“Murderers?” Nima growled. “Because your family’s so much better? Would you like a list of the fae and humans your father snuffed out?”
“How dare you compare what he does to what you did! My father punishes criminals.” Faith poked Nima’s collarbone, right under Stella’s captive dust. “You killed my mother! An innocent!”
“Your mother was not innocent. When are you going to take off those ridiculous rose-colored goggles of yours and see her for the viper she was?”
“Stop lying.”
“I never lied.” Nima balled her hands into tight fists. “Besides, you didn’t even like her!”
“That’s not the point!”
I grabbed one of Nima’s fists, trying to pry her fingers apart, but they seemed fashioned from steel. I beseeched Iba with a frantic look, and he soared toward us, Silas in tow. The draca wound his hands around his wife’s biceps and eased her away.
“Daughter, please behave.” Although Gregor’s tone was dulcet, it was sharp. “Now, can we please get on with this union? I wouldn’t want the Cauldron to grow bored and disappear.”
Faith narrowed her eyes on her father. “We wouldn’t want that,” she hissed, tearing her arms from Silas. “But I won’t stand here and watch my son defile Mom’s memory by tying himself to this harlot.” She flicked her chin to me.
I jerked back. Harlot? I’d never even dated a boy, much less slept with one.
Iba shoved in front of Nima and got in Faith’s face. “How dare you disrespect my daughter! She’s never done anything to you.”
Silas’s nostrils flared as though he were about to shift back into his dragon form. “Faith, please apologize.”
His wife’s mouth remained cemented shut.
“Mother, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about my future bride that way.” Remo’s voice rang over the wild thunderstorm and wilder heartbeats pounding in the pavilion.
I glanced over my shoulder at my intended, who hadn’t left the Cauldron’s side. I didn’t delude myself into thinking he was defending me because he cared. All the overgrown firefly cared about was his status, which would automatically improve once we got engaged.
“How could you want this, sweetheart?” Faith whined.
“It’s a great honor that’s been bestowed upon our family, Mother.”
Faith’s brow pinched. “Marriage shouldn’t be a badge to add to your uniform, Remo.” And with those words, she broke free of her husband, strode out to the soaked deck, and soared into the wet night.
5
The Royal Dinner
Even though I wished I could’ve left at the same time as Faith, I played dutiful daughter and stayed.
“Prinsisa Amara?” Gregor tilted his head toward the Cauldron.
Sighing, I returned toward the big black vessel, Nima and Iba close behind me. Gregor raised his fist in the air and stretched out two fingers. A low chant vibrated out of his men’s chests, matching the cadence and volume of the raindrops splattering against the window before overtaking both as it grew and resonated against the glass.
If it had been any other event I would’ve associated the goose bumps popping over my bare collarbone with awe, but there was nothing awe-inspiring about tonight. Regret prickled my breastbone as I stared into the Cauldron’s foaming belly. I’d dreamed of this moment for years. Of how it would feel to don purple and link myself to a person I loved. To a person with whom I’d want to share my heart, my body, and my kingdom. Remo was not that person.
As the chant slowed and quieted, I noticed the rain had abated too. I glanced over my shoulder at Iba and Nima, who stood hand-in-hand, regal and calm. Iba’s lips flexed in apology—or was it encouragement? Perhaps both. Nima’s mouth was immobile, but her expression encompassed as much worry as the sky encompassed clouds.
I squared my shoulders and steeled my spine, swearing to myself that the day I’d wear red, I’d wear it for a man I loved, and nothing about the ceremony would be fake.
Gregor nodded to the Cauldron. “Please place your hands inside, children.”
Heat snaked behind my lids. I blinked furiously to prevent any tears from falling. I wouldn’t show weakness tonight. I’d be an example of stoicism. I’d make my father proud.
For you, Iba, I thought as I dipped my hand inside.
I’d asked Nima to tell me the story of her wedding so many times that I knew what to expect: the Cauldron would lock my hand in place until the rite was complete.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Remo bury his hand beside my own. When his fingers closed over mine, I murmured, “Don’t.”
He jerked, but the Cauldron had snared his hand.
Our hands needn’t have touched for the Cauldron to link us, but apparently the mechanics hadn’t been explained to the lucionaga. So now, until the Cauldron released us, his hand was in contact with mine.
Ugh.
Scintillating strands of magic rose from the dark depths and scampered into both our arms, irrigating our veins with its otherworldly light. The chanting grew anew, a more sonorous and lively tune that seemed to egg the magic on, make it flow faster, fill us harder. My heartbeat quickened, thumping in time with the song that palpitated into every corner of my being.
Remo’s fingers twitched against mine, his pulse nipping my knuckles. At least it wasn’t only my heart which was about to rocket out of my chest. For some reason, knowing that Remo was also disquieted made me feel better. I didn’t want him to delight in this moment, not even nefariously. I wanted it to be as uncomfortable and alarming for him as it was for me.
Before my next breath, the chanting ended, and the Cauldron recalled its magic now twined with our essences. Like the tentacles of a skittish octas, the glittery green threads receded into the rotund vessel, which puffed into oblivion, leaving behind wavelets of black smoke.
I snatched my hand away from Remo’s and cocooned it against my frenzied heart. My skin prickled, cold and hot, numb and oversensitive. It reminded me of the time I’d grazed the reptilian body of a dile, and it had shot me with a dose of venom so potent my heart had stopped for five entire minutes. When I’d come to, Giya and Sook were weeping, convinced I was dead, while Remo—who hadn’t been there when I’d lost consciousness—was assuring them I’d be fine, that a little venom couldn’t possibly kill the Trifecta. When our eyes had met, his had seemed garishly bright. Since their shine hadn’t been due to tears, I’d imagined it had been hope . . . hope that he’d be wrong, and the dile venom would do away with me for good.
The same gleam animated his eyes tonight as he inspected his hand. Cauldron binding was thankfully not like fae marking—no outward trace showed up on our skin. I would’ve hated having an F light up every time my pulse quickened.
He finally lowered his hand along his navy tunic that shone like satin in the twinkling faelights bobbing around our heads. “Well, that was surprisingly painless.”
I was still cosseting my hand. “For you, perhaps.”
His reddish-brown eyebrows almost collided over his nose. “You’re in pain?”
“Touching a dile was more pleasant than touching your hand.” I spoke low so my parents and Gregor couldn’t hear the snark dripping from my tongue.
A faerie dressed in a gown that looked sewn from butterfly wings landed beside us, extending two glowing orbs. “Congratulations on your engagement, massini. May the Skies bless you both.”
“Thank you, Lydia,” Remo said.
I surmised he knew her name, because she was one of his many girlfriends. Why else would Remo Farrow learn the name of someone so far beneath his station?
I plucked the orb from Lydia’s hand and squeezed it until it morphed into a goblet of faerie wine. I wasn’t fond of the stuff because it was full of bubbles, but I wanted something to sweep my mind off my predicament, however fake it all was.
Since Lydia was still staring at him as though he’d invented faelight, I leaned toward him and whispered, “You should take Lydia back home to celebrate
.”
His eyes swung to mine so fast I had to pull my head back so our noses didn’t bump.
When he glowered, I smiled, then dipped that smile into my wine glass. I might’ve given off naïve fumes, but I wasn’t naïve. My eyes were open, and I was watching him. Waiting for him to stumble and commit a faux-pas that would take him out of the running for the crown. Sure this was a sham, but wouldn’t it be lovely if he lost my hand by his own fault? It would paint me as innocent—which I was—and him as wicked—which he was. I’d love nothing more than for Neverra to see Remo Farrow’s true colors instead of the bright, young, disciplined lucionaga he made himself out to be.
Lydia offered him a golden orb. “Wine?”
He slowly looked back at her. “Thank you, but I don’t drink.”
“Since when?” I asked.
“Since forever.”
Gregor approached, and Lydia flitted upward, out of his path. He held out his goblet to mine, and even though I didn’t want to clink with him, I docilely lifted my cup.
When metal met metal, he said, “You know, back in my day, when a woman was unbound, she could be claimed by any man superior in rank.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How savage.”
“Could unbound men be claimed by higher-ranked women, or I guess, men?” Remo asked.
“No.” Gregor’s thick white hair flounced as a faerie flew over our heads bearing a platter of lettuce-wrapped fried octas. “The world didn’t work that way.” He grabbed two wraps and chucked them both into his mouth.
“I’m so glad our world has evolved,” I said.
Remo didn’t say anything. Knowing him, he probably mourned our new customs.
Gregor’s eyes settled on something behind me. I turned to find Iba’s mother, Addison, walking arm-in-arm with Angelina. As I watched them air-kiss the other guests, I wondered if Angelina was aware that her son might be alive.
The day Kingston had supposedly been put to death, Angelina’s dark hair had become streaked with white and her eyes had turned perpetually glassy. I’d thought it was because of heartache but learned, from overhearing the adults talk, that after Kingston’s failed coup, Addison had consoled Linus’s consort with copious amounts of purple fluff. Now, they spent their days cooped up in my grandmother’s living room, lounging about the velour boudoir, inhaling the hallucinogenic plant, and bonding over their disappointment in men.
“Granddaughter, don’t you look ravishing tonight!” Addison proclaimed much too spiritedly.
Her breath and pale lavender hair reeked of mallow—sweet and pungent with a side of nauseating. I tried to step away, but this would cause me to bump into Remo. I chose the better of two evils and stayed close to my loopy grandmother.
“Doesn’t she, Angelina?” Addison asked.
Angelina’s eyes rolled in their sockets. I wasn’t sure my image was even registering on her pupils, but she cooed and whispered. “Your eyes look violet.” Her nostrils flared. “You even smell purple.”
My grandmother’s eyes widened in wonder. “Oh, but she does!”
Behind her, Nima shook her head, murmuring something into my father’s ear that pulled him away from Silas.
“Addison, you’ve arrived!” He took his mother’s elbow and guided her to the bow-shaped wooden dining table weighted down by the prepared feast. “Why don’t I get you settled?”
Angelina, whose arm was still wrapped around my grandmother’s, stumbled as her feet caught up with my father’s brusque movement.
“Lost her mind when she lost her son, that one.” Gregor grabbed a handful of paprika-flecked panem leaves.
Usually the buttery scent of bread that wafted from the heart-shaped leaves made my stomach growl, but my insides were twisted into too many knots to produce sound. “I’m guessing it would haunt any mother to birth an evil child, and then watch that child be put to death. She did witness the execution, didn’t she?”
Gregor turned his autumn-leaf eyes off the backside of a passing faerie waitress. “We no longer subject families to executions.”
“Your consideration knows no bounds.” I sipped my wine, even though the taste was souring my stomach.
His mouth curved. “Your tongue is as sharp as a quila’s beak, little Amara.”
A warm hand wrapped around my forearm, dimpling the ultraviolet fabric of my dress’s three-quarter sleeves. “Dinner. Come.” Nima pulled me away from Gregor and Remo. “Please don’t anger the wariff, abiwoojin. Your father and he are already not seeing eye-to-eye these days. Which is probably why he wanted you to get engaged . . .” She trailed off, as though considering what she’d just said.
I itched to explain all Iba had told me in the gazebo, but this was neither the time nor was it my place to tell her. He’d share his reasons soon enough. Nima clutched my arm until we reached the banquet table carved from a single calimbor trunk, then went to join Iba at one end.
“Amara.” Iba gestured to the chair beside my grandfather’s and across from Giya’s.
My grandfather rose and wrapped one sun-spotted hand around the copper twig rung, scooting it back for me. “How lucky I am to be seated next to the prettiest girl in Neverra.”
How I adored this man. “I’m the lucky one.”
He tucked my chair in, then regained his seat beside my grandmother, who was fingering one of the adamans blooms tied into bouquets by sprigs of wild chives and scattered down the length of the table.
When she retracted her hand, the petals tinkled. “I still can’t get over the fact that they’re made of glass, and how long have we been living in Neverra, Derek?”
“Almost an Earthly century.” Wonder lined Pappy’s tone.
After my parents’ wedding, Nima sat her father down and explained what she was and where she needed to live. Pappy hadn’t believed her at first, so she’d shown him. Apparently, when he’d popped out of the portal, he’d blacked out. Iba had caught my grandfather as he’d toppled off the thin disk and had lain him on the mossy ground. To make a long story short, when Pappy had come to, he was still convinced it was a dream. It had taken him days of wandering through the land and passing through portals to believe it was real. And then it had taken him almost an entire Earthly year before he’d talked to his girlfriend Milly about the faerie isle.
Oddly enough, Nana Em believed faeries existed right off the bat and had been delighted by the magical land, and had grown even more so when Pappy had asked for her hand on the beach bordering the Pink Sea. Although Pappy and Nana went back to Earth each year, they never spent more than a week away from Neverra, because nothing was more important to them than family, and because all of their human friends had eventually died.
Pappy leaned forward to look at the person who’d taken the chair next to mine. I didn’t have to turn to know the identity of my neighbor; the coppery glint of hair in my peripheral vision all but blinded me.
“Your father told me you’ve recently been promoted, Remo,” Pappy said. “Congratulations.”
“Promoted? What an achievement.” I seized my goblet of water and gulped down its contents. “Was it thanks to your grandfather’s name or your new fiancée’s?”
He stiffened. “I didn’t earn the promotion because of any blood or Cauldron relations, prinsisa.”
“Of course not. Why would your relationship to the draca, wariff, and now the prinsisa facilitate your rise in lucionaga ranks? I’m certain you’re a wonderful firefly.”
Remo shifted on his seat. “You’re just full of kind words tonight, fiancée.”
“I’m sorry, but did you think the glittery smoke that traveled through my body earlier gave me amnesia?”
Giya made a sound at the back of her throat that she stifled with her palm.
“Skies forbid anything made you forget how deeply you hate me,” Remo said under his breath. “Wouldn’t want our time together to be boring.”
“Indeed.” The luminous adamans petals reminded me of when I’d scraped my leg on the flowers while
flying too low over them. The sight of my blood had made most Seelies flee, including the two lucionaga assigned to me. They’d shot into the sky, supposedly to call for help.
Remo, who’d been swimming in the Glades with a few of his friends at the time, had sidled up to the side of the copper basin and had watched me bleed with unabashed amusement. It was only when one of my guards returned with Geemee Kaji and Sook that Remo had plunged back into the water to continue his game of water polo or whatever it was they were playing.
As though thinking of him had conjured him up, Sook sauntered in, brown hair so wet it looked almost black, and flopped into the empty seat beside his sister. He was panting, as though he’d run all the way from his house, and his coppery skin glistened with sweat and rain.
“Sorry I’m late. So, what are we celebrating?” His black eyes darted around the long table before returning to me. When he caught sight of my neighbor, he did a double-take, and his black eyebrows shot into his silky bangs.
“My engagement to your dear cousin.” Remo slid both his elbows onto the table and aligned his forearms with his gold cutlery.
“Say what now?” Sook whipped his gaze toward the head of the table where Nima and Iba sat. “What did you do to deserve that?”
“Adsookin Geemiwa,” my uncle boomed. “Be nice.”
“Sorry, Iba.” He flashed his father an apologetic look.
“It is not to me you should apologize. It is to your future cousin-in-law.”
Sook’s square jaw worked, as though he were chewing on a piece of dehydrated panem. “My deepest apologies, golwinim.”
Remo flipped his knife over and over. Was he thinking of tossing it at Sook because my cousin had used the Gottwa term for lucionaga? Even though it was the appropriate terminology, most Unseelies—even half-Seelie ones like Sook—employed it solely to get underneath a Seelie’s skin.
When Remo didn’t send the knife hurtling across the table, I came up with a new hypothesis: Gregor’s heir was uncomfortable. Even though he’d never struck me as someone ill-at-ease in social situations, tonight, his family was heavily outnumbered by mine. Not to mention his mother had left.
Reckless Cruel Heirs Page 5
