Shadowsong
Ariven repeats a Wonderlandish curse as she stares up at the dragon, at the clockwork parts the make up its long, dragon body, metal wings somehow forcing its body up higher. A flame dances in its eyes and in its mouth, showing between long, razor sharp teeth.
It roars with a fury, titling its head back towards the endless black of the sky.
Both guards and Arcana alike scatter like ants, surging towards the wide open gate. The clockwork dragon exhales with a mighty gasp, fire streaming past its metal jaws, roasting some of the escapees.
Ariven curses again, shoving her hands beneath Mahakama's unconscious body, grasping his shoulders. She drags him forward, her legs trembling, his weight clearly too much for her.
"Maeve!" she shrieks. "Help me! We need to get him out of here!"
I tear my gaze away from the dragon causing chaos, and scramble towards Ariven. Mahakama is out cold, sweat pouring off his face from the effort he had put in to get us out of here. Now it is time for Ariven and me to rescue him.
I grab his arm, helping take some of his weight from Ariven, whose shoulder creaks and groans under Mahakama's mass. My arms feel like jelly.
"Maeve!" Daniel shouts. I whip my head around to find him charging for us, a gun in hand, face streaked with sweat and smears of blood. My mouth falls open and my stomach leaps at the sight of his familiar face. My father races by his side, a sword drawn, prepared to fight. "Maeve! Let me get him. Get out of here!"
I lock eyes with Ariven, who nods. We set Mahakama gently on the ground, and Daniel kneels before him, hoisting the Lord Judgement across his broad shoulders with a grunt. My father places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"I thought you were still trapped in the Demon Keep!" I shout over the noise of fleeing people and dragon fire.
"We were," the King of Swords grunts, staggering to his feet. I loop my arm through his to help him stand. "Elizabeth came and got us out. Put up a hell of a fight doing it."
"And Solomon and Marius?" I ask.
"Here too. Marius is with Aliss. Went to her as soon as Lord Judgement brought her out."
My father grabs my hand, eyeing the dragon. "We need to go."
I glance back at Daniel, who nods his agreement. "Go without me. I can handle this."
"Are you sure?" I ask.
He gives me a small smile. "Don't worry, Lady; I just got you back, and I am not eager to lose you again so quickly."
I am not reassured by this, but my father is impatient. I nod, and then grab Ariven's arm, taking off after my father, who leads the way, slicing down the Neither Prison guards in our path. We dart between the guards and Elizabeth's soldiers, never looking back.
My father moves ahead, clearing the way for us to pass.
We approach the gate, the crowd growing denser as we move forward. Behind us, the dragon roars, releasing another turret of fire, toasting the people in front of us.
Right where my father happens to be standing.
"Dad!" I shriek, lunging forward. But Ariven catches the back of my shirt, yanking me back.
"Don't, Maeve!" she says, "or you die too."
I struggle against her grip on me, desperate to lunge through the flames, to drag him out, and make sure he is alive. "Dad!"
"You can't save everyone."
"I can try."
The air smells of burning flesh, the rancid scent of cooked hair, and fills with the screams of the dying.
The fire also affectively works to trap us in. The wall of flame rises higher as Ariven and I turn to face the towering dragon. Its clockwork parts whirl and it flaps its wings, drawing its enormously heavy body higher into the air.
"Shit," Ariven says, mechanical eye focusing on its clockwork joints. From here, we can see where the fire boils up in its belly, fueled by the ancient magic of the Neither Prison. The spikes that line the top of its metal head emit small streams of smoke.
This thing must use a lot of magic to function.
My eyes dart to the walls, to the bodies of the dying, anything, in the hope of finding something that could help us escape this nightmare.
"Maeve!" my father's voice bounces over the flames, flickering in and out like a shadow. "Maeve!"
My heart catches, a shot of adrenaline running through me. "Dad?"
"Maeve, I am here! I am on the other side of the wall!" he shouts. "Sweetheart, you need to get out of there!"
My knees shake beneath me. "How?"
"There's an armory!" he tells me. "In the wall, about then feet down the path. You can feel the door if you're touching it! Get the vorpal; it's the only way!"
I do not second guess his instructions, taking off down the path, Ariven close at my heels. She heard every word of his instructions, running her hand along the wall as we go.
"Here," she says suddenly, flesh fingers catching in a groove. She runs her hand up, finding a latch, and pushes it down. With a shudder, the hidden door slide open, revealing a long dark room, lit by smokeless purple fire in braziers that erupt into life when we enter.
Hundreds of weapons line the walls, the flames glinting off of them, casting each one in a strange purple glow. Swords, knives, guns, bows and quivers of arrows. Pikes and halberds, lances and shields, anything a guard in a magical Prison could want. And on a long table spread down the middle of the room are the things they took from us when we arrived.
I spot my backpack, the one I thought had been left in the Demon Keep. There is an empty space next to it, where Asitr had been, but Elizabeth had already reclaimed her dagger. Jack's stuff is next to mine, including his vorpal daggers.
I take them, but leave the rest, tucking the nicer one in a sheath and strapping it to my belt.
The sound of metal on metal rings out as Ariven pulls sword off the table and removes it from its sheath.
The blade is beautiful, as far as swords go. The hilt and the crossguard are simple, plain steels wrapped in dark leather for a grip. But it is the vorpal blade that truly makes the sword, the folds and ripples clearly evident in its making. She runs her mechanical hand lovingly along its spine, and then along the edge, as if testing its sharpness. The metal scrapes against her metal fingers with a grating sound.
"All great swords need a name," she say. "This one is called Shadowsong. Forged from the most precious metal in existence, and tempered in the blood of those died to make it. It is stronger than any blade that ever has been and ever will be, and was created to forge an empire."
She slides the sword back into its sheath with a ring, then pulls the dark sword belt off the table, fastening it around her waist. The sword gets strapped on next, before turning back to me.
"Your father said vorpal, yes?" I nod. She pats the beautiful weapon at her side. "I believe we have plenty of that. Let's go."
I nod, slinging my backpack across my shoulders. With a final glance through the room, we dart out, and the door slides shut behind us.
The clockwork dragon roars and it shakes the ground.
Ariven strides farther ahead of me, just as one of the guards launches himself at her. In an instant, Shadowsong is out of its sheath, meeting the guard's sword with a clang. Her teeth grit as she pushes back against him, small spirals of smoke curling from her mechanical shoulder.
A shadow falls over her.
I raise my head, just in time to watch as the dragon brings its enormous tail down, razor sharp spikes glinting in the burning light of its fire.
"Ariven!" I shriek, jumping forward, only to get knocked over as she falls back into me, rolling us both down the path, just out of the reach of the dragon. The tail comes down, taking the guard with it, a wave running through the walkway.
A ripple of magic follows after it, knocking us flat to the floor.
Get the vorpal; it's the only way.
Or course. This dragon is a creature born of the magic of the Neither Prison, and to creatures such as this, vorpal is deadly.
Ariven scrambles off of me, reclaiming Shadowsong from where the sward had clattered to the floor as she fell, and then leap back just in time to avoid a turret of fire.
"We need to stab it," I say, catching her. "The vorpal can kill it."
She straightens, taking off back up the path, watching the dragon out of the corner of her eye. It brings its tail down in the middle of the gate, the boom echoing in the emptiness of the Space Between Worlds. I rush to keep up, sticking close to her heels, one of Jacks daggers clenched in my fist.
Ariven runs one of the guards through with her sword. "It's a machine, Maeve! You can't kill a machine!"
"It's made from magic!" I reply. "The vorpal will shut it down!"
The clockwork dragon's iron tail comes sailing through the air, slamming down on the metal walkway. The path shakes, giving under the force of the blow. My legs give out from under me, and I roll, hands scrambling to find purchase, but the walkway is smooth, slick, and soon there is no walkway beneath me at all.
I hear Ariven shriek as I plummet into the pit of the Prison—
Only to be caught moments later across the stomach, cold metal digging in, the sudden impact knocking the vorpal dagger from my hand. I heave a breath, struggling to breathe as the wind is knocked out me, my arms clinging onto my savior. I wrap my legs around the metal and dig my fingers into a groove in the metal plating, the click of clockwork echoing in my ears as I am drawn upward into the air.
The pathway rushes away from me, and my stomach drops towards it. My ears pop as I sail upwards, the wind pushing my hair from my face, tangling it more than it already is.
My knuckles turn white as I find myself staring in to the red-purple eyes of the clockwork dragon.
Smoke curls from its jaws, mechanical fangs whirling in their sockets like saws, and from here, I can see the fire boiling down its throat, the glow of its light reflecting off the back of its throat.
Shit.
I am dead.
This is it.
My arms scramble, pulling myself up the curve in the dragon's tail, fingers finding their way into the grooves and an overlaps in its metal plating. The grind of clockwork beneath my hands makes them vibrate as the dragon draws the tail farther up, spikes held high a loft.
A glance at the ground and the scrambling people below tells me exactly what the dragon has planned to do with its tail.
I curse under my breath. I need to get off. Now.
Swallowing the fear that rises in my throat, I force my fingers to unclench, the muscles in my arms to let go, and my hands and legs to push me to my feet. The tail shifts beneath me as I rise, toes wedged between overlapping plates. I cry out as the tail is yanked high, lunging forward to grab another plate as the dragon draws its deadly appendage behind its head...
And just close enough for me to jump and land on the back of its plated neck.
My hands curl around a smoking spike just as the dragon flicks its tail forward, the boom of impact resonating in my ears. I hang from the spike for a moment, and then swing my feet forward, bracing on the warm metal of the dragon's neck long enough to pull myself up onto the spike. My muscles burn, shaking as I heave upwards.
I straddle the spike, hands secure on the plating of its neck as I bring my legs up and around. I keep my eyes firmly planted on the top of the dragon's head; it is a long fall to my death from here, and I cannot rely on the saving grace of its tail again. I slowly inch up the head, using spikes and plates as handholds, carefully, carefully.
It is hard to be careful when a mechanical dragon is in no way inclined to stay still for you.
Sweat stings in my eyes as I crest the head, perching between two spikes that billow out smoke, choking me. My hands dig under one of the plates, deeper than before, tangling in a bunch of wires.
The vorpal dagger at my side burns.
From the vantage point, I can see Ariven below, dodging flame and tail alike, slaying guards as she makes her way around the wall of fire blocking the exit. She watches the dragon, and I see the moment she spots me, mechanical eye widening.
I drag a handful of wires out from beneath the plate and yank the dagger from my side, slicing through the thick cables like butter.
The dragon roars and bucks suddenly, and it is all I can do to not be thrown off its back. My hand wraps around the sliced cords, and I dig the other back under the plate, grabbing another fistful and drawing it out. I dig my toes into the top of another plate as I slice through these too.
"Any time would be good, Ariven!" I shriek, as the dragon seizes again, streaming a pillar of fire into the endless black of the sky.
In response, Ariven hefts Shadowsong, aiming the vorpal blade up at the dragon.
The monster twists, thrashing its neck. The plates shift, grinding together, my ankle caught in between.
I scream as my leg is yanked in a direction it is not supposed to bend, and something inside refuses to yield and snaps. Black dots dance across my vision, fire racing up my nerves. Pain. I can feel it in my teeth.
Ariven throws her sword.
It sails through the air, the blade snapping back and forth, before sinking perfectly in the heart of the beast.
The dragon cries out, its gears grinding together as a flood of magic bursts from the wound, a purple light erupting from its chest. Something shudders through the air, followed by a blast of cold, ancient wind, magic rippling through the air.
And suddenly, the dragon goes down.
My leg screams as I try to yank it from beneath the plating, but it is trapped, and the more I tug the worse it gets. My pant are torn, blood streaking down my knee and thighs, and the more I struggle, the more I bleed.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the spike harder.
The dragon crashes through cages, bringing them down with us Prisoners still trapped inside scream.
My heart leaps into my throat, followed by my stomach.
Six times eight is forty-eight.
Six times nine is fifty-four.
No magic comes to my aid. Nothing at all, this time.
Please.
Something yanks on the back of my shirt, hauling me upwards as the dragon falls down. I bellow in pain as my leg is yanked free, the bone twisting again, digging in to my flesh from the inside.
My vision blurs.
Please.
"I have you, Lady," a deep, accented voice say. I glance up, Mahakama flapping his powerful, no longer snowy wings. Each down stroke causes a puff of fire ash to fall over me, my eyes burning and watering. My leg dangles uselessly beneath me as my hands rise to grasp his forearms.
I cannot help but look down, and the twisting, roaring body of the dragon falling beneath me, light pouring from open wound on its chest.
Mahakama takes us up, barely making it over the lip of the platform in front of the gate before he collapses, body shuddering as we roll. He flops in a head, one wing spread wide, the other bent at an ugly, unnatural angle. The leather wrapped hilt of a sword pokes out over his shoulder, fastened to a baldric draped over his back.
The heat of a fire dances in front of my face, smoke choking the air. I cough, gasping for a breath, stretching a hand out towards Mahakama's shuddering body. My leg throbs, pain lancing up and down my leg.
Someone's hands grasp me under the arms, pulling me upright in a way that causes my leg to scream and me to scream with it. They brush the hair from my face, but my vision swims.
"It's alright, Lady," they whisper. "We have you now. Safe."
I sink into the word. Safe.
I have not been safe in so long. I have forgotten what that feels like, to be safe.
Ariven's mechanical hand descends on her sword from where Mahakama has it strapped, drawing the beautiful blade from his unconscious body.
Shadowsong glints in the light of a dying fire.
Tempered in blood and forged to build an empire.
My head buzzes.
Safe.
***
I jerk my leg as Lord Death lays a gnarled hand on it, pain shoot up the nerves even though the bone has been set and splinted.
"I cannot fix this for you if you will not let me," he says in the even voice of a healer, raising a bushy gray eyebrow. "Do you want to be able to walk, or no?"
I nod, and let him lay his hand on my leg.
Daniel leans against the tent pole, arms crossed over his chest, a frown gracing his face. His hair is loose, brushing past his shoulders now and clearly freshly washed. I use a grubby hand to push my hair out of my face.
Solomon had been waiting for us on the outside of the Neither Prison gate, holding open a portal. Daniel had had to carry me out, Ariven and my father supporting an exhausted Mahakama between them.
I had felt the pressure as we crossed the gate, the place where the ancient magic of the life sucking Prison had ended and my own Arcane magic came flooding back. And I had felt it the instant the bond snapped back into place.
My head still throbs slightly from the sudden shock of it, after having been deprived of the magic for so long between the collar in the pits of the Demon Keep and the vorpal-guarded Neither Prison. And I can still feel them lurking in my head.
From dust we came and to dust we shall return.
Warmth floods my leg as Lord Death releases his magic, knitting my bones back together. I go numb for a moment, my pain vanishing. My body is a patchwork of bruises and cuts, and as Death's healing rushes through my veins, I feel all of those injuries begin to vanish as well.
My leg itches as the magic withdraws, and slowly, the ache creeps back into my muscles. There is nothing Lord Death can do about the soreness; he can only fix the injuries. With a practiced hand, he unwinds the bandages holding the split on my leg in place, and then pulls that off as well. Without permission, I bend my leg, testing it out.
There is not even a glimmer of the pain that was once there.
I swing my legs over the side of the makeshift cot, pressing to my feet. Daniel is there in an instant, slipping an arm around my back to support me, but I shake him off.
"I am fine," I insist, taking a few shaky steps. "Let me stretch."
Lord Death gets to his feet, brushing his hands off on his dark pants. "If you do not mind, Lady Maeve," he says, straightening as much as can. "I need to go tend to other patients."
I nod. "I will be fine," I say. "There are others more desperate than I at the moment."
The old man eyes me. "If anything feels off," he warns, "do not hesitate to come to me."
"Of course," I say, and with that, he sweeps from the tent, a lingering cloud of cold following in his wake.
I hobble towards the flap in the tent, pressing it to the side. Daniel walks behind me, watching me closely.
"I do not need you to hover," I tell him, exiting the tent. "I can find my way on my own."
The bond at the base of my skull throbs, and I wince, struggling to conceal it. The moment it returned, outside the Neither Prison, I felt Jack on the other end, waiting for me. I had immediately slammed up the wall between us, cutting him off, and it is taking all of my mental effort to keep it that way.
I have not seen him since I left him in Neither Prison.
A field of tents stretches out before us, no real order to them. Many were quickly thrown together, made of a patchwork of materials. Fabric and metal, plastic and wood. Some are more like small homes than tents, but all are temporary, capable at being take down at a moment's notice and reconstructed in the same amount of time.
And where the tents end, the mountains of stuff begin.
Every dream I ever shared with Jack could never have truly prepared me for the glory of the Arcane World itself.
A golden light surrounds our camp, a cocoon of magic protecting us from the darkness that lingers just beyond the edges. Elizabeth had a map back in the House of Swords, one detailing the corruption leaking into the Arcane World, eating away at it without the Magic of Fate to protect it.
But now we are here, and every act of magic we perform only makes the world grow stronger.
But to heal this world fully, we will need to take back what is rightfully ours.
Drops of golden magic alight on my skin, and I hold my arms out, welcoming the tingle of the pure, unadulterated magic. It had felt good in the dream, but nothing like this.
Daniel grabs my wrists and yanks them back to my sides. "Don't do that," he scolds. "You don't know what that stuff can do to people."
I stick my tongue out at him, and move to walk forward, finding my head spinning, light. Bubbly. I giggle at the odd sensation.
"You're just angry," I say, voice slurring. Magic rushes through my veins. "Because you were not the one who got to swoop in and come to my rescue."
The big, blond man rolls his eyes. Such a nice color, that rich ocean color. A girl could get lot in them.
"You hear that?" he says, pressing a hand into my shoulders and steering me through the tents. "You sound like a drunk."
"What're you talking about?" I slur. "I feel fine."
He scoffs. "Moron. The magic here is powerful; you can't just go touching the stuff. Too much magic isn't good for you. I thought you had learned that, back in the Demon Keep."
His words are sobering, even if the pleasant, wool-brain sensation persists.
Unbecoming, it is, for one so high to fall so, so low.
Daniel does not know it, but I can still hear their voices. The voices of those I have taken from this place with my magic. They are oily, slimy, slipping from the bond and skating past my walls before I can catch them, taking residence inside my head. And they whisper.
Arcana, Arcana, Fate's greatest love,
The magic shall leach from your bones.
I give the voice a shove, right to the back of my head. Its whisper fades, barely audible, but I know. I know that it is there.
I'll take care of her. I promise.
According to Elizabeth, they had managed to reclaim Gwin's body from the demons when they freed Daniel, Solomon, and Marius.
"We burned her remains," the Ace of Swords had said, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her honey curls hung limp around her shoulders. "And when we take back the Vilmir Astrata, we shall place her with her ancestors and decorate the city with her face."
The Vilmir Astrata. The Card City.
It is the seat of our power, the home of the Major Arcana. The home we lost when the House of Pentacles decided they deserved more than their lot. The future that they destroyed.
But soon, we would write our own Fates. Because the Wheel of Fortune is always turning.
And we will rise again.
My head is still spinning as Daniel leads me through the tents, stopping in front of one that is listing heavily to one side, a smoking pipe protruding at an odd angle from the top. Its side panels are made of a deep purple, slightly worn velvet, and the roof is caved in on the left side.
Daniel pulls aside the front flap. "After you, my Lady." A small smile touches his lips, the first I have seen from him since we arrived here.
I incline my head to him, lips quirking upward, and then enter the tent.
Ariven sits on a small stool, leaning over a rough wooden table with her left arm out in front of her. Solomon leans over her, turning a small screwdriver in her mechanical shoulder, brushing his dark hair out of his face.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Heir to the Red Throne asks, narrowing both her real and her mechanical eyes. "Maybe if you got a haircut, you would be able to see what you are doing better."
"I used to fix boats for a living, woman," Solomon snaps back. Blue sparks jump from the ends of his hair, the unintentional magic a sure sign of his annoyance. "Now, can you please shut up and let me fix your arm?"
Ariven turns her head towards us, muttering about how boats and delicate Wonderlandish mechanics are nothing alike. Her eyes widen at the sight of Daniel and me, a smile spreading across her face.
"Maeve!" she shrieks, nearly jumping off the table. But Solomon presses firmly on her back, holding her down.
"Hold still, before I fuck up your arm even worse," he snarls.
"You're fixed!" Ariven continues, as if Solomon had not spoken. "Blessed Imagination! With the way your leg was all bent, I was sure you would never walk again."
"Well, with a little Arcana magic," I say, plopping down on an empty stool next to her. "I am fine." I peer over her, trying to see what Solomon is doing, but he beats me away.
"I don't need you to here," he states, waving his screwdriver in my face. "She is already too easily excited. Ever since you got her out of that damned Prison."
"Ever since I stopped having the life sucked out of me," she corrects.
He ignores her. "I can't get her to sit still and shut up. I need to concentrate."
There is a rustling of fabric, and I turn. Daniel stands at the ready, hand resting on the pistol at his waist.
My mother's hair is more liberally streaked with gray than the last time I saw her, more lines next to her eyes. The dark circles beneath them are more prominent, and she looks exhausted. But the moment her eyes land on me, her entire face lights up.
I do not feel myself move, but I find myself in her arms, clutching her thin, strong body, my chin resting on her shoulder. One of her hands goes to my hair, stroking down my scalp.
"Oh, Maeve," she whispers. "Oh, my baby. I thought I would never see you again. I thought I had lost you."
A lump sits in my throat, making it hard to talk. "I love you, mom. Fates, I love you so much."
She smells familiar, like lemon and sage. Like magic. Like home.
We do not move for a while, simply standing there, hugging. Water wells at the bottoms of my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. She squeezes me tight one more time, and then pulls away, her hands resting on my biceps as she runs her eyes over me again.
"Come on," she says, her face a little bit red, a little bit swollen. "Let's go for a walk."
I smile. "Of course."
I look to Daniel, and he gives a short nod. "I'll stay here. I'll come and find you later."
My mother and I stride out of the tent hand in hand, not talking for a few minutes as we wind our way through the camp. Gradually, my head stops buzzing from the glorious magic of this world. People rush back and forth, Arcana of all Houses, Fae, a handful of Reapers, and what look to be witches.
"Where did all these people come from?" I ask.
"The Otherworlds," my mother replies. "Almost every single world had people willing to come to our aid. Each House had people in hiding out there who answered the call. Elizabeth has been here for weeks, setting this place up, and people have just been pouring in, offering their support. The Queen of the Unseelie Fae herself came to pledge her faeries."
She tells me of the Soul-Song witches who showed up one morning, led by an Avshandra with green hair named Saroya. She tells me of the Reapers who came to pledge their service after the House of Pentacles had destroyed their Library of Souls, all the records of the endless dead. She tells me of the half-mad Wonderlanders with their metal body parts and strange colors who came when their Lady Aliss was found alive.
"How is she doing?" I ask, remembering the small, pale form of the woman in the Neither Prison.
My mother chews her lip. "She hasn't woken up yet. It's troubling, to say the least."
According to her, Marius has not left her side since we brought her here.
We stop in front of a large tent, made from panels of multicolored fabric, an explosion of rainbow vomit painting every surface. It stands tall and proud, a set of guards with the House of Swords black spade embroidered on their left arm, and the golden Major Arcana sun on their right.
My mother lays a hand on my arm. "Elizabeth wants to speak with you."
My eyebrows wrinkle, drawing together. "I spoke with her when I first got in. She came and visited me in the healing tent."
That was when she had informed on Gwin.
"I know," my mother says. "But she needs to speak to you in a more formal setting. With more people present. There are things to discuss, Maeve. And battle lines to draw."
My heart hardens at those words.
All my life I had been running from the House of Pentacles, working to stay one step ahead of them. Now, we would face them head on, no more fear.
It was time to stop running.
"Of course, I can speak with her," I reply, slipping easily into the role of the Lady Universe. "And anyone else who happens to be there."
My mother stiffens, sensing the change in my voice, in my mannerisms. Without another word, she leads me towards the rainbow tent. As we approach, the guards reach forward and sweep open the tent flaps, and we are immediately engulfed in the chaos within.
A large, glass table stands in the center of the room, projecting a map of the Arcane World, showing the rot and ruin creeping from the edges, tendrils lacing through the land, grabbing the glowing dot of the Vilmir Astrata in a strangle hold.
Elizabeth stands at the head of the table, pointing out different things to the people surrounding her, each one trying to get their ideas in. Saroya stands to her left, arms crossed over her chest, eyeing the map with a critical gaze. Others race around the room, delivering messages to different people, checking on things that make no sense to me.
The Queen Mab sits in front of the table, watching the argument unfold in front of her. She has shed her beautiful dress in favor of dark leggings and a long flowing tunic, her lavender hair twisted up around the horns of her antler crown. Her glorious amber wings droop down, dragging on the floor as she turns when we enter.
She offers me a small smile and a hand, beckoning me forward. "Lady Universe. It is so good to see that you are all right."
"You as well, Lady Queen," I say, offering her a small bow. "I wish to thank you for offering the support of your people in this trying time."
Her face sours. "It was not an offer, but a duty." She sighs. "Not long after you departed, they came, killing many of my faeries. Stole my Sidhé from me. Destroyed my home. This cannot be tolerated; they must be shown the consequences of their actions."
"And soon they shall," I agree. I glance over to Elizabeth, who meets my gaze with storm gray eyes. "I must go. The Lady Ace wishes to speak with me."
"I shall not keep you back," the Queen states. "But do not be a stranger, Lady Maeve. The Unseelie Court shall always welcome you."
I smile and nod my thanks, before turning and striding towards Elizabeth.
The blonde woman has dark circles under her eyes that rival my mothers, and even though she stands tall, I can see the exhaustion in her posture, the desperate need to hunch her shoulders and curl into a ball. She waves away the people surrounding her as I approach, all except Saroya, who nods at my presence.
"Maeve," Elizabeth sighs, allowing a hint of how tired she is to enter her voice. "You are here. We have so much to discuss." She gestures vaguely to the map in front of her.
"I am no military mind, Elizabeth," I tell her, folding my hands in front of me. "I am not sure I will be much use to you."
"No, no," the Ace corrects. "I don't need your help with that." She lowers her voice, leaning in close. "It's your Fool. I need you to watch him."
My stomach squeezes. "I have not seen him since we arrived, Lady."
And when I do, it will be to show him what he deserves for what he did to Gwin. For reaching his promise.
Destroy them, crush them, make them beg.
"A lot of people haven't," Elizabeth continues. "And from the reports I've been getting from my border guards, he's been sneaking out at all hours of the night, going out into the..." she gestures to the map again, to the spoiling corruption. "Not coming back until dawn. I want to know where he is going."
I swallow down the lump in my throat.
Destroy and destruct, spoil'd and corrupt,
No more shall they rule the unknowns.
When I do not answer immediately, she tries again. "Please, Maeve. Many here don't trust him, and from the...things I am hearing, I want to make sure that no one else is hurt either."
She's right.
We cannot let him hurt anyone else.
Not again.
"Alright," I say. "I will see what I can find out for you."
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