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

48. Never Thank the Fae

forty-eight

Never Thank the Fae

Alessia

T he next evening, we feast under the inky sky on the lawn—no stars twinkle, obscured by the thick blanket of clouds. Every now and then, the new moon peaks as if winking down at us.

The wine flows as Ken entertains us with his bold humor. Even Das Celyn and Fern join us, along with other castle employees.

Fern lingers by the wine table, eyeing the burgundy beverage with a hunger akin to Rainer’s bloodlust. She reaches for a glass, then pauses with an outstretched arm. She mumbles to herself, then withdraws her hand. Turning, she takes a few steps away before groaning and flying back to the table. She scoops a ladle of wine, chugging the glass down.

Her shoulders droop, and sadness glimmers in her eyes.

I don’t judge her. She’s had a rough life, and she’s a product of neglect and emotional abuse. I wonder if she’s felt as alone here as I felt in Dovenak—just two beings born in the wrong realm.

I look away, embarrassed to be privy to such a personal moment. Anyone would notice if they saw Fern, but I don’t think anyone sees her.

Moving around the small gathering, I locate Seraphina sitting on the outskirts of the lawn with Tynan. She jumps to her feet as I approach, her leaf-dress rustling. Tynan scowls, tipping his drink back. He slowly climbs to his feet .

“There’s something else I need your help with,” I tell Seraphina.

Tynan glares, stepping closer. “Why should she help you?” His breath carries hints of rich cocoa.

Frowning, I peer into his goblet. “Are you drinking chocolate milk?”

“No,” he lies, shifting awkwardly. “Yes.” Seraphina chuckles until Tynan says, “I’m off the wine.”

She glances at him with a surprised look. “Because of your brother?”

“Because I’m about to be jobless and homeless and should probably get my shite together.” He scowls at me. “And yes, because my brother is a scary little fecker, and we don’t have a healer around to fix any more broken noses.”

“Wait—homeless?” I scrunch my nose. “Is this why you’re being a broody arse?” He and Rainer have that in common. “You think I’m going to kick you out?”

He grunts.

“Rainer would let you stay here, you know.”

“He hasn’t extended an invitation.” Tynan frowns, looking away and clearing his throat. “Not that I’d want to anyways.”

Seraphina and I exchange a look as if both sensing the lie in his voice.

“You can stay,” I say. “In your home.”

I hope I don’t regret this. But if Rainer entrusted Tynan with a responsibility like Shyga, he can’t be that bad. Right?

“Doesn’t fill my pockets,” he mutters. “Still out of a job.”

“You want a job? You got it.”

He barks a laugh, narrowing his dark blue eyes at me. “Working for you? ”

“Is that a problem?”

“What’d ya have in mind?”

An idea forms quicker than I can keep up. “Can you fight?”

He scoffs. “No shite.”

His rudeness should be off-putting, but I ignore it. I’m getting used to it on this side of the Gleam.

“You’ll head my army,” I say, inclining my head confidently.

The sound of rumbling laughter greets me. “Sure.” Tynan strides away, but the dark scowl is gone. “Match my pay, feed me, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

For a moment I worry I’m being too open and forgiving, that it might come back to hurt me later, but I brush it aside. I can handle anything that comes my way.

Seraphina gives me a nervous glance once we’re alone. “You need my help?”

“Yes—”

“I really will do whatever I can to help,” she rushes out. “You’re right. I do owe you one… or two.”

“Seems I’m pretty good at racking up payments around here.”

She smiles. It appears earnest, but I can’t find it in me to return the gesture.

“I have another… friend who needs help,” I tell her. I glance over my shoulder, searching for Fern. “Do you think the idea we have… with the iron… might help someone break an addiction? To magic?”

She hums to herself. “I’m unfamiliar with such a thing.”

I frown.

“But,” she quickly adds, “if I can take an entire prince’s magic, surely I can help out a small addiction.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I pull away, disgusted by her casual reference to Eoin. “I’ll try. It’s the least I can do.”

Setting my jaw, I nod.

The gate creaks open, and the laughter subsides as all heads swing toward the noise.

Ezamae waltzes in. I swear I almost see a stress wrinkle on his smooth, glass-like complexion. I scurry over to the bonfire, where Rainer and Kenisius stand. Their conversation halts as they watch Ezamae enter.

A tall, younger girl trails in behind him, and I suck in a sharp breath. Her shoulders are rounded, like a flower’s petals closing in on itself. Her doe eyes sweep the lawn nervously. She reaches us, and I take in the lightning bolt tattoo on her face. My heart pinches.

Her eyes meet mine, sliding to my matching ink, and she perks up, straightening.

“The wards are a little unnecessary,” Ezamae says to Rainer.

“Never unnecessary.”

“That was quick.” I exhale in relief. “How did you get to Ethyria and back in half a day?”

He glances at the girl, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “She was in a carriage on her way back to the Gleam. I intercepted it.”

I share a look with Rainer. Rage flares in his narrowed eyes. We don’t need to share dreams, thoughts, or even words to know we’re both thinking the same thing about Yvanthia and her horribleness.

“So, about those wards?” Ezamae clears his throat. “If I’m to visit more often, perhaps you should remove them so I can easily enter.”

“You do enter with ease,” Rainer deadpans. “You land beyond the gates, and then your two perfectly fine feet walk you right onto the grounds.”

“After a long, grueling day of travel, I find that last bit of journey rather arduous.”

Rainer scowls. “I find this conversation rather arduous.”

I roll my eyes while the two princes bicker. Sheila, the girl Rainer rescued, stares at me with saucers for eyes. She gives me a broken smile. I return it with one of understanding. Of empathy.

“I’m Alessia. And you must be Sheila?” The girl Rainer shared a cell with is a symbol of strength—for them both.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

My forehead scrunches. It’s been a while since I heard those words. “For what?”

“He told me you’re the reason I’m here,” she says. “He told me about you.”

“Who? Ezamae or Rainer?”

“The one with pointy ears.”

I laugh, glancing at the males, who both sport sharp ears adorned with jewels that glint in the firelight.

“You’ll get used to them,” I say softly.

“I don’t know…” She chews her bottom lip, working her hands through the hem of her shirt.

Without overthinking it, I step forward and wrap my arms around her, giving her the type of hugs Char used to give me. Something tells me she wasn’t lucky enough to have a Char. And despite it all, I was lucky. Incredibly lucky. Even if things weren’t exactly what I thought they were .

A loud sob comes from the girl. Her body trembles as she grips me.

“It’ll be okay,” I whisper. “You’re not alone.”

“What… do I… do now?” She sniffles between words, sucking in breaths.

I rub her back, letting her cry it out. “Nothing,” I whisper. “You do nothing . Unless you want to do something.” Another sob bursts from her. “Those people will never touch you again. They will never hurt you in any way. You’re safe here.” I’ll make sure of it. She’ll have a place here with Rainer as long as I’m here, then I’ll make space for her in my court. In a heartbeat.

My court.

I don’t know the first thing about running to the market, let alone running a court. But I’m not alone. Despite their tendency toward selfishness and manipulation, I’m surrounded by fae who want the best for their homeland.

I want the same for Avylon. And my court will be like them in that regard but different in others. I might have demonblood, but I was still raised as a human. I identify as one more than I do fae. So why not combine the best of both worlds?

I have the power to provide a safe space for Sheila, Fern, or any other Tradelings or broken souls who need a place to rest their weary heads and learn to live.

Even for Tynan, a broken warrior with more than a few bad decisions weighing him down and a loneliness he tries to hide.

Grabbing Sheila’s hand, I say goodbye to Rainer and lead her away from the gathering. I take her to the kitchen, a place where she might find solace, just like I did when I first arrived .

Quietly, I pull out ingredients to bake. We work in tandem, kneading dough side by side. I show her how to make doughnuts, just like Das Celyn showed me. It takes us a few hours to let the yeast rise and let the doughnuts bake and cool, but we make them chocolate-glazed, Rainer’s favorite. Despite all his faults, he deserves them.

It kills me that I can’t be with him right now, but my shadow-self isn’t wrong. Love is a distraction. And with everything going on, I need to focus. I need to earn my place here in Avylon on my own. Prove myself to me .

More than that, I need to fully belong to myself before giving parts of me away.

Tonight, for one last night, I will work in the kitchen, preparing Rainer’s favorite doughnuts. It might be my last time in the kitchen, and I want to enjoy it.

Tonight, nothing exists beyond Rainer, chocolate doughnuts, and laughter around a fire.

Tomorrow, we face Yvanthia.

And soon, we will begin to rebuild Spiritus Court, whatever that looks like, and we plan to take Dovenak by storm.

I watch Sheila work, her tongue halfway out of her mouth as she focuses on dipping her dough rings into the melted chocolate. A streak of flour rests on her nose, and the softness in her eyes tells me she’s found peace in the task, just as I once did.

Yes, we're preparing for a war of our own with Dovenak. The thought should terrify me—but it doesn’t. The idea of leaving little girls like Sheila all alone with people like the lord and lady scares me more.

That rage… this is what we were made for , my shadow-self whispers. This time, I don’t stifle the voice. I let it speak, let it fuel my fury. Feast on your anger—the anger of your folk, the anger of those like you. Let us fulfill our destiny.

A story Char once told me comes to mind—about a little girl, a descendant of an ostracized queen. Char had said, “Like a phoenix, the girl rose from the ashes, guided by fate to her destiny.”

Guided by Fate .

No matter her untruths, Char was still honest in a roundabout way. Fate brought me here. But she was wrong about certain things: I’m not a phoenix. I didn’t rise from the ashes.

No, I am a resilient rose that thrives in the harshest of environments.

“Thank you,” Sheila whispers, stealing my attention from my thoughts.

“Hm?” I say, focusing on her soft face.

“Thank you for saving me,” she says.

A few seconds go by as I ponder how to reply. Those few words make me feel in ways I can’t explain.

Finally, instead of responding with you’re welcome , I say, “Rule number one of Avylon: Never thank the fae.”