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CHAPTER NINETEEN

A va sat sideways in the plush, wingback chair to listen to Serrik talk. He was fascinating. She couldn’t help it. Terrifying, yes—but alluring in the same breath. Something about him drew her in, even as she knew how easy it’d be for him to rip out her throat with those pointed, golden nails of his with little more than a gesture.

He wasn’t human.

And it wasn’t easy to forget that, looking at him. In the amber of the firelight, at least the fact that his eyes glowed was a little less noticeable. But still, everything about him screamed monster.

The green hair. The pointed ears. The pale green-gray of his skin. The inhuman, sharply pointed beauty to his features. Even the way he moved reminded her more of a shark or a panther in its smooth grace than a person.

But damn it all if it wasn’t hypnotizing.

She sipped her wine and tucked her knees into the arm of the chair.

“Before you dive in,” she interrupted him before he went head-long into the story. “Where’s Hypaepa? My ancient map knowledge is lacking. It sounds Greek?”

“Yes, you could consider us that. We were Lydian, which was east of Athens.” A line between his brow appeared as he pondered a thought. “I believe it is now part of the…Ottoman Empire?”

That made her laugh. “Sorry buddy, that hasn’t existed for a hundred years. I think you’re talking about Turkey, now.”

“Hm.” He sighed. “Human history moves quickly when one cannot observe it directly.” Shrugging idly, he sipped his alcohol. With a gesture, he summoned a tray of food between them. Fruit and what looked like cured meats, all arranged on a silver tray. Reaching out, he plucked a bunch of grapes, deftly holding the stem between his gold nails. “It is largely unimportant.”

“Context helps.” She smiled. “It helps me picture the people, how they lived—the white walls, the red brick roofs, the courtyard. Sets the stage, y’know? Everybody is a product of where they are.”

“Hm.” His eyes half-drifted shut as he watched the flames.

She realized she had just insulted him in the worst way . “I mean—I’m sorry.” Cringing, she shifted to sit up a bit. “You don’t have a choice to be here. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just an architecture nut, that’s all. It was what I was studying in college. I like to see the people reflected in their surroundings.”

“No offense was taken, little butterfly, as you are quite right. We are products of the world around us—and, in return, we make them a product of ourselves.” He gestured aimlessly with a hand. “I, too, enjoy designing spaces. This place was my masterwork, after all. And it has come to reflect my own sense of self. Shaped and reshaped by me over time, ex nihilo. ”

Blinking, she looked around the room more curiously. “This place evolves.”

“Yes, little butterfly.” He chuckled, clearly seeing where her mind was going. “It changes as its inhabitants change, taking on pieces of them—like a parrot, mimicking its owner.”

She paused for a moment, processing that. “So, okay, why did they hurt you, and why did that make you want to trap the Morrigan here? I can’t imagine the fae go around—” She paused. “Never mind, maybe they do go around randomly maiming each other.”

He chuckled. “Contrary to what you have witnessed, no. There are laws that govern the fae that we are free of in this place, and now you see why such things are imposed upon us. And shame on you. You are jumping to the end, little butterfly. If you let me tell my story, you would understand why I was so outcast.”

“Sorry. Sidetracked by architecture.” She rested her head against the back of the upholstered chair. She was exhausted. “It happens.”

“I look forward to it.” And, weirdly enough, that sounded genuine, even if it was partly said through a teasing smile. Little by little, she was starting to be able to figure out his moods. They were subtle, barely there—but they were there. “Where was I?”

“Hypaepa.”

“Yes. I had not even begun.” He swirled his alcohol in his glass before sipping it. “My mother was a renowned artisan and witch in her own right.”

“Your mother the Morrigan?”

“No. I am the product of two mothers.”

Ava blinked. Went to open her mouth to speak. Paused. Thought it over for a second, then shrugged. “Loki got shagged up as a lady horse, didn’t he? I guess that tracks. Magic, gods, and reasons. Whatever.”

Serrik looked like her reaction to the revelation that he was born of two women was both a relief and extremely painful to him at the same time. He took a large swig of his drink. “Yes…well… magic, gods, and reasons. My mother was a witch, and merchants would come from far and wide for a chance to purchase her tapestries and linens of the finest quality that seemed to bless those who owned them with fortune and good luck. Unfortunately, for her, she was also a bit of a braggart.”

A dozen questions sprung to mind, but she kept them tamped down and let him talk.

“In the ancient days, so-called ‘gods’ and ‘goddesses’ ran rampant upon Earth. And when my mother, fool that she was, decided to insult Athena?—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” Nope, that was too much to let slide by. “Athena? Like, the Athena?”

“Yes. The Athena. Weak-willed, rancorous, spiteful, and like all the old gods, more trouble than she was worth.” He huffed a half-laugh, his normally stoic expression cracking in a sneer of derision. “For someone who loved to tout her so-called wisdom and wealth of knowledge , she certainly did love going about cursing women who she felt had slighted her in some minor way.”

“If they weren’t really ‘gods’ or ‘goddesses,’ which clearly you think they weren’t…” She paused to let Serrik let out another small laugh before continuing, “What were they?”

“Nothing more than creatures, same as you or I. Same as those who made me. Same as those who bore them, and those who bore them, and so on. I designed and created this place”—he gestured at the room around them again—“and were you and I not so well-met, could I not be considered a god to you? As you are to an insect?”

“Ouch.”

“My point is merely that power is relative, little butterfly. And to myself, certainly above me is the thing who made me, and so on and so forth. But your superiority over ants is no more righteous than Athena’s is over you. It is merely power that gives you the ability to take the life of an ant and rearrange their world at will.” He had finished his second glass of scotch and poured himself another. “Hm. I have decided I do not like to drink alone.” He summoned an empty glass from thin air and set it down between them.

“You’re the boss.” Chuckling, she poured herself a glass and sipped it. She assumed he had a higher alcohol tolerance than she did. “But note to self, don’t get into philosophical debates with Serrik. Or drinking contests. You’ll lose both.”

“I believe the first would be quite enjoyable. The second, while it will no longer end your life, might make you quite miserable, I agree.” The faint smile he’d been wearing faded. “What has become of Athena, which is likely what you are about to question next, I do not know. I hope they have died and are now rotting in whatever afterlife brings them the most suffering possible.”

“Jesus, tell me how you really feel.” She laughed into her drink as she took her own sip. Just because she wasn’t trying to keep up didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy getting a little fluffy.

“Another individual I cannot speak to the validity of, but I understand you were using their name as an invective.” He rested his head back against the chair, and she was struck by how the firelight cast sharp shadows along the angles of his features. God, he was pretty.

But she could suddenly see the mix of Greek carved perfection in his features, along with that almost elven inhumanity that she had always imagined when she thought of the fae. He was half and half.

“I deeply dislike all who would wield their power and pretend it gives them righteousness.” His expression had gone back to reflecting an icy nothingness. “To pretend to be gods…to demand worship—the sheer disgusting audacity of it all.”

The hate and vitriol in his words were painted on so thick, yet his expression was so flat, that the clash had her staring at him in confusion. In fact, his only physical reaction to his loathing was that his hand that had been holding the grapes, now eaten and gone, clenched, digging gold-painted nails into the air like a claw to prevent stabbing them into his own palm.

Right.

Okay.

Serrik had a thing.

Well, that explained the whole genocide thing. At least he hadn’t just casually reached that conclusion.

Gotcha.

Cool.

“Noted…right there after drinking contests…”

His hand relaxed. “Forgive me. It is a personal topic. This is why I do not like to tell my tale.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I talked you into this. So, Athena’s a catty bitch and your mom ran her mouth, is where I think we left off.”

Serrik laughed quietly, revealing those too-long fangs of his. She wondered what they were for. They were almost vampiric, but she didn’t think he drank blood—though what the fuck did she know. “You are quite skilled at summarizing things both accurately and offensively. I do not know how to feel about this.”

“Probably also something to get used to, if we’re stuck together for a while.”

“Hm.” His expression was unreadable for a moment, something both warm and yet…off about it. Conflicted, almost. It was gone as soon as it was there. “Regardless, your appraisal is accurate. My mother ‘ran her mouth,’ bragging to the world that she was a better craftswoman and spellcaster than even Athena herself—that she could weave better tapestries than the woman who claimed she had invented the art form.”

The story was starting to sound vaguely familiar, but Ava kept her mouth shut for the moment. She also didn’t want to pop Serrik’s bubble—it was his story, let him tell it.

“Athena took the form of an old woman and challenged my mother to a contest. When my mother said that no one, not even the gods, could best her in weaving, the old woman said she best be careful to whom she spoke thusly. My mother replied that she cared not if she spoke to Athena herself.” Serrik sighed and shook her head. “And lo, Athena revealed herself. And a competition was waged. My mother won. And summarily…lost.”

She had heard this story. “Athena wove a tapestry warning of all the times the humans had challenged the gods. Your mother wove a tapestry about all the times Zeus got busy with a human, and…your mom won.”

“They still teach the myth. How charming.” He downed the third glass of scotch and poured himself a fourth. She wondered if she was going to learn what a drunk fae was like. “What else did you learn?”

It kind of sounded entertaining, a drunk fae.

Dangerous, but entertaining. She wondered if he got handsy when he was drunk…

Shaking her head, she focused on the story. “Athena flipped out, ripped up the tapestry, and shamed your mother. Which inspired your mother to hang herself, and then Athena cursed her, or felt grief over your mother’s death, to be a—” Oh. Oh. Oh shit. “A spider. Right. Her name was Arachne.”

“My mother did not kill herself. That is some wonderful addition made by time. No, Athena was beaten. And in her wrath, assured that if my mother wished to be the most talented weaver in the world, she would be so for all time—and cursed her form to be twisted into one that was half woman, half spider.” Serrik’s eyes slipped shut as he seemed…tired by the whole ordeal. “Much like what Athena did to Medusa for her beauty.”

“Catty bitch. See? I was right.”

That only got the briefest smile out of him.

But Arachne was only half the equation of how Serrik had come to be. And it seemed the rest of the story was even more uncomfortable than the first half, judging by how long it was taking him to brace himself to tell it.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes, he opened his eyes. “Then, the Morrigan.”

After a moment of silence, she had to say it. She just had to. “Okay, last time, I swear. Does Loki exist?”

“Loki exists.” He cringed. “Or at least, he did.” The way he said it made it obvious that he knew first-hand and was not thrilled about it.

Can of worms. Okay. Moving on. “So…the Morrigan and Arachne.”

“As soon as I was born, the Morrigan took me, for Arachne wanted nothing to do with her young. Though I do not know for what purpose the Morrigan wished to bring me to Tir n’Aill. I was not welcome there, from the instant I set foot within it.” The darkness that was settling over him was starting to make her nervous.

Cold Serrik was safe Serrik, she decided.

“Why?” She figured being part spider—which she really had questions about, but she’d get there—couldn’t be that big of a deal, when Ibin could turn into a bird. “Your being…a little unique-looking can’t be that upsetting to them.”

“You are correct. Look about yourself.” He gestured at his library. “Tell me what you see.”

It sounded like a stupid game. A test. But she did what she was told. “Books. Papers. Scrolls. Nicknacks.”

“Items of recorded power. Witchcraft, Ava. My gifts are closer to that which you wield in that grimoire of yours than the raw rivers of power of the fae. My gift comes from the written word. I can tap into all of their knowledge, whether or not it is mine.” His smile once more sank like a rock in a stream. “I am a dangerous heretic to them. My wellspring is that of the Greeks, drawing from the soul, both mine and others—and my method is the spoken and written word. But I am still part fae. They feared I was able to tap into their own souls with my gifts, giving me the ability to wield all the power of Tir n’Aill.”

She stared at him blankly. “Can you?”

Serrik’s laugh was quiet. It sent a cold wash of fear down her spine. “Oh, yes. And if I so chose, end my miserable race with it.” He reached out to grab a piece of cheese and ate it like he was discussing the weather, not…you know, genocide.

His expression fell. “I did not always wish such a thing, Ava. No one desires slaughter at birth, save creatures with a compulsion bred into them like King Valroy. No, they saw to that. I did not wish death upon my kind when I was a child. I simply wished to belong, as any other might want.”

She finished her booze and when she went to refill it, realized the bottle of scotch was just as full as it was when they started. Oh, that was super dangerous. She really would have to slow down. Fae and their magical booze bottles. “Why are Ibin and Nos here?”

“Those are their stories to tell. Ask them.”

Watching him for a long time, she didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to feel. He’d done her a great favor. A huge favor. “Why did you really offer up your memory in lieu of mine?”

His jaw twitched. “It is a matter concluded. Leave it be, Ava.”

“Please tell me.”

“I wish to no longer discuss the matter.”

“Serrik—”

He pushed up from his chair and walked to the window. He cut an eerie silhouette against the moonlight, folding one of his hands at his lower back. Whatever button she was pushing, it really bothered him. And she didn’t know why.

So she switched buttons. Damn it, she was going to get something out of him. Anything. They were stuck together, and he was dodging her left and right. He’d recounted his life story, but he still wasn’t meeting her halfway. “Can I…see your real self?”

He visibly flinched, even with his back to her. “You have been put under a stressful situation. I do not wish to overwhelm you more than you already are. My true form is…grotesque.” The hand at his lower back tightened into a fist briefly then relaxed.

Grotesque.

Did he really think that?

Was it true?

Even if it was, to think that…

“The scariest thing about a monster in the movies is when you can’t see it. When you can see a monster, it isn’t scary anymore. Right?”

“You think me a monster.”

“I mean—no—but—” She paused. “I mean—but—um— fuck. ” Ava slapped a hand over her eyes. “Shit, that’s not what I meant, I meant—” Letting out a whine, she gave up. “I shouldn’t have had any booze, damn it .”

He was chuckling. Quietly, but chuckling. “You are correct, little butterfly. I am a monster.” When she looked up at him, he had turned around to watch her, once more with an unreadable expression on his face. “I am the disfigured minotaur, whose maze you have wandered within. And for that, I am deeply sorry for you.”

Putting down her glass of alcohol, she stood from the chair and walked up to him. She didn’t know why she did it, and she knew she shouldn’t, but he’d done a great act of kindness for her when she’d needed it.

And something told her he needed a great act of kindness in return.

She hugged him.

After a pause, he wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment before gently nudging her away from him a few inches. With the crook of his fingers, he tipped her chin up to look at him, his yellow-gold eyes searching hers.

It was hard to imagine someone so utterly perfect , so handsome, being disgusting. She found herself suddenly tempted to kiss him. To just pull him down to her and see what he tasted like. What those fangs might feel like against her tongue.

Bad Ava. Bad.

Spider fae. Dangerous, absolutely murderous, spider fae.

It seemed he might almost be tempted to do the same, the way his eyes flicked to her lips.

He wanted to commit genocide.

To kill an entire race of people.

His people.

And it would cause untold catastrophe for hers in its wake. She knew she had to kill him—someday, somehow. That was the future that lay ahead of her. That was the path she had to walk.

But as he bent his head down, ever so slightly closer—her breath caught.

Could he?

Did he want her, too?

Abruptly, without warning, he took a step back. The jarring absence of him left her reeling, and almost knocked her off balance. “Tomorrow, when you wake, you will have the first key. You must force Ibin to make good on her word and guide you to the door. You must unlock the first seal, Ava.”

She stammered uselessly. “I—s-sure—” Her cheeks were warm. She was blushing. She felt embarrassed—like a complete idiot. She’d mistaken the moment for attraction.

“Rest, Ava. The act of opening a lock will be unkind to you. You will need your strength for what is to come.” With a flick of Serrik’s wrist, the dream ended.

And she was pitched into nothingness.