The Last Faerie Queen (26 page)

36

E
l
o
r
A

In spite of the Bright Queen's binding, I could still hear everything. I could even see, just barely, through a hole in the tree that held me. Could see a splash of the forest. Could see the light receding as the Seelie Queen returned to court.

But hers or mine? 

What had I been thinking, inviting her into this place on the one night the sentries were away? Why had I helped her bind my mother? Now the Bright Queen could enter the Unseelie Palace, glamoured to look like the Dark Lady, and do whatever she pleased. Would she lay waste to the Unseelie servants before I could return and defend them?

Would she take over the court?

From there, it was a small step to controlling all of Faerie. All this time, I'd truly believed she wanted to be free. Free of her court, free of the bloodshed that followed nobility at every turn. Free of that damned Sword of Damocles hanging over her head.

Now I feared she wanted to wield that sword with absolute power. Kept at bay by no one, she could cut across our entire world, making the dark faeries her subordinates and sending her shining courtiers into the mortal lands to do as they pleased.

For seventeen years, I'd hated the power struggle between the High Faerie Courts. Only now did I wonder if each had kept the other from taking over the world. The dark faeries would've laid waste to as much of humanity as they could, but the bright faeries? They would take prisoners.

They had prisoners already.

I had to stop her. But how? The laws of blood binding were not exactly open to interpretation. Though I struggled, throwing the weight of my body against the inside of the tree, I only managed to scratch my already delicate skin. Though I screamed, it was like screaming into an abyss. No one could hear me. I couldn't even hear myself, not really, because the blood rushed so loudly in my ears, I wasn't certain if I was screaming audibly or merely making noise in my own head. The darkness poured over me completely, and for the first time in my life, I longed for light. A spark of gold in eyes so green, they broke your heart with their beauty.

Their openness.

When I heard a slight skittering across the forest floor, I thought it might be him. I hoped it wasn't, because I didn't want him to spill any more blood for me. I wanted him out of this place, and out of my life, because it was the only thing that would protect him. I loved him so much, I needed to set him free. Butterflies, and letting go, and all that nonsense.

But he wouldn't come back to me. I wouldn't let him.

When the voice came, my heart leapt into my throat. The voice wasn't Taylor's, but something much smaller and just as familiar.

Illya!

“Lady,” she said in response, though she couldn't
have heard me. “I heard you speaking.”

What is happening?

“To the Bright Lady,” she added, stepping closer. “I heard everything. I will free you.”

Yes. Yes, thank you!
I shrieked, but only to myself. My lips weren't so good at making noise.
Go and get help, and you can free me.

But Illya was not leaving. I could hear her coming closer, as leaves and twigs rustled beneath her amphibian frame. I wanted to hug her, to clasp her gently in my hands and hold her to my chest, but beneath the excitement was a trickle of dread. The binding could only be broken with blood.
Enough blood to cover the ground.
Surely, if Illya knew this, she'd know to find someone not quite so small, someone whose offering would not mean risking her life. I could not bear another sacrifice after last night.

I held my breath, waiting for Illya to detail her plan, as we always did with one another. I waited for the rush of information and the promise to return.
But Illya was not promising anything, and those steps were coming closer still. My heart, red and raw from the previous events, started to harden, as if someone were turning it to stone. Heavy it hung in my chest. Weighted it pressed against me.

Still, I could feel everything.
Illya,
I called, with every fiber of my being.
Go get someone else. Now.

Illya did not hear me. Instead, I heard her come to rest at the base of the tree. Now my heart grew the wings of a dragon, and beat against the cave of my c
hest. I struggled against the branches, trying to peer out the little hole in the tree. Trying to reach my friend.

At first, I could see nothing. Nothing of her skin, brown and green and blending with the leaves. Nothing of her eyes, cerulean blue around a golden iris. Part sun and part sky. If ever there was a case for faeries being both dark and light, Illya was it.

But she wouldn't hear me if I said that. She wouldn't hear me if I said
anything
, and now, as I fought to break from my bonds, I was able to press my eye against the opening and look down. What I saw there almost broke me.

Down below, my oldest friend stood looking up at me. Her wings were curled up, burned like paper, and she wore no glamour to hide it. Unlike me, she'd always wanted to be herself, nothing m
ore. Nothing less.

Just perfect, brave Illya. Alone in the woods with a knife.

“My Lady,” Illya breathed, looking up as if she could see me. Smiling because she loved me. “I hope you will take this as a token of my gratitude.” Her eyelids fluttered closed, and I thought I saw a tear trickle down her cheek. But she shook herself, ever hiding her emotions in front of me. Her fear. “It has been an honor serving you.”

No!

Still, my lips made no sound. Still, my voice had no power, but soon I would have all of it. My voice, my freedom. I would be able to speak the moment she could no longer breathe.

No, Illya, please.

She paused, tilting her head in that familiar way of hers. Eyes crinkling at the sides, as if she could see inside my soul. And I thought, for one perfect moment, that she would wait for me, wait until I could speak somehow. Wait for my direction.

But I had taught Illya that she deserved to be free, and it was a lesson she would not easily forget. I may have been her princess until the end, but she'd never be my servant again.

Illya looked down at the blade, speaking softly. “I want you to know that you were right about the mortals. Maybe not all of them,” she added quickly, as if unable to let go of her teachings entirely, “but about the boy. The one you've chosen. You were right, and I … I hope you will forgive me for doubting you.”

Of course I will
, I said without speaking.
We made mistakes, each one of us. But now that we know the truth—

“And I hope you will remember me.” She lifted the dagger. I saw blood before she'd pierced her skin. I was screaming and clawing and my vision swam with dark, dark blood.

“Goodbye, Lady.” She shoved the dagger into her belly, and blood climbed up from my throat. I could taste it as it blossomed on her lips. I could feel it, spreading over my belly as it covered hers. Staining skin, covering hands.

Drowning me.

When Illya shuddered, I felt the first crack in the tree. The sound was so loud, it deafened me. But the crack was thin, and it was difficult to see through it. Then she dropped to the ground, so easily, like a child falling into pleasant sleep. There was nothing loud or final about it. One moment, she was alive. The next, nothing.

The crack widened, and I pushed my hand through it. Skin caught on bark and parts of me came away bloody, but what did it matter at this point? Illya's blood soaked the forest floor at my feet. She'd loved me, and she'd sacrificed herself for me. Now I was free.

I pushed out of my prison only to sink to my knees. “Why did it have to be you?” I whispered, gathering her up in my hands. Why couldn't it have been someone who would've survived this?

Of course, I knew the answer to that. Only Illya had followed me to the places she wasn't supposed to go. Only Illya had risked life and limb to defend me, and only Illya would have risked following me down here.

Only Illya was that devoted to me.

Used to be
, I thought, and then felt horrible the moment the words entered into my head. My gaze flickered to the red dotting the forest floor, but already it was fading, sinking into the dirt. As quickly as the offering had been made, the earth was swallowing it up, ravenous after a long, painful drought.

“Oh, sweetness.” I lifted Illya to my chest. Her eyes were open, the bright, cerulean orbs now cold as glass. No gold. I couldn't look at them anymore, couldn't remember her this way, without that spark, so I cradled her against my chest, holding her delicately.

“I love you,” I whispered, finally offering the words I'd kept so close to me. The words I'd guarded lest they be used against me. Lest they be used against the people I adored.

Little good that's done me.

“I have always loved you. From the moment I met you, as a child. You have always been my greatest friend.”

I choked back a sob, and in doing so, lifted my gaze. In spite of the dark, ethereal haze that still covered the Unseelie Palace, the sun was rising higher in the sky. Morning had come, and with it, my revolution.

Our revolution.

As gently as I could, I carried Illya out of the clearing, laying her to rest several yards from my mother's tree. Waving my fingers in the brisk morning air, I covered her in a protective glamour. Tomorrow I would return to bury her, here in the land that she'd loved in spite of the Dark Court's tyranny. In spite of her bondage.

I stood, glancing down at my glamour. The shape was rough, but if one knew where to look, one would see a little stone resembling a heart. It wasn't much, but it would suffice until I could return and give Illya a proper remembrance. For now, I could only offer one thing.

“Today, as I stand against our enemies, I do it in your name. And for generations after, when people speak of this revolution, they will speak of you, brave Illya. Your sacrifice will be the catalyst that frees the faeries from bondage.”

With that, I pressed a hand to my lips and touched it to the glamoured stone. And I rose, walking in the direction of the Unseelie Palace, the dawn at my back like a fiery wave that would wash over the faerie lands, burning away its wickedness and leaving only possibility in its wake.

37

T
ayl
o
R

My arms ached as I climbed from a winged horse into the trees. My entire body ached, and I wondered if this was a fraction of what Elora had felt after she'd lost her wings. For a minute, I allowed myself to feel close to her, even though I only had a vague idea of where she was, or at least, where she was supposed to be.

Everything will be an illusion.

That warning taunted me as my friends settled in around me, Alexia up above and Kylie below. It made me feel like the ground could fall out beneath me, the tree could turn into a dragon, and that dragon could burst into flames, taking me into oblivion.

I mean, if I really thought about it,
everything
couldn't be an illusion. I was real. Kylie and Alexia were real, even though Keegan was absent. Was
that
an illusion? Fear tugged at my confidence, weighing me down.

I'd always depended on my brain to outwit the faeries, rather than any illusion of strength. I mean, I could've been some big hulking mammoth, and they still would've stopped me. Magic trumps muscle. Just ask Brad.

My back shuddered at the thought, and I almost fell out of the tree. I knew I'd insisted on coming here today, but
damn
, these wings hurt. It felt like they were killing me, slowly sucking my life away. What the hell was the Seelie Queen thinking, torturing me like this?

Oh, I won't infringe on your free will, but I will operate on you in freaky-deaky ways.

Sure, that made sense. Fucking faeries and their lack of logic. Or bendable logic. Un-understandable logic. Could I even outsmart them? 

Elora can
. The voice came to me from a distance, like the Dark Princess herself was reaching out to hold my hand.
She
understood them.
She'd
grown up with them, was one of them. She knew their strengths and their weaknesses.

Me, I was still learning. So I watched carefully as the Unseelie servants slipped away from the palace grounds. They had to be careful not to step on the sleeping courtiers, who were sprawled out haphazardly like teenagers after a rager. And this had been quite a rager.

Drinking and dancing and human sacrifice, oh my!

I guess I kept joking about it because I couldn't really handle it. Sure, the servants had taken pity on us and allowed us to finally close our eyes, but by then we'd already seen enough brutality to last a lifetime. Even now, my gaze strayed to the stage where they'd put on their elaborate show, and I searched for signs of blood, for signs of
Brad
, but there was nothing.

They'd cleaned everything away. Or maybe they'd just glamoured him. Before I could get a decent look at the stage, the entire scene was glamoured over, slowly, like light slipping over a forest to reveal everything the darkness had hid
den. My heart caught in my throat. Then, just as thoroughly,
that
was glamoured over too, and I understood what Elora had meant about double illusions. I understood everything, and it was a good thing, because the Unseelie servants were circling the sleeping courtiers in a spiral, wave after wave of voluntary soldiers, wrapping around the courtyard and down the mountain.

I held my breath.

“This is it.” Kylie's voice filtered up from below. She was sitting in that faerie-made saddle, on the back of a chocolate-colored horse. To my left, Alexia was perched in the branches, crouching like some sort of warrior.

I'm glad one of us is confident.

Then again, she was the better shot. As it was, I'd be lucky if I could lift my bow. My arms were shaky as hell and I kind of felt like throwing up. I told myself I was just scared, but really, my body was trying to heal itself. And failing. I swore that, if I managed to survive this battle, I'd find a way to break the Seelie Queen's hold on me. And if my body gave out before that, it'd be because I'd summoned my strength and shot the arrow that saved Elora's life.

“I promise,” I whispered, so quiet that only the trees could hear me. It was enough.

“I guess the time for hand-holding is over,” Alexia said. Kylie looked up, and I suspected she was thinking of Keegan. Whatever his reasons for staying behind, it was probably a good thing.

No, definitely. The dark courtiers were waking up.

It happened slowly, bless their drunken hearts. I guess it was pretty honorable that Elora hadn't just drugged them with sleeping potions and cut them down while they slept. She wanted to stand against them, but she didn't want to become them.

Also, where the hell was she?

I didn't see her anywhere, and it was getting a little late to make a fashionable entrance. Meanwhile, the nobles of the Unseelie Court stumbled to their feet, the bright morning sun beating down on their already throbbing heads, and they looked to their queen—that is, her empty throne—and squinted, as if to see more clearly. They couldn't. The sun was too bright, they had partied too hard, and besides, they had bigger things to worry about. From my perch in the distance, I could see the place where the dark servants' army trailed halfway down the mountain; there were that many of them.

Wait, there were
that
many of them? How had the Dark Court controlled them for so long? I guess I didn't have time to get into the nature of oppressive regimes. My eyes were getting frantic, scanning the crowd for Elora. Instead, they fell on Naeve.

He seemed to be recovering quicker than most. Rising to one knee, and then to his feet, he strode across the grounds, which now appeared to be covered in grass. Elora's followers had glamoured the space to look like a forest I'd never seen. Even the trees surrounding us had changed. No longer the tall and rigid pines, straight as the back of the Unseelie Queen, they curved out into flowered branches, sprouting pink blossoms on the ends. Not exactly the perfect site for a battle. But maybe the servants wanted some beauty in the impending bloodshed.

Impending. Encroaching. Inevitable. Yet, nothing happened right away. Even Naeve, who was scouring the grounds like a vampire desperate for a vein, hadn't drawn a weapon yet.

“Where is she?” he snarled, climbing the stage that now looked like a grassy knoll. The kind of knoll you'd expect to find faeries in, the cute, tiny kind who danced to tinkling music. Nothing like this nightmare. Nothing like reality. Naeve's golden eyes darted this way and that, searching the forest and the sky. His shiny black hair was matted on one side. The asshole probably spent time every morning getting those curls just right. I wanted to hold up a mirror. But this wasn't a fairy tale, and Naeve wouldn't dissolve into a pile of dust at the sight of his reflection.

Running a hand through his hair, he turned in a circle, showcasing those golden wings. The ones that cast shadows over the land. “Is this your army?” he called. From his position, he could only see the first wave of faeries. “My poor princess, it's nearly as crippled as you are.” He let the comment hang as Elora's silhouette appeared in the sky.

She rode on the back of a winged horse, in a long black dress with a high, regal collar. Kylie's golden crown sat atop her fiery head.

A thrill went through me.

She's going to trick him.
It's going to work.
Yes.

Fifty feet above the camp, Elora came to a stop, her body framed by the light of the sun. Her hair flowed around her face as she stared at the faeries with compassion, like she loved each one of them, even those she aimed to destroy.

Her voice filtered down. “Those of you who wish to join us and live in a world without nobility, do so now, and you will be spared.” She waved a hand toward her troops. “Those of you who wish to fight … prepare to fall.”

The courtiers murmured, but none of them budged.
Big surprise.
They'd live in a world of hatred, or not at all.

Elora descended. She was so stunning, both vulnerable and powerful, as she lowered herself to the stage, that my heart squeezed, halting my breath. I wanted to cry, or kill; I wasn't sure which. I decided, right then and there, that I would do anything to protect her, even if it meant my own horrific death. Cautiously, I inched toward the trunk of my tree, preparing to climb down. It would hurt, but not as bad as losing her would.

A hand landed on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “Don't be stupid, little boy.”

I spun around, to face Alexia. “Don't talk like you're one of them,” I warned. “You aren't one of them.”

“I know what I am, and what I'm not,” she said. “But I'm starting to understand how they think.”

“That's a mistake too.”

“Don't lecture me on mistakes,” she hissed, leaning close to my ear, “when you're about to ruin everything by trying to do something heroic. You can't save her. She's smarter than all of us.”

“I think I've known that from the start,” I confessed as Elora dismounted. “I always wanted to protect her, and I always worried that when the time came, I couldn't.” I scowled. “I can barely lift a weapon.”

“Your mind is a weapon, if you use it right.” Alexia smoothed the dark brown tunic the faeries had given me, adjusting the opening in the back.

I winced. “It makes me crazy that I can't help her.”

“You are helping her.” She slunk back into the shadows, behind me. “This is what she wants.”

I exhaled, my body shaking from exhaustion and relief. And I wondered: even if we did survive this, would Elora's love be able to heal me? Or did that only work for faeries?

Down below, she walked toward Naeve with smooth, unflinching steps. I had the most terrible sense of déjà vu. Naeve waited, tapping his fingers against his leg in mock-impatience, his black cloak falling around him. The red powder of dried leaves decorated his ebony curls, and his eyes flashed, feral and bright.

“Clever girl,” he drawled as Elora stopped in front of him. “You've come to kill me with your repugnant stench. I can smell mortal filth all over you.” He lifted a hand toward her face. “Let me give you a bath. No slave of mine will wear the gown of human grime.”

Elora slapped him away. “No slave of yours hides here, little prince.”

Naeve chuckled as a bubble of rushing liquid encircled him. It was oily, and I thought of oil spills, of baby seals slick and drowning. “Save your tricks,” he warned, his voice resonating within the bubble. “My defenses can't be penetrated by your pathetic spells.”

Elora laughed wildly, clutching her stomach as she bent over. “Save your challenges. I've no desire to
penetrate
anything of yours.” She paused, licking her lips. “So you learned one defensive spell.” She turned to the faeries below. “Who taught this dog a new trick?”

Laughter rippled throughout the crowd. Even the courtiers grinned.

Naeve didn't like that. Circling Elora, he smirked at her back. “How darling, Elora, you've glamoured yourself some hideous wings to replace the ones you lost in battle.”

“The ‘battle' where you used an iron sword against me?” she asked. “You and I define the word very differently.”

“Still, your costume pleases me.” He reached for the wings, but she jerked away. “You miss them, don't you? How does it feel to be locked to the land, unable to fly of your own accord? Does it pain you?”

“After our last meeting, Naeve, little pains me.”

I narrowed my eyes. That sounded like a lie. Naeve noticed it too, because he said, “Liar.”

“Maybe I am.”

The Dark Prince shook his head. “You've always found ways around the truth. Look at you, sporting wings you no longer have. Look around you.” His arm swept through the air, all melodramatic. I wanted to punch him. “This landscape reeks of deceit. Are you afraid to show me where you've really taken me? Are we sitting in some hovel you now call home?”

Elora shrugged, and I felt a thrill of excitement. She was setting him up, twisting her words to manipulate him. “See for yourself. I'm sure you can remove the glamour if you
really
try.”

“Effortlessly,” Naeve replied. Still, he stood a minute in quiet concentration before lifting his arms to the sky. He didn't know it, but the servants of the Unseelie Court must've been concentrating too. I realized there was a reason Elora hadn't ordered them to attack.

She needed them for this.

When Naeve pulled down his arms, the glamour ripped away, revealing a strange world beneath. His laughter died in his throat. The bubble of protection crashed to the floor, and he gawked at the landscape with terrified eyes.

A city stared back at him, cement and iron and glass flashing in the sun. A squat, brick building rested under his feet; a skyscraper loomed at his back. Where a forest floor had been, thick strips of asphalt stretched out as far as the eye could see. Buildings shot up in the distance, and farther off, a great suspension bridge stretched over a murky, stagnant river. Cars sat parked on the outskirts of the courtyard, colorful and gleaming.

“Holy mother of mortals,” Alexia breathed at my back. I almost laughed. I felt the strangest sense of pride. Staring out at the city, and the park at the edge of the battlefield, I marveled at how life-like it all looked, and how familiar. But it was no wonder I recognized this landscape.

I'd drawn it.

A single, high-pitched tone rang out across the open space, informing the first wave to attack. Far below, another ringtone wailed in the distance, signaling the second and third waves to approach.

The moment was perfect. The courtiers were disoriented, slack-jawed and uncoordinated as they took in the sights all around them. They may have anticipated many things, but none of them expected this. Then, just as they'd started to gather their wits and shake off their hangover, that strange ringing attacked their ears, and for a few seconds they were frozen with confusion. Frozen with fear. And in those seconds, the revolutionaries attacked.