5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

We were too few. The Prince and his troops surprised us while my best shadow walkers were away. The Shattering came, just as the darkness said, and we were not prepared.

~Queen Brenna, personal journals

BOOM!

My eyes snap open, but nothing makes any sense. I don't recognize this room. Where am I? Why am I sleeping somewhere other than the bed I've had for the last fifteen years?

BOOM!

The walls shake again, and memories flood my mind. I remember where I am and what's happening, though the booming walls weren't what I'd expected to wake up to. I roll off the bed, grabbing my spear in trembling hands. I'm at the Tilted Mug. There's a High Fae here, and for some reason, he seemed interested in me. I simultaneously thank the gods that I hadn't gotten undressed and curse them for letting me fall into a deep sleep. I stare at the dresser that I'd pushed against the door. It's still in the same place, which seems odd if someone was trying to break down the door.

BOOM!

The walls shake again, but the door doesn't move. I whirl around to figure out where the attack is coming from. Then I see the indentation in the back wall. The wooden planks are bent and cracked. How would the High Fae be attacking my wall from there? I'm on the second floor. Whatever is doing that has to be able to fly…

Can High Fae fly? I grip the spear tighter, and for the first time in my life, my hand shakes. Vesta's words echo in my mind again. If you try to fight a Fae, you will die. I guess I'll have to run.

Except that I blockaded myself in my room.

BOOM!

The wall explodes inward. Shards of wood fly toward me, and I shield my face with my left hand. Splinters the size of my fingers pelt my body, and once again, I thank the gods that I slept in my clothes. Even so, I feel the sharp sting of several of them piercing through the linen and leather.

The pain's forgotten almost instantly. I take in the injuries and brush them off as not life-threatening. The creatures flying through the hole in the wall, on the other hand, are very life threatening.

Three… women fly into the room on sand-colored feathered wings. With talons on their feet and wings protruding from their backs, they're obviously Fae, but they look as similar to the High Fae from the dining hall as they look to me.

All three of them are completely naked. Feathers cover their chests and legs all the way to the waist, leaving their stomach, arms, and heads covered in human skin rather than feathers. And most of that human skin is putrid and decaying. One of the creature's hands has had the skin peeled from it, leaving bone and muscle open to the air. Another has writhing maggots crawling over the blackened flesh of her collarbone. The third's jawbone is partially exposed, showing her teeth and gums.

They say nothing as they land in crouches. The sickening scent of rot and decay radiates from their disgusting bodies, and my stomach lurches. They stop for a moment and take a long sniff in unison, like you would do over a savory pork roast. The one with the blackened collarbone pulls a knife from her belt. It's thin and looks more like an exceptionally large, flattened needle than a dagger. Long lines run the length of it, the signs of folded metal in the forging process. The black steel flickers in the fire of the candles that have, surprisingly, stayed standing.

She points it toward me, tip first, and with a flick of the wrist, it flies across the room faster than I've ever seen something move.

I try to dodge, not daring to attempt to block it with my spear. I jump to the side, and the knife clips my tunic, cutting a thin slice across my shoulder and leaving the skin exposed but uncut. Immediately, the creatures are flying toward me. I'm overwhelmed by the scent of decaying flesh as they get closer. Even in my battle-focused state, I can't ignore it. My stomach twists in knots, and even as I step into a fighting stance with my spear, I question whether I'll keep my dinner down.

That's why I barely notice that it's not just their feet that are talons. The creatures' fingers end in long hooked nails just as perfect for rending flesh as the ones on their feet. I'd have expected that their wide wings would make their movement awkward in the small space of the room, but it actually makes them nearly impossible to escape.

Why are these creatures here? What do they want with me? How do I fight something like this? The questions fly through my mind, and there aren't any answers to them. Fear races through me in a way that I've never experienced in the forests. Not hunting grizzly bears or wolves. Not climbing or jumping or swimming.

These creatures aren't natural. They're the things from nightmares, and I know the only reason they're here is to kill me.

They blot out the opening in the wall as they slowly move toward me. The creatures are drooling as they look at me with pupil-less gray eyes. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume that they were animated dead bodies. They make me think of some unholy creation of Fae magic, but they speak to each other in a language I've never heard: clicks and squeaks that remind me of birds. They're certainly not mindless.

I try to stab with my spear as they get within range, but one of the creatures raises her hand, and the spear hits a gust of wind that appears from nowhere. It flies up and away from the creature, my stab going wide.

"What do you want?" I hiss as I strike out with my spear again. They're not just hunting a human for food. They want me, specifically. Another gust of wind throws my spear off its target, and the creature with the rotten hand swoops under the spear. I jump out of the way, but it reaches out a claw to slice my stomach as it flies past. Pain makes me growl as the four-inch long-talon cuts a narrow gash in my abdomen.

The only way out of this is to get behind them and then leave through the hole in the wall. A fall from that high won't hurt too much. I've jumped out of trees this high before, and as long as I don't land wrong, I'll be fine.

I act like I'm going to strike with the spear, and instead of a thrust, I charge. All three of the creatures veer away, and the opening to the hole is clear. I race toward it, not looking back. It's the only chance in a world where flying women can create wind.

Vesta was right. I am not prepared to fight any Fae.

As if to prove it, a gust of wind hits me in the back so hard that I'm lifted off my feet and fly into the wall. I land right next to the hole, but when I try to get my feet under me, the world won't quit spinning long enough.

Then the terrible creatures are surrounding me. Their clawed hands rip into my shoulders and arms as I try to protect my face. Their screams sound so similar to a bird of prey, and I realize that this is what it feels like when the wolf catches the deer. The absolute helplessness.

I was the best hunter in my woods. I could out sneak, out fight, out climb, out run, and out kill any man, woman, or child that I know. And I just showed a predator my back. The first rule of fighting predators is to keep your teeth facing their teeth or you're going to get bit. A simple mistake, and now it's going to be the death of me.

I don't think I could fight even one of these things, much less three. I was supposed to save Hazel. I was supposed to sneak into Draenyth and convince a dragon as old as the world to save her. What was I thinking?

Blood clouds my eyes as it runs down my head. Searing pain from the dozens of deep slices fills my body as the need to fight fades. Only pain and the realization that I'm too weak to fulfill my task are left.

Just as the first tear falls, another explosion fills the air, but this time, it's not from the creatures or the wall I'm backed against. All the creatures turn in unison, leaving their backs to me.

If I weren't on the verge of unconsciousness, I'd leap to my feet and attack them just like they did to me, but I'm not entirely sure I can stand up, much less attack at this point.

And everything happens so fast that it's like time slows down.

The only reason I know what's happening is because I can see a green cloak brushing the floor under the creatures. The Fae from the dining hall. "Filthy things," his low voice mutters. It's a gorgeous voice and one that I won't forget easily. I feel drawn to it just as I was drawn to the sight of him. I feel like I can stand again, like the futility and self-loathing I'd felt has faded away. It's burned up just by this Fae's appearance in the room.

There's a flash and a scream. The creature in the center falls, revealing the Fae, his hood down. He's gorgeous. More beautiful than any man has a right to be. Long black hair that shines like it's made of silk. His eyes flash with an ice-cold blue that directly contradicts the warmth of the smile that crosses his face. Every line of his body looks like it was carved by a sculptor, hard and rigid as stone.

That smile feels so carefree. Facing down hideous monsters, he looks like he couldn't be happier. It's so out of place that it sticks in my mind even while blood runs down my face and into my eyes.

As he swings a black-steel two-handed sword, I can't help but think his body flows like water. The creatures are screaming, and he flows between them. They try to fight off the sword with their claw-like fingers. They dive and harry him, so similar to wolves, but he moves with a grace that makes it look easy.

The hunters have become the hunted as he moves between them. It's obvious that the High Fae has complete control of the situation while the creatures are scrambling to do anything to him. After he's danced between them for several moments, he takes one step toward the one with part of her jaw missing, and the sword cuts straight through her chest, leaving broken ribs sticking out. Immediately after, without giving the last one a chance to respond, he lifts his hand, points it at her, and she explodes in ash.

He didn't hit her with his sword, and he didn't burn her. He raised his hand, and the next moment, the creature became ash. It rains down on the room; the smell of burned flesh is a welcome change from the rot.

The moment seems to extend for minutes, the ash hanging in the air in a cloud as I realize that I may have been poured from the frying pan into the fire. This is the High Fae I'd been worried about when I went to sleep, and while he took care of these disgusting Fae creatures, he might be a far worse enemy than they were.

They wanted me dead. What does he want?

"Who did you piss off, Wyrdling?" he asks as he pulls a cloth from inside his cloak. Without looking at me, he wipes the blade clean of the black blood that covers it.

"I didn't piss anyone off?" I answer, still terrified. "I didn't even know I was… different until today. You're the first Fae I've ever spoken to."

He huffs. "Where is your parent? The Immortal one." The ashes of the creature are slowly floating to the ground, many of them falling on me. My eyes move to the two dead bodies, their putrid innards spilling onto the floor. Disgust at the sight fills me. Relief that they're dead instead of me hasn't quite hit me yet.

Blood is running off my arms and head from dozens of long thin cuts, and my stomach gets a little twisted as I realize that I've never been hurt like this. I look up at the High Fae, who's staring at me with a very demanding look. He wants his answer, and I don't think I want to get into a fight with him.

Where is your parent? The Immortal one.

"Gone," I say. "Before I can remember, she left my father and me."

He eyes me suspiciously as he finishes wiping down his blade and sheathing it. He shakes his head slowly and moves toward me, those icy blue eyes seeming to peer into my soul. Maybe he's actually looking into my soul? I just watched him turn a creature into ash by pointing at her, so who knows what else he can do?

"You should find out who you pissed off, Wyrdling. Those sand harpies were given your scent, and if they don't bring back a piece of you, there will be others." He pauses at my confusion and says, "They're like bloodhounds. Except they follow magical scents rather than physical ones. Someone has your scent, and they want you dead."

"But why?" I ask, and the High Fae shrugs. Gods, I thought this was going to be difficult, but now… I don't know if it's possible. But I can't go home either. If they can find me at the inn, they'll find me at home. If I'm there, they'll kill Hazel, too. I'm not capable of defending myself against the Fae. But…

I stand up, using the spear to support me. My tunic is in tatters, and I'm glad that some of my underthings are still intact enough to not be embarrassed. I have more important things to worry about than that, though. I'm bleeding from a dozen wounds, and even they aren't the most important thing.

"I'm Maeve," I say, putting my hand out. "Thank you for saving me."

The Fae looks at my hand, covered in blood, and then he looks in my eyes again. He doesn't take my hand, but he says, "Cole. Don't worry about it. Though, I assume that your friend, the innkeeper, is going to insist on you leaving."

That's not important, either. I pull my hand back, leaning on the spear. "I'm headed to Draenyth. You wouldn't be going that way, would you?"

Cole gets very quiet and stares at me for a moment before saying, "Your wounds will heal soon, Wyrdling. One last bit of advice. Put some steel on that spear. You don't have nearly enough magic in you to fight without steel. It doesn't matter what you put on it. Even an iron nail will help. Anything to keep someone like me from taking it from you."

He stretches out his hand, and the spear abandons me, ignoring the fact that I'm supporting my entire body with it. It slips from my fingers, and I collapse to the ground. As I lay on the ash covered ground, rage boils up inside me. It's so much hotter than even this afternoon with Hazel. I feel like I've been beaten down all day long, and that was the last straw.

Deep down, I know that this is a terrible decision. Just like I knew that trying to hurt Hazel was the worst decision I could make. The thing is that I've never had this much anger inside me before. I've never felt this kind of feral rage that makes me want to destroy the person who caused it.

I climb to my feet, and no matter how hard I try to rein in that white-hot rage, it explodes out from me. Cole is holding my spear and looking at it with a confused look in his eyes, but I don't care. He has my spear . I reach out to grip his hand just as I'd gripped Hazel's wrist, but as I move, so does he. Without looking at me, he stays just out of my grasp.

After everything that happened today with Hazel, I should have control over my emotions, but today has been the hardest day in memory. I nearly died less than ten minutes ago, I found out that everything I thought about my life has been wrong, and I'm having to leave my only family behind while I go in search of things that terrify me. This is the worst day of my life, and this male is poking me with a stick. I should have control of my emotions, but I don't.

I can't catch his arm or even his cloak. It all seems to stay a half-inch out of reach. The anger inside me only grows as I feel powerless against the High Fae. I just watched him kill those harpies without breaking a sweat after I'd given up hope of surviving my fight with them. I know that it's the stupidest actions I've ever taken, but there's no room inside me for logic.

Vesta taught me from such an early age that my emotions were a liability, not a strength. Every time I'd failed and gotten angry, she'd stopped me and forced me to examine that anger. Every time I'd gotten too excited, she'd stopped me. It didn't matter what emotion I had; they were all liabilities.

But anger was the worst of them.

Yet the anger inside me is too much for any of Vesta's lessons. It's boiling over, and when I can't grip his hand, I go for a bigger target. I take another step toward him, and I shove with both hands, expecting to knock him down like I'd do with any other man.

He turns to me at the last second, and when my hands connect with his chest, he drops the spear and grips my wrists just as easily as I'd held Hazel this afternoon. The anger immediately turns to fear as he stares into my eyes.

"Do you realize how stupid you're being, Wyrdling?" he asks as he slowly raises my arms above my head. I try to pull my hands away, but his grip is stronger than iron. If I'd felt helpless before, I didn't know the meaning.

He holds both of my wrists in one of his as easily as I'd carry a bucket of water. Even as I struggle, he barely seems to notice, and when he grips my chin in his thumb and index finger, forcing me to continue to look at him, the helplessness turns to fear.

"What are you doing?" I ask, unable to keep my voice from quivering.

"What am I doing?" he repeats. His voice is heartless. He's completely unconcerned by my fear or struggle. "I don't know, Wyrdling. What I should do is teach you a lesson." He pulls his hand away from my face, and a tiny ball of flame appears in his palm. It's mesmerizing, and I can't look away even as he brings it closer to me. I don't blink even when I feel the heat waves threaten to singe my hair.

"That's the problem with Wyrdlings that grow up with humans. You think you're so powerful. It's a wonder why Immortals want nothing to do with you. You're arrogant when you have no right to be. Crushing you would be easier than killing those sand harpies."

His fingers tighten over the ball of flame, extinguishing it. Then he runs his finger over my neck and says, "Or I could spend the night playing with you in other ways. I could leave you a shell of a human." He pulls harder on my hands, lifting me into the air, and he pushes his body closer to mine, the scent of him rolling over me. Spiced amber, like I'd imagine the essence of magic smelling like.

I'd been afraid before, but it'd been the fear of prey against predators. This is different. This is uniquely human. The slow, steady movement of Cole's fingers over my throat terrifies me. Like Calum said, there's nothing anyone could do to save me from him. Those blue eyes are so cold and merciless. There's not an ounce of warmth in this man… in this Fae.

Yet, even as terror fills my mind, my body can't help but respond to the sensations. His touch and glare may be cold, but it sets my body aflame. As his finger finds a cut on my shoulder, a slight bit of pain courses through me, and it breaks me out of the shock.

My survival instincts take over, and instead of dangling there, a plaything for him, I strike out in the only way I can think of. A hard kick right between his legs. He tries to move, but he's holding me, so he can't get far enough away.

I guess few people react that way to his touch because he doesn't move fast enough. The toe of my boot connects with what I assume are his family jewels, and he immediately releases me.

I tumble to the ground, falling into a heap before leaping to my feet, ignoring my wounds as I get into a fighting stance. Cole doesn't seem to think we're fighting, though, because he's bent over, clutching his crotch and cursing rather than trying to protect himself from me.

"That was a good one, Wyrdling," he says through gritted teeth. "You've got some spunk. I can't deny that."

He stands up slowly after a few moments, and for the first time since the harpies died, he grins. "Good luck dealing with the one who wants you dead. Keep that spunk, and maybe you'll make it after all. Ask for Cole Cyrus if you make it to Draenyth."

I don't know what to say to him, and as his grin fades, he walks out of the room. I take a deep breath and look around me. It's a disaster. One wall has a gaping hole in it. The door and dresser are ash. There are two dead harpies laying on the floor, and ash is still floating in the air like motes of dust.

I pick up my bag and spear and start walking. My clothes are ripped and torn from the harpies' claws, and I'm covered in ashes. I'm bleeding from too many cuts to count, many of which would probably kill a normal human. I feel like every ounce of energy's been stripped from me, and I have no idea what to do about the fact that someone wants me dead. I don't know who or why they'd care if I lived or died.

But I am alive. Cole seemed to think that my body will heal from the cuts, and I can feel them closing up. I'm a mess, but I'm going to survive.

Calum Hayes is staring at me from the shattered door with a look of awe and shock on his face. "Miss," he says slowly.

Seeing Calum just shows me how different I am from everyone else. From humans. I was just attacked by creatures out of nightmares, have cuts still actively bleeding from most of my upper half, and I feel almost calm. Calum, on the other hand, looks like he won't be sleeping tonight.

"I'm leaving, Calum. Sorry for the trouble." Just like Aunt Prudence, he doesn't say anything else as I walk past him, everything I own on my back and in my hands.

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe they should have stayed clear of me. Maybe Wyrdlings were cursed.

But if I'd been a human, I'd be dead. I may be cursed, but it's a curse I won't complain about tonight.