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

by Lisette Marshall

‘I’m not sure,’ I admitted. ‘But I can promise you – and I’m willing to make a bargain on it, too – that as soon as I have a means of identification, I will prioritise phoenix bindings, except when individuals of other peoples urgently need their magic for strategic reasons. It’s up to you whether that is enough to convince you.’

‘Ah,’ Creon said, still so pleasantly conversational – as if I had admitted to dropping a plate, not to worming my way into the minds of others to bind them to life-threatening promises. ‘I see you’re starting to understand why I tried to hide that demon magic from you.’ For a split second, I forgot to be disgusted with myself. ‘What?’ ‘Blood-curdling, isn’t it?’ From the tone of his voice, he could have been talking about the weather. ‘Really not the sort of powers that were ever supposed to be wielded by creatures with any empathy or sense of morality. It gets a little better over time, if it helps. Never exactly fun, though.’

He smiled back – a cheerless, tired smile – and began gathering his notes, sorting them into a neat little pile before dropping them onto the ground. Seasoned, familiar gestures, accompanied by the equally soothing rustle of parchment – as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.

‘So,’ he said when finally all notes and pens had been satisfactorily relocated, looking up and sinking back in his chair to cross his legs. ‘Are you going to insist on thinking of yourself as a monster? Because I’m a...

‘Possibly the most life-changing thing you ever taught me,’ Creon added, unmoving, ‘is that monstrous powers alone are not enough to make a monster. So I’ll be damned if I let you drag yourself down that same path, cactus. You did what you had to do, and you did it well. There’s nothing evil about that.’ ‘It feels evil,’ I managed. ‘It … it …’ He huffed a laugh. ‘Evil would have been forcing them to kill their children. Or possibly making them slit each other’s throats and dissolving the bodies in acid. Which would have been amusing in its own way, but—

His smile was devilish, that expression that sent a chill down my spine and heat into my belly all at once. ‘I didn’t say I would actually do it.’ ‘No, but …’ A dazed laugh escaped me. ‘Good gods. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come to you for a chat about ethics.’ ‘Oh, quite the opposite,’ he dryly said. ‘Nothing creates an awareness of ethics like walking on the wrong side of the line for most of your life. I may not be good at morality, but I’ve definitely thought about it.’

‘Em,’ Creon interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back. ‘Dare I point out that you’re trying to make yourself small again?’ I abruptly fell quiet. That had been the source of his hesitation – not what I was saying, but what I was doing.

‘The problem is,’ I muttered, the words coming out hollow, ‘that I don’t know if there’s a place in the world big enough for me if I stop keeping myself small.’

Creon had closed his eyes, that beautiful, sharp-lined face suddenly a maze of shadows. ‘You have thought about this, too.’ There was no other way to interpret his expression, the exhaustion etched in the lines around his lips. ‘About where in hell we should go when all of this is over, if we don’t want to spend the rest of our lives surrounded by people who’ll never feel completely comfortable about us.’ ‘A little.’

‘But only recently. Before these months … well, I never really assumed the future would be that relevant to me.’ My breath caught. ‘Because you assumed you wouldn’t survive the war?’ ‘That.’ He shrugged, opening his eyes. There was an apology in the night-black of his irises, in the joyless twist of his lips. ‘Or else I assumed I wouldn’t survive peace.’

‘Please tell me that wasn’t the reason you threw yourself at the Moon fleet.’ The words tumbled out of my mouth, tasting like bile. ‘Because you were scared of—’ ‘No!’ He shot up straight, eyes widening abruptly. ‘Good gods, Em. No. I worry about the future, but not so much I’d rather end myself – nothing like that. You’d march straight into hell to drag me back out anyway, and I’d rather spare you the effort in the first place.’

‘Oh, fuck. Em.’ He rose in one supple motion, holding out a slender hand as he took two steps toward the bed. ‘Listen to me. No, I don’t have the faintest idea of where I want to end up in life. Yes, in the past, I spent most of my days being violently unhappy, and yes, I have wondered at times if it was even worth going on. But I’m happier now than I’ve ever been, do you understand? Every morning that I wake up with you in my arms, you change the world all over again, and I want more of that – more of everything you make me see and feel. So I’m not going anywhere – not as long as you’re with me. Do I need to make that any clearer?’

He knelt before me, interlacing our fingers – my smaller, lighter hand so very vulnerable against the calloused, ink-scarred bronze. ‘Tell me what you want.’ ‘Home,’ I whispered.

‘I’d like to be close to the sea again.’ ‘Well, that should be doable.’ A hint of a wry smile returned to his lips. ‘Plenty of shore to choose from, I’d say.’

‘If you want something more specific, perhaps you shouldn’t be leaving all the thinking to me, Your Highness. What do you want?’ ‘Oh, gods.’ He rose, pulling me with him so that I ended up standing flush against him, his free arm around my waist. ‘Does it count if I just want to bury you in silks and watch those pretty seamstress hands of yours while you work?’

‘I … I think I want a library.’ ‘A library,’ he repeated, the amusement in his voice the warmest, most addictive medicine. ‘But of course. Let’s go get ourselves a library. Any particular requirements?’ ‘It should have a secret door somewhere,’ I said, burying my face against his shoulder, ‘and behind the secret door should be another library, where I can collect all my favourite filthy novels without Agenor ever laying eyes on them. And …’

‘Could I request a few shelves for my books on astronomy, or is that too much to ask?’

‘You can have all the shelves...

‘And I want large windows with stained glass, just like you had at the pavilion. And a balcony where we can have breakfast in the sun. And …’ ‘I would appreciate having a decent kitchen,’ he admitted,

‘An icehouse, too. I’ve missed having one when I lived at the pavilion.’

Excellent. I’ll dig you an icehouse with my own bare hands if I have to. How do you feel about those closets that are practically entire rooms to walk around in?’ ‘Utter...

‘We could get a cat?’ He choked on his amusement. ‘Em, you have a bird familiar.’

‘Two cats, then,’ I amended. ‘That way they might stand a chance. We could call them Chicken and Egg and teach them to chew on the shoes of people we dislike. And—’ ‘I’m not going to name my cats Chicken and Egg,’ he interrupted, chest shaking against me. ‘I’m not that eager to get rid of my frightening reputation yet.’ I snorted. ‘We could name them after your bloody philosophers.’ ‘That I can approve of.’ He kissed my temple. ‘Can’t wait to hear you shout at Alyra that she should leave Irythion Thenes and Likothea the Younger alone. She’ll probably try to kill them for those names alone.’

Damn him and his demon eyes; he’d managed it again. ‘I love you,’ I blubbered, clutching my arms around his waist as I looked up again. ‘I love you so, so much.’ He kissed me in response.

The war might be in his blood and bones, the language of his lips told me, and the gods knew it would take him time to unravel them again … But I was in his heart. And his heart would never falter.

‘Come,’ Creon added, a little firmer now, as if he was reading my thoughts and had decided he’d had enough of the wallowing. A little nudge against my shoulder was enough to put me back on my feet. ‘Time to get to work, cactus. Think of it this way – we can’t get our cats if we die on the battlefield.’

‘An excellent point, Your Highness. To war, then?’ ‘To war.’ He swept a dramatic gesture at the door. ‘For Irythion Thenes.’ ‘And Likothea the Younger,’ I added, following him outside, bursting out laughing when he did. For an unimaginable moment, even the prospect of battle almost seemed enjoyable.

‘Having seen firsthand what the Labyrinth can do,’ Agenor said, in that poised, self-possessed voice that made it impossible not to listen to him, ‘I agree that we should not be feeding it any nefarious powers if we can at all avoid it. We won’t be using that blood.’ A nymph queen scoffed. ‘Are you just agreeing because she happens to be your daughter, Lord Protector?’ Creon slowly sat up straighter – a measured, menacing movement I could only describe as the physical manifestation of the word danger. But Agenor merely drew up his brows and pleasantly said, ‘Of course I’m listening to her because she’s my daughter. I know where she got her brains, you see.’

‘We started this meeting by concluding we did not have the manpower to defend ourselves in multiple places,’ Olshona said, eyeing the wooden blocks on the map. ‘Do we have the forces to fight two battles at once?’ ‘I assume we wouldn’t be fighting two battles,’ a weather-beaten alf with a missing ear piped up. ‘Just stage a threat to get them there, then fade all our people back to the Crimson Court the moment they arrive. They can’t fade. Would give us an advantage of a few hours while they have to fly back.’ Olshona’s nose wrinkled again. ‘But that would leave the other location unprotected.’ ‘We could just pick a fae isle?’ one of the vampires suggested.

‘I should probably have kept my mouth shut about your brains,’ Agenor mumbled to me as he sank down at the table in the Wanderer’s Wing, sounding uncharacteristically rueful. ‘Should have known jokes wouldn’t mollify them in that state.’

Creon was little more than a shadow by my side, hair and wings blending into the night. But his voice emerged unaffected from the darkness as he said, ‘It was the most amusing thing you’ve said in a century, though.’ Tared chuckled, sauntering back and forth between table and window. Naxi let out a high-strung, unnatural giggle. Agenor closed his eyes, sagged back in his chair, and muttered, ‘At least we’ll die diverted, then.’ ‘No one is dying yet,’ Lyn said irritably,

‘Although I hadn't expected you to start causing trouble, Agenor. I figured you would have plenty of experience shrugging off the occasional jab during meetings.’ ‘Jabs at me, yes.’ He rubbed his face, the tired lines showing again. ‘Turns out I have very little experience with jabs aimed at my daughter. My apologies.’ She glanced over her shoulder, expression mellowing. ‘Ah.’ ‘Your daughter appreciates the sentiment, impractical as it may be,’ I bleakly said as I fell into a seat as well.

‘And I should have kept my mouth shut about the Labyrinth, too. Should have known they wouldn’t understand.’ Creon scoffed. ‘The only reason they don’t understand is because they can permit themselves the luxury of not understanding. They aren’t the ones who would take the blame if the island turned itself into some eldritch horror.’

I stared at the measured motions of his hands, at the familiar patterns the figurines were shaping on the wooden surface – the outlines of islands I could dream by now. In between the flocks of colour, some parts of the archipelago remained strangely empty. Human isles. No magic to be found there, save for the occasional half fae in hiding. Something was itching against the back of my mind – not a thought yet, but a seed that might grow into a thought if I just knew how to water it.

Reasons are easy to come by, Zera had said. It’s wisdom that creates the true challenge. What was wisdom? More magic. More people. And if the first could be achieved only at the cost of my conscience … More people. I stared at the figurines on the table as that little seedling of a thought exploded in my mind, growing roots and branches in less than the time it took to gasp. Empty stretches on the map. Entire islands left unaccounted for— ‘Em?’ Lyn’s voice reached me from ages away. ‘Humans.’ It fell from my lips like the answer to a prayer. ‘The human isles. Is there any particular reason we haven’t asked them to join us yet?’

‘You’d have to go on your own, if they even let you in,’ Creon slowly said, eyes trained on that cluster of white figurines as if he could read their minds through the wood. More likely, I figured, he just wasn’t feeling like looking anyone else in the eye. ‘There’s no chance in hell they’ll allow any of us to even come close to their walls if they can help it.’ I glanced at the dark fields outside, to where Alyra had vanished the moment we’d stepped into this room. ‘Do you think the walls will stop godsworn birds from flying over them, too?’ A wry smile tugged at his lips. ‘Don’t tell her I forgot to consider that.’ ‘I certainly won’t,’ I said earnestly and patted his thigh. ‘I happen to like you better with your nose still attached to your face. And either way, even if the walls would stop Alyra, it still shouldn’t be too dangerous for me to go, should it? Worst case, they’ll just refuse to help us. It seems unlikely they’ll try to kill me.’ ‘It’s not your physical safety I’m worried about,’ he muttered. ‘You could raze the entire city to the ground if you wanted to. Just …’ He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Valter. Editta. All of Cathra – every single human he’d paid off and sent on their way that night the village had burned to the ground. I swallowed something thorny, scanning the fields again to hide the sting in my eyes – not tears, not yet, but that itch of emotion came closer than I liked all the same.

‘Do we have any other options?’ Another silence. It was almost starting to become a comfortable routine. ‘Nothing that would solve so many of our problems at once, as far as I can see,’ Agenor said, a tightness in his voice I couldn’t fully pinpoint. Was it Creon’s outburst? The prospect of sending me anywhere alone? Or the mention of the people who had raised me in his place? ‘Assuming they allow you access and agree to help, that is.’

Assuming I wouldn’t crumble at the sight of what might have been my future. Assuming I wouldn’t run into Valter and Editta between those famous white walls and shrink back into the helpless little girl I’d been in their home. But if the alternative was Thysandra and the sickening workings of smooth magic … I drew in a deep breath. ‘Let’s try, then.’ Creon’s gaze was a brand in the corner of my eye, all that predator focus aimed at whatever he’d found in the whirlpool of my feelings. But he remained suspiciously silent as the others nodded and muttered words of agreement

That devastatingly swift mind again, already three steps into the plan while I was still coming to grips with the prospect of this journey. I glanced at Tared, who nodded, and then back at Creon, who aimed his gaze at the colourful arrangements on the map without another word. Only his hands moved in his lap, out of view from the others around the table— Sure about this? My heart gave a little twinge. ‘Yes.’

‘We probably shouldn’t wait too long, then. I have no idea how long they’ll need to respond.’ ‘I’m happy to assist writing that letter,’ Lyn hurriedly said. ‘If you need any help explaining to them who you are and what you’re capable of—’ ‘No! No, none of that.’ I let out a joyless laugh, sagging back in my chair. ‘Telling them what I can do would be the worst way to go about this. They hate fae and magic, remember? If I waltz in and introduce myself as Emelin Thenessa of Agenor’s house, godsworn and unbound, every self-respecting human will slam that door in my face and run.’ She looked a little crestfallen. ‘The lot of you understand humans the way wolves understand sheep,’ I added, wrapping my arms around myself. ‘Nothing you can say will sound at all reassuring to them. Just let me think. I’ll come up with something and have that letter ready tomorrow morning, alright?’ ‘As you wish.’ Tared’s quick smile wasn’t entirely free of worry, and it faded as he met Creon’s eyes. ‘I suppose we can leave any additional safety measures to you?’

It was brief. It was simple. It was so full of truth, too, that I only allowed Creon to read it before I folded it shut, sealed it, and shoved it beneath Tared’s bedroom door – a little piece of my soul I wasn’t sure I could share with anyone but those it was meant for. To the city consuls – My mother first told me about the White City when I was five winters old and starving. I dreamed of travelling north for fifteen years, until I learned of my fae ancestry and understood I would never be allowed to set foot within your walls. Faekind took many things from me, but my future is the one I mourn most. As I’m writing this letter, I’m preparing to fight a war on behalf of every human crushed beneath the heel of the empire – a war I’m not fully sure I’ll win. Your support and assistance could tip the scales. It would mean the world to me to work with you, and while I know it will never be possible for me to live in the city, I would be honoured and grateful to be allowed to visit you for a few days and plead my case. I’m well aware my fae blood would make this a breach of your laws. I can only hope my equally human blood may persuade you to make one temporary exception; I’ll gladly comply with every safety requirement you consider necessary. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Yours, Emelin of Cathra

If the consuls of the White City didn’t write back … Three days, I told myself, ignoring the violent twisting of my stomach as I stared unseeingly into the dark. If we hadn't heard from them in three days, I would walk into Thysandra’s cell and make her talk, damn the costs and consequences, damn the sensation of filth spreading below my skin at the thought alone. Until that time, I would do whatever else I could and pray it was enough.

‘Cactus,’ a sleepy voice rasped behind me. I froze, then turned, blinking against the darkness as my eyes fought to make sense of shadows and silhouettes. The rustle of wings against fabric told me he was sitting up. Another whisper of motion, and the faelights lit up around us, silvery rays flooding the room and revealing the exquisitely sculpted, extremely naked body I had left behind in the blankets a moment ago. Gods help me. No matter how hard I willed myself to be sensible, no matter how familiar the view after all this time, my heart still skipped a beat at the sight of that raw male glory – rendered all the more tantalising, somehow, by the vulnerability of his half-woken state. He truly didn’t know how not to be irresistible. Even fogged with sleep, he oozed beauty and power; when he yawned and propped himself up on his elbows, muscles flexed in unfairly ravishing ways, sending his chest and abdomen rippling like liquid gold in the dusky light.

‘Must you?’ I managed, suddenly achingly aware of my own nakedness. ‘I’m trying to get things done.’ ‘Ah.’ He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes. ‘Making an attempt to rinse the guilt from your system by running around all day and slaving away on tasks dozens of others could be doing in your place?’

‘Thought so,’ he added when I stayed silent, sitting up straighter with a small groan. His wings strained wide behind him, as if to stretch out the stiffness of the night. ‘Wasn’t writing that letter enough?’ ‘I could be doing more,’ I said weakly, crossing my arms over my bare chest. ‘You know I could be.’

‘Yes, but should you be doing more?’ I scoffed. ‘It would save lives.’ ‘It would destroy you,’ he pleasantly pointed out. ‘Then maybe I shouldn’t be such a squeamish bloody coward, should I?’ I bit back,

‘Ah, yes. Just become someone else. A brilliant solution that has always worked well for you in the past.’ If I’d had anything red within reach, I might have obliterated the bed he was sitting on. As it stood, I couldn’t come up with anything more intimidating than a couple of Alvish curses Edored had taught me during a particularly lively card night. Creon burst out laughing. ‘Don’t let your father hear you.’ ‘It’s not funny!’

‘I could have unbound half of the Underground by now if I’d just used my stupid magic yesterday – you know I could have. Do you really care so little about that?’ He sobered up so abruptly that I startled. ‘What?’ It came out too harsh, that one word. Too brusque. I opened my mouth, closed it again, got out an unpleasantly defensive, ‘I mean—’ ‘Of course I care about the bindings, Em,’ he interrupted sharply – much too sharply, the bite in his voice a flawless match to the sudden bitterness twisting his lips. As if I’d mortally offended him. As if I’d crossed some invisible line no one had ever pointed out to me. ‘You know damn well I want to win this war as much as anyone else. I just want you safe and happy first. Do you really expect me to care more about everyone and their mother’s bindings than I care about your sanity?’

My head spun. My words came out in a pathetic stammer. ‘I— No, but—’ ‘So of course I want you to unbind them all,’ he added before I could gather my thoughts. Why that fierce emphasis, though, as if this would be news to me? ‘But not at the cost of you, do you understand?’ I understood. And I also didn’t.