Reckless Cruel Heirs

by Olivia Wildenstein

  I focused on my feet, trying to drive fire into them, but unless our kalini felt more icy-needle than flame in here, then my veins were all out of heat. My pulse quickened, and the chill permeating my skin sank deeper. “Can you fly?”

  His forehead was so furrowed it created trenches in the thick mud glazing his brow. He didn’t answer me for so long that my dread turned to full-fledged panic.

  I stared at his feet, willing them to lift. When they didn’t, I wrenched my neck back to look at the portal. “If we can’t fly up there, then how the hell are we supposed to reach it?”

  “If this really is a prison, then my guess is we’re not.”

  I ripped my gaze off the slender disk hovering in the white sky and focused on my Infinity, swiping the tip of my gloved index over it. Please please please be functional. No beam appeared. “My Infinity’s not working. What about yours?”

  Remo rubbed his bangle against the back of his thigh, the only clean spot on his body, then held it up and swiped his finger over the glossy black surface. His grim expression told me his was offline too. Which was crazy because Infinities were powered by our pulse, and mine was beating. Galloping even.

  “Whatever’s blocking our fire is also blocking our technology,” I whispered.

  “Well, we are in a fucking prison. What exactly were you expecting? Bare-chested men fanning you and feeding you gladeberries?” Remo’s sharp, mocking tone made my shoulders snap back.

  “Can you put your dickish attitude on hold for a second? It isn’t helping!” I expected a stroke of lightning or at the very least a roll of thunder, but the air was still. Did my Daneelie power not work here either? “Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

  He glowered. “Considering I wasn’t aware of my destination, no.”

  I disregarded his sarcasm and stared up at the portal again, willing someone else to pop out of it, preferably Gregor. Hope suddenly streaked through my chest. “The packet of salt. I dropped it. They’ll find it!”

  “No. They won’t.” Remo gestured to the mud . . . and my packet of salt.

  Crap. Although perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing that he’d taken it with him. Maybe we’d need it to get out. “Wait. Josh knows where I went. When I’m reported missing, he’ll tell someone.”

  Remo grunted, running his hand through his clumpy hair. “Locklear’s banned from Neverra. There’s no way he’s going to fess up to sending you in here. He’d be locked out of the isle for life or turned to ash.”

  “Unless he uses it as a negotiation chip. He’s pretty smart.” Like a weasel was smart.

  “Yeah, a real genius.”

  “You really hate the guy, huh?”

  “I really do.”

  “More than you hate me?” I wasn’t sure why I asked him this, but since the words were out, it was too late to take them back.

  For several heartbeats, his lips didn’t flex, and it gave me hope that I wasn’t stuck in Gregor’s jail with someone who might try to strangle me in my sleep. “Amara Wood, there is no one on Earth or in Neverra more rankling than you.”

  “Wow.” I took a step back, one of my eyes twitching with annoyance. “You could’ve just said no. You didn’t have to drag out your declaration and use big words.”

  His name overtook his brother’s on my mental list of loathsome fae. I whirled around, then clomped away through the sticky field toward the giant cacti and the arid ground beneath them. I wasn’t sure where I’d end up, besides away from Remo Farrow, which was my current goal. Goal number two was finding shelter—preferably one with a roaring fire—to get my thoughts in order so I could devise a plan to escape.

  Alone.

  Remo could find his own way out. Better yet, he could stay stuck in here forever. It wasn’t as though I’d tell anyone where he went.

  10

  The Fanged Flower

  As my boots crunched over the cracked ochre earth, I loosened my unraveling braid and sang. Not loudly. Skies, I wasn’t trying to attract attention or put on a show. I sang because silence spooked me. I must’ve gone through at least ten songs before I finally emerged from the sea of prickly green.

  A round valley stretched below. More of a crater than a valley considering how steep the belt of mountains surrounding it was. Keeping a safe distance from the ledge, I squinted to make out the barracks that lined a single dusty road. All were flat-roofed clapboard houses with the exception of the brick building at the end of the street. Were those old-timey dwellings supposed to be jail cells? I watched for movement, but found neither prison guard nor prisoner wandering below. However, something cheeped and fluttered in my peripheral vision. Nerves popping, I summoned my dust but no honeyed strands of wita shot out from my fingertips. Maybe they were there, just invisible. Unless this place jammed my dust, too.

  Goose bumps danced over my skin as I scanned the desert of cacti and the baked earth below them. The high-pitched sound came again, accompanied by a beating of wings. I whirled, my heart spinning in time with my torso. Another shrill peep, this time from behind me. I whipped my head toward the sound, my mud-soaked hair flogging my cheeks. What was making that—I sucked in a breath when a fluted blossom detached itself from a bulbous green trunk and soared toward me, screeching.

  Oh . . . Great . . . Gejaiwe . . .

  Even though every cell in my body wanted to force my knees into a crouch, I balled my fingers and swung my arms. My fist connected with the shrieking flower. Yelping, I scrambled backward but lost my balance. My tailbone slammed into the ground with such force, birdies flew around my head.

  Not birdies.

  More pink blossoms.

  I flung my arms out, batting the animate flowers away. One nipped at my ear, and I screamed.

  What the hell! It had fangs?

  Sweat drenched the back of my neck. The front of my neck too. Unless that was blood.

  “What is wrong with you, Gregor Farrow?” I yelled up at the white sky, hoping my voice would carry through the portal and boom across Neverra. “When I get out of here, I will murder you with my wita. Then set fire to the thorny weed you’ll become again and again until nothing ever rises from your damn ashes!”

  Another flower flew at my head. This time I punched it before it could make contact. More dove off the green cacti and launched themselves at me. One thumped into the back of my skull and flapped there.

  Horror spiked through me as I realized it must’ve gotten stuck in my hair. I wanted to cry and cursed myself for not taking Aylen up on her offer to chop off my locks in a fashionable bob. Sweeping one arm continuously in front of my face to shield it from the harrowing flux of winged flowers, I bent my other arm and dragged my gloved hand through my hair, thanking the Gottwas’s Great Spirit and the Neverrian Skies that Remo had lent me gloves. When I got back to Neverra, I’d purchase an entire collection.

  I finally managed to wrangle the flapping bloom. Although it pecked and poked and fought my hold, I squeezed. After several thunderous heartbeats—mine and the creature’s—the thing stopped moving. I kept squeezing it for good measure. Gritting my molars, I swung my other arm faster, shaking my head from side to side.

  Something whizzed over me, something thick and green. I ducked, one hand still tangled in my hair, clamped around the (hopefully) asphyxiated creature. My stomach heaved at the thought that something dead dangled in my hair, and a cry escaped me.

  More than one.

  I sobbed out of frustration and fear, out of disgust and exhaustion. But then I remembered the green bat that had brought me to my knees, and I cranked my neck back in search of what had vanquished the swarm of rosy fiends.

  Face still yellowed with mud, chest rising and falling as fast as mine, stood Remo, armed with a cactus branch. Blood beaded around his bare fingers, probably where the plant’s needles had punctured skin. While he scanned the cacti minefield for a new skein of evil flowers, I rubbed my face on my forearm, trying to dislodge the tears clinging to my lashes and curving down my cheek
s before he could spot them.

  Show no weakness, Iba was always telling me, or your enemies will use it against you. If we ever got out of here, Remo would probably start breeding these fanged flowers and train them to assault me.

  When no new attack came, he lowered his makeshift weapon. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?” I growled, still trying to untangle the inert bloom dangling in my hair.

  New tears leaked down my cheeks. I was failing so hard at staying stoic. What a queen I’ll make. A sob grew and grew, expanding in my chest like a storm cloud. I would not let it out. I clamped my teeth. Instead of plaintive, my cry came out as a hiccupy squeak.

  I sat back on my heels and lowered my eyes to my knees as I pried strand after strand off the unmoving thing, yanking out so many hairs that my skull stung. Remo’s boots crunched over the cracked earth before vanishing from my line of sight.

  Even though I didn’t want him to witness how low I’d sunk, I also didn’t want to be alone. What if more of those things dropped from a cactus?

  “Please don’t leave,” I murmured.

  His knees clicked and then his warm breaths hit the shell of my ear. “I wasn’t going to.” He pushed my shaky fingers aside, then gently began disentangling the trussed beast.

  I pressed my trembling lips together and focused on calming down. “Is it dead?”

  A soft snort ruffled my hair. “Yes.”

  Thank the Skies.

  “Were you picturing my neck when you strangled the life out of it?”

  The corners of my lips ticked up. “Maybe. Was your improvised weapon meant for my face?”

  “Maybe.” I heard his smile.

  Slowly, the weight tugging on my scalp vanished. I turned, wanting a closer look at it. The creature’s pink wings were fuzzy and its pistils were hooked and tinged red from my blood. A bead of cool sweat slithered between my shoulder blades.

  “Thank you, Remo.”

  The faerie’s green eyes lifted off the fanged flower. “Did a Wood just thank a lowly subject?”

  My gratitude seeped right out of me, and I climbed back to my feet to glare down at the crouched Seelie. “What did I ever do to you?”

  Lobbing my tiny assailant aside, he rose. I hated that he was taller, even by a few inches. “Woods think they’re so much better than everyone else. Your diverse blood doesn’t make you superior to any of us, Trifecta.”

  I would’ve spit on him if I’d been the type to spit. “Me and my diverse blood say screw you, Remo Farrow.” I added the middle finger to drive my point home before stalking off. I’d never flipped anyone off and felt cheap for having succumbed to the vile human gesture, but I was so angry. And tired. And annoyed. I was pretty sure that if anything attacked me right now, my aura would electrocute it.

  Down the steep flank of the mountain I went. Instead of sticky mud, the vertiginous ground beneath my feet was bone-dry. Would’ve been too convenient otherwise. Even though I almost lost my balance twice, the crumbly surface made getting away from Gregor’s cruel heir faster.

  Little rocks skidded against my boots as Remo fell into step beside me.

  Without turning, I snapped, “Leave me alone.”

  “A second ago, you begged me to stay, and now you want me gone?” He released a humorless snort. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m not following you? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Amara Wood.”

  I spun and lashed out at him with my fist. My knuckles grazed his jaw as I fell backward, my arms windmilling.

  Aw, crap.

  Remo launched himself at me, probably to shove me in case I miraculously managed to recover my balance. One of his arms snaked around my back, and he squatted so hard I toppled forward. His back slammed into the ground, and I slammed into his front. I shut my eyes as our fall and subsequent skid down the steep slope lifted dust and rocks that came at us like sharp projectiles.

  I wasn’t sure how long we fell, but it was too long. Then again, a single second pressed against Remo, inhaling the musky scent of his sweat tempered by the mineral smell of wet earth, was too long. As soon as we stopped, I picked my head off his chest and rolled onto my back. In between pants, he groaned.

  “Serves you right for trying to push me down, Farrow.”

  He twisted his head to the side, shooting me an impressive glare. “Push you down? I was trying to stop you from falling, Trifecta.” He glowered a couple seconds longer before turning his head back toward the dirty sky and shutting his eyes, his nostrils flaring as though he’d just played a grueling game of Floatball.

  “Why would you do that? I punched you.”

  “Was that what that was? A punch?” A corner of his mouth tilted.

  I sucked in a long breath, then pressed it out. “What did you think it was?”

  “Not a punch.”

  I pushed myself up onto my forearm and stared down at Remo. “My fist connected with your jaw.”

  His smile grew, which fed my desire to smack it off his face.

  I took the high road, though, and rolled myself up, dusting the back of my legs, even though at this point, I didn’t think the fastest cycle in a human washing pod with an entire bottle of detergent could help the state of my clothes and body.

  I started walking. “Next time I punch you, you won’t be smiling!”

  He laughed.

  The bagwa actually laughed.

  I’d show him.

  After I found a prison guard to help me out of this godforsaken land, I’d show him.

  11

  The Ghost Town

  It took several minutes to reach the first house, minutes during which I scanned each window that lined the street. Curtains hung crookedly in some, but most were bare, made up of panes of glass in need of a thorough wash. A lot like my body.

  The skid of little rocks and pounding on the hard-packed earth behind me made me look over my shoulder. It was just Remo. His gaze didn’t meet mine, too busy surfing over the fronts of the houses. A huge white sign with BOARDING HOUSE in black block letters hung over the gaping door of the first building.

  I glanced over my shoulder again.

  This time, Remo met my gaze. “Want me to hold your hand, Trifecta?”

  His belittling enquiry lent me courage. I pressed my fingertips into the worn wood, and the hinges groaned. “Hello?”

  “Great idea. Shout out your presence,” Remo muttered from across the road.

  I shot him one of my best glowers. “I’m looking for a prison guard.”

  “What if you find a prisoner?” He ducked around an old horse carriage missing a wheel. The wooden thing was slumped against the weathered white siding. A sign indicating LIVERY swayed in a slow breeze, its chains clinking.

  Humming softly, I entered the boarding house. I expected laser fences, cowering prisoners, or more homicidal pink-petaled creatures. The only thing I found in the old house was furniture painted an unfortunate grass-stain shade of green, open cupboards filled with piles of chunky plates and cracked bowls, and a lopsided round table surrounded by four chairs missing at least a rung or the entire seat. Dust motes glittered in the pale light slanting through the dirty glass. Yellowed wallpaper sagged against the walls that didn’t seem quite straight. I walked over to a narrow staircase sandwiched between two walls and a ceiling I barely cleared.

  I listened for footsteps on the faded boards or low murmurs, but besides the wind whistling outside, there was no sound. Humming a little louder, I started up the creaky stairs, keeping my gloved hand on the banister. The black material turned gray from the thick coating of dust. Rubbing my palms together, I made it to the landing that led to an equally narrow hallway with even lower timbered ceilings. I hunched a little as I stepped toward the first door, which gaped open. The bedroom was empty, save for a rusted bedframe, a three-drawer dresser topped with a chamber pot, and a speckled mirror. I strolled to the next door and the next. All ajar. And the rooms beyond them, vacant.

  I returned to the ground fl
oor and stared around me, my gaze locking on a blackened chimney where not even cinders or the scent of charred logs lingered. I exited the boarding house, shading my eyes. The sunshine hadn’t pierced the dense cloud cover, but the light was still painfully bright, especially after the obscurity of the abandoned dwelling. I scanned the street, wondering if Remo was still in the livery. Had he found anything? Anyone? I almost crossed the street but decided not to seek him out.

  I wasn’t a coward. I could explore this world without his help. Without anyone’s help. After all, I almost ended up here alone. Why he’d followed me in was still a mystery.

  Even though I hadn’t been particularly excited to meet Kiera, I almost wished I’d run into her, just to comfort myself that I hadn’t dropped into a wormhole that killed off its inhabitants the same way it killed off their powers.

  I walked to the next building, the front of which was curved like a horseshoe and cinched by a wraparound porch. The black sign nailed above it read SALOON in bold, chalk-white lettering. We had one of those in Neverra, modeled around an archaic human one, complete with squeaking swing doors, curled horns, and cow-hide barstools. I pressed my fingertips into the swing doors and entered a space made of polished tawny wood. No decorations adorned the walls, not even black-and-white wanted posters. A varnished bar ran the length of the far wall, topped with a forest of green-glass bottles. Throat clenching for a drop of liquid, I strode over. Every receptacle was empty.

  I went to flip a bottle over, but my gloved hand skidded right off its neck. What the—I attempted to pull it off the bar but it was stuck. I tried picking up another, but it, too, didn’t budge. Frowning, I walked over to one of the tables and shoved it. Its feet might as well have been soldered to the wide planks for all it moved. The only thing not stuck was the dust. I was tempted to return to the boarding house to check if the furniture there was also wedged to the floor but decided to test this out in the next building instead.

  I exited onto the dusty road. Again, no Remo in sight. He couldn’t have gone far though, the valley was small and the town compact. He was probably exploring the . . . I lifted my gaze to make out the sign atop the building across the road from me. How appropriate. The BROTHEL. If Remo was anything like Gregor, and there were real women in there, I might never see him again.