Page 12 of Consort

I would love to use their shock to my advantage. I could fight them off and escape, but my broken hands are useless. They need a healer’s touch, and I doubt I’ll be seeing one any time soon.

The noble with long, purple hair and a crooked nose curses as he examines Mitah’s torn throat. “What the fuck?” He glances at my mangled hands in disbelief and asks, “Didyoudo this?”

I try to cover my ass and claim we were both attacked by someone else, but the words turn to stone in my throat. My breaths are cut off, and it will remain that way until I choose honest words to replace them. Lying means certain death for a fae.

I don’t have time to come up with a believable workaround. An honest answer is all I can give. “Yes,” I say firmly, unwilling to feign any remorse.

“What power do you possess to have defeated Mitah?” the other soldier with glowing silver eyes demands. “He was the queen’s most powerful warrior.”

I realize they aren’t interested in why I killed Mitah. They’re only interested in how–in my magic. Despite my injured hands, they may still fear me. They don’t know what I’m capable of. But I will need to answer them. Hopefully, they’ll be too intrigued by my magic to simply kill me.

“Heat,” I tell them.

“Heat?” the first soldier scoffs. “Heat did this?”

“Yes,” I say with a fake smirk. “I boiled his blood until he burst. You should throw a feast for the ogres. I hear they have a taste for roasted fae.”

“Damn,” the silver-eyed noble says with a grin. “The queen is going to love you.”

His words should put me at ease, but the thought of being looked on favorably by the queen makes my stomach revolt. She’ll just use me for my power. Still, it’s a better fate than being killed by these soldiers. At least this way, I’ll have a chance to do something good with my influence.

“Let’s bring him to the queen,” the second fae says. “No healer. I don’t trust him.”

Smart move. I would fry him in seconds if my hands were healed.

As I’m escorted to the castle, panic starts to creep in. It’s been years since I felt anything but determination and anger. This feeling reminds me of how helpless I once was. Panic is weak. Anger is much more powerful. I pull it forward, burning through the nerves, and let it simmer just beneath the surface in case I decide to use it.

My hands and wrists ache as we walk, reminding me of the shifter who sparked all of this. His hands were crushed, too. It seems fitting that I should experience some of his suffering.

Towering trees and lush plants thrive over almost every inch of Faerie, especially during the Awakening Season. The warm, pink sun highlights the vibrant colors of the land. It’s beautiful.

But when we emerge from the trees, the white castle stands out against the lively forest like a dead spot. I suppose it could be beautiful, like a snowy mountain with sharp, frosted peaks. But it looks out of place, jutting out of the ground like a jagged thorn in Faerie’s flesh.

The queen is said to have a unique bond with the realm, drawing her power directly from its source. I’d always thought that meant they were in harmony with each other. But the desolate land surrounding the castle makes it look more like Faerie is slowly dying as the queen sucks it dry. As if the magic is being stolen, not shared.

Could that be true? Is the queen somehow leeching magic from the land in order to make herself more powerful? If so, the lifeless castle stands as a grim monument for the parts of Faerie’s soul she’s destroyed.

The ground grows harder beneath my boots, and the castle seems to grow uglier as we approach it. How could anyone willingly live here? I feel as though I’m returning to sickness. Like death is waiting at the door to welcome me home.

We pass through gardens of dirt and dried sticks where beautiful bushes and flowers should grow. It’s as if the sun never shines here. Like life itself is unwelcome.

Two guards open the main gates, and I expect much of the same once we pass through. It’s somehow worse. There’s nothing but cold, sharp stone, glass, and those menacing, thorny vines from the queen’s crest. The twisted, gray stems creep along the castle walls and across the grounds, breaking up all the white but offering no comfort.

The land outside the gates looked abandoned and neglected, but inside, it seems to have been decorated with death.

The soldiers lead me up a white path to two massive white doors. As our boots thud against the stone, I realize how quiet and lifeless it is. There are no flourishing fae tending thegardens. No laughter from anyone drunk on wine or potion. It’s somber and still like a graveyard. I worry the path might crumble beneath my feet and bury me here, too.

As depressing as it all is, my hatred and anger are running wild inside me. I’m having to fight to keep them under control. I’ve never even seen the queen before, let alone stood before her. Letting my emotions lead my interactions with her would be a horrible mistake.

I’ve only heard tales of what her magic can do. They say she took down herds of kelpies with a flick of her finger. I’ve also been told she once turned an entire pack of shifters into ice with a single glance. And it’s rumored that she plays for hours in her dungeons, satisfying her bloodlust on those unfortunate enough to end up there.

No one knows the extent of her power. The only thing I can be sure of is that if I displease her, she could end my life in seconds, mended hands or not.

As we approach the grand, arched doors of the castle, I feel a tickle on my neck and realize that Farris has been with us all along, illusioned as something tiny and harmless. If he’s been noticed, he’s not been given a second thought. I just hope Vernan isn’t here to see through the illusion and give us away. Farris is smart and resourceful, though. I’m sure he layered his illusion. He’ll find a way to keep hidden regardless of who we encounter in this cold, dead place.

More guards open the doors for us, and the soldiers push me through. I jump back as two gryphons swoop inside the doors and fly over our heads. I’d heard that some of them live in the castle guarding the queen’s treasure, but it’s still shocking to see the beautiful creatures entering this death cave.

I admire their broad wings and strong feline bodies as they soar up to a passageway at the top of the tall room. One lets out a shriek from its sharp, solid beak, and the sound echoesaround us like a warning. But no one would be foolish enough to approach their treasure.

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