Page 82 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
‘Jealous, darling Emrys?’ They teased, relishing in his annoyance, leaning forward to antagonise him further.
‘I’m not here to play games, Thean,’ he warned.
‘You should have listened to me then,’ They taunted, head lolling to one side gracefully. ‘I told you the reanimations of dead fey would come next. That land has been sick too long.’
There was a sharpness to their smile, the presence of their fangs and the ease of their shifting of forms. Something I should never have missed.
A voyav. A cursed form changer.
‘Voyav.’ The name left my lips in the old fey language before I could stop it. A changeling, a being without name in mortal tongue, a dark magic that had existed longer than the records. Voyav were a tribe of Verr, devoid of form, who grew tired of war and wickedness, bonding themselves to mortal flesh to survive the sealing of the earth. Beings that could feast off fey blood and pull the magic from it for their own use.
Beings the Verr sought revenge against and that fey had mistrusted for centuries. The closest creature I’d ever found to Alma’s own magic. However, voyavs were limited to human forms. Or so the stories said.
Their attention snapped to me, a cruelty coming over those female features as the voyav took me in.
‘How do you know that? About the reanimations?’ I demanded.
‘I was there when it happened last time, darling. Right before the uprising,’ They shrugged, their focus returning to Emrys. ‘Back when our handsome lord here used to listen to warnings.’
‘How did you infiltrate Fairfax’s house?’ Emrys demanded, his voice returning to the cold disinterest I’d heard him use before.
The voyav leant back on the wall, as if they had all the time in the world to toy with him. Unbothered by those almost exposed breasts. ‘I knew you’d come here eventually. Especially when your beautiful Kysillianfriendset her eyes on that wood. From her Council records she has a habit of causing trouble.’
‘Her name is Katherine,’ William said sharply, offended on my behalf.
‘Oh, I know her name.’ Thean smiled, a malice in it I understood instantly. This strange creature shouldn’t know anything about me. Voyav were dangerous.
‘You’ll do well to forget it,’ Emrys half growled, stepping closer to them once more, but all it did was sharpen the being’s smile.
‘Where would be the fun in that?’ Thean said, grinning teased.
Kyvor Mor.That dark fiend’s voice came back into my head, warning me with all the secrets I’d already given away.
A knocking came at the door, forcing us all apart and to pretend to have some form of decorum. Everyone but Thean, at least, who still lounged back against the sideboard, breasts almost exposed, before slipping back into male form effortlessly.
A housekeeper entered with a sullen expression and sharp features. Her grey hair brushed harshly from her thin face.
‘The room is ready for Miss Woodrow,’ was all she said, and I knew in that moment my fate was sealed. We were trapped here.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The housekeeper led me unceremoniously down numerous corridors, each as cold and vacant as the next. Remains of old red candlewax dripped down the peeling walls. Mould speckled high on the ceiling, with cracks appearing in the corners, barely disguised by the thick cobwebs.
I was almost halted by a sprouting of mushrooms that had appeared from the skirting boards beneath a side table, but her pace was unforgiving.
The last thing I bloody needed tonight was to get lost. So, I moved on, greeted only by the unpleasant aroma of stale cigar smoke, saints’ incense and the bitter scent of old polish as we made it up a creaking threadbare staircase. I was worried about my muddy boots on the carpet but by the lumpy feel of it, and the crack of weak floorboards, the mud wouldn’t make a difference.
I pushed the thought aside as the housekeeper finally came to a stop at a nondescript door, opening it before rushing off without a bow or backwards glance, clearly desperate to be unburdened by my company.
Even mortals far beneath the elite they served still saw fey as being under them, despite our circumstances being so similar.
It took me two deep breaths to find the courage to go inside the bedroom, to accept where this game was going.
There was the faint smell of damp despite the small fire being lit. A small tin tub sat before it, already full of water. The rest of the room was sparsely furnished: a small bed with greyish linens, a wardrobe and a vanity with a chipped porcelain washbowl.
The dark curtains were moth eaten, covering small, latticed windows.
I crossed the room to open one, allowing in only a crack of air, bracing my hands on the windowsill and dragging deep breaths in. A futile attempt to keep my anxiety at bay.
