Page 126 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
Delicate.
You’re not real, little rat.How the Keeper would spit those words as I cried. As I lay broken before them. No matter the pain or the blood. No matter how raw my voice became with my begging.
His words never changed.
I’d never been real. Their use of me shouldn’t sting as it did. I was just some simple strange thing pulled into existence against its will. Fleeting and easy to break. Like a feral fucking dust-sprite.
That wasn’t how I felt with Thean’s lips on my pulse. I felt real. I felt every breath, every hair on my flesh, painfully. I became real between their palms and I recoiled from the agony of it.
I retreated. Shifted and changed so small they couldn’t see me. Then I fled just like the coward I was. Ignoring the whimper of the beasts within.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kat
No Kysillian bares a mark. For no being can best the Queen’s blood.Only the unworthy accept defeat and the unworthy shall never summon her flame.
The Rule of Kysillia – Unknown
I felt instantly uneasy and not just from the armed rebels in the ruins of the room, or the deadly sharpness of Emrys’s magic surrounding me. I hadn’t interacted with many fey, especially not those of ancient blood. Being locked in the Institute had stolen more from me than I’d first anticipated. Had made me fear my own kind just as those mortals did.
The fury rippling from Emrys was little comfort, as the rage of my own magic from my small battle churned inside of me and made my palms sweat. That horrid cloying fear consuming me that the nymph had seen my Kysillian blade or witnessed me summon.
As if scenting the unease I was certain seeped from my pores, the nymph’s grin didn’t falter. Like a cat considering a lame mouse between its paws.
‘Aster,’ Emrys greeted with no warmth.
The slender nymph’s skin shifted between blue and green like oil catching sunlight. The pattern of scales faintly visible,dark blue hair braided severely back from his face, the plaits decorated with small silver beads. Sharp pointed ears – larger than my own – pierced with varying small rings.
‘You’ve injured my men,’ the nymph chided. ‘However, I am feeling generous enough to give you a merciful minute to explain yourselves.’
His companions shifted behind him as if to remind us we were surrounded. One with a bloody broken nose thanks to my fist.
Emrys would have a portal stone on him, but I doubted he could reach it, and one wouldn’t carry us far. Also, the rebels were too close. We might accidently port some of them with us.
‘I’ll explain myself to Callen,’ Emrys’s voice didn’t sound entirely his own.
The nymph straightened and so did I. My gaze darting to Emrys before I could think better of it.
Callen? Why would the Kysillian be here and why would Emrys know it? The nymph let out an unamused sound before sheathing his short blade.
‘Very well.’ The nymph’s smile was sly, those eyes moving to me as he stepped back with a mocking bow. ‘It’s your funeral, Blackthorn.’
Two rebels moved forward only for the bitter chill of Emrys’s magic to snap like a wyvern’s tail. Sending them stumbling back into the crumbling remains of the walls around us, their own summonings crackling in their palms in retaliation. Aster simply held up his hand to stop their retaliation.
‘Careful, Blackthorn,’ the nymph warned, the air suddenly damp with the threat of his own power. ‘Your pet wood imp and bastard brother are waiting.’
William and Gideon.
‘Lead the way,’ Emrys offered. Seeming to make some attempt at being civilised.
The nymph turned sharply to lead the way out of the ruined house. The guards tugged at their jackets, muttering their displeasure before they moved outside. The streets strangely quiet in the aftermath of the Hunters attack. Or maybe it was just the ringing in my head dulling everything from hitting the wall.
The village’s roads were thin and winding, like that of a rabbit’s warren. A foreboding quiet had permeated the air in the absence of the chaos only moments before. Smoke curled and danced like thick fog before us.
Gideon and William did appear, guided by another small gang of rebels through the narrow cobbled street. Smoke curling in the air from where my fire had caught on the thatched roof.
William had his hands raised as if he was being taken on a death march, looking sickly pale. Gideon grabbed his wrist and yanked the boy’s hand down. Making William flush scarlet. Clearly this wasn’t Gideon’s first time being captured and he wasn’t about to be embarrassed while doing it.
