A Strange Hymn
Page 59

If my glamour worked, I would make every last fairy who stood idly by pay. But all I have is my body and my beliefs.
Making a split second decision, I drape myself over the woman, my winged back now exposed to the headsman.
She’s shaking with her fear; it only fuels my vengeance.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I whisper, my voice ethereal.
I hear the headsman step back. Beyond him, Malaki is shouting.
I look up at Mara, my wrath in my eyes.
You will pay.
I’m still staring at her when the snap of the whip echoes throughout the room. I feel the laceration a split second later.
With a sickening crunch, the delicate bones of my wings break under the blow. I gasp as pain floods my system. I can barely see through it.
Several bloody feathers float to the floor.
I have to tighten my grip on the shaking woman beneath me to keep myself between her and the headsman when I hear him draw back his arm again.
Beneath me, the servant is still shaking.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, glamour thick in my voice. I’m not going to let them get to her.
I hear the whip hiss through the air once more. This time, when it splits my flesh and crushes bone, I can’t hold back my scream, the sound horrifyingly harmonic.
I feel warm blood drip down my back as more feathers fall to the floor.
Twenty lashes. Eighteen more to endure.
At this rate, I will have no wings by the time the headsman is done with me.
Through my pain, I begin to laugh, feeling the horrified gazes of the crowd around me.
Isn’t that what I wanted? To be rid of my wings?
Suddenly, the once brightly lit room darkens. Leaves curl up and vines retreat, as though they’re repelled by the shadows. Darker and darker the room grows. The vines binding Malaki now dry up and waste away, allowing him to break his bonds.
The crowd was silent before, but now they’re quiet the way dead things are.
I hear the whip hiss through the air a third time.
It snaps as it strikes flesh, and I flinch, waiting for the pain. It never comes.
I glance up, and there Des is, the end of the whip in his fist, a line of blood sliding from his palm and down his wrist. He yanks the weapon out of the headman’s hand, tossing it aside.
“What is the meaning of this?” he says, his voice deceptively engaging. He spins in a circle, looking about the crowd. His power is filling the room, the space growing darker by the second, and the once blooming plants are now shriveling and dying.
I slide off of the human woman’s body, slumping to the side. I can’t move either of my wings; it feels like they’re one giant, open wound.
“What grand fun you all have been having while I’ve been away,” Des says to the room, his gaze lingering on Mara and the Green Man, both who are still seated on their thrones, “allowing my mate to be flayed alive.”
He is my vengeance. He is my violence. He is winged death come to deliver all these fairies to their fates. I nearly smile.
“Malaki,” he says, “take stock of who’s here. Make sure the Lord of Nightmares sends them his regards.”
“Gladly,” Malaki replies, shucking off the last of the dead vines that once bound him.
“And you—” Des turns to the headsman, his footfalls echoing ominously in the room as he approaches him, “you stupid fool. What were you thinking? Surely you know the rules: an injury deliberately inflicted on a fairy can be avenged by their mate.”
Des grabs the man’s arm, twisting it behind his back. He leans in close. “And I’m avenging.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s Solstice and there’s a neutrality agreement. The Bargainer is out for blood.
For the third time in that many minutes I hear the sickening snap of breaking bones as Des shatters the headsman’s arm. He doesn’t stop there, either. He breaks both of the man’s arms, and then his legs. In between blows, he whispers things into the headsman’s ear, and they must be horrible, for the fairy cries louder in response to them than he does the pain.
Just then, the double doors open, and a man with pointed ears is led inside by two Flora guards. Unlike the human woman dragged in earlier, this fae wears no cuffs.
All three of their steps falter at the sight in front of them—me with my bloody, broken wings, the mangled headsman, and ruthless Des, who looms over the fairy. And then there’s the captive room that neither speaks nor moves as they watch everything unfold.
“Who is this?” Des asks, peering at the fae man being escorted in.
My voice is entirely human when I respond, “That’s the man who abused this woman.” At least, I’m pretty sure that’s who it is. They said they were bringing him in.
Desmond glances at me for several seconds, and I can see how hard it is for him to make eye contact. Every moment he takes me in like this, with my wings bashed in, his fury and hatred seem to double. His gaze goes to the shackled woman next to me, and he must understand a little of what's going on, though he missed the trial itself.
Finally his eyes cut to the fairy being escorted in.
There are few beings that hate crimes against women as much as I do, but Des might be one of them.
The Bargainer stalks forward and grabs the man by the neck. The guards around Des protest, their gazes darting to Mara. But if they think she’ll intercede, they are sorely mistaken. The Flora Queen looks content to let the events play out as they will.
Des pulls the fairy in close, again whispering something into his latest target’s ear. Whatever Des says has a sobering effect on the man. Even dozens of feet away and distracted by pain, I notice the fairy’s eyes widen and his face pale at whatever my mate is saying.
And then Des begins dragging him past the guards and towards the dais. The Bargainer all but throws the fairy to the floor in front of Mara’s throne.
“Tell your queen what you intend,” he demands.
The fairy mumbles something, his head bowed.
“Louder.”
“I will take the slave’s remaining lashes as punishment,” he says.
Mara leans forward and places her chin in her hand. “As punishment for what precisely?”
I’m not sure whether Mara’s confused about what this man did to the woman, or if she’s just toying with him.
“For slee—” The fairy chokes, his words cutting off. I’ve experienced the sensation enough to know just what—or rather who—is behind it.
I glance at Des, who stands over him, his arms crossed and his jaw locked. Dangerous beauty—that’s what he is.
The fairy tries again. “For having se—” He begins to stutter, avoiding the one word he’s going to be forced to say.
Five seconds later, he gives up the fight. “For … raping her.”
The previously silent room now breaks out into scandalized whispers.
Mara raises her hand. “Silence!” she says, quieting the room.
Darkness sweeps across the hall, snuffing out candles, choking the life out of the plants growing along the walls.
Des levels his attention on Mara. “The only thing—the only thing—saving you from death is our oath,” he says, his voice quiet.
With those final words, Des stalks back to me, his wings fanning out behind him menacingly. With his heavy boots and massive frame, he looks like some dark prince that crawled out of the abyss.
Oh so carefully he scoops me up and strides down the aisle and out of the room with me in his arms.