Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

“Lorian, you openly threatened her. I thought that you planned to make her trust you.”

Nymre delicately pushed the bell that was hanging from the vast ceiling. The forest priests wanted to see Lorian once again , before their departure and Nymre couldn’t be less joyful about it. She doubted they would dare to again weave their lies and auguries about her in front of him. But the mere sight of their veiled faces was enough to cause her anxiety.

The bell rang, a pearly sound. The priests hanged them in the room of preparations, to secure the renewed reign. The bells were said to capture the shadows of dead gods, who still influenced the fae kind with their fierce energy.

Shadows of dead gods!

The only purpose of these bells was to calm the hearts of the court. Now, when Nymre knew what really was happening behind her back, these empty rites were stinging even more. No bell can stop her lover’s pain. No bell can hush the darkness that loomed over their lives.

“Such a thoughtful decoration” mused Lorian. “I see your fondness for its sound.”

“Nymre scoffed, almost aggressively.

“It’s the sound of lies. You know that I do not like ritualists.”

“Because they never tell us things that we want to hear?” Lorian raised the brow. “They are even more afraid that the court would be, if they knew. The gods drink from their souls, because they need fresh essence after I take it from them. They suffer and squirm. Anything they said to you, is irrelevant.”

Nymre’s lips formed a line.  She didn’t want to sound like a whining human child. But Lorian surely knew already what the ritualist predicted… death… countless deaths and… her demise.

Lorian caught her in the waist, and whirled, to make her face him. She gasped, surprised by his rapid movement, but as soon as her tensed muscles allowed it, she deflated in his arms.

“It’s us, Lorian. It’s us, who they all need to fear. I don’t like being a prey. I don’t like being a food.”

He slowly reached her face and suddenly pushed his fingers under her mask. Her hand stopped his, trying to wipe it away.

“No… I…”

“I want to see your face, gleaming among these lights.”

“You want to see the scars? Before we perish?” her laughter was bitter.

He didn’t reply, but pulled the mask up… to reveal a round and pale face, untouched by sunlight. Her eyes, even bigger than with the material covering them up, her nose small, her skin shining with whitish gleam. And under her right eye… a mutilated flesh even his shadows couldn’t burn out. Because she was born with it, a rare spellbound marking, her price to pay. Such marks were unremovable, other than with her soul. In a society, where beauty was a power and a tool to make others raise or fall, where perfection was a mark of social status, this scar was something that would not allow her to really spread her wings. And Nymre was ambitious, Nymre liked strength and freedom. So she made a weapon from it – a mysterious raven, later – a cruel king’s consort, and a former spy, who knew everything, beautiful and filled with secrets.

Lorian slowly trailed the path over her scar, fingers caressing the skin.

“You are eternal. And no one will take you from me.”

She felt something she immediately hated. Weakness. Her own, ugly, low and pitiful weakness. She wanted to melt into him and allow him for everything he would want. And to kill him for making her feel weak. But it was so rare, this light shine on his face, this carefree, youthful – not cruel at all – smile. He looked like two hundreds years ago, when they were young and free, picking stars from the sky and sending the whole court on their knees.

When did it stopped to be enough?

“Fuck you, Lorian…”

He laughed in a way only he was able. Of course he knew and that was making it deliciously bittersweet.

The sound of bells tore them from each other, Nymre quickly putting on her mask, Lorian parting with her, but only slightly.  She felt the heat of his body and shadows, just by her side.

Two forest priests, Nymre could sense the scent of old wood and smoldering leaves. Their steps were lighter, more supple than in the day of the solstice. Maybe being far from gods was giving them strength.

“Your Majesty, my Lady” a silent, whispering voice reached her ears. “I hope the Lunar New Year brought you a lot of pleasure.”

“I was pleased to the brim” Lorian graced them with a small smile.

“That’s good, my Lord! The New Year needs to be anointed with blood and passion.”

The two ritualists exchanged looks. Something bothered them, deeply, maybe even too deep. Maybe her presence suddenly became an obstacle for them, to share what they came with. Her lips curled in a smile. Discomfort of these creatures and being the reason for it – impeccable treat.

“Maybe your tongues need relief” Lorian looked at them blankly. “You searched me for a reason. It’s enough, truly, that you bothered me to come here, but I understand your secrecy.”

“We would never insult you, your Majesty. But only this place is secure enough to share the news. A raven came from the temple. Natsel’sorl… needs attention” he gazed at Nymre, with a doubtful air; but if Lorian brought her with him… she had to be trusted. “Even more than during… your last visit. They opened their eyes, first time in hundreds of years. And in them… fury of ages.”

Lorian’s expression couldn’t be more collected, and calm, but Nymre knew what this meant. Her heart jumped, like on a string.

The bells rang above their heads, giving sudden atonal sounds. The priest looked up, Nymre could see the apparition of his face, under the veil.

“We hoped the bells would soothe the court’s hearts. But all I feel from Dal’coler now is beautiful pain and decomposing lies.”

“If you think trinkets could soothe Dal’coler… you do not know my palace well, Sarianil” was an amused reply. The ritualist seemed to look, deep, into Lorian, but as always, just like her, could spot nothing. “Perhaps… it’s not something we truly want.”

His shadows were swallowing all spells, his aura so strong that it wasn’t even allowing typical fairy emotions detection.

“I admit my failure, your Majesty” Sarianil’s voice was  tense now, displeased. Nymre wondered if they were so petty, or so foolish, but she came to the conclusion that it was another mask of theirs. They were decomposing alive, just like their whole temple.

And the sacred forest didn’t like it, with roots buried into the foundations of Natsel’sorl, breathing its dusty air.

“Let the blessing of the woods falls upon you and its branches form your crown. I implore you to visit us soon, your Majesty, though… and see it on your own eyes” Sarianil bow was deep and calculated. Lorian waved with his hand, dismissing them, and they reluctantly, slowly, departed, rustling with their robes.

Nymre exhaled the air, which she almost unconsciously held.

“Lorian…”

“I know. I am hoping Qhal knows what each day and each hour of prolonging means.. I can bear pain, but it will become even stronger, if they are awakening.”

“Why did you send Qhal? I know that he has gift of spring, but he also has enemies among Shadow Fairies… and not only among them. They could be killed so easily, just by vengeance” she knew the strange closeness Lorian had with his soath lyth warrior. She knew it obscured the normal bond of servant and his king. She never was jealous of this particular bond though – Qhal would enter the fire if Lorian ordered him. That was useful.

That was something Lorian could like more than anything else.

“Not only because of his spring. He can lie so beautifully” Lorian pushed the bell too, its delicate sound filled the air. “And pretend to be someone who isn’t,  like a master of the skill. Because he is one. A master of lies. A champion of deception. He deserved polishing his talents… and a bit of enjoyment.”

“Lorian… he could die there and the boy too… is it worth it?”

“The naivety of this human feeds his power so well. Even without light, he could feed on him and never feel hunger. He drank my blood. He feels him even more.”

Nymre understood quite well what he meant. The boy was foolish and naive. For someone like Lorian and Qhal… he was a tempting prey.

“Why did you open so much before that girl?” she remembered the question with which conversation started. “Wouldn’t it be easier to continue the deception?”

“If you could look into her mind, my raven. She is the offspring of a very powerful witch. And this kind of humans is bound with our most dreadful enemies. The gods themselves. She senses you and me, she possibly even feels the scent of our magic. Dal’coler makes her skill bloom in her, faster than I would desire. She knows who we are. And in time, she would knew as well, that she wouldn’t leave this place alive.”

Nymre again formed a perfect line with her lips.

This didn’t look well, indeed. But Lorian risked a lot, making a deal with this witchling. If she wanted, she could force him to keep to his word, by mere law of promise. They all had so many weaknesses imposed by their creation. To not be equal to gods. Good that humans mostly didn’t know of them, aside of iron and rowan – and which could be easily meandered upon.

“But I know things, that even her kind is weak against” the dark gleam of black in his eyes, a cruel shine. “And she eventually… is only a toy, very stubborn, potentially very powerful… but so unaware of delightful pleasures that soon will await her.”

And Nymre couldn’t not smile.

“Look at them, Leira.”

She did.

They stood on the balcony, exposed on the winter chill. Lorian was wearing only black vest, stitched together with tiny metal bones – a mock on usual enemy of all the fey. He was able to do it, he was so old, that iron couldn’t harm him. He wore many different iron elements; now his temples were adorned with a metal spine crown. Nymre – the Wraith of Arelt, who was able to destroy the best protected human city alone  – also wore an iron jewlery.

Reducing it to nothing.

Maybe even mocking other fae, who still had to stay away from iron and steel.

In the distance, the fae hunters just returned from the pursue – the horses, to which uncanny appereance she already got used to, carried the carcass from the woods. Most of the animals of Ain’asel were not edible, but fey liked to hunt for enjoyment, or as an ritual – blood on the stone, so the night could fall again. So the winter could spread its tendrils even more far and even deeper. Leira didn’t know though, to this day, in what fairies really believed. If they trusted in new moon rites because they liked them or they truly held meaning to them.

Faeries could be filled with contradictions. Leira knew though that Lorian never put a lot of thought to rites and traditions. For him, they were a mean of control – by the kings, by the woods themselves… by the gods. Binding minds in a net of dependance.

And Leira… was agreeing with him.

So far, nothing was indicating that the night would not fall after day and winter still was biting her skin, even if she wore a thick cloak – unlike most of the slaves, who were dying from cold or were hardening on the freezing wind. This or that. Nothing in between.

The fae hunters were acting differently than humans in her town, long ago. She remembered almost nothing, but images from the past sometimes gleamed in her mind.

Joyful shouts.

Patting on the backs.

Beer and good food, while the women were going to salt the meat and later – join the the men in nightlong celebration.

Fae though… they were like dark apparitions, as uncanny as the horses that carried them. Faeries were made from blue blood and cruel winter – that didn’t meant they didn’t know joys or never allowed themselves for entertainment. That meant they did it in their own way, which sometimes was alien to humans, and sometimes – deadly.

“Hanmosa” Leira recognized the animal. Hanmose were known from a delicate meat. Which could be poisonous, if not prepared well. For humans, eating it would be suicidal.

Leira didn’t know, if she would survive it, but the water from under the core tree was making her immune on all poisons.

“The hunters coming back, always make me restless…” Lorian inhaled the scent of her hair, his fingers in her blonde tangles. Her hair, which smelled of lavender. And moss. Her scent, which became almost innate to her. Like fae. Like immortal being, she was. “Kolerial Vern’ese threatened you.” he suddenly added, silent voice, his breath touching her cheek. “How… peculiar. He always cherished a peaceful, boring existence. Maybe he rose up to his title, at last.”

“I would say he wanted to hide the threat under the layers of compliance. But I know your kind. You are not… of forgiving nature. I know he will try” her lips formed a bitter smile.

This time Lorian laughed. She felt a tingling in her underbelly, like he was doing it for purpose. She didn’t mind. No, not at all.

“This is such a beautiful and quite a tame way of describing our nature. But yes… forgiveness… lack of it can be an obstacle, but usually bring a lot of joy. If Kolerial finds a way to avenge his wife… I will be both surprised and impressed.”

Leira looked as the hunters pick the beast and it falls on the ground with a loud thump, the horses standing next to their owners like they didn’t care. She could see their eyes from that far, but she knew they are blank.

“If he will try… after I remove him, deliciously” dark light in his gaze. Glimmering. She saw a promise in them. A promise of death. And she knew Kolerial Vern’ese is already dead.

You are his. Never forget that.

But she knew that now, it was not only that.

Her hands closed over the balustrade of the balcony,. Lorian’s black eyes set on the hunting party, like he wanted to look into their minds and drag out the elation and thrill for himself. Leira liked these moment, where they were meeting, secluded, to delve into her reports, talk over them… to fuck. She enjoyed it. The past still burned under her skin, but she decided to ignore it, kill it, and destroy it. Not allow anyone, ever, to enslave here again, even the bygone days. And she had all right to enjoyment, to good fuck, to wild and unpredictable passion.

To all of this, even if the one who offered her that was the fae king.

How often lately she was seeing him like that, curious, looking at her with more and more focused intrigue. Hunger, and interest. He was partially the same cold lord she knew all those years…  and a youthful soul, ready for sensations.  Ready for new, thrilling, like a spring thaw, which was his enemy.

He wanted her, not only for her body. And she was slowly realizing that she did as well.

He  started to attract her, above simple lust, his night and his shadows, his secrets and untamed nature. Something that she could drown in, become one with. Something powerful and… familiar. Still hundreds of miles from her, but closer with her every step.

“That Saru woman… I managed to secure her” she returned to the thing, that brought her here. Even if he already knew. He always was in her mind. These meeting were… more than this, more than information sharing. “She was working class, my lord. Not very clever, not very strong… but managed to stay alive for two years.”

“Physical strenght… insignificant. As long as her spirit still shines” he slowly put a strand of hair behind her ear. “Shining spirit is most attractive.”

Yes.

She knew that all too well.

In another life, she would hate anyone who would almost break her and later reminded her how strong she was to crawl from it, with unbent back, with unharmed spine. She knew though how fae minds are working. They weren’t humans and never will be. For Lorian, he strength, the way she killed her humanity, the way she clawed her path through the stones and gravel… was admirable.

And even if he couldn’t fully forgive him, she liked being admirable.

“My lord, she lost a lot – her father…

“He wouldn’t protest, even if he saw her in pieces,” his tone amused. “Even if he was ordered to bury his fingers in her fresh wounds.”

Leira had a different opinion. Humans were not fae, they were emotional, fragile, easily affected by the pain of the closed ones. Even fae were able to feel attachment, love, care.  Seeing this Saru woman in pain, would make the spy break or close in the shell, none of this would be useful for him.

Or…

“He won’t protest, he won’t oppose. You broke him already” it dawned on her, quickly. Of course, He would not let a spy – an assassin – go, if he was still loyal to his people.

Breaking someone is an ultimate remedy, she heard his voice, one most dangerous, most ultimate and most tedious. But sometimes it’s the only way to achieve the ends.

“How he harmed Avel so much?” she was curious of it since the assassin was captured. Bean Sidhe returned to Dal’coler covered with wounds, and Leira doubted Kosel could manage to inflict them all.

“I didn’t find anything in his mind that would recall it… he didn’t even fight against her ” his expression darkened. “What is amusing and quite unfortunate, in Avel’s too.”

Leira’s mind quickly ran through possibilities. But she didn’t know even half as much as him. Digging a shovel in them would be searching for a lost needle among hundreds of others. Almost impossible.

“Why do you plan to send him home, with his daughter?” she couldn’t not ask this question. Maybe he wanted to have perfect, unnoticed eyes in the Saru community. Maybe… he could have many reasons, but somehow, this seemed to have deeper meaning. She felt it in his mind. As much as he had the upper hand in their mental connection, she still was able to feel a lot – just like the pain, just like the avalanche of emotions.

This time she felt real pressure in her head, something trickling into her, a dark, dark thought, which he preferred to keep hidden. But it retracted as soon as he realized it.

He put his chin on her arm  –  his shadowed hair moved like a small black wave, like a sea witnessing the storm. She almost felt the tension,  repressed need to hide whatever tormented him. She was sure it’s connected with his pain.  But he was too secretive to open. She wondered if he would ever tell Nymre… and if yes, will he even truly open before her.

“I lead a war, Leira” his voice lower than usual, his closeness like a hot iron burning on her nerve endings.  His almost carefree demeanor made way to something dark. She felt that pain comes, that starts to eat him, and soon, she will feel it too – their minds were now so connected, his magic intertwined with his protective spells…

But she was ready for it as well.

The fae hunters realized that hanmasa is moving. Even from here, she could see the commotion. The white teeth shining in the late evening sun. The fey surely were elated that they get additional thrill… or displeased with their mistake.

Soon, the twilight will hear the screams of the dying.

“I lead a war that I can’t lose. If I lose… all will end. And no one craves for the end of all things.”

She remembered these words, when the end came.

*

She burned. Her veins receive fire, flowing from him, like a river of liquid pain. She didn’t run, though. Not only because she couldn’t. She wanted to feel it with him. Wanted to take him whole in.

Maybe… she was insane.

But most of all, she understood him. Understood his masks and what layed behind them.

Inside, waves of heat. A tiny glimpse of his own anguish. Not as painful as the first night, strangely pleasant.

Outside – his hands on her hips, and his tongue inside her, devouring the pain off her; the warmth of his. His body, awash with her human presence, her touch, her lust. His aura, always hungry, always wanting more.

Her own flame.

“I will root in you and spread inside… latch to your veins and drink you to the last drop.”

Leira felt lick of his shadows on her exposed skin. Pain stopped being burning… instead pooled with pleasure between her legs.

“Do it.”