A Dream of Fate & Flesh (Courts of Malice #2)

20. Into the Spider’s Web

twenty

Into the Spider’s Web

Rainer

I pace the cramped cell. Torches flicker in the main hallway, casting shadows around me. In the distance, fae moan, and chains rattle weakly. The thud of boots and a clattering sound reach my ears. Drawing closer to the bars, I peer down the hallway as far as possible. A male guard pushes a cart, pausing at each cell.

When he reaches me, he doesn’t spare me a glance. A charred scent reaches my nose—some meat. He pushes a small box through the meal slot of the cell across from me. I call out to him when he carries on his forward path without delivering food or water.

“Hey!”

He stills, slowly turning to scowl at me.

“You forgot mine.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says gruffly.

“At least provide me with water.”

He grunts, continuing on his way.

Alessia’s word please sits on my tongue, but I know it won’t serve me here. It’s a humbling experience to beg for water.

Perhaps the queen is reluctant to wait for the Elders and is intent on sending me to an early grave via starvation. Though the wards subdue my fearcaller power, the ache in my gums warns me of impending bloodlust .

At least I fed on Eoin and… Alessia.

My face heats with shame.

The lack of food and water will only enhance the craving for blood. Undoubtedly, the queen knows that.

She wants me to lose myself to the bloodlust—is that it? Present a true monster before the Elders? Solidify my fate?

The hours pass by dreadfully. I count the stones on the floor—once, twice, and on my third pass, footsteps fill the air.

The queen stands before my cell, peering down her nose at me. “Are you thirsty, Iorworth?”

My mouth is made of cotton at this point. It’s a trick question. I stand, staring back at her with feigned disinterest. She might be the thief of my life, but I will not allow her to steal my pride as well.

Shuffling behind the queen catches my attention. I peer past her, trying to see who it is. The queen laughs, reaching and pulling whoever it is by their arm.

My heart wilts.

A familiar young girl looks at me, confusion and shock widening her eyes. She clutches her skirts, looking between me and the queen. Even in the dim light, it’s easy to make out the branding on her face. Her dark braids rest over her shoulders, and her hair frizzes out in all directions, looking worse for wear since I last saw her just yesterday afternoon—before the ball.

Shock roots me in place. The girl was safe in my castle when I left her last. How the hell did the queen bypass my wards to retrieve her?

I growl, my protective instinct coming to the surface. “If you hurt her, you wretched— ”

“What?” The queen laughs again. “You will commit treason for this human?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. When I decided to bring the girl to Avylon, I assumed responsibility for her.

“A vampyr with a soft spot for humans, isn’t that ironic?”

The girl gasps and ducks behind the queen’s skirts.

“What I find ironic is that the girl thinks you will save her,” I deadpan.

“You are a traitor to your kind, Iorworth.”

My brow knits. The queen exiled my kind. I’m imprisoned because of my kind.

The queen’s grin widens as she turns to the girl. “Consider this a sacrifice for the greater good.”

The magic buzz electrifies the air before I can process what she means. In a blink, the queen is gone, and the girl is inside the cage with me, tears streaming down her face.

Queen Yvanthia must’ve used her magic to pause time and enter the cage. It would be impressive if she weren’t such a cu—

“Please don’t hurt me,” the girl cries out. She shrinks into the corner, attempting to make herself small. “Please. I’ll do anything you want.”

I slink down against the wall across from her, thumping my head against the stone in anger. It would appear my initial assessment was correct. The queen is setting me up. And what better way to do so than to starve the monster and then tempt it with its favorite meal?

“I won’t hurt you,” I mutter. The words are unconvincing even to me.

Her powerful sobs cut through the air, and I wonder what other monsters lurk down here, desperate for a taste of the human child.

No .

She is not dying today. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Certainly not at my hand.

“What’s your name?” I ask her, attempting to distract us both.

“Sheila,” she whispers. Snot bubbles out of her nose, and she wipes it on her sleeve.

“How old are you, Sheila?”

“Sixteen,” she says.

What I told Kenisius before was honest. The girl’s blood does not tempt me—or rather, it didn’t before. Now, with adrenaline coursing through me, exhaustion, and starvation, her human scent fills my nose in an alluring way.

I clench my jaw, which only makes the deep ache in my gums more prominent.

“Can I have that?” I point to the apron tied around her waist. She looks down, confused, then undoes the tie and holds it to me.

She flinches backward as soon as I reach for it, dropping the material.

I force myself to say words I hope hold meaning for her: “Thank you.”

The fact she’s still in her Tradeling uniform tells me that the queen was quick to capture her, likely before appearing at Eoin’s. The implications there are not lost on me. This setup goes deeper than I initially thought.

But what am I missing?

Is Eoin working with the queen?

Fear gnaws at my spine.

Alessia .

What if she knows the truth about Alessia? No… she can’t. Those words have never been spoken aloud—only in our dreams—so not even the windwhisperer could’ve grabbed ahold of that secret.

Whatever the queen thinks she knows, she’s either bluffing or doesn’t know the full scope. I need to believe it, choosing to believe Alessia is safe.

I fold the girl’s apron, then wrap it around my nose and mouth, tying it tight behind my head. It’s almost too tight, barely leaving me room to breathe, but it dims the girl’s scent.

“You’re safe,” I say to the girl. It comes out muffled.

If the bloodlust takes over entirely, this will do nothing for us. But it will likely buy time and offer the girl an illusion of safety for now.

Sheila reaches up to wipe her tears. Her hands are textured with pink and white scars. I hadn’t noticed before. They’re older, fully healed. My features harden. She’s only sixteen . How old could they be?

“What happened?” I ask. It comes out almost indecipherable, so I gesture to her hands and then point to my palm.

She looks down at her hands, hesitating. “The mines,” she whispers finally.

“ Hmm ?”

“Illynor,” she says. “I worked in the iron mines…”

“Iron?”

My family received a good amount of iron from the Wessexes when they agreed on the initial treaty all those years ago. It’s known to cause significant harm to faeries, and the humans handing it over was a sign of goodwill as if they were laying down their weapons at our feet.

In response, my ancestors infused some of their magic into the metal, forging warded gates and enchanted weapons out of the material and colloquially referring to it as faerie iron.

But if the iron mines are still active…

“I’ve worked there most of my life,” she whispers. “Until I burnt my hands in the forge.”

“Forge?” Dread fills me as I put together the pieces. “For weapons? Armor?”

Feck .

I jump to my feet, and the girl squeaks, curling in on herself. Ignoring her, I pace the length of my side of the cage—only about an arm’s length away from her. I run my hand through my hair, considering this.

My family used iron for their gates because it’s a symbol of the fearcaller bloodline since iron is feared by many in Avylon. It’s the one material that can end our lives with ease. Granted, it must wound us and touch our blood to cause lasting damage—or death—but…

My gut churns. If the humans are creating iron weapons, it could mean they’re planning an invasion. Even if I hadn’t made my command clear—that Queen Wyetta end the Trade—before signing the treaty, this war would not be my fault. Sheila’s been at the mines since she was young, which means the mining began before my recent issues with the human queen.

I rip the fabric away from my mouth so I can speak. “What else do you know about the mines? The forge?”

The girl watches me warily, her moist cheeks glimmering in the torchlight. She chews her lip. “Many folk, like my parents, want the Trade to end. But the queen keeps it going because she needs us.”

“For the mining?”

“And for the armies,” she whispers.

“Who is she going to war with?”

The girl shrugs, but deep down, I know the answer. Fae are weak against iron. It’s not a coincidence.

Perhaps… perhaps I can barter this information with Queen Yvanthia. Come to a bargain for her to spare my life.

“Excuse me, sir,” the girl whispers.

My head whips toward her, desperate to hear whatever else she says.

“The faerie queen…” She sucks in a deep breath, eyes widening further. “The faerie queen told me to tell you that… that your rose is coming.”

The dungeons’ clamoring fades as those words echo in my mind—a treacherous warning confirming my worst fear.

The queen knows.

She knows what Alessia is to me, what I call her.

And Alessia is walking straight into the spider’s web.