Beyond the Mountain (Fae's Captive #4) - Lily Archer Page 0,12
murdered. I shrug. “I guess it could have been better.”
“So many of those lesser fae and changelings that the summer realm mistreats? They’re here.” He stares down into the valley. “Both realms downgrade their lesser fae and changelings. Both realms commit grave sins against them. That’s why they come here. To take their place in Arin, to gain equality. I have given them a way to fight for what they want.”
I hold up a finger. “Hang on. I’m confused.”
His jaw twitches, and he speaks in a painfully patient tone. “Why is that?”
“Just like, an hour ago, you said that changelings were pets and that lesser fae were … lesser. So why would you help them?”
“Oh.” He laughs, and I think some part of me dies at how ugly it is. Lowering his voice, he speaks in my ear. “They are a means to an end. Once they’ve overrun the realms and claimed their victory, I will take over and reorder everything the way it should be.”
“The way it should be? And how’s that?” I have a feeling I already know.
“High fae should always rule these lands and use lesser fae and changelings as servants and laborers. Their lives are disposable. Why else would I want an army full of them?”
I glance over the precipice. “And what if I don’t want any part of this?”
Cenet hisses and crosses his arms over his chest. “She isn’t worthy. I told you, Father.”
“Silence!” Shathinor’s yell seems to come from all around and echoes off the mountainside.
I shudder and try to pull away, but he keeps me tucked under his arm.
“It is time for you to evolve, dearest one.”
“What?” I wrap my arms around my middle.
“This mortal form isn’t you.” He turns me around to face him, my back to the abyss.
“It’s me.” I look down at myself. “Same old me.”
“Not quite.” He tilts my chin up, then focuses on the soulstone.
“What are you—” I jolt as he holds his hand over it, green electricity crackling around me in bursts of lightning.
“Hold still, my heart.” He winces and takes the stone in his hand. “The magic told me this will hurt both of us.”
“Stop.” I can’t breathe, my lungs flat as a sensation like being sucked through a vacuum compresses the air around me. “Don’t.”
He pulls at the stone, the electricity growing and lifting me off my feet.
“Let go.” My eyes water, pain ricocheting through me, my ears burning, my back ripping apart. “Please!” I scream, agony destroying me at a cellular level.
“Almost there,” he grits out, his black brows drawing together as if he’s under great strain.
“Stop!” My cry erupts in a burst of black sparks. Everything in me constricts, pulling in on itself. It feels like being born. Or dying. Maybe both all rolled into one. Pain and rebirth and the approaching promise of death.
With a yank, he pulls the stone off me, the chain breaking as he stumbles back. The green lightning expands outward, and agony bursts through me, blasting away my thoughts, my heart, and my soul in one searing explosion that ends in a comfortable, easy darkness.
“Daughter?” Shathinor’s voice comes to me as if from a great distance. “Daughter?”
I breathe in, the first gasp of a newborn, and blink my eyes open.
Everything is more. The fine grains of black sand on the stone, the scent of smoke on the air, the sound of the breeze playing along the outcroppings of rock.
I am more. I unfurl from my place on the ground and rise to my feet. Dark wings fan out behind me, the edges dancing with the wind as I reach up and feel the pointed tips of my ears.
The world is sharp. So am I. I stretch out my arms, my fingernails hard and curled like talons.
“It’s you.” Shathinor’s eyes light with awe as he comes to stand by my side.
“Kneel!” he yells, and all the soldiers follow his command, taking a knee and keeping their eyes down.
Only Cenet remains on his feet.
I point my long claw at him and bare my fangs. “Kneel, Brother.”
His slitted eyes widen. “Father—”
My claws are at his throat before he can say more. “I. Said. Kneel.” Blood runs onto my fingers, the tang of his life salting the air as death flows through his veins, streaking his flesh with black. The death I wield, the fate I hold in the palm of my hand.
I strip the obsidian blade from him.
The hatred that swirls in his eyes is like a fine wine, one that