? What insights did Maev think she had about me? My skin prickled as I tiptoed closer.
“What’s your plan for her?”
“Not sure,” Maev said. “She said she’s come to find her uncle, so maybe I can help. She’ll have no luck finding a husband otherwise.”
Enough. I pushed the doors to the bar open once more to announce my presence and end the discussion. I forced a smile, prepared to pretend I’d heard nothing.
“There she is.” Maev’s eyes sparkled. “Better now?”
“Yes,” I said, and that time I meant it.
“The trees never judge you, no matter how you come to them,” Maev said. “Lots of the answers to life’s problems hide centimeters beneath the surface the soil.”
I’m certain the trees can’t tell me where to find this Remiel fellow. “Nature never fails to amaze. May I ask a question?”
Maev and Thalia exchanged a glance. “Of course,” Maev said, but her voice lacked conviction.
“My father gave me my uncle’s name, but he didn’t tell me wherein Mulgrave to find him. I was hoping I could run his name by the two of you in case you might recognize it.”
“Well sure.” Thalia spread her arms out to the side. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I know every neighborhood better than my name. Your uncle might be an acquaintance. What’s he called?”
“I’m not sure about his surname. His first name is Remiel though.”
“Remiel? No, not possible. He can’t be your uncle.”
My gut clenched. “Why not?”
“She told me earlier she’s never met him,” Maev said. “She may not know—”
Thalia snorted. “Right, because I’m sure her hands are so clean. Good luck, friend. This girl will be your ruin.”
Thalia sprang to her feet. Her chair slammed into the bar. She glared at me and stomped out of the tavern without so much as a goodbye, her chest puffed. When the door slammed behind her, a dull ache spread through my chest.
“My apologies,” I said. “I am not sure what happened.”
“People around here have strong opinions about Feyfolk. Your uncle especially.” Maev scanned me with wary eyes as she spoke. “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing,” I said, my arms open by my sides. “I don’t even know what a Feyfolk is. I swear to you, I know only his name. Until Thalia spoke, I assumed he was as human as we are. I am clueless what he looks like or where to find him, only that my father told me he could help.”
Maev shook her head as she reached for her drink. I’d hoped she might answer some of my questions, but she steered the conversation back to the problem at hand. “Not sure why he thought that. Or why he’d send you here. Tell me about him. Your father, I mean.”
I arched a brow. “What would you like to ask?”
“Did he say Remiel is his brother?”
“No. I suppose he could be my mother’s brother. She died giving birth. I never met her side of the family.”
Maev shook her head. “If both your parents are dead, neither were related to Remiel. There had to be another relation.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Did your father ever mention what Remiel is?”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Maev took a long sip from her glass. Her lips didn’t pucker as the ambrosia made its way down her throat, the drink empty within two gulps. She wiped her mouth on the back of her arm and said, “I don’t know who you’re expecting to meet, but Remiel isn’t a man. He’s not even human.”
My body tensed. Not human. Another demon? Did Father realize he’d sent me into harm’s way? “How is that possible?”
Maev chuckled. “I can tell you’re from Faomere. So sheltered. Not your fault though. Not a lot happens way out there. You ever met an angel?”
“Like, white feathery wings and a halo?”
“Perhaps in the children’s stories.” Maev snorted. “Few people have seen them. Those who have don’t live to tell the tale.”
“He kills people?”
“He did, once.” Maev glanced out the window, her eyes wistful. “No one’s sure what his story is. He’s been in Mulgrave as long as I can recall. No one realized he had angelic blood for years. To the naked eye he resembles any other young man.”
Because all the gentlemen had wings? How did an angel hide in a busy city like Mulgrave for so long undetected? The more Maev told me, the less I understood.
“How did the truth come out?” I asked, deciding to leave the bigger questions alone for now. Maev had shown me nothing but warmth and generosity. The last thing I wished to do was insult her.
“A new family moved to town about a decade ago from Redwood. The oldest daughter had the gift of Sight. She took one look at Remiel and fell over screaming. She saw the truth.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what any of this means. Why would my father send me to find a murderous angel?”
Maev sighed. “It’s a lot to take in. It’s possible your father didn’t know the truth about Remiel. To anyone without the Sight, Remiel looks like any other person. He may not have realized the danger he sent you towards. The Sight is a special gift few are born with. They can see through Magic and illusions, to find truth in lies. Within thirty seconds of meeting your uncle, that girl saw every person he’d murdered flash before her eyes.”
I rubbed the back of my neck as I tried to make sense of the millions of thoughts that rushed through my mind. How did Father even become acquainted with Remiel? And had he known about his saintly status? Why did he think someone with a history of slaughter would help me?
“Try not to mind Thalia too much, but I wouldn’t go around town shouting his name. Mulgrave is never hospitable to newcomers. It will only be worse if people have reason to believe you’re associated with the angels who destroyed their homelands years ago.”
“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. My shoulders slumped, my entire body limp with defeat. “I understand none of what’s happened in the last couple days. Part of me wants to curl into a ball and close my eyes until death comes for me.”
Maev flashed a sympathetic smile. She rested a wrinkled hand on my shoulder, her touch warm. “I can’t imagine how you must feel. Eighteen or not, no one imagines their independence coming at such a high price. If your father believed Remiel could help you, I’d suggest you at least try to find him. You have nothing to lose if it turns out to be a dead end.”
Nothing except my life. Not that that was worth much anymore. “Will he hurt me?”
“I can’t say for certain. In all the time he’s lived here, I’ve never thought him to be cruel. But it’s been over two years since I’ve seen him in the open. It’s hard to say where his mind is at these days.”
“Why?”
“When the girl exposed the truth about Remiel, people didn’t react well. Fear strangled the city into madness. They threw rocks through his windows, shot one of his horses...the t
ownsfolk did all they could to run him from town. Well, everything short of burning his household to the ground. They wanted to purge Mulgrave of the threat of their enemy before the Elysian Gardens attacked once more.”
My eyes widened. “Did it work?”
“Not sure. His house is still there. I’ve seen his footman around, too. He might have taken off in the night’s middle and abandoned his horses and man, but I find that hard to believe. He didn’t have a traditional relationship with his help. Remiel treated that boy like a son.”
“Sure sounds like a monster,” I muttered, the words free before I could stop them.
Maev snorted. “I said the same. But, fear isn’t a sensible emotion. You can’t reason with it. Go. Find your angel. If things don’t turn out, you’re always welcome in here.”
“But where do I find him? I know nothing about this place.”
Maev’s eyes twinkled as she clasped my hand. “That’s the adventure, my dear.”
*
It didn’t take long to realize the similarities between Mulgrave and Faomere ended with architecture. The city had to be at least triple the size in both space and population. Business buildings stood twice as tall and homes twice as spacious. A cluster of abandoned ruins sat on the far edge of town. Black beech trees lined the roads, their stubborn leaves still clinging to the thick branches. A gloomy gray sky hung overhead. The sun hid buried behind thick rain clouds.
“Oof! Watch where you’re going, bitch!” a woman snarled as her shoulder bumped against mine on the narrow path. Her nose wrinkled as she flipped me a ‘V’ symbol with her fingers and shoved past me. Her heels clacked against the ground as she stomped away with her head held high.
So far, Mulgrave might have been more populated, but I liked Faomere better. At least people had manners there.
Fear remained with me every step I took. How many monsters called Mulgrave home? And how would I defend myself with William gone and no weapon in hand? None of the residents sported horns and hooves or wings, but dread lingered in my bones. I said a silent prayer the god Rhayer might grant me protection under the rays of his sun.