“Psst.”
Clythia whipped her head toward the source of the sound, but her eyes only met bleached sand.
“Did you hear that?” she asked Morven, still scanning left and right.
“If this is your attempt to distract me, you are not doing a good job,” Morven said, sounding a tad impatient.
Her gaze met his irate pose. “I am not trying to distract you.”
“Psst.”
Modyr stopped in his tracks and turned, and Glythia frowned. The vampire was displeased that the distraction was real. He was truly looking forward to the explanation for her slip. Clythia was certain she would pay hell for this; Tiyus would be around the corner to punish her. However, she hoped the warning would give them a chance. But she was not going to elaborate further and risk her son’s well-being.
“It’s Glythia hissing, nothing else,” the vampire chided.
That was not true. Glythia’s groan had stopped a while ago. Whatever the faerie had given the werewolf worked; his arm was no longer bleeding, only dried blood tainted the vines coiling where the arrow had initially sunk in.
“It’s not me,” Glythia said.
They walked silently for a while until the sound crept up again.
“Psst.”
This time, the being stopped and craned his neck, eyes raking over them and behind. “Is something the matter?” His voice reverberated like shattered glass. He must have thought they were the source of the sound.
No one answered him.
The being turned back and continued forth. The desert was vast, as though they were wading through an infinite white fabric, with no beginning and end.
Clythia felt a tap on her ankle, soft as satin silk brushing against one’s skin. Every hair on her back perked up as she slowly looked down.
A female not taller than her palm was staring up at her with glacial emerald eyes, her face split into a smile as though she was glad she caught Clythia's attention at last.
The female had a pointy ear like a faerie, she was wearing leaves sewed together to cover her most intimate parts. It was rather a stark sight to find the deepest shade of green in the bleached land that reeked of starvation and death.
Perhaps the exhaustion had led her to start hallucinating. Deserts did that to a person.
The female put a finger to her lip and pointed at the being. Morven and Glythia were ogling down at her with a mix of wary and curious expressions. Clythia wasn’t mad then.
Then the tiny female indicated to what would be ‘west’ given they were heading ‘north,’ and she vanished into thin air.
The three of them glanced at one another, a silent conversation about following ‘west’ being the right course of action rippled between them. Could they trust the creature?
“We can’t,” Clythia said with clenched teeth and resumed her pace.
“Why not?” Morven fell in at her side.
“He,” she pointed at the being, “is going to lead us to the Sovereign. That is what we came for. No matter the consequences, we have to follow him.”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “What if he’s lying?”
“What if that thing we saw,” Clythia lazily indicated to the spot where the tiny female was a few seconds ago, “is also lying?”
Morven and Clythia stared at one another. Glythia seemed to weigh their options too. Modyr had no clue; he was either deeply lost in his thoughts or too exhausted to glance back.
Perhaps this was when gut feeling came in handy. What did Clythia’s gut say?
Food.
“I have an idea.” Morven’s eyes sparked.
Then the vampire pulled Modyr to pace alongside him. The faerie swatted away his hand. “What is wrong with you?”
“Are there faeries the size of this high?” The gap between Morven's long thumb and finger was a bit higher than the tiny female.
The faerie’s brows knitted. “There were. As in F-A-I-R-Y, not F-A-E-R-I-E, and they are extinct. Why are you asking?”
“We just happened to see one,” Clythia shrugged.
Modyr’s charcoal eyes froze on her, then he barked out a laugh, earning the flaming gaze of the being to zero in on him. He stopped abruptly. “That’s not possible. It’s a mirage or something.”
“Three people can’t see the same mirage at the same time if that was the case,” Morven pointed out.
“We are all exhausted.” Modyr shook his head, a chuckle escaping with every word. “What did the fairy say then?”
“To head in that direction,” Clythia indicated ‘west’.
“Where is the fairy?” Modyr still clung to his skepticism.
“Disappeared before we could know where she went,” Morven said.
The final bit of information seemed to fuel Modyr’s suspicion even more. Clythia was irritated; the heat of the desert and the incessant fighting had dragged her to the bottom of exhaustion, and she wasn’t in the mood to convince him.
“This is Stormia,” Morven began, far less irritated than her. “We didn’t expect to see a manbird—” The being craned his neck, the flames licking up his lid dangerously, then Morven stuttered, “no offense, we don’t know what you are.”
“I am an angel,” the being responded to Clythia’s surprise. Why hadn’t she connected this strange creature with what Casarda said, ‘Morven with wings’? She really was losing her wit. But another thought sent a cold chill prickling down her spine. “You were listening to us plot the entire time.”
“Yes.” The angel didn’t turn.
Shock flared on the vampire’s face. “You are calm about it.”
“I wanted to see you try and fail.” A rumble escaped the angel. “It would be fun hunting and torturing you all over again.”
Masochist!
“So you know about the fairy?” Glythia asked.
“Little mites, here and there,” the angel said.
And that was the end of their escape plot. Clythia wasn’t planning on it since her mission was to find the Sovereign, and the angel was going to do just that for them.
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Life would have been so easy if choices were black and white, but unfortunately, it was always two blacks, and one had to have the eye to choose the lighter hue if one’s eyes were to be trusted. And she couldn’t trust her eyes—following the faerie or the angel, either could end up badly, with the angel it was guaranteed. But she quickly remembered she didn’t have the luxury of this dilemma because she had chosen the darkest hue of black, and even if the others attempted to escape, she wouldn’t, thanks to Tiyus.
“Distraction’s over.” There was no breath trickling in her ear; it was as though her thoughts were loud enough—but with Morven’s voice. She flinched. “Care to explain your warning?”
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed at him. The vampire looked annoyed, the audacity. “No footsteps, no air leaving or entering your stone mouth. Fuck.” She really was rattled, and she had no strength to hide it.
Modyr raised an eyebrow at her. He had noticeably put distance between them after his refusal to open the door where the Shadow hid in his palace. His flirtations eased once he got a glimpse of her darker side. A twinge of hurt lanced through her before she buried it deep.
The vampire ignored the insult, waiting for her to elaborate on what she had slipped about their demise.
She ignored him in return. With a brush of her finger on her ring, a strength potion in a tiny flask popped out, and she gulped it down in one go, barely registering the tingling spice and sugar on her tongue. Soon enough, strength returned to her.
Strength potion was addictive if one relied on it a lot. In the military, all soldiers carried it, but they were instructed not to rely on it on a daily basis. True, they could become the bulkiest and the strongest in the army, but once they stopped, they would be as frail as grass.
On this journey, Clythia had many opportunities to use the potion, after the fight with the Charybdis, during the long trek with the faeries, or in the cave—every time her limbs were on the brink of collapsing, but she knew better. And it would be some time far in the future before she would be planning to use it again after now.
“Answer me.” Morven’s voice was audible for all to hear.
“Fuck off,” she snapped back.
“Easy there,” the faerie said. “Save your energy to fight for later. If there is a later of course.”
“Clythia would choose death before she passed the opportunity of a fight,” Glythia sneered, his eyes pinned on the angel with a bone-grinding loath.
Clythia was going to retort but remembered how many of his companions were lost to the angel, turning them into indiscernible ashes before his eyes. That memory would haunt him as long as he lived. She knew the look dancing on his face. The rage and grief were burrowing deep in his heart. Life was already a bitch to him, so she cut him some slack.
Modyr and Morven were surprised by her lack of response, but they didn’t say anything.
It felt like their trek bounced from one eternity to another. The sun was gone, and a dark canvas sprawled above them, adorned with flaring, strong stars. With the night, a chill flanked along.
If it wasn’t for the strength potion coursing in her blood, the super strength of the vampire, or the evolved legs of the faerie, they would have collapsed long ago. Surprisingly, the werewolf was dragging himself along without complaint, though his steps weren’t as clean as theirs.
Clythia was curious to know why the werewolf didn’t inquire why he was targeted. Perhaps he knew, or he was keeping his mouth shut for his own good.
But she wasn’t one to shut her mouth, though. “Why did you target Glythia?”
Warning looks darted at her, but she ignored them.
“The Sovereign isn’t fond of him,” the angel said.
“I thought the opposite was true.” Clythia looked at Glythia for confirmation. He was holding something back behind the expressionless facade.
Clythia felt a poke on her ankle and she whipped her head.
The fairy.
Save for the angel, the rest followed her train of sight. The color on Modyr’s face draining was faintly visible beneath the silvery light of the stars.
Clythia crouched slowly, beckoning the rest to continue moving forward without raising suspicion.
“We are not going anywhere with you,” she mouthed to the fairy.
Clythia stood up, the fairy went still for a moment, and just when Clythia thought the fairy would vanish like before, she tossed a glitter of blue, and then everything went dark.
A merry flute note reached Clythia’s ears. As the music grew nearer, her eyesight was restored, and she found herself in a pub where fairies and angels were dining. The seats the angels took were made to encompass their tucked-in wings, and the tiny fairies sitting at their side were perched high so that they could all reach the table before them and dine. They were clashing their mugs and half-spilling the contents, some lolling their heads with the music’s rhythm, chatter and laughter bellowing in the air.
There was a fireplace crackling on one side. The warmth engulfed Clythia, along with the aroma of the meals and drinks. Surprisingly, what was served on the tables wasn’t different from what she was used to; she made out a roasted turkey, a salad, and some greens. Even their clothes weren’t outlandish. If anything, it felt familiar, like home.
How on Zyvern could this place be the lion’s den?
“Where are we?” Clythia whipped around to see Modyr rubbing his forehead. It was not only him, but Glythia and Morven had arrived, gaping around.
“Follow me,” the fairy said with a squeaky voice, her emerald eyes pinned on Clythia.
“No,” Clythia said, crossing her arms.
“Why did you bring us here? We need to see the Sovereign,” Morven said.
“That angel would torture you before he brought you to the Sovereign,” the fairy said. “He was already draining you. You would have been an inflated balloon by the time he was done with you.”
Clythia didn’t know what a balloon was, but it didn’t sound good.
“Why do you care?” Glythia asked skeptically. “What do you want from us?”
“One of your friends paid me to bring you here.”
They looked at one another in confusion.
“Who?” Modyr asked.
“King Kay,” the fairy shrugged.
The human king was already bribing Stormia’s residents for safety? Impressive. That man had good survival instincts.
Since their wariness eased with that revelation, they followed the fairy, past the bartender, and through a backdoor. To their surprise, no one glanced in their direction. This was unexpected, considering they were of a different race, even though their outfits didn’t stand out much. They passed stacks of barrels and entered another room on the right.
King Kay was eating grapes with his three human companions and Clythia’s companions. Apparently, they hadn’t scattered in an unknown land, and a sense of relief eased the tension she hadn’t realized was there until that moment.
They were sitting on a rug, their legs beneath them, at a short table set with a wide range of meals. The aroma of roasted meat, fresh fruit, and citrusy scents made her stomach growl. She earned glances from Morven and Glythia, but she ignored them both.
Casarda was laughing as King Kay whispered something in her ear, but when she saw Clythia, she went ice cold and scrambled to her feet, as did the rest of her companions.
“My queen,” Casarda said, dipping her head low.
“How did you make it here?” Morven asked before she could.
“Well, your companions are generous. They offered us a ride, and we kept on Eventuating and Diseventuating until we found M,” Kay said, pointing at the fairy. “And with the right amount, here we are, eating and drinking.”
“We are not here to eat and drink,” Clythia said through clenched teeth. “We are here to see the Sovereign.”
“Relax,” Kay waved his hand dismissively. “If we aren’t smart about it, we will find ourselves dead. We need to be strategic. We are in the lion’s den, remember?”
“He has a point,” Modyr said, sitting down and not wasting a second as he helped himself to a large chunk of what looked like scrambled eggs, although it wasn’t, and vegetables. When he realized everyone was gawking at him, he added, “Just because I can walk for miles without getting tired doesn’t mean it wouldn’t leave me hungry.”
“Sit,” Kay beckoned to Clythia, and she reluctantly did so. Morven and Glythia followed suit.
“Where is your pack?” Kay asked.
Glythia went grim. “Gone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kay nodded at the werewolf with genuine awareness.
Her guards and servants had been helping themselves before she arrived, but when they started to shuffle to their duties, she halted them and let them continue their enjoyment.
“Something is very, very wrong,” Glythia said in a whisper so quiet she thought she was imagining it. “Do you know what our biggest arsenal as werewolves is? It isn’t our wolf abilities but our instincts. And we never go wrong with those.”
Clythia was inclined to believe him. Dogs guard because they could smell a thief from yards away. Perhaps wolves had those instincts too; after all, they were just the savage version of dogs.
“So what do those instincts tell you?”
“That this is all a grand joke. We aren’t safe here.”
“We already know that.”
“No, you don’t understand.” If looks could slice, then Glythia’s blue eyes were gutting her. “Don’t you find it weird that the angel didn’t bother to fight the fairy even though he knew she planning an escape? Or that the angels and faeries in this pub wear the same kind of clothes we do? Or this food—” he stabbed the fork with brute force and brought it to his mouth, chewing on the potato. “—is the same as ours? How is it even possible to share so many similar things after no active communication with Stormia for more than two hundred millennia? I didn’t even know there were inhabitants here all the time we came for the Tithe. Did you?”
Silent had rippled through the room, somewhere around where his whisper was escalating to an outburst, everyone's eyes were on him.
“Did you?” he asked her again with intensity.
“Uh, no, not really.”
“Thank you.” He slumped back in his chair. “I don’t even think the Sovereign is here.”
“That’s preposterous,” Morven said. “Where would she be but Stormia. That was part of the agreement of the Tithe.”
“I don’t know. But the way that angel targeted me and my pack was personal and claimed he was doing that because the Sovereign said so. I swear to you all on my father’s grave that I did nothing to aggravate the Sovereign once in my life.”