Page 20 of Queen of Ever (Curse of Fate and Fae #2)

Chapter 20

Tarian

F irelight flickered on the walls and the sheets, chasing the glossy damp of Imogen’s skin, clinging to her shoulders, her cheeks, the flutter of her eyelashes. I loved lying with her like this, talking, curled around each other. Loved the casual, easy touches and open vulnerability. Hated the idea of having to leave. Even if we lay here all day and night, I would still hate having to leave.

‘I was getting better, but it doesn’t feel natural. It’s not like I’m using it every day,’ she said.

I ran my fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. ‘I was afraid of magic at first too. Still am, sometimes. But it gets easier the more you practice controlling it.’

She’d been telling me of how she’d spent her time in the Summer Palace, of the lessons in magic, among other things. Magic seemed to be on her mind since Haddock’s clumsy attempt at a star reading. He still hadn’t untangled what he’d seen there. I still had no idea if whatever he would say was going to be any help at all, and time was ticking away as the conclave drew to an end, filled with stolen moments like this one. It had only been a few days, but I was tired of sneaking around, and I think she was, too. I was giving this plan of another reading into that cursed prophecy only until the amendment was signed to pay dividends.

Then we’d do things my way.

My way involved throwing caution to the wind and seeing where we got. As it currently stood, I couldn’t take Imogen back to the Unseelie Kingdom unless I wanted her to be Moriana’s plaything, and I didn’t see how anything Haddock revealed was going to change that even if I understood Imogen’s desire to know her fate. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t take her somewhere else, into a state of exile maybe, but at least we’d be together. And then we’d have time to figure out a way forward.

‘It felt so… uncontrolled, that day when it woke. When I struck you.’ She drew her fingertips down my forearm and found my hand. She spread her fingers against mine, lifting them between us as though to measure their difference in size. ‘I don’t like that. Being able to control myself has been really important for a long time. It’s what’s kept me out of the psych wards in the Human Realm.’

I marked how she referred to it as the human realm instead of home. I hoped whatever we could build together would be worth the trade of one home for another. ‘I’ll admit, most of the time it feels like a war to contain magic rather than to release it. So you’ll be wrestling with that for a while.’

She sighed. ‘Almost seems more trouble than it’s worth.’ Then she flicked her gaze from our hands to my face, as though she was reading a story in my features. ‘I heard some stories about you in the Seelie Court, you know. About you being wild and losing control of your magic all the time. I even heard you collapsed the Unseelie throne room right before I ran.’

I shifted, uncomfortable. ‘Let’s just say I didn’t give up your fiorainm calmly. And that I used to lose control a lot.’ I searched her gaze, trying to see if there was wariness there, if the stories had scared her. ‘But I’m better at keeping a hold of myself now. Safer,’ I added just in case. But her green eyes held mine with warmth, with curiosity, and I couldn’t see even a shadow of fear.

‘And having control is how you do that, right? It’s why you were so angry, wasn’t it? About the mate bond?’

I laced our fingers together, gently squeezing hers, mystified by her and the way she seemed to so easily decipher me, like I was as transparent as glass. ‘I don’t like having my choices taken away from me. But I was so busy being angry that I was blinded to how lucky I was.’

She smiled, eyes crinkling, and I kissed her. Wondered at how raw I felt when I looked at her, like all my emotions were exposed to the surface, like she was wearing away decades of stony defences that had crusted over all the loneliness. I realised with a sudden, disorienting epiphany that I was in love with her. That I had been for a while. That I hadn’t told her. That I didn’t know how to say the words.

‘What’s going to happen when the conclave is over?’ she asked, unaware that I was wrestling with my courage.

‘I don’t know exactly. We’re going to have to decide soon, though, because we’ll be signing an amendment tomorrow.’

‘You’re what?!’ Imogen sat bolt upright, all softness suddenly gone from her face.

‘Signing the amendment,’ I said simply. When she just continued to stare at me, I tried to figure out what the confusing part was. ‘The sooner it’s done, the sooner we leave,’ I added, hoping that would help.

‘But what terms did you agree to?’

‘I don’t know, the High Council argued the details.’ The look she was giving me could only have been described as incredulous. ‘I know the important parts,’ I added defensively. ‘We’ve agreed to a temporary amendment that’ll begin when it’s signed and end when the uprising is put down. We’ll have time to find the lesser fae rebels beforehand, then we’ll converge and dismantle them.’

‘Dismantle them?’

‘As we always do when there’s an uprising.’

‘Tarian, these are lives we’re talking about, not furniture.’

‘I didn’t make them attack the Unseelie Palace. I didn’t start the killing.’

She softened a little, frowning as she seemed to remember Arun. ‘I’m not saying what they did was right,’ she said. ‘But… Ethan is lesser fae.’

‘Ethan isn’t stupid enough to be hanging around with a rebel group.’

She chewed her lip, turning her gaze into the fireplace, quiet for a while. I stroked the backs of my fingers down her arm, not sure how to reassure her, to give her what she needed, to steal the worry from her face.

‘Will they be killed?’ she finally asked, not looking at me.

‘That’s how we deal with insurrection. Their fate has never been in question. We’ve just been nailing down the specifics of how to go about it.’

‘Just because that’s how you’ve always done it doesn’t make it right. I’ve seen how High Fae treat lessers. I can see why they want their freedom from your rule.’

I shifted a little, locking my hands behind my head. ‘It’s not my rule. My job here is to occupy a seat and sign whatever’s waved at me. I’m not here to campaign for lesser fae rights.’

She turned back to me, lines of unease drawn along her face. ‘Maybe you should be.’

Huffing a sigh, I took her arm, drew her down to me. She resisted for a moment, then softened, allowing herself to be pulled close, wrapped in my arms. ‘Alright, maybe I should be. But not now, Imogen. Not while we have to untangle a prophecy and mollify Solas and steal you away from the Seelie Court.’ And find a way to overthrow my mother, I added silently, because saying that aloud was too dangerous, in this room in the Seelie quarters of an ancient castle. Who knew who might be listening. ‘Right now, extracting us from this pissing contest between the courts is my priority. And I’ll sign whatever I have to if it means getting us out of here.’

She wasn’t convinced. I could almost hear her mind ticking over. And as much as I wanted her to just trust me, the fact that she cared about this faceless group of rebels was compelling, just another facet of the dazzling differences that made her so unlike other High Fae. She was always ready to question me. I liked it as much as I hated it. And I held her tighter for it.

I felt less sure of my decision as I was entering the old throne room the following evening. The room swum with shadow, rendered dark by an exposed night sky choked with cloud. Unnecessarily ominous. I considered whether Eochaid needed to be replaced. He was clearly doing little to actually maintain the old castle.

The throne itself was a looming spectre of a time long past, a twisting sculpture of thorny vines run through with veins of black and gold, sprouting pale flowers that were more magic than plant, all dusted with a glittering frost that would neither wither the blooms, nor melt. Summer and winter, night and day, combined in a symbol of a unity that had only ever been wielded by Oberon himself. None would ever sit on that throne again. But we’d sign our amendment here as though we could summon a little of that dead unity to serve us now.

Despite the decaying setting, the air buzzed with an energy that had nothing to do with the cool, shifting winds reaching through the shattered ceiling to ruffle the gathered courtiers. Everyone was looking forward to leaving. Even Solas appeared satisfied as we approached the foot of the throne, which sat on a raised dais that put its feet in line with our heads. Eochaid was already waiting there, slump shouldered and heaving a heavy sigh every few minutes.

‘You agreed to your terms much faster than usual,’ he said glumly. ‘I’d prepared for a much longer stay.’

‘The Unseelie were more… conciliatory than I expected,’ Solas said. I shot a look to the ceiling, already picturing climbing onto Melaie and soaring away. Picturing the look on his face when I took Imogen with me.

Eochaid brightened a little as an idea seemed to occur to him. ‘The castle would make an excellent venue for other celebrations, don’t you think? Other festivities.’

My gaze roamed the dirty great holes in the roof, the vines dangling above our heads as Eochaid pushed the subject of other ‘visiting’.

‘It would be appropriate for certain type of festivities. It isn’t being used the way it should be, but I can see a future where it would be better utilised,’ Solas drawled, making Eochaid beam, unaware the Seelie King was toying with him. ‘You know, if you keep it ready and waiting in preparation for a return, I could find some use for this place in future. Now, can we sign this amendment before my friend here changes his mind?’

Eochaid turned to bustle about a small chest, humming to himself as he unstopped a vile full of thick, dark red. Solas had turned away to speak with one of his advisors.

‘Don’t stock your storerooms,’ I said to Eochaid in a low voice when he turned back, holding the same goblet from the bloodletting, its original contents returned to it, now thicker and darker with age.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He’s not going to visit again anytime soon. He’s just an asshole.’

Eochaid’s face fell. I didn’t know why I cared if Solas made sport of him. Perhaps I was overly aware of the cruelty of disappointed hope.

A quill of white bone was produced, rumoured to be from the shinbone of Oberon himself, ready to inscribe runes written in the blood of all those in attendance.

The wind picked up and the light of the torches fringing the room flickered. A rushing seemed to carry through the air, edged in a sound that might have been the creaking of a rusted door hinge or might have been a distance screech. No one else reacted, conversations continuing, Eochaid fiddling with his quill, but every cell in my body was suddenly on high alert, magic stirring. The torches seemed to flare brighter, larger instead of being cowed by the wind.

Something was wrong.

Instinctively, I looked around for Imogen. She was here somewhere, but out of my line of sight. Ves was nearby, though, and he caught my eye as I poised on the balls of my feet, ready to move, undecided if there was any need. He approached me.

‘Ah, I see you’re not making it easy after all. You want Solas to chase—’

‘Shh,’ I hissed, cutting him off, turning my head to listen.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ves said, all carelessness falling away.

‘I’m not sure. Something on the wind. Have you seen Imogen?’

Ves rolled his eyes. ‘How did I know that’d be the next—’

His words were cut by a piercing shriek.

Torchlight flared, a dozen infernos ringing the room. The crumbling voids in the ceiling were suddenly choked with leathery wings. I was already running, barely taking in the creatures they were attached to, only catching gnarled limbs, masses of scaly hair and eyes burning like twin pits of flame.

Furies.

Courtiers were running, screaming as the furies dived into the throne room, taloned hands extended, pealing those ear-splitting screams. I clapped hands over my ears as I ran, trying to block them out. A fury’s shriek could drive you mad, and I had no intention of losing my senses.

I jumped over someone already writhing on the floor, clawing their face bloody. I had to narrow my focus, keep my thoughts from following the deafening sound down the path to insanity. The panic in everyone around me would only make it easier for it to take hold. The creatures dove at the fleeing crowd, clawing at hair and faces and eyes. Magic crackled in my veins. I could loose it at a close one, minimise the risk of hitting someone I shouldn’t. But before I could, a Seelie lord before me raised his hands as though to wield and was blasted over my head, body smacking against Oberon’s throne.

The fucking blood oath. None of us could use magic. Sliding to a stop, I pivoted, vaulting back the way I’d come. Wind buffeted me, and I was fighting against the beat of wings, ducking low to try to avoid the talons as the fury descending clawed at any part of me she could reach. Pain raked my scalp, my neck, my arms, but I twisted free, only stumbling in my race to the foot of the ancient throne.

Skidding to a halt, I found Eochaid crouched beneath the rim of the dais, arms cradling his head.

‘The oath!’ I demanded, panting.

He blinked at me in confusion.

‘We can’t fight! Give me the chalice!’

He shook his head rigorously. ‘You can’t—’

I snatched at his robe, yanked him forwards. ‘Do you want to protect your traditions or your life?’

We both ducked as a shrieking fury dived past the throne, chasing down its prey. Eochaid’s lip trembled as he watched the chase, before his gaze flicked back to me. ‘Alright. Take it.’

I released him and he fumbled for his chest. The idiot had actually taken the time to lock the goblet back inside, where it stood upright, still full. I swiped a trickle of blood from my forehead and my fingers were red when I snatched it up. They were even redder when I lifted my arm and swung the chalice against the ground with a smash! I repeated the move, denting and warping it as Eochaid moaned and the blood of the oath sprayed through the air. There was a flash of blinding white light as it finally split. The breath was kicked from my lungs for a moment and a bitterness burst in my mouth as the spell lifted, before I thrust what remained of that ancient artefact back at Eochaid. I was already on my feet before he could do anything other than grab it. There were more bodies on the floor, now, and furies feeding on them, greedy mouths pressed to bleeding wounds. Panic spiked as I launched myself back across the room, loosening my hold on my sanity in the face of the shrieking creatures.

‘Imogen!’ I bellowed. I pounded the stone, weaving between the crowd, launching myself at a fury because I caught a flash of white-blond hair in her grip, the cold burn of magic already at my fingers. Ducking beneath the rapidly flapping wings, I caught the creature, one hand on her arm, one on her face. She screamed, the sound grinding at my grip on reality, making my mind scatter and my panic fill my head like a swarm of bees as the magic began to eat away at her, eroding the skin I’d touched with rot and spreading further. She released her captive and crumpled to the ground, dissolving.

I pulled Ethan to his feet. His eyes were wide with terror.

‘What are you waiting for?’ he yelled. ‘Get the rest of them!’

‘It’s too chaotic. I’ll hit anyone in range. Where’s Imogen?’

Bright flashes slashed through the dark as someone from the Seelie court used light to disorientate the flock of vengeful attackers.

‘I don’t know!’ Ethan flinched as we were dived again. I drove a blast of magic at a close enough range that I struck the creature in the shoulder, quickly eating into flesh. Destruction churned at my fingertips, pushing and railing against my restraint as fear fed its ravenous hunger. Fear because I couldn’t see her.

Until I did.

A fury was climbing up, up, up, wings buffeting the air as she tried to keep a hold of her captive. Imogen dangled as limp as a loose ribbon from the creature’s claws, head lolling, eyes closed. I bolted towards her faster than I’d ever run in my life. She slipped lower in the fury’s grip as they approached the ceiling, the creature struggling against her weight. It was going to fucking drop her.

It was going to fucking drop her.

I skidded to a halt beneath her, craning my neck, ready to catch her as she slipped again, the fury only just gripping her by the hand. My heart hammered against my ribcage. Her body swung. Then another fury was there, taking hold of her other arm while another grabbed her shoulder and all three were flying her up and out one of the chasms in the ceiling, up and away, and I couldn’t attack them, couldn’t hit them with magic because I might hit her, and even if I didn’t, hitting them would mean she’d fall. So I had to watch, burning with fear and impotent rage as she was carried into the sky and away from me. Until she was swallowed up by the night.

I caught the remaining furies before they reached their escape. In a blast of explosive, corrosive rage, destruction poured out of me, wisps of black darker than the gloom writhing in the air, devouring all it touched, targeting the fleeing wings, grasping at leathery membrane, gnarled feet, clawed hands, inciting a cacophony of maddening shrieks to unspool my sanity as flesh shrivelled, curled, rotting away until the creatures fell from the air as writhing corpses, decomposing while still alive. But it didn’t matter, because Imogen was already gone.

Rubble was streaming to the ground. Cracks eating through the floor. Eochaid stood with arms spread before Oberon’s throne, like he was trying to protect the relic from the veins of destruction magic still eating in haphazard arcs through the air and stone. I doubled over, tried to draw the magic back, wrestling with my spinning mind, with the despair that whispered it would be easier to just let the madness take me, easier to come undone, to free the destruction in my blood and let it obliterate everything until it didn’t matter that they’d taken her. But a wisp of light shone through the turmoil, a hope, a faint thrum of a bond between me and the woman who was right now in the clutches of those who would hurt her. I had to control it. Because I had to go after her. This time, I would go after her.

With a great, shuddering breath, I settled back into my body, slowing the whirl of my mind, calling back the magic, binding it with the willpower it had long learned to bend to. A wave of vertigo struck me as I straightened to survey the aftermath, pain thudding through my head. But I didn’t have time to nurse the aftereffects of magic or to catalogue and regret the damage I’d caused.

I didn’t falter as Ves called after me, running to catch up. ‘And where do you think you’re going? You think you might want to sort out what the fuck just happened before you go trouncing off somewhere else?’

‘No,’ I said, my tone final. ‘I’m going after her.’