Screaming a ballad, I charge her.
She charges me.
Summer versus Winter.
I pelt her with jagged ice balls; she melts them. She flames on at me. I turn her blasts to spears of ice. She windwarps, I throw up a wall of ice. I windwarp, she turns the room to fire.
Needless to say, Great Wolf Lodge is gonna need a lot of renovations when this is over.
I probably will too because the truth of my situation is: I’m losing to her.
I dodge Syl’s punch, but her fire whooshes up around me, sucking out my wind. She follows with a flying kick, drilling my ribs. Gasping, I go down, little tweeting birds and stars whirling around my head.
She grabs me, lifts me up. A knife gleams in her fist.
That’s right. I’m the dark Fae queen, and I’m about to be gutted by a steak knife.
It’s hilarious and awful in the extreme.
“How could you?” Tears stream down Syl’s face. “Lennon!” she chokes out, and all the fight drains from me.
“You should…” I taste blood in my mouth. “Kill me. I can’t…” The wave of darkness is too strong. I realize it now—that it’s my mother’s violin amping up my dark impulses, heightening my darker thoughts. Making Jardin’s spell impossible to break. Every time I wiggle an inch free, it sucks me a mile under.
I can’t fight it, and someday soon, I will hurt her. “Syl, please.”
“No,” she says, and then she cuts me. Just a nick.
What the—?
“I just need your blood for Glamma’s spell.” She stands, tucks the bloody knife into her Doc Marten. The conviction in her voice makes my heart ache for her.
“There isn’t going to be an epic fight to the death between us. Ever.”
“Too bad,” Jardin shakes her head. “Because there is going to be an epic fight today, and you’re both going to lose.”
Shrieeeeek! The bain sidhe’s scream crashes into us, slamming us into the chairs and one of the few unbroken tables. We smash it to smithereens, me rolling to a stop as Syl’s white flame bubble shatters. She crawls to her hands and knees.
After our battle, all the energy we expended, we can barely move.
Gasping, I roll onto my back and look up into Jardin’s glowing hellfire eyes.
“Useless girl. She’s heartbroken. So easy to heartstring her.” Jardin wrenches the violin from my grip and thrusts it toward the bain sidhe. “Change of plans. Take it.”
Mechanically, the bain sidhe does as she’s told. She steps in, lifts the bow to Wasteland’s nonexistent strings, and waits for Jardin’s next order. Her face a blank slate.
“Roue…” Syl’s eyes shimmer with her Fae-sight. “She’s—”
“I know.” Why didn’t I see it before?
The swirling energy around the bain sidhe, stinking of roses and habaneros. Púca magic.
Jardin’s bound the bain sidhe with one of her double-dealing Contracts, forcing her to do her bidding. And as dark magic wafts like smoke around Wasteland, I make another stark realization. Wasteland only reacts that way for two people in all the realms and dimensions.
I’m one, and the other is…
“My mother.”
Jardin chuckles. “You understand now, don’t you?”
Shock hits me hard, old pain awakening as I look over the bain sidhe’s white-shot hair, the curved claws, the hunched form, as if someone threw a bunch of broken sticks into a gown and cloaks. I can’t reconcile all that with the memories of my strong, powerful, royal mother.
“No. It’s a trick.” I shake my head, dragging myself to my feet. “My mother died in the fair Fae attack, when they poisoned the hearthstone and the vaults collapsed. This… It’s not possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible, all right.” Jardin warms to the telling of her tale. “I was the one who dug her out of that ruined chamber. She would have agreed to anything to have a second chance at life, at seeing her you once more. Now your mother is my servant, geised to me.” Her smile glints, sharp. “Do it now, Ravella.”
My mother’s name.
My heart cracks wide, all those tears I was never allowed to shed when she died closing up my throat, making me ache. The bain sidhe touches bow to violin, and a wave of darkness leaps off Wasteland, hitting me, hitting Syl, miring us to the spot.
The bain sidhe’s claws scrape gently against the black yew violin as she maneuvers it beneath her chin. She lifts the bow…
She’s going to rip out our heartstrings, mine and Syl’s.
Shiiiiing! She drags the bow across Wasteland’s nonexistent strings, and Syl jerks, gasping. A glowing thread appears layered over her heart, glowing raw-red with pain.
A heartstring.
“Roue!” Syl’s scream breaks me open wider, but there’s nothing I can do.
We’re both trapped. By our idiocy.
I struggle, but it’s no use. My heart’s not in it. “It’s a trick!” I snarl at Jardin. “A queen doesn’t just become a bain sidhe.”
“She does if she kills one.” Jardin’s smirk widens smugly. “Did you forget?”
I did. One of the oldest rules of Faerie. “When the bain sidhe wails for your Death, you can die or you can kill her.” My gaze flicks to the bain sidhe. Is that really my mother underneath all those bones and cobwebs? “But in killing her, you must become her.”
It’s written in our traditional laws, the fádo.
“But how--?”
“When the fair Fae poisoned the hearthstone, the bain sidhe wailed for your father’s death. He attacked her, but it was I who struck the killing blow.” The bain sidhe croons to Wasteland, and a low howl emanates as it senses its prey. “I did it to save him.” She sucks at her teeth. “Lot of good it did.”
It all makes sense. I just wish it wasn’t true.
“As much fun as this little trip down memory lane is,” Jardin sounds bored, “it’s time to release you.” She reaches into her blazer pocket and pulls out a tiny violin charm.
The same charm she used to bind me to her Darksider spell.
Dread wraps around my heart. If she’s breaking her hold over me, that can only mean one thing.
She’s got something worse up her designer sleeve.
“Can’t heartstring you when you’re enspelled.” She snaps the charm in half. A burst of rose petals explodes, perfume, pollen, and the stench of spicy habaneros wraps me up until I’m choking on it.
Then it releases me.
Wasteland’s spell, that dark cloud over my mind breaks, releasing all the regret, the pain, the mixed emotions. Dark-Rouen recedes to the back of my mind where she belongs—only to be called upon in times of dire need and survival.
In her wake, I become myself.
Anguish racks me. What have I done? Syl, Lennon… I fight the black tendrils holding me. “This was never about me heartstringing Syl, was it?”
“Of course it wasn’t.” Jardin’s laughter infuriates me. “I couldn’t control your hearthstones without your heartstrings.”
The bain sidhe plucks at the air again, this time in my direction. Shink! The dark magic stabs like a knife in my heart, stabbing, pulling, the howl of Wasteland’s hunger rattling my teeth, my skull. The pain burns white-hot, and there’s no escape. A single glowing thread shimmers into being over my heart, glowing cold-blue.
My heartstring. Syl’s heartstring. Ready for plucking.
She has us both right where she wants us. The mother I worshiped—I let that púca turn her against us. I let her turn me and Syl against each other.
We may never heal the damage between us.
Me heart aches. Then, it breaks.
19
SYL
Hearts make
The most important magic
Of all
- Glamma’s Grimm
Ever hear the saying “your heart’s not in it”? Well, now I know exactly what that means. Because my Roue’s back, the Darksider spell on her shattered. I should be thrilled, ecstatic, freaki
ng out with happiness and ready to battle our enemies together.
And I would be, except no matter how hard I try, I can’t summon the will to fight. All my fight and fire wraps around that glimmering strand shooting out from my chest into the bain sidhe’s fist.
My heartstring.
Cackling, she gives the slightest tug on the raw, red string, and agony like battery acid rips through my body. My back bows as she raises me onto my tiptoes in the middle of the wrecked water park dining lodge.
“How do you like that, poppets?”
She pulls on Roue’s too. Her own daughter.
We’re puppets on strings, dancing for her mom.
“I’m sorry, Syl,” Roue gasps out, standing on her tiptoes as the bain sidhe winds our heartstrings around knotty fingers. “I should have known.”
“It’s all right. You weren’t in your right mind.”
My gaze locks with hers, and I try to send my thoughts down the soul-bond—Miss Jardin’s the true mastermind. Our true enemy. She put that violin in Rouen’s hand, turned her to her dark side, geised her mom—but the bond stays infuriatingly closed.
Still, Roue nods like she understands. “At least we’re finally on the same page.”
Too bad that page is being ripped out of the book.
“Do it,” Miss Jardin commands the bain sidhe.
The old hag laughs her rusty laugh. “Now for the fina—”
“I swear, if you make a music pun,” Roue growls, “I’ll shove that violin down your throat.”
“R-Roue!” I cry out, reaching for her hand. My fingers brush hers, and all my own regret and sorrow flood me in a heartsick wave.
My Roue’s back, but I want our soul-bond, our love, everything back, too.
“Princess…” She shudders as she tries, and fails, to send down our crippled bond.
The knowledge that we were ready to really fight, to hurt each other if we had to—it’s not something either of us can hide.
“We can heal,” I vow to her, my gaze locking with hers, “with enough time.”
“Time!” The bain sidhe’s wicked cackle tells me time is one thing we definitely don’t have. Fingers knitting the air, she wraps our heartstrings around her fingers, pulling them in toward that black yew violin.
I cry out as she tugs harder. One thing I’ve learned about being nearly indestructible: you can still feel pain. Right now, everything hurts. My body, my soul, my heart. Worn out from fighting, Roue and I can only spasm helplessly as the bain sidhe—Roue’s mom—rips out our heartstrings.
We did this to ourselves. Broke the soul-bond. Broke each other’s hearts.
“Mother…” Roue gasps, arching like a fish on a hook, boots crunching on broken plates and Solo cups. “Fight it!” Just when it seems her back will break, the string snaps free from her chest, a glowing Winter-blue strand.
“I can’t, poppet, no.” A grin stretching her mouth over sharp teeth, the bain sidhe winds Roue’s heartstring around Wasteland’s crystal skull keys, round and round, roping it tight.
The instrument hums ravenously.
“Yes!” Miss Jardin sidles up to the bain sidhe. “Now the granddaughter of Gloriana, my enemy.”
That’s me, and that doesn’t bode well. At all.
Jardin rubs her hand together in anticipation. “Hurt her, Ravella.”
Nothing prepares me for the pain.
A scream tears from my throat, pain searing a hot wire through me as the bain sidhe yanks my heartstring out. “Ha!” I gasp out, grinning like a loon as I notice Wasteland’s got space for four. “You’re gonna be two strings short.”
Hey, I take my wins where I can get them.
The bain sidhe’s grin could freeze oceans. “Am I?” She plucks my heartstring.
Boom! A thundering throb pulses deep inside me. Boom! And then a second heartstring snaps from my chest, wrapping around her fist. Agony twists through me, wrenching my heart until my vision grey out. Rouen screams as a second heartstring tears out of her too.
“Should have…seen that coming,” I joke miserably.
Pain racks me, Roue’s hand tightening on mine as the bain sidhe wraps up our second heartstrings, tuning the pegs and cranking up our pain. With every pull and push, with every turn of the keys, I become more hers.
Until finally, the violin is strung.
“Please,” Roue snarls, “spare us Amateur Hour.”
Leering a grin, the bain sidhe touches the bow to the strings. An unearthly howl kicks up from the violin, snaring my heart, soul, my body, binding me tight to its will.
I can’t move, can’t fight, can’t even speak.
Not unless she wants me to.
“Roue, I can’t fight it…”
Roue struggles beside me. “Neither can I…”
“What does Miss Jardin want with us?”
“Let me show you.” Like she’s got all the time in the world, the púca librarian lazily peels back the Shroud to her pocket dimension. A psychedelic swirl opens up like a telescoping doorway in a sci-fi show.
Sluuuurp! The vortex of multicolored energy sucks us in. We’re upside down; we’re right side up. My guts twist and wrench as we’re pushed through Jardin’s strange dimension, then fwump!
We’re spat out into Dark Faerie’s War Room.
I’ve officially entered enemy territory.
Plus, I still can’t move, and neither can Rouen.
The arch-Eld seem to sense my weakness. Vanya’s eyes glow, and she bares her poisonous fangs. Griffa’s hand goes to her massive banhammer. Prattlerattadooley and Mag share a dark chuckle, while Zoba’ah folds his arms across his barrel chest. Etana closes her open mouth with a snap, her hypnotic eyes filled with concern.
The picture of calm, Mizumichi folds his hands. “Your Majesty.” He inclines his head politely to me. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“Ask her.” I struggle as the bain sidhe’s control as she windwarps in, Wasteland humming with our heartstrings.
Mizumichi’s koi tattoo thrashes its tail. “Jessamine?”
Undaunted, Miss Jardin touches the carven map on the table. It shifts, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle until finally, it shows Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie, fused, locked in battle.
Summer and Winter a catastrophic nightmare of sunfire and blizzards.
I try to ignore the arch-Eld looking at me like I’m lunch. Maybe if we can expose Miss Jardin, they’ll forget I’m Public Enemy #1. “We all know you want to overthrow us and become Overqueen of all Faerie.”
Jardin’s laugh splits the tension. “Not Faerie.” She gestures, and the map changes to show the Shroud. The black, velvety energy flows around and binds the Faerie realms, connecting them to every other dimension in the entire multiverse.
It’s like the Force, if it were Faerie power instead of Jedi.
But my heart seizes, because a million glimmering blue slashes cut the fabric of the Shroud. Tears. Bleeds.
All of them becoming Wounds.
“Once the War for Faerie tears the Shroud apart, all the dimensions in existence will crash into one another.” Jardin smiles. “Faerie is just the linchpin. Once it dies, the multiverse will rip free. The strong will devour the weak. And I will rule over it all. Supreme.”
Ugly shock ripples through the arch-Eld. Weapons leap from sheaths, gramarye fires up in the gloom. Eyes glowing, claws sharp, they surround Miss Jardin.
Ooh, it’s gonna get good.
But Jardin’s always got something up her sleeve.
This time, it’s the dark Faerie hearthstone. Calmly, she pulls it from her blazer pocket, a glimmering black gemstone pulsing in her fist.
Dark light shoots out, washing over the arch-Eld.
They all stop dead, mid-attack.
Roue’s gasp echoes in the throne room.
I can’t keep the shock off my face. “H-how?”
“Some queens you are! You don’t even understand your own hearthstones.” Jardin’s grin could carve glass.
“Each hearthstone is tied to its queen, the living heart of Faerie power, who embody the will to rule and dominate all Fae, dark and fair.”
My soul cries out as she pulls the Fair Faerie hearthstone from her other pocket.
The two war, light and dark, in her hands. Tiny licks of fire and bursts of frost lick the air. “Now that I control you, I control your hearthstones. Your magic. Your people.”
Translation: we’re triply screwed.
Gritting my teeth, I fight against her control, but I can only watch as she holds them high, the energies colliding, crashing and lashing around her hands. The War Room explodes into warring Summer and Winter. Snow howling, sun burning, everything a whirling mess of white and blinding brightness.
Jardin’s eyes glow with hellfire. “Now watch while I pull the multiverse apart.”
With us right in the center of the chaos.
This day’s just gotten infinitely worse.
20
ROUEN
Desolation, destruction
That is all I can ever be to you
To me
- “Me and You,” Euphoria
I lose myself in Syl’s grey eyes as the universe rattles to its bones around us at the whim of a cackling, mad pocket púca. Growing up a dark Fae princess, I always imagined my death would be a little more epic—falling in battle protecting my people, shot in the heart with a fair Fae bolt while trying to kill their king.
A showdown with my mortal enemy, the Queen of the fair Fae.
I was at peace (not really) with destroying her, and I felt calm (most definitely didn’t) about her defeating me.
After all, it’s only the fate of the Faerie realms, right?
And it looks like I won’t be getting my epic sendoff either. A sardonic laugh escapes me as the bain sidhe holds me and Syl captive with our heartstrings. The pain, a thread of fire, burns in my chest and leaves me gasping. Bloody bones, I’ve been such an idiot.
Nemesis Page 11
