I’m caught in the middle, my heart a ragged mess.
Finally, the sun fades, dying rays releasing me from my torment. The velvety darkness of the throne room closes down over me, and the pain recedes. A coppery taste floods my mouth. I’ve bitten my lip bloody. I whirl, cloaks snapping in a wintry breeze, my soul a wreckage of guilt, anger, confusion.
I ache from the loss of my hearthstone. From the loss of Syl.
I clench my fist, Winter power flashes around it in freezing violet lightning. Don’t feel, Rouen.
“We’re ready for you, Majesty.” Etana’s voice slices through my torment and echoes softly through the fused throne room. There’s no mistaking the urgency in her hypnotic glowing green eyes. As one of my arch-Eld, Etana’s on my council. It’s her job to look out for her people, especially when she thinks their queen is being an idiot.
Guilt swells in my guts.
I’ve shirked my duty for too long, and my realm suffers. The aftershocks shiver and shudder through the bones of my kingdom, the agonized lament of my land and the cries of my people blaring in my head, dizzying me, throwing my emotions into a dark muddled mess.
I have to restore the order. And that means one thing. War.
“I’m coming.”
My heart cries out, but I stifle it with the cold logic only a dark Fae possesses. I stand, pulse racing with adrenaline and dread. My boots thudding the polished black-adamant floor, I leave behind the throne room’s fused light and darkness and head toward my War Room, where my council elders await me. At my back, pulses of deadly Summer heat battle blasts of frigid Winter, turning the throne room into a deadly vortex.
Red hair swishing, Etana precedes me down the dark hallway. I try not to notice the sagging vaults, the ripped-up chambers, the walls cracked and bowing. My realm collapsing around me. For thousands of years, House Rivoche has ruled Dark Faerie.
Now it’s all falling apart on my watch.
With a confidence I don’t feel, I enter the War Room, a rectangular chamber hewn straight from black adamant. Deep sapphire-blue and violet tapestries hang on the walls between a smaller version of the Adamant Throne, which sits at the head of a blackthorn-wood table. On the table is a carved intricate map of Faerie, part craft, part magic.
And on that board, all the players—light and dark.
Syl. Me. And our forces about to clash.
The six arch-Eld seated around the massive table scrutinize me for weakness. I face straight ahead, head held high.
They’re my War Council, but they can’t know about the war that rages on inside me.
I slide into the massive chair at the head of the table. “Etana, report.”
“Majesty.” A seductive liannan sidhe, the powerful arch-Eld of the bloodsucking Lamiae, Etana’s lithe and dangerous in her green combat leathers, knives strapped to her thighs, her red hair a fiery cascade. “You asked me to take readings of the Ravagings.” She lifts her arm, encased in a wintersteel bracer lit with multicolored lights and circuits. Sorceroscience, a combination of Witch and Fae magic, like all her contraptions. She touches a circuit, and a holographic screen with a bunch of equations and readings projects onto the dark wall.
Syl’s voice comes, clear as day, Like Spock and his tricorder. We would’ve laughed at that.
Wistfulness wraps around my heart. Syl…
Stay strong, Roue. I wave at the wall. All this means absolutely nothing to me. Syl’s the science genius. I’m the musician, even though I haven’t played in months, my violin gathering dust at Syl’s place. My stage name was Euphoria, and I used my magic to make people feel good.
Well, once I met Syl, I did. “Explain.”
“The Ravagings will only worsen.” Etana’s hypno-eyes lock on mine. “Summer’s Rest is fracturing.”
Fear sinks its claws into me. Summer’s Rest, the mystical spell that traps all the fair Fae in a deep sleep. If they awaken, it’ll ruin any chance we have of taking them by surprise. It’s bad enough that Laguna, one of Syl’s powerful arch-Ýdyll, has already woken and is helping her.
“How long?” I ask, silencing the arch-Eld’s troubled murmurs.
“Impossible to tell.” Etana looks at the holographic readout and squints one eye, doing some mental calculations. “But once it does, I estimate we’ll only have seven days to defeat the fair Fae, or all of Faerie will tear itself apart.”
My heart seizes. The arch-Eld erupt.
“Seven days!”
“Majesty, we must attack!”
“Majesty, we—”
“Will attack,” I tell them. “We need the hearthstones.” Not only are the two magical gems the sources of all magic in Dark and Fair Faerie, but Queens are tied to their hearthstones. Its absence is a cancer gnawing away at my bones. I need the Dark Faerie hearthstone to access the full extent of my power.
And I need the fair Fae hearthstone so my people and I can attack and survive the vicious heat of the Summer Court.
“Are we still waiting on the Xi and the Guard?” Mizumichi, the arch-Eld of the aquatic Mal-de-Mer, asks. He rests his tattooed arms on the table, the koi and dragon shifting and changing with his moods.
I hate to admit it but, “Yes.” Two months ago, I sent the Xi, my most powerful warrioress, with my Adamant Guard on a mission: capture Jessamine Jardin, the pocket púca who stole both hearthstones. But even with all their age and powerful magic, the Xi and Guard have turned up empty-handed.
The arch-Eld murmur and grumble among themselves, faces dark, moods darker. Even Prattlerattadooley, the mischievous hob arch-Eld who takes nothing seriously, shoots me a skeptical look.
I need to go after Jardin myself.
Dread wraps around my heart. Jessamine Jardin used to be the librarian at Richmond Elite High, the school I attended when I was pretending to be mortal. Going after her means going back to the mortal realm, coming into contact with the one person I most certainly do not want to see: Syl. But I’ve shirked my duty to my people for far too long.
What I want, what I feel, it doesn’t matter.
“I’m going after them.” If I can get both of them, it’ll mean war over. First things first: hearthstones, then Syl.
“Finally,” Griffa Gris, the arch-Eld of the haglike Uldra-Yaga, mutters, fists like sledgehammers clenched around her seven-foot banhammer. Every inch of her seethes with violence and challenge.
I stand slowly, letting my body unfold like a bridge between the earth and sky. “I’ll let that slide.” I fix her with a glare until she lowers her eyes. “Once.”
Etana breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ll gear up and—”
“Your Royal Majesty.” A smoky voice announces the presence of the Xi. They stand in the doorway, white topknot and pale blue skin making them look like a statue of ice against the grim decor. “We—”
“You’ve caught Jardin?” My heartbeat kicks up, but no, I’d feel the hearthstone if it were in my realm.
The Xi purses their lips. “No, Majesty, but…” They glance back at the door. “Jardin is here. Waiting to speak with you.”
Fury rushes through me. Of all the nerve, coming here when I’ve been scouring the entire Dark Faerie realm to find her. Syl would tell me to take a few cleansing breaths, so I do.
In, out. In, out. In…
The War Room grows silent, tension buzzing in the air.
Out…
“Bring her to me,” I order. The Xi bows formally and hastens to obey. I turn to the arch-Eld. “Give us the room.”
Etana frowns, snapping off her holographic screen. “Will you be all right?”
My voice comes out, a dark purr. “Oh, yes.” I’m more than all right.
Today, I get to murder someone.
3
SYL
A branch of hawthorn on your threshold,
Flowering yew above your bed,
An iron horseshoe over your door
All weapons against the Fae
- Glamma’s Grimm
Standing out
in a storm during a fire alarm is like a metaphor for my life right now—chaotic, uncomfortable. Gross. I hate being wet. With all the excitement, you’d think everyone would’ve gotten the whole “pep rally” thing out of their systems. But no. Once it’s clear there’s no real threat, the fire trucks leave, and the teachers (including Miss Mack, who gives Pru and Lennon a healthy dose of side-eye) quickly usher all the soaked, grumpy students back inside Richmond E.
Thunder booms, and Principal Fetch waves from the front doors. “Let’s get back to the auditorium, shall we, people?”
No, we shan’t. School can wait. A plan’s brewing in my mind.
I’m leaving this place, and I’m not coming back. Rouen’s more than my girlfriend. She’s family.
And Glamma always said you don’t leave family behind.
Under cover of my Glamoury, I head to the parking lot where Roue’s Harley waits for me, a behemoth of black and violet steel and shiny chrome. The seat’s wet, everything’s wet, but I jump on and kick-start it to roaring life.
Last summer when this all started, Glamma made me promise not to go back to Faerie, but things have changed. As if on cue, the Fair Faerie hearthstone cries out across the realms. I feel it like a second heartbeat in my chest—broken just like my real heart.
No more. I’m the queen, and I’m going back to Faerie to fix this.
I’ll need supplies, and there’s one place I can get them: home. I speed toward our tenement in Jackson Ward.
“Wait for me, Roue.” I send my thoughts down the soul-bond, even though I know her dark side won’t listen. “I’m going to save you from Miss Jardin—and from your dark self—if it’s the last thing I do.”
Let’s just hope my words aren’t prophetic.
I might be a badass Fae queen, but my mom will officially kill me if she finds out I’ve been driving Roue’s motorcycle. Not to mention, my girl likes her bikes big and loud. I have to stop at least five blocks away and walk the Harley to our rundown tenement building in Jackson Ward.
I race up the narrow stairs, past the door that says, J.J. It seems like forever ago when Miss Jardin was my protector. I hitch up my backpack. As queen, I’m the one who should be protecting my people.
Even if it means fighting Rouen?
I bolt up the stairs, trying to outrun that thought. In two seconds flat, I’m through the door and in our apartment, where—
Ever walked in on someone talking about you?
With a start, Mom and Glamma look up, two wide-eyed, guilty bookends, from the living room table strewn with iron knives, a stray sword, some black iron spikes, dried herbs, and Mom’s 357 Magnum hand cannon. The floral scent of rowan berries mixes weirdly with metal polish, gun oil, and clove oil.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hands on hips, I give them my best the Queen is not amused look. My Fae-sight picks up their auras, all guilty yellows and greens. “You’ve both been all ‘let it go’ for months, and then I find you up to your eyeballs in weapons?”
As Roue would say, Hells no.
“It’s just a precaution.” Mom reassembles her gun with hitman-level skill. Her jaw is tight, her green eyes flinty. I remember the way she shot Agravaine with iron bullets when the dark Fae were first hunting me, when Rouen was first hunting me.
My heart seizes with worry. “Are you going after Roue?”
“Nothing like that, dove.” Glamma’s Irish lilt gives extra weight to her words. “We need to chat.” She pats the lumpy couch next to her.
Uh-oh. My stomach sinks.
Glamma hands me a mortar and pestle, a packet of iron filings, some dried mulberry root. “Be a dear, won’t you?”
Neither she nor my mom’s given me any crap for skipping school, so I know it’s serious. With shaking hands, I grind up the mixture—poison to any Fae other than me—my heart slamming against my ribs.
“Summer’s Rest is breaking down. Soon, all the fair Fae will awaken.” Glamma doesn’t mince words. “I have Laguna watching over it. And you.”
“Wait.” Confusion makes my mouth run faster than the speed of light. “Isn’t it good if Summer’s Rest breaks? All my people would be free. Maybe we wouldn’t get crushed by the dark Fae army. And what’s Laguna got to do with it?” Sure, he belongs to the Summer Court, but Laguna, the self-proclaimed Queen of the Sirens, strikes me as a free spirit. Not a guy who had actual responsibilities or anything.
Nodding sagely, Glamma takes my rambling in stride. “Laguna is one of your arch-Ýdyll, child.”
I want to smack myself. Of course he is. The arch-Ýdyll are my version of Rouen’s arch-Eld, the most powerful elders, each in charge of a species of fair Fae.
Laguna. Queen of the Sirens. Not sure why I didn’t put that together before.
“Well, that explains why he’s been protecting me.”
Mom finishes assembling her gun and heads to the gun safe. “Tell her the rest.”
That tone sends my heart racing all over again.
Glamma’s green eyes fix steadily on me. “When Summer’s Rest shatters and all your people wake up, it’ll flood the Faerie realm with Summer Court energy. It’ll push Faerie past the breaking point.” She rests a hand on my shaking knee. “I estimate you’ll only have seven days before—”
“Before Faerie goes kaboom.” My knee shakes double-time. “Unless me and Roue can heal it somehow.”
Glamma nods gravely. “There is one thing…”
Mom gives her a warning look. “We agreed that was a last-ditch solution.”
With a huff, Glamma waves her hand at all the weapons. “Well, Georgie, this looks like the last ditch, doesn’t it?” She turns to me. “We might be able to slow Faerie’s implosion and the Bleeds. But we need something.”
I’m on the edge of my seat. “Tell me.” I’ve got access to an entire Faerie realm. I’ve got white flame powers. Heck, with my windwarping, I can practically teleport. “Whatever it is, I can get it for you.”
“We don’t have the hearthstones,” Glamma deadpans, “so we need some of your blood.”
Relief floods me. “Oh, that’s easy.” A lot of magic requires blood because it holds inherent power. “How much?”
“A single vial.”
“Great!” I relax, but they don’t. “Why are you not relaxing?”
“We also need some of Rouen’s blood.”
The mortar falls from my hand. Dread crashes into me, the crushed mulberry and gun oil smell making me queasier. “I…” Do they want me to fight her, hurt her? Is that why they have all their weapons out? Is this what being the fair Fae queen really means?
I stagger to my feet, my vision spotty. “I can’t.” Even the thought—
My stomach heaves, and I rush for the bathroom. I barely make it, thanks to enhanced Fae speed. Beneath the gross noise of me yurking my face off, I hear Mom quietly scolding Glamma. “You should’ve been gentler.”
“How could I, dovey? You know what she and Rouen mean to each other.”
Mom’s voice tapers off to an I know…mumble mumble…nothing I can do about it mumble mumble…dark Fae…
I puke again. Urggggg… It’s official: I will never eat Pop-Tarts again.
“Syl?” Mom calls gently.
I blow out a breath and try to breathe deep. “I-I’m okay.” Except, my throat’s burning, and I really need to brush my teeth. I grab my toothbrush, slather it with toothpaste, and go to town. Mom and Glamma give me my privacy, which I’m really grateful for. I have certain standards for myself, being queen and a senior and all.
Queen. The weight of it hits me like a ton of bricks. War is coming, and I can’t handle the thought of killing.
What if I’m not the queen my people need?
I finish, splash my face with water, and towel off. “You can do this,” I tell the reflection in the mirror. With her curly red hair, pale skin, freckles, and the circles beneath her grey eyes, the girl who looks back seems a million years older than the girl who began this.
“S
yl?” Mom calls.
“Coming!” Straightening, I head back into the living room.
Mom is giving Glamma dagger-eyes. “You be quiet.” Then, she crosses to me. “Syl, your Glamma… Her war doesn’t have to become yours.”
Glamma huffs.
I stare at my mom, open-mouthed. Once the sleeper-princess of the fair Fae before she renounced her power, she originally wanted me to renounce mine too. She came around eventually, but it’s always been a bit of a wedge between us.
Now, it looks like it’s a wedge between Mom and Glamma.
I won’t let it be. I look Mom square in the eye. “How can it not become my war? I’m the fair Fae queen. Plus, Miss Jardin hexed Rouen. She thinks we’re enemies, that our love was some kind of…spell, a trick!”
My stomach churns queasy again. Uh-oh.
Mom smooths my red curls. “We will do everything we can to get Roue back. I promise.” Her sincerity smooths the edges off my hurt. I throw myself into her arms, and she croons “A stór, a stór,” soothing me. Her solidness gives me strength.
When I’m her age, I want to be half as tough as her.
I pull back, and Glamma is there to wipe my stray tears away. “We’ll find a way. Together. No one gets left behind.” She hugs me and Mom both, and we stay there for a minute, three generations of Gentrys, supporting one another.
Mom’s the first to pull away. She comes back with the first-aid kit and pops it open. Considering we do a lot of fighting, it’s more than just Band-Aids and neosporin in there. There are surgical needles, stitches, butterfly bandages, you name it. She takes out a needle and syringe. “Ready?”
I nod. A hot sting, and a few minutes later, she’s handing Glamma a vial of my blood.
Glamma’s eyes fix on me. “As for Rouen’s …”
Worry pulses in my temples like a headache, and I try to rub it away. “Maybe Roue’ll just give me some of her blood? I mean, she can’t be that far gone. Can she?”
Mom looks Glamma, looks at me. Silence.
Meaning: she’s that far gone.
I sit, deflated, heartsick.
Nemesis Page 2
