The story below is a work of fan fiction, using characters and dialogue snippets from the Sanders Sides YouTube series, which is created and owned by Thomas Sanders and his team. It is a Roman-centered continuation of Mahogany and Teakwood, expanding on the characters and lore as they exist in this original world. I do not own Sanders Sides or any of the related characters, nor is this story connected to the original series. It is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story.
Watch the series here on YouTube.
Song lyrics belong to their attributed artists.
Prologue- Patchouli
tried to forget when i left this town
but it takes me right back when i come back around
~“Retrace” by Anberlin
grounding
It was quiet in the tiny motel room.
Not a complete absence of sound; no shared human space could replicate the unique hush of a mushroom ring in a dark forest. Humans were noisy, restless things, forever surrounding themselves with distractions and gadgets to reflect their noisy, restless souls back at them. This room’s sad, gray air conditioner gurgled under the window like a hungry beast, exhaling icy air and dripping condensation. Distant car doors slammed outside; voices chattered; the parking lot buzzed with ambient road noise.
But it was quiet. The tiny TV on the dresser stood black and silent, its remote carelessly tossed on the bed next to a battered red backpack. The clock on the nightstand blinked teal numbers, cheerfully disconnected from anything resembling actual time. In the bathroom, the shower cut off with a squeak and a hiss.
Moments later, Roman stepped out in a cloud of steam, a white towel wrapped around his waist.
He shivered, gooseflesh prickling his bare skin. Cheap motel AC units never worked right; rooms were always either blazing hot or freezing cold. Usually the latter, bitter like lonely nights never spent in the same bed twice. Bleak like too many nightmares and too long running away from them. Cold like Bale territory and the regard of winter faeries.
Roman unfolded a white dress shirt from a shopping bag and spread it out on the bed. His nicest pair of dark wash jeans followed from his backpack, along with clean sneakers and, after some hesitation, his makeup bag. He combed fingers through his damp hair, grimacing at the moisture still dripping down his neck. Removing the towel from his waist, he dried it again before pulling on a pair of boxer briefs.
He left his sword where it was: spanning the length of his bag, safely tucked away. He’d barely been able to look at the blade since killing Deceit, let alone hunt with it. For…reasons.
He’d get back to hunting one day. He would.
The starched shirt dragged stiffly across skin accustomed to simple cotton. He tucked it in, opened the first few collar buttons, and rolled up the sleeves. He could do fancy when necessary, but a hunter needed freedom to move. Socks, shoes, wallet, keys…and then there was only his makeup left to do.
He carried the small bag into the bathroom and studied his reflection with a critical eye. Messy hair, average brown skin, too-wide mouth, prominent nose, red changeling iris rings…spectacular eye bags.
You look tired, pet, a melodious faery voice whispered in his memory.
“Like looking in a funhouse mirror,” he whispered back, his imagination painting a mustache and ghoulish purple eye makeup. Roman leaned closer and glowered at those dark circles, the inevitable result of too many troubled thoughts and not enough sleep.
Well, that won’t do at all. Bad enough I remind myself of my fetch; at this rate I’ll start looking like old Panic at the…
Long bangs over snapping brown irises flashed through his mind’s eye; smokey eyeshadow against pale skin. A tiny smirk lifting the corner of a mouth, the one that always made Roman’s heart stutter… he pulled back his train of thought and ran a hand over his face.
He won’t be there.
Inhale.
He let out the breath in a huff, the hand over his eyes tightening for a moment, and inhaled again. You are going to this party to support Logan and Patton, and for no other reason. And if they see you like this, after not having seen you for months, they will worry.
He dropped his hand and straightened.
Lift the chin.
Eyes forward.
Focus.
Smile.
Roman forced up the corners of his mouth, seized a concealer tube, and set to work. A little foundation, a hint of blush for color, and only the thinnest of outlining around his eyes to finish the look. This was his friends’ engagement party; it would be rude to show up looking like he was going clubbing. Plus, if Virgil was there, he’d probably make some snide remark…
Roman capped his eyeliner pencil with more force than needed and stalked back into the room proper. No one in his right mind would subject himself to an engagement party between his best friend and his crush. He won’t be there.
Kate would be, though.
I should call her. She deserves a heads up before I crash back into her life at a public event.
Roman pulled out his phone. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d dropped off the face of the earth after killing Deceit, ignoring all attempts to reach him.
Even though Kate lied to him about his father…
Stop. Roman scowled. Deceit wanted to drive that wedge between us. Too bad it had fucking worked…but he wouldn’t be petty. He scrolled to her number and dialed. She was still his foster mother. It was time.
Kate answered on the first ring.
“Roman,” she breathed, sounding so relieved that Roman’s whole face grew hot. It had been weeks since he’d heard her voice, and he hadn’t realized until that moment just how much he’d missed it.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He paced the room, injecting a note of false cheeriness into his voice. “I’m, ah, in town. Was planning to crash Logan and Patton’s thing tonight.”
Silence. Roman could almost hear the gears turning in her head.
Will she lecture, or act like I never left? Sometimes Kate played the part of a stern parent; other times, a commanding officer. Most of the time, however, she was something between an eccentric, cool aunt and best friend. Her authenticity was one of the things Roman valued most in their relationship. He could always be real with her because she was always real with him.
Except, apparently, when it came to my parentage…
He shoved the traitorous thought down. That was not a discussion to be had over the phone.
“You know the party started ten minutes ago, right?” Kate finally settled on.
“You know you should always arrive fashionably late, right?” Roman snarked.
“Whatever, kid.” Her voice softened. “I’m glad you’re okay. I…I’m not gonna lie, I did worry.”
Roman closed his eyes. “Sorry for disappearing and not telling you.”
“You’re an adult; you can make your own choices. I know you needed time after everything.” Kate’s voice dropped. “But next time you feel the urge to vanish? A head’s up for your poor mentor and her poor worried wife would be appreciated.”
In a vain attempt to not show favoritism within her murder, she never called herself his mother. Roman was used to it. Actions spoke louder than words with Kate.
“Noted.” Roman sat on the bed, wondering if the rest of his murder had missed him. If they saw him differently now that they knew who he truly was…
But he’d called Kate for a reason.
“Um, Kate? Is, uh…is Virgil with…I mean, he’s doing okay?” Roman tried to sound casual, and knew he’d failed miserably.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Kate’s tone lightened to something gently amused. “You only called to find out if you were going to run into your beau tonight.”
“He’s just a friend.” Roman’s face heated, and he was glad she wasn’t physically in the room to rib him for it. “And maybe I wanted to hear the sultry sound of your voice as well!”
“I think you were hoping to hear someone’s sultry voice—”
“Kaaaaate.” Roman groaned.
“Oh, both of you are so easy to embarrass.” Kate chuckled. “You really haven’t talked to him in the last two months?” She sounded surprised.
“I haven’t talked to anyone.” Roman paced to the motel window, peeking out onto the depressing parking lot. “I…honestly don’t know if Virgil and I are still on speaking terms after everything that’s happened.”
Kate’s concern radiated over the line so hard he could practically feel it, making him glower.
“Was he thinking about coming to this party?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. He stayed with us to finish recovering and then left Philly a week ago, claiming he would make his own way down. You know how prickly he gets about people paying his way.”
Roman’s heart skipped so hard he missed a breath. “So…that’s a yes.”
“Well, he didn’t clarify if ‘down’ actually meant ‘Florida’ and ‘this party’. Rosa and I only got into Orlando last night, and we haven’t heard from him at all,” Kate went on. “He may show up, he may not. But Roman…I wouldn’t get your hopes up. After the hospital, and these last few weeks especially, he’s looked about one scowl away from hitting the road for good. If he was one of my hunters, I’d have expected to wake up and find him gone weeks ago.”
“Yeah, that’s…not surprising, I guess,” Roman said. He remembered Virgil lying in that hospital bed, bandaged and frail, tubes sprouting everywhere. Anyone would want to run away from that.
Technically, Roman had run away.
“After the party, are you—?” Kate hesitated. “Are you coming home? If you still need more time, that’s fine, but—”
“How can I, Kate?” Roman closed his eyes. “How do I walk back into Smile like nothing happened, after what Deceit said back in that castle? About me being…being—”
“Johnny Prince’s son,” Kate finished lowly. “I know. You want to know why I never told you.”
“You recruited me into an organization founded by my own father!” Roman burst out, stalking back to the bed. “How could you not tell me?”
So much for not doing this over the phone.
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.” Kate’s voice sharpened. “Imagine growing up with everyone expecting you to live up to a stranger’s legacy. I was planning to tell you once you became a full hunter, Roman, because I wanted you to know you’d earned that on your own merit and not on Johnny’s reputation.”
“And Deceit ruined that,” Roman said bitterly.
“That Unseelie’s name doesn’t deserve space in your mouth,” Kate snapped.
“What are the others going to say?” Roman paced the tiny room. “Johnny’s a fucking legend, even if he did cut and run. I’m just me.”
“It doesn’t matter where you came from or who your father was. All that matters is the man and the hunter you’ve become. You know Smile will always be waiting when you’re ready to come home.” Her voice grew soft.
Roman’s heart pinched. He knew Kate meant he’d always have a home with her…but of course Smile would always be waiting for the son of Johnny Prince, he thought bitterly. How could it not?
“I’ll see you tonight?” she said.
“Yeah,” he echoed. “See you.”
He hung up and let out a long sigh. It does matter where I came from, Kate. Other people will care, whether you think so or not.
“Damn it,” he muttered, only just stopping himself from scrubbing his face and messing up his makeup. Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t been able to track down Johnny. Roman still hadn’t decided if he’d have hugged his old man or punched his lights out.
#
The motel he’d chosen wasn’t far from the park, so Roman elected to burn some restless energy by walking to the party. He stepped onto Woodland Avenue and prowled downtown, passing familiar buildings: the upstairs pool hall, the old yoga studio, that weird underground Christian coffee shop, their little grocery store. Every sight and smell in this town carried memories.
The Main Street diner where the four of them—himself, Virgil, Logan, and Patton— sometimes used to eat was gone, he noted; replaced with yet another generic copycat that would probably only last a few months. Their beloved Santorini’s lived on, thank goodness, loud and lively at this time of night.
Merlin’s Vision, the little witchy shop where Virgil used to work, had moved to a larger corner location. Even after hours, the musky scent of nag champa lingered and clung to Roman’s skin as he slowed, looking at the window display of wands, dragon figurines, and kitschy, stockinged faeries. There’d been a time when Roman associated nag champa with Virgil almost as much as patchouli. Smelling it now brought back a familiar wave of sadness and want.
“One day you will ache for something your stolen power can’t give you. And I look forward to cataloguing all the ways that will destroy you,” his former master crooned in his memory, eyes glinting bright silver.
Roman smiled at the sight of a particular figurine: a knight on a white horse, clad in silver plate, spear leveled at a green dragon curled around a tower. Like many captured changelings, Roman had learned to read in the Hedgerow: a scattered network of Arcadian adults and teenagers who’d taken it upon themselves to educate as many children in faery captivity as possible. He’d always gravitated towards tales of Camelot, of King Arthur and his brave, loyal knights questing for the Holy Grail—which, in Roman’s childhood mind, had been freedom.
“One day you will ache for something your stolen power can’t give you.”
Roman sighed, biting back the sting in his eyes, and tilted his head to stare at the October sky. Maybe coming back here after everything was a mistake.
But Patton made a point to give him the date and time of this party before Roman dropped off everyone’s radar. Patton would be hurt if he didn’t show up, all because Roman couldn’t handle being in a town where every little thing reminded him of one particular person.
I’m tired of running, Roman told himself. When I do see Virgil again…I want to be able to find some closure, whatever that looks like. For both of us. He’d been telling himself the same thing for two months.
He reckoned it was getting easier.
Chin up, eyes on the target.
Roman walked on.
He heard the party before he reached Painter’s Pond; an acoustic version of some vaguely familiar pop song spilled from the trees onto the sidewalk. Roman paused at the park’s edge, a smile pulling at his face. Streamers hung from trees, round tables surrounded one of the park’s open spaces, and tiki torches cast a warm yellow light on knots of milling people. The food table looked thoroughly picked over, but Roman hadn’t come with any expectation of eating.
He scanned the crowd, smiling when he spotted Kate and Rosa twirling each other on the dance “floor”; he remembered when they’d taken swing lessons together. Patton was, amusingly, dancing with Logan’s mother. He didn’t see Logan at all…until he did, and the sight made him draw in a sharp breath.
Logan sat at the table furthest away from the band, leaning back in a chair and talking to someone with long purple bangs, a hunched pose, and a heartbreakingly familiar patched jacket. Roman exhaled again, his heart thrumming into high gear in his chest.
Virgil.
He had to blink several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
Virgil showed up after all. But…why?
The last time he’d seen his emo, he’d been stretched out on a hospital bed with his chest all bandaged up, unconscious. Now he was just…here, sitting with Logan like the half-faery hadn’t broken his heart into a million pieces.
Logan looked particularly sharp tonight: hair immaculately braided, gold tie nestled at his throat, his nicer pair of glasses perched on his nose. Roman hated to admit it, but his pansexual ass understood why Virgil had gotten his heart in such a mess over this guy. Logan was smart, poised, and annoyingly, effortlessly sexy, with those cheekbones, that posture that showed off his chest, and those soul-piercing, fae eyes.
He was also a know-it-all, stubborn, and more unforgivingly, an oblivious asshole when it came to other people’s hearts.
Roman ground his teeth when Logan laid a hand on Virgil’s arm, leaning close. Virgil twisted his head away, but to Roman’s surprise, he looked back and said something that made the nerd smile. Familiar, sour jealousy bloomed in Roman’s heart.
Even now, at his own damned engagement party to someone else, Logan just can’t leave Virgil alone, can he?
Logan got up to join Patton on the dance floor, squawking in protest when Patton grabbed his hand and spun him around. Roman took a deep breath, recentering himself, knowing he wasn’t being fair. As much as he hated what this had to be doing to Virgil, Logan and Patton made an objectively adorable couple. Honestly, Patton’s warmth and sweetness were probably exactly what Logan needed to work that metaphorical stick out of his ass.
Virgil remained at the table, alone.
He’d put his back directly to Roman now, making it impossible to see his expression. Was he still pining, even after all this time? Was he here just to torture himself…or did his presence tonight mean he’d finally turned a corner, put the feelings behind him for good? Roman bit his lip, abruptly unsure if he was ready to know.
Now, more than ever, he wanted to melt back into the shadows and pretend he’d never come, Patton’s Disappointed Dad face be damned. The thought of looking into Virgil’s cynical, piercing eyes with their mismatched rings…what would Roman even say to him? The last thing they’d done together was fight, which ended with Roman punching him in the face, and then they’d been too busy dealing with Deceit to even begin to reconcile.
He also remembered that claw, blossoming like a red thorn from Virgil’s…dying, he could have died…
Roman shuddered and covered his mouth, letting the trembling and redness in his vision pass. He couldn’t think about that, not even for a moment, or he’d never sleep tonight. He had to be brave, like Sir Lancelot and Bedwyr the One-Handed and poor doomed Tristan.
Inhale for four.
Hold for seven.
Exhale for eight.
When he could breathe again, he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and walked to Virgil’s table.
Chapter 1- Blackthorn
enter through the alleyway
past the invisible door
and all the way down the escher staircase in the underworld
it’s not the same as before
~ “Enter” by The Birthday Massacre
boundaries
Six months later
Stetson was small for a university. “Intimate”, the brochure called it. Roman always assumed that Virgil, had it been up to him, would have preferred a sprawling campus where his dark, brooding, emo self could get comfortably lost in a sea of students. But Logan lived in DeLand, and Logan had been Virgil’s only option for staying hidden from his former faery master, Deceit.
So, after Deceit was dead and Virgil decided to finish his art degree after all, he’d come back to the one place he already knew. He was familiar with Stetson’s campus, on good terms with his teachers, and friendly with the local solitaries.
Roman understood that. He didn’t have to like it.
He cut the engine on his motorcycle and yanked off his helmet, flicking back sweat-damp hair. The campus seemed unusually empty; most students had probably gone home for spring break already. His bike was one of only five vehicles left in the University Hall parking lot.
Roman hung the helmet from the handlebars, stretched his arms, worked out the stiffness from his legs. Maybe biking all the way from Pennsylvania wasn't such a great idea. He told himself he'd ridden the bike so he could come and go on his own terms...but truthfully, he could have taken a bus just as easily. He’d brought the bike to show off, to possibly persuade Virgil to take a ride with him while he was here…
But he was getting ahead of himself, as usual.
Roman eyed Virgil’s dormitory in the deepening twilight, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.
Maybe I should find a motel room first. He fished his phone out and slung his backpack over his back. Just so he doesn't feel like he has to offer his space. Just so it's not awkward.
He could use a walk after all that travel, anyway.
By the time he crossed the dark campus, he'd successfully booked a room. His finger then hovered over Virgil's number. A warning would be polite, especially when it came to Mr. Doesn't Like Surprises. Roman had initially come unannounced so Virgil couldn't talk him out of it, but Roman also didn't want to ruin the progress they'd made since Logan's and Patton's engagement party.
He scuffed his foot as he walked, thoughts swirling like gnats in the streetlights.
He wanted to believe earning that art degree was the only reason Virgil left Philly and returned to a state he admittedly hated, to the one middle-of-nowhere town where a certain former crush happened to live. Sure, Virgil transferring schools in his junior year would have been a needless headache. He’d elected to live in the dorms instead of moving back into Logan’s and Patton’s apartment. He called Roman nearly every week, keeping him updated, claiming he’d been too busy to see anyone except classmates and coworkers.
At the very least, Roman knew Virgil believed his own words. And if I'm not over Virgil, after all this time, he thought bitterly. What right do I have to complain if he’s not completely over Logan?
“Changeling,” a voice murmured in wet-sounding Faery.
Roman realized his wandering had carried him to the fountain at the center of Stetson’s campus, lit up against the growing darkness. A long-limbed naiad lounged on the edge, watching him. She wore black clothes and fishnets like an ordinary human, but Roman’s changeling eyes picked out her waterfall of dripping white hair, bluish skin, and solid black Fae eyes.
Virgil had never mentioned any solitaries around the Stetson fountain. Roman casually brought his backpack around, unzipped it, and curled a hand around his sword hilt.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The naiad arched back, letting her hair spill into the water, where it undulated in the current like pale snakes. “You won’t use that.” She gestured languidly at the bag.
Roman gripped the sword harder. “Maybe I would. You don’t know.”
“Your steel has spilled our blood, but in moons long past. I can smell the difference. You brandish it now for bluster.” She sat up and grinned, showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “You do not frighten me.”
Fucking enigmatic solitaries. He hated the way they saw straight through any human lie, no matter how carefully constructed. What did it say about him, that she could tell he hadn’t had the stomach to hunt their kind for months? Roman reshouldered his bag and walked on, determined to ignore her.
“Beware pixie territory,” the naiad added as he passed.
Roman stopped but did not turn. “What?”
“Summer in the air. Death in the water.” She grinned again as he turned, eyes narrowed. “Watch your words.”
“What in the Arcadian hell are you talking about?” Roman snapped, fighting a chill.
But the naiad slid into the fountain with an eerie lack of splash and lay underwater, ignoring him, and Roman knew he’d get no more from her. He scoffed and trudged toward the edge of campus.
Virgil maintained that the solitaries on Stetson’s campus generally liked humans—which, in faery terms, meant the pranksters were mostly harmless and the rest kept to themselves. Plus, solitaries didn’t normally pop out of the metaphorical woodwork and talk to Smile hunters, even lapsed ones.
“Summer in the air. Death in the water. Watch your words.”
She’d meant to warn him.
Pixie territory. The hair on his neck lifted. Could she mean Painter’s Pond?
He bit his lip. This sounded like a hunt.
He considered going back to Virgil’s dorm first…but Virgil wasn’t Smile, and Virgil didn’t know he was here yet. Roman didn’t want their first reunion in months marred by faery drama. No, he would investigate the park and take care of the problem liked the damned hunter he was supposed to be.
Roman walked the few blocks to Painter’s Pond, slowing as he approached, his heart heavy with memories. Logan used to bring Virgil and Roman out here with Nic, and after Patton entered the picture, it became the four of them. He remembered chasing the dog and the pixies, Virgil laughing from the sidelines—when they weren't at each other’s throats. He could almost hear Virgil's low, gravelly voice saying "idiot," could picture him shaking his head with that maddening half-smile.
It occurred to him that Virgil might not necessarily be in his dorm; he could be at work, out prowling around downtown, or—Roman's heart skipped at the thought—right here on these familiar paths somewhere. Virgil's relationship with this park might be complicated, but surely he still visited his pixie friends from time to time.
Roman took a step onto the grass; his skin instantly prickled. The air felt…wrong, like the trembly hesitance he got before touching a staticky doorknob.
Oh, hell. That naiad did know something.
Roman had been a Smile hunter long enough to never ignore his gut. Faery magic was both insidious and nebulous; it wanted you to dismiss it as nothing, as imagination, as too much stress or not enough sleep. Arguably the most important lesson in faery hunting was learning to ignore that "reasonable" voice in your head.
The park looked empty, streetlamps spilling orange light in pools along the paths. But at the end of the park's low wall, one dark streetlight made a cradle of blackness, bordered by clusters of tiny, bone-white shrooms. A Court circle. Ambient streetlight glimmered off the white, white mushroom caps, especially when he looked out of the corner of his eye.
Roman stalked to the near end of the wall and ducked behind, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders. He opened the main flap and eased out his sword and scabbard, making as little noise as possible. He didn't draw it, yet—he didn't know what he was facing—but he did tie the scabbard to his belt loops.
He then drew in a careful breath and focused inward.
Roman’s old master, who only permitted his changelings to call him Sir, used to hang beaded curtains around his cave lair: intricate patterns picked out in thousands of minuscule beads, strings of fist-sized glass balls that bruised when one crashed into them at a run. Their clacking featured prominently in Roman’s nightmares; some of his earliest memories involved running and putting curtain after curtain between himself and his master’s cruel experiments. That Unseelie had fancied himself a scientist…if careful butchery and elaborate torture could be considered science. And Roman happened to develop the one power guaranteed to drive such a master to unhinged fury: luck.
Roman learned to slip through those beaded strings like a ghost, disturbing them as little as possible so they wouldn’t clack and betray his passage. He often wondered if that stealthy sidestep he’d cultivated led to him gaining the ability to touch something as ephemeral as possibility. Drawing on his power felt like running through Sir’s lair, each bead in each curtain representing an outcome. Every decision, every movement, even his thoughts parted the strands in different ways. The trick to manipulating luck, he discovered, was to find the beads you wanted while not disturbing the rest.
Know where you’re going.
Sidestep.
I need to know what is going on, he chanted silently.
Keep the rest quiet.
I need to see and to not be noticed by unfriendly eyes.
Pass through.
I need to know.
The back of his neck tingled, hairs rising as the familiar warm sensation of possibility slid glassily over his skin.
“What are you doing here?” a voice chimed in his ear.
Roman startled and found himself face-to-face with a soot-skinned, flame-haired pixie, whose tiny eyes were round o’s of surprise. She landed primly on the hand he instinctively raised.
“Tourmaline?” he hissed. That was fast.
“I am not displeased to see you, Roman Princey,” she said. “But it has been some time.”
Roman hid a cringe. He knew she only called him Princey because Virgil did, but now that particular nickname reminded him a little too much of Johnny Prince.
“I got a weird warning from a weird naiad and came to investigate.” he said, gesturing at the mushrooms. “What’s with the Court ring? I thought DeLand was still unclaimed.”
Tourmaline’s face grew pinched. She had always been more polite and serious than Virgil’s favorites, Wren and Wrassey. Roman suspected that was why Logan preferred her company.
“I believe this is the work of a single Court Fae working alone, though I have not seen them. The ring grew several days ago, and of more concern, many of my clan have since gone missing.” Her chiming voice dropped to a soft echo of itself. “I cannot penetrate the mushroom barrier myself, but I suspect that is where my sisters are.”
Well, that didn’t sound good at all.
“Can I help?” Roman asked.
She cast him an appraising look, her gaze lingering on his sheathed sword. “Your appearance is auspiciously well-timed.”
“You know me,” he said with a wink.
“It so happens that my purpose in coming to the wall tonight was to seek the help of…ah.”
Her wings carried her over Roman’s head, and she buzzed hard enough for them to glow like a beacon. Roman followed the line of her gaze.
Oh, luck.
Logan Ursae, his straight-backed posture unmistakable even in the low light, crossed the grassy park and made a beeline for Tourmaline’s glowing body. Oddly, neither Patton nor Nicodemus were with him. The half-faery slowed as he noticed Roman crouched in the shadows.
“S’up, Nerdy Wolverine?” Roman shot him a jaunty salute.
Logan opened his mouth, shut it again, and sighed.
“In the interest of saving time, I will not ask the obvious question,” he said in his low, resonant voice. “Clearly your luck has carried you along as it usually does.”
“Nice to see you, too.” Roman rolled his eyes.
Just as well I hadn’t called Virgil yet.
Logan knelt, adjusting his glasses and peering over the wall. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his teeth.
“It’s still here?” he said to Tourmaline.
“You don’t sound surprised to see a Court ring in your stargazing park,” Roman commented.
“I have been monitoring it for several days now.” Logan scowled. “Normally, I would leave such things alone, as I try to stay clear of Court matters. But, if I have interpreted your message correctly”—he glanced at the hovering pixie— “Wren and Wrassey are now among your missing kin?”
Tourmaline nodded.
Roman’s heart sank; she’d meant “sisters” literally. “Does Virgil know? Those are his friends. Has he been here to see the ring?”
“I do not know.” Logan’s voice gave nothing away. “I have not seen him since he arrived in DeLand.”
Good, Roman’s mind supplied nastily, prompting a pang of guilt. “What are we gonna do?”
“I meant to attempt a crossing tonight,” Logan said. “Tourmaline, am I correct in assuming solitary Fae are still barred?
The pixie settled onto Logan’s shoulder and nodded.
“And any human would just walk from one side to the other like it wasn’t even there,” Roman added.
“You know how Court-laid rings work.” Logan shot Roman a contemplative look.
“May I remind you that I’m a Smile hunter, Pain in the Nexus Instrument?” Roman snarked, grinning when Logan pulled a confused face. “Earthside Courts love their little magical pockets where they can lure in unsuspecting humans, or do their dirty work unobserved.”
“Or merely live their lives, safe from humans and Arcadian kin alike,” Logan added with a frown.
Roman waved that off. “Whatever the reason, it never occurs to them that a barrier like this”—he gestured at the mushroom ring—“designed to be inaccessible to Fae and invisible to humans, might still be vulnerable to us. Most of the time, Smile changelings can slip right in.” He stood and drew his sword in one swift motion. “Which is what I’m gonna do right now.”
Chapter 2- Coltsfoot
before you came what was your name?
did you look like me?
no one’s from here
no one, my dear
not even the trees
~ “I Am Trying Very Hard to Be Here” by AFI
justice shall be done
“Roman, wait.” Logan also stood, grabbing his arm.
“You heard Tourmaline. Wren and Wrassey are in there,” Roman pulled away and gestured at the ring. “We have to find them and figure out what this rogue Court Fae is up to.”
He half-hid his sword behind his back and started a casual saunter toward the mushroom ring. Several muttered Faery swear words later, Logan’s near-silent footfalls followed him.
“Look, Virgil would never forgive me if I let something happen to his little pixie friends,” Roman pointed out. “So don’t try to stop me.”
I need this hunt, he added silently. Please don’t interfere like you always fucking do.
“Virgil will never forgive either of us if your rashness gets you killed,” Logan shot back.
“Well, neither would Patton, if you died.” Roman shot Logan a side-eye. “Where is your fiancé, by the way? Normally you two are joined at the hip.”
If Roman hadn’t been looking for it, he might have missed the tightening of Logan’s mouth. He definitely noticed the way Logan ignored the question by pushing in front and stepping across the mushroom ring, entering the pocket of liminal space between Earth and the Hedge. Roman pulled up short.
The familiar trees seemed thicker and wilder from inside, crowding the sidewalks, completely hiding the road from view. The mushroom circle was wider on this side, taking up an entire patch of overgrown park, where the ground had been torn up in a dozen places. A wooden wagon with tall, slatted sides, like the kind a child might play with, sat in the exact center of the ring.
They ducked behind a fat trunk.
“Why the holes?” Logan murmured.
“Nicotine addicted squirrels? The Court Fae brought a dog? I dunno,” Roman muttered back. “Where’s our friendly neighborhood mushroom farmer, I wonder?”
“My clan!” Tourmaline wailed in her tiny voice, shooting off Logan’s shoulder and pointing at the wagon. Her red hair and drooping wings glimmered. “My sisters!”
Roman looked again and his heart dropped. Tiny black cages filled the wagon bed, and now he saw that each one held a pixie. Some fluttered madly to keep from touching the metal; others crouched in obvious pain.
“Iron cages,” Logan practically growled. “That is unspeakably cruel.”
“I think I see Wren and Wrassey,” Roman said, feeling sick. He’d spotted a pair of green skinned, black-haired pixies who’d been shoved in a cage together.
They edged closer. Everything in Roman screamed at him to grab that wagon and get those poor pixies as far away from this park as possible, but his Smile instincts held him back. Any Court faery who’d subject pixies to naked iron would likely do worse to intruders.
Logan gestured grimly at the grass, which sparkled. “Pixie blood is over ninety percent water.” His voice was icy. “Unlike ours, it is almost clear in color.”
Roman inhaled. “‘Death in the water.’” He spotted a few tiny bodies lying in the grass around the wagon; clearly, some of Tourmaline’s clan had put up a fight. “We gotta get the survivors out of those cages.”
He adjusted his sword, luck dragging across his senses—a curtain of hot beads—as he grasped for a new outcome. Everyone escapes, nobody else dies. Logan showing up had distracted him; now he leaned, hard, but careful not to break through the metaphorical curtain. Doing that always turned his luck dangerously sour.
“Agreed.” Logan laid a hand on Roman’s arm. “But as you asked before, where is the perpetrator of this cruelty? It seems unlikely that they have conveniently stepped out.” He narrowed his gray eyes at Roman. “Unless that is exactly what they have done.”
“My whole thing is taking advantage of conveniences, Specs.” Roman stood up. “I got this.”
“I will keep watch,” Logan said.
The trapped pixies shouted and pointed as Roman knelt beside the wagon, his senses on high alert. Some seemed relatively unharmed, still having energy to glow; these kept talking in such frantic Faery that Roman couldn’t begin to understand. Most, however, bore signs of…well, Roman couldn’t think of a word besides torture. Bent wings, broken limbs, burns and bruises. Many couldn’t fly and were forced to stand or huddle, whimpering, against the cages, despite how it burned their skin. Tourmaline fluttered among them, clasping tiny hands through the bars, murmuring encouragement in soft Faery.
Who the hell would do this to solitaries? Fury rose in Roman’s chest. Solitary Fae could be mercurial, primative, and dangerous, but there was a reason Smile hunted primarily Court bastards. Those could rise to unspeakable levels of depraved.
He stabbed his sword into the grass and grabbed Wren and Wrassey’s cage, wincing at the burn. They huddled together on the tails of their dresses, shaking, but Wrassey lifted her head at his voice.
“Roman?” She stumbled and yelped as her bare skin touched the metal.
“No, don’t try to move. I’m gonna get you out.” Roman studied their cage, heart sinking when he spotted a keyhole. Faery magic won’t stick to iron, so of course it’s a manual lock. But…
“These bars are thin and sloppily welded,” he murmured to the pixies, who stared at him with wide eyes. “I may be able to rip the tops off.”
“Please,” Wren murmured.
“Before he comes back,” Wrassey added.
“Brace yourselves.” Roman fought the stinging burn to get a good grip on the top and bottom. He pulled, and the top tore free. The sisters zoomed out; Wren planting grateful kisses on Roman’s cheek and hugging Tourmaline, while Wrassey flew high, scanning the park.
“Can you break past the mushroom ring from the inside?” Roman asked.
“Yes,” Tourmaline answered, her wings buzzing. “I will oversee our escape if you free the others.” She touched his arm. “We will not forget your aid, Roman Princey.”
“It is still hidden,” Wrassey announced, dropping back down. “He has not discovered it.”
A collective sigh of relief whispered among the trapped pixies.
“What’s still hidden?” Roman picked up another cage and ripped it apart, freeing its occupant. “Who did this to you?”
He tore open more cages as Wrassey alighted on his shoulder, talking so fast he had to concentrate to understand her.
“We of Painter Clan are custodians of an artifact, gifted to us long ago by an Earthside Court. A Sidhe claiming to be the rightful owner came onto our lands three nights ago, demanding it. Some of us resisted, but…” Her tiny voice trailed off. Wren swooped close and kissed her cheek before continuing to help Tourmaline carry the newly freed pixies to safety beyond the mushroom circle.
“The terms were clear. It was never to be given back, no matter who asked,” Wrassey went on. Her small face crunched into a glower. “We have been giving him false places to look.”
“The holes,” Roman commented.
“Mmm. He grows impatient. He knows we deceive him.”
“So, he captures a bunch of you to torture, hoping one of you would break.” The revelation that a Sidhe did this made Roman nervous. Sidhe were among the highest order of Court Fae; beautiful, strong, skilled at warfare, and deadly.
He worked faster, hands burning with iron scorch. Half of the pixies freed. The unnatural silence of the park grated on his ears.
Three-quarters.
With luck—he exhaled carefully, letting the glass bead sensation pass without parting—he could save Tourmaline’s entire clan before the mysterious Sidhe returned.
“Painter Clan is strong. We do not break,” Wrassey snapped, but her wings drooped. “The Sidhe who did this carries greed behind his eyes. I do not think he meant to free us once he had what he wanted. Another reason he must not possess the artifact.”
Roman was just breaking the last cage, surrendering its inhabitant into Tourmaline’s capable hands, when a voice thundered across the park.
“You have misled me for the last time, vermin!”
Roman dropped the cage pieces and ducked behind the wagon, which only barely hid him, as a figure burst from a nearby clump of bushes.
The Sidhe stood willow tall and willow thin, his lily-white skin practically glowing against the dark trees. Narrow pointed ears swept back from his head, drawing the eye to a crown of red hibiscus nestled in his long, fiery orange hair. Orange also framed his night-black eyes; Roman couldn’t tell if it was makeup or his own natural coloring. He wore blood red leggings, black boots, a woven tunic of clashing oranges, and a matching cravat, creating a look that landed, in Roman’s opinion, somewhere between “colorblind Renn Faire enthusiast” and “gay hairdresser on Halloween”.
“I will have the mirror’s location,” the Sidhe bellowed, marching toward the wagon with that eerie gliding grace only Fae possessed. “Or I will begin slaughtering you one by one…what is this?”
He stopped, staring at the pile of broken, empty cages and—Roman could have kicked himself—Roman’s red-hilted katana, still stuck in the ground exactly where he’d planted it. The faery’s orange-rimmed eyes went wide with fury.
“I could ask the same thing,” another voice called from the tree line, making the Sidhe whirl. Logan stepped out, arms folded behind his back.
“Who are you, Summerling, and what are you doing in my park?” Logan asked in crisp Faery, puffing out his chest.
Summerling. Roman inhaled. “Summer in the air. Death in the water. Watch your words.” He’s a Summer Court Fae.
“Your park, Winter? Yours?” the Sidhe echoed, disdain dripping from each syllable.
Ice gathered and broke at Logan’s feet in nervous waves. His glasses caught the ambient light, obscuring his eyes, and for a moment, Roman’s brain flashed back to Sir’s multi-lens glasses, which he always parked on his face just before bringing out the scalpels—
He drew a sharp breath. Arcadian gods, he could not afford to have a flashback right now.
“What is he doing?” Roman grumbled to himself as he watched the half-faery, still keeping low, but the answer was obvious. Logan was distracting the Sidhe so that Roman could get away. But how did Logan plan on extracting himself?
Dammit, it’s not like Sherlock to blunder blindly into danger.
“Roman.” Wrassey tugged hard on Roman’s earlobe, making him wince. “You must take the mirror away from Painter’s Pond.”
“Shh!” He hissed back, eying the nearest tree trunk. “We have to go and somehow get L—er, Bear out of here.”
The Sidhe glided a few steps toward Logan, who stood his ground.
“You must take it! Even without our cooperation, it is only a matter of time before he finds it.” Wrassey yanked on his ear again. “Please.”
Roman ground his teeth. This could be their only opportunity to escape unseen…but saving the clan’s artifact was clearly important to Wrassey, and dammit, she was Virgil’s favorite.
“Where is it?” he asked softly.
The Sidhe had his back to the wagon now; maybe they had a chance.
“In the wall.” Wrassey pushed his face to the right and pointed. “Behind the stone carved with a pixie.”
Right in the Sidhe’s line of sight, because of course it was, but maybe the wall would hide him if he stayed low enough. Logan argued with the stranger now, moving his hands like Patton did when he got excited, keeping the faery’s attention on himself.
Roman crept around the wagon, extracting his sword as he went. For half a second, he considered rushing the Sidhe and running him through. The only safe Sidhe was a dead one, or so went the Smile saying, and this one had already tortured and killed innocents. But Roman remembered his ill-fated bout on the Athens lawn with Deceit, who had not been a Sidhe, and who’d almost killed Roman anyway.
I will not be as rash as everyone thinks I am, he thought, sheathing the blade and creeping toward the wall.
Logan’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Roman, and without even breaking his flow of words, he began circling the Sidhe, forcing him to turn away from the wall. The Sidhe crossed his arms and seemed, for the moment, content to let Logan ramble.
He’s probably reciting the entire history of DeLand, Roman mused, ducking behind the wall and looking for Wrassey’s stone. She buzzed her wings, giving light to see, and he finally spotted a crude drawing of a winged figure scratched onto one of the lower stones.
“It is hollow behind,” Wrassey said. “The facade should come away easily.”
“You are no lord,” the Sidhe said scathingly as Roman dug his nails into the edges, tugging. Moveable or not, age had wedged the facade in hard, and he had no tools. He didn’t dare look up to see how Logan was doing.
“You’re not even a full-blooded Fae, are you?” The Sidhe laughed, his voice like fire snapping over dry logs. “A talkative half breed claiming territory. I have now seen it all.”
The faery’s shift from Faery to near-perfect English sent a chill down Roman’s spine. In desperation, he stuck his sword blade into the wall and used it as a lever. But the angle was all wrong, the blade too long to be effective. He paused, panting.
“You must break the facade,” Wrassey whispered.
“He’ll hear me!” Roman hissed back.
“It is the only way.”
“I will have you know—” Logan said after a shocked moment.
“Oh, stop. The game is up. Where did you hear about the mirror, hmm? The Wild Hunt? Some pathetic solitary network?” The Sidhe paused.
“Mirror?” Logan echoed.
“Did you really think you’d find it before I did? Did you honestly believe—”
Roman aimed a kick at the stone, which cracked but didn’t crumble. He cringed when the faery cut off mid rant, but he didn’t dare stop now. Three kicks later, the facade collapsed. He dug out the pieces, plunged a hand into the dark hole, and closed fingers around a flat, circular object. Wrassey alighted next to the hole, wings fluttering eagerly.
“That’s it,” she chimed. “Quickly, now—”
She shouted in surprise as a slim, hot hand clamped onto Roman’s shoulder.
Chapter 3- Rhododendron
i’m begging for you to take my hand
wreck my plans
that’s my man
~ “willow” by Taylor Swift
passion
Roman and Logan sprinted up Woodland Avenue, away from Painter’s Pond, away from the murderous Sidhe they’d only barely escaped. Roman’s sword—still unbloodied, despite every instinct—knocked against his legs as he ran.
“You know, I finally get the chance to come down from Philly for spring break,” Roman griped. “Just a nice, ordinary visit. And this is what happens!”
He waved the stolen mirror for emphasis, dirt still clinging to it and to his abused nails.
Logan threw a glance behind, his glasses flashing orange as they caught the streetlight. “I am not certain if you want me to commiserate or challenge your reasoning.”
“Both! Neither! I don’t know, hold up a minute, Flash.”
Roman slowed at an intersection, panting; Stetson’s front entrance loomed to their right.
“I do not think he followed us.” Logan peered up and down the sidewalk. “Breaking the mushroom ring must have worked.”
He didn’t even sound out of breath. Stupid morning jogging habits.
He’s measured, unbothered, logical. Admit it; he’s always reminded you of me, Sir whispered in his imagination. Roman squeezed his eyes shut, the mirror’s rough surface digging into his hand as he clenched his fists.
You’re just shaken because a Court Fae tried to kill you. Logan is not one of Them.
“Just my luck,” Roman grumbled. “‘Everybody lives, everybody escapes,’ that’s what I told it. I guess that included the pixie murdering psycho.”
A soft, pained noise interrupted. Roman tucked the mirror under his arm and guiltily leaned over Logan’s cupped hand. Wren and Wrassey huddled against the palm, their green skin stark against the pale brown; Wren, wringing her tiny hands over her sister’s too-still body. Wrassey had curled into a ball, one good wing wrapped around her and the other stretched out, mangled, trembling. Clear pixie blood stained her green dress.
“How is she?” Logan asked, drawing the two near his face.
“Not good, Bear.” Wren chimed her wings in distress. “The blow crushed her ribs, and her wing is beyond my skill to heal. Plus, I am exhausted from the iron.”
Roman gripped his sword hilt. “And I call myself a hunter. I should have killed that murdering bastard when I challenged him!”
“You would have failed.” Logan’s voice remained implacable, but he laid his other hand on Roman’s arm. “He was a High Arcadian Court Sidhe; a noble, with hundreds of years’ worth of swordsmanship to draw upon, plus his own innate strength and speed. You freed the pixies and secured the artifact he meant to take from them.” He nodded to the mirror under Roman’s arm. “That must be enough.”
Roman hated Logan’s cool, unruffled logic even when it didn’t put him in mind of his old master.
“We should go to my apartment—” Logan started.
“No.” Roman nodded toward Stetson’s entrance. “We go to Virgil first. He needs to know about Wrassey. I…” He looked away, glowering. “The whole point of me coming down was to visit him, anyway.”
This was exactly what Roman had been hoping to avoid—fucking faery drama—but here they were.
They crossed the campus until they reached University Hall. Roman’s motorcycle still sat in the lot where he’d left it, making him scowl. He should have gone up to Virgil’s dorm instead of taking that walk, should’ve ignored the stupid naiad.
“Which room is his?” Logan studied the dark building, and something in Roman’s chest loosened with the knowledge that Logan didn’t already know. He counted from the building’s edge and pointed out a window on the second floor.
“I think it’s that one. But let me call him. He has to let us in.”
It took five rings for Virgil to pick up, long enough for Roman to fear he was busy with homework, or out somewhere, or not in a mood to talk…in which case, this was about to get really awkward…
“S’up, Princey?” Virgil’s gravelly voice came over the line at last. “No video? You just finish working out and don’t want me to mock your sweaty arse?”
Roman’s heart, as always, did a complicated little twist at the familiar snark. He wished this was just one of their ordinary weekly calls, instead of him standing outside with a hurt pixie and Virgil’s former crush in tow.
“Virgil, my emo nightmare,” he answered grandly, packing all the bravado he could into the words. “How are you faring on this fine, completely ordinary evening?”
Logan rolled his eyes.
Silence.
“For fuck’s sake, what did you do now?” Virgil said wryly.
“What…you…how dare…!” Roman sputtered, but at a quirked eyebrow from Logan, he sighed. “Ugh, fine. So, earlier tonight, um…well, it’s kind of a long story.” One he would prefer to tell face to face. “Could you, uh, come to your window?”
The window in question had its blinds yanked up to reveal Virgil’s face, half covered in long bangs as always, mouth falling open in shock. That shock morphed into a scowl at Roman’s awkward jazz hands; the call disconnected as Virgil left the window. Roman numbly slid his phone back in his pocket.
“I admit, I am not always the best at interpreting Virgil’s moods,” Logan commented. “But I do not believe that went well.”
No shit, Sherlock.
“Give him a second.” Roman scuffed his foot. “I don’t think he’ll just ignore us.”
A few minutes later, the main door to the dorm burst open, and Virgil strode across the grass. For one glorious, exhilarating second, Roman imagined Virgil might actually want to hug him—it had been months, after all—but instead, he stopped a few feet away with folded arms. Because Virgil hated drama, and as usual, Roman had brought it to his doorstep.
This was not how he wanted their first reunion since Christmas to go!
“Surprise?” Roman said weakly.
“Last time I checked.” Virgil’s dark gaze flickered between them. “You were in Philly.” He pointed at Roman. “And you never come to visit me here.” His finger drifted to Logan and dropped. “So, what the hell is going on?”
“I came down for spring break—” Roman started.
“We were in the park—” Logan said at the same time. Both stopped and glared at each other; well, Roman may have been doing all the glaring.
“Roman and I ran into some trouble at Painter’s Pond.” Logan said, lifting his cupped hands. “Wrassey is hurt. It is a rather involved story, but we thought you’d want to know about this part, at least.”
“We”, my ass. You would have gone straight back to your apartment, Roman thought sourly, biting back a pang of jealousy as Virgil’s expression morphed from anger to concern. He leaned close to the half-faery, one hand touching Logan’s as he examined the two pixies.
“Trollshit. Wrassey,” he muttered. Wren fluttered up to lay a brief kiss against Virgil’s cheek.
“Okay, seriously.” Virgil stepped back again. “I’m pretty sure that even if you knew how to help her, we’re too big and clumsy to do anything that wouldn’t make it worse. Why are they not with their clan?”
“What’s left of our clan has fled Painter’s Pond,” Wren explained in her chiming Faery. “It may be days before they dare return.”
Virgil’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, what’s left of your clan?”
“A Sidhe in the park was killing pixies to get information on this thing.” Roman held up the mirror. “Logan and I managed to distract him—”
“I distracted him; you antagonized him,” Logan cut in.
“Only after he saw me, and we needed to get away! And I freed the ones he’d captured.” Roman shot Logan a stink-eye. “Unfortunately, we didn’t kill him—”
“We could not have killed him, Roman, as I already said—”
“Shush, Interruptasaurus!” Roman lifted a finger at Logan, whose mouth flattened into a noncommittal line.
“So basically, we split and kicked down his mushroom ring behind us,” Roman went on, “which should trap him in his own liminal space until he can grow another—”
“—but it may not; faeries differ in spatial manipulation skill—” Logan cut in.
“Ergo,” Roman said loudly. “Painter’s Pond isn’t safe right now, so uh…maybe don’t go on any walks tonight.” He glanced at his feet again. “You know, if you were planning to do that.”
Virgil passed a hand over his face as he processed this.
“But, why was…how did…” He frowned at the two pixies in Logan’s hands, and his face paled further. “Where’s Tourmaline?”
“She is safe.” Wren said. “It was she who flew our kin to safety after Roman freed us.”
Virgil puffed out a breath. “Okay. Clearly, we need to, like, go somewhere and sit down. So you guys can explain this from the beginning.” He glanced at his dorm window. “I’d offer my room, but I’m in the middle of reorganizing. There’s literally nowhere to sit.”
Roman was glad now that he hadn’t counted on using Virgil’s floor for sleeping. He opened his mouth to suggest his motel room—which he needed to check into, eventually—but Logan, again, beat him to it.
“We will go to my apartment,” Logan said. “I have first aid supplies that Wren can use for her sister, and, and Patton is probably wondering where I am by now.” This he said a bit too hurriedly.
Virgil, for the first time, seemed to notice that Patton was not with them. “He hasn’t been overworking himself at the animal hospital again, has he?”
“No. He is at home.” Logan’s gaze flickered away.
Virgil locked eyes with Roman for the first time since coming downstairs. Roman answered the frown with a tiny shrug.
“And you didn’t bring him?” Virgil asked.
“I…I saw no reason to involve him,” Logan said evenly. “Just as well, it turns out.”
Virgil looked as unsatisfied with that explanation as Roman felt. But Logan started across the parking lot without another word, giving them little choice but to follow.
Roman, as always, paced himself with Virgil’s lanky, scuffling stride, not daring to speak until they reached the school entrance again.
“Hey,” he tried.
“Hey.” Virgil didn’t look at him.
“So, uh, it’s been a bit.”
“Three months, give or take.” Virgil’s lips curled in a thin smile. It had actually been two months and nineteen days since they’d last seen each other in person, which Roman knew because, well.
“You haven’t re-dyed your hair,” Virgil added, shooting him a glance.
Roman ran a hand through it, wincing as he encountered tangles. He’d long ago let the last of the color fade to pale brown, and even that was starting to grow out. “None of my colors feel right.”
“You said the same thing at Christmas.”
“Did I?” Roman bit back a sigh. So embarrassingly little had changed in the last few months.
“I don’t know why we’re talking like you didn’t call me just last week,” Virgil said.
Roman attempted a smile. “We argued about pizza.”
“Thin crust is superior,” Virgil grumbled. “I will die on that hill.”
“I still say that’s because you’ve never had a proper Chicago deep dish.” Roman was not sure how to interpret this aggressively casual small talk.
“What is that thing, anyway?” Virgil pointed at the artifact Roman still carried. “Looks like you stole it out of Beauty and the Beast.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Roman examined the mirror he’d rescued from the park. Its flat oval, roughly the size of two cupped hands, melded seamlessly into a tapered handle. One side was white ivory, bristling with carvings: flowers and thorns, hands, entwined bodies, faces with expressions ranging from ecstasy to despair. The other side was blank, black glass, so deep that Roman dared not look directly at it. He turned it over again, noting how heavy it felt for its size.
“Why would a Seelie want a mirror so badly that they’d kill solitaries for it? They aren’t that vain.” he mused. “Logan, what the heckity heck is this thing, anyway?
Logan’s long stride had carried him several feet ahead, but at this he looked back. “I do not know,” he said, his dark face a mystery in the deepening night. “But I do not think it wise to discuss it until we are safely indoors.”
Virgil had leaned closer to examine the mirror, but at this, he straightened and eyed their surroundings instead.
Thanks for the paranoia, Specs. Smile-honed instinct nudged Roman to look around as well. Woodland Avenue was empty and quiet, the trees like statues; even the air hung hot and heavy in the urban darkness. Nothing unusual. Roman’s changeling eyes would pick out most fae phenomena hidden from human eyes, and Logan, being half faery, would spot anything Roman missed.
So instead, he stole glances at Virgil.
And as always, Virgil seemed to have a sixth sense dedicated entirely to knowing when people were staring at him. His dark gaze flickered to Roman, who quickly looked away.
“You got something to say?” Virgil grumbled.
“You look tired,” Roman blurted out.
It was true. Virgil’s shoulders drooped under his hoodie; his eye bags seemed more sunken than usual; the purple in his bangs had faded to a pale lavender. But what Roman actually wanted to say, and had avoided at the last moment, was something between “you’re beautiful” and “I missed you”. The act of pushing down what he felt carried an ache so entrenched, it might as well have been Roman’s own house brownie.
Virgil passed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. Gotta work to keep up in the 301 classes so they don’t throw my ass out. Plus, I’m a part-time stocker at everyone’s favorite blue conglomerate so I can afford to eat.”
Roman kicked the ground as they walked. “And here I am, showing up and adding more stress.”
“Pssh. Tests and homework are stressful. Putting up with coworkers and ignorant bozos in class is stressful. This” —Virgil waved a hand to encompass all of them— “is the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks.”
Roman couldn’t help but smile back, though as usual, his thoughts spun out to fill the space between everything Virgil didn’t say.
He keenly remembered Virgil’s last visit to Philly, at Christmas, before he’d returned to DeLand for the spring term. They’d toured Gettysburg, watched and roasted a dozen movies, and managed to help Kate cook a turkey without setting her kitchen on fire. They hadn’t fought; not even once, and the trend continued in their weekly calls.
If Roman was ever going to confess that he still had feelings, that he still wanted them to be a thing, there could be no better time.
It was just…something small and scared in Roman’s heart kept replaying the sight of Virgil’s slouched back disappearing into a Greyhound bus on the last day of Christmas break. What if their next “only three months” apart stretched into six? A whole year? Two? What if Virgil decided to stay in Florida permanently, to stop calling, to let time and distance spool out until he woke up one day having not thought about Roman in months…and he was okay with that?
“People change, Roman,” Virgil had said. “Feelings change.”
Logan’s familiar apartment complex came into view, peaceful and fraught with memories.
“This was, uh, not how I saw this visit starting out.” Roman stuck the mirror in his back pocket and thrust his hands in his jean jacket.
Virgil mirrored him, hands in his own pockets, and nudged Roman’s shoulder. As always, he experienced a bright shock of warmth any time Virgil touched him. And, as always, he hid it behind a brittle smile.
“For a guy whose superpower is literally luck,” Virgil snarked. “You sure get into some weird-ass situations. Random Sidhe in the park, really?”
Roman tossed his hair. “What can I say, I attract excitement. It’s my natural charisma at work.”
“What are you actually doing here, Roman? Like, I know you didn’t drive all the way down from Pennsylvania just to see me.” Something in Virgil’s self-deprecating tone said he knew that was exactly what Roman had done…and he wanted to know why.
I should tell him. Now, before anything else happens…
“Well, Charlie Frown,” he said, leaning in with a smirk. “Someone has to make sure you actually—”
Virgil’s eyes widened. “No, no, please don’t sing it—”
“—take a break!” Roman sang.
Virgil groaned, but Roman counted the twitch at the corner of his mouth as a win. He paused in the street, pushing his hands deeper in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.
“Actually, I, uh, kinda wanted to ask you something,” he said in a softer voice.
“Yeah?” Virgil’s tone gave nothing away, but he also stopped, and something in his gaze sharpened.
Less than a foot separated them. A streetlamp silhouetted Virgil’s slender figure and shrouded his face in shadow. Roman took a shaky breath.
Just say it. “I love you.” “I still want you.” “Can we give us a try?”
“So…I’ve been thinking. And—”
“Roman.” Logan’s voice cut in, sharp and unwelcome. “And Virgil. I suggest we get inside as quickly as possible. Come.”
He stalked across the sidewalk toward the apartment entrance. Virgil shot Roman a helpless look.
“He’s probably right; we should get off the street,” he said. “In case your psycho faery comes back.”
Roman exhaled. He was so tired of Logan inserting his know-it-all, oblivious ass into his and Virgil’s business. But what could he do about it?
“Yeah,” he muttered through clenched teeth as Virgil walked away, hands in his pockets again. Like Christmas, like every other time Roman watched Virgil’s retreating backside having failed, once again, to figure out exactly where he stood.
I, he thought bitterly, am gonna kill that half-faery one day.
Chapter 4- Yellow Rose
i want to lay my head down
come closer, come closer
what’s that uncomfortable sound
of your key in the door
~ “Come Closer” by Delain
jealousy
The apartment complex brought back a rush of memories. They’d added a picnic table to the courtyard where Roman always practiced his forms. Logan’s blue Fit and Patton’s old brown Camry still sat side by side in the parking lot. The third stair from the top still had that weird stain that looked like Gandalf’s hat.
“You gonna call Pat and tell him we’re coming?” Virgil asked Logan as they climbed the stairs.
“We’re already here,” Logan pointed out. “Plus, he may be asleep, and if so, I do not wish to wake him.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not that late.”
Logan only marched across the landing and shoved his key in the door.
Patton, it turned out, was not asleep.
“Logan Ursae,” a flat version of his normally sunny voice called before Logan even cleared the threshold. Roman, being the last one inside, had an excellent view of the way Logan’s shoulders tensed.
“Patton,” he said simply.
“Where have—Virgil! Oh, wow, it’s been—and Roman?” Patton stood up from the couch, eyes wide behind his round glasses. “What…uh…”
“My dear Watson! C’mere.” Roman held out his arms, which forced Patton out of his shock; the man could never turn down a hug.
Patton hadn’t changed much. His face and arms still looked like someone had scattered orange paint across the skin, and he still dressed in baby blue shirts and slightly too-short khakis. His orange curls were in need of a trim, and his eyes…Roman frowned. Those blue, blue eyes with their yellow rings, magnified by glasses, looked duller than they should have.
Like Virgil, Patton looked tired.
Nicodemus, meanwhile, galumphed across the apartment with an excited bark and threw his front paws onto Virgil’s shoulders, toppling them both to the ground.
“Ugh, get off me, you ridiculous beast!” From the floor, Virgil scrunched his face away from the licking and gave the dog a thorough rubdown. Nic’s scars were nearly invisible under his fur, but Roman caught Virgil running his hands over them, all the same. He hated that Virgil still blamed himself for Deceit’s attack.
Everything that happened that day was my fault, anyway…
Roman had already carried Remy’s cream bowl halfway around the counter before remembering it was no longer his chore. Maybe it was the scent in the air, the one Roman called “sexy woodsy”, and Virgil always described as teal, that made this place feel uncomfortably like home.
“Nicodemus Ursae, you know better than that.” Logan pulled Nic away long enough for Virgil to regain his feet.
“I haven’t fed him yet tonight,” Patton said.
“I can do it.” Logan led Nic into the kitchen, not even stopping to put the pixies down, while Patton folded Virgil into an embrace.
The rustle of an opening bag and kibble being poured into a bowl magnified the awkward silence. Roman met Virgil’s troubled gaze. Patton was being awfully clingy, even for him, and Logan had vanished into the kitchen like he couldn’t wait to get away. That one exchange about feeding Nic—which should have felt completely ordinary for a couple who owned a dog together—felt so charged.
Roman passed Logan on his way to the kitchen. The half-faery, still cradling the pixies, eyed the empty cream bowl in Roman’s hand.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“Habit.” Roman shrugged.
Logan hummed, his gaze flickering to the foyer where Patton still clung to Virgil’s lanky form. Virgil wore his characteristic “help I’m being touched what do I do” expression, but he’d already allowed the hug to go on far longer than he would for anyone else.
“What’s going on, Teach?” Roman murmured.
Logan’s lips lifted in a tight smile so unlike him, Roman actually recoiled.
“I don’t know what you mean. Everything is fine,” Logan said.
Patton released Virgil with a brittle expression as Logan came back around. Roman focused on Remy’s cream—touch of cinnamon, splash of vanilla, a single whole clove—but out of the corner of his eye, he watched. Logan opened his hands to reveal the pixies; Patton drew in a sharp breath when he saw Wrassey.
“Okay. We’ll deal with this first.” He spoke almost too softly for Roman to hear. “But later…”
“I know.” Logan’s gray eyes flickered away. “I am sorry, I just—”
“Later.” Patton placed a finger over Logan’s lips. It was the first time he’d touched the half-faery since they’d walked in the door.
They gathered in the living room, Logan hustling first to the guest bathroom to get a first aid kit.
“So.” Virgil perched on the sofa arm like always, his mismatched gaze on Roman. “What happened to Wrassey?”
Roman was halfway through the telling, up to the part where Logan distracted the Sidhe by popping out from behind the tree, when Logan returned. He laid the kit and the pixies on a soft towel spread over the coffee table.
“Can I hold her, Logan? Wren?” Patton asked. “I’m not a healer, but my calming power seems to ease pain for my fur babies at work, at the very least.”
Wren nodded. Logan carried the towel to Patton on the couch. Patton cradled them close, discomfort flickering over his face; a large part of his power was the ability to feel what others felt. Logan eschewed the empty spot next to him and went instead to sit in the opposite chair, flipping open the first aid kit as he did.
Roman did not miss the way Patton’s troubled gaze followed his fiancé.
“So, once I’d broken all the iron cages…” Roman continued his story, needing to fill the awkwardness that seemed to press in from every side. “Wrassey told me where the mirror was. You know, I still cannot believe that bastard used iron to lock them up! And Logan; you thought he was Seelie!”
“He was.” Logan swabbed a Q-tip through a capful of alcohol and laid it on the towel for Wren. “I can feel the difference. Seelies can be as cruel as their Unseelie brethren. Crueler, in a sense, because they conceal their sharp edges with beauty and gentility. Our park Seelie was less of an exception than you would think.”
“Don’t you have Seelie kin?” Virgil asked with a frown.
Logan’s gray eyes darkened. “How do you suppose I know them so well?”
Roman’s Smile instincts wondered, uneasily, just how strong the half-faery considered those faery ties. How often did he visit his winter relatives? Did he keep regular correspondence?
“Well anyway,” Roman went on. “The Sidhe finally saw me and Wrassey and grabbed my shoulder—”
Logan made a face like he wanted to correct Roman’s grammar but thought better of it.
“—right after we’d pulled out the mirror, so there was no hiding it. I tried stalling—”
“You insulted his clothing and implied that his mother was unfaithful,” Logan interjected dryly.
“I mean, did you see how he was dressed?” Roman rolled his eyes.
“Then you challenged him to a duel,” Logan said.
Virgil swung his entire head around to shoot Roman a murderous look.
“Bro!…gan. Are you done, like, interrupting?” Roman said. “I wasn’t actually going to go through with it. I just needed to get far enough away from him to run.”
“Prompting him to shoot a fireball at you.”
“Yes, and your ice deflected it.” Roman flapped a hand at him. “But Wrassey got caught in the updraft and hit the wall pretty hard. I grabbed her and ran through the mushroom ring, then Logan came and started kicking the shrooms down. Then we found Wren and got the hell out of there.”
Wren finished tending to her sister as Roman talked; now she flew from Patton’s cupped hand to sit on Logan’s shoulder.
“I only saw Roman in the fire’s path,” Logan admitted, craning his neck to look at her. “I did not know Wrassey was with him. I fear her injuries are a result of my actions.”
“Had you not acted, it would have been worse for them both.” Wren patted Logan’s earlobe.
No apology, no thanks, just a mutual exchange of facts.
“Well, we all know Roman attracts trouble by existing too loudly—” Virgil started.
“Excuse you—” Roman protested.
“But what were you doing out there, L?”
Logan’s eyes flickered to Patton so briefly that Roman might have missed it, had he not already been watching. “I was investigating a mushroom ring, as I have done every evening since it appeared three days ago.”
The look of shock on Patton’s face did a far better job of challenging Logan’s idiocy than anything Roman could say. Had he seriously not told Patton what he’d been up to these last few nights? Why on Arcadia would he keep his own fiancé—a changeling who already knew all about faeries—in the dark? Roman snuck another glance at Virgil, his stomach tightening at the notion that Logan and Patton might be fighting.
What if the unthinkable happened, and they split up?
Stop it, he told himself, hands tightening around the mirror. You are making an already shitty situation into something bigger than it is.
“So, is this scary Seelie Sidhe gonna come back looking for that thing?” Virgil asked into the thick silence, gesturing at the mirror.
Roman looked at his own hands in surprise, curled protectively around the intricately carved edges. How had he already gotten so used to its weight that he literally kept forgetting it was there? He started to turn it over.
“Do not look!” a weak voice chimed in Faery, startling Roman into almost dropping it. Wrassey struggled to sit up in Patton’s hand.
“Hey, you probably shouldn’t move around—” Patton protested.
“Your magic is enough for this moment, changeling,” Wrassey said. “I must—”
She winced in obvious pain. Patton bit his lip, and Roman felt a whisper of calm flutter against his senses. Wren grabbed several cotton balls from the table and piled them behind Wrassey’s back.
“Sister—” Wren started.
“They must know what they possess.” Wrassey took an obvious slow breath. “Bear. What do you know of Iyusuri?”
Logan frowned. “I have never heard the term.”
“It is not a term.” Wren sat crosslegged at Wrassey’s side and gestured minutely toward the mirror. “She is called the Mirror of Iyusuri.”
The mirror handle warmed under Roman’s fingers as though it recognized its name. He shuddered and set it on the table, as far away from himself as possible. It leaped back into his grasp, prompting him to yelp in shock. He flung it away this time, only for it to resettle in his hand.
“Oh, fuck off!” he swore.
“What the actual fuck?” Virgil scrambled off the couch.
Again, and again, Roman attempted to rid himself of the thing, but like a stubborn spider web, it kept flipping back into his hand. The others watched in silent astonishment. Finally, Roman placed the mirror in his lap and successfully pulled his hands away from it.
“What in the Arcadian hell,” he said evenly, to hide how shaken he was. The mirror rested innocuously against his knees, face down. Roman kept his hands raised, as far from it as possible.
“Ah, Iyusuri has bonded.” Wrassey announced. “I had wondered if she would choose one of you after you saved her.”
“You knew it might do this?” Virgil demanded of the pixie sisters, sounding so angry on his behalf that Roman almost smiled. Wren fluttered her wings warningly at his tone.
“I assumed she would bond with Bear, if she was to bond at all,” Wrassey said, nonplussed. “As he has the only fae blood amongst you.”
Logan frowned. “A warning would have been appreciated. I could have carried the mirror instead of exposing Roman.”
“Distance would not have influenced her choice.”
“Well, how do I un-bond it?” Roman demanded. “Because no offense, but I do not plan on keeping some creepy faery mirror I can’t put down.”
Wrassey nodded weakly toward the mirror. “To break the bond, you would have to gaze into her depths and see the truth she wishes to show.”
Next to Roman, Virgil lifted an annoyed hand. “Didn’t you just warn him not to do that?”
“Yes. Because any mortal who looks into the mirror risks having their sanity unraveled. They would go mad.”
Chapter 5- Tulip
a piece of me in your eyes
reminds me of what’s forgotten
i need to get closer to the fire
and feel my own reflection
~ “Broken Mirror” by Tears of Eternity
perfect love
Dread gripped Roman’s heart as he stared at mirror’s carved back, at the woman’s face in the very center. Her mouth gaped in a silent scream. He supposed his life had revolved around hunting and killing faeries for so long—even if he hadn’t done it in a while—it was inevitable that one day he’d find himself in this position.
“What exactly does Iyusuri do?” Logan leaned forward. “What would happen if, say, I looked at her?”
But Wrassey had collapsed into Patton’s palm, too winded to say anything more. Wren, after making sure she was comfortable, fluttered to Roman and landed on the mirror, stepping gracefully along its edge.
“It is said that whoever gazes into Iyusuri’s depths will see the face of the one who will become their true love.” Wren spun, balancing on a carving of a thorn-covered vine.
Roman frowned. “That’s it?”
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Patton piped up for the first time.
“For a faery, it is not. Fae minds can comprehend the patterns and possibilities which lead to such knowledge, all the Contracts which govern this world. Mortal minds cannot. You, Bear; as a half-blood, you could look without harm, I think.” Wren looked up at Roman with a frown. “You, changeling; I do not know.”
“Which means we aren’t risking it,” Virgil said, scowling.
Roman nodded. “I’m pretty sure I can live without some spooky mirror’s opinion on my ‘true love’ or whatever, anyway.”
It’s not like I don’t know exactly who I’d see.
“Are there any other ways to break the bond, Wren?” Logan asked.
Wren plopped onto the mirror. “We pixies possess little lore about Iyusuri. She was given to our clan for safekeeping by a sister clan; many, many moons ago by your counting.” She chimed her wings, her minute face scrunched in a frown. “Our stories say she was originally passed to an Earthside Court by an Arcadian Lady, after Iyusuri’s truth sparked conflict between a Lord she loved and a Lord who wanted her. Eventually, Iyusuri caused strife within that Earthside Court and was passed to another, and another, and was finally given to solitaries.”
“Seelie or Unseelie Courts, I wonder?” Virgil muttered.
“Seelie,” Roman and Logan said at the same time. Roman chuckled at Logan’s sour face.
“Any ‘true love’ nonsense has Seelie fingerprints all over it,” Roman added. “Bittersweet emotional drama is like chocolate to them. An Unseelie version would probably show you your true love’s body in a grave or something gruesome.”
Like a claw, sticking out of Virgil’s chest…Roman shivered, glaring at the mirror. The screaming woman almost seemed to glare back.
“As benign as she appears on the surface.” Logan thumbed at his lip with a frown. “I do not like the idea of you sharing an unbreakable bond with a faery relic, Roman.”
“You think?” Roman rolled his eyes. “But if the only way to break the bond will drive me literally crazy, what am I supposed to do?”
“Could you give it to someone else?” Virgil suggested. “Transfer the bond, maybe?”
“It seems content enough on your lap,” Logan added. “Does it have to be touching you at all times? Or just near you?”
“That’s a good question.” Roman dared to pick up the mirror, again feeling that sense of comfortable weight in his palm, like the handle had been crafted for his hand alone…like Iyusuri belonged with him and only him…
He gritted his teeth and laid it on the couch between himself and Patton.
It stayed.
“Try standing up,” Logan said.
Roman did, and when the mirror stayed put, he started slowly across the room. However, he’d only taken a few steps before his fingers curled around something hard and textured. The mirror, without visibly moving, had nestled back into his grip…or perhaps, in the manner of faery things, his mortal brain had simply fuzzed over the object’s transition between the couch and his hand. He passed it from one hand to another, careful not to look at the dark, reflective side.
“I guess it will let me deliberately put it down instead of dropping it,” he reported, feeling the others’ eyes on him. “But apparently it likes to stay within a foot’s radius.”
Logan stood and reached out a hand. “May I?”
Roman handed the mirror over, half-expecting it to physically resist. But Logan took it easily, turning it over to examine carvings that seemed unnaturally bright next to his dark skin. His irises flashed white and the temperature dropped as he summoned ice over the surface. The frost refused to stick, however, flaking and sloughing off faster than Logan could generate it.
“Magic resistant,” Logan murmured. “So it cannot be destroyed in such a manner. I wonder—”
But Roman had instinctively taken a few steps back from Logan’s little magic show, and the half-faery blinked at his suddenly empty hands. Roman sighed and sheepishly held up the mirror.
“I guess now we know why it doesn’t care if I hand it to someone else.” He tried a smile.
“Indeed.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Which means Virgil’s idea of transferring the bond probably will not work.”
“That is seriously creepy,” Virgil commented, still hunched on the arm of the sofa.
Roman tossed the mirror into the air, grunting when it snapped back into his palm with a thwap. He tried dropping it, with the same result.
“I guess it won’t let itself be accidentally broken, either,” he commented.
Logan narrowed his eyes. Without so much as a warning, he seized the mirror and swung it hard at the wall. Roman cried out when it slammed into the meat of his hand, which had inserted itself between the mirror and certain destruction without any input from his brain. He hadn’t even felt himself moving.
For a moment he and Logan stared into each other’s eyes, the mirror poised between them.
“What the hell was that?” Roman straightened up and massaged his palm, his heart pounding from adrenaline.
“That, I fear,” Logan said darkly, “is the mirror’s true danger to you.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“As I suspected when my magic had no effect.” Logan backed up and presented the mirror to Roman handle-first. “Faery-made objects are often imbued with a strong sense of self-preservation; they will employ whatever or whoever is nearby in order to keep themselves whole. And as her current keeper, Roman; that ‘whoever’ will most likely be you, whether you will it or not.”
Roman swallowed and reluctantly took the mirror back. One of the thorn carvings left a tiny nick in his palm; his gaze focused on the minute spot of blood.
“That’s trollshit!” Virgil spat. “What if some psychopath decided to chuck the thing into a volcano or something?”
“Precisely.” Logan’s voice dropped again. “Thankfully in such an extreme case, the mirror would simply reappear in Roman’s possession. But if someone tried to break her like I did, I fear Roman would be compelled to stop it, even at grave risk to himself. And if a Faery possessed the magic to physically separate Roman from the mirror without first breaking the bond, the psychic damage to his mind could be immeasurable.”
Silence.
“Which is why,” Logan added, meeting Roman’s wide-eyed gaze, “we must find another way to free you. As a Smile hunter, it would be especially inadvisable to carry a magical object on your person that could easily be used against you.”
“It’s also apparently valuable.” Patton spoke quietly, blue eyes solemn behind his glasses. “We don’t know why the Seelie in the park wanted it in the first place, right? What if he isn’t the only Arcadian faery who knows where it is—or was—and would want it back? That also puts Roman in danger.”
“That is an excellent point, Patton.” Logan smiled at his fiancé for the first time Roman had seen that night. Patton beamed back, and for a moment, everything seemed to snap back to normal between them.
Or maybe Roman just dearly needed to believe that.
“Wren, can I put your sister down for a while?” Patton asked, sounding sheepish. “My hands are getting tired.”
Wrassey had seemingly fallen asleep; Wren laid next to her, stroking her good wing. Patton carefully transferred both to the coffee table. Virgil dug around in his hoodie pockets, fishing out a handful of acorns and finally a tiny, messily stitched scarf.
“You still make those?” Roman sat back on the couch.
Virgil shrugged, putting the acorns away. “I don’t have as much time as I used to, but I try to keep a few on me.” He covered the pixies with obvious care, tucking in the corners and making sure they were comfortable. Roman found himself staring at Virgil’s hands and looked away, biting his lip.
If I had just gone straight to his room when I got here, instead of walking to Painter’s Pond…Roman huffed, his own hands clenching. We’d still be in this situation. Logan would have gone to the park with or without me. Once he had the mirror, he probably would have called Virgil about the pixies, and we’d have ended up on this couch anyway.
“So, what are we going to do?” Patton spread his hands and looked hesitantly toward Logan.
Logan licked his bottom lip, his gaze far away.
“We need more information,” he said finally. “We do not know enough about this mirror to know where to begin safely breaking the bonding spell.”
“If the pixies don’t know anything,” Roman said. “Where would we start?”
“If you say Arcadia…” Virgil started, prompting Logan to hold up a hand.
“Only as a last resort.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Though frankly, I fear only a Seelie will be able to tell us anything of use. I would still like to do some preliminary research before we seek out a faery.”
“You sound like you have an idea, Lolo,” Patton said.
Logan nodded. “The old Cassadaga Grimm house is a treasure trove of knowledge, and perhaps Acres or Beetlecloud will know something of Iyusuri.”
Virgil’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Wait, are you talking about the ranch? Like, where Maid Maleen herself lived? I didn’t know any of the Founders were still local.” He frowned. “Also, what’s a beetle cloud?”
Roman bit back a smile. Whereas Roman’s Hedgerow education had revolved around Camelot mythology, Virgil had grown up on Founder stories. He knew facts that even Roman, whose surrogate mother had literally married a Founder, had never heard.
Logan answered Virgil’s barrage of questions in his annoyingly nonplussed way. “Beetlecloud is a nisse who lives on the property; Acres is the house brownie. ‘Ranch’ is a misnomer, as the Grimms never practiced animal husbandry. Although perhaps one could make the argument that Red’s barn counts—”
Roman waved a hand. “Focus, Wikipedia.”
“Apologies.” An unusually soft expression flitted across Logan’s face. “I have many fond memories of that house, as I spent much of my childhood there with my mother, Hansel, Gretel, and occasionally Stiltz and Red. Short of asking an actual Seelie, I believe the Founders or one of the house faeries will be our best bet in deciding how to move forward. Also”— he turned his intense gaze on Roman— “it may interest you, Roman, to know that Johnny Prince lived in that house for a time as well.”
Roman sucked in a startled breath, feeling his world tilt sideways. “He…lived with the Founders?”
Kate never told me that.
Kate never told you a lot of things, a more insidious voice whispered in his head.
“Indeed. Gretel may still have some of his things.” Logan nodded in his direction. “I will call my mother in the morning. She has been pestering me to pay Hansel and Gretel a visit anyway.”
“I’ll have to ask for a few days off work.” Patton plastered on a smile. “No worries, kiddos! One advantage of covering shifts for coworkers is having plenty of favors to call in when I need them.”
“Luckily I already asked for spring break off,” Virgil added.
Roman stood up, stretching exaggeratedly, watching the mirror on the couch to make sure it stayed put. “Well, if we’re traveling tomorrow, we’d probably better call it a night…”
He didn’t want to leave, exactly; he’d honestly missed the times when the four of them had sat in this living room and bantered and laughed together. But Logan and Patton kept exchanging furtive glances, like whatever was going on between them was one wrong word away from spilling out, and the whole atmosphere in this apartment felt off in a way that had his skin crawling.
“Goodness, I have been a terrible host.” Logan stood as well, straightening his tie. “At least stay long enough to have something to drink. Patton, could you put on some music?”
He strode into the kitchen to get out the Keurig.
“Hasn’t changed at all, has he?” Virgil murmured.
“Not really, I guess.” Patton, his expression a mystery, got up to pick through Logan’s record collection.
“By the way, Virgil,” Logan called from the kitchen as he pulled out mugs. “I spoke to the owner of a gallery in downtown DeLand. They sounded interested in displaying some of your paintings.”
Both of Virgil’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Indeed. They asked to see some of them. However, I did not want to move forward without your consent.”
“Are you kidding me?” Virgil chuckled. “Dude, yes, I consent, or whatever. Right now, they’re just cluttering up your apartment. I honestly wasn’t sure what to do with them.”
Logan laid two steaming mugs on the counter next to Remy’s cream bowl. “While you are here tonight, perhaps you could choose which ones you would like to display?”
Virgil hopped off the couch arm to retrieve his drink and made a beeline into his old bedroom. Roman bit back a sigh and followed, taking his own mug, mildly flattered that Logan remembered which dark roast he liked. He hesitated at Virgil’s door; another habit from when he’d lived here. Always unsure if his presence would be welcome or even tolerated.
He found himself holding the mirror again and glared at the eerie carvings. The answer to the most desperate question of his heart, right here in the palm of his hand… and he dared not look.
Was that his Smile training? Or was he just a coward after all?
“Be sure this is the life you want, Roman,” Kate had said on the day he’d officially joined Smile, presenting his sword to him hilt-first. “Because if you step back into the faery world after escaping once, you’ll never truly be free of it.”
“I’m a changeling, Kate,” he’d argued. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”
Kate shook her head. “It’s different when you hunt them. Trust me, kid. We aren’t Grimms.”
Chapter 6- Camellia
when i wake up, the dream isn’t done
i wanna see your face and know i’ve made it home
if nothing is true, what more can i do?
i am still painting flowers for you
~ “Painting Flowers” by All Time Low
you’re a flame in my heart
“Come in,” Virgil called at the soft knock.
Roman entered, stopping short when Virgil turned and froze at the sight of him, his dark eyes going wide.
“Not who you expected?” Roman said.
“I, uh, thought you were Patton,” Virgil mumbled after an awkward silence, looking away. “You usually knock louder than that.”
“You know us by how we knock?” Roman fought back a fond smile.
Virgil shrugged. “I like to know who I’m gonna be glowering at when I open the door.”
The room was as sparse and comfortably messy as Roman remembered, and also depressingly untouched. Bright canvases lined the walls and lay stacked on the desk. The bed was made, if slinging a rumpled bedspread over unchanged sheets counted as “made.” But a thin layer of dust covered that same desk, the closet door stood slightly ajar, and the air smelled stale. Virgil stood with his back to the door—his beloved patched hoodie its own centerpiece—sipping his coffee and staring at a particular black and red painting; the only one displayed on an easel.
Roman loved Virgil’s art. His paintings bloomed and exploded with color, blended into intricate whorls and streaks and abstract shapes. Virgil tried to explain his process over the phone once, during that brief span of weeks after Roman went back to Philly. “Chroma-something-or-other”, which was too Logan-esque of an explanation for Roman’s comfort at the time. Funny how his brain couldn’t remember the word but eagerly dredged up the jealousy.
“You ok?” Virgil asked. Normally he’d retreat to the bed when Roman invaded his space, but tonight, he stood his ground. Roman plopped backward in Virgil’s desk chair, folding his arms over the back.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You got a weird look on your face when Logan brought up Johnny Prince. He still a sore subject for you?”
“No. I’m not—it’s not—ugh.” Roman scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Maybe a little, if I’m being honest? It’s just, Kate still refuses to talk about him, to the point where I feel like she outright doesn’t want me to know. And it makes me wonder…was he really that bad?” He let his voice drop. “Do I remind her of him?”
“Does it matter?” Virgil raised his hands when Roman shot him an incredulous look. “Look, the dude was never in your life. Even if he was a shitty human being, why should that reflect badly on you?”
“I don’t know.” Roman sighed. “It’s been weird, living with the murder now that they know. To Kate, Johnny was never a ‘Founder;’ he was the one who started shit and left her to finish it. Now I wonder if they think I’m gonna cut and run, too.”
“Are you worried about what the other Founders will say tomorrow?” Virgil asked.
Roman chuckled. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Even if Johnny sucked, he was my dad. I want to know, you know?”
Virgil smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his gaze slid back to the painting on the easel. Roman did a double take when he noticed the mug trembling in Virgil’s hand.
“Are you ok?” he asked.
Virgil startled, of course, but he allowed Roman to rescue his drink and set both on the nightstand. He sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Plenty of shitty memories associated with this room. That…” He nodded at the painting. “Is one of them.”
Roman got up to study it, hyperaware of Virgil standing beside him, close enough to touch. He wished slipping an arm around those hunched shoulders could be enough to make them relax, but he didn’t dare. Virgil dragged a thumb across one of the whorls, tracing a path that looked like it had been made with that same thumb.
“I painted it to ‘Breathe No More.’” Virgil straightened.
“Cheery.” Roman winced when Virgil’s mouth tightened. “Do I know it?”
“Probably not. I didn’t listen to it much when I got to Philly.” Virgil plucked his phone from his hoodie pocket, scattering acorns, and scrolled to his music app.
A low haunting piano started, followed by Amy Lee’s soulful voice. Roman had listened to enough of Virgil’s music to recognize her lovely, mournful lyrics.
i’ve been looking in the mirror for so long…
Virgil dragged fingers down the red streaks as the song played, building to the heartbreaking chorus. Roman, meanwhile, vividly remembered the night he found Virgil crumpled on the guest bathroom floor in this very apartment, with bloodshot eyes, a bloodstained mouth, and a toilet full of bloody flower petals. Every note ratcheted his fury higher, making him want to drag Logan in here by his pointed faery ears and make him face what he’d done.
“I hadn’t seen this since I left.” Virgil stopped the song before the second verse started. “I painted it three days before I came to Philadelphia. Didn’t sleep at all and had an exam the next morning. Still have no idea how I got to class and back again.”
“I remember that call.” Roman struggled to speak through his anger. What on Arcadia had Logan put Virgil through that night? “You could barely string words together. You…never did tell me why you left like you did.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Roman no longer wanted to know. He was sick to death of reliving old pain, old fights, of wondering if Virgil would ever get over this. He wanted to move on. But what if Virgil just…couldn’t? What if Logan was Virgil’s true love, and that damned half-faery ruined him for anyone else?
The mirror’s thorns dug into his palm.
Grimacing, Roman put it away, again.
“I never told Logan, either.” Virgil picked up the painting and sighed. “Probably never will. Doesn’t matter now, anyway.” He laid it on top of the bed, the black and red stark against the plain bedspread.
“…should still tell me!”
Patton’s voice, uncharacteristically harsh, filtered through the closed bedroom door. Roman and Virgil exchanged alarmed looks. They moved as one to the door and pressed ears against it, facing each other.
“I had no reason to assume the mushroom ring was dangerous.” Logan’s low voice was barely audible; Roman had to strain to hear.
“It’s not about the danger,” Patton snapped. “Did you ever consider that maybe I’d just like to know what’s happening in my fiancé’s life, before he turns up on the doorstep with our best friends and a wounded pixie?”
Virgil made a face Roman couldn’t read.
“I am not keeping secrets from you.” Logan’s voice rose; a cabinet door slammed. “I am simply used to coming and going as I please. As such, I do not always remember to verbalize my intentions before I go out. I have apologized for this—”
“And I’m not trying to nag,” Patton cut in, more softly. “But a ‘hey, I’m headed to the grocery store’ or ‘hey, there’s a mushroom ring in our stargazing park’ would be nice, you know? Instead of me turning around and finding you just gone.”
His voice dipped lower; Roman pressed his ear harder against the door.
“I can’t do Philadelphia again, Logan.” Patton’s voice cracked. “I can’t.”
Silence fell—either because they’d stopped talking or moved to the couch where it would be impossible to hear them. Roman drew back from the door, still face to face with a wide-eyed Virgil.
“Philadelphia,” Roman muttered. “Does he mean when Logan fucked off to Arcadia to save his mom from Deceit and got himself captured?”
At the mention of Deceit, Virgil pressed a hand against his chest, and for a split second, Roman saw that red claw, emerging in awful slow motion…panic bloomed…the room grew black at the edges of his vision…
“—think he scared Patton more than any of us knew at the time.” Virgil’s gravelly voice yanked Roman back. He inhaled sharply, focused on Virgil’s face, and tried to pay attention.
“But…” Virgil shook his head. “Surely they’d have worked through all that by now?”
“Maybe it never occurred to our dear Chillmeister that Patton might still have feelings about what he did,” Roman said sourly, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Don’t be mean,” Virgil muttered.
Roman covered his flash of hurt by throwing himself into the desk chair and spinning around. “Sorry, am I still not allowed to talk bad about him?”
“I knew it was weird when you and Logan showed up without Patton.” Virgil showed no sign of having heard Roman’s snark. “I should have said something earlier. I…I should have kept in better touch with them.”
He paced through the room, selecting paintings at random and piling them on the bed, clearly not paying much attention. Now Roman felt torn. He hated watching Virgil get worked up for no reason; Logan and Patton’s relationship woes were not his fault.
But, on the other hand…
Maybe he’s questioning what he would have done if he had visited them, the small, insecure part of him whispered. Would he really have tried to help them work through it? Or would he have done nothing, let them fight it out and possibly break up…?
Roman viciously told that voice to shut up. The mirror found its way back into Roman’s hand—just as well; sitting on it would have been painful—and he stared gloomily at it. His eyes were forever picking out new details among the carved ivory: lips, eyes, flowers, knotted vines.
It was easily the most beautiful object he’d ever laid eyes on.
He wanted to toss it in a fire and watch it burn.
“If it wasn’t for Wrassey and this stupid thing”— Roman glared at the mirror before thrusting it back in his pocket— “I’d say we should clear out of here for the week and let them figure it out.”
“We should at least clear out for the night.” Virgil picked out one final painting and laid it with the others. “Give them some privacy before we go to the ranch tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Roman stood up.
They took their half-finished mugs to the kitchen, where an unsmiling Logan meticulously wiped down a pristine countertop that did not need it. Nic was nowhere to be seen; Logan must have put him back in the main bedroom. Patton sat in the armchair with the pixies, head bent over them, orange curls obscuring his face.
Did they know they’d been overheard? The atmosphere, which had been tense enough in Virgil’s room, was ten times worse out here.
Roman had gotten halfway to the couch before his conscious brain reminded him that he was not sleeping here, and therefore did not need to prepare the bed. He headed for the counter instead, embarrassed, and noticed that Remy’s bowl was already empty.
“How’s, uh,” Roman started. “How’s Remy doing?”
“Adequate.” Logan straightened the towels hanging from the oven handle. “Other than his cinnamon addiction, which I blame entirely on you.”
Roman allowed himself a smirk, but the tension smothered it away.
“So—” he started again.
“You are both welcome to stay, of course,” Logan cut in quickly—too quickly. “Both Virgil’s old room and the couch bed are available—”
“Hold up, Specs.” Roman held out his hands. “I’ve, uh, already paid for a motel room. Wasn’t expecting any excitement that would merit a sleepover, you know?”
Even if he hadn’t, Roman knew he’d never be able to sleep in this suffocating weirdness. He glanced at Patton, who didn’t look up, and then at Virgil, crossed-armed and awkward by the dining room table.
“I’ll crash at my dorm,” Virgil said, shrugging. “Gotta finish cleaning.”
Logan nodded. “Of course. That makes sense.”
They agreed to meet at lunchtime, after Logan called Rapunzel and set everything up. The still-sleeping pixies would stay at the apartment with Patton, who wanted to keep close to Wrassey.
As Roman and Virgil put on their shoes, Patton finally got up to pull them both into tight, clingy hugs. Roman barely held back a flinch when Virgil also embraced Logan, leaning up to whisper something in the half-faery’s ear.
Then they were out the door and heading back to Stetson, because even though Roman did need to check into his motel room, he wasn’t going to let Virgil walk back by himself.
Virgil kept sneaking glances at him, the way he did when he was working up the courage to say something. Arcadian gods, please don’t let it be about Logan…
“Um, about tonight.” Virgil scrubbed the back of his neck. “Were you telling the truth or just blowing Logan off? I mean, about having a room. Because I could make a space on my floor if I moved some shit around…”
Oh. Roman almost laughed in relief.
“I really do have a room,” he said. “Although I should probably call them and tell them I’m still coming. Since this was a surprise visit, I didn’t want to impose. Just gotta get my motorcycle.”
“And walk me back?” Virgil shot him a sly look.
“Duh. I am a gentleman.”
Virgil smiled, which felt like a win even if it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A motorcycle, huh. You finally graduate from a bicycle?”
Roman feigned offense and told the story of how he’d gotten it, which involved a grueling week working as a roofer to get the funds, buying the bike cheap off an older Smile hunter, and then having to take the license test twice before finally passing.
“I’m a shitty test taker, Virgil; quit smirking!” he complained.
Virgil made him call the motel. He then talked about how he’d rescued a cat from a tree by the science building that week, and about how he’d briefly thought about setting up an Etsy shop for his art but decided the company was too shitty. Roman nearly tripped over his own feet more than once, just watching Virgil’s hands and the way his eyes lit up with that wicked glint when he really got going on a subject.
I love you. It was on the tip of Roman’s tongue again, aching to be said. They were alone. They weren’t fighting.
He should say it.
But his mind kept replaying the sight of Virgil’s mouth so close to Logan’s ear. All he could feel were his insecurities, burning him from the inside out…or maybe that was the stupid mirror, which had grown uncomfortably hot against his backside.
“Are you worried?” Roman blurted out, drawing Virgil’s dark gaze. He shoved his hands deeper into his jean jacket. “About, you know. Them. Fighting.”
“Nah.” Virgil mirrored Roman’s posture. “I mean, maybe a little, cause they’re my friends. But I know Patton. He’ll coax Logan into talking, Logan will logic his way through whatever’s got his tie in a knot, and they’ll be fine.” He shrugged. “Their relationship is none of my business, anyway.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. Too casual? Too defensive?
“What if they aren’t fine, though?” he pressed.
Virgil side-eyed him. “Are you worried?”
It was Roman’s turn to shrug. “It feels wrong. They never fight.”
“They never fight in front of other people,” Virgil corrected. “Hell, most of the time they barely touch in public. We can’t make assumptions when we don’t know what they do when they’re alone together.”
“I just don’t like it.” Roman glared at his own feet hitting the pavement.
Virgil stopped so abruptly that Roman was several steps ahead before realizing it. His heart dropped at the murderous look on Virgil’s face.
“You don’t believe I’m really over him.” Virgil hunched into his hoodie. “You think I’m still waiting for them to break up.”
Well, shit.
“That’s not…I don’t…” Roman started.
“Faery Queens, what do I have to do to prove myself?” Virgil ran a hand over his face. “What I put you through is unforgivable; I know that. I just don’t know how to make you see that I am trying to put him behind me.” His mismatched dark eyes glittered. “Behind us.”
Which “us,” Virgil? Roman’s hand closed around the faery mirror, now burning hot to the touch. He hated how their conversations turned into minefields, where the slightest misstep could trigger hurt feelings and arguments.
Just tell him how you feel.
Tell him.
“You could have stayed in Philly.”
He knew the words were a mistake the moment they shattered in the air between them. Virgil’s jaw visibly clenched.
“You know what? Fine.” Virgil started walking again, nearly clipping Roman’s shoulder as he passed. “You don’t trust me. That’s fine. I probably deserve it.”
“I—” Roman protested.
“Don’t!” Virgil raised a warning finger. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“It’s a little fucking late for that.” Roman caught up and thrust his hands into his pockets.
They were silent the rest of the walk back, Roman berating himself with every step.
Stupid. You could have said literally anything else, but you let your insecurities blab. He’s totally going to react well to a confession from you now. Good job.
They reached Stetson’s dormitories; Virgil yanked out his keys. For an awful moment, Roman feared he would storm inside without even saying goodnight. But at the last second he turned, key still in the lock, hand resting on the handle. Light from the streetlamps painted his cheeks and slender neck a pale orange; his bangs fell over his shadowed eyes.
Roman wanted, as he always did, to touch that beautiful, tired face.
“Virgil—” he started, but Virgil’s expression grew pained and for the life of him, Roman couldn’t think of anything to say. There was just too much between them.
They were never going to get past this, were they?
“Good night, Roman,” Virgil all but whispered.
The heavy door creaked shut behind him.
Roman stood in front of that door for an embarrassingly long time, half-hoping Virgil would change his mind, come back out so they could talk, but the building remained dark and quiet. He pulled out his phone, despite knowing a call would probably be ignored, and he couldn’t even begin to apologize over text.
He opened the message app anyway. Virgil’s last snarky text from several days ago stared up at him, mockingly cheerful. No new messages popped up, no typing bubbles. Nothing.
And as usual, Roman had no idea how to fix it.
Maybe coming here at all was a mistake.
Roman put the phone away, got on his motorcycle, and left.
Chapter 7- Sunflower
has anybody noticed that the sky is falling
are we all just happy in the rain
am i the only one who hears the sirens calling
am i the only one who feels the pain
~ “Times Like These” by Five Finger Death Punch
time marches on
The drive from DeLand to Cassadaga took only twenty minutes. A blip, compared to the miles and mazes of highways between Pennsylvania and Florida. Roman spent most of that fifteen-hour blur agonizing over what he’d say to Virgil, which he’d already completely fucked up last night.
Twenty minutes was nothing.
For a blissful mile or two, Roman fantasized about twenty minutes of Virgil on the motorcycle seat behind him, arms wrapped in a death grip around his waist, probably yelling in his ear to slow down but secretly enjoying the thrill. But Virgil had swung into Logan’s blue Fit with Patton and Nicodemus—Logan hadn’t been able to find a last-minute sitter—before Roman could even think to offer the back of his bike. And since none of them knew how many days this little detour would last, Roman had to bring the motorcycle or risk coming back to find it towed or missing.
Roman eyed the tops of their heads at every traffic light and stop sign: Logan’s and Patton’s in the front, Nic’s restless shoulders and wagging tail, Virgil leaning against the side window in the back. He wondered what they were talking about in there, without him.
He wanted Virgil to look back.
Roman once again settled behind the Fit as it paused at another stop sign. They’d passed through Cassadaga proper and were now on a sparsely populated back road, shadowed by giant, ancient oaks draped in Spanish moss. The house itself was situated away from the road near a lake, about a ten minute drive from the nearest grocery store, or so Logan had warned them.
The closer they got to the iconic Grimm house Johnny Prince had once called home, the more Roman’s thoughts shifted to Smile.
“I always wondered why you were so good,” Elliot said during training one day, after Roman landed a spectacular combination kick on one of their practice dummies. “I thought maybe Kate was training you in secret or something, but now it makes sense.”
“What do you mean?” Roman picked up a fake pointed ear and reattached it to the dummy’s head.
Elliot gestured vaguely at him. “You know.”
“I really don’t.” Roman leveled a glare, even as he held the dummy so Elliot could execute the same combo.
“Cause you’re related to him.” Elliot landed the sidekicks but didn’t even attempt the spinning back kick; unlike Roman, they objected to “showy stuff” on principle.
Roman bit back a sigh, his stomach sinking. “I earned my place here, Elliot. Genes have fuck all to do with it.”
“I don’t mean skill.” Elliot stepped back and allowed Roman to get into stance again. “I mean way your eyes light up when you take one of those bastards down. That righteous hatred is exactly what Johnny was known for. That’s what makes you good.”
Roman, who’d executed the kick perfectly again and who was, in fact, grinning with the thrill of it, felt the expression slide off his face.
The fake pointed ears lay on the floor again. He remembered the stricken expression on Deceit’s snake face when Roman’s sword entered his brain and felt sick.
Righteous hatred.
Is that really my legacy?
The Fit finally slowed, turned on its blinker, and turned onto a winding driveway. Roman followed, his eyes widening as the old Grimm house came into view.
It was bigger than he expected, a three-story plantation-style house sporting pillars and red brick walls, enclosed in a wrap-around porch. Oaks, pines, and palm trees shrouded the roof and an overgrown yard in perpetual shade. The house paint was cracked and peeling, the brick covered by moss, but the trees looked trimmed, and the porch gleamed with fresh paint. Clearly, someone still took care of this place.
All eight members in the original Founding Grimm chapter once called this plantation home, Kate had told him; nine if you counted Maid Maleen herself, plus a revolving assortment of other rescued changelings. It still irked him that she never mentioned Johnny Prince being one of them.
Logan parked the Fit next to a detached garage, where three other cars already sat: a rusty minivan of indeterminate color, a huge black pickup, and one of those tiny, sporty, Prius things. Roman killed his bike engine, tugged off his helmet, and shook out his sweat damp hair, wondering just how many Founders he was going to meet today.
Nic sprang out the moment Logan opened the back door, tearing off across the enormous yard. Logan pulled an annoyed face but didn’t look overly concerned. Virgil climbed out as well, studying the house with wide eyes, completely ignoring everyone.
“Are the pixies okay?” Roman asked Patton, who’d brought Wren and Wrassey along, nestled in an old shoebox stuffed with towels. Roman hadn’t seen that box leave Patton’s hands the entire drive.
“They’re still sleeping.” Patton peered down with a furrowed brow. “I think Wren is lending Wrassey her energy or something, so they’ve both been very quiet today. I wish there was more we could do for them.”
A woman with grey-streaked hair and large, luminous eyes met Logan at the edge of the porch; the two shared an embrace and came down to the driveway. Nic galumphed over to greet the woman as well; clearly, Logan had brought him here before.
“Patton, Virgil, Roman.” Logan gestured to the woman with a smile that was almost a smirk. “I would like you to meet Faye Kelsey. However”— his smile widened— “you probably know her as Gretel.”
Roman’s eyes widened. He knew the basic rundown on each Founder; Gretel was supposedly a powerful empath and a master illusionist. She stood nearly as tall as Logan, with commanding shoulders and an hourglass figure that could rival Kate’s. Her brown eyes had bright purple rings around the pupils, brighter than Virgil’s even. Roman’s gaze unconsciously sought out Virgil, whose mouth had dropped open.
“Faery Queens.” Gretel came to Roman first, holding out a hand to shake. “Rapunzel was not exaggerating when she said you could be Johnny’s twin,” she said.
“Really?” Once again, Roman bit back frustration at Kate for keeping his own history from him. Of course, you look like Johnny, stupid; that’s how Kate recognized you in that safe house all those years ago. Remember?
“Even your energy is similar. Not quite the same, and I’ll admit it has been a long time, but still.” Gretel continued to look him over. Normally Roman enjoyed being the center of attention, but something in Gretel’s intense gaze made him want to hide inside his jacket.
“It’s crazy that you all knew him and Kate back in the day,” he said.
Gretel frowned before her face lit up in recognition. “Oh! Kate, of course. Sorry, she went by Katie when she lived with us; I sometimes forget she changed it. She and Rosa really need to visit sometime.”
“I’ll, uh, tell her that,” Roman stammered. Kate would probably smack anyone who dared call her “Katie” nowadays, except maybe her own wife. He wanted to ask a million more questions—he’d even opened his mouth to do so—but Gretel moved on to Patton.
“You poor dears,” she murmured to the pixies, accompanied by a sensation like falling onto a soft pillow, enveloping Roman’s senses and making him draw in a deep breath. Patton’s eyes widened comically, his glasses amplifying the effect.
“Oh…you are really good at that,” he said.
Gretel winked at him. “I’ve had plenty of practice. But I’m always pleased to meet a fellow empath.”
Patton’s cheeks reddened.
Virgil, to Roman’s amusement, looked like he couldn’t decide whether to sink into the earth or sprout a wildflower carpet at his feet. He settled for a nervous handshake.
“Did you and Red Riding Hood really take down a Phooka together?” he blurted out. “Did she really have a pet wolf?”
Gretel’s face lit up in a true smile, and Roman had the uncomfortable realization that she’d never truly smiled at him.
“I see you know the stories. She’s much better at telling those than I.” Gretel gestured toward the house. “Red and Stiltz are already here, in fact, and Rapunzel has gone out for groceries. Won’t you come in?” Her brows furrowed at Nicodemus, however, who’d expended his initial burst of energy and was now methodically marking every tree in the yard.
“Nic will be fine outside.” Logan laid a hand on her arm. “He knows not to wander, and with Red here, I did not expect to bring him in.”
Roman startled when Virgil sidled up and leaned close to his ear.
“Red Riding Hood has cynophobia. Fear of dogs,” he clarified in a whisper.
“Didn’t you just say she had a wolf?” Roman whispered back.
Virgil shrugged and his mouth twisted, like he’d just remembered they were technically fighting. But he didn’t shuffle away.
“Nic can sleep in the old barn while she’s here.” Gretel gestured again toward the house. “Come in, please! We have coffee, tea, juice; Stiltz even brought a bottle of wine.”
Logan chuckled at that. “He hasn’t changed. And Red let him?”
The two exchanged more pleasantries as everyone followed Gretel inside. Roman hung back with Virgil, studying the crown molding along the inside foyer’s long ceiling, the cluttered shelves of knick knacks, wondering if this was what it looked like when Johnny lived here. The foyer spilled into a living room packed with bookshelves, a beautiful but dusty grand piano, and an old sewing machine that monopolized one corner. Brown wood and green blankets dominated the decor, making everything look warm and lived in.
“Three Founders in one house? How cool is that?” Virgil murmured as they approached the kitchen, as though he couldn’t contain himself anymore. “Actually, it might be four.”
Roman smirked. “For someone who refused to join the Grimms, you seem awfully smitten with their stories.”
“The Founders technically founded your organization, too, Mister Smile Hunter.” Virgil rolled his eyes.
The word “hunter” grated on Roman’s conscience, especially with the result of his last failed hunt currently riding in his back pocket.
“Johnny wasn’t a Founder,” he grumbled. “Not in that sense.”
“That’s debatable,” Logan tossed over his shoulder.
“Everything’s debatable with you, Wikipedia; you love arguing,” Roman snarked back.
“Hey, uh, Gretel?” Virgil raised his voice. “Hansel still lives here, too, right? Do we get to meet him?”
Roman cringed. Patton, just in front of them, inhaled sharply as Gretel turned.
“He does,” she answered with an obviously forced smile. “Unfortunately, he hasn’t been up for much socializing.”
Patton laid a hand on her elbow. “Is he having a bad day?”
“A bad week, to be honest.” She patted his hand and led them deeper into the house.
Virgil’s face paled. “What did I say?”
“Hansel has early-onset Alzheimer’s,” Roman explained lowly. For once, he was not pleased to be better informed.
“Wait, what?” Virgil looked mortified now. “He’s only in his forties. When did that happen?”
“He’s always had short term memory issues. Kate and Rosa think Hansel’s pathfinding finally screwed him over for good.” Roman shrugged. “It’s not a well-known thing; they try to keep it quiet. Rosa said they don’t want it getting back to any Grimm enemies still holding a grudge.”
“Trollshit.” Virgil shoved his hands deeper in his pockets; it was a wonder he hadn’t punched through them.
“You didn’t know.” Roman attempted a smile.
Rumpelstiltskin and Red Riding Hood sat at a small breakfast table in the kitchen; Roman recognized both from Logan’s and Patton’s engagement party. Stiltz’s hair stood as tall as ever. Red lounged in her wheelchair, pant legs rolled up to just below her knees, her fiery hair—nearly the same color as Patton’s—bound in a loose braid.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Logan said. “And thank you, Gretel, for having us.”
Gretel flapped a hand at him as she pulled glasses out of a cabinet. “You’re family, Little Bear. You’re welcome any time.”
Roman covered his mouth and caught both Patton’s and Virgil’s gazes. Virgil mouthed “little bear” in obvious glee; Patton pressed his lips together in what was likely an attempt to fight laughter as Logan directed a stink-eye at them all. Gretel made sure everyone had drinks before leaning against the center island to gulp her coffee, and Roman wondered, suddenly, if Logan had picked up his weird little hospitality routines from her.
“Rapunzel should be back soon.” Gretel said to the two at the table.
“Where is Zoe today?” Logan asked. “Are their partners back yet?”
“No, and Zoe’s upstairs.” Stiltz adjusted his glasses in a way that was, again, eerily similar to Logan. His white gloves flashed starkly against his black skin.
“They’ve never been able to resist the call of video games.” Red rolled her eyes.
“Uh, who’s Zoe?” Patton said softly.
Gretel tilted her head. “Zoe O’Connor? They were one of our early rescues; we pretty much raised them from infancy. Has Logan never mentioned them? They practically grew up together.”
Patton no longer looked amused; he tightened his grip on the pixie box. “No, I…I guess it never came up.”
Logan’s face grew pained, while Gretel made the same chagrined face Virgil had when he asked about Hansel earlier.
How is it that we’ve barely been here twenty minutes, Roman thought, and it already feels like we’re drowning in secrets? He had just opened his mouth to say something, anything to break the awful tension, when Red zipped across the kitchen. As her chair was the largest in the room, she instantly drew every eye.
“All right. Who wants to see the house while we wait for Rapunzel?” Red had a light, girlish voice, although she had to be the same forties-ish age as the other Founders. “I’m volunteering the three of you who’ve never been here,” she added.
“I’d love a tour!” Roman agreed, a little too quickly and loud. “Virgil, Patton; how about you?”
Virgil shrugged. Patton glanced at Logan like he expected the half-faery to object. Logan did not, even when Patton handed the pixie’s box to Gretel for safekeeping.
Nor did Logan follow when Red herded the three of them toward the living room.
Chapter 8- Gladiolus
in a couple weeks i could drive away
and you could find another victim
it’s not your fault i feel this way
senseless, with no direction
~ “Senseless” by Ben Reneer, Paige Boyatzis
strength of character
Once in the living room, Red turned and beamed at them all.
“Now, you I already know,” she said to Patton, grasping one of his hands. “Because Little Bear never shuts up about you.”
“I implore you to cease using that nickname!” Logan shouted from the kitchen.
Patton, meanwhile, merely blushed.
“And you,” Red said, rolling over to Virgil. “I met you at the engagement party. Virgil, right?”
Virgil nodded.
“Thank you,” Roman bent over to murmur when Red got to him. “For defusing the awkwardness.”
“You’ll have to tell me what that was about later,” Red murmured back, then raised her voice. “So! The house.”
She took them around the main living room, the den, the downstairs hallway, the other den, and then back to the ground staircase just off the foyer. The stairs had a lift that ran along the side wall, which Red made a beeline for.
“It’s kinda like the one from Up,” Roman commented.
She chuckled, pressing a button to make the whole contraption ascend. “It’s nearly as slow, too, just to warn you.”
They trailed behind, one step at a time. Roman noticed Virgil hanging back with Patton, the two talking quietly, and decided to give them some space.
“So, how many people did this house sleep when you all lived here together?” Roman asked Red, trying to sound casual. “There were eight of you, right? Plus, Maid Maleen—”
“And Joringel, our martial arts teacher.” Red’s gaze turned fierce. “Murdered by Stepmother before she kidnapped Cinder.”
“Oh.” Roman sighed, feeling again like he’d tripped over a secret. “Sorry. Kate never really told me many of the stories.”
They ascended a few steps. Red shot him a contemplative look.
“Kate and Johnny came to us at the same time, somewhat later, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
Roman’s mouth twisted. “Am I that obvious?”
Another step.
“You’re curious. I get it.” Red pressed her lips together. “Rosa told us what happened with that Unseelie in Philadelphia. I’m sorry you had to find out about your old man the way you did. They should have told you sooner.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “How long have you Founders known about me?”
Red chuckled. “Longer than you’d like, but not in as much detail as you’d think. Kate…she was never as close to the rest of us as she was to Rosa. And Johnny. She still keeps things close to the heart.”
He sighed. “I just wish she would talk about him. Even now that my ‘secret identity’ is out, she always changes the subject or says it’s in the past and not important anymore.” He let his voice drop. “It’s important to me.”
Roman still hadn’t called Kate to update her about the mirror or coming to the old Grimm house, partially because he didn’t want to be a bother…but also so that if the conversation did turn to Johnny, he would have gathered some concrete questions to ask.
Red leaned forward. “Roman, I know Kate is practically your mom, and you love her—”
“But she’s not perfect,” Roman finished wryly. “Yeah, she prefaces practically every conversation we’ve had lately with that.”
“She would.” Red chuckled. “She’s a firebrand. But she also knew Johnny Prince better than anyone, and Johnny…” She sighed, her gaze far away.
They’d nearly reached the top of the staircase.
“Was he awful, Red?” Roman asked quietly. “Just tell me; I can take it. I already know he abandoned my bio mom and Smile, and nothing I’ve heard so far has improved that image.”
“Johnny was…difficult,” Red allowed after a moment.
“How do you mean?”
Red sighed. “I won’t sugarcoat it. We all had our inner demons to fight, but his were more vicious than most. His faery master fed on pain. I still believe the bastard used Johnny’s powers to control their other changelings, which broke him on a fundamental level. He was fickle, moody, prone to violent outbursts, hated any kind of commitment, and he enjoyed…”
Roman swallowed hard. “Enjoyed what?”
Red grimaced at his expression. “The thing you need to understand about Johnny’s history with this house is how deeply he hated faeries.”
“Well, yeah.” Roman shrugged. “But don’t we all, to an extent? That’s kind of why Smile exists.”
Red shook her head. “Smile exists because we, the original Grimms, weren’t sadistic enough for Johnny Prince’s taste. When I say he hated faeries, I mean he wanted to nuke Arcadia.”
Roman’s eyebrows flew up. “I’m sorry, what?”
“There are entire Arcadian Courts that probably still know Johnny Prince’s name,” Red said. “He didn’t just kill faeries; he enjoyed making them suffer. He was so cruel to the solitaries here that they nearly rose up in retaliation against us all. You can imagine the fights we had.”
Faery Queens. Roman had to steady himself on the banister rail. My father was a sadist?
Roman had no love for faerykind, but Kate had drilled into him that only the dangerous ones needed taking down. Hunters weren’t mindless killers; they were assassins, precise as a surgeon’s knife, protecting humanity. That’s what Smile was supposed to be about. Was it all lies? Made up by Kate, perhaps, to try and redeem Johnny’s bloody legacy?
“Can we go back to the part where he wanted to nuke Arcadia?” Roman said.
“He almost made it happen, too, which is another long story.”
The lift stopped at the top of the stairs. Red allowed Virgil and Patton to go ahead, gently grabbed Roman’s arm, and pointed down to the foyer and barely visible living room.
“Johnny also used to read in that sitting room while Mama Em sewed,” she said in a gentler voice. “Muscle car magazines, mostly. He would pillage out of Gretel’s stash. They fixed bikes together. Cinder loved dirt riding with him. He could be a lazy drifter, but he was also a master of improv and a wicked stand-up comedian.” Her gaze grew far away. “It wasn’t all bad. People are complicated; memories even more so.”
“I guess.” Another thought—along with a remembered flash of a mustached face—made Roman momentarily stop dead.
Who…who did they base my fetch’s personality on?
“Roman.” Red leaned forward again, her red iris rings catching the light. “My feelings about Johnny—any Founder’s feelings, for that matter—have nothing to do with you, understand? You are your own person and Logan’s friend, and Logan is family to us.”
Roman nodded. Red finally let him pass.
Electronic music wafted from the upstairs den, along with the clicking of a game controller and the occasional swear. A skinny someone sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a widescreen TV, frantically mashing buttons. Computer animated carts raced on the screen. Virgil and Patton stood watching as Roman and Red approached.
“Ooh, Mario Kart.” Roman’s expression lightened.
“And sick setup,” Virgil added, looking around the room. Along with the TV and its accessories, the room also had a desk with a sprawling, glowing gaming computer. Above that, rows of bookshelves held far more games and movies than books. Beanbags littered the carpeted space, and lamps cast a homely yellow glow over everything.
One of the carts crossed the finish line, prompting the stranger to jump up and hoot. “Yeah, take that, Princess Peach!”
“Zoe, are you teaching your online friends bad sportsmanship again?” Red asked in a wry voice.
The winner turned, a wide grin stretching over their heart-shaped face. “There’s no remote multiplayer mode with this version of Mario Kart, Auntie Red. Ayyy, the new folks are here!”
Their voice was so enthusiastic that Virgil actually took a step back.
“All right, introductions!” Red announced as they gathered around her. “This is Zoe, they/them.”
Zoe gave a little wave. They sported a mop of artfully layered blonde hair, held in place with dozens of colorful barrettes, and their fierce blue-green eyes—and lack of changeling rings—reminded Roman of Kate. They looked younger than the other Founders; closer to Logan’s age, maybe.
“Zoe, this is Patton Foster, Logan’s fiancé, so please be nice. And these are—”
“Hang on.” Zoe flapped a hand at Red, peering closer at Patton. “I’ve heard that name somewhere, and not from Logan. Are you a Grimm?”
“Yes.” Patton frowned. “Are you?”
“One-third of the New Cassadaga chapter, at your service.” Zoe performed a wry curtsy.
“Freelance,” Patton said, looking the tiniest bit uncomfortable.
“You ever been in a chapter?”
Patton’s cheeks hollowed. “Erie. Many years ago.”
Zoe’s eyes widened and they snapped their fingers. “Patton Foster, red hair…Pax! You’re Pax, aren’t you?”
Pax? Roman and Virgil exchanged a look; Virgil gave a tiny, confused shrug.
“You’re Erie’s Pax?” Red’s eyebrows climbed.
Patton put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I honestly didn’t know I’d gained a reputation.”
“Right? Two tickets to Surprise City, you and me. I get the window seat,” Roman muttered to Virgil, who scoffed.
“My partners and I did a rescue with the Erie chapter about a year ago,” Zoe said, still looking delighted. “They’re pretty badass, and they still talk about you.”
Patton smiled thinly again. “Good for them, I guess.”
Roman wondered how their soft little puffball could have gained enough notoriety for his Grimm name to be passed around, but he remembered Virgil telling him that Patton regretted his days as an Erie Grimm. Patton’s uncomfortable posture prompted Roman to step up and hold out a hand.
“Roman Reis, he/him,” he said. “And this is Virgil, also he/him, whom I am generously introducing because he’ll never do it on his own.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Virgil rolled his eyes, but his smile took the sting out of the insult. Both took a turn shaking Zoe’s hand.
“Anyone want to play a round?” Zoe held up the game controller.
Virgil immediately made one of his panicked “oh no how do I people” faces while Patton blinked.
“Uh…” Roman glanced between Zoe and Red. “Well. We’re not here just to visit. I dunno how much Logan told you guys—?”
Red wheeled close. “Rapunzel said you had a faery problem, but no more than that. When she gets back, you can explain the details to everyone all at once.” She rolled further down the hallway, beckoning. “Let me at least show you all where you’ll be staying tonight, before Zoe drags you into their mindless time sink.”
“Red does not approve of video games,” Zoe stage-whispered, plopping back down in front of the TV.
“I heard that!” Red called.
Roman, Virgil, and Patton followed Red to a cluster of doors.
“So…Pax?” Virgil murmured to Patton as they walked. Roman hung back, pretending not to listen.
“I don’t want to talk about it, kiddo,” Patton muttered back.
“Does Logan know?”
Patton huffed. “You think Logan is the only one with secrets?”
The bitterness in Patton’s normally sweet voice made Roman wince.
Red reached for a doorknob and smiled when Roman darted over to open it for her.
“You two”— she gestured at Roman and Virgil— “can use this room, if that’s okay. Patton, Gretel suggested putting you and Logan in hers and Hansel’s old room further down, since it has the queen bed.” She gestured to a door across the hallway.
“That’s fine.” Patton smiled weakly.
Roman, whose heart had accelerated at the words “queen bed,” thanked every Arcadian god he could think of that this room had three single beds to choose from, two of them bunked. The dresser and free-standing third bed frame were both a dull, steely gray, speckled with overlapping marks in varying metallic colors. Little ovals, mostly, but with bigger, denser splotches at chest height. Roman laid his thumb against a thumb-sized oval, reminded of Virgil’s paintings.
“Whose room was this?” Virgil meandered in to study the posters.
“Stiltz and Dare’s.”
Rumpelstiltskin, whose touch could turn any substance into something else…Roman jerked his hand from the dresser, prompting Red to laugh.
“Stiltz’s power doesn’t linger in things,” she assured him from the doorway.
“Well.” Roman folded his arms with a huff. “Now I know that.”
Red smirked. “I’ll leave you to get settled before Rapunzel gets back. Feel free to take up Zoe’s offer or just relax, chill, whatever the cool kids call it nowadays.”
Patton elected to follow Red back to the den, maybe to go down and knock his stupid fiancé on the head, Roman hoped. But that left him and Virgil alone for the first time since their latest fight.
Of the two bunked beds, only the top had a usable mattress; the bottom bunk was stacked with boxes. A few rogue beanbags lay piled in a corner, along with a dust-covered electronic drum kit. Old posters covered the walls: early 2000s hip hop and way too much Linkin Park for Roman’s taste.
“You think the drums still work?” Roman sat down on the little seat, not seeing a place to plug it in, but he did find a pair of sticks. Attempting a drum roll caused clouds of dust to fly everywhere, making him sneeze, and he put the sticks back.
“Clearly not.” Virgil snickered and ran his hands over the dresser, where steely gray melded to coppery brown and bright silver, plus a dozen other colors. “And I thought my power had sucky blowback. Poor Stiltz. Can you imagine being able to do this and never being able to turn it off?”
“Just as well our Brainiac didn’t inherit Rapunzel’s power.” Roman waved away the dust cloud. “Hers is kinda like that, isn’t it?”
“Except hers isn’t involuntary. And her touch only works on organic matter,” Virgil said lowly.
Rapunzel’s fingers inside Virgil’s bleeding chest, knitting shredded vessels, trying to staunch the flow of red…Roman stood up, nearly toppling the tiny metal stool, and walked to the wall of Linkin Park. A floorboard creaked; Virgil must be pacing as well. Roman refused to turn. He didn’t trust his face to not give away that awful memory.
“I wonder why two similar changeling powers would differ so much in how much control the wielder has?” Roman mused aloud, just to say something, studying Chester Bennington’s posterized face. “Maybe they only look similar from the outside—”
“We need to talk about last night,” Virgil blurted out.
Roman ran a hand over his face. There it is.
“What’s to talk about?” Roman said, his words clipped. “You were right to get mad, and you were right about me. I’m fucking insecure, okay? Can we just forget it and move on?”
Insecure. The word echoed in his head, hot and accusatory. The mirror burned cheerfully against his backside again.
“We’re not ignoring this!”
The crack in Virgil’s voice made Roman turn at last. Virgil’s face shuttered and he looked away.
“I hate fighting with you,” he said softly. “And I don’t mean the banter; I mean the yelling and shutting down. Our past is our past, and we can’t change it. Now that we’re dealing with that…” Virgil pointed to the mirror, which kept up its cheerful burn. “We need to figure out how to talk through the hard shit.”
Roman dragged out a beanbag and plopped on it with a sigh. Iyusuri dug into his hip; he dragged it out with a wince and stared at it. The screaming woman still looked disturbingly lifelike, like she could start talking to him at any moment.
“You’re right,” he said quietly.
Virgil pulled out a second beanbag, folding his long limbs into something resembling an awkward spider. “Look, I’m sorry I accused you of not trusting me. I guess I’m still a little defensive when it comes to Logan and…feelings.”
Roman had to drop his gaze. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I get why you came back here; I do.” He exhaled. “My head does.”
“And your heart?” Virgil murmured.
“My heart can shut the hell up,” Roman said sharply, and sighed. “Honestly, I just miss you, you know? Things with my murder are still weird and icky after the whole Johnny revelation. You’re the only person I really talk to nowadays.”
Needy, Roman’s mind whispered. His grip around the mirror tightened.
“Believe it or not,” Virgil said, “I miss you, too, Sir Sing-a-Lot. Why do you think I battle my intense hatred for the telephone to call your dramatic ass? I like our banter.” Virgil half-smiled, the sad little quirk of lips that always made Roman’s heart skip. “I’m honestly impressed you still put up with my stupid anxiety and weekly panic attacks.”
“It’s not stupid,” Roman shot back.
“Mmm, debatable. But seriously.” To Roman’s shock, Virgil snagged his other hand. “Let’s not fuck this up again, okay?”
Roman tried to think of a witty response to that and—for once in his life—failed. Mostly because his brain was busy short-circuiting over Virgil holding his hand.
Virgil’s hands were darting, hesitant things, half-hidden by sleeves, with bitten nails and fingers that constantly tapped and fiddled and dragged over any surface they encountered. Catching one of those hands was like picking up a nervous kitten; if it didn’t immediately skitter away, it would settle into something surprisingly heavy and trusting in your grip.
“I’m gonna lay this out very clearly, so listen up.” Virgil’s dark gaze was clear. “I did not come back to Stetson for him. I came back because I want to list a college degree when I fill out job applications. I want to make my own connections outside the faery world.” He sighed. “I don’t want to be a Grimm, or a hunter, or any of it. I just want to be human.”
Roman was going to vibrate out of his skin. Maybe having Virgil’s fingers wrapped around his own gave him courage, because he found himself saying, “I’m starting to think I don’t want to be a hunter anymore, either.”
Virgil blinked. “What…really?”
“Virge, I haven’t hunted since I killed Deceit.” It felt freeing to finally admit it, even if his stomach squirmed with shame. “That’s why I went to the park last night even after that naiad tried to warn me away. These last few months, I’ve been drifting in a haze. I’ve been out three times since October to spy on Remus and my real mother; I don’t even know why. I don’t know who I am, and I can’t…I can’t find the answer anywhere.”
Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “If you’ve been feeling that bad, why did you come all the way down here? DeLand is not exactly an idyllic getaway for either of us.”
Because you’re the last constant in my life. Because I want you to give me a reason to stay. Roman squeezed Virgil’s hand, half expecting him to pull away, absurdly relieved when he didn’t.
“I had all these plans after Logan and Patton’s engagement party, remember?” Roman said. “I was gonna make a website, find a local theater, maybe open a kung fu studio, do more photography, start making some money, get an apartment that was just mine…”
“I remember. You even gave up your current place to a couple new recruits.” Virgil nodded. “That’s why we stayed in Kate and Rosa’s apartment at Christmas.”
“And I’ve been mooching off them ever since!” Roman finally pulled his hand away to run both through his hair. “Because I’ve done none of it, and on top of that, I can’t even stomach doing the one thing I was always good at: hunting. I keep seeing that awful snake face in my head and I just…can’t.”
“What would you do instead?”
Roman frowned. “What?”
Virgil leaned forward. “Let’s say you never picked up a sword again. We both know trauma’s a bitch. What would you do instead?”
“I don’t know.” Roman shook his head. “That’s my whole problem; I’ve never had to do anything. Some part of me really thought I was going to luck my way into financial security one day when I got bored, when I’ve never worked a proper job in my life.”
“You worked at the Athens.” Virgil frowned.
“As a volunteer!” Roman huffed. “Let’s face it, you called it from the day we met. I’m a useless moocher who’s always relied on luck and my foster mom for everything. And I’m the son of Johnny fucking Prince: famously unstable, unreliable, who ran out on the mother of his child and the organization he helped found.” Roman’s mouth twisted. “Maybe that’s why Kate doesn’t talk to me the way she used to; she sees me becoming like him and—”
“Nope!” Virgil untwisted one of Roman’s hands, which had been reflexively gripping Iyusuri’s handle, and took it again. “Nuh-uh. Shut it down. I’m not an expert on a lot of things, but when it comes to inventing entire hellish scenarios out of nothing, I’m like a triple expert. An XXX-pert.”
“Easy, tiger.” Roman smirked.
“And THAT.” Virgil cleared his throat and glared. “Was your anxiety talking. Nobody, including Kate, thinks you are turning into Johnny.” He smiled. “Anxiety is supposed to be my thing; Romano Cheesy is yours—”
“How dare you—”
“So as soon as we’re rid of this thing,” Virgil plowed on, gesturing at the mirror, “you need to sit down and brainstorm what you really want. Not what Johnny Prince would want, or Kate, Smile, or anyone else.”
Roman forced a smile and nodded. That’s easy, Virge. I want what I’ve always wanted: you.
So, say it, another part of his mind whispered. Tell him. He is literally holding your hand; you should—
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” a voice asked from the doorway.
Zoe stuck their head in, smirking at their clasped hands. Virgil immediately let go, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. Roman bit back a pang of disappointment. He knew he was lucky Virgil had deigned to take his hand not once, but twice during a single conversation, and had allowed the touch to linger as long as he did.
“Um, we’re not…it’s not…” Roman stammered.
Zoe’s barely-there eyebrows rose on their forehead. “Uh-huh. Well, whatever it is, or isn’t; Rapunzel’s back. Everyone else is downstairs.”
Chapter 9- Violet
high in the sky
we can see the whole world down below
we’re walking the tightrope
never sure, never know how far we could fall
~ “Tightrope” from The Greatest Showman soundtrack
determination
They gathered in the kitchen, which despite being enormous, still felt crowded with eight people and two pixies.
Logan and Patton helped Rapunzel put the groceries away. Gretel filled glasses of water. Stiltz and Red had reclaimed their spot at the tiny kitchen table—Roman wasn’t sure Stiltz ever left—while Roman and Virgil took the two other chairs. Zoe leaned against the island, utterly casual. Wrassey, curled up in the pixies’ box on the table, still looked asleep, but Wren perched on the edge, polishing her wings and basking in the attention.
At Logan’s prompting, she retold her clan’s history with the mirror. Roman related their encounter with the killer Seelie from the park. As he explained the bonding problem, he laid the mirror face-down on the table.
“May I look at it?” Stiltz asked when Roman finished.
“You can try,” Roman said as Stiltz picked up Iyusuri. “But just to warn you, it might—”
The mirror vanished and reappeared in Roman’s hand. Shock rippled through the room.
“Do that,” Roman finished.
“Oh, that is fascinating,” Rapunzel said, coming around the island, sounding so much like Logan in that moment that Roman almost thought it was him. She parked a pair of reading glasses on her nose, adding to the effect.
“So.” Roman flushed. “I, uh, think I have to actually hand it to people who want to look. And even then, it doesn’t like being more than a couple feet away from me.”
He passed it to a frowning Stiltz.
“You’re a tricky one, aren’t you.” Stiltz adjusted his glasses and squinted to examine the carvings.
“Don’t look at the mirrored side,” Logan warned from his place near the back cabinets. “Doing so will drive a human mad. I have also determined that the mirror is also highly magic resistant.”
Stiltz narrowed his eyes. With deliberate intent, he handed the mirror back and tugged off a glove, one finger at a time. Roman hated that his mind flashed to Deceit and those awful yellow gloves…but unlike Deceit, Stiltz wore gloves to keep other people safe. His power worked on anything. He held out his ungloved hand; Roman carefully pressed the mirror’s handle into it. No one else moved; no one seemed to breathe. Roman remembered the colorful metal bursts on the furniture upstairs, hand and fingerprints caused by Stiltz’s famous transformative touch.
The mirror, however, remained stubbornly unchanged in his dark, bare hand.
“Holy shit,” Zoe said in their piercing voice, which seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings.
Stiltz dragged a thumb over the carvings, sensually slow, his eyes fluttering closed. This continued for several awkward moments before he noticed everyone watching and quickly passed the mirror to Red.
“Sorry,” he muttered, yanking his glove back in place. “I just…forget, what naked touch feels like. There are so few things…”
Red absently brushed the side of his arm as she made her own examination of the mirror. Iyusuri seemed to tolerate being passed from person to person, though it would return to Roman if someone attempted to pick it up once it had been put down.
“I’ll just say, someone wove some strong, unpleasant emotions into this thing—oh! And it just got very hot,” Gretel commented, handing it off to Rapunzel with a shudder.
“Really?” Patton reached over to touch the carvings, just a fingertip, and withdrew like the mirror burned. “Oh gosh, you’re right. How did I miss that?”
“You never actually touched it last night,” Logan pointed out, not unkindly, but matter of fact. Patton still flinched like he’d been poked.
Nobody else seemed to notice. Roman wished he could stop noticing.
Rapunzel passed the mirror back to Roman at last, and he hated the flutter of relief he felt at its now-familiar weight. He rubbed at a carved rose petal along the side.
“So. Bonding this thing was very much an accident,” he said, once again feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “And I would very much like to un-bond it.”
He swore he heard a disgruntled voice grumble at that, which he dearly hoped was his imagination.
“Have any of you heard of Iyusuri before?” Logan asked. “Or know how to break faery object bonds? We were hoping, with all the various Fae you’ve encountered over the years…”
Roman instinctively leaned into his luck, mentally kicking himself for not having done so all along. His stomach sank when the four Founders looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Sorry, kids.” Stiltz passed a hand over his wiry hair, which sprang back into place. “I’d never seen or heard of a true love mirror before today.”
Roman felt the words like a physical weight on his chest. The Founders were their only lead. If they couldn’t help…
“I can ask Hansel when he has a lucid moment,” Gretel offered. “Sometimes he would talk to solitaries when he used to walk the Hedge. And I suppose one of us could call Cinder or Dare.”
“You can try.” Stiltz shook his head. “But we always did missions as a team. I doubt they’ll know more than any of us here.”
“Which counts Rosa out, too.” Red propped her chin in her hand.
And Kate, Roman mentally added. Well, he wasn’t ready to call her yet, anyway.
Silence.
“So, we’re at a dead end already.” Virgil rubbed his face. “Unless anyone knows of a non-murderous faery we can talk to, or maybe a faery library we wouldn’t get captured trying to raid.”
Rapunzel inhaled. She stalked from the kitchen amid a flurry of confused glances. Moments later, Roman heard her creaking footsteps on the stairs. Exactly like Logan would do on a brainwave. They really are alike, aren’t they?
“Don’t forget we can still ask Acres and Beetlecloud, when we see them.” Logan pointed out. “They are solitaries—”
“We do not all know each other.” Wren balanced on the edge of the box with her tiny hands on her hips.
Zoe snorted and covered their mouth.
“That is precisely what I am counting on.” Logan glowered. “The house faeries here may have access to sources of information that DeLand’s pixies do not.”
“And we have this!” Rapunzel returned and thumped a massive book onto the table.
It was bigger than an old-fashioned encyclopedia and thicker than Roman’s wrist, bound in bleached leather, shiny and worn with use. The pages were edged in silver, with flowing Faery words gracing the front. Roman squinted; Faery script had a habit of squirming around on the page, at least to his eyes. It had always creeped him out.
“Cursed Queens, Rapunzel.” Gretel reached out and hesitated, as though she half-expected it to bite her. “You’ve had a faery grimoire, what, just sitting in your old bedroom all this time?”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Red added in a much sterner voice.
“I’d honestly forgotten about it until Virgil mentioned libraries.” Rapunzel’s voice dropped. “Oros brought it with him, the night we…” She trailed off.
“The night I was conceived?” Logan touched Rapunzel’s elbow, his pointed ears and prismatic eyes mute reminders of his heritage. His expression was aggressively neutral.
“Yes.” Rapunzel squeezed his hand, seeming to find reassurance in Logan’s forthrightness.
The Founders all wore shuttered expressions now, avoiding each other’s eyes, and Roman guessed there was a hell of a story here. He also couldn’t help but note the way one tiny cinder of an omission ignited so much tension even in a group as tightly knit as the Founders.
Logan would have done the same damned thing. Roman thought. How long will Patton put up with it? What hope do the two of them have of not becoming their own little house of secrets?
Rapunzel lifted the book’s cover with a creak.
“So much happened after that night; I never had the chance to give it back to him. And afterwards…” She sighed. “I never knew whether the Okeechobee Seelies knew he’d taken this book, if they’d punish me for possessing it if I tried to take it back. It seemed safer to just hang onto it.”
Flowing Faery text and devastatingly realistic illustrations fought for dominance on the pages; some drawings as mundane as flowers and toads, some showing faeries doing things to animals, humans, and each other that made plenty of people around the table grimace.
“Hang on, a grimoire is a spell book, right?” Virgil asked. “It’s not, like, gonna curse us just for looking at it, right?”
Rapunzel shrugged. “It’s never harmed me. I wouldn’t speak any of the spells aloud, though.”
“You can read Faery?” Roman asked in awe.
She flipped the book to the first few pages, which were laid out like a table of contents. “A little. Not terribly well.” Her lips twitched in a smile that looked sad. “I taught myself in Arcadia, reading Name Contracts, and then Oros taught me more using this very book.”
“Rapunzel, are you sure you’re up to—” Stiltz started quietly.
“I’m fine.” Rapunzel shot both him and Red a frosty look that rivaled one of Logan’s. “Words on a page won’t trigger me. Let me help, unless anyone else learned to read Faery during my absence…?”
Stiltz’s nostrils flared, and Red wore the pinched expression of someone inventing new swear words in their head, but neither objected again. Gretel set a glass in the sink with a hard thunk. And Roman remembered that Logan’s mother had been trapped in Arcadia by Deceit for three whole years, and maybe that had repercussions.
“What are we looking for?” Logan broke the tension, peering over his mother’s shoulder.
Rapunzel refocused. “Any spell that deals in love.”
“In a Seelie tome?” Logan said dryly. “That will not significantly narrow our choices.”
“I want to cross-reference any such spells that line up with mirror illustrations in this particular book,” Rapunzel said. “I remember seeing a few. If we are lucky, one might be your Iyusuri, or enough like it to extrapolate from.”
For a few long minutes, only the whisper of old paper interrupted the silence. Gretel refilled the coffeemaker. Roman sat back in his chair, wishing he could help. Rapunzel shouldn’t have to fight her own recent trauma to do it…this was his problem.
“If we are lucky…”
But I am lucky.
He drew a slow breath and focused inward. We need to know about Iyusuri, he thought, gripping the warm mirror handle, which had found its way back into his hand. The nape of his neck tingled, the hairs rising as he slipped through the imaginary curtain—but not too far, lest he accidentally trigger a chain of wrongs instead of rights. The line between stepping through the curtain and breaking through it seemed to shift every time.
“Ah ha!” Rapunzel crowed in triumph, pausing on a page near the back. Her finger landed on an illustration.
Roman leaned forward and smiled in relief; it clearly showed Iyusuri, down to the rose cluster carving along the left side and the woman’s screaming face front and center. He held the actual thing next to the drawing, just to be sure.
“I’ll be darned.” Stiltz leaned forward as well.
“What does it say?” Virgil demanded.
“There’s a bit on the mirror’s history,” Rapunzel said after reading. “Which is quite sordid, by the way. There’s a bit on bonding…” She read further. “It says the bond is broken by looking into the mirror’s depths and learning the truth she wishes to tell. Which, if I understand correctly, only a faery can do safely?”
Roman nodded. “And we already knew that.”
“Iyusuri’s maker probably never imagined she would end up in a mortal’s hands.” Logan adjusted his glasses.
“Or, more likely,” Virgil added darkly, “they didn’t give a shit what would happen to said mortal.”
“Are you sure that’s all it says?” Roman stared at the incomprehensible text, mentally grasping at beads, willing one of them to be useful. “There’s no hint of how to be free of this thing without breaking my brain?”
Stupid luck. But…he wanted to kick himself. I didn’t ask for a solution, did I? I asked for knowledge, and my power delivered exactly that.
Rapunzel took her time closing the book, letting it settle against the table with a soft thud and running her hand along the spine, her gaze far away.
“There might be another way.”
Something dark in her words made the already quiet room fall completely silent. She pushed back her long, braided hair and met Roman’s gaze. Her eyes were the same shape as Logan’s, but human brown instead of faery gray, with dark green changeling rings and, somehow, the exact same intensity.
“The book may not tell us what we need to know,” she said. “But the Okeechobee Seelies wrote Iyusuri into that grimoire. They might know more than they set down here. If you took the mirror to them…”
“Whoa, hold on, R.” Stiltz held up his hands. “You are not seriously suggesting visiting a Court—”
“Not me.” Rapunzel nodded at Roman. “Him.”
Roman’s eyebrows shot up.
“But why would they help him? What’s in it for them?” Stiltz asked.
“They get their mirror back,” Rapunzel answered. “I assume you didn’t plan to hang onto that thing once we sorted out the bond problem?” This she said to Roman.
“Not a chance in Arcadia,” Roman said fervently. “But, uh, I don’t know if me walking into a Court is a good idea. I’m a hunter.”
The words dropped into dead silence.
Roman studied the others’ reactions—Stiltz’s stony shock, Red’s and Gretel’s dismay, Zoe’s frown—and realized they hadn’t known.
“You’re in Smile?” Gretel said in a quiet voice, her violet-ringed eyes wary.
“I’m…it’s not like that,” Roman protested, lifting his hands.
“Of course, he’s a hunter, Gretel.” Rapunzel looked around with raised eyebrows. “Did none of you put that together before now? He’s Kate’s, and Kate is just as much Smile as Johnny.”
“Kate was different,” Gretel muttered. When Roman tried to meet her gaze, she turned to fiddle with the coffeemaker.
“Look, Kate recruited me long before I knew who I was,” Roman said.
“And Roman has done nothing but protect my stupid ass from Them the whole time I’ve known him,” Virgil cut in, glaring around at them all. “He helped saved my life back in that Bale castle. Rapunzel was there. So whatever beef you all had with Johnny, it’s got nothing to do with him.” He turned his glare on Red. “Isn’t that what you said on the stairs? Or was that just empty words?”
Roman bit the inside of his lip, flattered beyond words that Virgil had come to his defense, not sure whether to be annoyed Virgil had eavesdropped on him.
Red, to her credit, looked chagrined.
“You’re right.” She shot both him and Virgil a smile. “I stand by what I said; this is about Roman, not Johnny. But his being a hunter does make Rapunzel’s idea risky—”
“Not necessarily.” Rapunzel looked at Roman. “Have you hunted in Okeechobee territory before? Would they know who you are?”
Roman shook his head.
“If Iyusuri is in the Okeechobee grimoire,” Logan reasoned, “it was likely precious to them at some point. They might be pleased enough to see it again that they would overlook all else.”
Of course, Logan doesn’t think anything of visiting a bunch of Seelies, Roman thought.
“Except according to Wren, weren’t they the ones who gave it away in the first place?” Roman pointed out. “Faeries are long-lived bastards. What if the lord from the story still lives with that Court?”
“You could take the grimoire with you, too, then, as insurance,” Rapunzel said. “It’s time I parted with it, anyway, with Oros gone. Give them the book first, and they’ll either be doubly pleased, or mollified if the mirror’s return causes offense.”
“Unless, like you said earlier, they get offended that a mortal had the book in the first place.” Virgil scowled.
“Be vague about where you got it.” Rapunzel shrugged. “Just because I couldn’t take it back, doesn’t mean they won’t accept it at all.”
“You make it sound like he’d be doing this on his own.” Virgil peered darkly around the room.
Rapunzel sighed. “Even if I was mentally ready to face a Court again—and I know I’m not, even when I pretend otherwise. My presence would only endanger you. I am the reason Oros was not on good terms with his Court kin.”
“They’d recognize any of us,” Stiltz said grimly. “Remember the Okeechobee revel and the Everglades rescue?”
Red, Gretel, and Rapunzel all nodded, though Zoe looked puzzled. Roman guessed that was a Founder mission they were too young to remember.
“Unfortunately, I would likely have to sit this out as well.” Logan frowned. “When I visit my kin, I always keep well away from the King and his close nobles. I look enough like my father that the Okeechobee Court royals might identify my parentage.”
Roman pressed his lips together, pushing down an irrational jolt of betrayal. It’d be nice to have Logan’s ice magic to fall back on if things went badly, but he was probably right.
“And…I don’t want to leave Wrassey until she’s better,” Patton, who’d been very quiet up until that point, piped up. He noticed Roman’s stare and wrung his hands. “But he can’t go alone.”
“Like fuck he’s going alone!” Virgil moved to stand behind Roman’s chair, glowering at the room. “I’ll go with him.”
Roman looked back at him, shocked. “Virge…you don’t have to. After everything with Deceit…”
Virgil met the incredulous look with hunched shoulders but fierce eyes. “Yeah, well. It’s not like we’re going to Arcadia. Friends don’t let friends face danger alone.”
Friends. Something fragile in Roman’s soul cringed at the word.
“Besides, you’d screw it up on your own,” Virgil muttered. “Probably insult one of them with your stupid charm. Someone has to watch your back.”
Roman scoffed, but only to hide a blush.
“I could go, too.” Zoe raised a hand with a hesitant smile. “I was a baby when you guys were out doing Grimm stuff. The Court won’t know me.”
Stiltz frowned. “You’ve never done a solo mission. Gretel?”
“They’re as ready as we ever were,” Gretel said. “I say that as their trainer—”
A low moan sounded from somewhere else in the house, followed by a crash. Gretel turned pale.
“Excuse me,” she said, and practically ran from the kitchen.
A tense silence followed.
Zoe, clearly attempting to break the awkwardness, shot Roman finger guns. “So…sounds like I get to escort the big bad hunter and Mister Hoodie on their quest into the unknown?”
Red rolled her eyes, but the quip worked; everyone’s shoulders loosened.
“Mister Hoodie?” Virgil hunched into said garment.
“Ah, a fellow connoisseur of nicknames, I see.” Roman grinned.
“I regret everything about this already,” Virgil muttered.
Chapter 10- Forget-me-not
love left me hollow
i’m with you in the end
cold, crippled and shallow
don’t leave me here again
~ “Hollow” by Breaking Benjamin
remembrance of sacrifice
Roman met Virgil’s panicked gaze across the throne room.
Virgil’s purple hair clung to his skull in sweaty clumps. He staggered, barely on his feet, dark blood staining his mouth. His lips parted; maybe in warning, maybe in some desperate, sarcastic quip, Roman would never know. A dark figure rose up behind, malevolence glittering in a pair of fae eyes.
No…no, no, no…
Roman shouted a warning, but too late, always too late.
A slender, deadly spike erupted from Virgil’s chest, sprouting like a gruesome parody of his own changeling power. His body gave a horrible twitch, releasing a torrent of blood, so much blood, spreading around the claw and down his chest…no, now it was flowers. Hundreds of tiny white blossoms stained crimson, a waterfall of red…
Someone was screaming.
Roman’s arm jarred with the impact of his sword ramming into Deceit’s chin and up, slicing clean through his skull, adding livid faery green to the red and for a moment, Roman fully understood what it meant to want to drink the blood of your enemies. But then he crumpled, and Virgil with him, and Roman’s bloody sword clattered to the ground as he scrambled to catch him.
He lowered Virgil to the stone tiles already sticky and stained with blood and hemlock. The eyes Roman loved so dearly were wide, unfocused, and growing glassy even as Roman desperately covered the gaping hole in his chest, precious red still pumping out, carrying Virgil’s life with it…
I can’t save him…he’ll bleed out here and there’s nothing I can do…
“Virgil!” he yelled. “Virgil, don’t do this. Stay with me!”
I’m lucky. I’m lucky, he won’t die because I’m lucky…hold the curtain…hold the beads but not too hard…
Warm stickiness seeped into his pant legs; he pressed harder on the wound, even as Virgil choked and sputtered and shook, more red bubbling from his mouth.
“Patton! Logan!” Roman yelled angrily. “Anyone! Help!”
Virgil’s wet gasping breaths grew weaker, further apart.
Luck, please…
“I’m sorry I punched you.” Roman leaned over him, gripping the beloved hoodie. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get over my stupid feelings and just be there for you. You can’t leave me like this, Virgil. Virge, please…”
Virgil stilled, his unseeing eyes staring at nothing; his body had gone ghastly limp.
“NO!” Roman shouted. “You can’t take him from me!”
Luck…
In his tortured mind he could still hear Virgil’s voice, calling him…”Roman!”
“…Roman!”
Roman flung himself awake in a tangle of unfamiliar sheets, gasping and flailing. One arm collided with something solid, which swore at him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
“Roman, gods damn it, it’s me, wake the fuck up!”
Hands seized Roman’s wrists and pinned him against the bed; slender, familiar hands.
Virgil’s hands.
Roman’s wits trickled back, the warm pressure on his wrists finally piercing the screeching panic galloping through his system. His frantic breathing evened out.
It was just a dream. The same stupid dream.
Roman scrunched his still-closed eyes, fighting hot tears. Virgil’s limp, lifeless body in his arms had felt so real…but that isn’t even how it happened! Logan was there before Virgil passed out, and Patton and Rapunzel weren’t far behind. They saved him. We saved him. He’s alive.
Roman opened his eyes and his breath caught.
Virgil loomed over him, his face hovering mere inches from Roman’s own. Shadow shrouded his features, but his eyes were bright with worry, the mismatched green and purple changeling rings stark around his pupils. He was beautiful, real, and Roman unconsciously reached out to touch him…or tried to.
“I’m awake,” he croaked, wiggling his wrists until Virgil let go. His throat felt raw, like he’d been screaming for real.
Had he been screaming for real?
Roman sat up, grimacing as he kicked the last of his sweat-soaked sheets aside and set his feet on the floor. He bent over to scrub his hair—also sweaty, ugh—and to give himself time to get his trembling hands under control. Bad enough I have to re-live him getting stabbed every night, Roman rebuked his subconscious viciously. Now you’re gonna torture me with shit that never actually happened?
He’d never had The Dream with anyone but Kate and Rosa in the room before. He’d never wanted to have it in front of Virgil, of all people.
“That, uh…” Virgil perched awkwardly on the edge of Roman’s bed, his gravelly voice soft. “Are you okay?”
“Just a bad dream,” Roman mumbled. “S’no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Virgil echoed, and Roman winced at the incredulity in his voice. “I thought you were going to thrash yourself out of the bed and, and break your arm or something!” He took a breath. “Is this, like, a new thing with you? You never had nightmares or panic attacks in Philly.”
“I don’t have panic attacks anymore,” Roman grumbled reflexively.
Virgil laughed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, bad news, then, buddy, because I just woke you up from a full-blown fucking panic attack.”
He tried to lay a hand on Roman’s back, but Roman jerked and stood up, ignoring the flash of hurt on the other’s face. He knew if he let Virgil comfort him, all those wretched, lonely feelings would come bubbling up and he’d end up crying in Virgil’s arms.
You’re too needy, he scolded himself. You’d use his concern to manipulate him. He’s been through enough.
“It was just a nightmare, Virge. You don’t need to worry.” Roman put an edge of steel into his voice, hoping Virgil would drop it.
“Like telling me not to worry is gonna stop me from worrying.” Virgil folded his arms with a glower, which Roman only half-heartedly returned. He felt too small and shaken and ashamed to summon heat for a real fight.
“Do you…want to talk about it?” Virgil added.
“No!” Roman’s voice cracked, far more forceful than he’d meant to sound. “Sorry. I just…”
“I get it. It’s fine.” Virgil slunk back up to his own bunk bed.
Roman didn’t think he could face trying to sleep again yet. He paced, mussed his hair again, and finally stalked to the door.
“I’m going to get some water,” he mumbled.
“Sure.” Virgil’s voice was flat and colorless, all earlier concern tucked away again.
You did that. Good job.
“I’m…I’m always here, though, you know?” Virgil blurted out from across the room. “To talk about the hard shit. When you’re ready.”
Virgil’s broken body on the ground, bleeding out in a spreading puddle, eyes blank…Roman shuddered and hurried from the room before Virgil noticed his shaking.
The floorboards whisper-groaned under Roman’s bare feet as he descended the stairs and crept into the kitchen. No sign of the house’s elusive brownie Acres; apparently she rarely showed herself nowadays, especially to strangers. Supper plates were stacked in the drying rack from where they’d been washed but not put away.
When Roman went to open the fridge, he discovered, to his annoyance, that Iyusuri had snuck into his grip without him realizing it, again.
“You couldn’t just stay in the room?” He scowled at the mirror, stark white in the dimness. “Can I at least set you on the damn counter?”
The mirror stayed put as Roman—glowering the entire time—got his water and drank it. He put the glass in the sink, and out of spite, spent a good twenty minutes opening all the cabinets and putting away the clean dishes. The mirror lay innocently on the granite until he finally broke and picked it up, trailing a thumb over the now-familiar riot of carvings.
“Why’d you pick me, anyway?” he asked, twirling it in his hands. Was this how the Beast felt in his lair, resisting the urge to spy on Belle, too frustrated and weak to keep a reign on his temper long enough for her to see him…
“Even if I could look without you turning my brain to scrambled eggs,” Roman muttered. “I don’t need you to tell me who I love. That’s the only thing I do know about myself anymore.”
The mirror was silent, of course, and Roman felt moronic for talking to an inanimate object.
He turned it face up and slapped a hand over the glass, shuddering at the flash of black. I know who I’d see. And yet, he found his gaze drawn to the visible darkness between his fingers…
He growled and pressed the mirror face against his chest. Why was this suddenly so tempting? Don’t fuck around with faery shit, he reminded himself. Smile survival 101.
Soft voices sounded from deeper in the house, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of piano keys. Roman frowned, wondering who else would be awake at this time of night. His ears led him toward the living room.
A single candle burned on the piano’s now glossy top; the only light source in the room. Gretel, dressed in a long nightgown, lounged against the instrument, the small flame lighting her graying auburn hair and soft smile. She looked wan, sad, but beautiful—like a ghost from another time.
Her companion, a brown-haired man with hunched shoulders and a gaunt figure, ran skilled hands up and down the keys. He, too, wore nightclothes, and as Roman watched, he lifted his head and murmured something that made Gretel giggle. She bent to whisper in his ear. He nodded, shook out his hands, and began playing in earnest.
Intrigued, Roman set the mirror on a side table and leaned behind the doorjamb, where he could watch without being seen, his mind flashing back to earlier.
“I really wish there was something we could do for Hansel,” Stiltz said after Gretel fled from the kitchen.
“We should go with her,” Red said, just as quietly. “Maybe seeing all of us together would clear the fog for him, for a little while. If we’re done here?” she added to Roman.
Roman, feeling like an intruder in a situation that was far more real and tragic than any Seelie notion of “true love,” had nodded.
“No, no, go ahead.”
A hand touched his shoulder; Roman’s Smile-honed instincts kicked in. He spun, the blade of his hand nearly connecting with a face, stopping short only at the sight of familiar freckles and glasses. Patton skittered to the side table; pupils blown wide in his bright blue eyes.
“Sorry,” Roman muttered, lowering his hand.
“No, I’m sorry,” Patton whispered back, smiling. “Didn’t meant to scare you, kiddo.”
Even though it wasn’t cold in the house—hell, Florida was never cold—Patton wore his favorite gray cat hoodie, the hood pulled low over his curls. Like Virgil, Patton tended to cocoon himself in clothes when he felt vulnerable.
“What’s going on?” Patton whispered. “I heard music.”
Roman gestured into the living room.
“Is that—?” Patton’s eyes grew wider.
“I think that’s Hansel, yeah.”
They watched in silence as Hansel continued his melancholy tune, building to a quiet crescendo. And then Gretel—lovely, haunted Gretel—started to sing.
wander
there’s no return
keep moving on as the paradise burns
leaving your trace in the sand
harbor my soul for the final descent
“Oh my,” Patton breathed.
Roman nodded. Gretel’s voice was divine; sultry, full, with just the right touch of vibrato on the longer notes.
feeling alive
we are free in the silence
we have lived our lives
no hope in your eyes to find
Her voice faltered on the late note as she watched Hansel’s bent head. That gentle, resigned half-smile broke Roman’s already aching heart. What must it be like, he wondered, when the one person you love most in the world doesn’t even recognize you most of the time?
Hansel seemed aware of himself now; maybe the other Grimms’ visit earlier in the day had helped. But something told Roman moments like this, between this particular couple, were growing tragically rare. Gretel’s voice swelled as Hansel played an exquisite set of chords.
join me
come join me
dancing in melancholy
join me, won’t you join me
enter this chapter infinitely
“Do you really think the mirror would drive us mad?”
The strange edge in Patton’s voice made Roman turn. Patton had folded his arms around his middle, hood slumped over his eyes. looking toward the table where Iyusuri sat, face-up. Roman’s heartbeat spiked. He must have set it down that way by accident, or maybe it was fucking trying to be as tempting as possible.
Patton jumped when the mirror flew to Roman’s hand.
“The pixies and that book were both pretty sure. You…you gotta be careful around it, Pat.” Roman tucked the mirror against his stomach, unsettled when it felt warm against his skin instead of cold. In the living room, Gretel continued to sing that heartbreaking melody.
“They said it would drive a human mad.” Patton’s yellow-ringed eyes shone bright. “We don’t actually know what it would do to a changeling.”
Roman scowled, reminded of how tempted he’d been in the kitchen just now. “It’s not worth the risk.”
“You aren’t at all curious?” Patton pushed his glasses back up his nose with a trembling hand. “Wouldn’t it be a relief to just know who you’re supposed to love? And who’s supposed to love you back?”
The last words tumbled out of his mouth like he couldn’t hold them in anymore, and Roman realized this wasn’t about the mirror at all.
“How long have you and Logan been fighting?” Roman asked gently.
That was all it took for Patton to break. He flung his arms around Roman’s middle and buried his face in his chest, shaking. Roman hugged him back; he didn’t have to be an empath to sense how badly Patton needed a good hug.
“We’re not even fighting, not really. And that’s the worst part.” Patton shuddered and stepped back. His face was splotchy, but his eyes were dry, like his heart wanted to cry but his tear ducts hadn’t quite gotten the message. “This has been brewing since…gosh, I don’t even know. A month or two after the party, definitely. Maybe even since Philadelphia.”
“You need me to knock some sense into the nerd?” Roman asked with a forced grin.
Patton scoffed, but the quip did its work; he smiled. “Sometimes I worry I’m just being silly. Maybe I shouldn’t take it personally when he doesn’t call or tell me where he’s going or what he’s up to. I know he won’t cheat or anything like that, and I’m not his parent.”
“But…?” Roman prompted.
Patton rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s just that sometimes, when he gets caught up in his little routines, I honestly think he forgets I’m even there. Like, I’ll walk into the bedroom while he’d working, and he’ll look up and be surprised, Roman. And I can feel it because I’m me. It’s good surprise, yeah, and it only lasts for a second, and I know he’s glad I’m there, but…”
“But it’s still surprise,” Roman finished, dull anger churning in his gut. That blind, stupid man.
“He was doing fine long before I showed up in his life, and I really think he’d be just fine without me. I don’t feel like a partner.” Patton’s voice dropped. “Does that make sense? He loves me, but he doesn’t rely on me, doesn’t need me. The relationship feels uneven, and I feel like I’m doing all this work just to be…necessary, in a way I shouldn’t have to.”
You’re too needy. He’s been through enough.
Virgil’s mismatched eyes, the flash of hurt he’d shown when Roman brushed him off flashed through his memory.
“Logan is head over heels for you, Pat,” Roman declared. “He might get stuck inside his own big brain sometimes, but I don’t think he could actually forget you.”
“Maybe.” Patton’s lips compressed. “I guess I get scared that one of these days, when he takes off on his own like he does, he just won’t come back. And I’m not even allowed be mad about it, because sometimes you can make all the good choices and still…not get the good ending.”
Roman forced away the memory of Virgil retreating onto a Greyhound bus and gathered Patton into another hug. Iyusuri’s carvings bit into his palm as he did, prompting him to relax his death grip.
“You know, you can love someone with all your being,” Roman said softly, “and they might even love you back, in a way. And yet…” His voice cracked. “What good would it do you to know and still have it not work out?”
And suddenly this was about Virgil, it was always about Virgil, and the way Patton touched his arm told Roman he knew. Roman bit his lip, not wanting to burden Patton with his own issues. Patton, like Virgil, had enough to deal with.
Is that why I’m really afraid to leave Smile? Am I dragging it out, waiting for Virgil to finish school and…what? Finally move on without me?
“We should get back to bed.” Patton pulled away with a soft smile. “Logan’s been looking through Hansel’s old Hedge maps, trying to find the quickest way to Okeechobee territory from here. He was pretty sure he had a route figured out.”
Roman stared at the mirror, at the carved woman’s weeping face. “You go on. I’ll be up soon.”
Patton looked like he might argue, but he finally nodded and headed back toward the stairs. Roman idled near the den, spinning Iyusuri, as Hansel and Gretel finished their song,. The couple lingered afterward, talking, and suddenly their intimacy and sadness were just too much and Roman felt like the worst kind of intruder. He turned to retreat to the stairs.
A house brownie stood in the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes.
Roman sucked in a startled breath. This one was smaller than Remy, two feet on her tiptoes, with a slight, feminine build, deep brown skin, and wild, frizzy hair. She wore a fuzzy teal bath towel cut like a tiny sundress. This had to be the brownie Logan had talked about.
“Uh…hello.” Roman raised a hand in greeting. “You’re, uh, Acres, right? I’m—”
To his shock, the brownie collapsed, trembling, covering her head like his words were thrown rocks.
“Prince!” she squeaked.
He frowned, the name raising the hairs on his neck. “What?”
She only folded into a tighter ball, mumbling something. Roman tiptoed to her.
“Don’t look, don’t hurt me.” The Faery words tumbled out in a frantic whisper. “Don’t look, looking, not looking, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t—”
Roman, properly disturbed now, tried to make his voice gentle. “Acres, I’m not—”
“Don’t look!” she shrieked, batting him away. Before he could move, she’d bolted down the hall and disappeared. Roman blinked after her, every hair standing on end.
Prince.
“Roman?”
He whirled to see Gretel in the abandoned doorway to the den, a wary pinch to her eyes.
“I thought I heard a scream,” she said, “and I definitely felt a wave of fear.”
Shame warmed his cheeks. “I, uh, saw Acres. She…I only talked to her, I swear, but she ran away.”
Gretel’s wariness morphed into something darker, only for a moment, but long enough for Roman to catch it. She can’t bring herself to like me, he thought. Because all she sees is his ghost.
“What did my father do to her?” he asked lowly. “Why was she terrified of me?”
Gretel glanced back into the den, where Hansel had started playing again, and sighed. “Did Kate ever tell you about Johnny’s changeling power?”
Roman shook his head.
“Johnny seemed to be able to cause immense pain just by looking at someone,” she said. “We never knew more than that, because Johnny resisted all attempts to help him understand or control it.
“Don’t look, don’t hurt me…”
“He used that power on Acres.” Roman felt sick.
Gretel nodded. “When Johnny first came to us, his hatred ran deep. He was determined to get rid of every faery on the property. We think, at some point, he may have captured and tortured Acres for information on other solitaries.”
“You think?” Roman’s voice came out harsher than he meant.
Gretel sighed again. “Acres disappeared not long after Johnny came to live with us, but brownies do that. We assumed she didn’t like him; hell, sometimes I think the only people who didn’t hate his guts were Kate and Mama Em. But when Acres finally came around again, she was so timid, jumping at shadows, and we wondered. And given what Johnny did to some of the pixies later…”
She trailed off when Roman let out an incredulous laugh.
“Oh, fantastic; he tortured pixies, too? Great. Turns out I share attributes with not two, but three psychopaths: my father, my fetch, and that pixie killer in the park I took this damned thing from.”
He waved the mirror and skidded on a slick rug that surely hadn’t been underfoot a moment ago, barely catching himself.
“Roman—”
“You know, I’m really starting to think Remus’s maker was onto something after all—”
“Roman!”
Gretel seized his arm as he passed—when had he started pacing? —her finger catching on a tiny hole in his shirt and tearing it wider. Damn it, Roman needed to get his power under control. Something tickled at the edge of his mind, stopped, retreated, and Roman’s heart skipped when he realized Gretel had almost lost hold of her power as well.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shame rising in him again. He needed to get out of here. “I know my coming here has dragged up a lot of painful memories for you guys.”
His stomach sank when she didn’t jump to contradict him, and he knew he was right.
“Just”—he held up a hand when Gretel looked like she would speak— “just tell Acres when you see her again that I’m not him, okay?” Angry tears pricked at his eyes. “I’m not.”
“I’ll tell her.” Gretel released his arm and attempted a smile that looked almost genuine. “Sorry if we woke you earlier.”
“I was already up.” Roman mirrored her expression. “Your concert was nice.”
“Thank you.” Gretel glanced into the den again. Hansel’s playing had stopped.
“I’ll try to get some sleep,” he said, stepping back.
She nodded. “Good night, Roman.”
He bolted up the stairs and into the room he and Virgil shared, hoping the motionless lump in the other bed meant Virgil had gone back to sleep. He checked anyway, the bunk bed’s height putting Virgil’s sleeping face at eye level. Virgil’s faded hair spilled over the pillow and his mouth hung slightly open. A smile pulled at Roman’s face as he stared, familiar want humming in his chest.
Sometimes you can make all the good choices and still…
Roman abruptly felt like a creeper, watching his crush sleep without his consent. He stalked across the room, laid Iyusuri face down on the dresser, and flung himself into bed. Rolling over, he closed his eyes and tried to banish memories of Gretel’s sad violet eyes, the drag of a marker over his face, and a tiny house brownie’s terrified weeping.
Additional lyrics:
~ “Immortal Melancholy” by Epica
Chapter 11- Cypress
Stolt som en ulv (proud as a wolf)
Og en kriger indeni (and a warrior within)
Vis som en vølv (wise as a seeress)
Sandhedssiger, sæt os fri (truth teller, set us free)
~ “Ella” by Myrkur
transition
They set out the next morning.
True to Patton’s prediction, Logan had used Hansel’s maps to plot a route through the Hedge, which he presented to them before Gretel even finished making coffee. One hasty breakfast and two busy hours later, Roman, Virgil, and Zoe picked their way across the overgrown yard, past the wild vegetable patch and Red’s old barn, and entered the dilapidated shack that housed one of the property’s three Hedge gaps.
Roman took a breath of thick, gray Hedge air on the other side, eyeing the tall green walls. Something about those towering, muscly green barriers suppressed the urge to talk or even exist loudly. The never-shifting light shone brighter here than it did near the Athens Theater gap, which would make it easier to follow Logan’s directions…but it also made Roman feel uncomfortably exposed.
“Explain to me one more time why we’re using the Hedge?” Virgil checked his bag for the dozenth time as he emerged behind Roman. “Instead of taking Logan’s car to Okeechobee like sane people?”
Zoe sauntered to the path’s center and sighed, studying the directions Logan entrusted to them. Roman had been shocked to learn that Hansel used to take Zoe on his Hedge mapping walks before his Alzheimer’s got so bad.
“Because they’re an old, elusive Court,” they said. “We’ll never find them unless we march right into their backyard.”
“Your anxiety is shit at listening, you know,” Roman added, snarkier than he intended, but it wasn’t like he wanted to be in the Hedge, either.
Virgil shot him a sour look. “The path is cleaner here.” He scuffed the weedless gravel along the central path. “Like someone maintains it,” he added with a meaningful look at Zoe.
“You think I come in here and pull weeds on the weekend?” They cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, if you don’t, who does?” Virgil said.
They all eyed the Arcadian side of the wall.
“Look, as far as I know,” Zoe said in a soft voice, “no faeries have used these gaps in a long time. Hansel never encountered one of Them anywhere near the house.”
Roman realized he was gripping his sword handle and released it. “Let’s hope that’s still true twenty years later.”
Zoe nodded, adjusting the map. “Logan thinks the Okeechobee gap is about a four-hour walk from here, but he warns that’s only a guess based on Hansel’s weird measurements.”
“Four hours?” Virgil moaned.
“How the hell does anyone calculate someone else’s walking speed without, like, measuring it?” Roman added.
“It’s Logan; he speaks numbers like a second language. The exact time doesn’t matter much, anyway; we have enough food for several days.” Zoe lowered the map, looking around. “We go left from our home gap and turn right at the second branch-off to start.”
“Shouldn’t we mark this one?” Virgil asked.
Zoe rolled their eyes. “I’m not gonna get us lost, and we’re not gonna end up in New Zealand, okay? I don’t know why Bear said that.”
“Have you ever gotten lost?” Roman asked with narrowed eyes.
“Well…yes.” Zoe cleared their throat as Virgil rolled his eyes. “But!” They shook the map. “Logan’s directions are a lot clearer than Hansel’s chicken scratch. If we do get lost, you can blame him.”
“I’m still marking this gap,” Virgil declared.
Roman’s eyebrows rose when Virgil dug his heel into the dirt and started carving a sloppy X.
“I thought you’d cover it in flowers,” he said.
“Haven’t done that since I nearly burned myself out fighting Deceit,” Virgil muttered.
“Wait, really?” Roman frowned. “You haven’t used your powers since last July?”
“It’s not a big deal.” Virgil knocked dirt from his shoe and shot Roman a look that warned him to drop it.
Roman shut his mouth—he liked to think he was learning to parse the difference between banter and boundaries—but inside, he worried. Isn’t suppressing his powers how Virgil ended up with flowers in his lungs last time?
Like you get to judge, Mister Hunter who doesn’t hunt, his inner critic grumbled.
They walked single file, their footsteps crunching in the gravel. Occasional mist pockets puddled around their shoes. Their progress was eerily quiet, except for Zoe occasionally calling out directions. The silence pressed down like a smothering blanket; Roman had to keep remembering to breathe normally. He wondered how it was affecting Virgil’s anxiety but didn’t dare ask.
They encountered no one else; no Court Fae, no solitaries, no other changelings.
Roman walked with a hand on his sword hilt, but all the Smile training in the world couldn’t keep him on high alert forever. As the first and then the second hour crept by, he focused less on each passing gap and more on his tired feet and the growing ache in his shoulders. Rapunzel’s massive grimoire was a lead weight in his bag, dragging him down; he hoped lugging it along turned out to be worth it.
Zoe’s quiet glide became a lanky, careless gait. Even Virgil lowered his hood and scuffed his feet as he walked, like he always did. He also coughed, now and again, hiding it in his sleeve. And was it just Roman, or was Virgil breathing heavier than he normally did? Did his face seem pale?
Just how badly did Deceit fuck up his lungs?
“Hey, you okay?” Roman caught up to Virgil, trying to keep his voice casual. “Do we need to take a break?”
Virgil sucked in a breath and had to clear his throat.
“M’fine,” he said softly. “Just haven’t done a lot of aerobic stuff since…you know. I do mostly weights, when I have time, or I practice those forms you taught me.”
“You…do?” Roman looked him over in surprise, but of course Virgil’s hoodie always covered everything.
Virgil shrugged. “I actually kinda miss being in shape, and I swear to Hades if you so much as smirk—”
Roman composed his face and tried not to overanalyze the pink in Virgil’s cheeks. Iyusuri, annoyingly, warmed against his back, but he ignored it.
It grew cooler as Zoe led them around corner after corner, the empty Hedge sky turning gray. Hopefully that meant they were getting close. They paused once to eat from the pile of sandwiches Gretel packed. Virgil was definitely borderline wheezing now and trying to hide it. Roman’s tension ratcheted higher with every suppressed cough.
What would happen if something went wrong at this Okeechobee Court, and Virgil was too exhausted to run or defend himself? He kept seeing the Bale throne room, Virgil fighting Deceit with the last of his strength…
If they were lucky—Faery Queens, please let his luck hold—nothing would happen, and Roman would be rid of Iyusuri before the day was over. He kept checking the mirror, the book, his sword.
Zoe led them past a dead end and stopped at the eighth Earthside door. “We’re here. And we should probably start going by our Grimm names now. I’m Robin.”
“Like…the bird?” Virgil asked. “Or the thief?”
“Like the Teen Titan.” Zoe rolled their eyes. “My partners are Starfire and Cyborg when we do rescues together.”
“You mean Grimms aren’t naming themselves after actual Grimm fairy tales anymore?” Roman tsked and shook his head. “Slackers.”
“Only the Founders ever kept that rule,” Zoe protested.
“I’ve been wondering, where are your partners, anyway?” Virgil asked. “How come they aren’t here?”
Zoe’s mouth pinched. “They’re on a rescue up in Savannah. Changelings only. They usually turn those kinds of missions down, but the Savannah Grimms specifically wanted a firestarter and a telepath, so.” They shrugged. “It’s fine.”
It was clearly not fine. The Grimms had always been weirder about humans in their ranks than Smile; one of the reasons Roman had always viewed Smile—before all the revelations about Johnny came to light—as the superior organization.
“So, you’re full-on human, right?” Virgil said to Zoe. “No powers?”
“I was rescued before I could develop any.” Zoe’s voice dropped. “And it’s been hammered into me my whole life how lucky I was. Everyone says cool changeling powers aren’t worth the cost of wielding them.”
“They really aren’t,” Virgil grumbled.
“You got any martial skills?” Roman asked.
“Sixth dan in Judo, and I’ve been studying baguazhang for the last three years.” Zoe smirked. “Bet I could take you in a hand to hand fight, hunter.”
“We might have to see about that,” Roman shot back. Damn, did he like their spunk. “You ever consider joining Smile?”
Roman knew the words were a mistake as soon as they left his mouth. Zoe’s face shuttered.
“You trying to recruit me?” they asked in a much less friendly tone. Roman could practically hear what they were thinking. Of course, Johnny Prince’s son would want to lure more Grimms into his bloodthirsty organization…
“No.” Roman held up his hands. “Sorry. Just…never mind.”
“So? Grimm names?” Zoe asked into the awkward silence.
Virgil and Roman looked at each other.
“I never had a Grimm name.”
“Hunters aren’t Grimms.”
Zoe snorted. “Come on. Nobody exists with a foot in this world without a pseudonym or two up their arse.”
Roman’s stomach rearranged itself into a soft knot; Virgil glowered. Charming and Anxiety hovered between them, unspoken, sharp as glass.
“No,” Virgil preempted, shaking his head.
“How about Stormcloud, then?” Roman suggested.
“Fine.” Virgil narrowed his eyes. “Princey? Or is that too on the nose now?”
It was, but… “I don’t mind it coming from you.”
Virgil’s brief, answering smile warmed his chest. They gathered around the overgrown gap door.
“I know Logan—or Bear, I guess we should call him—claimed this dumps into Seelie territory,” Roman said. “But what did he mean, do you think?” That was the worst part about the Hedge; every door, no matter how perilous, looked the same on this side. “Like, are we about to walk straight into some faery royalty’s throne room?”
Virgil’s already pale face grew paler.
“I dunno.” Zoe shrugged and cracked their knuckles. “Only one way to find out.”
The overgrown door opened onto a massive cypress archway. Roman kept his hand on his sword as they passed through. He didn’t really think a Seelie would attack without warning—they preferred to stalk and beguile before resorting to violence—but Smile hunters learned to be wary.
Green, droopy cypress trees towered around them, their roots a tangled wooden web over standing water at their feet. Beyond the small grove and to their right lay miles of low scrub and brackish pools, pierced by tall, scraggly pines and dotted with lanky palm trees. To their left lay what Roman could only assume was Lake Okeechobee itself; flat, motionless, like a small ocean reflecting a blank blue sky.
“Doesn’t look like a throne room,” Zoe commented. “So, yay, more walking?”
“Maybe not much more.” Virgil pointed out a white mushroom ring at the cypress grove’s center, too bright and out of place on its bed of gnarled roots. Roman’s mouth compressed. Despite how badly he wanted to get rid of this stupid mirror, the last Court ring he’d crossed had almost ended in disaster. There was a reason every Smile-honed instinct railed against stepping foot inside those things.
“Ah, hell,” Zoe muttered.
“We should decide how we’re gonna do this.” Virgil’s eyes darted around the grove. “Like, one of us should probably do the talking.”
“I will.” Roman gripped Iyusuri’s handle. “This is my problem.”
Zoe eyed him, their blue-green gaze sharp. “You better keep that sword sheathed then, unless things go seriously sideways. And try not to be a smartass.”
Roman frowned, their “ah hell” comment suddenly gaining context.
“You’re human,” he said, his heart sinking. “You can’t cross. You’ll pass through the ring and out the other side.”
“I mean, I might not.” Zoe’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “If I close my eyes, and one of you held my hand, and the ring is only meant to conceal the Court and not actively keep anyone out…”
“There’s a chance, but it’s small.” Roman nodded. “We usually leave our human hunters Earthside and let the changelings chase the Fae out, when we need to raid a ring.”
“Roman!” Virgil tried to cover Roman’s mouth, making him remember he shouldn’t be talking about Smile out here at all.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“At least you bring your humans along at all,” Zoe said darkly. “Let’s leave our sleeping bags and shit here, just in case.”
They piled them on a relatively dry patch of dirt under a palm tree. Roman kept his backpack with Rapunzel’s book, and the mirror, of course. Zoe got out a tarp and unfolded it; Roman moved to help.
“My partner Jeong always packs these on long trips,” Zoe explained as they and Roman spread it over their stuff. “He’s convinced it’ll rain if he doesn’t.”
Roman smirked, glancing at Virgil, who stood several feet away with his hands in his pockets, staring out over the water. “Sounds like something he’d think of.”
“You know, you aren’t very subtle,” Zoe said in a lower voice, smirking.
Roman’s cheeks flamed. “It’s not like that.”
“So you said before.” Zoe shrugged. “But from what I’ve seen, if you want it to be, I don’t think he’s gonna turn you down.”
Roman looked at his feet, hating how Zoe’s words made his heart twist with hope. “I wish it was that simple.”
Zoe patted his arm; their nails, Roman noted, were bright teal.
“Sorry about snapping earlier, by the way,” they said. “It’s hard to be neutral when all your life you’ve heard nothing but the bad shit someone has done. I’m sure your old man had some good qualities.”
Roman snorted. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake. I’ve learned enough to know I never want to meet the guy, if he’s still out there.” He shot a sideways glance at Zoe. “Did you ever know him?”
“I was barely two, I think, when he left the Grimms for good,” Zoe said, smoothing down the tarp and stepping back. “So, I technically did, I guess? But I’ve got no memories of him. I’ve only ever seen pictures.”
“There are pictures?” Roman asked, surprised.
“Yeah.” Zoe smiled. “Maybe we’ll get Gretel to dig ‘em out when we get back.”
Roman’s hopes fell. “I don’t think Gretel likes me very much.”
Zoe hummed. “It can’t be easy looking like him.”
“Another thing I wish was simple,” Roman muttered, holding out a hand and raising his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”
Virgil came back, and they both clasped Zoe’s hands.
“If I can’t cross,” Zoe said, “I’ll hang here to guard our stuff.”
Stepping across the faery ring was nothing like entering a Hedge gap; nothing marked the transition. And unlike the ring at Painter’s Pond, nothing in their immediate surroundings changed, nothing to indicate that they had, in fact, gone “in” and not just across. Roman only noticed when his hand, which had been gripping Zoe’s, abruptly clenched around nothing.
They were gone; left behind.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“Do you think they’ll be all right?” Virgil asked.
A person’s width of empty space still separated him from Roman, which neither rushed to fill. Roman hated to admit he didn’t know quite how those things worked. He looked around, no longer seeing the lake or scrubland, only cypress trunks, twisty roots and thin, lacy leaves.
“They’re a Grimm. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he said.
He and Virgil set out, hopping from root to root— “knees,” Virgil claimed they were called— keeping close, but not actually touching. It grew colder; not a sharp, northern cold, but a wet, clinging chill that crawled under clothes and nestled uncomfortably against skin. Virgil paused to zip up his hoodie.
The canopy thickened and dripped overhead, obscuring the sky, darkening the ground. Lights winked among the trees, will-o-wisps and spooks and faery orbs. Roman heeded his Smile training and kept his eyes on his feet.
“Do you hear that?” Breath steamed from Virgil’s mouth. “The music…”
It started as drumming, like a heartbeat, joined by the mournful scrape of faery viols in the distance. Flutes. Voices, rising and falling in lulling cadence; singing, like at a revel, and for a split second, Roman saw Sir’s cruel face leering at him from the trees…but when he blinked, the vision vanished.
“I’m used to Their music being all green and gold,” Virgil added, almost dreamily. “This is blue, maybe some white.” His dark eyes met Roman’s. “It kinda reminds me of L…of Bear. Like, if his fae side had a melody.”
Roman didn’t have Virgil’s gift at “seeing” sound, but the music certainly did remind him of gray skies, dreary rain, and cold. A wet breeze swept through the cypress trees, making the needly branches sway.
“It’s getting closer.” Roman rubbed his arms, eyeing Virgil’s hoodie with envy. His jean jacket was not built to hold in heat.
“Do we keep going or wait for them to come to us?” Virgil asked.
“Maybe we should leave that up to them.” Roman took a deep breath and raised his voice. “My lords, ladies, and non-binary royalty of the cypress wood! We are but humble travelers, humbly seeking an audience with the Okeechobee Seelie Court.”
The music cut out; a watchful silence replaced it.
“Non-binary royalty?” Virgil echoed in a whisper.
“Just because they’re Fae doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be inclusive,” Roman whispered back.
“You know you said humble twice, right?”
“I don’t usually talk to them—!”
They both jumped when a blue light flared to life barely a foot away; Roman had half-drawn his sword before Virgil seized his hand in warning. The tiny blue flame swayed in midair, seeming to beckon them further into the trees.
“I guess we follow it?” Roman shrugged.
“Uh, isn’t ‘don’t follow the lights’ kind of Rule Number One of faery tales?” Virgil pointed out.
“Normally I would agree, my dear Stormcloud.” Roman pointedly ignored Virgil’s sour look. “But normally, we aren’t trying to go to them. We’ll be like Merida, from Brave.”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Because that went so well.”
“It did in the end!”
The blue flame danced several feet away and bounced, managing to exude impatience despite not having a proper body. Virgil eyed it and sighed.
“Fine. You’re right,” he muttered.
Roman’s gaze flickered to Virgil’s hand, half-hidden in his sleeve. Did he dare? Virgil looked ready to bolt. He would probably jerk away out of instinct, calling attention to the fact that Roman wanted to hold his hand and making everything unnecessarily awkward.
So Roman instead stepped forward, taking the lead.
Chapter 12- Orchid
doors of many, as of few
leading inside out, around and through
past forgotten, now as new
a line dividing false and true
~ “The Sky Will Turn” by The Birthday Massacre
nobility
The wisp led them on an impossibly twisty path through the trees—Roman tried not to think about how they were going to get back— which dumped into an enormous clearing in the trunks. A single massive cypress loomed at the center, fatter and taller than any natural tree, its branches blotting out the sky, its roots and knees making their own tangled ecosystem that covered the clearing. Balls of tightly woven branches hung from the limbs, each at different heights, with ladders and rope bridges slung between them; an entire city, suspended.
Roman’s eyes were drawn to the enormous, intricate sphere at the main tree’s center, easily the size of the Grimm Founder mansion, branches and foliage making a drooping, green coat around the whole structure.
“They look like Christmas ornaments,” Virgil commented wryly.
Roman snorted. “Never gonna unsee that, now, thanks.”
Their wisp led them along a path of flattened cypress knees, poking out from a sea of black, perfectly still water. A staircase that looked like it had been grown from living wood wound around the central tree, barely wide enough to accommodate a single person. Roman gritted his teeth and went first, feeling like Orpheus, fighting the urge to look back and make sure Virgil was still there.
The stairs led to a wide archway leading inside the sphere. Cypress branches grew thick enough to create a swirling, almost seamless wooden floor in the entrance hall, which smelled like fresh water and algae. The vastness of the space made Roman feel small and exposed, every sense screaming that he was being watched.
The wisp vanished in a puff of smoke, making them both stop short. Several whitetail deer scattered at the sudden movement, tails flashing, but one, a deep brown buck with small, velvety antlers, remained. It eyed them with a solemn, liquid black gaze.
“Uh…hello?” Roman tried.
The buck inclined its head.
“You have got to be shitting me,” Virgil grumbled.
“Shh,” Roman hissed back. “Don’t insult it.”
“You’re calling an obviously intelligent creature an ‘it’ and I’m being insulting?”
“ShhHH!” Roman flapped a hand in Virgil’s face.
The deer danced a few steps deeper into the hall.
Roman frowned. “You want us to follow you?”
Another nod.
“Well.” Roman drew himself up, checking the mirror to make sure it was still in his pocket. “Won’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.”
But as soon as he and Virgil took a step together, the buck came leaping back and charged between them.
“Hey, whoa!” Virgil ducked away from the velvet antlers, which, while not sharp, were still bony and intimidating. Hands raised, he allowed himself to be menaced back to the archway. When Roman tried to follow, the buck whirled and silently barred his way.
“Look, are we allowed in, or not?” Roman grumbled.
The buck put his antlered head against Roman’s back and shoved him deeper into the sphere. He then placed his body between him and Virgil, lifted a hoof to point, and shook his head.
Roman’s heart sank. “You’re saying only I get to go any further.”
The buck inclined his head.
“What, why?” Virgil demanded, his voice cracking.
The buck only lowered his head to give Roman another nudge.
“What if I said I wasn’t going anywhere without him?” Roman said lowly.
The buck stalked beyond him to the center of the hallway, faced them both, and lowered his antlers. The message was obvious; either Roman went in alone, or neither of them did.
Roman ground his teeth. He moved back to Virgil, which the buck allowed.
“I don’t like it,” Virgil muttered immediately.
“I don’t either.” Roman sighed, unsurprised to find Iyusuri suddenly in his grasp. He held it up. “But I need to find out what these Okeechobee faeries know about this thing so I can get rid of it. We don’t have any other options right now.”
The buck made no move, seemingly content to wait.
Virgil exhaled and looked away. “I know. Just…be careful, alright? Don’t say anything stupid.”
Roman raised his other hand then hesitated, wanting to hug him, not wanting to make things weird. Virgil grasped it, squeezed, and startled hard because the buck was abruptly right there at Roman’s elbow, nudging him on.
“Bye, then,” Virgil muttered, backing up.
Roman hesitated, still torn. “I’ll, uh, be right back!”
The deer made a noise that sounded remarkably like a human sigh.
Virgil waved, and Roman had no choice but to march on.
The buck, tiny hooves tapping on the wood floor, led Roman along a curved hallway that seemed to parallel the outside of the giant sphere. The temperature kept dropping, nipping at Roman’s exposed skin, the freezing air hurting his nose every time he breathed in. Around a corner, the tall, narrow space opened onto a magnificent gallery.
It was at least the size of a football field, far larger than it looked from the outside. The seamless cypress floor branches grew in large, swooping patterns here, creating impressions of birds, flowers, trees, small animals. The crispness of mineral water swallowed every other smell. Red cardinals flitted in the canopy, their chirps and calls only emphasizing how quiet everything else had become as his guide started across the space.
Roman tried to follow, arms crossed around his body for warmth, and walked straight into an invisible wall.
He stumbled back, staring, but he saw nothing; the gallery looked empty. What faery trick is this? He narrowed his eyes, turned his head, and noticed the air shimmering oddly in flat planes crisscrossing the hall. The buck made another sighing sound and came back, seizing one of Roman’s hands in his teeth and placing it on his back haunch.
“Walk where you walk,” Roman said as they started to move again. “Gotcha.”
The buck snorted softly, flicking his ears.
They took a winding route, avoiding obstacles Roman could occasionally feel as he passed, invisible to the naked eye but chilly and solid, like gossamer thin sheets of ice. A bleached cypress branch dominated the far end of the gallery, its pale ligaments twisted into a throne. White and brown furs made a soft cushion across the seat, turning it into a less icy version of the White Witch’s chair from the Narnia movies. The buck stopped a few yards away, nudged Roman forward, and bounded away without a second look.
Great.
Roman scuffed his feet, shivering, determined to be patient. He hoped Virgil hadn’t gotten lost or attacked and that Zoe was okay. He also really, really wished he’d brought a warmer jacket.
A low, resonant voice spoke somewhere to his left. Roman dropped into a crouch, one hand on his sword hilt before his conscious mind caught up. The voice spoke again, tugging at his conscience with the cadence of an Aes Sidhe, but the words were neither English nor any Faery dialect he knew.
Silence fell.
“I…” Roman hesitated, gathering his nerve. One had to be honest among faeries without sharing too much. “I d—don’t understand you.”
“Do you speak this human tongue, then?”
A heartbreakingly lovely Sidhe rippled into view near the throne, as though he’d literally stepped out of thin air or—Roman narrowed his eyes—he’d been hiding behind a cleverly placed mirror.
The ice acts like mirrors. That’s why I can’t see them.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Roman said, his breath catching.
The Sidhe glided lightly to his cypress throne and sat, his body draped languidly against an arm, one leg hooked over the other. This had to be the Okeechobee King, and he was beautiful. Not attractive like a human but alluring as only a full faery could be: like a sunset, like a snowflake. It was beauty to break a mortal heart and lead the mind astray for a thousand years.
His skin was like Logan’s but darker, like a nighttime sky; his long hair gleaming frost white against it and braided with silver Spanish moss. A crown carved in silver pinecones and antlers rested on his head; dark, pointed ears rose on either side. Yet despite the eerie perfection of this faery’s features, Roman saw hints of Logan in the Winter King’s proud jaw, in the cheeks, and especially in those gray, prismatic eyes.
“You possess the color of the humans who inhabit this land.” The Winter King gestured lazily at Roman. “I assumed you would speak as they do.”
“Uh…” Roman racked his brain. What language could the King have been speaking at first? Not Spanish; he would have recognized that. Some Native American language? How old was this King? Which tribe lived near Okeechobee? He couldn’t remember.
“But now that I look on you more closely,” the King went on. “I see your mortal lineage lies elsewhere.”
“Uh, yes, uh, Your Majesty,” Roman said, teeth chattering, feeling like an idiot. Virgil would be facepalming.
The King swung off his throne with inhuman grace and glided towards him, his cypress-green and moss-gray robe crackling with frost. Roman grimly held his ground, even as the faery bent close.
“A changeling who carries a sword,” the King murmured in Faery, running a cold finger under Roman’s chin. “Which of my kin did you wander away from, hmm, little Grimm? Or did they ‘rescue’ you in one of their adorable raids?”
Roman kept his face deliberately blank, though his heart beat fast. The King smirked.
“Don’t be coy. The eye rings give you away. If you lived among us long enough for our fire to mark you, you would understand our tongue.”
“I d—do, Your Majesty.” Roman kept his voice soft, his eyes down, hoping this wasn’t a trap. For the first time, he felt thankful Zoe and Virgil had been separated from him. Would this Seelie King try to take Roman back to his Unseelie brethren?
If he does, Roman thought. I fight. I am Smile, and I will not be intimidated.
The King thrust out an imperious hand, palm up.
“Your steel,” he prompted when Roman stared at him, confused. “If you mean no harm to my Court, you will surrender it. This is the price I demand to grant your audience.”
Roman’s hand drifted to his side, eschewing the sword’s pommel to grip the sheath. His instincts begged him not to give his only weapon to a faery, especially one that had just threatened him, but he didn’t see a way to refuse without angering the King.
“Will I get it back?” he dared to ask.
The King only raised an eyebrow, but Roman’s next inhale was so cold, he nearly choked. Iyusuri, by contrast, warmed in his grip; just there, suddenly, with no input from him whatsoever. He carefully slipped it back in his pocket.
The bond is getting stronger, he thought, untying the sword. I have to get rid of this blasted mirror.
The King plucked the sword from Roman’s outstretched hands with obvious distaste, avoiding any metal bits, and thrust it into the keeping of an attendant who surely hadn’t been there a moment ago.
The Hall changed.
Like a funhouse, the air shimmered, the invisible mirrors shifted, and what had seemed like an empty space now bustled with activity and sound. Whitetail deer and faeries with varying shades of night-black skin and pale hair lounged, glided, dined, and danced in little knots around the cypress hall. Music washed over him again, idle scales clashing with sinuous melodies that Roman had to tune out, so as not to get lost in them.
“How lucky are you tonight, my red rings? Let’s find out…”
Roman forced his old master’s voice into a tiny corner of his mind.
I came willingly into this Court, and Seelies believe in hospitality. Unless I anger or insult them, they won’t hurt me, he reminded himself.
Not physically, his instincts whispered back. They might keep you instead. Seduce your mind and body, ply you with faery liquor until you’re a babbling idiot…
The King sauntered back to his throne and sat, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. Several faeries with downcast eyes, draped from head to toe in Spanish moss gray, fluttered around their monarch, arranging his robes and crown.
“It has been an age since I’ve had a petitioner, especially a human one,” the King mused, sounding almost childishly amused at the idea. Roman waited, his hands and feet so numb now that he barely felt them. The King’s throne sat several feet above the galley floor, giving its monarch a commanding view and Ronan an eyeful of his dark, graceful bare feet.
“Bring this one proper garb so he may speak in comfort,” the King added to his aides in Faery, snapping his fingers. “If we are to grant an audience, let us do it properly.”
They scurried off.
“You look familiar, changeling; yet I cannot quite place you,” the King said, peering down. “Do you have a name?”
It was on the tip of Roman’s tongue: Princey, the harmless nickname Virgil invented as a mockery of Charming. But the King’s words sent a rush of foreboding through him.
This King knows the Founders; that’s why they didn’t want to come. That means he could have known Johnny. “You look familiar.” If I volunteer the name “Prince”, he might put it together. And if Logan being recognized as a half-blood would have gotten him in trouble, me being Johnny Prince’s son would probably get me killed.
All this crashed through Roman’s head in a split second.
“I do have a name, Your Majesty,” he said carefully. “But ‘changeling’ suits me fine.”
To his relief, the King’s face broke out in a wide smile. “As you like. Ah, excellent.” He looked over Roman’s head.
The next several moments were a blur. Cold, multi-jointed hands grabbed Roman’s arms, lifting them up like Sir would before strapping him onto his favorite paring table…
Roman gasped, jerking himself back as the hands disappeared. His jacket had been replaced by a soft, heavy, plain gray robe that covered him from shoulder to ankle. The King’s servants handed him the jacket they’d stripped and his backpack—thank fuck they hadn’t taken that away—and returned to the King’s side.
Despite the manhandling, despite the near flashback, Roman felt embarrassingly relieved to not be cold anymore.
“You called upon this Court within my wood.” The King waved an imperious hand. “Why have you come to us?”
A cardinal alighted on his fingers. He pulled it close to stroke the blood-red feathers.
Roman took another breath, unsurprised to find Iyusuri in his grasp again. Honestly, he was surprised the servants hadn’t commented on it when they dressed him.
Book first, then the mirror, he thought.
He put it away and slung his backpack around, awkwardly fishing out Rapunzel’s grimoire. It was so heavy—and he was so nervous—that it almost slipped out of his hands.
“Your Majesty.” Roman cleared his throat, chiding himself to get a grip. “First, as a gesture of goodwill, I would return something that belongs to you and your Court.”
The King flicked his fingers, motioning him forward. His posture sharpened as Roman drew close, however. He rose and strode forward, intercepting him, practically snatching the book out of Roman’s hands.
“Well, hello, dear. We thought you were lost many years ago.” The King ran a reverent hand over the pale leather cover, cracked it open, flicked through a few pages. When he looked up again, his eyes were dangerous slits. “How did you come by this?”
Thankfully, Rapunzel had coached Roman on this question. “I found it.”
“Where?”
“A…house.” Roman swallowed hard.
Please don’t ask which one, please don’t ask which one…Roman leaned hard into his luck, willing the King to accept his vague answer.
“How did you know to bring it here?” The King passed the book into the hands of an attendant and tilted his head.
“Well…” Roman hesitated. Luck, you can kick in at any time now…
“Oh, but that’s not the right question, is it?” The King raised a hand. Roman felt the temperature drop, even through the warm robe, and tendrils of frost crept over his shoes. It took every bit of courage Roman possessed not to react.
“The right question,” the King said. “Is this: what did you come here to ask that’s so heinous, you thought you needed to bribe your way into my good graces first?”
Right. Faeries did hate to be in anyone’s debt.
“It wasn’t…it’s not a bribe,” Roman protested weakly. “Okay, maybe, maybe it was. A little. Because I wasn’t sure how you’d react to, uh…this.”
The King waited, arms folded behind his back. Roman knew the faery could sense his growing fear, was probably even enjoying it. But Roman had to do this. It was the only way.
He took a deep breath and brought out the mirror.
The King’s gray eyes widened, and he snapped out a hand. Sheets of ice broke from the cypress floor and coalesced into a translucent igloo around the King and Roman, cutting them off from the rest of the Court…and trapping Roman with a powerful Sidhe, whom he might have just pissed off.
“I see,” the King said, his voice dangerously icy. “This is how you knew to bring the book to us.”
Roman eyed the ice walls and nodded like he knew what that meant. Given his personal experience with Logan’s powers, he guessed that ice wouldn’t easily break.
“Look, I’m friends with the pixie clan who was guarding the mirror,” he said in a rush. “They told me it was given to them because the Earthside Court who had it last didn’t want it anymore. But it somehow bonded to me, and I was hoping—since the mirror was in your book—that you knew how to break the bond.”
“You knew we gave Iyusuri away.” The King loomed close, bringing his perfect face within inches of Roman’s. “And yet you still brought her among us once again?”
More unsettlingly, the blasted mirror warmed in Roman’s touch, as though it recognized the faery’s voice.
“I meant no offense, Your Majesty,” Roman muttered, though words would mean nothing if this King chose to be offended anyway.
The King sighed. “Iyusuri nearly destroyed this Court with her divisive truths. She is the reason the crown passed to my grandmother’s descendants and not to the Sable Palm line, and to this day, some still challenge my family’s claim to the throne.”
Roman studied the King’s summoned walls again, watching the shapes of faeries wandering the galley outside. Had the King boxed them in to scare Roman with his power…or to prevent his rivals from seeing Iyusuri?
“My grandmother, the last Whitetail Queen, gave the mirror to the solitaries to protect her legacy.” The King ran a thumb over his lip. “But now I wonder…may I see her?”
Roman gingerly set the mirror’s handle onto the King’s outstretched palm. The King paced to the wall, studying her, putting several uncomfortable feet between them. Normally that much of a gap would have caused the mirror to skip back into Roman’s grip.
“Hmm?” The King held the mirror near his face, speaking softly in Faery, glancing at Roman every once in a while. “She likes you, you know. How interesting. I have never heard of her bonding a human.”
“Hold on. Is it…she…talking to you?” Roman frowned.
“She doesn’t talk to you?” The King sounded surprised.
“Uh, no,” Roman said, unsettled. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Pity.” The King bounced the mirror on his palm. “Well. You are only human.”
Roman fought down an irrational pang of jealousy. For the first time, he physically felt the shape of the bond pulling at his sternum, like a phantom hand around the bone. It felt like Iyusuri wanted to return and was being blocked from doing so. The distance bloomed into a dull ache that grew every second the King kept hold of her.
Roman hated that he didn’t dare ask the King to give her back.
“Iyusuri was gifted to the Okeechobee Court before my grandmother’s reign.” The King ran a finger along the mirror’s edge; frost crackled and flaked off, as it had with Logan. “And smuggled away to the solitaries upon her ascension. I only knew of her existence through Lord Oros’s grimoire.”
“I’ll take her with me when I go, if that would help,” Roman offered, though he really wished he could leave her here. “I just want to be free.”
“Her bond is easily broken, changeling. Look.” The King held Iyusuri up, glass out, and Roman quickly averted his eyes.
“The pixies said I would go mad if I did it that way. I would, uh, rather not go mad.”
“Mmm. That does present a problem, doesn’t it?”
The King turned her over and peered fearlessly into the dark glass, caressing his lips with his thumb. Frost followed the digit’s path, which he then licked away. Roman wondered what—or who—the Okeechobee King saw in those enchanted depths. The Court’s ambient music, muffled by their icy igloo of privacy, tugged at his consciousness.
“I cannot help you,” the King said at last.
Roman closed his eyes, the words like a vice around his chest. Iyusuri’s insistent tug only amplified the feeling.
“Your Majesty, please.” He braced himself to beg. “If my actions have caused—”
“You misunderstand. Further, your request puts me in a most undesirable position.”
The King passed the mirror back; Roman despised the unnatural feeling of rightness she exuded in his grasp.
“I would help you, as I have already accepted the clever bribe of Oros’s book.” The King shook his head. “But only one method exists to satisfy Iyusuri. Her bond to you is not within my power to break.”
Roman resisted the urge to groan. Had they really come all this way just to hit the same dead end? He knew his luck would be no further help; it was probably the only reason this King had been willing to indulge him as much as he had.
“Is...is there no one else in your Court who might—?” he tried anyway.
“There is not,” the King declared. “Put her away.”
Frustrated, Roman hiked up the borrowed faery robe and stuffed the mirror in his back jeans pocket. The icy prison collapsed at the King’s touch, becoming a cloud of snow for his robe to sweep through as he ascended to his seat. Two dark Winter faeries, who’d been whispering to each other near the pale throne, scattered at the King’s sudden reappearance.
“Come here, changeling,” he ordered.
Roman came as far as he dared, pausing awkwardly between one stair and another.
“In ages long past, the humans of this land came to the Okeechobee Court to partake of our wisdom, and my ancestors did not turn them away,” the King said. “In the spirit of that cooperation, I will impart to you what knowledge I do possess.”
One of the King’s ever-present servants had started braiding his hair; he shooed her away with a languid gesture and leaned forward.
“Before she came Earthside, the one you possess belonged to the Arcadian High Seelie Court of Carafel. She was carved by their hands from feribou horn, found in the Highlands of Sunward. If you seek them out, they may have a more satisfying answer for you than I.”
He whispered something in a variation of Faery Roman did not know, one that made his skin squirm and his stomach want to revolt. Iyusuri went icy cold against his back, so cold its touch burned through his shirt. The King beckoned Roman to lean closer and grasped his chin.
“I have given Iyusuri a geas,” he murmured in Roman’s ear, his frosty breath making Roman shiver. “She will lead you to Carafel, should you choose to go. Thus, my debt is repaid. However, know that my geas will only last a handful of days. Iyusuri’s magic is strong; she will not keep my words any longer than that.”
Roman had a million questions to ask, but the finality in the King’s words told him his audience was at an end. He needed to get out of here and find Virgil before someone in this Court decided they might like to turn a changeling runaway or two over to a neighboring Unseelie Court…
He bowed his head again, saying, “You have been extremely gracious, your Majesty.”
The King flicked a hand. Before Roman had even finished blinking, he was back at the sphere entrance, faery robe gone, his jacket and backpack both tucked in his arms.
“Roman!”
A bundle of black and purple leaped from the archway. Relief coursed through Roman’s body, nearly buckling his knees; he didn’t even mind that Virgil used his real name. Virgil practically skipped over, brown eyes wide.
“Did they help?” he demanded. “Did they take the mirror back—?”
“Shh!” Roman flapped a hand, looking around. He saw no one, not even a lone deer, but that feeling of being watched from earlier had returned with a vengeance. “It’s a long story. I met the King; he didn’t know how to break the bond—”
“Fuck, really?” Virgil rolled his eyes.
“—and this Court has bad history with the thing, so we probably shouldn’t talk about it here. In fact, we should go. Like, now.”
Virgil nodded. They clattered down the living stairs and across the path over the black pool. Roman ached to give the hanging tumbleweed city one last look, but he knew better. He turned his jacket inside out and pulled it on. The urge lessened.
They stumbled upon the faery ring almost immediately, alleviating Roman’s fears that they wouldn’t find their way out.
“Guess he really is trying to get rid of us,” he muttered as they stepped across.
A short walk later, they emerged from a thicket of cypress into the open air. The sun lay low behind the trees, casting an orange haze over scrub and water. Zoe, their colorful barrettes catching the light, glanced up from their phone as they approached.
“Thank fuck,” they said, standing up and slapping a mosquito. “I've been getting eaten alive.”
Roman righted his jacket, checked the mirror, slung on his backpack, touched his waist…
“Gods damn it,” he groused. “He didn’t give back my sword!”
Chapter 13- Orange Rose
i’ve got to be honest
i think you know
we’re covered in lies and that’s ok
~ “You’re A God” by Vertical Horizon
energy
The three decided to camp for the night rather than risk walking the Hedge for hours when they were tired. But to find a suitable place—preferably one not overrun by mosquitoes—they had to return to the Hedge for a little while.
“Do we have to camp, though?” Virgil grumbled as they trudged along the gravel path.
“Why did you think we brought sleeping bags?” Roman pointed out.
Zoe walked several paces in front, studying one of Hansel’s maps and ignoring them.
“I thought they were a just in case thing!” Virgil said.
“This is the just in case.”
“If the bickering married couple could knock it off for a minute,” Zoe cut in, rolling their eyes. “I think I’ve found something.”
Virgil coughed and tried to hide in his hoodie, turning away before Roman could read his expression. He felt his own face flaming. He leaned over Zoe’s shoulder, studying Logan’s tiny notes over a sprawling, incomprehensible mess of lines, doors, and pathways.
“We’re here.” Zoe pointed to a straightaway and dragged their finger to a different point. “If we take the next left instead of right, about five gaps down there’s one that leads to…somewhere in Maine, it looks like? That seems to be the most stable one that doesn’t take us too far from Florida. Same time zone and everything.”
“Since when is Maine not far from Florida?” Roman demanded.
“In an endless maze full of doors that could take you literally anywhere in all the universe?” Zoe’s face became deadly serious. “Any two points on the same continent, on the same planet, might as well share a backyard.”
Somehow Roman had never thought about the Hedge quite like that. He stared at the high walls and their lines of doors, disappearing into the distance.
“That’s fucking terrifying, thanks,” Virgil said.
Zoe shook their head. “Every changeling thinks they know the Hedge, but none of you have walked it with Pathfinder Hansel. It’ll change your perspective on everything.”
Not that he gets to walk it anymore, Roman thought, noting the tightness in their voice.
Unsurprisingly, the fifth gap on the left-hand turn looked exactly like every other gap.
“Let’s hope time hasn’t changed anything in Pathfinder Hansel’s notes,” Roman muttered as Zoe marked the ground with another X.
“Oi. Catastrophizing is my job,” Virgil muttered back, shooting him a half-smile that sent a zing along Roman’s nerves.
They had to crouch past the door arch and crawl single file to pass through, and as Roman emerged, covered in dirt, he saw why. Earthside, the gap was nothing but a dark space nearly hidden in a craggy brown cliffside. He breathed in a lungful of salty, fresh air. They’d come out near a large lake, or more likely a bay. Humped silhouettes of distant islands dotted the water’s surface in the distance. The sun lay fiery yellow on the horizon, lower than before, below the tree line.
“No wonder it’s such a stable gap,” Zoe commented after they’d joined him. “Rocks don’t move around like trees do.”
A shallow cliff rose over their heads directly behind, with evergreen trees clinging to the top. To their right, the beach sloped in a wide arc around the bay, culminating in a charming set of buildings and a white gravel parking lot.
“You might get your ‘no camping’ wish after all, Stormcloud,” Roman said with a grin, imaginary glass beads making a pleasant music in his head as he leaned on his power. “That looks like a motel.”
Virgil hummed, but there was a pleased set to his mouth.
“You’re right,” Zoe announced. They’d pulled out their phone and were holding it awkwardly in the air. “Cell reception is spotty, but if Google is correct, this place is called the Lighthouse Inn—”
“Original,” Roman commented dryly.
“—and since it’s not peak tourist season, they might have a vacancy or two.”
“They will.” Roman felt that particular beaded slide over his skin that meant his power had latched onto a possibility.
They strolled casually down the beach, trying to look like they hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere. The vegetation on the mainland was all tall, scraggly furs mixed with impenetrable shrubbery, the beach a slurry of shells, pebbles, and coarse New England sand. Roman picked up a branch and mimed sword moves until Virgil grumbled at him to knock it off.
“Does Logan’s map say exactly where in Maine we are?” Virgil asked.
“No, but Google says we’re somewhere in Acadia National Park,” Zoe said.
Virgil scowled and pulled out his phone. “That means nothing to me.”
“You did ask.”
They left the beach and approached what they decided was the main Inn building, a tall, narrow structure with a pointed roof. Virgil continued to scowl at his phone, scrolling. “Looks like this Lighthouse Inn is the only civilization within walking distance. It serves breakfast, but dinner is gonna have to be more sandwiches.”
“Proper camping is still on the table,” Roman said, poking him with his stick.
“Nope. Nuh-uh.” Virgil waved it away and shrugged deeper into his hoodie. “Not sleeping on the ground when beds are an option.”
The main building had a wooden porch all the way around, with five or six steps leading to a screened door. Zoe stopped them on the threshold.
“Why don’t you guys let me get the rooms? I know all the right stuff to say so they won’t get suspicious about where we came from.” They smirked. “Gretel always gives me money for ‘emergency gap stopovers’, as she calls them.”
Roman shrugged.
“You think I’m gonna complain about not having to talk to people?” Virgil said.
“You two mind sharing a room?” Zoe asked.
Roman’s pulse skyrocketed. “Uh…”
“We’ve done it before,” Virgil said, and then seemed to realize how that sounded, because he whipped his head to stare at Roman with quarter-sized eyes. “Not like that! Just—”
“As long as there’s two beds,” Roman cut in.
Virgil nodded frantically.
Zoe rolled their eyes and went inside, letting the creaky screen door slam behind them. Roman leaned on the porch railing, passing his branch from hand to hand, feeling Virgil practically vibrating behind him.
“If you say one word—” Virgil warned.
“Wasn’t going to,” Roman muttered back.
“Right.” Virgil exhaled. “Good.”
After ten long minutes, Zoe returned with two sets of room keys, a breakfast menu, and a litany of complaints about Maine’s overpriced tourist economy making it impossible to find rooms at a fair price. It was almost fully dark now, the sky a deep, indigo blue, as they crossed the parking lot to the low, rectangular building labeled “3”.
“You guys are on the second floor, 29,” Zoe said, handing Virgil the key. Roman refused to feel insulted. “I’m down here, lucky number 13. You wanna eat in my room and then go our separate ways?”
Roman realized he was ravenous. He nodded.
Zoe’s room was small but quaint, with blue painted walls and lighthouse paraphernalia everywhere. They flopped down on the single bed, dirty shoes and all, and announced, “God, I wish my partners were here…no offense to you guys. But I always have such a hard time getting sleep without them.”
Roman, already sprawled in the tiny desk chair and halfway through a sandwich, narrowed his eyes.
“The way you say ‘partners,’” he said, swallowing a bite of ham and cheese, a bit squishy from sitting in a backpack all day. “It kinda sounds like they’re more to you than just your fellow Grimms.”
“They are.” Zoe grabbed a plastic sandwich bag.
Virgil nibbled the crust off his sandwich and apparently decided he was actually hungry, because he finished the rest in three enormous bites.
“So…they’re like, ‘partner’ partners?” Roman asked.
Zoe rolled their head to stare at both of them. “I’m polyamorous, okay? Yes, I have two partners; yes, we’re all dating each other; no, there’s no cheating involved or whatever.” Their next words came out muffled around a mouthful of bread. “If you’re not cool with that, let’s talk about something else.”
“No, no, it’s cool!” Roman held up his hands. “I’m cool, we’re cool, right Virge?”
Virgil shrugged. “I knew some poly folk in the Renn circuit back in Ohio. No big deal.”
“Tell us about these mysterious partners of yours, Zoe.” Roman put on an encouraging smile, because coming out was always hard, and he hadn’t actually meant to put them on the spot.
Zoe talked, and for a while, the only other sounds in the room came from plastic bags, water bottles, and three people who hadn’t eaten since midday. Roman learned all about Irena, who had the softest auburn hair on the planet, a green thumb, and the ability to create fire in her hands; and Jeong, who’d been kidnapped from Korea, who liked sculpting dragons out of clay, and who could read thoughts just by touching someone.
Listening to Zoe gush about their lovers, and just contemplating the idea that three or four people could all be together, made Roman a little jealous. That would have certainly made things easier when Virgil was still in love with Logan! Logically, Roman supposed he could catch feelings for more than one person at a time, but…he snuck a glance at Virgil, who’d finished eating and was now nursing the last of his water, listening, occasionally flicking his bangs out of his eyes.
It’s just, I don’t remember what having feelings for anyone else feels like. He stared until his cheeks warmed and his fingers itched to brush those faded bangs out of Virgil’s face.
Iyusuri—he swore the thing was getting better at sensing his emotions—slipped into his hand. Roman drained his water bottle and studied her instead, running a thumbnail over every carving.
“So,” Zoe said, once they’d run out of stories and they’d all eaten their fill. “Rapunzel’s plan was kind of a bust.”
Roman twirled Iyusuri with a sigh. “It was always a long shot.”
“I mean, at least you know more than you did,” Virgil said. “And you said the King told you where you need to go next.”
Roman chuckled bitterly. “When Virgil Storm starts being our voice of optimism, that’s when I know things are bad.” But the flash of genuine hurt on Virgil’s face had him backtracking. “Thanks, though.”
“What did the King say?” Zoe leaned back on the bed, arms folded behind their head.
Roman recounted everything about the mirror and Carafel.
“He thinks I should go to Arcadia.” Roman shook his head. “And he didn’t even know for sure if they could help; he just thought I’d have a better chance there. I could end up in the exact same situation; only worse, because again. Arcadia.”
“You’ll never escape,” Sir whispered. “You know that, pet.”
Roman shuddered and placed the mirror face down on the tiny motel desk.
“Well, what’s your other option?” Zoe asked. “Just keep it?”
“I guess?” Roman glared at the screaming woman on the back of the mirror. “Following the King’s geas feels too risky.”
“I’d go.” Zoe shrugged. “If it was me.”
Roman and Virgil exchanged mildly horrified looks.
“No offense, but that’s because you weren’t there long enough,” Roman said lowly. “You say we don’t know the Hedge like you do? That we aren’t scared enough? Trust me when I say Arcadia is like that for changelings.”
Zoe’s eyebrows rose and their mouth turned down. “Fair enough.”
“Look, we don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Virgil said. He’d slouched on the edge of the bed, hands buried in the white comforter. “Why don’t we get some sleep, make the trek back to the Grimm house tomorrow, and get some other opinions?”
“An excellent suggestion,” Roman declared, standing up and stretching. “At the very least, we ought to let Rapunzel know we successfully returned Oros’s grimoire.” He reached out, wiggled his fingers…and inhaled sharply when Iyusuri snapped into his grasp, like he’d summoned her instead of her just appearing in his hand. The difference was subtle, but it sent a chill down his spine anyway.
“Yeah, I gotta say,” Virgil said, backing away. “I’m really not a fan of you keeping that thing permanently.”
Is a stronger bond bad, though? some part of Roman’s mind wondered. Has the mirror actually done anything to you?
That’s not the point, he argued back.
“Samsies.” Zoe said, and smirked. “Ask Logan to pronounce that word sometime, if you want a laugh. Now get out of my room so I can shower.” They shooed the two of them toward the door. “We’ll meet up at breakfast, say around nine?”
Roman and Virgil nodded, gathered their bags, and trooped out. Virgil grumbled at having to climb the outside stairs—no elevators in this place, apparently—and grumbled again when it turned out their room was the furthest away from said stairs. He shoved the key in the lock, opened the door, and stopped dead on the threshold.
“Fuck,” he said simply.
“What?” Roman nudged Virgil aside and peered in.
“Of all the cursed faery—” Virgil shook his head, laughing bitterly. “You have got to be shitting me.”
It took Roman a moment to figure out what was wrong. The floor looked clean, the bed looked clean, the room had a TV, a small desk, even a tiny couch…oh. When he did see it, his heart sank into his stomach to join an explosion of butterflies.
“Oh, hell no,” he muttered. Because there was no way this was going to turn out well.
The bed looked clean.
Singular.
The room only had one.
Chapter 14- Peony
do you eat, sleep, do you breathe me anymore
do you sleep, do you count sheep anymore
do you sleep anymore
~ “Do You Sleep?” by Lisa Loeb
apology
Roman ended the call with more force than necessary and looked at Virgil, who huddled on the room’s tiny couch, as far away from the damning bed as possible.
“So,” Roman said, injecting false cheer into his voice. “The good news is, Zoe was not screwing with us on purpose; they really did ask for two queens. The bad news is—”
“There weren’t any other available rooms, were there?” Virgil’s mouth stretched in a mockery of a grin.
“Nope.” Roman popped the “p” before remembering that was something Virgil did.
“And one of us sleeping on the floor would be stupid,” Virgil said, gesturing at the bed, “when this thing is big enough for two.”
“Agreed.”
“So we’re gonna have to deal with this.” Virgil’s fake grin grew more manic.
“Yep.”
“Like adults.”
“Like sober, mature adults.” Roman nodded solemnly. “Who don’t freak out about sharing beds with friends when the necessity arises.”
“Absolutely not,” Virgil said.
They didn’t look at each other. Roman could have cut the tension in that room with his sword, except that blasted King had stolen it. I swear on every Arcadian god, if my luck somehow did this…the TV remote clattered to the floor, startling them both. Its battery compartment popped open and scattered AAA’s everywhere.
“Reign in your power, Princey,” Virgil said sharply.
Roman picked up the fallen remote and dared to glance at him. “Pot, kettle.”
Virgil looked down at his hands, which he’d dug into the couch cushions, and yelped; clusters of white peonies had sprouted between his clenched fingers. He frantically swept the delicate stems onto the floor.
Roman plopped his backpack on the bed and dug through it. Toiletries, several changes of clothes…but no pajamas, as he’d been expecting to spend the night in a sleeping bag, if he had to spend it anywhere at all. He sighed and braced himself.
“So, are we sleeping with pants, or—?”
“OH MY GOD.” Virgil shot up and paced to the door, covering his face in his hands. “I can’t do this.”
“Faery bollocks, Virgil, I’m not angling for anything pervy, okay?” Roman shot back, a little hurt. “I just don’t want to sleep in jeans. I’ve done it before; it’s fucking uncomfortable.”
Virgil stopped, his back to Roman, hand gripping the doorframe. “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”
“It’s not…” Roman sighed. “Given our history, I know this isn’t an…ideal situation. But—”
“I just keep thinking about the last time we had a motel room together,” Virgil interrupted. “When we were fighting. And it’s a lot, because…” He turned enough to flash Roman an unreadable look. “On top of having to sleep in a bed with you—which is fine, because we are adults—”
“Mature adults,” Roman echoed, realizing Virgil was in a very different headspace than he’d assumed.
“I feel like I need to apologize.” Virgil turned fully and folded his arms. “I was so far gone for…for Logan. Just, all up in my own stupid feelings. And you put up with it, with me. So now, here, when I watch you moving around and putting shit on the bed, all I can remember is broken zippers and pajama strings and I wish…” Virgil’s mouth turned up in the saddest mockery of a smile Roman had ever seen. “I wish I’d never put you through that.”
“Gods damn it, Virge.” Roman looked at his feet, biting his lip hard enough to leave indents. His eyes stung. He didn’t want to remember that night. Virgil didn’t even know the worst of it, how he’d punched the bathroom mirror and nearly broken it, how he’d cried himself to sleep…
“It needs saying,” Virgil rasped. “I’m sorry. I’ll say it as many times as I have to until you believe it.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
Roman took a deep, shaky breath. “Let’s make tonight as not-weird as possible,” he said, keeping his voice steady, “and call that forgiveness.”
Virgil exhaled. “If that’s what you want.”
Well, anything more would reduce Roman to a blubbering mess for the foreseeable future, so he nodded.
“So, I guess one of us could get ready in the bathroom?” Virgil rubbed his neck. “And then whoever’s already in the bed closes their eyes while the other one comes out?”
“I’ll be the one in here.” Roman grabbed his toiletry bag, emotions pinging all over the place. He needed A Moment. “But let me brush my teeth first.”
Roman scurried into the bathroom, shut the door, and leaned his head against it. The painted wood was cool to the touch, soothing his burning skin. He had never, in a million years, expected Virgil Storm to apologize to him. Certainly not like that, completely unprompted, straight from the heart.
Why?
Why now?
Roman scrubbed his teeth and rinsed his mouth in a hurry, not wanting to make Virgil wait. But when he emerged, he found Virgil huddled in the desk chair, one leg drawn up, one spinning him slowly, both hands gripping Roman’s branch in his lap.
“What are you doing?” Roman asked, bemused.
Virgil jerked up, eyes wide, branch sliding off his lap to hit the floor. “Nothing!”
It was pretty obvious, though. Virgil, a piece of wood, and intense concentration?
“Were you trying to use your powers?” Roman picked up the stick, which was covered in narrow grooved lines. “Looks like it still works.”
Virgil’s power could not create substance from thin air; rather, he stole raw material and converted it. So, when his creations died or were plucked from their source, they left little grooves behind. Logan’s couch and table back in DeLand were covered in them, evidence of the fights Virgil and Roman had while they lived there.
Virgil scowled and scuffed a socked foot against the thin carpet, littered with tiny green stems. “Can’t get any actual flowers. When I freaked out earlier and sprouted some by accident, I thought, maybe…but it’s still hard. To do it on purpose.”
Vines and the awful ripping sound of Deceit’s nails flashed through Roman’s memory. He shook it away.
“You should keep practicing. Wood was your easiest medium.” Roman handed the branch back. “Repressing your abilities completely can’t possibly be healthy.”
Virgil took the stick but hunched into his hoodie. “What if it turns out I never get the full use of them back? Or I give myself an attack? That’s where my power started, you know. In my lungs.”
He gripped the branch, bony knuckles turning white, and Roman remembered bloody petals in a white toilet bowl.
“Didn’t you speculate that not giving your power an outlet was part of the reason those attacks got so bad?” Roman sat on the bed.
Virgil spun the chair again, head tilted back, and sighed. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Fine.” He sat up straight and gripped the branch more purposefully. “You win.”
Roman frowned. He hadn’t meant to pressure Virgil into performing for his sake…but doing a 360—or was it 180? —and trying to talk him out of it would just piss him off, probably. Virgil hated being smothered.
For a nervous moment, nothing happened. Virgil’s fingers clenched, unclenched, tendons and veins standing out; the latter a shade too green, even after all this time. At last, a wave of tiny, light pink flowers spread from Virgil’s palms, creeping over the branch, and the velvet whisper of unfolding petals filled the room.
“Valerian.” Roman smiled at the choice. “You sleepy or something?”
Virgil flushed. The valerian tangle bleached into white, the petals stretching and changing shape until they were peonies again.
“What are you ashamed of right now?” Roman asked, tilting his head.
Virgil huffed. “I hate that you know what they mean.” The flower wave slowed its creep, then stopped as he pressed one hand against the center of his chest.
“It still hurts?” Roman’s smile dropped away in concern.
“A little. And it feels like I’m pulling blooms up from a thick mud. It’s so much harder than it used to be.” His gaze grew distant. “I think the only reason I was able to summon vines against Deceit was because we were on Arcadian soil, and I was scared out of my mind.”
Roman touched Virgil’s thin shoulders.
“You made flowers this time, though, Virge,” he said. “That’s still a win.”
Virgil sighed, stood up, and put the flowery branch on the dresser. “Let’s get ready for bed.”
#
Roman met Virgil’s panicked gaze across the throne room. Virgil’s purple hair clung to his skull in sweaty clumps; he staggered, barely on his feet, dark blood staining his mouth and teeth. His lips parted; maybe in warning, maybe in some desperate, sarcastic quip, Roman would never know…
That claw…
He lowered Virgil to the ground, already sticky and stained with blood and hemlock…
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I know I keep doing everything wrong. You can’t leave me like this, Virge…please!”
“Poor son of Johnny Prince,” Deceit whispered in his ear, forked tongue tickling. “I’ve stolen him from you.”
Roman whirled as Deceit’s half-scaled face melted and morphed into his own, but with a horrible greasy mustache and a sick grin.
“You really think you’re different than me?” Remus cackled, seizing his jaw and dragging the tip of his tongue along Roman’s cheek; no, it was a sharpie now, wet and pungent. “I was made from you, and you were made from him. We’re practically brothers!”
His face bled into an older version of itself—the face of a father Roman had never seen, tormenting a screaming house brownie—and faded back to a laughing Deceit. Roman, rage boiling up, swung his sword…
And choked when the faery morphed into Logan. Light glinted off half-moon glasses as those dark pink lips curled into a smirk.
“He’s mine, Roman.” Logan’s deep voice reverberated in his skull. “You were never going to be good enough. You know his heart will always be mine.”
Roman woke with a gasp, batting unfamiliar sheets out of his face and staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. That sensation, at least, was familiar. He shuddered and sat up properly, leaning against the headboard, gripping his head in his hands.
“You ever gonna tell me what’s wrong, Princey?” a gravelly voice asked.
Roman startled at the sight of Virgil’s extremely awake face on the pillow next to his, eyes glinting in the near darkness. Virgil sat up as well, keeping the comforter high over his pants-less legs and their carefully agreed upon foot of space between them. He’d kept his hoodie on to sleep, because of course he had.
“What time is it?” Roman mumbled.
“Around 3am,” Virgil said. “The witching hour.”
“Witching hour is midnight,” Roman corrected automatically.
“Devil’s hour?”
“That’s the one.”
Virgil sniffed. “All right, Logan.”
Roman flinched at the name, the last bit of nightmare still fresh in his consciousness. “His heart will always be mine.”
“M’gonna get some water,” he mumbled, moving to get out of bed.
“Roman.”
The note of steel in Virgil’s voice made Roman freeze.
“You were muttering my name.” Virgil’s thin hand drifted into Roman’s field of view, hesitant as a feral cat, finally settling on Roman’s wrist.
“It’s not a big deal.” Roman’s voice sounded toneless even to his own ears.
Virgil scowled, his messy, sleep-tangled bangs falling low over intense eyes. “Nuh-uh. You having nightmares about me is a big deal to me. Repression isn’t healthy, remember?”
“Nightmares aren’t the same as powers,” Roman argued, but his heart wasn’t in it, and he knew Virgil could tell because those cold fingers closed fully around his wrist.
“Roman,” Virgil said again.
“I keep seeing him kill you!” The words spilled from Roman’s mouth. “You bleed out in my arms and I can’t, I can’t stop it, Virge…” He broke off in a soft sob. “You die and I can’t stop it.”
Virgil’s stunned silence felt thick enough to drown a pixie. Roman drew his legs up—comforter and all—and huddled into a tighter ball.
“For fuck’s sake. All this time…what the hell am I supposed to do with you.” The way Virgil worded it didn’t sound like a question. “Come here.”
Virgil dragged him into a side hug, which was enough to break the dam. Roman cried, resenting every tear, muffling his face in Virgil’s hoodie. He relived that death again, and again, beads scattering like someone took a knife to the curtain that was his power, all the blood and hemlock…and Deceit’s snake face shifting into dark skin and cold, prismatic gray eyes.
“He’s mine. You were never going to be good enough.”
“You really think you’re different than me?” a shriller voice screeched.
“How long has this been going on?” Virgil asked. He made no move to push Roman away, so Roman buried the voices in that forbidden warmth.
“Since you were in the hospital. That’s when they started.”
“Nine fucking months? And you never said a word?” Virgil exhaled. “But Christmas. When I visited. You weren’t having the nightmares then, right? I would have heard you.”
“Except I’d already given away my old apartment, so we slept in Kate’s and Rosa’s suite, remember?” Roman smiled bitterly, because here he was, three months later, still living out the guest room in his moms’ home. Still stuck between a past he wanted to escape and some nebulous, unattainable future.
His fingers tightened around Iyusuri, who’d nestled against him like some kind of fucking security blanket. Now you’re stuck with this liability of a faery mirror because you can’t stop stalking this boy, his insidious inner voice whispered. You’re pathetic. Weak. A deadbeat, just like your…
“You stayed on the couch,” Virgil said, unaware of Roman’s inner self-flagellation. “I slept in the guest room. I guess you’re right.”
“I actually didn’t…sleep much, during that trip, to be honest,” Roman admitted. He forced himself to sit up, because he knew Virgil would never allow this if Roman wasn’t acting so pitiful. He became aware of Virgil’s slim hand against his back, rubbing a soothing circle.
“You stupid idiot.”
“I think I got snot on your hood,” Roman mumbled.
Virgil’s shoulders shook as he chuckled. “Not the worst substance I’ve washed out of this thing.”
A purple, plaid patch, slowly darkening to red…
Glassy eyes…
His face was seized. He stubbornly kept his eyes closed.
“Roman, look at me.” Virgil’s voice demanded obedience.
Roman’s eyes snapped open.
Virgil stared at him with an intensity that would have put even Logan to shame. What little moonlight filtered through the blinds made his cheeks and eye sockets look hollow, but his dark eyes glittered with life.
“I’m looking,” Roman whispered. I’m always looking.
“I am right here.” Virgil grabbed one of Roman’s hands and set it against his own chest. “He didn’t get to kill me because you beat him. We beat him.” His lips turned up in a smile that made Roman’s breath catch. “Deceit’s not coming back to take me away from you.”
“His heart will always be…”
“I know.” Roman’s fingers twitched against Virgil’s thin shirt, and he tried to mirror the smile. “My head does.”
Virgil smiled sadly. “And your heart?”
“His heart will…”
“It’s not that,” Roman said. “It’s my goddamned subconscious. I wish it would get the memo.”
Virgil laid back down, shuffling until his head was back on his pillow. Roman mirrored him. They stared at each other, their breaths unnaturally loud in Roman’s ears. The mere foot of space separating them felt like a river of fire in his imagination, one he’d never be able to cross without burning up.
He still wanted to.
“Come here, Sir-Sing-a-Lot,” Virgil murmured. To Roman’s shock, he rolled to his back and patted his chest. The familiar nickname inflamed Roman’s sudden case of nerves.
“Um…” He swallowed hard.
“Oh, for the love of…” Virgil grumbled. He snaked an arm under Roman’s shoulders, forcing Roman to pillow his head on Virgil’s chest and eliciting a squeak of surprise. Virgil’s hand settled against Roman’s head when he tried to move.
“Um! Did…didn’t we agree on, uh, space?” Roman’s voice came out as another squeak. He’d been forced into the fiery river and sure enough, he was burning in the dark.
“This way you can feel my heartbeat, okay?” Virgil’s breath puffed against Roman’s hair. “So your stupid subconscious gets the memo that I didn’t fucking die, and you won’t have nightmares.”
Roman did feel Virgil’s heart under his ear, soft and steady like wingbeats. Reassuring. For a few blissful moments, he laid wide-eyed, afraid to move lest this turn out to be a dream, unable to believe his luck.
“You are a furnace, you know?” Virgil commented. “How do you sleep in your own skin?”
“Sorry.” Roman started to move, but Virgil’s arm around his shoulders tightened.
“That was an observation, not a complaint.” Virgil had the audacity to sound amused. “S’nice, actually.”
Roman tried to relax and just breathe. He noticed Virgil was careful not to let their unclothed legs touch…nope! Not going there!
Then a horrible thought occurred to him.
What if this was his luck? I felt the beads when I was crying…or was I just remembering them? It always goes wonky when I get emotional. What if my luck is making him do this, because I wanted it, not because he did…?
Iyusuri, nestled in his grasp as always, flared with unexpected heat that made him gasp. He startled again when Virgil touched his hand.
“Can I see it?” he asked softly, tugging on Roman’s knuckles.
Roman reluctantly loosened his grasp.
Virgil held the mirror high over both their heads, keeping the black glass turned away. Roman studied Virgil’s face in the darkness, sharp chin raised, eyes narrowed.
“Why do you think it chose you?” Virgil said, his voice vibrating under Roman’s cheek. “When it could have picked—”
“Logan?” Roman finished bitterly. “Hell if I know. He would be the better person.”
Virgil tensed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said after a moment.
Roman cringed at the hard, hurt edge in that voice. “Sorry.”
“If the whole point of the mirror is to show someone’s true love…” Virgil brought the mirror closer to his face. “Why would she bond with someone who can’t even look at her? You’d think she would be able to sense Logan’s faery blood and know he could look without going mad.”
“She’s a faery object,” Roman said. “Insanity is built into the bones of Arcadia. Maybe she doesn’t have a concept of madness.”
The carving of the screaming woman at the mirror’s center stared silently. Roman resisted the urge to cover her with his hand.
“Do you think she would?” Virgil whispered. “Drive us mad?”
Roman’s heart skipped when Virgil started to turn her over; instantly, she snapped into Roman’s grasp, her handle flaming hot. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until Virgil covered one of them, the one wrapped around the mirror.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Virgil said after a moment. “I…don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s not your fault. I think she exerts a magical pull.” Roman tucked the mirror between them again, feeling both unsettled and oddly calm. “Patton wanted to look, too, and I’ll admit I’ve fought the temptation more than once.”
“You?”
Virgil tensed under Roman’s cheek again, as though he realized what he’d just admitted.
Roman squeezed his eyes shut.
Neither spoke; neither wanted to acknowledge everything that one word implied. Finally, Roman couldn’t stand the tension, started to roll back to his side of the bed, but Virgil laid a hand on his head.
“Stay. At least until you fall asleep,” he murmured. “So the nightmares don’t come back. I don’t want you waking me up again.”
Roman shivered, but their shared warmth had thoroughly seeped into his muscles and his head felt too heavy to move. Virgil’s fingers absently drifted across his scalp again, and Roman’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Go to sleep, Princey. Don’t make this weird.”
Chapter 15- Larkspur
ever after never came
and i’m still waiting
for a life that never was
~ “I Am Only One” by We Are The Fallen
indecision
After a welcome breakfast of not sandwiches at the Inn’s patio restaurant, and after a spirited debate with Zoe…Roman still didn’t know what he should do.
Zoe was ready to walk straight into Arcadia and find this Carafel Court, even after Roman’s warning from the night before. Virgil and his anxiety, on the other hand, brought up a dozen points Roman hadn’t even considered. If the Okeechobee King hated the mirror so much, could he have lied about Carafel as a subtle revenge? Faeries couldn’t physically speak untruths, but some got so good at twisting half-truths and suggestions that they could lie better than humans. Or maybe the King, being a faery, simply couldn’t comprehend the danger in sending a changeling into Arcadia.
“We need to go back to Cassadaga for supplies no matter what. But the biggest question,” Roman said as he finished his blueberry bagel, “is whether trying to find Carafel via a flimsy geas is worth the danger?”
“A geas that might not even work,” Virgil pointed out for the fourth time that morning. “Let’s say the King is just wrong instead of malicious. What if we get there and the Carafel faeries send us somewhere else? Are we supposed to wander from Court to Court for the rest of our lives, hoping someone can bend one stubborn mirror’s rules?”
Roman pinched his brow and bit back a sigh. Virgil’s habit of what-if-ing everything to death was exhausting at the best of times, even when it was useful. To make things worse, they also had last night hanging over them. Virgil refused to meet his gaze; not when they’d woken up on opposite sides of the bed, not now at breakfast.
He still didn’t know what to make of…whatever had happened between them.
He still feared his luck had caused it, that it wasn’t real, and therefore it couldn’t mean anything.
“For now, it sounds like regrouping in Cassadaga is the best plan,” Zoe said after a short silence. “But, Roman, you’re gonna have to make a decision on this soon, or the King’s geas running out is gonna make it for you.” They stacked their dishes into a pile. “I’ll check us out of here while you guys get your stuff.”
#
The four-hour walk back to Cassadaga seemed to take forever, as nobody wanted to talk, and Roman’s brain wouldn’t shut up.
He mentally replayed everything the King said, searching for loopholes or hints of lying. He mulled over every possible danger and objection Virgil came up with. Roman had noted, during their breakfast discussion, that Virgil kept saying “we,” which in Roman’s opinion was the most damning objection of all, and one nobody had brought up.
There couldn’t be a we, not for something as dangerous as Arcadia.
Because where would it end? he thought sourly. Zoe already volunteered. Virgil thinks he’s going by default. Logan will want to come along as protection or some trollshit, and where he goes, Patton goes. And if Logan goes, Rapunzel might want to go; and if she goes, some of the other Founders might volunteer…
And suddenly Roman would be dragging four or five or six people he loved on a hellish quest, risking recapture and death for all of them. The notion made him eye the Arcadian Hedge doors and contemplate just chucking the stupid mirror through. Except if he did that, the mirror would probably force him to follow.
Maybe it would be safer for everyone if he learned to live with the thing.
Zoe led them unerringly back to the Hedge gap still marked with an X. Roman was glad to leave the stifling silence, to smell the familiar backyard and hear Nic’s welcoming bark in the distance. Walking into the Grimm house to find Gretel and Rapunzel waiting for them, however, with the mirror still in his back pocket—and seeing their eyes flicker straight to it— felt humiliating. Virgil and Zoe were no help; they fled upstairs, Virgil mumbling something about a nap, Zoe wanting to call their partners.
Gretel seemed no friendlier, though she did press a glass of water into Roman’s hand as he recounted what happened. Rapunzel looked disappointed, or maybe a little embarrassed that her beloved Okeechobee Court hadn’t come through like she’d promised. She thanked Roman for returning the grimoire and, as he’d feared, offered to go with him to Carafel.
“Look, I’ve gotta…think about it, you know?” Roman said. “An Earthside Court is one thing, but I don’t want to march a bunch of people into Arcadia unless I’m absolutely sure there’s no other choice.”
“Well, don’t think too long.” Rapunzel frowned. “Stiltz and Red are supposed to go back to Orlando tomorrow, and didn’t you say your geas had a time limit?”
Roman forced a smile. “I know.”
“It should be Stiltz and Red that go, if it’s to be anyone,” Gretel commented from the other side of the kitchen, opening a cabinet door. “You know, since—”
“Faye, I have been out of Arcadia for nine months,” Rapunzel said in an icy tone that had Roman edging toward the door.
“Which is not very long in the grand scheme of—”
“One can gestate an entire child in that amount of time,” Rapunzel folded her arms on the island counter, her eyes dangerously intense. “Which, may I remind you, I have done.”
Gretel shut the cabinet and turned. “You say that like I can’t feel what happens any time someone says Arcadia—!”
And Roman decided it was high time he left the kitchen.
He marched upstairs, trying not to let the argument bother him. Iyusuri burned hot in his hand; he brought her up to his face.
“You see the trouble you’ve caused?” he muttered. “You see what’s happening because you can’t let me go?”
Is it because of me, though? the mirror seemed to ask in a voice that sounded a lot like his own insecurities. Or is it you?
Roman dropped his hand. “Why do I even bother? You’re a fucking mirror, not my therapist.”
You bother because you care too much. Also, you don’t have a therapist.
“Shut up, brain.”
The door to his and Virgil’s room stood ajar. Roman’s heart turned over at the sight of Virgil sprawled on the top bunk, eyes closed, breathing softly.
“Virge?” he murmured.
No answer, no change in breathing. Either Virgil had actually fallen asleep in the space of twenty minutes, or he was faking it very well.
“Are you avoiding me?” Roman dared to ask out loud.
No answer.
I slept there, he thought, watching Virgil’s chest gently rise and fall. If Roman turned his head and breathed deep, he could still smell patchouli on his shirt. I should have told him how I felt last night. Then maybe I would know what it means…that he let me. But even if Virgil was awake, Roman knew he wouldn’t dare bring it up. Like everything else that existed between them, it felt too fragile for words.
With a sigh, Roman finally sought out the one person who wasn’t currently asleep, busy, arguing, or out of the house and who might—albeit reluctantly—tolerate his presence.
He found Logan cross-legged in a beanbag chair in Hansel’s old room, the one he and Patton were sharing, surrounded by stacks of journals. The half-faery glanced up as Roman entered, that single look making his heart stutter. Late afternoon sun painted his dark skin in illuminated stripes while casting his face in shadow. Seeing Logan again, after seeing his kin in person, Roman was struck anew at how fae Logan’s eyes and ears and cheekbones looked.
With the right glamour, the right posture, Logan could pass for a Sidhe. Roman had never quite appreciated how terrifying that was.
“Hello, Roman.”
Logan’s deep voice had him mentally flinching away from a remembered forked tongue.
I had a dream about you, he almost said.
“We’re back,” Roman said instead.
“I am aware. I heard you come in.”
“You didn’t come down.”
“Did I need to?” Logan quirked an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the mirror still gripped in Roman’s hand. “I see the quest was unsuccessful.”
Roman sighed. “More or less.”
“I am surprised the King was unwilling to help,” Logan said with a frown. “He is usually magnanimous toward humans who come to him.”
How did you manage to fuck it up? Logan didn’t say, but Roman, in his present mood, heard loud and clear.
“He wasn’t unwilling.” Roman came in and flopped down on the neatly made double bed. “The Okeechobee Court didn’t know how to break the bond any more than we do.”
“Oh?”
Roman gave Logan a hasty recap of the journey. At this rate, he might as well write it down and hand it to the next person who asked.
“Despite the fact that he stole my sword and low-key hated the mirror, the King was surprisingly chill,” he said. “But now I have to decide whether to take him up on his geas and go to Carafel.”
Logan pulled a sour face at the word “chill”, and Roman realized he’d made a pun. He also realized that Patton, if he’d been here, would have immediately pointed it out.
“Where is Patton, anyway?” Roman asked, looking around.
“In the barn with the pixies.” Logan set down the journal he’d been reading and fished around the stack for another. “To my recollection, Astaros is as fair a king as one could expect in a Seelie Winter Court. He is well-regarded among my kin, and also more welcoming of human visitors than some of his predecessors. Okeechobee has traditionally existed in harmony with the local tribes.”
Roman did not miss the un-subtle changing of subjects, but he decided to allow it. Astaros. The name definitely fit the regal face he remembered.
“I think he tried to talk to me in a Native American language at first,” Roman said.
“Seminole, most likely.”
Logan found a journal and flipped through it; not idly reading, more like he was looking for something. An odd thought crossed Roman’s mind.
“Are you related to him?”
“Only very, very distantly.” Logan gave a pained smile. “And thank goodness for that. My father was a Lord, but not even among the top dozen in line for the throne.”
“He knew Oros by name, and he seemed happy to have the book back,” Roman said.
Logan flipped another page and didn’t respond.
“You look like them, you know?” Roman rolled over and propped his face on his hand. “It’s one thing to know, intellectually, that you have faery blood. But seeing them in person…”
“Does it disturb you?” Logan’s prismatic eyes flashed up from his book, sending a shiver along Roman’s spine. Gods damn it, he was pretty, and Roman experienced a rush of anger and grudging admiration every time he noticed.
“As someone who knows you? Not anymore.” Roman frowned down at the bedspread. “But as a hunter?”
Johnny would have killed Logan that night in his apartment, he knew with chilling certainty. I hesitated; I don’t think my father would have. He would have been wrong, but…Faery Queens help me, I understand the impulse.
“When I first walked into that Court,” he said. “Your King Astaros pegged me as a runaway. I was half sure he would sell me back to the Unseelies the moment we were done talking.”
Logan closed the journal, giving up all pretense of reading. “You weren’t wrong to be afraid. The differences in alignment among Fae are not always clear-cut; loyalties frequently cross boundaries.” He adjusted his glasses. “The Tocabaga Seelies, for example, have much closer ties to their Unseelie brethren than many Seelie Courts. They might have done precisely what you feared.”
“That’s what it’s like for us changelings, Specs; all the time,” Roman pointed out. “Always in the backs of our minds is that constant fear of getting dragged back to that hell. To your earlier point, when you tilt your head a certain way and I see those ears, that gaze; yeah, it’s unsettling. Taking out that fear on you is, in your words, illogical, but that zing of fear is still there.”
His old master’s face flashed through his memory, making him flinch. Some faeries really were evil, no doubt about that. But others, like Astaros, were just…complicated.
Roman remembered his own arm around Logan’s chest, sword against his throat, because he was taught anyone with pointed ears had to be up to no good. If he’d killed Logan that night, Virgil would have been left wide open for Deceit to recapture. He’d probably be in Arcadia right now, suffering and making fetches for that snake-faced bastard…
“You are in a contemplative mood today, Roman.” The tiniest of smiles lifted Logan’s lips. “Unusual for you.”
“Oh, shut up!” Roman tossed a pillow at Logan, who caught it without even looking up.
Show off.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Roman admitted in a lower voice. “Kate used to tell me that all faeries were evil; some just hid it better. She said Seelie versus Unseelie was a pretty lie they maintained.” He rolled to glower at the ceiling. “But now I wonder if that black-and-white hatred was all Johnny’s influence. Astaros didn’t sell me out. So, do I trust him? Do I take the word of a Seelie that this other group of Seelies will help me?”
“Well, I think the answer is obvious,” Logan said, irritatingly unperturbed. “You either let Iyusuri take you to this Carafel Court and ask for their help, or you’ll be stuck with her forever. I do not see a third option.”
“Easy for you to say.” Roman glowered. “My Smile training says we were lucky to have come out of Okeechobee unharmed. Arcadia would be suicide.”
“Keeping the mirror is a foolish proposition, Roman. It will make you a target for faeries like the one we met at Painter’s Pond,” Logan said. “Which, arguably, is equally as dangerous for you.”
“And everyone else! I know that!” Roman flopped back against the bed. “Whatever I end up choosing will put people I care about in danger. Why do you think this is hard?”
Logan made a noncommittal noise and flipped another page in Hansel’s journal. Roman wasn’t even insulted; that was just how Logan was. If he had nothing salient to add to a conversation, he let it drop into silence; a trait Roman had gotten used to, because Virgil was the same way. He used to come home to Logan’s apartment and find the two nerds sitting in the living room in total silence, not even paying attention to each other.
No wonder Virgil fell so hard.
The thought triggered an irrational bolt of anger. Roman wished his brain would stop cataloging the similarities between the two, wondering if they’d have been happier with each other after all…
It shouldn’t matter.
Logan had chosen Patton. Virgil, by his own admission, had moved on.
Yet even now, after Virgil let Roman fall asleep to the sound of his own heartbeat, Roman still didn’t know where he stood. Because nothing had really changed. Because he’d failed to get rid of this stupid mirror!
And Logan was up here reading while his fiancé was outside in the barn, alone.
“Did you at least patch things up with Patton while we were gone?” Roman asked. When Logan visibly flinched, Roman fought an urge to strangle him.
“Seriously?”
“He has been busy helping Wrassey.” Logan’s voice grew sharp. “I didn’t want to—”
“Oh trollshit, Logan.” Roman sat up on the bed. “You’ve been acting weird and cold to him since you brought us back to your apartment the other night.”
“Our current issues have nothing to do with either of you—”
“That was not my point!” Roman held up a hand to forestall one of Logan’s pointless semantic tangents. “You know Patton. He’s waiting for you to come to him because if he comes to you, he knows you’ll just shut him out. What in the Arcadian hell are you afraid of?”
What are you afraid of, hypocrite? His subconscious whispered back.
Logan snapped the journal shut, though his face showed no other emotion.
“It is not,” he said, clipping each word, “your concern.”
Roman flopped back on the bed and rolled over. His blood was practically boiling for a fight…but part of him recognized that’s all it was. Logan was right. It wasn’t his business, especially since he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Virgil about their relationship. It was just easy to be mad at an oblivious, annoyingly perfect half-faery who always got better than he deserved.
It was hard to make a decision that might put people’s lives in danger.
“Well,” he grumbled, not caring if Logan overheard. “Excuse me for caring too much.”
Chapter 16- Marigold
open up the book you beat me with again
read it off one sentence at a time
i’m tired of all the lines
convictions and your lies
what right to do you have to point at me?
~ “Breakdown” by Daughtry
anger
Sometime later, a soft knock startled Roman awake. Logan still sat in his beanbag, a different journal open in front of him, making notes in a floppy notebook. The long shadows on the floor told Roman it had been at least a few hours.
“Logan?” Patton stuck his head in. “Oh, Roman!”
Roman became painfully aware that he’d fallen asleep on the couple’s bed and quickly sat up.
“Uh, sorry, Padre.” He rubbed his head sheepishly. “Guess I was more tired than I thought. I’ll clear out of here.”
“No, no, you don’t have to.” Patton raised his hands. “I was coming to get you and Virgil, too. Wrassey wants to talk to all of us.”
“She’s feeling well enough?” Logan put aside his book and stood up—although he still avoided Patton’s eyes. Probably because Patton’s expression all but screamed something like, “If you had come down to the barn, you’d already know that.”
“I’ll go get—” Patton started.
“I’ll get Virgil,” Roman cut in, rolling to his feet. “He’s always cranky after naps.”
And you two desperately need to talk, Roman thought as he escaped that choking awkwardness. If they don’t work this out soon, the eventual fallout is going to be brutal.
Virgil was, predictably, extremely grouchy, something Roman wished he didn’t find so adorable.
“Shut up.” Virgil climbed down and grumbled his way into his hoodie.
“I didn’t say anything,” Roman protested.
“Your face is loud.”
“You are delightfully irrational when you first wake up.” Roman followed Virgil into the hallway, where Logan and Patton waited. Virgil shot him a look that made Roman’s heart skip—was he thinking about the last time Roman saw Virgil when he first woke up?
The four trooped out to Red’s barn. Dust covered the rows of long, bare tables inside, and a few large, rusty cages lay abandoned on the weedy floor. Though it had clearly been years since anyone used this space in earnest, the smell of warm animal and stale poop lingered. Sunlight filtered through tiny gaps in the roof; gnats swarmed in the narrow beams.
An extensive mossy terrarium stood on one of the tables, crowded with tiny glowing sparks, wings and small voices chiming in the quiet. A familiar ink-haired pixie zoomed close as they approached, guiding them to the table. Wrassey sat primly on a bed of squishy moss, her bad wing splinted at an awkward angle from her body, but otherwise looking completely recovered. She waved as they approached and demanded first Virgil’s and then Logan’s hands, kissing the fingernails.
It hasn’t even been a week. Roman realized he had no idea how fast faeries typically healed. Smile didn’t usually let their targets live that long.
“Where have you been, Bear? Why have you not come to see me?” Wrassey demanded in all her tiny imperiousness.
Patton, once again demonstrating that his was the most forgiving heart in existence, kept his face blank.
“I have been studying Hansel’s journals,” Logan said. “I am pleased to see you recovering so well.” His solemn air was somewhat spoiled when Wren perched on the bridge of his nose, causing him to go nearly cross-eyed.
“You did well, bringing Wrassey and I to our cousins.” Wren straightened Logan’s glasses and moved to join her sister. “They have taken good care of her.”
“Are they actually cousins?” Roman murmured in Virgil’s ear.
“I’m pretty sure pixies call all other pixies cousins,” Virgil answered back.
“So, Wrassey, Wren, what did you want to tell us?” Patton prompted.
The sisters looked at each other; Wrassey nodded.
“We wish to return to our park,” Wren announced. “While Wrassey is much better, she still cannot fly, and will not fully heal until she is back amongst her own leaves and bark and kin.” Her wings chimed discordantly. “We are also concerned about Tourmaline and the rest of our clan. I do not like not knowing how many survived that Court Fae’s torture or what has become of them.”
“Well, of course we’ll take you home,” Patton exclaimed. “We could go right now if you wanted—”
“Patton, wait.” Logan held up his hands. “We cannot go racing back to DeLand just yet. Roman, explain about the geas.”
Roman—who, for once, did not like being put on the spot—took out Iyusuri. It was clear Patton hadn’t been brought up to speed on anything.
Honestly, Logan, fucking do better.
“So, the Okeechobee King wasn’t able to break the bond.” Roman held up the mirror. “But he did put a little spell on it that’s supposed to lead me to the ones who can. Problem is, it involves going to Arcadia.”
“And that spell came with a time limit of only a few days,” Logan added. “Which means we will need to start the journey very soon. I have been researching Arcadian highlands—”
“Hold up, Specs, I haven’t even decided if going is the best idea!” Roman protested.
“—but since we don’t know how long it will take to find this Carafel Court—”
“Because of course the King couldn’t tell us something useful.” Virgil rolled his eyes.
“—we would want to leave as expeditiously as possible,” Logan finished as though no one else had spoken.
Patton exhaled through his nose.
“It’s like talking to a brick wall, isn’t it?” Roman commented.
“If we all go with Roman, who would take the pixies home?” Patton asked lowly.
“Stiltz or Red could do it on their way back to Orlando,” Logan said.
“But they’re not leaving until tomorrow evening.”
“Guys,” Roman cut in. “You’re talking like Arcadia is a done decision. And like I said, I don’t—”
“Then we’ll ask my mother,” Logan plowed on. “Or better, we split up.”
“Wait, what? Why?” Patton’s face fell.
“Because clearly neither plight can wait, and Roman will need someone familiar with Hansel’s maps and Arcadia in general to go with him—”
“A round trip to DeLand will take an hour, at most,” Patton said, his voice growing sharp. “Why would you suggest splitting up?”
Logan didn’t answer right away. Just when Roman thought maybe he should try to speak up again, Logan sighed hard.
“Arcadia is leagues more dangerous than the Hedge or any Earthside Court. I am the only one among us who could pass as a faery—”
“Which explains why you want to go with Roman.” Patton folded his arms. “Not why you think I should stay behind and take the pixies home. Because that’s what you’re actually suggesting, isn’t it?”
Logan pulled a face. “Two teams are far more efficient than one. Roman will need as much of a head start as we can give him—”
Roman raised his hands. “Again, I appreciate the support, Nerd, but—”
“—we wouldn’t want to take a large party into Arcadia, anyway.”
Logan laid the back of his hand against Patton’s arm in a tender, familiar gesture. His face shuttered to blankness when Patton moved away from it.
“You don’t hear it, do you?” Patton’s voice dropped. “You don’t even hear what you’re doing.”
Logan’s face shifted into something dangerously close to anger as the temperature dropped.
Wren, Roman noted, had settled on Patton’s shoulder, her tiny black eyes bright. More disturbingly, other pixies gathered around, hovering in glittery little clumps. Drinking in all these feelings being slung around. Roman wrinkled his nose. Solitaries didn’t crave human emotion like Court Fae, but they’d gladly take it when offered.
“Oookay.” Virgil, who’d maintained a wide-eyed silence until that point, stepped between the glaring couple. “You guys need to get your shit together. Roman and I are gonna go back inside, and—”
“No, Virge.” Patton nudged Virgil to the side. “He’s not gonna ‘logic’ out of having this discussion for once. Why do you keep doing this, Logan?”
“You are going to have to be more specific.” Logan bit off every word, making even Roman wince.
“You think you know what’s best for everyone in every situation.” Patton started ticking things off on his fingers. “You don’t listen. You constantly go off on your own; you put yourself in danger without me—”
“Would you have Roman go into Arcadia alone?” Logan snapped.
“Do not drag me into this.” Roman backed away, his arms raised.
Patton’s nostrils flared. “That is not what I said at all!”
Chiming wings and greedy black eyes followed the motion of his hands.
“Also, have you considered that we do not know the situation at Painter’s Pond?” Logan snapped back. “We do not know how long it will take to help Wren and Wrassey find their clan, and we might have to deal with that Court Fae again if he has returned in our absence. It could take hours or it could take days, the latter of which would be disastrous for Roman.” He exhaled a frosty breath. “Splitting up is the most efficient use of everyone’s time. Be reasonable, Patton.”
Patton’s face crumpled. For a horrified moment, Roman was sure he would dissolve into tears, but instead he whirled, dislodging Wren, and paced across the barn floor. A few pixies split off to follow. The rest remained, a cloud of melodic bees, phantom stingers poised…or maybe that was just the prickling on Roman’s neck.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled.
“What have I said that’s wrong?” Logan turned on Roman with a hard expression.
“That’s just it. You always say, and you never ask.” Patton returned, his eyes red but dry. “I am not an idiot. You’re trying to leave me behind because you think DeLand is safer than Arcadia.”
“I don’t think it’s safer,” Logan said crisply. “I know it is.”
“And you know perfectly well what happened the last time you decided to do the dangerous thing by yourself because you thought you knew better than everyone else!” Patton all but yelled.
The pixies circled.
Roman had been taking slow steps backward and inadvertently bumped into Virgil. The two exchanged a glance. Virgil had gone paler than usual, his eyes wide and scared.
Logan opened his mouth and closed it again. “This isn’t Philadelphia. I am not abandoning you.”
He reached out, almost brushing Patton’s curls.
Patton dodged away again. “Look me in the eye, Logan Ursae, and tell me this isn’t about keeping me out of Arcadia because you don’t think I can handle myself.”
“The danger could be equal,” Logan protested. “The Court Fae from the park—”
“Tell me!”
Logan’s mouth clicked shut and his irises flashed white. “Why is it wrong to want my fiancé to be safe?” he demanded.
“Because I don’t know if I can marry someone who won’t treat me like a partner!” Patton yelled back.
Iyusuri sat like a molten weight in Roman’s white-knuckled grasp. Virgil reached behind to grip one of the barn tables; orange and yellow marigolds bloomed in an anxious, expanding circle around his hand. Logan, for his part, wore the shocked expression of someone who’d just been slapped.
Regret flashed in Patton’s gaze, but he set his jaw and did not take the words back.
“Guys.” Roman’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Maybe we should—”
“No. I’ll take the pixies to DeLand myself.” Patton interrupted in a toneless voice. “I can handle whatever I find there. You guys can wait for me, or not. Whatever you think is best.”
Silence.
Roman stared at Logan’s stony face, willing him to say something, anything, though he didn’t pretend to know what words would fix this. Patton scoffed and turned to go when Logan, predictably, said nothing.
“Wait!” Virgil wrenched himself from the table. “I’m coming with you.”
“Kiddo, you don’t have to—” Patton started.
Virgil caught Patton’s arm, stopping him. “You aren’t going alone.”
“Virgil?” Roman whispered.
“I’m sorry.” Virgil looked away as Patton scooped him into a hug.
Roman felt…betrayed. Which was ridiculous. They’d be back in, what, an hour? Roman still didn’t know if he was even going to Arcadia. Virgil wasn’t abandoning him.
So why did it feel that way?
Maybe it was the eagerness with which he’d volunteered, just like he had for Roman before Okeechobee. Because Patton was a friend, which maybe meant he saw Roman as just a friend, which meant last night really hadn’t been anything other than friendly comfort. A few pixies, who’d been ignoring Roman until that moment, turned to him with hungry gazes.
Logan, meanwhile, slipped out of the barn, his straight-backed figure marching toward the old garage. Patton’s mouth flattened at the sight.
“I’ll see you guys later,” he mumbled and escaped in the opposite direction, toward the house.
The barn seemed hollow and much too large in the aftermath, especially since the pixies were slow to settle. Their chiming, normally so soothing, grated on Roman’s nerves. He could feel the lingering anger, tightening his chest, making his shaking fists itch for a practice dummy.
Virgil took a few steps toward him. “Look…”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I get it.” Roman tried to keep his hurt feelings from bleeding into his voice, but from the way Virgil’s mouth pinched, he hadn’t succeeded.
“Someone has to look out for him,” Virgil muttered.
“I said I get it.”
“No, you don’t.” Virgil set his jaw. “Or you wouldn’t be angry.”
Roman closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not angry.”
“None of you know how Patton gets when he’s really, really hurting.” Virgil’s voice dropped. “He’ll forget himself. He’ll throw himself into danger without a care for his own safety. He can’t. Be. Alone.” He ran a hand over his face. “This is not me abandoning or avoiding you, okay?”
Roman cringed, ashamed of his own feelings, embarrassed to be so easily read. A pixie tried to stroke his forehead; he batted them away. Weak, his inner voice muttered.
“Then why can’t we all stick together?” he said.
“I don’t know.” Virgil hissed through gritted teeth. “Because Logan’s being an ass. Because they need time to cool off separately before we even think about heading into fucking Arcadia. Look, maybe Patton and I will get lucky, and this won’t take long.”
“Lucky, sure. I’ll get right on that,” Roman replied tonelessly.
“Oh my god, Roman, can you stop making this about you for two seconds?” Virgil snarled, losing his temper at last, drawing his own glowing pixie audience. “Bad enough those two are properly fighting now, and you’re acting like—”
“You’re the one who brought up avoiding!” Roman cut in.
Virgil blinked. “What?”
“You said, ‘This is not me avoiding you’. I never accused you of that. You brought it up.” Roman stuck a finger in Virgil’s face, the fight he’d wanted with Logan earlier boiling like hot water under his skin. “Which makes me think that you have, in fact, been avoiding me since we got back.”
Virgil’s jaw clenched. “I was tired. I took a nap, that’s all.”
But he hesitated before speaking the words, and his cheeks darkened to an embarrassed—or guilty—red.
Roman exhaled. “Liar.”
The yellow flowers around Virgil’s hands on the table exploded into furious crimson roses, bursting out of the wood in a wave of petals and thorns. He wore the same sick, twisted expression he’d worn when Deceit revealed him to be a fetch maker. And Roman knew, with startling clarity, that he could not have uttered a worse insult if he’d tried.
Liar.
“Fuck you,” Virgil whispered, and for good measure, said the same in Faery. And before Roman could even begin to apologize, he’d sprinted out of the barn amidst a rush of chiming wings.
Chapter 17- Butterfly Weed
i’m in a winter mood, dreaming of spring now
i’m burning myself down
burning myself down, burning
~ “So Much (For) Stardust” by Fall Out Boy
leave me
Roman went upstairs to Stiltz’s room and, finding it empty, threw himself on his bed with the mirror resting on his chest. Not to sleep, but just to stop thinking for a bit. As he drifted, he became aware of someone—probably Virgil—moving quietly around the room; soft footsteps, clothes rustling. Probably packing an emergency bag in case things didn’t go well in DeLand.
The other person didn’t speak.
What the fuck had Roman been thinking, using that word after everything Virgil had been through with Deceit? It would be a miracle if Virgil ever spoke to Roman again, let alone went to Arcadia with him.
If he decided to go.
Eventually the rustling stopped; when Roman cracked an eyelid, the room was as empty as it had ever been.
He understood Virgil’s need to keep an eye on Patton after that hellish fight. Patton needed someone, and who better than his best friend who’d borne Deceit’s cruelty alongside him?
Roman knew his hurt feelings stemmed entirely from his own insecurity. He wanted to be Virgil’s first choice, every time, over anything and everything else, even when it wasn’t possible. He wanted to be Virgil’s Logan.
That truth, when it came to him, made Roman want to cry or punch a wall.
Because if I’m not at least as good as that damned half-faery, what would stop Virgil from walking away forever?
Roman jerked back to consciousness when Iyusuri warmed in his hand. As he opened his eyes, he vaguely registered a person shuffling away from his bed.
“Virge?” he muttered. “M’sorry. I’m an idiot…”
“It’s, uh, actually me, kiddo.”
Roman opened his eyes properly to see Patton standing several feet across the room, looking like he’d seen a spider.
“How long was I out?” Roman rubbed his face, disoriented, disturbed to notice he’d fallen asleep with the mirror facing up again. Idiot. What if you’d had another nightmare, and someone accidentally saw something while trying to wake you?
Patton’s smile was wobbly. “If you came straight back up here after the barn, maybe twenty minutes?”
“Are you okay?” Roman frowned at Patton’s wide-eyed expression, how it kept flickering to the mirror. “You…you didn’t…”
“What? No, of course not!” Patton shook his head and pasted on a sunshiny smile. “I just came up to say we’ve got the pixies all packed and ready to go. And to ask if you wanted to go with us.”
Roman sighed again and stood, tucking the now-cool mirror into his pocket. He didn’t know why it had woken him, and he didn’t have the mental bandwidth just then to wonder. Not when Patton’s freckled face looked so pale, his smile so strained.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Padre? I wish…I mean—” Roman ran a hand through his hair.
“I’m fine, Roman, really!” Patton’s voice came out far too bright. “I’m sorry you and Virge got caught up in our drama, but all couples fight sometimes. It’s really no big deal.”
Patton doesn’t sound like he believes that. And…he doesn’t know Virgil and I fought, too. Roman studied Patton’s intense expression. Or maybe he does.
“I…dunno if me coming along would be a good idea,” Roman said, scrubbing his hair again. Just the thought of sitting in a car with a hurt, fuming Virgil, even with Patton as a buffer, felt unbearable.
Patton smiled sadly. “Oh, kiddo.”
Roman huffed. “Unlike you and Specs, Virgil and I fight all the damned time. One wrong word or look is all it takes. No matter how many times we both say we’re not gonna do it anymore.” He shot Patton a helpless look. “And just now I said something pretty unforgivable to him. So.”
Patton gathered him into his arms and petted his hair, and Roman bit his lip so as not to cry. How did this wonderful, gentle creature, whose own love life was falling apart at the seams, still have it in him to comfort someone else? Logan needed to get his shit together and stop pushing Patton away before it was too late.
“We shouldn’t be gone long.” Patton stepped away, wiping his eyes under his glasses. “And when we get back, we are all going to sit down and figure out what to do about the mirror and Arcadia. Okay?”
Roman nodded miserably.
Once Patton had left, he sat back onto his bed, Iyusuri digging awkwardly into his hip. He yanked her out and glared at the twining thorn carvings that met in an apex where the handle stuck out. The urge to turn her over welled up again.
Just look, a little voice in his head whispered.
Get it over with.
What if the pixies and the book are wrong, what if you don’t go mad? Break the bond. Give the mirror what it wants and be done with it.
Roman’s fingers tightened around the handle.
Stop making everyone else suffer for your problems.
He growled and tossed the mirror onto the bed, half expecting it to flip back into his hand. For once, it did not.
Roman stalked to the window and looked out over the overgrown yard. The sun slanted lazily into evening yellow, making shadows under the trees. Nicodemus’s brown form streaked past, barking; Logan was going to have a hellish time acquainting that dog to his small apartment again.
As he watched, Patton, Virgil, and Gretel gathered next to Logan’s car. Roman leaned his forehead onto the glass, greedily taking advantage of this chance to look at his crush with little possibility of being caught.
Virgil clutched the shoebox they’d used to transport the pixies against his chest, his back to the house. He kept having to flick his faded bangs out of his face, little irritable swipes of his fingers. Gretel said something that prompted him to smooth his hair all the way back and smile, a wry expression that made Roman’s heart skip sideways, even this far away.
You are so far gone, his little mental voice whispered.
“Shut up,” he muttered back.
Gretel finally headed back into the house. Patton swung into the driver’s seat. Roman wondered if Logan even knew Patton was taking his car, if they’d spoken at all since that awful shouting match. Not that Logan would mind, even now. In fact, he’d probably insist on it.
Virgil opened the passenger door but hesitated, that dark gaze traveling straight up to the window, as though he could feel Roman’s eyes on him. Roman ducked aside and then scoffed at himself, feeling ridiculous. By the time he’d taken a breath and peeked back out, Logan’s car was rolling down the driveway.
He was alone.
Stiltz’s room abruptly felt too claustrophobic, the dusty drums and colorful dresser carrying old memories and heartbreak that weren’t even his, as though he needed any more. He went downstairs and found the rest of the house depressingly empty as well. He supposed the other Founders were helping Gretel, Zoe was still video chatting with their partners, and who knew—or cared—where Logan had fucked off to.
He went into the kitchen, grinning when he noticed Rapunzel had bought a package of blueberry bagels. He made himself one and sat at the table to eat it. The outer kitchen windows darkened as the sun finally sank behind the trees.
Roman wished the other Founders would come hang out in the kitchen again. Stiltz’s stoic calm and Red’s wry humor would be welcome right now, despite his barely knowing them. Maybe Red would tell him more about Johnny Prince’s screwed-up personal relationships so Roman wouldn’t have to dwell on his own.
He sighed, the sound small and pitiful in his own ears.
His leg buzzed. He yanked out his phone, willing it to be Virgil…glowering when it was just an app update. He still hadn’t called Kate, which he’d have to before he went to Arcadia, of all fucking places, because he’d promised to never disappear again without telling her first.
“You look tired, pet. Could your luck be failing at last?”
Roman wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared for himself as well as his friends. His mind’s eye could easily paint Arcadia’s black sky, trees that whispered dark secrets or tempted you with sorcerous fruit, faery-laid roads that shifted directions on a whim. A lair full of beads and curtains. Creatures with eyes for hands and hands for eyes that craved blood, crimson-stained tables and bone scalpels lined up neatly on a wooden tray…and on top of those memories were half-formed images of Deceit, that black Bale throne room, those claws. He missed the days when all that darkness could be crushed and squeezed into a tiny, ignored corner of his mind.
Kate would forbid him to go. Well, she’d forbid it as much as she could forbid him to do anything. Hell, knowing Kate, she’d jump on the next flight to Florida just to talk him out of it in person. Roman wasn’t sure he had the mental energy to explain the mirror situation to anyone else, even if he could desperately use her guidance.
He opened his message app anyway.
His fingers navigated to Virgil’s name by instinct.
I don’t want to fight with you, he wrote. I should never have called you that word, not with everything you’ve been through. That was unforgivable. I wasn’t even upset, not really.
No, that would invite questions Roman didn’t want to answer. He erased it.
I’m sorry I’m such a fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional friend.
Too pathetic. Backspace.
To tell you the truth, I’m scared. I know what I need to do, and I’m too scared to do it.
Also pathetic. Something more neutral, then.
Are you okay? Did that Court Fae come back? Tell me you’d call if something went wrong.
Except Virgil never called when he was angry.
Roman scowled, erasing the words and stuffing the phone back in his pocket.
He stalked through the house for a while, wishing he had his sword. Exercise would at least make him feel a tiny bit less useless. Stupid thieving Winter King. He’d have to buy a new sword every year at the rate he kept losing them. Memories of him and Virgil prowling through flea markets at Christmas only darkened his already shitty mood.
To his surprise, he happened upon Zoe alone in the training den, abusing a well-loved punching bag that hung from a ceiling beam. Thin, interlocking rubber mats covered the floor, and the hint of stale feet that lingered in the air was a whiff of home. The Smile common room back in Philly smelled the same, as did every martial arts studio and dojo he’d ever entered.
He caught the bag as it swung, hungry for a distraction. “Training or blowing off steam?”
“Second one.” Zoe grunted, landing a round kick and falling back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Irena and Jeong were supposed to head back tonight.” Zoe attacked in a flurry of punches; Roman felt the impact of each one through the bag. “Except that stupid slave trade they were intercepting decided to swap locations at the last minute, so their first rescue attempt failed. Bay thinks they might have another window in three, four days.”
Roman didn’t bother asking who Bay was. He merely held the bag and let Zoe vent.
“So, I asked again if I could join them, and Irena said she’d find out, but all three of us know that wolf bastard is gonna say no.” Zoe side-kicked the bag so hard Roman was forced to let go. “Sometimes I just want a goddamned power so the rest of those goddamned Grimms would stop treating me like I’m not enough!”
They side-kicked the bag again and staggered back, panting.
“It’s not worth it,” Roman said lowly. “Trust me.”
Zoe scoffed. “That’s what my partners say.”
“Your form is amazing,” Roman commented as they performed another perfect round kick. “You wanna spar?”
“Better not.” Punch. “Too angry. But thanks.”
“I wasn’t kidding before. Smile would gladly take someone with your skill.” Roman smiled. “We don’t care about powers.”
“Not happening, hunter.” Zoe smiled thinly, stepping back at last. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
“Why stay a Grimm if they don’t respect you?”
“How would they ever respect me if I jumped ship just because I got a little jealous?” Zoe shot back. “Plus, my partners and I usually run our own missions. They respect me just fine, and theirs are the only opinions that matter.”
They started unwinding the cloth from their knuckles.
“Must be nice,” Roman said a little wistfully. “Having partners like that.”
Iyusuri burned against his back. He ignored her.
“What about you?” Zoe flexed their newly bare hand and wound the cloth around it again. “I saw your boy leaving with Logan’s boy earlier. Is Arcadia happening or not?”
“I don’t know.” Roman idly kicked the bag; barely a tap, just to test its weight. “They went to take the pixies back to DeLand.”
“And you and Logan stayed because…?”
“They had a fight.” Roman stepped into a spinning back kick, hitting the bag and grunting when his cold muscles protested. Elliot was always on his case for showing off without stretching first. “And then Virgil and I had a fight, and now everything is weird and awkward.”
Zoe grunted. “Well, if and when you get your shit together, let me know. Because I suddenly have three or four days to kill and a lot of feelings. Nice kick, by the way.”
They fell into a fresh rhythm on the bag, which Roman took that as a sign that they’d rather be alone. He grabbed a bokken from the pile in the corner, figuring nobody would mind as long as he returned it, and swept through the kitchen to the back door.
Night had fallen, the trees standing out as silhouettes of darker black against a clear, starry sky. The outside air clung to Roman’s skin, warm and sticky, but the scent of lush greenery was a pleasant change from old house. He laid the bokken on the porch and sank into a stretch, bare feet digging into soft grass. It had been too long since he’d done this; his muscles twinged and protested as he moved through a warmup.
Once his heart rate picked up, he took the heavy wooden practice sword and walked through a few basic forms. Nic joined him about halfway through, tail wagging, sniffing at his ankles, eyeing the bokken as though Roman’s sweeping it through the air was some new version of fetch.
Normally training helped settle his mind, but tonight, the thoughts refused to stop. It didn’t help that Iyusuri dug into the back of his leg with every move, managing to be more of a hindrance than the literal animal dogging his steps.
He tried a harder form.
A particularly athletic spin knocked the mirror out of his pocket, and his hand lurched out of its own accord to catch it in midair. The unexpected move made him drop his bokken and nearly sent him face-first into the grass. Nic dove for the sword, decided it was too heavy, and yipped anxiously at Roman.
“I’m fine, dog, go away,” Roman muttered, glaring at the mirror, seriously considering smashing her on the ground. But he knew she wouldn’t let him, and he didn’t know what she would do if he actually tried.
Instead, he sat on the grass, cradling the stupid thing in his hands. Nic laid down with a grunt, settling his head on Roman’s knee. Roman obligingly scratched the brown lab, half-smiling, wondering again how such a sweet animal put up with such a cold, wet blanket of an owner.
Restlessness ate at his limbs, but how could he train with Iyusuri waiting to trip him with every move?
His thoughts spiraled.
Are you sure Virgil is your one true love? the little voice in him whispered as he gazed at the mirror’s carved facade. The central screaming woman almost seemed to blink. Can he be, if all you ever do is hurt each other? Are you really afraid of being driven mad? Or are you scared she won’t show you who you desperately want to see?
A mosquito buzzed in his ear; Roman slapped it.
“No throwing knives tonight?” a voice said, making Roman whirl.
The brown-haired man he’d seen at the piano sat on the back stoop, lanky limbs folded, watching Roman with a placid expression. Roman froze like he’d spotted a particularly skittish deer. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
Should Hansel be out here on his own? Did he currently know where he was? Who he was?
“Uh…what?” Roman said, rather stupidly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use a bokken.” Hansel gestured at the wooden sword, his movements deliberate and slow, like he had to think about each one. “It’s good to see you branching out, Johnny. Has Dare been teaching you?”
Johnny. Faery Queens…he thinks I’m Johnny.
“Uh…” Roman felt completely out of his depth. Should he play along? He had no idea if Gretel had attempted to explain why Roman and the others were here—and it hardly mattered if Hansel thought he was someone else. What if he screwed up, and Hansel realized he was someone else? Would the man flip out, would it mess up whatever progress Gretel was making with him?
How did Alzheimer’s work, anyway?
“The Hedge is restless tonight.” Hansel thrust his chin in the general direction of the barn and the old shack beyond.
“Is it?” Roman tried not to let the words chill him. He picked up the bokken and contemplated how he might lead Hansel back into the house.
“Nobody else has ever been able to feel it. Nobody human, anyway.” His gaze focused on the yard, and he chuckled. “Beetlecloud, you don’t count.”
Roman startled again as a solitary stepped out of the shadows not five feet from where he stood.
It looked like a tiny old man, maybe four feet tall—taller than Remy, Roman estimated, but not by much. Beetlecloud the nisse was built like a gnarled block: stocky shoulders under a plain brown smock, stout legs, and a sturdy, curved back. He had a pointed gray beard that brushed the ground and a pointed gray cap that stood so high it nearly doubled his height. Beetlecloud narrowed his eyes, frowned, looked at Hansel…and Roman knew, with chilling certainty, that this faery knew he was not Johnny Prince.
“You see more of our world of late than you ought, Pathfinder,” the little man said in gruff, rasping Faery. “I used to be able to hide from you.”
“Perhaps we have both gotten old.” Hansel smiled, which melted to melancholy with a suddenness that sent a shiver down Roman’s spine. The man passed skinny hands over his face, prominent veins and large knuckles catching the shadows of the porch light.
“Will you walk the Hedge tonight?” Beetlecloud asked.
Hansel shrugged; a ponderous lifting of shoulders that lasted just a little too long to look entirely natural. “I haven’t decided,” he answered in Faery.
Alarm bells rang in Roman’s mind. He was pretty damned sure that Hansel was not in any state to go wandering into the Hedge, no matter how lucid he seemed right now. Should Roman stop him if he tried? It was clear the resident solitary would be no help.
Where the heck was Gretel?
“The third gap has moved again.” Beetlecloud crisscrossed his legs and sat on the bottom step.
“I know. I feel it.” Hansel turned his head toward the tree grove beyond the property. “One day I will map it.”
Beetlecloud sighed. “You’ll not, Pathfinder.”
“I will.”
“Then you will die.” The faery did not sound as concerned about this as Roman felt he ought.
“Most days, I already have.” Hansel switched back to English, staring down at his hands. “I am here now only in fragments, in moments. Death does not frighten me. Does it frighten you?”
Hansel tilted his head, and Roman realized the question had been directed at him.
“No,” he answered truthfully. “I fear getting caught by Them, or losing the ones I love.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “You and loved ones? Please. You can’t flatter me like you flatter the girls, Johnny. You don’t have to pretend you care about us.”
Roman gritted his teeth, once again both amazed and insulted at how much of an asshole his father must have been.
“Come!” Hansel shot to his feet, and Roman saw he was clad in nothing but a dark blue house robe. “We need to visit Dare’s collection.”
And before Roman could protest, he’d clattered down the porch steps and took off across the dark yard.
Chapter 18- Foxglove
nothing of the heart remains
even if we could’ve stayed
we’ve been here long enough
long enough to know it’s all in vain
~ “In Vain” by Within Temptation
riddles
Roman stared at Hansel’s retreating back, torn.
I should go get Gretel, but I can’t let Hansel wander by himself! What if he decides to gallivant off into the Hedge like he mentioned just now? But…what if he realizes I’m not who he thinks I am?
“Go on,” Beetlecloud said in perfect English. Roman looked down to find the faery glowering at him with dark eyes. “I will see to it that Gretel knows where he’s gone.”
“Uh…” Roman sputtered. “Shouldn’t you be the one to follow?”
Although it sure seemed like you would have let him disappear into the Hedge…
“Go.” Beetlecloud’s wrinkled face scrunched further. “Or you’ll lose track of him.”
With that, the faery vanished from sight. Roman shivered in the sudden quiet and scurried after Hansel.
He caught up and followed the man along a winding, weed-choked path, passing tangles of shrubbery and a dozen old, empty bird feeders. The nightly screaming cicada chorus had finally quieted to chirping crickets and wind passing through oak branches. A long, low building loomed out of the darkness—the garage, Roman remembered, and relaxed a little. Hansel couldn’t get into much trouble in there, surely.
House robe flapping, Hansel led them around an ancient twelve-seater van, patting it fondly as he passed. The vehicle was half enshrouded by young oaks and looked like it hadn’t run in decades, its wheels nothing but rusted rims.
“I see Dare remembered to lock up this time.” Hansel eyed the giant numerical padlock on the garage door before grinning and entering a number. Roman braced himself—surely they would have changed the combination over the years; this would be what broke the illusion—but to his surprise, the lock snapped open. Hansel threw the door wide, felt along the wall for a light switch, and beckoned Roman inside.
Roman gaped, blinking in the bright light. Rows of motorcycles and shelves of tools and engine parts took up the entire right side. The bikes all looked new—and quite fancy if Roman was being honest—and they gleamed like someone took excellent care of them. This part of the garage obviously still saw regular use.
The other side was larger, dustier, but drew Roman’s attention because it was a whole ass blacksmithing workshop. Heavy tables held bandsaws, grinders, and sanders; he saw enormous buckets for dunking, tubs of chemicals, two massive anvils, even a hydraulic press. The only thing missing was the forge itself, but he spotted another set of doors on the far wall and guessed they kept the heat-generating stuff outside. Weapons of every size and shape hung from racks along the other walls, along with hammers, molds, crowbars, more sanders, and other various tools.
“Too bad Dare isn’t here to help you pick your sword.” Hansel sidled up to stand beside Roman and folded his arms. The blue robe, which barely went past his knees, was embroidered in foxglove flowers and made him look both ridiculous and solemn. “You’ll have to do it yourself.”
So, this was Dare’s hobby. Roman frowned. I knew they were a berserker, but I never knew they were also a blacksmith.
“My…sword?” he repeated.
“I see it, plain as day.” Hansel’s changeling rings shone a dull greenish yellow around his dark irises, somewhere between Virgil’s emerald and Patton’s bright yellow. “I don’t know what you’ve done now, Johnny, or what you’re planning. But your path requires a sword from this workshop, and you must have it tonight.”
Not ominous at all.
Roman didn’t know what to do other than play along, so he approached the wall, feeling half in a dream. Should I pick one just to keep him happy? Would that be stealing?
“You’ll know it when you find it,” Hansel added in Faery.
The language shift did not soothe Roman’s uneasiness one bit. But…he did need a sword, especially if he was going to Arcadia.
Roman moved slowly down the rack of weapons. He ran an appreciative hand along the shaft of an elaborate kwan, the broad knife-like blade edged in wavy curves on the dull side, the long handle crafted from dark wood. Classical Kung Fu was heavily represented here: Roman saw throwing knives, darts, and even a massive, wickedly curved trident. He counted fifteen spears with red tassels, all with different heads—as though Founder Dare wanted to find the best possible shape—and twice as many swords. The majority were plain, polished steel, but some had dark Damascus patterns rippling through them.
Founder Dare obviously knew how to make a weapon look pretty, but are they functional…?
And that’s when Roman saw her.
A Chinese dan dao, nestled between two longswords, her hilt wrapped in red leather, her blade concealed in an un-dyed leather sheath. Roman reverently lifted her from the wall, already noting how heavy she felt compared to the thrift mall swords he’d used in the past. He grasped the hilt—unadorned, sturdy, and fit like a dream in his hand—and unsheathed the blade. It shone dark steely gray in the harsh garage light, curving gently—similar to the samurai style he favored—with a wicked sharp edge that terminated in a graceful, leaflike tip. Looking closer, Roman noted a tiny etched inscription near the hilt.
“‘Belle,’” he breathed. “Well, that suits you, doesn’t it?”
He dropped into a stance and moved through a simple sword form, noting the excellent balance despite the extra weight. Sheathing the sword again, he turned back to Hansel…only to find the Founder watching him with dangerously narrowed eyes.
“Dare despises you,” he said.
Roman’s heart lurched. “Uh…what?”
Hansel bore down on him. “And Joringel is gone.”
Roman took a step back. He didn’t like the brittle edge that had crept into Hansel’s voice, but he took a deep breath and forced a small smile.
“Look…I don’t…” he stammered.
“You didn’t learn that form from Joringel, because he’s dead.” Hansel’s eyes flared. “And Dare would never teach you. They’re the only one of us who favors the sword. And…and Johnny’s rings are bronze, not red. Who…who are you?”
Well, shit.
“Hansel!” a new voice shouted from the doorway.
Roman exhaled in relief when Gretel sprinted into the garage.
“They came through the gap once.” Hansel spat, his voice rising. “You could all be in league with them!”
He looked around wildly, chest heaving, but Gretel placed herself between Roman and Hansel and grasped one of her husband’s hands. Roman didn’t dare make a sound as she whispered something in his ear.
“No!” Hansel yelled and covered his ears, veins standing out in his skinny hands. “Stop whispering to me, stop it, stop…”
“Shhh.” Gretel murmured, grabbing his arms, and Roman wondered if he needed to step in and help her restrain him. But then a sensation like pillow softness crashed over his senses, so strong he almost dropped the sword he still held. It was like sinking into a world where sharp edges were a myth and breathing is all you need to do, down, down, that’s it …Roman’s Smile training kicked in; he inhaled and focused inward, pushing out the unnatural peace.
Hansel, on the other hand, stilled, gulped a deep breath, and Roman watched the fight visibly drain out of him. He slumped in Gretel’s arms, making her grunt, but she stood tall and grimly slung one of his arms around her shoulders. The pillowy feeling lifted from Roman’s mind, leaving a taste like lavender and an afterimage of violet.
“Sorry,” Gretel said softly. “Didn’t mean to catch you in that.”
“S’ok,” he muttered.
“You threw it off unusually fast.”
Roman shrugged. “Hunters learn to fight faery thrall.”
Gretel’s mouth tightened. She adjusted her grip on Hansel.
“How often do you have to use your power on him?” Roman asked.
“What else would you have me do?” she shot back.
Roman realized the question probably sounded accusatory and raised his hands.
Gretel sighed. “I wish I had the training to do without it, but I’m not a doctor. And I can’t take him to one, because the Alzheimer’s is tied so strongly to his pathfinding…” She trailed off, glancing at her husband’s slack face and looking away again. “They wouldn’t understand. I do the best I can with the tools I have.”
“Gretel, I’m so sorry,” Roman said, running a hand over his face. “He…he assumed I was Johnny, and I was afraid to contradict him, and it got out of hand and I should have never let him bring me in here—!”
“Roman,” Gretel cut in gently. “Beetlecloud told me what happened. You did nothing wrong.”
But Roman still couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman did not like him, and that every little slip he made only solidified that judgment.
Gretel used her chin to point at Belle, still held in Roman’s hand. “Did he give you that?”
Roman gripped the sheath guiltily. “No, he…brought me in here and told me to pick one. He said he saw a sword on my path or something. I’ll put it back, I was just—”
“Keep it.” Gretel gave him a weak smile. “I think Dare would be pleased to know one of his old creations was being put to use.”
“Are…are you sure?” Roman cradled the sword, almost embarrassed at how attached he already felt.
Gretel looked at Hansel again, her expression a mystery. “Hansel no longer sees the present or himself clearly, but he still sees the paths and where they lead. When the Pathfinder tells you something, no matter how obscure, you heed his words.” She fixed her gaze on Roman. “If he says you need a sword, then you need one.”
Roman shivered, clutching the sword to his chest.
He followed Gretel and Hansel outside; Hansel could walk on his own but didn’t seem to have a clue where he was. Gretel nodded for Roman to lock the padlock behind them, and all three returned to the back porch.
“Logan thinks your friends will be back soon,” Gretel said, leading Hansel up. “Assuming they haven’t encountered anything unexpected.”
Roman pressed his lips together, unpleasantly reminded that before anything mirror-related could happen, he and Virgil needed to reconcile; and worse, Logan would have to swallow his pride and apologize to Patton. Roman’s phone sulked silently in his pocket; neither Virgil nor Patton had texted.
“I’ll come inside in a minute,” he said.
Gretel nodded and closed the door.
Roman sank onto the bottom step, laying Belle and her sheath across his lap. As usual, Iyusuri dug into his back; he brought her out to lay across his legs, too. On impulse, he unsheathed the sword, wanting to admire the actual blade again. Iyusuri didn’t seem to like Belle; Roman swore he heard a whispered litany of grumbling in his head as he set one atop the other. The contrast of mirror and sword was stark in the porch’s dim light; while bone against steel gray.
“If Virgil was here, he’d say I’ve invited too many dangerous women into my life,” Roman snarked. The words rang much too loud in the quiet, emphasizing the fact that Virgil wasn’t here, and their not being together at that moment was entirely his fault. He set Belle aside and gripped the mirror in both hands.
What are you doing here, hunter? a voice seemed to ask in his head.
“I don’t know,” he murmured back. “I never wanted you. Why did you pick me?”
Why did you pick me?
Roman scowled, hating that he couldn’t tell if the mirror was actually talking to him or if he’d lost his marbles at last.
Take responsibility, Roman Reis. Or is it Roman Prince?
“Don’t,” Roman warned through gritted teeth.
Look at me. The mirror burned in his hands, the screaming woman’s mouth gaping wider, wider. Turn me over. You don’t know who you’d see, not in your heart of hearts.
Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, banishing the phantom scent of patchouli. “No, I really think I do.”
You don’t. You’re afraid. Many are, at first. That is why they seek me.
“Shut up!” Roman squeezed his eyes shut.
Look at me.
“No!”
You’d know in an instant.
Unbidden, the image of Virgil’s unmistakable swoop of bangs rose in Roman’s mind; he really would recognize him in a split second. Would that be enough time for the mirror to drive him mad? Almost of its own volition, his hand rotated…
I am not your enemy, hunter.
Look.
At.
ME.
“Get out of my head!” Roman flung Iyusuri into the night.
The handle slammed back into his palm, thorns biting into his flesh and making him cry out. He let go; she reappeared in his other hand. Shaking, he set her down on the stoop…a little harder than necessary, but she allowed it. Her thorns left a constellation of stinging red holes on his right hand.
“You really do look like him,” a voice muttered in Faery from under the steps. “I’m not surprised your face took Pathfinder in.”
“Go away, Beetlecloud,” Roman warned, not looking up. “I’m not in the mood for cryptic nonsense right now.”
Beetlecloud’s voice drifted closer. “Like it or not, Painmaker is your blood. Your family.”
“Painmaker?” Roman repeated, his voice cracking. The Faery word sounded like a snapping bone. He seized Belle’s hilt and gripped hard, needing something solid that wasn’t Iyusuri, needing to be grounded. “That’s what you called him?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Roman saw Beetlecloud shake his head. When Roman looked directly, however, the nisse was nowhere to be seen. He still felt the faery’s shrewd black eyes on him.
“I could demand satisfaction from you,” Beetlecloud growled, still invisible. “For his crimes.”
“Go on, then.” Roman switched to English, staring across the dark yard. “At least then I could be free of this damned mirror without anyone else getting hurt.”
“She knows what needs doing. You know what needs doing.” The nisse grunted. “But perhaps one shouldn’t wonder why the son of Johnny Prince refuses to take responsibility—”
“I said GO AWAY!” Roman roared, lashing out blindly with his left hand…which still held Belle. She snagged horribly on something solid, followed by a tearing sound and a grunt of surprise. Roman looked up and paled, letting the sword clatter from his grip.
Beetlecloud stood a mere few feet from the stoop, fully visible, clutching his chest with wide eyes. Belle had slashed away half his beard, and worse, ripped his tunic from neck to hip. Blood oozed from a shallow cut along his chest.
“You…!” The faery stumbled back and swore viciously in Faery, using some words Roman didn’t even know.
“Beetlecloud…shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Roman stood, guilt rising to choke him. “Fuck, let me—”
But the nisse squeaked in clear terror and skittered into the shadows beneath the porch. Roman stared at the spot where he’d disappeared, shaking; his gaze slid to his abandoned sword. Green stained Belle’s keen edge, making him feel sick, and it wasn’t like Roman had never seen faery blood on a blade.
Kate would say she’s broken in, he thought, fighting the nausea. No…Kate would never approve of what I just did; never. Beetlecloud meant me no harm. But I was angry, and I lashed out. Like he would have.
Roman picked Belle up, wiping away the blood and thrusting her into her sheath. Iyusuri’s ghastly white facade caught his eye, still lying on the stoop where he’d abandoned her, too. Faint red stained her handle from where her carvings had cut his skin.
More blood. When would it be enough?
I’ve already pretended to be Johnny once tonight. Numbness settled around his heart. He might have been a psychopath, but Johnny created Smile to keep people safe from faeries. He would not let some faery mirror put the people he loved in danger. He would end this.
And Roman knew, abruptly, what he had to do.
Chapter 19- Red Rose
you can rage, you can fight, storm the gates of hell
by your anger you’ll be swallowed
lose yourself in the fray of a red-lit haze
and awaken shame and sorrow
~ “Underland” by Delain
rage
Roman’s heart thundered as he slid Iyusuri in his pocket, tied Belle to his belt, and collected the bokken he’d abandoned in the yard earlier. He swept inside, passing the still-dark kitchen, avoiding the den—where he could still hear dull thuds and the squeak of a swinging bag—and marched upstairs.
Nobody will look for me until Virgil and Patton get back. At best, that gave him a half-hour head start—assuming they hadn’t run into trouble. Gretel would likely be busy with Hansel for the rest of the night. Zoe was still taking out their feelings on the bag, and he hadn’t seen Logan since the big fight. If he was lucky, the half-faery had holed himself up in his and Patton’s shared guest room, brainstorming ways to apologize to his fiancé.
Roman mentally touched all those glass beads, willing them gently to stay in place, and slipped inside Stiltz’s room to pack.
He’d only brought a week’s worth of clothes from Philly in the first place; what little he’d unpacked went back into his backpack. He hesitated in the kitchen; he didn’t want to clean out Gretel’s cabinets, but nothing in Arcadia would be safe. He settled for a box of granola bars, some fruit, and a few water bottles. He wouldn’t need Hansel’s maps; the mirror would guide him.
As for getting home…well, he had his Smile training. He knew how to mark a trail. He’d find a way. He was Johnny Prince’s son; running off to do the dangerous thing and surviving the faery world was in his blood.
Plus, he was lucky.
Roman snuck out the back door. Belle tapped reassuringly against his leg; her presence made him feel a hundred times better about this whole idea. He shifted his backpack, touched Iyusuri in his pocket, and set off across the yard.
He had gotten maybe halfway to Red’s barn when a tall, dark figure emerged from the night. In Roman’s current state of mind, he swore it was an Okeechobee Sidhe, arms crossed over a shapely chest, skin almost invisible. He almost drew Belle before he spotted the familiar glasses, the gray eyes. His stomach sank into his toes.
Logan ran critical eyes over him, lingering on the backpack, the sword.
“What in Archimedes’ name,” he said in a low voice, “do you think you are doing?”
“What does it look like?” Roman shot back. “I’m taking this damned mirror back where it belongs, and you’d better not try to stop me.”
“I do not have to stop you.”
Roman frowned, trying to work out the trick in the half-faery’s words. “What?”
“Your own shortsightedness and impulsivity will be far more effective in stopping you than I.” Logan paused a mere foot away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman demanded. Why couldn’t his luck, for once, keep Logan’s interfering ass away from him? Why are you always exactly where you shouldn’t be, ruining anything I try to do?
“What have you packed, hmm?” Logan gestured at his backpack. “A few granola bars, a few bottles of water?”
“How the heckity heck—?”
“I know what groceries my mother typically purchases for this house, and I know you.” Logan snapped. “How long do you think such meager supplies will last? A few days; a week if you starve yourself? We don’t know how far away Carafel is. An adult human must consume at least eight ounces of water—”
“I know you didn’t come out to push your extremist water agenda, so what is it?” Roman snarled.
“My…” Logan blinked. “What?”
“What”—Roman bit off his words— “are you doing out here?”
“Gretel asked me to watch the Hedge gaps.” Logan shrugged. “I imagine in case—”
“—Hansel tried to use one.” Roman pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have checked Logan’s room to make sure he was actually there instead of assuming. He should have known.
Logan hummed. “I was walking the property and saw Gretel, Hansel, and you return from the garage.”
“Now you’re a spy?” Roman snarked.
“I…almost joined you when they went inside.” Logan sighed. “But you did not look like you wanted company, so I moved on.”
“True that, Pat.” Roman shot him finger guns to hide the guilt squeezing his chest. He didn’t see what else happened on that stoop.
Logan frowned. “I’m…I’m Logan.”
Roman smiled nastily. “Oh, shoot. I’m sorry. It’s the glasses, it throws me off.”
Logan’s expression flattened. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re just being a jerk.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“You are extremely predictable, Roman.” Logan shook his head. “When you returned to the porch with a backpack, it was not difficult to deduce what you were about.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re smart, we get it.” Roman moved to push past. Logan seized his arm in a tight grip.
“Let. Go,” Roman said between clenched teeth.
Frost sparkled in Logan’s prismatic irises, and fuck, he looked so much a Court Fae in the darkness that Roman had to remind himself this wasn’t his old master, dragging him back to the lair…
“Roman, think. Virgil and Patton will be back soon. I have spent the afternoon cross-referencing all mentions of Arcadian highlands from Hansel’s journals. In an hour, maybe two, you can be on your way with all of us alongside, providing adequate protection and a clear idea of where to go.”
Roman growled and drove an elbow into Logan’s stomach, causing him to wheeze, but then both Roman’s arms were snatched before his brain registered the half-faery’s movement.
Fuck me, I forgot Logan has Their reflexes.
Logan’s glowering face loomed close, teeth gritted, infuriatingly unmoved as Roman struggled in earnest. Those arms might as well have been made of stone for all the good Roman’s tugging did.
He has Their strength, too.
Belle slapped against his leg, sorely tempting…but he wasn’t quite ready to start stabbing this logical idiot. Yet.
“I cannot let you do something as imbecilic as going to Arcadia alone,” Logan said.
“Yeah? Why not?” Roman snapped.
“There are a million reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
“Oh, really, Mister Sss—” For once, Roman was too angry to think of a scathing nickname. “Smartypants.”
“Shall I list—?”
“Geek Squad!” Roman burst out. “More like squad-less geek! Ha! You’re alone.”
“Well, you’re lashing out like a little bratty baby,” Logan said, unperturbed. “I’m going to take the figurative high road and ignore your name-calling.”
Roman sneered. “But you just called me a little bratty baby—”
“Going to Arcadia alone.” Logan schooled his face to icy blankness. “Is a terrible idea.”
“Well, I don’t think you get to lecture anyone about running off to Arcadia,” Roman spat. “Or does Philadelphia not ring a bell?”
Logan’s fingers twitched.
“Logan, come on.” Roman let his voice drop. “You, of all people, should get it. Virgil and Patton have trauma they shouldn’t have to relive over a stupid mirror, never mind the risk of getting captured again. You’d do anything to protect Patton, right?”
Logan, his expression troubled now, nodded.
“Well, I’d do exactly the same for Virgil, or Kate, or…or any of you! I’m a hunter, and hunters don’t let faeries endanger their friends. Besides.” Roman willed his face to neutrality. “Beetlecloud thought I needed to take responsibility.”
“You took advice from a nisse?” Logan rolled his eyes. “His kind are among the most demoralizing and fatalistic solitaries in existence. You should know that.”
“Just…just let me go.” Roman let his gaze drop. “You’re kinda hurting my arms.”
Logan did release him then, looking chagrined…as Roman knew he would. He sprinted in the other direction, smirking at Logan’s startled yell. But almost immediately, cold barbs shot through his ankles and it was like the earth itself seized hold of his feet, sending him toppling to the ground. When Roman looked back, he saw that his feet and the surrounding dirt and grass were encased in solid ice.
Footsteps approached.
“Using your power on me, Frozone?” Roman snarked, refusing to look up. “That’s low.”
Logan sighed. “If I cannot reason with you, and I cannot ethically stop you except through force, then I am coming with you.”
Roman did twist around at that, glaring. “The hell you are!”
“I will go and pack a bag,” Logan said.
“Easy, egghead; over easy. You are not coming—“
“—with adequate supplies.” Logan folded his arms. “You will stay here until I return.”
“Trollshit.” Roman hated how much this reminded him of the last time Logan immobilized his feet, how helpless he’d felt, how much Logan had reminded him of everything he’d fought so hard to escape.
“You cannot break the straps, my pet…this will hurt more if you struggle…”
“You’re just trying to run out the clock until the others get back, aren’t you,” Roman said lowly. “Or you’ll go blab to Gretel.”
“I will do neither of those things. But do not think,” Logan added in a sharper voice when Roman opened his mouth, “that I will not ice your lips shut if I suspect even for a moment that you’ll scream and get her or Zoe involved.”
Roman glared, but the silhouette of those pointed ears against the night sky and those icy white eyes sent a fissure of fear through his chest. He shut up.
Logan strode toward the house.
“Fuck you!” Roman yelled after him and swallowed a yelp when the ice around his feet crept a few inches up his calves. The back door slammed.
Roman punched the ground, which did nothing but make his sore palm hurt. Every second he waited in the dark felt unbearable. Thirty seconds in, he’d awkwardly drawn Belle and tried to use her hilt as an ice pick. But Logan’s magic held firm, and Roman didn’t want to damage the sword. He considered using Iyusuri instead—might as well take advantage of her damned indestructibility—but the mirror burned in warning, and an unexpected burst of nausea had him quickly dismissing the notion.
When Logan finally returned—with not one, but two packs—and freed his legs, Roman’s rage had reached a fever pitch. Only years of Smile discipline, of holding himself back to assess and strike from his greatest advantage, kept him from going for Logan’s throat the moment he climbed to his feet.
“Why?” he demanded stiffly.
Logan slung one of the packs over his shoulder. “I have already explained myself. I cannot in good conscience allow you to, as Virgil would put it, ‘fuck off on your own.’”
Hearing one of Virgil’s turns of phrase coming from Logan’s mouth had Roman momentarily seeing red. There in his mind’s eye was Virgil, coughing up bloody roses and amaranths and thorns. Virgil, cut to pieces from the inside out because he cared so damned much about this oblivious nerd, who then got to steal his own words to wield against someone else?
“How dare you?” Roman growled. “How dare you?”
Logan dodged Roman’s first punch, and the puzzled face he pulled had Roman yelling and throwing another.
“Honestly, Roman—” Logan started, dodging again.
“Why don’t you cut the act, Logic?” Roman yelled, this time planting his hands against the half-faery’s chest and shoving hard. Logan stepped back.
“I don’t see—”
“No! You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to push me around the way you do with Patton!” Roman saw that land with bitter satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m not surprised he’d finally had enough. You can’t bear to not be in control! Why do you think Virgil ran off to Philly last summer? You neglected him for months and then fucking smothered him with your expectations and judgment when he got mad about it!”
“Roman—”
But Roman’s ears rang and his mouth had a mind of its own. “And now that you’ve pushed away your own fiancé with your coldness, you’re all of a sudden all concerned about what I’m doing? Maybe you should admit the real reason you’re suddenly so eager to follow me, because I know it’s not—”
“It’s because I care about you!” Logan shouted, eyes flaring pure white, voice cracking and echoing over the treetops.
Roman stopped. Silence dropped between them like a stone.
Logan exhaled, his breath freezing into snow, which drifted to his feet. The white fled from his eyes to nestle in the irises, swirling in fury. Roman realized, with a hot chill, that he’d never witnessed Logan Ursae truly lose his temper until now.
“I care.” He bit off each glassy word. “You think because my blood runs cold that I don’t feel? I am no heartless Fae. I care about you, about Virgil, about Pat…Patton…more than I can say.” His fists clenched. “More than I can bear, some days. And I just…do not know how to make you all see that.”
Logan slipped a trembling hand under his glasses to pinch his eye sockets, and Roman realized, to his shock, that the half-faery might actually be close to tears.
“I know I have made errors. So do your worst, Roman Reis.” Logan brought his furious expression within inches of Ronan’s, who cringed to realize Logan was shaking. “Scorch me with your fire and damn me with your poet’s tongue. I likely deserve it. But you do not get to claim,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a cold growl, “that I do. Not. Care.”
He whirled and stalked into the night, toward Red’s barn…and the Hedge gap.
Roman blinked after him, fury still thrumming under his skin, but now he had nowhere to direct it. I went too far, didn’t I? First with Virgil and now with him. Fuck.
“Logan—”
“We are wasting valuable time,” Logan shot over his shoulder.
“Logan!”
Roman ran after, but such was the other’s speed that he didn’t catch up until they’d reached the dilapidated shack. He could almost feel the gap simmering inside, remembered Hansel’s eerie comment about the Hedge being “restless.”
“Logan, I—” Roman tried again, but Logan turned to him with such daggers in his expression that Roman actually took a step back. He raised his hands.
“Fine,” he said. “You win. It’s not like I could stop you from following me, anyway.”
“No. You could not.” Logan glared, but after a tense silence, he looked away.
His and Logan’s phones rang at the same moment. Roman yanked his out to stare at the name, finger hovering over the answer button…but he couldn’t make himself press it. The sultry sound of Brenden Urie’s highly compressed voice made Roman’s heart twist all over itself.
What would he even say?
“They are likely calling to let us know they’re heading back.” Logan held his up as well, his expression so carefully composed to mildness that Roman knew it had to be Patton. The dueling tones made a dissonant counterpoint to the night hush.
“You should answer yours.” Logan’s voice was almost too quiet.
“Pot, kettle,” Roman shot back.
Logan frowned.
“Which means ‘you first,’ Brigadier-General Oblivious,” Roman clarified, rolling his eyes.
Neither of them moved. Roman’s phone burned hotter than Iyusuri in his hand, or maybe it was just his guilt. When the ringing stopped on both sides, Logan let out a sigh.
“We cannot just disappear,” he said.
“I can’t do Philadelphia again. I just can’t.” Patton’s words from the apartment echoed in Roman’s memory.
“Yeah, well, speak for yourself,” Roman spat, shouldering his backpack and stalking into the shack, which felt twice as unnerving at night.
Logan remained outside, head down, typing rapidly. Roman glared at the darkness between the tree trunks marking the Hedge gap. Stupid luck, saddling me with him. He wasn’t even sure if his luck had gone sour or not, at this point. He wasn’t sure why he was waiting.
“You really should speak to Virgil,” Logan said at last, coming up next to Roman.
“Patton will tell him.” Roman didn’t trust himself not to spark another horrible fight when he was feeling so strung out.
“I’ll tell him if you won’t.” Logan pulled out his phone again.
“Fine!” Roman shoved Logan’s hand down and yanked out his phone. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re right, you’re right—”
“Well.” Logan sniffed. “Now you’re just pandering to my fondness for being told that I’m right.”
“You’re right! Shut up.”
Roman fired off a brief message, not even paying attention to what he was saying. But even just the act of typing forced his fuming brain to slow down, to process what he was actually about to do. He remembered Virgil’s reaction the morning they’d laid the trap for Deceit and Logan disappeared without a trace.
How lost he’d looked. Betrayed. Furious.
Roman had been ready to do the same thing, and Logan, of all people, had stopped him. Nausea welled up. His hand closed around Iyusuri, feeling her thorns dig into his scratched palm all over again. He swallowed, hit send, thrust the phone into his pocket, and braced himself to walk back into hell.
Chapter 20- Six Roses
no matter what they tell you
the future’s up for grabs
no matter what they sell you
is there a word for bad miracle?
~ “Heartbreak Feels So Good” by Fall Out Boy
i love you, i miss you
Roman ducked into the Hedge from the dark shack, squinting against the shift to full light. He drew Belle with a silvery rasp, but like the last time he’d entered this particular gap, he saw only towering vine walls and a gravelly path. Zoe’s X still marked the dirt next to the doorway.
They’d gone left last time. He eyed Iyusuri and held her up like a baton in his other hand, pointing her this way and that. She felt no different. Astaros said the mirror would guide him to Carafel…
…but he’d never said how.
“How does this geas thing work, anyway?” he muttered, shaking her. “Are you gonna be like Inigo Montoya’s father’s sword, or get hotter and colder, or what? Do I have to activate you?”
Logan emerged and stepped into the center of the path, shielding his eyes. He immediately pulled a black journal from one of his packs and studied it, turning in a small circle.
“Do you feel anything from the mirror yet?” he asked Roman.
“Not a damned thing.”
“Try resting her on your palm.”
Roman did, balancing her on his upraised hand. “Nothing.” For good measure, he added, “Take us to Carafel,” in Faery, but that produced no change, either.
Logan nodded. “Our home gap may not be close enough to our destination to trigger the geas.”
Roman frowned at that. He’d been counting so hard on Astaros’s spell that he’d never stopped to consider whether it had limits.
“Let us go Courtward—”
“Courtward?” Roman echoed.
“Left. Hansel’s maps note two consistent directions when exiting an Earthside Hedge gap: Courtward is left, Seaward is right. So long as one travels the same direction within the Hedge, Arcadian and Earthside gaps will always appear on the same side relative to oneself.”
“I feel like I subconsciously knew that.” Roman looked around the empty Hedge, at the towering walls, at rows of gaps that all looked the same, thinking about how easy it was to get lost.
“Every changeling thinks they know the Hedge, but none of you have walked it with Pathfinder Hansel,” Zoe had said.
“How did Hansel figure any of this out, anyway?” Roman asked in a quieter voice.
“Hansel’s power—like all changeling powers, I suppose—works in ways that no one but a faery could understand,” Logan said. “We will take two rights, a left, a right, another three lefts, one last right, and look for the fifth Arcadian door. It is one that Hansel marked as highlands. Once there, we will see if Iyusuri’s geas pulls in that direction. If not…” He sighed. “I have noted six other possibilities to try.”
Roman swallowed hard. “That, uh, sounds very thorough.”
Unlike Roman’s method, which was to stride in here with a few granola bars, his luck, and no backup plan whatsoever if Iyusuri failed to be useful.
“You really were just going to try doors at random, weren’t you?” Logan shook his head.
He set off, leaving Roman gaping after him in the middle of the trail. Roman glowered and caught up.
“I was not! Okay…maybe. If I had to.”
Logan shot him a withering look that was so reminiscent of Virgil, it hurt.
Virgil’s right about me, isn’t he? Roman thought, remembering the careless text he’d sent, regretting the haste now that they were out of cell range. I really am a dumbass.
They passed door after door until they came to a turn. Logan, without consulting his book, unerringly led them to the right.
“Did you spontaneously memorize all those directions you rattled off?” Roman said, scuffing his feet, still feeling small and foolish.
“I have an excellent memory,” Logan replied. “If none of my six gap possibilities produce a reaction from the mirror, we may have to exit the Hedge, drive to DeLand, and try around the Athens gap. At the very worst, I know of a gap in Savannah that would cover different territory and offer more options.” His voice dropped. “I have to hope Astaros would not have given you a geas that is impossible to even begin within the time constraints given.”
“You really thought this out, didn’t you?” Roman scrubbed his hair.
“I was planning to go through these options with you, Patton, and Virgil when they returned. I wanted to be ready.” Logan shot him an unreadable look. “I care, Roman.”
And Roman could think of nothing to say to that.
They turned again.
Roman noticed Logan running his thumb along the third finger of his left hand as they walked. His bare left finger, which bore a stripe of slightly paler skin.
“Why do I see a ring tan but no ring, Teach?” Roman asked with narrowed eyes.
“I took it off.” One of Logan’s hands drifted to his jeans pocket, as though in reassurance. “It is in its box, right here. Just to keep it safe.”
The words came out short, clipped, and Logan refused to meet Roman’s gaze.
“Just to keep it safe?” Roman pressed.
For a long moment, he was sure Logan wouldn’t engage. When Logan finally did, his voice was nearly too low to be heard even in the Hedge’s stifling quiet.
“I don’t know if he would still want me to wear it. Because I don’t know if…”
If he still wants to marry you, Roman finished sadly as Logan trailed off. The half-faery really could be infuriating sometimes—most of the time—but Logan wore his feelings for his fiancé as plainly as the glasses on his face. Patton’s words during their fight had cut him to the core, and right now, Roman couldn’t help but see the gaping cracks left behind in Logan’s icy facade.
“Sorry for bringing it up,” Roman muttered, afraid he’d gone too far again. “I know it’s none of my business—”
“No.” Logan shook his head. “It became your business the moment we fought in front of you and Virgil, which was profoundly unfair of us.”
He hesitated.
Roman waited.
“We have been talking,” Logan went on at last. “For weeks, really, before you and Virgil showed up that evening. Patton insists upon talking at every opportunity. It is rather frustrating.”
Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Chillmeister, that’s cold even for you. You’d rather not have good communication with the guy you’re planning to marry?”
“You misunderstand.” Logan’s voice was flat. “The quantity of communication is not the issue. What I find frustrating is that despite how much we talk, we keep revisiting the same issues without resolving them.”
That’s because you’re a stubborn ass, and Patton is too forgiving of it.
Roman sheathed Belle, moved to walk backward so Logan had to face him, and spread his hands. “Look, obviously I don’t know the nuances of whatever you two are dealing with. But from the outside, it sure seems like Patton’s biggest issue is your need to be in control of everything. It makes him feel like he doesn’t get or deserve a say in things. You think you’re the smartest person in the room—”
“I usually am, Roman; that is just a fact,” Logan protested.
“—and so, you try to make decisions for people that you have no business making. You don’t listen because you think you’ve got everything already figured out.” Roman shrugged. “And on top of that, you make decisions for yourself without considering how they might affect the people who care about you. Like vamoosing off on your own.”
“I do not ‘vamoose’ on purpose.” Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his gaze trained on the Arcadian side of the Hedge. “I have told Patton, a thousand times, it is not my intention to make him worry.”
Roman noted the way Logan neatly dodged all his other excellent points to focus on the smallest thing.
“You know he’s gonna worry anyway, right?” Roman shook his head. “Especially when he knows you go into Arcadia on the regular and sometimes get in trouble with faeries—”
“Wait.” Logan stopped and raised a hand. “Apologies, but this is the fifth door. Check the mirror.”
An arched door like every other Arcadian door rose to their right. Roman brought out Iyusuri and touched the beaded curtain in his mind. Holding her like a sword did nothing, but when he balanced her on his palm, a sensation like gravity tugged the handle toward the door, whisper-light, as though Iyusuri wanted to tumble out of his hand.
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. “Interesting. What are the odds that my first choice would be the right one—oh.” He side-eyed Roman.
Roman allowed himself a smile. “I’ve been leaning on my luck this whole time, Specs. Haven’t decided yet if you’re a good manifestation of it, or a bad one.”
“I suppose we shall see,” Logan replied blandly. He pulled out Hansel’s journal again. “Hansel’s notes indicate a small faery town on the other side of this gap. But his writing extends no further. Once we leave it—assuming said town is still there—we will be entirely dependent on the mirror.”
Roman pocketed Iyusuri and traded her for Belle, ignoring the mutter of discontent at the back of his mind. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Follow my lead, then.” Logan pushed on the gap door and cast aside his human glamour in a long, icy breath. His pointed ears and white-streaked hair came into sharp focus.
They stepped into a narrow alleyway that reeked of greenery and sour blackberries. Roman pulled up, his nose wrinkling. The walls on either side, close enough for him to touch with outstretched arms, looked like they were made of layers upon layers of thorny brush. They leaned inward, and with nothing but black, star-studded Arcadian sky overhead, those spiny walls made the alley feel horribly claustrophobic. Plump berries hung from the eaves like Christmas lights.
Roman gripped Belle’s hilt as they edged to the alley entrance and peeked around. He got an eyeful of tall, prickly wooden buildings that looked grown instead of built, with steep, leaf-woven roofs overhanging an absolutely bustling street. He whipped his head into the shadows.
“Did Hansel’s notes mention that this is a busy faery town?”
“They did not.” Logan glowered at the open journal in his hands and snapped it shut.
Roman reluctantly re-sheathed his sword, not wanting it to catch the light and draw attention. “How are we gonna get through there without being seen?”
“I’m not sure we can.” Logan run a thumb over his bottom lip. “Unless your luck—?”
“It’s never made me invisible.” Roman shook his head ruefully. “Trust me, I’ve been on a few hunts where that would have been useful. Arcadian hells, coming here really was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”
“Could this be Carafel?” Logan tilted his head, but the tall buildings obscured all line of sight beyond the narrow alley.
“My luck isn’t that good.” Roman pulled the mirror out and let it spin on his hand. Annoyingly, the handle crept around until it faced the back of the alley…which meant once they left the alley, they’d have to double back. “The King made Carafel sound pretty remote, not the kind of place that would support a big ole town like—”
“What is this?” an imperious voice demanded in accented Faery, making them whirl.
Chapter 21- Belladonna
tides of glass return to ash
in the dawn, we follow the path away from the sun
shadows cast in wake of the past
reaching out, into the dark and out of the light
~ “Divide” by The Birthday Massacre
fear
A willow-thin faery in a plain black smock stood silhouetted at the alley’s entrance, barely a stone’s throw away. He had blue fur, a face and ears shaped somewhat like a deer, and slim, graceful horns that arched from his brow and curved over his head. His feet were hoofed, and he carried a basket of fat, glistening blackberries in his three-fingered hands.
Roman reached for Belle, but a set of dark fingers closed like steel around his wrist.
“A serf,” Logan muttered, dragging Roman’s hand back to his side. Faerie Queens, Roman kept forgetting how effortlessly strong Logan’s grip could be. “Pretend you’re thralled. Eyes down, shoulders slumped.”
Roman bristled but complied. The hunter in him recognized Logan’s ability to think quickly on his feet.
“This is Master Bialaer’s shop. No one should be using this gap.” The faery narrowed his round, black eyes and pointed at Roman. “And does that changeling carry iron? Is it a runaway?”
“Let me handle this. With luck”—Logan lifted Roman’s chin enough for his gray eyes to catch Roman’s dark ones— “I can persuade him to leave us alone without violence.”
Roman’s mind flashed back to how poorly Logan’s attempts at “persuasion” had gone at Painter’s Pond. But that faery had been a Court Sidhe; old, cunning, wise to tricks of glamour and subterfuge. This was clearly a lower class of Fae, a servant.
Johnny probably would have just fought the bastard. But Roman kept seeing Beetlecloud’s stunned face and Belle’s silver edge coated in green. I’ve already committed to one stupid venture today, trying to be him. Instead, Roman nodded, leaned on his luck, and Logan let him go.
“How dare you?” Logan snapped in Faery, striding forward with his chin raised high. “A serf calling a Lord’s servant a runaway? As though I would allow such a thing! This one belongs to me, and it shall carry any instrument of my will that I desire.”
He thrust out an arm and glanced back, his irises flashing white before his glasses obscured them entirely. He’d even gotten an imperious Lord’s posture right, and Roman was running through a dark cave tunnel toward the light, slipping soundlessly through the last curtain hung with beads the size of thumbnails. They barely swayed from his passage; not one clacked this time. He was free, he was out, he was gonna get—
A cold white hand seized his upper arm, making him cry out.
“Did you really think Filverel wouldn’t tell me you’d gone?” Sir murmured in his ear. “We have guests to entertain, pet.”
“Please! Please not the knives tonight,” Roman said, his childish voice cracking.
The next thing he knew, he was tied to a bloody slab of rock in the main pit while Sir idly threw knives at his body, each aimed at his heart…each one somehow only nicking an arm, a foot, a shoulder while Roman cried and pleaded. And when one of Sir’s Sidhe friends commented on poor aim, that friend was invited to try, and another friend, until Roman’s skin wept red from a hundred cuts and his eyes wept clear and they all marveled at Sir’s miraculous changeling who couldn’t die.
But he could. One lucky—or unlucky—strike, and he’d die like any mortal.
Sir knew this. He was a scientist, see, and Roman’s power defied his need to catalog, label, compartmentalize, control…so he tested it, experimented with it, put Roman’s life on the line again and again, and all Roman could do was push the glass beads in his mind further and further out. And Sir watched, and took notes, and never flinched, even when one spectacular throw missed Roman’s throat by millimeters…
And as Roman’s exhaustion grew, and his limbs went cold from blood loss, their aim only got better…
A cold hand wrapped around Roman’s elbow.
He gasped and struggled. Logan spun him, glared into his eyes, and Roman momentarily forgot how to work his own body. He was dragged forward to stand next to the strange faery…the faery they needed to fool so they could escape. The realization snapped Roman’s mind back to the present. He gulped in a deep breath.
“It is harmless, see?” Logan said, and Roman did not have to try very hard to play the part of a cringing, shaking, out-of-his-mind human.
The faery gave them both a considering look, his gaze snagging on Logan’s human attire. “You are from Earthside?”
“And?” Logan in turn ran his gaze up and down the faery’s smock, which brought a tinge of furious red to the other’s blue cheeks.
That’s right, serf, Roman thought. If I feared Logan for even a second, you should be terrified. The faery did seem to be wavering, his gaze darting back out into the street. The longer Logan waited in frosty silence, arms crossed and his entire countenance dripping disdain, the more unbearable the tension grew.
Logan tried to thrall you just now, didn’t he? Roman’s vicious inner voice whispered. Maybe the serf isn’t the Fae you need to be worried about. No son of a Winter Seelie can ever overcome his heritage, no more than you can overcome yours…
Shut it! Roman mentally snapped back, keeping his head down.
“Such insolent silence. Perhaps I should speak to your master about daring to question—” Logan drawled.
“No!” The faery held up long, skinny hands at last. “Apologies, Lord. I misspoke. With your gracious permission, I will be about my master’s business.”
Logan merely nodded.
The faery scurried away, head ducked low.
Roman exhaled, covering his face for a moment so he didn’t have to look at the alley’s black walls, which were much too cavelike in his present state of mind.
“That went better than I feared it would.” Logan patted Roman on the shoulder. It took everything in him not to cringe away from the touch. “Your acting was superb. I admit, I was worried—”
“You thralled me.” Roman looked up in time to see Logan freeze. “Or tried to. I felt it.”
“I…” Logan took a deep breath. “Oh. The panic was real, then. When I looked back, your face bore that same look Virgil’s does when he has one of his attacks, and I…I may have reacted on instinct.”
“You’ve always been able to do that, haven’t you?” Roman’s chest felt tight again; Logan’s face blurred and all he could see were those ears like daggers, those dangerous, winter eyes like killing ice. “Any of us. Any time. You—”
“R—Princey,” Logan snapped.
“Don’t use his name for me! Don’t you dare,” Roman shouted, and got a mouthful of Logan’s hand when he slapped it over his face.
“Charming, then,” Logan said softly. “I need you to be a hunter and focus. The compulsion I possess is far weaker than a true Fae’s, and you know I would never use it against you save in the direst of circumstances.”
Roman breathed in that odd woodsy scent that clung to Logan’s skin—far nicer than sour blackberries—and forced his muscles to unclench. Logan, in turn, freed his mouth.
“We need to get out of here,” Roman mumbled. Those goddamned walls were too close, the thorns closing in. “We just…I need to get out.”
“Agreed.” Logan’s brow furrowed. “Do you think your luck could sustain the illusion that I am full Fae, and you are my thrall?”
“Honestly?” Roman forced out a laugh. “I’m on pins and needles already and you are fucking terrifying when you arch your back and leer down your nose like one of Them. Not sure we even need my luck.”
Logan adjusted his glasses, that big brain of his probably calculating whether “find out what the fuck’s wrong with Roman” or “get out of this alley” was the more pressing problem. “Alley” must have won, because he edged to the entrance and peered out.
“What few changelings I see among the crowd are not armed. I think perhaps that is why that serf stopped when he saw us.”
“You asking to wear my sword?” Roman’s hand slid around Belle’s sheath.
“Only temporarily, and only to avoid drawing undue attention to us.” Logan held out a hand.
Roman untied the sheath and hesitated, cradling Belle in his hands and biting his lip hard enough to draw a spot of blood. His panic screamed at him not to give her up, but the hunter in him knew every moment they delayed, they risked being spotted and challenged by more than a mere serf.
He handed over the sword. Logan started to tie the sheath to his belt but peered closer.
“This is not the sword you took to Okeechobee,” he commented.
“Your friend King Astaros didn’t give me mine back,” Roman snarked. “Nice guy.”
Logan turned the sheath over and drew the tiniest sliver of blade. “This is Dare’s craftsmanship.”
“Hansel took me in the garage.” Roman’s hands already itched to have her back. “Her name is Belle, by the way, and you’d better return her the moment we step out of town, capeesh?”
Logan snapped the blade back in her sheath and shot Roman a considering look. “One of Dare’s swords suits you much better than an enchanted mirror. She’ll not leave your sight.”
Iyusuri burned so unexpectedly hot in his pocket that Roman actually winced.
Logan frowned. “Honestly, Roman, are you all right?”
“Fine. Just…” Roman’s voice dropped. “I don’t think Iyusuri liked that comparison.”
Both Logan’s eyebrows climbed. “The mirror has opinions now?”
“I’ve heard her,” Roman blurted out. “Talking. In my head. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but now I’m pretty sure it’s real. I think she’s jealous of Belle.”
Logan’s jaw worked. “Her bond to you is growing stronger. That cannot be a good sign.”
“Then let’s get to fucking Carafel.”
“Let’s.”
They set out, Logan taking the lead and Roman bringing up the rear, leaning ever so slightly on his luck as they walked.
Faeries of all sizes, shapes, substances, and species surrounded them as they joined the main throng, but the ridiculous diversity of the crowd proved to be a boon. Even their human clothes didn’t stand out much amidst the riot of silks, colored flesh, leaves, branches, and other attire Roman couldn’t even identify. He had to be careful not to gawk, or to let any emotion show on his face.
Don’t notice us. We’re just like you. We belong here.
A few looks were thrown their way as they shuffled through a large, open-air market, but one icy gaze from Logan was enough to quell general curiosity. Roman was concentrating so hard on keeping his head down—he hated not being able to keep a proper eye on his surroundings—and keeping his nerves under control that when Logan stopped short, Roman nearly plowed into him.
Looking up, Roman saw why they’d stopped.
At the center of the market stood an enormous tree stump acting as a stage, surrounded by faeries. Waiting on that stage, hands bound in thorny vines, faces tight with misery, were changelings dressed in rags. As they watched, a single faery—the same kind as the serf who’d accosted them; blue, furred, with horns sweeping from his forehead—dragged one of the humans forward. Features were described; prices were called; currency changed hands. The changeling was taken away; the next was brought forward.
“Slave market,” Roman said between clenched teeth, breath hissing. He realized he was gripping Iyusuri—she loved slyly slipping into his grip now—exactly the way he’d grip a sword hilt.
A commotion ensued when two of the changelings waiting to be sold jumped a serf carrying a blackberry basket. Blackberries flew, the serf fled, and the other changelings leaped onto the food, stuffing as many berries in their mouths as they could, purple leaking down their chins and chests.
Then, predictably, the whips came out.
“Don’t panic,” Logan murmured.
“I don’t panic,” Roman shot back, even as he felt his heartbeat spiking with each cry of pain, the sickening rush of adrenaline…
“We are drawing attention.”
Logan tipped his head at a tall, furry Fireesin at the crowd’s edge. It watched silently, black eyes trained on them, fur making its expression impossible to discern. Nevertheless, Roman felt the hair on the back of his neck ripple.
“We must move on. I am going to yell at you, and you must cower. Stop gawking!” Logan finished in Faery, startling Roman into scuttling forward with Logan at his heels.
The ruse worked; no one accosted them as they turned down a side street. The curious Fireesin melted into the crowd rather than follow. But now Roman had to mentally claw for every normal breath, every measured step they took toward the edge of town.
I don’t panic anymore. I don’t.
Five things I can see.
Cobblestones. Shoes. Pants. Gaunt, purple-stained faces—no! A quick glance to the side; stone. Logan’s shadow.
He plays the Fae so well, Roman’s mind whispered. How much of it is an act, and how much is who he really is…?
Four things I can hear, he snarled back. My footsteps. Logan’s footsteps. Crushed berries underfoot, popping like whips on flesh. Crying—he squeezed his eyes shut; nope, nope, not listening to that. Fuck, what number was I on?
He couldn’t remember. He was losing his grip. Fuck.
“Can we speed up?” he asked, pleased that his voice, at least, didn’t shake.
Logan quickened his gait, forcing Roman into a power walk as they passed the last of the buildings. Three things…smell. Blackberries. Green. Sweetness. Roman was never going to be able to eat a blackberry again.
The main street cut through the low wall surrounding the town and meandered past it, sweeping into a scraggly purple wood beyond the border, trees and path looking deceptively ordinary—for Arcadia. Roman guessed they’d have to dodge at least a few carnivorous cobblestones and scavenging redcaps once they got away from “civilization.”
A pair of guards lounged near the town’s gate, looking bored.
Roman let go of his luck entirely. If he pushed hard enough to try and make these not notice them, he’d probably end up making them suspicious instead.
“Just keep walking,” Logan murmured. “Head for the woods once we’re past.”
“You! Winter! Oh, you got yourself a pretty pet, didn’t you?” one of the guards called, leaning on her spear. She also had blue skin and horns, though hers were thinner, clinging to her skull and arching all the way down to her hips.
Five…five things I see. Blue fur. Hands. Sharp hoofed fingers…
“My Master’s purchase, not mine,” Logan answered mildly; apparently he didn’t dare try the “Lord” act on anyone who wasn’t a serf.
Roman did push on his luck then, just a little, and pictured the slaves in the market.
“Beaten, broken, just like you. That’s right,” Sir’s memory whispered.
“Look at the muscle tone, though. Looks like it’s been well-fed and exercised.” The other guard stepped in front of him, leering, ratcheting his panic higher. He willed himself to stillness as the faery’s hand flicked out to grasp his chin.
T…things I can hear…
“And so docile,” the faery said, the sound seeming to burrow into his ears. “The broken ones do taste the best.”
Roman gritted his teeth as he pushed too hard, the glass curtain in his mind swinging and clattering. Too much. The Fae’s thick, hoof-like nails dug into his face.
“I don’t suppose your Master might be willing to part with it?” the guard asked, running his black, greedy gaze over Roman’s body. Roman exhaled carefully, trying to still his pounding heart, pushing back the part of his mind screaming I can’t go back I can’t…
Three things I can feel. Hooves on his face, clawing nausea, my heart pounding so hard I can’t breathe…
“Like you could afford a slave,” the first guard commented with a scoff.
The second guard scowled. “I can ask.”
“Alas, I fear my Master would decline,” Logan said. His expression revealed nothing. Roman considered grabbing Belle from his waist. He needed to fight or run away or something.
“Oh, very well.” The faery let go of Roman’s face and then, horribly, winked. “Perhaps I’ll see you at a revel, then, eh pet?”
Pet.
Roman swallowed bile as Logan finally, finally seized his elbow and marched him past, the guards’ laughter burning in his ears.
Chapter 22- Lavender
but I’m only human
and i bleed when i fall down
i’m only human
and i crash and i break down
~ “human” by Christina Perri
clarity
Roman stumbled along the road in a blur, Logan’s cool grip his only contact with the physical world. As soon as they entered the wood and put a few layers of trees between them and the town, Roman shook free, whirled, and wordlessly thrust his hand out.
Logan untied Belle’s sheath from his waist, which seemed to take a million years. “Are you sure you’re okay—?”
Whatever else he said fell on deaf ears. Roman snatched the sword, relief coursing through him at the feel of her perfect grip in his hand again.
What does it say about you, hunter? Iyusuri grumbled at the back of his mind. That you feel incomplete without an instrument of death at your side?
“Shut up,” Roman muttered back. He tried to loop the sheath straps through his belt and realized, to his horror, that his hands were shaking violently.
“Roman—”
“Don’t! Use that name.” Roman flapped a hand in Logan’s general direction. Why couldn’t he breathe? “I need…I think I need to sit down for a minute…”
That was all he managed before his knees gave out. Logan caught him and guided him to the edge of the road. Roman curled up cross-legged, putting his head between his knees, his heart galloping around the cage of his ribs like it wanted to sledgehammer its way out.
“You got yourself a pretty pet, didn’t you?”
Blackness curled at the edge of his vision. If he could just stop shaking…
Another jolt gripped his chest, drawing a whimper out of him. “I’m dying, aren’t I? This is it. I’m actually dying.”
“You are not dying.” Logan set a cool hand over one of Roman’s burning hot ones. “Just breathe. In for four, hold for—”
“I’m not panicking. I just…” Roman trailed off again, squeezing his eyes shut and seeing blue fur and black, greedy eyes. “Fuck. I’m panicking.”
“You are more articulate than Virgil when he experiences moments of undue alarm,” Logan said in his matter-of-fact voice. “But yes. You are experiencing a panic attack. I believe those guards’ words must have stirred up some latent trauma.”
“Up, pet. We have work to do today…”
“You can’t stop this, my dear. Just relax. Use that stolen power of yours…”
“Wasn’t just the guards.” Roman swallowed, gripping his head again. “Slaves. The whole town, just…ah, gods, I hate this.”
Logan’s grip tightened. “Please know that I would not have allowed them to take you.”
The sincerity in Logan’s tone pulled an unexpected sob from his throat. He covered his mouth.
“Could you have stopped them?” he whispered. “You didn’t even react when he said, he said…”
“Perhaps I’ll see you at a revel, then, eh pet?”
Logan’s mouth thinned. “I did not dare tip them off. However, I had already formulated three separate ways to quickly and quietly slay both of them, had they hindered our passing. They would not have known what hit them.”
Roman glanced at the half-faery, noting the set of his jaw and that cold gaze, and shivered. “I hate that I believe you.”
Logan’s expression, if anything, grew darker. “Take your time and recover, and then we will move on.”
The two sat for several long minutes, Roman with his head in his hands. His breathing had almost leveled off; his heartbeat finally slowed to something like normalcy. As exhaustion welled up to replace adrenaline, he felt shamefully thankful Logan had insisted on coming with him. If he’d panicked like this by himself…he shuddered, not even wanting to think of it.
And if those deer-faced guards had thought Roman was pretty, Virgil and his fine-boned face and artist’s hands would have been snatched up in a heartbeat. Just imagining anyone in that town laying hands on Virgil—or sweet, gentle Patton—filled his stomach with dread.
“Do you think the others will try to follow us?” Roman asked.
“My hope is that they will not have the means to do so,” Logan said. “They will not know which way we have gone. I have brought the relevant edition of Hansel’s journals with us, and only you have the mirror. However,” —he glanced around the quiet wood— “that is one more reason we should keep moving.”
Something shrieked in the treetops, startling Roman into half-drawing Belle. “Agreed.”
He balanced Iyusuri in his other hand and let her slowly spin. The handle came to rest pointing deeper into the wood and perpendicular to the road, which Roman didn’t love, but Logan merely noted the direction and stood.
“I would have advised keeping off the road anyhow,” he said, offering a hand to Roman.
They set off, Roman in front with Belle unsheathed in one hand and Iyusuri in the other. Logan walked behind, resting the tips of his fingers on Roman’s shoulder so Roman didn’t have to keep looking back.
Deep purple leaves blocked much of the setting faery sun, coating the forest floor in perpetual, gorgeous twilight. Roman’s neck tingled with the sensation of a thousand eyes, but in his memory, that was Arcadia: a realm of oversaturated beauty that actively wanted to kill you. Every once in a while, he spotted a flash of light among the trunks, heard giggling somewhere ahead. He turned his jacket inside out and refused to look. Logan’s cool touch on his shoulder grounded him, as did Iyusuri’s warm weight in his hand, tugging gently, always in the same direction.
Hours passed in noisy, woodsy silence. The sun sank as the forest floor started to rise in a steady slope, making distance difficult to judge in the fading light. Roman’s changeling eyes were sharper than normal human ones, but eventually it became too dark for him to confidently lead. After his third stumble over an unseen root, Logan wordlessly pushed ahead, switching their positions, and Roman remembered that Logan’s fae blood gifted him slightly better night vision.
They entered a wide ravine, land and trees rising on either side, the curving, narrow path and loose rubble forcing them to slow down.
“Do I scare you?” Logan asked, apropos of nothing.
“Scare me?” Roman echoed.
“Yes. I fear I may have contributed to your panic in the way I dealt with that serf, and in the ruse we used to escape from town.”
“Has that been on your mind this whole time?” Roman shot him an incredulous look. “It’s no big deal, I just—”
“Tell me truly.” Logan looked back, his prismatic gaze intense, irises seeming to glow in the dark. “Does my heritage frighten you?”
Is Logan bothered by his faery traits?
Roman remembered Logan asking Patton if he’d treat Nic any differently if he was one of Them, the day they’d first met. He considered the way Logan always wore his human glamour even though changelings could see through it. The way he’d questioned Roman about this very subject, back at the Grimm house.
“You’ve never cared about that before,” Roman pointed out.
Logan stiffened his spine. His glasses caught a sliver of ambient starlight, just enough to obscure his eyes. “Answer the question.”
Roman had already taken a tiny step back before his conscious mind caught up.
“There, see?” Logan thrust a finger at him.
“I’m already on edge because of where we are, genius,” Roman snapped, thinking he’d rather sit outside in a Florida hurricane than have this conversation. “Of course, you’re gonna unsettle me when you puff out your chest and glare like my old master used to do when he was about to fucking torture me, which has been on my mind a lot today because, again, fucking Arcadia.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing Logan’s whole face scrunch up.
“I…remind you of your faery captor?” he asked, looking so horrified at the idea that Roman almost felt bad. He realized what he’d admitted and exhaled.
Well, if Logan wanted the truth…
“Not in a physical sense,” he said softly. “Sir wasn’t Winter aligned. But…he had that same burning need to understand, to take things apart and figure out how they worked. Even if…even if it involved literal cutting apart. He didn’t care so long as his curiosity was sated.” He shot a sideways look at Logan as they scrambled over a boulder blocking the path. “He needed to control everything, like you do sometimes.”
Logan’s face fell back into neutral lines, and more tellingly, he made no effort to defend himself. They hiked a few more miles in contemplative silence, Roman imagining he could hear Logan’s big brain cranking away in his head. Finally, Roman pointed to a spot where two trees grew close together, forming a hollow in their roots.
“We should stop before it gets completely dark,” he said.
Logan nodded. “I will put up some wards.”
Roman rifled around in his pack for a granola bar, watching curiously as Logan took a utility knife from his pocket. The half-faery went from tree to tree around their stopping place, carving Faery words and filling them with ice. As he filled the last one, Roman experienced a sensation like cold water being poured down his back.
“That barrier should hide us from anything except a Sidhe.” Logan returned to the hollow and sat down. “And unlike on Earth, I don’t expect to see many of those in the middle of nowhere.”
“Should we light a fire?” Roman wondered aloud.
Logan shook his head. “I would not trust ordinary fire lit upon Arcadian wood to behave properly.”
Roman jerked his gaze to the trees overhead; nearly impossible to see now. Logan was probably right. At best, the wood would refuse to burn at all. At worst…well, a lit log that wailed uncontrollably or came to life and tried to swallow them wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. He just hoped this part of Arcadia didn’t get cold at night, or he was going to regret not bringing a sleeping bag.
Logan dragged over one of the packs, which exuded a puff of chilled air as he opened it and piled food next to them: an entire loaf of bread, lunch meat, cheese, fruit, a jar of peanut butter, plus a package of plastic utensils.
Roman’s eyes grew wider with each item. “Sheesh, Bro Ham, at least I left something for the rest of the house to eat!”
“They have access to Walmart. We don’t.” Logan opened the lunch meat. “The lunch meat will spoil the fastest, even with my efforts, so I suggest we consume it first.”
“You’re the boss, applesauce,” Roman muttered, undoing the twist tie on the bread and letting the plastic unwind. Logan opened his mouth—probably to argue that fruit wasn’t sentient and therefore couldn’t be the boss of anything—but he clearly thought better of it.
Once they’d eaten, Roman dug out the weapon care kit he always kept in his backpack, which contained a sharpening stone, sponge, a tiny bottle of dish soap, metal polish, rags, and oil. Belle really didn’t need sharpening, but she’d been in storage for a long time and had gotten plenty smudged from his shenanigans. Plus, it gave his hands something to do.
Logan, meanwhile, parked himself with his back to a large root, knees bent, arms draped across them, gaze far away.
“You packed a whole-ass pantry but not a book to read?” Roman said. He wet the sponge with a dab of soap and water and scrubbed down the blade spine, keeping away from the cutting edge.
Logan chuckled. “I expected to get hungry in Arcadia, not bored.”
“Fair enough.” Roman dried the blade on his shirt and put away the stone, deciding to forgo sharpening altogether. He opened the polish tube, the familiar stink of ammonia reminding him of camping out before a big hunt, listening to Kate’s competent voice giving instructions, Elliot’s sarcasm, Corbyn’s laughter. Simpler times, when keeping his sword keen and his senses sharp were all he needed to worry about.
“When I was growing up,” Logan said, “my mother had to keep me a secret.”
Roman continued his polishing, not looking at the other.
“She was sure the main Okeechobee Court would kill me if they learned of my existence, and conversely, she feared any human who saw my true visage would lock me up. I learned to glamour my ears, to lie about my parentage, to give a fake name to any Fae, to fake being human around other humans.”
That does put the stick up his ass in some context.
“Sounds rough,” Roman said neutrally.
Logan nodded. “I rebelled once as a child.”
“Only once?”
“I wanted my mother to take me to a particular playground in Cassadaga. She refused. She didn’t think I could hold my human glamour long enough to facilitate extended play with other children.” Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “So, I thralled her.”
Roman nearly fumbled Belle in shock. “You…!”
“Understand that I was four, maybe five years old when this happened. Once she explained how heinous it is to steal another person’s free will, I never deliberately did it again.” Logan’s gaze flickered to Roman. “I have excellent restraint, but I do occasionally slip, even now. I am sorry about earlier.”
Roman shrugged. As a changeling, he knew all about wielding power that was never entirely under control; his bouts of bad luck proved his own imperfect discipline. He still didn’t have to like the fact that Logan shared certain skills with his faery kin.
“I am also cognizant of the influence the other Founders had upon my upbringing,” Logan continued. “Not only was I encouraged to be secretive and solitary, but Gretel and Stiltz both instilled a need to always maintain control of myself and my abilities. Their powers are such that if they let down their guard for even a moment, catastrophic things happen.”
Roman studied Logan in the darkness, remembering Stiltz’s colorful dresser and all the times he’d felt Gretel’s frightening calm. Some of the more annoying aspects of Logan’s personality—his aloofness, his need to make all the decisions, his tendency to spout facts with no regard for anyone’s feelings—made a lot more sense considering who raised him. He also noticed the half-faery worrying at his bare ring finger again.
“Your fae heritage isn’t going to be what scares Patton off, you know,” Roman pointed out. “If that’s what you think is happening.”
“Isn’t it?” Logan exhaled a plume of white from his mouth. “Ever since I met him, I have been trying to shield him from the fact that I’m a cold-hearted bastard at heart; it’s literally in my blood. Who’s to say he hasn’t finally gotten sick of dealing with my unfeeling, figurative ass?
Roman blinked at hearing Logan curse—damn, he must be worked up.
“Have you met your fiancé?” he snapped. “If you’d quit feeling sorry for yourself for two seconds, you’d remember that the Patton we both know would never, ever give up on somebody he cared about!”
“Then why—!” Logan stopped and ran both hands over his face. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Why am I screwing this up so badly?”
Roman gritted his teeth and ran the sponge over Belle’s blade again, wiping off the polish. “Your need to control everyone and everything is causing your rift, Specs, not your blood.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t control them! I just try to help.” Logan sighed. “I study, I learn, I make plans, I look at every side of every situation, and use everything I know to make the best possible decision that will keep the people I love healthy and safe!”
“And in the process, you smother them,” Roman said.
Logan’s hands dropped to his lap. “I spent my entire life eschewing close ties with humans and faeries both, thinking I’d never fit into either world. Because I was dangerous, I kept the parameters of my existence clearly drawn, comfortably small, and easy to maintain. Then Patton barged in; a changeling who could understand what it’s like to not be fully one thing or another, and more importantly, who refused to let me keep my distance.”
Roman gritted his teeth. Virgil loved you for two fucking years, you blind fool. But he respected your walls when what you needed was a push. He never stood a chance.
“Then we came up against Deceit, and I realized…” Logan trailed off, brow furrowed. “One can know, intellectually, what it must have been like to grow up within the Unseelie Courts. But when I witnessed Deceit torture my mother, impersonate Patton, and Virgil…” Logan’s hands clenched into fists. “When I had to watch Virgil be mocked, abused, and nearly murdered while I stood there, helpless, unable to even move, something inside me shifted. I realized I never truly understood what it meant to have escaped.”
Roman concentrated on not cutting himself on Belle’s edge as he spread a thin coat of oil over her. Logan was there, too, when Virgil almost died. I…sort of forgot that. His own dim reflection glowered up at him from the blade.
“What’s your point, Specs?” he asked.
“I made a decision that day. See, I am not the best at understanding and expressing my own feelings, but I believe I felt—ugh, listen to me; that was nonsense.” Logan shuddered. “I truly am terrible at this.”
Roman hated the way that raw, vulnerable edge in Logan’s voice made him want to say something helpful. Why, after everything that cold-hearted bastard—his own words! —did to Virgil, should Roman entertain Logan’s whining about relationship fuckups that were his own fucking fault? Why couldn’t he be bantering with Virgil about Disney and emo bands instead of playing therapist to the one person in his life that, by every measure of fairness, he should despise?
But Logan was being more open right now than he’d ever been in the entire time Roman had known him, and it was because of Patton. Loving Patton had made Logan a better person. It felt unfair as fuck, but Roman wasn’t sure Virgil—with his prickly, wary affection—could have melted Logan’s walls like this.
For whatever reason, the Glasses Nerds need each other. Which means I have to be the bigger man right now.
“You might think it’s nonsense, but that’s because you might be finally getting somewhere,” Roman said softly. He gave Belle one last wipe down and put her away. “What decision did you make?”
Logan sighed. “After Deceit, I realized my faery traits—my ears, my bone structure, my magic— were likely adding to Patton’s foul memories of Arcadia.”
“Well, that’s an awfully big assumption to make.” Roman frowned. “You know what your fiancé says about assuming, and Sue is not here.”
“Yes, well. Added to my guilt over abandoning Patton in Philadelphia to find my mother, I decided it might be best to…keep the more fae bits of me to myself.” Logan scowled at his hands resting in his lap. “Not consciously, I think. Not deliberately. I couldn’t have put the why into words until just now, but I can clearly see that’s what I was doing. Protecting him with distance.”
Roman said nothing, but one eyebrow shot up.
Logan scoffed and pushed his glasses up with a scowl. “No wonder we’ve been talking past one another all these months. Why would I think distancing myself from Patton would result in anything other than strife?”
“Is that why you didn’t tell Patton about the mushroom ring in the park?” Roman said. “I mean, I get the impulse to protect people, but Jesus Christ Superstar, Professor X. You big-brained yourself into one hell of a hole. Has any of this come up in those talks Patton insists you have?”
“Until a few minutes ago, I couldn’t have explained it even to myself.” Logan chuckled. “So, no.”
“Well, there you go.” Roman lay back against a fat root, letting it cradle his neck. “Once we get home after Carafel, you can unload all that on him and see what he says. Glad I could help. You’re welcome.”
“You have helped, immensely.” Logan smiled; such an open, relieved expression that Roman’s heart did a weird little twisty thing to see it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Logan smile like that.
“I will take first watch,” Logan added.
“Nope. I’ve napped today; you haven’t.” Roman flapped a hand at him.
“You only just returned from Okeechobee—”
“With a stopover in a motel room, where I slept just fine,” Roman said.
You slept better than fine, the wry voice Roman recognized as Iyusuri echoed. His traitorous skin recalled the exact texture of Virgil’s thin shirt under his cheek, and he hoped Logan couldn’t see the memory on his face.
Shut up, you!
Logan eyed him, glasses catching the ambient starlight again, looking very much like he wanted to keep arguing. But either Roman’s luck held, or Logan was more tired than he wanted to admit. He sighed, slipped one of their packs under his head, and laid down, body turned away.
“Wake me in four hours,” Logan said into the darkness.
Roman clicked his tongue. “You’re the boss, hoss.”
“I’m not—you know what, never mind.”
Chapter 23- Azalea
i am a question to the world
not an answer to be heard
or a moment that’s held in your arms
~ “I’m Still Here” by John Rzeznik
temperance
Roman awoke to someone shaking him and reacted instantly, fumbling for Belle and rolling to a crouch. A pair of cold hands restrained him; only Smile training kept him from yelling.
It was still too dark in the forest to see properly.
“We have been discovered,” Logan said crisply in his ear, making Roman relax; those had been Logan’s wintery hands on his shoulders.
“By who? Or what?” Roman asked, scrubbing a hand across his gritty eyes.
“Kobolds, I believe.” Logan crouched next to him and gestured at the ring of small lamps closing in from the trees.
Roman found Belle’s scabbard, unsheathed her, and squinted into the early morning gloom. He counted about fifteen small, thick-limbed faeries, each holding a lamp in one claw-tipped hand. Some also carried long pikes, viciously sharp, the points carved from stained ivory. Each lamp illuminated a sneering mouthful of prominent teeth, a pair of flaming red eyes, and a grisly, blood-soaked cap parked on a head of grisly, stringy hair.
“Redcaps,” Roman muttered.
He’d encountered a redcap on a Smile mission once, a long time ago. They were like sharks: vicious, dirty fighters; fast, agile, and not even a mortal wound would stop them once they had the scent of your blood. You had to kill them, rather decisively…unless you could scare them away before they attacked.
“That is the more common term for them, yes,” Logan said.
Roman adjusted his grip on Belle. “Nasty things. Can they see us through your wards?”
“No. But they can smell us, and I wager they can hear us.”
The lead redcap’s head swung around at the sound of Logan’s voice; the others stopped. Roman noted the way each redcap raised its head to sniff; long, deep huffs. They’d nearly surrounded the hollow in the trees already.
“Any chance you can use your faery mojo and ‘convince’ them to leave us alone?” Roman asked, not bothering to keep his voice low. The creatures already had their scent. Confusion would be more useful than trying to hide.
“I can try,” Logan said, taking a deep breath.
“We are not easy meat,” he added in a louder voice, switching to Faery. “Pursuing us will not go well for you. Leave us be, and you will not be harmed.”
Roman couldn’t help but shudder at the edge in Logan’s voice, unpleasantly reminded that Logan possessed the power of faery thrall. The redcaps stopped again, muttering at each other. However, the redcap leader bared a mouthful of pointed teeth and looked directly at them.
“Red blood,” it snarled. “Hungry!”
Roman sighed, shaking out his shoulders. “All right, Plan B. Do we let them get close or take the fight to them?”
Mercy wasn’t an option for a hungry redcap; if he and Logan didn’t take them out now, the creatures would tail them all the way to Carafel, waiting for their chance to chew their arms and legs off.
“We will only be in real danger if they mob us all at once.” Logan flexed his hands, irises flaring white. “Let us concentrate on the pike wielders first.”
He summoned a handful of ice and heaved it at the nearest kobold, not even waiting for it to freeze before targeting the next. The faeries screamed and charged blindly toward the hollow. Roman lunged, slicing the tip off a kobold pike, blocking another, whirling and taking off the head of a third faery. Logan moved like a dancer in his wake, shielding his back, blasting bodies aside, freezing feet so Roman could run their owners through. Belle felt light as a feather in Roman’s hand, the perfect extension of his will, refracting the dying faeries’ lights like a tiny supernova. In less than thirty seconds, he’d killed all but two.
The stragglers fled into the gloom. Roman didn’t think; he charged after them. He thought he heard Logan shouting, but it was swallowed up by the sound of his feet crunching leaves and the redcaps’ frantic scuttling ahead. Leaves slapped at his face as he darted among the thick trunks.
Can’t let them get away. They’ll double back and follow us.
Roman ran the first one through at the edge of a shallow ravine, the second as it tripped over a log, and then he stopped, panting. He flicked green blood from Belle’s blade and wiped her on his pants leg, unsurprised to find Iyusuri nestled in his other hand.
“What do you think of me killing your kind, eh?” he said nastily, lifting her up. Adrenaline pumped through his veins from the hunt, making him grin, making him feel dangerous. “You sure you still want to be bonded to me?”
The screaming woman stared back in ivory silence.
Roman scoffed, stuffed her in his back pocket, and began retracing his steps to Logan and their camp. Luckily his and the redcaps’ passage left a clear trail of churned dirt and broken branches, easy to follow.
Logan was probably going to kill him for running off.
Oh well.
Some instinct made him glance to his left, and he nearly startled out of his shoes to see a furry face staring at him through the trees. The creature’s black eyes widened; it skittered away, disappearing into the brush in a blur of brown fur.
Roman frowned.
That looked like a Fireesin. But why would one be wandering out here? Could...could that have been the same one watching us back in the market? Disturbed, he walked faster, soon spotting the hollow where they’d made camp. Logan had packed up in his absence; now he marched over and grasped Roman’s shoulders.
“I was about to come after you.”
“No need. I cut down the stragglers,” Roman cut in before Logan could start lecturing. “You’re welcome.”
“They could have led you into an ambush.” Logan’s hands tightened.
“If I’d let them go, they’d have tailed us all the way to Carafel.” Roman shook free of Logan’s grip.
“Two would have posed little threat,” Logan said mildly, but seemed content to let it drop now that Roman was back and unharmed. He went around the camp and dismantled his wards, one by one, nudging little corpses out of his way.
Corpses.
Now that the tension from the attack had bled away, Roman found himself counting the dead redcaps littering the ground. Thirty-one! Had he really killed that many, that fast? He wondered, with a pang of guilt, what Beetlecloud would think if he saw this carnage and knew how easy it had been for Roman. How…exhilarating.
“These are domestic kobolds,” Logan mused. He’d finished de-warding the camp and was now leaning over one of the fallen faeries, a furrow between his eyebrows. “Their Arcadian cave brethren are taller and darker skinned. They must have smelled us out here, but where did they come from? Domestics don’t usually wander far from their castles.”
“You think there might be a castle nearby?” Roman’s stomach flipped. Castles meant civilization; civilization meant Court Fae, slavers, recapture.
The Fireesin in the woods…where did it come from?
“I do not know.” Logan shook his head. “But we should move on before something worse than a hungry redcap smells this battlefield.”
Roman looked away from the bodies and slung on his backpack.
Logan took the lead until proper morning light filtered through the trees, then they switched. The trees thinned as the hours wore on, the ground flattening out, undergrowth growing thicker, thornier, green mixed with deep crimson and sickly purple. Some of the bushes whispered nonsense as they passed. One released a cloud of papery orange butterflies, their tiny wings made out of actual flame.
When the brush got too thick, Roman unsheathed Belle and cut their way through. The vines, unsurprisingly, didn’t like this, grumbling and snapping their thorns, but they seemed properly respectful of Belle and didn’t attack. Roman found himself studying the blade’s wickedly sharp edge, slicing red vines like butter, vividly recalling the sensation of his old sword slicing into Deceit’s unprotected throat, the satisfaction in watching the life drain from that monster’s eyes.
Did self-defense become murder if you felt a little thrill in the moment?
Roman sliced through the next thorn bush, another worry creeping in. Iyusuri’s tug against his palm remained constant; no stronger than yesterday, despite how far they’d come. By mid-morning, he began to fear the mirror would be no help in determining if they were getting close.
At Logan’s insistence, they paused for a snack.
“How are we gonna find our way back once we leave the mirror in Carafel?” Roman wondered aloud as they ate. “Do you think they’ll give us directions? Or does giving directions even work in a realm where landmarks sometimes rearrange themselves?”
“I could say you should have considered these things before plunging ahead on this journey—” Logan said mildly.
“You literally just did say it, Mister Brigadier-General Passive Aggressive.”
“Wow.” Logan raised an eyebrow. “Fortunately, I have a decent sense of direction within Arcadia. I am over ninety-seven percent sure I can navigate us back.”
Roman eyed him. “That is a disturbingly specific number. How about this one: what are we gonna do if the geas runs out before we get to Carafel?”
Logan smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Now you sound like Virgil.”
Roman laughed, trying to ignore the name making his stomach twist. “Who I’m sure is actively plotting my murder right now.”
They finished eating and set out again.
“I do not know if I’ve ever said this,” Logan said as Roman hacked away at their path. “But you are an excellent swordsman. And I say that as someone who grew up watching Gretel and Dare train Zoe.”
Roman tried to feel proud of that. Instead, he felt sick.
“Yeah, well.” He chopped through another thicket, one that dripped clear liquid that looked disturbingly like pixie blood. “Cutting open a nisse and slaughtering a bunch of blood-crazed ankle biters isn’t exactly how I imagined breaking in a new sword. At least Deceit deserved what he got.”
Logan avoided the dripping branches and shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “Wait. A nisse? Do you mean Beetlecloud?”
Roman, shame making his jaw stiff, admitted lashing out in anger and hurting the little faery. “Now he assumes I’m just like Johnny, and who knows? Maybe he isn’t wrong. I did run off and abandon everyone, just like him.”
“Attempting this journey by yourself was absurdly foolish,” Logan started.
“Got it, thanks.” Roman shot him a sarcastic thumbs-up.
“—but unlike Johnny, your intentions were honorable. You saw Iyusuri as your problem, and you wanted to deal with her without endangering anyone else.” Logan clasped Roman’s shoulder. “It sounds like what happened with Beetlecloud was an accident. Remember that I, too, grew up in the Founders’ home, hearing stories about Johnny Prince. And Roman…”
Roman braced himself for a dose of scathing honesty.
“You are a far nobler man than he ever was.”
“Wait.” Roman made an effort to close his gaping mouth. “You…really think so?”
“I know so.” Logan smiled one of his understated smiles.
“I…” Roman was too shocked to even think of a nickname. “That means a lot, Logan. Thank you.”
Logan nodded, and Roman eagerly cut into the next bush, feeling better about himself than he had in the last twenty-four hours.
Which wasn’t much…but it was something.
Chapter 24- Mandrake
we all live in unforgiving precarious ways
if it bleeds it leads
is all we seem to hear today
thorns remain while flowers fade
~ “The Glory and the Scum” by Delain
sorcery
Their progress through the brush slowed to a crawl as Roman methodically cleared a carpet of prickly undergrowth, which muttered and shook thorny branches at him with each cut.
“If I may ask—” Logan started.
“You know, I’ve always wondered why people ask if they can ask things.” Roman grunted as Belle hit a snag. “Like, just ask the question! Because if you were really going to shut up if the person says, ‘No, you can’t ask?’, why bring it up in the first place? And even if the person does say no and the asker respects that, now the first person is left wondering what the asker meant to ask and will probably end up asking what was gonna be asked just to satisfy their curiosity.”
Logan kicked at a vine prodding his foot. “Congratulations. I can almost guarantee you’ve now put more thought into that one phrase than anyone who’s ever used it.”
Roman scoffed. “What are you about to say that you think I’m not gonna like?”
“Are you and Virgil fighting again?”
It took all of Roman’s self-discipline not to visibly react. “What makes you think that?”
“You didn’t go with Patton and Virgil to DeLand.” Logan gave Roman a contemplative glance. “Given the…unfortunate turn of events in the barn, I thought you would have jumped at the chance to get away from me and spend more time with Virgil. To my understanding, that is why you came down for spring break in the first place.”
“Yeah, well.” Roman kicked through a last bit of scrub; thankfully, the forest opened onto a small rise ahead. He held Iyusuri up, checking their direction, and started toward the rise.
“So.” Logan caught up. “Are you fighting?”
“You giving me relationship advice now, Casanova?” Roman snarked.
“I am merely attempting to be helpful.” Logan pressed his lips together. “I found talking to be extremely illuminating last night. I wish to offer a similar, figurative listening ear.”
Roman wiped Belle’s blade on his pants so hard he nearly sliced the denim. “Thanks, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you and Virgil seeing each other?” Logan asked, because Arcadian Queens forbid the nerd take a hint.
“How are you so old-fashioned?” Roman rolled his eyes. “And, for your information, no.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
“Your affection for him is obvious.” Logan’s voice was infuriatingly bland, as though they were discussing the color of the Arcadian sky and not the person he’d nearly killed with his indifference…
Roman’s fingers curled around Iyusuri’s warm handle. He realized he’d never admitted his feelings for Virgil aloud before, because he’d assumed—rightly, it would seem—that everyone already fucking knew.
“My feelings are not the problem,” he muttered.
“Then what is?”
“You really want to know?” Old pain tightened like vines around Roman’s chest. “The problem is that he’ll never love me the way he—!”
Loved you.
Roman reeled himself back and let out the remainder of his breath in a sharp exhale.
“He what?” Logan asked, because he was relentless.
“Nothing,” Roman answered, because Virgil had made it crystal clear what would happen if Roman ever slipped up and told Logan about the flowers.
“You’ll kill me, right?” Roman kept his voice light.
“No.” Virgil’s mismatched eyes glittered. “You’ll live, and you will never see me again.”
And the low finality of the threat had sent a cold chill down Roman’s spine.
“You would not be this worked up over nothing,” Logan pointed out.
“With all due respect,” Roman said through gritted teeth. “I already said I don’t want to do this with you.”
“With me?” Logan echoed.
“With…with nobody,” Roman corrected.
“No.” Logan’s voice grew stronger. “No, you specified me.”
Roman’s heart thudded. Why can’t you control your stupid mouth, hunter?
“Not everything I say has to mean something, Specs.” He attempted a chuckle. “Can we just drop it?”
Don’t press, he added, warm beads sliding along his skin as he leaned into his luck. Let it go. Logan might be oblivious when it came to feelings, but he loved riddles and would pick a mystery to death. He did not need to start re-examining himself in relation to Virgil and Roman.
For any number of reasons.
They topped the rise, finally leaving the last of the trees. A purple meadow sloped down into a deep valley, dotted with mossy boulders and flowers that flickered like candles in the light breeze. The land rose sharply on the opposite side, bare rock forming sheer white cliffs. Thankfully, Iyusuri pulled parallel to these, toward a gentler set of hills that vanished into mist in the distance.
Logan handed Roman a sandwich—banana and peanut butter this time—and made him drink some water. His gaze kept flitting back over the bit of thinning forest they’d traversed.
“What is it?” Roman asked with his mouth full.
“I have felt, since we left that town yesterday,” Logan murmured, “that something—or someone—is following us. I thought perhaps it was just Arcadia’s general, low-level sentience, but the feeling is stronger this morning.”
A chill swept down Roman’s spine, making him rub the back of his neck…and then he remembered what else he’d seen that morning. “When I was chasing those redcaps, I saw a Fireesin. It ran off before I could be sure, but I got the feeling it was watching me in particular. I’d forgotten all about it until now.”
“Perhaps that is all it is, then; a curious solitary.” Logan didn’t sound terribly convinced.
“The Courts use them as messengers, though,” Roman pointed out. “And there was the one in town—”
“Regardless.” Logan held up a hand. “Because our time is so limited, there is little we can do besides complete our errand as quickly as possible and get home.”
“Not arguing with that.” Roman finished his last bite of sandwich. “You didn’t eat.”
“I am fine. You expended a great deal more energy getting us through that undergrowth, and we must conserve our resources.”
Logan started into the meadow. Roman followed, glancing worriedly back toward the trees, wondering if leaving their cover was safe. Recalling that damned Fireesin made the prickling on his neck ten times stronger. Was it still following them…or had it gone to report to someone worse?
I shouldn’t have let it get away. I should have at least made sure it wasn’t the same one from yesterday.
“Look!” Logan pointed to the top of the cliffs. “That may be where our morning visitors came from.”
A gleaming white castle perched at the edge of the highest cliff, hazy with distance, skinny turrets stabbing the bright black sky like fingers. Although the architecture looked more Seelie than Unseelie, Roman got an uneasy feeling just looking at it.
“Let’s hope whoever lives there isn’t watching the meadow,” he commented. He took a step and collided with Logan’s outstretched arm.
“What—?”
“Wait,” Logan commanded, his voice sharp. “This meadow is full of totekar empakpake.”
Roman frowned. “Uh...gesundheit?”
“Fire flowers,” Logan said. “I do not know the Faery term, as my Winter kin do not have a word for them and thus borrowed from the Seminole people. I am likely mispronouncing said words, in fact, because—”
“Tangent, Wikipedia,” Roman interrupted.
“If I remember correctly…” Logan crept close to a glowing flower cluster, parting purple grass in his wake. Roman tailed him warily, stopping when Logan touched a single petal with the barest tip of his finger. “Even the slightest brush against one of these will cause it to—ah!”
The flower burst with a sound like bells, expelling a hot ring of fire and making Roman stumble back. Logan thrust out a frosty hand; flower, flames, and smoke transformed into crackling ice, hovering in midair before fluttering to the ground in a pile of frozen powder. Roman exhaled, his heart still hammering in his chest.
“They are called fire flowers because they explode into flame when touched.” Logan sounded irritatingly unperturbed despite nearly getting his eyebrows singed off. “Worse, setting off one can easily spread to its neighbors, turning a field into an inferno. Arcadian Summer Fae often sow these around their castles as protection from intruders.” He shot a grim look at Roman. “As you saw, I can halt the chain reaction if I move quickly enough, but we must be cautious.”
Roman stared in dismay at the purple meadow and the literal hundreds of fire flower clusters, once again wondering where he would be if Logan hadn’t insisted on coming with him.
They decided to skirt the main valley and parallel the tree line, despite the route being rockier. Roman clutched Belle’s scabbard as he walked to make sure it didn’t swing, his other arm wrapped awkwardly across his backpack. Even at the meadow’s border, sometimes the flower clusters grew so thick that he and Logan were forced to march single file, shuffling sideways, inch by painful inch. Logan put out a dozen more mini infernos; each time it felt like the half-faery’s reaction time grew a little slower. Every errant wind gust that made the grass ripple and flowers dance had Roman’s nerves on edge.
“Why doesn’t the wind set them off?” he asked after a strained half hour.
“Sometimes it does.” Logan shot him a grim look.
“Great.” Roman sneered.
“But usually only Arcadian greatstorms cause entire fields to spontaneously ignite. We should be fine in that regard.”
As if to mock them, a distant peal of thunder rumbled over the open meadow, making them look up in alarm. The Arcadian sky still shone black and cloudless. Logan shook his head, took another step, and a flower near his ankle burst, causing him to whirl and nearly freeze his own leg in his haste to put it out.
“You getting tired, Chillmeister?” Roman asked, trying to sound casual, but worry twisted his insides. This far into the field, if one of these blossoms flamed out of control, Logan’s power was their only hope of survival.
Logan wrung out his hand. “We are now deep in Summer territory. I am finding this…more taxing than I anticipated. Also, is it just me, or is the sensation of being watched growing stronger?” he added, scanning both the open grass and the tree line.
The meadow looked empty, though the grass grew plenty tall enough to conceal, say, an entire army of redcaps. Roman studied the trees and saw nothing but swaying branches. Several large shapes circled around the distant castle on the cliffs; some sort of bird, he thought. He pointed them out as the sky rumbled again.
“Ah, that’s a relief. Those are what we’ve been hearing,” Logan said, shielding his eyes. “Thunderbirds. They feature in various Native American myths and are common in Arcadian highlands. Their wings generate thunder as they flap; thus, the name.”
“As long as they keep those wings away from us,” Roman grumbled. “And these damned powder keg flowers.”
The Arcadian sun grew hotter as the day progressed, despite the black sky, and their hilly destination refused to look any closer. Roman bore the discomfort with gritted teeth, resisting the urge to fan his back for fear of brushing one of those little fire bombs. Even cool-blooded Logan kept having to wipe sweat from his eyes. Twice, he nearly let an entire patch of flowers burn out of control before turning them to ice. He was clearly struggling.
“You need to stop and drink some water or something,” Roman said after a flower briefly caught one of their packs on fire.
“I am fine—”
“Logan, you made me eat because I used all my energy in the woods. I am not getting roasted to a crisp because your faery ass is too stubborn to admit you need a break,” Roman snapped.
Logan’s mouth closed and his nostrils flared. “Whoever is following us is getting closer. I can feel it. If we stop, I fear they will catch up.”
“The only thing we’ve seen in this meadow all day are those stupid circling birds.” Roman pointed them out. They’d abandoned the cliffs to soar over the meadow—getting closer, in fact—but they were still much too high up to worry about.
“Those thunderbirds are acting rather strange.” Logan glowered up at them. “They do not usually circle like carrion birds, and rarely hunt in flocks —”
“Look, what specific threat are you sensing here, C3PO?” Roman drew Belle in a swift motion and faced back the way they’d come. “Because I hate feeling like prey. If this is you just being paranoid—”
Logan set a hand on Roman’s arm, but whatever he’d been about to say dissolved into a hiss. He yanked Roman into a crouch and silently pointed through the grass. Four human-sized figures emerged from the tree line not a hundred yards away.
Roman sucked in a breath. They were just enough away that it was difficult to make out details.
“Court Fae?” he whispered.
Logan squinted. “I don’t think so.”
The group clearly didn’t heed the danger of the meadow. Two of them blundered right into the fire flowers, setting off at least a dozen blossoms before one of the other figures hauled them backward. Roman watched in fascinated horror as they retreated to the trees, letting the fire sputter out. The more cautious one turned in their direction, did a double-take, and pointed.
“Great. I think they’ve seen us,” Roman grumbled. “What should we—Logan?”
Next to him, Logan’s entire body stiffened, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses. “No, it…it can’t be. They can’t have followed us.”
Followed?
Roman’s stomach did a flip as the strangers drew closer, this time paralleling the tree line. Faeries possessed an identifiable, alien grace when they moved, but these strangers walked like humans. They wore human clothes.
Familiar human clothes.
Thunder rolled across the meadow again, closer than ever, but Roman couldn’t take his eyes off the sight of Virgil’s approaching black and purple jacket, Patton’s orange curls and blue polo, Rapunzel’s long, braided hair swinging at her back, Zoe and their colorful hair clips.
He stood, as did Logan, whose expression could have frozen the entire meadow.
How…how did they find us? Did they go through that awful town? Roman remembered those guards, the slave market…
By the time they heard footsteps crunching through the purple grass, Roman could clearly see and appreciate the look of absolute murder on Virgil’s face. Iyusuri was a hot weight in his hand.
“Virge—” he called.
A golden something the size of an elephant dove between their two parties, hitting the ground with a thump and an explosion of fire. Thunder rolled from its flapping wings, deafening, forcing Roman to cover his ears. Worse, a ghastly wind blew up in its wake, causing the initial inferno to blaze around him on all sides, cutting him off. Other enormous shapes dropped to the ground all around, whipping up more fire.
He barely had time to absorb all that before a Sidhe leaped at him from the fire, eyes ablaze, bronze sword catching the light. Roman instinctively met the swing with Belle, deflecting the other blade in a shower of sparks and the ringing scrape of metal.
“What?” Roman sputtered as the faery came at him again.
He squinted through the heat, Belle a molten rod in his hand as he desperately blocked this stranger from removing his head. All around him came shouts, curses, more ringing metal. He caught the briefest glimpse of Rapunzel, using her hair as a garrote; Zoe, mid-leap; Virgil as a blur of purple, knife in either hand, fighting an inhumanly fast shadow. But mostly, Roman saw walls of fire and his own pale-skinned opponent, unnaturally white teeth bared in a snarl.
The faery struck with uncanny strength, rapier arcing with the force of a greatsword; the tip grazed Roman’s cheek as he threw himself back. He pushed on his luck, felt the mental curtain gently part, readied Belle…only to grunt when the faery tripped over a rock and impaled himself on her tip.
“What?” Roman squawked.
The faery slid down, his nose stopping literally inches from Roman’s. “I…yu—” he croaked and went limp.
“Well, that’s never happened before!” Roman slid Belle out and kicked the body away with a shudder.
Someone slammed into him, fire parting in their wake. Roman barely had time to recognize Logan’s dark skin and stupid necktie before he’d put his back to Roman’s, white shimmering around his flexed fingers.
“Where the fuck did these fuckers come from?” Roman shouted over his shoulder.
“The thunderbirds had riders,” Logan shouted back. “I didn’t know they could!”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Cover me!” Logan shook out his hands. “I’m going to put out this blaze so we can see what we’re dealing with.”
Roman crouched in a fighting stance as Logan raised his arms, the temperature around them dropping fast enough to draw steam from their exposed skin. Ice bloomed and crackled across the burning grass, smothering flames in an expanding circle. A newly exposed faery leaped at Logan from the fray, wielding an axe, but Roman blocked the blow and lashed out with a kick, causing her to fall back.
As the field cleared, Roman’s heart dropped.
The ambushing faeries were some variety of Sidhe; almost-human, bright clothing, with thin, haughty, noble faces. A few still sat on their thunderbirds—who ringed the fire’s edge like saddled eagles, boxing them in. A few blue-furred, deer-like faeries waited near the birds’s heads, holding the harnesses. Servants, maybe? Handlers?
Their friends—and Logan’s mother—faced off against the rest of the Sidhe. Zoe and Virgil fought side by side now, they with their bare hands and he with knives. Rapunzel stood her ground against five or six on her own, wielding her long, black, braided hair like a whip; had she made it longer at some point? She’d even tied a handful of wooden weights and hooks to the ends.
They were holding their own, if barely. But where was…?
“Patton!” Logan yelled.
At the center of the chaos, two Sidhe held Patton by his arms, wrenched behind his back. Virgil’s head whipped around as though on a swivel and he lunged for his friend, ignoring the faery closing in, longsword sweeping close in an arc…no! Roman mentally seized the beaded curtain of his luck harder than he ever had, and the blow that would have disemboweled Virgil hit instead with the flat of the blade, catching him in the midsection and throwing him across the field. Roman and Patton cried out in unison; Patton’s captors slumped where they stood, releasing him.
Roman darted across the burnt grass, but Patton beat him there, turning over the unmoving lump of black and purple. Virgil…no, no, not again! Patton, as though he could hear Roman’s thoughts—hell, he probably sensed Roman’s spike of terror—looked straight at him, blue eyes wide, and mouthed, “He’s alive.”
Sure enough, Virgil coughed, sat up, and Patton pulled the groaning emo to his feet.
Logan let out a pained yell, making Roman whirl. A Sidhe snagged both Logan’s wrists and yanked him back, smoke rising where their skin touched. Logan yelled again, irises pure white, clearly trying to summon ice and break free. But the Sidhe’s hands flamed red hot, and Logan was forced to the ground, writhing against the grip.
I left him alone!
“Let him go, you bastard—!” Roman yelled, running, sword raised.
The Sidhe stepped around Logan, and Roman got a clear look at his face. In his pocket, Iyusuri—nearly forgotten in the chaos—grew icy cold against his back. Everything faded except for that faery’s smirk, which Roman instantly recognized.
“Hello, thief,” the Sidhe said in perfect English. “I see you still have something of mine.”
It was the pixie killer from Painter’s Pond.
Chapter 25- Datura
tired of feeling lost, tired of letting go
tear the whole world down, tear the whole world down
failure
~ “Failure - Aurora Version” by Breaking Benjamin
binding
The Sidhe held Logan with ease, many-jointed fingers like pale spider legs around Logan’s wrists. Lily-white skin, night-black eyes, pouting lips; he even had on the same blood-red leggings and tunic of clashing oranges he’d worn the first time he’d tried to take Iyusuri.
“It’s a shame my kobolds didn’t finish you off,” the Sidhe said, switching to Faery. “That would have made this so much easier.”
Roman’s gaze flickered to the others, who had now all been disarmed and restrained. They’d blindfolded Patton—did his calming power require line of sight? —which Virgil looked particularly pissed about. Zoe, however, had a hand on Rapunzel’s arm while she slowly flexed her hands…hands which, according to Grimm lore, could do all kinds of unspeakable things to flesh. She caught Roman’s eye and nodded subtly toward Logan and the Sidhe.
We can take care of ourselves, that look said. Take care of him.
All this Roman assessed in a split second.
“Let him and my friends go,” Roman said in careful Faery, gesturing at Logan. “You just want is the mirror, right? He has nothing to do with that.”
“Ugh. Converse in your own tongue, please,” the faery spat. “Your accent is abominable.”
“You came out wearing that ensemble, again,” Roman fired back, gesturing at the faery’s loud clothing. “And you’re insulted?”
“Oh, it thinks it’s clever. No, by all means.” The Sidhe twisted Logan’s wrists; flesh sizzled under the Sidhe’s hands. “Continue your bluster. Keep denying me what is mine.”
Logan’s face contorted; he uttered a sound that started as a cry and ended in a whimper.
“All right!” Roman yanked out Iyusuri, leaning so far into his luck he almost fell through…which would be bad. “Look, it’s right here, okay? Just…just stop. Leave him alone.”
The faery’s eyes fixed on the mirror and flared greedily; Logan stopped groaning and slumped. Invisible bead strands crawled over Roman’s body; so many possibilities, so many ways this could end badly. He calmed his rapid breathing and focused.
“Give it here, changeling.” The Sidhe placed both Logan’s wrists in one hand and thrust out the other.
Roman edged toward the faery, his mind racing. He didn’t dare look around to see if Zoe and Rapunzel had finished concocting whatever desperate plan they’d come up with…not that it mattered. Six humans would never win against sixteen Sidhe in a fight.
You could do it. You slaughtered those redcaps. Roman pictured Belle’s tip ripping that smug expression right off that faery’s face. Something dark in him wanted it. They think they’re so superior. This bastard tortured Wren and Wrassey’s clan. He would deserve it.
It wasn’t like Roman could actually give this Sidhe what he wanted, anyway—the stupid mirror would leap right back into his grip if he tried.
What if he doesn’t know that, though? Roman’s heart skipped. Could I use the bond to my advantage?
“If I put this into your hand,” Roman said, mentally grasping for the possibility of this actually working. “I want your word that you’ll let all of us go free.”
I don’t have to solve every problem like Johnny Prince, with fury and no regard for consequence.
The Sidhe’s eyes narrowed to black slits. “You bargain, mortal? On my own land?”
Never bargain with Them. Every Smile instinct railed against it. Never enter a deal. Never negotiate terms. Roman took a breath. This was risky, this was stupid…but faeries cannot break a vow. These are old, powerful Fae; they could kill or re-enslave us all in a heartbeat. I have to keep my friends safe. I have our only leverage.
This is my responsibility.
“I want,” Roman growled, “your word. We all go free.”
I’m a hunter, and I am lucky. I can be careful.
The Sidhe’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Oh, the cheek. Very well, let us play your game of words. Give me the mirror, and I will not kill you. None of yours will come to permanent harm by my hand. Would that be acceptable?”
Too vague. Definitely a trick.
Define your terms, another voice whispered in his mind. The mirror pulsed warningly in his hand. Watch your words, hunter.
Roman remembered the naiad’s warning with a chill.
“I will place the mirror in your hand,” he clarified, holding Iyusuri between them. “And you will let my friends leave your land. No, you’ll let them leave Arcadia, and you won’t pursue them. You won’t harm them, period. None of your minions will hurt them. They won’t be ensnared into staying or harming themselves. They won’t be held captive or sold.” His mind spun, trying to think of any other possible caveats. “You and yours won’t go after them once they’ve left. They. Go. Free.”
The Sidhe’s smirk grew wider. Roman tried not to let that frighten him.
“Place the mirror in my hand,” the faery said. “And I, Lord Vaalyun of Carafel, will honor your terms.”
Roman only barely stifled a gasp. Wait…Carafel?? The faery who’d wanted the mirror in the first place was part of the Court who created her? Well, who else would know about her, or care? But then why did Iyusuri try to lead them past this place? That was probably Vaalyun’s castle on the cliffs.
Had the Okeechobee King gotten his geas wrong?
“This…is Carafel?” Roman asked.
Vaalyun chuckled. “We are on the outskirts, but yes. Ooh…” He covered his mouth and laughed again. “You meant to take her to my shortsighted kin in the Bluefire Hills, didn’t you? I did wonder what luck—”
Roman immediately backed off on his; an enemy mentioning the word was generally a bad sign.
“—had lured the thieves who thwarted me Earthside back here, practically to my doorstep. And now they wish to bargain.”
He agreed to your terms too easily, Roman’s Smile instincts whispered. You’re missing something.
Yes. Risky, risky, Iyusuri’s voice murmured in his head. He glared at her ivory surface, doubt and responsibility pressing on him. He wished he could ask Logan, but the half-faery still slumped in the Sidhe’s grip, barely conscious. He would find no help there.
The Sidhe’s eyes narrowed. “So. Do we have an accord?”
Try as he might, Roman could not come up with an exploitable loophole in his own words. If there was even a chance of getting them all away from this Lord Vaalyun unharmed, he had to take it.
Maybe he just wants the mirror that badly, he reasoned. Besides, he’s a Seelie, and he doesn’t have any reason to hurt us besides getting what he wants.
“We…we do,” Roman said, and the weight of that promise settled like a vice around his chest.
“Good,” the faery practically purred, waggling the fingers of his still outstretched hand.
Roman edged closer until the unnatural heat of Vaalyun’s skin radiated against his own. Like all Sidhe, Vaalyun possessed an unsettling, dangerous beauty, like a jeweled sunset before a storm, like muscles under a white tiger’s skin, like a forest fire at night. For half a second, he looked so much like Sir that Roman fought a full-body shudder.
“You look familiar, thief,” Vaalyun commented, as though he could read Roman’s mind. “I desire your name. I have given mine to seal your bargain. It is only fair.”
Roman’s stomach dropped. He didn’t dare lie—Vaalyun might go back on his word if he did—but nor could he give a Sidhe that kind of power over him.
“I…I have been called Johnny,” he said at last, Hansel’s voice echoing in his memory.
“Johnny.” Vaalyun sucked on his teeth, seeming to savor the word, and then his eyes widened. “Johnny Prince?”
Dread crashed down Roman’s spine. No…how would he…?
“On second thought, no.” The Sidhe set his outstretched fingers on Roman’s face, black eyes glinting. “No, you are too young to be the Johnny Prince who sought to destroy Arcadia and then signed the Accords to save it. Yet I sense no lie…” He stepped back, stroking his thin lips. “A son, then, or perhaps a nephew; some close kin. The likeness is such that one could easily mistake you for the other. Interesting.”
Roman didn’t dare move or speak. It doesn’t matter, as long I’ve tricked him into letting us go…
“I must say, you are clever for a human. Johnny.” Vaalyun smiled, an edged thing of teeth and dire promises, setting his hand palm upward again.
Roman wished he’d never opened his big mouth. He should have settled this with Belle instead of trying to outsmart a Court Fae…but he’d already given his word. He exhaled, set Iyusuri’s handle on the faery’s outstretched hand, and carefully let go. Vaalyun grinned, his fingers closing around…nothing.
“What?” the faery hissed, gaping at his hands.
Roman smirked and held up the mirror, which had flitted back into his grasp.
“You dare break your word?” Vaalyun snarled, relapsing into Faery.
Here we go.
“Technically,” Roman drawled, backing away. “I only said I’d put her in your hand, and I did. I can’t control what she does after that. I may have neglected to mention she’s, ah, kind of attached to me, but to be fair, you didn’t ask. So, Lord Vaalyun, if you’d kindly release my friends, we’ll be going now.”
“Why, you filthy, backstabbing dung beetle—” Vaalyun started.
“Zoe, now!” Rapunzel shouted.
Roman spun as Zoe leaped straight up, head-butting their faery captor and breaking his nose, and then they yanked the blindfold from Patton’s eyes. Patton projected a wave of calm that had his and Virgil’s captors loosening their holds, but Roman noted that they didn’t slump like before.
Patton has more fine-tuned control over his abilities than any of us realized, I think.
Rapunzel, meanwhile, drove an elbow into her own captor’s kidney, seizing his face in one hand and Patton’s captor’s face in the other. A layer of skin crept over their mouths and noses as their eyes widened. They clawed at their own faces in horror and finally collapsed to the ground, twitching, unable to breathe. Rapunzel grabbed Patton’s and Virgil’s shirts and dragged them towards Roman, Zoe on her heels.
Vaalyun flung Logan to the ground and backed away, ordering his minions to move in. In moments, a ring of spear tips, sword blades, and axe heads surrounded the whole group.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Rapunzel said as they arrayed themselves back-to-back. “Patton, Virgil, and Zoe; you three need to run. I will follow, but—”
“What?” Virgil scowled.
“Fuck that noise,” Zoe added.
“Listen!” Rapunzel’s intense gaze, so much like her son’s, swiveled onto Roman. “You did well, considering the circumstances, but your terms contain two fatal flaws. One, you didn’t include yourself in this escape.”
Roman sucked in a horrified breath, replaying his own words. “You will let them leave, you won’t harm them, you won’t hold them captive…” Damn it, she’s right. In his zeal to protect everyone else, Roman had left himself out of the escape deal entirely. Vaalyun couldn’t kill him—he had been specific about that—but otherwise, he was at the faery’s mercy.
“Two, they won’t protect Logan,” Rapunzel said. “Patton, bring him to the middle, quickly.”
Patton, who’d dragged his fiancé off the ground and now had an arm around his waist, did as commanded. Logan was still half out of it from pain and exhaustion.
“Why is he not protected?” Patton asked.
“Not…human.” Logan wobbled in Patton’s arms. “Half blood.” His raspy voice came out barely above a whisper. “Makes me…something else. Doesn’t count.”
“Why the hell should that matter?” Roman glowered.
“You should have challenged Vaalyun when he used the phrase ‘you and yours,’” Rapunzel clarified. “In common parlance, that means those with whom you share blood. In other words, kin.”
“Oh, trollshit,” Roman spat. “Obviously I meant my friends, here, who are actively in danger.”
“Of course, that’s who you meant, but you didn’t. Say. That.” Rapunzel said.
Roman growled. “Then I’ve done nothing, because none of you are related to me! That means none of you are safe.”
I screwed this up. I tried to be clever and it’s all backfired.
Rapunzel laid a hand on Roman’s arm. “No. For better or worse, Vaalyun is Seelie, and Seelie enter deals honorably. The broadest possible interpretation of ‘kin’, I believe, must extend to every human here. Look.”
She pointed at the circle of weapons. Their wielders looked to be struggling against an invisible wall; no matter how hard they pushed, a foot of space remained between Rapunzel’s little circle and those razor-edged tips.
“They can’t touch us,” Logan said. “Because he is still bound by your words, Roman.”
“But those words don’t include you,” Roman said, feeling sick. “Because you aren’t fully human.”
Logan nodded. “We…will need to prepare ourselves, once my mother leads the others away.”
“I’m not leaving you!” Patton snapped.
“We don’t have a choice,” Rapunzel said. “Patton…”
“I’ve got him, Padre,” Roman said, stretching out an arm. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to our favorite nerd.”
This is my fault.
He noticed Virgil watching with a strange expression and forced himself to ignore it. Patton, his face scrunched up, let Roman sling one of Logan’s arms around his shoulder and take his weight.
“Go.” Logan weakly touched Patton’s face, then clasped his mother’s hand. “Keep them safe.”
Rapunzel kissed Logan’s forehead and then rushed the nearest minion, knocking his spear away and darting for the tree line. Zoe, Patton, and Virgil followed, forcing their way past the guards, who couldn’t do much more than swear at them. Virgil shot Roman a single, heartbreaking look Roman couldn’t bear to return.
“Enough of this,” Vaalyun drawled in Faery, drawing Roman’s attention. He flicked a finger. “Morwick, your san. Incapacitate them all.”
“What?” Roman cried. “I said no enchantments!”
“Your terms said nothing about depriving anyone of consciousness.” Vaalyun smirked.
A petite faery—one of the blue, deer-like ones—let go of a thunderbird halter and shuffled over. She wore not a stitch of clothing, her horns were sawed-off stubs, and—Roman shuddered—her eyes were blank blue orbs.
“My geas, Lord,” she rasped, her voice like leaves in a high wind. “Two turns of the moon, I was not to use the san, and Sorrell would go free. It has only been—”
Vaalyun seized the scruff of the neck. “You forget to whom you belong, Morwick; who owns your debt. Do as I say now, and I shall mercifully permit you to begin your geas anew.”
Morwick ducked her head, but not before Roman saw a ripple of anger twist her mouth.
Don’t do it, he pleaded silently. Please. If this manic managed to exploit a loophole, everything he’d done to keep his friends safe would have been for nothing.
Morwick raised a hand toward the four escaping figures; an invisible force rippled through the air. They all faltered. Three of them shook it off and kept running.
One did not.
“Z—Robin!” Roman shouted, prompting Rapunzel to whirl. But by the time she realized Zoe had collapsed, Vaalyun’s minions had already scooped them up and carried them back. There was a brief but fierce argument before Rapunzel pushed the other two onward.
“Morwick!” Vaalyun snapped.
“I cannot overcome changeling resistance at such range,” the little faery protested, hand still outstretched.
“Bah! Leave it, then.” Vaalyun’s gaze flickered to Roman, his eyebrows rising in mock empathy. “Let the mortal feel he’s accomplished something.”
“What about them?” Roman pointed at Zoe, cradled in one of his minions’ arms; not dead, thank gods, but out cold. Some kind of sleep thrall, like Rosa’s? What had Morwick called it? “San?”
“What about them?” Vaalyun echoed, that awful smirk still twisting his face. “They will sleep peacefully, unharmed, until such time as I decide they should wake.”
“And when…would that be?” Roman asked, feeling nauseous.
“Oh, I’ve no need to decide that now, do I?” Vaalyun’s expression grew sly. “An hour, a day, a hundred years. It makes little difference to me.”
He could just never wake them up at all. Arcadian gods…I really was a fool.
“How is that not an enchantment?” Roman protested.
“You said I could not ensnare them into staying or harming themselves. I have done neither. When they wake, they may leave.” Vaalyun held up a finger and tsked. “You are clever, little Prince. But did you really think you could outsmart me?”
Zoe was tossed like a sack of grain over one of the thunderbirds’ saddles. Morwick kept close, holding their hand, and clambered up behind them.
“What are you doing with them, then?” Roman demanded, heart trying to climb up his throat. “You said—”
“I can hardly guarantee their safety if I leave them out in the fields alone,” Vaalyun went on. “And I wish to return to my home. Grewick, my steed.”
Another naked deer faery with hacked-off horns guided the largest thunderbird to Vaalyun’s side, its massive wingtips dragging and igniting what few flowers remained among the charred grass. These made little orange bursts under its taloned feet, which it didn’t seem to notice at all.
Roman felt a cool touch on his elbow and remembered he still held Logan.
“I did this.” Roman gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry, Specs.”
“He cannot outright kill Robin, and the others got away. My mother will ensure their safety, if…” Logan trailed off, but Roman heard the unspoken words loud and clear.
If we don’t come back.
“How are we gonna get Z…Robin out of this?” Roman asked Logan in a low voice. “He still wants the mirror. Do you think he’ll just leave us here, or try to—?”
“Oh, Morwick?” Vaalyun, sitting primly atop his bird, flapped a hand at the two of them. “Put these two under as well.”
In a blink, two blank blue eyes stared straight into Roman’s, a pair of hoofed fingers pressed on his forehead, and he blacked out.
Chapter 26- Narcissus
you’re trophy hunting
kill for nothing
tired of watching, turning tables
i can’t let go
i’ll set them free from you
~ “Trophy Hunter” by Within Temptation
egotism
When Roman came to, the first thing he noticed was the wind whipping his face and the setting Arcadian sun’s glare. He startled in shock to discover he was hundreds of feet in the air, straddling the back of a thunderbird. Logan was a dead weight in his arms, sitting similarly in front of him, but at Roman’s jerk, he stirred.
“Welcome back, thief,” a hot voice drawled in Roman’s ear, making him freeze. Vaalyun rode behind him, his slim hands encircling Roman’s waist. “You’d best hold still.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t kill me in my sleep,” Roman raised his voice enough to be heard over the wind.
“I tried.” Vaalyun’s casual admission sent dread crashing through Roman’s body. Logan also tensed. “It turns out your little deal was more foolproof than either of us knew. I also attempted to remove the mirror while you slept.”
“Guessing that didn’t work.” Roman forced a smirk he did not feel.
“No.” Vaalyun’s hands tightened on his ribs to the point of pain. “Which means we shall have to resolve our quarrel at Sarveil Manor over supper, like”—the faery’s voice dropped to a sneer— “civilized people.”
Roman, despite his swooping stomach, picked out Vaalyun’s four other birds in the sky, each carrying a handler and three or four Sidhe. Well, it’s not like I could escape right now, anyway. One of those Sidhe, a thickset female, had an awfully familiar sheath strapped to her belt. Roman’s hand smacked against his own bare midsection in dismay. Both his and Logan’s packs were missing as well.
“Oh, come on,” he groused. “I just got that sword.”
“And perhaps you will get it back when we come to a new accord,” Vaalyun said mildly. “I—unlike some—am not a thief.”
Roman gritted his teeth, glancing back at the battle site and the tree line, thankfully not spotting any dark figures among the char. He didn’t think Rapunzel would allow the others to double back and attempt a rescue; she was too pragmatic for that. As twilight descended, he couldn’t decide if the emptiness he felt was sadness, dread…or relief.
Vaalyun’s thunderbirds scaled the white cliffs and circled Sarveil Manor, as he’d called it, which crouched perilously upon its own narrow plateau. The high walls melded with the stone below, separated from the other cliffs by sheer drops on all sides. A gossamer stone bridge, looking barely wide enough to accommodate two feet side by side, spanned the widest gap. Roman’s heart sank when he saw no other way in or out, other than the bird he currently rode.
The front doors face Sunward, he thought. Smile hunters always noted exits just in case. The tallest turret juts over top of those doors. The castle is longer than it is wide.
They landed and dismounted in a courtyard full of redcaps gnawing grisly bones, and golden trees full of cherry-sized orange fruits that smelled, oddly, like campfire smoke. More hornless deer faeries scurried to collect the birds and meet their Lord, dusting off his clothes, wiping his face and hands with steaming towels, pushing a glass of wine into his grasp, offering a refreshment tray. All this he accepted with grand indifference, never breaking his stride, reminding Roman of a celebrity on a red carpet hounded by paparazzi.
A single Fireesin threw open the castle doors before shuffling aside and bowing his head. With a jolt of fury, Roman knew this was the one he’d seen in the woods and the market square. He was Vaalyun’s all along. He must have warned the bastard we were here and then snitched after we survived the redcap attack.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped until Vaalyun doubled back.
“What a glorious glower you possess, not-Johnny. Were you imagining running your blade through its belly, spilling its guts across my doorstep?” the Sidhe asked, patting the Fireesin’s furry stomach. “It is this creature’s fault you were caught, after all. I can taste the betrayal in your thoughts.”
The Fireesin looked up, and Roman, to his horror, realized it didn’t understand English and thus had no idea what Vaalyun said.
“I wasn’t thinking any of that,” Roman snapped, but Vaalyun only laughed.
“Just like your sire. Come!”
That bastard…
“Charming. Calm down.” Logan grasped one of Roman’s clenched fists. “He is attempting to figuratively wind you up. Do not give him the satisfaction.”
Roman exhaled and nodded. I have what Vaalyun wants, which means I need to keep my cool. If I don’t, Logan and Zoe will be the ones to pay.
In contrast to the blindingly white facade, the inner castle was a cramped maze of black obsidian, lit by so many crackling torches and sparking fire cages and loose candles that Roman felt frankly impressed the whole place didn’t spontaneously combust. The heavy, sticky atmosphere felt like a scorching Florida summer day, where the heat literally leeched energy from bones.
“We will sup in the main hall tonight,” Vaalyun called as they entered a wide, carpeted hallway, dodging a knot of redcaps tussling over a leg bone and shouting amongst themselves. Roman shuddered, missing Belle’s reassuring weight at his side. At least Vaalyun kept the damned things fed.
“Prepare the feribou flank, milk cheese, and blackfire roots,” Vaalyun commanded a short, fat, grayish faery who popped its head out from a side doorway, whose skin looked spongy and whose thick arms bristled with mushrooms from fingertip to shoulder.
“A Marasmius,” Logan murmured in Roman’s ear, unprompted. “They’re named after the mycelia that cause faery rings. I have never seen one in the flesh…so to speak. They live solely in Arcadia.”
Roman was just glad Logan felt strong enough to blather random facts. The Marasmius nodded to Vaalyun and disappeared again.
“Morwick!” Vaalyun snapped his fingers when they reached an intersection. “Accompany your charge to the second moonward suite.”
Roman ground his teeth as the guard carrying Zoe and the blue-eyed faery peeled off down a different hallway. Vaalyun’s blasé attitude, like he and Logan really were just random people he’d invited to a dinner party, only grew more disquieting the further they went into the stifling house.
How will we find Zoe again? This place is as much a maze as the Hedge. Roman’s fingers clenched around Iyusuri’s handle. Vaalyun isn’t going to let us go unless I give him the mirror.
After a dizzying number of turns—Roman guessed the Sidhe chose a confusing route on purpose to disorient them—they came upon a burned wooden door that retreated along the wall at their approach, like a leaf in a current.
“Stay, a moment,” Vaalyun commanded.
Roman swore he heard a discontented rumble from the charred wood as the door paused, waiting for them. He glanced at Logan in surprise; even Logan’s eyebrows climbed. The Sidhe laid a hand on its doorknob.
“The half-breed will wait in the Room That Moves while we dine,” he said crisply. “If he tries to escape, I remove one of those pointed ears. If you try to escape, I remove another. If either of you attacks my servants or insults my hospitality, I will claim his eyes, hands, feet, until I am satisfied you know how to behave.” He lifted a skinny finger first at Logan, whose nostrils flared, and then at Roman. “Do you understand how this works, not-Johnny?”
Roman swallowed hard and nodded, hating himself. He could almost hear Kate’s, “You really fucked up this time, kid,” in his ear. Logan is the only one Vaalyun can hurt, so he becomes your leverage. You should have been more specific with those damned terms!
“Do not eat or drink anything he offers you,” Logan said as Vaalyun’s guard shoved him into the room. “Watch your words! You know the rules—” The door slammed behind him.
Vaalyun grasped the knob again, whispered something Roman couldn’t hear, and twisted his wrist. The whole thing came free with a clunk, which caused the door to warp in upon itself and vanish.
“No!” Roman shouted, staring in horror at the blank wall that looked like it had never held a doorway in its entire existence.
Logan…
He whirled on the Sidhe. “What did you do? Where is he?”
“Alive, unharmed, untouched…for now.” Vaalyun smirked and waved the polished wooden doorknob. “Once you’ve given me what I want, this will call the room back, but only at my command. Shall we proceed to the Great Hall?”
The faery set burning fingertips against the small of Roman’s back and nudged him into the widest hallway yet.
Servants threw open doors at the end, revealing a grand hall with a massive fireplace. Several whole trees lay stacked inside, blazing, the heat scalding Roman’s skin and making sweat break out over his body.
An eye-bending chandelier made of some faceted, translucent substance hung from the peaked ceiling, positioned to draw the eye. It caught the flickers emanating from thousands of fire cages hung around the hall, most from the ceiling, some bolted to the walls. The effect, Roman had to admit, was stunning; millions of colors, dancing over every surface like light through water. But he looked more closely at the cages and caught his breath in horror. Each held not fire, but a captured, glowing pixie. Roman felt even sicker when he realized the “soothing” background music of the hall, which sounded like tiny wind chimes, was actually a chorus of cries and whimpers.
Iron cages. Just like Painter’s Pond. His fists clenched. Why does this jackass hate pixies so much?
“Oh, do you like my collection?” Vaalyun tilted his head, pixie and fire glow casting his sharp profile in stark shadow. “No other light source brings out the hidden colors in petrified glassbark so well. Unfortunately, the poor things tend to die after a month or so, and replacing them is such a nuisance.”
“You are sick,” Roman said through stiff lips.
“The iron is perhaps a bit cruel.” Vaalyun’s tone dripped with apathy. “But pixies are prone to wander pointlessly when unrestrained, causing mischief, wasting their fleeting light on trivialities. At least in my Hall, they serve a purpose.”
Were some of the trapped pixies from Wren and Wrassey’s clan; ones Roman had missed that night? Would the sisters themselves have ended up in this castle of horror, had Roman and Logan not happened along? The knight in Roman ached to do something, but right now, he’d be lucky to get just himself, Logan, and Zoe out of this hellhole alive.
Vaalyun sashayed to the head of a long, groaning table, flaring out his ridiculous jacket as he sat. His entourage scattered. The table was set with a dozen or so chairs and loaded with an absurd amount of food for two people; fruits, cheeses, mushrooms, meat, some dishes Roman could never hope to name but nonetheless smelled divine. The Sidhe met his gaze and indicated the chair to his left.
Roman swallowed and sat gingerly, his stomach reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since midday. No…no, that’s how Seelies get you. He’ll have definitely enchanted anything on this table. I have to be strong. He took a deep breath, careful not to look at the tempting food for too long, almost afraid to even let his skin brush the tablecloth.
A skinny, naked servant set a goblet and a plate of sliced white cheese in front of him.
Roman kept his hands in his lap, and in his mind, he summoned beads.
Chapter 27- Black Rose
you have held my hand in shiver
you have felt my tainted heart
you have witnessed how i wither
fading slowly into dark
~ “Free Me” by Beyond the Black
death
“Your hospitality is appreciated, but I ate earlier,” Roman said neutrally, looking at Vaalyun. The truth, and two careful lies of omission.
“Changelings are so mistrustful.” The Sidhe rolled his eyes and bit into a green…something…that sent bright red juice dribbling down his chin.
“Can you blame us?” Roman shuddered. The crimson trickles against the faery’s white skin both disgusted him and, paradoxically, sharpened his hunger. “You kidnap us, enslave us, use us, and expect us to trust you?”
“It is not the Seelie who take human children,” Vaalyun pointed out.
“No.” Roman looked at the ceiling full of trapped pixies. “Clearly you’d rather enslave your own.”
“My own?” Vaalyun laughed. “Solitaries? Do you humans claim kinship with rats? I think not.” He took a gulp of wine, which reminded Roman of his own goblet, and the fact that he was really thirsty…
Nope!
“Look, Lord Vaalyun, do we have to play games?” Roman set Iyusuri on the table. “This is what you want. And all I want is to leave with my two friends.”
Vaalyun leaned back, wiping his mouth with a steaming cloth provided by a servant, never taking his gaze off the mirror.
“Indeed,” he practically purred. “Then the time has come to bargain, not-Johnny.”
”Watch your words.” Logan’s warning echoed in Roman’s head.
“The problem, Lord Vaalyun, is that I literally cannot give this to you,” Roman said. “Like, it is not within my power.”
“Oh, I think it is.” Vaalyun leaned forward. “And the question of whether you can give it up is irrelevant.”
Roman frowned. “I mean, that seems pretty darned relevant—”
“It is irrelevant because you don’t want to give Iyusuri to me.” Vaalyun sipped his wine again. “I see that truth in your eyes as plainly as your scowl. You do not want me to have her, not-Johnny, else you would not have stolen her in the first place.”
Unfortunately for Roman, Vaalyun wasn’t wrong.
He’d taken Iyusuri that night because he’d seen Vaalyun’s cruelty…and because Wrassey had begged. As much as Roman wanted to be rid of the stupid thing, he didn’t trust the likes of this faery to use her for anything other than selfishness and evil.
Roman tried pivoting. “Why do you want her? Why now? She’s been with the solitaries for, what, thousands of years?”
“Perhaps a thousand years is long for you, mortal.” Vaalyun laid a slice of cheese on his tongue and leaned back, chewing slowly. “For us, it is but a season. Iyusuri was placed into exile, much like myself. She was not easily tracked down.”
“Do you want to see what she’d show you?” Roman blurted out. “Because if that’s all, then here. Look.”
He dared to present the mirror to Vaalyun, handle first, silently imploring her to stay put. The Sidhe took her with narrowed eyes and an expression that twisted into mild surprise when Iyusuri did not immediately leap into Roman’s grasp. The bond pulled at Roman’s sternum as the faery leaned back and turned her over, but he bore the discomfort in hopeful silence. If this was all Vaalyun wanted…
“My truth has not changed, not-Johnny,” Vaalyun said in a different, lower voice, gaze fixed on the mirror’s black surface.
Roman’s heart sank. “You’ve looked before.”
Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.
“Looking is insufficient. I still see her face.” Vaalyun scoffed, his expression shifting to something almost human. “I will always see her face.”
The truth of that tone and those words, so close to Roman’s own feelings about a certain emo—plus a stab of jealousy, that a psychotic bastard got to see the face of the one he loved without going mad—pulled an unwilling truth from him. “I know who I’d see, too.”
“You say that as though you’ve not sated your curiosity.”
“I haven’t.”
Vaalyun raised an eyebrow. “You’re claiming you’ve had Iyusuri all this time, and you’ve not once used her?” He spoke with a sneer, like showing restraint was a foreign concept to him.
Roman shrugged. “She’ll drive me mad if I try.”
Vaalyun tapped the mirror on his other palm. “Who told you—?
He cut off, nostrils flaring when Iyusuri leapt into Roman’s hand hard enough to make him grunt.
Dammit, are you trying to make him mad?? he thought.
His touch is poison, Iyusuri whispered in his mind.
“Do that again, human—” Vaalyun spat, rising from his chair.
“It’s not me!” Roman protested.
“—and I will throw this into the fire.” Vaalyun brandished the doorknob he’d taken from Logan’s prison. “Your friend would starve and rot between mortal planes, unreachable, unsavable. You could tear my house apart and never find him, because without this? The Room That Moves does not exist.”
Logan. No.
“Killing him won’t change the fact that I can’t give this thing up even if I wanted to!” Roman eyed the distance between himself and that knob. Would he be fast enough to snatch it? “I don’t control what she does; she’s bonded to me.”
“You admit it!” Vaalyun grinned, all teeth, waving the knob again. “You don’t want to give her up.”
“You aren’t listening! You…” Roman shut his mouth, afraid to damn himself.
“Very well.” Vaalyun stood fluidly and walked toward the fire.
“No!” Roman sprang for the knob, stumbling when Vaalyun dodged easily. “I’m telling the truth! Iyusuri is bonded to me, and I don’t know how to break that bond. Why the hell do you think we came out here in the first place? Unless…” A wild thought entered his mind. “Do you know how to break it?”
Vaalyun was a Carafel lord, after all.
But the faery only scoffed. “Iyusuri of Carafel, bonding to a human? It’s an object. At best it might attach itself to fae blood as like attracts like, but one such as you?” He shook his head.
Arcadian hells. He really doesn’t believe me.
“It’s true whether you believe it or not! You said you couldn’t take her when I was sleeping; how could that be, if I was controlling her?” Roman gripped the mirror’s suddenly cold handle, a sharp contrast to the blistering fireplace heat. “Besides, what do you need her for, if you’ve already looked and learned what she wants you to know?”
He has not, Iyusuri whispered.
“I require Iyusuri to right a wrong!” Vaalyun roared, making Roman take a step back. The faery’s sudden anger was like wind on hot coals, stirring them into a blaze.
“What wrong?” Roman asked.
Vaalyun faced the fire, worrying the knob to Logan’s prison in his hands, and for a horrible moment, Roman was sure he would throw it in.
“Some time ago,” Vaalyun began in a calmer voice. “A Lady of the Bluefire Hills was to wed at her mother’s request. She wished to bring nobler blood into the family; her daughter was beautiful enough to merit a Lord marrying lower than his caste. A friendly contest between various houses was held. I was the victor in this.”
Roman had no idea how faery politics and marriages worked, so he simply let the other talk.
“However, unknownst to any of us, the Lady of Veils already had a favorite: a lord who hadn’t even bothered to compete for her hand. A fling; nothing serious, but she was young, and the young often mistake idle lust for actual love. I was more than prepared to forgive such youthful passions once we were wed.”
“Did this Lady want to marry you?” Roman dared to ask.
Vaalyun folded his arms behind his back and lifted his chin. “I was, by all objective measure, the better match. Even she agreed with this. But…” He sighed. “My Lady of Veils was still fond of her childish paramour, and claimed choosing one of us over the other would create resentment between the families. She suggested we put the decision to Iyusuri, as an impartial judge. Her mother agreed. And Iyusuri”—his voice dropped to something dangerous— “dared to rule against me.”
Sounds more like you weren’t this Lady of Veils’ true love, Roman thought wryly. And boy, did she dodge a bullet.
“That blasted artifact convinced my Lady of Veils that I was not her true love, and when I attempted to remedy the matter by slaying the usurper of her affections, my kin in the Bluefire Hills banished me. They let my Lady take possession of the mirror and give it to solitaries, to vermin!” He gestured imperiously at the pixie cages.
“Hold on…” Roman narrowed his eyes. “You murdered the other guy?”
No wonder they banished you.
“I had to! I know who I saw! She and I are meant to be together.” Vaalyun’s voice dropped to a growl. “It makes no sense for an impartial judge of true love to show her face to me and show another to my intended! It is an error I mean to see corrected. I will bend the mirror to my will to do so if I must.”
Oh, my dude. Your Lady didn’t love you back, and you’re too blind and prideful to see it. Yet Roman, being intimately familiar with the hell of loving someone who loved someone else, couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.
He cannot see my truth, for he does not see his own, Iyusuri murmured, her voice clearer than ever in Roman’s mind. And with the force of a firework to the brain, he knew why Iyusuri had allowed herself to be stolen, why she let King Astaros to put a geas on her, why she’d tried to lead them past Vaalyun’s house.
He really does think Iyusuri is just a tool for him to get his way with some chick who obviously wants nothing to do with him.
Yes. He knows nothing of me, Iyusuri added. He would bend me in service of a lie. He would destroy me.
“Look, Vaalyun, I…I get it.” Roman lifted his hands when the faery spun to face him. “I’ve even kinda been where you are.”
“I highly doubt that.” Vaalyun’s mouth lifted in a sneer.
“No, I…I loved someone. Love, still.” Roman swallowed, Virgil’s beloved smirk flashing through his mind. “And he didn’t love me back, not the way I wanted. He even said, to my face, ‘You love me more than I love you,’ and I know it was true because it broke an Unseelie thrall—”
“Is there a point to this word vomit?” Vaalyun cut in dryly.
Roman bit back an angry retort. So much for trying to get on his level. Vaalyun was the sort who’d dismiss anything said by anyone he considered beneath him, but…damn it, if he could make the faery see reason, maybe they’d all get out of this alive.
“I’m just saying…don’t you think hanging onto the memory of one woman for a millennium is kind of unhealthy?” Roman asked.
Vaalyun’s expression tightened. In the tense silence, Roman became aware of the fireplace scorching his skin, of his heart hammering. Please let us go. He inhaled when Vaalyun worried at the knob to Logan’s prison again, white spider-leg fingers dancing over the polished wood.
“Please,” he said, throwing caution to the wind. “I swear I would give the mirror up if I could—”
Vaalyun let out an exaggerated sigh and tossed the doorknob into the fire.
“NO!”
Roman’s legs carried him after it, but the blaze’s sheer heat forced him back. He saw the knob through the shimmering heat, sitting in the ash near the front edge—Vaalyun hadn’t thrown it far. Roman’s fevered imagination pictured flames climbing up the walls of Logan’s prison while he pounded on the door, helpless…
Luck, don’t let it catch fire! He attempted a few steps forward, shielding his face with an arm. If I could just…! I can’t let Logan be lost or burned alive!
But his skin physically sizzled on the tips of his outstretched fingers, sending pain shooting up his arms, and he had to pull back.
“Please!” Roman shouted, whirling, only to find Vaalyun mere inches from his face. He startled backward and cried out from the heat.
“Your words are pretty, not-Johnny, but the time has come for action. Give me the mirror,” Vaalyun murmured silkily. “My hands don’t burn. Only I can save your friend.”
“Arcadian hells, I’m telling the truth!” Roman, biting back tears, grasped Iyusuri’s handle. “Watch!”
He threw the mirror toward the fire; Vaalyun barely had time to yell before it returned to Roman’s hand. He dropped it from high up and curled fingers around the handle. Vaalyun’s expression grew more furious as he watched.
Steam rose from the doorknob in the fire.
“You and the half-blood have put some sort of geas on it, to always return to your hand,” Vaalyun snarled. “And then you tricked me into ensuring I could not kill you.”
The tiniest line of flickering yellow crawled over the knob’s surface.
Roman slapped the mirror against the faery’s chest. “I don’t care how you think it works. If you want her so badly, help me break the stupid bond. Just save my friend first, please!”
Flames enveloped the doorknob.
Roman let out a helpless sob.
The faery seized Roman’s right wrist, the one that still gripped Iyusuri, and slammed it down on the table. She grew cold, cold as Logan’s icy power, colder.
“Let us see if she can be held,” the faery said darkly, bringing wine-stained lips close to Roman’s face, “if you do not have fingers to hold her.”
Roman’s hand was wrenched open and Vaalyun’s grip burned, blazing like naked yellow fire, an onslaught of hot agony engulfing his palm to the wrist that seemed to go on forever…he was sure he was screaming…
And Roman blacked out.
Chapter 28- Thyme
on my own, i ran out to deliver
ends for those lost in the never
i can’t take back what was done to you
~ “All That’s Left” by Divide Music
sacrifice
Consciousness returned slowly.
A hot, hard surface blistered against Roman’s back; not so hot that it physically burned, but enough to hurt and make him roll over. Sticky sweat coated his skin. Deep, visceral agony throbbed through his right arm in time with his heartbeat, which finally made him groan and finally sit up.
He remembered how to work his eyes and opened them. Then he tried to flex his hands and nearly fell again as dull agony sharpened to lightning. He retched and sat as still as he could, waiting until his brain could function again.
Cool hands pressed against his shoulders. He instinctively jerked away.
“It is only me.” Logan’s familiar face and solid hands swam into focus. “And I would suggest not attempting to move that hand.”
“Logan?” Roman scowled; his eyes widened as the events from the hall came crashing back. “What…how? The knob: he burned it, he—!”
He sat straight, left hand curling reflexively around Iyusuri, and the right…the right…he dared to look and jerked away with a shudder. Vaalyun’s fiery touch had seared the skin away and charred the muscle to a black and red mess. Someone had attempted to wrap it in a crude, brown bandage, but it still looked like a gory Halloween prop.
It…it didn’t look savable.
“Had to be my sword hand, didn’t it,” Roman muttered through gritted teeth.
“At least you are not bleeding,” Logan said. “Given how long you were out—”
Logan laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder again; a shoulder that, for the first time, Roman noticed was bare. In fact…he glanced at himself and quickly crossed his legs.
“Where, uh,” he added. “Where are my clothes?”
“When Vaalyun’s guards brought you here, unconscious, they stripped us both. Likely so we would have no tools with which to escape,” Logan answered, scowling.
“Or to shame us.” Roman shot the half-faery a quick look and yep, every bit of Logan’s dark skin and muscular physique was on full display. He averted his eyes, ears flaming. “You notice none of his servants wear clothes?”
“Roman, are you all right? It seems too soon for infection to have set in, but your face is flushed—” Logan leaned close to peer into his eyes and place the back of his hand against Roman’s forehead, bringing all that prettiness within inches of Roman’s skin and gods damn it, he couldn’t pretend his pansexual ass wasn’t a tiny bit interested—if only on a purely physical level.
“I’m fine!” Roman practically squeaked, waving his hands. “Just…personal space? Please? Since we’re…you know?” His good hand flapped rapidly between the two of them. Arcadian hells, it wasn’t like didn’t know what a fit male body looked like; he saw one every time he took a shower!
Logan frowned, but then slow understanding lit his expression. “Ah. The nakedness bothers you. My apologies.”
“It doesn’t bother me…wait, hang on.” Roman narrowed his eyes. “Why doesn’t it bother you? Like, is this”—he gestured at his chest— “not even remotely, I dunno, awkward?”
Honestly, it was taking all of Roman’s self-control to sit still, though his legs currently blocked any…interesting bits…from view. Logan, however, other than politely keeping his gaze either on Roman’s face or on the wall behind, seemed to barely notice his own undressed state at all.
Jealous, Iyusuri whispered. Jealous, jealous.
It’s not a fucking competition! Roman snarled back, making a point to only look at Logan’s face.
“Many great artists and sculptors in history have considered the naked male body to be the epitome of beauty,” Logan said. “I was raised to feel no shame in nudity.”
“Well, I was raised by fucking faeries, and being naked in front of a friend is still kinda weird,” Roman snarked.
“Would it help if we gave each other permission to look?”
“What?”
Logan shrugged, and finally, Roman saw the slightest hint of discomfort in his posture. “I believe the source of this current awkwardness is the result of our natural human curiosity warring with societal propriety and expectations.”
Roman raised an eyebrow. “English, Teach.”
Logan gave a long sigh. “We both find male bodies aesthetically pleasing and sometimes sexually arousing. At the same time, we both know non-consensual staring is impolite.”
“I mean…” Roman swallowed, his mind still tripping over the words “sexually arousing” coming out of strait-laced Logan’s mouth. “I guess?”
“So,” Logan said. “I’m suggesting we give ourselves permission to, as they say, ‘get it out of our system.’ A brief, consensual look, to satisfy curiosity and remove the need to continue avoiding letting our gazes fall on each other’s geni—”
“I get it!” Roman held up his good hand. “Did you just use slang?”
“Why do you suppose I make cards, if not to memorize them?”
Logan climbed to his feet; Roman scrambled to do the same to avoid an extremely awkward eye line. Once on his feet, he swayed, breathing carefully to keep his equilibrium. His mangled hand now felt like a redcap was actively chewing on it. Arcadian gods, he hated feeling this weak.
“Ready?” Logan asked.
“What? No! Is this really going to help?” Roman deliberately looked at the rafters. “How long do you want us to look?”
“How long is too long?”
“I don’t know!” Roman cried. “Six seconds?”
“That is not much time.”
“So, you have five seconds max, alright, Specs?”
“If that is what—”
“GO!”
Roman didn’t mean to shout. But Logan had already shifted his gaze downward, so with a deep breath, Roman did the same, his insides squirming with awkwardness and…well. Logan was a very pretty dude with standard dude equipment, so really, what did Roman expect? Can you possibly grow up and stop being embarrassed now? He trailed his scrutiny up Logan’s trim waist, defined pecs, swooping collarbone, graceful neck…
Then the five seconds was up, and he squarely met Logan’s gray-eyed, slightly dilated gaze behind those stupid glasses. Roman’s heart did something complicated under that gaze, something he didn’t dare examine too closely.
I get it, Virge. I get why you fell.
“Did that help?” Logan asked softly.
“I’m not sure,” Roman admitted. He felt lightheaded. He wanted to sit down. The tension in the little room kept him on his feet, so he assessed their prison instead.
The room had white stone walls, not unlike the outside of Vaalyun’s castle; a fireplace, because of course it did; and no furniture whatsoever. Roof beams met in a peaked ceiling at least two or three stories over their heads. The bare obsidian floor captured every bit of heat in the stuffy, stale air. The walls had no windows, only a charred wooden door with a charred wooden knob.
“When did the doorknob reappear on this side?” Roman asked, narrowing his eyes. “Vaalyun must have pulled it out of the fire after I blacked out, but—”
“Roman, please sit down. You look like you are about to fall over. Here.” Logan moved to a crouch and spread out the ratty brown blanket he’d been sitting on.
Roman swallowed his pride and discomfort and collapsed beside him, relieved to be off his feet and the hot floor. His nausea had grown worse, not better, and he’d kill for a glass of water. But then he made the mistake of looking at the half-faery, with his bare chest and perfect abs and why, why did Vaalyun have to steal their clothes?
“How long was I out?” Roman asked, swallowing to clear his painful throat. “How long have you been trapped in here?”
“As near as I can tell?” Logan sighed. “Three days.”
“Three days?”
“Well, I cannot be sure. This so-called ‘Room That Moves’ has no windows.”
“How do you reckon it’s been three days, then?” Roman demanded.
“Because the human body can survive approximately three days without water, and this was left for us a few hours ago.”
Logan slid a wooden bucket between him, filled to the brim with water. It must have been hidden behind his body. Roman gulped, his thirst suddenly ten thousand percent worse. But…
“Never drink anything offered to you by a faery,” he muttered.
“I fear we may not have a choice.” Logan’s mouth flattened. “Vaalyun would want to keep you as weak as possible without outright killing you. Thus, my assessment of the time we’ve been here.”
“Clever,” Roman grumbled.
“Yes. On top of that, you have already lost a lot of moisture from sweating and have suffered considerable physical trauma.” Logan sighed. “If you don’t drink something soon, Roman, you will likely pass out, and I may not be able to wake you before…”
You die.
Logan didn’t need to say it. Roman felt it in his pinched stomach, his woozy head and trembling muscles, the way his throat felt like Virgil had grown a bramble bush inside it.
“Wouldn’t that be convenient.” Roman glared at Iyusuri. “If he provides water and I die anyway, well, that’s not his fault. So, either I kick the literal and figurative bucket and he gets the mirror, or I chain myself to Arcadia by drinking enchanted water and he still gets the mirror. Have you tried it yet?”
Logan licked his lips. “No. My heritage makes me slightly hardier; I could go five days, I think. Maybe six.”
But he was thirsty, too; Roman could see it in the way he kept looking at the bucket.
“Well, we’ve got to at least attempt to get out of his hellhole,” Roman added. “And if we die of something as stupid as dehydration, Patton and Virgil would find a way to summon our ghosts just so they could yell at us.”
Even stoic Logan cracked a smile at that. “I will drink first, then. I may be able to taste if it is enchanted, and if so, what manner of compulsion you would have to fight.”
Roman nodded. It’s easier to fight mind fuckery when you know what’s coming.
Logan cupped a handful, sipped it, swirled it around in his mouth, and finally swallowed. “I sense nothing. It is either very deeply or subtly enchanted, or it is ordinary water.”
“‘Feel like going insane, got a fire in your brain,’” Roman sang softly. “‘And you’re thinking of drinking gasoline…’”
He braced himself, cupped a handful, and—though every instinct screamed against it—drank. It slid deliciously down his parched throat, almost making him moan, and before he knew it, he’d drank half the bucket and Logan was warning him to slow down or risk throwing up. Between them, they finished every drop.
Logan put his back to Roman, not rudely, but in a way that silently gave Roman permission to do the same. The half-faery’s shoulder blades were uncomfortably sharp, but he was solid, and Roman, in his weak state, needed something to lean on. He noticed Logan rubbing the bare third finger on his left hand; his sloshing stomach dropped.
“Aw, hell, Specs, your ring box—”
“Was in my pants pocket, yes.” Logan’s voice was clipped. “I have now failed Patton in every possible way, it would seem.”
Roman felt those words like a punch to the solar plexus. “First, I dragged you on this nightmare quest, then Vaalyun separated you from Patton just when you were reunited. Now you’re trapped and you’ve lost your engagement ring. This is my fault.” He hunched into himself.
“No,” Logan said over his shoulder; sharply, even for him. “You are not to blame for anything that has transpired between Patton and myself. And I daresay”—he looked rather pointedly at Roman’s mangled hand— “you have paid a far steeper price on this journey than I.”
Roman shuddered, unable to acknowledge the loss, not wanting to think about whether he’d ever be able to hunt again—he was an okay left-handed swordsman—and that was assuming they got out of here alive…
“‘This is weird’,” he sang softly for a distraction. “‘Fucking weird. I’m so mad that I don’t know what to do.’”
“Is that from a musical?” Logan asked.
“Rent,” Roman answered tonelessly and took a breath. “‘Fighting with microphones, freezing down to my bones, and to top it all off, I’m with you.’”
“Roman, do you harbor any sort of platonic affection for me?”
Roman opened his mouth and closed it again, thrown by the vulnerable edge in Logan’s voice. “Are you…asking if we’re friends?”
Trust Brainiac to spit out a bunch of twenty-dollar words instead of just, you know, talking like a normal person.
Behind him, Logan’s back slumped. “Yes.”
“I mean…” Roman hedged. “We’re not not friends.”
Logan sighed.
“What makes you ask, Specs?” Roman offered over his shoulder.
“‘Specs.’” Logan let out a huff. “See, Patton tells me that teasing and nicknames are how you show affection. Given that he is much wiser than I when it comes to relationships, I should believe him. And yet, just now, you implied I am the last person you would prefer to be imprisoned with.”
“Wait, what?” Roman scowled. “I didn’t—”
“‘And to top it all off, I’m with you,’” Logan repeated, enunciating each word. They sounded so much more damning without a catchy tune to soften them.
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best song choice,” Roman said. “See, Joanne’s girlfriend Maureen is cheating on her while she’s stuck setting up a stage out in the cold with Maureen’s ex, Mark. Joanne is understandably feeling a little bitter.”
“And that situation somehow reminded you of me?” Logan sounded like he couldn’t decide whether to be puzzled or affronted.
“It’s just a song,” Roman muttered again. “The gasoline line from earlier is from the same one; drinking Arcadian water kinda put it in my head—”
“Nevertheless,” Logan said. “Sometimes, when you look at me, I feel as though I have done something specific to offend you.”
You have. Something very, very specific.
Roman almost chuckled aloud. That really is how I see Logan, isn’t it? Not as Patton’s fiancé, but as Virgil’s ex. An ex who ran his crush’s heart through a meat grinder; an ex who wasn’t really an ex at all, all because Logan was so fucking clueless. Gods, did Roman want to tell him…
But Virgil had forbidden it.
“You have frozen my feet to the ground twice now,” Roman said.
“I daresay you deserved it both times,” Logan answered dryly. “Is that all?”
“Well, you’ve been treating Patton like utter shit lately, if we’re being honest.” Roman lowered his voice. “But…I think I get you now, better than I did when this all started. I’m sure Patton would get it, too, if you were just open with him.”
“Believe me, if we get out of this, I will figuratively lay my heart at his feet.” Logan chuckled weakly. “I memorized that one, too.”
Roman snorted, realizing he actually was fond of the half-faery, and not just because of Virgil’s residual goodwill.
Logan had let Roman live on his couch for months—after Roman had threatened to cut his throat!—while they were searching for Deceit. He’d saved Roman’s life when Deceit nearly murdered him in front of the Athens Theater, and again at Painter’s Pond the night they first met Vaalyun. He’d poured over Hansel’s journals for hours on the slimmest chance he could find something to help Roman break Iyusuri’s hold. Over and over, Roman caught glimpses of a fierce, protective well of love behind Logan’s icy walls. They might never see eye to eye on most things, but beneath Roman’s old, bitter feelings of envy—
Jealous, Iyusuri whispered, but softer, more like a question than a statement.
“We’re friends, Teach,” Roman said quietly. “For my part.”
Logan exhaled. “I am relieved to hear it.”
Roman twisted around, trying to see his face. He noticed, with a pang of guilt, that Logan’s wrists, which had suffered the same torture as Roman’s mangled hand, were blistered, bloody, and unbound.
“You’re injured, too,” he said. “Why didn’t they bandage you up?”
“No one performed first aid on us. I bandaged you because you needed it more,” Logan said.
“I care, Roman.”
“Vaalyun came once while you were unconscious,” Logan added. “He made many polite threats, but mostly I think he wanted to see if you were still alive.”
Roman scoffed. “Sorry to disappoint him. Did he threaten to singe off my other hand and take the mirror?”
“Is that why he burned you?” Logan shook his head. “I cannot believe he thought removing appendages would have any effect.”
“He’s a selfish psycho who doesn’t know anything about Iyusuri,” Roman said. “He murdered his true love’s lover and has the audacity to wonder why she never wanted his toxic ass. His own kin banished him. Oh, and his Great Hall is full of pixies in iron cages, as if we hadn’t already figured out what an upstanding bastion of morality he is.”
“That last part was sarcasm, I take it?” Logan said.
Roman shot him a flat look.
“Yes. I see.” Logan looked away; his jaw clenched. “I believe I convinced him that maiming you further would not necessarily win him the mirror—”
It would not, Iyusuri whispered fiercely, burning in his grip.
“Iyusuri agrees,” Roman said, laying her down again. Honestly, how was this incomprehensible, perilous faery object also like a stubborn cat, constantly demanding to be held? “And killing me outright is still off the table for him.”
His bad hand throbbed, a painful reminder that death wasn’t the only thing Roman needed to fear from that psychopath.
“Regardless.” Logan’s mouth flattened. “I’m afraid he instead means to drug you and keep you here in Arcadia, at his side, so he can do with the mirror as he pleases. Bond or not.”
“Great,” Roman muttered. “So, I’m stuck here forever unless we escape”—he looked around the depressing prison again, searching for anything, anything that might help them— “or I spontaneously figure out how to break the bond myself.”
I am not your enemy, she murmured.
“Shut up!” he growled at her.
“You’ll never leave here alive, pet.” Sir leaned close, stroking a finger down his cheek as he tightened the strap on Roman’s arm. “You know that, right? Your stolen luck might spare your life, but it won’t save you. Not in the long game.”
Roman’s arm throbbed. Despair made it hard to breathe.
You are a hunter, Roman Reis, he told himself. Despondency does not become you. Chin up.
Eyes forward.
Smile.
But the familiar mantra only reminded him of Johnny and made him feel sicker. His gaze alighted on the door…and the knob. That blasted doorknob, charred instead of polished now; the key to this whole room. Last time, Vaalyun had taken it with him to use as leverage.
Come on. Use what you know. Their hubris always destroys Them in the end.
Roman narrowed his eyes.
“Here’s a question for your big brain,” he said to Logan. “If Vaalyun doesn’t want us to escape…”
He shot Logan a look.
“Why did he leave the knob this time?”
Chapter 29- Apple Blossom
behold, i have fought my fight, i’ve run my race
i will be gone, i will be reborn
into the dark, into the rock
bright sun of the night, i’m coming home
~ “Breathe” by Eluveitie
good luck
“He still locked the door, Roman.” Logan sighed. “I have already examined it in great detail.”
But the notion that Vaalyun might have made a mistake—even a tiny one—would not leave Roman alone. They needed something. He needed something.
“I want to look, too,” he said.
He tucked Iyusuri under one arm and climbed to his knees, swaying a little.
“It might be wise to conserve your energy.” Logan nevertheless put a slim, steadying hand under Roman’s elbow and helped him to his feet.
“Conserve it for what?” Roman groused. “I’m only going to get weaker unless Vaalyun comes back with food, which I doubt he’s gonna do any time soon.”
He lurched toward the door. Logan let out a long exhale and guided him. Roman’s gaze was drawn to Logan’s burned wrists.
“We ought to wrap those, Mr. Calculator Who Can’t Wear a Watch right now ‘cause his wrists are fucked up,” Roman muttered.
“That was an excessively long and silly name.”
“Yeah, not repeating that one.” Roman reached the door and touched it, using his good hand to knock on the wood and wiggle the charred doorknob. “Vaalyun said without this, the room literally doesn’t exist on any mortal plane. If he really, truly wanted to give us no chance of escape, he would have taken it.”
“Perhaps he did not wish to misplace the knob and lose access to you and the mirror,” Logan reasoned. “Or perhaps he didn’t want to risk it damaging it further. I did notice it was badly charred when it reappeared, and you were brought in here.”
“Or maybe he wanted to mock us. Put the means of escape right in our hands, so it’s all the more humiliating when we still can’t get out,” Roman grumbled, smacking the door. He didn’t really know what he was looking for. The wood felt depressingly solid; he certainly wouldn’t be kicking it down in his condition. The lock, while basic, might as well have belonged to a bank vault without a key and nothing to pick it with…
“Could you freeze those hinges, do you think?” Roman asked. “The two of us might be able to kick it down if it’s weakened…assuming Vaalyun hasn’t posted guards on the other side.” He glanced at his own naked body. “No way I’m fighting a Sidhe in my birthday suit. At least you have your magic.”
Logan sighed. “I don’t, though; not really. Vaalyun’s Summer influence has a stranglehold on my powers.” His voice turned sour. “I am weak here, Roman, and I have been without sustenance since I wore myself out in that meadow three days ago. Without a proper meal, adequate sleep, and more than half a bucket of tepid water to replenish myself, I cannot summon much more than an icicle.”
He stretched out a hand and did just that, the ice crumbling away almost the moment it solidified.
“Damn it.” Roman wiggled the stubborn knob again.
“I don’t suppose we could draw on some of your vaunted luck?” Logan asked.
“I’ve been low-key leaning on it ever since I woke up.” Roman smacked the door again, anger welling up along with pain. “But it’s not doing shit. I’m a hunter; I’m not supposed to let one of Them get the better of me in the first place!”
Logan caught his arm.
“None of this is your fault,” he said in his low, deep voice. “We could not have foreseen Vaalyun’s ambush in the meadow. You performed admirably under pressure—”
“I got you trapped. You and….fuck, Zoe.”
Dread crashed through him. Roman stalked away from the door, hands—well, hand; the other hurt too much—flapping. “Arcadian hells, Logan, we’ve got to get Zoe out of here. Three solid days in Arcadia! We’ve got to get them out before…before…”
Before the magic gets to them. Before they change.
“Roman, sit down.” Logan tried to grab his arm as he stalked past. “You will wear yourself out—”
“You don’t get it!” Roman got in Logan’s face and gestured at his red-ringed eyes. “Do you know how we humans get these? Exposure to this fucking place!”
“From my understanding, the transition from human to changeling takes years—” Logan began.
“We don’t know for sure! There’s no single timeline for the change; everyone’s different. Zoe could be turning into a changeling as we speak while we’re stuck in here!”
Panic squeezed his chest just thinking about it. He kicked at the door, sending a clarifying jolt of pain through his heel. The second time, he lost his balance and fell against the wood, sliding down and pressing his back to it, unable to catch his breath…oh.
“Fuck, not again,” he wheezed, clutching his head as the hot, wobbly sensation of too much adrenaline and nowhere to direct it surged. His mind was full of angry bees, wasps, or maybe all those pixies in Vaalyun’s Great Hall, chiming because he hadn’t saved them…he hadn’t saved anyone…they were all going to die here because he was such a failure…
Logan’s shockingly cool hand pressed against his chest. “Inhale for four seconds,” he ordered.
Roman did.
“Hold for seven.”
“Exhale for eight.”
Slowly, Roman’s muscles relaxed. Logan’s deep voice really did help.
“Alright, alright, I’m fine, Panic Whisperer.” Roman batted the hand away, though he immediately missed its coolness. He thunked his head against the door. “Bet you’re used to doing that with Virgil, eh?”
“His attacks were a frequent occurrence when he lived with me, yes.” Logan sat next to Roman, his expression a mystery. “Either the people he lived with in Ohio did not teach him healthy coping mechanisms, or he successfully hid his anxiety from them. And although I believe I did help him in that regard, I do often wonder, and worry…” He sighed. “If I was also a trigger at times.”
It was on the tip of Roman’s tongue to tell Logan the truth. The man did not lack introspective skills; eventually, he would add up all the clues Virgil left behind and figure it out. Fear of Virgil’s reaction held Roman back…even though part of him feared he might not ever see Virgil again. A void he dared not acknowledge opened up in him at the thought.
“I apologize for being dismissive of Zoe’s situation, Roman,” Logan added. “I freely admit, I don’t fully understand changeling trauma. You are, perhaps, correct”—his mouth twisted— “to be worried about them.”
Roman closed his eyes, the weight of his responsibility pressing on him like the heat from that damned fireplace…seriously, what was Vaalyun’s obsession with fire?
If I never see Virgil again…
The void yawned. Roman shuddered and made a decision.
“When Vaalyun comes back for me,” he said. “I’m gonna ask him to let you and Zoe leave in exchange for my cooperation. He has no real reason to keep you otherwise, and he’s…he’s still a Seelie. They deal honorably.”
“I am actually not sure about that anymore.” Logan’s expression darkened. “He walks the line. He has kept his promises thus far, but his treatment of pixies proves his heart is cruel. If he is still Seelie…he will not be for much longer.”
Roman shook his head. “I don’t see any other way out of this, Nerd. We have to do right by Zoe.”
“As if there isn’t a figurative chance in hell,” Logan said, “that my mother, my fiancé, Virgil, and possibly Zoe’s partners aren’t planning a rescue as we speak.”
“We don’t know that.” Although, Roman had to admit Logan was probably right. “And even if they are, do we really want them to risk their lives again? This way, at least you and Zoe have a chance to rally the others and plan something together, something more foolproof.” He smiled bitterly. “I’m not saying give up. We can’t give up, even when it’s hard. If we were fighting, say, a manticore-chimera—”
“Manticores and chimeras are both creatures that are combinations of several animals”—Logan raised an eyebrow— “and you’re putting them both together?”
Roman pinched Logan’s lips together. “So, we’re facing this manticore-chimera, and let’s say you’re wounded—”
“You are wounded,” Logan pointed out dryly.
“The beast doesn’t care! It’s not going to let up and you must persevere, even if it means doing the difficult thing—”
“Sacrificing yourself to free others is admirable, but it is not the only option,” Logan said. “Using your crude metaphor, why would you be fighting such a dangerous beast on your own? You should bring other people with you. Barring that, the smart thing to do would be to get out of there, tend to your wounds, and come back to fight again when you’re healthy.”
“Well, that’s not an option right now, is it?” Roman snarked. The throbbing in his hand had subsided to background noise, but it still hurt, and now he was thinking about it, damn it.
“Leaving you on your own is not an option for me,” Logan snapped back. “Among other considerations, Virgil would never let me live it down if I returned without you.”
Roman exhaled, closing his eyes again. He knew Logan was trying to help, but damn if that didn’t just remind him of Logan’s utter cluelessness where Virgil was concerned. Do you imagine for a second, Roman thought, stomach twisting, that he wouldn’t murder me if I came back without you?
Beside him, Logan stiffened. “What?”
“Uh…!” Had Roman said that last bit out loud? “Patton, I meant! Obviously. Patton would kill me if I lost you here.”
Logan’s deeply skeptical expression had Roman leaning desperately on his luck, clasping at beads.
Sometimes, Roman’s power hit him like an awful jolt to the midsection; like missing a stair in the dark or falling through a curtain with nothing on the other side. It happened a lot when he got angry, and he’d learned to associate that sensation with things going wrong. But other times, he grasped just right. And when that happened, Roman could move through that metaphorical curtain like a dancer on ice skates, touching possibility after possibility, never missing a step.
Those rare, rare moments were like being able to manipulate the future itself.
Roman exhaled, and—
A deep thud reverberated through the wall, cutting off anything Logan might say, followed by a scream. The two looked at each other. Roman pressed an ear against to the door; Logan did the same.
“I hear shouting, moving away from us,” Logan reported. “Footsteps, also moving away. One keeps shouting ‘intruders,’” he added in a lower voice. “And something about birds.”
Roman heard nothing through the thick wood, but “intruders” triggered a cascade of possibilities in his mind, powerful enough to steal his breath. The last time he’d felt such a swell of luck, he’d held his own against a powerful Unseelie lord long enough to cut off his fingers.
This is the moment. Move into it.
“This is when we get out,” Roman said.
“I can feel that,” Logan all but whispered, staring at him. “Is that your luck?”
Roman nodded. “And those intruders are our friends coming back for us.”
Dread and guilt battled in his stomach at the notion—who had come? —but mostly, he just felt beads.
“Do we wait for them?” Logan asked.
“No. This room moves around.” Roman rolled to his feet to study the door again. “They’d never find it. We have to go to them.”
“You said Vaalyun might have left the doorknob in the door as a taunt for us.” Logan’s voice dropped.
“Then we trip the trap.”
“How, Roman?” Logan exhaled in clear frustration. “The door is still locked.”
“I don’t know.” Roman turned to fully face Logan; still naked, but he was almost used to it, yikes. “This is how my power works, Sherlock. I never know how things are gonna work out, they just—”
Logan inhaled sharply and seized Roman’s head, cutting him off. “Hold still.” He dug into Roman’s messy, sweaty hair—Roman grimaced in sympathy—pulling something across his scalp. Then Logan stepped back, a forgotten hairpin glinting between his fingers.
Because Roman always had that one unruly strand that wouldn’t stay down otherwise.
“—do,” he whispered.
“It caught the light when you turned your head,” Logan said. “I…inexplicably felt it was important.”
“I know how to pick locks.” Roman took it, reveling in the perfect balance of surprise and inevitability. He tried not to focus on the actual beads now that possibilities were manifesting.
“This room is meant to hold Fae, though,” Logan argued, though he didn’t interfere as Roman stuck the pin in the keyhole and wiggled it. “The lock may utilize magic instead of mechanical means.”
“No.” Roman wasn’t sure how he knew; he just did. “Faeries rely too much on magic. It makes them overlook the mundane.”
He twisted, pushed, finally felt the teeth align. The lock clicked, sending a tiny frisson of hope through Roman’s chest. He checked to make sure Iyusuri was tucked securely under his arm. Logan watched with wide, shocked eyes.
“Shall we get out of here,” Roman asked with a smirk. “My fellow Ice-cape Artist?”
Logan’s answering eye roll was epic. “Lead the way, you quixotic, quarrelsome, quaaaa…I’m not good at nicknames.”
“Nope.” Roman shoved open the door with a grin. “It was a good start, though.”
Chapter 30- Olive Branch
even if they come for us
everything can turn to dust
you and i are never going down
~ “We’re Not Gonna Fall” by Daughtry
reconciliation
The hallway outside was eerily quiet and reeked of smoke as they eased the door closed behind them. Choking clouds drifted in thick, black banks above their heads, obscuring the rafters. Thank goodness Vaalyun had a thing for high ceilings. A pair of redcaps leaped up as they emerged, but Roman growled and made himself look as fierce as possible, and they fled.
Given their undressed and weaponless state, Roman was glad Vaalyun kept his castle kobolds sated.
“I believe I see sunlight around the corner.” Logan pointed to their far right. “Perhaps there is a window we can use to get our bearings.”
They tiptoed to the intersection. Roman sourly noted even the carpet felt hot under his bare feet. Logan’s hallway yielded an entire wall of tall, narrow windows no wider than a hand, painting the opposite wall in bars of light and darkness. Thankfully, for the moment, they saw no faeries.
Roman pressed his face to the nearest window. Through the narrow slit, he made out the sweep of the castle wall cascading down and down, and far below, the purple meadow. Where the outer wall curved left, he thought he saw the tiniest sliver of the fruit tree courtyard.
Both he and Logan fell back when a golden shape swooped past the windows, briefly darkening them; a thunderous rumble and a loud screech followed. The castle shuddered…not with thunder, though, but like something had crashed into it.
“So…they broke in and freed the thunderbirds?” Roman commented, trying to still his rapidly beating heart.
“Smart. Thunderbirds hate being caged,” Logan said. “I honestly don’t know how Vaalyun managed to capture any in the first place, so I don’t see his people getting them under control any time soon.” He looked up and down the hallway. “I suggest we take full advantage of the distraction. At the very least, I would like to find some clothes.”
“I’d love to find Belle,” Roman added. “Assuming that guard doesn’t still have her.”
“Then we should look for Zoe…or should we try to find the others first? Or try to get outside?” Logan looked at Roman expectantly.
“Why are you asking me?” Roman blinked.
“Because your luck is what’s guiding us, I hope?”
“Oh yeah.” Roman was too used to having Logan automatically take charge of every situation; having the roles reversed felt unnatural. He studied the empty corridor and knew that none of their options would be easy.
Where should they start?
“I attempted to memorize the path we took to the Room That Moves,” Logan added. “But as the name implies, we are probably not even in the same part of the castle anymore.”
You could use me, Iyusuri whispered.
Roman frowned. “Surely the geas has run out by now.”
“What?” Logan said.
It has. But you’ve never asked me for help.
“You only started talking to me a few days ago.” Roman held Iyusuri up and scowled. “Can you lead us out of here?”
“Are you asking the mirror for directions?” Logan demanded.
I can lead you where you need to go. I know you’ll get me out of this house of death, hunter.
“Gladly,” he grumbled, placing her on his good palm.
She slowly spun, settling with her handle pointing down the corridor and slightly to the left. Logan held up his hands but didn’t protest as Roman followed her lead. Iyusuri’s faint tugging led them down a staircase and into a wider corridor Roman thought he recognized. Lines of fire burned in two narrow channels along each wall.
A handful of deer servants stopped short at the sight of them, and Roman fought an irrational jolt of embarrassment over being naked in public. Like they aren’t naked, too! At least they have fur.
Some ran the other direction immediately. The others clearly decided against attacking and fled when Logan summoned ice along his arms. Which was just as well, because he could only keep it up for a few seconds, and even that small display left him panting. One particularly bold servant lingered, gripping a candelabra and raising it in a vaguely threatening stance. Roman raised an eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t,” he said in Faery.
The faery charged; Roman tucked Iyusuri under his bad arm so his good hand was free. A few seconds and a simple takedown later, the candelabra was Roman’s, and the faery lay face down on the floor. They scrambled away and fled. Logan looked mildly impressed.
“That’s right, I’ve still got it.” Roman tossed the candelabra up and caught it again with a flourish. “Okay, Iyusuri, now what?”
But when he set the candlestick down and balanced the mirror on his palm again, he felt only her familiar weight. No helpful tugging, no voice in the back of his mind; just nothing.
“Really?” he grumbled at her. “Are you sulking because I had to put you down for three seconds? Did you want that faery to bonk me over the head?”
“I cannot articulate,” Logan commented, “how disturbing it is to watch you talk to an inanimate object like one might speak to a spoiled pet.”
“Well, this ‘pet’ brought us to this hallway for some reason.” Roman gestured around them. “But now she’s giving me the silent treatment. I don’t know what we’re supposed to—”
Three figures spilled around a corner mere yards away, causing Roman’s mouth to click shut and his eyes to widen. Virgil flung his arms out, stopping Patton and Rapunzel in their tracks.
“Roman? Logan?” Virgil sputtered.
Roman exhaled. That damned mirror.
I told you I’d take you where you needed to go, she replied smugly.
Rapunzel broke the small impasse by marching forward and seizing Logan in a hug, and out of everything the half-faery had endured, that was what almost broke him. His jaw got all tight and granite-like, and he squeezed her harder than Roman had ever seen him hug anyone.
“Mom,” he said, his voice deceptively even.
“You’re alive,” she murmured.
“You came back.”
“Did you doubt it?” She smirked as they broke apart, but it was a brittle expression, and Roman knew she’d been worried.
“How…how did you find us the first time?” Logan narrowed his eyes. “You had no maps.”
“Yes, you made sure of that.” Rapunzel’s expression flattened. “Which is why you should be grateful we didn’t tell Hansel you took one of his journals when we asked him where you’d gone.”
Logan’s eyes widened in chagrin. Roman sighed. Of course. Without the maps, they went to the Pathfinder himself. Why didn’t Logan consider they might do that?
Virgil snagged Roman’s attention by getting right in his face, dark eyes alight. For a split second, all Roman could think about was the fact that neither he nor Logan wore a single stitch of clothing, but Virgil’s clenched fists spoke of other priorities.
“You left,” he growled.
Roman braced himself and willed his expression to something resembling neutrality. “Technically, you guys did, which is good because otherwise Vaalyun would have—”
“I’m not talking about the attack in the meadow, dingus!”
“Look—” Roman raised his good hand.
“You couldn’t wait for a fucking hour before fucking off to Arcadia by yourself, and look what happened!” Virgil gestured at the corridor.
“In fairness, we didn’t know—” Logan started mildly.
“And you!” Virgil whirled on the half-faery. “Why in the Arcadian hell would you go along with one of his brain-dead ideas? Did you even try to stop him?”
“Yes,” Roman and Logan said at the same time.
“Oh, and so when that didn’t work, you just, what, went along with it?” Virgil was on a proper tirade now. He thrust a finger at Roman. “I fully expect you to think with your sword instead of your brain.” The finger snapped to Logan. “However, you at least ought to fucking know better!”
Logan’s irises flashed white, but he made no effort to defend himself. Virgil looked like he had more to say—well, yell— and Rapunzel’s mouth opened, but Patton stepped between them all, carrying a sense of razor-edged calm barely held back.
Roman felt a twinge of actual alarm.
“Roman Reis.” Patton’s mouth turned down in the most potent Disappointed Dad expression Roman had ever experienced. “And Logan Ursae—”
“Don’t blame Logan, okay?” Roman interjected. “He only came along to protect my stupid ass. I tried to make him stay behind.”
“I’m not sure admitting that helps your case here,” Logan murmured.
“Hush, Brainiac,” he murmured back.
“Well.” Patton folded his arms, though his expression softened at his fiancé. “Still. You…you could have called instead of leaving me a long, rambling text. You could have answered your phone! You—”
“Disappointed us all,” Rapunzel cut in.
Logan’s expression crumpled before he defiantly lifted his chin. “Mother—”
“Again!” Roman stepped between them. “Not his fault. He tried his damndest to stop me. He’s the one who insisted on texting at all. And honestly, I’d be dead if he wasn’t here. If you’re gonna be mad at someone…” He dropped his arms and sighed. “Be mad at me.”
“Not a problem, Princey,” Virgil grumbled.
Then, with a shock Roman in his toes, Virgil practically flung himself at him. The extremely unexpected amount of black and purple softness in his arm, on his bare skin, drove every other relevant thought from his mind. Breathing only enveloped his senses in patchouli. He never wanted the hug to end, and he needed it to end before he died of embarrassment. Thankfully he was just the teeniest bit taller, which forced him to bend, which was keeping just enough space between their, er, lower halves…
“You could have died in this hellscape.” Virgil spoke into Roman’s shoulder. “We would never have known. All for some stupid mirror? Why are you such a fucking moron?” Virgil halfheartedly punched his chest. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Roman blocked the next punch with his good arm, still holding Iyusuri, shivering when Virgil’s fingers slid open around his grip.
“Virge…I…”
He ached to tell Virgil about Hansel, Iyusuri’s taunts, the way he’d attacked Beetlecloud, about Johnny’s ghost hanging over everything he did, damning him, making Roman need to prove himself. But the reality of Virgil, here—alive, terrified, clinging to his neck—suddenly made all his reasons for leaving feel like excuses.
He stared at the shaky hand covering his own, Virgil’s paleness against his brown, and knew he didn’t deserve that level of trust. He’d run away. He’d been scared, proud, and stupid, and he’d run away. Just like Johnny fucking Prince.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered into Virgil’s bangs.
Virgil backed up at last, gaze snagging on the mirror…and on Roman’s bare chest…and stomach…and…
“YOU ARE NAKED,” Virgil sputtered, shoving him away, face bright tomato red. “I JUST HUGGED YOU AND YOU ARE NAKED.”
“Yeah, I’m really surprised it took you that long to notice,” Roman deadpanned.
“WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?”
“Obviously I don’t know, or I’d be wearing them? Vaalyun stripped us when he imprisoned us.” Roman glanced up and down the hallway. “You don’t need to shout.”
“I’M NOT SHOUTING.” Virgil whirled toward the others; specifically, Logan. Ridiculously hot, bare Logan, who was stepping away from Patton. Virgil’s eyes grew to the size of quarters; Roman half expected him to combust like a fire flower where he stood.
“AUGH!” Virgil spun away and covered his eyes. “WHY ARE YOU BOTH NAKED?!”
“I did say ‘us,’” Roman pointed out. “Do we need to check your eyes and have you join the Glasses Gay Squad?”
“You do know that neither Patton nor I are actually gay?” Logan corrected.
“SHUT UP!” Virgil flapped a hand at them all. “AM I THE ONLY ONE FREAKED OUT BY THIS?”
“I’m Logan’s mother, hon,” Rapunzel said dryly. “I changed his diapers.”
“And, well,” Patton added, seemingly unbothered except for a bit of red in his cheeks. “I’ve kinda seen it all before—”
“AUUUUGH!” Virgil slapped a hand over Patton’s mouth when Logan’s cheeks darkened.
Roman bit back a giggle at Virgil’s apparent inability to control his volume. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”
“I AM FINDING YOU SOME PANTS.” Virgil whirled and stalked down the hallway.
“I’m pretty sure we need to focus on—” Logan called.
“PANTS. NOW.” Virgil flapped a hand.
Roman did snicker then. Somehow, Virgil’s panic made the whole situation less embarrassing and more hilarious.
“STOP LAUGHING AT ME!”
“None of the servants wear clothes!” Roman shouted after him. “Where are you—aaand he’s gone.”
Virgil whipped around a corner, stomping the entire way.
Rapunzel shook her head. “If he’s gonna panic over a penis,” she said, prompting Roman to snort and cover his mouth. “I’ll make you boys some loincloths.”
She produced a knife, cut a tiny strip from her shirt, and held the ends in both hands. Roman watched in amazement as she pulled material from the rectangle’s length and then the width, like one might stretch out a piece of elastic, only the extra material stayed. Once she had a skirt-sized piece, she cut a tiny strip from it and handed the rest to Logan, who tied it around his waist. She then made a second cloth for Roman. It barely reached the middle of his thighs, but it was more dignified than nothing.
“This is why I always wear pure cotton,” she commented. “My power only works on organic material, and you never know when you’ll need extra cloth.”
“Should, uh, we go after Virgil?” Patton asked.
“Before he strangles some poor servant or locks himself in a magic wardrobe? Definitely,” Roman secured Iyusuri and hefted his stolen candelabra.
“Both of you have exhibited an unusually strong reaction to nudity,” Logan commented with a frown. “Which I would not have expected, since—”
“Well, in his case,” Roman interrupted hastily. “I’m pretty sure it’s because we’re both hot and he’s gay.”
“Hot?” Logan actually frowned down at himself.
“Oh, for the love of…” Roman rolled his eyes. “Physically attractive, Teach.”
The group rounded the corner to find Virgil standing dead center in the hallway, hand raised, vines swaying at his feet. He’d found a servant, as Roman feared, and was currently dangling them upside down near the wall. Virgil wore the belligerent expression of someone who realized they'd fucked up but are unwilling to admit it.
“Storm, hon, everyone’s decent now,” Rapunzel called. “You can put them down.”
Virgil shot them the briefest glance.
“Decent, but still hot.” Roman did a twirl that caused his loincloth to flare out.
“NO SHOWING OFF.” Virgil lowered the faery.
“You wouldn’t know if you hadn’t been looking!” Roman called back in a singsong voice.
Virgil tipped his face to the ceiling, his ears flaming, and banished his vines. The servant ran off. Virgil slunk back to the group, his face still a delightful shade of red.
“Patton”—Roman flapped a hand in Patton’s general direction— “back me up. We are hot, yeah?”
He didn’t know why he felt the need to keep going on about it. Maybe he was just deflecting his own lingering embarrassment.
“Uhh…yeah?” Patton’s blue eyes were wide.
Logan frowned down at himself again, causing Roman to break into giggles.
“STOP talking about it,” Virgil said, moderating his voice at last. He looked the two of them over properly now, and his eyes widened.
“The fuck happened to your hand?” he demanded, seizing Roman’s bad wrist. Roman cried out as the motion sent a jolt of agony up his arm; Virgil immediately let go.
“Can we worry about that later?” he said tightly, placing the mangled hand behind his back.
Virgil frowned like he really wanted to argue. Rapunzel, meanwhile, tried one of the doors along the hall and, when she found it open, dragged them all inside. She eased the door closed and, without being asked, Virgil leaned an ear against it.
“Alright. Now that we have Roman and Logan,” Rapunzel said to them all. “We need to get back to the others. What happened to Zoe?”
“We don’t know—” Logan answered.
“What others?” Roman repeated sharply. “You three aren’t the only ones?”
“The thunderbirds’ escape,” Logan said. “Of course. That was Red’s work.”
“Red? Are you saying some of the Founders are here, helping us?” Roman demanded, guilt bubbling up in his chest again.
“You…do understand that my mother is a Founder?” Logan did his flat-eyed emoji impression. “Arguably the Founder?”
Roman shrugged. “Well, yeah, but like, other Founders.”
“You mean Founders who haven’t seen you in your birthday suit?” Virgil muttered.
“Oh, now you can joke about it—”
“Boys!” Rapunzel clapped her hands. “Do you have any idea where Zoe could be? Could they have escaped like you did?”
“I doubt it.” Roman’s voice darkened, all his previous concern rushing back. “Vaalyun sent them to another part of the castle with that Sleepy Time faery—”
“Morwick,” Logan interjected.
“—who knocked them out. Rapunzel,” Roman added. “Do you know how long a human can be in Arcadia before they start changing?”
Rapunzel’s eyes widened like that hadn’t crossed her mind, but her brows furrowed along exactly the same lines as Logan’s.
“I don’t think they’re in any danger of that,” she said. “The faeries had them as a baby for several months before we rescued them, and they never developed any rings or powers. Three days here should be nothing.”
“Nevertheless, we must find them, and we currently have no leads.” Logan touched Roman’s elbow. “We have, thus far, been entirely reliant upon your luck.”
Roman closed his eyes and focused on the curtain sensation in his mind. He danced through, touching hot beads, gliding fingers down entire strands. He almost punched through in several spots, which meant he was getting tired; the longer he leaned on his luck like this, the worse it would get. But finally, he encountered a strand that gave him that breathless feeling and grasped it.
“Someone’s coming!” Virgil hissed.
“That’s our lead,” Roman said, eyes still closed. “Virge, step away from the door.”
Virgil grumbled, but Roman heard boots clomp across the room. He opened his eyes in time to see the door swing open, revealing a deer faery. Roman recognized the uneven horn stubs; this was one of the ones who’d helped ambush them in the meadow.
“Humans!” they barked in Faery, pointing.
Rapunzel grasped her hair, pulled to add length, and held it ready in both hands.
“Wait.” The faery raised their hands, coming closer. “I do not mean you harm.”
They were as malnourished as all Vaalyun’s servants, carried only a small leather shoulder bag, and their alien face seemed earnest, but Roman took a step back anyway. The others gathered behind him.
“What have you come to trade, Grewick?” Roman asked, not entirely sure where the words came from, only knowing they were the ones he needed.
The faery’s long ears flattened. “You know my name.”
Roman shrugged. “I heard Vaalyun use it.”
“My arrival did not surprise you. You knew I was following you?” Grewick asked.
“For the sake of simplicity, we’ll go with yes.” Roman folded his arms. “What do you want?”
Grewick placed his long arms behind his back and raised his chin, black eyes glinting.
“I wish to make an accord. I know where your missing companion is.”
Chapter 31- Poppy
still they say you hide a devil inside
you are dangerous
so am i
~ “Dangerous” by Two Steps From Hell
peace
Roman never wanted to even think the words “faery” and “accord” in the same sentence again, but…this wasn’t one of Vaalyun’s soldiers. Grewick’s lack of clothing, prominent rib cage, skinny limbs, and horn stubs spoke of just how badly Vaalyun treated those he perceived as inferior. Maybe Vaalyun’s mistreatment had turned this servant against him.
“We will hear your terms,” Roman said.
“We will?” Virgil muttered at his elbow.
“He just said he knows where Zoe is. This is our lead,” Roman murmured back. “Trust me.”
Grewick approached hesitantly. His longish neck made him a whole foot taller than any of them.
“My sister is your companion’s captor,” he said. “I have spoken to her this day and have seen your sleeping companion. I can lead you to the room where the Master is keeping them.”
So easy. Too easy, Roman thought sourly.
“What do you want in return?” he asked.
“I want…” The rest of Grewick’s breath escaped in a hiss. He sucked in another, his mouth working. “I cannot say.”
“Convenient.” Virgil rolled his eyes.
Grewick shook his head, humming in either genuine frustration or a very good impression of it.
“Cannot?” Logan asked, eyes narrowed. “Or will not?”
“Cannot.”
Roman sighed. “Then what is the point of this?”
“He’s probably a spy sent by that damned Sidhe,” Virgil said.
“Wait.” Logan held up a hand. “He has not refused. ‘Cannot’ speaks to a compulsion, such as faeries being unable to lie. There is something deeper at work here.”
“Yes.” Grewick growled; a deep, animal sound. “All within the Lord’s house are either his creatures or deeply in his debt. He is…he is—I cannot betray the Master; it is part of my Contract of Servitude. I did not know it extended to my words.”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “So, what you want has something to do with Vaalyun?”
“Yes.”
“You must know that makes us even less likely to trust you,” Rapunzel pointed out.
“My ask is within your power to grant,” Grewick said. “I can facilitate its completion. I—mmm!” His brows drew together; his hands twisted around the strap of his bag. “I stand to gain my fr—mmm. I stand to gain immensely.”
Roman mentally combed through everything he knew about faery serfdom, trades, boons, compulsions. It was clear that Grewick needed something from them, but whatever oath he’d sworn to Vaalyun prevented him from even hinting at it. So, he meant to trap them by offering in trade the only leverage he possessed: Zoe’s location.
Cynical. Clever. Typical of an Arcadian Fae.
“Please.” Grewick offered his hand, palm up, hoofed fingers outstretched. He ignored Rapunzel and Virgil, who closed ranks, glowering. “Please. I am a serf. My will is my own, but also not. If I could offer my boon without trade, I would. I am—” His mouth clicked shut as though a phantom hand had clamped his lips together; he growled again. “I am unable to beg.”
Which, coming from a Fae, might as well be begging. When Roman looked past Grewick’s intimidating height and alien features, he saw desperation in the knotted brow, the wide eyes, the pinched mouth.
“Patton,” Roman said quietly. “What do you get from him?”
Patton hummed and closed his eyes. “He’s afraid of what his master will do to him if he’s discovered with us. I’m also getting a lot of anger, but it’s old, like he’s been carrying it for a while. Sorrow. Some guilt. Whatever he wants of you, he knows it’s dangerous.” He opened his eyes and looked at Roman. “There’s determination, but no hostility or arrogance. He’s coming from a place of sincerity.”
“That doesn’t make it our problem,” Virgil snapped.
“But we do need a guide,” Logan said. “And Roman’s luck brought this faery right to us.”
“We can find Zoe on our own!” Virgil shrugged deeper into his hoodie. “We don’t even know what we’d be agreeing to.”
“Virge does have a point,” Roman felt the need to say. “If you’ll recall, the last faery deal I entered is the reason we’re in this mess in the first place. But…” He sighed and braced himself. “Whatever Grewick wants, it’s obviously something that will hurt Vaalyun in some way, and he seems desperate. It doesn’t sit right to just ignore that.”
Grewick perked up at the sound of his name but otherwise did not seem to understand English at all.
“Mother.” Logan removed his hand from Patton’s grasp and laid it on Rapunzel’s shoulder. “You have been doing this longer than any of us. What do you think?”
Rapunzel sucked on her bottom lip. “Most faeries are treacherous, even when they don’t mean to be. They are strong, fast, hard to kill, and even the ‘friendly’ ones frequently forget how frail we are in comparison. Most wouldn’t think twice at putting us in situations that would kill us.” She looked at Roman. “You’re a Smile hunter. You know.”
He nodded, unsettled by her words.
“Most faeries are treacherous,” Rapunzel said again and sighed. “But not all. Not always.” Her gaze flitted to Logan, whose jaw tightened. Neither mentioned Logan’s father; neither had to.
“When we left Red, Stiltz, and Dare,” she added, “they were planning to create a distraction in the castle’s main hall. I do not know how many bodyguards this Vaalyun keeps or how quickly he can muster them.”
“Which means we need to find Zoe and get everyone out before he can get his shit together.” Roman sighed. “Which means we don’t have time to search every room in this whole cursed house. I’m going to accept Grewick’s task.” He held up his good hand. “Just me, though. That way if the trade goes to shit, it only affects one of us.”
“No!” Virgil whirled to face him.
“We have to get Zoe back—” Roman started.
“We just got you back!” Virgil snarled.
“And Grewick came to a group of humans, which is downright reckless for one of his kind. I can’t ignore that.” Roman lifted his chin. “I will not be a person who turns his back on someone who asks for help in good faith, even if they are a damned faery. I won’t be Johnny.”
Virgil scowled and clasped Roman’s bad wrist again, placing it between them, squeezing tighter than he needed to.
“Down a whole ass hand,” he muttered. “And you still can’t help but be a goddamned paladin.”
Roman allowed himself one blissful moment to revel in Virgil’s concern and touch before pulling away. None of the others protested. Rapunzel even gave him a solemn nod as he held out his good hand to Grewick.
“I, Roman, alone,” he said in Faery, emphasizing the last word, “accept your boon and your task.”
Grewick’s entire expression came alight with hope before he regained control and delicately shook the offered hand.
“Then we have an accord. Come.”
#
Grewick led them along a long, narrow corridor that crossed the length of the castle, pausing at each intersection to peer both ways. At one such stop, they had to smoosh themselves behind a fire cage and wait for several Sidhe soldiers to pass. They were the first Roman had seen since escaping, and their presence reminded him that they were running out of time.
“I shall have to arm you,” Grewick declared once they’d passed.
“We fetch our companion first,” Roman countered, glowering. “No side trips.”
“The armory is on the way to the moonward suites.” Grewick poked his head down the right-hand hallway.
“But—” Roman protested, but Virgil laid a hand on his arm.
“If he wants to give us weapons,” Virgil murmured. “I say let him. Then, if he turns on us…”
He didn’t need to finish. And…he did have a point.
“Come!” Grewick commanded.
They reached a heavy bronze door guarded by a lone Sidhe, great axe at the ready. A handful of redcaps lounged against the wall, some sleeping, some squabbling over a bloody, feathered shape.
“That’s the guard who stole my sword,” Roman growled, half rising from where they’d crouched, hidden by another fire cage. His heart sank when he didn’t see Belle’s scabbard on her belt. “And now she doesn’t even have—”
“Peace! We mustn’t be seen.” Grewick seized his arm and yanked him back down. “Folmar is a formidable warrior.”
“Plus, those kobolds will sniff us out at any moment. And Logan and Roman are in no condition to fight,” Rapunzel said.
Roman ground his teeth, wanting to protest, but her words triggered all the sensations he’d been ignoring: trembly, achy muscles; lightheadedness; his empty, nauseous stomach, all the bumps and bruises he’d accumulated; his hand, which still throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He was hunter enough to know Rapunzel was right.
“I can take out the guard.” Rapunzel lengthened her hair again.
“No.” Patton’s voice was flat. “I will.”
He’d been so quiet up until this point that Roman was surprised to hear him speak up.
“Patton, what on earth?” Logan laid a hand on his back. “You aren’t armed—”
“I don’t need weapons.”
Such was the conviction in Patton’s voice that Roman’s heart skipped.
“Well, Virgil and I can at least—” Rapunzel started.
“No,” Patton said more firmly. “All of you stay put. I will take care of this.”
He spoke softly, but one of the redcaps whirled, sniffing the air. A few others did the same.
“You’re going to take out eleven kobolds and an armed Sidhe, with no combat training and no weapons, all by yourself?” Logan murmured. “Patton, be...”
He subsided when Patton shot him the sharpest glare Roman had ever seen on that sweet face. Logan visibly recoiled; Patton set both hands on his cheeks.
“Love,” he said. “Do you trust me?”
An emotional encyclopedia of expressions flitted over Logan’s face. For an awful moment, Roman felt sure the couple’s fight from the barn would spill out again. He could practically see the half-faery’s need to protect his fiancé warring with the knowledge that he couldn’t, not right now, not in his condition.
Logan bowed his head. “With my life, Starlight.”
Aww, Specs, you have learned something, Roman thought.
Patton leaned up to kiss the corner of Logan’s mouth, looking almost like himself again. “I will take care of this.”
“Pat, what exactly are you planning to d—Pat!” Virgil cut off when Patton stepped out from behind the fire cage, straightened the dangling sleeves of his cat hoodie, and adjusted his glasses.
“Not Pat,” he said darkly. “Pax.”
The kobolds spotted him, cackling, pointing, and waking up their sleeping companions. They rushed him in a knot of grins and sharp, stained teeth.
“No,” Patton said.
The Faery word proceeded an explosion of downy, smothering green calm, settling over the hallway in a blanketlike pall. It felt similar to what Gretel had done to pacify Hansel, Roman thought, but decidedly less…friendly. The kobolds slowed, shaking their heads, and Patton moved easily from one to another. At Patton’s whispered command and light touch, each one sat down, or slunk away to find a bone to chew, or dropped off to sleep.
“Holy hell,” Virgil muttered, his eyes growing wide.
When Patton reached the Sidhe guard—who made no move to attack as he approached—he laid his palm on the side of her face.
“Just sit down and relax, okay?” he said, his conversational tone clashing with the Faery words.
The guard nodded and sat, her legs folding like they no longer wanted to hold her. The axe clattered to the floor and spun away from her lax grip.
Holy hell.
“Did…did you know he could do that, Chillmeister?” Roman asked Logan.
“I did not.” Logan’s eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.
“Me fucking neither,” Virgil said.
Patton kept a hand on the guard’s head and glanced back. “All right. It’s safe now.”
“You lied,” Virgil hissed, marching across the hall to stick a finger in Patton’s face. “You told me that whole story about how you left before the Erie Grimms could teach you how to shut down a Fae with a touch. You said you couldn’t actually do it.”
Rapunzel crept behind the sitting Sidhe and dragged the armory door open, never taking her eyes off the faery, like she expected the spell to break at any moment. Grewick darted inside, and after a moment of clear indecision, Rapunzel followed.
By unspoken agreement, Roman, Logan, and Virgil gathered around Patton.
“I never said I couldn’t do it,” Patton said quietly, holding his ground. “I said I left before they made me use it to murder faeries they’d captured. I have always known precisely how perilous my power is.” He looked at Logan as he said this.
“Because it would be too easy to kill them like this.” Roman’s stomach twisted as he studied the incapacitated Sidhe. The guard looked back, her black-eyed gaze dull and placid, and Roman knew he could have done anything to her. Any of them could, so long as Patton kept his fingers against her head. “Every team would want you for every mission.”
What a tempting, dangerous power.
Virgil’s face paled. “Fuck. Pax. That’s why you have a reputation. That’s why Zoe recognized you!”
Patton—Pax—sighed. “I refuse to be used in such a way.”
“Patton, how long—” Roman started. “How long have you known you could do this?”
Patton’s face scrunched up. He looked at Virgil, whose eyes widened.
“You knew in Arcadia,” Virgil murmured.
“The last few months I was there, my power peaked.” Patton stared at the Sidhe under his control. “Deceit knew; he’d been waiting for it. He’d already started using me to…to…well, you can imagine. That’s the real reason I went walking the night I disappeared.” He looked at Virgil again, his blue eyes shiny with tears. “You weren’t the only changeling he forced to do terrible things and keep them secret.”
Virgil’s face grew stricken; he gathered Patton into a hug, careful not to dislodge Patton’s hand.
“I never use it,” Patton said over Virgil’s back. “Not on the stubbornest doggos at the clinic; never, ever on people. I couldn’t even bring myself to use it on Deceit when I had the chance.”
Roman couldn’t help but look at his friend with new respect. He knew Patton had left the Erie Grimms but never knew why. They would have killed to keep a Grimm like Pax. They would have trained that innate goodness out of him and turned him into a weapon. But Patton left, and used only the edges of his terrible power, which was why he was probably the only changeling on the planet Roman would trust with it.
“And look what happened.” Patton’s voice hardened; he pulled back and laid his unoccupied hand over Virgil’s chest. “I’m sick of standing by while my friends get captured and hurt. I won’t be a party to murder, but…but now you know how I can help. I want to.”
His gaze snagged on Logan, and he lifted his chin. Have I proven myself to you, yet? that expression asked, plainly enough that even his socially inept fiancé could see it. To anyone else, Logan’s answering expression would seem cold, stoic, closed-off. They might imagine he was angry at Patton for keeping secrets. But Roman, having spent an intense last few days with him, saw that Logan was fighting to keep from throwing his arms around his fiancé, as Virgil had done.
“All right, we’ve got weapons,” Rapunzel announced, striding out of the armory with Grewick slinking behind. She carried an armful of bronze knives, several small shields, staves of varying lengths, and…
“Belle!” Roman exclaimed, seizing the familiar scabbard and hugging it to his chest.
“Arcadian gods, now he’s naming them,” Virgil muttered.
Roman stuck out his tongue and looked over the sword; she seemed unharmed. He stuck the scabbard under his bad arm and awkwardly drew her, the metallic rasp music to his ears.
“Oh, I have missed you, girl. Hush, you,” he added to Iyusuri, who grumbled at the back of his mind.
“I wondered how a random Summer Sidhe came to have one of Dare’s old swords.” Rapunzel laid the other weapons on the floor. “Take your pick. I chose basic ones, as I’m pretty sure only Roman and I have extensive combat training.”
“Hey now, I’m not a complete newb, thanks to this doofus,” Virgil elbowed Roman and eagerly pawed through the pile, selecting extra knives to shove into his combat boots. Roman smirked, ears burning at the compliment.
Logan chose a short staff; Rapunzel, a longer one. She took the extra precaution of disarming the Sidhe guard and, after a brief argument with Patton, used several manipulated lengths of hair to tie her up. Even Patton took a sheathed knife, tucking it into his pocket with a grimace.
Only Grewick refused entirely. Roman wondered if Vaalyun forbade his servants to have weapons, or—he glowered at the thought—if Grewick, like his sister, possessed some secret ability that made weapons unnecessary for him.
If he turns on us, Roman thought, gripping Belle, at least we’re in a better position to deal with him.
“I also saw three backpacks, which I suspect were yours,” Rapunzel said. “But they look like they’ve had redcaps chewing on them for the last several days, so I left them. I did rescue these from the mess, though.”
She held out a handful of granola bars. Roman gratefully took two and let Logan have the others. As they devoured them—Roman took great delight in leaving the wrappers to litter Vaalyun’s floor—Grewick led them through a grand, empty ballroom. Virgil placed himself to Roman’s right, knife at the ready.
Guarding my bad side.
Iyusuri didn’t seem to like sharing Roman’s armpit with Belle’s scabbard. After some fumbling, Roman resignedly set the scabbard in his teeth. It would look ridiculous, like a bit in a horse’s mouth, but…
“Oh, honestly.” Virgil snatched Belle’s scabbard and tied it to his own belt. “You’re gonna leave teeth marks in it.”
“Thanks.” Roman shot him a smile.
“Can you, uh,” Virgil said, his gaze flickering to Belle, “actually handle that thing left-handed?”
“Who do you think I am?” Roman forced a grin and twirled the sword, letting her catch the light from the windows. His heart skipped when he almost fumbled her; he completed the flourish, but not before he saw Virgil’s gaze sharpen.
“Oh, boy.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, until we get out of here, I am not letting you out of my sight. You get in a fight, you put your back to mine, and we’ll cover each other.”
“How are you gonna not let me out of your sight if you’re behind me?” Roman teased.
“Shut up!” Virgil shoved him.
Does this mean we’re good, Virge? Roman wondered but dared not say. Am I forgiven for running off, yet?
They turned into a wide, low hallway lined with more narrow windows along one wall and pale, pearlescent doors along the other. Grewick slowed and appeared to be counting each as they passed. Roman hoped that meant they were close.
One door creaked open as they passed, startling them into raising weapons. Only a single deer servant emerged, who shrieked and ran. Roman lowered Belle as they turned a corner and vanished.
“Do you think Vaalyun knows we’ve escaped his Room That Moves?” Roman asked Grewick, glancing up and down the hallway. “We’ve encountered a lot of servants. One of them is bound to report back to him.”
“He knows,” Grewick answered. “He sent me to ascertain your whereabouts when his birds escaped. I found you because, as you implied, servants talk.”
Vaalyun had sent Grewick? With a sick feeling, Roman remembered that knob in the Room door, like Vaalyun knew they’d try to get out. Like he wanted them to. Were they walking into a trap?
“If he meant for you to find us, and you aren’t physically able to speak or act against him,” Rapunzel said, clearly weighing her words. “How is it that you are helping us?”
Grewick turned, black eyes wide. “He said, ‘Find out if they are still in the Room.’ I have done as he asked. He did not specify what I was to do with that information once I acquired it. I believe my Lord was distracted by his birds, to give such a careless command; nevertheless, I am exploiting it.”
“You had better prove trustworthy,” Roman said lowly.
Grewick’s mouth flattened. “I will have my ask from you, changeling.”
He set off, long neck stiff, white deer tail fluffed, his steps quick and angry. Well, can he blame us for not trusting him?
“Here.” He halted them at the second to last door, produced a key, and unlocked it.
They crowded inside. Roman had time to take in a lavish bed hung with translucent white drapes, fancy furniture, and silver filigree coating everything before Rapunzel seized Grewick’s face, her face thunderous.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
Roman studied the room again, the sick feeling in his stomach growing. It was empty. No Morwick, no Zoe.
Grewick had deceived them after all.
Chapter 32- Black eyed Susan
one night of the hunter
one day I will get revenge
one night to remember
one day it’ll all just end
~ “Night of the Hunter” by Thirty Seconds to Mars
endurance
“I don’t understand!” Grewick raised his hands. “They were here. It was this room; I saw them!”
“Liar,” Rapunzel snapped, then frowned, because…
“Faeries cannot lie,” Logan pointed out automatically. “Perhaps he is merely mistaken. Or, more likely, Vaalyun moved our companion and his sister in response to the others’ disturbance.”
“Where would he take them?” Rapunzel demanded, tightening her fingers on Grewick’s face.
Grewick shook his head, eyes squeezed closed. “I don’t know.”
Rapunzel let him go with a thrust of her hand.
“Then it looks like our accord is broken,” Roman said.
Grewick wailed, covering his face, looking so devastated that Roman bit back a pang of conscience.
“Guys? Look at this.” Patton waved from a table by the room’s only window.
They rushed over, Grewick trailing behind, wringing his hands. The table, obsidian and covered in a sheer tablecloth, held only a filigreed orb that served as a lamp and a torn sheet of parchment paper, upon which a single word had been scrawled in dark crimson ink.
“What does it say?” Logan asked in a low voice.
“Great hall,” Rapunzel sounded out.
Roman shuddered, remembering that awful mockery of a meal, the pixie cages, the fireplace, the burning. His hand throbbed.
“Wait.” Grewick shoved between. “This is my sister’s writing. She guessed I would come back, looking for her!” He looked up, eyes bright. “They have gone to the Great Hall. That is where your companion must be now.”
“The same place Red, Stiltz, and Dare were headed,” Rapunzel added grimly.
“Vaalyun is probably there, too,” Roman said. He set Belle on the table and pulled out Iyusuri for the first time since she’d stopped being helpful. The screaming woman stared back at him, silent…and still unhelpful. “If he knows Logan and I have escaped, what do you want to bet he’s hoping to lure all of us into one place?”
“Why would he do that?” Patton asked.
“To set a trap for me.” Roman scowled, guilt gripping his insides. “He wants the mirror, and he knows I care about my friends.” He sighed. “I could go alone—”
“Absolutely not,” Virgil snapped.
“Assuming Vaalyun has taken Zoe to the Great Hall, you are in no condition to rescue them by yourself,” Logan added.
Roman scowled at the reminder. “If the other Founders are there—”
“We’ll all go.” Virgil’s gravelly voice left no room for argument.
“Do you not know how to get to the Hall? Let me lead you,” Grewick cut in. When Roman caught his eye, he cringed. “If your companion is there, my taking you there will fulfill the terms of our accord. And it will put you in position to perform my task.”
Roman bit back a grimace. He’d wanted Zoe to be here…but he’d hoped their absence meant he wouldn’t have to do Grewick’s mysterious task after all. However, he didn’t know where the Great Hall was from here, and they couldn’t waste time looking for it.
“Very well,” he said. “Take us. But eventually, I will need to know what you want of me in return.”
“You will use your steel. You will know how when the opportunity comes.” Grewick gingerly plucked Belle by the hilt, between his hooves like one might handle a hot pan, and presented her. Roman tucked Iyusuri against his side and took the sword, frowning.
“Come,” the faery said, leading them to the door.
Rapunzel grabbed Roman’s arm as he passed.
“You must be very, very careful when we reach the Hall,” she hissed.
“Why?” Roman frowned.
“Isn’t it obvious? An unspeakable task that requires steel? ‘You’ll know when the opportunity comes?’” Rapunzel shot him a tight smile. “Grewick wants you to kill his master.”
#
The last time Roman entered Vaalyun’s Great Hall, it had been quiet and empty but for the table, the awful cages, the absurdly huge fireplace. And of course, the Sidhe himself, strutting, smiling, supremely confident in his own superiority. Now, one of the great doors hung crooked on its hinges and swung wildly as Roman and the others approached.
Inside, chaos reigned in the form of an angry thunderbird, screeching, its wings whipping the fireplace into an inferno and making the poor pixie cage swing wildly. Their cries could barely be heard over the crackling thunder. A few bodies lay strewn on the floor. Roman felt sickly relieved to see only pointed ears and no dead Founders.
The bird appeared to be guarding a knot of familiar people huddled behind what was left of the long table. One figure stood exposed, her strawberry blonde hair and metal prosthetics gleaming in the firelight. Red. Facing her was one person Roman had hoped against hope wasn’t here after all. Vaalyun stood silhouetted by the fire, arms raised, making soothing gestures as the bird menaced him. Morwick huddled by his feet, along with a still-sleeping…
“Zoe,” Roman breathed in Logan’s ear, pointing.
Logan nodded.
Roman gritted his teeth at the sight of Vaalyun’s thin, smug face, though at the moment, the faery’s glossy hair was disheveled, and soot smudged his cheeks.
“Grewick wants you to kill his master.”
Another group—all Sidhe, wearing armor and Vaalyun’s colors—stood in battle formation along the right-hand wall, spears pointed at the rogue bird. A few held a thick, black net at the ready.
None of the living faced the entrance. Nobody saw six more people slip inside and hide behind the broken door.
“He’ll kill me,” Grewick whimpered, shrinking, black eyes wide at the sight of his master. “He’ll kill me.”
“Stay back, then,” Roman snapped.
He wants you to kill Vaalyun.
Rapunzel’s dire warning kept echoing in his head. Oh, Roman would love to run his sword through the pointy-eared jerk; that wasn’t the problem. But Vaalyun was an old, powerful Sidhe lord. Even in peak condition, Roman’s odds of killing him were slim. What if he physically couldn’t satisfy Grewick’s trade?
“Arcadian hells, it is hot,” Virgil grumbled, flapping his hoodie. “How are we going to get Zoe away from those bastards?”
“I don’t know,” Roman said, unease welling up again. If Grewick’s task really is killing Vaalyun…I may not be able to leave until I do it, or die trying.
“We should get to the others first,” Rapunzel said.
They waited, still hidden by the door, until the bird flapped a particularly loud peal of thunder into the roof beams. Roman darted across the hall, Virgil on his right, and skidded behind the other Founders. The broken table hid not only Stiltz and Red, but also a black, broad-shouldered stranger who watched the standoff with keen eyes.
Rapunzel embraced Stiltz and the stranger. Red shot all of them a brief smile but kept most of her attention on the bird. Sweat coated her body and her hands trembled.
“Can she ask it to attack Vaalyun?” Roman asked in a hush between screeches.
“She’s trying,” Stiltz explained. “The Sidhe is fighting her for control. Vaalyun, you said is his name?” The hazel rings in his eyes glinted as he smiled. “Good to know.”
“As soon as I have an opening where I don’t have to berserk my way across, I’m gonna run the gauntlet and grab Zoe,” the broad-shouldered stranger said in a deep, lilting voice. They turned, their bare scalp catching the light, and stuck out a hand to Roman.
“Haven’t met you, yet. I’m Dare. You one of the ones we came to get?”
“Uh, I’m Roman.” He had to set Belle down to shake their hand. “And yeah.”
It was difficult to tell with them squatting down, but Dare had to be over six feet tall, with a face full of piercings and the physique of someone who could probably deadlift over four hundred pounds and eat an entire pizza in one sitting. They also, Roman noted in pleased surprise, had painted nails and the tiniest hint of eyeliner.
“They’re non-binary, like Zoe,” Logan murmured in his ear. “They/them pronouns.”
“I knew that much, geez,” Roman hissed back through gritted teeth.
Dare chuckled. “Roman’s a good name. Strong.” They surveyed the others, counting heads, but the smile quickly returned. “Arcadia’s not a great place to meet new folks, but eh, Grimm life, amirite?”
Roman suddenly had an idea where Zoe might have gotten their perky, sardonic attitude.
“You made Belle,” he blurted out.
Dare raised an eyebrow when Roman awkwardly showed off the blade. “Well, hello there, little lady.”
“Can I, uh, keep her?” Roman said. “I mean, Hansel said it was okay, but Hansel sometimes isn’t, uh, you know…”
He trailed off as Dare sucked on their cheeks. “You know how to use her? Shine her up, keep her edge keen, keep her in fighting shape, eh, hunter?”
Roman allowed himself a thin smile to cover his unease. “You know who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are.” Dare narrowed their eyes. “What I do not know is whether you are a murderer like your old man.”
“I’ve killed faeries,” Roman admitted.
I may have to kill one more to get out of here.
Dare’s glower, if anything, grew more intense. “So’ve I, brother. That’s not what I asked.”
Roman frowned. “I’ve…never killed one who didn’t deserve it. I don’t do shit like that,” he added in a harder voice, pointing at the ceiling of caged pixies.
Dare sucked on their cheeks again and stuck out a hand, gesturing for the sword. Roman, his heart sinking, handed Belle over. Well, it wasn’t like he could use her properly now, anyway—
“You take care of Johnny’s boy, aight?” Dare murmured to the blade and held her out again, hilt first. “I think he’s gonna need it.”
Roman took her, swallowing, wondering if he’d passed some kind of test.
“Team, we are about to lose our distraction.” Rapunzel gestured. Vaalyun’s minions closed in around the thunderbird’s right side, hemming it in with spears, net wielders ready to pounce.
“I would rather not berserk with so many friendlies in here.” Dare pursed their lips. “Once I’m in it, I can’t tell friend from foe. But if I led the spear carriers to the other side of the room, maybe—”
“Let me deal with the spear carriers,” Patton said, that hard, awful quiet from the armory dominating his expression again.
“You?” Stiltz echoed.
“He is Pax,” Logan said, laying a hand on Patton’s back as Stiltz’s eyebrows shot up. “Imagine Gretel’s ability to calm Hansel, but figuratively turned to eleven. He can do it.”
Patton practically beamed in the glow of his fiancé’s show of trust. “You used a slang.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
Roman caught Virgil’s eye. The other smirked, rolled his eyes, and made a gagging face.
“They’re expecting a fight,” Patton added. “Let’s give them something they won’t see coming. Plus”—he smiled, his glasses glinting— “thanks to Roman, I’m pretty sure they’re not allowed kill me.”
Roman’s eyes widened.
“That may not extend to soldiers who weren’t there, Pat,” Virgil pointed out. “Or servants, thunderbirds, accidents. How many can you pacify at once?”
“Enough. And I’ll be careful.” Patton eyed them all. “But I might need someone to come along behind and…tie them up, I guess?”
“I’ll use my hair.” Rapunzel chopped off a hunk and stretched it out between her hands.
She could also use those hands to close their mouths and noses shut like she did in the meadow. It’d be safer to kill them. Roman gripped Belle’s hilt, disgusted at his own reasoning. He was thinking like a Smile hunter again, analyzing his friends’ powers in light of how many faeries they could wipe out at once.
It would take so little to turn any of us into monsters.
“You a murderer?” Dare had asked.
“All right, R and Patton, you deal with the spears,” Dare said. “I’ll grab Zoe and deal with the blue faery.”
“Then who’s going to take on—?” Stiltz started.
“What is happening? What do you discuss in this tongue I do not know?” Grewick spoke up for the first time in a while, sounding petulant.
“We are going to rescue our companion from your sister,” Roman explained.
“You mustn’t hurt her!” Grewick said, wringing his hands. “She is bound to our Lord by my folly, not her choice. He holds her magic hostage.”
Dare studied the faery, thumbing one of their lip rings. “Will you come with us and tell her we mean only to get our companion back?”
“The Lord must not see me helping.” Grewick shot a wide-eyed glance at Vaalyun, who now had his hand on the thunderbird’s head and was whispering to it. “He will kill me and take revenge upon my family.”
“Red and I can distract Vaalyun—” Stiltz started.
“No. Vaalyun is mine,” Roman interrupted in Faery, so Grewick would understand. He shot the faery a hard look. “Isn’t he?”
Grewick’s ears, previously laid flat against his head, shot up, and his black eyes narrowed. The switch from timidity to intensity happened so fast, Virgil raised a knife in response. Roman pushed his hand down.
“You know what I wish of your steel?” Grewick said. “You understand?”
“I do, but I fear I will not be able to accomplish this thing you ask,” Roman said. “Not from lack of will, but weakness of body.”
“No.” The faery shook his head, deer-like ears flapping. “The Contracts bend around you, changeling. I have never seen the like. You are the only one who can accomplish this thing.”
Dread pooled in Roman’s stomach. “I do not wish to die in the trying.”
“He cannot take your life,” Grewick pointed out. “You bargained thus.”
“Not directly.” Roman scowled, holding up his mangled hand. “But Vaalyun has proven skilled at exploiting loopholes in terms.”
Grewick dipped his head to glare through his lashes. “We have an accord.”
Roman exhaled. They did, gods damn it. And Grewick had technically held up his end of the bargain. Grewick’s hands darted out, prompting Virgil to raise a knife again in warning. The faery grasped Roman’s good hand, curling his hoofed fingers around Belle’s hilt.
“She will protect you,” he said, then laid the tip of a hoof on Iyusuri. “She will also protect you.”
“And I’ll fucking protect him,” Virgil snarled, the words sending a rush of warmth through Roman’s body and prompting Grewick to bow his head.
“Roman—” Virgil laid a hand on Roman’s arm. His cool, pale fingers contrasted with the terrible heat of the Hall.
“Look, Vaalyun was never going to let me leave, anyway,” Roman muttered. “As long as I had this, he’d hunt me.” He nodded to Iyusuri. “And even if we did manage to hand the mirror back to her people, he’d probably still seek revenge for ruining his plans.”
Red jerked backward with a cry, like she’d been slapped, losing her balance. Stiltz grabbed her shoulders as she fell behind the table, prosthetic legs clattering against the floor.
“He threw me out of her head!” Red clutched her temples. “Ow.”
Vaalyun flicked a finger. The thunderbird gave a terrible screech and whipped toward their hiding place.
“We’re out of time.” Dare flapped a hand. “Everyone, go!”
They scattered as the bird’s head dipped, seizing the table chunk and tossing it against the far wall. Rapunzel and Patton darted among Vaalyun’s soldiers; Stiltz grabbed Red’s hand and they followed. Dare—with a frightened Grewick clinging to their back—rushed for Zoe. The bird shook itself, pumping its wings and forcing everyone down, even Vaalyun.
“Move in,” Vaalyun ordered his soldiers, ducking the bird’s beak and striding to the center of the room. “Restrain it!”
Roman dodged an errant wing and jogged, head down, toward the fireplace. He caught a glimpse of purple plaid and knew Virgil was behind him. He wished he could tell Virgil to get somewhere safe, but that would make him angry, and then he would follow anyway and possibly interfere at the worst possible moment. If Virgil had to be here, Roman wanted him on his six, working with him.
They got halfway across and crouched in the shadow of an overturned chair.
“How’s this gonna work?” Virgil asked.
“I’m going to rush him and hope for the element of surprise,” Roman said.
Virgil bit his lip and nodded. “Just like you meant to do with Deceit. Maybe in Arcadia, your luck will pull through.”
His face loomed very close, close enough for Roman to count his eyelashes, for his gaze to subconsciously drop to Virgil’s mouth…
“Don’t get close to him, okay?” Roman glanced over his shoulder; Vaalyun was still plenty distracted. It was now or never. “Don’t let him use you against me. You know…” He exhaled. “You know it’ll work.”
Virgil closed his eyes. “You are such a prince.”
“I am not—!” Roman protested.
“No, no, listen.” Virgil grabbed his shoulders. “I know you’re trying your damndest not to be a Prince with a capital P; I get that. But you are—ugh, I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” He grimaced. “You’re a Disney prince. Straight out of a fairy tale, chivalrous, loyal, so far up his own ass he’d ride his noble steed right off a cliff.”
“Well, now, that last bit was just rude. And wrong.” Roman narrowed his eyes. “You hate Disney princes. I feel like I should be insulted here.”
Virgil smiled at Roman’s affronted expression. “Oh, all that saccharine Disney crap gives me hives.” His smile grew softer. “Those princes, though…they always do the good thing. They don’t hurt people—not on purpose, anyway. They protect, even when it’s hard. And…they’re proof that some fairy tales turn out okay in the end.”
Roman was floored. “I cannot believe I just heard Virgil Storm defending Disney princes.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to start reading you bedtime stories.” Virgil hunched into his hoodie. “Don’t engage him, okay?” he added. “Forget the honor trollshit; just kill the fucker. And for fuck’s sake, don’t shout like you did with Deceit in front of the Athens.”
“Gotcha.” Roman tried a wink, but something in Virgil’s solemn expression made the levity fall flat.
“Roman…” Virgil sighed. “Kate told me if we made it out of that mess with Deceit, that I should tell you…and I didn’t get to do it last time, so maybe—”
“Tell me what?” Roman’s heart tried to climb into his throat.
“Just that…I care. Even when I say stupid shit or get mad or oversensitive or whatever…” Virgil set a hand on Roman’s face, fingers digging in, his dark eyes glittering. “I care about you. So come back to me, understand?”
Roman never wanted to kiss Virgil as badly as he did in that moment. Tell him. Tell him now, Iyusuri hissed, or maybe it was just his own desperate feelings. Tell him tell him tell him…
But what if it’s not like that? Everything in him ached for those words to mean what he desperately wanted them to, but what if they didn’t? He would ruin everything.
He couldn’t do that.
He did allow himself to lean into Virgil’s hand before pulling away. “Hey. You know me.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Virgil grumbled.
Roman smiled, exhaled, and faced that damned Sidhe again, those stupid clashing clothes and smug face practically begging for violence.
This is it.
Luck, give me a clear shot.
Chapter 33- Nasturtium
invictus maneo (i remain unconquered)
perge ad victoriam (go on to victory)
~ “Invictus” by Delain
victory in struggle
Roman leaned on his luck, stepping into the beads and the breathless rush Arcadia lent his power.
Patton seemed to have at least half the attacking Sidhe under his control. A gloveless Stiltz moved among them, grabbing spear shafts, turning them to iron and forcing the soldiers to drop them. Red, wielding a wooden staff, watched his rear. Dare held a knot of soldiers back from Logan, who had managed to slip through with Grewick and currently knelt at Zoe’s side, deep in conversation with Morwick.
The thunderbird shrieked and curled in on itself, pecking at its feet. Roman spotted Rapunzel’s black hair in the flurry of golden feathers and realized she was using her power to stick the bird’s feet to the floor.
Vaalyun—gesturing, shouting—stood alone at the center of the chaos.
Roman didn’t wait.
He checked Iyusuri, made sure he had a solid grip on Belle, and ran.
Seconds stretched out as Roman raced across the slick floor, gaze fixed on Vaalyun. His stupid loincloth flexed against his legs, hindering his stride, but the luck buzzing in his veins gave him confidence. Every strand of possibility converged on this one moment. Belle glinted in his hand; deadly sharp.
He lined up the point with Vaalyun’s chest.
He came in from the faery’s blind side.
He sprinted silently, on the balls of his bare feet.
He didn’t shout.
And yet somehow, somehow, Vaalyun still heard him coming.
The faery spun at the last second, rapier in hand, meeting Roman’s strike with a smirk and a swift parry. Vaalyun pushed Roman’s blade aside, sending him stumbling. Roman whirled, meeting another mind-numbingly fast blow in a shower of sparks. He staggered away.
Damn it. Damn it!
“You really are the spawn of Johnny Prince, aren’t you?” Vaalyun crooned, whipping his sword as he stalked toward Roman. It crackled like flames on dry wood. “A blade in the backside? After all the hospitality I’ve shown?”
Roman inched back, breathing hard, Belle’s tip wavering between them. Without the flimsy shield of clothing, the fireplace’s heat scorched his body from head to toe, stealing the breath from his lungs…or maybe that was fear.
I can’t fight a Sidhe, not like this. I can’t…
“Not even going to defend your actions?” Vaalyun tsked.
Roman darted in again, flicking Belle’s tip in the hopes of catching the faery’s throat, but Vaalyun simply leaned out of range. His next blow knocked Roman’s sword clean out of his hands. Roman ran flat out, chasing the blade as it hit the floor with a clatter, picking it up again, whirling.
Vaalyun hadn’t even moved.
“You cannot defeat me, changeling,” he said with a sharp grin. “But by all means, keep trying.”
“Well, we still have an accord,” Roman yelled, running at the faery again. “So, you can’t kill me!”
This time, he managed to trade a few spark showers before Vaalyun whipped his rapier at Roman’s face, catching skin in a messy slice, only narrowly missing his eyes. Pain seared. Roman lunged back, wiping salty crimson from his eyes. Face wounds always bled horribly, or fuck, did he blind me??
No. Vaalyun approached in a miasma of stinging red. Roman scrubbed his bad wrist against his eyes.
“I don’t have to kill you,” Vaalyun said.
Roman shouted in frustration and lunged again, but Vaalyun went on the offensive. The rapier lashed out, again and again, blows too fast for Roman to even see coming. Panicked, Roman sank into his training and defended his torso, letting the smaller blows land, picking his parries, keeping the attacks away from vital nerves, veins, and tendons. Sparks flew; warm blood trickled down his arms, legs, over his hands, making his grip on Belle slippery.
Half-blinded from the cut on his face, he stumbled into a chair and, without thinking, heaved it toward the faery. Vaalyun clearly hadn’t expected that and had to dodge, buying Roman a few precious seconds to wipe blood from his eyes and refocus.
His hands shook. His knees trembled. He couldn’t keep this up.
“See?” Vaalyun approached again, flicking red from his sword tip. “I merely have to wear you down until you cannot resist me. Then I will cut off your fingers, one by one, until you give me what I desire.”
Luck, help me. Roman stumbled into another chair, leaning hard on the beads, but it felt like trying to put all his weight on the flimsiest of curtains. Any more pressure, and he’d fall through. He was maxed out.
“We’ve got them! Fall back!” Dare shouted from across the hall, drawing Roman’s gaze for a precious second.
Logan had his arms around a groggy-looking Zoe. Grewick dragged his sister toward the Hall doors; she resisted, pointing to the ceiling and crying. The Founders formed a circle around the others as they pushed toward the door—fighting now, as Patton seemed to be wearing down. Dare met Roman’s gaze across the room and gestured toward the entrance.
I should run. Running makes sense. Roman gripped the chair and looked at Vaalyun, who once again advanced on him, rapier raised. I can’t kill him. I can’t even land a hit.
But when Roman tried to turn, it felt like a vise clamped around his body, locking him in place. He met Grewick’s black eyes across the room.
Grewick glanced at his struggling sister…at the Hall doors…back at Roman.
You could release me, Roman thought, silently pleading. Can’t you see I can’t do this?
But Grewick’s gaze flickered behind Roman, to Vaalyun, and his deer-like face hardened. He turned away.
Roman gritted his teeth and tried in vain to move toward the exit. His legs wouldn’t budge.
I’m doomed. I’m going to die here.
“Princey!” Virgil’s familiar gravelly voice shouted. “Let’s go!”
“I can’t!” Roman shouted back, dodging as Vaalyun finally lunged. The rapier tip miraculously missed his flesh and embedded into the chair wood. Roman used the moment to retreat, running parallel to the fireplace, and get another chair between him and the faery.
Vaalyun cursed, tugging at his sword, but for the moment it was stuck. Strike! Strike now! Roman’s Smile instincts whispered, but he was too weak, too shaky.
Then both Patton and Logan tore away from Dare’s group, and Virgil had already covered the distance to Roman.
“No!” Roman croaked. Arcadian hells, was that his voice? “Stay back!”
“Faery Queens.” Virgil wadded up his hoodie sleeve and pressed it to Roman’s face. “I told you to forget your fucking honor and—”
“I tried. Grewick tasked me with killing him. Our agreement won’t let me leave this fight until I do.” Roman pushed them behind him. “You all need to get out while you can.”
“Fuck that.” Virgil got about two steps before Logan caught up and seized the back of his hoodie. “Let go! I’ll kill that bastard myself!
“Eliminating the source of Roman’s pledge would not necessarily absolve him of it,” Logan said, and Roman, his heart skipping, realized Virgil meant to go after Grewick. “And it would not be fair to Grewick, who merely wants his and his sister’s freedom.”
Virgil growled, jerked out of Logan’s grip, but hunched into his hoodie and stayed put.
“We have your back. Let’s kill Vaalyun together,” Logan said quietly, hefting his short staff—which he was holding all wrong, and which he clearly hadn’t yet used.
Roman dared to fully take his gaze off the struggling faery long enough to face the three of them.
“It has to be me, and only me. That was the risk I took in agreeing to his terms, and I have to accept those consequences.” He held up a finger when Virgil’s mouth opened. “Vaalyun cannot find out how Grewick has trapped me. If he knows I can’t leave, he’ll go after one of you as leverage again. Probably you.” He caught Logan’s gray-eyed gaze. “Because he knows he can kill you.”
“You want him to think only your honor holds you to this contest, so all his attention remains focused on you.” Logan’s nostrils flared. “I do not like it, but…I see the sense in such subterfuge.”
“But…” Virgil swallowed hard. “Can you kill him?”
Roman touched the cut on his forehead, examined his arms, his legs, everywhere Vaalyun’s sword had drawn red. No, he thought, feeling sick. No, I don’t think I can.
“I have to try, don’t I?” he whispered.
Virgil made a terrible face, and Roman knew he heard what he hadn’t admitted.
“Look, maybe…” Roman cut off to chuckle bitterly. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“I grow bored with this contest, not-Johnny,” Vaalyun called. He’d freed his sword but waited, arms crossed, seemingly in no hurry…because why should he be? He knows I don’t stand a chance.
Use me, Iyusuri whispered, burning under his bad arm. He may hesitate to strike if I am in the way.
Roman’s heart skipped. “I might have an idea.”
He pushed Belle into Logan’s hands—of the three, Logan was the least likely to try and stop him—and positioned Iyusuri’s handle in his bad hand. Closing his fingers around her sent raw agony shooting through his arm, nearly made him vomit the granola bars he’d eaten, but he managed to get a decent hold without blacking out.
“What are you going to do?” Logan asked, handing his sword back.
“I’m gonna use Iyusuri like a shield. She thinks he might hesitate, which would give me an opening.”
Roman looked at them, these dear, dear friends who’d stuck with him, who’d come back for him—who, even now, refused to leave without him. A rush of affection had him throwing his arms around all three, ignoring Virgil’s squawk of surprise and Logan’s sputtering. They reeked of sweat and burnt campfire smoke, but under that, Roman caught hints of almond soap, that sexy forest scent Logan used, and of course, patchouli.
Someone’s head bumped against his.
“Come back,” Virgil murmured in his ear.
Roman dared to plant a kiss in those faded bangs, felt Virgil freeze and stiffen up. “I’ll do my best, Stormcloud.”
Without giving himself a chance to hesitate, Roman ran at Vaalyun. The faery grinned and raised his sword, his lips moving, but Roman was so hyper-focused on his target that the Faery words washed right over him.
Let him strike first. Parry. Find the opening.
His luck hummed in his nerves; again, he felt the beaded curtain in his mind threaten to give way.
He strafed sideways as he came within Vaalyun’s range, hoping to goad the faery into overextending. The rapier flicked around, almost faster than Roman could follow, and he made to block it with his left hand. At the last second, he switched sides and parried with Iyusuri, expecting Vaalyun to pull the swing.
Vaalyun did not.
The blade clanged against Iyusuri’s back, knocking her from Roman’s weak grip…and just as abruptly, she flitted back, slamming into his bad palm with a force that dropped him to his knees. Smarting, he raised her again. Vaalyun’s bared teeth flashed in the firelight…
He brought his weapon straight up this time, leaving his whole side open. But, as Roman lunged in to slide Belle between Vaalyun’s exposed ribs, Vaalyun’s rapier sliced into the hand holding Iyusuri, severing flesh and bone. Roman screamed, missing his lunge, rolling past Vaalyun, and curling in on himself.
Vaalyun had cut his hand off. Iyusuri lay a dozen feet away, the sense of her in his mind as stunned as he felt.
Roman scrambled to his knees as Vaalyun approached again, clamping the wrist in his left armpit, dizzy with pain, nauseous, shaking. Still, years of training kept Belle’s tip steady. When Vaalyun went to pick up the mirror, she skittered away and knocked Belle from Roman’s grip, insinuating herself in the sword’s place.
“NO, you stupid mirror!” Roman hissed, shaking his hand, but she refused to be dislodged. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
I will protect you, she said.
“You are not a fucking weapon, which is what I need right now!”
You are mine, and I will protect you.
Vaalyun stalked toward him, gaze fixed on the mirror. Roman tried one last time to grab Belle, but Iyusuri refused to be dropped, and Vaalyun kicked the sword aside, out of his reach. Roman held Iyusuri out like a shield, but the faery seized Roman by the neck, yanking him up, nearly cutting off his air supply.
“You would taunt me with her?” Vaalyun asked, brows furrowed, sounding so genuinely puzzled that Roman wanted to strangle him back. “Why do you continue to deny me what is mine? Do you think I enjoy this torture?”
“I think you do, actually,” Roman growled in Faery, just to piss him off, glancing up to the pixie cages.
Vaalyun’s jaw worked; his rapier’s tip was under Roman’s jaw before he could even think to move.
“I will have the mirror,” he said lowly.
Roman breathed carefully through the constriction. Stall. Stall until you think of something else.
“Even if you do get Iyusuri, Vaalyun, then what?” he asked. “You really think this Lady of Veils is gonna take back some stupid, dirty, rotten, filthy, silly billy, no good for nothing, uh”—Roman was running out of insults— “white, uh, rat-scoundrel bitch like you? You murdered her true love! She’d not gonna forget that just because a mirror tells her to.”
“She will have me!” Vaalyun’s fingers squeezed; his sword dug into the skin of his throat. “It is destiny.”
Roman, sensing he’d hit a nerve, barreled on. “You gonna tell her how many innocent pixies you murdered to get your hands on Iyusuri? How many changelings? You gonna bring her to your house and show her your little torture show on the ceiling?”
Vaalyun put his lips next to Roman’s ear. “I will cut that insolent tongue from your mouth. I will cut off your other hand, and then your feet, we will see how brave you feel when you are forced to crawl upon my floor like the worm you are.”
Roman flinched as the rapier drew blood.
“I will sear your flesh and drain your innards until you beg for the death I cannot grant. You will wish you’d never made the accord sparing your life. I will—”
Something metallic sailed through the air and bonked Vaalyun in the head. He reflexively let go.
Roman staggered away, coughing.
“What—?” Vaalyun scooped up the object: a knife, its bronze blade glinting in the firelight.
Roman’s eyes widened, his mind flashing back to Virgil outside the armory, collecting extra knives.
“Leave. Him. Alone!” Virgil, eyes blazing, stepped from behind a fallen potted plant and sent ropey flower stems rolling across the space to tangle Vaalyun’s legs.
“Did…did you just use a dagger as a throwing knife?” Roman sputtered, still shocked to be free. “That’s like the first thing I taught you not to do!”
“Distraction, Princey,” Virgil growled back, hands flexed.
More vines burst from the floor. Vaalyun growled, slicing them away…but then his blade clanged uselessly on stems abruptly covered in ice, creeping toward his knees. Roman looked wildly around and spotted Logan on his other side, eyes pure white, steam rolling off his dark skin. The ice broke on the second blow—Logan was still weak—but by then, Virgil managed to restrain the faery’s sword arm.
“That’s enough out of you.” Patton stepped into Roman’s line of sight, followed by a wave of calm so strong his knees gave way entirely. “Oops, sorry Ro.”
Patton waved; the calm lifted. Roman got his feet under him a second time, half expecting the vision to fade. Maybe the pain was making him hallucinate…but no. His three friends converged upon Vaalyun, who snarled and fought the creeping vines. Patton stopped within a foot of the faery, eyes bright, visibly straining; Vaalyun must be fighting him.
“No,” Roman said. “Guys…you have to…get away…”
“Shh.” Patton sent the tiniest finger of calm his way. “We’ve got you.”
Hands slipped under Roman’s elbows; Logan, helping him stand. Virgil kept his gaze fixed on Vaalyun as vines circled his entire body. Patton stepped in and laid a hand on the faery, who slumped, though his eyes still blazed.
“Oh—oh my. He’s very strong, isn’t he?” Patton grunted. “I won’t be able to hold him long, even while touching him.”
Roman looked at Virgil’s pale hands, heart skipping in dread when he noticed the greenish cast to his veins.
“Virge—”
“I’m fine.” Virgil coughed. “Do your thing.”
“They can restrain him long enough for you to put an end to this,” Logan added. “The others are holding the door. Free yourself, and let’s get out of here.”
Roman, bad hand still clamped under his armpit, stuffed Iyusuri there as well—thank fuck, she let him—and hefted Belle. Virgil managed to loop a thick stem across Vaalyun’s mouth, keeping him from speaking, but the faery’s black eyes promised all manner of pain and suffering.
Smile. Say the words and straight across the throat. You’ve done it before. Roman approached, gaze lingering on Vaalyun’s white neck before lifting to his jaw. Or straight up to the brain, like Deceit. Faster, less cruel. More like how a Grimm would do it.
Belle’s tip wavered.
Cruel or fast? Smile or Grimm?
Roman gritted his teeth.
He has to die. I have to be the one to kill him.
His bad arm throbbed, making his concentration waver.
“Are you a murderer?”
“I’ve never killed a faery that didn’t deserve it.”
He touched his luck, not pushing, just letting the metaphorical beaded curtain brush his skin.
“You’ve lost, Vaalyun,” he said. “Your house is in disarray, most of your bodyguards are dead. We’ve freed your birds. Your servants have probably fled. You could kill all of us right now, and none of that would change.” He smirked. “Oh, wait, you can’t even kill all of us, or stop us from leaving, can you?”
Vaalyun scowled, flexing against Virgil’s vines, making Roman’s heart skip. Yeah…taunting was probably not smart just then.
Roman scanned the Hall.
True to Logan’s word, the Founders still held the doorway. Some of Vaalyun’s goons—the few left alive and untied—had gotten their net over the thunderbird at last. He eyed the ceiling, the chiming pixies. Hot beads rolled over his skin when he noted the gaping link in the chain holding the grand chandelier to the roof beams.
He started to get an idea.
He studied the blazing fireplace, noted the way Vaalyun’s eyes kept darting to it. He studied the net holding Red’s thunderbird down, noted which rope bore the most strain.
His gaze finally came back to Belle’s tip, which still quivered under Vaalyun’s jaw.
Smile…or Grimm?
What am I?
“I know I’m not him,” Roman whispered. “I don’t have to be him.”
The beaded strand snapped into place.
Roman withdrew his sword.
Vaalyun’s eyes narrowed.
“I want you to remember my mercy, Lord Vaalyun of Carafel,” Roman said in Faery, enunciating the slippery words. “Remember that the son of Johnny Prince does not slay enemies while they kneel helpless.”
“Princey…what are you doing?” Virgil murmured.
“Let him go,” Roman ordered. “He’s not a threat anymore.”
They stared at him.
“But you…how will you…” Logan started. How will you leave if you don’t fulfill your promise, his gaze demanded.
“Trust me.” Roman allowed himself a smile.
He turned his back, despite every Smile instinct railing against it, and walked toward the Hall doors with his head held high, trusting his friends to do what he said.
Trusting that he’d read Vaalyun’s intentions correctly.
Trusting that this would work.
Grewick’s bond didn’t restrain him, which boded well.
He passed the struggling thunderbird and under the great chandelier, and finally heard commotion at his back. Shouts, footsteps, a hollow rush.
Three, two, one, Roman counted. He ducked.
Vaalyun’s fireball roared over his body and exploded against the thunderbird’s back, causing it to shriek. The net burst into flame.
Roman sprang up and threw Belle. She spun across the room, catching the weak rope restraining the bird…but not severing it, dammit, didn’t I just finish telling Virgil throwing normal weapons doesn’t work?? However, the sword also narrowly missed the tallest minion, who let go with a cry, giving the bird just enough leeway to break free of the now-flaming net. It reared up, causing the rest to scatter.
Vaalyun—loose now; his friends had fallen back—summoned another fireball, but before he could throw it, the thunderbird’s flailing wing caught him in the stomach and knocked him into the fireplace. The bird flapped to the ceiling, grabbing the chandelier, which caused the weak chain to snap and the whole monstrosity to break off in the bird’s talons. It jerked, flinging itself toward the doors and the chandelier into the fireplace…precisely where Vaalyun was pushing himself to his feet.
It crashed, burying the faery and shattering in a fiery vortex.
The Hall fell deathly silent but for the chandelier, which popped and split in the fire, bits bursting into flame and settling. Vaalyun’s remaining minions dropped weapons and ran. The Founders let them pass in clear shock, tiptoeing toward Roman, a hesitant Grewick and Morwick on their heels. Virgil, Logan, and Patton joined from the other side.
Roman watched the fire.
When no angry faery emerged from the rubble, he finally allowed himself to un-tense, nearly falling over. Dare was the first to reach him, slipping an enormous hand under his arm.
“What,” they said without preamble, “in the blue fuck was that?”
Chapter 34- Yarrow
too skeptical to believe a truth
too wide awake for a singular view
leaving everything divided
~ “Parallel World” by The Birthday Massacre
fresh start
“Your master is dead,” Roman said to Grewick as the faery stalked toward him, eyes narrowed. “Our accord is fulfilled.”
Grewick’s large nostrils flared. “You broke our accord when you refused to slay him. He is dead from an accident. I watched. You were lucky.”
“Oh, I am very lucky.” Roman let anger drip into his voice. “And I never broke our accord. I just finished him off my way.”
“How?” Grewick snapped.
“I offered him mercy because I refuse to be an executioner.” Roman looked at Dare as he said this; the Founder dipped their head in acknowledgment. “I knew he’d never accept it. He kept looking at the fire. I knew if I gave him a target, he would take it, and his line of sight to the net would be perfect. I saw the weak chain in the chandelier. All the pieces were set. So, I baited him, turned my back, made myself seem weak.” He smiled at Grewick’s growing discomfort. “He took the bait.”
“But everything after that was all just, just…!” Grewick protested.
“Coincidence?” Roman lifted his chin. “Luck?”
Grewick’s ears flattened back on his head.
Roman grinned. “Now you understand what I am.” He turned to the others. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” Morwick cried.
She shoved forward and held up her hands. They were bonier than her brother’s; the hooves more slender and sharp. Roman remembered all too well what those hands did to Zoe, but such was the anguish in that single word that he forced himself to temper his growing annoyance.
“What do you want?”
“The Lord held my geas,” she said. Up close, she was identical to her brother but for those unsettlingly blue eyes. “Now I cannot fulfill it and free my friend.”
“Who’s your friend?” he asked.
“Sorrell Shimmercup.” Morwick pointed at the ceiling. “When the Lord captured her, I used the san on him. Grewick bargained for my life; that is how I came to serve here. He vowed to free her if I did not use my san again for a time.” Her voice grew smaller. “He always forced me to use it before this time had passed. He would threaten to break the geas and kill her if I refused.”
“What’s this?” Stiltz had been talking with Red in the doorway, but now he came back over.
Roman sighed. “Morwick has a pixie friend and isn’t allowed to free her for trollshit faery accord reasons. And given that these cages are made of iron, I’m guessing none of the other servants could, either. If any are left.”
Stiltz shot him a considering look, rubbing a gloved knuckle over his lips.
“You are a good man, aren’t you?” he said in his smooth tenor. “All right. Let’s get the pixies down.”
“None of us can handle pure iron without getting burned, either,” Virgil pointed out. “Except Stiltz, I guess.”
Stiltz wordlessly wiggled his gloved fingers.
“I mean, I’ve done it barehanded—” Roman started.
Virgil silenced him with a look.
“I’ll help.” Zoe slipped free from Logan’s supporting arm and straightened. They still looked haggard from three days of forced unconsciousness—skin pale, cheeks hollow—but their eyes were clear. “Human, remember?”
They debated how to get them down with no ladder and no chandelier to climb; Logan finally devised a solution. He collected a few fallen spears, which Stiltz converted to soft aluminum, allowing them to be twisted into hooked poles. Once they’d been turned into bronze again—so everyone could help—the group spread out, using the pole hooks to lift each cage and bring it down. Many of the cages had already fallen during the battle; Stiltz and Zoe freed those pixies first.
As they worked, the Hall filled with tiny, flitting, chiming figures, who laid tiny hands onto faces and gave tiny, grateful kisses before disappearing through the Hall doors. Roman couldn’t help but count how many of the rescued pixies had to be carried out by their cousins, too burned or iron-sick to fly…and how many were just tiny corpses.
Morwick moved among the grounded cages, stopping at one and gesturing frantically at Roman. “Here! Not-Johnny! You must free Sorrell.”
Roman peered inside the cage. A single pixie shrank back, her yellow dress in tatters, skin gray, wings dark and drooping. That bastard, Roman thought again, remembering what Vaalyun did to Wrassey.
“I can’t break the bars one-handed. Let me get—”
“I got this, Smile Knight.” Zoe sidled up and took the cage.
“Hold on, I don’t think she can fly.” Roman positioned Zoe’s hands around the top and bottom of the cage, holding it diagonal, and then had Morwick cup her hands underneath. Zoe twisted, the cage crumpled, and Sorrell slid into Morwick’s waiting palms. Morwick curled her hands against her heart, whispering to her friend.
“I am in your debt,” she said to Roman, eyeing him up and down and focusing on his missing hand. “Let me soothe that. It looks painful.”
“What, no, it’s—” he started.
She grabbed the wrist so hard he cried out, unable to even think to pull away. The throbbing pain—which he’d all but ceased to consciously notice—ebbed to something more like Logan’s ice and faded entirely as she let go. Roman cradled the stump in amazement. It…well, it was still a stump, but the relief from that constant agony almost made him tear up.
“How?” he asked.
“San. I make things sleep.” She grinned a mouthful of huge, flat teeth.
He shivered and watched the rest of the pixie rescue in uncomfortable silence. As loudly as Roman had cursed Vaalyun’s name over the treatment of these pixies, at no point during his escape and battle had he contemplated doing anything about it. If Morwick hadn’t spoken up, would I have walked away and doomed them all by just…forgetting about them? The realization made Roman remember the kobolds in the woods, cut down like vines on his blade because they were hungry and in his way.
No more. If I can possibly help it. Though…I don’t know how that will square with my place in Smile.
Could he keep that, though? Would he ever be a proper hunter again?
Hunger, thirst, and exhaustion all tugged at his consciousness. Vaalyun’s marks on his arms and legs burned. He wanted to be done with tricks, with promises, with fucking faeries. But there was still the mirror, tucked under his arm. He had to break the bond holding them together.
I don’t suppose saving you from Vaalyun would make you consider freeing me? he thought at her.
I am not your jailer. Her voice in his mind sharpened. You could be free this instant if you wished. She grew warm against his skin. Look at me.
He scowled. Don’t make me regret feeling like I have a duty of care towards you.
“Roman.” Virgil laid a hand on his arm and made a face. “Yeesh, you’re sweaty.” He wiped his hand on his pants.
“And you’re not?” Roman snarked, not really appreciating the reminder since he was still mostly naked and therefore unfairly on display.
Virgil huffed and flapped his hoodie against his back. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to wash all these clothes at least twice when we get home.”
“You could at least take the jacket off, you know.”
“And show off my damp-ass tank top?” Virgil smirked. “I’d rather suffer.”
Roman noticed Virgil’s gaze lingering on his stump and stuffed it behind his back.
Rapunzel called them over. The last cages lay in pieces on the floor, and only Vaalyun’s dying fireplace remained to light the space.
“What will you do, Roman, now that Vaalyun is dead?” She nodded to the mirror under his arm.
“I still have to find the real Carafel Court,” Roman said, even though all he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
“Do you think they’ll help you? I mean…” Stiltz gestured at the pixie cages.
“They banished Vaalyun for murdering someone, so I’m guessing they didn’t approve of his cruelty.” Roman’s eyes widened, remembering Vaalyun’s story. “In fact, I think I know of someone there who might like to hear what’s become of him.”
“With Astaros’ geas spent…” Logan spoke up. “I loathe asking such a ridiculous question, but can the mirror still guide you?”
“I don’t know.” Roman didn’t want to count on that. He turned instead to Morwick, who owed him a debt.
“The proper Court of Carafel,” he said, switching to Faery. “Could you lead us there? Vaalyun called it the blue…blue something…”
“The Bluefire Hills.” Morwick nodded. Sorrell had curled up on her shoulder, but at this, she perked up and whispered in her ear. “Sorrell knows this place. We will show you. Come.”
“I would be grateful,” he said. “And I would consider us even.”
The group wound through the castle—eerily empty now—with Grewick and Morwick leading the way. They threw open the great doors and shuffled into the tree-filled courtyard with its smoke-scented fruit. Roman had never been so grateful to feel fresh, cool air and the sun on his face, even if it was the distant Arcadian sun in its alien black sky.
Stiltz and Red had wisely hidden the supplies they’d brought—mostly food and water—between a tree and the courtyard wall, where they hadn’t been discovered. Roman gratefully accepted a bag of beef jerky and a bottle of water, which he downed in practically one gulp.
“I don’t suppose you packed any extra clothes?” He eyed the backpacks.
“Sorry, no,” Red said with a smile that was somehow both remorseful and amused. “You and Logan could go back in and strip a couple soldiers?”
“Corpse clothes?” Roman shuddered. “I’d rather suffer.”
Virgil let out a gratifying snort and immediately pretended he hadn’t.
“The Court is many days march,” Morwick warned, gesturing toward the courtyard gates. “Perhaps we should rest here, so those who need to recover may do so?”
Roman didn’t want to stay in Arcadia for even another second, let alone several days…but he knew his body. He wouldn’t be walking anywhere like this. Every part of him ached. He needed to eat, to wash the soot and grime out of his wounds, to clean and bandage his wrist properly.
“I’ll wait, and go with Morwick tomorrow,” he announced. “The rest of you—”
“I can help with the waiting part.” Red put fingers to her lips and whistled. Thunder rolled over the castle and several large birds dropped from the sky, crouching like giant, tame chickens. Red walked among them, speaking softly and patting their heads.
“How…?” Morwick gripped one of her horn stubs. “The highland thunderbirds are proud. They only come at the bidding of those they trust.”
Red shrugged, but Roman thought she looked the slightest bit uncomfortable. “Animals trust me.”
“I will, erm, get their saddles.” Grewick hustled toward one of the towers set into the wall.
Morwick’s nostrils flared. “We should still rest.”
Roman shook his head. “I can rest on the way. I would rather get this over with. But…look, not everyone needs to go.” He looked around at the four Founders, his friends, and Zoe, knowing he couldn’t in good conscience ask this many people to stay in Arcadia.
Grewick returned, dragging four giant saddles; Morwick rushed to help him.
Dare scrubbed a hand over their head. “Not that any of us would consider abandoning you, but Cinder’s flight will have landed by now, and Rosa and Kate won’t be far behind. That’s a lot of anxious people to have in one house with Gretel when none of them know what’s happening here. Now that the rescuing part is done, some of us ought to be there to update them.”
“You called Kate?” Roman asked, feeling like someone had knocked the wind from his lungs.
“Rapunzel called everybody. Only reason they aren’t here is because we didn’t think waiting was smart.” Dare nudged his shoulder.
“I volunteer for the homecoming party.” Stiltz raised a hand. “If I may, I suggest Zoe come with me, at the very least.”
“Aw, c’mon, man,” they protested.
“You look ready to fall over,” Roman pointed out, still reeling from the news that Kate would be waiting for him back home. “You need to take care of yourself. Plus, you’ve got partners to get back to, right?”
Even though Zoe was older by several years, he felt weirdly protective…especially since he was the reason they’d been captured in the first place. They finally nodded, though they didn’t look happy about it. Roman exhaled in relief.
“I’ll back up Stiltz and Zo,” Dare said. “What about Roman’s crew?”
“We go where he goes,” Virgil said without a moment’s hesitation. Logan and Patton nodded; all three moved to flank him.
They love you, you know, Iyusuri whispered.
Hush. Roman bit the inside of his lip.
“Logan, are you sure?” Rapunzel clasped Logan’s shoulders. “You’ve been through hell—”
“Roman is my friend,” Logan cut in, lifting his chin.
“I’ll go with them, R,” Red said softly. “You should go with Stiltz and Dare.”
Rapunzel’s jaw clenched. “I’m not—”
“Traumatized? Yes, you are.” Red set a hand on Rapunzel’s face. “We all know you can handle yourself. But you are tired, you have spent too much time in Arcadia already, and this is personal to you. And when things are personal to you, you get reckless. I will look after your son.”
Rapunzel exhaled, looking away. “How are the legs?”
“Strong.” Red bounced lightly. “Nice and broken in. No aches.”
An unspoken conversation took place between Rapunzel gritting her teeth and Red, who barely came up to her nose, even in prosthetics, smiling that sweet, sad smile of hers. Roman wondered what it would be like to share such history with another person, where a simple touch could convey years of meaning. He couldn’t imagine feeling that with anyone he knew in Smile.
Logan pulled his mother in for an uncharacteristic hug, and Roman felt it would be polite to look away.
“Grewick.” Red addressed the deer faeries, who’d finished saddling the birds. Grewick’s ears perked up at the Faery pronunciation of his name, and he straightened.
“We are dividing our party,” Red explained. “Some will go with your sister. The rest would like to go back Earthside. You know how to guide these birds?”
“I do,” Grewick said, patting one of the birds’ necks.
“Would you be willing to accompany some of us to the gap within the village of blackberries?”
Grewick sucked on his teeth, and for a horrible instant, Roman was sure he’d refuse.
“I have kin in that village who will wish to know of the Lord’s demise,” the faery said, ears flicking back. “Flying would shorten said journey immensely.” He nimbly leaped onto the largest bird’s neck, settling astride its neck. “I will do this thing you ask.”
But his black gaze flickered to Roman as he said it, and Roman nearly rolled his eyes. He feels guilty for what he put me through, and he’s too proud to admit it. Yet, despite everything, a tiny glimmer of hope rekindled in Roman’s tired chest.
Vaalyun was dead.
Zoe was still human, and they were heading home. They were safe. By some miracle, Roman hadn’t screwed that up.
Chapter 35- Primrose
hold onto my hand, for only long enough
to slip away into the evening wind
~ “Run, Run” by Arrows to Athens
hope
“No more than four to each bird,” Morwick said, climbing onto the second bird. Red mounted a third and had to help Roman up, as Iyusuri refused to leave his grip. He settled, patting his body to make sure he hadn’t forgotten…
“Belle!” he cried, realizing he’d left her in the castle.
“Relax, Princey, I’ve got your damned sword.” Virgil scrambled up and plopped behind him.
How did he find her? Roman stared at Belle’s hilt and scabbard, tied securely to Virgil’s waist. Warmth blossomed in his stomach. No one else even thought to look.
Morwick and Red held their birds’ heads, so they didn’t follow when Grewick and the others took off in a thunderclap and a flurry of feathers. Roman prayed the Founders would make it out of Arcadia without mishap but found—horribly, perhaps—that he was not sorry to see Grewick go.
“I will tell this bird to follow yours,” Red called to Morwick. Logan and Patton sat behind the faery, Logan clutching Patton’s waist, probably remembering the last time he’d flown on one of these. Patton waved. The birds took off; Virgil’s hands gripped like clamps around Roman’s hips.
Vaalyun’s castle dropped away below them. They soared high, the birds’ wings pumping in great swoops until they hit a steady current. Virgil’s death grip loosened; Roman relaxed his knees. Red slid back on the saddle and flipped around to sit backwards, almost giving Roman a heart attack, but she managed gracefully.
“Eat,” she ordered, bringing around the backpack she wore.
“I’ve been eating,” Roman grumbled. He’d long ago finished off the jerky.
“Drink, then. Eat more if you can stomach it.”
Red’s pack was full to bursting with fruit, granola, more jerky, and more water bottles.
“Did Rapunzel pack this?” he asked. He had to slip Iyusuri under his thigh to free his hand, which she grumbled about.
Red shot him a raised eyebrow. “Why?”
“Oh, Logan over-packs the same way.” Roman dug out an apple and crunched into it. “You should have seen all the food he had for us. Too bad those redcaps got most of it.”
Hunger returned in full force as he finished off the first apple and started another. Granola and jerky would be more filling, but he stuck to fruit, not wanting to make himself too thirsty. As it was, he drained three precious water bottles before he almost felt normal again.
“Let me look at your hand,” Red said once he’d finished.
“It’s not a hand anymore.” Roman, grimacing, let her peel away what was left of Logan’s makeshift bandage and reveal the gross, black, uneven stump. Virgil scooted close, peeked around his shoulder, and started to swear.
“You’re lucky Vaalyun’s specialty was fire.” Red turned it over. “His sword must have cauterized everything, else you’d have probably bled to death.”
“Lucky me,” Roman echoed tonelessly. He was thankful Morwick had numbed the pain, but now that he could see the extent of the damage…he’d never wield anything right-handed again.
“I’ve been Luke Skywalkered,” he muttered. “That bastard crippled me.”
“Do not,” Red snapped, her red-ringed eyes burning into his, “use that word.”
“Jesus, Roman,” Virgil muttered behind him.
Roman’s gaze flicked to Red’s prosthetic legs, and he cringed. “Shit. I’m sorry. I—”
“You’re in shock.” Red nodded. “It’s normal, and it’s okay. You’ll need time to get used to it, but believe me.” She smiled. “A missing limb is not the end of the world. You’re strong. And some of the prosthetics on the market now are pretty fucking amazing.”
Roman sighed.
“I don’t think we should have Rapunzel do anything with this when we get home,” Red said, turning his wrist over again. “She’d risk sealing in an infection.”
A wild hope bloomed in Roman’s chest. “Wait, could…could she regrow it?”
He saw blood on the Bale throne room floor. Virgil, his body spasming as Logan held him down, mouth gaping open, eyes glassy. Patton, frantically wiping his eyes as he listed blood vessels and parts of the heart and lungs. And Rapunzel, knuckle-deep inside a gaping chest wound, sealing off the arteries Deceit’s claw had ripped, so Virgil didn’t bleed out before they could carry him Earthside…
“Her power isn’t refined enough for that.” Red’s voice yanked Roman back to the present. She shook her head. “She could extend the skin and bones, maybe make something vaguely hand-shaped, but it would just be a dead lump of flesh.”
“I could do it.”
Roman twisted to stare at Virgil, who looked like he already regretted speaking up.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be actual bones, tendons, and whatever,” Virgil added, staring at his own hands. “I’d have to make them out of plant stuff. But I was…” He swallowed and looked at Roman, his mismatched changeling rings bright. “I was a fetch-maker, remember? I know how to put human skeletons together out of leftover bits and make them into people. I can make dead things live.”
“But you…” Roman didn’t dare hope. Virgil had finally made peace with his fetch-making past. Asking him to revisit it would be cruel. “You hated doing that.”
“I hated it because he used my creations to hurt people.” Virgil laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder, slowly dragging it down to his bad hand. “This is different.”
“Virge—”
“You wouldn’t have gone to Arcadia with just Logan if we hadn’t blown up at each other that night!” Virgil shouted. “This should never have happened! If we’d all been together, maybe it wouldn’t have.” He exhaled and his face crumpled. “This is my fault. Let me fix it. Please.”
I’m the one who called you a liar. Luck, I don’t deserve you. Roman bit his lip against the rush of heat to his face. I was such an idiot.
Yes, sometimes, Iyusuri whispered.
Shut up, he thought back.
“Let me…” Roman cleared his throat. “Let me turn around.”
Swinging around in a saddle on a bird’s back, hundreds of feet in the air, was not as easy as Red made it look, especially with only one good hand. But with both Red’s and Virgil’s help, he managed.
Virgil attempted a smile. “Do you trust me?”
Wordlessly, Roman held out his right arm. Virgil took a small sewing kit from his hoodie pocket, selected a white needle, and loaded it with thread.
“You just randomly carry thread around with you?” Roman asked, letting amusement cover up his unease. Not of Virgil hurting him, but…but what exactly was Virgil planning to do?
“You never know when a sewing emergency will come up.” Virgil slid forward, took Roman’s stump, and laid it between them. “Now shut up and let me concentrate.”
A slow, tortuous hour ticked by as the purple landscape scudded past, and Virgil worked his subtle magic.
He started by identifying the finger bone stubs and growing five thick, woody stems from each, about as long as an entire finger. These pushed out of the charred flesh like Wolverine’s bone claws…no, not thinking about claws right now. Virgil placed Roman’s good hand over top, marked where each knuckle fell, and broke each stem off at the first mark with sharp snaps that Roman felt in his arm bones.
“Sorry, sorry!” Virgil muttered, cracking each “bone” into smaller pieces. “They won’t bend if they’re all in one piece.”
“It just jarred a little.” Roman shrugged. “Morwick did some kind of numbing mojo on my arm back at the castle.”
“That’s a relief.” Virgil laid the pieces out in a rough hand shape. “I’ve never added anything to a living person before. I have no idea if it would hurt.”
“What kind of wood did you grow?” Roman asked, fascinated, as Virgil fastened each “bone” together with smaller, supple stems like ligaments.
“They’re rose bush stems.” Virgil glanced up long enough to smile. “Thought it was appropriate for you. Roses are the royalty of flora, right?”
Roman chuckled. “Fourth of July. I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember a lot of things.” Virgil bent to his work again, bangs covering his face, but Roman spotted pink staining his ears. Was he thinking about the fireworks? The…kiss?
Once Virgil linked up each finger bone, he fitted them one at a time to Roman’s wrist, using thread to connect flesh to plant. This part of the process sent stabs of agony radiating down Roman’s arm, even though Morwick’s magic, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. Virgil meticulously tested every finger before linking the longest bones together, forming a lattice across the palm.
“I look like Jack Skellington,” Roman commented. “If he had, like, visible tendons and stuff.”
“Gross.” Virgil scowled. “Try to move them.”
Roman inhaled in shock when he was able to flex the plant hand. It moved like the real thing, if one could get over being able to see the intricate web of internal tugging.
“That’s amazing,” Red said. At some point, she’d scooted close and planted her face over Roman’s shoulder to watch. “Fetch-making magic is so gnarly.”
“M’not done yet,” Virgil grumbled.
He covered the bones with layers of flax stems, thick grass, and ivy, padding out the palm with puffy white chrysanthemums he carefully stitched into the existing plant flesh. Grasses represent submission, ivy means fidelity and affection. White chrysanthemums symbolize truth. Roman forced himself not to read into the symbolism, as he guessed Virgil was choosing plants based on strength and shape, not the language of flowers.
“Your changeling rings glow a little, you know,” he commented when Virgil glanced up.
“Do they?” Virgil rubbed his eyes. “I’m having to dive deeper than I thought. Hands are complicated. I can’t…well, I can grow stems that mimic nerves, but I don’t know how to attach them to a living network without fucking up the rest of your arm. So…you probably won’t have any feeling in this hand.”
“Virgil, you’re working a literal miracle right now.” Roman shook his head. “I’m not complaining.”
Virgil pulled a ring of tiny pink roses from the wrist bones, multiplying and growing the petals until they covered the hand in a layer that was nearly the same thickness and texture as skin, and he meticulously stitched all the loose edges together. He then anchored the whole bunch with a red primrose on the pulse point. The nails he grew from some translucent, woody substance, sinking them into the fingers one by one. When he set a thumb to the final flower, Roman felt a thousand tiny pricks like spiderwebs settle onto it.
“I wove a tiny glamour that draws from your body heat, which will make the hand look normal to ordinary humans. I can’t hide it from faery or changeling eyes, though.” Virgil sat back and shook out his hands.
Roman opened and closed the flower hand; the pink rose petals moved like human skin. He made a fist, noting the lack of feeling in the fingers. However, when he used it to grasp his other arm, the grip felt solid.
“Now that,” Red murmured, “is a proper prosthetic.”
“Here.” Virgil unsheathed Belle from his belt. Roman took her, curling each finger individually around her hilt. He would have to retrain himself to grip her properly without feeling, but oh, it was a relief to be able to hold her in the correct hand again.
“You gonna be able to do the whole hero, knight, Disney prince thing again?” Virgil asked. His voice dropped. “Cause…you are, you know.”
Roman blushed, thankful he didn’t have Virgil’s fair skin that would give it away. For the moment, his worries about Smile and Kate and whether he still belonged to any of them faded to the background.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I think I can.”
Virgil flushed and smiled, wider than he had since arriving at the Grimm house, and Roman, naturally, momentarily forgot how to breathe.
Chapter 36- Blue Rose
i see a silhouette, liquid that moves
skin like a pearl in the sea
i cannot resist this, her voice in the wind
but is it my eyes are deceived?
~ “White Waters” by Epica
mystery
“We’re here,” Morwick called from her nearby mount, guiding it into a rumbling descent. Logan had his arms properly around Patton’s waist now; the two looked to be deep in conversation.
Logan had better be confessing all that shit he said to me, Roman thought wryly.
Red spun to face forward again—honestly, the woman could have been a gymnast—and Roman looked around properly for the first time in hours. They’d abandoned the purple grass meadow for steep, jagged slopes made of volcanic rock. Purple-leafed trees clung to precipices, growing in fantastic shapes that defied gravity. Cracks and ravines cut through the rocky landscape, blue flames flickering hungrily in their depths. Even this high up, Roman felt a blast of heat each time they flew over one.
“Bluefire Hills,” Virgil said. “Apt name.”
“Do you think it’s lava, or…?” Roman said.
“It’s Arcadia,” Red tossed wryly over her shoulder.
“Which means who the fuck knows,” Virgil added with a grin.
They dropped lower, skimming a small forest and cresting a rise. Their bird dipped into a valley that made even Red gasp in wonder.
Narrow, many-tiered, obsidian towers filled the space, connected by so many arched bridges and slender walkways it was difficult to tell whether they were meant to be separate dwellings or a single sprawling one. Smaller towers topped each large one in clusters of four, their tips narrowing into metal poles that looked, to Roman’s eye, like lightning rods. The area’s glowing blue ravines were tamed and cultivated here, twisting around the towers, cut into whimsical shapes and Faery letters. Fire flowers bloomed by the hundreds around the edge of the settlement, climbing the high walls on the outer buildings and the ridge walls of the valley.
Their arrival did not go unnoticed. Faeries with lily white skin and fiery hair, who looked uncomfortably like Vaalyun, spilled onto rooftops, walkways, into courtyards, pointing up and calling to others.
Morwick guided them to a narrow courtyard outside the largest structure, where a regal-looking party assembled by a pointed arch: Sidhe guards with bronze spears and deer faeries in plain robes with downcast faces. Roman noted that these serfs had been allowed to keep their clothes and horns, which he hoped boded well. One central figure stood at their center, draped in layers of lace, face hidden by what looked like a waterfall of blue cloth.
Roman slid off the thunderbird, gave it an absentminded pat, and stretched his legs. Harp music tickled his senses; looking around, he noticed a harpist in the regal party, plucking away. There’s another reason Vaalyun’s castle felt so oppressive. No music. He hadn’t consciously noticed it until that moment. How did that psychopath call himself a Seelie?
Around him, the others dismounted and gathered while Red settled the birds. Logan, predictably, noticed the new hand right away.
“This is exquisite craftsmanship,” he said, holding it up, poking at each finger. “The way the flora melds seamlessly with the flesh. You did this?”
This he asked of Virgil, who predictably shrank into his hoodie.
“Fetch maker, remember?” he muttered with a sarcastic salute.
Logan said nothing, but the way his gaze raked over Virgil with new respect, like he was seeing him for the first time, had familiar jealousy rolling through Roman’s stomach.
Don’t even start, he thought at Iyusuri, who had the audacity to feel amused.
“Let’s not keep our welcoming party waiting,” Roman said, nodding at the observing faeries.
“Let’s hope they’re more welcoming than the last guy,” Virgil grumbled.
“Let’s leave our weapons,” Red suggested.
“Good idea.” Roman glanced at Belle’s scabbard on Virgil’s belt, remembering how Astaros in Okeechobee demanded his steel. “I don’t want to lose another sword.”
“I’m still taking the bronze knives,” Virgil said, but he did unstrap the steel ones.
Once divested, the group approached the royal party. To Roman’s surprise, Morwick skipped ahead and prostrated herself at the lacy figure’s feet.
“Your Ladyship,” she said.
“Morwick of Thornhaven.” The figure’s head moved, sending a cascade of rippling color through her face coverings. Her voice flowed and snapped like flame across firewood. “You were a free dacha when last we met. Why do you appear before us unclothed, like the lowest of slaves?”
“Dacha?” Roman muttered.
“It must be the name of their race,” Logan muttered back. “This Lady, on the figurative other hand, is certainly a Sidhe. An extraordinarily beautiful one, in fact.”
“Yeah,” Roman breathed. She matched both Logan and Roman for height, but possessed a mesmerizing hourglass of a figure beneath her dark attire.
Patton nodded, a slight blush staining his cheeks.
Virgil looked between them all in bafflement. “Yeah, no. Can’t relate. Sorry.”
“Gaaaay,” Roman crooned in a sing-song voice, earning a jab to the ribs.
“I used my san on one who would have enslaved Sorrell,” Morwick was saying. “My brother made an accord to spare my life at the cost of my freedom.”
“Who tried to enslave Sorrell?” The figure asked in a cracklier voice, like she already knew exactly who would want a pixie for dark purposes.
Roman sucked in a breath. “The Lady of Veils,” he said.
In typical Sidhe fashion, she displayed no shock. She shooed her attendants aside and glided closer. What looked like a single face covering from afar was a dozen gauzy veils, each a slightly different shade of blue, attached to an intricate headdress.
“I am she. How do you, a changeling, know this name?”
She didn’t chide him for speaking Faery, as Vaalyun had done. Roman guessed that, like Morwick and Grewick, she understood no other tongue.
“He is the reason my brother and I walk free,” Morwick said.
The Lady of Veils reached up, white arms flashing, and unfastened one of her veils. She draped it neatly across a waiting servant’s hands, then unfastened another. Several attendants audibly gasped; even her harpist missed a chord. Roman guessed that this gesture meant something, on her part.
“Only death or manumission breaks a Contract of Servitude,” the Lady said, “and Vaalyun does not free serfs. Has he…” She exhaled, gripping the edge of her veils. “Has the Scorned One at last left the mortal planes to walk the Shores?”
“I saw it myself,” Morwick said, and pointed at Roman. “It was this mortal’s doing.”
Roman straightened, hoping this Lady wasn’t about to get murderously angry. The way she spat out Vaalyun’s name gave him hope…but you never knew with loyalty among Seelies. He sensed the others behind him, and just the knowledge that he wasn’t alone made him feel less afraid.
“You, a mortal, killed Lord Vaalyun of Carafel?” the Lady asked, looking him up and down beneath her veils. And while he didn’t blame her for doubting, pride made him lift his chin.
“It, uh, wasn’t easy,” he said. “It was his own hubris that did him in, really. I tried to—”
“Why did you do this thing?”
Again, Roman could not read the tone of voice, could not tell if she was pleased or seconds away from killing them all. He held out his left hand, comfortably curled around Iyusuri’s handle.
“He wanted to use this one against you.”
A murmur rippled among her attendants. The Lady reverently lifted the mirror from Roman’s grasp, clasping it to her breast and then looking into the black depths. Roman bore the tugging on his sternum in silence; like King Astaros, this faery possessed the power to keep Iyusuri still. And like Astaros, she noticed the tension.
“She is bonded to you,” the Lady said, opening her hands. The mirror slapped back into Roman’s grip.
“That’s why I had to kill him,” he explained. “I meant to bring her here first, but Vaalyun intercepted us. I was, erm, hoping you could help with this bond thing.”
Please, please, please, be able to help, he added in his mind, pushing on his luck. This was his last option. The Lady fell silent and still, long enough for the others to shuffle uncomfortably and for Roman himself to doubt.
“I will walk with this changeling to the Fire Cove, Iyusuri’s birthplace,” the Lady declared, prompting a flurry of activity from her servants and a new song from her harpist. “I will hear his story on the way, which must be a curious one indeed. And then we will decide what must be done.”
Roman ground his teeth. Typical faery response: not a yes, not a no, didn’t rule out her sticking a knife in my back. And while Vaalyun’s story had predisposed him to like this Lady of Veils—anyone who rejected that bastard’s crap was worthy of respect—he wasn’t wild on the idea of going off alone with her.
“May I, ah, bring my companions?” Roman gestured behind him.
The Lady raised her chin, veils rippling. “You may bring one. The rest shall wait in my sitting room.”
Roman looked between Virgil and Red, torn. His Smile instincts clocked Red as the better choice; against a strange Sidhe, he might need an experienced Grimm with decades of faery knowledge at his back.
You know that’s not right, Iyusuri grumbled.
It’s smart, he thought back. It’s what I should do.
He still found himself holding out a hand to Virgil, and nobody looked surprised.
“I will put the birds into a gentle sleep,” Morwick offered, bowing her head. “So they will stay until we have need of them again.”
Red nodded in gratitude.
The Lady spun, lacy skirts flying, and led them inside. They walked through a soaring foyer with flaming blue sconces on white walls, up a staircase. Aside from the Lady and her entourage of attendants, this journey was almost exactly the opposite of Roman’s trip through Sarveil Manor, which had been dark, hot, and claustrophobic. The Lady’s house still felt like a sauna—this was arguably the heart of Summer territory, while Vaalyun’s castle perched on the edge—but the white and silver made even the sweat dripping down Roman’s back feel less oppressive.
The Lady paused at a room stuffed with gilded chairs and hung with rich tapestries. “Your companions may wait and refresh themselves here.”
Roman clasped arms with Red, Patton, and finally Logan.
“Thank you, Teach,” he whispered. “For everything.”
“May this be the end of this particular journey,” Logan said.
The Lady lifted a hand; Roman was once again swallowed by her entourage of guards and attendances. He fell behind her as they walked on.
Virgil prowled to Roman’s right, palms hovering near his belt where he’d tied the bronze knives from Vaalyun’s armory. Roman fought the urge to catch one of those restless hands and link it with his own. But he’d have to use the flower hand that Virgil just made…and Roman wouldn’t even feel the touch…and what if rose petal skin felt weird…?
The Lady led them to a back porch and onto a raised outdoor walkway, wide enough to accommodate several people abreast, lined with silver railings decorated with stylized flames.
“You, you, and you,” she said, choosing a guard, her harpist, and the attendant who held her discarded veils, “will accompany us to the Cove. The rest, be about your duties. Changeling,”—she gestured at Roman— “walk at my side and tell your story.”
He hesitantly matched her pace. The walkway extended straight across the valley, giving them an excellent vantage point. Roman spotted some of Logan’s mushroom faeries—marasmius? — digging in vast gardens that stretched between blue ravines, their shrooms swaying with their movements.
Roman, with a few hesitant starts—the Lady’s height and absolute silence were intimidating—described how he’d happened upon Vaalyun at Painter’s Pond, saved the pixies, and acquired the mirror. She listened in attentive silence, only once pausing to remove another veil. Roman hoped that was a good sign.
Once they left the towers behind, the path carved up, twisting back and forth before spilling over the valley’s edge. From there, the walkway dipped down, down, until it was swallowed by a cave mouth covered in drooping purple branches that looked so much like a beaded curtain, Roman had to stop and collect himself before he could keep talking. The Lady said nothing during his account of Vaalyun’s ambush and his captivity. Roman described the fight, cringing when he got to the part where he caused the chandelier to fall on Vaalyun’s head.
“You are certain that Vaalyun is dead?” the Lady said in a low voice when he trailed off.
Roman nodded. “He would have never let me leave that place if he’d survived.”
The Lady stopped them at the cave entrance with an outstretched arm. Roman stiffened when she bent close, placing both hands on his cheeks to frame his face. She smelled like ginger and smoky incense; not at all unpleasant. Next to him, Virgil tensed.
“Fear not my wrath. These are auspicious tidings you have brought me.” She caressed his cheekbones, making Roman’s heart beat unsteadily, and he swore he saw her smile behind that blue waterfall of veils.
They passed into the cave, which turned out to be an archway through the mountain, dumping out into a hollow space cradled in black stone. One of the blue fire ravines cut through the rock near the back, widening to a round pool that took up nearly half the floor, hemmed in by a low stone wall. Ribbons of wavering blue reflected on the shiny walls, giving the illusion that the whole cove was underwater…except, of course, that looking inside felt like poking one’s head into a roaring fireplace. Roman winced when stinging sweat dripped into the cut on his face, which he’d almost forgotten about. The guard took up position at the entrance while the Lady, harpist, and veil attendant advanced to the pool, unbothered by the intense heat.
By unspoken agreement, Roman and Virgil paused on the threshold. Virgil was finally forced to swallow his pride and take off his hoodie, exposing a soaked purple tank top that clung to his chest and stomach. The hunter in Roman noted that he’d kept most of the muscle tone he’d gained in Philly despite his months at school. The blue reflections made his skin shine like ivory starlight, and…and Virgil was staring back at him now, his dark eyes a mystery, and Roman knew he’d been caught. He flushed and looked away.
“Bring Iyusuri to me, changeling,” the Lady of Veils ordered, the blue pool of fire throwing her figure into silhouette.
Roman tried, but the intense heat blistered his skin and he had to stop halfway. “I cannot.”
The Lady gave a remarkably ordinary huff of frustration. “Humans.”
She glided to him and set a hand on his brow, and it felt like the temperature dropped twenty degrees. He could breathe again. She did the same for Virgil, whose eyes closed in clear relief. She took Roman’s hand in one of her thin, scorching ones and led him to the pool.
“I believe your story, and I understand why you would come to me.” She faced him and folded her hands. “But the pixies entrusted with Iyusuri’s care either did not understand her lore, or they did not communicate it to you correctly.”
“What do you mean?” Roman frowned.
“They warned that looking into Iyusuri’s depths would drive a human mind to madness, yes?” The Lady shook her head, veils swaying. “This is sometimes true, but it is not Iyusuri who causes this. It is the fear of what she will show you, be you human, Fae, or otherwise. It was this fear that drove even Vaalyun’s mind to obsession and ruin. Do you know, he would even stoop so low as to assault human women from time to time, so desperate was he to have what Iyusuri showed him he could not?”
Virgil snorted; his nose wrinkled. “Gross. No wonder his English was so good.”
But Roman stared at the mirror as realization settled like lead in his stomach. “You’re saying Iyusuri was right this whole time? I could have looked?”
I told you, Iyusuri whispered. Her voice was stronger here, crackling like tiny flames. I was never your enemy.
Was it all in vain, then? he asked her, fury coiling. Losing my hand, nearly losing my friends, putting everyone in danger?
Iyusuri didn’t answer.
The Lady took the mirror and cradled her. “It is not so simple. The moment that pixie planted the fear of madness in your minds, it was no longer safe for any of you to look. Which has put you in this unfortunate situation.”
“Can’t you break the bond?” Roman asked, not liking where this was going.
She sighed, a sound like settling branches in a fire, and caressed the mirror’s edge.
“I cannot,” she answered at last. “Hers is not a bond that can be broken from the outside. If you wish to be free and keep your sanity, we must find another way.”
Chapter 37- Ginger
to know her is to see
that nothing is as it seems
she’ll show her true face when you’re
stripped of all belief
~ “Sinking Ships” by Trees of Eternity
fiery passion
Every hope Roman harbored came crashing down. Virgil swore, his voice a hissing cadence at the cove’s entrance. They’d come all this way. Surely, surely, this wasn’t the end.
He couldn’t be stuck with this mirror forever.
And to think. Roman’s flowery hand clenched. If I’d looked before Wrassey had a chance to infect my mind with fear, I might never have been trapped in the first place. Damn those pixies! Even if it’s not really their fault.
The Lady put her obscured face even with Roman’s, her outermost veil nearly brushing his nose. Smoky ginger enveloped his senses, and he was struck, again, by her otherworldly beauty.
“Do not fret, changeling. You have performed a mighty boon in avenging my love and ridding Carafel of that monster. Though I cannot break Iyusuri’s hold on you by force, I can, perhaps, still help you satisfy her.”
She handed the mirror back. His fingers curled around her handle; thorn-laced, familiar.
“How?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.
A tongue of fire leaped from the pool’s blue depths, following the graceful arc of the Lady’s wrist.
“Place her here.”
Roman’s magicked skin felt no heat at all as he held the mirror out. The flame licked Iyusuri into itself and she hung, suspended over the pool, her dark glass reflecting bright blue.
The Lady clapped her hands, once, and held one out to Roman. “Now, we dance.”
“Dance?” Roman echoed, half entranced by the Lady’s white, many-knuckled fingers. Her long nails were lacquered blue, and she wore multiple, delicate silver rings set with indigo stones. Only her left ring finger was conspicuously bare, reminding him incongruously of Logan.
The harpist sat her instrument at the edge of the fire pool and plucked softly; tuning notes at first, then a rasping, haunting melody accentuated by her hoofed fingers on the strings; a melody that burrowed into Roman’s eardrums and sank into his consciousness.
Remembered sensations surfaced.
His own legs, shuffling to a podium as a yellow-gloved hand pressed a pen into his hand…the drag of a marker over his unresisting face… “Wakey wakey, brother mine, you’re no fun when you can’t fight back!”
And Virgil, the words thorn-choked and harsh, whispering in his ear, “You love me more than I love you.”
Roman gasped, alarmed to discover his feet moving on their own. “You’re thralling me!”
The Lady spun him…when had they started dancing? The sight of Virgil hunched at the entrance, fingers plugged in his ears, swam past.
“Some call it thus,” she said.
“Is that necessary?” It was difficult to concentrate over the scraping, hypnotic music. “Iyusuri already talks to me.”
“I must put you in a perceptive state of mind to commune properly with her spirit.” The Lady spun him again and gathered him close, placing a slim hand on his bare waist. “Are you afraid, changeling?”
Roman started to say no. Does it matter? “There can be no room for fear where faeries are involved,” Kate always said. Chin up, eyes forward, smile, smile, SMILE. But when he looked past the layers of blue and into the Lady’s black, fathomless, faery eyes, the words caught and died in his throat.
“I’m terrified,” Roman admitted.
The Lady removed a veil and tied it to Roman’s face; the material was sheer and surprisingly cool, which felt good against his skin. The harpist continued to pluck, the melody shifting to something stately.
“Good. Iyusuri will demand truth from you. Do you trust her?”
“I think…I do,” Roman muttered, remembering how the mirror tried in vain to shield him from Vaalyun.
The Lady led him in a lazy circle, one hand planted on his waist, the other guiding his right hand. She made no noise at all as they turned around the hollow, while the scuff of his bare feet against rock sounded clumsy and harsh to his ears. Lilting harp and low crackling from the pool blurred and bled together at the edges of his mind, wrapping him in fugue, like Gretel’s pillow-cloud power, like Patton’s calming touch.
“You dance as one born to dancing. What should I call you, changeling?” the Lady whispered in his ear.
Her skin burned against to his. His left hand drifted from her shoulder to her swanlike neck, brushing the veils. She was beautiful, and he knew that should scare him, and it didn’t.
“I’m Roman.”
She smiled and removed another veil, tying it to his face. Only a few remained on hers; even through his own blindfolds, he discerned her sharp, Sidhe cheekbones, winged red eyebrows, and full lips.
“I am Eletha.”
The word invoked a rush of imagery. A true name, then; an exchange of trust.
Without warning, she spun him away, keeping hold of his hand, forcing him far enough from the fire pool—from Iyusuri, who did not leap back to his grasp—that he gasped in pain.
“Does it hurt?” Eletha asked, reeling him back in.
“Yes.” Roman released her shoulder to rub his chest.
“Follow the pain to her.” She spun him out again and chased the movement, stopping him from stepping back, her lacy skirt billowing against his legs. The tug was worse that time, like someone hooking a claw into his backside. He had to stop, panting, his mouth open.
Eletha drifted into his arms, tying another veil to his face.
Follow the pain. Roman dared to close his eyes against the cloth, drifting away from his body, still moving in their dizzying dance. Follow the…
With a sensation like slipping under hot water, Roman dropped fully into Eletha’s thrall.
Everything stopped.
He stood alone on an endless black plane.
Iyusuri’s pull manifested like a fiery blue thread, stretching to where she hung like a tiny star an arm’s length away. The screaming woman closed her mouth and stepped out of the ivory to face him, a full-sized statue. Like him, she now wore a blindfold across her eyes.
“Why do you fear me?” Iyusuri asked in Faery, her voice audible for the first time…or was it Eletha, murmuring in his physical ear? He couldn’t tell.
“Because Wrassey warned us what you would do,” he said.
“But when I told you differently, you did not believe. Do not blame the pixies, Roman Prince.” Her voice, like bone on glass, sharpened.
“Don’t call me that.” Roman glowered, switching to English. “I’m not him.”
“Do you know that for sure? Who are you?” Iyusuri’s ivory lips curved into a smirk. “You hide from yourself as thoroughly as you hide from me.”
She grasped the carved blindfold on her face, like she meant to take it off, and he instinctively knew looking into her eyes would be like looking into her dark glass. Roman looked away, feeling a bite of shame. His blindfolds chafed at his closed eyelids; an inner voice that sounded remarkably like Logan wondered how he could see if his eyes were closed…
“We are inside your mind. Why do you fear me even here?” Iyusuri asked.
“Because you’ll drive me mad!” Roman burst out, frustrated.
“No!” Her denial cracked like a whip across their connection. Roman felt his body stumble, felt hot, slender arms holding him up.
“What I would show you is nothing your inner self does not already know. That is the source of your fear.” Iyusuri drifted close, placing a smooth, ivory hand under his chin. “Be rid of it and look at me.”
He stared, helpless, as she touched the blindfold over her carved eyes again. The moment she started to unwind it, he jerked away again. His real eyes fluttered open; he gasped. Gripped in Eletha’s thrall, he’d danced all the way to the edge of the pool, and the physical mirror floated mere inches from his nose.
Look at me. The screaming woman regarded him, implacable.
His hand, barely under his control, reached through the fire—which still did not burn—to caress her handle.
I’m not afraid, he told himself. He started to turn her around. She won’t do anything to me if I can just…for once…not…be…afraid…
But it was a lie.
Roman growled and flung himself from the pool, so violently even the harpist paused in her playing. He crumpled at the pool’s edge, putting his head in his arms.
I can’t force my way through this, like I do with panic attacks or Sir’s memories. I need to understand it. He huffed, shaking his head. What’s that thing Logan always says? “Knowledge is an incomparably valuable multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”
He exhaled, letting the thrall push him back into the blackness, sensing Iyusuri’s pitying gaze on his bent neck.
“Why do you fear me?” she asked. Hot fingers twined through his hair.
“Asking the same question over and over doesn’t help me answer it!” Roman snarled, slamming his flower hand into the blank, hard ground. The frightening lack of sensation had him immediately cradling it, searching for damage.
You haven’t even had it a day, Roman, an inner voice like Virgil’s muttered. Maybe don’t fucking break it.
It seemed fine. Virgil had hopefully crafted it to be strong; he knew how Roman liked to punch things.
“I will stop asking when you answer it,” Iyusuri said.
The harpist began a new melody, one that started low and ascended, tugging at his emotions as only faery music could. He resurfaced, took in the tiny cove though the blue haze of Eletha’s blindfolds. Eletha had removed all but a single veil and continued their dance alone, her skirts and red hair rippling and spinning like flames, like pure destruction. Roman could have stared forever, mesmerized, but for a familiar, gravelly voice.
“Let go!” Virgil struggled in the guard’s arms; when had he been restrained? “Look at him, you’re making him sick; he needs help! Let me go.”
Eletha’s veil assistant scurried to him, speaking in a soothing voice. Whatever she said made Virgil stand down, though he kept hold of his knife hilts and looked thoroughly unhappy. Eletha whirled past, blocking Roman’s view, her gingery scent making his eyes flutter closed…and he was back in the black mindspace.
Iyusuri waited, her arms folded.
“I’m afraid…” Roman started.
The words faded to a gasp as Iyusuri’s visage changed, color bleeding into skin and clothes. “Logan” stared back, beautiful like a Sidhe, that familiar frustrated furrow between his brows he seemed to reserve solely for Roman’s shenanigans. The hotel dream replayed in his memory, Deceit wearing Logan’s face, taunting him…
Roman growled and looked again. Now Patton stood before him, blue eyes bright, smiling in that soft way that always made Roman want to put a sword into anything that would dare harm such a kind soul…
“Stop it,” Roman snapped.
Iyusuri morphed to a black and purple figure who’d haunted Roman’s dreams for so long, he wasn’t sure he knew who he was without it anymore. “Virgil” raised one eyebrow, eyeshadow darker than the blackness surrounding them.
“Answer,” she said.
“What if you show me someone who isn’t him?” The words caught in Roman’s throat. “And it breaks me?”
She—he? —slouched over and held out a hand; numbly, Roman took it, noting that it still felt like ivory.
“Now we are getting somewhere.” Virgil’s lips moved with the words, but thankfully Iyusuri used her own voice. She placed one of Virgil’s hands on Roman’s waist, took his flower hand, and they were dancing. Dimly, he felt Eletha spinning his physical body again in the real world.
Roman’s gaze slid over the slender figure in his arms, over that pale neck and shoulders exposed in the heat. This version, like the real one, had tied his hoodie around his waist. He stared into those dark, tired eyes; exhausted, probably, from dealing with Roman’s stupid shit.
“What if I’m not enough for him?” Roman said. “What if I turn out like Vaalyun?”
“Virgil” leaned back, making a face. “Elaborate.”
“Eletha really was his true love, right? That’s who he saw when he looked at you. But he wasn’t hers, and that knowledge drove him to murder. It turned him into a monster. And I think the reason his story got to me…” Roman took a deep breath. “Is because that could have been me.”
Roman stepped into the foyer of Logan’s apartment, grocery bags on each arm, his usual greeting dying on his lips. Logan had one of Virgil’s paintings on his lap, mid-lecture about some obscure bit of art history. Virgil huddled next to him, a look of naked adoration in his eyes. It knocked the wind from Roman’s lungs.
“He’s never gonna look at you like that,” he remembered thinking. And in the rush of fury that followed, one of Logan’s bookshelves collapsed…
“That could still be me.” Roman squeezed his eyes shut. “What good does it do to know, if knowing turns me into some jealous, bitter psychopath? Like my fetch…” His voice cracked. “Or my father.”
“Ahhh. There it is, laid bare at last. My dear, dear, changeling.” Iyusuri shifted back into herself. “You fear that you are unworthy of love.”
“That’s right, pet,” Sir whispered in his memory. “You’re nothing. You’re mine. Just accept it.”
Roman exhaled, the words shimmering along their bond like a harp string, drawing tears in its wake. You’re aimless. Idle. Loud. Brash. Annoying. Beetlecloud’s bleeding chest flashed though his memory. Careless. Violent. Why should he love you?
Why should any of them?
Iyusuri whirled him again, or maybe Eletha did. He hung his head back, the plucking melody and motion making his body feel like a wrung-out mop.
“When will you understand,” Iyusuri said, “that such questions do not matter?”
Roman nearly stumbled. “What?”
“Do you think I bond based upon perceived worth? No. I am Iyusuri.” She slowly unwound the blindfold from her eyes. “I reveal one true thing to one soul. That is who I am. What you do with this knowledge…that is who you are.”
Roman opened his eyes to the cove.
Iyusuri’s afterimage morphed into Eletha, still dancing; she’d deposited Roman by the pool’s edge again. The mirror spun out of her flame cage to settle in his hand. He stared at her, at the black walls, the fiery blue ripples, at Eletha’s red hair, at Virgil’s purple and black hoodie.
I need to do something.
His heart skipped at the sound of clacking beads…but no, that was just the dacha harpist, tapping her hoofed feet to her melody.
What do I need to do?
Once again, he was out of luck, out of energy…out of ideas.
The harpist plucked a particular set of chords. Roman’s mind flashed again to Logan’s living room, but this time, he saw himself and Patton sitting on the couch, sharing a set of earbuds.
“Could you do that again?” he said to the harpist. “Those chords, just like that.”
The harpist glanced at her mistress, who inclined her head, and began again. The timbre was different on a harp versus a guitar, but the core was similar enough. Roman drew in a breath and did the one uncomplicated thing he knew, beyond the shadow of his insecurities, he’d always been good at.
He sang.
yesterday i died
tomorrow’s bleeding
fall into your sunlight
The lyrics spilled out, amplified by the tall, curving walls. The harpist smiled as she played, following Roman’s voice, weaving a uniquely faery touch to the notes. Eletha resumed her twirling.
Iyusuri’s handle grew hot. He imagined her face: ivory, untouchable…but listening.
the future’s open wide
beyond believing
to know why
hope dies
His voice cracked on the last word. He met Virgil’s stricken gaze and remembered a black and red canvas in an old bedroom. Virgil, in his own way, also once bled heartbreak into music. Roman realized he never asked if that painting had given him peace.
i’m losing what was found
a world so hollow
suspended in a compromise
Eletha danced, her head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed like she’d just tasted the most divine wine. Feeding on my emotions, Roman realized, but for once, the idea didn’t disgust him. She was Fae; they needed this.
Iyusuri’s bond tightened around his chest. Instead of blackness in his mindspace, Roman saw memories, ebbing and flowing with harp strings and his own voice.
the silence of this sound
is soon to follow
Dozens of evenings spent eating Greek at Santorini’s. Virgil, grouchily licking tzatziki sauce from the corner of his mouth. Patton, tasting lamb for the first time. Roman debating Logan about Disney’s portrayal of Excalibur.
He remembered thinking it felt like home.
somehow
He remembered the sight of Virgil’s hoodie slung over the couch in Roman’s old Philly place…and Virgil himself, slumped over a toilet full of bloody flowers.
sundown
Roman paused to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure this was helping. Iyusuri’s presence felt no weaker; she weighed in his hand and head like a hot iron.
“You must finish what you have begun,” Eletha ordered. “You sing with the passion of these very hills. Such beauty demands completion.”
She smiled, making Roman bite his lip in shame at how greedily his heart drank in her praise.
“The melody changes here for a few lines,” he said to the harpist.
“I will follow your lead.” She nodded, a graceful dip of horns, and adjusted her fingers.
and finding answers
is forgetting all of the questions we called home
passing the graves of the unknown
His voice wavered. What answers did he have, to anything? What was he even doing here?
You are showing me who you are, Iyusuri murmured. But more than that, you are showing yourself. And him.
Eletha swished close, dipping a hand into the pool, using the fire to touch both eyelids through her last veil—but Roman’s gaze lighted on Virgil. He sat cross-legged in the entrance now, framed by black stone, faded bangs pushed back from his forehead. The lack of hair showed off those gorgeous eyes and made his expression less broody, more vulnerable. He caught Roman’s hungry gaze and gave the tiniest hint of a smile…and when had Roman ever needed more than that?
“The first lines, again,” he advised the harpist.
as reason clouds my eyes with splendor fading
illusions of the sunlight
the reflection of a lie will keep me waiting
with love gone, for so long
His voice swelled, even as the remembered sensation of Virgil’s lips brushed his cheek, feeling like he’d swallowed every firework in the sky.
It wasn’t real.
A hot tear broke free of his lashes.
and this day's ending
is the proof of time killing all the faith i know
knowing that faith is all i hold
It was real, Iyusuri argued. She gave him the ghostly sensation of Virgil’s pinkie linked with his, in a finger that would never feel things again.
It wasn’t what I wanted, he thought back. It wasn’t true love.
Iyusuri chuckled. You mortals think you know what you want, when you don’t even know what true love is.
Roman bit his lip. When he didn’t immediately resume singing, the harpist took the melody and played on her own for a few bars. Roman’s breath caught as Eletha flung her final veil aside. Her fae beauty was like an aurora on a black sky; perfect oval face, sunset fire hair, strawberry lips, blue fire eyes framed in red lashes. For a heartbeat, Roman understood why Vaalyun would have burned the world down for this woman.
But tears marred her perfect cheeks, and grief weighed her body as exhaustion weighed on his. Roman was reminded of Gretel, leaning on a piano in the middle of the night, singing hers and Hansel’s tragedy to an empty house that already held too many memories.
“You still miss him, don’t you?” he said. “The one Vaalyun murdered.”
Eletha spun, droplets flying from her face to sparkle and hiss where they fell. Roman’s chest swirled with a hundred conflicting feelings—about himself, his friends, Kate, himself again. Iyusuri and her bond didn’t matter now; if he didn’t sing these feelings out, they would swallow him.
He rose. Eletha pulled him back into her mad dance, spinning, but supporting him so he could sing unhindered.
and i’ve lost who i am
and i can't understand
why my heart is so broken
rejecting your love
without love gone wrong
lifeless words carry on
but i know, all i know, is that the end's beginning
It took him two dizzying spins to realize Iyusuri had stayed where he left her, lying on the pool’s edge. Her bond gripped like iron bands, but he could feel the shape of it, like a physical object, separate from himself. His heart beat fast. What could be felt, could be broken. The lyrics’ crescendo lifted him and carried him with it.
who i am from the start
take me home to my heart
let me go and i will run
i will not be silent
all this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain
all is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over
Eletha’s touch burned as he repeated the whole bridge, spinning in her wake, words spilling over each other, faster and faster.
there's a light, there's the sun
taking all the shattered ones
to the place we belong, and his love will…
Eletha dipped him unexpectedly, tipping his head into blackness, cutting off the last word. The moment hung suspended; he couldn’t feel his body, his breath, nothing. Iyusuri regarded him with uncovered eyes across the emptiness.
“You see it, Roman Reis. You understand.” Her ivory voice rang in his mind, supremely satisfied. “Finally.”
The blue bond glowed with a hot rush Roman felt in his bones, gripping tighter and harder until it burst into a million embers. It felt like he’d been holding his breath for a week and finally, finally, he could let it out again. His eyes flew open.
“Conquer,” he gasped.
“Easy, changeling.” Eletha lowered him to the floor as he slumped, feeling like he’d fought an army of redcaps. Her lacy skirt disappeared from his field of view and was replaced by legs clad in black ripped jeans.
“Roman!” Virgil dropped to his knees, untied the blindfolds—which Roman had nearly forgotten about—and yanked them from Roman’s eyes. “What happened? What did she do to you?”
Roman smiled at the sight of him, all worried and prickly. “I’m all right, Stormcloud. I think we did it.”
“What, really?” Virgil tugged Roman to his feet, checking him all over. “The bond is broken?”
“Yeah.” Roman rubbed his chest. When he concentrated, he no longer felt Iyusuri’s razor-edged presence in his mind. “It’s over.”
Virgil laughed in relief and threw his arms around Roman, which was sticky, awful, and simultaneously the best hug of his life.
“What, no, ew, we’re both gross!” Roman protested feebly.
“Shut up,” Virgil muttered against his neck. “You’ve been thralled for the last hour, scaring the shit out of me; let me have this.”
“Changelings,” Eletha’s voice said.
Additional lyrics:
~ “Shattered” by Trading Yesterday
Chapter 38- Seven Roses
the course of true love
never did run smooth
how much longer can they endure
life apart bitter youth
~ “Leaves of Yggdrasil” by Myrkur
i am infatuated with you
They broke apart; Roman looked around. The harpist rested her harp on her lap, looking as tired as he felt, while Eletha’s other assistant collected the discarded veils. The guard glowered at Virgil. But all Roman saw was Eletha, sinking to the ground, her back to the pool of fire, throwing her into silhouette. A smile graced her bare, tear-stained face as she brought Iyusuri’s glass to her lips.
“Be at peace, my love,” she whispered into the black depths, kissing the surface, and Roman knew Eletha was speaking to her dead paramour. She lifted her head.
“It is done,” she declared. “Let us return.”
They retraced their steps to Eletha’s sitting room, where Logan, Patton, and Red nervously lounged. The three looked better; they’d washed the grime and soot of Vaalyun’s house from their faces, and Logan had managed to find some clothes. Eletha graciously allowed them all a moment to reunite, hovering in the doorway while Roman answered a barrage of questions. She’d replaced her veils during the walk, which made her look like a blue shadow.
Why did she do that? Roman thought, and realized he wasn’t sure if he meant the veils…or helping him. Something in the way she lingered made him feel like there was something else he needed to do.
“Roman.” Logan’s voice broke through his distraction. They were all staring at him.
“Sorry, just…give me a second,” Roman muttered, breaking away.
Eletha’s veils fluttered with her breath as he approached; she still held Iyusuri against her chest.
“My Lady,” he said, feeling like he should take a knee or something. “Your hospitality and help have been precious gifts. I am sorry our intrusion brought back so much grief for you.”
He bowed and shivered when her hand cupped his chin, forcing him to straighten.
“Your outpouring in the Cove did more to heal my grief than a hundred years of mourning alone,” she said with a hint of a smile.
Roman wished he could still see that beautiful, beautiful face. He settled for laying his flower hand against her cheek, gauzy silk slipping under the rose petal fingers.
“You carry yourself differently now,” she added.
Do I, though? Roman couldn’t help but frown. He did feel a little different, but the process of breaking the bond blurred around the edges the more he tried to remember it. He couldn’t even articulate what he’d done, let alone what he’d learned from it.
“As I am Iyusuri’s keeper until she chooses to bond again, I can offer your companions a boon,” Eletha said in a louder voice. “If they wish.”
Virgil, Logan, and Patton clustered behind him, looking worried. Virgil, in particular, glowered at Eletha like he expected her to turn into a spider.
“What do you mean?” Roman asked.
“With my protection, they may look into the mirror without harm,” she said, turning Iyusuri so that her dark glass faced them.
Patton and Virgil both gasped; Logan’s face betrayed nothing. Roman’s Smile instincts didn’t like it—faery favors always came with strings, even the well-intentioned ones. But he wanted to believe Eletha was offering this freely, as much as a faery could.
Logan recovered first.
“I am honored by the invitation, my Lady,” he said in his deep voice. “But I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who she would show me.”
He set his chin on Patton’s orange curls, rather possessively, his gray eyes like fathomless pools. Roman chose not to mention that Logan technically could have looked in the mirror at any time. Clearly, he’d never been tempted.
“Yeah, I…” Patton blushed and leaned into his fiancé’s touch. “I don’t need to look, either.”
Eletha inclined her head at them.
“I’ve had four decades to figure myself out. I’m good,” Red offered from one of the overstuffed chairs, her metal legs stretched out in front of her, looking disinclined to move.
Then it was Virgil’s turn, and Virgil…a thousand emotions flickered over that pale face, making Roman’s chest tighten. He shuffled forward as though mesmerized. Roman’s mind flashed back to that night in Maine, to the feel of Virgil’s hand over his own, holding the mirror handle. Virgil, unlike Logan, had definitely been tempted.
He was going to look.
Would it be for him like breaking the bond was for Roman, all pain and memories, or would Virgil simply see a face? And if by some miracle that face belonged to Roman, would he feel relieved? Trapped? Or worse, cheated and angry?
Or…Arcadian hells, what if he sees Logan after all, after Logan refused…after Logan declared himself out of reach again…it’ll kill him…
Virgil took another step forward, shoulders trembling. Roman squeezed his eyes shut and begged every deity he’d ever heard of that whatever Virgil saw in that blasted glass wouldn’t destroy him…
“No.”
The strident voice cut through Roman’s litany of fear, dragging his eyes open. Virgil stopped in front of Eletha, his gaze on her face, ignoring the mirror’s tempting glass.
“Whoever my true love is,” he added more softly. “If I even have one…he’s gonna be someone I choose.” For some reason, he looked straight at Roman, who froze. “Not some mirror. Me.”
“If that is your decision…” Eletha said.
“It is.” Virgil still held Roman’s gaze.
Eletha clasped the mirror to her bosom again and nodded. Virgil smiled, an expression Roman automatically returned, but questions now replaced the lingering peace left by Iyusuri’s absence.
Virgil fully expected to see Logan’s face. What did that mean? Did he refuse to look to protect himself? To protect Roman? What did that mean for them, going forward?
“What will you do now?” Eletha asked.
The faintest edge to that question brought Roman’s mind screeching back to the present.
“We would return home, of course,” he said slowly.
Her fingers brushed his chin, a trail of fire along his skin. Someone made an alarmed noise; of course, only Virgil knew what happened in the cavern. The others hadn’t seen how, well, friendly Eletha had gotten with her touches.
“Stay,” she whispered.
Roman’s heart seemed to stop. “What?
“I have grown fond of your face, and your lovely voice. Stay here, with me. You would have the finest food, clothing, company, learning, whatever you wished. In exchange, you need only grace me with the pleasure of your company and sing for me when I ask. Were you to remain in Carafel, you would want for nothing.”
Roman’s eyes widened, fear and longing crashing simultaneously through him. This…this was how Seelies acquired slaves. He had no doubt she would give him everything she promised, until Earth faded to a forgotten dream and even the notion of leaving Arcadia dissolved into addled bliss. Seelie slaves were nearly impossible to rescue for precisely this reason.
It was horribly tempting.
No more railing against Johnny Prince’s bloody legacy. No more nightmares full of claws and blood, no more panic attacks, no more questioning what he wanted or who he was supposed to be. No more disappointing everyone he loved. No more broken hearts. A life where nobody expected anything from him except music and a pretty face.
It would be so easy.
“Roman.”
He whirled to find Virgil a mere foot away, breathing hard, fingers outstretched.
“Don’t,” Virgil whispered, tears sparkling in his eyes. “Please.”
His terror shattered the fragile spell; the room snapped into focus again. Roman saw Virgil’s fear mirrored on all his friends’ faces and swallowed hard. My friends.
How could he have ever contemplated leaving his friends behind?
Because Eletha tried to enchant me into forgetting. She probably hadn’t even done it consciously, but that was the danger of associating with a Seelie. Even the kind ones were perilous. He thinned his lips and turned back to her.
“I am beyond flattered, my Lady,” he said. “But I have a life on Earth already. I cannot stay.”
She exhaled, her breath rippling the blue barrier between them. He wished he could read her expression. Would she get angry at last? Would she thrall him into staying?
“You will visit me,” she said. It was not a question.
“Yes,” his mouth replied before his brain caught up. Someone—probably Virgil—gasped. Roman’s heart quailed at the thought of being beholden to Arcadia in any way…but honestly, if all he had to do was visit a lonely faery widow, he was getting off easy.
“How often?” he added, because such details were best not left unsaid.
Her breath puffed against her veils. “Once for each time your Earth circles your sun.”
Once a year wasn’t so bad.
“How long would I stay?” he asked, because that definitely needed to be clarified.
“A fortnight.”
Roman’s stomach clenched. “Half a fortnight.” He could probably manage a week.
“Half and a day,” she countered. “And you will bring me songs.”
“How will I get here?”
“I will send one to collect you,” she said.
Roman didn’t love that idea, but he supposed dealing with a random deer faery interrupting a grocery trip would be easier than trying to sneak into that blackberry town every year, let alone crossing a fire meadow and climbing a bunch of ravines.
“Traveling time counts toward the half and a day,” he dared to say.
To his surprise, she laughed. “Thunderbirds fly quickly. These terms are acceptable.” She plucked a silver ring from her smallest finger, kissed it through her veils, and placed it in his palm. “So my people can find you.”
“I, uh, don’t think it will fit me,” Roman muttered, staring at it. The ring resembled a tiny fire flower stem, cast in silver and barely wide enough to pass over his pinkie knuckle, a blue gem winking from the center of the miniature blossom. Plus, the entire point of this journey was to get rid of a faery artifact, not acquire another one!
“It needn’t be on your finger, merely in your possession.” She leaned in, and he swore he saw a hint of a smirk. “Although, you may find my blessing useful in unexpected ways.”
“I’ll, uh,” he stammered, “keep that in mind.”
Eletha patted his cheek, which made him feel like a well-behaved puppy, but he knew she meant well. She had her people bring him water for washing and clothes to wear, which he definitely appreciated. Virgil chuckled when the pants turned out to be tighter than even Roman liked, but Roman also caught Virgil sneaking looks when he thought Roman wasn’t looking.
Well…it wasn’t like Roman didn’t know Virgil found him attractive on a purely physical level. It was all the rest that gave them trouble.
Eletha led them out to their birds and retreated, not even saying goodbye; Roman simply turned around to find her gone. His heart twisted…but I’ll see her again, won’t I? He realized he hadn’t clarified when she’d send for him.
“You like her,” Virgil grumbled. He’d put his hoodie back on; now he hunched into it, looking disgruntled.
“Are you pouting?” Roman asked.
“No!” Virgil folded his arms and pouted more, his bottom lip sticking out.
“Oh, come on. It’s not like that.” But even as Roman thought about it, he realized it might be a little like that. “Besides, she’s a widow, and let’s not even get started on the age gap.”
Virgil muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pansexuals.”
Morwick, who’d been grooming the birds, woke them with a wave of her hand and came forward to meet them, clasping Roman’s hands. She agreed to guide them back to the blackberry village and the Hedge gap, assuring them that arriving via thunderbird would ensure nobody would bother them.
Roman and Virgil ended up on Morwick’s bird this time, while Red, Logan, and Patton rode the other.
“That is lovely work,” Morwick commented as they left Eletha’s valley, when she saw Roman flexing his flower hand. “But you have no feeling, do you? Let me fix it.”
She reached for the hand.
“It’s fine,” Roman said, setting it on his lap.
Morwick’s blank blue eyes flared. “I am the one who put it to sleep.”
Roman sighed, allowing her to cradle his hand again. “How will more sleep help?”
Morwick smiled. “I can also wake things up.”
She touched the tip of one hoof nail to the center of the palm. Roman gasped as sensation spread out like a ripple on water, pins and needles crawling up his fingers and down to where plant flesh met human skin. When she let go, the feeling peaked and faded to warmth.
When he made a fist, he could feel it. He gasped.
“Virge, it worked!” He twisted to face Virgil. “I can feel now!”
Virgil smiled thinly. “Glad someone got to finish what I couldn’t.”
He peeked past Roman to glower at Morwick’s back.
“You don’t need to be jealous, you know,” Roman assured him, wiggling the fingers. “This is, hands down—ha! Patton would appreciate that pun—anyway. This is still the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me, okay?”
Virgil smiled and nodded, and Roman tried not to worry that his expression still looked far away…and a little sad.
#
Before Roman knew it, they were spilling out of the ramshackle shack in the Founder backyard. Early morning sun slanted across Red’s barn, the overgrown vegetable garden, and the swampy wilderness beyond.
“It’s good to be home,” Red murmured.
On the back porch, Gretel’s auburn head slumped across the lap of someone Roman didn’t recognize. The stranger shook the other awake. Gretel saw them and immediately whisked inside, leaving the other to stride alone across the yard. They looked to be the same age as the other Founders but shorter, with a heart-shaped face, intense narrow eyes, and black hair cropped at their chin.
“Is that—?” Roman asked.
“Founder Cinder,” Logan said, nodding. “I have only met them once, as they moved across the country many years ago. They are non-verbal, non-binary, Wiccan, they possess electric powers, and they were also—”
“A fetch maker,” Virgil finished quietly. “Like me.”
Red held out her arms, waiting for Cinder’s okay before carefully embracing them. Roman caught a glimpse of their hazel eyes and shivered: they had one white changeling ring, one black. Then the back door crashed open, and Kate Gardener-Conroy strode out, stopping dead when she spotted Roman.
“Kate,” he whispered, and he was running, borrowed faery boots slapping in the wet grass. She met him halfway and he flung himself into her arms.
“Kid,” she said, sounding close to tears. She cradled his head the way she always did after he had a nightmare. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry for running off and not calling and—”
“Hey.” She pulled back and held him at arm’s length. “God, look at your face. You need to let Rapunzel fix that or it’s gonna scar.”
He winced, touching the scabbed-over slice.
“I’m just happy you came back all in one piece,” she added.
“Well…” He wiggled his flower hand, waiting for the outburst…but her expression never changed, and he remembered, with a pang, that Virgil glamoured the hand to look ordinary to human eyes. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
One by one, every other Founder except Hansel spilled from the house; Gretel and Rosa emerged last. Roman hugged his other mother, who did see the hand. Her blue-ringed eyes held questions, but she said nothing.
At Kate’s insistence, Rapunzel stitched up Roman’s face, which tickled like someone dragging a fingernail over it. The newly healed skin still hurt to touch; she warned him it probably would for a few days. She’d just finished when a sharp voice echoed across the yard.
“Prince!” Beetlecloud yelled, his pointed hat and then the rest of him detaching from the porch shadows. Roman’s stomach twisted at the sight of the little faery, whose beard was still short, his chest bound in white.
“You dare to show your face here again?” the nisse demanded.
An uneasy silence fell, in which every eye turned to Roman. He ground his teeth. He knew he’d have to face what he’d done to the nisse eventually; he just hadn’t counted on having an audience for it.
“What’s going on?” Rapunzel asked, her gaze flickering between Roman and the angry faery. “What happened to you, Beetlecloud?”
“Ask him.” Beetlecloud pointed at Roman.
Roman waved everyone back, shaking off Kate’s protective grip. “I’ll handle this.”
“Oh, you’ll handle it?” Beetlecloud sneered, the Faery words twisting around his tongue. “Like Painmaker used to handle us? Give me one reason why I should not exile you from this property right now?”
“You have every right. I hurt you,” Roman said, shame weighing his neck, forcing his gaze to his feet. “I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”
“Tried to kill me, more like.” Beetlecloud folded his arms.
Roman shook his head. “It was an accident. I was careless. I never meant...” He trailed off, anger and disgust gripping his throat. Never meant what? To be like Johnny? To prove everyone right?
He curled his flower hand around Belle’s scabbard, which he’d tied to the belt Eletha gave him after leaving Carafel.
Johnny never owned up to his sins.
You’re better than him.
Don’t make excuses.
Chin up.
“I’ll go if you want,” Roman offered. “I won’t set foot here again.” Being exiled from the Grimm house would be more than fair.
“And what if you leave here and murder some other unsuspecting Fae?” Beetlecloud shook his head. “No. I was too lenient with your sire. You want to satisfy me? Give up bloodletting. Give up that.”
He pointed to Belle. Roman touched her protectively, the words hitting like a kick in the gut.
“Now, hold on, Beetlecloud.” A scowling Dare marched to Roman’s side. “You know he’s a Smile hunter. That’s their whole thing.”
“I can and I will,” the nisse snarled.
“It’s my sword,” Dare said, voice hardening. “And I say he keeps it.”
“He’s on my land,” Beetlecloud countered. “And I am the one he’s wronged. He gives it up, and further, that he takes up no other against my kind.”
“The only solitaries I’ve ever hunted are those who hurt and kill others!” Roman protested. “I am not your Painmaker, Beetlecloud, and I will not be judged for his sins as well as my own. If I am to atone for this,”—he gestured to the faery’s bandages— “then I will atone for only this.”
Beetlecloud’s black eyes grew calculating; he stroked his mangled beard. The Founders looked at each other. By some unspoken agreement, Red stepped away from the others and plopped into the grass next to the faery, which put her smooth, kind face even with his wrinkled one.
“Oh, here we go,” Beetlecloud muttered.
“You’ve known us since we were younger than him,” Red said, pointing to Roman. “You saw us learn our lesson with Johnny. You know we wouldn’t bring another like him here.”
Beetlecloud’s face twisted. “Not on purpose, you wouldn’t.”
“I vouch for him.” Kate stepped forward and laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. “I trained him. He cried when he took his first faery life, and that was a troll that had killed three children.”
“You don’t have to tell him that,” Roman muttered, blushing.
“I vouch as well,” Dare added. “I saw his bravery in Arcadia.”
“I did, too,” Stiltz said. “And he was the one who insisted we free the pixies trapped by that cruel Seelie.”
The other Founders chimed in, one by one; surprisingly, even Gretel. Roman’s face grew hotter with each response. Somehow, despite dragging a big, tangly, faery problem to their doorstep and screwing up almost every step of the way, the Grimm Founders didn’t hate him. Even Cinder signed something, which Kate translated as, “I don’t know him yet, but I trust my siblings,” and followed it up with a salute weirdly reminiscent of Virgil.
Beetlecloud eyed their faces with a scowl, took off his hat, and scrubbed a three-fingered hand through his bushy hair.
“Well, spawn,” the nisse said to Roman, replacing his hat. “You’re fortunate I’m fond of Savannah’s pack of whelps. If they claim you are a different sort than your sire, I shall give you one more chance to prove them right.”
“Give him a task he can actually do, Beetlecloud,” Rapunzel cut in. “None of your tricks.”
Beetlecloud smirked.
“He’s an old, wily thing,” Kate murmured in Roman’s ear. “And he hated Johnny with a passion. God knows what he’d demand without boundaries.”
Roman suppressed a shiver.
“Your father was an enemy to our kind,” Beetlecloud said, stroking his beard again. “But I’ll grant he wasn’t the worst. The Court Faeries use us as food, slaves, pets, entertainment…much like they do with you changelings. It is not right, but there is often naught to be done.”
“Believe it or not, as a hunter, I agree.” Roman frowned.
“Here, then, is your atonement. I demand the use of the sword and hand that shed my blood, in aid of my kind, at such a time as I might call upon it. You will go where I point you, and rescue or avenge those I ask.”
Roman frowned at Belle, wondering where the catch was, because that didn’t sound so bad. “You…want me to be your champion?”
“To direct where I will, against whom I will, when the need arises.” Beetlecloud nodded. “But for Savannah’s sake, I do not demand that you pit yourself against danger alone. You may bring others.”
“So, I don’t have to die trying.” Roman swallowed hard. “Well, that’s better than the last deal I made.”
Kate shot him a startled look.
“Who is Savannah?” Patton’s voice asked quietly.
“I could be wrong, but I believe that was Maid Maleen’s real name,” Logan murmured back.
“This is a one-time deal, right?” Roman clarified. “One favor?”
“One rescue and I will consider this slight forgiven.”
Roman looked at the Founders clustered around him, and his friends. “I’m inclined to take him up on this. I mean, it’s more or less what I already do in Smile, anyway.”
Dare shrugged. “Up to you, man. Beetlecloud usually deals in good faith, if that helps.”
“Do not forget the Lady of Carafel,” Logan said. “You must ensure this deal will not interfere with your promise to visit her.”
“Ooh, good point.” Roman nodded.
“I’m sorry, what?” Kate said, her eyes widening.
“I have never seen anyone make so many faery deals and come out the other side with their skin and sanity intact,” Rapunzel said.
“How many deals have you made this week?” Kate demanded.
“Uh…three, I think?” Roman grimaced. “Four if you count the mirror, five if I take this one?”
“Jesus Christ Superstar.” Kate ran a hand over her face.
“Should have been a concept album?” Roman shot back with finger guns, which elicited a glower from her and a snort from Rosa.
“I think, if you desire Beetlecloud’s forgiveness,” Logan said, “you will not get a better opportunity.”
“As much as I hate to agree…” Virgil sighed. “I agree.”
Roman exhaled and nodded. He explained the promise he’d made to Eletha, which Beetlecloud agreed to honor. He allowed the faery to take Belle and her scabbard, almost comically large in his tiny, gnarled hands, and whisper something. The vise-like pressure of a faery promise settled around Roman’s chest, making him exhale.
“Very well, champion,” Beetlecloud said with a nod that made the tip of his tall hat bounce. “You are, for now, permitted to stay.”
The nisse slipped back into the shadows beneath the porch. Roman ran his flower hand through his hair, once again feeling every eye in the yard fixed on his back.
“Uh…sorry about that?” he muttered.
“You are such a goddamned paladin,” Virgil said dryly. “Can we go in, now?”
“Absolutely.” Kate planted a hand against the small of Roman’s back. “This one has a whole lot of explaining to do.”
Chapter 39- Phlox
here is tomorrow
just past the sunrise
my fingers reaching out
~ “Stars” by Arrows to Athens
understanding
Logan and Patton insisted on returning to DeLand that night; with all the Founders staying over, they didn’t want to add to an otherwise full house. Logan also invited Roman and Virgil to accompany them to Santorini’s in celebration and, well, who could turn down good Greek?
“Rosa and I aren’t heading back until next Wednesday,” Kate said as she hugged Roman at the door. “I know you have to take the bike home, and you’ll be wanting to spend some non-Arcadian time with your boy—”
“Kaaaate,” he protested.
“—but let’s sit down and have a proper talk before we go, okay?”
Roman nodded. “Yeah, I…I should warn you, I’ve been thinking a lot about me, and Smile, and…and Johnny’s legacy. I’m not entirely sure what I want to do yet, but I can’t keep being what I was.” He chuckled. “Not after the week I’ve had.”
“This has been building longer than that, I think.” Kate laid a kiss on Roman’s forehead. “There’s no rush. You get your thoughts together, and we’ll talk about it.”
Virgil once again showed no interest in wanting to ride Roman’s motorcycle, and Roman was once again afraid to ask. It still felt like Virgil was trying to keep his distance, even after they’d showered, changed clothes—Roman borrowed a pair of Stiltz’s old jeans and a t-shirt—and spent the afternoon playing on Zoe’s gaming console. Roman couldn’t decide if Virgil’s withdrawn attitude was because he needed space to process what happened in Arcadia, or because he thought Roman did.
Dinner at Santorini’s felt like stepping back in time, except Roman and Logan were hungry enough to finish three giant entrées between them while Virgil and Patton watched in bemusement.
“What?” Roman grumbled at Virgil’s boggled expression, stuffing the last of a gyro in his mouth. He’d been pleased to discover the tzatziki sauce was as divine as he remembered.
“You inhaled three of those in like twenty minutes.” Virgil looked him up and down. “Where did you even put it all?”
Roman stared down at his flat stomach and shrugged. Patton giggled. Logan primly pushed aside his empty shrimp saganaki dish, like he wanted to pretend he hadn’t eaten that plus a huge salad and the pastitsio he’d shared with Roman.
“Vaalyun didn’t feed us for three whole days,” Roman said, patting his belly. “These muscles don’t run on dew and universe juice, you know.”
“Universe…juice?” Virgil repeated blankly.
“Kung Fu Panda, honestly!” Roman tilted his head back and sighed. “Hey Logan, can we get dessert?”
Logan always said no. Roman always asked anyway; it had become something of a game, trying to make Logan break. This time, however, Logan ran his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth.
“You know what? Let’s. We’ve earned it,” he said, flagging their waitress.
“Score!” Roman pumped his fist.
Afterward, with all of them feeling uncomfortably full, they decided to park at Logan’s apartment, fetch Nic, and walk to Painter’s Pond. The evening sun faded to the merest blush of pink along the tree line; the streetlights flickered on as they reached the park. Virgil strode ahead, eager to find out how Wrassey was doing. Nic bounded after him. Logan followed, scolding the dog, which left Roman and Patton together at the entrance, shaking their heads.
“That dog’s had a week of that big old yard to himself. I don’t know what Logan expected,” Roman commented.
Patton chuckled. “Do you know, he’s talked about buying a house once we’ve tied the knot and kinda settled down? He says it would be for us, but I think he just wants a yard for Nic before he’s too old to enjoy it.”
“A house, really?” Roman raised an eyebrow. “You guys really have made up.”
“Thanks to you.” Patton shot him a soft smile, the evening lamplight casting his face in angelic yellow.
“Me?” Roman echoed.
“When you and he were captured, he said you two did some talking.” Patton stared out at the park. “He claimed you really set him straight.”
Roman shot him a deadpan look. “I have never in my life set anyone straight; have you met me?”
Patton giggled. Roman allowed himself a smile.
“Seriously though, I just listened while Teach talked himself into a breakthrough,” Roman said. “But, Padre, not to put too fine a point on it…I thought you were pretty thoroughly done with his shit. Like, he thought he was gonna have to beg on his hands and knees to keep you from tossing him out of his own apartment.” He held up his hands when Patton frowned. “Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but you get my point.”
“He was that worried, huh?” Patton eyed his fiancé, rubbing his mouth.
Roman nodded. “You shook him up.”
“I don’t let myself get that angry very often.”
“Exactly! So, while I’m glad you two have worked things out, I’m also surprised and…” Roman sighed. “A little worried, if I’m being honest.”
Patton started down the sidewalk encircling the park, gesturing to Roman to walk with him.
“You think I forgave him too easily?” he asked.
Roman grimaced. “It’s just, I know you. It’s practically your M.O.”
Patton smiled, because of course he was the only person on the planet who’d take that as a compliment. Which…kind of proved Roman’s point.
“We did a lot of talking on the way to Carafel,” Patton said. “He apologized for a lot of things and explained where he was coming from.”
He paused so suddenly that Roman got three steps ahead before realizing. When he turned back, Patton was rubbing his face.
“Pat?”
“I’m not an innocent little lamb, you know.” Patton met his gaze, those yellow-ringed eyes holding a hint of the spark Roman had seen in Vaalyun’s castle.
“I, uh, never said you were…?” Roman protested.
“I know you think everything that went wrong with Logan and I was his doing, because you’re biased against him.”
Over what he did to Virgil, Patton didn’t say, but Roman heard it in the tone and flinched. Patton so rarely used his empathy as a cudgel, it was easy to forget he still knew things.
That’s how he kept the extent of his power hidden so well. Roman shivered, remembering how Patton pacified that Sidhe guard in Vaalyun’s house with a touch. He’s so much more than our soft little puffball. He’s used to keeping secrets.
“I’m less biased than I was,” Roman said simply.
Patton nodded. “I believe you. I just need you to understand that I have blind spots, too.” He huffed, smiling thinly. “Virge knows.”
A bark of laughter drew their attention. The pixies had seized Nic’s tail as Virgil egged them on, causing the dog to spin in circles, while Logan groused about making him dizzy and being responsible for any vomiting later. Virgil looked more carefree now than he had at the Grimm house, but something heavy still lurked behind those mismatched eyes…or so Roman imagined.
Maybe he was only imagining it.
Maybe everything was fine and Virgil was just tired, like all of them.
“You should tell him how you feel,” Patton said gently. “That’s why you came down in the first place, isn’t it?”
Roman shook his head and started walking again, forcing Patton to catch up.
“I’ve tried at least a dozen times this week, but something would always happen, and I thought, maybe this is the universe telling me it isn’t time. And I don’t want to dump it on him the night before he goes back to class. Besides…” He trailed off and sighed again. “It’s been months. If he wanted more from me than friendship, wouldn’t he have looked in the mirror when Eletha gave him the chance? Wouldn’t he have said something?”
“Oh, Roman.” Patton set a gentle hand on Roman’s lower back. “You don’t know how Virgil works at all, do you?”
Roman narrowed his eyes. “Rude, Glasses Gay. Wanna explain?”
“Does he call you?” Patton asked.
“What does that have to do with—?”
“Does Virgil call you?” Patton repeated.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“How often?”
“Once every week or so, maybe?” Roman shrugged. “Sometimes I call him.”
“How long do you guys talk?”
“Now we’re doing twenty questions?”
Patton planted himself in Roman’s path and placed his hands on his hips. “I’m making a point. Humor me. How long?”
“I don’t know!” Roman threw up his hands. “A couple hours, maybe? Less if he has homework? Why?”
“Because Virgil hates the telephone.”
Roman glowered. “I know that. He reminds me every week.”
Patton smirked. “So, our endearingly socially anxious shadowling, who actively avoids phone calls and barely answers his texts, willingly dials your number every week to talk about how much he hates calling people? Do you know how many times he’s called me in the last six months?”
Patton made an exaggerated zero with his fingers.
“Oof.” Roman grimaced. “Even I’ve called you more than that.”
“I can tell you three other things Virgil hates: crowds, buses, and traveling. Yet what did he do at Christmas?”
Roman sighed. “He got on a crowded bus and traveled a thousand miles to visit me.”
“And when we were taking Wren and Wrassey back to DeLand, you were all he talked about.”
“Probably complained about me the whole time,” Roman grumbled.
“Not as much as you’d think, considering.”
Roman scoffed and studied Virgil’s smiling face, noting how quickly Logan offered a hand after Nic tackled him. Their clasped arms, pale against dark, seared itself in his head, even though he could practically hear the ghost of Iyusuri’s voice telling him to Stop. Being. Afraid.
Did the touch linger?
Why didn’t Virgil want to look in the mirror?
“Who did the mirror show you, Ro?” Patton asked lowly.
The uncharacteristic darkness in his voice made Roman frown. “You say that like it’s not obvious.”
Patton shot him a startled look, quickly replaced with a shrug and a smile. “I just figured, if that Sidhe lady helped you look—like she offered to do for us—the mirror would have shown you something that would help sort all this out.”
Patton wasn’t in the grotto, Roman reminded himself. He didn’t see what I had to do to make Iyusuri let me go. Her blindfolded gaze flashed through his memory with an echo of ginger…
“She showed me a lot of things, Pat,” Roman admitted softly. “I know my own heart now, more than ever. But she didn’t teach me how to read Virgil’s mind.”
Patton sighed. The two were silent for a long moment.
“Whatever you said in the barn, it hurt Virgil badly,” Patton said at last. “And he still went back to Arcadia for you, Roman, twice. He went to Okeechobee, to Carafel; in fact, he has barely left your side this entire week, come what may. That is him saying something.”
“How can you be sure?” Roman hated the plaintive note in his own voice. Patton made a lot of good points, but Patton had been wrong about Virgil’s feelings before…disastrously, in fact.
“I know because you and me, Ro? We’ve got similar blind spots.” Patton shook his head. “Logan is the same infuriating way, and like you, all I could see were the things he wasn’t doing. Our boys don’t woo us with declarations of love. They won’t come out and say they care unless you explain that’s a thing you need from them. But they will show how they feel in a million tiny, ordinary ways, every second of the day, and once you open your eyes…” Patton’s gaze followed his fiancé across the park, and he smiled. “You won’t be able to fathom how you missed it.”
“Same panic, different disco,” Roman muttered. It was something he’d said to Virgil, once.
“Look, all I’m trying to say is this.” Patton touched his arm again. “I was missing it, with Logan. Don’t make the same mistake with Virge.”
“Logan was low-key awful to you, though,” Roman said. “Even he admitted that.”
“Yes. I was making him feel like the way he showed love wasn’t enough for me, unknowingly or not. That would make anyone frustrated. This isn’t to excuse him”—Patton held up a hand to forestall Roman’s protest. “But I’m not going to pretend I had no part in that fight in the barn just because his behavior was worse.”
They finished their loop around the park, Roman turning those words over in his head. Logan finally managed to wrangle Nic and waved them over. Virgil sat on the low wall, bent over his phone and kicking his legs, but still somehow managed to feel Roman’s eyes. He looked up; Roman looked away.
Patton shot him a shrewd look. “Take it from someone who’s known Virgil for a long time. He’s not a ring-the-doorbell guy like you. Virgil is more of a ‘leave the door open and make sure the mat’s clean’ person. So, the question you need to ask yourself is, are you gonna keep waiting on the stoop, hoping he’ll come out? Or are you going in?”
With that, he walked away to intercept Logan, tossing a stick for Nic as he went.
#
Entering Logan’s apartment was like coming home; everything from the jingle of Logan’s keys hitting the countertop to four pairs of shoes—and one sword—landing beside the front door. Roman was halfway to the kitchen with Remy’s empty bowl before he realized he’d been caught up in old habits, again.
“You’ll stay with us tonight, of course.” Logan followed Roman to the kitchen, already reaching for the Keurig cabinet.
“Oh, no, I can get a room…” Roman straightened from the fridge, hand curled around the cream carton. He could not, in fact, simply get a room; both his wallet and his phone had been in the backpack he’d lost in Arcadia. Faery Queens, he hadn’t even realized until that moment. “Well, fuck.”
“Precisely. Thankfully tomorrow is Monday.” Logan took out the coffee machine and put a kettle on. “We can get our various bank cards and ID situation sorted out then.”
“I’ll have to tell Kate.” Roman scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Driving home without a license is gonna be real fun. Good thing I’m lucky.”
“I imagine Patton or Virgil would let you use their phone if the need arose.”
Roman eyed Virgil, curled up on the couch as usual, and decided updating Kate could wait until later. He finished Remy’s cream, left Logan puttering with coffee machine, passed Patton scooping food into Nic’s bowl, and parked himself on the other end of the couch. Virgil didn’t look up. Roman was just working up the courage to say something when Logan whisked in and put on a classical record.
“Shall we play a board game?” he asked.
“Ooh, yay!” Patton plopped into the easy chair and clapped his hands. But when Logan fished the Scrabble box from one of the bookshelves, both Patton and Virgil groaned.
“Oh, ho, you looking for a rematch, Jack Spellington?” Roman said, rubbing his hands. Logan was indisputably the best Scrabble player of the group, but Roman had actually beaten him a few times—he had a knack for spotting unique connections between words and, with his luck, he usually managed to get precisely the letters he wanted on any given draw.
“If I recall,” Logan said, setting up the board and shaking the letter bag. “During our last game over a year ago, I beat you by six points, and I had to explain what ‘preposterous’ meant.”
“Why do we let them do this?” Virgil muttered to Patton, taking a tile from the bag and scowling. “Fuck, I got ‘Q’”
“It gives them something constructive to fight over.” Patton shrugged and picked his letter: K.
Roman leaned on his luck and snatched a tile from the bag. “D”, not bad. Logan glowered when he chose an F.
“Well, would you look at that?” Roman smirked, flipping his tile like a coin before returning it to the bag. “Looks like I get to go first.”
“I still say using your luck should count as cheating.” Logan handed the bag around again, letting everyone pick their playing tiles.
“Oh, but I thought Scrabble was a game of skill and superior knowledge?” Roman countered. “And therefore my l-u-c-k”—he played each letter as he spoke— “shouldn’t matter?”
“We should probably just get them a room or something,” Virgil commented, taking a sip of coffee.
Patton snickered into the hand covering his mouth.
“Hush, peanut gallery.” Roman flapped a hand at them.
Logan visibly sucked on his teeth. “I was planning to simply beat you,” he said, spelling the word “umbra.” “I am now going to destroy you.”
“Bring it.” Roman smiled and flexed his fingers.
They played three rounds. Logan won them all decisively, much to Roman’s disgruntlement. He chalked it up to the exhaustion clawing at the edges of his consciousness; if he didn’t sleep soon, he was going to crash where he sat.
Virgil briefly went back into his old room; Logan disappeared to check on Nic. Remy, bleary and brownie-ish as ever, came out of his cabinet to sip his cream. His black eyes studied Roman with disturbing intensity, almost as though he was counting the invisible faery promises laid over Roman’s heart. No insults, for once; he merely lifted his bowl in a mocking salute…which, coming from him, was almost a compliment. Patton switched the classical music to something crooning and mellow, and Roman helped him straighten up the living room.
“I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm,” Virgil said as he reappeared. “I’ve got a morning class.” His gaze slid to Roman and then to the floor. “Where, uh, are you crashing tonight?”
“Here, apparently.” Roman nodded at the couch.
Virgil shot him a smirk. “Are Mr. and Mr. Hospitality making you stay?”
“That, and I lost my wallet when I lost my clothes.”
“Oh.”
Virgil scuffed his toe on the carpet. Patton eyed them and rather conspicuously removed himself from the room.
“You could, uh, stay at my dorm instead, you know,” Virgil muttered. “I’d have to clean up, but…I mean, it’s not like I have a roommate to bother. And…” He leaned close enough to speak in Roman’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “Now that Logan and Patton have made up, they might appreciate some, uh, privacy later. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Roman grimaced; he hadn’t even thought of that. He did note that Virgil seemed completely unbothered by the notion of Logan having sex, which had to mean something, right?
He announced the change of plans when the couple came out of the bedroom, and while both Logan and Patton reiterated that Roman was welcome on their couch at any time, they didn’t try very hard to make him stay. Patton did catch Roman’s eye, nodded pointedly at Virgil, and mouthed the words, “Tell him!”
Though Roman’s heart quailed, he nodded.
Chapter 40- Ambrosia
i don’t know where you’re going
but do you got room for one more troubled soul
i don’t know where i’m going
but i don’t think i’m coming home
~ “Alone Together” by Fall Out Boy
love is reciprocated
The walk to Virgil’s dorm was quiet. Roman elected to leave his motorcycle at Logan’s, as it was quite late now. Virgil marched with his hands buried in his pockets, kicking at tiny rocks on the sidewalk, looking like he had a million thoughts running through his head. Roman, instead of worrying about it, let himself bask in the tranquility only small towns exuded at night.
I think Patton is right. When my head is full, I want someone to talk it out with…but Virgil absorbs it instead, and it comes out in his actions.
Virgil fumbled his keys at the main University Hall door, prompting a round of snickering from Roman and a muttered, “Shut up!” He led Roman up a stairwell and down a hallway that reeked of male cologne and lemon cleanser, stopping them at a door with two Nightmare Before Christmas posters plastered side by side on it.
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Roman murmured, leaning in to study them.
“Don’t you already own like 101 Disney posters?” Virgil nudged him aside to open the door.
“Yeah, I do. But—”
“You can’t have my sick nasty Tim Burton posters, Princey, so don’t even ask.”
“Even if we’re simply meant to be?” Roman sang, grinning when Virgil rolled his eyes.
“Get in here, idiot.” Virgil dragged him into the room, scoffing when Roman blew kisses at Sally as the door thudded closed. To be fair, they were nice posters.
Once inside, Roman leaned Belle against the door frame and looked around. Unlike the guest room at Logan’s, Virgil had actually made an effort to decorate here. A spooky mask hung on one wall with a few band posters, fake candles sat along his single shelf, and a spider-themed curtain divided the closet space from the rest of the room. Virgil ignored the overhead light in favor of the desk lamp, probably because he hated harsh lighting, but maybe also because he’d not been kidding about the mess. Papers, notebooks, pens, books, and enough black clothing to satisfy the witchiest vampire in Halloween Town covered the floor.
“It’s not normally this bad, I swear.” Virgil’s ears burned red as he shoved random stuff under the bed, even while Roman reiterated that he didn’t mind. “I was just—”
“Reorganizing.” Roman nodded. “I remember.”
“I had literally just pulled everything out of the closet and off the shelf when you and Logan showed up,” Virgil muttered as he cleared a path to the bed.
“It’s is a good thing you don’t have a roommate.”
“Can you imagine me sharing a bedroom with a total stranger?” Virgil plopped on his bed, grimaced, and dragged several black shirts out from under him. “All right, I need to properly sort this out or the embarrassment may actually kill me.”
“Can I borrow your phone?” Roman asked, hiding a smile. “I should at least warn Kate that I lost mine, in case she tries to call it.”
Virgil handed it over and Roman stepped into the hall, leaving Virgil to his mess. Kate wasn’t pleased about his lost phone, but she didn’t chew him out too harshly; it wasn’t really his fault redcaps had eaten his bag.
When he hung up, however, he realized he’d let the door shut and lock behind him.
He set a hand against the wood, reminded of all the times he’d found himself outside Logan’s guest room, hesitating, just like this. Virgil would never know—or believe—the way Roman dithered before every knock, glaring at the doorknob or resting his forehead against the wood. Sally’s single eye stared out of her poster with papery blankness; Roman’s thumb traced a tiny heart on her chin.
“Are you gonna keep waiting on the stoop?” Patton asked in his memory.
Roman chided himself for being ridiculous and pounded on the door.
“It’s still a mess, but it’s better than it was,” Virgil grumbled as he let Roman back inside. He’d gotten most of the bookish stuff put away; now he paced the floor, scooping clothes into a laundry basket. Roman watched until it got awkward.
“Can I help?” he asked, parking himself in Virgil’s desk chair.
“Uh…no.” Virgil’s face flushed as he stuffed a pair of boxer briefs deeper into the basket. “For reasons that have nothing to do with you and everything to do with my current level of shame.”
Roman bit back another smile. “Fair enough.”
It occurred to him again that spring break ended tomorrow. Virgil would go back to his classes, his job, his life, and, Roman would have to decide what to do with himself. If things needed to be said, it had to be tonight.
It had to be now.
Roman steeled himself. Come on, you can do this. Iyusuri would want you to do this…which is ironic, since she’s the whole reason I haven’t done it yet.
He swallowed. “Virge, I need to—”
“You can take the bed if—” Virgil blurted out at the same moment.
Both stopped.
“You first,” Virgil said.
“No…no, you should definitely go first.” Roman curled both hands around his knees to hide the way they shook.
“I was just gonna say, you should take the bed. You’ve had a much more hellish week than me.” Virgil let his bangs fall over his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.”
Roman’s mouth twisted. He was exhausted, but…
“I’m not making you sleep on the floor in your own dorm room,” he said.
Virgil licked his bottom lip, and Roman hated how that reminded him of Logan, of how the half-faery always did that when he was deep in thought and how Virgil probably picked up the habit from him…
Why hadn’t Virgil wanted to look at Iyusuri?
“Alternatively,” Virgil muttered. “You, uh, remember Maine? And…and how we kept your nightmares away?”
“Yeah,” Roman whispered. “But this bed is awfully narrow.”
Is he suggesting what it sounds like?
“I don’t…mind,” Virgil said to the floor, a pink flush rising in his cheeks.
Roman stood up to pace, passing shaking hands through his hair. He didn’t know if the internal screaming was anger or sheer terror; they felt the same.
“Virge, you know how…how I…” He sucked in another breath. “Feel. About you.”
There. It’s out.
It was Virgil’s turn to look terrified, which manifested as him huddling into his hoodie with wide eyes and an aggressively clenched jaw. You can’t get to me like this, that posture said. And as always, the defensiveness sparked the tinder of Roman’s ego.
“I know you and everyone else already fucking knows,” he added, folding his arms. “So, maybe me admitting it might not seem like a big deal, but it is, okay? And it needed to be said before you offer to share a bed with me again.”
“I already said I don’t mind.” Virgil’s cheeks turned a damning shade of pink. “I don’t want you to have nightmares—”
“That’s not the point!” Roman exhaled hard. “You keep phrasing it like it’s a neutral request, but it’s not, coming from you. Not for me. So, if this is you trying to play therapist or be nice…if you don’t feel—” He made himself stop, breathe, and modulate his voice. “I don’t like being messed with.”
Virgil’s face closed off. “You’re allowed to just say no.”
“I am trying to be vulnerable here!” Roman threw out his hands. “Give me something.”
Virgil threw himself off the bed and stalked toward the door. “I’m too fucking tired to think. I can’t…I can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?”
“This!” Virgil gestured between them; Roman saw his hands were shaking, too. “Feelings! Not when I don’t know what’s gonna set you off!”
“You didn’t think asking to sleep with me was gonna fucking set me off?” Roman rubbed his face.
Virgil seized the doorknob. “Sorry for wanting to help.”
“Fine.”
It’s never going to happen. Roman’s heart felt like someone was cutting it to bits inside his chest, one tiny, bloody piece at a time. We have too much baggage.
He waited for the door to slam.
When it didn’t, he looked up to find Virgil trembling in the doorway, his stiff back to the room, frozen. Everything in his stance screamed a desire to run away, but seconds slid into minutes, and he remained motionless.
“Why…?” Roman’s voice cracked. “Why wouldn’t you look in the mirror?”
Virgil’s hand slipped off the knob to clench at his side. When he turned, Roman was shocked to see tears sparkling in his bloodshot eyes.
“Who did she show you?” Virgil whispered.
The eerie echo of Patton’s question twisted in Roman’s chest.
“I never looked at her properly,” he admitted, feeling Eletha’s ghostly touch again, the blindfolds and heat, his black inner mind. He recalled the sensation of Eletha spinning him, of Iyusuri whispering wisdom and making him feel like…like he could be okay if Virgil was his true love, but not his destiny.
“You still saw something,” Virgil argued. “You must have, or she wouldn’t have let you go.”
“It’s complicated.” Roman glowered at the thin carpet. “What she showed me was bigger than an answer to one question. But that question…that part was nothing I didn’t already know.”
“So, you did see me.” Something in Virgil’s expression loosened at his words.
“She literally turned into you, Virge. Half the time when I was dancing with Eletha, inside the thrall it was you. But that makes it sound simple, and it…wasn’t.” Roman scrubbed his face again, pinching his eyes. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’m not gonna use that to guilt you into a relationship you don’t want. I’m not Vaalyun.”
“Of course, you’re not.” Virgil’s voice dropped to something intense. “He let the mirror trap him. Don’t you get it? That’s why I didn’t look.”
“If I tell you why I think you refused,” Roman snarked. “I’ll sound like a jealous asshole.”
Virgil’s hard expression splintered. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”
Roman stared, too shocked for words. He’d lashed out in the hopes Virgil would angrily deny it, even if it was true. Having his worst fears confirmed felt like a knife in the gut.
“I never lied to you.” Virgil dropped his gaze. “I am over Logan. But there’s still that piece of me that has to be…” He trailed off for a wretchedly long moment. “Careful. On my guard. Distant, no matter how much distance I put between him and I. We both know how easy it is to just fall into his orbit.”
Roman reluctantly nodded. He was guilty of that himself.
“Being around him reminds me of what it was like to feel the way I did, how easy it would be to slip back into old thoughts, old habits.” Virgil’s gaze flicked past Roman to the dorm’s connecting bathroom. “Every time I looked at him this last week, I had to ask myself, is this nostalgia or a cliff’s edge? So yeah,” he finished bitterly. “I was fucking terrified I would see Logan.”
“Because he really was your true love, and you’d already lost him,” Roman said, resigned.
“No!” Virgil advanced, eyes glittering with tears again. “I was honest with Eletha. Screw fate. No mirror gets to tell me who I love.”
They stood only inches apart now. Roman’s heart tried to beat out of his chest; he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been close enough to feel Virgil’s breath on his face. It made him ache to close the distance, especially with that unfamiliar edge in Virgil’s expression, like an invitation, like a dare…
Virgil tapped a knuckle against Roman’s unresisting chest, set his whole hand there…and then groaned and thunked his forehead onto Roman’s shoulder.
“Fuck, why are the words still hard?” he muttered to Roman’s collarbone.
Roman stood very still, his skin tingling, afraid to breathe. “Um—”
“Shut up.” Virgil pressed a finger against Roman’s mouth without looking up. “I will tell you when you can speak again. Okay. Bandaid.” He shook out his hands and backed up, just enough to look into Roman’s eyes. “I’m gonna say this very plainly.”
Roman was going to pass out if he had to hold his breath much longer.
“I was afraid Iyusuri would show me Logan because I…” Virgil exhaled hard. “I’d already fallen for you.”
Roman’s entire world tilted sideways. “You…what?”
“You won, idiot.” Virgil tilted his head back. “You won me over. Ever since that engagement party, when you stepped out of the dark like some tragic, storybook knight returning home and just…and you’ve always been there when I didn’t deserve it. Even after I came back to DeLand, and I was scared you’d finally write me off.”
“You deserve—” Roman stammered, but Virgil planted a whole hand over his mouth.
“Nope, not done.” Virgil moved the hand to cup Roman’s face, the warmth of it searing his skin. “The real reason I got prickly over Logan that first night when you and he showed up with Wrassey, was because I thought I’d changed my mind too late. I thought even if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me…and after everything I put you through, you’d have been justified.”
Roman covered Virgil’s hand with his own, thrilling at the catch of breath.
“And when you sang in that cavern,” Virgil went on, squeezing his eyes shut. “All about lost love and wasted years, that was my proof you’d moved on. I…I expected Iyusuri to show me Logan’s face because it would have served me right. And when Eletha tried to keep you, and I thought I was gonna lose you for good, I realized…well, I kinda already did, didn’t I?”
A tear spilled over and slid down his cheek. Roman recalled how distant Virgil had acted on the journey home; now he understood the reason. His own eyes burned.
“So…” Virgil lifted his chin, bangs falling over his eyes, hand still cradled around Roman’s face. “This is me. Asking for a second chance. You, uh…you can talk, now.”
No words could encompass what Roman felt. He threw his arms around Virgil’s waist, pulling him into the full-body hug he’d always craved but never dared indulge. Virgil’s arms curled around his neck, squeezing hard; Roman felt one slender ankle hook around his knee. He pressed his face into Virgil’s neck, inhaling a lungful of earthy patchouli that had want blossoming in his chest.
He could die happy like this.
He pulled back, nose brushing Virgil’s cheekbone. Virgil turned his head, eyelids fluttering, prompting Roman to lean in…
“Wait!” Virgil skittered out of the embrace, one hand flapping. “Wait, wait.”
Bright fear curled in Roman’s gut, his senses already missing Virgil’s warmth. “Did you…not want me to kiss you? Cause, that, uh, was totally what I was going for and I thought—”
“No, I did!” Virgil practically squeaked and scrubbed a hand through his bangs. “I just…I’ve never kissed anyone and my face is a mess and I didn’t want to get snot on you so I wanted to blow my nose first and—” He ran out of breath and gasped. “Also, I may have, uh, panicked. A little bit. Sorry.”
Roman burst into giggles and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Shut up, it’s not funny!” But Virgil giggled too, the kind of laughter that spills out of people who are too deliriously happy to be quiet.
“Go wash your face, Panic at the Everywhere,” Roman said, shooing Virgil toward the bathroom.
When Virgil disappeared, Roman dropped into the desk chair because frankly, his knees needed a fucking break from holding him up through all that. He giggled again, covered his mouth, and discovered his cheeks were red hot to the touch.
“Okay, that…that just happened,” he muttered. “What the fuck.”
Virgil emerged from the bathroom and immediately darted into his closet.
“I’m gonna loan you some pajamas,” he said from behind the curtain. Roman got the distinct impression he was hiding, which definitely deserved a little teasing.
“Ooh, are we wearing each other’s clothes already?” He smirked and fluttered his eyelashes when Virgil poked his head out, his ears a satisfying shade of pink.
“—because you lost your backpack, doofus!” Virgil hid again; his voice became muffled. “And because otherwise, you’ll bitch about jeans scratching our legs all night.”
Roman studied Virgil’s bed and inhaled carefully. “So we’re, uh, we’re doing that? Same bed?”
Virgil’s head popped out, pink now staining his cheeks. “I mean…I didn’t spill my feelings just to make you sleep on the floor in the end.” The spidery curtain flicked into place again. “Unless you think it would be too weird or too soon?”
Roman fought a smile. “We did okay in Maine.”
“Yeah.” Virgil didn’t reappear.
“It was actually pretty nice.”
“No more nightmares.” The curtain flinched like Virgil started to pull it aside and decided against it. “You wouldn’t want to have those here, anyway. Thin walls.”
“Oh?” Roman let his voice dip into a lower register. “Well, then. We wouldn’t want your neighbors to hear anything, would we?”
“ABSOLUtely not.” Virgil cleared his throat.
Roman smirked. “I’m starting to think preventing nightmares isn’t the only reason you want me in your bed…”
The curtain jerked aside to reveal a pair of glittering eyes under a haze of hair that had definitely seen some nervous fingers. That gaze raked over Roman in a way that made his breath catch.
“I’ll have you know that my poor gay eyes had to politely ignore your mostly naked body for most of today.” Virgil’s voice was practically a growl that gave Roman’s lizard brain some immediate ideas. “I deserve compensation.”
Roman’s eyebrows shot up, and Virgil seemed to realize what he’d just implied. His hands shot up in defense. “Not like that! Unless…unless you, uh, wanted—?”
“We don’t!” Roman raised his hands as well. “Have to do anything—”
“Because while I’m not…opposed…to the idea. You know, in general.” Virgil’s gaze trailed over Roman in a way that made him want to burst into flame. “But, I dunno if we should jump straight—”
“Gay,” Roman muttered.
“—into the making out or, or…” Virgil made a vague hand gesture.
Roman swallowed. “Sex?”
“That!” Virgil’s eyes boggled.
“No, that’s, that’s fine.” Roman lowered his hands. “There’s no rush.”
Virgil took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. “Because, you know.” His mouth curled in a weak smirk. “We’re adults.”
Roman snorted. “Mature adults.”
They stared at each other. Virgil was still breathing much too hard, and Roman couldn’t help but wonder if that was all panic…no, shut up, lizard brain!
“Right.” Virgil nodded, mostly to himself, and jerked behind the curtain again. A pair of plaid sleep shorts and a faded black shirt sailed out of the closet to land on the bed. “Go change, flirt. You know where the bathroom is.”
Chapter 41- Sandalwood
the sparks will fly
one look in your eyes
my heart’s open wide
~ “Still Got Tonight” by Matthew Morrison
consecration
Roman studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
The sleep shorts, which probably fit fine on Virgil’s narrow hips, were definitely going to cling to Roman’s more, ah, generous posterior. At least the shirt was oversized. He splashed water on his face, scowling at sight of Virgil’s cinnamon toothpaste—gross—but still low-key wishing he hadn’t stored his toothbrush and makeup bag in his lost backpack.
His hair was an un-artfully disheveled mess, and he sported eye bags that looked like they’d spent three days trapped in a faery castle. No razors in Arcadia meant several days’ worth of scruff covered his jaw and upper lip, which he didn’t love…it reminded him of his fetch. Were his red changeling rings brighter, now? Exactly the same?
He frowned. Am I hoping to see some physical mark of what Iyusuri put me through? Maybe he shouldn’t have let Rapunzel stitch the cut on his face after all.
“I still don’t know exactly what you wanted me to see,” he murmured to the Iyusuri-shaped emptiness in his head. “And maybe that’s because I don’t know a lot about anything. Least of all myself. And I feel that the hardest when it comes to…knowing what I want.” A small smile tugged his lips at the memory of Virgil’s arms around him; his reflection mirrored the motion “But I know that…I want to take a chance. With him. I have to, because I don’t know when I’m going to know what I want again. Does that make sense?”
No answer, of course, because Iyusuri was long gone.
He peeled off his borrowed shirt. His skin bore numerous cuts and bruises, and of course, the natural brown melded into rose-pink “skin” on his right hand. He flexed the fingers, marveling again at the careful, tiny stitches. Running those fingers over his mouth felt paradoxically ordinary.
Virgil was going to wonder what the hell he was doing in here.
Roman shook his head, stepped into the tight shorts and oversized shirt—Evanescence; cute—and exited the bathroom, only to stop dead on the threshold.
Virgil’s desk lamp cast a soft yellow glow over the purple-patched hoodie draped over the chair. Virgil himself stood with his back to the bathroom door, boxers slung low on his hips, arms above his head with a shirt gathered on them like he’d just taken it off. The muscles on his bare back rippled as the arms drifted down…but Roman’s gaze zeroed in on a jagged pink scar, stark against the pale skin, and his lungs forgot what oxygen was.
Virgil’s expression morphed to shock as death erupted from his chest, a gruesome parody of his changeling power…blood, bright red, poured down his body and now it was flowers, hundreds of tiny white blossoms, stained crimson, a waterfall…
Someone screamed…
Roman, Roman was screaming and couldn’t seem to stop…
“Roman!” Virgil’s slender fingers clamped around his arm. “Roman, breathe.”
Virgil’s wet, gasping breaths grew weaker, further apart…
“Hey! Name five things you can see.” Virgil seized both sides of Roman’s face, the warmth dragging him back to his own body. He became aware of trying to suck air through a throat that wouldn’t cooperate; that was why he felt dizzy.
“Eyes,” he gasped. “Hair.” His gaze flicked beyond Virgil’s worried face. “Window. Bed. Lamp.”
“Four things you can hear.”
“Your voice. Air conditioner. C—cars outside.” Roman managed a whole breath. “Breathing.”
“I guess that counts. Three things you can feel?” Virgil kept hands on his face while leading him toward the bed.
“Touch.” Roman brought his own shaking hands up to cover them. “Your skin. My h…heartbeat.” Which was still much too fast.
“Two things you can smell.”
Roman closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to loosen the chains around his chest. “Uh…wood?”
“Close. Sandalwood room spray,” Virgil said. He pushed Roman onto the bed and sat next to him. “Came from Merlin’s. One more smell.”
Roman let his face fall against Virgil’s collarbone. “Patchouli.”
Which did more to ground him than anything he’d named so far.
“You’re safe, okay? One thing you can taste.” Virgil stroked his hair; long, soothing strokes.
“A sour taste in my mouth, probably from—” Roman grimaced. “Why does the combination of gyros and pastitsio kinda taste like reheated Thai noodles?”
“I could not begin to guess.” Virgil’s chuckle puffed against his hair. “But at least you sound like you again. Welcome back.”
Roman didn’t want to move; he had to. He forced himself to meet Virgil’s gaze. He hated panic attacks, how helpless they made him, how exhausted he always felt afterward.
“What triggered you?” Virgil asked softly.
Roman’s gaze slid down Virgil’s chest and snagged on the pink puckered scar, twin to the one on his back. So, so close to his heart; another inch to the right, and Virgil would have been dead before he hit the floor…
“Hey, hey. You’re safe and I’m right here.” Virgil glanced down and inhaled softly. “Oh. You’d never seen the scar before.”
Roman numbly shook his head.
Virgil took a breath, the motion catching the yellow lamp light. “Honestly, it all happened so fast that I think…I think my brain blocked most of it out. I get flashes, sometimes, but mostly I remember waking up in the hospital feeling like absolute hell.”
“I remember every second,” Roman whispered.
“Roman…”
“He smirked at me, with you hanging off that claw like a rag doll.” Roman’s rose-petal hand drifted up to touch the scar. “You…were slipping away. And I remember the rage. He…Deceit…was dead on my sword before my mind caught up, and it wouldn’t have mattered. If we hadn’t saved you. I haven’t…I haven’t…”
“Been able to hunt since?” Virgil nodded. “You told me. But…you killed Vaalyun.”
“I let Vaalyun damn himself. Like Gaston, remember?” Roman let his other hand cradle Virgil’s ribcage, savoring the play of skin and muscle, how alive he felt. “I lied to Grewick, you know. I literally had that bastard at sword point, and I couldn’t make myself kill him. All I could remember was Deceit. I had to save face.” He chuckled bitterly. “I’m a failed hunter. Deceit ruined me.”
“You’re no more ruined than I am,” Virgil said sharply. “I’m alive despite everything, and I did this.” He twined his fingers through Roman’s flower ones, holding their hands between them. “If I can turn the worst part of me into something good”—his fingers tightened— “then you can be more than who you kill, or don’t. That promise you made to Beetlecloud proves it. Deceit has ruined nothing.”
His free hand snaked up to Roman’s face, thumb running over the scruff. Roman became aware of just how close they were, the fact he’d been absently stroking Virgil’s side for the last few minutes…and the way Virgil’s green and purple changeling rings were nearly swallowed up by black, dilated pupils.
Conversation fled.
Roman slid his hand from Virgil’s ribcage to just above his hip, the soft skin igniting sparks in his lower belly. Virgil’s breath caught; the hand on Roman’s jaw slid to the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there. Roman dragged knuckles up to the scar, circling it, then let his whole palm rest on Virgil’s chest. The quick, fluttering heartbeat underneath made him shiver.
“Is this okay?” Roman whispered.
“Your hands are warm,” Virgil murmured.
“Yeah?” Roman gave in to every idle daydream he’d ever entertained, tracing that lovely collarbone, the sparks in his belly brightening as Virgil’s breath grew uneven. He swayed closer, almost dizzy, shivering again when Virgil’s thumb found a sensitive spot under his jaw. Roman’s gaze dropped to Virgil’s mouth, which was right there, lips parted…
“Can I kiss you?” Roman blurted out.
Virgil visibly swallowed. Roman could practically see the conflicting panic and desire crashing his system, making him tremble.
“I…I, uh…” he stuttered, leaning back, breaking the spell, and Roman let him. As badly as he ached to see where all this touching would lead…they would take this as slow as Virgil needed.
Roman was not going to screw this up.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “We don’t have to. That’s why I asked.”
“I know,” Virgil gasped. “I just…I…”
“Hey, it’s fine.” Roman smiled and glanced at Virgil’s desk. “I noticed you’ve got a laptop now. Maybe we could watch a movie or someth—”
Virgil kissed him.
His mouth crashed on Roman’s, sweet and clumsy, with all the abandon of “ah, fuck it” and no clue how lips were supposed to fit together. The initial lunge knocked Roman to the bed with Virgil on top of him…which was just as well because his knees would have definitely given out. He captured the back of Virgil’s neck and went in deeper, drawing out a soft noise that had Roman’s nerves humming. He ran his other hand up Virgil’s back, coaxing the muscles to relax, shivering when the other went pliant against him.
Eventually, they had to part for breath, the barest inch between their lips, and even that felt like too far.
“Is this okay?” Roman whispered.
“You know what you’re doing,” Virgil countered.
Roman noted the shaky voice with delight. “I mean…no one’s kissed like that before.”
Virgil’s lips quirked. “Your hands are trembling.”
They were, but Roman was not about to give up the figurative high ground, despite literally being pinned.
“You’re panting.” He let his nose brush Virgil’s. “Took your breath away, did I?”
Virgil—who still hadn’t quite caught his breath—glowered, but the usual sharp edges in the expression had been filed away to affection. “Shut up.”
“Thank you,” Roman said in a softer voice, running a thumb across Virgil’s cheek.
“You’re welcome, I guess?” Virgil laughed. “In all honesty, I really don’t know what that was.”
Roman leaned up again, kissing Virgil’s jawline, his neck, before whispering in his ear, “Bravery.”
“Wh—no, I—” Virgil sputtered.
“Shut up, emo,” Roman murmured, giving his neck one more kiss before scooting out from under him. “Get in here properly and let’s go to sleep.”
Virgil stood up long enough to flip down the comforter, throw on a different t-shirt, and turn off the light. In the darkness, Roman scooted against the wall and patted the sheet next to him, feeling like he’d swallowed a field of fire flowers. Virgil carefully laid down, his face on the pillow even with Roman’s.
“Just so we’re both on the same page, because miscommunication is where we always fall down,” Virgil murmured. “We’re dating now, right? Like, officially? I can introduce you to people as my idiot boyfriend?”
“Rude.” Roman grinned. “Hey, Virge?”
“What?”
“You wanna go out with me?”
Virgil snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
“Now it’s official.” Roman dared to kiss Virgil’s nose, reveling in the privilege of just being allowed. “Glad we could clear that up.”
“Technically you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet.” Virgil’s eyes glinted in the darkness. “Maybe I should have made you wine and dine me before inviting you up to my place.”
“Well, I do know this one Michelin-star restaurant,” Roman drawled. “It’s in France…”
“I’m listening.”
“Of course, I’ll need to get another ID and credit card before I can whisk you out of the country.” Roman sighed, reminded of all the things that needed doing tomorrow, and of the fact that he basically had no plan for his life. “In all seriousness, though…I want to do this right.”
Virgil was silent long enough for their shared warmth to drag at Roman’s eyelids. The fingers tangling absently in his hair didn’t help.
“I’m terrified that I’ll hurt you again,” Virgil whispered. “The whole time we were dealing with Iyusuri, I was scared that the second we got rid of her, you’d decide to be done with anything to do with faeries. And, by extension, me.”
“Are you kidding?” Roman twisted to stare. “I was afraid you were getting tired of me. You’re down here busy with college while I’ve been skulking around Philly with no plans, no ambition, nothing worthwhile to want. Like, no wonder Iyusuri latched onto me.”
Virgil huffed. “You think I’ve got my life all worked out? Did you see the state of my room?”
“But you’re here.” Roman gestured around. “Working toward something. Kate…I love her to death, but regular school was never a thing she prioritized. She expects her recruits to educate themselves and set their own goals, which sounds great…until you’re twenty years old and can’t build a life because all you know is martial arts and faery lore.” His voice shrank. “I never even finished high school.”
Virgil’s drab, probably-bought-at-Walmart comforter shifted in Roman’s hands as he fisted them. Someone honked in the parking lot outside, followed by a slamming door.
“I never knew that about you,” Virgil said softly.
There was no judgment in his voice, but shame still made Roman roll over.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell Teach.” He smirked nastily. “He’d probably lecture me about missed opportunities and the importance of education. Never mind that it’s too late; can’t exactly go back now.”
“You ever think about getting a GED?” Virgil shrugged when Roman turned to eye him. “It’s what I did. The Renn Faire folk traveled too much for normal school. It took longer than normal because I was so far behind, but once you’ve done all the worksheets and practice and shit, the actual tests aren’t so bad.”
“They aren’t?” He’d never considered that.
“You don’t even have to go to a testing place now; everything’s online. I could help you prep for it, if…” Virgil stroked a hand up Roman’s spine in a way that conveyed things like I’m here and I’ve got you. “If that’s what you wanted? It would give you something to work for while you figure shit out, and having a GED would expand your long-term options.”
“Yeah, that…” Roman smiled. “That actually sounds like a good plan.”
He inhaled when Virgil mirrored their position from Maine, slipping an arm under Roman’s shoulders, nudging Roman’s head to lay against his chest.
“Is this okay?” Virgil asked. His heartbeat was a quick but steady patter.
“I…yeah.” Roman concentrated on breathing. Pajamas were so much softer than regular clothes; he could feel everywhere they touched, and the combined scents of patchouli and soap and skin were making him dizzy.
“You’re like cuddling a radiator,” Virgil murmured, his hand drifting up and down Roman’s arm, leaving pleasant goosebumps in its wake. “Might have to keep you around just as a bed warmer.”
“At your service.” Roman sank into their warmth, exhaustion tugging at him again.
“Romano Cheesy. I’ve only got the one class tomorrow. We’ll go get you another bag and a toothbrush, at least.” Virgil shifted under him. “You can crash here for a few nights, but any longer and my RA might get suspicious. I don’t want to get kicked out.”
Roman’s stomach squirmed at the thought. “Course not. I mean, Kate and Rosa are still my home base, until…”
Until I get my GED. Until I figure out the next steps.
It didn’t feel nearly so scary now.
“I was kinda enjoying you playing with my hair, earlier,” he added.
Virgil chuckled and dragged his fingernails along Roman’s scalp, drawing a pleasant shiver from him. “Patton was right; it is very soft. You gonna dye it again?”
“Mmm. I’m thinking purple for some reason.”
Virgil snorted. “Copycat.”
“Elliot thinks I should cut it.”
“Don’t you dare. Long hair is badass, untamable, and sexy as hell.”
Roman giggled. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”
Virgil retaliated by sticking a finger in Roman’s ear, eliciting a squawk. A short but fierce tickling match ensued, which ended when Roman accidentally kicked the wall and they both froze, wide-eyed, hands covering their mouths, waiting to see if anyone yelled at them to shut up.
The dorm stayed quiet.
Roman’s head found its place on Virgil’s chest again. He’d nearly drifted off, and thought Virgil already had, when Virgil’s gravelly voice dragged him back up.
“What if things are never the same again?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Are we ready for this?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Roman murmured back. “Sleepy time, Stormcloud. Join me. No thinking. Shhhhh.”
He blindly tried to lay a finger over Virgil’s mouth in the darkness. Virgil caught the fumbling hand and kissed the knuckles.
“Idiot,” he said. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Roman smiled, eyes still closed.
The night grew older. Their breathing evened out, drifting into soft snores. A door opened and closed somewhere downstairs; out in the parking lot, someone called to a friend. The building’s AC mumbled on.
But for the first time since putting a sword through an Unseelie’s head, Roman Reis slept utterly free from nightmares.
i know time’s running out now
but we’ll hold back the sun somehow
see the sky?
we’ve still got tonight
The End