Page 13

13

BEFORE THE STORM

Darina

I could be furious, and I suppose a part of me is, but it’s not nearly as much as logic dictates.

In truth? Ryther was making a point that both Rachel and I needed to see, hear, experience firsthand. I’ve had my first taste of Ilvaris at Junis’s hand. I thought I knew how this game worked; I thought warning Rachel never to thank anyone would be enough. But he’s shown us both he—and his kind—don’t need permission to take what they want from a mortal. His voice went deep and delicious and overwhelming. To me, it was just hot; but I saw Rachel’s eyes go glassy, unfocused, and then she obeyed.

My sister could have fallen headfirst into the next Junis. In a way, she did. She’ll likely always remember this moment as a nightmare.

I know better.

Junis beat me. He forced me to take his cock in my mouth, fucking my throat until I couldn’t breathe and beat me some more. Ryther was thoroughly uninterested in touching Rachel. He barely even looked at her. It was only a warning; one I wish I’d been given.

Now, I know she’s in even more danger than I would have thought, and she’s seen a glimpse of what this world can be like. He’s right, I should send her away—or at the very least, take measures to protect her, if there are some to take.

I want to go to her, hug her, reassure her, tell her all will be well, but Ryther doesn’t even let me get off the bed, pinning me back down again, and then his cock is pushing right back home.

I don’t try very hard to get away after that.

He feels so good, fucking me deeper, harder than ever before, making my core, my very essence tremble with need. And being fucked into madness like this does something else, undoing the tight knot of fury that has clogged my mind since I awoke. Smothering it. It’s not gone, but it’s out of air, calm for a time.

And in truth? I know my sister. Rachel needs a minute. I would in her shoes, too. When she’s done having a good cry in a dark room, she’ll want to shout at me, tell me Ryther is a monster, and I’ll have to do my best not to tell her that while that may be true, he was doing her a favor by opening her eyes. No amount of warnings would have worked as much as showing her what this world is like. How mortals are treated here.

She’s going to hate Ryther, for sure. But, well…the chances are, she was always going to in any case. Now at least she has a reason.

Ryther’s less violent this time around, either because he, too, is calmer, or because we’re no longer fighting over Rachel. He lets go of my throat and kisses it. I run my hands over his shoulders, and only dig my nails into his skin a bit. I come while looking into those endless, gorgeous eyes, and finding part of myself in their depths, and he floods my Insides all over again. We’re both filthy and panting, and honestly? Already up for more.

“I am considerably less furious,” I admit between heavy breaths.

He snorts derisively, letting his frame falls right on top of me. “Likewise. But the anger was concerning nonetheless.” Ryther runs his finger, now soft, to the sensitive skin of my neck. “As are these.”

I shrug. “I’m fine. You’d be surprised how many people like a little choking.”

Apparently, I’m one of them.

He’s right though. I was just so furious at him for his monstrous betrayal, and yet…Ryther has never once betrayed me. He’s been on my side from the moment he grabbed me from the floor where Valdred was about to shove his cock into me until now.

These weren’t my feelings at all, but they threatened to consume me. I would have attacked. I wanted to.

“The good news is, we apparently know how to deal with it.”

In one smooth movement, he’s rolled himself back up on top of me and slid my leg over his shoulder.

Yes .

Every part of me wants this, wants him again, already. Always.

I wouldn’t say it’s entirely new, but my desire is stronger, just as wild as my rage.

“If we must,” I tease, lifting my hips to meet him.

I—we—have so much to sort out. Ourselves, the things inside us, my brother, the woman who made him sacrifice himself—if she’s alive—Junis, the stupid crown they want on my head…the one I need to wear to be safe.

We’re spent, my body aching in all the right places, and thoroughly used, when I finally make myself ask, “What was it? What you did to Rachel. She’s not enslaved to you, is she?”

“Mortals are slave to all the folk, for the asking,” he retorts. “It was compulsion—my will influenced her body. Talking is the easiest way, but some folk can do it with a look, a touch. It doesn’t work long-term; I can’t give her orders she’ll follow forever the way Junis could to you after your deal, but she’ll have to obey unless she’s protected against it. That magic comes to us as naturally as breathing, even as children. It’s woven into our being.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I could do it?”

“You have done it, albeit unknowingly. You even did it to the folk in my camp with your voice. As expected of a gorgeous little queenspawn, you’re above average in all things.”

I have to stew on that for a moment. Remember the many times I didn’t want to do something, and ended up either looking, or smiling, or talking about something else. Whoever I was talking to immediately forgot what they were about to ask, almost every time.

And when I sing…when I play…I know I can captivate an audience. I put it down to my skills. Maybe it was something else. Another kind of skill.

“You said there are protections against it.”

He sighs. “I said she should go.”

Though we’re in agreement, my sister is stubborn; and besides, after what happened to my parents, I’m loath to send her away.

“Tell me,” I insist.

“She can wear some of her clothes inside out. Socks, panties, a top. There are herbs she can carry. Holding iron also works. Running water will stop most fae magic—though it’s not easy to hold on to that. It’s not easy to hold on to anything. What if someone ripped her socks, took her herbs, stole her iron? The only true defense she has is absence.”

“Absence did not help my parents,” I snap. “Or her fiancé. They still came for her.”

“They knew where to look, and she had no protection.” He has an answer to everything.

But the bottom line is, I don’t truly wish send her away if she wishes to stay. Maybe he scared her enough that she’ll be prepared to go, but knowing my sister? That’s unlikely.

* * *

I stare down at the patch of turned earth and I feel nothing. A numbness I embrace, because it’s better than alternative. Anger, fear, despair, all these are right underneath, close to the surface. This could have been me. This should have been me; a corpse buried underground.

Part of me wonders if my parents had a funeral plan. Maybe they’d chosen a cemetery, a tombstone, flowers. Instead, they’re buried in a world they didn’t even realize existed, with only their two daughters and strangers to mourn them, all of whom I’ve only met days ago though it feels like years. Centuries.

And one of those strangers killed them.

I’m grateful for that mercy, I really am. Knowing they didn’t feel the torture inflicted on them is a comfort. But part of me wants to scream, demand we rewrite history and save them. Why, if those who profess to be on my side are so powerful, couldn’t they just save two humans?

I wonder if it was just more convenient to let them die. If their lives weren’t worth enough. Couldn’t Ryther’s shadows just grasp them, push them out of the way?

The annoying knowledge of arcane magic I’ve acquired tells me that a mortal spine would have cracked under the pressure. That one single twist of any of my enemies’ wrists would have been enough to break my parents’ necks. That humans are fragile and easily breakable. Not made for this world.

My sister’s hand feels like iron under my fingers. All this applies to her, too. She’s a liability.

And yet, there are mortals in Ilvaris. They can live here, so long as they’re protected. So long as they know the rules. No spell can touch her now, with her panties inside out and her herbs, not to mention the two hundred pounds of muscle I’ve assigned as her guard.

Caenan will take care of her, won’t he? I glance back at the solemn fae, still dressed in his reinforced leather gear, seemingly ready to launch himself in front of any approaching threat.

It’s rather funny, when I think of it. Out of all of us, he’s the tallest, largest, bulkiest. He’s also the weakest.

Ryther’s taken the Undoing; I don’t know what that means yet, but even before there was a divine presence underneath his skin, he was feared by all, ruling the entire unseelie shores with an iron fist.

Loch is my equal in all things, a child of the high queen, a hundred times smarter than I ever could be with the centuries of knowledge and power he’s accumulated.

Then there’s Relva, heiress of the sea court, and while she seems content to play court games, I sense something in her, harsh and strong as the waves she comes from.

Caenan’s simpler. More human-like, in a way. I wonder if that’s why I’ve trusted him with Rachel. He’s the least likely to see her as disposable.

Valdred would have made a good choice, too, if only because the asshole owes me, but he’s absent. We don’t discuss it, but I can tell it makes the others uneasy. He professed his loyalty, and should be here to prove it.

As long as he shows up when we’re facing the courts, I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He’s allowed to have his own affairs. I don’t think him likely to betray me. But maybe that’s my inexperience and naivety talking. The others believe any of us capable of treachery. The last few days haven’t yet turned me as jaded.

“We ought to return,” Ryther says, and Rachel immediately glares at him, her tearstained face full of self-righteous fury.

I sigh deeply, squeezing her hand. “We can come back here any time,” I assure her gently. “For now, we need to…”

“Ensure your continued survival?” Loch supplies.

I nod gravely. Such are the stakes. I will rule, or I will die. It’ll all depend on how good a show I can put on tonight.

At least a lifetime of performing guarantees I don’t get stage fright.