- Wyla -
Wyla heard her dearest Queen giggle aloud behind her as she left her side. She shook her own head despairingly. The madness that gripped her Lady grew more noticeable by the year. It was all she could do to control the court that could no longer pretend not to notice. They all knew their Lady was insane and unpredictable, but their loyalty was exceeded only by their hatred of the Red Queen who would control the Unseelie Court if her sister was declared unfit to rule. Wyla tried her best to help Azarel, but every day she woke to find the Queen still living was a surprise. If she didn’t commit suicide in a hysterical fit then she would be assassinated by someone who sought to replace her. But Wyla knew deep down that the Red Queen would be the only successor. That was something to avoid at all costs.
She hurried through the crowds, her thoughts and worries making her lose sight of Brathnach. She hoped her Queen could control herself until she returned. Brathnach was an awe inspiring warrior; it was a pity he was such a lowly slave dog to the Red Queen. If anyone in the Seelie Court could match Wyla, it was Brathnach. She had no choice but to kill him if she faced him, otherwise her Queen would be left alone to rule. That couldn’t happen.
Wyla’s shoulders tensed as she searched for the warrior. She felt a relentless weariness over her on a daily basis. The strain of keeping an eye on Azarel was taking its toll on her. But she had made a blood oath a long time ago, bounding her to Azarel until her death. She had been commanded to make that oath, but the order was never necessary. She would have given her heart on a platter for Azarel, the first faery Queen capable of tears. Her vulnerability had to be hidden from others, but it was the one thing above all that captured Wyla’s loyalty. How often she had held the Queen in her lap and soothed her grief. If anyone found out about her weakness, all would be lost. She had been the Queen’s rock since childhood. The Court knew this, and for the most part accepted it, but if she put one foot wrong, it would be the end of her and in turn, Azarel’s reign.
It didn’t matter that the Red Queen was weak-willed, violent and petty. She had power and control, even if her charms often focused on the wrong things. A faery had to have strength of mind, body, and soul to rule. Azarel had too much heart. That was her problem. And being so close to Mirela brought too many hurts to the surface. Wyla had been dreading this night for a century; she alone had seen how much the last festival had weakened Azarel.
Wyla was so involved in her inner thoughts that she barely noticed the silver-haired faery beckon her over to him. So shocked by his arrogance was she, she even deigned to oblige him.
“What do you want, little solitary? Do you wish to pledge allegiance to the Unseelie Queen?”
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I know what you’re looking for. And that you will never find it until it’s too late. But I’m not Unseelie, so I can see her. I can get to her.”
Wyla paused, unsure of this cocky little faery’s words. Solitaries could be mischievous and spiteful, but she could see no hidden agenda or riddle in his words. That was the problem.
“What do you know?” It was true she would never find the girl alone, and she wasn’t too conceited to refuse help when she needed it.
The faery leaned toward her. None paid them any attention, although most of the fae avoided Wyla completely. “Brathnach is with the human as I speak. The doorway is enchanted to block out you and yours. I have no commitment to either Court, so I found the way in. I can show you where Brathnach will appear and warn you of his approach. It will give you enough time to surprise him. If that is what you wish to do, of course.”
Wyla considered this. “Why do you aid me?”
“I have no love for Brathnach or his Queen.”
“I doubt you have love for me or mine,” Wyla retorted. “I will accept your offer. But know this: if you betray me, you will not leave this festival with your soul. Do you recognize my terms?”
The faery hesitated for a split-second before agreeing.
Wyla was interested in this one. Brave enough to approach her, fearless enough to make a stand against Brathnach; there was more to the solitary fae than met the eye sometimes. It was a pity they wouldn’t swear fealty to her Queen, but at least they weren’t loyal to the Red Queen. Her own Lady could do with more servants like this unimpressive looking faery.
“Will you stay with the human while I… confront Brathnach?” she asked. She could have ordered him, but she wanted to appear fair and courteous. She didn’t want to offend the little one enough that he would warn Brathnach she was waiting for him.
“I will,” said the faery.
“Then lead me to the hiding place of the treacherous Brathnach,” she said, trying to sound as unafraid as possible. She didn’t fear her own death, only her Queen’s reaction to the abrupt cutting of a sworn blood oath. It would be too painful for her to bear alone. She would one day soon need to organise another willing enough to partake in a similar oath so that her death wouldn’t be as awful for Azarel. Perhaps this little fae, she mused, glancing down at his determined face.
He led her through the crowds, never pausing or slowing down. She trusted he knew exactly where he was going. She didn’t have a plan once he had led her all the way. The only way was to entice Brathnach to attack her or else attack him and hope for the best. Perhaps the Irish fae wouldn’t claim the treaty was broken. Perhaps she could scare them enough so they wouldn’t interfere.
Abruptly, the solitary stopped walking and turned to her. She could tell there was an enchantment nearby. Nobody stepped close, and there was a certain smell in the air, a scent she hadn’t expected. She inhaled deeply, trying to make sense of it. Surely Brathnach had noticed.
“Is that the human?” she asked. The faery didn’t answer; he pointed at a spot on the wall. Although Wyla knew the area was enchanted, she wouldn’t have been able to tell exactly where Brathnach would appear without the help of the solitary fae.
“Someone is coming,” the solitary warned.
Wyla flinched when someone appeared out of nothing. A seamstress, she realised, much relieved. She stopped the seamstress to question her.
“Did you just measure the girl?”
The seamstress nodded, keeping her eyes low.
“For a sacrificial gown?”
Another nod.
“Good. Make that gown, but give it to the Unseelie Court when it is finished. Understand?”
The seamstress bowed deeply, so Wyla let her pass. She glanced at the solitary who seemed nervous.
“What is your name?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Drake.”
“Well, Drake, you will be heavily rewarded for your effort tonight. But I have one more request. I like not standing here waiting in full view of the crowd. Go to Brathnach and make him come out while my sword is ready and waiting.”
“How?”
“Tell him his Lady is in grave danger. That will make him piddle on the floor and fall over his feet trying to get to her. Go.”
Drake hesitated.
“Go, I said.”
He took a deep breath before stepping into nothing and disappearing completely. Wyla ignored the premonition of doom that appeared before her eyes and prepared her sword. The few seconds it took to take out her sword felt like hours. She could smell her own fear and hoped it was just her imagination. She was about to fight to the death; she needed her opponent to worry about her skills. It would not work in her favour if he could smell her fear too.
She heard Brathnach before she saw him, but she still jumped when he suddenly appeared before her. His constant grin unsettled her and made her miss her chance to strike first. He quickly armed himself. She cursed her mistake; she could already see the bloodlust rising in his eyes. He succumbed to it completely, while she had spent a lifetime scrambling away from the haze threatening to drown her awareness. It would make him harder to beat, but he wasn’t used to the frenzy so was more prone to making stupid mistakes.
She balanced herself to deflect his first strike. Their swords sparked together, gaining the attention of those closest to them. She prayed her Queen wouldn’t see them battle. She prayed she would survive. She couldn’t disappoint her Queen. She couldn’t upset her Queen. She couldn’t let her Queen’s heart to break a second time.
Brathnach circled her, trying to put her off balance. She didn’t like his form so took the aggressive approach, spinning her body around as she swung her sword at his neck. He ducked just in time and grabbed her leg with one arm, lifting her slightly with a husky laugh. He dared to toy with her. Her sword was too long to do enough damage in that position so she used the hilt and pounded on the back of his neck. He made a gurgling noise and let go, springing backward with surprising haste. Luck was against her; in another fight, that strike might have broken his neck.
Panting, Wyla repositioned herself to attack again. If she kept trying, keeping up speed, he was sure to make a mistake. If she pushed hard enough, he would slip. She swung again, not as carefully this time, wishing she had a shorter sword that was easier to handle. She had taken her most impressive looking weapon to the festival but not the one she was best at using. Brathnach’s sword was covered in scratches, but he was obviously familiar with it. For once, he had been smarter than she. They clashed swords together again, over and over; each trying to use strength to their advantage. Each strike using up more of their precious energy. Evenly matched, Wyla could only hope that Brathnach had less stamina than her. Even wiping the sweat out of her eyes was proving to be too much of a hassle.
More noise echoed around them as most of the room figured out what was happening. It was too late for discretion. The fae gathered inward, watching intently to see the outcome of the battle. Breathing heavily, Wyla bent low and swung her sword deftly below Brathnach’s block drawing first blood and making him stumble.
She had hardly taken a second to feel relief or take advantage when she noticed the pale-haired solitary fae behind Brathnach, leading the human away by the hand. He caught her gaze and hurriedly rushed back into their hiding place. Traitor!
Outraged, her attention wandered for a split second, but that was long enough to delay her block. Brathnach’s sword managed to neatly cleave her head from her body with one strike. As Wyla’s soul left her body, she was almost certain she heard an unearthly shriek coming from the Unseelie Queen.