Page 36 of The Maleficent Faerie
In truth, I never had any power at all. I was tricked into thinking I did. Perhaps the Three Faeries laughed quietly behind my back as they trained their “child” to use her “magic.”
Anger spouts inside me again—anger at myself this time, for being so thoroughly stupid. For not seeing the pieces that didn’t fit. For accepting the lies and explanations. For not perceiving the truth.
Fuck me, and fuck everyone I’ve ever known.
A few lanterns and lighted windows dot the darkness of the square, shining from the outbuildings of the chapel complex. Beyond one of the long buildings, half-obstructed by its bulk, I can make out a brighter glow—a bonfire, and several torches on posts. I can see the ends of a few long wooden tables. That must be where the dinner is being held.
The clank of tankards, a lilting trickle of music, and the roll of merry male voices draws me in. Much as I dread facing anyone right now, I am desperate for a drink. I can’t take the torture of my own thoughts any longer.
After crossing the square, I pause at the corner of the building, taking stock of what lies beyond. Tables covered in dishes, a platter with a half-eaten roast pig; bowls of cherries, stewed apples, and buttered potatoes; a plate of sliced bread. Some of the tables are empty, probably abandoned by locals who came to worship and then returned to their homes after the meal. A few of Hellevan Chapel’s robed denizens sit at the end of one table, conversing quietly. A drummer, a piper, and a fiddler perch on stools nearby, nodding to one another as they play pleasant music.
At the nearest table sit the five Edge-Knights, either shirtless or with their tunic sleeves rolled up. Andras is popping grapes into his mouth. Kyan’s silver feathers flash, his wings flaring as he arm-wrestles with Vandel. Vandel must be losing, judging by the way he’s flushed right to the roots of his red hair. Blond Reehan seems to be in a drinking match with the bat-winged knight—I think he’s called Ember.
No sign of the Void King. He must have gone to rest—he was in bad shape after smashing through the Three Faeries’ spells.
I did not have close connections with any of the other guards and soldiers in the Caennith palaces I frequented. Some of them were jealous of my position and privileges, and they showed it. That’s where I got my sharp tongue and vicious reactions—from fielding their envious barbed words, forcing their respect. If they’d known who I truly was, they would never have dared to attack me, verbally or otherwise. At best, my connection with the Royal Guard was a tenuous, grudging acceptance, and a temporary camaraderie on a few occasions, when I had some rare free time and I wanted someone to fuck.
These Edge-Knights have a ribald sense of humor like the Royal Guards, and they share the same penchant for mocking those they view as rivals or threats. But unlike the Royal Guards, they are more driven and desperate. Like me, they are tangled in a web whose weaving began long before any of us were born—caught in a neverending war of ideologies, prey to a realm that’s collapsing in on itself.
Has the King already told them who I really am? I suspect he has—he seems like the type to share information with his men. I hate that I like that about him.
All I want is to drink. And the best way to get a drink quickly is to stride out there and face this head-on.
I straighten the blood-flecked skirts of my purple gown and hitch the bodice a little higher. My feet are still bare, soundless as I leave the shadows of the building and walk forward into the firelight.
I step up to Ember and Reehan and pluck the drinks out of both their hands, gulping first one, then the other.
Sighing, I set the cups down and wipe my lips with the back of my wrist.
The music screeches to a stop, and the murmurs of the chapel attendants cease.
The five knights stare at me. Vandel takes advantage of Kyan’s distraction from their arm-wrestling match and slams his opponent’s hand down to the table, a solid thump in the silence.
Reehan clears his throat, stands up, and grabs a bottle. All eyes lock on him as he lifts it high. Shaking back his blond hair, he looks around at the others and cries, in a triumphant voice, “The Princess of Caennith wants to drink!”
“And drink she shall!” Andras replies, and the others roar their approval. Ember holds out his cup for Reehan to fill, then hands it to me with a nod.
“We need some merry music!” Reehan calls to the musicians, and they begin playing again, a jauntier tune this time, while Ember quietly places a few slices of meat, cheese, and fruit on a plate and passes it to me.
While I drink and eat, Kyan begins growling at Vandel over the result of their little game. “That wasn’t a fair match. I was distracted.” His silver feathers bristle.
“Not my fault you can’t keep your mind on the competition,” Vandel says.
“No excuses from the loser,” Ember interjects. “That’s the rule. Accept defeat, and move on.”
Kyan huffs out a breath. “Fine. We go again.”
“I’d like to take Vandel on,” I say through a mouthful of stewed apples.
Kyan looks at me, and for a second, all I can see is the enraged grief in his eyes as he charged at me in the bath-house.
I killed his sister. I killed her to protect Dawn; but really, I was protecting myself. I just didn’t realize it.
Everything I knew is twisted now, distorted.
I let my expression crack a little—let some of the confusion and pain I feel leak through. Kyan’s eyes soften in response.
Pulling my gaze from his, I drink again.
