Chapter two!
CHAPTER TWO
As frightened as the murder had left him, Shion didn't run. He walked down the street with his eyes forward. His hands trembled at his sides. He wanted to run. Wanted to scream and rip his hair out at the roots. But if everything seemed calm, the faeries wouldn't suspect him. Faeries preferred targets that reacted.
Shion needed to keep his panic in check. He wouldn't stop walking until he reached Safu's house. He wouldn't look anywhere but straight ahead until he was somewhere safe.
Behind his eyelids, every time he blinked, he could still see her. The faerie girl. The arc of red blood marking the inside of the café window. The creatures that had spilled through the door just as Shion finally managed to make his trembling legs work. Shion didn't want to stay and see what they would do to her corpse. Didn't want to risk the silver-eyed boy coming back.
There were a few faeries stalking the streets, but they kept away from Shion. On another night, a few might have given chase. He'd been followed down the streets before. Sprites had pulled strands of his hair out, and he'd been forced to quell his urge to wince. Wolves had snapped at his ankles, and Shion had struggled against the instinct to run.
This isn't new. Shion concentrated on the sounds of his breathing. The slap of his sneakers against the pavement. Cars and public buses whizzed by him, tires grinding on the cement. Shion kept to the sidewalks bathed in the soft glow of street lamps. He avoided the alleyways tucked between storefronts. The Folk enjoyed shadows.
Safu's house sat in the middle of Kronos. Far from the edge of the forests. Due to her own Sight, Safu's grandmother had picked a spot in town filled with iron. There were Folk all throughout Kronos, but they grew scarcer the farther Shion traveled into the town. Safu's neighborhood had no real vegetation. No trees. Only metal street lamps, metal fences, and concrete streets.
Not the most beautiful place in Kronos—but the only place aside from the bakery where Shion felt safe.
The faeries dropped off completely when Shion reached Safu's house. He hurried down the walkway, feeling the tension in his body melting away. How could he feel unhappy in a place like this? Safu's house was small but inviting. Soft white walls and a deep blue roof rose behind a little white fence. A safe haven. Shion had spent so long behind those warm white walls—it was impossible to imagine a world without them.
In her earlier years, Safu's grandmother had been passionate about gardening. Shion could still picture the rows of blue bulbs lining the walkway. Under her tender watch, the flowers had thrived throughout the year. Shion had enjoyed running his fingers over them, feeling the velvety petals brush against his skin. Had enjoyed spending the summers protected from the horrors of the other world.
He lifted his hand to knock on the door.
"Shion." Safu opened the door before Shion's fist made contact with it. The overhead light on the porch cast shadows over her cheekbones. She smiled at him from over the threshold. "Hello."
The smell of delicious stew drifted out from the sitting room. She and her grandmother must have been in the middle of making dinner. Shion let the comforting scent wash over him. Let it chase away the memory of blood.
"Hi," Shion murmured.
Safu was dressed, as she often was, in a thick turtleneck. Her grandmother had made almost all of her clothes. The edges of her short, dark hair were damp, and she smelled of floral soap. She must have just stepped out of the shower. "You arrived just in time," Safu said. "My grandma's almost finished with dinner."
"That's—that's great," Shion said. He plastered a wobbly smile on his face. "I'm, uh, I'm actually starving, so—yeah."
Safu's smile began to droop at the edges. "Are you all right?" She shot a quick glance to the streets, narrowing her eyes at a small faerie perching near the fence. Shion thought he'd managed to lose them on the way, but there seemed to be a few stragglers.
"I'm fine." Shion looked over Safu's shoulder. He didn't think the faeries were watching or listening to them—but he didn't want to risk it. "Can we talk inside?"
"Of course." Safu held the door open for him. Shion almost sank with relief as he hurried into the warmth and safety of the foyer.
Shion loved Safu's house. It was the perfect size for a small family, and plenty big enough for Safu and her grandmother. Safu's parents had left on a trip when she was a little girl and, after a tragic accident, never returned home. Safu's parents had not been Sighted—it typically skipped a generation. Shion's mother couldn't see the Folk hanging around her bakery. Shion had never met his grandparents. Had never been able to pin-point the origin of his Sight.
The front door opened into a small space where a little beige couch, oak coffee table, and fat-backed television sat. The news was on, the volume cranked all the way down.
Shion followed Safu around the coffee table. Sounds of a tea kettle whistling in the kitchen echoed out into the sitting room.
"Grandma just made some tea," Safu said. "Would you like some?"
"Yes, please."
Safu gestured to the couch. Shion sank onto it gratefully. Safu's house always smelled of wildflowers. Safu poked her head into the kitchen and said, "Grandma, Shion's here. We're going to have some tea before dinner. Is that all right?"
"Of course, dear."
Safu disappeared into the kitchen for just a moment. When she returned, she had two little cups in her hands. "It's blackberry mint," she said, handing it to Shion. The steam tickled his nose, and the gentle sting of mint leaves eased some of the tension from his shoulders. "Here."
Shion took the cup with a mumbled thank-you.
Safu sat on the couch beside him, holding her own cup by the handle. Her long, delicate fingers held it with such care and grace that Shion felt strangely out of place in her abode. He tried to shift the cup in his hands to mirror her gentle grip, but held it together when he feared the whole thing would tip over in his hands.
Safu's lips twitched as she watched Shion. He averted his eyes and took a sip of his tea. The soft fragrance gave way to a powerful, refreshing taste.
Here, in the comfort and safety of Safu's house, Shion could pretend the world outside was a safe and wondrous place. A perfect realm where creatures of darkness didn't stalk the innocent in the shadows or thrive on destruction.
"So, what happened?"
Shion looked over at Safu. "What?"
"On the porch. You looked terrified. Did something happen?"
Shion sipped his tea and swallowed the well of terror bubbling up inside him. He inhaled the sharp mint so he wouldn't remember the stench of the faerie girl's blood.
"Did one of them follow you?"
Shion's hands trembled, and he lowered the cup onto the coffee table to avoid spilling it. Safu had the Sight. Her grandmother had it. But Safu's grandmother avoided talk about the Folk these days if she could help it. She grew progressively more exhausted with each day, and Safu had confided in Shion that the stress of worrying about her granddaughter thriving among those things overwhelmed her most days.
"Is it OK to talk about?" Shion jerked his chin toward the kitchen, where Safu's grandmother hummed a gentle tune. "Will it upset your grandmother?"
"Not as long as we're quiet about it," Safu promised.
Shion's shoulders relaxed.
"So." Safu slid closer, until her knee bumped against Shion's. "Tell me what happened?"
"I saw him again." Shion's heart pounded behind his ribs. "The silver-eyed boy."
Safu's expression darkened.
Ever since Shion had started seeing the silver-eyed boy—Nezumi, he remembered, the faerie girl's sharp voice hissing through his mind—skulking around Kronos, Shion and Safu had developed a few theories on who, and what, he could be.
Safu had never been around when Shion spotted him. At first she suggested that Nezumi might be following Shion, but the fact that Nezumi had never looked in his direction gave Shion hope he wasn't a target for the Folk. Shion had tried so hard to pretend to be like every other human. Calm and boring. Uninteresting. Average in the way that aggravated the Folk and made them slink off to seek better amusement.
Coincidence kept bringing Nezumi into Shion's life. The coffee shop incident had been the first time Shion had ever seen him so close. Had ever heard him speak.
"Did he try and touch you?" Safu asked. She sounded strange, tenser than normal. Her knuckles had gone white.
"No," Shion said, and Safu's shoulders relaxed. "But… he killed someone."
Safu's teacup struck the ground.
Shion jumped back as the tea seeped into the carpet. "Oh!" Safu hopped to her feet, an embarrassed red flush splashed across her cheekbones. "I'm sorry! I'll be right back!"
She hurried into the kitchen, assured her grandmother that nothing was wrong, and came back into the sitting room with a dishrag. She crouched down and quickly mopped up the spilled tea.
Shion bent down to pick up the cup, and Safu lifted her head to meet his eyes. Their faces were inches apart, and Safu whispered, "You mean… he killed a person?"
"Another faerie," Shion said back. "In the coffee shop."
Safu exhaled in relief and dropped her head against the table. "Jeez, Shion! Lead with that next time! I thought you meant he killed a human."
She finished cleaning the spilled tea and then returned to sit on the couch. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt. Even in the warmth of her own home, she wore long black socks that came to her knees. "So, he just came into the coffee shop and killed a faerie?"
"He said the King had sent him," Shion replied. "I don't know which one."
"He's court fey?" Safu dropped her head in her hands. "Wonderful."
"He didn't seem… thrilled about having to do it." Shion remembered the cold calculation on Nezumi's face, the quick way he'd driven his knife into the girl's retreating back. Shion had watched Folk rip each other to pieces. He'd been kept awake at night by the agonized screams of smaller fey who had escaped their attackers, only to succumb to their wounds hours later. Nezumi's attack had been quick and—dare Shion say it—almost merciful.
"They're always thrilled about hurting people," Safu sneered. "Even the pretty ones."
Shion's shoulders shot to his ears. He felt a blush work its way across his face. Since Safu had never laid eyes on the silver-eyed boy, Shion had always described him to her. And most of Shion's descriptions could easily be mistaken for infatuation. Shion couldn't help himself. Nezumi was utterly terrifying—but Shion had never seen someone so beautiful and otherworldly in his life. It was difficult to describe him as anything other than beautiful when the mere sight of those gray eyes was enough to take Shion's breath away.
"So, we know he's in the city a lot, and he serves a King." Safu gave Shion a long, sympathetic look. "Any reason you think a faerie king would be interested in our town?"
"I don't know." Shion folded his hands in his lap and tried to still them. "I'm hoping it's a king from a small court and not… one of those."
Safu's face turned white.
Shion's chest ached as if someone had punched him. There were other courts, little ones strewn here and there. Safu's grandmother had told them that. The Seelie and Unseelie Courts, however, oversaw them all. Shion had no clue about the faerie monarchy or who sat on each throne. He had no intention of ever finding out.
"Jeez." Safu reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So we've got a pretty silver-eyed boy running around Kronos, and he serves a faerie king. Fabulous. That's just what we needed."
Shion glanced over at the window. Safu's house was webbed through with iron bars. No Folk would dare come and peek inside. Even so, Shion could picture the creatures lurking just outside her fence: some almost human-looking, and others as far from human as possible. Tall women with bony fingers and teeth like rows and rows of needles. Cherubs with dark blue skin that hung around the park and terrorized young children by yanking their hair out. Tall boys with dark hair and eyes made of quicksilver that murdered people in coffee shops and left without a word.
"Yeah," Shion murmured, turning away from the window and shutting the cold world out. "Just what we needed."
⁂
"Almost ready." The Unseelie King swept back into the torture chamber. He perched on one of the rich wooden benches and patted the one nearest to him. "Come. Sit. We can discuss business while we wait, and—"
The King drew his hand back as if he'd been bitten. His black eyes flickered.
"The gnome," he said urgently. "There was a gnome right there when I left. Where is it?"
Nezumi sat on the wooden bench on the opposite side of the chamber. He stuffed his hands into the leather pockets of his jacket and glanced at the sprite trapped in the glass. Her eyes were big and dark. She would be harder to break free.
"The gnome." The Unseelie King snapped his fingers in Nezumi's direction. "Hello? There was a gnome in that corner not ten minutes ago. And now there isn't."
Nezumi set his jaw. A lie might never make its way across his tongue, but he could control his facial expressions. He could deceive with a look.
"Oh, you don't want to tell me? That's fine." The Unseelie King crossed his bare ankles, and leaned forward in the grotesque mockery of an attentive parent. "That's just fine. We'll return to it in a moment. For now, our other business. I've got a task for you."
Without looking away, the King held out his hand and gestured toward the kitchens. A badly-beaten sprite came around the corner and brought him another goblet of blood wine. As the King wrapped his tattooed fingers around the stem, cracks of black mana spiked through the glass, simultaneously shattering it and holding it together stronger than any mortal bonding agent.
The Unseelie King tipped his head back and downed half the goblet. "Do you remember Rikiga?" He wiped a smear of gorey pulp from the corner of his mouth.
Nezumi did remember Rikiga—some human who'd become a slave to the Unseelie Court almost a century ago. On a drunken dare, Rikiga had snuck into the Unseelie Court with the sole intention of stealing a jeweled belt right from the sleeping King's waist. Through mysteries and miracles, he'd made it to the front gates with the jewels in question before the King and his forces subdued him. Impressed rather than furious, the King had made Rikiga an eternal slave to his Court, a servant bound in blood oaths and enchanted words who could never escape or betray them.
The Unseelie King examined the nails on his other hand. Sometimes he painted them with blood or polish, but today they were the same unmarred black Nezumi saw in his nightmares. "Rikiga's been procuring some items for me for the upcoming celebration. I want you to retrieve them."
Nezumi cocked his head. Celebration? He racked his brain for anything worth celebrating, and then he remembered what time of year it was—and he tasted blood in his mouth.
The Autumn Equinox.
How could a whole year have passed already?
The Unseelie King sat back, smug now that Nezumi seemed uneasy. He held out his free hand and a coil of dark shadows whipped across his palm. "This year's a bit different from the previous celebrations," he said. "Our sacrifice this time around must be... better. I'm not looking to placate those unaligned idiots. I'm looking to add them to my forces."
The King snapped his fingers, dispelled the shadows, and took another sip from his goblet.
Nezumi clenched his teeth behind his tight lips. The idea of the solitary fae surrendering their freedom for the revelry of the Unseelie Court was utter madness. A fate worse than death. And faerie death was a tragedy, no matter the occasion. There was no afterlife for the Folk. Those select few who deserved kindness were made into plants and mountains, and those unhappy others were left to wander for all eternity.
Nezumi's own mother was gone. She'd suffered at the hands of a drunk, Sighted human who'd believed her to be just a poor girl wandering back to her college dorm. The mortal had attempted to rob her and, upon realizing she had no money, jammed a blade into her stomach and left her to bleed out in the streets.
Nezumi suspected his mother was one of the few who'd been turned into a tree or a stone and continued to exist somewhere in the world. He'd gone searching for her years ago—before the Seelie Queen had deposited him at the steps of the Unseelie Court as a peace offering.
The Unseelie Court was overrun with death. Folk died in constant waves. Mortals became victims of boredom, vanishing from Kronos overnight. Nezumi had learned to hide his emotions. To become cold steel. The Unseelie King had found endless entertainment in Nezumi's childhood tears. The only way to avoid becoming a target had been to stop reacting altogether.
The Unseelie King's lips drew back over his sharp teeth in a vicious smile. "Our tribute this year will be spectacular. I've got something wonderful planned. I'll require your assistance to make it perfect, but we'll worry about that at a later date. For the time being, simply retrieve the objects from Rikiga and bring them to me intact."
Nezumi pursed his lips. A spectacular tribute from the Unseelie Court couldn't be anything good. The Unseelie King did not like to be overshadowed. A sacrifice would be made—but Nezumi wasn't sure he'd enjoy whatever celebration the King had planned.
"Now that we've handled that business," the Unseelie King purred, "tell me: what happened to my little guest?"
The word spilled over his teeth like tainted water.
Nezumi squared his shoulders. "He left."
"Oh, I can see that." The King set his goblet on the floor. He'd drained its contents, and a smear of blood trailed at the corner of his lips. "And how did he manage to get away? Enlighten me."
Nezumi could hear the edge in the King's voice prickling over his skin like a large spider. The Unseelie King did not appreciate defiance. He was an unpredictable nightmare. Killing the faerie girl had been a whim. She'd held no real threat to the Unseelie Court in her mad dash to the Seelie lands, but the King had ordered her death, all the same. Nezumi suspected the whole ordeal had been more a test of his loyalty than a punishment for her escape.
The King made a sound in his throat, almost like a growl. Then he rose from his seat, elegant and slow, and smiled at Nezumi as if they were old friends.
Nezumi's blood chilled.
The King crossed the distance between them and loomed over him, that same haunting smile on his face. He reached a hand out and cupped Nezumi's chin. His skin felt cold as ice, no heartbeat pulsing through his immortal body. He didn't move. Didn't need to do anything but stand there and press the tips of his fingers into the slight swell of flesh connecting Nezumi's head to the rest of his body.
"It's fascinating to observe," the Unseelie King mused. It rumbled through his chest, down his arm and into his hands. "You have blood from both Courts running through you—and yet the Seelie wins out every time."
Nezumi knew better than to struggle. His strength was valuable. The primal instinct inside him demanded he throw his hands up and try to shove the dark creature towering before him away. Demanded he fight for his life. And yet the disgusting little part of himself that feared pain warred against that desire.
It's less painful if you don't struggle.
That mantra. Those whispered fragments of advice from courtiers who had taken pity on Nezumi when he wept as a child in the dirt.
Nezumi sunk his teeth into his lower lip and forced himself still. It might be less painful not to resist—but it would never be easier.
"I should find this offensive," the Unseelie King went on. "That your light shines through whatever darkness lives within your spirit. But what could I expect from something as pathetic as you?"
His grip on Nezumi's chin tightened, letting the cold of his mana seep in through Nezumi's skin. A subtle reminder that he held worlds of power in the palm of his hand. That there was a reason he'd held his throne for three centuries.
"Did you believe you might save him?" Those black eyes bore down on Nezumi, pulling him into a fathomless void. The King's cool breath puffed over Nezumi's cheeks as he leaned in. "Did you believe a wretch like you could save anyone?"
Nezumi shivered. His body ached as the warmth was stripped from his skin. Dragged through his veins and consumed by the King. The tips of his fingers and toes had begun to go cold.
"You're only alive because you continue to amuse me." Keeping one finger pressed beneath Nezumi's chin, the Unseelie King forced his head back. "Remember that. The instant you begin to bore me, I'll snap your neck. You'll be reduced to nothing—a failed warrior left to die in the filth. The knight of rot and ruin."
The King slowly dragged his fingertip across Nezumi's throat like a blade, and all his strength went with it.
Nezumi's legs crumpled beneath him as everything went dark.
When Nezumi woke hours later, dragged through the Court and deposited in the chamber that served as his bedroom, the Unseelie King was, thankfully, nowhere in sight.
He coughed. His tongue tasted like mud and silt. Scraps of leaves had taken up residence in his throat and scratched it raw. For all his shadows and horrors, the Unseelie King had once been a creature of the primal forests, and his infernal magic reflected it.
Nezumi rolled over. Thick blankets—no longer the blood-stained furs the King had first provided him with years ago—had been draped over him. He leaned over the side of the mattress and spat the horrid taste onto the stone floor.
Lifting his head, Nezumi's vision swam in and out of focus. The torches set in the cavern walls flickered with blue flames. An eerie glow danced over the few bookshelves, shadows shifting against the smooth edges of the vanity table with the cracked mirror. The Unseelie King had put Nezumi's head through it at one point or another, either from boredom or spite. It was difficult to remember much of the incident.
Nezumi eased himself onto his elbows. He'd lost time. Any time spent in the darkness of sleep was a danger. Too many enemies could have slipped into his bedchamber and slit his throat.
He hated the Unseelie King.
Hated his darkness and his laughter and the cold abyss of those black eyes.
Something sat at the foot of Nezumi's bed. Squinting his eyes, he fought through the haze to get a good look at it. Small and round, no larger than the orange balls humans played with in their concrete parks. The stench of copper struck Nezumi like a wave, and he knew what it was well before the edges settled.
The gnome's vacant brown eyes stared at him, eternally accusing. The bruises on his cheeks were more pronounced in the pallor of his bloodless skin. A fat, gray tongue poked from between his parted lips.
Nezumi dropped back against the mattress. He pressed his face into the crook of his arm and pressed until he saw blue and red stars. What had the Unseelie King done with the rest of the body? Had he thrown it to the wolves, or had he sent it in pieces back to the gnome's family?
He could still hear the laughter. Could see the amused glimmer in the Unseelie King's wretched eyes.
Did you believe you might save him?
Did you believe a wretch like you could save anyone?
Nezumi drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The air in his bedchamber was cold and uninviting. It had never felt as if it belonged to him. It had never been anything other than a place to wait for more torment.
The Unseelie Court would never be home. The Unseelie King would never be anything except a monster—but the worst of it was knowing that no matter how much time passed, how many months or years or centuries drifted by, he would always be right about one thing.
Nezumi couldn't save the girl.
Nezumi couldn't save the gnome.
Nezumi couldn't save anyone.
To Be Continued...