Page 84 of The Maleficent Faerie
Our realm will end in a few decades—sooner if the Edge moves faster this time, which seems to be the case.
I’ve made things worse, as I always do.
My great work, and it barely survived long enough for a peace treaty to be signed between Caennith and Daenalla. A treaty that will now be useless. I can picture it now—the way the Caennith will mourn their lost villages and roar for my blood.
And I should give it to them. I am a fucking monster.
I crash to my knees.
“What is it?” Fitzell’s urgent voice echoes in my mind, dim and distant. “You must tell us, my Lord. What report did the raven bring?”
“Ask her.”
Fitzell holds out her hand and Roanna hops onto it. Though I’m the only one who can summon and command ravens, the birds I’ve gifted with higher consciousness can link their minds with other humans and Fae. Fitzell and Roanna are well-acquainted, with a long history of such communication. As their eyes lock, Fitzell gasps.
I bow over, hunched against the pain in my heart, gripping my staff for support. I’m half-aware of Fitzell telling the other Edge-Knights what has happened.
“Have three dozen men ride to the new borders of the Edge,” she says tightly. “We need to know where the lines fall, how much is gone, and how fast the Edge is moving. Any citizens who are too close to the Edge must move inland. Do these orders please you, my King?”
“Please me?” I haul myself to my feet. “No. They do not please me. None of this pleases me. But they are wise words, from a wise woman. Fitzell, you are now in command, as I am no longer fit to rule. I hereby abdicate my throne, and I offer all of you my deepest remorse for having failed you once again.”
Before any of them can speak, I spread my wings and leap from the parapet, soaring up to the balcony of my suite. I alight there, push open the balcony doors, and stride across the sitting room, my heart pounding with dark purpose.
On the way to my study, an oval mirror on the wall catches my attention, and I pause.
I’m still bald, but I have my skin again, and I am beautiful—save for a long, thin scar that travels across my forehead, down my temples, and along my jaw, outlining my whole face. There are scars on my throat, too, and when I tear open my robes—more scars, thread-thin and white, marking the borders of every injury I suffered during my great work.
I am no longer the flawless Fae I once was. But I am healed. It’s more than I deserve.
Seating myself at my desk, I begin to write.
A flapping rustle from the balcony catches my ear, but I don’t look up. A moment later, silver feathers appear in my peripheral vision.
“Kyan,” I say evenly. “Fitzell sent you to check on me?”
“To ensure that you do yourself no harm, Sire.”
“I’m no longer your King. I abdicated that role just now, or didn’t you hear me?”
“You will always be my King.”
“I let your sister go on that mission, and she died.” I glare at him. “You should hate me.”
“I hated the one who killed her,” he says calmly. “And that hatred changed once I began to know Aura better. We are all victims of a war that began generations ago. You are perhaps the greatest victim, because you torment yourself with this belief that you must save us all.”
“I don’t think that anymore. Goddess, Kyan, you’ve made me misspell two words. Stand there and be silent, while I do what must be done.”
Sighing, he props his shoulder against the wall and leans there while I write, and write, and write. I finish the first document and pull another sheet of paper in front of me, adding lines to what is already there.
As I write the last few words, I let tendrils of living shadow seep from my body. They wind swiftly around Kyan, binding his legs, arms, and wings before he can react. He opens his mouth to protest, and I direct a skein of shadow across his lips, silencing him.
“I’m sorry for this.” Rising, I clasp his shoulder. “But there is something I must do, and you’ll try to stop me, because you’re a good man. A loyal man. Take care of Andras—he’s a good man too. I’m happy for both of you. When it’s done, show these papers to my successor.”
Kyan bucks, trying to break free, straining to yell muffled words through his shadow-gag. I turn my back on him and head for the door of my chambers.
Before opening it, I draw on my Void magic again. It’s been swirling inside me for weeks, but I’ve had only haphazard access to it. Now it is fully mine once more, and I may as well use it up.
I allow more shadows to leak from my body, and from them I form a pair of Endlings, with the bodies of panthers and the heads of dragons. I send them into the hallway ahead of me, with mental orders to fight, but not kill. Shouts of alarm rise, and I smile as I recognize the voices of Vandel and Ember. As I suspected, Fitzell sent more than just Kyan to guard me. But my men are used to defending themselves against me with swords and fists; I’ve never attacked them with my Void magic. They underestimated my determination in this matter.
