Page 9

9

A PINCH OF CRUELTY

Ryther

The nixie's still here at the gate. As are the crows. I'd even say they're awaiting our return with bated breath. The humongous predator stalks to me and pushes to its hind legs, bringing its large head on top of Darina's.

"Yes, she's breathing," I find myself cooing, eyes on the chest that does rise and fall again, though her heart is now a cold, crystalline stone.

So long as it works, I can't say I much care what it's made of.

I don't doubt the predator was concerned, no matter how it plays it off, retreating to lick its claws clean already. I know the bond formed between a fae and their familiar, even one so recent and fragile as theirs. From the moment I claimed Crow, he was a part of me. The nixie might have died if Darina hadn't made it out.

"Ready for another flight?"

It occurs to me that exhaustion is catching up to me, yet at the same time, I've never felt stronger. More awake.

I take to the sky again, and there's no denying the new consciousness under the surface, the thing that observes the power for the first time.

It likes it. No, it delights in it, and its feeling leeks into mine, rendering me excited, perhaps even giddy. I can't help executing a completely gratuitous flip in the air, which is wholly out of character to me. The thing has an almost childish, gleeful spirit, and I don't understand it. It's much older than me. Shouldn't it be twice as bored, indifferent to all?

But no. It feels. It has managed to retain its hatred for its own mate for millennia; it's nothing like me. I don't hate anything or anyone, because feeling that much sounds like effort.

The Undoing is something else entirely.

And the All wasn't lying when she warned me that their wills would remain inside me.

I didn't even think before circling the air like a buffoon. I just wanted to, so I did it, even though I knew that desire didn't originate from my own mind.

Where's the line between it and me? Is there one?

I've already shared my soul with something for centuries: Crow. I thought it would be similar, that we'd be two separate entities with different opinions. It's nothing like that at all.

There's no denying that my feelings have also changed where the woman cocooned against me is concerned. A mere hour ago, she was a need. I needed her to stay alive because I suspected my continued existence depended on it. That, some physical desire, and begrudging respect for the capacity for love she displayed were the extent of my view of Darina Thorn.

Now, there's so much more. More desire, more craving, more possessiveness, and yes, certainly a lot more hatred, too. An intense love, flipped upon itself, twisted by betrayal and resentment.

The flight back to the keep is faster, my own strength considerably increased. When we reach the great castle nestled in the valley between the two highest mountains of the Hollow, it's alight with life and laughter and music.

Darina's still asleep in my arms. I consider my options. I should wake her. Have her walk into her castle with her head high to claim her birthright. But that insidious mix of feelings seeping in my veins likes the idea of diminishing her power, showing her vulnerability to the world.

She's oh so beautiful in sleep. Her hair's bright red right this moment, though it’s changed several times as she finds her way back to her own skin.

I stroll inside with her in my arms. The court falls silent, all laughter and chatter dying as I make my way through the first hall where they're all gathered. No one’s dared explore the castle yet, though they certainly dared help themselves to the queen's wine. The entry hall is certainly suited to a revel; why look further and risk a wayward curse?

Familiar with it, I walk past them, to the great stairway leading up to the first floor, where the queen's chambers are.

Darina barely stirs. I lift her hand to open up her private space, but to my surprise, the door unlatches and swings open before her skin comes into contact with the red wood.

Loch.

I half expect a crown upon his brow. I wouldn't have been surprised if he took hold of the first weapon he could reach and tried to plunge it into the sleeping girl I'm carrying.

And if he did, would I have stopped him or helped?

"Took you long enough."

The trickster side steps, letting me into a warm, colorful reception room.

* * *

"What's wrong with her?" I ask, my eyes curiously set on the girl bent in two on a low divan.

I can see how Darina attempted, and mostly failed, to imitate her looks in the ironside. Changelings modify their appearance to fit with their family, and thus, she had her hair and her eyes and of course her ears. But the girl is so very human. Round. More solid, and yet fragile.

"Circle travel," Valdred replies, his fingers impatiently tapping the carved side table they're lying on.

Though he accomplished the mission the queen gave him with speed and efficiency, he doesn't look victorious. Just impatient, like he has somewhere to be other than here, in the high queen's apartment, as one of the first amongst her small council.

I am confused by my many conflicting thoughts; I'm offended on her behalf, exasperated by the entire situation—and I believe both of those feelings do originate from me—and yet, so furious. At him and her, and everything. At Valdred for his lack of deference. At Loch, for not wanting to murder his sister, though that's a clear path to the throne.

Someone needs to make sense of what's happening in my head.

"Bloody mushrooms," the human groans, heaving over the bucket in her hands.

"I told you they were mischievous," Valdred drawls.

"You didn't tell me it would feel like being locked in a fucking tumble dryer!"

"What's a tumble dryer?" asks Relva, head tilted.

"Never mind any of that. Why isn't she waking?" Loch's standing over Darina, still wrapped in my arms.

I tried to set her down on her bed in the grand room right across from the reception chamber, but she clung to me, and my confused, messed-up head didn't see any other recourse than keeping her against me. Although I'm mad about it.

It seems mad is my new default setting.

It's exhausting.

"Because half a day ago, she was dead," I say flatly. "Her heart's been pierced by iron, then replaced. There's still iron coursing in her bloodstream. I gave her roots to numb the pain, and a drop of eversleep—only a single drop—so she might rest rather than scream in agony for the next hours."

"You happened to have roots and eversleep on you?" Relva muses.

I shrug, rather than point out I've had my fair share of iron wounds over the years. I keep a number of ingredients in my coat.

"Never mind that. The lords are too drunk and tired to act for now; what do we do at twilight when everyone wakes?"

That seems obvious. "We throw everyone a party and name our fiercest enemy as part of the queen's council."

Loch nods. Caenan groans. Relva grins. "I'd better start planning. And find more wine."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll take my leave for the night then," Valdred says.

I mislike this. Days ago, he had almost as much power as the high queen. He professed, and arguably, proved his devotion, but now, he's acting far too shifty.

"Somewhere better to be?" I ask, fixing him with a stare.

"Yes." He doesn't hesitate. "I have a situation to solve. I'll be back at twilight."

We all watch him leave, and I can't be the only one asking myself if we're going to have to shove a blade through his heart next.