Page 54 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

—arms spread wide—manacles at either wrist—a citadel gone to ruins—apple blossom petals crushed underfoot—blood spilled down Vallek’s chest—

Ravenna’s skin was cold and clammy when she came back to herself in the middle of the corridor.

Damn . It was the third time in as many days that she’d had that same vision. Ever since touching those strange manacles, the same series of images had assailed her.

“My queen?” One of her six personal guardsmen stepped forward, his concern pulling the corners of his mouth down past his tusks.

It was still so strange having six hulking warriors shadow her every move outside of the quarters she shared with Vallek.

It was hard to overcome the sense that she was being followed—because she was.

Her father had taught her to be wary, to constantly check over her shoulder.

For their size, her guards were all light-footed and discreet, yet old habits clung to her nearly as well as the orcs did.

These visions—or, more accurately, this one vision, over and over—had rattled her.

She couldn’t get the image of Vallek in chains, beaten and bloodied, out of her mind. It unnerved her so much, she hadn’t admitted to him what she’d seen, for fear that saying it aloud would make it all the more possible.

Her visions always came true, one way or another. She knew that. But Ravenna refused to accept this one.

Mouth gone dry, she had to wet her lips to reply, “I’m all right. Just a vision.” She attempted to smile, to alleviate their concern, but this only seemed to alarm them more.

Ravenna resumed walking, thinking the best thing for them all was to continue on.

She was due to attend her first council meeting with Vallek, and she didn’t want to be late.

As they walked, Ravenna pressed the heel of her palm into her stomach, willing her nerves to settle.

She’d hardly slept the previous night, kept awake by all the ways she could embarrass herself and Vallek.

She knew the ministers’ names and faces but little about their natures; they were all eminent orcs, most of them paladins, many elders.

They were meant to be a moderating voice for the chieftain or monarch, and even Vallek admitted he didn’t know how favorably they would look upon Ravenna.

The visions and her nerves meant that she was in no mood to be stopped on her way.

Nevertheless, when Lady Silvia, at the head of her own group of retainers and guards, rounded the next corner, Ravenna found herself stopped.

Despite her forbidding glare and not acknowledging Lady Silvia’s half-hearted nod of greeting, the orcess put herself bodily in Ravenna’s way. Stopping short, Ravenna lifted her chin and her glare up to meet the orcess’s saccharine smile.

“Good day,” said Lady Silvia.

“Good day.”

“You seem to be in quite the rush,” Silvia noted. “No doubt on royal business.” Her retinue tittered behind her, as if the idea of Ravenna attending to important matters was laughable.

“I am indeed. If you would move—”

The orcess did, sidestepping Ravenna to run a curious finger down her shoulder. With her back partly exposed by the swooping neckline of her gown, Ravenna felt the dulled point of Silvia’s claw trail along her skin.

“It’s too much to believe that you manage to hide those wings away. We’ve been debating since the king announced your existence whether it was a trick or not. Settle a bet, would you?”

Ravenna felt her guards move in closer, knew that with one word, they would surround her, cutting off Silvia’s loathsome touch.

If she ordered it, they might even detain or harm the orcess on Ravenna’s command.

It was probably a bit evil to take pleasure in that knowledge, that she could have Lady Silvia thrown from the nearest window with a mere wave of her hand, but Ravenna withheld her baser inclinations.

For now, at least.

Besides, she couldn’t be seen as weak and reliant on her guards to defend her.

She motioned for the guards to halt, and they did, although she could still sense their concern pressing against her back.

“My wings are real, and they’re certainly not for you.”

Lady Silvia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am your queen, not a pet monkey to poke and prod.”

The orcess smiled maliciously. “And yet you are hardly bigger than one.”

Ravenna rolled her eyes. If Lady Silvia would resort to teasing her size, then Ravenna would play just as dirty. She had places to be.

Her magic wrapped round the orcess’s wrist. “You don’t touch me.

” With a forceful yank, she jerked Silvia down by the hand.

Forced to her knee, Silvia struggled to pull her hand up from where it was mashed to the flagstones.

Her retinue gasped and whispered, looking amongst themselves to find if anyone knew what to do.

Silvia sputtered, eyes gone wide in horror as she struggled. “You’re mad!”

“I’m your queen,” Ravenna corrected, taking the opportunity to smile maliciously herself. “Chosen by your king. He had every opportunity, every chance to choose you, Silvia. Even just to take you to bed. And he didn’t.”

The orcess stopped struggling long enough for a dawning anger to overtake her face. “You dare—”

“When he first saw my true face, he threw me over his shoulder and claimed me. I am his choice, Silvia. You will respect it, or I will tell you in great detail everything in your life that will come to pass.” The orcess paled to a sickly green, and Ravenna nodded.

“No surprises, no questions, just the dreadful knowledge of what’s to come and being unable to stop it.

It’s a horrible fate, Lady Silvia. Don’t bring it upon yourself. ”

Without giving her the chance to respond, Ravenna stepped around the orcess, continuing down the corridor. The sound of Silvia struggling to stand and her retinue arguing amongst themselves followed her, and it wasn’t until she rounded the corner that she released her magic.

Ravenna didn’t miss the quiet huff of amusement and twitching grins from her guards, and while she wanted to take pleasure in the little victory, it ended up feeling as cheap as Silvia’s accusation of false wings. Compared to the unsettling vision she kept having, the orcess hardly mattered at all.

Ravenna continued her path down the corridor, her worries dogging her steps.

What do they mean? She’d never let herself ponder her visions too much—looking at them too closely yielded no more answers.

They would come to pass, one way or another, whether she wished it or not.

Yet, these past few days, it was difficult not to worry herself sick over this particular vision.

She’d never seen something like it, her own azai in danger. Ravenna refused to stand for it—but without more information, she didn’t know how to thwart it. She had to keep him safe—but how?

After the interlude in the corridor, it was both a relief and surprise for Ravenna to find that the council had little interest in questioning Vallek on his choice of mate and queen.

Whether it was because they liked and supported Vallek or were already accustomed to his unprecedented decisions, she couldn’t say.

Several of the ministers, including those for tax and mining, were especially quiet, offering lukewarm congratulations at best. Ravenna would accept that over outright hostility any day.

Their reticence was something to note and tackle later—which was what she conveyed and agreed to in a quick, silent conversation of looks between her, Vallek, and Eydis.

All sat round an oblong table; a high-backed chair had been added for Ravenna.

Vallek’s seat had been slightly shifted to the left, creating room for her close to the head of the table.

She sat quietly in her chair, feet dangling off the ground thanks to the seat cushion.

Although she was still far shorter than everyone else gathered, she could at least comfortably lay her arms on the tabletop without looking like a child.

Not that she’d dare touch the tabletop. Not with those manacles laid at the center.

After a few introductory words about Ravenna and receiving the ministers’ congratulations, Vallek opened the meeting—beginning with the most important matter.

Between those brought in by the patrol and those taken from the Stone-Skin camp, over a dozen spelled manacles sat there.

Although benign looking enough, an aura of malevolence seeped from the iron.

Ravenna hated even looking at them, fearing it would bring on another vision, worse than the one that already plagued her.

Rising from his seat, the scholar minister bowed to Vallek.

Head of the many learned, scholarly orc-kin of Balmirra, the scholar minister oversaw the largest library and records archive in the city, as well as the administration of the three scholariums. Vallek had charged him with investigating the manacles, both in the records and scientifically.

Tall even for an orc, the scholar minister kept his mane cut short and his ears and tusks capped.

Silver streaked his mane, and his expression was grave as he said, “My king, my queen, further study will be required, particularly in the archives, as nothing mentioning such items has yet been discovered. However, we did test the manacles’ function and properties.

” The scholar nodded at the pile of manacles.

“From what we can deduce, they are meant to negate the magic of the wearer.”

An uneasy rumble went through the council, and Ravenna felt more than a few pairs of eyes land on her.

Negate magic…

The thought made her queasy.

Magic was inherent to all folk except humans.

Although fae were the only folk left who could harness it, magic was what gave orcs their strength, sirens their songs, harpies their flight, and manticores and dragons their bestial forms. To strip them of such an integral, intrinsic part of themselves…

Who would create such a thing?

“The humans are getting devious,” grumbled the trade minister.

“They couldn’t have done it on their own,” said Vallek. A glance at her azai saw him wearing one of the most terrifying expressions she’d ever seen. If he could set fire to those manacles with his gaze, they’d be congealed slag by now.

“Twice now, Pyrrossi soldiers were found with these irons,” argued the minister of coin.

“Who would be fool enough to help them?” asked the minister of beasts.

Amaranthe . That hideous hag was conniving enough.

She likely thought that even with such a weapon, the humans were still no match for the fae and so it was shrewd to send the Pyrrossi off to weaken other folk for her.

Except, Ravenna didn’t know if she could believe Amaranthe would ever agree to work with humans—even in something that might benefit the faelands.

There was Araxos, the anax of the Droplets.

Although he’d seized power over ten years ago, he was still fighting vicious rebellions against his numerous half-siblings.

He was known to be as cunning as he was cruel, but with his attention turned toward his islands and own family, few other folk had had much to do with the dragons since his father reigned.

And, of course, there was every likelihood that a rogue actor could have colluded with the Pyrrossi. Their emperor had a far reach and deep coffers, more than enough to sway any mercenary looking to make a new life—or escape the notoriously brutal dungeon complex beneath the palace at Lycea.

Really, there were almost too many suspects.

More worrying even was what the Pyrrossi meant to do with these irons. Given their merciless conquest of the human territories to the south, as well as the homelands of the manticores along the Irynian Delta, and their current incursions along orcish borders, it wasn’t hard to guess.

Leveling his piercing gaze on Eydis, Vallek said, “I want our spies to find who the Pyrrossi are working with.” To the borders minister, he ordered, “Send out messengers to every patrol currently out. I want all orc-kin looking for any more irons.”

“What shall we do with these?” asked the grains minister, nodding at the manacles.

“Melt them down,” the tax minister growled. “Destroy them.”

“No.”

Everyone looked up at Ravenna, perhaps surprised to finally hear her speak.

The tax minister scoffed. “I’d think you’d want them destroyed most of all, my queen.”

“I don’t like them, it’s true. I shudder just looking at them. But they could be useful.” Nodding at the scholar minister, she said, “We must study them more to figure out how they were made.”

The scholar nodded, a little relieved if she wasn’t mistaken. No doubt he and his colleagues wished to investigate the strange irons more.

“Something so dangerous should be destroyed,” the mining minister argued.

“We don’t know what will happen to the entrapped magic if they’re thrown into the forge,” Ravenna reasoned. “And, from what we know, it was common soldiers who had these irons. That would imply they are plentiful enough to issue down the ranks.”

Several ministers lifted their brows, apparently not having considered this.

Reaching to lay his hand over hers, folded tightly in her lap, Vallek offered his quiet support. “They are more useful to us intact. For now, at least,” he said. “Study what we have. Confiscate the rest. Hunt down whoever’s doing this.”

It was a solid plan, one that had everyone eventually nodding in agreement.

Still, Ravenna unclenched her fingers to hold onto Vallek’s hand. The reassuring warmth of his fingers got her through the rest of the meeting, as her attention kept straying to the manacles.

She sensed their malice, and yet, it was as though they commanded their own sort of orbit, luring her in. It was a strange sort of trap, the irons neither aesthetic nor valuable, yet the power of the magic imbued within them was enough to draw one in.

If she held Vallek’s hand, she couldn’t reach across to touch one.

She didn’t want to touch them, not really. She didn’t want another vision. Not when she wanted so desperately to forget the last one.

And yet, as surely as a siren’s song, the manacles echoed in her mind. They were important somehow, an enigma sent to tempt and entrap. For now, all she could do was hold onto her azai . She needed more answers, for she refused to allow her vision to come to pass.