Page 6

Talysse

T he rough floor planks scrape painfully against my face, and hard knees dig into my back, pinning me down while my arms are twisted backward. Stebian’s piercing falsetto slices through the night. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy—”

Crashing objects and overturned furniture signal Myrtle’s fierce struggle. “Leave my child alone, you monsters!”

A cold male voice cuts through the chaos, “You’re all coming with us, by order of Magister Deepwell!”

Steps of steel-plated boots thunder in the tiny room. I catch a glimpse of Stebian, kicking and writhing as an older guard hauls him out. Two others wrestle down a hysterical Myrtle.

“Chain the mage with warded shackles, quickly!” The brute’s order fills the room. More hands grab me, and a gauntlet swings at my face. Pain explodes in my temple, and everything goes black.

*

Just like any other night, the nightmare swallows the reality around me, dragging me into the suffocating, agonizing, immersive experience of the most dreadful day of my life.

“For harboring Seelie Fae refugees, a crime and treason against the crown, Governor Aeidas sentences you to hang.” The words of the Unseelie clerk hang in the hot air at Gallows Hills. Public executions usually draw a large crowd, but not on that summer day.

A two-wheel cart is parked behind the gallows, and bloodied blonde locks hang through the gaps between the planks. Some dark liquid trickles from its bottom. I recognize these locks—the Seelie they have found hiding in our barn. Dead and ready to be carted off into the mass grave behind the gallows.

It’s over fast, and I start crying again because I’ve missed the final moment of my parents while trying to guess what gruesome death has befallen the Seelie.

Their feet dangle unnaturally at the height of my eyes. Mother’s golden brocade slipper is lost somewhere, and her left foot is dirty and bloodied, the hem of her pearl studded gown covered in mud. I remember that dress—my father brought it for her from his last trip to the East, and she clapped her hands in joy and gave him a loud kiss on the forehead. Father’s polished riding boots hang behind the shiny armor of the Unseelie soldiers, lined before the gallows.

“Child, you should not see this,” someone says with empathy. I open my mouth and close it, unable to form words, unable to scream anymore. How to explain to my four-year-old sister that she will never see Mommy again? That our house is torn inside out, most of our possessions burned, and we’re never to set foot in our home anymore?

I wake up gasping for air, choking a scream, struggling to put in words something elusive and incredibly painful, but just like any other night, I simply can’t.

And what would that change?

Would it give me back the years in the orphanage and living on the streets?

Would it erase the memory of Tayna being assessed and prodded like cattle, her sleazy adoptive parents feeling her joints, checking her teeth, and making her sing before leaving with her? Her screams and pleas when she realized I was not coming with her?

That day at the Gallows Hills changed everything and I just stood there, numb, unable to do anything. Seeing it in my dreams is my punishment.

I slowly shake off the nightmare. Where am I?

Something sticky clings to my eyelids, making it hard to open them. A headache of cataclysmic proportions blooms inside my skull like a bloody, fiery flower. I finally manage to crack an eye open. Humid, stale air floods my senses, triggering a coughing fit. Sprawled on a cold, wet floor, uneven stones cut into my flesh. A lone wall sconce struggles to pierce the darkness, and the solid metal bars confirm my suspicion—they’ve dragged me to the city’s dungeon. Muffled moans and whispers echo from the darkness beyond the narrow cell.

I wonder if the rumors are true—that they are keeping people infected with the Taint to observe the stages they go through before they completely lose their humanity and become blood-thirsty, brainless beasts, craving the flesh of every living being. Rumor has it that Magister Deepwell’s family was Tainted, and he keeps them locked in the dungeons, as he couldn’t bring himself to grant them a merciful death.

“First, the infection taints the eyes—all parts of them gradually darken in the first hours after the bite or scratch of a Tainted or a touch of a Shadowfeeder. The blood and the life juices of the freshly Tainted turn black, and their skin and hair—pale, while their nails and teeth grow unnaturally, and their bones expand in unseen ways. When their transformation is complete, there is nothing even remotely human to them, and they are not able to recognize even their loved ones. They roam the Wastelands thirsting for flesh…” Friar Ben was telling us in his class and his words gave us all nightmares for weeks.

A shrill shriek pierces me to the marrow, and I sit up, rattling the chains around my wrists.

This was no human voice.

Have the city walls been breached?

Are Myrtle and her baby also in this Elders-forsaken dungeon, and Tayna—

Rolling my shoulders and twisting my hands, I struggle against the chains until sweat drips into my eyes. I have to get out of here. It’s clearly pointless. Magic or physical strength won’t get me out of here.

Mine and Tayna’s lives are literally depending on what’s between my ears. And so far, it has always managed to get me out of the tightest situations.

Rule number one: always keep a cool head.

When the Stormbird brothers waited for me every day after Friar Ben’s classes to beat me up because I’d refused to share my apples with them?

Kept a cool head, formed some risky alliances, and came up with a new plan every day, which made those fire-haired demons give up in the end.

That time when Corporal Darron from the City Guard thought I’d cheated him on dice? Well, maybe I did just a little. Darron—people believe that he has giants somewhere down his ancestral tree. The man was twice my size, and yet I managed to escape his wrath.

Those and countless more stories—every night of my life has been a story of survival, and I’m not planning to give up yet.

Not when Tayna’s life and happiness are at stake and when Myrtle and her son are somewhere in this dreadful place.

Heavy steps rumble in the corridor, clearly heading my way, and the other prisoners grow suddenly quiet. Even the monstrous howling has stopped.

Limbs shaking, I push myself up and press my face against the rusty bars, trying to see who’s coming.

When the pale face of the merchant Myrtle lured to the stables appears, I take a sharp breath and struggle not to stumble back.

Get your shit together, Talysse. It’s time for rule number one.

“That’s her, constable! This is the woman who tried to kill me with magic!”

He points at me, and I cannot help but feel a sting of pride when spotting the bandage around his head.

The constable’s cold gaze studies me through the bars. This mountain of a man has a spotless reputation and has put a great deal of my kind behind bars. Or worse. Another streak of bad luck. Bribing my way out with sweet promises or seduction is out of the question.

“Are you sure?” the constable asks, his tone betraying no emotion. This man is an iceberg.

“I swear it on my honor.” The merchant touches his white bandage. “It is her who assaulted me, and as the Free Cities Trading Ambassador, I want to see her punished.”

For the sake of fucking Atos.

From all the men we could’ve picked, we decided to rob the bloody Trading Ambassador!

The constable shrugs and leaves without saying a word. That’s all the information he needs to seal my fate. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, tempted to punch myself in the stupid face. This is all very, very bad news.

The ambassador lingers before my cell and glares at me with red, hatred-filled eyes as if I am some kind of bug he contemplates how to crush.

“I’ll be laughing when you hang, bitch.” He spits on the dirty stone floor. “And your whore friend, too.”

Taunting me when I’m cornered is a bad idea. Threatening me with the unjust fate of my parents is worse. But involving my friend? I summon a tiny flicker of magic around my fingers, pretending I’m about to hurl it at him, cackling like mad. The warded shackles suppress most magic, but he doesn’t know that. I laugh like a demon when he runs down the corridor, but as soon as his footsteps die out, I throw myself on the floor, trying to steady my shaky hands.

Things cannot get worse on this cursed night. I quickly shake off this blasphemous thought, as fate has always proved to me that things can always get worse. It’s our limited mortal imagination that cannot picture anything worse.

*

The hours stretch, and my headache makes me retch again. In some delusional flashes of hope, I try to slip my hands from the tight, cold grasp of the shackles, then bang against the cell bars or pace around endlessly, rehearsing speeches in my defense.

Which are utterly useless. Everyone knows what happens to poor, nameless women when they stand up against men in power.

Especially women from a family of traitors.

I will hang.

And Tayna will marry a monster.

I cannot tell how much time has passed, but my feet are sore from all the pacing, and my wrists are bleeding. The rusty lock clicks, and two guards in full armor march in.

“You’re coming with us,” the shorter one says in a tone not used to objections. My feet nearly give in when they roughly shove me forward.

’s Palace is an ancient, sad place. Tenebris hasn’t had a real governor for centuries, as the city is too small to be relevant for the Unseelie. Even mage Eloysse left the once grand halls and haunted stairwells and settled for a smaller, comfortable mansion near the Beacon.

Decay eats at the tapestries spun over the crumbling masonry, and mold covers the exquisitely carved marble statues, making them appear like decaying corpses. The waft of death lingers in the dark passageways, and dust muffles our footsteps. The palace is old, built by the Seelie long before the Elders’ Hex to rule over what was once a prosperous province. It’s occupied by the City Guard and the meagre city administration now. Yet when we climb up the wide staircase leading to better-maintained parts of the palace, the place is bustling with unusual activity. There are too many guards, their armors so polished they reflect the flicker of the many wax candles, their postures straight—as if they’re preparing to march into battle. Two of them stand before a tall, ornate door and push it open when we approach.

When I see the crowd in the audience hall, my fists ball so hard that my nails dig into my flesh. Seems like half of the city is here, but three figures at the center stand out. Surrounded by guards, there’s Myrtle, cradling her baby, and Tayna, still wearing her nightgown.

My stomach plummets when the guard shoves me roughly, and I stumble forward, nearly grabbing Magister Deepwell’s crimson robe to steady myself. He has materialized out of nowhere, raising his hands to quiet the murmur of the crowd. The people around us are nobles and rich citizens of Tenebris. No commoners. The way everyone glares at me doesn’t mean anything good. So, it will be a public execution then. What a befitting end for a daughter of traitors.

“Magister Deepwell,” my voice nearly betrays the panic making its way to the surface, “I am ready to face the consequences of my actions, but I ask you to free the innocents in this room—Tayna and Myrtle.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Obviously, everyone is outraged that a prisoner is speaking first.

“You confess without knowing what you are accused of?” Magister Deepwell raises a bushy white brow, and the wrinkles on his forehead deepen. The man has been famous for his gluttony but never for his cruelty, so this whole display is puzzling.

“I confess that I tried to rob a merchant, who arrived with the caravan—”

A murmur, “Liar, she tried to kill me,” confirms that the ambassador is here, too.

The wrinkles on Magister Deepwell’s face smoothen. “This is not why you are brought here, child. If that were your crime, you’d be whipped and sent to the fields for a year. You’ve been brought here before the good people of Tenebris to celebrate a unique opportunity.”

Maybe Seuta has finally, mercifully, decided to let me go mad. What in the name of Atos’s hell pits does this all mean?

Slowly, my tired brain starts bringing the pieces of the puzzle together.

The secret that my parents so carefully guarded has been revealed. I have magic, and everyone who has magic has no choice—

“Now, kneel before his Excellency and thank him for this opportunity.” Magister Deepwell’s tiny eyes glitter with delight. Swallowing hard, I look around to see who he means. I kneel on the cracked marble floor. The survival of my loved ones is more important than any remnants of pride I have. I’d crawl on my belly if this means Tayna and Myrtle are leaving this tomb free.

A tall, silver-haired man steps out of the shadows of the gallery. There’s something hauntingly familiar about the straight line of his wide shoulders, and the restrained smile on his lips, displaying the edges of needle-sharp fangs; about the way his hair falls over his richly decorated armor. Elders, only his breastplate must cost a fortune. The hall grows still when his heavy steps halt behind the lithe frame of Tayna, and his cold emerald gaze locks with mine.

No.

This cannot be.

“Thank Governor Aeidas for this opportunity, Talysse.”

A raging blizzard of emotions clouds my mind and snuffs out my common sense.

Was he wearing the same smile when he signed the death sentence of my parents? Were his eyes shimmering with sheer amusement when he had ordered the poor Seelie hiding in our barn tortured and killed? I struggle against my restraints, succumbing to pure, mindless lust for murder. For a brief moment, violent fantasies of me flaying this beautiful, cold smile from his face and clawing the light out of these iridescent eyes take the best of me.

Just like at the puppet show and in Wet Dog Alley, he is studying me with interest. I take deep, ragged breaths to control my trembling limbs. I might be impulsive, but not mad. Not yet. Terrifying as it is, we are all at his mercy.

Mercy and Unseelie are two words one cannot put together in a sentence. All cities of Satreyah ravaged by Shadowfeeders are witness to their wickedness.

They have been preying on us humans for millennia, and with the Seelie gone, they keep us around only because they need labor to produce the goods for their cities and the food for their tables. To them, we are nothing but cattle.

The hairs on my nape stand up, and my ears start ringing when the governor crosses the hall and looms over me, his smile still on his lips but his gaze cold and dark as a winter night.

“Remove her shackles,” he orders, and the guards rush to do his bidding. Finally free, the temptation to seek my magic out is too tempting, but the lithe frame of Tayna in the background makes me reconsider. He suddenly picks up my hand, the brush of his calloused fingers unexpectedly soft, and lifts it to his eyes.

“Interesting jewelry. Seelie made, if I am not mistaken.” His cold tone is in stark contrast with his warm touch. This is the voice of a skilled interrogator, laced with threats.

“It’s a gift from my mother—” I say, yanking my hand away. His touch still lingers on my skin.

“It’s magical,” he notes thoughtfully and cocks his head. There is no question in his words, but I feel the necessity to explain.

“It is casting a minor glamour. Concealing a burn mark I have—” My mouth is suddenly so dry that talking is a challenge. His gaze slides down my collarbone and shoulder and he studies my scar, now fully on display after my green scarf was lost somewhere. I do not fret under his scrutiny. The scar is a part of my story, a precious memory of my life before the Fae messed it up, and I don’t care if someone finds it unpleasant to look at.

“Why didn’t you take it off? Seelie artifacts are to be reported and handed over to the authorities,” he states, his pupils turning sharp as needles. Icy sweat trickles down my spine. It’d be better if this bastard decides my fate faster and sends me away.

“I can’t, it’s too tight.”

He laughs. The sound is cold and humorless, like the rattle of weapons on a moonless night, the hissing of a snake unfurling.

“Oh, of course you can; you’ll have to lose a hand.”

Even Magister Deepwell pales at these words. “Which would be a pity, as you are just about to volunteer for the Nightfall Trials,” he says impassively, his gaze still pinning me. The corner of his lip curls up. This monster looks amused.

The heavy silver waters of the magical lake inside me roar and chant my name, seducing me to use their power.

“I am what?” I ask, naively hoping that he means something else.

“You are about to volunteer as a tribute for the Nightfall Trials. As your province still hasn’t presented a participant, I believe it is divine timing that we found you just during my visit here.”

He crosses his hands behind his back, turns around, and strolls toward Myrtle and Tayna. The hall has grown quiet, the crowd holding its breath.

I raise to my feet and take a step to follow him, but Magister Deepwell stops me. A warning is written all over his round face before he steps aside and lets me pass.

Elders help me. The governor looms over my little sister, his hands casually resting on her shoulders as he’s looking straight at me. Cruelty flickers in his eyes when he asks,

“Are you going to pledge yourself now before these honorable townsfolk, Talysse, or would you prefer to do it before me and Magister Deepwell?” I ignore the way he hissed my name and focus on my sister. Her innocent hazel eyes are wide with marvel, her blonde crown braid messy. She’s oblivious that she is in the hands of a murderer.

“Or do you need some convincing—” He doesn’t finish the threat, but his fingers dig deep into the soft skin of Tayna’s shoulders, and she winces, looking up at him in surprise.

“Talysse,” the magister is next to me in a swift move, unexpected from his plump body, “consider your choice wisely.”

“And what choices do I have, Magister?”

“Volunteer for the Trials and represent Satreyah, earn respect and the chance for riches and a better life, or face charges for an attempted murder of a diplomat,” Deepwell announces sternly.

“And witnessing your co-conspirators face charges for harboring a criminal and not reporting a mage to the Magistrate,” the Unseelie Governor declares in his cold, non-human voice.

I bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming. Once again, I get to relive this terrible feeling of powerlessness, just like the time when the City Guard kicked down our door and arrested my parents.

But this time, I’m not a frightened child anymore. Life on the back alleys of Tenebris has taught me how to stand my ground, sprout claws, and bite.

When fate hasn’t granted you any advantage others have in this life, you can rely solely on your mind. It is the one thing they cannot take away from you.

“I volunteer for the Nightfall Trials.” The words roll loud and clear. The hall shakes with applause.

“Very well. You leave at dawn.” With these words, he withdraws to the shadows.

When life gives you sour apples, you should brew some sour apple cider, they say. When life gives you sour apples, steal some milk, flour, and eggs and bake a fucking pie is the motto I live by.

I haven’t chosen this path, yet it is a consequence of a strain of poor decisions. And here I am, ready to bake some pie.