Join me in night painted with crimson and black.

Nymre’s aura flickered like a candlelight. She hoped it wasn’t visible, but Lorian could read her thoughts – though he should be true to his word and not enter her mind against her will. Her clawed hand passed over the pale skin of her human rival. She could feel the weak and thin thread of sanity that Leira still used to keep herself from going completely astray. Her skin was dry, the droplets of sweat quickly dissipating after her arrival. Dry, and drier by the minute. Her fever was eating her alive, while her emotions were being put to the harsh test of nightmares.

She could kill her now.

So easily.

She killed for lesser offences.

Lorian would be displeased, of course. But he had to know, deep in his cursed soul, that Leira was a wind between his fingers. Their relationship was already on fire because of the secrets he was hiding. Perhaps if the most painful shard was removed from their lives… they could return to what was before.

Lorian felt the pain and it changed him. There was no going back.

He sat near Leira’s bed, casually, his eyes fixed on Nymre. She could swear he read her now, her doubts, her will to return to a simpler life, to happier moments. Now she would even want it. So he broke another promise he had made to her, and her decision was easier because of it.

Frail human woman. She will die one day, long before they do. Immortality can last a long time. But human bodies begin to reject it after four hundred years. Their bodies cannot be fooled. Eventually, Leira will live no more than five hundred years, not losing her youth, but her mind will gradually be damaged by age.

Lorian had to know this. She was not the first – even if he had given it to her for the first time in good faith. A human cannot be turned into a Fae. Her blood was based on iron, and that alone would cause all the spells that worked in Ain’asel to wither in her.

Leira’s breath was shallow, her eyelids moved frantically.

“Why me?” Nymre’s anger flared beneath her delicate features. “You have cohorts of lesser fey healers. They can heal her just as well.”

Lorian didn’t move, but his night danced around him like entertainers, dangerous ones, amusing him with blood.

“But you are the best.”

“You want the best for your human slave,” she said with barely concealed disgust. He slept with her. And then… he came to her to do the same. “Lorian, you cannot mean that.”

“She is truly an extraordinary being,” Lorian’s voice slithered cruelly into her heart like the fang of a poisonous viper; before she spat in his face that yes, she knew everything he did behind her back, he added. “You always wondered who worked for me, all those long years. Sentencing lives to death, and not because I was petty and wouldn’t let anyone insult my toys,” he chuckled gracefully. “I am not petty, Nymre, but others better think so, better think of me as a spoilt one, than to unfold the real reasons of their own fall.”

Leira groaned in her bed, her skin parched, her lips dry as paper. If Nymre refuses, nothing will be the same. But the same will happen if she agrees to help. The circle of her own decisions, of her weaknesses and her fears had come full round.

She wasn’t going to let this woman come between her and Lorian any longer. He was unbearable. Terrible. Despicable. But that was why she wanted him so badly.

“You deserve something vile, Lorian Ain’Dal,” she said finally, her voice calm, calmer than she felt inside.

“Perhaps,” he smiled, a slight tease at the corner of his lips. Shadows gathered behind him, a misty reminder of his power. “Take it as an advantage we have. She is a truly inspiring enforcer of my will. As a human, she can be imbued with the only spell that doesn’t work on Fae. Others can’t detect her when I use it on her. She can lie to any of us without consequence. And I know how you respect a good spy, my fiach dubh.”

Nymre wanted to laugh. She found herself like this every time. He always had a reason, a motive, a solution. And she couldn’t say no, never, never, submitting to him, like a willow bending to the wind. Not because she feared him, but because they were one and she wanted it. It was time to end it. He played her, with everything, and she worshipped him and his charm. But this… was enough. Not like this.

She approached him, her wings slowly closing over him in an erotic, teasing way. His black gaze, as deep as the deepest abyss, drew her in, inevitably, but she had to resist the temptation to simply drown in it and surrender to his will. She leaned over him, tracing a path across his tunic. Her fingers went lower and lower until it was between his legs.

They both smiled, cruel, dark and hungry smiles of beings over a thousand years old who know each other all too well.

“I’m willing to do whatever you want,” she purred, her feathers caressing his back. She knew how he liked it. Her hand pressed harder. “But… I must have something of this as well.”

If he got into her thoughts, he knew. How many promises had he broken? Was this one of them?

“I will give her my healing power. But I am a Fae, of blue blood and starlit bone. You will give me half of your slaves. Your favorite ones. The ones you loved to fuck most. And the ones who you kept closer than others. The ones you like. And you will send Areltha back to her husband in lesser realm. Poor man, has to suffer a lot, knowing his wife warms your bed. I wonder what he will do, having her again…”

She squeezed him so hard, bringing pleasure with her touch. The tension burned between them, with black and high flames. She was weak beside him… but she won’t give in. Not now, not in this case.

His lips curled, adding a sharp edge to his handsome features. His black eyes narrowed, heavy eyelids almost falling on his eyes. He looked like a lazy hoscral, wondering if it’s worth continuing the hunt.

And he laughed, so soft, a breeze from the sea. Her very own scent.

“You impress me, my cruel raven.”

She chuckled.

“I live to impress you.”

“Your purpose is fulfilled in every minute detail.”

She sneered and withdrew, her wings spreading behind her like a dark cloud. Her hand stopped caressing him and turned fluidly, like a wave, from him to Leira, who’s facial muscles danced in a deadly jig.

“That was someone who doesn’t like you sending a human after your court,” she pouted. “Just like you did with your Arsa’lien. Your own court of lies and pleasures. Undermining their power and influence.”

“Taking their lives when they went too far.”

“Ah, did your Leira kill for you? Bathed in blood, as I have, to please you? That would be so you. A master at shaping minds into something unrecognisable.”

His look was too playful for the situation. And his silence too revealing.

“Where is this Roga?” she realised that she was the only Fae who knew about the assassination attempt and that the assassin was not in the chamber. “You… didn’t kill him, did you?” her brow lifted, her expression tense. Nevertheless, she leaned over Leira, running her hands down her heaving, naked chest. Her skin was hot, like a touch of Lorian’s shadows.

She could end her life so easily. But at the same time, she couldn’t. She was one with him, and she was still bending. He was her bottomless well, in which she sat, drowning, even though the water had long since dried up. The shackles on her wrists, enslaving her even though the locks were open.

A gossamer force burst into Leira’s limbs like a cruel ocean wave. But instead of destroying everything on its way, it slowly surged through her nerves, through her veins, straight into her mind. Lorian had to feel it, he surely read Leira like an open book.

Lorian stood and supported over her, bathing in her aura, pressing against her feathers. His presence was more than pleasant, almost shattering her focus. Dark suns over Dal’coler. No foolish human would change that.

Leira’s skin turned white at first, as if touched by the moon itself. Nymre slid her aura between her shoulder blades, lifting her up. Leira’s eyes fluttered under her eyelids, as if she knew who was standing next to her.

“I live with my failures,” she whispered, her voice reaching Lorian and only him. “You will live with yours, you foolish child.”

Lorian sighed into her ear, burying himself in her, in her feathers and skin, clinging to her with his shadows, draining her of her strength.

“You will have your… spy, my beautiful king,” she groaned, feeling him press against her bottom. “I must admit, I am learning more and more of your secrets.”

“Perhaps they have always been open to you,” he laughed into her ear, his jasmine and violets reaching her nostrils, familiar scents that made her want more.

“That would make you a reckless man, Lorian,” she watched Leira fall onto the bed. A prey. A prey that had eaten so many wolves.

And he wasn’t reckless.

He wasn’t at all.

Leira’s body stopped gleaming. Nymre took her by the cheeks, to observe how she opens her plae blue eyes.  Leira’s body though… was maybe less rigid, less dry… but her eyelids still moved, like her mind wandered further  into the forbidden passages.

It should work. She was old and powerful, her will could break mere sprite’s spell.

She bit her lower lip, resembling now a beautiful child, young and so being used to getting what she wants. She promised him his spy.

Against her own will.

A low whisper broke from her throat, annoyed, almost angry.

“Where is this Roga’eus?”

The silence in her room was deep and almost palpable – its tendrils suffocating all sound, even her breathing. Leira’s chest did not seem to move, only someone very close would see it rise in shallow breaths. The cold in the chamber grew, and slowly, gradually, Leira’s skin was covered in a thin layer of frost.

The windows were open, the magical barriers still in place, the winter chill had no right to enter – not in a natural way. But the room was slowly turning white, painted in intricate patterns by the brushes of the cold.

The slumbering chamber looked like a still life, frozen in time. Drowned in white, in the monochrome beauty of death. And the barriers broke. They were meant to trap nothing but warmth, not to protect anyone. And now the airy spell that made them work shattered. Flickered and dissolved.

The gust of icy wind blew into the room, wind that had been carried across the plains of Ain’asel and the Sacred Forest, bringing with it the scent of cold. It swallowed all the warmth that was left. And played with Leira’s hair, suddenly it looked like it was under water, fluttering around her face.

Leira opened her eyes.

They were no longer pale blue. White pupils, white irises, like ice that began to reign in her chamber.

She stood up, her feet touching the cold floor and immediately covered in frost. Her eyelids fluttered as she followed the empty voice of the white room behind the window.

Her chambers were protected by numerous spells set by Lorian himself – his power was stronger than that of any Fae living in Dal’coler. No one could enter, the magic would kill anyone who tried to cross the borders of Leira’s room.

But Leira could leave it easily. Being sure – even through deep sleep – that it belongs to Lorian who promises her elusive nights under black stars. The only voice who paradoxically would work on her – and the monsters knew it.

Her cold feet carried her to the window. She looked as if made of crystal, covered with snow, the waves of her hair petrified in a parody of movement, pale and shining.

One foot crossed the boundary of Lorian’s spells. A second. Slowly she stepped out onto the balcony. The black stone around her was now white, like the huge moon that hung over Dal’coler.

And there, on the balcony, sat a creature of nightmares.

Covered in black fur, large fangs protruding from its mouth, claws longer than its arms jutting from its fingers. It looked like an oversized bat, or would if its wings weren’t as ethereal as those of the lower fey. Light as the snow that covered the walls, sprinkled with dust. They glowed beautifully in the stark darkness, a grotesque contradiction to the monstrous appearance of their owner.

It made a strangled noise and jumped with unnatural agility from the battlements surrounding the balcony, digging its claws into Leira’s night gown and pinning her against the frozen wall. Leira didn’t react, just leaned over the ice behind her, deep in her magic-induced slumber.

And the creature began to feed.

Not on her blood. Not on her flesh. It dug deep into her dreams, deep into her core. And began to suck out all the joy she had ever felt… and replace it with fear.

Cruel, unadulterated panic.

Leira could not move. But her whole mind was flooded with fear, so strong that it cut deeper than the knife. The creature pumped the horror in, taking everything Leira was. She would scream, scream forever, if she wasn’t immobilised and her voice taken from her, her strength slowly draining from her muscles. Its long tongue licked Leira’s neck, as if to extract sweat and tears and make his feast even tastier.

Leira raised her hand with great effort and tried to push the monster away, but her strength and will were abducted by the power of her enchanted sleep. The creature looked at her arm in surprise, she shouldn’t be able to move at all. It pressed her harder against the wall, instilling more fear into her, causing her hand to fall. Leira trembled, her emotions attacking her from all sides.

Until a clawed hand, dark as night, plunged into the creature’s back, ripping off its fur, boiling its skin, burning the edges of its wounds and emerging from its chest, smoke rising from its flesh. The sound the creature made was no ordinary wail. It was the painful cry of a wounded wolf cub. Thin as paper and vibrating in the bones with the music of the frozen night. Fingers of mist caught the muscles and crushed them in a burning grip. The scream was louder, the fey creature writhing in agony as the hand tore tendon from tendon, stirring in the wound. It shook like Leira before, its claws trying to reach the attacker.

Lorian withdrew his hand.

The fey was tossed to the snow-covered ground like a used sack.

Lorian’s shadowy form was like an apparition, surrounded by the light of the moon. Wrath burned within him, making him look like a vengeful god of old. The beast sprawled at his feet, mortally wounded, but Lorian knew what it was and that its kind healed easily and quickly. His shadows penetrated its flesh like ropes, pinning it to the ground and preventing it from moving.

He caught Leira in his arms as she lost her balance after the creature had freed her from its clutches. She fell like a rag doll. Her hair stopped flowing around her head, her skin thawing in the hot warmth of his shadows.

Lorian looked into her mind. Slowly, so as not to destroy it while she was still under the spell.

And found… absolute chaos.

Fear.

Pain.

Tormenting her being with horrible visions and images. Gnawing at her emotions like iron buried in flesh.

The creature beneath his feet moved with effort, its face a mask of pain, but he could feel a sense of victory in its mind.

He felt the rage seep further into his spine, like a liquor made from forbidden ingredients. He was so good at suppressing it when others were around, and even now he was so used to wearing masks that he only showed a small part of it. He picked up Leira, who was as light as a feather but as stiff as a stone. His shadowy form slowly changed into his normal one, but the night followed him, deep and hungry.

The creature began to laugh suffocatingly, but Lorian’s shadows entered its mouth and spread down its throat. He had no intention of killing it, though. He left it there to silence it. The creature’s eyes widened and its choking sounds grew louder.

It must be in great pain. But Roga’eus were always strong, the strongest sprites in the realm. They endured pain far more easily than most of the fey races.

But Lorian knew that all had their limits. And he planned to show it where it limits were.

Leira fell like a gossamer through his hands as he laid her on the bed. Her eyes still moving, seeing dark horrors, her joy drained from her by the roga’eus assassin. Sent by whom? Leira – and he – had many enemies. He knew he would find all the answers in the assassin’s mind. But first he would play a game. No one was to know what powers he possessed, and his ability to read minds was to remain in the shadows.

His power was great, but it wasn’t a healing kind. He could tear flesh easily, inflict horrific pain, do pleasure and destroy minds – but was not able to mend Leira without causing additional and unknown damages to her. She might be forever changed – maybe even he would shape her into another person – who could adore him and be completely dependant from him… or hate him, trapped in her past she had with him.

He could take Leira to a healer and they would not dare to ask question – not to a king of fairies. But fairy tongues can be as cruel as spells. Just as no one was supposed to know about his hidden powers, no one was allowed to take advantage they had, playing the roles of cruel master and obedient servant.

If they knew what a weakness she was, they would use it against her.

Someone knew.

Someone already knew. And did just that.

His enemy?

It didn’t matter – he’d find out soon enough.

Though… the only healer he could turn to was as close to him as blood could get. Her blood he loved to spill, driven by dark passion. The blood he covered her with, fucking her out of breath. The blood that flowed from his enslaved lovers that she killed every time she learned of his infidelity.

The healer who had every right to leave Leira in that state, as revenge. The one who could kill with her power as easily as she could heal mortal wounds. And who was the only Fae in Dal’coler who didn’t fear him, who he couldn’t force into submission.

Nymre.

Nymre was Leira’s saviour.

If she agrees.

A smile crept over his lips.

It was so pleasant, sadistic and painful. Beauty of a different kind, a sword of cruel irony that hung over him from the day he decided to have Leira. A challenge deeper and more deadly than any other. But worth it.

He looked into Leira’s blinded eyes.

Years of fear and creeping emptiness. Eons of pain. Something she had left behind, turning suffering into a peculiar form of pleasure.

But he was not the only monster in this realm.

Qhal’s eyes landed on him and took him in.

Tiyan was placed in the scented water and small hands, the same ones he hoped were not on his private parts, cleaned him with soft soaps and balms. The fairy behind him took a bottle filled with… something glittering, of a deep green colour, like fresh spring leaves. She uncorked it, and a strange scent enveloped him… as if… Yes. Like liquid spring. The miniature leaves danced in the bottle, small signs of rebirth. Spring seemed to be trapped in a small bottle, held captive until someone decided to bathe in it.

Rebirth in Dal’coler. Something unnatural and as imprisoned as him, giving life on the altar of fey beauty.

A Fae who washed his hair, radiated with something bright that was inevitably lulling him to sleep. Each time she came closer, his eyelids grew heavier and he was almost ready to lay his head on her pallid breasts and dream. Her aura was intoxicating and soothing, so much so that he didn’t even react when other fairies began to clean and touch him between his legs. Not even when they squeezed and laughed. The pixie behind him smiled all the time, like a kind mother. A mother who was alive, not like his real one. A mother who would take him into her tender embrace and let him rest.

Completely.

Forever.

“You are a very simple being,” Qhal’s voice tore through his celestial state. “And I would believe that after what I saw in the Shadowlands. I have never seen anyone submit so easily to the spell of the Shadow Fairies. But I trust Him that you are not what you appear to be.”

Tiyan murmured something to himself. The fairies rubbed him and the water he sat in became blacker. And redder. Dirt and old blood separated from his skin, revealing the pale body of a hunter.

“Siferne, leave us alone. He can’t sleep if I talk to him.”

The Fae behind him gave Tiyan a tender kiss on the cheek and parted from him, rising gently, her white wings flapping behind her.

“As you command Rai’har Qhal,” she said with a slight sneer. But Qhal did not seem to care. The other fey was still rubbing Tiyan from head to toe.

Siferne’s spell stopped working after a while, and Tiyan finally realised that he was lying in a tub filled with old blood and slowly melting mud. Surrounded by enemies. His situation returned to him with full force.

“I saw you burning,” Qhal decided to continue and approached the tub. He sat down beside it. Knees crossed, relaxed posture. He looked as if he didn’t care about the water that leaked from the tub and pooled under his feet. “A very enlightening sight. I was curious, so curious that I allowed the Shadow Fairies to kidnap you.”

Tiyan shook his head, teeth pressed together.

“I saved your life then,” he said through a clenched throat. “Without my help, you would never have escaped the Shadowlands. I gave you the cursed blood of Lorian.”

At first, Qhal showed no sign that Tiyan’s words had affected him. His hand went to his cheek, and even when Tiyan threw his body back, he squeezed it and pulled him out so that he could look him in the eye.

And laughed.

It was a cruel, vicious laugh. Filled with mockery, much more piercing than the irony of the fairy minutes ago. His laugh was deep, vibrating in his transparent throat.

“The Shadow Fairies have no control over me, poor Tiyan Markon. But I enjoyed watching your dreamlike suffering as they projected those worms and teeth into your brain. I saw them, mirages, devouring your body. An intoxicating sight. But useless if you do not use your power.”

Tiyan looked at him in shock as he spoke. His skin crawled with unwanted cold.

“But then you broke free, your glorious flames bursting high. You walked like a hero of old, almost like a faery. The snow melted beneath your feet wherever you went. And I knew my king would want to taste it. To bathe in your fire and gain even more power. And I wanted to offer you to him.”

“But… why…” Tiyan couldn’t understand. It made no sense. Why would he pretend? He had him dancing to his tune. Why all this?”

“It gave me lot of enjoyment,” Qhal smiled beautifully. “Playing with your attachment; I woven it with pleasure. I saw it in your face, Tiyan Markon. Trust. And it gave me such a thrill. Masterful deception takes practice. And you were a truly gentle subject. Trust… a poison to those who have it. And a sweet liquor for those who know how to plunge into it and lay it on its back to fuck.”

His hand squeezed Tiyan’s face again, the young hunter wanted to pull away again, feeling pure disgust, but Qhal’s grip was firm and strong.

“You even ate the meat I gave you. When you had every reason not to trust me in this case.”

He saw Tiyan’s eyes open wide, so wide that a thrill ran down his spine. Tiyan was prey and however much power he had, not being able to use it made him defenceless. Even more than if he didn’t possess it.

“You never asked. Your faith in me grew each time I pushed you through a particularly dangerous situation. My kind rarely eat animal meat,” he laughed so sweetly, Tiyan’s marrow bubbled with increased fear. “You ate human flesh. And you loved it, abandoning yourself in hunger and relief from it. You should taste it while it is still bleeding, warm, hot even. I assure you, it tastes delicious.”

Tiyan threw himself into the bathtub, trying in horror to get up and run, run, anywhere, just to be away from here, away from this… creature. His throat closed and gagged as he suddenly felt the taste of dry meat on his tongue. His skin crept in disgust. You ate human flesh. Those monsters chopped a human and dried them to eat. For goddess’ sake! He crawled out of the water but didn’t manage to do go further..

… the fairies returned.

They were carrying something.

A thick tube with dry blood on one end.

“We would do it with magic,” a fairy shrugged as she approached him. “But he is our king’s plaything… he needs special treatment.”

“I am noone’s plaything, you little fuckers” his voice trembled but his self-preservation instinct decided to start working, at full speed – delayed but fueled with panic. He fell into group of fairies, aiming to somehow kick them off and leave this place – not even thinking how he will survive outside. His feet reached one of them; he felt the sticky and soft touch of her wings and his leg became numb; the stinging went fast, higher, reaching up to his knees – just like under the touch of sea gronal, holding paralizing poison. Their laughter in response on his action was most honest and impressed, as their power captured him in the mid–jump, and pushed him again into the tub.

“Playthings always say so.”

“Eventually becoming eager and willing.”

He didn’t remember how loud he was. He didn’t remember finding himself on his fours in the bloody water. But he remembered everything else.

The fairies lifted him up and checked his bottom with their little fingers, squeezed and spread it, and with a deft push they went with the tube inside him. Deeply. Deeper still. So deep that he gagged again, the taste of dry flesh intensifying in his memory.

“It’s not that bad,” the little fairy giggled at his ear. “It will get worse.”

And just when he thought the tube couldn’t go any deeper, a stream of water flowed into him. Hot. Too hot for him not to scream. He could swear his entrails melt and fill him with even more liquid.

His knees began to shake and he would fall face into the bath, but the strenght of the faeries was exceptionally great for their small bodies.

“You have to be clean.”

“Everywhere.”

“To please more.”

And as they did it, he could see Qhal’s mocking smile, etched into the Fae’s face, shining with amusement all the time.

“Spread him wider.”

“He likes it!”

“Look at his tears of joy…”

“Poor Noida, she didn’t even clean the blood from it…”

Tiyan didn’t even know when it ended. He was pumped with water forever, until he was laid down on the soft silk. He heard the ringing of metal and the pressure on his neck.

And that was all.

The end of all things.

A bliss of nothingness…

His flames didn’t move, didn’t save him, didn’t devour the faeries. They slept, oblivious on his suffering.

Tiyan sagged like a tattered doll in Qhal’s arms. His eyes tried to find Lorian Ain’Dal, but the chamber disappeared from his view and he was dragged somewhere, violently. He knew that he failed, his heart was being pierced by a million iron splinters, and if he were a Fae, he would be dead long ago.

He felt Qhal’s breath on his ear and for the first time, really for the first time, he smelled his scent.

Leather and ginger.

How was it that he could only sense it now?

“You should be truly grateful, human creature,” Qhal whispered, a mockery in his silent voice. “You would lick these boots if I didn’t take you far enough. I have saved you from further humiliation.”

Tiyan’s last shred of pride threw itself into his chest like a wild squirrel.

“You have no right to demand or ask,” Qhal continued, pushing him forward; Tiyan’s feet carried him, numb and weak. “If the king says you will see your sister, you will. If you behave, of course. You mean nothing here. Only as much as your usefulness.”

Tiyan’s eyes registered other fairies who looked at him with big empty eyes as they passed, the eternal hunger painted on their small faces, glistening with unearthly light. Through the fog of Lorian’s enchantment that still lingered in his head, he saw a small, colourful-winged fey holding something in her almost transparent hands. Her lips were bloodied. She stood, her gaze fixed only on him.

She was holding a tiny human hand, and as Tiyan walked beside her, she gleefully bit through it, revealing an array of sharp teeth, blood dripping onto her exposed collar.

A dream.

A nightmare.

Other Fae were a blur since then, pointing at him with laughter and sweet words, dragging him to the edge of sanity. Qhal brushed them off, all of them, like impertinent children he had the right to remove from his path.

Tiyan knew he lost. But his wild hope fought that knowledge, tried to pump strength into his veins – and his mind. The same hope that had brought him here, through danger and snow.

Usefulness.

He will be useful, but only if they show him Mina – safe and untouched.

Dal’coler was huge, sharp and oppressive. The walls and vast ceilings, huge arches of black stone, disappeared into the darkness that seemed to envelop every particle of this place. And it was beautiful. Like a cruel but enticing dream that you want to remember all your life – but you know you won’t.

He didn’t know what he was expecting from the palace of the fairies… but this fortress was an answer to something he had been pushing into the deepest cellars of his soul.

He tried to be a good man, all his life, after the war with the Fae. But in that same war, his nature proved to be dirty, cowardly and grey as the dolmen that guarded Inamora. He remembered his own actions, driven by fear, but also – he was sure – by a certain wickedness from which he so desperately wanted to purge his soul. All those years. All those tears in the service of others, trying to be good.

He was only nine at the time. But he did things he wanted to forget.

Fear.

Danger.

Cruel night.

It shaped him into someone he hated… and feared. Dal’coler pulled that hidden, greyish pale person out of his tortured heart. Showing it, dangling it before his eyes.

You know you could never surpass it, sweet Tiyan.

You are your mother’s child.

A woman who knew more about you than you could ever know.

You are the prey of darkness.

And the ruler of flames.

And your tears form a coffin for your kind.

Drowning them in delicious waste.

NO!

Tiyan was hurled into the room, and he was grateful for it. Qhal looked at him with disgust mixed with joy. Both feelings painted on his face like a jester’s mask.

“You… like… throwing me around, don’t you?” Tiyan heard his own raspy voice. As if it belonged to someone else.

“A small pleasure is still a pleasure,” Qhal’s throat glowed with suppressed light, he had to store all the time they spent in the forest in there. Another small fairy, this time with grey wings, peered in, and when she saw Tiyan, she immediately crinkled her nose. The wrinkles formed on her ethereal face, making her look for a moment like a monster from old tales – which she was. But her beauty quickly returned, radiant, breathtaking.

“Ah, how he stinks, ahar’sat,” she pursed her thin azure lips. “Noida!”

Tiyan could have sworn he heard Noyd’s name. His guts twisted uncontrollably. It couldn’t be her. She was in Inamora, safe, at least from the horrors of Dal’coler. They couldn’t have brought her here, could they?

But the person who came from behind the fairy was not her.

But she was a human.

And she had to be treated worse than a scabby dog.

Her arms were bruised, and her veins looked like swollen, dark veins shining through her papery, pale skin. Her bloodshot eyes, her trembling hands, they all screamed at Tiyan.

Noida.

Noyd.

No.

Noyd is far from here. With Korr, both awaiting his arrival.

Do not turn back, the monsters will only wait for that, to emerge from the shadows.

The human woman bowed to the small fairy. Fear in her eyes, real fear. She was not afraid like the people of Inamora, who knew they could be taken away, but still found joy in simple things. She was afraid because she had tasted the darkness and knew exactly how much acid it contained.

No escape. Humans were nothing here.

“Noida,” the fairy’s voice was joyful. A child’s one. “Do him.”

The girl looked at her, then at Tiyan. Back to the Fae, not fully understanding. But somehow… willing to obey any command, in the end. Tiyan’s heart beat fast.

“Prepare the bath for him, you foolish thing. His stench is foul. He must be as clean as river stone, he will serve King Lorian Ain’Dal.”

Hearing Lorian’s name, the girl petrified for a second. Fear of an even stronger nature shone in her eyes. But she knew her place.

“Should I also bring the tubes..?”

“Yes, yes, of course, stupid creature,” the fairy’s giggle made Tiyan’s stomach tingle. “He is made of shit. Do you want our Lord to bathe in shit?”

Her voice was still joyful and childlike, but Noida fell to her knees and touched the ground with her forehead. Tiyan felt a grasp of unwell again.

“No… No! I would never mean that! Please… I will prepare everything, quickly and well. All for our Lord…”

Qhal looked at her with an undecipherable expression until he seemed to have had enough of the spectacle.

“Do not prolong it, Khanis.”

The fairy – Khanis – smiled charmingly at Qhal.

“Slow moves are sweeter, ahar’sat Qhal.”

Qhal descended to her level, his pale hair falling on fairy’s arms. He leaned to her ear. And whispered something. Khanis grew paler. And then, red as a ruddy apple. Her teeth clenched as he spoke.

“As you command, Rai’har Qhal.”

“And take this,” he pointed at the sprawled human girl who still didn’t dare to get up.

Tiyan didn’t hear what he said to the little Fae, but somehow he didn’t want to know.

Or he wanted to.

Very much.

Alina told him that his curiosity was as pure as a stream in winter. But it was not. It was dirty. Just like his failures in the war. Like his weak soul.

*

The fairy hands reached under his clothes and pulled. There were three of them, and they removed his clothing as if he couldn’t do it himself. It seemed to give them joy, and when a small hand landed on a particularly shameful spot, it was surely on purpose.

They liked seeing his shame. A small pleasure is still a pleasure.

“He enjoyed travelling with Rai’har Qhal?” one of them wondered, and the others laughed. Tiyan gritted his teeth. At least he won’t play this game with them.

The three fairies looked at him in unison. Childish curiosity in their almost hollow eyes. Unhealthy.

“Enjoyed?”

“Adored?”

“Did Rai’har take him under his wings?”

A chuckle and they resumed undressing him as if nothing had happened. The shirt and old jacket and numerous scarves were already lying on the ornate chair next to the couch he was sitting on. One of the women pointed to the dirty trousers.

“And now this.”

“Such a stench…”

“He should have give his dirt to snow…”

A small pair of hand pushed down his trousers, the second threw them on the chair to join other parts of his wardrobe. The third, quick as a gust of wind, pulled off his underwear.

Tiyan had never felt so exposed. The fey eyes immediately landed between his legs. He almost felt their gazes, like a touch, on his private parts.

“Ah, a human dick.”

“Not too big…”

“Not too small either.”

“Too bad it’s as soft as a sponge.”

A clawed hand landed on his thigh and Tiyan backed away, fast as a flash of lightning. He pressed his legs together as if his life depended on it. He won’t let that happen, not that. As long as he has a chance to defend himself. They may have power, they can have spells… but he can still fight. He can still oppose. Showing before himself he is more than a prey.

The empty eyes were less hollow this time. A kind of sick pleasure gleamed in them.

“Humans can be so boring.”

“No fun, no joy.”

“But he is the king’s plaything. Perhaps better that he fears.

“The king likes resistance…”

“His skin is soft and pleasant to touch.

“Like a snow petal.”

“A treat not for us…”

“But we still can watch.”

Tiyan looked at his former clothes scattered on the chair.

“What shall I wear instead?” his voice caught in his throat. He could almost hear the fairies’ answer. Which he begged not to get. They didn’t care of his wellbeing, it was just a game, a playful game they will lead with him until they get bored with it. He was hopeful he won’t hear that answer, almost regretting he asked.

But he did.

“He needs to be bathed.”

“And cleaned.”

“And then… why clothes?”

“He looks so adorable, cowering like this.”

“And why clothes when he will be ready to serve?”

As Tiyan lost all sense of time, following Qhal like a benumbed, tired puppet, the forest slowly cleared, trees becoming scarcer, giving way to scattered black stones and blocks of veined rock, all swallowed up by roots twice as thick as Tiyan’s waist. Qhal paused, his eyes fixed on the fortress that rose from behind them like a finger pointing into the vastness above. A finger challenging the celestial beings, tearing at the darkness with spikes.

Dal’coler grew before them like the shadow of a giant predator, towering over an almost ritual stone circle. The spires seemed to swallow the stars, piercing the sky like needles. The black stone was ageless, like carved from obsidian. The lights that illuminated it were not of fire, but of living creatures. They flew around the palace and Tiyan was not sure if they noticed them or if they were too simple to understand.

He was standing at the feet of his worst enemy. Without weapons, without will, without courage. He would say without hope as well, but that would be a lie. He had hope, a huge bonfire, as flaming as the mysterious inferno that devoured him almost every night. Hope that they needed him more than they wanted him to scream.

“You do not seem happy, Tiyan Markon,” Qhal remarked. “Here your journey ends and your sister awaits you, covered in blood. Too little joy for a victor.”

“Happy?” Tiyan’s eyes were buried in the gate. No guards. Of course, the Fae didn’t need them. Spells were enough, and the Fae were the strongest predators in this realm. No one would try to force their way through these door – unless they wanted to be a living example. “Wait… blood? Why did you say that?”

Qhal didn’t answer. Dal’coler was calling him, like a devious lover, and Tiyan found a glimmer in his eyes, something that reminded him that he had never been his friend, and never would be. He was a part of this place, and that was what drove him to leave the frozen Shadowlands and serve the conqueror. The fiery fairies of the mountains called him a traitor… and Tiyan saw affection in Qhal’s gaze – directed at the cold battlements and sharp shapes that formed the fortress of winter.

They walked to the gates, which looked like a forgotten temple, eaten by roots and vines, trees growing from the walls like teeth in the gum. And as if on command, they began to open slowly, silently, a door into the night. Qhal looked so small next to them, almost as if the opening wings could swallow him and throw him into the void. Tiyan’s mind began to welcome an array of gruesome scenarios, terrible outcomes, deadly possibilities. The darkness swirled in the gap between the cold walls and Qhal moved a finger towards him.

“You want to see her, silly creature?” he wasn’t annoyed with him, but Tiyan noticed that he looked excited, moved, restless. “This is the only way. At least only in a reality where you both live.”

But Tiyan stood petrified. If he passes through these gates, there will be no turning back.

You fool. There is no turning back now. You never had a chance.

He saw the same fate in Qhal’s pale eyes. He will deliver him to his king, no matter if he stands here, unable to move.

But Tiyan had to go through those gates. He forced his feet to carry him in, making him disappear into the dim darkness of the fortress, with soul somewhere where his heart couldn’t reach. The gates looked even more impressive when he was closer. Carved with vines which mimicked real ones, tangling in an eternal dance of life and still death. Dark stone and hushed flora, melted into a bizarre sculpture. He could swear he felt beating pulse of Dal’coler, a drum that measured his hours, days and years.

Enchanted.

This place was pure magic. Living muscle pumping blood to Ain’asel’s veins.

He stepped forth… and he found himself being watched by many eyes. Eyes that were anything but human. The fortress was enveloped by dim light, and the feeling that someone looks just into you, deeply, The passage leading to the gates was empty – but Tiyan knew they are watched, somehow. He sensed it in his veins.

Qhal led him to the vast hall, which only by name resembled a chamber. It was a work of dark art, filled with not less artful beings…

Small fairies swarmed around Qhal as if they knew he was coming. The fairies touched his legs, his hands, in some strange ritual that Tiyan didn’t understand. Qhal stripped off his outer clothing and threw his tattered jacket into the hands of the tallest of them. The fairy hurried out and never returned.

“Rai’har Qhal, ahar’sat.”

“The shadow longs for his company.”

“For news from the land of ice and wind.”

“And his little mortal friend…”

All eyes, crooked and mischievous, turned to Tiyan and pinned him down. The palace was by no means abandoned or empty, as he had thought as he waited outside, staring fearfully at the gates. The ghastly windows, with the wind dancing in them, were empty.

It was all an illusion. Dal’coler lived on his own, and life here was more vibrant than in the Venklann Valley.

Many Fae, High, Low and in between, watched the newcomers with interest, curiosity etched into their faces – most of the smaller Fae had those hollow, empty eyes he remembered from the Venklann Valley.

The Unseelie, however… the lords of this place exuded a strong charm that Tiyan felt physically. A morbid feeling that made him want to slit his veins if one of them expressed the need to drink his blood.

“Take me to the king,” Qhal’s voice trembled a little. Anticipation? Fear? Doubt?

“He said Rai’har Qhal has been on his mission too long…”

“So long…”

“Very long…”

“But Rai’har Qhal knows so well…”

“He lost a finger, nah ah ah.”

“Such a loss, and we could cut it out of his hand ourselves.”

Tiyan hoped they were just deliberately annoying Qhal.

The flurry of wings showed them the direction and Tiyan would have been standing still with his feet buried in the ground if Qhal hadn’t pushed him forward so hard that Tiyan almost fell.

“Go,” Qhal’s voice was different now. Not a single calm note. It was sharp and cold, like the plains they crossed together. Tiyan wanted to say something, but gave up when the little fairies laughed in front of them, looking at him all the time.

“Ah, mortal creature.”

“So scared…”

“So frightened.”

“We won’t hurt him.

“We won’t even think of such foul things…”

They passed the hall and entered the passage with candles on the walls, illuminating stained glass and portraits of unknown people. Tiyan preferred not to look at them too closely. The ones he observed seemed to be liquid, changing under his gaze, teasing him.

He was in the belly of the beast, in the claws of a lion.

And he was about to meet his tormentor. The Shadow.

The king of Ain’asel.

He didn’t even try to imagine what he might look like. It didn’t matter. He would see Tiyan as prey, something he tried to not believe in for so long.

Qhal pushed him once more, and Tiyan fell through the door into an even larger chamber, bathed in ancient darkness, where a faint, enchanted light shone. The fairies gathered there immediately looked in his direction, as if sensing him with some seventh or eighth sense that only they possessed.

All the fairies were beauty incarnate, even the smaller, more monstrous ones, like they had been created by the goddess to shine. Their faces were kind, calm and painted with temptations and desires Tiyan would never want to understand. Some wore strange masks that hid their features, revealing only what they wanted. Tiyan looked around in despair. They seemed to be in the middle of some kind of celebration, atonal music filling the air, playing on Tiyan’s nerves like water falling in the same place on exposed skin.

Qhal didn’t even give him a chance.

Something forced him to his knees and lower, spreading him out on the floor like stone splashing a beetle. Tiyan realised he couldn’t breathe. The same force that had pressed him to the stone was now pushing all the air out of him, leaving him immobile and suffocating.

“Hgm…”

The dark patches under his eyelids. A cruel force in his lungs, pressing them against his ribs, making it impossible for him to even scream.

You wanted me alive!

It can’t end like this. You wanted me for a reason!

“Qhal, do not spoil the goods.”

The voice was calm, but Tiyan wanted to scream even more when he heard it. It was the voice of someone who would not only order him to open his veins, to offer him his blood. That – would be too easy.

Suddenly the pressure cut, his lungs were released from the magical clutches.

Qhal dropped to one knee, touching it with his forehead in a pose of submission. Tiyan felt weak, his gaping mouth gasping for air, a ragged cough coming from his throat.

“Your Majesty. I brought the vessel as you commanded.”

Tiyan still couldn’t get up, black petals dancing under his eyes. Someone was coming. The soft sound of his boots became the only sound he could concentrate on. Until those same boots entered his sight and the man stopped  right in front of him.

One foot was raised and the tip of the boot lifted his chin, forcing him to look at its owner.

The man standing before him looked youthful, as if made of spring. But Tiyan knew immediately that this was a lie. He was ageless, like this place. The spring in his features was eternal winter. And his playful smile, so honest and beautiful, was night incarnate, hiding monstrosities.

His eyes were black emptiness that slowly began to absorb Tiyan’s soul.

Tiyan didn’t want to surrender that easily, wanted to show minimal resistance. He slowly started to stand up, his muscles protesting, his mind focused on a goal – not welcoming all this on the ground.

“On your knees.”

An order, sharp and merciless, though silent. Tiyan immediately felt his knees buckle, his whole being wanting to please this man. His teeth clenched, his lips formed a tight line, but his legs bent and he knelt again.

The man smiled. Such a breathtaking smile. A promise of pleasure… and so much pain.

“Crawl.”

Tiyan dragged himself on his knees, knowing he had no chance, even if he wouldn’t feel the need to make this Fae happy and pleased. But he wanted to. Wanted to please so much.

His hands clasped the boot and he looked at the Fae with devotion and shame.

He hated him. And yet he wanted to be his slave.

“Your mind is exceptionally strong,” the Fae laughed. “I still feel the will to resist me. Normally, your kind is like clay in my hands.”

“Where is my sister…” murmured Tiyan, pressing his cheek against the Fae’s leg. He felt something creep from behind the man and embrace him. A mist, tentacles of darkness, searching, as if trying to find a way into his skin.

“So eager for a family reunion,” the Fae smiled. It must be their king, Qhal called him… His Majesty. Lorian, the king of the Unseelie, ran through Tiyan’s mind. Beloved master…

… no, someone he should hate…

… he would do anything for him…

… he killed his parents, for Goddess’ sake!…

Tiyan, do not let him. Don’t let him, Tiyan Markon.

“But your sister can be busy. So much joy she is witnessing here.”

Tiyan moaned into the fabric of Lorian’s trousers.

“Your needs will be met. Eventually.”

The shadows lifted him up, up, separating him from the ground. Tiyan grunted as he felt the tentacle of the night curl around his neck.

Lorian was looking into his eyes now. His black emptiness began to pull him in again. He could see stars in his eyes, and many moons, glowing with the reflected light of the forgotten gods. He could not move, but he could hear the other Fae whispering, some laughing, and he knew, knew so well, that they were enjoying it.

Lorian’s finger lifted his chin, just as the boot had done a moment ago.

The pressure returned. Tiyan felt something in his mind, a slowly opening void, endless, terrifying. A hole into which it was so easy to fall and fall, eon after eon. Black like Lorian’s eyes.

It slid into him. Meticulously penetrating his mind with clawed fingers. A power that was the ultimate end. Tiyan felt his thoughts become unfocused, scattered. Buried under stones, tangled with roots, heavy and cruel. Until all he felt was terror, overwhelming, empty and cold.

He screamed. Loud, so loud. He screamed for a long time. His throat began to hurt – but he didn’t care when his very being was being replaced by nothing.

Until the void receded, leaving him gasping in fear.

“You are strong. That’s good. Your strength will be so useful.”

“I am… I am… ah… no…”

“You underestimate yourself,” the Fae King smiled charmingly. “Your mind tells you things no one wants to hear. Cowardly, worthless, undeserving. Such minds are weak… but yours… is not. Your mind will bring me much joy in the end. And the final reward will be… three times as pleasant.”

“Please, my lord,” he heard his own voice, a moan, weak and submissive. The horror of the void in his mind still gnawing at his soul. The part of him that wanted to be a slave to this Fae fought the need to see Mina. “I beg you, my sister…”

“You will see her,” Lorian patted his cheek gently. “She is safe and enjoying my hospitality. Just… as you will enjoy it soon. You will be reunited, brother and sister. A beautiful, heartwarming sight”

His lips got closer to Tiyan’s ear, the boy could feel the intense scent of violets, the same he sensed when he was ravished by the shadow presence in the mountains.

“And your nightmares will scream in fear, feeling me near you” he whispered, the misty night slowly caressed Tiyan’s neck, a soft touch of a careful lover and a cruel stroking of a beast that he felt in Lorian; not asleep, waiting for the most delicious time to swallow his prey.

Lorian nodded to Qhal, who grasped Tiyan by the arms and took him away. Tiyan fought the one who tried to separate him from his lord. He could see the pulsing membrane of Qhal’s throat, right next to his face. It beat, like a heart.

“Mina…” he murmured, unwanted tears trickling down his cheeks. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me.”

He knew – somehow – that he had failed. Mina, the only reason. The only reason he could leave the safety of the Venklann Valley and make the dangerous journey through the Fae realm. His heart pounded with the intensity of a sledgehammer.

He had failed.

But he would do everything to make it right.

But…

… Qhal took him away from Lorian Ain’Dal, and that was the most painful thing he had ever felt.

The second portal didn’t send him to some forgotten god’s domain. The coldness of the star-studded night sky that hung mercilessly above them was replaced by the numbness of emptiness. Tiyan lost the sense of his existence, and for a small second he was nothing. His body, his heart, his very soul, frozen in time, abandoned between worlds, forgotten and buried; decaying and drying until he disappeared, his dust carried over the vast plains of Ain’asel.

When he returned and left the portal, life seemed unreal. For that small second, he went through entire stages of life, his lungs breathing in the cold air, almost choking on it, fighting for relief until he coughed violently, his whole body trying to exist again.

Qhal looked at him, seriously, without mockery. As Tiyan slowly learned to breathe again, he could swear he observed him with some understanding. Surely he had to see many people being pushed through the portals. But there was a kind of pity in his icy blue eyes.

Pitiful human.

“Keep your head up, breathe in slow, shallow breaths. Do not try to swallow air, do not strain your lungs. It will pass,” Qhal instructed, still looking at him with a certain amount of interest. Tiyan didn’t know if it was normal that he followed this advice as soon as it was given.

Small breaths. His lungs screamed for air, but Tiyan knew that Qhal didn’t want him dead. His Lord needed him. So he forced himself to breathe slowly, his head turned towards the moon, small snowflakes landing on his face, touching his warm skin, running down it. Like tears.

But Qhal was right.

These portals were cursed. But he lived. Maybe he passed the realm of death by a millimetre. But he lived, and he hoped to live as long as it would take to see if Mina was safe. And to bargain for her life for as long as it would take.

The palace was so close now that Tiyan could see the roots biting into the battlements, walls and towers. It seemed to touch the moon, and they made such good companions – both cold, vast, alien and… frightening, both glowing with something invisible, pushing Tiyan’s soul down, down, just by being there.

Dal’coler was buried in the wall of the mountain that surrounded it with stone and snow, embraced by a dark forest that sucked the light from the stars. On the nearest branches – ravens. Not blue-eyed, twice the size of normal ravens. But Tiyan could swear they were waiting for him too.

Qhal threw the dry meat, Tiyan caught it in the air.

“After the portal you will need food. Eat now. Your body is weaker and we have to pass the forest. Many creatures live there. Some might be amused that I lead a human. Some… may just be hungry.”

Tiyan knew he was right, for his limbs were made of the same snow petals that fell on his face, and bit into the strip of meat with his teeth.

“Eat. It’s good,” Qhal smiled. Tiyan devoured the strip and, taking a few small breaths, he looked at the branch that held the ravens. This time he saw only a few feathers falling slowly to the white earth.

Qhal tilted his head slightly, watching him with a strange intensity. A smile played on his lips, his throat pulsating through the membrane. Tiyan suddenly thought that Qhal would not expose himself to the light for long, and now that they were about to enter the dark forest that lay beneath the ominous fortress of Dal’coler, he would not have a chance to do so either.

But that was the last thing he needed to worry about.

Surely he could take care of himself. He had lived in Dal’coler for so long. After all, Tiyan didn’t know what other means Qhal had to feed himself.

Qhal stopped looking at him, which Tiyan welcomed with relief. The Fae seemed more amiable than he had imagined the inhabitants of Ain’asel to be, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill him if his king ordered it.

And… there was something new in that look. The closer they came to Dal’coler, the more silent Qhal became, and the darker his eyes were. Not in colour. By… Tiyan couldn’t even name it. But he preferred not to be the object of his all too scrupulous attention.

Mina.

That is all that matters.

The forest swallowed them like a tasty morsel. Really swallowed them, for as they passed the first trees, the branches began to close behind them. Mossy boughs separating them from the portal and the rest of the realm.

“They… are moving?” Tiyan almost didn’t ask, but somehow the words escaped his lips. His question was rhetorical and naive, but he felt he had to say something. There were no birds in the forest, no movement… no sounds. Just the creaking of the branches around them; Tiyan almost felt their touch, even if they never reached him.

“Of course,” a joyful amusement sounded in Qhal’s voice. “It’s the Sacred Woods. The God.”

So he entered the god.

But somehow, after all he’d been through the last few weeks, it didn’t affect him the way it would if he’d heard it in his village, after dinner with his parents and sister. He would not believe it if he were just feeding the dog, burying his fingers in its thick fur and scratching its sloppy ear.

Now that he saw what this land had to offer, entering the body of a Tree God was somehow… mundane.

Even if it wasn’t.

Be careful, Tiyan Markon.

The branches above them formed a canopy that didn’t let in the light of the moon and stars. The trunks and thick roots that grew out of the black earth were covered in shimmerring moss. Tiyan knew that some plants could glow, but he’d never seen them before, and he hadn’t expected to see them in the heart of winter, when the trees slept and nature fell into a long, timeless slumber. But this forest wasn’t asleep. It was alive, very alive, and Tiyan could almost feel the slow pulse of this place, beating like a drum in his own chest.

He followed Qhal, trusting his sense of direction… at least much better than his own. The forest was not as dark as he had thought, for the moss gave off a strange, eerie light that was reflected in the clumps of snow. But it was so dense that Tiyan could not see in which direction they were going, nor if he had been here before. Qhal could lead him to the same place hundreds of times and Tiyan would not notice.

“How could the forest… be a god?” Tiyan removed a branch from his path. To hear any voice, even if it’s only his own. The words left his mouth in a cloud of vapour. “I thought the gods were dead and they spoke to me through the portal,” he realised how stupid that sounded.

“Not all gods are creators,” Qhal said enigmatically. “But not all gods are destroyers.”

Tiyan lost the energy to question him further.

He dragged himself one foot at a time, hiding behind scarves and pulling up the collar of his jacket as high as he could. The cold was less here than on the open plains and in the mountains, but the dull darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the moss, worked ill on the remnants of his almost non-existent confidence. He felt as if he were in the belly of a huge beast, slowly digesting him, giving him the illusion of purpose, only to end up surrounding him with sour juices.

He never complained about his fate when he still had life. Now it would be even more pointless, when the only ears that would listen to him belonged to an ageless Fae, sent to him by the Shadow who had kidnapped his sister and killed his parents.

Tiyan would be even happier if they actually met some of these dangerous creatures. It would show that they were not alone, trapped between trunks and branches. Even Tiyan found these thoughts absurd. The aura of this place seemed to suck away his strength and common sense.

When they had stood on the hill before, Dal’coler had seemed close, almost tangible, standing in the crisp air like a sliver in the mountain’s finger. They had only stopped twice, but it felt as if they had been walking through this forest for months. Nothing changed, except that sometimes Tiyan would see shining eyes in the darkness, looking at him from a distance. When that happened, Qhal tensed, he could clearly see the muscles around his transparent throat, playing a silent melody of restlessness.

“Do you think we could hunt something here?” tiredness was taking its toll, he could not shake it off even at the stops Qhal had arranged.

Qhal’s smile was as friendly as ever, but his eyes had taken on a darker shade.

“Only Unseelie can hunt in the guts of the gods. If I tried, I would be betraying my king’s trust.”

“Oh, you would never do that, would you?” Even weak irony is better than none.

“The human creature knows nothing of the laws that rule here. Nor of the disease that spreads among these trees. It’s invisible, but rest assured, it’s real. If I hunt here, the balance between the Fae and the forest could be broken.”

“But you say Unseelie can hunt,” Tiyan tried.

“Don’t you like your dry meat any longer?”

“It’s surprisingly good. But fresh meat is always better.”

He didn’t add that he hadn’t eaten fresh meat for years, thanks to his lords.

“Oh, I’m sure Lorian Ain’Dal gives you plenty of fresh meat,” Qhal smiled, and Tiyan suddenly didn’t want any more.

As long as he leaves this place and – finally – takes Mina in his arms, safe and unharmed. Untouched. She was just a child, for Goddess’ sake. Who knows what they forced her to do between those merciless walls.

The woods creaked and moved above their heads, reaching out but never touching. Eyes followed them out of the icy darkness. And somehow the cursed snow found a way to fall, even between the branches.

Their footprints soon disappeared, buried in the white silence.

Qhal did not smile – again. Tiyan knew that the last time he had smiled was before he fought the Anglor, in another realm, in another time.

A small figure appeared in the distance.

At first it just stood there, no matter how fast they walked, always between the trees. It had the same clothes as Mina, the day he lost her. He could swear he heard his name carried by the wind.

Qhal’s voice was almost angry when he spoke. Tiyan thought that he probably expected him to jump at the first elusive promise Ain’asel gave him. But Tiyan had learned something in the time he had spent here.

“I know what you see, but it’s not your sister.”

“How can you…”

“The god is sick and needs help. And humans can only help him in one way.”

Tiyan preferred not to ask what he meant. Somehow he could guess for himself. This mirage was similar to Wisps, pulling him by the weak thread of his heart and dragging him into the maw filled with rooty teeth.

Now it was closer and he could see that half of Mina’s face was rotten, white worms boring corridors in her decaying skin. The murmur of the trees whispered softly to him, and each of those whispers was a plea to save her.

Tiyan tried not to look at the mirage, but his eyes seemed glued to the rotting corpse that was his sister. Mina was in the palace. Kept there to force him to offer himself to the darkness.

He wasn’t too late.

She was alive.

What else would keep him alive now, after what he had been through and what he had lost?

Qhal led him through the white and shining prison, and Tiyan saw his dead sister everywhere his eyes landed, feeding on the horror of… possibility.