What did he possibly want from me? No one was ever kind to me just because. There was always something required in return. Tit for tat.
The gentle mask he wore slipped for a moment, and I was ready to crow. To pump my fist in exultation at being right. That he was just the same as everyone else. I’d see his fire, his fury, and I’d bask in it.
But that wasn’t what he showed me.
What I saw was pain.
So much so that it pricked my already raw and shriveled heart.
Buttons had cared for me because he’d known nothing else. I’d raised him from a wee hatchling; he’d viewed me as a mother. I’d quickly dispelled his love for me, as I had all others who’d ever thought to try. In the end, his hatred of me had been as complete as everyone else’s.
But Syrith seemed unfazed by my rage and stony silence. If the darkness rode me, I’d wrap myself in it. Use it as my armor as I always have. But the darkness was dormant. Sleeping. And all I was left with now was an unrelenting well of shame and fear that threatened to consume me.
“You’re wrong, fairy. You think you’re the only one who’s suffered in this life, but you’re wrong. We all suffer in our own ways. Perhaps my own sins are as grave as yours.”
I snorted. I knew what he was trying to do. Bond with me somehow. Create a connection, a tether that would keep me tied to him, make me want to “share.” To slice open my heart and let the befouled sins of my past flow down around his feet so that he might stare at them, might somehow commiserate with me about them.
“I don’t need nor do I want your pity, dragonborne. I am who I am.”
I notched my chin, daring him to defy my words. To tell me I was still able to be saved, to be spared this nightmare.
His brows lowered. “Are you truly that far gone, fairy, that you cannot see this for what it really is? I’m trying to bloody help you.”
I’d never known that such soft words could carry such a massive blow to my chest. I cringed, gripping the edge of my icy gown tight.
“I’ve been alone all my life. And I don’t intend to change now. Leave me alone, Prince.”
His face twisted up into tight, angry features, and it was awful. To see him do as everyone else had done. But this was what I was good at.
Being alone.
Being angry.
Being prickly and rude and mean. It was my armor. My shield. And I didn’t know how to be anything other than this.
My smile was grim. “You might say you want to help me, dragon. But, in the end, you’ll see me just as everyone else always has.”
“And how is that?” he snapped, and I flinched.
My fingers twitched as I imagined running them down his slightly whiskered cheek and tracing the sharp planes of his handsome face.
Cold. Indifferent. Indomitable. All those thoughts floated to the top of my head, but in a moment of perverse honesty, I muttered, “As nothing at all.”
His beautiful blue-green eyes widened at my raw frankness, and I gasped, realizing what I’d just said, what I’d done. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I shot up from the couch and transformed instantly. Still glowing, I flew to my back room. Slamming the door shut behind me and burrowing deep beneath the mussed sheets.
I didn’t stop crying all through the night.
~*~
Harpy
Hidden within the background of this realm, I watched Galeta flee, leaving a stunned-looking Syrith sitting frozen on the couch. His eyes were downcast and hooded, but I could read his heart. His thoughts.
He was confused. Angry. And something else, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on that emotion. It was clouded and difficult to decipher. But he was bathed in shades of soft blue. Curiosity. Pain, maybe? I simply couldn’t tell.
“This isn’t at all how things should go. I’m failing, Creator. I’m—”
My daughter has lived in darkness for so long, she has lost her way. Worry not, little golden bird. I have chosen correctly, sending her this dragonborne. It will not be easy cracking open her armor, but if anyone can do it—
“It would be the dragon,” I said softly, finishing my Creator’s thoughts.
I felt Its smile, and I shook my head. This was my biggest assignment yet—I could not fail It, and yet I feared I already was.
“But she is so tortured, Creator,” I pressed on.
Is not the butterfly proof enough that one can go through a great deal of darkness and still become something beautiful?
I hung my head. It was right. And I would have to trust Its judgment. “But if the seed is not taken from her, then all of this is for naught. Isn’t it, Creator?”
Deep down, I knew the answer to this question, but I desperately wished It would tell me otherwise.
A brushstroke of phantom wings grazed my cheek, causing me to shiver. Then It was gone. I shook my head, sick and disquieted to my soul. Even here, in this place full of powerful magic, Galeta still fought the darkness.
Where was that replacement? Why hadn’t it shown itself yet? It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my Creator. I did. With my whole heart. But if the vessel were really here, surely I’d have sensed it by now.
No?
Frowning, I twirled on my heel and swiped my hand through the air, opening a rift between realms. I’d been visiting the centauress of late.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t taken notice of the others, but something about the she-horse called to me. Some certainty that she must surely be the vessel.
Stepping through the realms, I moved into the centauress’s temporary domicile. I’d given the goddesses very specific designs for each habitat, knowing that to thrive and open up to their future mates, they’d need someplace that felt like home.
Even the barren land of Baba Yaga had been designed with purpose.
The centauress—whose name was actually Tymanon—was designed to make her feel as if she were back in her world of Olympus. The grass of the plains was lush and ripe, filling the night with its earthy, nutty scent.
Pale moonflowers waved in the gentle breeze. Apple, pear, and dogwood trees bursting with pretty white petals dotted the landscape.
I’d taken to watching Ty—as I thought of her—the past few days. Not really studying her male, since he was of no importance to me. But wondering what it was about her that’d called to me.
And the quiet, vain hope beating in my heart that she might be the replacement.
I’d not said hi to her, but merely watched her interactions in this world. The pretty brunette of mane and flank stood upon a hillock alone, practicing her archery. Nocking an arrow into her bow, letting it fly, and just as quickly replacing it with a new one.
In the time it’d taken me to walk up the short hill to her, she’d released her entire quiver full into the mound of dirt with a makeshift bull’s-eye painted upon it. Grabbing her arrows, she dusted off the dirt, checked that her arrow tips were still in good-working fashion, and nodded to herself, as though pleased by her progress.
When the Creator had given me the list of names to be brought to this realm, I couldn’t understand why Ty was on it. She was of Olympus and not of Kingdom at all, as the rest of the queens were.
Rubbing my arms gently, I frowned. I’d been drawn to this startlingly lovely creature almost against my will.
“Whoever you are,” she said in a dulcet voice, “I know you’ve been watching me. Now tell me why, or you shall surely die.”
Then, in a move I’d not seen coming, she’d nocked her arrow, twirled, and had it aimed unerringly in my direction.
Eyes wide, I held up my hands. It was entirely possible I could be injured—I simply wasn’t certain and didn’t want to risk it. Remaining hidden seemed pointless now.
So I popped into existence and said jerkily, “Do not shoot, centauress. I merely watched. I am sorry. I will go now.”
But the moment I appeared, a tiny frown line appeared between her brows, and the arrow that’d been pointed directly at my heart—though I knew she’
d not seen me—was now sheathed, her weapon harmless. I’d never even seen her move.
I clutched at my chest, my heart wildly beating inside. “Gods, you’re deadly, aren’t you?” My laughter was weak with relief.
Slipping her bow over one shoulder, she shook her head. “Who are you, creature? And why have you been haunting me?”
I blinked. In the short time I’d come to know Ty, I’d learned she was an honorable creature, and I trusted her. She was prickly. But that wasn’t always necessarily a bad thing either.
Maybe I’d tell her just a little.
“My name is Harpy. I think.”
“You think?” Her light-brown eyes sparkled, as though I amused her.
Which caused me to smile. “Aye. My Creator forgot to name me.”
“Then”—she shrugged—“Harpy it is. Why are you here?”
“I don’t know.” I flitted my fingers along one of my downy feathers. I always molted when I was nervous, and I was nervous now. Already, I’d lost several feathers to this strange realm.
Her eyelids drew together to form slits. “Do you harass everyone else, or have I been the only one to receive this dubious honor?”
I chuckled weakly. “I wouldn’t call what I’m doing harassment. I’m simply trying to learn what it means to be human.”
She laughed. Tossed her head back, which caused her thick braid to undulate behind her. “And you’d come to learn that from a centaur.” Knuckling tears from her eyes, she shook her head. “Harpy, you’re a strange little thing, aren’t you? I’ve decided I won’t kill you. Centaurs aren’t exactly known for our humor, and yet you’ve given me quite a laugh tonight. I like you.”
I snorted pleasantly.
“Come. You must be famished. I was just about to have my evening cup of fresh cider. We can sit and chat until I weary if you’d like.”
“Your man won’t mind?”
Her smile turned soft at the mention of him, and I could see that my Creator had been right in his pairings.
“No, Petra will not be a problem. He’s already abed. It was why you caught me target practicing.”
I nodded. “Well, all right then. For a while.”
She turned, walking steadily toward a shelter large enough she’d not need to lower her head to walk through. I studied her animal form. I did not know enough about horses to know what any specific parts of her were called, only that she was pretty in both forms.
Upon entering the hut, she pointed toward the glow of a warm fire. “Sit,” she commanded.
I nodded, watching a moment as she reverently put away her weapon for the night. By the time I’d sat on the log before the flame, she was working on crushing several apples between her hands.
My brows rose at the strength she must possess to be able to turn the hard fruits into soft pulp. Juices ran from between her fingers into twin stoneware mugs.
Glancing to the left of me, I noted the bundled form of her Petra and smiled softly. Last night, I’d watched him gift her a single, solitary, and perfectly shaped rose. I’d thought it’d been nothing special. Except for the fact that Ty had seemed both startled and terribly pleased by it.
Even now that rose was threaded through her hair.
Love was a strange thing.
“Here, take and drink.” Ty shoved a mug at me.
I nodded my thanks and took it from her. Then I took a small sip and made a noise of gratitude. It was actually rather good.
Fruity.
Pulpy.
Very sweet.
Forgoing a log, Ty knelt on her forelegs, slowly lowering her big body to the ground, and studied me with intelligent eyes.
Feeling nervous and fidgety, I sipped at my drink. I’d not had a thing to drink in over a thousand years, and I’d nearly forgotten the pleasures of it.
“Why am I really here, Harpy girl? Who I somehow doubt to be girl at all,” Ty asked with a lifted brow.
Eyes going wide, I stared at her pretty equine features. She had big teeth, like her ancestors. But everything else was uniquely feminine and soft. Which helped to soften her overall appearance, which was actually somewhat masculine. Especially her arms and torso.
“I suppose I do owe you an answer now.” I tipped the mug toward her with a small grin, but she didn’t share one back.
I sighed.
“You see,” she said slowly, setting her now-empty mug down beside her, “I’ve had time to study these ‘games,’ and something has become abundantly clear to me. I do not belong here. Nor does Petra. These are games for the Dark Queens, of which I am not one. I’m not going to say I’m necessarily the sweetest centaur of the bunch, but I am certainly no queen.”
My brows lifted. Perceptive horse, she was. Wetting my lips, I tasted the hint of fresh apple upon them. Having been drawn to the centaur the past few days, I could only imagine it was because she was the replacement.
And if that were the case, then she’d need to know a little bit.
I decided to use my free will and trust my gut. “No, you’re right. You aren’t like the rest of them. You’re intelligent. Keenly so. And you do serve a future purpose.”
Her nostrils flared, and she paused for several moments, as if trying to scent out a lie in me. After a moment, she nodded. “Hm. I’m not surprised to hear this.”
I’d always known of the intelligence of the centaurs, but I’d never imagined them to be quite so perceptive.
“What might that purpose be?”
I shrugged. “I’m not truly certain. Only my Creator knows, but It assures me that in time, all will be made clear.”
“And I’m to trust this Creator whom I do not know, am I?”
She tipped her chin forward, and I shook my head. “But you do know It, Tymanon. It is in all things. The colors. Life. The smile of a child. All that lives and breathes is because of It.”
Her full lips tipped at the corners. “My people have a name for that. Would you like to know what we call it?”
I nodded. “Very much.”
“Father sky.”
Smiling, I nodded softly. “I think It would like that. It is a rather robust being, at that.”
She snorted, which sounded more like a neigh. “I’m sure It is. So you’ve been sent here to learn more about me, or more about yourself?”
I opened my mouth, ready to correct her, when I was brought up short by that question. “What do you mean, more about myself?”
Turning to stare into the flame, she flicked a little kernel of something off her finger into the fire. Immediately, the sparks leapt high, turning from orange to a bright yellow.
But rather than answer my question, she said slowly, “The very first day, I felt an awareness of something watching me. But not just me, watching the dragon Prince too. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes were piercing, and I knew she’d know if I lied, so I said nothing instead. She nodded, as though that were answer enough.
“These games, they aren’t.” She frowned. “I’ve studied my opponents. Many of them believe this place truly is what it seems to be. But none of us have been sent here just to find our true loves. Not that we won’t, Aphrodite chose well, of course. Though I’m hardly certain I’ll be spending my life soul bound to a satyr, however, that is a different story entirely.” She snorted, as though amused, then flicked her wrist, growing serious once more. “But there is so much more to what is happening here than merely discovering our mates. None of us matter. None of us are important enough alone to be anything of any great importance in Kingdom. So why would the gods go through such trouble to create these games of ‘love?’” She finger quoted. Looking at Harpy with a piercing, intelligent gaze. “You know what I think, Harpy, we were each chosen for a very specific set of skills. I’ve had ample opportunity to study my opponents and one thing I’ve found to be constant. Together, we are a force to be reckoned with. Are we not?”
I could hardly feel my toes. How did this creature know so much?
More a
nd more, I was becoming certain that she was the replacement I’d waited so long to find, but on the heel of that thought came another. If she was the vessel, this strangely brilliant creature before me would be no more.
What a sad thought.
“Do you really believe these games aren’t simply games? That perhaps you’re looking far too deeply into matters?” I asked, leaning forward, eager to hear her answer.
“No. I do not. When I study my opponents, time and again I return to the fairy’s domain, and do you know what I see there, Harpy?”
I swallowed hard and shook my head.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Why is that?”
This creature was far too smart to fool, and yet I could not tell her everything. Right now, she had her suspicions and her certainty that all wasn’t what it seemed, and she was right. But if she was smart enough to figure that out on her own, she was certainly capable enough of trying to change the course of destiny.
“I do not know—”
She held up her hand. “Do not lie to me, Harpy, for I would know it, and then I’d have more questions of you.”
Her eyes twinkled, and I sensed she was not angry with me. “Why do you seem happy?”
“Because a centaur loves nothing more than a grand journey, and barring that, working out a good puzzle. Keeps our minds engaged. And aside from Petra, I find this entire place wholly tedious.”
I flicked a glance at the soundly sleeping shadow. “I am glad you like your mate.”
One of her brows lifted. “I never said he was my mate. Though I do find his mind stimulating.”
My Creator was always right. Petra and Ty would eventually fall in love, I was certain of it, even if she wasn’t yet. She shrugged, swiping a hand through the air.
“Anyway. Tell me, little one—what have you learned studying me?” A thin brow lifted high, as if daring my honesty.
“That you are quite smart and that I would do well to keep my thoughts to myself.”
Her laughter rang through the night.
Chapter 11: Gods, You’re a Nasty Lil’ Demon, Aren’t You?
The Fairy Queen (The Dark Queens Book 6) Page 10
