Dark Souls

by Quinn Blackbird

  She tucks the knife into her boot, then abandons me for the beige tent where the women sleep. I watch her go for a moment before a dark, bitter smile twists my mouth.

  Standing there in the farther shadows of the camp, I ache for my art book. I wish I could curl up in a corner and sketch the things I want to do to Nicole.

  My fingers ache to pinch charcoal that will stain my skin, and drag it along thick paper. I would draw all sorts. Nicole being whipped at the post, her lover torn to pieces and left to rot.

  I would sketch her the way I sketched my loathsome parents—their crash, the complete crumpled wreck of their car, the blood I imagined that splattered over the windows.

  My art book is for the ugly and the painful. A diary of my wicked thoughts and horrible feelings.

  I wish I had it to sketch Nicole when she gets what’s coming to her.

  Pushing my art book out of my mind, I get on with work. Alone, I wash the clothes, rinse them down an old scrub board, then hang them up on the line to dry.

  Once all my work is over and done with, I join Adrianna by the main fire pit, and enjoy the second serving of soup she sneaks me. I use a damp cloth to wipe away the bloody remains of Caspan’s fury from my skin.

  The wounds on my neck and wrist are starting to scab by the time we call it a night and head into the beige tents.

  I don’t know how long I sleep for before shouts jolt me awake.

  Adrianna stirs beside me in the thick blackness of the tent.

  All the women are rousing. I rub my eyes and squint at the entrance, whose fabric wall flaps in the breeze. Outside, the orange glow of the torch-light stretches shadows up the sides of the tent.

  A middle-aged woman is the first to poke her head out to see what’s going on. All I hear are booming shouts tearing over the beach we’re camped on. Not even the waves breaking on the shore or the whistle of the wind penetrate the air.

  The woman turns back to run her worried gaze over us. She frowns, her lips thinning into a grim, flat line.

  “What’s going on?” Adrianna asks in a hushed voice that still clings to wisps of sleep. “Are we moving on?”

  Unease stirs deep in my belly. These aren’t the shouts that come before we pack up camp and head out. These shouts are filled with excitement and rage, and they come from the dark fae.

  “They have the girl,” the woman says, and she tucks a peachy strand of hair behind her ear. “The one who works with you.” And her gaze lands on me.

  Nicole.

  I hesitate.

  My mouth parts and I look between the woman and Adrianna. I expected this—but not as soon as it’s happened. My surprise looks more like shock on my face, and I’m glad for it. It feigns innocence on my face. No one studies me with the suspicion they should have.

  Looks like I’ll get off scot-free. At least, it looks that way now...

  There’s one thing I didn’t consider, and it hits me now like a punch to the gut. The knife belongs to Caspan, and I stole it. Though, Nicole was in his tent moments before I was. He might think she stole it, not me.

  I force the innocence to stick to my slack face as movement rustles through our tent. We each crawl out onto the shore and stagger up towards the light burning bright up the camp.

  Fire pits rage on in the darkness, undisturbed by the silent winds, and they illuminate what happens up at the post.

  A tall throne-like chair overlooks the camp. It sits tall, and its black metal material reminds me of the diadem that Caspan wears proudly on the crown of his thick black hair.

  He sits on it, as still and silent as a statue. His black eyes flicker orange as the fires reflect on the inky pools of darkness.

  I keep my head down and shadow the growing human crowd as we move up further, nearing the fae side of camp. We stop at the divide, and quiet falls over us like a hush.

  Everyone watches the post ahead.

  Nicole is fastened to it by thick, heavy chains. They rattle as she struggles against them. But it’s useless. I know, because I’ve been there, and there’s no escaping that post unless the dark fae allow it.

  Beside Nicole, her lover is beaten bloody and chained. He’s a motionless lump on the sand.

  I chance a glance up at Caspan.

  He looks at the cluster of humans, his inky gaze rinsing over us—until he spots me among the mass, and his stare catches me like a fishhook. I can’t tear my gaze away from his dark, dangerous one. What if he knows I was the one who stole the knife?

  Any moment now, he can demand my head be lopped off in punishment, or have me dragged up to the post and be whipped to the bone.

  Finally, I manage to look away when Cheekbones takes a proud stance beside the post.

  Holding a long sword-dagger hybrid loose in his grip, he addresses the entire camp; “This human—” He points the sharp, glinting tip of his blade to Nicole as she sobs. “—has committed unforgivable offences. With a weapon stolen from our General’s tent—” I breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know it was me who stole the knife. “—she attempted to cut this captive free from his bindings.”

  All eyes land on Nicole and Georgi.

  She has given up. Deflated, she slumps over the motionless body of her lover, and her body rattles with her hushed cries.

  My face turns grim.

  I wanted this. This was my aim when I gave her the knife. But now, as I watch it unfold, I can’t help but feel a tinge of bitter guilt curdle deep in my gut.

  But is it my fault, really? I might have given the knife, but I didn’t force her to use it. That was her decision, her fault to make.

  “How do you plead, kuri?” Cheekbones takes a dangerous, determined step closer to her. “Was it worth it?” he adds in a low, menacing voice, meant to mock her.

  Proudly, she pushes up from the limp body of her lover, and she stares Cheekbones right in the eyes. Stubbornness hardens her jaw.

  “I would rather die with my love than live with the fae,” she announces with a stronger voice than I expected.

  If I was her, my sobs would be so violent that I wouldn’t be able to utter much more than choked pleas.

  Braver than I gave her credit for.

  Still, it doesn’t change how I feel about her. And it’s not like I can do anything to stop this now. It’s too late.

  It’s best to just keep my mouth shut and watch, like the rest of the camp.

  Cheekbones smiles something savage. “Your wish is my command, little kuri.”

  A cruel laughter ribbons up from the army, and I fight a shudder than runs down my spine.

  I chance a look up at Caspan.

  He’s watching me already, his tar-black eyes shimmering with secrets and danger. I have a bad feeling in my stomach, and I wonder if he knows it was really me who stole the knife.

  The air shifts into something violent and brutal a second before the sword comes down on Nicole. Her screams curdle my blood and I wince, looking away.

  A grimace twists my face as a second cry splits the air.

  I’m hit on the side. Adrianna nudges me and, when she catches my teary gaze, she mouths one word. ‘Watch.’

  I do. Because we don’t have a choice if we want to avoid punishment striking down on us. We must watch the cruelties of the dark fae, watch them shed the blood of our people. And we must stay silent while it happens.

  It takes a long time for Nicole’s screams to quieten.

  Once silence takes over her limp, bloody frame, I wonder if she is dead already or just passed out. It doesn't matter to Cheekbones. He hacks and hacks and hacks before he turns on Georgi. He doesn't scream as Cheekbones butchers him, and I’m glad for it.

  The screams are the hardest part. It’s the screams that get me, not the blood, not the limbs that fly through the air, and not the flesh that’s severed from the bodies. It’s the screams that stir guilt through me. And that’s an emotion I can’t afford to feel in this new world of darkness. I already feel too much.

  The whole time,
Caspan watches me from across the camp.

  I snub his gaze and force myself to witness the butchering until it—eventually—comes to a stop, and all that’s left is a bloody, meaty pool in the sand.

  Nicole did get what she wanted in the end. She died with her love.

  I think of that haunted post where humans go to die. First the two runners. Now Nicole. All those on the laundry duty before me.

  Laundry-duty is cursed, I decide.

  And I’m next.

  end of book 3

  QUINN BLACKBIRD

  * * *

  THE DARK FAE, BOOK 4, IS FOR RELEASE SOON.

  THIS SERIES A RAPID-RELEASE, AND ALL INSTALLMENTS WILL BE RELEASED FORTNIGHTLY.

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  A shaky breath hitched in my throat as his fingertips reached my chin.

  Surprisingly, his touch was gentle. Then he dragged the tip of a silver nail along my skin.

  The ferocity of his eyes kept my gaze locked and my body stiff. The nail lowered—down my pulsing throat, slower than the clock’s ticking.

  “I can tear your throat out right here,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper of threats and spilled blood. “I could kill you a thousand different ways where you sit.”

  The nail cut deeper. Blood beaded, then spilled down my front, over my breasts.

  I choked on a whimper.

  “Now tell me everything.”