A Strange Hymn
Page 46

“I’ll say this for the Bargainer,” Temper says, “he throws a mean right hook. That pretty-boy king went down like a boner in church.”
Temper, ever the eloquent one.
“What’s a mate challenge?” I ask Malaki.
He frowns. “If a rival fairy disputes a bond, he or she can challenge a mate to a duel. It’s an old tradition, mostly used to either show off the worth of the mate being contended over, or as an insult if an outside fairy doesn’t think one of the mates is worthy of the other. Most of the time it’s simply a way for mates—usually male ones—to work off their aggression and establish their claim.”
Have I mentioned that fae traditions are weird? Because they so are.
“Never thought I’d see you again,” a familiar voice says at my back, shaking me from my thoughts. The sound of it raises all sorts of pleasant goosebumps along my skin.
Aetherial.
I turn just in time to see the fae soldier, dressed from head to foot in a buttery gold uniform, a sun emblem emblazoned on her breast. She’d languished in the cell next to me when we were Karnon’s prisoners.
“Aetherial!” It’s shocking to see her in the flesh, her angular face glowing and her blonde hair cropped short. I’d been blindfolded when I was escorted in and out of the cell, so I had only my imagination to go on when I talked to her. She’s taller and leaner than I imagined, her lips soft and pouty when I’d expected them to be thin and fierce.
Probably breaking all sorts of good etiquette, I pull her into a hug.
Rather than edging away, she hugs me back. When she does eventually release me, it’s to take me in.
“I have to admit, cleaned up, you’re even lovelier than the few glimpses I caught of you,” she says. Her eyes move to my wings. “Though I don’t remember those. Has Des given you the wine?”
“The wine?” I furrow my brows. “No, this—” my voice catches, “this was Karnon.” I swear his ghost must be here tonight because the dead king seems to be everywhere and in everything.
“Karnon managed that?” she raises her eyebrows, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I want to ask her what she means by that, but an even bigger question plagues me. “How did you … ?”
“Survive?” she fills in.
I nod. Last I remember, she’d been all but catatonic.
She shrugs. “Apparently I wasn’t beyond the point of no return when they found me. I hear I have your mate to thank for that.” Her eyes drift to where she last saw Des. “He seems … intense.”
I let out a hollow laugh.
“I heard,” she continues, “that after he was finished with Karnon, there wasn’t even a spare tooth left of the man.”
Unwelcome memories of that final encounter flit through the back of my mind.
“I was going to try to thank him tonight,” she admits, her features hardening. “I’ve had dreams of gutting that horned bastard.”
“Who’s your friend?” Temper, who’s been hanging on the periphery of our conversation, now inserts herself into it, sounding like a jealous lover.
“Aetherial, Temperance—Temperance, Aetherial,” I say, making introductions.
Aetherial takes Temper’s hand. “You must be the sorceress everyone’s talking about.” She brushes a kiss to the back of her hand. “Enchanted.”
There’s nothing that takes the wind out of Temper’s sails quite like a little flattery.
“Who are you?” Temper asks, a touch nicer than she would’ve otherwise been.
“A fellow former captive,” Aetherial says.
Our conversation trails off when the noise in the room dies down. Dozens of fae look to the side of the room. I follow their gazes in time to see Mara, Des, and Janus filing out of the side door they’d previously entered, Des wearing a dark expression.
I tense when I see the King of Day behind him, my palms beginning to sweat. He might not have abused me, but he delivered me to my abuser. In my mind, there’s hardly a distinction between the two.
“I need to get back to my duties,” Aetherial says, excusing herself. “Temperance, a pleasure to meet you.” She dips her head. “Callie, I hope to see you again soon.” And then she melts back into the crowd, working her way back to the very man that made it possible for her and I to meet.
As soon as Des catches sight of me, he disappears, reappearing at my side. His wings flare wide around me, pushing out everyone nearby—including Temper.
“I will go to war with him for this,” he growls. “I swear it to you.”
It takes me a second to catch up with the trajectory of Des’s thoughts. War. Janus. The Kingdom of Day. Revenge for my abduction.
“I won’t stop until I’ve toppled his throne and captured him,” Des continues. “I’ll imprison him in the Catacombs of Memnos, where my monsters will cut out his innards and feed them to hi—”
I press my hand against Des’s mouth.
Holy shit. I mean, ho-ly shit.
“Okay, so that’s super vivid, and I really appreciate where this is all coming from—”
He removes my hand. “Clearly I’ve been too soft and you too lenient if you don’t believe—”
Hand back on his mouth. “—but I’d really just like to get through the week without any other incidents,” I finish.
This time when Des pulls my hand away from his lips, he’s gentler, clasping my hand between his. “I cannot undo what’s been done, but I want to make things right for you.” His voice drops low. “I don’t want you to ever have to go through that experience again.”
He’s legit going to make me choke up.
“I won’t,” I say, my voice hoarse.
It’s an empty promise. Neither of us were able to stop my abduction from happening once before, who’s to say we could stop it from happening again? But sometimes you just need to make those stupid, empty promises for the benefit of everyone. “I can deal with the Day King for a week.”
A blatant lie because I’m pretty sure I can’t. I’m a chicken when it comes to facing down the bad men who’ve victimized me.
But somehow I’m just going to have to deal—both for Des’s sake and for mine.
Chapter 28
That night, I lay in Des’s arms, the stars back in the sky where they belong, my hair spilling around us. A few fairy lights hover in the air above us, giving the room a soft glow.
Des strokes my back, his movements stirring the feathers of his wings. My cheek presses against his warm chest. If ever I had a home, it would be right here.
“Tell me about your father,” I say, my own fingers idly tracing the muscles that run down his torso.
Des lets out a laugh devoid of mirth. “Did I scare you that much earlier?”
I lift my head and give him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”
His hand on my back pauses. When it resumes, it’s to draw idle pictures with his finger. I wonder, if he were handed a pencil and paper, what, exactly, those idle drawings would be of.
“They say I get my temper from my father,” he admits.
“Who says this?” I ask quietly.
“It’s known that the Night Kingdom’s royal bloodline is quick to anger,” he says, sidestepping the question. “It’s why my mother made me work so hard to control my anger, and it’s what made me particularly ruthless when I was with the Angels of Small Death.”