I just wanted to express a big thank you to everyone who's been so supportive of this fic! Yesterday was a bit of a rough time for me, so it meant a lot to hear from you all. 3
At the same time, I'm going to work on my fics because they make me happy and I like working on them in between all the things I have to do. So, I hope you all enjoy the new chapters as they come out!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The revelry was far quieter tonight. No wild dances or reedy music or goblins carrying around trays of heady apple spice wine. For all intents and purposes, the throne room didn't seem anything like a party. Laughter rumbled through the assorted crowd as Nezumi guided Shion into the light; baubles and braziers peppered their way around the dome, casting an eerie golden glow against the slick stones.
Shion's heart hammered. He struggled to keep his expression dreamy and neutral, mimicking the enchantment the Unseelie King had placed on him the previous night. His bare feet were cold as he padded along the earthen floor; he winced when his big toe stubbed against a rock jutting out of the ground, but he couldn't let the pain show. An enchanted human wouldn't notice the pain. An enchanted human would continue to walk behind their faerie guide even as frostbite threatened to claim each of their toes.
The drunken haze of the King's magic had completely vanished, and Shion could still taste the saltwater on the tip of his tongue. Without the enchantment to arrest his thoughts, Shion was painfully aware of the Court's eyes on him, the hunger burning in their beady black pupils. He shivered but tried to conceal it by pretending to be enamored with his companion.
It wasn't difficult. Nezumi looked otherworldly and remarkably stunning. He wore thin black armor, which Shion supposed was meant to be ceremonial and not functional. It wrapped the muscles in his legs, arms, and back in flawless black, jointed in sections that almost looked like dragon scales. His dark hair swayed behind him as he marched, gathered at the back of his skull and held in place by a sharp red comb that Shion suspected could double as a weapon in a pinch. The ruby teeth of the comb glittered in the light, dangerously sharp and menacing.
The shadows of the armor made the pallor of Nezumi's skin and eyes stick out, turning him into a haunting wraith that glided through the crowd, cold fury plastered on his countenance in such a way that those who beheld him turned away out of either respect or terror.
Without the enchantment to corral his thoughts, Shion let his memory slide back to the kiss. His lips felt oddly soft and Shion remembered the brush of Nezumi's mouth against his own, how suddenly the cold had been replaced by an impossible warmth that Shion couldn't dream of encountering anywhere else.
He remembered Nezumi's expression as he'd suddenly wrenched away from him—horror at what he'd done, fury that he'd given into his most primal urges and kissed a human. Shion felt it like a stab in the chest. He shook it away, but the image of Nezumi's disgust remained, burned into his memory more surely than anything else in the Unseelie Court ever could.
Shion swayed through the crowd. Eyes pinned on his back, greed and hunger warring in their expressions. Shion wondered how the Folk intended to divide the pieces of his body once the Unseelie King finished with him.
He took a deep breath, tasting the cold, and then another. He wasn't going to die. Nezumi wouldn't let him.
Nezumi didn't touch him, but neither did any of the other Folk. Shion chose to focus on that tiny shred of information rather than the terror jolting about inside his stomach.
The air itself seemed thick and strangely sweet, a lingering fog that tasted like cotton candy. Shion's head swam as he took several deep breaths to try and steady himself. He couldn't sense any enchantment riding on the gentle wind rustling through the dome, pushed about by the fluttering wings of tiny sprites and other winged creatures. There was no need to enchant any of the Folk resting in the dome. They wanted to be here, eagerly awaiting the bloodshed of a human in honor of the Unseelie Court's greatness.
As Nezumi guided Shion through the crowd, he realized there was more of a celebration going on closer to the massive stage set against the carved-out walls. The creatures he and Nezumi had moved through were simply observers, those lesser beings in the Court who weren't permitted to participate in the revelry, merely observe and desire from a short distance.
Long, low tables were heaped with barrels of golden apples, vibrant oranges, and wooden bowls filled to the brim with a rainbow assortment of sweet berries. Loaves of crisp, golden bread lay on top of elegant black cloths, saucers of honeyed cream nestled beside them. Elegant crystal goblets filled with bright red liquid—Shion shuddered at the sharp realization that it was unlikely the goblets contained wine—sat in a strange circle on another table.
Faerie women with long limbs and hollow faces dressed in purple fabric floated in front of the table, their lips streaked scarlet from the liquid contained within the goblets. Six beings in parchment-yellow robes scurried around the ground, pinching Folk in the back of the calves and hurrying away with shrieking laughs before they were kicked.
Revelers sang and danced close to the tables. Their clothing seemed far more extravagant than the rags and armor the rest of the Unseelie Court Folk wore. Shion saw flashes of golden hair and wings, pitch-black eyes and sharp teeth capped with silver. All of the Unseelie Folk were gorgeous and menacing, so much so that Shion had to command himself not to tremble in their presence, lest he give away his disenchanted status.
Nezumi guided him to a corner of the room, and Shion relaxed as he realized the drunken courtiers weren't focused on either of them. They drank and laughed, spun to strange music wafting through the air and knocked over smaller Folk that attempted to steal food from the table. The room itself was so massive, Shion couldn't see how many faeries composed the Unseelie Court, but he figured most of them had flocked here, ready to witness his death. The thought made his stomach churn with nausea.
Near the empty throne, four tall faeries stood at the base, leering out at the crowd. Each of them were elegant and frighteningly lovely. An ogre with a cracked tusk, dressed in pitch-black armor, a massive club hanging from his thick leather belt. A short man with crimson hair and serrated teeth grinning at a small sprite that fluttered by, as if he would snap her from the air and crush her bones with his powerful jaws. A bone-thin woman with wispy white hair and blood-red eyes who drank from a golden goblet, stripped to the skin aside from a pair of red gloves and a long cloak draped over her shoulders. The last was a bulky, short creature that closely resembled a gnome, his bulbous nose sniffing at the air, beady black eyes sweeping the crowd and desperately searching for something to torment.
"The Unseelie King's Knights," Nezumi muttered. Now that he and Shion had stepped away from the crowd of dancing Folk, Shion allowed himself to relax just a bit. He huddled close to Nezumi, struggling to keep his expression neutral and dreamy.
"Most monarchs have four or five," Nezumi explained, in response to Shion's silence. "Those two"—he gestured to the white-haired woman and the gnome—"were loyal to the previous Queen before the Unseelie King murdered her. She had three other Knights, but they killed themselves after their Queen perished."
Shion swallowed the lump that formed in the base of his throat. He knew very little about faerie Court politics and the history of the Unseelie monarchs. Safu's grandmother had never gone into any great detail about them, either, too hopeful that her granddaughter and her friend wouldn't encounter such creatures and need to rely on that information.
"Come on," Nezumi said suddenly, reaching out and snagging Shion's hand in his own. "Other Folk are dancing, and if we don't do it, too, they're going to notice something strange."
We've already been noticed, though, Shion thought. It was true enough: though none of the Unseelie Court fey had approached since Shion and Nezumi arrived among the revelers, plenty of them were casting them sidelong looks. There were quite a few of the Unseelie Folk who looked decently human—and Shion suspected some of them might be, held under an enchantment or geas of some manner—but as the sacrifice, Shion imagined he, at least, was still an object of attention.
Regardless, he took Nezumi's hand. Together, they moved into the outside of the crowd, where the amount of alcohol was minuscule, and the shadows were deep.
"There are humans here," Shion murmured, taking Nezumi's other hand so that they faced each other. Nezumi looked different than he had before—more ruffled, his hair pulled into a tight ponytail, his pale eyes sharp. Shion couldn't blame him for being unsettled. He couldn't imagine that sacrifice of any sort was a pleasant experience, least of all when one had a personal connection with the sacrifice in question. "They are human, aren't they? Are they sacrifices, too?"
"There's only one sacrifice for the Autumn Equinox," Nezumi said in a low voice. "As for the others—they aren't human. There are Folk who look like humans, just enough that it can be unsettling. Most of them are elves, and a few of them remove the sharpened tips of their ears to try and trick Sighted humans into giving up their secrets. For some humans, having the Sight can be miserable. Especially when you aren't certain others can see what you do. You can't talk about it to your friends or your parents because they can't see the monsters. You have to keep secrets, and eventually, it tears you apart. So much so that you'll seek comfort from anyone you suspect will get how you feel. Someone you hope will see you."
The low timbre of his voice shuddered through Shion's bones. Something about it frightened him more than the deep shadows of the Unseelie Court and the looming threat of his death. He found himself looking into those silver eyes he had begun to recognize as a familiar constant, and realized that he didn't know anything about Nezumi at all.
Shion opened his mouth to say something, but Nezumi spun him away, and then pulled him close again. It was an odd sort of thing. Shion had never danced a day in his life, and yet he found that he could predict each of his partner's movements. He could tell which way Nezumi would step by the cadence of his breath and the faint way his fingers tightened around Shion's own.
Nezumi's dark hair glinted in the dim light radiating from the ceiling, and when he drew Shion near him, he could smell winter wind and jasmine, the faint scent of the forests beneath. Wild. Nezumi smelled like something wild—something that could never be tamed, never be shackled, never trapped with words or prison bars or promises.
And more than that, Nezumi reminded Shion of safety.
The song ended as quickly as it began. Shion looked up and over at the band; the tall woman who'd been singing was leaving the stage with a short redcap leading her into the shadows. Shion wondered if he'd ever see her again. Another woman took her place, a willowy faerie with blue hair that seemed to drift as if she were underwater. She began a soft sort of melody—and to Shion's surprise, some of the Unseelie Court fey drifted together as if magnetized, arms rising to wrap around each other's shoulders and waists, hands resting together, heads tipping forward in a mocking imitation of affection.
Nezumi had gone still. Shion, still holding his hands, stood frozen—unmoving, unblinking, breathing in the softest of breaths.
The moment stretched out until Shion felt it would reach up and swallow him. Nezumi's eyes searched his. It's all right, Shion thought, willing his words into his expression, forcing himself to relax. Whatever you're going to do, Nezumi, it's all right. I trust you.
Almost as if Nezumi had heard him, his silver eyes flashed in the darkness. Shion saw the vein in Nezumi's throat twitch as he swallowed, and then Nezumi drew him forward with a sudden ferocity that Shion hadn't been expecting. His chin struck Nezumi's armored shoulder. It was a bit strange—the way Nezumi clutched him tight enough to hurt, the way Shion's hands came up to rest on the front of his leather armor to ground himself. Shion felt Nezumi inhale, a deep, hitching breath against him. Shion could hear Nezumi's heartbeat, swift and powerful, beneath the hardness of his chest.
Shion reached up to wrap his arms around Nezumi's shoulders. There was just enough of a height difference between them that when Shion locked his fingers, they tangled in the loose hair at the nape of Nezumi's neck.
Shion slowly looked up. Nezumi's face was drained of color, his silver eyes cast down, his dark lashes feathered against his sharp cheekbones. He looked too serious, like he was running through a series of scenarios in his mind that all ended the same way—with Nezumi losing something precious to him. Shion could see the indents his teeth were making in the soft skin of his lower lip.
If Shion kissed him, right here, right now, would he taste like the jasmine and snowfall he smelled like? Would the rest of him be as warm as his hands were, pressed against Shion's spine?
Shion made himself shove the thoughts aside. Now was not the time for this. He was a sacrifice. Nezumi was a dark elf in service to the Unseelie King, and when midnight approached—
Nezumi's right hand slid down Shion's back to his waist, moving down to cup his hip. Shion jolted. He'd heard of people having butterflies in their stomachs, and he knew what that meant: a flapping, uneasy feeling in the depths of your body. But he felt that all over. Butterflies beneath his skin, sending shivers that moved in waves throughout his body. He traced the tips of his fingers down Nezumi's spine to distract himself, to think of something other than his impending demise.
Nezumi's eyes, when they met his, were unfocused and dark. His left hand had tangled into Shion's hair, winding it through his fingers. Shion felt the sensations as if each strand were a livewire connected to his nerves.
"I still owe you a debt," Nezumi said, his voice thick and low. "One rescue. A life for a life. If you asked me to bring you to the moon, I would find a way to do it. If you told me to bring you across the ocean to the lands beyond, I'd find a way to do it, regardless of the iron in my way. If you begged me for freedom—" Nezumi's silver eyes went wide at that, the pupil narrowing until all Shion could see was the rolling of thunderclouds and the glinting edge of an executioner's sword clashing. "I would take you far away from here, away from shackles and cities and iron and anything that could harm you."
Shion felt a shocking wave of desperate wanting, lost in the color of Nezumi's eyes, in the curves of his cheekbones and his jaw, in the unexpected terror he saw flickering in his expression.
"I wouldn't even begin to know what to ask for," Shion whispered.
"Ask me for anything," Nezumi replied. His pulse was pounding; Shion could see it in his throat. Nezumi's arms had locked around him, keeping Shion trapped against him but also preventing him from getting any closer. The space between them was heated. Nezumi's fingers curled against Shion's hip. His other hand slid down from Shion's hair until it rested on the middle of his back, just beneath the wings of his shoulders.
They were standing still, Shion barely breathing, Nezumi with his hands pressed against Shion's body as if he could rescue him from his fate through sheer willpower.
Nezumi seemed like someone under a spell. Someone who knew he was under a spell and was fighting against the pull of it with every single ounce of his strength. Shion couldn't tell if Nezumi wanted to run away from him or run away with him. He could feel Nezumi's pulse racing against his chest.
Shion moved toward him. Anything at all. He could ask Nezumi for anything. Shion curled his fingers into the loose locks of Nezumi's dark hair, drawing him down. Nezumi shuddered against him, fighting against whatever instincts were driving him.
"Nezumi," Shion whispered, knowing what he wanted, knowing what Nezumi wanted him to want. Nezumi's hands contracted, sharply, as if Shion had stabbed him in the chest. Nezumi was drawing Shion close, the scent of jasmine and leather overpowering in the dim thrum of the Unseelie Court, in the middle of a cluster of demented faeries. Nezumi's head lowered toward Shion's as he lifted his own and murmured, "I want you to—"
There was a loud bang: shattering, deafening. Shion and Nezumi broke apart as the music stopped. The collection of Unseelie Court fey whipped toward the ballroom doors as a group of goblins flooded into the room.
The Unseelie King came in on their heels. Shion couldn't see him well from this distance, but he could see the dark obsidians clinging to his clothing and hair as they caught the light.
"Would the sacrifice," announced the King, "please step forward? Midnight approaches."
Shion's heart clenched. He chanced a glance over at Nezumi. For the briefest of moments, he looked like a man who'd been dragged halfway through the desert, half-dead from the sun, kept alive only by the hope that there would be water over the next horizon. And then, all at once, Nezumi's expression smoothed out into the familiar look of disinterest he seemed to adopt whenever the Unseelie King came around.
Nezumi gripped Shion's left arm. "Remember," he said, his voice dipping so low that Shion had to strain to hear him. "I owe you a debt. And I intend to make good on it."
With the Court watching them, Nezumi began to lead Shion up to the earthen platform where the Unseelie King awaited his arrival.
To Be Continued...