Page 61 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
“Then go,” he says. “Do what you have to do.”
“But is that wise?” Alice protests. “She doesn’t know Faerie very well. What if she runs into some terrible danger?”
“Without you all slowing me down, I can run away from anything I encounter.” I pause, surveying my ruby-studded silver shoes. “These seem to give me a speed greater than that of most Fae.”
“If you think it’s safe…” Alice says doubtfully.
“Nothing in Faerie is safe,” Caer puts in. “She’s in as much danger alone as she is with us. Makes no difference. Go on, off with you.” His violet stare is a challenge.
“First…” I look at Jasper. “I think Fiero should stay with you, in case I run into danger where I’m going. I think he’ll be safe in your care.”
“I’ll protect him with my life.” Jasper beams, clearly overjoyed by my approval. I suppose I can see the appeal of his sunshiny, all-too-happy-to-please personality. But my affinities lie with cruel smiles and clever tongues.
I turn away from Jasper so he won’t think my blush is about him. After picking up Fiero for a kiss, I surrender him into Jasper’s arms so he doesn’t try to follow me. “See you soon,” I call over my shoulder, and I race ahead, down the road.
Caer runs alongside me for a long while, but eventually I outstrip him. It’s true, then—the shoes lend me extra speed, just as they gave me additional grace for dancing. I suppose those benefits outweigh the annoyance of not being able to remove them. Luckily my toes have never been erogenous zones for me, or I’d be more bothered by it.
The warm afternoon air rushes past me, the fields and forest along the road reduced to a bright blur. I run full-out, delighted by the fact that with the shoes, I don’t even get breathless, nor do my legs tire.
By late afternoon, the sky has begun to cloud over, looking more ominous by the second. The dirt road has cobbles now, half-buried from disuse, but still visible. When I reach three large hills of red rock, I turn south onto another road, following it between those hills and up to a ridge overlooking a great valley.
On that ridge I pause to survey the dramatic landscape below me.
Under a heavy underbelly of black clouds that flicker with green lightning lies a ruined city. It looks as if some great celestial body crashed to earth directly on top of it, turning half the buildings into a black crater. Blackened streaks extend outward from that primary impact point, giving the appearance of a midnight sun painted across the city. At the north side, several streets remain mostly intact, though roofs have partly collapsed and walls are crumbling. From that sector of the city rises a castle, bristling with black, needle-like towers.
This must be Caislean Brea, the once-great seat of the rulers of this Isle, crushed by the advent of the god-star. Somewhere in those ruins lies information about the shoes I’ve inherited—information I’ll need if I’m to help my friends defeat the West Witch.
Again, a twinge of regret, of reluctance thrums through my heart. I don’twantto kill him. But I don’t have a choice, because despite the understanding and lust we share, he’s going to kill me. It’s expected of him. It’s the Unseelie way. And my only chance of surviving his vengeance is to slay him first. Not to mention the fact that killing him is the only way my half-brother gets to retain his natural form. Otherwise he’ll live out his life in misery, sealed into a suit of cursed armor.
I owe Riordan the loyalty of a blood-bond, just as West owes the same loyalty to his dead sister. And with Riordan and me, the loyalty is joined by a growing affection, one I believe is mutual. I can’t abandon that new, fragile bond for the sake of a green-skinned bastard, no matter how good a fuck he might be.
I run through the city, mulling over how much things have changed for me. All those years learning how to fake humanity, how to conceal my callous nature and mimic the emotions and morality of humans—all of it feels wasted, because everything is different here. Though I suppose the effort wasn’t truly useless, since it enabled me to survive in the human realm.
I wonder how long I would have been able to keep wearing that mask. Would I have gone mad from repressing my true Unseelie self? Would I have eventually said, “Fuck it,” and killed someone carelessly, just to see how it felt? Or would I have slowly become more human, and lost both my Fae nature and the magic that goes with it?
A crack of stone and a rattle of pebbles from a nearby building startles me. I halt, peering around, trying to pierce the shadows cloaking the ruins.
Something is still alive in this city. I can’t imagine it’s anything good.
Another scrabbling sound, and my stomach does a dreadful flip. I leap ahead immediately, running for the castle.
As I run, I begin to see shapes resolving from the shadows, crawling along half-collapsed walls, leaping from slanted rooftops to broken chimneys. More and more shapes emerge, flanking the moss-coated cobblestone street, swinging from sheets of ivy. Sometimes I could swear I catch the flutter of gray wings beneath the lowering sky. A malevolent chittering noise comes from the darkest corners, carried through the gloomy air on a breeze redolent with the scent of dead things.
“Fuck the Wizard,” I hiss to myself as I try to increase my speed, to draw more power from the shoes and outstrip the creatures. There’s no doubt in my mind now—he directed our group to this place out of sheer malevolence. He seems like a fickle sort; maybe he can’t decide which he wants more—the death of the West Witch, or the defeat and despair of our group. He’d probably love to see Caer and Riordan trapped in their cursed forms forever, with Alice mourning them eternally.
But he didn’t expect me to come to the ruined city alone. I’m going to survive this, if only to spite him.
The chittering and clicking noises are all around me now, louder and closer. As I run across an open square, toward the open drawbridge of the castle, I catch my first glimpse of the creatures hunting me.
They have long, stick-thin limbs, coated in blue-gray fur, each leg as lithe and flexible as a monkey’s tail—and there are six of those limbs to each bulbous body. Some of them have small wings that can propel them a little way through the air. They have no necks; their faces protrude right out of their furred, lumpy torsos, between their two foremost limbs. The faces remind me of the catfish my father likes to catch and fry—flat and bland, with glum mouths and horribly wide-set eyes.
“Shit,” I hiss, and I bound ahead, onto the drawbridge.
Several of the creatures scurry onto the chains of the drawbridge, following me along. They climb up those chains until they’re high above me on both sides—and then they leap.
I dodge the first one. Another cartwheels on its flexible legs, right in front of me, then raises itself high and opens its jaws, revealing a cavernous maw lined with rows of teeth marching all the way down its gullet. It looks as if the creature’s entire body is going to turn itself inside out and become a rolling ball covered in razor teeth.
And that gives me an idea.
