by Danica Avet
“Son of a bitch!” Sable cursed overhead. “You godsdamn traitor!” Her wings flapped, drawing the attention of Pollard who shot fireballs at her.
I stared into Ryvan’s dark eyes, not recognizing him. There was no softness in his gaze, no tenderness in the way he looked at me. At that moment, the hopes I’d just started to build crumbled. No, they nosedived straight into the earth never to be seen again. He’d betrayed me.
Breeze meowed uncertainly, squirming in Ryvan’s hold.
Gods, Breeze. “No!” I jumped for his furry body, grazing his legs where Ryvan held him over his head. Breeze’s green eyes, sweetly crossed, looked down at me, waiting for me to protect him. “You motherfucker, let him go!” I screamed, hands out to take my beloved cat back, but Ryvan shoved me and threw Breeze straight into the air.
I lay on my back on the cold concrete watching Breeze disappear into the darkness of the sky. I couldn’t cry. My eyes burned with the need, but once again the tears wouldn’t fall. I waited for him to fall back to Earth, but if it happened I couldn’t tell. I listened for him, my heart aching so much with loss and betrayal, I expected there to be a puddle of blood on the sidewalk.
Ryvan stood over me, his hands fisted at his sides, a muscle in his jaw ticking. I met his gaze, hatred welling up inside me. He’d lied to me, tricked me from the start. I wanted to carve his heart out of his chest with my bare hands.
Pollard came to stand next to Ryvan, clapping him on the shoulder with a laugh. “Good work, Queen Melosia will be pleased.” He flicked his fingers at someone. “Take her.”
Before I could do more than open my mouth to scream at Ryvan, to call him the lowest kind of bastard, something slammed into the side of my head.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Prisoners were supposed to pace and yell, but all I could do was lie on my back and stare at the darkness above me. I’d awakened in a pitch black cell. I recognized the dungeons beneath the banshee palace by the smells and the screams of the banshees who were imprisoned here. I’d spent a lot of time in these cells when I lived at court and I’d forgotten how awful it was.
My mind flashed on a pair of green eyes and my heart lurched. Poor Breeze. He’d been my best friend. Hell, he’d been my only friend since the day I rescued him, and he’d paid the price with his life because I’d made a shitty choice in trusting Ryvan.
Grief morphed into hatred and the thirst for vengeance. If given half the chance, I’d kill the halfling with my bare hands. It would have to be my bare hands since Pollard had taken my sword. He hadn’t taken the splinter or the tear, though. That worried me, but only for a moment. It wasn’t like they could get me out of the cell.
I tucked my fingers into the pocket of my uniform and withdrew the splinter, rolling it between my thumb and index finger. Phineas and Breeze had died for me. I don’t know what happened to Sable, but I could only hope she’d gotten away. Red Caps couldn’t fly and unless Ryvan had alerted Pollard about our winged escort, she might have made it out alive.
Nausea churned in my stomach at the thought of Ryvan. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. I’d fallen for everything he told me. Oh, not completely. I had reservations, especially after he claimed to love me, but my attraction to him had blinded me to the possibility that he worked for Melosia. I’d had no proof he worked for Queen Tamsyn. He’d fucking played me.
“You’re finally awake.”
I froze in place, the splinter falling from my hand.
Melosia. A chill skittered over my skin as remembered tortures bombarded me. She’d enjoyed watching me be beaten, stabbed, whipped, drowned…she’d reveled in it, a small smirk on her perfect face. I shuddered, revulsion crawling over me.
“I understand you’ve learned a new trick,” she said when I remained silent. “I want to see it.” Something clanged at the door. “Bring her to the throne room so that my court may see the banshee who couldn’t cry perform.”
Shit, shit, fuck! Trick? What new trick? Did she mean the tear? I cringed because the tear I’d made was evidence that I was not the powerless banshee she thought I was. But she wanted me to show her my trick. Maybe Ryvan hadn’t told her about the tear we’d created together, in which case I couldn’t produce new ones without him. I think. Either way, it seemed safer to destroy all evidence and claim ignorance rather than use them when I had no idea what kind of power they had. I plucked the tear from my pocket and tossed it on the floor of the cell. I squished it with my hands under the guise of getting to my feet. I felt the power in it spurt against my palms before seeping into the dirt floor of the cell.
The door swung open. A dully glowing orb floated into the room ahead of Pollard and another group of Red Caps. My heart fluttered into my throat as bowel-loosening fear filled me. The satisfied smile on Pollard’s face told me they had a lot of horror in store for me. He was the master of it, being Melosia’s favorite henchman and rumored lover for three centuries.
“I have missed you, Magda,” he said calmly as three Red Caps approached me with neck, wrist, and leg shackles. I tried to evade them. Ha. It so didn’t work and before I could blink, I was trussed up like a sacrificial virgin. “You always were an excellent screamer,” Pollard continued as he gestured for the Red Caps to lead me from the cell.
The corridor was dark, but not nearly as dark as the cells were. As I shuffled along, unable to turn my head left or right, I heard banshees wailing behind the closed doors. It didn’t take much to end up in the dungeon. I’d seen banshees locked up for wearing the wrong color gown to one of Melosia’s dinners. She was a capricious bitch.
I should have felt dismayed at finding myself her captive. I was scared shitless, there was no doubt about that, but I felt self-righteous. Despite Ryvan’s betrayal, there was a kernel of belief in my soul that I was the banshee of the prophecy. I knew Melosia wasn’t fit to rule my kind and never had been. Could I do anything about it? Eh, most likely not. I was one banshee surrounded by the queen’s most faithful followers. The one ally I had turned out to be a double-crossing, cat-killing motherfucker, so I was all alone now.
Did Queen Tamsyn support my claim to the throne? I had no clue and at this point, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t strong enough to defeat a whole army on my own. Maybe I’d have a chance one-on-one with Queen Bitch, but that would never happen.
I stumbled over an uneven stone and one of the guards grabbed my arm to keep me from falling. His hand lingered on my skin, his fingers tapping on the inside of my elbow where it couldn’t be seen before he moved away again. I frowned. Morse Code was a human invention. Fairworlders had a much older version of the code and it had felt as though this guard told me to “fight” “queen.”
It took all of my strength not to look at him, to meet his gaze, because that would give away the silent message. Other than to wish the Red Caps were friendlier and more inclined to emotion, I’d never given them much thought. They were almost zombie-like in the way they followed the queen’s command. They never acted without orders, but once they had them, they were as tenacious as the Host in their need to complete any given task.
This Red Cap was urging me to fight the queen. It could be a trick, but the goblins weren’t devious in that way. Contrary to popular belief, goblins welcomed structure and never felt the urge to overthrow their leaders. It’s what made them perfect guards for royals. Yet this one wanted me to fight.
I was still turning over the mind-boggling idea that I might have support from the Red Caps when we entered the throne room. It was easily the size of St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans. It wasn’t nearly as pretty though. Centuries of Melosia’s bloody entertainments had left the once white marble floors stained pink. Hundreds of banshees and their mates crowded the sides of the massive room, their clothing brightly colored shades of pink and purple. Melosia did like her girly colors.
The clear, domed ceiling showed the night sky of Fairworld. I recognized the constellations and felt a tug in the vicinity of my heart. I’
d missed Fairworld. I hadn’t realized it, but seeing that familiar sky, remembering the many times I’d dreamed of being anywhere but at the Wailing Court while staring at it, reminded me that not everything was horrible in my home world.
Pollard and the guards led me down the broad expanse of blood-stained floor. Melosia’s throne stood at the far end of the room, meaning we had to pass all of the courtiers. I recognized several of the women from my tribe though they dropped their eyes when I looked at them. It was startling to see so much platinum white hair and so many lilac eyes staring back at me. I hadn’t seen another banshee in nearly ten years. My heart soared at the sight, though it also hurt when I glimpsed the barely hidden misery in their gazes.
Movement on the dais brought my attention back to the front. I saw thick black hair, broad, powerful shoulders, and blazing eyes. Ryvan. He stood next to the empty throne as though he belonged there.
Part of me, the stupid part obviously, thought he did belong next to the throne. It was like a piece of puzzle sliding into place seeing him towering over the tiny gilt throne. Except I knew I should be walking to that throne and sitting down, not being brought to my knees before it.
Pollard gave me a hard shove from behind. My knees cracked when they hit the stone floor, but I didn’t betray the pain that shot up my legs by so much as a flinch. I’d been here before. I could handle it.
A door to the left of the throne opened. Guards poured out into the room, taking sharp turns to the left or right until they lined nearly every inch of wall space. It forced the observers closer to the middle of the room, but they left a very wide semicircle behind me. I didn’t blame them; blood splatter did not go well with pink or purple.
Once the Red Caps were in place, Melosia’s ladies-in-waiting appeared, sprinkling flowers on the ground. I nearly rolled my eyes. Had she been watching Coming to America? It was an absurd addition to her court, especially since flowers were revered by the Fairy Court. If Queen Tamsyn knew about this…
My gaze shot back to Ryvan whose eyes were locked on me. I couldn’t read him. His expression was impassive and cold. He looked dangerous and brutal, yet I knew he was capable of gentleness. I’d felt it when he held and kissed me. Yes, it had probably been an act, but surely he, a water elf, couldn’t stand to see those flowers destroyed for such a stupid reason.
The flower bearers created a petal-strewn path to the throne and slipped off the dais. They turned around and sank into deep curtseys. Immediately, the rest of the court followed suit, curtseys and bows reducing the vertical limit of the room by several feet. Only the Red Caps, Pollard, and Ryvan remained standing straight.
Fabric rustled from the doorway and I turned. Melosia waddled into the throne room. It took all of my will power not to let my jaw drop at the changes I saw in the queen who’d made my life hell. She looked to have gained nearly two hundred pounds in the ten years I’d been gone, her once lithe figure giving way to rolls.
She walked slowly, sedately, looking neither left nor right. Ryvan offered her his hand, helping her to become seated. The smile she bestowed on my betraying lover made me want to throw up. I knew that smile and I wanted to slap it off her face for aiming it at him.
Melosia settled on her throne, the chair giving an alarming creak beneath her weight. She still held Ryvan’s hand, petting it almost feverishly, but I was distracted from my jealousy by the changes in the woman who’d made my life hell.
Her once ethereal face now boasted huge, round cheeks that caused her lilac eyes to nearly disappear in the folds of her skin. She strained the seams of her dress, and when she moved, I could hear a corset groan. One hand smoothed over her skirts, the fingers fat and swollen, the rings she used to wear gone. The heels she once took such pride in were gone as well, in their place she wore what looked like orthopedic shoes.
“Magda O’Quinn,” she trilled happily. At least I guess it was happiness. It was hard to tell since she barely resembled the queen I once knew. “I understand from my sweet Ryvan that you’ve gained a new talent.”
I kept my expression blank, the old habits from years at court coming back without conscious effort. I knew better than to think Melosia wanted me to answer her. She wanted to gloat and show the rest of her court how much power she had.
To my eternal disgust, she pressed Ryvan’s hand to her cheek, a look of near ecstasy crossing her face. “Tamsyn was always foolish, thinking she could help you take my throne from me. Ha! Ryvan’s been working for me since the very beginning.” She laughed the same tinkling sound I remembered from years ago. Her eyes burned feverishly bright. “I knew it was only a matter of time before she set out to search for you, the banshee who couldn’t cry.” She laughed again, this time an uglier sound that made me very uneasy. “And my precious Ryvan brought you right to me, didn’t he?”
“Yes, my queen,” he said in a toneless voice. “She believed I was her consort from the very beginning.”
I glanced at him, at such a blatant lie, barely able to keep my disgust from showing. He still looked impassive, though there was a gleam in his eyes I didn’t understand.
“As soon as I told her I worked for Queen Tamsyn, she threw herself at me.”
“She always was a shameless slut,” Melosia snarled, her grip on Ryvan’s hand possessive. She tore her glare from me to look up at him, her piggy gaze devouring his handsome face. “And did you accommodate her sexual hungers?”
I held my breath. If he said yes, I’d be no more than a greasy spot on the floor. I could read it in Melosia’s expression. But he had no reason to lie for me if he planned to hand me over for execution.
“Absolutely not,” he said in a clear, firm voice.
I stared at Ryvan, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, even while a part of me felt instant relief. The way Melosia acted, it was obvious she cared for him, craved him like a drug. Like a—a light went off in my head. Ryvan was part gancanagh, one of the few males in Fairworld who had the power to addict females to him. Had he purposely addicted Melosia? And why?
She displayed the twitchy, hungry look of someone caught in the throes of an addiction. Why would Ryvan want the banshee queen to need him so desperately? If I believed everything I saw, it was possible he was so hungry to be the Wailing Court’s Prince Consort that he’d take it any way he could. Except he’d lied, effectively protecting me.
I stared at him, trying to understand, to make heads or tails of everything I saw and heard. My brain felt slow and sluggish.
Dimly, I heard Melosia titter and ask, “And did she fall in love with you, my dearest Ryvan?”
“I do not know, Majesty.”
She turned to look at me and I saw the triumph in her eyes. “She did! She did fall in love with you! Oh, just look at the heartbreak in her eyes,” she chirped happily.
I blinked. What? I didn’t love Ryvan. I would know if I did. Even if he hadn’t let me be captured by my enemies, I’d only known him for two days. Love couldn’t happen that friggin’ fast. Could it?
Yet as I stared at Ryvan, I studied him like I’d never seen him before. I recalled the concern in his eyes, remembered the way his body trembled when he thought the Host caught me. He’d been genuinely worried for me. He’d cared for me.
Did I love him as Melosia claimed? Maybe, just maybe.
With that admission, it was like a floodgate in my mind opened, drowning me in sensations and thoughts.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
I had to blink against the shockwave of images that bombarded me. I saw myself kneeling before Melosia, my chin high and proud, my eyes defiant. I felt Ryvan’s pride in me and his fear that I would never forgive him for not telling me his real plan. Like a movie set on skip, I saw him meeting with Tamsyn several years ago, heard their plans for him to infiltrate Melosia’s court and make himself indispensable to her so she would share all of her plans with him.
He’d used his gancanagh powers to seduce her into trusting him, allowing him to go afte
r me alone. The Host being called out hadn’t been part of Melosia’s original plan which was why Ryvan had gone into panic mode. I heard his thoughts each time he looked at me, felt the affection and love and, yes, unadulterated lust he had for me. It was a surreal experience and one I would have enjoyed more if I wasn’t currently shackled and kneeling before my worst enemy. Talk about bad fucking timing.
“What the fuck?”
His thoughts went blank. My heart skittered to a stop with panic. Had I read him wrong?
Then I heard, “Gods, you can read me? You do love me!”
His delighted laugh made my lips tremble with the need to share the giddy excitement, but Melosia was still talking and taunting me. We had to get through this before we could even think about having a relationship.
“We already have a relationship and I’ll remind you how it works as soon as this is over,” he said in my mind, sending a thrill of erotic delight through me.
Thank gods for my leather uniform because it hid my tight nipples. It was sheer insanity how Ryvan could heat me up even in the most inappropriate circumstances.
I hurriedly cleared my mind of all naughty thoughts. “Since you’re so confident, do you want to share what the plan is?”
“You have to defeat her.”
“Um, I’m a little tied up right now, remember?”
I swear, he purred. An image flashed in my mind of me shackled down on a bed with Ryvan hovering over me, torturing me with his mouth, hands, and cock.
“That is not helping me right now!”
He laughed again. I could only marvel at how well he held his blank expression while his mind flashed even more erotic images at me that nearly made me squirm on my knees. He growled in my mind and I swear I could feel his cock harden in his pants.
We had to stop this before Melosia noticed.
“How am I supposed to defeat her when I’m shackled and protected by guards?”
