─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it."
─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I WAS SMUG. Smug and very, very scared as I landed on the grass outside of the manor. The iron wall stood behind me, the thorned roses twisting and vining throughout the structure.
Eira and Flynn stood at the top, readying to jump just as Astrid and I already had.
It had been the only way to get out. We could not risk the exit on the north side, too many sentinels. And it was not as though we could stroll through the front gates. And so we had had to scale the thorned walls.
I had cuts in my hands to prove it.
I motioned with a had, telling the two of them it was clear to jump. That there were no threats lurking in the bushes...I hoped.
They did not hesitate. Not that they had any reason too. We had all done far worse within our short, short lives. They landed together with a thump, Flynn's face etching itself into annoyance.
"Ugh," he drawled in a soft whisper, "I hate doing that."
Eira's face was as it always was—concealed. Icy.
And though I had learned most of it had been a falsity, I felt a bit of security within her dependability. Only when we were all alone did Eira ever show any inclination toward emotion. Only then did she show what I suspected she wished to be outside.
But out here she was...unflinching. Like a rock colliding with a great sea, she did not falter.
"Where now?" said female asked, her eyes already scanning the trees around us, her gaze sliding around so quickly it looked as though she was surrounded by invisible predators.
I didn't say a word. Only inclined my head to the right, and began walking. Swift as the wind, and quiet as the night. I did not need to look behind me to see they followed. Even if there was no trace of the three people behind me, even in the air.
We had concealed ourselves so thoroughly, we may as well be shadows.
I did not allow myself to think. Not of anything other than what needed to be done now. Of how to keep us safe and unseen.
I did not allow myself to think of the fact I was going home. Home.
We traveled. We did not talk. We did not acknowledge each other. We did nothing but walk and assess.
The spread trees began to change. Turning to a roof over our heads, the branches mingling with each other like tangled lovers. The night sky left us, shadowed by the trees above, and concealed by their mighty leaves.
I did not know how long we walked in silence.
But it could not have been long before we heard it.
The voices.
Each of us froze, our limbs turning to stone as fear no doubt grasped us all by the neck. We could not be caught. If they caught us...if they brought us back to the Flame...
Our deaths would be anything but merciless.
Muffled conversation filtered through the air, far enough away that even with Fae hearing we could not make out the words.
Two people. No more than that otherwise it would sound more like chatter than talk.
I looked to my companions, suspicion lining each of their eyes. Wariness.
And they were right to be.
I raised my hand in a signal familiar to each of us.
Stay alert, I said. And then another hand signal, Wait.
I did not tell them to stay here. Even if I had, I doubted they would listen.
Astrid looked about ready to argue. But my gaze remained unflinching.
Right now I was not their friend. Right now I was not the hotheaded female they had used to know.
This was life or death. And I was their friend more than I was a High Lady. But that did not mean I wouldn't pull rank if it meant to spare their lives.
I would go first, and if it was any sort of ambush then they would know. And I would give them time to run.
As if sensing this, Astrid took a step back. Though her face was fuming. And I knew that, even though we hadn't shared any words in this moment, she knew I would rather sacrifice myself than let them even get remotely near danger.
The look in her eyes told me I would be getting some sort of verbal beating later.
I did not look into any of their eyes before I began making my slow journey toward the voices. Toward my possible doom.
And as I neared, they became clearer and clearer.
I heard Lucien first.
"Back off."
A low female laugh.
Everything in me went on alert. Went on overdrive. I had heard that wretched sound before—within the depths of Rhysand's memory.
A familiar rage began to pool within me. A dam readying to break.
"I thought you'd seek me out after the Rite," Ianthe purred. They could not be more than thirty feet through the trees. Farenough away not to hear my looming presence. Not that they would hear it even if my knife was at their throat.
"I was obligated to perform the Rite," Lucien snapped, "That night wasn't the product of desire, believe me."
"We had fun, you and I."
"I'm a mated male now."
I thanked the gods Astrid wasn't here. Horrible situation or not, she would have bit his head off for that comment alone.
We were still yet to speak of how she felt about the bond but...I got her message loud and clear.
Astrid was not, and would never be, any sort of prize to be won. She would not let herself be limited or told what to do, even by nature unto itself.
The dawn was near. I could feel it in the air. I did not have time. I could practically hear the ringing of my death knell.
But I could not leave Lucien. I could not leave him at the mercy of that wretch.
"You don't act that way with Danika." a silk-wrapped threat.
Pardon? Was she suggesting that Lucien and I were...I could not finish the thought.
Wretch. Ugly, terrible wretch.
"You're mistaken." Lucien denied in a voice that mirrored my thoughts.
"Am I?" a crunching sound. Twigs and leaves under feet. As if she was circling him. "You put your hands all over her."
WHAT.
Delusional. Ianthe was delusional. So far off the wagon she may as well have fell into the pit of the Earth with these insinuations.
"Do not touch me," he growled. His voice was strong, and yet there was a hint of panic lacing his voice. Whether it was from what the woman was threatening to do, or the panic of what Astrid might think.
And then I was moving.
Silent. So very silent, even I myself could not hear the sound of my feet on the ground. I stalked into the little clearing where they stood. Basking in the shadows, I halted. Assessing the clearing as though it was a mighty battlefield.
Lucien stood between two trees, his arms abd legs shackled with great chains. His limbs were spread, arms and legs out so she might have full access to him in order to do whatever Ianthe wished.
Lucien was utterly at her mercy.
But I was already thinking. Calculating.
The chains were long. So long there were an extra few feet of them lying carlessling on the ground even after being wrapped around Lucien's wrists and ankles.
I'd seen the chains before, on Rhysand after he had been taken by the Hybern soldiers. The ones that nullified his power.
A deep disgust settled in my gut. At Ianthe. At the World. And at me, because I was already thinking of how I could use the stone that made Lucien so defenseless to my advantage.
Ianthe surveyed Lucien like a snake assessing its prey. Assessing a meal.
She ran a hand over the pains of his chest. His stomach.
And I couldn't watch any longer.
I leaned myself against the tree to my side, forcing my body to remain nonchalant. I pulled a dagger from its sheath and began twirling it in my right hand, balancing it against the pointer finger of my left.
Calm, Danika. Stay calm.
I let out a dark laugh, an amused and threatening chuckle.
Ianthe whirled. And Lucien's eyes shot to me, fear and humiliation tinting his golden skin.
"Oh, Ianthe," I drawled, dipping my chin to look up to the sky. Unbothered. I tsked, "When will you ever learn?"
With a step forward, I allowed my footfall to be heard.
She looked at me. And her face spread into a sickening, innocent smile. I saw her look at the twin swords strapped to my back. At the daggers strapped to my hips and thighs. Weapons littered my body like the most deadly of jewelry. Fear flashed in her eyes. "We were in the middle of a game. Weren't we, Lucien?"
He didn't answer.
At the sight of those shackles, at the memory bubbling up inside me, at the thoughts of Rhysand, and Lucien's suffering, and how her hand was still on him—
"Let the male go, Priestess." I commanded. The voice of a ruler. Of a High Lady. Of a god.
My voice was law. My voice was eternity.
But Ianthe was a fool, still.
And she allowed the mask of her innocence to drop.
Baring her teeth in a sneer, she moved her hand to grip his arm, tightening her grasp until the red-haired male winced at her nails seating themselves in his skin. "I am High Priestess." Ianthe hissed in retaliation, "This is my right as a citizen of Spring. You have no power here. Nor do you hold sway as I do. You can do nothing to strip me of my freedoms."
A flash of movement caught my eye. To Ianthe's right. Away from sight. Away from detection.
The soft fae light, golden like a fire, was the only illumination. And even that was not enough.
Neither Lucien or Ianthe noticed.
My angered features diminished, a coy smile tilting my lips as I saw what I had been waiting for. The distraction I had provided working like a charm. "You're right. I have no power here." I purred, angling my head at the female, "But she does."
And then Ianthe was torn away from Lucien—ripped away with hands that may as well have been claws. Snatched back as though she weighed nothing more than a mere feather as Astrid tangled her hands within the Priestess's golden hair. She yanked. And Ianthe's head snapped back so harshly I could have sworn there was a soft crack from Ianthe's spine as Astrid forced the Priestess's chin toward the trees, so far Ianthe could see the caramel coloring of Astrid's wrathful eyes.
"I don't think so, bitch." Astrid growled, low and guttural, in Ianthe's ear. She wrapped the chain around the High Priestess's neck and hard enough that the Ianthe reared back
with a strangled cry. She reached up a hand, clawing and scraping at the metal pressed against her neck with such force that the air had been ripped from her lungs with merciless hands. With Astrids hands.
Lucien's jaw dropped. And I could have sworn his chin hit the forest floor with how his mouth hung open. Shock sparked on his features. Undiluted, untameable shock. His eyes were wide as saucers as he looked at my best friend.
Ianthe tried to scream and yet her throat was constricted, her face beginning to blue. Lucien seemed to be able to do nothing but stare.
But then they were there, Eira and Flynn, unshackling him with lock picks we had had the mind to bring. Shadows. They were like shadows given form in the fire light, working with the efficiency of ten males to break the locks on his feet. Eia and Flynn moved in synchrony, like a perfected, swift dance.
The shackles clanked. And Lucien kicked them away from his feet as they fell away from his legs.
And then they were on his arms.
And soon enough those dropped too.
I looked to Astrid, who had loosened her grip on the chain around Ianthe's neck just enough to keep her conscious. She still clawed at the metal.
I stalked closer. Getting close enough I could see the unconsciousness that threatened to take the Priestess in its grasp. Looming in her eyes like a shadow. A part of me wished unconsciousness would just take her.
But where would be the fun in that?
I laughed. A sick and dark sound. "What a sight!" I said, "I do wonder, though..." I trailed off, again twisted the point of my dagger against my finger asI took another threatening step toward her. "Will you bleed red...or black," a pause. "like your heart?"
Pettiness at its finest.
I had unsheathed my dagger before she could blink. And then it was sidled nice and comfy in the space between her shoulder and torso. She could not even scream with the chain wrapped so tightly around her throat.
Blood trickled down her midnight blue robes, coating the fabric like a new cut of fabric. Red.
Shame.
Her blood coated my hands, and I wiped it away with a look of distaste. As if it was dirt coating my fingers and not the very substance that kept her alive.
I drawled, "Personally, I thought it would be black."
"Hm," Flynn harrumphed, "I thought it would be sticky. Like tar, you know, because she's dead inside."
Lucien looked like he was watching squids talk. Or staring at ghosts. Foreign beings he couldn't seem to grasp.
I laughed at Flynn's comment. Even as I was already thinking of the ways we could get out of her as fast and swift as possible. Make up for lost time. Precious time.
I reached out. Ripping through the shields of her mind in a way I made sure hurt. As though I had talons, tearing through sheets of silken fabric without remorse..
It was more of a struggle than it ought to be. As though my power was fighting against me.
As though my magic had retreated back to what it was before I had gone into the Cauldron.
Not powerless. But finite. It felt as though there was an end to that well inside me.
Something was wrong.
I would figure that out later when Ianthe's wyrm-y mind wasn't at my mercy.
Ianthe went perfectly still. Her eyes glazed over as though her soul had left her body and left only a mindless being behind.
"Let her go." I said.
Astrid did so without hesitation, the motion filled with enough trust and belief in me that a bit of my anger dissipated.
Ianthe stayed perfectly still, even as her neck was beginning to purple with the sheer force of Astrid's grip and her accelerated healing.
I did not want to make her suffer physically. No, I wanted to tear apart her mind. Just as she had done to me when she sent my sisters into that Cauldron. When she sent me into that Cauldron.
And even though my power felt like it was draining. I would not let it go to waste.
"Oh, how I will enjoy this." I purred, stepping closer to her until I was a mere hair's breadth away. And then I leaned down to her pointed ear, and I whispered so softly that only she could hear trapped in her mind. "You hurt my family. You hurt my mate. And for that...I'll make your suffering last." I said with a saccharine smile, "You can run all you want, Ianthe, I'll find you even if you hide in hell.
"I hope you live a long, long life." I taunted with a snicker, knowing full well that that would not happen after what I was about to do, "And I hope you never know a moment's peace."
And then my hands were tipped with iron. My nails sharp as blades as they dug into her too-perfect skin.
My magic perfumed the air like the crackling of a great and mighty fire, like the glowing flame of a fallen star. And as I drew her blood, my power pushed its way into her icy veins, into her cold, dead heart. It spiraled. Vined through her body as though it was taking the place of her blood. Growing and growing with a mind that mirrored my own it took her.
I controlled it—her, Ianthe.
I said when she lived or died or breathed. I said when her heart beat in her chest, and her muscles contracted.
I said when she was Fae. I said when she was monster. I said when she was ash or air.
I said when she was mortal.
Truly, it was only fair. It had been the King's intent to turn me back to my human state, to take away my immortality and force my mate to watch me grow old while he stayed the same. And that had been the fault of only them. Ianthe and the King.
If she was so intent to make me mortal, why not become one herself?
Why not doom her to a single lifetime of becoming the thing she hated? The thing she rued so much she was determined to help the king slaughter them all.
And who knew, maybe he would slaughter her too.
I could not say I would grieve her death.
And when I felt the last drop of immortality leech its way from her body, I pulled back, making sure my nails sliced just a little bit.
And then I licked her rancid blood off my nails as if it was fine wine.
Lucien was not the only one looking at me like I was a ghost now.
"H-How did you do that?" it was the red-haired male he asked.
The last of my magic begins to drain away like the last few grains of sand within an hourglass. IAnthe would not be under my hold for much longer.
And so I wiped it all away. Her memory of this night. And I replaced it with new.
She had tied Lucien to a tree by the starlight pool Feyre had told me about, had bound him unwillingly as she stripped herself bare and entered the shining waters. And then the Gods had struck, cursing her for her actions as the Starlight pool acted as a conduit.
She had come out mortal. And she had freed Lucien, vowing after this night to never touch a male unwillingly again for fear of what the gods might do.
What better way for her to suffer—-aside from becoming the very thing she loathed—than to be stripped of her title as Priestess because of the gods. Because they hated her.
Because she was Gods-cursed.
I was brilliant, if I did say so myself. That and very good at improvisation.
"And now," I began aloud, not caring if the others had no idea what I was talking about, "You're going to go jump into the coldest lake you can find before walking your sorry ass back to the manor."
She still looked vacant as she began walking north. And I healed the stab wound in her shoulder as she went—albeit I left a scar. To remind her of what I could do. Even if she didn't remember.
She still looked vacant even as my power sang it's last song. Gave its last drop.
Even so, I did not let it show. My panic. My fear. My confusion. Not now, not yet.
I turned to the male who had asked me a question just moments before. And I cocked my hip and placed a hand on my waist. "Well, my Mother controls the Cauldron. And therefore, I am the heir to that ugly antique and can control it as I wish."
"E-even from a distance?" he questioned further.
I shook my head, "No," I replied, "But when I went into that horrible water I, uhm, stole a bit."
It was Astrid who asked, seemingly recovering from her shock, "And how much did you steal, Mrs. Mortal-Maker?"
"Enough," I shrugged, "to put a damper on the King of Hybern's threat."
"Good." Eira said from behind me, her voice like graceful shadows given form.
I dipped my chin at her and turned to Flynn. His jaw was further on the floor than Lucien's had been when Astrid had appeared.
But as I caught Flynn's eye he seemed to snap out of it, shaking his head and blinking furiously.
And then he let out a low whistle. "Oh, Sugar Pop, that might have been the best thing I've seen in months." And then he spread his arms to the side, and walked toward me like me was seeing someone he hadn't seen in months. And then he embraced me. Drawing me into a hug so tight, my lungs could scarcely rise.
"You're so weird." I choked out.
"It's a part of my charm." He swayed and bit, and then let go, sighing proudly as he did. Flynn wiped faux tears from his cheeks, "You're all grown up."
I settled him with an unamused glare.
"Fine." he raised his hands in the air, "I'll quit."
Eira stepped forward then, "Do you think you could do that again?" she asked.
I thought for a moment. "I could try."
She nodded, "That skill could turn the tides in this war, Danika. If you could get near enough to the King..."
I inhaled a sharp breath.
I couldn't think about it right now. Not after I had failed so miserably at retrieving the Cauldron in Hybern just yesterday.
Not as I looked to Lucien.
He had fixed his pants, his shirt, in the time it had taken me to do all that.
His eyes were still wide, as they slid from Ianthe walking away in the distance to me.
"The word you're looking for, Lucien," crooned a deceptively light female voice, "is half-breed."
We all whirled toward Dagdan and Brannagh as they stepped into the clearing, grinning like wolves.
A/N; HIII LOVLEIES, I LOVE YOU ALL AND YOU ARE AMAZING
This chapter is 10 pages long.
Also, here is the beginning of my original novel just for a sneak peak because I love you guys...I beg you not to plagiarize or steal this, its been in the process for two years and its my baby. So, if you would like to read it, here it is:
"Neverah Verynn was going to die.
Die and be born anew among the tattered and bloody bodies of the front lines. Amongst the roaring battle cries of her people, and the earth-shattering screams of her enemies.
Her heart was a drum. Powerful and loud as it thumped in beat with that of the stomping boots around her. As it roared in her ears like a mighty lion, pounding against her ribs with its sharpened claws.
A reminder. Constantly alerting her of what lurched in the shadows. Of the danger she walked alongside. The danger she touched and embraced like a lover.
There was such silence in her mind. As if the world had become a dream, no more than a hallucination fading away into oblivion and it was all she could do to weather the storm as it surrounded her.
She was not afraid of what was to come. The death of who she was and the birth of someone new.
She had done it enough times that she no longer feared the loss of identity. If you could even truly lose something that was never there.
Neverah knew how to bleed just enough of the small, frail shreds of herself into her character. A mix of truth and sweet, pretty lies. A concoction of reality and design.
Neverah had been born a piece of glorious fiction. A fabrication of whatever those around her wished. Whatever truth they told. Whatever desire they commanded.
Neverah was what they made her.
A monster. A liar. A thief.
A murderer.
She had been called all. And she could not deny any.
Nor would she ever be able to even in the long, long weeks to come. It was the very thing she could not deny in whatever skin she wore. In whatever name she called herself.
The wind whispered it secrets into her soul. Sang its silken songs to her as a breeze blew past and sent the flap of the tent billowing. Neverah turned her head toward it, her trained ears picking up on the soft murmur of voices outside.
It was nearly time.
She could feel it within the air. The way the world seemed to stop breathing. Its vast expanse slowing, slowing, and stopping. It seemed to shutter. To warn her. Tell her of how low her time had run as it danced away from her iron grip.
Neverah forced air into her lungs, forced her shoulders to draw back, her face to turn stone. Honed herself into what she was meant to be—what they forced her to become.
She was not afraid. Not of the task at hand. Or getting caught.
But...she did not believe herself weak to admit the terror she felt at the thought of failure.
Because the death that awaited her if she returned empty handed would be far worse than any death at the hands of her enemy.
Neverah looked down at herself, pursing her lips at the the sapphire of her uniform. A foreign and cursed color within the Kingdom of Remont. And the heart and symbol of what she was to live and breathe and be in these coming weeks.
The cobalt blue of Luna was the color of the deepest ocean, paired with a shimmering gold that was no doubt chosen simply to make known it was the color that gleamed within their long lasting king's coffers. Such a stark contrast to the deep crimson and cool silver of Remont. Of her people.
From the blood of those who oppose us and the gleaming steel of our swords did those colors rise, her father had said over and over again through her childhood. To remind her. Of their strength. Of their courage.
She had grown up proud of her heritage and of her country. Her family expected nothing less. A powerful, lavish kingdom of infinite opportunity and grassy, rolling hills. Of evergreen trees and vibrant flowers who's sugar-like scent wafted within the wind as it blew through her tent again.
It smelled of home.
Balance lay slipping between her fingers, like sand falling through cracks of stone. This was her burden. Her honor and damnation.
So, Neverah stepped out of the tent and into the blissful, whispering night and looked up toward the stars as they watched from above. Glittering like hole's poked in an opaque, black-painted glass.
Always present, always watching was the night; were those specks that dotted the galaxies.
Most would claim the night a horror. Some would claim it wondrous; magnificent. Perfect.
But Neverah had never once allowed the beauty deceive her. Had never allowed herself to think that the dark of night was perfect. Just as she had with all else.
No, Neverah knew the stars were as merciless as they were exquisite. Burning with an unrelenting flame, consuming all in their path.
The stars—they mirrored her own scavenged soul. Deep and burning, Neverah gazed upon reflection of herself as she looked up to the shadowed sky.
A contradiction.
Bringers of light and harbingers of destruction. Beauty and unrelenting flame. Distant and untouchable, yet always present. Always watching.
They brought her a sliver of peace within the chaos and duality of her existence. Within the ever-present reminder that she, too was capable of both greatness and destruction. And the hope that she may someday find balance between the two.
It was her darkest secret, this hope. This shard of humanity within the darkness that engulfed her so wholly. If they knew...she loathed to think of the possibilities of what might occur had they known weapon possessed such feeling. Had they known they had failed in breaking her completely.
And it was that that very fear that told her she should not look to long. Should not gaze to ardently or love too greatly. For weapons did not care for such beauty.
So, with a voice so low even the air around her could scarcely hear, Neverah tossed a prayer up to those glittering depths and did not allow herself another glance as she forced ice into her veins. Into her heart.
And turned away."