CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Shameek was gone when I reentered the passageway.

In the exact place he’d been laying awaited Nuvian. The faerie stood straight and expressionless, every inch of him ready. For what, though, I couldn’t say. “The human that was here,” I demanded without preamble, approaching him. The wound in my shoulder throbbed. “Where is he now?”

Nuvian stared at the wall ahead of him. His blond braids gleamed. I’d never seen him in daylight before, and unlike the Tongue, the light just highlighted this faerie’s perfection. His skin practically glittered. “He has been brought back to the kitchens,” the Right Hand answered. I waited for more, but he didn’t elaborate.

“And will he be harmed?” I prodded. As Shameek had pointed out, I owed him a debt. Torture by fae would be shitty payback.

“I don’t know what his fate will be, my lady. I am merely a guard.”

“No, you’re the Right Hand,” I retorted. I saw his humility for the lie it was; faeries were all arrogance and conceit. I had told Laurie I would play their game and I’d meant it. “You’re a pretty useless one, from where I’m standing, though.”

Those gray eyes flashed. Not so impassive after all, then. “What would you have me do, my lady?” Nuvian asked tightly. Oh, look who doesn’t like his own game.

“Lead the way back to Collith’s room, then find Shameek. Either bring him to me or offer your protection until I can figure out how to get him out of here. He shouldn’t be punished for helping during the trial. Now hurry, please.”

Nuvian inclined his head, a silent acknowledgement of my order, then gestured that I should walk in front of him. However much I disliked having him at my back, I didn’t see a way around it, so I moved to comply. I was probably making another enemy, but I didn’t care. What was another one on my rapidly growing list, anyway?

As the Unseelie Court swallowed us whole, I didn’t let myself look back. Didn’t let myself wonder if it would be the last time I saw the sun.

Just as it had after the last trial, exhaustion crashed over me in a merciless wave. The stab wound had stopped bleeding, at least. I struggled to remain alert on the way back, wary for any sign of the wendigo, Jassin, or some other foe that wanted to kill me, but it felt like everything was under water.

Once we reached Collith’s door—a guard stood there, another one I didn’t recognize—Nuvian faced me. All I wanted was to go into that room, clean and wrap my shoulder, then collapse onto the king’s colossal bed. But I didn’t move; I needed to see him take those first steps toward the kitchen. To be reassured that my debt would be paid in full. Nuvian and I stared at each other for a moment. “Well? Shameek?” I reminded him finally, feeling like I’d lost, somehow.

The faerie blinked, slow and deliberate. The movement drew my gaze to his ridiculously long lashes. Did every faerie have them? “I told the king I would protect his rooms. I follow his orders … and the queen’s. But I see no queen here,” Nuvian added. He quirked a brow, as if to say, What are you going to do about it?

Just like that, I’d had enough.

A feral sound tore from my throat. However prepared he looked, Nuvian wasn’t expecting me to launch forward and clap my hand on his forehead. The other guard wasn’t, either. Nuvian instantly tried to recoil. I just went with him, and as the faerie slammed against the wall, I pressed my body to his. Nuvian’s dick hardened, but the bursts of air coming out of him were borne of agitation, not arousal. The process wasn’t painful —not this part, at least—so he had no idea that his fears were already mine. They filled me, more heady than any buzz or high. Nuvian, Right Hand of the Unseelie King, was deathly afraid of werewolves.

“Fortunately for me, you faeries keep forgetting what I am,” I hissed. The other guard had started to move forward, his hand on his weapon, and I barely spared him a glance. “Interfere and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

He froze. A brief assessment showed that he was younger than most of the fae I’d met down here. He held his sword without confidence and regarded me with poorly concealed fear. Certain that he wouldn’t intervene, I gave my full attention to Nuvian.

We stood in a forest now, surrounded by solemn trees and moving shadows. The moon was visible over our heads, and it was as round and full as one from a fairy tale. Before Nuvian could form a response, a chorus of howls rose all around. Echoing, multiplying, nearing. Any one of them could be the beast he was so tormented by.

Nuvian reached for a sword that was no longer there. His precious armor was gone, too. “Hear that?” I whispered, my lips moving against the tender skin of his ear. He shivered. “They sound hungry, don’t they?”

To his credit, Nuvian didn’t make a sound. Normally my victims were screaming or weeping within the first few seconds. I took a few steps back to enjoy my handiwork. Nuvian turned in circles, his chest heaving. Bright eyes peered out from the darkness. They varied in hues of blue, gold, and green. A deep growl rippled across the clearing. “How much do you know about wolves, Nuvian?” I wondered.

He glanced at me, and this time, there was the shine of hatred in his eyes. A vein stood out in his forehead. “Release me from this place, Nightmare.”

I leaned against a tree and crossed my feet at the ankles. Even more eyes appeared around us. “Wolves typically feed upon the vulnerable ones. The weak ones. It’s called ‘culling.’ You don’t strike me as the weak type, but you don’t have a herd or a pack, which makes you weak in their minds. Also, in case you’re curious about the whole … I don’t know, eating process? Between hunts, they go days without feeding, so when it does happen they tend to just gorge. Oh, fun fact, they’re also not known for dispatching their victims quickly. Not exactly great for you, but it’s fascinating, isn’t it?”

A moment after I’d finished speaking, a werewolf stepped into the moonlight.

It was massive. Bigger than any werewolf I’d seen in real life. Its paws looked like they could kill with a single blow. Its fur was thick and shone like pure silver. The eyes that were so fixed on Nuvian gleamed with intelligence and ferocity. An odd, strangled sound left the Right Hand. His back was to me, so I couldn’t see his expression, but the corners of my mouth tipped up as I imagined it. The beast bared its teeth. Its muscles visibly bunched, about to charge its golden-haired prey.

I expected Nuvian to move into a fighting stance. Instead, he dropped to his knees and covered his head, exactly as a child would from a monster in the closet. He said something, but the words were muffled. I thought I heard stop and please.

The werewolf bent its great head and sniffed Nuvian, who shuddered in response. To his intelligible plea I just shrugged; bark scraped against my back from the motion. “You can make this end any time you’d like. All I need is your vow to protect Shameek.”

“You have it,” Nuvian mumbled, still not lifting his head.

The werewolf dug its claws into the dirt. Any second now, it would leap. “Sorry, I need to hear you say the words.”

Nuvian jerked toward me so violently a braid smacked him in the cheek. His eyes blazed as he spat, “I vow to protect the human called Shameek.”

“Excellent.” Though it was unnecessary to halt the illusion, I snapped my fingers. As easily as flipping a switch, we were back in the passageway outside Collith’s rooms. Nuvian lurched away from me, his hand instantly going to that pretty sword. I raised my brows at him in a silent challenge. He barely kept his composure as he brushed past me. As promised, he hurried in the direction of the kitchens. His grip on the hilt was white.

Before Nuvian turned away, I saw the stark terror in his face. Terror … and maybe a little respect. That’s what I’ll do about it, asshole, I thought, watching him go. My veins hummed from using my abilities. I hardly felt the stab wound now. Guilt hovered nearby, waiting for its chance to consume me, but I refused to let it any closer. Our parents didn’t raise us to be ashamed of what we were. They also taught us to use our powers only when necessary. I thought Dad would’ve been proud to know I was fighting for a human’s survival.

The bed was calling to me again. God, every day down here was so long. Just as I began to push the door open, I belatedly remembered the other guard. Sighing, I turned to him. He stood in the shadows and the whites of his eyes glowed. “What’s your name?” I asked wearily.

There was a tremble in his voice as he answered, “Omar, my lady.”

He wouldn’t make the mistake of forgetting what I was. Not again. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. “I’m here for my brother, Omar. He’s my family. All I have left. And I will do anything to save him, which means I am going to be queen. You can invest in your future now, by serving me, or you can be just another faerie I destroy. Your choice.”

He said nothing—just kept staring with that dumbfounded, deer-in-the-headlights expression. I swallowed another sigh and finally entered Collith’s rooms.

As I kicked the door shut, I saw there was another bath waiting. Unlike last time, there was shampoo, body wash, and a washcloth on the floor beside it, arranged on a silver tray. Relief filled me. Thank you, I thought to the three women who’d undoubtedly filled it. Maybe they were responsible for the toiletries, too. I took off my sweaty clothes and climbed in. The water was heaven for my aching back, which would definitely sport some bruises tomorrow from slamming into those rocks. The ragged knife wound also stung. Hopefully cleaning it would be enough to stop any infection. I sank into the warm water, gritted my teeth, and ran the washcloth over the puckered flesh.

Worried that a certain king would make an appearance, I didn’t linger. My movements were rough and efficient as I got out and donned a lacy nightdress someone had left. Then, as I’d been daydreaming of doing for hours, I went to bed. The mattress welcomed me like an old friend. I nearly wept from the overwhelming realization that it was over; I’d survived the second trial.

Now I just had to survive the third.

Sometimes, if you wanted it too badly, sleep liked to play games. It eluded, teased, or disappeared entirely. If you don’t take me to Oliver, I told it with gritted teeth, I’ll get to him by other means.

I must’ve been on a roll today, because within minutes, welcome and blessed darkness closed in.

I opened my eyes, uncertain of what I would find. There had been times over the years when Oliver was able to sense what I was feeling, out there, in the world of the awake and real. Did he know what Collith had done to me in that bathtub? Had he felt my terror during the battle with a wendigo?

However worried he must’ve been, Oliver was feeling calm— the meadow was the picture of serenity. The horizon was alight in shades of pink. The gentlest of breezes whispered through the grass. Colorful wildflowers soaked up the final rays of light. My best friend sat to my left, with his back against a tree. A butterfly flitted past, unnoticed since he was intent on the drawing pad against his knees. “Hey, stranger,” I said softly.

Oliver lifted his head and a smile stretched across his beautiful face. Warmth spread through me at the sight of it. He closed the drawing pad, hiding its contents, and patted the spot beside him. “Hey yourself. What do you want to do tonight?”

Still smiling, I shook my head and held out a hand to him. Oliver took it and got to his feet. “Have I ever taught you how to waltz?” I asked. It was rhetorical, of course. If I knew how to waltz, the person living in my head certainly did.

“Actually … I prefer slow dancing.” Oliver took hold of my wrists and put them behind his neck. Next, he folded his hands at the small of my back and pulled me close. We started to sway. There was no music, but neither of us mentioned it. I rested my cheek against Oliver’s chest and watched the way the hair on his arm caught the sunlight. Like liquid gold. He smelled so different from other people, too. It wasn’t perfume or cologne. No, Oliver’s scent was long afternoons spent painting, or hours submerged in saltwater, or of someone who rode the wind. He smelled like freedom.

A moment later, the entire world darkened. Oliver and I shared the same adoration for nighttime; he’d pushed out all remnants of daylight and brought out the stars. I tilted my head back to look up.

After a few seconds, I felt Oliver focus on me. “Since you’re here, I assume the second trial went well?”

As I watched, one of the stars loosened from its perch and plunged down. I pretended to be absorbed by its progress as I thought of the best way to tell him about the trial. I forced a human to help me and almost got him killed. Now he might be tortured and killed anyway because of his involvement. Too soon the brilliant light faded to nothing. “Well …” I hesitated. But before I could go on, the world shook. Someone was calling for me. I knew that voice, and judging from the look on Oliver’s face, he’d guessed who it was too. “Ouch!”

Oliver frowned and stepped back. “What is it?”

“That damn butterfly bit me,” I growled, glaring at the small creature flitting away.

“What? Are you sure?”

I showed him the red welt that was already appearing. Silence hovered around us as Oliver cradled my hand and examined it. After a moment, he bent to brush a feather-light kiss on the mark. And somehow, it felt better. Cooler.

Collith said my name again. Fortuna, wake up.

This time, the dream began to fade. I could resist to a certain extent, but reality always won. I smiled sadly at Oliver, wishing we’d had a longer dance. This could very well be the last time we’d see each other.

Not wanting to vanish from his arms—that was just too cruel—I forced myself to back away. My best friend stayed by that twisting tree, surrounded by stars that were bigger and brighter than the ones I knew. Yet the beauty of them did nothing to distract me from the longing in his gaze.

His whisper followed me as I went somewhere he couldn’t follow. “Bye, Fortuna.”

Collith was even more solemn than usual.

His explanation for waking me had been cryptic. Quite a feat, considering how little he shared as it was. But my curiosity was piqued, so I reluctantly peeled the covers off, rose, and dressed. Zara had tended to me while I was unconscious; the wound looked weeks old and the pain was gone. “How much does she charge for her healing?” I asked Collith as I followed him to the door. “Just trying to figure out how much I owe at this point.”

“Don’t worry about that. The crown keeps her on retainer.”

“How much, Collith?”

Maybe it was my use of his name that coaxed the truth from this evasive faerie king. He stopped with his hand on the door. “Her fee is usually a priceless jewel or a favor of some kind,” he admitted. I felt my jaw drop. Oh, God. I was never going to pay her back. I didn’t exactly have any diamonds and I wasn’t about to owe some faerie a favor.

Collith sighed at my expression and dared to cup my elbow. “That’s the least of our worries right now, okay? If you insist on paying her fees, we’ll figure something else out.”

I allowed him to tug me into the passageway. Once again, the guards awaiting us were ones I hadn’t encountered before. Two females, one heavily muscled with cropped, greasy hair, the other tall, willowy, and bald.

“How do the Guardians pass the time when they’re not standing outside your door or following you around?” I asked grumpily. Their armor softly clinked behind us. Collith offered his arm in response. For some reason, the gesture surprised me. I regarded it for a moment, oddly uncertain, then accepted. He was so cool and solid.

Collith placed his other hand atop mine, ignoring how I started, and actually answered the question as we made our way through the passages of doors. “They operate much as police officers or detectives do in the human world,” he said. We skirted around a group of tittering young faeries and he gave them a courteous nod. Down here, he’d probably been considered the most eligible bachelor on the planet. “Investigating crimes that appear to be committed by fae, settling disputes that take place outside of Court, collecting taxes. Amongst many other things, of course.”

I was going to ask more about the taxes when Collith turned right. It brought us past a door covered in wooden snakes. The design triggered my memory; this was the direction of the throne room. Dread gripped my stomach with its ragged fingernails. What could be so important that he’d bring me here, the night before the last trial?

Within minutes of the realization, we were there, tiny figures in the room full of murals. God, I hated this place. I gazed up at those pain-filled images as Collith led me through the double doors.

It wasn’t as crowded as it’d been during my trial, but faeries milled about here and there. Laughter and conversation floated through the air. A group of redcaps—fae known for their fondness of raw meat, human or otherwise—surrounded a nearby table. Blood stained the wood, their fingers, the floor.

“Why are we here?” I asked under my breath, wanting nothing more than to return to bed.

The Unseelie King didn’t answer. Annoyed, I glanced his way and saw he was focused on that carnage-covered table. Clearly, he wanted me to discern something about the redcaps. Maybe if I cooperated, we could go back to his rooms, and I could snag more time with Oliver. With resignation I forced myself to examine every detail. The intestines spilling onto the flagstones, the redcaps’ yellowed teeth glinting in firelight, the uneven edges of the rib cage they’d exposed.

Suddenly one of the redcaps shifted, allowing me a glimpse of the face that belonged to their victim. The human’s eyeballs had been removed, but the rest of his features—twisted in horror though they were—were entirely distinguishable.

Oh, God. No. The acrid taste of bile assaulted my tastebuds. I held on tighter to Collith, knowing if I didn’t, I was going to bend over and vomit all over the floor.

It was Shameek.

A crude wooden sign hung around his neck. Or what was left of it. Someone had carved a single word onto the small surface. Traitor.

Suddenly all I could hear was the smacking those greedy mouths made. The sound got louder and louder until it surrounded me. The redcaps were so focused that they weren’t aware they had an audience. “Why w-would you show me this?” I croaked, still on the verge of vomiting. Some poor human would just end up cleaning my mess, so I kept forcing it back down. I had to be hurting Collith, but he didn’t so much as wince.

“Because I know it will have the opposite effect they intended,” was all he said. Emotion radiated down the bond, but I was so distressed, I could barely absorb my own.

I couldn’t bear to watch the scene anymore. “Why didn’t you stop them?” I whispered, looking at Collith instead. He was still holding my hand, I noticed faintly.

I’d learned enough about the Unseelie King to know that his careful, vacant expression meant it bothered him, too. Thank God for small favors. “Not here, Fortuna.”

My eyes traced the length of his scar, over and over, needing something to focus on. All the while, I tried to make sense of the horror just a few yards away. Someone wanted to frighten me. They hoped I would lose my focus. Whether Shameek had died for poisoning fae or his part during the second trial, it didn’t matter. His death wasn’t my fault—it was theirs. I was going to obliterate this court from the inside out. And I’d do it wearing the crown they put on me.

“He stayed alive far longer than I thought he would,” a voice said. Feminine, familiar, and ancient.

Even before I turned, I knew Arcaena would be the one standing in the doorway.

Every inch of her crooned elegance, power, and composure. Her raven hair was swept back into a waist-length braid. She wore a voluminous gown that brushed the floor like a bell. It was the same color as the human blood staining the redcaps’ mouths. Her dark eyes were fixed on my face and her perfect, lovely lips bore that same half-smile as the last time we’d met. Despite the number of years she’d doubtless spent on this earth, her skin was creamy and smooth. Now that I wasn’t her puppet, I was able to notice more details, like the small birthmark just below her left eye.

It was eerily similar to mine.

Was she the one who orchestrated Shameek’s murder? Or was her timing purely coincidental? I looked at the table, then back at her. There was no such thing as coincidence at the Unseelie Court. Pain radiated down my arms, and I realized I was clenching my fists so hard my nails had made bloody crescents. “Remember this moment. I know I will,” I said thickly.

She smirked. “How quaint. You actually think you’re going to survive.”

I didn’t bother responding; why argue with a sociopath? I finally put my back to the grisly scene and started toward the gigantic doors. Collith followed. As we passed Arcaena, she didn’t try to touch or enchant me, and I suspected it was due to the other faerie present. He’d stayed by my side throughout our exchange and remained within reach as I sought to leave the throne room behind. Arcaena’s perfume trailed after us, combining with the stench of blood, and it was almost my undoing.

The journey back was lost to me. My mind was trapped within the memory of Shameek’s broken, half-eaten body. Twice I took a wrong turn, not thinking, and Collith gently cupped my elbow to turn me in the right direction. At one point he said something to the guards. In the next moment, it seemed, I was standing in the middle of his chambers again.

The instant we were alone, Collith spoke. “Whoever gave that human to the redcaps—” he began.

“His name was Shameek.”

“Whoever gave Shameek to the redcaps did so quietly. No one can tell my Guardians who was responsible. Every witness they questioned just recalls seeing him dragged into the throne room, wounded but alive, and the redcaps beginning their consumption.” Collith’s brows drew together. He started unbuttoning his tunic in abrupt, agitated movements. “No one interrupted, of course. As you know, that group is generally unintelligent and violent. By the time word reached me, Shameek was already dead.”

I sank into the chair and watched the flames dance. It was no tender, slow thing like what Oliver and I had done. “Arcaena was involved.”

Sitting on the bed, Collith pulled his boots off and sighed. I’d never heard him make that sound before. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed more human than faerie. “You can’t know that for certain, Fortuna,” he said. He lifted his head and looked at me. His hair glinted in the firelight, revealing those bright strands.

“I do, actually. It just won’t be proved tonight. I need to get some sleep before tomorrow.” Even as I said it, I knew falling asleep would be impossible now.

Clad only in a thin, white shirt that revealed the smooth muscles beneath, Collith moved toward the bedside table. Someone had put a goblet there. But I was more fascinated with his bare feet, for some reason. Was this really the distant king who’d watched me get whipped just a few days ago?

“This will help,” Collith murmured, crossing the room again.

He lowered the goblet and I saw it was full to the brim. He’d anticipated my reaction, then. A flicker of distrust went through me. Here Collith was, offering oblivion, a respite for my fracturing mind … which he’d caused. It was almost too convenient.

Despite these thoughts, though, I downed the contents in four deep gulps. Anything was better than sitting here, repeatedly assaulted by those images, and if the Unseelie King wanted to kill me he could’ve done it a dozen times over already. The taste was terrible, like dirt and leaves, but the effect was almost immediate. I slumped, feeling fuzzy and warm, a sensation similar to an entire night of drinking. I felt Collith take the goblet back, then the weight of a blanket settled on me. I was too tired to bother with the bed. “Thank you,” I slurred, once again forgetting the rule Mom had taught me about expressing gratitude to faeries.

But Collith just touched my cheek. “You’re welcome, Fortuna.”