Sea Fae Trilogy

by C. N. Crawford

  I took the stairs three at a time, my hip catching on a stand of pistachios. Nuts everywhere. This might be the worst city in the world for Gina.

  Then, Melisande circled above me again, and my blood went cold. She was following above me, swooping lower. She’d drawn a sword, and I had a feeling she was intent on connecting its blade with my body.

  I chanted a spell, and my sea magic electrified my nerves. Melisande dove for me, swinging for my head. I ducked, and the tip of her sword landed in a plaster wall, just missing my skull. Her attack had missed, but she gracefully landed on the earth, and her smile chilled my blood. She pulled her blade from the wall, ready to swing for me again.

  Around us, humans were screaming hysterically, running in either direction.

  I flung an attack spell at her through the end of my blade. She dodged it, and it slammed into a ceramic nativity set behind her, sending tiny magic crashing to the ground.

  She swung for me again, and I shifted. But this time, the blade caught my side.

  “Oh, Aenor,” she cooed. “You’ll have to try harder.”

  If she hadn’t been possessed by the fuath, this situation would have been worse. The real Melisande was an expert in enchantment, and she’d force me to carve my own eyes out or something. But the spirit possessing her wouldn’t have learned a skill that took centuries to develop.

  I flung the knife at her chest, but she blocked it with her sword. It bounced off her blade, clattering to the stones.

  “Aenor,” she purred. “Disgraced princess. The dethroned wretch. I’ll do a better job than you ruling Nova Ys.”

  “What makes you think that’s going to happen?” I shouted.

  I flicked my wrist, sending another blast of attack magic her way. It hit her in the chest, but without the blade to direct it, the charge wasn’t as powerful.

  She staggered back, her chest smoking.

  But I made the fatal error of looking her in the—stunning, fiery—eyes. Instantly, I could feel the power of her enchantment whispering around me. Melisande’s expert enchantment…. How had the fuath learned this skill from her?

  “Aenor….” My fists clenched as her voice rang in my mind. “Aenor Dahut.”

  She kicked the dagger closer to me, and it spun over the ground. I breathed in her scent—orange blossoms. She smelled like the goddess Melisande. Not like the fuath.

  I fell hard to my knees, ready to worship at the goddess’s feet.

  She wasn’t a fuath, of course. She smelled of orange blossoms, not seaweed. She was the morning sun, blazing with coral light.

  I needed her to love me. I craved her blessing, her divine grace.

  The goddess looked down at me, a smile curling her lips. “Pick up the knife, Aenor.”

  My hand shook as I reached for the blade, those errant, outlaw thoughts in my mind still yelling at me.

  Not fuath.

  Traitor.

  Usurper.

  Pretender.

  But those words floated away like puffs of dandelion seeds on the wind.

  The stronger voice was the one urging me to do whatever she wanted.

  I picked up the knife hilt, waiting for my next instruction.

  Chapter 33

  She cocked her head. “The throne of Ys never should have belonged to you. Now, I will rule as queen. It is my reward.”

  I nodded mutely. Of course what she said made sense. She had the wings of a monarch! She was born to reign. Monarchs had been named for her.

  She pointed at me. “Hold the knife to your throat.”

  I did as she said, and its blade nicked my skin.

  “Cut your own throat, Aenor.”

  I wanted to make her happy, but something stopped me. My hand shook, the blade vibrating against my skin.

  “Do as I told you. You will be remembered only for drowning Ys,” the goddess said. “How terrible do you have to be before the gods steal your power? What sort of a foul whore could wreck a kingdom that badly? A streetwalking little tramp?”

  At her words, sadness washed over me. I’d wanted her to approve of me, but I’d disappointed her. I was a terrible little wretch. I gripped the dagger hilt tighter.

  But a voice in the hollows of my mind shrieked in a rage….

  A bubble of clarity bloomed in my mind. It was those words she used. I hated those words. Tramp. Whore. The friends and women I’d known over the past century or so had been called the same names—the streetwalkers and the actresses and the mistresses, the dancers and the abandoned wives. They’d all endured the words forged into blades, weapons to cut them down.

  Under the wild flood of thoughts, a single name rang out.

  Gina.

  That single word knelled in my mind so loud it ripped me from the trance. With a wild snarl, I lunged for Melisande, slamming my fist into her jaw so hard that she spun. She landed hard on the stone, her jaw catching on a display of crucifixes on her way down.

  I gripped her hair, then pressed the blade against her throat. A bit of blood spilled onto the cobbles, the scent making me sick. Sever the head, fertilize the land with blood.

  But I stilled the knife where it was, my hand shaking with fury. Maybe I should leave her alive for questioning.

  “What do you mean, Nova Ys is your reward?” I said.

  “The true ruler of Nova Ys promised it to me for my help,” she rasped.

  What the hells?

  Who would have promised her a crown in Ys?

  I felt sick. It couldn’t be Lyr, offering to marry her.

  Could it?

  “Lyr?” I shouted.

  “I’m not fucking telling you!”

  I gripped her hair, knife still at her throat. She struggled against me, wings starting to beat the air. She wanted to fly away from me.

  She of the poisoned blood….

  I gripped her by the wings, slamming her to the ground again. With a flick of the dagger, I sliced the blade through the delicate base of her wings, cutting them off. Her screams echoed off the stone.

  “Who promised you’d be queen?”

  She just screamed.

  She wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, but she wouldn’t be answering me either. I recognized the sound of that pain. It was the sound of someone cutting your soul away. Hollowness ate at my chest.

  Death spills from the daughter of Meriadoc.

  Gripping the bloodied knife, I turned and ran back down the winding alleyway, ignoring the stares of horrified shoppers. My breath was sharp in my lungs, and once I’d gotten far away from Melisande, I listened again for the music of my family.

  Had Melisande been controlling the fuath? That man I’d met—the one with the twilight eyes—he’d been looking for a woman. Maybe it was Melisande, the would-be queen of Ys.

  I was running so fast I’d lost the thread of the music, and I needed a moment to catch my breath.

  I ducked into a doorway, lungs heaving. My legs still shook.

  Someone had promised Melisande the crown. I didn’t know who it was, and I’d just barely made it out of her thrall alive.

  I wondered what Lyr would do when he saw her lying, wingless, in the road.

  After another deep breath, the song of Meriadoc wended its way through the narrow streets again.

  My chest ached with longing at the sound.

  My power.

  I closed my eyes. It was growing stronger. I couldn’t let myself be diverted by power-hunger here. The goal was Gina.

  Gina. I’m coming for you.

  I walked quickly, my body dripping with Melisande’s blood.

  I turned off into another, smaller alley, the music pulling me as if by an invisible thread tugging at my heart.

  It was coming from somewhere nearby. Somewhere very close indeed.

  I nearly didn’t see it—the small black door inset into pale stone, tucked under a stairwell. But the magical tug in my chest pulled me closer to it.

  What a glorious song….

  It had been over a centu
ry since I’d heard this music. I could almost feel my mother around me, like she was giving me her blessing from her watery grave halfway across the world. She wanted me to have the athame. And loud as it was, its power was immense. It was the song of my childhood, and the song of Ys’s golden age. I was ablaze in an inferno of nostalgia.

  And what’s more, this was my power. I didn’t really want to give it over to anyone.

  I touched the door, and its surface shimmered.

  “Glamoured,” I whispered.

  I pressed my palm hard against the door, melding with the magic. The door swung open slowly with a groan.

  That seemed … odd. Maybe whoever was keeping the athame wanted me to find it. Maybe fate had written this for me.

  I crossed into a hall of smooth golden stones, and the door closed behind me.

  The athame drew me in, as hungry for me as I was for it. On some level, I was concerned. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to wander through an open door when people wanted you dead. It was too easy. It seemed very much like a trap.

  But the athame was here, the fuath were coming, and I was running out of time to get to Gina.

  If this was a trap, I’d have to fight my way out. I’d lived 176 years, and never once had I found a situation I couldn’t escape.

  As I took another step into the hallway, doubts started to swarm in my mind. Whoever lurked in here with the athame could be working with Melisande.

  My pace had slowed. If I’d known a proper invisibility spell, I would have used it.

  But it was just me and the knife, and the weak protection spell I was whispering.

  The hallway opened into an enormous library; a floor of black and white tiles, neat books that spanned two stories. Marble columns separated the bookshelves. Between the shelves, arched windows overlooked gardens outside. It looked like an English garden, full of roses and neatly trimmed hedges.

  I scanned the arches opposite the window, trying to work out what to do next. Row after row of books, in one language after the next.

  I turned again, listening to the Meriadoc music.

  My gaze landed on an archway so dark I hadn’t noticed it before—a black hole in the stacks of books. The only thing escaping its shadows was the music of the athame, pounding in time to my own heartbeat. It entranced me.

  Euphoria spilled through me as I took another step forward. The music skittered over my skin.

  But my breath caught in my throat when he stepped from the shadows, his dusky eyes gleaming.

  It was the fae I’d met in Acre.

  Now, I heard a different song. A low, distant drumbeat—one that went with fire and smoke and the sweet tang of pomegranates.

  Shadows swept behind his back like wings. He looked completely at ease with the knife-wielding intruder in his house. He had the cruel beauty of a god, but the easy smile of a sensualist.

  “Aenor Dahut, daughter of Meriadoc.”

  He burned like an evening star….

  Blood slicked the knife where I gripped the hilt. “Are you the one who drowned Ys? Who killed Queen Malgven?”

  His eyes lit up—that twilight indigo shot through with gold. “Oh, yes, that was me.”

  The rage I felt for him nearly blinded me. “Why? Why did you come after us?”

  His gaze flicked to the knife in my hand. “Have you come to kill me?” He seemed to find this infinitely amusing. “I must say, it seems a little uncouth to show up for an assassination with someone else’s blood on your knife.”

  I wanted to cut his wings off, but they were made of shadows. He had no interest in telling me why he’d drowned Ys. Maybe he didn’t have a good reason. Maybe he just liked hurting people for fun.

  But no. I was missing something, but I didn’t think I’d get the answers now.

  If I hadn’t been drunk the day he’d arrived in Ys, maybe I could have stopped him. I had once been the most powerful fae around.

  I felt the weight of rocks on my chest. There it was. The dark truth. It was my fault that Ys sank. I could have stopped him, if only the dandelion wine hadn’t knocked me out.

  Keep it together, Aenor. Think clearly.

  “Killing you will have to wait,” I said in my calmest voice. “I’m just here for something that belongs to me.”

  With my true power, I could have pulled the water from his body and left him a desiccated husk on the tile floor. I could have crushed him into the earth, food for worms.

  Death spills from her….

  “Something that belongs to you?” His amused tone had a vicious edge.

  “The athame. Did you destroy Ys just to get it?”

  A flicker of surprise lit up his eyes.

  “I know about the athame,” I said. “And the fuath you’re controlling.”

  A dark laugh from the Nameless One. “Aren’t you a clever one?”

  His tone gave me pause. He seemed to be mocking me, and he made me think I’d missed the mark completely.

  He closed his eyes, breathing in. “Aenor Dahut. You have heard what they say about you, I assume? The whore who sank her island.” Those vibrant eyes opened again, shocking in their brightness. “It’s a fantasy, of course. The men who tell the story want to imagine they could have had you. They could have possessed the beautiful princess who smells like seafoam and flowering brambles. She was available for the taking, with her silk scarves and unquenchable appetites. What a tempting thought.”

  His self-assuredness made me want to run away. He was completely relaxed.

  “Why do you want to get into Nova Ys?” I asked.

  “Nova Ys? They made a new one?” He sounded bored by the concept.

  My mouth opened and closed. None of this was adding up, which meant I had no idea what to do next. I didn’t think my magic was powerful enough to really hurt him, and I didn’t understand what he wanted. “Can you tell me what you actually want?”

  His eyes twinkled. His hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows were dark as the shadows. “What do I want? You, Aenor. I have spent many hours dreaming of tormenting you. How delightful that you came right into my home. What should I do with you, now that I have you in my possession?”

  His words were a cold blade in my heart.

  Clearly, I had to try to kill him. But I had some questions for him first. “Why have you dreamt of tormenting me? I don’t even know who you are. I’d never heard of you before you came to Ys. I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know your freaking name.”

  For just a second, his beautiful smile faltered, nearly imperceptibly. Then it was back, charming as ever. He prowled even closer, and my pulse raced. “Is that right?”

  The power of the athame tugged at my body, hungry for me.

  This man—whoever he was—was my enemy, and I had to end this now.

  I lunged, the movement fast enough to catch him off-guard. I swung for his neck with the blade. The dagger just barely caught him in the throat. Sadly, he managed to block it from going in deeply. He caught my wrist in his crushing grip.

  He spun me around and twisted my arm behind my back until I was sure he was breaking it. His grip was pure steel, and he jerked my arm up behind my back. I screamed, the sound echoing off the stone.

  Then, he leaned over me and whispered in my ear, “Sleep.”

  My muscles went limp. Darkness pulled me under.

  Chapter 34

  I woke to find myself hanging in chains, my toes dangling in cold water. The steel of the manacles cut into my wrists, and my arms ached. My feet didn’t quite reach the ground.

  The Nameless One stood in the shadow before me, his eyes burning with the glow of the evening star. Torchlight sculpted his perfect face.

  No longer in the luxurious, book-lined apartment from before, I seemed to be in a rocky cave. It smelled of death in here—fire and charred flesh. A bit of sulfur. Water ran in a small stream beneath me, wetting my toes. There was hardly anything down here except a slab of rock to my right. Maybe it was the sound of that rhythmic drumming, but th
e slab reminded me of a sacrificial altar.

  I glanced behind me, and a pit opened in my stomach. Sharp iron spikes jutted from the rock, so close they were grazing my body. All he had to do was kick me hard in the chest, and the spikes would pierce my heart and lungs.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  He didn’t answer.

  My throat was dry and hot as desert sand. The sound of water beneath my feet was its own sort of torture. Gods, I wanted water. I wanted to fall on my knees and lap it up like a cat.

  I glanced at the altar once more. A piece of fruit lay on it. I licked my dry lips, hungry for it. Behind the altar, dim sunlight glowed over a set of stone stairs.

  I looked down at myself.

  I still wore the same clothes, though oddly, he’d washed the blood off me. The shorts and shirt I was wearing were wet, now, and smelled faintly of soap. He’d stripped the dagger off me, and the sheath off my leg.

  “Why did you wash the blood off me?” I asked.

  His pupils widened for a split second, and he took a step closer. “Do you think I want animal blood all over my nice rock dungeon?”

  Animal? Jerk. “Of course not. It wouldn’t be civilized.”

  His eyes danced with laughter again. “How about I lead the discussion?”

  In contrast to my wet and cheap clothes, he wore a shirt of the most exquisite fabric, a pale blue color.

  Standing in front of me, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing muscled arms with thorny tattoos.

  There was something distinctly disturbing about the way he did so, like he was about to get to work. And the kind of work people tended to do when they had a woman chained up in front of them wasn’t usually anything nice.

  I wondered for a moment if I could swing my legs and snap his neck with my thighs. I’d read that once in a book—the captive woman just swung her body, clamped her thighs around the man’s neck, and twisted. Neck snapped.

  It seemed wildly unlikely, though. And worst of all, he seemed immortal. I’d still be stuck here, hanging in chains, when he woke up and tortured me to death.

  My throat went dry. Would Lyr come for me?

  “Good,” said the Nameless One. “Now that I’ve seen the fear in your eyes, and I can hear your heart speeding up, I’m sure you’ve become fully acquainted with the gravity of your situation. Your terror is delicious.”