Beautiful nightmares, p.61
Beautiful Nightmares, page 61
And then I was running headlong into the darkness.
* * *
Just as I remembered, Collith’s mind was a series of rooms and doorways, like a house in a fairy tale. Except the doorways were strange and jarring—I couldn’t open them with a knob. One memory just became another one, the two of them linked in some noticeable way.
I went into a memory I hadn’t encountered before, drawn by the prickle of fear.
The instant my mind adjusted, I recognized the room. I also recognized the faerie laying on the bed, her skin pearly in the firelight. Viessa.
The last time I was here, Collith had fought my hold on him. I hadn’t been able to watch the rest of this memory unfold.
“Why haven’t you moved into the king’s suite?” Viessa asked now, trailing her fingers down the center of his chest. The two of them were naked, tangled up in the bedsheets. A fireplace crackled on the other side of the room.
Collith looked around, as if Viessa’s question was something he’d never considered. “Those rooms are haunted by fear and pain,” he said slowly. “No exorcism could cleanse them of it. I’d be living amongst the ghosts of my father’s evil. Not what I’d call a tempting prospect, my lady.”
She made a sound of sympathy, and then they were kissing. Collith pressed his erection against her, and Viessa’s tangled her fingers in his wild hair. I glanced around the room, frowning. Why had I detected fear within this memory?
I was about to continue on my way when Viessa pulled back and looked Collith in the eye. She cupped his cheek, and a tear glistened on her own, as if they were posing for a painting.
“It’s finally time, my love. I’m so sorry,” Viessa whispered.
Collith frowned. It was all he had a chance to do before Viessa’s other hand appeared. This one held a knife—I saw the glint of firelight off metal an instant before she buried it in Collith’s back.
As his lifeblood poured onto the bed, staining the sheets blue, it felt like I was watching the last of his trust leaving him, too. Viessa saw it, too, and she watched her lover die with unveiled anguish. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. Maybe the future queen really had loved Collith, in her own twisted way.
I turned my attention back to Collith. It was harder than it should’ve been, seeing him choke on his own blood again. Even if I knew that he’d survive this.
I was still staring at Collith when his body completely disappeared.
Viessa’s hands fell, the place where she’d been touching his chest now empty air. Collith himself stood next to the fire, holding the knife that had just been in his back. There was no wound, though, and no blood on the clothes he was suddenly wearing. A crown rested on his head and there was a glass of wine in his other hand, which Collith sipped from as he brought the knife closer to his face.
He cast an illusion, I thought. None of it had been real.
Viessa was coming to the same realization. She stared at Collith with open-mouthed shock. She was still naked, but neither of them seemed to care about that anymore.
“Drenched in holy water, I expect,” the new king said, the first words he’d spoken since witnessing his lover try to kill him. Collith inspected the blade as if he were a collector considering a piece, but had found it wanting. It was made of obsidian stone, and a red jewel gleamed from the leather hilt.
Viessa closed her mouth and swallowed. Her voice was tight as she asked, “How did you know?”
Collith looked at her coldly. “Does it matter?”
“I like to learn from my mistakes.”
“So do I.” He took another drink of wine, then placed his glass on the mantle. “I was almost killed by one of my lovers. I’d be a fool to let my guard down like that again.”
Viessa tilted her head. “Was none of it genuine, then?”
“I could ask you the same question.” Collith finally met her gaze, and his eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. He tossed the knife onto the bed, showing Viessa, without words, just how small of a threat he found her. “I didn’t truly begin to doubt you until my father revealed what he’d learned about us. We’d been so careful, I kept thinking. How did he know? How? Granted, these passages are full of spies, but I keep myself hidden from sight. You must’ve planted the seed. Pretended to confide in a loose-tongued friend, maybe, or even spoken to one of the council members. I had no way of knowing, so I began using precautions during our time together. Which is how it came to pass that I just got to be a witness to my own murder.”
Hearing the note of loathing in his voice, Viessa quirked a brow—by all appearances, she was unaffected by the deterioration of what they’d once been, but I knew better. Viessa Folduin was trickier than most faeries, and she knew how to hide any hurt she might’ve felt. There was nothing in her voice as she said, “I underestimated you, Your Majesty. So what happens now?”
“For you, nothing. Undoing Sylvyre’s corruption within this Court will require all my attention; I don’t have time or patience for traitors.” Collith strode to the door.
This was a version of him I hadn’t seen in a long time. This was the dark king that had sat on his throne while Death Bringer whipped me. Unable to look away, I stared at Collith’s face as he stepped aside for a contingent of Guardians in the passageway.
They seized Viessa from the bed, and the sheets fell off. Still acting unaware of her nudity, Viessa wrenched at the Guardians who’d taken hold of her. She glared at Collith, who was halfway out the door. “How long do you plan to imprison me? Is there to be a tribunal?”
He paused, then said over his shoulder, “You’ve read the laws. Sylvyre was not a compassionate person, by any means, but he was even less so when it came to treason. You’re not entitled to a tribunal. Just judgment.”
Viessa’s eyes widened in horror. “Wait. Wait, Collith, I’m sorry. Please don’t—”
Disturbed by the sound of her wails, I yanked out of the memory so hard that I went reeling into a different one, falling backward through rooms and time.
When my mind had adjusted yet again, I was still at the Unseelie Court, but now I stood in the throne room.
The cavernous space was bloated with faeries and silence. It looked different from how I’d left it during my rule, and how it had appeared during Collith’s. Different tapestries, more medieval touches. There also seemed to be dead animals everywhere I looked, in the form of mounts on the walls or placed on platters.
Collith stood at the foot of the dais.
Once I saw him, I had trouble seeing anything else. His hair was shorter, his body thinner. His face still bore that familiar scar, but it looked fresher, somehow. Angry and pink, rather than the faded version I’d come to know. His gaze was fixed on something behind me, and it was a black look I’d never seen him give anyone, not even Laurie.
I frowned and turned around.
When I realized who was in the throne, I felt my jaw slacken and my heartbeat quicken.
This clearly wasn’t one of the memories Collith had wanted me to see, since it had nothing to do with us. I could feel him all around, though, which meant Collith knew what I’d found. Yet he didn’t speak or try to push me out.
Curiosity kept my feet rooted in place, and my attention lingered on the faerie sitting above everyone. I’d never seen Sylvyre before. Not like this, at least—there was a depiction of him within the Mural of Ulesse. But despite the artist’s talent, that painting hadn’t done him justice. I wasn’t sure any artist could.
Sylvyre was an original angel, and I had never been more aware of that fact. Power emanated from him like a heat wave. It surged past me, and it felt like I heard a voice in my ear, telling me to bow. Bow to this great, terrifying being, who had deigned to grace me with his presence.
No wonder they’d given him a throne.
I gritted my teeth and resisted, reminding myself that I wasn’t truly here and I didn’t bow to anyone. Especially not to assholes who murdered their wives.
The Unseelie King—the old Unseelie King, I corrected myself silently—sat in his enormous wooden chair, gripping the armrests with elegant fingers. His clothing looked like a mixture of wool, linen, and animal skins. Most of his body was hidden beneath a tunic and trousers, but here and there, I could see the bulge of honed muscle.
Sylvyre stared down at Collith with eyes of the brightest blue, like the tropical seas I’d only seen in pictures or screens. His skin was smooth and golden. His hair draped over his shoulders in a black, silken curtain. I could see the similarities between father and son, but there was something hard about Sylvyre’s features. As if they’d been hewn from granite. Somehow, I knew that a kiss from those lips would be crushing, rather than caressing.
Why are you thinking about kissing Collith’s father? I grimaced and refocused on the Unseelie Prince, who glared at Sylvyre as if he wasn’t cowed in the slightest. I could feel Collith’s terror, though. He may not have grown up amongst the fae, but that hadn’t stopped him from mastering their ways—his face was cold and withdrawn, just as it had been during my tribunal.
“Undo it,” he said. There was no waver in his voice, either. It echoed through the vast space.
“You do not give me orders, boy,” Sylvyre answered softly, his azure eyes brightening even more. I felt, rather than saw, some in the crowd stiffen. They knew that tone; they knew it meant danger. But then Sylvyre relaxed and waved his hand. Someone nearby let out a relieved sigh. “Even if it were possible, I have no interest in undoing it. Traitors to the crown deserve punishment.”
“My mother was no traitor,” Collith said through his teeth.
Sylvyre leaned forward. “Ah! So you admit it? That it was you who conspired with the Folduins to take my throne?”
“All I have done is fall in love with a Folduin,” Collith countered. “There was no plot.”
Sylvyre made a sound of disdain. “You are either a liar or a fool. The Folduins have plotted against our bloodline for as long as this Court has existed, boy.”
Collith’s expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted. The torches quivered, as if a gust of air had disturbed them. Whispers erupted in the crowd, and I noticed several figures hurrying toward the exits. “Summon the witch and undo the spell, right now, or I will kill you,” Collith said.
“No, you won’t.” The king’s dismissal was so absolute, so thorough, that he didn’t even bother telling Collith to leave. He turned his head, making a gesture with two fingers, and the Tongue leaned close to say something in Sylvyre’s ear. They carried on a hushed conversation, utterly disregarding Collith, who stayed where he was and tried not to clench his fists like a petulant child.
“I challenge you.”
Once again, every voice in the room went silent. Sylvyre slowly turned his head, and the way he looked at Collith made my stomach quake.
“I will give you one chance. One chance, boy, to tuck your tail between your legs and run. You won’t outrun the shame, but you will live,” the king said.
Collith didn’t move. “For what you’ve done to my mother, Naevys, the Queen of the Unseelie Court, I challenge you. And I will kill you.”
I expected Sylvyre to laugh or smile, as Jassin would have, but he did neither. Collith’s father just peered down with a gleam in his eye and said, “Very well. Tongue, make your preparations.”
Jumping to attention, the Tongue summoned a slave. I could see the whites of his eyes and knew—he was utterly petrified of Sylvyre.
From my own battle with Jassin, I knew that Sylvyre would get to choose the weapon. I genuinely had no idea what to expect from him. Would he select swords? Some kind of magic? Hand-to-hand combat? The entire Court waited in tense silence.
“The weapon of choice, Your Majesty?” the Tongue called, turning from the slave.
Resting his elbow on the armrest, Sylvyre tapped his cheek with his middle finger, the gesture effortlessly fluid. A lock of hair spilled over his shoulder. “I choose… heavenly fire.”
Oh, you’re a twisted prick, I thought. Sylvyre planned to kill his son with the very fire that ran through Collith’s veins.
The Tongue said something else in the human’s ear, and she hurried off through the crowd.
Still ignoring Collith, Sylvyre made a gesture, and yet another slave came forward. A tree nymph, if her shriveled wings were any indication. Unlike the fae, whose wings fell off shortly after birth, tree nymphs retained theirs. Unfortunately, they were strictly ornamental. Extended to their full length, her wings would be golden and covered in black spots. There weren’t many dryads left—their chrysalides were highly sought for their fertility properties, and more often than not, black market sellers took the chrysalis while a nymph was still growing inside it.
The female trembled from head to toe as she removed Sylvyre’s tunic, then his shirt.
Fully clothed, Sylvyre had been intimidating. Half-naked, he was terrifying. His physique looked like it had been formed from clay, but it wasn’t beautiful, as Collith’s was. His body belonged on battlefields and inside fighting rings.
As the nymph backed away, holding the king’s clothing in a white-knuckled grip, Sylvyre gestured to the Tongue again. The heavyset faerie hurried down the steps, his beads rattling into the stillness. The first slave was already weaving through the masses again, holding a wide, wooden bowl in her palms. It would contain the ingredients for the Tongue’s spell.
Soon enough, father and son were in a circle, and both were in possession of heavenly fire thanks to the Tongue’s spell.
They began in a fury. Light and flame filled the circle, and the faeries dodged with graceful dips and turns, as though their deadly battle was just a dance. Again and again, father and son locked eyes across the confined space. Magic crackled everywhere.
In spite of their breathtaking speed, it felt like Sylvyre was… toying with Collith, somehow. He was thousands of years old, and he had all the power of an angel, Fallen or not. Collith was outmatched. I knew it, he knew it, and so did the entire Unseelie Court. I took my eyes off them for an instant, scanning the faces at the front of the crowd. I didn’t know what I was looking for, only that my instincts were rattling. Threat. Threat.
“Never expect your opponent to fight fair,” I whispered, returning my gaze to Sylvyre with a creeping sense of dread.
The king had apparently gotten bored, or decided the battle was over, because he moved in a blur—it was proof that he’d been holding back all this time. A knife appeared in Sylvyre’s hand like magic, and I made a sound of outrage, searching for the Tongue. Wasn’t that against the fucking rules?
I longed to leap forward, but I couldn’t enter the circle. No one could.
Collith grabbed onto Sylvyre’s fist with both hands, stopping the knife just a hairsbreadth above his heart.
He was so focused on keeping that tip from penetrating his flesh that he forgot Sylvyre’s other hand, which was still free. With ice in his eyes, Sylvyre lifted it and directed a blast of fire at Collith’s face. The prince saw it coming and jerked to the side, but not far enough. The flames blasted into Collith’s shoulder, incinerating his skin in an instant.
His scream tore through the throne room.
Everything in me wanted to rush at Sylvyre. Grab his mind in my talons and shred it to ribbons. Stare into his eyes and smile while his blood ran across the flagstones. But I couldn’t, because all of this had already happened.
Sylvyre’s lip curled and his eyes glittered. He drew his arm back, readying for another strike, and Collith was still trying to keep the knife away. This time, the blue flames sizzled into the left side of his chest, and the air filled with the smell of burning flesh. As Collith threw his head back and screamed again, I reminded myself that he’d survived. He’d healed.
Sylvyre leaned close, putting his mouth next to Collith’s ear. The tip of the knife sank into his chest. “You were my punishment, you know,” the king said. “I rebelled against Him, and he saw fit to give me a son like you. Weak. Soft. Disappointing.”
“At least I’m not predictable,” Collith rasped.
His father frowned. Before Sylvyre could react further, the knife in his hand burst into flame. It latched onto the king’s skin as if it were kerosene, and then all of him was burning.
Collith’s blood must’ve been the final ingredient of a spell placed on the blade, I realized.
From the moment he’d stepped into the throne room, Collith had been one step ahead of his father. He’d known his father would fight dirty and he’d ensured Sylvyre’s dagger was bespelled, then put it back.
The entire Court watched helplessly as their king burned—after all, no one could enter the circle until one of the faeries inside was dead. Collith had planned all of it, down to the smallest detail.
Once the sound of Sylvyre’s bellows had faded away, his son walked up to the throne. Collith faced the entire room and sat without hesitation. His expression didn’t betray the pain he must’ve felt, physical or otherwise. His shirt clung to him in burnt tatters, and smoke still rose from the bloody injuries along his chest, shoulder, and rib cage.
The cry started somewhere in the middle of the room. Others took it up quickly. Soon it filled the entire cavern, echoing through history. “The king is dead, long live the king!”
Every faerie in the room went to their knees, and Collith observed them silently, his face made of stone. After a few moments, he lifted his fist, which was encircled by crackling bits of lightning. He punched it in the air, shouting. The sound was grief, and triumph, and hope all in one. No one else seemed to hear it…
No one but the faerie leaning against a nearby pillar, his eyes meeting Collith’s in a flash of silver just before he sifted.
I blinked, and suddenly the scene was gone, replaced by vibrant green grass and soft-edged dapples of sunlight. Collith and Laurie were on the ground, their naked bodies twined together, both moving in a slow, anticipatory rhythm.
