6
Fiora’s Approval
Alexavier
I am never wandering through the back alleys of Neutral Territory again. My heart’s still slamming into my chest. “Three fights. You realize we just sneaked past three fights, right?”
“And yet, no one noticed you and you’re completely fine.” She twists the knob of an apartment door and leads us through the darkened hallway to Unit 1C.
Salem’s eyebrows furrow. “Ye don’t lock your door?”
She shrugs. “What’s the point? If someone wants to break in, a little latch isn’t going to stop them. There’s nothing to steal anyway.”
“Ye, Hannah,” Salem mumbles. “Someone could steal ye.”
At this, she laughs, walking into the unit and hanging the lantern on a hook. “Everyone in Neutral Territory is here for a bad reason. None of us wants anything to do with each other, trust me.”
My mouth goes dry when my eyes sweep the cramped space. The doorjamb is lined in chipped paint that looks like tiny gnarled fingers coiling. The wood floor has several splotchy stains across it. “Your bed is on the floor. Why is your bed on the floor?”
“Because I’m a very lucky girl,” she replies dryly. “Don’t mess up my pile of jewels in the corner. I’ve got them arranged just how I like them.”
Like a fool, my gaze darts to the corner, falling on a stack of ratty old books, which seem to be the only belongings in the space other than a basket that holds a bundle of clothes. I try not to let my eyes linger on one spine that reads “Plants that Heal, Plants that Harm”. The bare wood floor is so drafty, I can feel a chill on my ankles. There’s nothing on the walls except for a few ominous fist-sized holes. The kitchen, bedroom and living quarters are all one area with no walls dividing up the space. The only room is off to the side, and the door opens when Hannah calls out, “Fiora, it’s me. I’ve brought home some wounded pups who’ve promised to pay handsomely if you can help them. If you play your cards right, you can overcharge them and they won’t mind a bit.”
Des barks and then whines pitifully, playing along with the insult as if it’s all a silly game.
When the door opens, a stooped woman who looks to be about a hundred waddles out of the bathroom with her cane tapping on the floor.
Crone.
I don’t know if that’s an impolite word or not, but that’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“Some pups, eh? They come for scraps? Because I’ve got to say, I don’t have much else to feed strays.” Her brogue that matches Salem’s tells me she’s a shifter.
Hannah places her hand on Des’ bicep. “One puppy’s got a broken arm. Caught himself a nasty dogfight defending the honor of healers everywhere.”
I smile at the story and Des barks again. Hannah helps the old woman sit in one of the only two rickety chairs in the place, and it’s then I realize the woman has no eyeballs. Her lids are sunken in, sewn shut with a row of X-marked stitches. I grimace at the horrific sight, and Des does the same.
Hannah is gentle with Des as she helps him sit in the second seat. “Easy,” she says gently, her fair skin practically glowing against her navy long-sleeved t-shirt and Salem’s olive military shirt. I mean, all fae are pale-skinned, but we usually wear white. It’s a sign of status. The lighter the color of your clothing, the more you can prove to the world you don’t have to work with your hands because there are no stains anywhere on you. I only wear jeans when I go see the guys because it angers Father. Hannah doesn’t seem to care about status, dressing as she does. I can imagine things like stainless clothing aren’t important in a grim place like this.
Fiora reaches out and touches down on Des’ arm that Hannah unwraps from the sling. “Broken, eh?” Then she touches the back of her hand to his sweaty forehead. “Infection’s already setting in. Boil some water, sweetie.”
Hannah doesn’t waste a second. “On it. Go easy on them, Fiora. They’re Territorials.”
She says it as if we’re weaklings, too soft for this gritty part of the world.
“Do you need some goldenrod?” I offer. I hold up my hand as I walk toward her.
Fiora cackles, as any crone should. “A fae’s here, eh? A shifter in the corner, a fairy conjuring me fresh herbs, and a vampire sitting before me. What a mix we have tonight. I’ll not ask which of ye damaged your friend here.”
“It was me,” I offer, sprouting goldenrod from my wrists and tearing off the leaves into the pot beside Hannah for brewing. We move seamlessly in the tight space, almost like a dance we’ve rehearsed before. “It was my idea, anyway.” I explain the logic behind us walking in each other’s territories unguarded. To her credit, the old woman is so shock-proof that she only gives an amused “ah” when I tell her who we are. “Prince Destino wasn’t in his royal garb, so he was jumped for being a vampire on shifter soil. It’s my fault his arm is broken. I didn’t realize it would go bad so quickly.”
“Your heart is in the right place, though you’re not thinking big enough. You’re in luck. I don’t charge a lot for small minds, only small hearts.”
I chuckle at her moxie. I’m fairly certain I’m in love with this shifter crone. “Well, I’m much too simpleminded to tell the difference between the twenties and fifties in my billfold, so if I accidentally overpay you, blame my mind, not my heart.”
“I like ye.” She smiles, revealing zero teeth. “I always thought I might.”
“I only get that from the most beautiful women in the land. Makes sense you’d fit that category.”
“A charmer, indeed. Tricky fae, ye are, but amusing enough to make this old lass smile. Let me feel your hands.”
I can’t exactly refuse her. She takes hold of my wrists and sniffs them, and then seals my palms together, touching my fingertips before releasing them.
“Grow me a flower, lad.”
I’m not used to being ordered around, but old women can get away with more than most. This one’s pushing the limit, though. I love that about her, so I bloom an orange lily from my wrist for her to pluck. They’re not the prettiest, but they’re the most fragrant, which I think she’ll appreciate. “Does that please you, young lady?”
She chortles and sniffs the flower. Her gnarled fingers trace the length of the petals, her digit cataloging things closer than I would expect. The rain is peppering the window, which is the only sound filling the apartment while Fiora examines the flower. “Symmetrical dots along the center. Ye like things done well. You’ve been classically trained.” She buries her nose in the center. “Ye opted for the most fragrant. Ye plan out your steps. This is good. There’s no deception in this, but there are secrets. Oh, far too many secrets. Perfection like this only comes when you’ve too much to hide. Though, fae are always hiding something.” She motions me forward so she can pinch my cheek. “But you’re a good lad.”
“Thanks?”
“Magic is what ye make of it, and ye made me this.”
And? “I sure did. Have I passed your test?”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Now bring me the shifter.”
Salem usually doesn’t listen to commands; he’s more often the one giving them. He has far more responsibility and authority in his land than Des or I do. Still, he surprises me by stepping toward her.
Salem doesn’t speak, and Fiora doesn’t require him to. “T’was your grand-da tha banished me here years ago. I suppose I should hate ye on principle, but since you’re set on dreaming up schemes to bring the territories together, I don’t think I have it in me to be mad at ye.”
“I’ll not ask what your crime was, then,” Salem offers in exchange for Fiora not ordering him out of her apartment.
“Ye know what I want. Don’t keep an old woman waiting,” Fiora says, her chin raised.
Salem glances toward Hannah and shrugs in confusion. “Shift,” Hannah mouths, and he does, as quick as if Hannah’s delivered a command.
His gray wolf is enormous, easily the size of a bear, and takes up nearly half the s
pace in the dining area. Hannah places Fiora’s hand atop his head, and the old woman laughs. “So soft. You’re nearly forty. Or perhaps you’re younger and have lived too weary a life so far. Don’t tell me. I like to keep my guesses and be surprised. One of life’s great joys is the gift of wonder. I do wonder, Sir Shifter, just how many men have ye killed?” She reaches into his mouth and fingers his fangs.
I can’t look away. Men have been hanged for less. But Salem endures, casting wary glances up at Hannah, who gives him a firm nod to behave. How the crap did Hannah become the person in charge? We’re rulers, for crying out loud.
Fiora’s voice grows grim. “Too many have died at your hands. You’re tired. Ye want to build, instead of fending off the constant brokenness.” Her words hit me hard, and judging by Salem’s sharp inhale, he’s affected just as much. “Oh, but you’re so soft. Vicious, but soft. Sweetie, feel this.” Fiora takes Hannah’s hand and places it atop Salem’s head.
The two remain frozen like that, touching each other in a way that could be misconstrued as simple. The intimacy screams at me so loudly, I wonder if I should turn away for decency’s sake. Salem bit the hand off the last person who pet him in his wolf form, and Hannah isn’t exactly huggable with her snappish temper. But there they are, testing the waters and pretending they don’t want so much more than they’re granting themselves. Her arm is trembling, and Salem is completely still.
“Go on,” Fiora prods in a gentle voice. “I can sense you’ve much to say, sweetie. It’ll do ye no favors to hold back. He can be trusted.”
And just like that, Hannah falls to her knees. Salem clears the gap between them, hooking his maw over her shoulder as she throws her arms around his neck. He’s taller than her like this. Her head barely clears his chest. She burrows into his warmth and he steps his paw over her hip, caging her in like an animal who won’t let anything snatch at his mate.
I run my hand over my face. This is getting complicated. Salem should be the one to marry her, not Des.
Her body shudders against his, and I wonder when the last time was that she felt warmth. Faveda is tropical, radiating a pleasant heat to keep our plants blooming. Neutral Territory is uncomfortably cold. On top of which, we’re all soaked through from the rain.
Hannah’s face is red, and I can tell she’s bracing herself against letting a few tears loose. “I’m so embarrassed you saw Jole smack my butt! Normally, it’s only degrading, but I’m humiliated that you saw!”
Salem is a coward, because he stays in his wolf form instead of turning back into a man who could reassure her. He nuzzles the side of her head with his long nose, which I guess counts. But it’s not enough for her. How could it be?
After exactly six seconds, she pulls away and stands, shaking out the tension from her arms with a nervous grin that’s completely forced. “Sorry. It’s been a long, weird night.” Salem stays close and nudges her leg with his maw. She smiles down at him, rubbing the velvet of his ear between her fingertips. It would be precious, but I know what he’s up to. He’s marking her with his scent in hopes of keeping predators away. He loaned her his shirt, and now he’s curling his tail around her calf.
“Jole got carried away again?” Fiora asks, her mouth firming in a taut line.
Hannah waves it all off like it’s nothing. “It’s fine. I just don’t like an audience when stuff like that happens.”
The old woman juts her chin out in Salem’s direction. “I trust I don’t need to tell ye to handle this? Either ye do it or I will. Magic is what ye make of it, so use what magic ye have in your bones to make my lass’ world right. My daughter doesn’t like it when I involve myself. I made quite a mess with the last one who came sniffing around her without invitation.”
Dang, she’s a rough old broad. I kind of love it. I almost want to tell her about our plan to have Hannah marry Des, but that might be a conversation to ease her into.
Salem snorts and butts his head against the outside of Hannah’s thigh before trotting toward the exit. He waits for me to open the front door, and darts out into the night to make sure Jole doesn’t lay a hand on Hannah ever again.
Fiora motions for Hannah to stand next to her. “The vampire prince’s arm is broken, and it’s started to heal incorrectly. Ye know what to do, sweetie.”
Hannah looks nervous, which doesn’t bode well. She locks eyes with Des, her chin lowering. “It will only hurt for a few seconds, then Fiora will fix you up. Is that alright?”
Des nods in his seat, and Hannah’s hands move like lightning. One attaches at his wrist and the other at his elbow. With only a twinge of regret in her eyes, she yanks the two ends hard enough to force a howl from Des.
Fiora pats Des on the top of his head before agony forces it back, his chin tilting toward the ceiling while he screams. “Tha’s a good boy. It hurts, but then it will feel better. It would be worse if she didn’t set it. Now it can heal properly. Ye must be a decent lad if my sweetie didn’t leave ye to die. Thank Lilya.”
I flinch at the name I try never to think about. The sound of that common fae name punches me in the stomach and knocks the breath from me. Does it every time, no matter how many years go by.
Des is drenched in sweat, gripping the table feebly. “Who?”
Hannah freezes, panic widening her eyes. “Hannah. You’re getting confused, Fiora. My name is Hannah.”
“Out in the village, aye, but I have a feeling about these good lads. They should know ye, whether you’re ready to trust them or not. You’re Hannah to the others, but you’ll be yourself with them. Blind women see more than most. We don’t have eyes to get in our way.”
I throw my hands in the air as the teapot begins to make noise. “We came in and laid our cards on the table, and you couldn’t trust us with your first name? If we’re going to do this thing, we can’t have secrets.”
The teapot screams, but she doesn’t move to turn it off. She glances skittishly at the door she’s inching toward, so I ignore the boiling water and stand in front of the exit, my arms crossed over my chest.
When her eyes lock in on mine, I see it. It’s that pesky ping of familiarity that feels like trust wrapped in layers of deception. I can’t put my finger on just what the puzzle even is, but it’s there, begging me to solve it. Des is barely upright as his chest heaves, but I’m not budging from this moment, whatever it is. She’s trying to tell me something while telling me nothing, and I’m tired of it.
“If you think I won’t throw you out of the way, you’re wrong,” she challenges as she moves toward the door. “I need some air.”
“You’re staying right here until I get some answers.”
Her chin raises as she pivots to face Fiora and Des. “Okay, I’ll do it. Prince Destino, I accept. I’ll marry you. Fiora, Prince Destino Karamathian wants to marry me to make a statement to the territories that we’re done with the divide and hate between the races. I’ll do it, but only on two conditions: that Fiora’s rent is taken care of, since I’ll be leaving and I provide for her, and also that we drop this Lilya business right now, and I go back to being Hannah.”
Des raises his hand. “Yes to the rent. I’ll arrange for more than a hefty sum to be sent over as soon as I get back to Drexdenberg.”
Fiora cackles, though there’s only joy to the sound. “Marriage between a fae cast-out and a vampire prince? Tha’s a grand plan, filled with just enough madness. Well done!”
“What is your real name?” I ask her, unwilling to brush this one point aside.
She firms her mouth in a taut line, but Fiora isn’t as tight-lipped. “Maybe the prince doesn’t remember ye, Lilya. Maybe your dear Lexi forgot about your tea parties under the king’s table.”
The entire world stops, and I feel something hard break off in the center of my being. She shoves at me, and I’m too stunned to hold my footing. She darts out into the night, leaving me too stunned to make sense of the world I thought I knew.
7
Marrying Hannah… or Lilya<
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Destino
“Okay, of the three of us, I think it’s obvious I’m least qualified to marry Hannah. Lilya. Whatever her name is. Salem, no way am I going to marry someone you mark like that. And clearly you know her better than I do, Alex.” My fever finally broke, but I feel disgusting after sweating so much. I want to rinse off in the river, but Fiora is adamant we move quickly. She loves our plan.
Now I’m not so sure.
Alex helps me over the fallen tree. I hate this stupid sling. It’s throwing me off my balance. His voice comes out unnervingly calm, though I know he’s fighting back his hysteria. His movements are jerky, when he’s usually of the disposition to be graceful even when he’s stone drunk. “Me marrying Lilya makes little sense if it’s a statement we’re making. It would just be me marrying one of my kin. That’s not a statement. It’s between you and Salem, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable sending her to a land that’s been suffering a drought with no end in sight. Plus, shifters don’t like any foreigner crossing into their territory.”
“And vampires do?” I shake my head. “My people will act out, make no mistake about that.”
Alex shrugs. “Then those parts are equal, and don’t count toward a vote. I don’t want Lilya living where there isn’t easy access to water.”
I touch her elbow lightly. “Do you have a preference?”
She glances at Salem, who looks away immediately, the coward. “Salem clearly doesn’t want a wife. The original arrangement is fine.”
Salem coaxes Lilya by nudging the back of her thigh with his nose when she falls behind. Though she can clearly keep up, right now even Fiora’s moving faster than Lilya. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be here, because we know who she is now.
Vengeful Prince Page 5
