Not Quite Human

Chapter 3

The boy stood pressed into the corner of the room, shivering. His lord was angry. Very angry. He hunched slightly, making himself smaller, hoping his lord might take pity. It was his fault, of course — his lord was never wrong. His lord had even let him live after burning his village to the ground, killing nearly everyone in it. That had been an act of kindness. He knew that. He was ashamed of himself. All he'd had to do was find the bloodstone. His lord had even helped, securing him a position as a servant in the palace where the stone was supposedly hidden. A whole month of searching, high and low, and he still had nothing.
The whistle of the whip cutting through the air was the only warning he got. He stood still, doing his best to smother the urge to scream, making no attempt to move or shield himself — he knew better than to prolong it. He let his mind go somewhere else. Somewhere the pain was only a dull, distant ache.
Nerezza was one of the Unseelie feys Damien would have described as almost nice — a distinction that said rather a lot about the company he kept. Her disposition was surprising, given that she was an Attorcroppe: a type of fey known for being deeply malicious, serpentine in nature and in method. She didn't particularly mind the reputation. She was no saint, and she knew it. Resisting the thirst for blood was, on most days, a genuine effort.
She sighed at the untimely summons from Damien, mildly annoyed. She could ignore it, of course. But curiosity had always been one of her more fatal flaws.
She entered the castle with her head held high — not that it made much difference, since the humans could only see what she chose to let them. Not one of them paid her any mind. It was rather amusing. She could waltz into the palace and kill the entire royal family without a single guard turning his head. The familiar thirst stirred at the thought — that raw, electric sense of power over a life. She exhaled slowly. Not today. She wouldn't do anything to destabilise one of the few places that remained neutral, pledged to neither court. Another time, perhaps, when the stars aligned in her favour. For now she would find something else to satisfy the urge. A prisoner or two. Someone who wouldn't be missed.
She stepped into Damien's study and immediately grimaced at the state of his desk. She despised disorder. Even her kills were clean. She looked at him expectantly. Perhaps the princeling needed her assistance with something worthwhile — making his brother's sleep a little more permanent, for instance. She allowed herself to dwell on that thought. Killing Abbadon would be quite the challenge.
Damien noticed her expression and felt immediately uneasy. This was starting to seem like a worse idea the longer he sat with it. Aroc had refused outright when asked to watch over Neil, and for reasons he couldn't entirely justify, Damien had landed on Nerezza as the next best option. Looking at her now, he wasn't so sure. But he'd come this far.
Nerezza laughed — a dark, delighted sound. "It isn't often I'm asked to babysit, young prince. I'd normally let someone who spoke to me this way feel the kiss of my blade." She tilted her head. "But one can't do that to you, can they? Belladur's son, you say?" A slow smile. "Interesting. That could be rather fun." She caught his expression and waved a hand dismissively. "Remove that look from your face, princeling. I won't kill the boy — at least not until he's powerful enough to make it worth my while. I suppose I'll play at being human for a while."
Damien swallowed. Well. It had gone according to plan, more or less.
Nerezza left the same way she had arrived — unnoticed, unheard. It never ceased to amuse her, the blindness of humans. The way they moved through the world entirely unaware that they were not alone in it.
She was still smiling when she crossed into the lands of the Unseelie Court.
A large crowd had gathered in the arena, buzzing with anticipation for Rudh's execution. There were very few crimes in the Unseelie Court that warranted formal punishment — but attempting to dethrone the Black Queen Ballona was one of them. Executions of this kind were rare, which made them all the more festive. Nerezza felt no pity for the man. She had no patience for those who played the game without being prepared for it, and Rudh had been spectacularly unprepared — no allies, no powerful contacts, no plan worth the name. Even Nerezza wouldn't test her hand against Ballona.
The Black Queen arrived in a chariot carved from bone, driven by Threstals, her cloak a shifting mass of swirling souls. Shadows moved around her in a slow, terrible dance. The crowd fell completely silent as she passed — not out of reverence, but fear. Nerezza inhaled. She loved the scent of it.
She did not fear the Black Queen. She despised her. There was a difference.
The shrill cry of a banshee split the air, shattering the silence. The queen smiled. Banshees were known to wail at the foresight of death, and Rudh's death was a foregone conclusion. But it was not Rudh's death the banshee had seen. She kept that to herself, as she kept most things. She liked her quiet, solitary life well enough.
The screaming began shortly after — the second round of shrill cries that night, though these came from a different throat entirely. They went on for hours. Every inch of Rudh's life was drawn out slowly, the whip laced with a serum designed to make each stroke exponentially worse than the last. There was a deliberate pause between every blow. Time enough to breathe. Time enough to dread the next one.
The message sent out that night was perfectly clear. It was not wise to play games with the queen.