by May Sage
"You may claim whatever weapon you may steal or extort from any of us. Spill the blood of your peers, fertilize our forest with their remains. The last three standing will have earned their freedom."
The bloodbath commenced.
None of the darklings hesitated. They begged for swords that the Ironers were more than happy to provide with alacrity to watch them murder each other. The scent of blood clouded the air, thick and heady. Some among the prisoners were prey, and others, hunters. The boy Caim had noticed because of his age was unmistakably among the prey.
The sound of blade clashing against blade awakened something dark inside him, making him want to join in. This was what Aos Si were underneath all their refinement. Wildness. A part of Caim—the darker beast, never far beneath the surface—wished he could afford to sip his black wine laced with fae blood and give into his baser instincts, relish the fray. He wouldn’t; he’d rein it in. Because he was lord of Silver on enemy territory and staying in control was paramount. But mainly because this didn’t feel right. The prisoners looked exhausted, famished, unnaturally thin. And the boy wasn't fair game. Destroying youth was where Caim drew the line.
His gaze followed the young darkling’s progression. He would not enjoy seeing him die, but if he spoke up against it now, he would be undermining the authority of a lord of Iron, likely to become regent, on their land.
The boy stumbled to his feet, missing a blade by an inch. He crawled away, hands around his head, crying, trying to get out of the massacre. He bumped a leg. Caim lifted his gaze to the would-be murderer of the child.
It was a woman, and she had no weapon in hand.
Caim watched her bend over, extending her hand to the boy, whose eyes widened. He took it, carefully, and the woman pulled him up to his feet. Caim’s eyes widened. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected it. Because of the bloodsport around them, because they were in Iron, because he was an unseelie fae? He seldom looked for kindness. Especially when there was no obvious gain from it.
The woman didn’t need to be kind. She had her own problems; she was emaciated, with dark circles under her eyes. If the light gray flying gear she wore had fit once, it didn’t now. Why help a child when she had so little chance of survival herself, weakened as she was, in a ravenous pit of vipers?
Caim’s nails dug into his armrest as he inched forward, drinking the scene in, needing to feel closer, be closer. To the bottom of his dark, frozen heart, he wanted to be a part of this. Offer her a deal. She was beautiful. Striking. Memorable. But he wouldn’t have noticed her at all if she hadn’t also been so very naïve. And good.
He wasn’t used to good.
Now, among a crowd of fae ladies in silks, she stood out in her rags. Her golden skin and dark hair. Her eyes.
Her voice. It was but a whisper when it came. “I warned you I could not protect you.” The boy winced as she bent forward to his ear. "So, stay close and you may just survive.”
Caim paused. He’d been mistaken. This wasn’t weakness. This wasn’t naivety. She was simply certain, absolutely certain, that she was in no danger here.
That she'd made it five minutes without any weapon had surprised him. Now, it didn't.
Tired and spent as she was, her every move was fluid and precise. A Gaian darkling came from the side with a blade; she tilted her pelvis forward, and the blade hit air. She reached for the attacker's hand and pushed it back to his skull, all the while avoiding another hit on her left shoulder.
Water.
She moved like water.
If she'd had a sword in her hand, Caim knew she could have made short work of all the prisoners, and most of the lords, no doubt. But she seemed content to let them murder each other, simply defending herself—and the boy holding on to her like the lifeline she was.
His lips parted and a delighted laugh escaped him. He laughed like a child, with enchantment, astounding himself and anyone who was paying attention to him.
She didn’t spare the boy another glance, but she let him stick to her. Grace and indifference. She was cruel. Cruel, untouchable, and beautiful.
They were supposed to watch slaves butcher each other. Instead, they were graced with a dance worthy of a fairy queen.
A New Circle
Dammit.
It was just them now. The boy, her, and two people who hadn't been in her shipment from Earth. Two men, who looked too similar to not be related. They weren't attacking each other; their focus was entirely on her.
The brothers wanted to get rid of her—or the boy—so that they could survive together, of course.
She bit her lip. Fuck. She didn't actually have a choice.
Mel felt the air change from the left; something was approaching fast. A weapon—all her senses told her to move. She leaped out of the way in the nick of time, but the blade hadn't been aimed at her. It planted itself at her feet where she'd stood moments before.
She looked in the direction it had come from.
A man stood next to the most pretentious chair around the clearing. Lessara, to his left, looked like she'd sucked on a sour lemon. Mel wished she had the time to relish the sight.
She grimaced. Like she needed their help.
Ignoring the blade, Mel launched herself at the closest brother, jumping around his shoulders and cracking his neck between her thighs. She landed in front of the shocked, enraged man, and tripped him with a simple kick to the shin. Weak footwork. She took his sword and buried it in his heart before getting to her feet.
Her eyes went to Lyr.
She hated him right now. Hated him.
She had ended half a dozen innocents to save herself, and she'd do it again. The blood was on his hands, not hers.
“I said three may survive.” There was a warning in Lyr’s tone. “You have a habit of taking lives that aren't yours to take.”
Oh no. He was not going back on his word because she’d disposed of Tweedledum and Tweedledee. “As a wise man said, leaving a potential enemy alive isn't exactly smart. If this little trip to your shithole has taught me anything, it's to kill the whole set of siblings at once.”
To her relief, the man laughed. Of course he did. He enjoyed being surprised and entertained.
"I am free," she stated, eager to get his word on that, here and now, in front of everyone.
“Of course.” Lyr smiled, making her dread his next words. “You may go wherever you wish. However, I would point out that the waters around this island aren't the kind you can swim in. And I don't have any trips to Earth scheduled for, oh, a decade or so. You might need to hang around for a little while.”
So she was free to roam out of the dungeons, but trapped here. Her heart sank, though she wasn't surprised. It was exactly as he said. He didn't let enemies go. And he knew that right now, she'd enjoy nothing more than to grab the sword she'd discarded and embed it in his throat.
The boy behind her inched closer, holding her hand. "Now what are we going to do?"
“We,” he'd said, like they were a team. Which, Mel supposed, they were.
It was a pertinent question that she mulled over.
"You're very welcome to remain among us." Lyr’s offer came as no surprise. He wanted her around to piss off Lessara and entertain him further.
She didn’t think she’d ever despised anyone half as much as him. Lessara may be cruel, but she had reason to hate her. Hell, Mel might have done worse to someone who’d killed Uri, even in self-defense.
All right, not worse than breaking into their mind and let them feel a thousand torments. But she certainly wouldn’t have let it go.
Lyr, though? He had no stake in this. He just…liked to torment.
Which was what the legends said about the Aos Si, the folks of Sidhe, the fae. They were supposed to be wicked.
Mel knew one thing. Although it felt like they had no other choice—in a land where they knew no one, had no way to earn a way to feed themselves and a roof over their heads—she couldn’t remain around him. He was a ki
d relishing in plucking wings off butterflies.
Lyr was enjoying this. He wanted her to ask—to beg—for his hospitality.
She took pleasure in denying him. Mel smirked. "So long, asshole."
She'd take the woods. She'd take the poisonous waters. He played with people like a bored, willful child throwing toys around. Dozens had died today at his behest. And he smiled. He'd smiled when he'd come to visit her cell. His guards didn't feed the prisoners more than once a week. Humans, known for their barbaric ways, had long banned that sort of thing.
She'd take her luck anywhere but here.
All eyes followed her progression as she walked away. She didn't care. She'd go one way and double back as soon as she was out of view so they couldn't hunt her down later. Then, she'd put as much distance between this place and her as possible.
Mel was at the first line of trees at the edge of the clearing when she sighed, hearing small footsteps behind her. Dammit. She'd forgotten about the boy for a minute. She was so very tired.
She turned and blinked.
The boy was following her, as she'd gathered, but he wasn't alone.
Mel stiffened. She hadn't heard or felt any movement other than the boy's, but sure enough, there was a guy in front of her.
Another fae.
Unlike Lyr, he was dark and handsome, edgier, more dangerous.
She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he’d managed to get so close to her. She always felt intruders encroaching on her personal space. Particularly powerful ones.
Mel recognized him as the one who'd thrown his sword to her earlier, but up close, he was something else.
His stance was casual and unthreatening, his hands folded behind his back, head tilted as he observed her critically. Too critically. She felt that gaze freeze her insides. Even in the dark, his eyes shone with a metallic glint, like mercury. He unsettled her.
"May I help you?" To her annoyance, she sounded way too polite.
The stranger's brows lifted a fraction. "That remains to be seen."
Her eyes narrowed as he took three steps toward her. She could feel her heart beat a little faster in her chest, but she forced herself to anchor her feet to the ground. His propinquity may be disturbing, but running from a wolf only caused the beast to chase.
He extended his hand.
She watched it like it was a venomous snake ready to strike.
"Pardon me, I don't think I've visited Earth for at least a hundred of your years. Isn't this the usual greeting?"
It was.
She was being rude. Understandably. But little as she was inclined to trust anyone here, this man had given his help once already. He had an agenda, evidently. That didn't change the fact that she had no allies in this strange world.
She lifted her hand and took his.
His grasp was unexpected. Strangely warm. And also…comforting? Mel questioned her sanity for feeling that way, suddenly realizing how long it had been since she'd touched anyone without intending to inflict as much pain as she could.
She was a tactile person. Perhaps not a huge hugger as such, but she certainly liked to kiss Julia's cheeks every morning, as was the French way. And wrap her arms around Uri's shoulders as they laughed about silly things.
Her throat tightened. Why the hell was she thinking of home now? Dammit, if she wasn't careful, she'd end up sniffling. No way was she going to show vulnerability to an Aos Si.
Mel wondered if he was doing something to make her feel nostalgic. Influencing her like Lessara. She snatched her hand back as soon as she could.
"Caim Obsberon," he introduced himself.
"Melpomene."
“One name.” He didn’t make it sound like a question, and she didn’t bother to respond.
Mel had gone by a handful of names, using a different one every other decade, but Melpomene was what Calliope had called her.
Surnames were about lineage, family. She, and the rest of the immortals of Aeaea, had none.
"Well, Melpomene, I thought I'd extend an invitation to the Silver Circle. To you and the child."
The clearing fell silent as Caim said those words. Watchful. She could practically feel anger oozing behind her back and she didn’t have to turn to know Lessara’s eyes were fixed on them.
No doubt her tormentor had planned to hunt her down and hurt her now that she wasn’t under Lyr’s authority—and protection, such as it had been.
Mel considered his words. "You're not from here?"
"No," was all he said. A fae of few words.
She wondered whether his silence was deliberate. Had he launched into a long florid tirade, praising his land and guaranteeing that she'd be welcomed with open arms, she would have bolted, sniffing a trap. Instead, he was leaving the ball in her court, so to speak.
"Where's the Silver Circle?" she asked.
Caim waved to his left. "Two thousand miles west. It's the closest kingdom to the Iron Circle, but there's a sea separating us. And we do not often mingle."
In other words, she wouldn't have to worry about Lyr or Lessara if she followed him. Tempting.
Too tempting. And she was too tired to rely on her discernment. She needed more information. "What are you doing here, then?"
"I'm attempting to keep our relations relatively peaceful."
His expression barely changed, but she could tell it was a struggle for him. And no wonder. Mel doubted that his kind liked diplomacy. They were too much enamored with chaos and torture, from what she’d seen.
"How is that going for you?"
Caim glanced behind him, his eyes flicking toward Lyr, before returning to hers. "No bloodshed so far. That counts for something."
Enough beating around the bush. She decided to be direct. “All right. Tell me why you're 'extending your invitation' to us, then.”
The answer came directly. "To steal their toy."
Her eyes widened. Mel didn’t know whether she should laugh or admonish him. She had definitely not expected that. "You're disturbingly honest."
To her surprise, the corners of his mouth hiked up. "Pureblooded Aos Si cannot lie, Melpomene."
Every legend she could recall supported that claim, although the Aos Si could just have lied about not being able to lie in the first place. What better way to deceive the rest of the world for eternity?
"Mel will do." Her full name rolled on his suave tongue with too much heat for her to like it. "And not being able to outright lie doesn't equate to being honest."
He inclined his head. "Wise. And accurate. I may have other reasons. It doesn't change the fact that this one is true."
"What other reasons?" she fired back.
This time, amusement was plain on his features. "I'm sure you'd like to know. But I'll simply say that you and the boy will be free to go as you please, do whatever you like. There are few transports leaving for Earth these days, but you're welcome to get a ticket out of here when they become available."
Her eyes widened. That changed things. "I could go home?"
She hadn't meant to lower her voice, but the words were just a whisper.
Caim acquiesced. "Interstellar travel isn't cheap. You'd better start saving up. But as I said…you're free."
It was too good to be true, which meant there was a catch, but Caim had said it himself: he couldn't lie. Whatever his other reasons, if she could go home at the end of the line, and she was free in between…
This wasn't the end of the road. She needed money and a place to live, which meant getting employment of a sort, in a world where she knew nothing at all.
But did it matter in the end?
She'd been a captive. Here, she'd be prey to Lessara, to Lyr, until she despaired. He offered another path. To piss off Lyr, or for other reasons.
"Okay. I'll go with you."
Tentative Friendships
Caim had a hard time preventing himself from smiling all evening.
"My guards can escort you to the inn where we're staying, if you wish
to rest."
With one look over his shoulder, she shook her head. He glanced back. Lessara had moved to Lyr's side. She whispered, clearly displeased, a belligerent glint in her eyes.
So, Melpomene had been hers. Her toy. The person she’d talked about with Dreron. And the harpy wasn't happy her lord had taken her from her grasp.
Tough luck.
"May I remain here?" she asked.
In the obstreperous crowd. Their eyes were fixed on her. Caim had invited Melpomene in public, which made her his in many ways, including his responsibility. Messing with a foreign regent’s guest spelled troubled.
If they followed her back to the inn, out of the gaze of their people, they could snatch her back with none the wiser. In public, she knew they could do nothing but honor Lyr’s word on her freedom.
Clever girl.
"I meant what I said, Melpomene. You're free."
“I said you can call me Mel.”
He could. But her eyes shifted when he said her name, avoiding his gaze. If he wasn't mistaken, there was some heat in her cheeks, underneath the fading tan.
He liked unnerving her. Which was dangerous and inappropriate. Dangerous because he was in no position to show more than a passing interest in any woman. Bedding a beauty whose name he didn't care to ask was one thing; being intrigued by a woman, quite another. And his interest was inappropriate, because of her current state.
He'd never seen a prisoner of a fae conduct herself with so much grace and dignity, despite looking drained. In any crowd, she would have caught some attention, but her tattered flying suit seemed to sag around her ribs and thighs. She needed food, rest, and care.
The wave of anger—as he realized the depth of Lessara’s cruelty and Lyr’s indifference—crashing over him was unexpected and unwelcome. Caim shouldn't care. Yet, looking at her like this, he couldn’t help but wonder if his sister had been starved and tortured, too.
