Gee, thanks, Darksider spell.
“You can’t hide from me!” She comes around the corner, black energy pooling off that violin.
Whoosh! I blast the ground, doing a little magic-assisted leap into the air. “I’m not hiding.” I throw my hand out, and a spear of white flame strikes the violin. In a burst of sparks, it flies out of her hands.
As she dives for it, I go for Miss Jardin.
I’m the Queen of Fair Faerie, and that means I can harness anything Summer. For the first time ever, I burn as bright, as hot as I can at another living being. Hot as the sun. Sick at heart, I fire. Fwaaash! My first shot sears into her shoulder, burning it black. With a shriek, she crashes to the gravel, tiny flames licking out around her. My second shot blasts her legs when she tries to get up.
Smoke and the stink of burning surrounds her. A snarl lifts her lips, her glasses askew, but there’s fear in those red eyes.
She knows I could kill her.
Could being the operative term because as I land near her, fire raging around my fists, I…don’t.
She’s helpless, crawling away with her legs burned. My stomach turns over the stench of scorched skin. My vision greys, and I stagger. Now is not the time for weakness, but I can’t help it.
In my heart, I’m not a killer.
“That’s your last mistake.” Growling, Miss Jardin whips her glasses off, her eyes blazing hellfire. “The violin, Rouen! Heartstring her!”
My heart seizes as Rouen charges me, waves of blackness pluming off the violin like combined ink and smoke. I choke on burned asphalt and rubber. She strikes the bow to the violin, and black strings materialize, pulsing, the air howling with a microwind.
Whatever that thing can do, I do not want to be around to see it.
I get the feeling it’d make the Sacrifice Cannon look like a fidget spinner.
No choice.
“Rouen Rivoche!” I put power into my voice as I shout her truename. It’s a cheap trick, and I hate doing it, but a Fae’s truename holds power over them.
Is it enough to break Jardin’s spell?
Rouen lifts the bow and stops. The darkness bleeds from her voice, and the black in her eyes recedes to beautiful deep sapphire blue. “S-Syl?”
My heart does a little leap. “Roue, fight it! Fight!”
“Syl, I-I can’t!” Her hand moves the bow closer, and I take a step toward her, searching for the real her behind those black-pool eyes. “It’s me, Roue. Your love. Your Syl.”
She’s fighting, my Roue, really fighting, so when Miss Jardin opens her mouth again, I flame on, hot and bright.
“You.” I point one flaming finger at her. “Shut your face before I burn it off.”
Her right eye twitches. “Is that so?” She heaves to her feet, limping, her power suit a burned mess dripping ashes. Nostrils flaring, she rolls her shoulders like a prizefighter. “I’ve been waiting for this.” She drops to all fours—her signature move before shifting into her night-mare form.
Only, this time instead of fur, mane, and tail, black scales ripple over her skin, armoring her. Her body starts to elongate, razor-talons ripping from her fingertips, her mouth crowding with sharp teeth.
Uh-oh. This is some kind of new form, and whatever it is, it’s bad news.
But Rouen throws a hand out. “Stop.” She lowers the violin.
Jardin bares her teeth in a silent snarl, her red eyes burning with hatred on me, but she stops. The scales recede, the claws pull back in, and she resumes her mortal form.
I resist the urge to smile in her face while my heart does a little pirouette. “That’s my Roue! I knew you couldn’t hurt me. It’s because you love me.”
Setting the violin down, Rouen strides toward one of the trains sitting dormant on the tracks.
What is she doing? I take a step toward her. “Roue?”
She grabs the side of the train car.
Ever have one of those moments when you’re super aware of how very crunchy and easy to kill you are?
I have one right now because… Rrrriiiiip! With a huge heave, Rouen tears the train car off the track, lifting it into the air with her enhanced Fae strength. Its shadow falls on me.
Her grin slides sharp across her face. “Catch,” she says mildly.
Then she throws the train car at me.
Me and my big mouth.
10
DARK - ROUEN
Test me, tempt me
Princess, you’ll feel my fangs
“Temptress,” Euphoria
This girl drives me crazy. So crazy I’m throwing boxcars at her. Shock registers on Syl’s face, and whoosh! She windwarps away as the train car crashes down on its side, metal and glass smashing everywhere. Cheeky little minx. Everything about her, that adorable smile, her grey eyes, freckles, her super-cute skinny jeans and graphic tee combo, those red curls falling into her eyes, makes me want to kill her—or kiss her.
Or both.
Blast and bloody bones!
“Come get me!” Syl taunts me.
Gladly.
Whoosh! I summon my Winter wind, and freezing cold blasts me toward her. Summer breezes swirl around her, lifting her into the air. We speed toward each other on a collision course. I’ve left my mother’s violin behind, but I can still feel it calling to me, the Moribund ravenous, throbbing.
Syl careens in at me, throwing fire, but she’s not even trying to hit me. She could’ve killed Jardin a second ago, and she didn’t do that either.
Syl, you fool! I throw up a lightning shield. Crack! Her sunfire flares off it. Just a warning shot. Too late, I realize her true plan.
Wham! She tackles me midair, and for a second, I think she’s going to use her patented power-stealing touch on me. Then, her Summer breezes melt my Winter winds. We slam to the ground, her on top of me. She doesn’t want to hurt me with her fire, so she thinks she can overpower me?
I smile, baring my fangs. Fun.
Jardin’s shouting something about the violin, but my blood pounds in my ears, Syl’s sunshine scent fills my senses, driving me even crazier for her. “Hold your horses, Jardin.”
Syl pins me. “Rouen, listen to me…”
Her plea stops my heart, all of my malicious thoughts falling away in one stark moment. She’s straddling me, her thighs warm against my sides, her hands trembling where she holds me down by the wrists. Her nearness shocks through me, leaving me suddenly breathless.
She blinks, and her tears hit my cheeks, my lips.
I taste the salt, and the world slows to only the two of us.
“Roue.” Her whisper nearly shatters me.
I struggle to get an arm free, and she lets me. We both know I could break away anytime I want. Still, I only want this one arm free. For now.
I reach up and touch one of her fiery curls. I’m shocked when it doesn’t burn me like Summer.
Her lip trembles, but her voice comes out strong. “You didn’t use the violin because you love me.”
She’s right. I can’t use Wasteland on her. I look accusingly at my mother’s instrument, flashing with Moribund, but the violin didn’t fail me. The black circuits hum and throb with hunger.
It’s me. I’m the weakness.
Jardin’s screaming at me to use Wasteland, but she hasn’t entered the fight really. She wants me to do it.
Get it together, Rouen.
To protect my people, I need Syl’s heartstrings, but I’m infected. Not by Moribund, but by love. That’s it. I have to treat my love for her like an infection. Freeze it out. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to Syl, and then I heave her off me. In one smooth move, I’m on my feet like a martial arts star.
I gather my magic, pulling lightning to me in violet cords.
Jardin snarks. “Finally.”
“You shut up,” I growl at her, “or it’s púca steaks for dinner tonight.” The temperature drops rapidly, the air crystallizing. My breath plumes out frostily.
Syl feels what I’m about to do. “Roue, do
n’t! It could cause a Blee—”
I raise my arms. “UnderHollow, hear me,” and call the power of dark Faerie to the mortal realm. Instantly, flurries swirl in the air, the wind picking up into a howl. Darkness floods the area, bathing me in chill satisfaction. I grin in the gloom. And then kerwham! The gates of UnderHollow slam open, flooding the moral realm with blasts of Winter and freezing sleet and snow. The adamant rails slick with ice, their deadly points glinting razor-sharp.
I have to freeze the love out of me. No matter what it costs.
A cold snap hits the mortal realm, flooding it with Faerie energy. This is more than a Bleed, it’s a full-on Wound.
I’m going to tear it wide.
“No!” Syl hits the Wound with her white light. She’s trying to heal it.
For a long moment, the world washes white with snow and heat, then the Wound begins to close, slowly, slowly, pushing the snow and sleet back until the Shroud that connects and binds all the different realms rushes in to cover the hole.
With a small cry, Syl collapses in the snow, exhausted.
At my mercy.
I summon my Grymm, and they rush in, surrounding Syl. “There’s no escape.” I’m aware I sound like a movie villain, but this is no time to be sentimental or weak.
Miss Jardin chuckles, her eyes glowing. “The violin, Rouen. Use it.”
No more stalling. With one boot, I flick Wasteland up into my hand.
It hums as it touches my skin, Moribund circuits locking in, whirring in sync with my power. All my uncertainties fall away beneath the screams, the crashing wave of darkness.
It’s like I’m watching as Dark-Rouen pins Syl down with one boot, crushing her into the melting snow. Beneath my inner darkness and my terrible duty to my people, pain and love struggle to rise.
But the violin’s screams blot it all out.
“Roue...” Syl doesn’t fight. Tears fill her eyes.
My own eyes sting. I blink hard and raise the violin. For my people. Dark energy pulses off it, howling its need to be strung.
Break her heart? Check. Heartstring her? Coming right up.
I raise the bow.
Whirrr-oooeee-urrrr! Silver war pipes blare through the night, blasting with Summer heat and sun. In a burst of full daylight, the Gates of OverHill slam open in the mortal realm, carving the darkness like a knife. The bright flare strikes me dead-on, searing pain into every inch of me.
A balmy Summer wind blasts me away from Syl, and then a very familiar bone-shattering shrieeeek! shatters the air.
Laguna.
The Queen of Sirens rides a wave of water through the gates in all his glittery green glory, his shimmering sheath dress a Caribbean teal, dreads pulled back, seashells in them clicking. My Grymm leap at him, but he opens his mouth, grinning, that bastard. The shrieking shockwave hits my Wild Hunt, tearing their circuitry apart. Moribund circuits fly into the air, scattered to the winds of his scream.
The worst part is, he’s not alone.
Fairy winds blast the trainyard, announcing the arrival of the Summer Court.
Seven bright, shining Fae—some tall, some short, some thin, some fat—sweep around Syl with bright swords and glittery wings, will-o’-wisps and painful Summer sun.
The arch-Ýdyll. The most powerful fair Fae in existence.
Jardin hesitates. “Maybe we should—”
“To the Queen!” Laguna’s musical voice rises in a battle cry.
Too late. The tables have turned, and not in our favor. Sunlight glints off a Faun’s curling horns, coins and tokens rattling from them as she slams a white yew crook into the ground. A shimmering white shield pops up between me and Syl.
Skin smoking, I throw up my own shield, crackling with lightning, and edge toward the Gates of UnderHollow.
Time to make my escape.
Pip-pip! A tiny Pixie with pink glittery wings pops into existence in front of me. “My turn!” he pipes, and poof! He breathes out a shimmering pink bubble, then shatters it. Pink glitter goes everywhere—on me, on Miss Jardin. It stings and burns like Summer, the stink of carnivals and cotton candy and lazy afternoons on the beach choking me.
It’s like being attacked by a Yankee Candle store at Christmastime.
I stagger back, blinded, and whoosh! A massive woman with biceps as big as my waist speeds up in a column of fire. Her skin is red, made of fire and brick, and she’s clad all in flowing crimson like a living flame. A Djinn. “Your Majesty.” She nods politely then wham! She punches me in the chest. I fly across the trainyard and slam into a boxcar. The whole thing upends, spilling shipping containers—and me—every which way.
Syl’s scream chases me. “Roue!”
Sucking wind, I roll to my knees, throwing smaller containers off me.
“The dark queen will recover.” A tall, thin Elf with skin like the moon and glossy black hair brandishes a curved sword and stands by Syl.
Flanking her is a squat, tawny-skinned man with horns, huge barrel arms, and a stout belly, blue will-o’-the-wisps humming around him. The night goes watery. A Sibylline, and he’s shielding us. “If we’re lucky, she’ll not.”
That’s it. No one makes me look bad. Baring my fangs, I spring to my feet, violet lightning exploding around my fists.
Behind Syl, a massive, lumbering woman made of grey granite grinds her huge tusks, the sound like rocks crunching against rock. She rips a boxcar up from the ground, trailing several other cars.
“We must retreat,” Jardin snarls, hair frizzed and clothing burnt and tattered from Syl’s fire and Laguna’s Siren shrieks.
I have only to look at the Faun’s glowing white staff, the troll’s massive zweihander sword, the magic crackling in wisps around the Sibylline. In a sweltering rush, the red-skinned Djinn appears in a blast of sand and glassy heat, the tiny Pixie on her shoulder
Summer flares and Winter falters as the arch-Ýdyll power up.
The war’s about to restart right here.
I’m about to turn and beat feet—
Syl steps between me and her people. “Wait.”
I stop. The Fair Fae stop. Everything stops, every beat of my heart throbbing in my ears.
She walks a few feet away and picks up a grease-spotted paper bag. The smell of spicy meat hits me. Hawk’s. As if I could forget that. My stomach growls, and I lay my hand on it. Quiet, traitor.
Syl presses the bag into my hands. “For you. You don’t look like you’re eating enough.”
“I…” My throat closes as my hand closes over the bag. Numbly, I turn and follow Jardin through the Gates of UnderHollow, Syl becoming no more than a bright speck like a single star in the wrecked trainyard.
I flee Syl, but really? I’m running from my emotions.
11
SYL
The arch-Ýdyll went into
Summer’s Rest at the High
Queen’s command
- Glamma’s Grimm
It’s official. Summer’s Rest has broken. I’ve got seven days to save Faerie.
Plus, I’ve gone from being the girl who eats her lunch alone in the stairwell to the most important person in all of Fair Faerie. Sweat crawls down my back as I face my arch-Ýdyll in bright Castle Caernarvon in OverHill, the heart of the Fair Faerie realm. The oldest and most powerful of all the fair Fae, each arch-Ýdyll rules and represents a species of Fae.
My people are awakening, coming out of Summer’s Rest to find their realm falling apart.
They’re looking to me for answers.
Needless to say, I’m a bit overwhelmed. Voices raised, passions running hot, the Arch-Ýdyll crowd around me in the King’s Solar, my father’s old war room in Castle Caernarvon. Brilliant sun washes down on a Ravaged, open-air chamber ringed with crumbling white pillars and the rubble of towers that once served as lookouts and battle stations. Across the floor sprawls an intricate map of Fair Faerie, OverHill a bright spot in the center. From my golden chair, I can look down on the fused throne rooms, Summer locked in a deadl
y battle with Winter.
No pressure, Syl.
“War, Majesty!” Nuwala'i, the Faun, steps to my side, shaking her yew staff ominously, all the little bones and trinkets rattling. The runes on her curling horns and cloven hooves glow bright blue, and the others rally around her.
Glittery Pixie wings fluttering, Pluck pipes up. “We must protect ourselves!”
“Attack before they do.” The rock Troll, Gorishka, lumbers over, every step shaking the throne room. She stands next to Dahari, the Djinn, two massive walls of biceps, fire, and rock, while Thu Leian leans on their curved Elvish sword, silver eyes watchful and curious. Off to one side, the Sibylline watches me, his glowing will-o’-the-wisps winking on and off like fireflies.
Laguna sidles up to my throne. “You got this, sweet sunshine.”
But do I? For a bunch of fair Fae, these arch-Ýdyll sure are bloodthirsty. And while I can fight, I’m no warrior, and I sure as heck don’t want a war.
I raise my voice. “There will be no war!”
Instantly, they erupt into arguing, each trying to shout the others down. As they bicker, I glance out the window at the buckling, crumbling white towers. One’s encased in ice. My people are finally awake, and this is what they have to wake up to?
All of Faerie is breaking apart.
The Ravagings they call them—Faerie destabilizing, pulling on itself, resulting in catastrophic climate changes—Summer sun blasting into the Winter realm, Winter kicking back snow, sleet, and thunder. The sky is a catastrophic mix of bright and dark.
It’s weirdly beautiful. My heart aches. This is how it should be, all of us—every Fae fair and dark—together. Not apart.
“Majesty.” Tiny wings flutter in my face, breaking my thoughts, and I jolt back to myself.
“Yes.” They expect me to have a plan, but I only have half a plan and no way to execute it. I’ve completely failed at getting Roue’s blood or talking some sense into her. But I’m not giving up.
Nemesis Page 6