Page 66
Story: Of Mist and Shadow
I squeezed my eyes tight. “Getting far away from you.”
“How dare you!”
Brutal pain lanced through me. Oberon scraped his blade through my skin, dragging the steel in a line down my lower back. I screamed, thrashing against the ground, but that only made it worse. Black dots stormed my vision. Darkness called for me, welcoming me into its sweet embrace.
Two small bare feet appeared just before my eyes. I blinked and twisted my head to see Nellie standing beside me, her entire body trembling. She clutched the green handle of our broom and waved it at the fae king.
“Stop it!” Tears ran down her face. “Let go of her!”
My heart nearly stopped. The blade on my back vanished, and the king’s weight shifted.
“No.” I tried to flip over, but he still had me pinned to the ground. “She’s just a child. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Nellie, go back inside the house and stay there no matter what happens.”
“Just a child?” the king asked in a deadly calm. “How old?”
“Seventeen,” I said. “But only just.”
“Hmm. Not truly a child.” Tension pounded my skull as the king dragged the moment out for far too long. And then he relented. “But I’ll spare her if you take on her punishment as well.”
“Yes, of course,” I said without even missing a beat.
“No, don’t,” Nellie said, her chest heaving from her sobs. “Leave her alone. Please.”
“Nellie.” With my cheek still pressed against the dirt, I looked up and met her eyes. She looked so scared. Terror made her lips wobble and her hands shake, and her entire body looked as though it might crack into pieces, like shattered glass. “Go back inside. This will be over soon.”
“Listen to her, love,” one of the villagers called out from down the street. Several others whispered their agreement. We had an audience now. And none of them would do anything. They couldn’t.
Nellie choked out one last sob, whirled on her feet, and raced up the steps. She stopped just inside the open door, still holding tight to that broom. The brown bristles shook like branches in the wind.
The king turned back toward me with a wicked grin. He shoved one hand against the back of my neck, holding me down. His knife dug into me once more. “That first one was for your father. This one is for your sister.”
The blade sliced through me, carving me up like a slab of meat. I screamed as the pain tore through me, as hatred boiled in my veins like acid, burning every part of me. My sister’s eyes never left my face. I kept my own locked on hers, finding a strength there I did not know I had. I would get through this. As long as he didn’t kill me, I’d soon heal. And then this pain would be nothing more than a distant memory.
But I would never let go of this hatred.
Oberon drew the blade away from my throbbing back and dropped it onto the ground. A river of blood wound through the dirt beside me. His clothes rustled, and the sound of a snapping string followed.
Sweat dripped into my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Be quiet,” he demanded.
Another rustle sounded, and then liquid fire flowed across my wounds. The flames consumed me, lashing my entire body. The pain was so great that I could barely think around it. The fire licked at the wounds, blazed past them, and then spread deeper, burning up everything inside of me, including my heart.
I flailed against the dirt, gasping for breath. Darkness flooded my vision. Death called for me, and I no longer had the strength to turn away from it. My hands stilled as my body went limp.
The last thing I heard was the king’s smug voice saying, “Just as I thought.”
Twenty-Seven
Tessa
Kalen was gone when I woke up. The cloak had been tucked around my chin, and the scent of him still lingered. With a groan, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the warped, rotting ceiling. Last night had been…weird. And, as difficult as it was to admit, it had been good.
I didn’t know how long he’d listened to me ramble on about my sister. The words had poured out of me, the dam around my heart finally breaking. I’d been holding it all in, barely daring even to think of her. I still felt burdened by grief, but I had to admit that I felt…better. Lighter. I’d taken a wobbly step toward healing, though I knew I’d always carry the pain of that day with me for the rest of my life. But maybe, in time, it could be a scar instead of a gaping wound.
To think the Mist King, of all people, had been the one to help me take that step.
I tried not to think about the feel of his arm around my body. The way his hand had lingered just a moment too long on my cheek. The heat in his eyes when he’d gazed at me—a heat I must have misread.
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