Page 26 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Kyan,” Andras says warningly.
When Kyan lunges, I take to the air, my wings buoying me as I flit sideways. I perch on a stone bench and wait, my body tight and thrumming with dreadful anticipation as the winged Fae seethes at me.
Tension shines in the air, bright and brittle. The moment one of the knights touches me, that tension will crack—an unspoken barrier removed, a line crossed. Once the first dog bites, the whole pack will attack. They’ll do what they want to me, because that’s who they are—animals. Monsters. Wicked ones.
Part of me craves the brawl that’s coming. I know I won’t win, but at least I can tear a few of them up before they overcome me.
As Kyan’s body tenses for another charge, Vandel speaks up. “When we planned this prank, we said no one would touch her.”
“This bitch killed Forresh,” Kyan seethes. His teeth are bared, and tears glitter in his eyes. “Or have you forgotten?”
“Forresh volunteered for that mission,” says the knight with the leathery wings. “She knew the risks.”
“So I’m to have no justice?” Kyan’s feathers bristle, their edges shimmering with a keen, dangerous light. “I must permit this arrogant girl to befoul the honor of our people? To sleep on the bones of my sister?”
“I don’t sleep on anyone’s bones,” I say. “And your people have little honor, from what I can see. You’ve pursued my best friend since she was born, trying to capture her and use her for a heretical spell that won’t even work—”
“But it will.” Kyan grits out the words. “It will, because it has to. Because if it doesn’t—” He runs shaking fingers through his wet hair, his big shoulders slumping.
My understanding shifts, like when Dawn’s tutor adjusted the lenses on a star-glass we used one night. A blurry view at first—then one tiny alteration, and everything turned pristinely clear.
These men may have thrown coarse words at me in the camp, words born from their shock and their deep disappointment—and they may have punished me with this prank, against their king’s will—but they haven’t touched me in the way I feared. They’d like to kill me, perhaps, but they won’t molest me. Their pain and grief prompted this, along with their terror of the Edge, their fear of the future.
Back in Caennith, talking about the encroaching Edge too loudly or dreading it too deeply is considered sacrilegious fearmongering. It’s viewed as an affront to Eonnula, a lack of faith in the goddess. We are supposed to believe that everything will be all right—that Eonnula will rescue us, and that if any of us perish before that day of salvation, it must be her will.
By contrast, the Daenalla are open about their fear. They face it head-on. They express it clearly, without veiling their words or making hasty professions of faith afterward.
How liberating it must be to fully express such dark emotion, without having to rein it in, qualify it, or conceal it.
I almost envy them.
10
I wash quickly and leave the bath-house before three-bells, eager to discuss a few things with the High Priestess. Her answers only confirm a suspicion I have—one I cannot allow myself to believe until I have proof, which will come after the service, when my magic is refilled. I won’t have full access to Void magic again until I reach Ru Gallamet and my Spindle, but I will be able to use a little of it, as well as the powers I was born with. I only hope it’s enough for the thing I must do to the girl.
I stride back to the bath-house, intent on fetching her out and hurrying my men along. The sooner we complete our worship, the better.
But as I burst through the bath-house doors into the hazy heat of the chamber, I’m paralyzed by the scene in front of me.
Aura is poised gracefully on a bench, her long legs damp and shining, her butterfly wings gleaming behind her. My startled mind latches onto parts of her bare body—her slender waist, her stomach faintly outlined with taut feminine muscle—her breasts, full and heavy, tipped with pink nipples—her blue hair, clinging wetly to her shoulders.
Utterly naked in front of all my men. And each one of their faces is turned to her, their eyes fixed on her pretty features, her lovely form.
I want to strike them all blind.
Rage boils in my gut—a twisted, hideous, red-hot monster I’m unprepared to fight.
“What the fuck?” I growl.
Aura’s eyes widen as I stride forward. “They took my towel and clothes.”
I snatch up a spare towel on my way to her. She steps down from the bench as I approach, her wings relaxing from their rigid state, draping loose against her bare back.
I wrap the towel around her whole body, including the wings. “Where are her clothes?” I snarl at my men.
With a shamefaced expression, Vandel picks up a pile of clothing and holds it out to me. I frown at the plain vestments, then glance at Aura. “This is what they gave you to wear?”
She nods.
