Fae Nightmare

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “Of course,” Olen had said. “Mayor Alebren knows what is good for the town. As do the people.”

  “Fine. I will trust your judgment for now. Gather your Elders together in the morning. I will wed that girl before dawn, and we will use her as our hound to storm the Faewald.”

  If I was going to escape, then I needed to get up off the dirt floor. I only had until dawn – and who knew how far away that was?

  I tried to will my body to sit, but instead, my hands only twitched as a pain flared in my side.

  Mmmmph. Not good. Nothing should hurt like this.

  A moan tore from my lips and I tried to stifle it.

  “What was that?” Olen asked from above me, startled.

  “Just the girl. A night in your cellar will shake some of the Fae-lover out of her. You were good to tell me of your suspicions about the Fae influencing her mind, Olen Chanter. Without you, we never would have found such a valuable resource.”

  Olen could go fry in oil. He deserved every bad thing that was coming for him.

  “I only ask that when we invade the lands beyond you watch for my boy,” Olen said, his voice heavy. “My Petyr.”

  I let out a sigh. It was hard to hate a man for loving his son so much that he’d do anything to save him. Even right now when ‘anything’ seemed to include beating me to a pulp and selling me as a fake bride to a knight who was determined to use me as a dog. His words, not mine.

  Come on, Allie. Up!

  If you’d asked me last week if I would help invade the Faewald, I would have done anything necessary to make it so. I would have gone to Eckelmeyer and offered my services.

  But that was last week. That was before I saw that some humans were tangled, too. Before I realized that they were just as willing to unleash hate on other humans as the Fae were. Before I realized that my town and the people in it weren’t who I thought they were. Maybe they deserved the Fae and the Fae deserved them. Except for the innocent children. Would my mother get to them in time? She’d asked for one more night. I had given her that, at least.

  If I was going to do anything valuable here, I was going to need to stop this war because I couldn’t be certain that she’d get them out, and I didn’t dare be wrong about that.

  And for that, I was going to need an ally.

  I only had one ally left.

  I forced my hands under me, biting back a scream as every finger seemed to point in a different direction. It took all my strength to push myself up. My breath stuck in my lungs, building up agony behind it like a dam. I found my feet, wavering, fighting down a burst of nausea and dizziness. My left hand could still grip things – I thought maybe I had two fingers still working on that hand as well as the thumb.

  I felt for the sword handle with that hand and very awkwardly shifted it out if the scabbard and inch at a time. It fell to the floor with a dull thud.

  Shoot.

  I was going to have to lean down to get it.

  My ribs were loudly proclaiming that there would be no bending.

  Tears leaked from my eyes as I half-slumped, half-fell to the earthen ground, my hand scrabbling across the dirt until it hit something solid. I grasped the axe, barely fumbling it into my belt. The cage was next. I couldn’t tie it. My fingers weren’t working. I hooked the handle over my thumb. I felt for the pommel of the sword, lifting it – barely – in my left hand and fighting my way to my feet again.

  Just one swipe, Allie. Just one swipe and hope to the skies above that it works.

  I swept the sword through the air with the strength of a toddler.

  I thought I could see a rip, but I wasn’t sure. I should raise the ax. I should have it to protect me from the Fair Folk. But just thinking of slipping it from my belt made me want to cry with exhaustion. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength.

  I stumbled forward, reaching with my crippled right hand. Something brushed the side of it. I gripped it awkwardly between broken fingers and threw my weight against what I hoped was a tear in the air.

  I stumbled into a brighter world.

  BOOK TWO

  Sleep little mousey sleep in your den,

  Sleep with the mem’ries of when oh when,

  Sing little mousey, sing for your sup,

  Sing and we’ll offer wine for your cup,

  Flee little mousey, flee for your life,

  Flee for we’re coming with pain and strife.

  Try little mousey, try all you can,

  Hide from our taboos hide from our ban,

  But we’ll find you little mousey in any hole you hide,

  Your flesh we’ll strip and your bones we’ll ride.

  We’ll find any family and we’ll find any friend,

  Their blood to spill and their hearts to bend.

  - Songs of the Fae

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I managed to slow my stumble enough to catch my balance. The room in front of me swayed precariously in my vision. Tangled knots of roots formed the walls and a solitary window opened where they met in gnarled clusters. There were more clusters surrounding what might have been a door made of the same. I blinked, fighting a burst of nausea. My vision was growing blurry, but I had to figure out where I was. I had to get somewhere safe before I collapsed.

  A huge sewn tapestry of a hunting scene covered one wall – though who was hunting who was impossible to tell. A dragon seemed to be flaming one of the Fae who was firing an arrow at an orc who was gripping the dragon’s tail in its teeth. Around them, a unicorn and a purple fox crouched as if waiting for their part in the carnage.

  Dark curtains flowed on either side of the open window and a pale curtain – white and almost sheer – fluttered in the wind right in front of me.

  The light filtering through the open window was pure white, not the joyful brightness of a yellow sun or even the ominous peach of smoke-filtered air.

  I’d only ever seen this light in the Faewald. Which meant the sword had worked.

  I was here.

  Broken.

  Without my very useful magical items.

  But here.

  I sucked in a gasp and at that exact instant, the white curtain fluttered in a sudden burst of wind, thrown up so high that I caught a glimpse of what was beyond it.

  My eyes felt like they would fall out of my head.

  On the other side of the curtain was a waterfall, running down from an opening in the ceiling, rushing over the curving roots to fill a small stone pool. Bubbles filled the pool and steam rose from it in swirling clouds.

  Sitting in the middle of the pool – waist- deep – was Scouvrel, his eyes as huge as an owl’s. He held a flapping fish in his hands as if he’d just caught it with his bare hands.

  “Nightmare!” he gasped, dropping the fish in the water, and then the curtain fell back, and I lost sight of him.

  All my injuries hit me like a hammer.

  I slumped to the floor.

  The water splashed in the distance and someone was very wetly scrambling for something, feet slapping on stone. The curtain parted, and Scouvrel fell to his knees beside me, a colorful banner that looked almost like a flag wrapped around his waist. I supposed it was too much to expect the Faewald to have something as practical as a towel.

  Or as practical as an ugly man. Because Scouvrel was certainly not ugly and the beauty of him was almost painful to look at. I’d forgotten that part.

  “What have the mortals done to you, Nightmare?” I couldn’t tell if that was concern or rage in his voice.

  I moaned as his hands ran gently over my injuries.

  “What wicked things have mortal men afflicted on you, my little Nightmare? We will take their fingers and string them on a chain to hang over our door. We will sew their ears on our boot soles and walk on them until there is no whisper of them left. We will grind their bones to powder and mix it in our wine.”

  He lifted me up and carried me as he whispered his grisly threats, holding me against his wet chest. I was probably gettin
g him disgustingly dirty with blood and snot and dirt. He didn’t seem to mind.

  Stars danced across my vision. I didn’t know where he was taking me. I didn’t care.

  For the first time in weeks, I felt safe.

  Whatever else he was, Scouvrel was my promised friend, my promised ally, and my promised husband. I was almost certain he wouldn’t kill me.

  “Bargain with me, Nightmare,” he crooned. “Bargain and I will heal your wounds.”

  He laid me down on what felt like a bed of down and pillows. My eyelids lifted enough to see white all around me and then they fell shut again. I was too hot. Everything hurt.

  I gasped as my breath caught – painfully – in my chest.

  “I cannot help you unless you bargain with me,” he whispered, pleading.

  Darkness clouded my vision. I fought against it, gasping in breath through my mouth as the pain flared in my broken jaw.

  “Give me anything you can spare, Nightmare, and I will heal your wounds.”

  “You,” I gasped.

  “Yes?” He sounded like he was holding his breath, waiting for any word from my mouth, but what did I have to give?

  “You can have my braid,” I whispered.

  “It is agreed. I will heal you in return for the ownership of your red braid in all its tangled glory.”

  He leaned down over me and my eyelids fluttered open for long enough to see his eyes shutter closed as he reverently kissed my braid. Something soft touched my forehead as my eyes shut and the pain in my head disappeared.

  I felt so tired.

  Something soft skimmed across my jaw and then over my fingers. I struggled to open my eyes again. Was he kissing my fingers? I didn’t have the strength to think about it.

  Instead, I sank into unconsciousness as my pain blissfully fled a little at a time.

  All was dark and warm and safe.

  I woke for long enough to feel something heavy on my belly. I opened my eyes, saw a tangle of dark hair and a single pointed ear resting on me. He must have fallen asleep, too.

  I sank back into unconsciousness.

  When I woke, I was in a bed of white feathers. Literally, white feathers – as long or longer than I was. They blushed in the bright pink light flooding in through the window.

  “Haunt me, Nightmare. Wake and haunt me forever,” Scouvrel said from where he sat on a stool beside the window. He was leaning forward, half a smile decorating his face, my sword on his knees.

  “That’s my sword,” I said thickly. “And I don’t remember bargaining that away.”

  “There is much you don’t remember,” he said with a sly smile.

  I felt my face growing hot. Had he kissed my wounds away or was that just my memory?

  I sat up, trying to inspect myself without being too obvious. My injuries were gone. My fingers flexed easily. My eyes widened despite my careful control. What amazing magic to be able to heal someone with a kiss! Imagine what kind of power that would require. And Scouvrel had done it.

  My braid was still intact. I lifted it up with a question in my eyes.

  “It’s mine,” Scouvrel said proudly. “And I find I like it where it is. Do not cut it short. It is not yours to cut.”

  Good thing I liked my hair long.

  “I’ve been thinking about you,” I said, nervous suddenly.

  “I should hope so. It would be a grievous thing to be entirely forgotten by one’s wife.”

  I licked my lips. “What I mean is, I’ve been trying to decide what to do about how you married me against my will. I’ve been trying to decide what that is supposed to mean for us. And if I should punish you for hiding it from me.”

  “Hiding it?” He seemed genuinely surprised – which had to be acting. “I thought it was obvious. How can I be blamed for your weak mortal mind missing things? Besides, didn’t we already discuss this?”

  “You’re supposed to ask!” I said, aghast. “What if I murdered you because I was so angry that you’d married me against my will? And we have not discussed this in person yet.”

  “And do you find it exhilarating to argue with your husband in person? I’ll admit, there’s a certain charm to watching your cheeks flare like the sunrise.” His eyes smoldered with those words and I barely suppressed a shiver.

  “And what if I’d never found out that we were married?” I continued. “I could have married someone else! It would serve you right if I did!”

  “You wouldn’t do that, Nightmare. Your greatest joy is in driving me into madness and haunting my every dream. Why would you abandon so perfect a victim – even to find another?”

  I tried to adjust my ripped dress not knowing how to even answer such shocking statements. Someone had tied the skirt around me in a way that made it hard to move.

  “They tore your dress,” Scouvrel said, fire in his eyes, though his expression was neutral. “It’s hardly a fashionable piece – rather plain and definitely uncomplimentary to you, not a hint of an animal or bird depicted in it – but I find it offensive that another man felt he could tear the clothing of my wife – particularly in such an indecent way. I did my best to preserve your modesty until you could rise and manage it yourself.”

  “Thank you?” I did not know how to handle this. He’d preserved my modesty? He’d kissed away my wounds? What was going on? Where had my wicked Scouvrel gone?

  “You regard me with suspicion. Surely, you must realize that such a debt would not go unpaid. I ransomed you before with my ear. I would happily offer an arm for your revenge.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said, tightly. I’d better mollify him before I found myself married to a Fae man maimed beyond recognition. “A bath will be more than good enough.”

  He waved vaguely at the open door and I hurried over to it, fighting my too-tight skirt. The waterfall was still full of bubbles and steam poured from it.

  “How is it hot?” I asked.

  “Two rivers feed it. One naturally hot. One naturally cold. It alternates depending on which flows most strongly.” His eyes danced with teasing. “Rather like you and I, dear Nightmare. One runs hot and one runs cold but which is strongest? Which one dominates? It changes from one moment to the next.”

  I cleared my throat. “I came here with things. The cage. An axe handle.”

  He laughed. “Are you afraid I’ll cage you like a bird? I’ve already played that game.”

  I nodded. “Truth or lie? You like playing games with me.”

  “Truth. Now, bathe as much as you like. I will take the list of the names of your offenders any time you are ready to offer it.”

  “I only knew two names,” I said, stalling. The water looked good. And since Scouvrel remained in the other room, I stripped my ruined clothes off and sank into the hot water with a satisfied sigh. Dried blood and dirt left clouds of dirty water around me.

  Scouvrel materialized a moment later and my hands flew up to cover myself despite the bubbles.

  “If I wanted to look, I’d bargain for the privilege,” Scouvrel said with a snicker.

  Great. Which totally helped my hot cheeks.

  His eyes met mine, bright with anticipation. “I want those names.”

  “Then bargain for them,” I suggested.

  He laughed. “I have missed you, Nightmare. I have missed your defiant looks and taunting games. Though you haunted all my dreams. Though you were with me at every moment these past months. Though I loved my tiny glimpses of you through the Looking Pearl, still I have missed the tension, the fury, the delight of your refusal to bend to me.”

  “How long has it been?” I asked, feeling light-headed. I was losing time every time I went back and forth between these worlds. Everyone else was living without me.

  “Six months. Six months of servitude and the desperate loneliness of a tangled heart.” He paused, tilting his head to the side so that the scar where his ear had once been was easy to see. Now, why didn’t he glamor that away? “What will you take for those names
?”

  I grinned. I’d missed this, too, though I hated admitting it. Missed the way his eyes lit and the way his mouth twisted like a drawn bow when he smiled.

  “I’ll take your name,” I said.

  “You have that already,” he said, leaning over the edge of the pool as if he were a lodestone and I the iron.

  “Your real name.”

  He drew back, clearly shocked, but at the same time, a smile played across his lips. Perhaps he found me indecently delightful.

  “Impossible.”

  “Well, you did marry me,” I said. “You can hardly expect me not to want to know my husband’s name.”

  He scowled. “And you will not allow me the means to hunt my enemies until I offer myself up like a goat for slaughter? That hardly seems like a wifely loyalty.”

  “If that’s how you want to put it ... yes.”

  “You vicious Nightmare,” he said with a look that was both enraged and delighted. “You horrible, gut-wrenching addiction. If I could be rid of you by plunging myself in the darkest depths of the sea, I would not hesitate to drown in the forgetting.”

  He stormed out of the room dramatically and I took the opportunity to finish scrubbing my face and hair, untangling my braid to wash the dried blood and mud out of it. Would I have survived those injuries if Scouvrel hadn’t healed me? I suspected that if I had, I would have been crippled for life. Those fingers had been broken badly. So had my jaw. I shivered at the thought.

  I owed him for that. I was going to have very long hair.

  When I emerged again from the water, Scouvrel was back, holding up an outfit for me with his face turned away. His consideration for my modesty was humorous when compared to his absolute violence of nature.

  The clothing consisted of a shirt as filmy as a white could be with strange lace woven to look like crowns and spiders along the neckline. In his other hand was a dark jacket sewn all over with red snakes. Dark red leggings and thigh-high black boots sewn with black pearls and what looked like fish eyes in patterns up the sides came next. Last of all, was my sword back in the scabbard, the leather of the sword belt was flecked with dried blood. Mine.