Rhapsody (Bound to the Fae Book 3)

by J. Kearston

  “Fuck. Sorry.”

  Atlas and I haul Loki to her feet, sopping wet and glaring at me. Her lips curl back with a low growl and the room quiets as everyone reminds themselves to breathe. It’s easy to forget how brutal and lethal the changelings are with as much as they act like toddlers sometimes, the state they were in when we found them.

  “Loki,” I warn, keeping my voice firm instead of letting any fear creep in.

  Maintaining eye contact, I bring my hand up to my lips since I don’t have a knife, biting hard enough that I break skin. I hold that stare until she stops being aggressive, and only then do I stretch out my hand.

  Eyes narrowed, she steps forward, and I’m half-convinced that she’s going to try to bite off a finger simply out of spite. But as soon as her tongue hits the blood pooling on my palm, she settles back down, wrapping her lips around the base of my thumb without taking the digit into her mouth.

  Lucien and Dorian follow suit, though they whip out pocket knives to accomplish it, feeding the other changelings. Azazel and Raziel adopt their forms, all of them protesting a bit when we cut them off.

  “You guys must’ve been going stir crazy the last couple of days,” I concede, using a bit of my power to rush the healing along in my hand. “If you promise to stay inside of the prison until one of us tells you otherwise, and don’t get into any trouble, you can run around loose without us. Deal?”

  Three sets of demonic eyes meet mine as they parrot back, “Deal,” binding themselves to the agreement as their eyes flash, whether they understand it or not. Shooing them out of the kitchen, they look at each other confused for a second before sprinting away with preternatural speed. I grab the mop leaning against the wall to start tackling the mess, grimacing at how the water got absolutely everywhere.

  “Was that a good idea? To give them that much free rein?” Atlas worries and I shrug.

  “It just doesn’t feel right keeping them locked in a cage, no matter how massive it may be. At least this way they have the illusion of freedom, even if they can’t leave the island. We might have to reconsider depending on how things go when we get more of them up here, though. They might not all be as reasonable as those three are, after all, and might have to be contained until we can win them over. But ultimately, we’re all in this together. I don’t want to lord over them; it already feels wrong that I’m deciding their fates like I have some sort of right to, just because it’s what my ancestors have always done. It may be a necessary evil, but still makes me feel slimy.”

  Glancing out the doorway, not-Lucien races past in a blur. Atlas just shakes his head, grabbing a rag to help dry off the table. “We get another dozen changelings up here, and we’ll have the world’s most high-stakes game of ‘where’s Waldo’ going on.”

  “Why high-stakes?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You think it’ll end well if I’m walking by and smack your ass, just to get my head torn off by Raziel?”

  Chuckling, we finish getting the water cleaned up. “Nothing better to do than explore some more, I guess.”

  “I’m actually going to head up to the greenhouses with Lucien,” Dorian declares. “See if we can get them in better shape, make a list of what we’ll need to buy on our next trip back, etcetera.”

  Atlas chucks his rag in the sink to drip dry. “I’m going to go take a look at the bedrooms, see if Luce is right and there’s any way to knock out a couple of walls or expand the rooms somehow. If nothing else, we might find another wing of rooms in this place that are bigger we could convert.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Nah-“ he leans in to kiss my cheek as he passes by “-take a load off for a while. Once we’re hunting the changelings, it’s pretty much just you doing all the heavy lifting, so let us feel useful for a little bit.”

  Setting the mop back in the bucket, I dust my palms off on my thighs. “I’ll come get you if I find anything cool.”

  “Shout if you’re being murdered,” Lucien calls over his shoulder on the way out and I grin. Easygoing Lucien is definitely something that I could get used to eventually; Fates know the man needed to learn how to turn off work mode.

  Heading out into the tunnels, we part ways, and I wish I’d grabbed the box of crackers so I could leave a trail of crumbs to find my way back. This place is just so massive and creepily abandoned. I’m actually starting to look forward to getting more changelings here, and the irony isn’t lost on me. I’m creeped out of something jumping out at me from the shadows and want to literally invite the fae version of the monster under the bed to keep me company. But I suppose, better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

  Now that Atlas pointed it out, I’m able to get a better mental layout. The entire place is set up like a massive oval, and inside of the earthen walls of it, a central path rising and falling in waves, but staying constant to that pattern and wrapping around the entire place. It’s only when I get to the off shooting, smaller tunnels that branch off of the main one that things get nerve wracking. Those seem to follow no real rhyme or reason, some leading to dead ends, and others circling back to reconnect with the small tunnel or central path farther down the way.

  Hide and seek would take months to declare a winner in this place.

  It could be minutes or hours that I simply wander, opening door after door. Time has no meaning in here, where the sun all but doesn’t exist. We’re contained in our own little world, able to define it however we please.

  It’s everything that I’ve ever wanted, honestly; the space to roam, to control my own life. But it’s far quieter than I imagined it would be, and somehow lonelier than it was when I was by myself. I have three mates I’d sell my left tit to protect and as hard of a time as I give Dorian about it, I’m just as enamored with the little heathens as he is.

  I open another door, not really expecting anything, but my hand tightens on the doorknob as I get a good look at the largest room I’ve seen thus far. It’s yet another storage room, but this one is far better than dusty linens or cleaning supplies. Case after case leans against the wall, some instruments hanging on hooks above them. It’s easily as big as three of the bedrooms combined, and honestly, the only thing that it’s missing is a piano. Not that I can blame anyone for that. Flying something as heavy as that up here would be a bitch, let alone navigating it’s awkward shape through the narrow bends in the tunnels.

  Walking into the room, I gently trail my fingertips over the outside of cases, finally stopping at a shelf and withdrawing a small, rectangular one made of stiff fabric as if it called to me. Unzipping it, the tarnished pieces of a flute sit disassembled in the velvet casing. Opening the zippered pocket on the front, I withdraw the silver rag, moving to sit in one of the chairs and setting it on my lap.

  Carefully, I begin working each piece, every button, until the original silver shines through again. I could happily sit here all day restoring each instrument in the room, replacing strings and reeds, bringing everything back to its former glory.

  So I do.

  It serves no purpose beyond soothing an inner part of myself, knowing full well that it’s a waste of time when we have so many other things far more pressing to accomplish. But as much as all fae’s abilities are tied to the energy Faerie provides, we are each naturally drawn to the strongest source of our branch of magic. And for me, even if I now understand that my fate is intrinsically tied to the changelings’, that my abilities stem from manipulating energy, that doesn’t diminish the pull I feel towards everything in this room.

  It’s the one thing that no one was able to take away from me, no matter how much they tried.

  They can call me a warden, a burden, or an attention whore. A disgrace that should have died alongside my brother, that my abilities are meant solely for providing energy or keeping the changelings in line. They can take away my freedom; beat, burn, and brand my skin until I pass out. But what I said to that little girl with the violin was completely true.

  Once you learn,
it becomes such an intrinsic part of you that you can’t ever imagine letting it go. No matter where you end up in life, you’ll always have that. That music is a part of your soul striving to get out into the world; you just need to learn how to open the door. It’s a friend that will always be with you, no matter how lonely or sad you get. Take care of that part of yourself and it will take care of you.

  Nearly finished cleaning up the room, I sit back down, that flute still sitting beside my chair. Gently, I fasten all of the pieces back together, strumming my fingers over the buttons to make sure none of them stick. It’s been years since I’ve picked up a flute, but that’s one of the perks of my branch of magic; there’s a muscle memory like instinct. Generations of abilities passed down, a culmination of experience like the energy that thrums through my veins retained the essence of the people it once belonged to.

  Raising it to my lips, I blow softly at first, getting a feel for it. Stronger, a bit more confidently, I blow again, short bursts of air and a wave of my fingers over the keys as I find a rhythm. A sharp, staccato series of notes to find my groove, bleeding into a vibrato trill as I explore the range.

  Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the sound. The sound is dampened around me, the sound absorbed by the walls rather than echoing. Tapping my foot to the imaginary beat of the drum, I block out everything and everyone else. Even as I feel the power rising in my gut, flowing through my veins like adrenaline and I know the silver will be fading into a transparent version of its former self, I keep going.

  I don’t have to hide here. I don’t need to lessen my presence for fear of mortals finding out what I can do, worry about making them uncomfortable or coming after my head for being something other. Something about that awareness has me losing that little block that I’ve always kept in place, even when performing for Elorie. Those experiences were tainted, full of fear, and they kept me from giving it my all.

  But for once in my life, I simply play for myself. No proving a point, no praying it’s good enough to appease the woman holding my life in her hands. No blasting the bass until it’s so loud that I can’t think, merely giving myself over to the beat and dancing until I’m on the verge of collapse. I just sit in the uncomfortable metal chair, a line digging into my back, strangely more comfortable than I’ve ever been before.

  One song blends seamlessly into another, the tempo increasing. I don’t push harder, faster, giving everything I have to the music. I just exist within it, and it within me. I’m nothing more than a vessel to bring it to life, releasing what’s already there rather than forcing it into creation for the sake of someone else.

  And it’s more freeing than anything I’ve ever experienced.

  Lowering the flute from my lips, chest heaving, I open my eyes. I’m still alone, not so much as a changeling in sight, but...I no longer feel like I am, that it’s the bad thing I was starting to consider it. It’s okay to be alone, because there’s always something or someone waiting for me when I choose not to be.

  I take my time cleaning it before putting it away, zipping up the case and setting it back on the shelf. As much as we completely could cram all of this stuff into other storage rooms and use it as a bedroom big enough to fit all of us...I can’t bring myself to. I’d rather keep it just as it is, to let this memory soak into the space so that every time I step through the doorway, I have this feeling lingering in the atmosphere waiting for me.

  I’m selfishly going to keep it all to myself, and refuse to feel bad about it.

  Letting the door click shut behind me, I start making my way through the smaller pathway back to the main tunnel. A piercing scream rattles off the walls, assaulting my ears. I take off running, following the bends to the main hallway and back out to the skywalk. The pained scream reverberates through the center chamber, giving no sense of where it’s originating from.

  As much as it makes my instincts protest, I shut my eyes, trying to zero in on where it’s coming from. I’ve heard the guys’ voices often enough to know it isn’t them, but the changelings. The next shout mixes with a feral snarl that ends on a whimper, my eyes snapping open as my head jerks to the right and I take off sprinting.

  My shoes slap against the metal walkway, thundering and leaving absolutely no shot at discretion. Finally, I make it to the shadowed entrance into the wall labyrinth, not even hesitating before heading into the tunnel.

  The lights are still on, but several are busted, leaving enough shadows to make it creepy as all get out. Bringing a small glow to my hand, I race up the steep incline, a pained grunt having me veer to the right before I missed the small, off shooting hallway.

  The door is still open, an empty room a little bigger than the bedrooms. Azazel and Raziel, masquerading as Dorian and Lucien, are pressed face first into the wall, their fingers clawing deep grooves into the packed dirt. Standing a few steps away from them, a familiar shock of white hair makes my stomach lurch. He stands there, hand outstretched to keep them pinned in place with an invisible, suffocating force.

  Valdis, as inseparable from Apollo as always.

  Not really my fathers. They can’t lock me up again, not anymore.

  Though the words pass through my mind, they carry little substance when faced with the two of them again. Of all of Elorie’s consorts, the two of them worked in tandem to make me beg for death more often than not, trying to exploit a loophole since their mate forbade them from killing me.

  Valdis’ other hand is extended towards the floor, keeping Loki pinned on the ground as Apollo drives one knee into her back, palm heated and pressed between her shoulder blades. Seeing my form in that same position, weighted down by an intangible force that can’t be fought, Apollo burning away at my back; it’s like I’m not even on the outside watching it. I can feel the heat blistering my skin, the crushing pressure on my lungs as I fight for every breath. My gut churns as I suppress the urge to vomit, but Loki’s next whimper snaps me out of it before the memories can completely cripple me.

  My first step inside of the room scuffs the compacted dirt and Apollo’s eyes snap to me, his brow instantly furrowing in confusion before his eyes flit down to the body pinned beneath him. Realization hits him the same moment I tackle into him, internally bracing myself for the ensuing pain.

  I briefly considered going for Valdis first, to siphon his energy and attempt to use his abilities to subdue Apollo without having to touch him, but that would take too much time. Precious moments to try and figure out how to wield the ability that would give him too much of an opening to attack not only me, but the others in the room. And every second that passes is another that Loki suffers, that I’m not sure if she’ll be able to heal from.

  Each nerve ending feels like it was thrown into the pits of Hell, incinerating my flesh at every point of contact. His back hits the ground as I knock him off, and he wastes absolutely no time in rolling to pin me. The temperature increases, and as he grips my throat, I can feel his handprint being seared into my skin.

  He snarls into my face, his other hand pinning both of my wrists above my head as he tightens his grip on my neck. “I’m not losing my son because of you again. Call your abominations back, and I’ll remove the bounty from your head.”

  My breathing is rapid and shallow, but I force my brain into a state of perceived calm, trying to keep myself from panicking. When the added layer of Valdis’ power covers me like a blanket, I nearly sob, but bite the impulse back. If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s deluding myself. So I shove my mind into its own little world, a fantasy to cloak all of the nightmares happening around me in a bid to keep myself sane.

  Like a switch was flipped, the pain lessens imperceptibly as I disassociate, and I’m able to wrangle my scattered thoughts enough to think. He can’t actually kill me; so Elorie bound them by a deal all those years ago to keep them from going behind her back, saw exactly how much they despised me and knew they’d slip up one day otherwise. But they can make it hurt, make me beg for the mercy of death.
/>   He needs me. And desperate people are willing to do despicable things, including making deals with the devil.

  Ignoring the searing agony in my wrists, I inhale slowly. Each shallow breath I manage to force my lungs into drawing, I take a little of his energy, careful trickles so that he doesn’t sense it and immediately rear back. Most people are too careful to touch my bare skin at home, but he always knew that I was too afraid of them to risk using the ability as he hurt me, that the torture would be ten times worse if I was stupid enough to try something.

  “She’s pregnant?” I choke out, my windpipe being crushed in his tight grip.

  Call your abominations back. He thinks I sent the changelings to storm the castle.

  He growls, but it’s Valdis that snaps, “No, you self-centered bitch. She’s bringing Cody back. Why the fuck else do you think she let you live all of these years?” Apollo shoots him a glare, but now that he’s started his vehement rant, he isn’t ready to drop it, clearly needing to get it off of his chest after all of these years.

  “You provided just enough energy to keep him from fully dying.” His frigid glare cuts into me. “Eighteen years of not being able to say goodbye because she refused to let him go, forced us to cling to the damning dregs of hope,” he spits the word like the foul one I know it to be. “To look at you day after day, the woman that tried to kill our son, continuing to exist while he lay in that bed comatose while we were forced to keep his body alive.”

  If it wasn’t for the crushing weight on my body, I would have lost the ability to keep the bile in my stomach. “Why did no one tell me?” I rasp out. “So I could have tried to do something!”

  It takes a conscious effort to ignore the scent of my burning flesh, to remember to suck down more of Apollo’s energy between my words. My eyes water, and not from the blistering pain this time.