Page 20 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Because wecannotsave ourselves. Trying to do so is spitting in Eonnula’s face.”
Fitzell steps closer to the horse and grips my knee. It’s a warm hold, almost compassionate, and her expression is both sad and earnest. “I wish I had time to help you see it. But maybe you’ll listen to him.”
“Him?”
“Malec,” she says quietly. “The Void King. I suspect you could have killed him yesterday, but you chose not to. Thank you for that.”
I’m stunned by her gratitude, and suspicious of it. “Do you and the King—are you two—”
“Goddess, no.” She chuckles. “I’m married to a man who actually listens to me, thank the suns. He’s home with the little ones. It’s for them I fight.” With a final squeeze, she releases my knee. “Perhaps there is still room for hope, after all.”
She strides away, pausing to speak to Andras before passing beyond my line of sight.
What a strange woman. She reminds me a bit of my mothers—Genla’s unflinching strength, tempered with Elsamel’s gentleness and Sayrin’s keen insight. I never really believed all of that could exist in one person, much less an enemy.
Not that I believe anything she said to me. Like all the other Daenalla, she has been deceived.
8
My Edge-Knights are in good hands with Fitzell. She will oversee the breakdown of the camp and lead them to join the fight at the nearest garrison, while my party heads for Hellevan Chapel. Once there, I will have to make a choice about our next course of action. Ransoming the Regents’ daughter seems the most obvious path, but the idea unsettles me.
I sent three ravens to Caennith this morning, to spy for me along the wall. The Caennith Royals and the Three Faeries know of my propensity for using raven spies, and they have shielded their castles magically against the birds; but those protective spells are limited in scope. My enemies can’t conceal everything from me.
Unfortunately, ravens are also limited in their perception and communication abilities. They don’t always understand what bits of information would be most useful to me. But they do their best. Without their advance warnings, Caennith would have succeeded in conquering my kingdom years ago.
I stroke the feathers of a fourth raven, imprinting her mind with an image of the commander at the Deforin garrison and an accompanying message to deliver. At my nod, the raven caws once and flaps away into the forest.
When I swing up behind the captive bodyguard, she stiffens and pulls herself forward. But it’s no use—we’re sharing a saddle, and she can’t help touching me.
I check that my staff is secure on my back, and I arrange my wings on either side of the horse. Once I’m settled, I become conscious of the girl’s shapely rear pressing against my crotch.
Her ripped gown is rucked up around her hips, leaving her long legs bare, except for the chunky leather ankle boots she wears. Her blue hair is pulled forward over both her shoulders, exposing the back of her neck to me. Between the parted locks of hair, her skin looks vulnerable, smooth, and soft—I have the irrational urge to plant a kiss there.
Her filmy wings extend from her spine, pliant as fabric. But as the horse we share begins to move, she stiffens the wings, creating a gauzy shield between her bare back and my chest.
I’ve slept with two Fae women who had similar wings, and both were very responsive when I caressed certain areas. But this morning, Aura had no reaction when I touched her wing. It’s one of many odd things about her—things I intend to explore fully once my magic is refilled.
I hold the reins loosely in one hand, placing my other hand on Aura’s hip. She tenses.
“Can’t have you tumbling off the horse, Regents’ daughter,” I murmur. “The rope would stop you from flying or running away, but then you’d end up being dragged along. Very painful indeed.”
When she doesn’t respond, I lean in closer, between her wings, until I know she can feel my breath stirring her hair, warming the back of her neck. “I’ve been thinking about how I should punish you for tricking me.”
“Isn’t captivity punishment enough?” she mutters.
“Are you afraid of pain?”
“I didn’t become a fighter by recoiling from pain,” she retorts. “Pain is essential for excellence. I welcome pain.”
“And you enjoy giving it, too.”
Her spine straightens. “I deal pain to enemies who deserve it. I don’t enjoy it.”
“It’s all right to admit it, little viper. You liked hurting me.”
A moment’s silence, and then she says quietly, “You liked being hurt.”
My pulse quickens.
