Page 119 of Within the Veil

His head tilts ever so slightly, the swirling patterns in his eyes quickening as he studies me. His initial amusement, when he first appeared that is, becomes more pronounced--a self-satisfied grin gradually forming on his face.

"You chose to go against Gaia," he starts, leaning back on his heels, as if settling into a tale, his voice thick with condescension. "Much like myself, she castrated you, except in this case, she cut off your power. You dared to seek what was not yours, so you were stripped of everything."

My jaw clenches involuntarily, knuckles turning white as I struggle to maintain composure. His gaze locks onto mine, reveling in my discomfort.

"In fact," he continues, straightening up, his eyes darkening to black pitless voids, "the only reason your mind isn't completely shattered is due to my generous nature. I stopped the deterioration that should have ended you."

"Should I decide not to be generous," he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a menacing whisper, "that block will come down, and you will cease to exist."

I shudder, imagining my mind scattering like ashes in the wind, at his whim. My discomfort seems to feed his growing smugness.

His eyes pin me in place, the force of his words hammering into me. I fight the urge to cringe, to look away from those dead, swirling eyes.

"You're barely a Fae, let alone a Queen," he leans back again, resuming his posture of absolute authority, "but seeing as you were chased out, you already knew that. The only power you have--or will ever have--is what I grant you. As long as you remain useful, that is."

My heart pounds in my chest as I absorb his chilling words, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than ever before. Yet beneath the crushing weight of his pronouncements, a spark of defiance flickers within me. It's not much, but it's something. And sometimes, something is all you need.

* * *

I have spentmy years researching, from the moment I no longer feel the weight of his gaze lingering upon my every move. Silly really, considering his trust in my hunger to retain power is a comfort he shouldn't rely on because comfort means mistakes. Then again, as his plans fell into place, with me usurping the true Seelie Queen, all I achieved was further tainting these curses 'scales of balance.' So not only do I not have my own power I also can't be fueled by a connection to a Kingdom that isn't my own, as was my due when I was Queen of the Unseelie, nor did it come from the people under my, his, power. Not technically.

That particular hiccup is yet another unbalance to contend with. The Fae lived and breathe the lands we were gifted. We give to the land and we take, we sustain one another. In turn, those who take the mantle of leadership, becoming the trusted keeper of the lands, receives a boost of power from their realm and their people. Yet, when I took over, the lands started to die. So naturally, we used dark magic to use the life force of the Seelie to sustain the dying lands, since their magic is untainted from the corruption of meddling with the balance of Tir ag Nog. If the lands die, then it doesn't matter how much power Uranus will have at his disposal when he is released from Tartarus, because as a God of Chaos, he cannot create. Beyond that, since these light fate fuckers are not mine by rights of ruling, I cannot sustain myself with their lifeforce either. Dark magic can only go but so far, and unfortunately, when it comes to Fae, that is one balance scale that I cannot tip in my favor.

I am truly without power without Uranus... for now. I think myself with glee. Because despite his ability to block my mind from breaking, his power has limitations. While his physical body remains confined within Tartarus, his reach is restricted. With two exceptions. One of those was Tíranna na Dorchadas Liabránach. As it is the only portal between his current prison and Tir ag Nog, he had waged several battles and quickly claimed it as his own. It was his attempt to be close enough to Gaia's 'precious Fae,'as he puts it, so that he could devise a way to destroy them and take the power of the realm for himself. He didn't say it as plainly, but his frequent mutterings connected the dots. The other exception is the two times a year where the veils between all realms thin--Beltane and Samhain.

Even then, his powers are still loosely chained, and only his non-corporeal essence can roam freely to sow discord and chaos everywhere he can. We chose one such time to attack the rebel camp, although that failed spectacularly due to Alvor's penchant to speak knowledge which was not his to divulge. He still hangs in my dungeon in penance, only because his information and ties to the magic realm are valuable. Ties that I seek to exploit and have been putting in place for decades. I won't allow the world to unravel, unless I am the one pulling the threads, of course-- and unravel it will if Uranus does escape Tartarus and everything goes according to his plan. No. I have other ideas--most of which depend on cutting that little destined brat down to her knees.

I ignore Uranus, much to his displeasure, I relish the heightened tension in the room. The air grows dense, as if suffused with an electric charge, and the faces before me waver, distorted by the intoxicating ruse I crave most--fear. My pulse quickens, almost humming in my veins, and a delirious laughter bubbles forth from somewhere deep within me. I open myself up and, like a woman starved, voraciously absorb each tremor, every wince, and each gasping breath drawn by those within my presence. Their panic infuses the room like a potent perfume, and I inhale deeply, letting it fuel me, invigorate me, and bring me to the edge of an ecstatic madness.

Many do not realize that fear is more than an emotion; it's a potent transaction. Within each shiver, each sidelong glance, each frantically whispered word, people unknowingly lay the foundation of their own mental imprisonment. As they offer up fragments of their very essence, they become prisoners of their own minds. This self-enacted cage is as voracious as I, the one who wields that unique power over them. They surrender their strength, becoming so weak and blind that they turn into sacrificial offerings of sorts. Unwittingly, they gift me the means to dominate, to conquer, and to exist. How deliciously grateful I am for this delectable, potent transaction. I cackle to myself. And I do.

Uranus may hold the cards, but me? I am the one who is able to feed on the fear. I am the one being nourished every second I am here. Until I can set my plans in motion, it is the only true sustenance I have at my disposal. I may not be the power I craved, but it is power nonetheless. And instances like these, I take the opportunity to feed on that fear by strengthening my position within the realm and simultaneously tightening the threads of a spell I began to weave the moment word of a prophecy started to trickle its way through the Kingdom--threads which not only warp the minds but keep them broken.

Before this prophecy gained any traction it was a spell I didn't have to use often. Which is ideal, considering it incapacitates those within the kingdom, triggering that annoying 'fight or flight' response. Like caged animals, they hide away, and I had to run patrols with a few hundred of my own loyal followers. With our forces being penetrated--despite rendering the Kingdom invisible with a unique shield, I scowl internally-- it is not time to lessen our defenses. However, in this case, the anger thrumming through me is urging me to teach these incompetent fools a lesson they will not soon forget because sticking to the timeline is as crucial for my plans as it is for Uranus's.

Drawing a shuddering breath from the very depths of my being, I unfurl the inky tendrils of my power, an extension of my own darkness that fester within my soul, or, what's left of it. They snake through the air like living, sentient things, hooking themselves into the minds and souls of everyone present in my court--fresh recruits and seasoned warriors, the young and the old, the newly sworn and even my most loyal retainers. What kind of lesson would it be, after all, if my closest advisors were exempt from the consequences of failure?

As my dark magic seizes them, connecting me to the very essence that makes them Fae, I begin to tug on their bonds to the lands and commence stripping their magic away, one excruciating layer at a time. The guttural cries of the Seelie courtiers fill the chamber like a symphony of torment, a haunting melody that stirs something primitive and familiar within me.

I breathe in the fear unfurling, and the pleasure leads me almost to the brink of an orgasm as I feel my wings--ebony feathers that absorb the darkness just as well as my own soul--quiver and expand, reacting to the torrent of power coursing through me. They shift and stretch with a life of their own, casting looming shadows that dance menacingly on the walls.

But it's the silent ones, those who bear their suffering with stoic faces, that truly gratify me. Because in their eyes, I glimpse the flickering embers of fear they can't fully quash. Their impassivity is but a veil, and my borrowed power rips it away, exposing the raw terror beneath.

I laugh, the tremors which ripple through the room, serve as a sublime palate cleanser, each shuddering breath and dropped gaze a sumptuous morsel, adding fuel to the fire of my power. Their fear, whether screamed or suppressed, invigorates me, appeasing my need for pain...for now.

I sigh, pulling my power back. With a clap of my hands and a manic smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I turn to my closest advisors and lift a clawed finger, pointing at the two dead bodies heaped on the floor.

"Now, does anyone want to tell me," I sing gleefully before I drop my amusement, and let my disdain reflect on my face. "Who the imposter was, and just how he was able to gather enough help from the other imbecile to get into the royal court? No, No." I shake my head. "Better yet, explain how he was able to get past the wards surrounding the lands and the ones around the court. Need I remind you that this is the third incident in as many months."

Although, to be fair, which I am not, since enacting the shield with the very detailed and ridiculously long-winded-- instructions from Uranus, we have not had a breach. At first, I assumed that he was already past the wards before I cast the spell, however, seeing as no one recognized him, somehow, he was able to get in. Not being able to glean anything from his memories and thoughts, I had no hesitation in drawing my blade through his neck. His head will adorn my wall quite nicely.

The traitor, however, was an open book. He decided that hope for the prophecy was more important than his duty and offered information he didn't have in hopes that they could escape my kingdom. Apparently, that little twit not being completely obliterated and us losing a few hundred of our stolen Seelie was a cause for concern. Oh, how mistaken he was. My eyes move to the dripping, bloodied wings now affixed to my wall, and I don't bite back the grin that takes over my face. His death wasn't so easy. The screams, however, were delightful.

My smile quickly begins to fade because the question still remains. How did anyone bypass the veil put into place with Uranus's powers? As 'muted' as those powers may be, they were still imbued with his essence as well as several, noble, sacrifices.

The only weapon that can stand against my powers is one forged by the gods, Uranus's annoyed voice floats through my head, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Not only do I not have time to entertain his fragile ego, but the answer is glaringly obvious. Clearly, a God's weapon was used, but which one? A god's weapon may be able to weaken another, but to cut through his veil? The god of chaos? I am missing something. He is either hiding something, or much less likely, he is ignorant of what weapon was used.

"Queen," my soldier's voice forces me to dispel the thoughts in my head for another time. "We believe the infiltrator is part of the Legendary Whisperers, which we have been unsuccesfully tracking for years."

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