to be," he replies, unbothered.
I tilt my head.
This continent was meant to be ours. When our kind grew tired of the old world and moved here, we were supposed to claim all of it, hence why it was called Alfheimr, home of the elven folk—the fae. But the immortals accompanying us took one look when we landed and decided they liked it. Their empire is built in their image, with all the entertainment, all the pleasures they require. I'm not surprised they want our land, if only because our magic makes it beautiful, abundant, rich. But immortals cannot be satisfied here in Tenebris. We don't worship them, we don't sacrifice in their name, we don't line up to participate in their orgies. Humans consider them gods—we know that the immortal descendants of the old gods aren't very different from us. More powerful, perhaps, but they can bleed and die just like the rest of us.
"Oh? Color me surprised. Tonight will be a full moon. Aren't you missing a hell of a party?"
His eyes narrow. He doesn't like that I know of their custom. And I'm right. He wants to be there, in his capital, gorging on wine, lust, and blood.
"Let me guess. Daddy dearest told you to remain here until you've gotten rid of me. He's too frightened to face me himself after last time and, well, you're expendable. You must have a sister or brother better suited to the throne."
I can tell from the darkness creeping in his eyes that I'm right again. "I was given Tenebris. This is my land. I'll have my pleasures right here, with your people, every full moon. Just as soon as I've destroyed you."
I laugh out loud. "You truly are insane."
If he thinks the folk are going to lick his boots—or anything else—he's certifiable.
"And you're as good as dead, vermin," he retorts.
It's all the warning I get before the hill collapses under my feet. I leap in the air, letting my wings push through my reinforced tunic. I can feel Samel and the two others do the same behind me. At least they have wings; not all of us do. A flock of humans bursts out of the tent, bows ready, and shoot at us. The speed of my wings serves me well. The paper-thin membranes infused with magic are so fast that to an untrained eye, I disappear and reappear at another place. My companions aren't pixies: I hear them scream as arrows hit their wings, their most vulnerable features. I manage to fly to the border of the precipice, landing too close to the Vikus boy.
I try to spring back, but he reaches for me, grabbing me by the wing. Then he rips it off. My scream cuts through the valley, piercing the air. I've never known such pain. It's not just that he's ripped away one of my limbs—he's also taken part of me. A magic that makes me Vlari. I fall and try to crawl away, but he draws his foot back and kicks me so hard I'm propelled backward. I hear his delighted laughter as he hovers over me, grabs my throat, and knees my stomach firmly enough for bile to rise to my throat. Never letting go of me, he keeps hitting me—knees, feet, punches. He's gleefully knocking me around like I'm a ragdoll. He's not using any of his power, keeping his shield firmly in place. Part of me wonders why he doesn't just finish it. He has me. I can't get away. I'm no use at close range against an immortal twice my size. But I know why he's taking his time: he's enjoying it.
I tortured him. He's going to kill me with his bare hands.
In the distance, the sun goes down. I have just enough strength to turn toward Whitecroft. The seelie riders have attacked.
I try to find peace. At least Titus will see that my people are freed from this monster. He'll take care of them. He'll take them north and reinforce his borders—I don't doubt it for a moment.
I think about my mother's death. Pointless. I think about Meda, who sacrificed so many years to try to shape me into something, someone who could fight. She threw them away.
I think of Drusk. I promised him I’d be careful. I suppose fae can lie, after all. I need him more than air, more than the sky with all its stars, more than life itself, and he never knew it.
I can't get away from