Page 5 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

“So what will you do about them?” she asked, moving her raven piece up the board.

He huffed disdainfully. “We burned their camp and threw the equipment down a ravine. Even if they wanted to return, it would take months to rebuild.”

Ravenna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. It wasn’t that she delighted in violence, but she could appreciate the expediency. As charming as the orc king could be, there was no mistaking him when he issued a threat.

The fae would find him a formidable opponent, and Ravenna relished the thought.

She intended to cause the Fae Queen as much trouble and grief as possible before she drove a knife between that hag’s fourth and fifth ribs. Although the fae had long lived on magic alone, they did still have hearts. Amaranthe’s shriveled little organ would know Ravenna’s blade and vengeance.

The Fae Queen would pay for what she’d done to Maxim and Aine.

One day, she would fall. Ravenna knew this as surely as she knew that Vallek Far-Sight was her mate, her azai .

She could only have one, though. That she knew, too.

And she chose her vengeance.

That was the choice she’d made when she first laid eyes upon him.

Leaving Oberon and his herd a league away, Ravenna had walked the rest of the way to the orcish camp not far from her bower.

Using a little magic, she’d slipped through the tents as a shadow.

Orcs hardly ever thought to look down for long, and so she made it deep into their camp before she was noticed.

The elite guardsmen had stopped her, of course. They were trained to look everywhere. She explained loudly why she was there, loud enough that Vallek himself had come from the tent to get a look at the strange human woman claiming to be a soothsayer.

As he’d considered her, a bolt of recognition struck Ravenna. A white-hot light enflamed her very being, and she’d known with a clarity so intense it was blinding— azai .

But he saw only what she wanted him to see, her false face.

And so Ravenna had put away her realization for later, mustering through a demonstration of her powers for him.

Through that, and several more correct predictions in the days to come, she’d earned her place in his household.

Taken by the orcs back to Balmirra, she’d been given a room in his own quarters, kept near in case she saw anything important and timely.

Her plan had worked perfectly. So much so, Oberon had been more than a little annoyed.

Don’t be so smug, he’d tell her from where the herd followed behind the orcs from a distance. It isn’t becoming.

In truth, though, Ravenna wasn’t smug. Not really.

Pleased with herself—a little. But that first march to Balmirra had been hard, both on her body and her heart.

Long nights she spent awake on her pallet, desperate for sleep but her body burning for her mate.

Her fangs ached to bite him, her magic reached out to bond to him.

It was only through sheer will, and his leaving again soon after installing her at Balmirra, that she was able to shore up her defenses.

Over the intervening years, between his absences and her own dogged practice, she grew stronger.

She could deny them both, for to do anything else would only bring ruin.

The thought brought her little joy, and she hoped he couldn’t spy her sudden melancholy through the glamour. It was silly, really, to mourn what she would never have.

Still, the grief of never having nor claiming her azai, her one true mate, sent by the goddesses themselves the fae said, was a thistle beneath her skin. Every instinct inside her cried out to him. Yet, whenever she looked for recognition in his eyes, she crushed the hope mercilessly.

She could bear the grief precisely because she didn’t know what it was to have an azai . To know and give it up, to lose it…that could not be borne.

And so Ravenna kept her disguise and her peace.

It was enough to play talfon with him on a quiet summer evening. To glimpse his sharp, ruthless mind and indulge in his attention was a gift.

He would never know what she was to him, and she would never know the loss of him.

She would use him and his armies to obtain her revenge.

Ravenna had no illusions that she would survive the ordeal.

Although she never quite knew where her visions came from in time, none were from later in her life that she could tell.

She wouldn’t grow old. She wouldn’t build a life for herself beyond her father’s usurped plans.

Even if her soul might rail against that truth, this was the way it had to be.

What Ravenna could give her azai in return was his own vision. She would help him make the kingdom he sought, realize the vision of a united orcish people. Yes, she would use it to her advantage, but Vallek would lead them through it.

She would make sure of it.

Sipping from his goblet, Vallek moved his leopard piece into position, readying his trap.

Ravenna feinted consideration before moving her horse piece two diamonds left, negating his trap. She enjoyed the little incensed tick above his brow as he leaned forward to rethink his strategy.

“Have you had any visions?” he asked. “I mean to bring the eastern tribes to heel by winter, and it would be helpful to know what I’m walking into.”

Sitting back in her seat, Ravenna peered down into her goblet. Although she’d been sipping throughout their game, the goblet and portion of mead were both orc-sized, so there was plenty left in her cup to swirl. The rhythm of the liquid lulled her mind, and she let herself fall into a vision.

—stone circles set in a maze—leather tents clustered around a bonfire—smoke obscuring stars—yes, my king—loyalty and an eye—

Ravenna clutched her cup tighter, her hand gone suddenly cold. She set it down on the table before it could spill.

Vallek hadn’t moved, and his posture remained relaxed, but those vivid blue eyes pierced her with their intense curiosity.

“What is it?” he breathed, familiar now with the process of her visions.

Pulling in a breath, Ravenna fussed at the folds of her cloak as she gathered her thoughts.

She had trained long enough with her father that she could call a vision forward and aim its focus.

At least for others. Visions of her own future still only came to her suddenly or in her sleep.

Though, Ravenna wasn’t sure she wanted to know her own fate any more than she already did.

“They will bow to you,” she confirmed, “although not without some dissent.”

“Hm.” He eased back in his chair, pleased with the news. “As long as they bow, I don’t care what comes before.”

She hoped that was true. Even if life was easier with her handsome azai out of the city, she still worried for him while he was gone.

Before the night grew too late, Ravenna sabotaged her own strategy and let him win. He knew this, of course, and while he might always like to win, she enjoyed that it annoyed him to know she’d let him.

“After all this time, I still cannot decide if you’re a master at talfon or horrible at it,” he mused before bidding her goodnight.

She couldn’t say, either, only that it pleased her to play with him. And that she and her mother had spent long hours playing the game, wiling away the days when her father was away.

As Ravenna retreated down the dark corridors of the royal quarters, she couldn’t help musing that she now spent her life much as her mother had—waiting for her azai to return.

It was a life Ravenna had resented. Aine was all goodness and kindness and patience.

Her love was vast, warmer than the blankets she knitted and sweeter than the cakes she baked.

They were often left alone in that seaside cottage, her and her mother, and together they got up to all manner of things.

Aine taught Ravenna about the moon and tides and how to weave a net.

They hunted for abalone and sea glass together, keeping the shells to decorate the path up the cliff to the cottage and the sea glass in little bottles on the windowsills to catch the light.

They spun yarn and darned socks and knitted caps, and Aine taught Ravenna how to embroider the cloth with every color of thread.

Aine made everything she touched beautiful. It was no wonder that her goodness had caught the likes of a fae warrior.

Ravenna still hadn’t forgiven Maxim for sacrificing such goodness.

They didn’t have to die.

Since foolishly voicing her vision of Amaranthe falling, Ravenna’s life had been honed into a sharp blade for survival.

Maxim had insisted that one day, Amaranthe would find them.

He hadn’t needed Ravenna to see that the Queen would destroy any in her path to foil the prophecy and procure herself a seer.

In so doing, Maxim made his own prophecy, one he fulfilled himself. He readied Ravenna for life as a fugitive. He readied himself and Aine for sacrifice.

“One day, she will come for you. We will stop her.”

Ravenna had pleaded that this didn’t mean her secret must die with them. They could all go away, far away. Make lives somewhere new, where the fae and their magic could never hope to reach.

But Maxim thought this impossible.

He planned and prepared. Many days he sat at the cottage’s kitchen table with Aine and his old friend Allarion, detailing how Ravenna would be made safe. Planning how they meant to die.

And so it was decided. Ravenna would be hidden away when the time came. Maxim and Aine would defy the Queen and lose their lives.

Done. Sorted.

Ravenna refused to accept that still. “It is the only way,” her mother would say, but she didn’t believe it. She didn’t see it.

Her mother, soft and beautiful, deserved better.