Page 10 of Shade of Ruin

He didn’t hit her with his sword, and he didn’t burn her. He raised his hand, and the next moment, the creature became ash. It rains down on the room; the smell of burned flesh is a welcome change from the rot.

The moment seems to extend for minutes, the ash hanging in the air in a cloud as I realize that I may have been poured from the frying pan into the fire. This is the High Fae I’d been worried about when I went to sleep, and while he took care of these disgusting Fae creatures, he might be a far worse enemy than they were.

They wanted me dead. What does he want?

“Who did you piss off, Wyrdling?” he asks as he pulls a cloth from inside his cloak. Without looking at me, he wipes the blade clean of the black blood that covers it.

“I didn’t piss anyone off?” I answer, still terrified. “I didn’t even know I was…differentuntil today. You’re the first Fae I’ve ever spoken to.”

He huffs. “Where is your parent? The Immortal one.” The ashes of the creature are slowly floating to the ground, many of them falling on me. My eyes move to the two dead bodies, their putrid innards spilling onto the floor. Disgust at the sight fills me. Relief that they’re dead instead of me hasn’t quite hit me yet.

Blood is running off my arms and head from dozens of long thin cuts, and my stomach gets a little twisted as I realize that I’ve never been hurt like this. I look up at the High Fae, who’s staring at me with a very demanding look. He wants his answer, and I don’t think I want to get into a fight with him.

Where is your parent? The Immortal one.

“Gone,” I say. “Before I can remember, she left my father and me.”

He eyes me suspiciously as he finishes wiping down his blade and sheathing it. He shakes his head slowly and moves toward me, those icy blue eyes seeming to peer into my soul. Maybe he’sactually looking into my soul? I just watched him turn a creature into ash by pointing at her, so who knows what else he can do?

“You should find out who you pissed off, Wyrdling. Those sand harpies were given your scent, and if they don’t bring back a piece of you, there will be others.” He pauses at my confusion and says, “They’re like bloodhounds. Except they follow magical scents rather than physical ones. Someone has your scent, and they want you dead.”

“But why?” I ask, and the High Fae shrugs. Gods, I thought this was going to be difficult, but now… I don’t know if it’s possible. But I can’t go home either. If they can find me at the inn, they’ll find me at home. If I’m there, they’ll kill Hazel, too. I’m not capable of defending myself against the Fae. But…

I stand up, using the spear to support me. My tunic is in tatters, and I’m glad that some of my underthings are still intact enough to not be embarrassed. I have more important things to worry about than that, though. I’m bleeding from a dozen wounds, and even they aren’t the most important thing.

“I’m Maeve,” I say, putting my hand out. “Thank you for saving me.”

The Fae looks at my hand, covered in blood, and then he looks in my eyes again. He doesn’t take my hand, but he says, “Cole. Don’t worry about it. Though, I assume that your friend, the innkeeper, is going to insist on you leaving.”

That’s not important, either. I pull my hand back, leaning on the spear. “I’m headed to Draenyth. You wouldn’t be going that way, would you?”

Cole gets very quiet and stares at me for a moment before saying, “Your wounds will heal soon, Wyrdling. One last bit of advice. Put some steel on that spear. You don’t have nearly enough magic in you to fight without steel. It doesn’t matter what you put on it. Even an iron nail will help. Anything to keep someone like me from taking it from you.”

He stretches out his hand, and the spear abandons me, ignoring the fact that I’m supporting my entire body with it. It slips from my fingers, and I collapse to the ground. As I lay on the ash covered ground, rage boils up inside me. It’s so much hotter than even this afternoon with Hazel. I feel like I’ve been beaten down all day long, and that was the last straw.

Deep down, I know that this is a terrible decision. Just like I knew that trying to hurt Hazel was the worst decision I could make. The thing is that I’ve never had this much anger inside me before. I’ve never felt this kind of feral rage that makes me want to destroy the person who caused it.

I climb to my feet, and no matter how hard I try to rein in that white-hot rage, it explodes out from me. Cole is holding my spear and looking at it with a confused look in his eyes, but I don’t care. He hasmy spear. I reach out to grip his hand just as I’d gripped Hazel’s wrist, but as I move, so does he. Without looking at me, he stays just out of my grasp.

After everything that happened today with Hazel, I should have control over my emotions, but today has been the hardest day in memory. I nearly died less than ten minutes ago, I found out that everything I thought about my life has been wrong, and I’m having to leave my only family behind while I go in search of things that terrify me. This is the worst day of my life, and this male is poking me with a stick. I should have control of my emotions, but I don't.

I can’t catch his arm or even his cloak. It all seems to stay a half-inch out of reach. The anger inside me only grows as I feel powerless against the High Fae. I just watched him kill those harpies without breaking a sweat after I’d given up hope of surviving my fight with them. I know that it’s the stupidest actions I’ve ever taken, but there’s no room inside me for logic.

Vesta taught me from such an early age that my emotions were a liability, not a strength. Every time I’d failed and gotten angry,she’d stopped me and forced me to examine that anger. Every time I’d gotten too excited, she’d stopped me. It didn’t matter what emotion I had; they were all liabilities.

But anger was the worst of them.

Yet the anger inside me is too much for any of Vesta’s lessons. It’s boiling over, and when I can’t grip his hand, I go for a bigger target. I take another step toward him, and I shove with both hands, expecting to knock him down like I’d do with any other man.

He turns to me at the last second, and when my hands connect with his chest, he drops the spear and grips my wrists just as easily as I’d held Hazel this afternoon. The anger immediately turns to fear as he stares into my eyes.

“Do you realize how stupid you’re being, Wyrdling?” he asks as he slowly raises my arms above my head. I try to pull my hands away, but his grip is stronger than iron. If I’d felt helpless before, I didn’t know the meaning.

He holds both of my wrists in one of his as easily as I’d carry a bucket of water. Even as I struggle, he barely seems to notice, and when he grips my chin in his thumb and index finger, forcing me to continue to look at him, the helplessness turns to fear.

“What are you doing?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from quivering.

“What am I doing?” he repeats. His voice is heartless. He’s completely unconcerned by my fear or struggle. “I don’t know, Wyrdling. What I should do is teach you a lesson.” He pulls his hand away from my face, and a tiny ball of flame appears in his palm. It’s mesmerizing, and I can’t look away even as he brings it closer to me. I don’t blink even when I feel the heat waves threaten to singe my hair.

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