Away with the Faeries

Chapter Twenty-nine

 Lana shrugged; "That is a compelling argument," she turned a pitiful gaze on me; "good luck."

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with a Faerie who spoke the language of bloodshed. Fluently. Marcel carried on with our odd dance through the snow. My feet danced lightly away, evading each slash, the steel getting steadily closer. But he was pulling his swings, bidding his time. If Marcel wanted me dead I would be gone by now. A lion doesn't play with its food. There was something holding him back, stopping his attacks from drawing too close.

The skirts of my dress had been shredded to ribbons, fabric fluttering to the snow with each evade. Some invisible clock ticked on, his attacks growing steadily closer. My feet seemed to be made of brick, weighing me down, stumbling over ice and slush. Marcel stretched the slender blade high, swooping in as I tripped once more over ripped skirts and heavy feet.

My breathing seemed to flicker out entirely; "Who," I blurted the question before I even knew it was on my mind. Before he could swing before I could die. "That night in the cell," I went on, feet rooted firmly to the spot, "you said I reminded you of a Faerie. Who?"

We were alone that night. No one could have known about this but us. Quick as lightning contemplation flashed through his eyes. But just as quick as it appeared it was gone. I watched hopelessly as his eyes blazed over, clouded by the memory of me. Lifeless at his feet. Fueled by the spark I ignited Marcel slashed the blade down, the cold tip grazing my collarbone as I side-stepped the swing. He swung again, this time tufts of my hair falling to the snow.

Again and again, he moved, growling each time I evaded. Fire shot up my arm as he lunged, the blade catching the heavy limb. He was holding back. I repeated the question. Who, who, who, who—. Marcel attacked each time, each swing growing progressively slower, every slash less fatal.

"Who," I demanded, breathlessly. A hand clutched to my side where blood gushed freely, pooling at my feet. The world was spinning. A trail of crimson had been left in the wake of where we danced through the snow.

"Stop," he roared, the sound shaking the ground. Rippling out in waves of silence over the crowd.

"Dammit Marcel," I shouted, lungs burning from where they felt far too heavy in my chest, "Who do I remind you of?" The words echoed through the silenced arena, shaking the stilled stands.

"It's impossible," he murmured, dagger dropping loose to his side, "She is dead, they showed me her body. I saw it."

Guilt. His voice wavered with such guilt and pain. Cautiously I approached, placing a bloody hand atop Marcel's that curled still around the blade's hilt. Around us, the crowd stirred with anticipation, from the corner of my eye I caught the King. Displeasure was written in bold across his face. With a jeweled hand, he waved over a nearby herald. My eyes flicked briefly to Marcel, who waged an inner battle.

The herald knelt beside the King, listening to the grave displeasure he whispered. As the King's thin lips moved beside the messenger's ear, the color slowly receded from his face. Standing on trembling legs the herald then made his way back to his spot, skeletal fingers lifting to a fine horn before blowing. The arena fell silent once more, Marcel remained unflinching before me, the sound of the horn passing right through him.

"Should the participants of the game refuse to play," he began, frantic eyes darting to the King in a silent plea, "All spectators will be put to death."

A murmur rippled out across the crowds. I glanced about the packed arena, half the Kingdom of Bloed seemed to be in attendance. Nobility, slaves, children, mothers, fathers, old, young, rich, and poor. My eyes then fell on those golden ones. Brimming red with tears as they faced me. Jinny trembled beside her father, a hand clutched to the front of her gown. Surely Otis couldn't mean his own children. But the look in Jinny's eyes. Utter fear. I wasn't entirely sure if it was for me or herself.

Muscles feathered in Marcel's jaw as he glanced to the blade in his clutch, then me. Silence had snuffed out the once boisterous crowd. Marcel smirked down at me, the gesture not fully reaching his eyes as he drew the dagger to his own chest; "You were right Dame de la forêt," he said in a breath, "no one is immortal."

A sliver of crimson bloomed on his shirt as the metal sank slowly into his skin. Before I could think I was shooting out, wrapping a hand around the hilt of the blade and ripping it from Marcel's shocked grip. Grinding my jaw I twisted the dagger and in a swift motion plunged the cool metal sharply into my chest. A shaky breath slipped from my lips as I felt the slender blade rub against bone. Blood poured in waves, pooling in the pure snow like crimson death.

There was no pain. Only the horrified eyes of Marcel as he called out to me. But I couldn't seem to hear his words. Only the soft wheeze of my breath through shaky lips. The arena swirled around me, crowds of people shifting into whorls of muted color. My knees trembled, the edges of my eyes growing foggy as soft blue butterflies blurred my vision. I remember hearing about how people experienced hallucinations before and during death. Through heavy eyelids, I watched the swarm thicken until I stood in the center of their fluttering kaleidoscope.

I felt Marcel call me again. But all I could see were the swarming insects, moving in a rhythmic fashion. Then all I saw, slumping heavily to the ground was darkness as my eyes fell swiftly closed.

———

Life. It was all I'd come to know as I sprung from the heated water, gasping for breath. The dark liquid around me was stained scarlet from wounds that had once been. Shallow moonlight rippled across the steaming surface from a shelf in the rocks high above, gaping in the middle where they met. I seemed to be in an underground spring of sorts. Wading through the waist-high waters I wrapped my arms around my naked frame.

The room was dark and humid, my eyes roved around the darkness for any light before settling on a set of shimmering rock stairs that led from the waters. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I left, beginning down a dark corridor, unsure of where it led. Warmth and darkness enveloped me as I trekked further inward, trailing a hand along the stone wall so as to not be lost in the tenebrous place forever.

After what felt like an eternity of aimlessly walking a sliver of light caught my eyes. It bleed against the warm rock floor, a little ray of salvation. My chest unfurled as I loosed a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Nearing I realized that the light seeped out from beneath a heavy wooden door. Muffled voices spoke rapidly on the other side. Reaching for the cool handle I took a steadying breath before pushing my way through. Squinting against the blinding light I blinked hard. When my sight cleared my gaze fell upon the two heavily robed individuals who bowed deeply before me. What in the Seven hells—.

"Welcome to the Kingdom of Anima." One spoke, still bowed respectfully to the floor, "Princess Rayne."