Queens of Mist and Madness (Fae Isles, #4)

by Lisette Marshall

Cactus, his fingers interrupted my spiralling train of thoughts. He didn’t even raise his head from the sand to look at me. There’s no need for that. Oh. Bloody demon senses.

‘Also,’ I added, words pouring out of their own accord now that I’d started, ‘you were right. And I’ve been an idiot. And I’m sorry – I’m so, so sorry – and I swear to all the dead and living gods that I’ll stop pretending I don’t love you to death – hell, I should never have tried to pretend in the first place, and …’ His lips parted, but not a sound came out – not even the weakest cough. The final part of my sentence drifted from my grasp. Only now did it finally sink in, the danger we’d only barely escaped. The choices I might have made. The depths I’d allowed myself to sink to, the desperate measures I’d somehow believed to be worth the peace among my friends. I could have lost him today. I could have hurt him so, so much today. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered again, throat tightening. ‘I’m so very sorry, and I love you so very much. I don’t know why it took a shattered binding to make me realise what I was doing. It should have been clear from the very first moment I realised I was hurting you.’

‘Are you really, very sure?’ I murmured, my face buried into his shirt. ‘Because if you need any other reassurances from me, I’m ready. Happy to go back and stick my tongue down your throat before Tared’s eyes, if you think it’ll cheer you up?’ His lips remained pressed against my forehead, his hands didn’t loosen on my back – but a new sound escaped him amidst a small fit of coughs. It came out muffled, that unexpected hiccup, as if his own tongue was not yet quite sure what to do with it … But it was undeniably, indisputably, a laugh. A laugh.

‘Is that a yes?’ I whispered. Another wobbly laugh escaped him. It fell from his lips with a sincerity that bordered on the heartbreaking, even these quiet chuckles bursting with awe and marvelling … As if the feeling was as new to him as the sound itself. As if he was rediscovering every turn of his voice alongside me, a thrilling little secret to be shared by us alone. ‘I’m serious!’ I managed, laughter worming out of my throat no matter how hard I willed it to stay down. ‘Whatever you want, I’m ready to do it. Should I make a dramatic declaration to the entire Alliance? Write the phoenix elders that I’ve been shagging you for ages? Tell Agenor he’ll either have to add you to the family tree immediately or cut me out of it?’

He kissed me. He tasted of salt and blood, of battle and victory, and I stopped thinking at the first brush of his mouth over mine, stopped feeling anything but his demanding lips, his hands tangling in my hair to tug me closer. I grabbed his shoulders. His wings swept around the both of us like a dark cocoon of warmth and safety. I reached out instinctively, trailing my fingertips over that straining surface in an unthinking reflex … Creon moaned. He moaned. The sound slid beneath my skin like liquid fire, igniting every nerve ending in a roar of sensations.

Fuck. I needed more of this. Who cared that we were sitting on a beach, unhidden except by the cover of darkness? Who cared people might be looking for us? My hands were wandering on their own now, finding every sensitive place I knew so well, cataloguing every brand new audible reaction. A feathery brush over the sharp tip of his ear, and he let out a ragged breath against my mouth. A nip at his jaw, and he growled low in his throat, his hands tightening around my waist. A scrape of nails over the onset of his wing, and he snarled – a primal sound that left me lightheaded and gasping for air.

I leaned over and licked down his shaft, and gods, his cry of surrender made the emptiness between my thighs ache with need.

Anything to stop him from ever going quiet again, anything to make him feel just how much I wanted and needed him …

‘It’s not that,’ I managed. ‘I’m just … I’m trying to understand how alves define their families, if blood doesn’t have anything to do with it.’ ‘Ah.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Well, that’s easier. You’ve eaten at our table, you’ve slept in our beds, you’ve risked your life for us and we’ve risked our lives for you. Which means you’re one of us now, as far as I’m concerned. We’re simple creatures, really.’

He ruffled my hair, then stepped back, nodding at the door I’d slammed behind me when I arrived. ‘Go to sleep, little brat. And thank you for stabbing some sense into me.’

‘They are entirely different things,’ he eventually said – speaking even more slowly now, no unhurried confidence but careful contemplation of every syllable that left his lips. ‘The past few centuries as opposed to whatever pain you could cause me. I spent half a life assuming that what my mother felt for me was love, and the other half believing I must truly be a monster if I wasn’t even worthy of that. So having you here after all of that, just … just feeling …’

‘You could never hurt me like she did unless you abruptly stopped giving a damn about me,’ he said quietly. ‘Which was never the case. So you’re in no way bringing back those years – I just don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to feel like … like I may not be quite worthy of you either, in the end.’

‘That there’s no reason for you to keep apologising if you could be kissing me instead?’ he dryly suggested. ‘Pretty sure.’

‘Bold of you to assume kissing would be the alternative,’

‘Who says I’m not crawling into my own bed as soon as I’m done saying sorry? It’s been a pretty long day, all in all.’

‘Oh, I’ll be the first to agree sleep would be your wisest choice.’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘So?’ ‘So I assumed that wouldn’t be your preference,’ he said innocently. ‘But correct me if I’m wrong.’

‘What,’ I said and scoffed, ‘you think I would be tempted into foolishness by that moderately agreeable face of yours? Pinnacle of wisdom that I am?’ His eyes glinted with devilish amusement. ‘Could you tell me more about the inconceivable wisdom behind sucking people off on beaches, or is that beyond my immortal mind to grasp?’ ‘I’d never do such a thing, as you know very well,’ I said indignantly. ‘The notion alone fills me with horror.’ ‘Could fill you with some other things?’ he blithely offered.

‘So tell me,’ he murmured – suddenly so close behind me I almost shrieked and jumped, ‘what victory are you looking for, exactly?’

My voice had gone hoarse, but at least it didn’t tremble as I said, ‘Your surrender, mostly.’

‘Ah. Planning to make me beg for you?’

‘Would you?’ ‘Do you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you?’

‘My loveliest, most terrifying cactus …’ ‘You’re mocking me!’ My voice wobbled all the same. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he muttered, and suddenly there was a new edge of hoarseness to his words, a raw quality that had nothing to do with sore, unused vocal cords and everything to do with the reverent way his wings curled slowly around my naked body. ‘I’m fully fucking honest when I say no one has ever frightened me as much as you do. I’ve never had this much to lose before.’

‘Then again …’ His whispered words were hot against my neck, barely audible over the roar of blood in my ears. The strokes of his wings against my nipples sent my body throbbing with desire. ‘I’ve never had this much to win, either.’

‘Our victory,’ I whispered. He let out a guttural breath. ‘Our victory.’ I sank down onto him in one fast slide. A raw, broken grunt tore from his throat, and if I hadn't been soaked yet, that would have done the job – that throaty cry of lost control.

And just as my eyelids grew too heavy to keep them open, just as my thoughts began to scatter into dreams, I heard his voice one last time. ‘Liria.’ Even breathed so quietly, I could make out the Faerie word. My love. And I slept.

‘What is it?’ I yelled, shoving myself out of bed, shooting into my underwear, and plucking my dress from where I’d dropped it last night. The knocking abruptly stilled. ‘Developments at the Golden Court.’ Tared’s voice made its way into the room muffled by the layer of wood separating us. ‘The Moon fleet finally attacked fifteen minutes ago. We’ve started evacuating.’ I froze. Attacked.

Creon’s scarred eyebrow twitched up ever so slightly. Not an attack. If anything, it looked like an invitation. I could swear even the walls were holding their breaths around us. ‘First of all,’ Tared said, and he spoke the words with such visible effort that I wondered if he’d spent half the night rehearsing them to himself, ‘I owe you some overdue apologies.’ Creon’s expression didn’t change.

He lowered his hands, finally, and nodded – a single, barely perceptible nod, but there was no venom in it. His voice was carefully level as he said, ‘Appreciated. And mutual.’ And that was all? My heart stuttered back into motion, relief flooding me as much as confusion. Tared merely nodded, too.

‘And second of all?’ There was a hint of relief in Tared’s joyless chuckle – as if he had been bracing himself for a painful conversation about both of their past failures and would rather stick his sword through his limbs a couple of times. ‘Second of all, I should perhaps have informed Edored about the two of you after he ran off to help evacuate Agenor’s people. Looks like he was so absorbed by the news that—’ The front door slammed. And Agenor’s voice, louder than I’d ever heard him before, bellowed, ‘Where is he?’ ‘Well.’ Tared grimaced, an apologetic gesture at the heart of the house. ‘That. So I thought you might appreciate a quick warning. If you feel like getting out of here and postponing the joyful reunion, let me know.’

‘And you …’ He wavered for a moment, in spite of his visible determination to pull himself together to at least a semblance of his usual composure. ‘And you’re saying you actually … like him.’ ‘I’m saying I love him to pieces,’ I pleasantly corrected. ‘Gods help me,’ he muttered, burying his face in his hands. ‘Because you’ve seen what he looks like?’ I scoffed. ‘No. Because he’s the only damn person in this world who’s never tried to make me more than I can be or less than I am. Because he makes me laugh when I’m frightened. Because he knows what it’s like to be everyone’s weapon. Because he stops me from doubting myself. Do I need to continue?’

‘One tries to learn,’ he said with a grimace. ‘And you seem to have inherited your mother’s talent for shouting rather convincingly. Just … could you promise me one thing, Em?’ I snorted. ‘Ah, we’re bargaining after all, then?’ ‘No!’ He let out a strangled groan, hands gripping the armrests with obvious frustration. ‘I’ll try to behave regardless, for hell’s sake. I’ll just sleep better at night if I can be sure that you— Look, suppose you ever change your mind about this, or that you ever end up feeling unsure or unsafe around him—’ I stiffened. ‘Agenor.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ he impatiently cut in, waving my interruption aside, ‘you love him and he’s perfect and you’re going to make him a flock of tiny demon babies – it’s all good, Em. But I’ve lived for twelve centuries and you would hardly be the first person to tell me the same things and end up disenchanted a few decades later, so please let this old codger talk for a minute, alright?’ I bit my tongue, although it took an effort. ‘Fine. Go on.’ ‘All I’m asking …’ He briefly closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. ‘If you ever end up feeling stuck or unsafe or generally unhappy, and I don’t care how impossible that may sound to you at this moment, will you please tell someone? Doesn’t have to be me. Tell Lyn or Naxi or … or Zera, for all I care. Someone. Can you promise me that? That you won’t cling to your pride and decide to suffer through your troubles on your own?’

‘It’s hard for me not to worry about this, Em,’ he continued hastily, reading my expression. ‘Even if I misunderstood him for centuries, that still is a history of centuries, and hardly a pleasant one. I’ll try not to let that influence my behaviour too much, but it’ll be much easier to trust him if I can be sure you’re not quietly growing unhappy with your choices in the meantime. So humour me, please. Even if you’ll never need it, could you just promise me for my benefit?’ Gods help me. There really was no way to hold on to my annoyance when confronted with that look on his face, with that infinitesimal crack in his deep voice – my father, feeling far too much, hitting my every weak spot all over again. I deflated like a leaking bag, the last of my defiant spite oozing out of me. ‘Alright,’ I murmured. ‘If anything’s wrong, I’ll tell someone.’

‘Promise?’ ‘Promise.’ A chuckle escaped me, wobbly and uncertain. ‘On my alf honour.’ His laughter broke through the tension like a breath of fresh air, unchecked and filled with unexpected gratitude. ‘I’m going to need a word with Tared about this, good gods.’ ‘I think he’ll be tremendously pleased if you do,’

‘I just figured fae honour wouldn’t be all that reassuring to you, given that it doesn’t seem to exist.’ ‘Not as such, no,’ he admitted wryly, shaking his head. ‘All the same, I feel your fae upbringing is rather lacking in some areas. Which I suppose is no one’s fault but my own.’ ‘You’re getting much better at being a father, though,’ I said without thinking.

And at the centre of the courtyard, separated from every single one of our allies by rows and rows of fae … Creon. Dying. My heart stood still.

Was I going insane now, or was it pure, undiluted brilliance turning the air in my lungs to fire? I’d only ever drawn through my hands. Everyone drew through their hands. But Creon had sucked the colour from every single surface around him, that day he’d nearly blown up Lyn’s library, and if he could do it, then who said I couldn’t do it if only I dared to give up on the safe restraints that guided my magic as I knew it? I was quite possibly going insane. But Creon was dying, and what need would I have for sanity if I didn’t have him?

‘Stop her!’ a female voice howled in Faerie. ‘Keep her away from him!’ Had I been capable of talking, I would have told her others had tried that before.

My blade swung down as if it shared my lust for blood. This sun-drenched mayhem couldn’t be more different from the quiet, buried training hall in Orin’s quarter, the frenzied battle cries of my opponents equally far removed from Tared’s calm instructions … and yet it felt familiar, the lethal weight in my hand as I charged forward, blind to anything but unprotected wrists, throats, wings. They stopped being living creatures, the fae surrounding me. They were nothing but obstacles between Creon and me, nothing but targets to be destroyed, and if I had to kill every single one of them to reach him … Well, so be it.

Ylfreda set to work with commendable efficiency, grumbling all the while about reckless idiots and risks of perforated lungs. The arrow in Creon’s back turned out to have lodged itself into a rib between spine and shoulder blade, which he called “a manageable scratch” and Ylfreda called “a madman’s unearned good luck”; the resulting grisly wound was deep but at least clean. I attempted to get to my feet to help them heal it and found my vision blotting aggressively as soon as I did, black spots crawling over my field of sight like poisonous spiders. Out of nowhere, Agenor’s large hand landed on my shoulder, gold-flecked fingers squeezing tight. ‘Best leave that to me, Em.’ I sank back to the floor with more relief than I wanted to admit. So close to Creon’s spine and wings, I wasn’t sure if I trusted myself not to leave any damaged nerves or muscles behind; after a few centuries spent dealing with the consequences of battlefields, my father might be the better candidate for this job.

He turned in the doorway, eyes finding me. ‘One last thing. I presume that bargain with the phoenix elders is not going to happen?’ ‘You know me so well,’ I said wryly. Clearly, he didn’t feel like smiling, but he managed to send me a quick grin all the same; it even managed to look quite genuine. ‘In that case, I suggest you hurry up finding another way to get them on our side. If we want to fight that war without functioning magic and without any significant winged forces, we may as well surrender immediately.’

Agenor. <3

‘So how do you get used to it?’ I said quietly, throwing a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one was close enough to hear me. ‘This feeling that you’re just a little too much for the place you’re in?’ Creon sent me a side glance, eyebrow quirking up. ‘It’s too small, you mean.’ ‘What?’ ‘Watch out who you’re blaming,’ he clarified, lips tight. ‘You’re not too much. The place is too small. Very different problem, very different solution.’

Nenya huffed a laugh, shaking her long, braided hair over her shoulders. ‘She’s in my ears, Emelin.’ The chirping grew illustratively louder. ‘I wouldn’t complain about that too much if you value the good health of your eyes and ears,’ I said and threw her a bright smile before turning back to the faraway shrieks of my familiar. ‘Those talons are pretty sharp.’ She let out a groan. ‘What is it with you and murderous things?’ ‘Thanks, I suppose,’ Creon said dryly.

‘The problem,’ Lyn said, her voice too young and too small, ‘is that they really, really don’t like to take risks, and they are really, really desperate at this point. You need to keep in mind there were never that many of us in the first place. After the wars and over a century without children, there are just about a few thousand phoenixes left. We’re closer to extinction than any other people in the archipelago, and the elders know it.’

Composure and serenity. Not the right place for a phoenix with a flaring temper and a heart that felt so, so much. Not a home where anyone would have appreciated her for being … her. No wonder she had so easily understood the weight on my shoulders.

‘if someone were to burst into their meetings without an invitation and shout at them a little, that would be … frowned upon?’ She closed her eyes. ‘Won’t work, Em.’ ‘Are you sure? Because I’m just thinking …’ I gestured at Creon. ‘They’re afraid to join because they’re scared I’m nothing but Creon’s puppet and they don’t want to risk ending up in a fae empire even worse than the one in which they’re currently living. Correct?’ ‘Yes,’ Lyn said wearily, ‘but—’ ‘So if we want them to join, we have two options. Either we have to convince them that Creon is actually a cuddly little sweetheart, which may be accurate but is hard to prove, given his unfortunate tendencies to murder people all over the place …’ He chuckled next to me. ‘Go to hell.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, Em,’ Lyn said, eyes gleaming with bleak despair. ‘They don’t work like that. You can stomp in with Creon on a leash for all they care—’ Creon burst out laughing. Tared dramatically rubbed a hand over his pained face, muttering something about things we could do in our spare time and mental images he had absolutely no use for.

‘I wasn’t thinking about libraries,’ Creon said, throwing her a wry grin. ‘Oh, thank the gods.’ She sagged a little. ‘Any other plans, then?’ ‘No plans, necessarily,’ he admitted, sitting straighter, flattening his wings against his shoulders. It was that single movement that abruptly did away with the languid, uncaring manner of the all-powerful fae prince, a gesture that could not have looked more dangerous if he’d slipped his knives from their sheaths in the same breath – sharpening the very air around him in the blink of an eye. ‘But I just realised … Look, we’re all focusing on ways to make not joining us unpleasant for them, rather than on ways to convince them they’ll get what they want if they do join us. We might want to try luring them in rather than forcing them.’

‘The bindings,’ I said breathlessly. His grin at me was alarmingly alluring – that grin of whirling thoughts, of the Silent Death spinning his spider’s web around his unsuspecting victims. ‘Yes, obviously they want the bindings,’ Lyn burst out, throwing up her arms again, ‘but we can’t use the bloody things yet! We have absolutely no idea which binding belongs to whom! And as long as we don’t even know where to start looking—’ ‘We could promise them they’ll be first in line once we know, though,’ Tared said slowly. ‘Not that I like it much, but from a strategic perspective, that would probably be the first choice anyway. We need those wings.’ ‘Wait.’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Did she take their wings to bind them?’ ‘Wings for males, fertility for females. Yes.’

‘Please, Thysandra.’ I leaned towards her, emphasising the plea. My last chance. My finishing move. ‘Just one binding – just something to make bloody Lord Khailan swallow his pride. I’m begging you.’ ‘I’ll give you your one binding,’ she spat, half coming up from her plank bed. ‘Khailan’s is the twenty-third orb in the fifth west aisle. A boon you don’t need in return for your useless offers. Now get out.’ I could have cried. Instead, all I said as I scrambled to my feet was, ‘I hope you’ll come to appreciate us more during your stay.’ ‘I hope you drown in your own chamber pot,’ she snapped, eyes blazing. ‘Get out of my fucking sight. And if you want me to ever speak another word to any of you’ – she drew in a deep breath, words suddenly wobbling a little – ‘you’d better keep Anaxia away from me.’

I allowed myself half a smile and turned to Tared, who stood leaning against the nearest wall, sword in his hand in a silent declaration of war. ‘I suppose you’re taking me there?’ His grin rivalled Alyra’s most violent looks. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ ‘Be careful, Em,’ Lyn muttered at the table, sounding about to burst into tears. ‘And please don’t do anything to anger them if you can help it, alright?’ ‘But if you can’t help it,’ Creon said dryly, ‘at least make sure you anger them thoroughly.’