Page 9 of A City of Emeralds and Envy
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I step out of the wrecked barn, holding my head high. This is Faerie, of course—it must be. There are Fae looking at me, bowing to me. I’m not sure why they’re all wearing the same robes. And I’m not sure why I’ve got these shoes, or how Alice and I ended up here, but I’ve had practice concealing my reactions to the unexpected. My mask remains in place, tweaked slightly to exude confidence and purpose instead of modesty and innocence.
My gaze meets Alice’s briefly. Suspicion crystallizes in those gray eyes of hers, and her lips part, ready to ask questions I don’t have the answers to. All I know is that somehow, I’m connected to this bright world—I always have been. There’s a joy in my blood, like the flicker of contentment I feel when I’m home with my parents and Fiero in the evening, curled up by the fireplace, sewing or whittling or reading—only this joy is stronger, wilder, more gleefully certain. And there’s a tug in my heart, too, as if something or someone important is nearby—the other end of the tether that pulled me here. I need to figure out who or what it is.
Holding Fiero’s warm, silky little body to my chest, I take another step forward.
But a shiver passes through the air—a crackle of suspense, like the sting of anticipation right before lightning cracks overhead.
The faeries shrink back from us. Only the pink-freckled one remains near Alice—but her face tightens with fear.
Green smoke uncoils from the ground between Alice and me, explodes into a roiling green cloud. A sharp, crisp scent fills the air—rain-washed leaves, cold wind, and a freshness so enticing I want to lean closer and inhale.
A figure becomes visible as the smoke settles. He’s taller than anyone in the crowd—the top of my head would barely reach the middle of his chest if I were standing beside him—and I’m wearing heels. His limbs are as skinny as the wooden staff he grips in one long-fingered hand, and his tight black clothing makes his body look even thinner. He has tousled black hair whose glossy waves curl along his nape—and when he whirls to face me, I gasp, like I’ve been struck in the face by cold water—like he reached out with sharp nails and ripped the invisible mask from my face. Eyes like glittering spears plunge into mine, piercing down to my very soul.
He's wretchedly beautiful. Smooth, satiny skin, as green as the smoke from which he appeared. A savage jawline, lips made for whispering debauched curses, cheekbones designed to lacerate anyone who might dare touch him. Thick black lashes fringe his dark eyes.
His gaze slants from me, down to something pinned beneath the barn. The bloodied, barefoot corpse.
“You killed my sister.” His voice is like wind through a green forest under threat of storms—a shimmering ripple, but with a rolling undercurrent of thunder.
I can’t speak. I’ve never been so thoroughly shaken by anyone. Back in the human realm, I moved quietly through life with the secret confidence that I was the most powerful person in any room or gathering. But the very air around this Fae male trembles with ominous magic, with a power greater than mine.
Alice steps nearer to the newcomer, speaking low so the crowd of Fae won’t hear. “Her death was an accident, my lord.” I’m not sure why she adds the honorific, but I suppose she’s been around volatile, powerful Fae before, and she knows how to handle them.
He turns. Looks her up and down. Whips his attention back to me. “Is this your pet, sorceress?”
I glance down at Fiero. “Yes, this is my dog.”
“Not that scrap of fur,” he sneers. “The hapless human.” He jerks his head toward Alice. “She’s yours?”
My eyes widen, locking with Alice’s. Her lips tighten, but she nods.
“Um, yes. She’s my pet.” I lift my chin haughtily.
“Hm.” He spins on his heel and rams the end of his staff down on the quartz pavers with a resoundingboom. When all the Fae jump and whimper, he chuckles, turning back to me. “I wasn’t especially fond of my sister. But she was family, so I must avenge her. You understand, of course. A death for a death. How would you like to die?”
Alice turns white as the paving stones. She leans over to the pink-freckled Fae woman and murmurs something to her.
My first instinct is to use my magic—but I’m not sure how it can help me. I can’t agitate the inner particles oflivingthings—I can only speed up rhythmic motions they’re already performing. Maybe I could speed up the particles inside the rocks under the skinny bastard’s feet—superheat the stones until they burned him, or maybe explode them—but that would take time, and I’ve never done anything that dramatic before.
I need to keep this vengeful Fae distracted until Alice and I figure a way out of this, so I say, “What are my death options?”
He advances, looming over me so I have to tilt my head back to look up into his smirking face. He holds out elegant, bejeweled fingers to Fiero, who sniffs them cautiously. “A quick blast of magic to the heart is one option. Or if you prefer, I can slit your throat.” He lifts the same hand and traces one sharp nail across my neck. “I can conjure a blade to cut off your head, or slice you open and eviscerate you.” The pointed nail leaves my throat and digs into my belly, drawing a vertical line and stopping just below my navel, where he lets all five clawtips rest against my lower stomach.
A quiver of uncertainty passes over his face, and he bends closer, sniffing my hair. My face flames.
“Are you sure you’re quite human, little sorceress?” he asks. “Your scent—it’s—unusual.”
“Of course I’m human.” Every bit of my body is alive and humming, danger and desire writhing at my core.
“You can’t kill her,” comes a voice from behind him. It’s the Fae woman with the pink freckles and dragonfly wings. “She wears the shoes.”
Alarm flashes into the green-skinned Fae’s eyes, as if he just remembered something important. He draws back sharply, glancing at the corpse’s bare feet and then at my silver heels. “Fuck.”
“You know the rules that govern possession of the shoes,” the Fae woman continues. “When the former owner is killed, the shoes and their power pass to the one responsible for that death. For seven days, the new owner of the shoes may not be slain in vengeance.”
He whirls and snarls at the Fae woman—actually snarls, a guttural, ferocious ripple from his throat. “But I can kill her pets. I’ll destroy the helpless blonde, and the little dog, too.”
