Time for another chapter, everyone!
I'm really glad you all seemed to really like the previous chapter. I was so happy to be able to add some hardcore Nezushi content to this fic, especially since it's meant to be a slow burn. I love slow burns, but they're also hell to write because I just want them to kiss and be happy but uuuuuugh, there's a process that needs to happen before it can happen!
Comments are always welcome! I love being able to reply to y'all and hear what moments stuck out the most to y'all. I adore hearing back from writers when I comment on their fics, so it makes me ecstatic to be able to reply to all of you!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Escaping the terror of the Unseelie Court that night was an impossibility.
Escaping the throne room, however, seemed far more doable.
Nezumi looked out at the cavernous dome, observing the crush of bodies that swayed back and forth to the music the satyrs played. The music had died down for only a moment a few hours ago—the Unseelie King, having grown bored of their playing, came down onto the stage and crushed one of the flute player's fingers. The resounding snap and shriek of misery seemed to fuel the revelry; the Unseelie Court was desperate for early bloodshed.
Nezumi knew what the Unseelie King looked like when he was intoxicated. He swayed a bit on his feet, his iron-wrapped wings swinging wildly and striking those foolish enough to move too close to him. He snagged goblets from faerie hands and downed the contents, spitting them back into the owner's face and laughing at their sputtered surprise.
Shion, asleep on his lap, nuzzled into Nezumi's throat and exhaled. His warm breath, tinted with the scent of apples and cinnamon, tickled Nezumi's skin and sent a tremor down his spine.
Nezumi had watched him doze for the better part of a few hours, hissing at a few stray fingers that drifted too close to the human's sleeping face. He'd foolishly allowed his walls to lower when Shion was awake, silly in a way that was both bothersome and oddly endearing; now that sleep had made Shion quiet and complicit, Nezumi forced the walls back up, glaring at those few bawdy Folk who dared to approach him.
The Unseelie King didn't pay attention to the human sacrifices during the early celebrations. The unlucky mortal became his focus only during the Equinox, when the King would need to slaughter them before the crowd. Nezumi had hardly attended the festivities, choosing instead to hide himself in his bedchamber and drown out the sounds of miserable screaming and cheering.
He didn't know how the Unseelie King murdered his sacrifices, but it sounded... painful.
His grip on Shion tightened, and Nezumi looked up to locate the Unseelie King. He'd stumbled his way back to the throne, laying sidewalks on it with his draped over the arm. One of his broken wings lay crooked beneath his back, the other stretched out on the floor like a curtain. His venomous black eyes were closed, and a goblet hung loose from his fingers, spilling droplets of blood on the floor.
Nezumi knew better than to assume the Unseelie King was defenseless. He might have been dozing in the middle of the Court, but the Unseelie King never let his guard down. Anyone foolish enough to stray too close to him would be promptly slaughtered. The King was a notoriously light sleeper, He was one of the strongest Folk the world had ever seen, and it would take an incredibly powerful creature to steal his throne away from him.
But the King falling asleep meant Nezumi no longer needed to keep up appearances in the revelry.
He shifted, his arms sliding along Shion's back to keep him from tumbling to the ground. For all his energy and recklessness a few hours prior, Shion was a deep sleeper, still as a statue in Nezumi's arms, moving only slightly. He occasionally nestled into Nezumi's neck, sighing contentedly, as if dreams were surrounding him rather than the nightmare that would claim his life.
Shion felt light, too, so much so that Nezumi knew it would be little trouble to scoop him up and carry him out of the throne room. Escape from the Unseelie Court was impossible this evening, but leaving the revelry and heading somewhere more comfortable would be simple.
Nezumi's lips pressed together in a tight line. Carrying Shion might not have been difficult, but it was dangerous. It meant limiting the use of his hands and—even more pressing—preventing him from accessing his knife if the need arose. Nezumi's dark reputation among the Folk kept him secure enough most days, but revelries filled the Folk with unbridled courage and drunken idiocy. Those too afraid to challenge him might be emboldened by the wine in their veins, urged on by the alcohol-fueled catcalls of their companions.
Nezumi nudged Shion in the spine. "Hey."
Shion shifted in his arms, nestling further into the warmth of his jacket.
A prickle of guilt ate its way through Nezumi's chest, but the reedy music the rest of the satyrs played—minus one who'd staggered off in terror, weeping over his broken fingers—alerted him to the dancing that still occurred around them. Midnight had already come and gone.
"Hey," Nezumi said, a bit louder.
Shion hid his face in the black leather, emitting a sleepy groan.
"Shion."
"Mrph."
"Wake up." Nezumi shifted his leg, letting Shion slip dangerously toward the ground. He wouldn't have let the mortal fall—in his enchantment and alcohol-induced stupor, he might not catch himself properly—but the fear of taking a tumble jarred Shion out of his dozing.
His arms pinwheeled, latching onto Nezumi's shoulders for purchase. His dark brown eyes flew open, pupils wide and solid black. He glanced around, desperately searching for any signs of approaching danger. The collection of murderous Folk dancing less than twenty feet from his face didn't seem to concern him.
With a sigh, Shion looked up at Nezumi and scowled. "That was mean."
"You didn't wake up the other times I tried," Nezumi said, matter-of-factly.
Shion rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. His irises were glassy and crimson from sleep, the hint of faerie enchantment lingering within. He looked around the revelry, taking in the dancing that still raged.
"Come on," Nezumi said, nudging Shion again. This time, Shion seemed to take the hint and steadily rose to his feet. He swayed just a bit, but Nezumi wrote it off as the result of having just awoken rather than something to be concerned over. "We're leaving."
"Leaving?" Shion echoed. "But... the party—"
"Will be winding down shortly," Nezumi finished. It was true enough. There might have been dancing still happening around them, but a handful of Folk had already wobbled off to their various hovels and beds. A few had passed out on the dance floor, at risk of being trampled by those who refused to look down.
Shion blinked owlishly up at him. He looked over at the throne, where the King lay sleeping out in the open. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Nezumi could almost hear the gears in his head churning.
"Why doesn't someone—" Shion began.
"Not here," Nezumi interjected, terror spiking through his veins like ice water. There were a handful of questions that were too dangerous to ask with an audience. "Don't ask here."
Shion pouted, but thankfully didn't press the issue.
"Follow me," Nezumi said, though he hooked his arm around Shion's waist and didn't give him much choice but to follow.
With the midnight crowd diminishing, leaving only those stray few whose drunken antics needed to be satisfied, walking through the throne room and back toward the tunnel leading toward Nezumi's bedchamber was far easier than getting to the throne room had been earlier that same night. Shion stumbled only once, his shoe catching on a dip in the stones, but otherwise, they crossed the circular room without incident and ducked into the tunnels.
Nezumi guided Shion through the tunnels—the ceilings dipping and twisting as the mountain's natural rock formations curved—and eventually came to a massive wooden door embedded deep within one of the rocks. A silver carving of a plump rat sat on the center of the door, glinting in the dim light from the flaming torches suspended by spikes in the stone.
Nezumi produced a small key from his jacket pocket. The lock on the door felt more like a joke than any actual form of protection, but in this instance, Nezumi would take the illusion of security over the knowledge that anyone could burst into his chamber and slaughter him in his sleep.
He unlocked the door and nudged it open; the ancient wood creaked as it swung open, and Nezumi gestured to it and said, "After you."
Shion stumbled into the room, and Nezumi quickly hurried in after him. He shut the door and locked it, feeling foolish in the effort. A wooden door wouldn't keep out the Unseelie King anymore than it would keep away a murderous force of nature. But it felt… nice not to worry about prying eyes watching his every movement, searching for a slot in his armor to extort.
He turned and watched as Shion wandered aimlessly around his bedchamber. After the wonders of the faerie world, Nezumi supposed his room was nothing impressive. It better resembled a prison cell, though Nezumi knew firsthand that the prisons kept in the shadows of the Unseelie Court were cold, damp, and moldy, reeking of dried blood and rotting wood.
His chamber was, at least, a bit more comfortable than that. Carved straight into the side of the rock, the room slanted slightly in the corner, like a semicircle that'd been chopped in half. He didn't have much in the way of furniture—the old vanity with the cracked mirror, his bed heaped in blankets, and a few bookshelves shoved against the wall that barely rose to Nezumi's hip—but it was far more comfortable than some of the cold rooms in the Unseelie Court. Nezumi had hated it when he'd first been shoved through the door, having grown accustomed to the comfort and warmth of the Seelie Court's tree trunk houses, but he'd quickly grown accustomed to the small space. Functionality far outweighed luxury in the Unseelie Court, and there wasn't much in the chamber that Nezumi held dear.
Though his chamber was far from luxurious, Shion regarded it as if he'd stepped into a fairy tale. He admired the torches embedded on the wall, casting their soft blue light into the room. Nezumi's eyes adjusted to it quickly enough, but he quickly recalled that Shion couldn't see in the dark. The dark blue flames wouldn't provide him with the same light they provided Nezumi.
Shion reached out in front of himself, pawing through the air until the tips of his fingers brushed the top of the bookshelf. He made a soft "ooh" sound and reached into the shelves, his hands mapping over the spines. Each book had been acquired from old human bookstores or faeries who'd traded them for things Nezumi had collected during his time in the mortal world.
Some Folk were too terrified of humans and faerie hunters to risk setting foot in the mortal world. Nezumi brought tubes of lipstick and fake jewelry back to trade, and the little Folk were always eager to oblige.
"Do you like to read?" Shion said, using the rim of the bookshelf to steady himself as he crouched down and regarded the collection of books.
"Yes." Nezumi sauntered toward him, knowing immediately what he'd find. Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Hemingway, Wilde, and a variety of poetry that Nezumi knew nearly by heart. When the King didn't have a task for him, Nezumi hid himself away among the books, reading of worlds the humans witnessed and dreamed of, fascinated by their words and the images those words crafted.
Shion pulled himself up from the crouch, his hands outstretched. "I need to sit down," he announced, to no one in particular, as he felt his way around the room and eventually happened upon Nezumi's bed.
The wood groaned as Shion climbed on top of it. He looked around the room, his eyes secured on the ceiling. He seemed mesmerized by the blue flames crackling and dancing against the stone, his lips parted in awe.
"I don't read much," Shion admitted sheepishly. A dark blush colored his cheeks. He shifted nervously on the coverlet, his feet hanging over the edge and hovering just above the cold stone floor. "I've always been interested in reading more, but there's never been enough time."
"You didn't read in school?" Nezumi inquired.
Shion lifted his head and gave him a sleepy smile. "You know what school is?"
His voice sounded drowsy and thick, like syrup, but he seemed well enough to hold a manageable conversation. While the King's enchantment lingered in his system, stilling the terror Shion should have felt at the realization of where he was and what would happen to him in less than a day's time, it no longer seemed to overwhelm him. This was as close to the Shion Nezumi had met as he'd been since stepping foot in the Unseelie Court.
Nezumi felt it like a punch in the stomach.
"I know about your world," Nezumi explained. "At least, a bit. The King sends me on errands to the mortal world regularly, and Rikiga"—Shion's expression shifted at the mention of the man's name—"lives in a place that serves as a way-station for the Folk. Latch Bill?"
"Oh, I know that place." Shion wrapped his arms around his legs as he drew them up to his chest. He pressed the soles of his feet to the mattress, and Nezumi realized he'd taken the tiny black flats off and let them thump to the ground. "Everyone in town thinks it's an abandoned junkyard, but we—I've seen Folk going in and out of the building. I think I've seen him, too. He smokes."
Nezumi's lip quirked up at the sides, despite it all. "He does. It's a nasty habit."
"The nastiest." Shion pulled himself all the way onto Nezumi's bed, resting his chin on his knees and curling into a tight ball.
Nezumi peered through the dim azure light. Shion sat in a neat ball, staring at the floor with an idle expression of mute exhaustion. The hem of his purple sleeves fell over his tiny hands, and Nezumi was overwhelmed by the sudden realization that Shion was just a boy. A boy who shouldn't have been forced to deal with any of this.
He looked tired. His nails were short, his fingers thin and strangely elegant. Nezumi knew nothing of his life outside of the fact that he lived in a bakery, he had the Sight, and he was too damn charitable for his own good.
Except he knew some things. Shion cared for others unconditionally, to the point of foolishness. He laughed too loud and he looked a looked a bit ridiculous because he seemed to be smiling all the time. The world of terror he witnessed every day hadn't turned him into a jaded faerie hunter who would have left Nezumi rotting in the dirt when he'd found him wounded. Despite his kindness, Shion was quick to anger, and he demanded answers rather than blindly accepting what the world threw at him. He was remarkably brave—for a human. Far braver than some of the faerie warriors Nezumi had met in his lifetime, in fact.
"I dropped out of school when I turned sixteen," Shion explained softly. "My mom didn't want me to, but the bakery was starting to go under, and she really needed the help. My dad left us when I was a baby, and things were difficult for her after that."
Nezumi flinched back. He hadn't expected Shion to start rattling off his life story. Information like that was worthless to the Folk. The human sacrifices for the Autumn Equinox were simply that: sacrifices. A mortal life to appease the deep-rooted bloodlust of the Unseelie Folk and grant them another year of chaos and carnage.
But Shion was someone. All the sacrifices had been someone. Each of them had a mother, a father, siblings, or friends who no doubt noticed their absence.
Shion turned his head to the other side, resting his cheek on the backs of his hands and staring at the cracked corner of the mirror. Nezumi's spine prickled with anticipation of the question he thought Shion might ask—how did that happen?—but if Shion wondered about it, he kept it to himself.
"What about you?"
Nezumi jolted out of his thoughts. "Me?"
"Do you have parents?" Shion closed his eyes and hummed softly. "I never thought about whether faeries actually had parents or anything like that. Do they?"
Nezumi closed his eyes and bit back the violent retort that instinctively came to mind. The shortest answer to Shion's question was yes. Yes, he had a mother, emphasis on had. Yes, he had a father, but if there were any type of justice in the world, he would have been flayed alive ages ago.
He didn't owe Shion any answers. His life didn't matter to Shion anymore than Shion's mattered to him. It wouldn't save him. Knowing Nezumi's personal information wouldn't get Shion out of this hell.
Shion grew tired of sitting and flopped sideways on the mattress. His head hit the thin pillow with a muted thwomp, and a small, fine cloud of dust kicked up around him. The dark strands of his hair spilled across the white fabric like streaks of blood.
"A sister," Nezumi said, the words exploding from his mouth before he could cage them behind his teeth. "I... I have a sister."
He wasn't going to offer anything further than that, but Shion looked up at him with those strange, dark eyes and echoed, "A sister." He rolled completely onto his side, his cheek pressing into the fabric of the pillow until all Nezumi could see was the side of his nose and the curve of his eyelashes as he closed his eyes. "Is she here? Y'know, in the Unseelie Court?"
"No."
"Solitary?"
"No."
Shion's eyelid fluttered open and stared at Nezumi for a long moment. "The other Court, then?"
Nezumi pressed his lips together. He couldn't remember much of the Seelie Court anymore—too many of his memories had been buried or blasted away by the unending horrors of the Unseelie Court and the echo of pain that came with his miserable arrival—but he could remember the small girl who'd toddled at his side, her dark hair trailing behind her like a cape. Her little rosy cheeks and pitch black eyes as she held her arms up to him and chanted, "Nemi, Nemi", because she couldn't quite say his name right at the time, and the way she giggled when Nezumi wound dandelion stalks around her tiny black horns and made them "pretty".
"Yeah," Nezumi muttered. "She's in the other Court."
Shion nestled back into the pillow, sliding his arm beneath it. He pressed his face into the fabric and inhaled, a small, content sound rumbling in the back of his throat. It sent a strange prickling sensation through Nezumi's body, pooling in his stomach and sitting there like a stone.
"Did you come from there, too?" Shion's drowsy voice was louder than the reedy music that'd sounded through the throne room. "From the Seelie Court?"
Nezumi turned away and stormed to the corner of the room. He felt sick. He felt sick and furious and miserable all at the same time. The leather jacket draped over his shoulders, normally an armor he could use to shield himself from the prying eyes of a Court that wanted to eat him alive, felt constrictive and terrible. He undid the zipper and tossed it in a heap on the ground.
A brush of cool air danced around the nape of his neck. It soothed the heat burning in his blood, unclenching the knots in his muscles, and unraveling the ball of nerves in the pit of his stomach.
The bed creaked as Shion shifted. "Nezumi?"
"What?" He turned, narrowing his eyes to look fierce. Shion needed to stop talking.
Shion stared back at him from the bed, unnatural in the faerie garb the arachne had draped around him. He looked strange and unsettling, if a little too comfortable laying in a stranger's bed.
"I'm sorry I said that," Shion murmured. "I didn't mean to make you mad."
Nezumi closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He blamed it on the enchantment. Shion might have been inquisitive and a bit irritating by nature, but the King's lingering enchantment and the bite of apple spice wine exacerbated Shion's curiosity.
"Yes," he said through his teeth, hating himself for his weakness, "I'm from the Seelie Court. No, I'm not here because I want to be. And I'm not answering any more questions about it."
Shion nodded slowly. "I understand. I won't ask." He rested his head back on the pillow and exhaled. He looked tired. "You aren't like the others in the Unseelie Court. So I wondered."
"You don't know a thing about me," Nezumi spat. He wanted to make Shion understand the danger that came with making such a foolish statement. He needed to make Shion understand that no matter what he thought, Nezumi wasn't one of the good faeries that helped humans.
He needed to do it now—needed to make Shion see him for the monster he was, needed to make Shion hate him—so he'd be spared the sight of Shion's betrayed look when Shion realized Nezumi couldn't save him from this.
"I know a bit," Shion murmured. "Not as much as I'd like to, but enough to know you aren't the monster you keep trying to convince me you are."
"I am not," Nezumi growled, "trying to convince you of anything—"
"You might think you're terrible." Shion eased himself onto his elbow, looking up at Nezumi as if he were an equal, not a creature from nightmares that snatched humans away and slaughtered them for amusement. "And you might think you're not worth any amount of kindness I have to offer. But you do. You are. You didn't have to let me go after I helped you. You didn't have to warn me to stay inside. You didn't have to offer me a debt. You did all that because, beneath it all, you're kind."
Nezumi clenched his eyes shut.
Shion shifted until he was sitting upright on the bed. Nezumi could feel his staring, could feel the weight of his intensity settling around him like a darkness.
"I trust you, Nezumi," Shion said. "Even if you don't think I should."
"You shouldn't," Nezumi insisted, but it lacked the bite he intended.
Shion needed to learn that it was a death sentence to trust him. Now, before it was too late to go back. I should scare him, Nezumi thought, knowing that he kept a knife beneath his pillows as well as attached to his hip. He could get it before the boy had a chance to blink—could press the edge to his throat and draw blood. Not enough to scar or kill, but enough to get a point across.
It would be better for Shion—for both of them—if he could find the strength to do it.
He knew he should, and yet, he found himself wanting to be worthy of Shion's trust.
Nezumi dropped onto the edge of the mattress. What's wrong with me? When did I become this pathetic?
The mattress creaked, and Nezumi dipped toward the movement as Shion steadily crawled across the coverlet and came to rest beside him. He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against the back of Nezumi's hand, and Nezumi didn't have the strength or the desire to rip away from his touch like he should have.
He watched Shion take a gentle breath, stirring inside him. He looked at Nezumi in that moment, and there was no terror in his expression. Just a calm acceptance that came with the words he'd said not half a moment ago.
I trust you, even if you don't think I should.
Nezumi felt something stir in his chest, and before he had any will to stop it, he found himself leaning forward. He pressed a light kiss to Shion's lips, tasting the puff of ice between them.
It lasted only a moment. The cold air of Nezumi's bedroom settled around them like a blanket, and Nezumi shifted closer to Shion at the same moment Shion slid his hands up Nezumi's shoulders and rested them at the nape of his neck. Shion sighed against his mouth, tipping his head back, and Nezumi tasted the lingering flavor of red clovers and apple spice.
It struck him all at once.
Shion was enchanted.
He was drunk.
Nezumi wrenched back, gritting his teeth against a curse. Shion blinked up at him through half-lidded eyes. He still had his arms around Nezumi's neck, and Nezumi lacked the strength to pull out of them. Shion's fingers tangled lightly in the dark hairs that had gathered there.
How could he have forgotten? Nezumi's heart filled with anger, at the Unseelie King for casting the enchantment in the first place, and at himself for allowing himself to forget it. He couldn't be angry with Shion—how could one be mad at someone who wasn't in their right mind?
Another faerie might have taken the opportunity to sink into Shion's arms and forget the cold permeating the air around them. Another faerie might have kissed him until his lips were red and swollen, the realization that Shion wouldn't live longer than a few hours vanishing from their minds.
But the thought of doing such a thing made Nezumi sick to his stomach.
He wondered what exactly Shion might think of it when his mind had completely shed itself of the Unseelie King's wretched enchantment. But what does it really matter? Such a time would never come for the mortal—and he was surprised by how sick that understanding made him.
Shion still had his arms around his neck. He looked worried, and Nezumi's stomach dropped when Shion said, "Would it make the King mad to know that you kissed me?"
"No," he replied, with a humorless laugh.
The Unseelie King had certainly had enough trysts with charmed mortals that any discrimination toward members of his Court would have branded him a vile hypocrite—not that Nezumi thought the accusation would mean much to him. If anything, knowing that Nezumi had kissed Shion would no doubt amuse the King far more than the sacrifice. He'd probably laugh himself sick.
"It's OK, Nezumi," Shion murmured, and his voice was clearer now than it had been during their whole conversation.
Nezumi stared into his eyes. Fog lingered on the edges of his dark brown irises, but Nezumi could no longer tell if the Unseelie King's enchantment or the spiced wine governed his actions.
Shion removed one hand from around Nezumi's shoulders to cup his cheek. His skin felt cold to the touch. "It's OK, Nezumi," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
Except that it wasn't.
None of it was fucking OK.
To Be Continued...