Sea Fae Trilogy

by C. N. Crawford

  The woman clapped. “Very good! She knows a basic fact about the world.”

  “Well, friends,” I said hoarsely, “Irdion didn’t mention he was a prince when he showed up threatening to kill me.”

  The other male stared at me, his vibrant crimson hair a stark contrast to his somber clothing. He stood rod-straight, and his silver epaulets gleamed in the light. His eyes were dark as the bottom of an ocean. “Iron,” he said through gritted teeth. “You slaughtered him with iron.”

  Then, he flicked his wrist, and those magical bindings wrapped around my arms again, wrenching them together behind my back. I fell forward on my knees, struggling to stay upright as the bindings slid around me. This time, the ropes felt strong as iron.

  Finally, he sealed up the keyhole with another flick of his wrist. “There. The thing won’t be getting out again anytime soon.” His voice was eerily calm.

  The disappointment of finding myself bound again was crushing, but I forced myself to look up at him. “And you are?”

  “Midir, the other seneschal, not that it’s any of your concern.”

  Gwydion nodded at the woman next to him. “And this is Melisande, one of our lady knights. But we’re not done with introductions yet, are we? Because you haven’t been informed of our skills yet.”

  What in the world…? “Your skills? Do I need to know?”

  Gwydion smiled. “Midir, the lovely ginger seneschal, is skilled at slow torture and skin removal. I once watched him rip out a man’s spine, keeping him alive for a full hour after that. And that’s the first thing you need to know about us.”

  My stomach lurched. Oh, gods.

  Chapter 7

  I could withstand torture if I had to, but it wasn’t like I relished the thought. I wasn’t a masochist.

  “As for me,” Gwydion went on, “I’m an expert at curses, so I could condemn you to rot from the inside out or something like that. I once replaced a woman’s hair with infected molar teeth.” He laughed delightedly. “Do you remember that, Midir? She was so upset. My beautiful blond hair!” He was in fits of laughter. “Her dental bill must’ve been insane. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were up to speed on everything.”

  Midir glowered at him. No one that dour should have had hair that festive. “Is our divine Grand Master really going to let this one live? Does he really need this filthy thing? I’m surprised he didn’t kill her long ago.”

  I desperately wanted to ask them for water, but it didn’t seem like they were inclined to help me. “How long will I be in the dungeon for?”

  Melisande shrugged her perfect shoulders, and her wings lifted up and down. “You should probably stay here forever in filth, atoning for your crimes.”

  The rough wall behind me scratched my skin. “You all kill people also, and you kill them just for having magical powers. I only kill the bad guys.” Why was I bothering arguing with them? They were obviously insane.

  “You are the bad guys,” said Midir, his red hair gleaming like blood. “You kill unlawfully for your own benefit. You make your living selling body parts to witches. You’re a creepy, hole-dwelling sadist.”

  I tried to swallow and failed. “I’m the sadist, and you all just finished telling me how amazing you are at torture. That’s literally how you introduce yourselves. Hi, we’re seneschals and we’re super great at torture.”

  Midir glared at me. “The disgraced princess from Ys thinks she’s clever.”

  It was jarring to run into people who had heard of Ys. The island kingdom, ruled by my family, had been a secret when it still existed.

  Melisande’s lip curled back from her teeth, and she flashed her canines. “Here’s the thing, tunnel swine. Our actions are lawfully conducted. We serve the greater good. We follow the divine orders of our Grand Master, the Ankou. We keep order in the world, we follow the fae laws, and we consecrate souls to the sea god so their deaths serve a purpose.”

  Divine. That clawed maniac who broke into my apartment was divine.

  “You’ve been disgraced,” Melisande went on. Then, she reached back and stroked one of her wings. “Do you know how kings and queens came to be called monarchs? It was after my ancestors, the ancient House of Marc’h, whose wings looked like monarch butterflies. We were always seen as the true rulers of the Sea Court.”

  I frowned at her. She might be resplendent, but she was wrong. “That’s … not what happened. American Puritans named monarch butterflies after William of Orange—”

  Midir let out a loud groan. “Bored now. I thought tormenting a disgraced princess would be more amusing, and now she’s lecturing us about Puritans. It seems the tables have turned.”

  Melisande looked furious that I’d corrected her, her lips pressed into a line.

  I licked my dry lips. “About your divine Grand Master … he said he wanted me to help him with something. When will that happen?”

  Midir the Spine Remover didn’t look inclined to answer my question. “Did she really compare her kills with ours? But she serves only her own bestial desires, not the rule of law. I doubt she’s capable of understanding the distinction.”

  “You’re all making a lot of assumptions about me.” I could feel another bug crawling into my shirt, working its way under my right breast. “And do you know what they say about people who make assumptions? You make an ass of you and … umptions.” I’d butchered the saying, and I tried to clear my throat. “Which is a valid human expression.”

  Gwydion tapped his finger against his lips. “Former Princess of Ys. I must say, I imagined the daughter of Queen Malgven would look a bit more formidable. This is all just … sad.”

  Melisande was lifting the hem of her cape so she wouldn’t trail it in the filth around her. “Under the grime and shamefulness, she’s pretty enough, I suppose, for a dirtling, but hardly looks like fae royalty.” A grimace. “I mean, look at her. I suppose it’s fitting, given her disgrace.”

  “Are you all going to keep calling me dirtling?” I asked. “Can you just leave me to repent in silence or whatever it was you had in mind?”

  “We have other names for your class,” said Gwydion. “Soil snakes, ground dwellers, filth misers, groundlings, tunnel swine, fuck pigeons—”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I interrupted.

  “But it has a nice sound to it.” Gwydion smiled. “Doesn’t it? Fuck pigeon. I can’t quite explain it. It just rolls off the tongue.”

  Did I really have to talk to these people? “Sooo … it’s been nice meeting you, but I’m afraid I’m very busy right now. I was in the middle of an important meeting with my rat friend and the bugs crawling under my shirt, so if you’ll forgive me, I’d like to return to that.”

  Melisande’s lip curled. “Why do you sound so … American?”

  “I lived there for, oh … eighty years,” I said.

  Melisande cocked her head. “You know what? I don’t think I care. In any case, our divine Grand Master will return for you when the time has come for your trial.”

  Finally, a useful bit of information. “What trial?” I rasped.

  “You’ll find out.” Melisande looked at Gwydion pointedly. “You know, before we go, I feel I should point out that you skipped over me when you told her about everyone’s skills.”

  Gwydion’s smile faded. “Oh, so I did. Melisande is skilled at enchantment. She can ensorcell people to do what she wants. Even other fae.”

  “Would you like to see?” She beamed.

  “Absolutely not.” I’d rather let the rat crawl all over my face again.

  She knelt anyway, her eyes darkening to the lurid violet and oranges of a sunrise. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her, even though I knew I needed to. The others faded away. Now, it was only darkness and the beautiful light in her eyes.

  A delicious power whispered over my skin. I felt tingles running over my body. Lightheadedness made me giddy. But most of all, I felt desperate to impress the beautiful goddess in front of me. I had to make her h
appy.

  “Are you impressed by me?” she asked.

  Of course I was. Who wouldn’t worship such a stunning creature? She was born to be adored. “Yes. I live to serve you.”

  This made her smile. “And you’ll do as I say, little dirtling?”

  Her sunset eyes lit me up with joy. The goddess Melisande made me happy. My life depended on her. Did anyone else even exist? Of course I’d do as she asked. “Anything,” I breathed.

  “Tell me again that you worship me.”

  She was the beginning and the end of the universe. “I worship you—of course I do.”

  “Tell me that you’re a filthy little dirtling.”

  “I’m a….” I hesitated. Something about this wasn’t quite right, was it? A sense of wrongness was building in my chest at what she asked of me.

  She tilted her chin down, and her eyes blazed brighter. Joy erupted in my mind that she was blessing me with her attention.

  “Say it to make your goddess happy,” she repeated. “As loud as you can, so the whole fortress can hear!”

  Who was I to deny the will of the gods?

  “I’m a filthy little dirtling!” I shouted.

  Laughter echoed off the rock, but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Was my goddess laughing at me? That made me feel terrible.

  “There’s a good girl,” said the goddess. “Now hit your head on the wall, hard.”

  No, no, no….

  Something in the back of my mind was trying to stop me from doing what she asked.

  But another wave of her magic rocked into me, making my body tingle. “Goddess Melisande.” I whispered her name with reverence.

  With her eyes locked on me, she repeated her command. “Hit your head, dirtling. Hard as you can.”

  I slammed my head back into the wall. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, and it seemed like it had delighted her. She was positively beaming with joy. My eyes were still locked on hers.

  “Again,” said the goddess.

  I couldn’t refuse, and I slammed my head into the rock once more.

  Delirium started to cloud my mind, my vision blurring a bit. This was all wrong. “Please,” I said. I actually had no idea what I was asking for. I just knew something wasn’t right.

  “Aw, she’s begging,” she cooed. “Should I make things really fun?”

  At that moment, something ripped her attention from me, and she pulled her gaze away. All at once, pain shot into my skull, so intense I thought I might throw up again. Wincing, I tried to reach for my head, but I realized my arms were still bound.

  The three knights were standing at attention, watching something further down the prison passage.

  Gwydion smoothed his green cape. “We were just paying a visit to our captive.”

  Howling laughter filled the hall, and it took me a moment to recognize it as the other captive’s. “Oh, she gotcha good, Tennessee! She gotcha really good.”

  Shut up, Debbie.

  Silence fell, followed by slow, deliberate footfalls that echoed off the stone.

  The three knights stepped away from the cell, moving further into the hall.

  Then, the Ankou appeared, peering at me through the cell bars. He looked once more like the angelic fae I’d seen by the riverside. His tattoos no longer snaked and moved around his body. But he still had a black hole in his heart where I’d shot him. It looked like the iron had started to poison his flesh, turning it dark.

  He folded his arms, staring at me. His face betrayed no emotion.

  “What happened to her head?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Did she do that to herself?”

  The sudden stillness of the other knights unnerved me.

  Then, Melisande sidled up to him. She draped her elegant arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes. “I wanted to demonstrate my skills of enchantment,” she purred, “to our new little plaything.”

  The Ankou stared at her impassively and pulled her arms from his neck. He didn’t look thrilled with her, but I had no doubt, at this point, that they were lovers. Of course they were—they were both beautiful and vile.

  “I think you’ve done enough,” he said. Shadows climbed around him. “I need the fallen princess to be mentally functioning for her mission. Otherwise there is no point in all of this.”

  The Ankou glanced at the other knights. “Leave her now. She needs to be conscious for her trial.”

  The pain in my skull was mitigated only by a vivid image of my hands ripping Melisande’s wings from her back.

  I blocked out the rest of their conversation, mentally retreating into a hazy world of memory. I saw my mother sitting at the head of a table before me. She looked resplendent in the afternoon light, even though her white gown had yellowed over time, and deep brown stains darkened the front.

  She picked up a silver chalice and smiled at me. “The world is full of wolves, Aenor. If you show weakness, they’ll tear out your belly. Don’t let them get that close. Keep your distance. Show no mercy.”

  The swinging of the iron gate knocked the vision right out of my head, and the sharp pain in the back of my skull came rushing back. Suddenly, I missed Mama so much it was like an ache in my chest. I missed her like a four-year-old misses her mother, not like someone over a century old.

  The Ankou looked blurry as he stood above me, only his eyes clear. The other knights had left.

  “What am I doing here?” I asked. When the time came, I would show him no mercy.

  He crouched down before me, blue eyes burning like heavenly fire.

  He reached through the bars and touched the side of my temple.

  My muscles went limp. A deep, heavy sleep washed over me.

  Chapter 8

  When I woke, I found myself lying on my side on the slimy dungeon floor, with my arms still wrenched behind my back. My shoulders ached. A bug scuttled up my back, under my shirt.

  With no windows, I had no idea what time it was.

  It took me a moment or two to realize that I could no longer feel the deep cut on the back of my head, and the headache was gone. Had I lost all feeling in the back of my head?

  “Hey! You awake yet?” The American woman’s voice boomed through the hall.

  My mouth tasted like cotton—dry, sandy cotton. “It seems I am.”

  “Hey, how do you like your pillow?”

  Only at that moment did I realize my head was resting on something soft. I shifted to sit up and look at it. A black cloak lay beneath my head. Where did that come from?

  The torchlight dimly illuminated a symbol stitched into the cloak with gold thread. It looked like a triangle with a seashell embroidered in the center. If my hands hadn’t been bound behind my back, I would have touched it.

  “How did you get this in here?” I asked.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “Wait, how did you get it in here? This is important. How did you get out of your cell?”

  Silence followed, then footfalls down the hallway. When the Ankou appeared outside my cell, a fresh wave of hatred practically blinded me.

  “You were right, Tennessee!” Debbie shouted. “He does have meaty hands. Good for holding on to your ass, like you said.”

  My cheeks flamed hot. “I never said that.”

  Given my current situation, I wasn’t sure why denying the meaty hands claim was the most important thing. It was just that, even when covered in baggy, piss-stained underwear and bugs, you had to maintain some dignity.

  The Ankou whispered a spell, low under his breath, and the door unlocked.

  It swung open, and he stepped inside, putting his hands around my waist to help me up.

  “Don’t touch me,” I snarled. “I can stand up on my own.”

  He took a step back, watching me closely. He’d come unarmed except for a leather arm sheath around his enormous bicep, which held a dagger.

  I no longer felt my head injury at all, even though I was starving and dehydrated and smelled like a moldy flower vase.r />
  I took a tentative step, slightly dizzy, then another, through the threshold of the cell door. I’d just be walking at my own, slow place.

  “Hey, Ankou!” Debbie shouted. “I’ll tell you what, Ankou, you could grind me into a fine dust and I’d die happy!”

  When I shuffled past her cell, I glanced over at her. I was shocked to see she was a delicate little thing with wide, green eyes and pale pink hair that looked like cotton candy. Her body glowed with a silver light, and she smiled at me. Gorgeous. Then, her gaze flicked back to the Ankou.

  “Seriously, I would mount you and ride you like a drunk centaur!” she called out, her voice echoing.

  The Ankou ignored her completely.

  It definitely concerned me a little that I couldn’t feel the wound in the back of my head. I’d been certain that I’d cracked my skull. Was it gaping open, but I had brain damage and couldn’t feel it?

  “You put me to sleep last night,” I said. “Or whatever time that was.”

  “You and the other prisoner were making too much noise. I could hear it through the fortress.”

  “Name’s Debbie!” she called out from behind us.

  “And you healed my head, too? After your girlfriend forced me to crack my skull open for her own amusement.”

  “I’ll need your cognitive functioning to remain intact for our task.”

  “I think I’ll be needing that, too. Look at how much we have in common already. Where are we going?”

  “The Winter Witch is ready for you.”

  “The Winter Witch?”

  “Do not make me repeat myself.”

  I’d heard of her, of course. I’d just had no idea she was real.

  As far as I’d known, she was a story to scare children. Lady Beira had once been a princess of the Unseelie kingdom, until her cruel husband threw her in an ice dungeon. The story went that her mind had become twisted and warped over time, turning her into the Winter Witch. She stole bones and hearts as prizes.

  “Why will I be facing a trial with Beira?” I asked.

  “She’s a prophetess. If I’m going to use your help for this upcoming task, I need her to approve of it.”