I nod back at Laguna and stand. “No war.”
“They tried to kill you.”
“Majesty, we must retaliate!”
Pluck’s fluttering so hard, his wings turn an angry shade of red. “It’s us or them!”
“I don’t accept that,” I say quietly, but my voice is lost in the bickering.
Nuwala'i bangs her yew staff on the ground, tokens and coins rattling against her ram’s horns. “The Queen is speaking!”
They all simmer down, thankfully, and I drag my gaze off the crumbling towers outside. “We can still have peace—” I hold up a hand for silence. “Listen to me. The Dark Faerie Queen isn’t evil. She—”
Nuwala'i snorts, stomping one cloven hoof. “Even now, she moves against us.”
“Summer’s Rest is shattered.” Dahari sweeps in, her flames rippling the air with heat. “That only gives us seven days.”
The fair Fae erupt again, everyone shouting, cloven hooves clacking on the floors, Pluck’s wings buzzing in my ears. I’m caught in the middle, between my people and Roue, and what’s worse is, even if I do decide to go after her, there’s no way I could ever kill her.
I can’t even think it.
I rack my brain for some answer. “There has to be a way…” To save my people and my girl, but I can’t think with all this chaos and noise. “Laguna.”
Immediately, the Siren swoops in, even more glittery here than in the mortal realm.
“I need some time to think.”
“Did you not hear Dahari?” Nuwala’i snorts, pawing the brittle floor. “We have no time.”
I step down from my grand chair. A wave of my hand bathes me in Summer sunlight. It’s a bit heavy-handed, but I’ve been chased by Grymm, had boxcars thrown at me. I fought my girlfriend and nearly killed Miss Jardin.
I’m officially out of patience.
I fix Nuwala'i with a raised eyebrow. “Who is queen here?”
She backs down, bowing her head. “You are, Majesty.”
I turn to the other arch-Ýdyll. “I’m going to the Somewhen. Until I return, there is to be no war.”
Amid their grumbling and mutterings, I leave the Solar, feeling like a failure. My people want war, but me? I couldn’t even kill Miss Jardin to save the love of my life. In seven days, I’ll have no choice if I can’t figure out another way.
I need to get my head on straight.
Plus, ever since I got here, I’ve been feeling this pull to the Somewhen, the small piece of the Fair Faerie realm where time converges and everything exists all at once. Every timeline, every possibility. I once spent an entire summer playing softball with my dad—and only a few days passed in the real world.
But the last time, I accessed the Somewhen through the hearthstone. This time, I don’t even know where the hearthstone is.
Come to me, whispers a small voice in the back of my brain, the Somewhen calling me back toward the throne room. Dread tightens my chest as I head toward it, the flashes of Winter and Summer sending heat and chills over me the closer I get. I’ve seen the melded thrones before, when the two Faerie realms first crashed together.
Now, the throne room exists partly in Dark Faerie and partly in Fair.
I’m careful to stay on my “side,” where the Summer sun is the brightest. Gingerly, I touch the summersteel throne, tracing over the cascade of golden roses and sunlit rays that form the chair’s back and crown. The right side of it is anchored in my realm, while the left side melds into the Dark Faerie throne, a black dragon made of glossy-scaled adamant.
I let my fingers touch it briefly. Any more, and Rouen might sense me, and then we’d be right back to where we started.
Still, I can’t help but think the combined throne is beautiful.
Half me. Half her.
I remember the last time I got sucked into the Somewhen. My father tried to convince me Rouen and I would bring about the destruction of our realms. He told me our love was forbidden, wrong. I didn’t accept that then, and I don’t accept that now.
A blast of Summer and Winter changes the light. I see my reflection in the golden throne.
Syl, come to me. This time, the voice is a deep rumble shocking through the very bones of Fair Faerie, and then, flash! In a burst of golden light, I’m sucked into thin air and spat out into the Faerie ring of golden birches.
The Somewhen shines around me, a perfect Summer day suspended in time.
Balmy breezes wash my skin in the perfume of a hot, lazy afternoon. Fat bumblebees drunkenly zip among the wildflowers, and dragonflies dance by a bright stream. It may be a moment frozen in time, but it’s far from perfect. My father’s golden throne is empty, and the bright tree stands dying, flakes of gold wafting away like ashes in wind. There’s no one here. The king and queen are dead.
I bow my head. My father was wrong about me and Roue, but he supported my decision. I miss him. I miss Roue.
So much loss, and for what? For a stupid war no one wants to fight?
I touch my dad’s seat in the dappled shade of the dying tree. “I need your help.”
A gentle Summer breeze touches my cheek. “Syl…” His voice rumbles the foundations of OverHill, and when I turn, he’s there, tall and strong and regal in a green and gold doublet and breeches, his reddish hair shot with white. Everything about him is warm, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
I throw myself into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
He smiles sadly because we both know he’s not. Not really. This is only a piece of him captured in the Somewhen.
Shoving down my sadness, I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
His handsome face grows serious. “What does your heart tell you?”
“That there’s good left in Roue, that I can reach it—and her.”
“What’s best for your people?”
My stomach churns sickly. “To fight her. To ensure Fair Faerie’s survival over all else.”
He nods sagely, stepping toward the golden chair. He runs a finger along one of the rays, his grey eyes thoughtful. “Even the best ruler can’t see every outcome. You can’t know how your actions will turn out.” He places a hand on my heart. “You can only do what you think is right.”
“So…” I cock my head at his not-an-answer. “What would you do?”
His smile is a little bright, a little sad, as he gazes into the distance. “Trust yourself. You are queen for a reason.”
“Right.” I straighten, ready to march back into that Solar and lay down the law. “Thanks, Dad.” I give him a hug, and he enfolds me in his strong arms. The Somewhen starts to fade around us, but I hold on. “I miss you.”
Then, I’m pulled back to the throne room.
Whizz! Pluck comes zipping up, looking frantic. He’s lapsed into Pixie-speak, wings buzzing and flashing different colors.
“Slow down.” Part of me freaks that I can understand him, but the other part just wants him to breathe. He’s talking a mile a minute. I catch “dark Fae… queen… bomb… Bleed…” None of those things are good separately.
Together, they’re a million times worse.
Finally, Pluck slows down. “My spies report the Queen of the dark Fae plans to unleash a Bleed bomb in the mortal realm.”
My heart squeezes in dread. If Roue’s attacking the mortal realm, maybe she really is lost.
“I’m coming.” All my thoughts of avoiding the war crumble.
It’s time to put aside Syl and be the queen my people need.
12
DARK - ROUEN
Victory
There is no victory
Without you, my love
“Empty Heart” - Euphoria
We return to UnderHollow on a Ravaging. Zzzzttt…zzzzt! The second I step foot into my darkened War Room, the shock of my entire realm destabilizing rocks my bones, rattling my teeth. Flashes of snow and sunlight strike the chamber, the two Faerie realms battling, pulling, pushing to separate. A stained-glass window sh
atters, peppering the floor with colorful, deadly shards—the pain like my mind’s splintering. Blinded, I barely make it to my chair, slumping into it as my realm’s pain racks my body.
I clutch the greasy paper bag to my chest like it’s a lifeline and ride out the agony.
Finally, the Ravaging releases my realm. And me.
The sunlight fades, the snow swirls to a stop. All of UnderHollow lets out a breath of relief, but my mind’s a jumbled mess, and my heart’s a destroyed wreck.
Syl. The arch-Ýdyll. They’re awake. The rules of engagement have changed.
“Poppet?” An annoying pinch to my forearm startles me.
“Hey, that hurt!”
“Tch!” The bain sidhe pokes her sharp nose at mine, those black-pool eyes studying me for flaws. She grabs the violin dangling from my hand. “No heartstrings! What happened, pretty poppets?” She eyes me and Jardin.
“What didn’t happen, you mean.” Now Jardin’s glaring at me too.
Everyone’s a critic.
I straighten, regaining my composure. “The arch-Ýdyll showed, which means Summer’s Rest is broken.”
Only seven days until the Faerie realms implode.
“The arch-Ýdyll.” The bain sidhe’s growl tears at the words, her cloaks dragging behind her, talons scraping the floor. “They’ll awaken all the races of the Summer Court. Ruin everything, yes, yessss.”
“Yah.” The sarcasm pours out of me. “We wouldn’t want the war to be fair.”
She hisses, showing sharp teeth. “We needs those heartstrings.”
“I know, I know.” I shake my head, my failure sickening me. “Next time, I can’t be merciful. I can’t let Syl get away.”
Or under my skin.
Jardin’s right eye twitches in annoyance. “Laguna and those arch-Ýdyll brought her back to Fair Faerie. They’ll never let her out of their sight now, and they will plan an attack on us.” She looks at the war map, and her red eyes glow. “Unless…”
She’s pacing, high heels clacking. I want to tell her to get a nice pair of quiet ballet flats already. “Unless what?”
“Unless we keep the little fair Fae queen busy. Draw her out into the open somehow.”
Her sinister voice, the sinister plan she has for Syl rakes at my heart, but—rrrrrummmble—another Ravaging begins deep in my realm’s bones. In seconds, it ‘ll hit the War Room. I brace myself.
Both for the Ravaging and for what I must do.
Because, truth is, I haven’t been completely idle.
Dread pulses in my temples. “Summon Etana. I’ve had her working on a special project.” It was supposed to be a last-ditch effort, harnessing the Bleeds.
Rrrrumble…boom! Pain rips through the realms, Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie shuddering against each other, Summer’s brilliance scraping against Winter’s grey. Caught in it, I burn and seethe. Smoke hisses from my skin. My vision goes black.
“Majesty!” Etana’s suddenly at my side, hypnotic green eyes whirling with concern. A gust of snow kicks up as the second Ravaging dies. With Jardin and the bain sidhe looking on, the liannan sidhe helps me up, arm around my waist.
I pull away, hating how weak I feel. “The Ravagings are getting worse. Your lab, Etana. It’s time.”
Her lips part over a shocked gasp. “Our secret project?”
I’m already halfway down the hall, the three of them rushing to keep up. Ahead, the doors to Etana’s lab loom large in the dark passage. At the touch of her gauntlet, orange runes run molten across their surface. Klik! Cha-thunk! With a shuddering sound, the five-foot-thick adamant slabs slide open. We pass through into Etana’s lab, where she practices sorceroscience, a dark combination of Fae and Witch magic.
Everything is somehow neat as a pin and messy as hell.
Shelves packed with flasks and bottles glint, filled with colorful, nebulous liquids and bloated specimens. I bet Syl could name them all. Tubing and steam gears tangle the overhead space with cargo netting and glowing wires. Sorceroscience runes ring the floor, swirling as they change form. A massive adamant lab table and smaller dissection tables arrayed with medieval knives lies beneath bundles of dried herbs. The scents of bitter wormwood, copper, hawthorn, and sage sting my nose.
“This way.” Etana moves toward her vault, where she keeps her most dangerous experiments. At the door, a security panel pops up, lasers mapping her face, verifying her identity.
Click! The vault door opens on a puff of death and decay.
We weave through the gloomy vault, passing creepy specimens in jars. From the back chamber, a thousand tiny lights wink open, darkling and humming. Hundreds of metallic spheres line the walls, their black circuits pulsing in time.
Bleed bombs.
I walk over and take one. It’s smooth and heavy, the size of a thermal detonator in Star Wars. Syl and I marathoned all six movies last summer. Don’t think of her. I clutch Wasteland, and the instrument’s soul-screams pulse over me, dark waves dulling the pain.
The bain sidhe sniffs at a Bleed bomb. Then she licks it.
I snatch it away. “They’re not for eating.” She hisses back, but I ignore her.
Jardin’s eyes glow. “How do they work?”
“Just pull the pin and toss.” Etana pantomimes.
Jardin sours. “It’s a Bleed grenade then, not a bomb.”
Etana raises an eyebrow, her annoyance clear.
“Don’t Faesplain,” I tell Jardin. “Bleed bomb sounds better.” The last thing I need is a bickering liannan sidhe and púca on my hands. “Let’s go.” I take a step, then I realize I’m still holding the greasy paper bag. The pork sandwich Syl so thoughtfully gave me. You look so thin. I wince inwardly. Her concern is too much.
“You’re not going to eat that, are you?” Jardin’s question shatters my reverie.
My rebellious reflexes take over.
I look right in her face and take the biggest bite possible.
As a dark Fae, I shouldn’t shy away from violence. But as I rush down the labyrinthine Snickleways, a Bleed bomb in one hand, a half-eaten pulled-pork sandwich in the other, I have to admit. My heart’s not in this. Next to me, Jardin wears a feral grin. She can taste victory, so close.
She’s been trying to get at Syl for a long time.
All my protective instincts rise, but I shove them down. Wasteland’s Moribund whirs agreement. It hasn’t tried to infect me yet, but I’ve got my eye on it. No matter what happens, whether it infects me or not, I just have to last long enough to save my realm.
That’s what a queen should do, right? Sacrifice herself?
I speed up, our fairy winds carrying us through the snickle passages, Winter and Summer blasting us with heat and cold. The Shroud nears, the velvety-dark “glue” between all the dimensions, and I peel it back to reveal the mortal world—an inky September night, a small isle, the suspension bridge, the James River rushing with rapids.
Brown’s Island, one of RVA’s top festival spots. Our testing ground.
Last year, Syl and I came to Pride here. It was all lit up with rainbow lights and flags, thronged with people celebrating. Tonight, it’s a desolate spot dotted with fields, bridges, and historical statues. Scattered stars wink overhead, and the roar of the rapids blots out all other sounds.
Jardin, the bain sidhe, and Etana fan out, looking for the best test spot.
The suspension bridge veers out a full mile over the water. In the center, there’s nothing but water, water, water as far as the eye can see. It’d be the best place to test the Bleed bomb if I wanted to leave no trace.
But, tonight, leaving a trace is exactly what I need to do.
A trace that Syl can follow. Straight to me and her doom.
My guts lurch, the last bite of pulled pork sandwich making me queasy. I thrust my mother’s violin at Jardin and toss the sandwich into the nearest garbage can. I walk away like I can truly leave my feelings for Syl behind. The night is cool and gorgeous, crystal-clear, the James a rush of liquid darkness
glistening in the crescent moon.
The desolateness of this place wedges open the hollow in my heart.
“This is stupid. I’m going to go talk to her. Maybe…” I swallow hard. “Maybe we don’t need to be enemies. Maybe I don’t need to…” What? I look down at the Bleed bomb in my hand. Start the Faerie apocalypse?
Because if I unleash this bomb in the mortal realm, people will die. Or worse.
“Can you hear yourself?” Jardin asks. “You’re queen. Your people need you. Don’t be like your father, Rouen.” With that, she shoves Wasteland back at me and walks off.
The black violin is cold and slick in my hands. Hard.
It pulses, and a dark, brooding calm sweeps through me. That’s what I must be. Hard.
Steeling myself, I hold up the Bleed bomb, eying the Moribund circuits spliced into its gunmetal surface. When it explodes, it’ll cause a massive Bleed.
Then it’ll tear open. Into a full Wound.
When she senses it, Syl will come running.
“Do it, poppet, yesss!” The bain sidhe croons nearby, eyes glittering.
“Shut the hell up, Gollum.” But I pull the pin and toss. The black sphere flips into the air. Pa-ping! It vibrates, and then it explodes, belching Faerie energy into the mortal realm.
A Bleed into Faerie.
Instantly, the night takes on a psychedelic sheen like oil in water. A snowstorm hits the area like a fist, squalls and wind blanketing everything in a freezing white carpet as Winter power takes over the mortal realm and everything eidolizes.
I watch, fascinated, as Brown’s Island becomes the Faerie version of itself.
The sallow field rushes with lush moonslips and lunar blossoms, tiny red toadstools forming Faerie rings. Ice shards shoot up, jagged fingers feathering over the suspension bridge, locking it into a deadly, glittering grip. Concrete crumbles, the bridge swaying over the James even as it freezes into a grey-green ribbon beneath. All across the island, bronze statues break from their long slumber to cavort in the snow like children.
Everything whirls white, crisp and sharp like Winter, as the Bleed widens in a freezing circumference, threatening to swallow or eidolize anything it touches. Left unhealed, it’ll become a Wound, a permanent rift in the Shroud between Faerie and the mortal realm.
Nemesis Page 7