T he Aran queen seemed so small. In my memories, she loomed larger than that, inflated by Maxantarius’s hatred—and love—for her, and by
my own fear of her when she would come for me night after night all those years ago. But I’d forgotten. She was just a human. She was so slender and weak. Tall, but not as tall as me now. Without her magic, she was just a little pale waif, sagging against her restraints.
Caduan almost had refused to let me into this room. I had to fight with him for it. I had spent too long haunted by her actions. I deserved to see her face-to-face.
Caduan conceded reluctantly, but he stressed that I needed to be there as an observer only. I agreed to that, with equal reluctance.
It was worth it.
We waited patiently for her to regain consciousness. When she did, she blinked blearily at us, then her silver eyes went round when she realized who we were.
“Good morning,” Caduan said. “Would you like some water?”
It took a moment for the steel in her stare to return, like she had to remind herself to hoist up those walls. Her chin lifted and eyes narrowed.
A smile quirked at one corner of my mouth. She could not lie to me. I knew she was terrified. Something was different about her now—a darkness closer to the surface, even if she was adept at hiding it.
“If you want water,” he said, “I recommend that you have some now.
We have a long night ahead of us.” Nura just glared at him.
“Fine. I am not much for pleasantries, either.” Caduan stepped closer, and Nura cringed, but he made no move against her. “You have twenty of our people. Tell me where they are.”
Nura said nothing.
I glanced at Meajqa, whose arms were crossed tightly across his chest, as if he wasn’t sure what he would do with his hands if he freed them. It looked like remaining uninvolved physically pained him.
“It is in your best interest to just give us this information,” Caduan said calmly. “Because we are going to get it, and the only thing up for debate is how much you suffer before we do.”
When she still was silent, Caduan beckoned to Meajqa.
Meajqa frequently smiled, though they often seemed shallow. Not this.
This was a smile of genuine delight.
He perched on the stool before Nura, bearing that beautiful grin. He asked, in heavily accented Aran, “Do you remember me?”
Nura’s shield cracked, a single fissure of fear falling across her face.
“I hope you are flattered. I learned this language only so I could speak to you one day. So I could hear what you say. Because I remember everything.” The stump of his missing wing twitched. “I remember when you took this. Do you?”
At last, she spoke. “You came onto my land. You threatened my people.”
Meajqa’s smile withered to a sneer. “I was injured. I never meant to enter your land. I did not even know it was yours.”
“I saw you,” she spat. “I saw visions of what would come to us by your hands. I have no regrets about what I’ve done.”
Caduan said, coldly, “Tell us where our people are.” Nura answered, just as coldly, “No.”
Caduan cast the faintest glance in Meajqa’s direction. I hadn’t even seen the knife until he was bringing it down, hard, on Nura’s hand.
She let out a shocked, wordless cry. But Meajqa wouldn’t let her pull her hand away, grabbing her wrist as he brought the blade down again to finish the cut. Blood spurted over his face.
He smiled down at Nura’s small finger, which remained on the table after he released her. Her whole body trembled as she cradled her hand, glaring at us.
“Do you know how much it hurts to lose a wing?” Meajqa said. “One finger is nothing in trade.”
“Fine,” Nura snarled. “Take it. You’re right. A finger is nothing. You have no idea what I’ve already sacrificed to stop you.”
She lifted her chin as she said this, like a marble statue, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. She made her actions sound so selfless. The torture of innocents. The murder of children. All wrapped up in her noble causes.
My laugh made Nura look to me for the first time. A petty part of me so enjoyed her attention. I stepped out from the shadows.
“Aefe,” Caduan hissed, but I ignored him.
As the light fell across my face, her brows lowered in confusion, which delighted me. She would not recognize my face. But some part of her, some intangible sense, knew what I was.
“What are you?” she whispered.
“You don’t recognize me?” I chuckled. “I recognize you, Nura. You may claim that your desires are selfless. But you can not lie to me about that jagged steel mind of yours.”
“Who—”
I leaned close to her, giving her a good look at me.
“Aefe,” Caduan whispered again, more sharply, and again I ignored him.
“I saw so much of you,” I whispered, a soft snarl, “those nights when you tried to force me into you, night after night.”
The realization shattered Nura’s composure. “Reshaye.”
No. I wasn’t no one. Not anymore. “My name is Aefe. My body and my mind belong only to me, now.”
I loved that it was the sight of me—only me—that made the terror overtake her expression completely.
“How?” she breathed, face snapping towards Caduan. “How did you do that? No one can create life. I’ve tried so—”
“The questions are not for you,” Meajqa said, and again, so quick, that blade was out, and her hand was on the table, and another finger was gone.
This time she let out a muffled scream of pain through a clenched jaw, doubling over across the table. It was a messy cut. Hot, crimson blood spattered across all three of us. It landed in streaks across my face.
Meajqa did not smile this time. He looked utterly furious, lustful for something more than fingers.
I felt it, too. As I watched Nura wither, I could only think of two words:
Not enough.
“That’s enough.” Caduan stepped in front of me, putting his body between mine and Nura’s. “We need our answers, human queen, and we need them soon. Many Fey are eager to take pieces from you.”
He went to the door and motioned for us to follow. For a moment, neither of us moved.
“Aefe,” Caduan said, sharply. “Meajqa.”
Reluctantly, we followed. With the door closed firmly behind us, Meajqa snapped, “I could have gotten that information out of her.”
“You disobeyed my orders. We talked about this, Meajqa. It was a mistake to let you in there.”
Meajqa practically snarled. I had never seen him like this before. “I told you I could find what we needed, and I can. You made me stop before I could get it.”
“You were looking for revenge,” Caduan shot back, “and that would not fill the hole you pretend doesn’t exist, Meajqa.”
Meajqa let out an ugly, vicious laugh. “And what about you? Why is it unacceptable to feed my vengeance some human bitch’s fingers, but yours can devour an entire race?”
It was as if all the air left the room at once. Caduan’s face went so still that it sent a shiver up my spine. His gaze flicked to me, just for a split second, as if he didn’t intend to allow himself to do it.
Then he stalked towards Meajqa and said, very calmly, “You are dismissed for the rest of the day. Do not go back into that room until I tell you to.”
Meajqa was drawn so tight that every muscle trembled. He did not move as Caduan kept walking past him, disappearing down the hall without another word to either of us.
Eventually, after a few tense minutes of silence, Meajqa stalked away in the opposite direction, and did not so much as look at me.
I wouldn’t have noticed even if he had. I remained there alone, swaying beneath the weight of a sudden realization—the shift where a suspicion became a certainty.
The vengeance is for you.
I licked my lips and tasted a stray drop of the Aran queen’s blood. And then I went to Caduan’s room.
