Summary: Jude, Cardan, and Pellia head to Hollow Hall, where they encounter a few surprises—including a betrayal that could end everything. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 9168
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence, death.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER SEVEN
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
A/N: I barely edited/proofread this. What's that one meme? "No beta. We die like men." Something like that. Yeah.
Also, about what happens in this chapter...? I'm sorry in advance.
***
By the time Jude made her way back to her room, the pixie had helped herself to her host’s brushes and hair ties and rooted through her drawers looking for creams and cosmetics.
Cardan couldn’t blame her for the frustration she’d shown upon finding absolutely nothing; he had already decided that once he was turned back into himself, whether they were enemies or not—and truly, he wasn’t certain where they would stand—he would have to talk with Jude about her dismal lack of reverence for her poor skin.
Pellia had also taken it upon herself to loot the makeshift armoury beneath the bed and had found a sleek, curved knife—an assassin’s blade, she’d said, pointing out the hidden poison compartment in its hilt—which was now thrust through her belt. She’d also liberated a whetstone and was now sharpening the blade of the stolen guard’s sword, with no small amount of cursing as her shaky hands made the task more difficult.
Cardan didn’t miss the way Pellia flinched and froze momentarily at the creak of the door when Jude entered, balancing a tray of food on one hand and a steaming teapot in the other. He headbutted the door closed as she brought the tray to her vanity.
“Dinner rolls, vegetable and chicken soup, fruit—and tea, to help with the pain,” Jude announced.
“Chicken soup?”
Jude gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My sister likes to bring us human things sometimes. Here.” She nudged the tray toward Pellia. “And stop going through my stuff.”
The pixie smiled sweetly at the last part, fluttering ruby lashes at the mortal girl as if to say, Who, me? But she didn’t comment as she moved from the bed to the vanity. Cardan envied her ability to remain insolent in the face of Jude’s sharp-enough-to-cut-glass glare.
Pellia didn’t even flinch, just lifted the teapot one-handed, swore as she nearly dropped it, adjusted her grip, and poured, sloshing tea over the sides of her cup as she did. She set the pot down with a clunk and a grimace.
“What’s in it?” Pellia’s teacup was only half full, droplets running down the porcelain sides. She watched through the steam as Jude listed off a handful of herbs on her hands. Those ruby brows went up, an expression she seemed to make often.
“Girl, that’s not painkilling; that’s, like, all-sensation-in-my-entire-body killing.”
“If you don't want it—”
“No, I absolutely do. Please,” she added with a wince as Jude gripped the pot’s handle. Cardan wasn’t certain whether that wince had been borne of pain or out of the mere fact that she’d said please so genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm. He got the feeling it was both in equal measures.
As Pellia ate, Cardan joined Jude at her wardrobe to save her from committing egregious fashion sins. He hissed his disapproval to veto the tunic she was reaching for—grey on grey was not the look, especially when the leggings were a cool shade while the tunic carried warm undertones—and nosed the one beside it.
“Jude,” Pellia said quietly from her spot at the vanity. “We need to find Balekin as soon as possible. I read the letter to Madoc, and—hold on. Did you just take fashion advice from a cat? I wish I had that on video.”
Jude’s cheeks warmed slightly and Cardan meowed indignantly. I may be a cat but I still know how to dress! he wanted to shoot back.
At the same time, Jude demanded, “Why were you going through my stuff?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Her tone was, somehow, both genuinely confused and unbearably haughty, but before Jude could respond, Pellia waved it off and pointed out, “Anyway, you know cats can’t see the same colours we can, right?”
Cardan would have protested, but he had noticed colours were different, especially in the beginning. He was mostly used to it now, though, and he knew some of Jude’s wardrobe from memory anyway. This top in particular was a desaturated dark blue with green undertones, long sleeves, and a deep V-neck that she had first worn about a year ago. He knew that because the image of her in that shirt, the way it hugged her waist just right, had blazed in his mind every time he’d closed his eyes for a solid week afterward. He knew good fashion when he saw it.
“Stop changing the subject,” Jude snapped.
“I wasn’t, I just thought you should be aware that you are taking fashion advice from the equivalent of a half-blind—”
Cardan’s angry growl cut her off.
“Okay, alright, sorry,” she retreated. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, kitty.”
“The letter,” Jude demanded.
“Right, yes. The deal I made with our favourite prince was that he wouldn’t harm my sister so long as I did what he wanted. But if Balekin thinks I’m dead, then there’s no more deal. There’s no one holding him accountable.” Her hands curled into fists on the hem of her borrowed tunic. “I don’t want to think about what he might do to her then.”
“You—”
“Should have thought the deal through more and made him promise to release her once I’d caught Catboy over here?” she snapped. “Yeah, I know. I was a bit panicked, considering my fourteen-year-old human sister was kidnapped by Elfhame’s soggiest piece of toast.”
“I—what?”
“Haven’t you ever, like, spilled water on your toast? And then it gets all gross and mushy? It’s literally the worst.”
Jude shook her head. “I can’t say I have. But regardless, I wasn’t trying to blame you for it. I was just going to say, you don’t look like you’re in the best shape to go tonight. Maybe we should wait a day.”
“No.” Pellia’s tone was sharp, her eyes flinty, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can do what I have to. I don’t care about myself; I just need Amber to get home safe.” More quietly, she added, “Please.”
Jude breathed deeply, then sighed. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. I can tell I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, so we’ll go tonight. But for now, rest.”
Pellia nodded, one corner of her mouth tweaking upward in an almost-smile. “Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude in the pixie’s red eyes was the nicest emotion Cardan had seen yet. It almost made her seem approachable.
“Try to eat something,” Jude instructed, heading into her small bathing room. “I’ll be back.”
Pellia gave a distracted wave of assent and mumbled something that could have been, “Try to stop me,” through a mouthful of soft bread. She ate quietly for a while, supplementing the meal with sips of tea.
“This stuff’s strong,” she remarked with a nod of approval toward the teapot. “Painkilling, indeed.”
Cardan would have missed the next thing she said, breathed into her teacup as she sipped, had he not been bestowed the lovely gift of heightened cat hearing: “Maybe if I drink enough it’ll kill my emotions, too.”
He twitched his ears, letting out a short mrrow of laughter. The pixie glanced at him and huffed, something between a smirk and a wry smile crossing her lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought the same thing. You want some?”
In previous times, Cardan might have said yes. Yes, tea to fix the ache in his heart. Yes, tea to let him drink away the piercing, twisting blade in his gut each time his father overlooked him or his brother tossed an insult his way. Yes, because he was empty and miserable and he loathed it, loathed himself, loathed everything about this world and his place in it.
But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.
Pellia, apparently, hadn’t missed a single one of the thoughts or feelings flickering across his face. She hummed, setting her cup down to take a spoonful of soup.
“Perhaps I did you a favour then, dear prince.”
Cardan flattened his ears at that. Certainly he had been more content in these weeks with Jude than he had been—perhaps ever in his entire life—but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was deserving of his thanks.
“Or not.” Again, Pellia had read his thoughts on his face.
The hair along his spine puffed up involuntarily. It was unnerving—how she could read him so easily, even in this form, even having never known him.
“Don’t worry, kitty,” she smirked. “I won’t tell her how much you’ve enjoyed being her pet. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. In response, Cardan gave her an eyeroll of epic proportions.
It only served to make her laugh, which seemed to cause her pain, judging by her wince and the way she downed the remaining tea in her cup. Despite himself, Cardan felt a small amount of smug satisfaction at that fact.
It didn’t last long. Her eyes fixed on his in a way he just knew was meant to be antagonistic. Then she dipped a corner of her bread in the soup and proceeded to chew with her mouth open. He glared back, ears flattened, and hissed his most menacing hiss. He wished Jude would hurry up with her bath. At least she wasn’t annoying on purpose, unlike Pellia, who seemed to delight in getting the last word.
Rather than sit here with the pixie, Cardan headed for the balcony door, which Jude always left slightly ajar for him. But as he slipped outside, he heard Pellia call, “Don’t you want to stay and supervise me? Make sure I don’t get into trouble or steal her prized possessions or something?”
He turned back with a grumble because, damnit, she was right. If he left, nothing was stopping her from putting her grubby little hands all over everything in Jude’s room. Not that he would be much help if she did decide that was what she wanted to do—he was a cat and she was clearly trained in combat and treachery—but at least he would know she had done something. He could tell Jude, and Jude could end the pixie’s whole career with one punch. He’d seen her training, knew how fast she could move and what strength was hidden in her mortal bones. Jude was beautiful and deadly, and Pellia was roughly five feet tall and had just spilled tea on the desk while trying to pour herself another cup.
So Cardan stayed, and Pellia continued to be dreadful by the mere fact of her existence and without even doing anything at all.
They were quiet for a long while, Pellia staring across the room to the window as she ate small portions at a time, and Cardan shifting awkwardly every now and then. Pellia turned her unnatural gaze toward him, considering. His skin prickled. He wasn’t fond of the way she seemed to be sizing him up, fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her head, manipulating him into some undoubtedly terrifying plan as though he were a pawn at her disposal. He fought the twitching whiskers that were the cat equivalent of a laugh. She noticed regardless, and her own lips quirked up in a tiny, barely-there smile that didn’t match the hollow, aching look in her eyes.
She glanced away, blinking. When she looked back again, Cardan almost couldn’t see that depth hidden behind her bravado. Almost.
“Listen, kitty,” she began. Her mouth opened slightly, and she floundered a moment before she was able to force the next words through her lips on a quivering breath. “No matter how we prepare, this isn’t going to go how we plan it. Guaranteed.”
She set her tea down and wiped her hands on Jude’s borrowed clothes. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the dagger in her belt, following its curves, tracing the seam around the top of its hilt. She nodded to herself, as if confirming something, before her eyes flicked up to meet his own again.
“We need to plan for betrayal. From all sides.” Cardan's skin prickled under the intensity of her eyes boring into his. Slowly, he nodded, flicking his ears forward.
I’m listening, the gesture said.
A grim, determined smile played across the pixie’s face. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking…”
~ ~ ~
Jude towel-dried and braided her wet hair after her bath. She had taken her time to soak and wash as she sorted through everything that was unfolding. Pellia’s explanation of why she was here in the first place, as well as confirming Balekin as the mastermind behind it all, had helped, but it didn’t solve things completely.
Neither Jude nor the pixie knew why Balekin had bothered with Cardan’s cat-metamorphosis in the first place, instead of just killing him the way Jude suspected he’d had done to Dain. Although, she supposed, considering Dain was widely thought to be the most popular contender for the next High King, it would make sense that Balekin might want him out of the way. And Cardan—pre–cat era, of course—was cruel and a menace, and would have presented less of a threat.
“Still seems like it would have been simpler to just kill him,” Jude mumbled to herself, then immediately felt bad for entertaining the thought.
She dressed quickly before leaving the bathroom, a habit she had gotten into since discovering her feline friend was actually the missing faerie prince.
In her room, she found that Pellia had finished eating and passed out on the bed, curled on top of the sheets. Her dishes were arranged neatly on the vanity.
Cardan chirped softly in greeting from his spot by the window.
“Has she been out long?” Jude whispered.
Cardan flicked his tail and stood for a long, languid stretch.
Jude sighed. “You could at least try to communicate with me.”
The annoyance that flared in response to Cardan’s answering yawn was quickly dampened as he twined between her feet, demanding to be picked up. She obliged.
“By tomorrow, you’ll be yourself again,” she told him, scratching the soft fur on his jaw. He purred at her touch, and she tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart ache. She wasn’t sure when she had grown so fond of him. Maybe, after this was over, she would get a cat. It wouldn’t be the same, though.
A sudden apprehension struck her. “Either that, or we’ll all be dead.”
Cardan’s purring halted abruptly at the words, and he twisted in her arms to meet her gaze, his amber eyes steady and determined. Softly, he rested one fuzzy front paw over Jude’s heart, giving her a slow blink.
There was something in his gaze, an emotion that took Jude a moment to decipher: trust. A small, hesitant smile fought its way onto her lips, and Cardan chirped softly, stretching out to poke her nose with his own.
Then he flopped bonelessly back into her arms, lifting his chin so she could scratch his favourite spot.
Jude rolled her eyes and released her grip on him. “Oops.”
He scrambled as he tumbled from her arms, somehow still managing to land gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he strutted away, nose in the air.
She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile as she began gathering the supplies they would need to confront Balekin, leaving the cat prince of Elfhame to sulk.
~ ~ ~
The moon was sinking low in the ever-lightening sky as the trio made their way toward Hollow Hall once more. Pellia set the pace, a steady march, while Jude brought up the rear with the lithe black form of Cardan riding fluidly on her shoulder. She had quickly discovered that walking behind her was the only way she could reliably keep track of the pixie’s movements. The red-haired girl moved so quietly, her steps often syncing with Jude’s own. Despite their truce, Jude didn’t entirely trust the other girl at her back.
They walked in silence for the first half of the journey, the only sounds coming from their soft footfalls on the leaf-littered floor and the whisper of wind through the Milkweeds. Then Pellia stopped abruptly, and Jude promptly collided with the other girl’s back. Cardan meowed in alarm, scrambling to keep his place on Jude’s shoulder. His claws dug through her shirt and into her skin.
“Thanks for the warning,” Jude quipped, as equally annoyed at the cat prince as at Pellia.
“Ow,” Pellia accused. “That was rude.”
“You just stopped with no warning.”
“My bad. I didn’t realise I needed your permission to stop walking.”
“You—”
“Look,” Pellia interrupted, pointing at a low bush a few steps into the underbrush. Its dark leaves were glossy and adorned with sharp points. There was some kind of black berry clinging to the stems. The pixie crouched next to the bush and began picking the fruit.
“You’re hungry?” Jude didn’t know Pellia very well, but after the way she’d refused to wait any longer to go after her sister, she was a little taken aback by the pixie’s apparent lack of focus. Then again, stopping for a picnic was certainly unexpected, and nothing about Pellia had been predictable so far.
Jude stepped forward to take a closer look. The berries, which she’d thought were black, actually appeared to be a deep red in colour and were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were clustered in twos and threes, but Pellia twisted them off the plant one at a time.
“Never heard of it.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” The redhead shrugged. “Most people think it’s mildly poisonous—stomach cramps, excessive sweating, maybe vomiting a bit of blood for a day or two if you’re really unlucky—so it isn’t really gathered much. But actually—” she unsheathed the assassin’s dagger and pierced the flesh of a particularly large berry—“it’s a powerful analgesic.”
Pellia brought the punctured berry to her lips and sucked the juice out. It deflated like a juiced orange.
“Pellia!” Jude exclaimed, trying to grab the fruit from the pixie’s hand. She was too late. The pixie had already swallowed it, leaving the skin slightly deflated. Jude’s hands curled into fists. “I really don’t think vomiting blood is something you need to add to your condition right now.”
The pixie just laughed. “Do you actually think I’d eat something that I just told you was poisonous?”
“It is a distinct possibility.” From his spot on her shoulder, Cardan made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.
“Shut it, catboy,” Pellia rolled her eyes. “It’s only the skin that you can’t eat. Look.” She peeled the skin back to reveal a pulpy red interior. It looked like a warfield. “The juice is safe to ingest—and, like I said, it’s a great painkiller.” She grinned a seemingly-bloody smile, her teeth stained from the sanguineberry juice. “If you eat the skin though, then it’s a pain causer.”
“Ha ha,” Jude deadpanned. She was about done with this conversation. “Time’s ticking. We need to go.”
Pellia nodded, suddenly serious. “I just need to collect some of these first.”
At Jude’s slight frown, the pixie smirked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”
~ ~ ~
“Where did you come from?!”
The guard on patrol outside Hollow Hall was easy to sneak up on and easier to dispatch. Pellia had barely finished quipping, “Your mom’s house,” by the time Jude had the guard on the ground, face in the dirt. He was thrashing, demanding to know about his mother and whether she was safe.
“My humour is lost on you,” the pixie sighed.
“That was supposed to be funny?” It seemed more like psychological warfare than humour to Jude, but then, maybe that was what Pellia found humorous.
“At least he gets it,” Pellia shrugged, gesturing to Cardan, whose whiskers were twitching in a cat’s smile.
They left the guard—incapacitated but alive—behind and headed for the door. They halted at the sound of a voice.
“Alas returns the lost prince,” it said.
Cardan growled. Jude’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. Pellia let out an impressive string of curses at the sight of the enchanted door and its inhuman face. Her dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.
“I thought you’d been here before,” Jude said. “This seems like a pretty difficult thing to miss.”
“I didn’t use the front door that time,” Pellia said, scowling at the enchanted face. “I’d heard about this thing but what the hell—who dreamed you up?”
“What would your mother think of that vocabulary?” the door chided. “Or that nursemaid of hers, for that matter? What was her name—Annie? No: Angela! I’m assuming she’s the one who raised you? Spirited you away so you couldn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?”
“How do you—actually, nevermind. You’re creepy and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Pellia moved to shove the door open, but it spoke again.
“Ah, ah. Tell me where you’ve been hiding all of these years?” it rasped. “It mustn't have been on the Isles, or I would have known.”
Pellia gritted her teeth so hard that Jude could have sworn she heard them creaking. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was turning her knuckles white. “One more word and I dig the point of this into your eye,” she threatened.
The door swung open.
With a last glare at the enchanted door, Pellia dragged Jude and Cardan inside. She led them out of sight of the entrance and its magical guardian before turning to face Jude.
“From here on, we split up,” she said.
Jude nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to find your sister while I go after Balekin?”
Pellia gave the other girl a half-smile. “I’m sure,” she said. Jude’s frown deepened as the pixie added, “I need you to promise me something.”
“What…?”
“I need you to promise that, no matter what you see, you won’t interfere. Balekin is my fight. I just need you to find my sister.” Pellia’s eyes were blazing once again with that same determination. It sent a chill down Jude’s spine.
After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. “Okay. You get Balekin. I’ll find Amber.”
“Thank you. And good luck.”
“You too.”
Pellia turned her ruby gaze on Cardan, and they locked eyes. “Ready, catboy?”
Mrrroow, he responded.
Pellia smiled then slipped away, practically melting into the shadows.
~ ~ ~
“She’s kind of annoying, but I hope she doesn’t get herself killed,” Jude said. She was following Cardan through the crooked stone walls of his one-time home.
Was it still? He wasn’t so sure. Although he could never say so, when he closed his eyes and thought about home, the image he found was starting to look less like Hollow Hall or the Palace and more like whitewashed walls, wooden beams, and smoky windows. It was starting to look like the arms of a mortal girl who had dedicated so much time and effort into returning his sorry self to fey form.
Cardan turned into a small room—a closet, really, and scratched at the carpeted floor. Jude got the hint, running her fingers over the rug until she found the catch in one corner where it didn’t quite fit so snugly against the wall. She drew it back to reveal a trap door and, beneath that, a ladder extending into the darkness.
“Fantastic,” she muttered. “I hope I’m not about to lower myself into a hole in the ground for no good reason.”
Cardan was half-amused and half-insulted by the implication in her words. She’ll be there, he wanted to say, but he could only chirp reassuringly.
Jude scratched under his chin with one finger before inviting him to climb up onto her shoulder.
Happily, he purred.
At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel ran out to either side. He kept watch to make sure no one was coming, his feline eyes comfortable in the dim light. When they reached the bottom, Cardan gave a soft mrrow and gestured to the rightmost path.
The tunnel was wide but low. Had he been in his own body, Cardan would have had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his head against the earthen ceiling. As it was, Jude had a couple of inches to spare, even at the lowest points, and Cardan was able to cling to her shoulder as she walked. This suited him just fine—he didn’t find the damp, earthy scent particularly appealing, and he didn’t want it all over his paws, thank you very much.
The tunnel began to slope downward and continued like that for another hundred metres or so. Amber’s makeshift cell was at the bottom of that slope.
The rooms beneath Hollow Hall weren’t meant to house prisoners—not really. They were a safety precaution and a way to sneak around, known only by Balekin, Cardan, and a small handful of Balekin’s inner circle.
Amber was being held in the hastily blocked off back half of an alcove that Cardan distinctly remembered as having been used to store unopened wine casks at some point. On a hook set into the hard-packed earthen wall was a key, dangling alone on a large keyring. The metal bars of the cell looked like they had been repurposed from a fence or a gate somewhere. A bucket in the corner served as a chamberpot, and a few cushions and a blanket was her bed.
All in all, it was better than Cardan had expected, considering his brother’s habitual treatment of humans.
“Amber?” Jude asked, stepping into the alcove. The girl at the back of the cell looked up. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her mousey brown hair was tattered, her brown eyes wide and cautious as they took in the girl and cat before her. A smatter of freckles stood out against sickly skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks.
The girl sat up a little straighter. “The others weren’t. The servants. They’re like zombies.”
Cardan could hear Jude swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her brow furrowed, her jaw tightening.
“I’m awake,” she promised. “I’m Jude. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”
That got the girl’s attention. Amber’s whole face lit up and she was suddenly on her feet. Cardan couldn’t imagine feeling that much excitement toward any of his siblings, even the not-so-bad ones.
“Pellia’s here?” Hope was blossoming on Amber’s features, brightening her eyes and bringing her back to life.
“She is,” Jude said, grabbing the key to the cell door. “We’re getting you out.”
With a metallic click and an aching groan, the door to the cell swung out, and Amber followed, throwing her arms around Jude. The young girl’s relief was palpable. When her eyes started to water, it sent a pang through Cardan’s heart, so strong he had to look away.
That was why he was the first to see the figure that loomed out of the dark tunnel: Madoc.
“I was hoping it would not come to this,” the Redcap’s voice rumbled off the walls. Jude spun around, shoving the girl behind her.
“Madoc,” she said. Cardan knew her well enough by now to recognise the slight tilt of unease on her mouth, the way her breathing sped up ever-so-slightly when she was surprised, just for a heartbeat, before she steadied it again. He felt the hair along his back stand straighter in response to Jude’s emotions.
Apparently Madoc could read her too. “You think I was unaware all this time that you were sneaking around with that?” He jerked his chin in Cardan’s direction, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.
“A cat?” Jude said, eyes narrowing.
Cardan hissed, half at Madoc and half at Jude for acting like he was some common stray—he knew her angle, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“You are too intelligent to think I would believe that you have not figured out who that is. You broke into my office, stole my correspondence, and expected that I would not notice? Unlikely.”
Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She was edging away from the open cell and toward the freedom of the alcove, nudging Amber along with her.
“Not really.” Madoc rested a hand on his sword hilt, a subtle threat. “Stop shuffling and put the girl back in the cell.”
Jude’s hand found the hilt of her own sword. “No.”
The identical shiiiing! of two swords being unsheathed simultaneously sang into the damp earthen tunnels. Cardan leaped to grab hold of Amber, trying to drag her out of harm’s way as Jude and her foster father faced off.
There was no escape with Madoc blocking the alcove entrance, so Cardan nudged the mortal girl toward the wall, where she could slip behind the open door. That way, Madoc wouldn’t be able to corral them back into the cell. A quick glance up showed him a wide-eyed, white-faced Amber. He clambered up to her shoulder and leaned in, forcing a purr in an effort to comfort her.
As steel rang against steel, Cardan tried to figure out if the trembling he was feeling was Amber’s or his own. Probably both.
He flattened his ears as Madoc slid his blade down the length of Jude’s, bringing him inside her guard. She tried to shove him back but he disengaged with a quick twist and sent her stumbling back. As she fell, the sachet of protective herbs she kept on a cord around her neck slipped from under her tunic. Madoc lashed out with one green clawed hand, snapping it from her neck.
Cardan could feel the magic tingling in the air as the Redcap opened his mouth to speak.
He couldn’t let Madoc glamour Jude.
That was the only thought on the cat prince’s mind as launched himself, all claws and teeth and feline fury—straight onto Madoc’s face. Hissing and spitting, Cardan clung to the older fey, raking his nails across green skin until blood oozed from various wounds.
Madoc screamed—in pain and anger, deep and earth-rumbling and vicious. His sword fell from his grip, hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. He clawed at the cat whose nails were so deeply embedded in his skin, howling the whole time. His hands were bruising, grasping Cardan around the chest and neck, and try as he might, the prince couldn’t fight him off.
Thankfully, there was no need: Jude, recovering her feet and her weapon, saw the opportunity as it presented itself. She planted one foot against the wild, reeling Redcap’s hip and shoved.
Her foster father stumbled back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. Cardan sprang away as he fell into the cell. Amber, still behind the door, slammed it shut, and the lock engaged with a loud click!
No one spoke. Jude pocketed the key, and she and Madoc stared at each other for a long time, their panting breaths—one tired, one angry—the only sounds in the subterranean room. Slowly, Jude picked up the sachet of herbs from where it had fallen. She re-knotted the broken cord and strung it over Amber’s neck.
“To keep you safe from glamours,” she explained, but her voice seemed quiet and far away, as though it had been swallowed by the earth.
Blood roared in Cardan’s ears. He tried to take stock of his body—was everything intact? He twitched his tail, his ears, then did a full-body shake. Nothing hurt too badly. His ribs and neck were a little sore from where Madoc had grabbed him, but nothing was broken, no blood drawn.
Not mine, at least, he thought, flexing blood-sticky claws. He shuddered. There was no way he was cleaning that off the cat way.
A hand brushed his shoulder and he looked up into walnut eyes. Jude. He climbed into the proffered arms. She felt warm and solid, and Cardan could almost feel the tension of the past few minutes drain from his body.
“Thank you,” Jude whispered.
She cast one more glance at her foster father, whose hands were wrapped around the metal bars, before taking the Amber’s hand and leading her out of the alcove.
“Let’s go get your sister.”
~ ~ ~
The silver-eyed prince was in his room when she found him.
The heavy wooden door was cracked open, a sliver of wavering torchlight spilling out into the hallway. An invitation, taunting. Apparently, Balekin was expecting her.
So much for the element of surprise. She almost wanted to laugh, to release the nervous energy that was curling in her stomach, rendering her body electric with anticipation.
This is it. She was either going to free Cardan and save her sister… or die trying. Hopefully the first option, but still, her mind spun. Everything felt so similar to the first time—when she’d arrived in Faerie to confront Balekin, furious and fear-filled—and look how badly that had gone, her mind insisted.
She shook her head, as though doing so could dislodge the thoughts from her brain. She’d been stupid that time, rushing in with no plan, wielding weapons and white-hot rage as her tools of revenge. This time, she was ready. This time, she had a plan and allies and she knew what she was facing. This time, she was writing the rules.
Pellia drew her sword, the one she’d stolen from the Palace guard what felt like aeons ago. Raising it to deflect a surprise attack, she pushed the door open with one foot and stepped inside.
The centre of the room was empty except for the large area rug covering the flagstones, the furniture pushed back against the walls. In a large armchair at the far side of the room, his loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway to expose his bare chest, sat Balekin.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in,” he sneered. He held a goblet in one hand, swirling its contents idly. A naked sword was propped against the armrest next to him. “Where’s your entourage?”
Pellia said nothing, just moved farther into the room.
“Nothing to say today? No witty remarks?”
She stopped at the edge of the rug and Balekin tsked. “Boring,” he said. “I thought you’d be more interesting now, not less. Maybe your sister’s life on the line is taking its toll, hm?”
“And whose fault is that?” Pellia responded, red eyes meeting silver.
The prince smirked. “She would have been safe if you had upheld your end of the bargain.”
“I did my part!” The words slipped from her mouth without any forethought. Her sword point was aimed at Balekin’s chest, like he wasn’t half a room away. Pellia gritted her teeth, calming her voice. “I did my part,” she repeated. “I was working for you. I was following your orders. I couldn’t have done anything else.”
Balekin hummed noncommittally. “I must say, I thought you would be a little more difficult to catch. You disappointed me, Nerium.”
“You’d know about disappointments,” she said acidly. “And can we talk about the whole ordering-to-kill-me thing, ‘cause that wasn’t part of the deal! They fucking tortured me, and I didn’t talk, but you couldn’t even do a little thing like not order my death?!”
“You were a liability.”
“Fuck off.”
“And so the teeth come out,” he chuckled. “Does that not feel better?”
“Things will be ‘better’ when I have my sister, and you’re six feet under,” Pellia snapped.
Balekin smirked. “Bold words, considering you’re the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.”
“Respectfully,” Pellia said, trying hard to keep a leash on her temper, “if one more dumbfuck sentence like that comes out of your mouth, I am going to violate the Geneva Convention.”
When Balekin’s face flickered with confusion, she said, “War crimes. I’m going to commit war crimes.”
The dark prince smirked. “You plan to fight me? In that state?” He laughed, a full-belly laugh that made Pellia want to throttle him.
She knew it wasn’t the best plan. She knew she was weak, still unhealed from her injuries and recovering from torture and starvation. But she had no other choice. She would fight, and maybe she would even get in a few good cuts before he took her down. She just had to keep him occupied long enough for Jude and Cardan to free her sister.
“Are you scared?” she taunted.
Balekin chuckled again, recognising the bait for what it was. “I am not the one who should be afraid,” he said, draining the contents of his goblet and trading the cup for his sword. He rose to his feet. “Try not to bleed all over my carpet.”
Torchlight flickered off live steel as they circled, each tracking the other’s every move. Their feet shuffled across the rug. The fireplace crackled in the background.
Maybe, if she was lucky, Pellia could get the first hit—incapacitate him early and end the fight before he could take advantage of her injured state.
Fast as a snake, she struck, aiming for the muscle between his neck and shoulder with an overhead slash. Balekin met her attack, deflecting her sword and shoving his own point-first toward her throat.
She swayed out of the way just in time, though his blade did catch the side of her neck. Blood welled from the scratch. Pellia ignored it, stepping into him in an attempt to catch him off guard. Steel screamed against steel as her blade slid down the length of his. They were locked toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth as the prince pressed down harder. This may not have been her brightest idea, and she knew he recognised it too.
“Bad choice,” he said and hooked her ankle with one foot. Pellia went down. Her back hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs. She had just enough sense to roll out of the way before Balekin’s sword plunged down, piercing the rug where she had been a heartbeat before.
Pellia scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and brought her sword back to the guard position. She was moving on autopilot, her muscles taking over while her dazed mind caught up. Balekin let her rise, smirking.
They circled again, the prince’s movements smooth and predatory while Pellia was still trying to catch her breath. Her fractured rib burned, but she pushed the pain aside, blinking rapidly. She just had to keep him occupied until Cardan found them.
This time, Balekin attacked first. He went low, slashing for her thighs, and Pellia brought her own sword down to meet him. The clash of their weapons rang off the stone walls.
She disengaged, knocking his blade away, and that was when she saw the opening. With all her strength, Pellia lunged forward, her swordpoint thrusting for his heart—
Balekin’s smile was that of a predator, baring its teeth as it moved in for the kill. He swayed out of harm’s way, caught her wrist in one hand, and threw her across the room.
Pellia soared.
During the brief moment she was in the air, she found herself hoping that Cardan wouldn’t be too angry with her for failing. She hoped he and Jude would find Amber and help her get home. She hoped her sister would be okay without her.
Then Pellia slammed into the ground.
~ ~ ~
Jude followed close on Cardan’s heels as he led the way through the stone corridors of Hollow Hall. She held her sword ready in one hand, holding onto Amber’s wrist with the other. She tried not to be frustrated at the slow but steady pace they were setting—it wasn’t fair to expect Amber to keep up after having been locked in a cell for who knows how long.
Still, she worried about Pellia facing Balekin alone when she was already injured. She would need to be one hell of a fighter to have a shot at winning that match up, and while she carried herself like someone who was capable, Jude didn’t get the sense that Pellia knew when to back down.
Which is why, despite her promise not to interfere, Jude wanted to be there to step in if it looked like Balekin had the upper hand. But first, she had to get there.
The sound of clashing steel rang out in the next corridor. Jude slowed as she rounded the corner. Halfway down the hall was an open door that spilled light from within and, about ten feet earlier, a shallow alcove. The trio stopped before it.
“Stay here,” Jude said to Amber, tucking her into the space. “And hang onto this—just in case.” Jude unsheathed the long dagger at her hip, handing it to the girl.
“Is Pellia in—” Amber started, brown eyes wide. She was craning her neck to see past Jude to the open door.
“Yes,” Jude said, pushing the girl back gently and forcing her to meet her eyes. “And I’m going to help her but you need to stay here, got it? I can’t help Pellia and watch out for you.”
Swallowing, Amber nodded, taking the weapon.
It was confirmation enough for Jude. She headed for the open doorway, Cardan racing at her heels—and stopped just inside the threshold, in time to see Pellia crash into the rug-covered floor.
Jude winced, stepping farther into the room, sword raised. Cardan hurtled past her to stand between the downed pixie and the menacing form of his older brother. Balekin regarded the cat calmly, spun his own sword, and glanced sideways at Jude.
“Oh, look: your friends have come to your rescue,” he taunted as Cardan hissed, hair puffed and claws out.
Pellia was on her back, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to recover the air that had been forced from her lungs. Cardan put one soft black paw on her shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she coughed.
Balekin looked almost annoyed. “Having others fight your battles for you, Nerium?” he said. “I thought you had more pride than that.”
Still breathless, Pellia struggled to sit up. “I do,” she said, swaying and blinking hard. She looked at the mortal girl, red eyes meeting walnut. “Jude, you promised.”
Jude’s lips thinned, displaying her scepticism. She searched the other girl’s face, trying to find something to indicate the pixie was okay, but Pellia was pale and swaying unsteadily.
Yes, she had promised not to step in. But if she didn’t, the chances of Pellia being alive to take her sister home at the end of this were slim. Jude tightened her grip on her weapon.
“Pellia—” Jude started, but the pixie cut her off.
“No,” she snapped. “This is my fight.”
Balekin laughed. “Stubborn to the end. Will you still feel that way when I run you through?”
Pellia smiled back, cold and ruthless. “Violence isn’t the only way to do battle, Balekin. You’re playing my game now; maybe next time you should read the rules.”
She grabbed Cardan by the scruff of his neck, hauling the cat toward her and climbing to her feet. He scrambled as she lifted him into the air, flailing against her hold until she drew her stolen dagger. She placed its tip against the delicate skin of Cardan’s throat, and he stopped struggling.
She’s going to kill him, Jude thought, stunned. She could feel the blood draining from her face. After everything, she’s going to kill him. And she’s going to use my knife to do it.
Balekin was less stunned. “You won’t kill him,” he chuckled.
“No?” Pellia gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt. “And why's that?”
“What would you gain? Killing him won't get you your sister back.” Disdain coloured the prince’s voice, but there was something else, something other—the slightest tinge of uncertainty hiding in the space between his words.
Pellia nodded, considering. “Maybe not. But what do you really know about me?” Her breathing was heavy and pained. Her eyes bore into Balekin's with a fury so hot it could have started a wildfire. “Killing him might not get me my sister back, but it sure as hell will cause you some issues,” she spat.
The fey prince was quiet for a long moment, calculating. Jude’s heart dropped all the way to her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from Pellia to Balekin, from hot, wild rage to cool, quiet calculation. Then Balekin straightened, an ugly half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I do not think you have an accurate read on my relationship with my little brother,” he explained. The words were oily smooth and indifferent. Jude wanted to scratch them off her skin. “I would not cry if he were gone. I do not care for him the way you care for that mortal brat.”
The reference to Amber caused the pixie to flinch. "I didn’t say you cared," she snapped back. “I don’t think for a moment that you'd be sad over his loss—you’d have to have a heart for that.” She held Cardan higher and stepped closer to Balekin. “I just think it would cause you some problems. How can you be his benevolent saviour if he's dead? How can you manipulate someone who owes you nothing?”
Balekin opened his mouth to speak, but Pellia shook the cat, pressing the knife closer. Cardan squawked in alarm, and his brother fell silent.
“Isn't that your plan?” she ranted, voice rising. “Isn’t it?! Massacre your family, but keep him—” she nodded to the cat hanging uncomfortably by his scruff “—safe, so you can play the saviour? So he’ll be indebted when you find the antidote to the spell that made him this way? I’m not done,” she snapped as Balekin drew breath to speak.
Veins were pulsing in the dark fey prince’s forehead, his eyes a rage-filled inferno. His jaw was so tight Jude could almost hear his teeth creaking under the strain. Any moment now, he would erupt.
“You don’t care about Cardan,” Pellia continued, “only his royal lineage. You just need someone to put the crown on your head. Well, news flash, buddy,” she scoffed, “it won’t be him.”
Balekin lunged for Pellia with an inarticulate roar. She must have seen it coming as Jude had, though, and a quick sidestep carried her out of harm’s way. The fey prince’s momentum carried him forward to trip over Pellia’s extended ankle and he skidded across the floor to stop at Jude's feet.
Jude, who jumped backward to avoid a collision. Jude, who looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. Jude, who couldn’t hide her look of complete and utter horror at the sight before her. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and also as though it were trying to beat out of her chest. Her body was numb. She stared.
Balekin turned, too, his sword falling from his grip as he beheld the scene taking place.
“You bitch—” he snarled.
Across the room, Pellia crouched to lay the still body of Cardan on the floor. Darkness coated his cat's chest, a red stain seeping into the carpet beneath him. Jude’s dagger in her hand ran red from hilt to tip.
When she spoke, the pixie’s voice was quiet. Flat.
“What's your plan now, Balekin?”
Jude could barely tear her gaze away to see the prince’s reaction. His face contorted with fury, a hate so black it nearly seeped the light from the room. Balekin screamed and charged for Pellia—then stopped.
He looked down. The silver point of Jude’s sword protruded from his stomach. The anger fell from his face as she tried to figure out what it meant, what had happened. When Jude yanked her blade from his body with a slight squelch, he swayed, stumbled forward, then fell at Pellia's feet.
Jude barely noticed. She was halfway to Cardan, scrambling, the floor feeling oddly immaterial beneath her feet, when Pellia’s voice rang out, laced thick with glamour:
“Stop,” she commanded, and Jude felt her feet freeze beneath her.
Those stupid herbs. In trying to uphold her end of the deal, in trying to help Amber before all else, she had given up the one thing that had protected her against the glamour. She threw herself against the magic restraining her, but still her feet remained locked to the ground.
Panic began to creep through Jude’s veins and hot tears burned her eyes.
“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in Pellia’s magical hold. "Let me see him!"
The pixie looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you, Jude,” she said. She sounded sincere. It meant nothing.
“Fuck you!” Jude’s voice broke over the words. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “How could you?! He did nothing! You were supposed to help him—you're a liar!”
Pellia shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, then, glamour lacing her voice again, she ordered, "Please, be quiet."
The air rushed from Jude's lungs. No matter how much she screamed and sobbed, no sound came out. With silent tears streaming down her face, she collapsed to her knees.
Pellia turned back to Balekin. Panting from the pain of his wound, he had struggled his way onto all fours and drawn a knife. It was a simple matter to knock one hand from under him, sending the prince crashing face-first into the carpeted floor. Pellia lowered herself to a crouch beside him and laid the edge of her dagger under his jaw.
“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “Let's not do that, shall we? You lost. Now tell me: what did you use to bind the cat spell?”
“What does it matter?” Balekin snarled. “You’ve already killed him.”
“Humour me.” Pellia’s voice was sweet and deadly, dripping honey over a razor sharp blade. “I’m ever so curious.”
When he still refused, she applied pressure to the weapon at his throat. A thin line of blood sprang up where the blade met flesh, and the prince flinched.
“The ring,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. “The match to the one you put on him.”
Pellia smiled, cold and sharp, giving him some space to move. "Remove it for me." Balekin's fingers trembled as he did, though with rage or fear Jude couldn’t be certain. The stone set into the band was the same warm orange as the cat's eyes. Jude’s heart ached at the thought of never seeing those eyes again. As Balekin dropped the ring into Pellia's hand, the air in the room seemed to crackle. Through wet eyes, Jude looked to Cardan; shimmering white light glowed over the cat's changing body.
“Thank you,” Pellia said from her spot with Balekin. Neither she nor the prince seemed to have noticed Cardan’s transformation.
“Would that misfortune follow you, any path you take,” the injured prince spat—an ancient curse.
Pellia raised her eyebrows at him, unphased. “Go stick your dick in a toaster, fucknugget.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the naked-but-very-much-fey body of Cardan now lay.
“It’s over, Catboy. You’re good now.”
Jude didn’t understand what she meant at first. Her confusion was answered a moment later as Cardan sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. Then it hit her full force as she realised—Cardan had just sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. The shock of it was enough to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Jude,” Pellia said, “I release you, as long as you promise not to stab me.”
Still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, the girl nodded, and the glamour broke. She hurled herself across the room at the newly-returned fey prince and dipped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure whether to hug him or hold his hand or die of embarrassment over the sheer amount of relief she was feeling—or over the fact that he was sitting there, fully nude and still glowing with the effects of the spell, which she was just processing now. Jude felt her cheeks flame at the realisation. Cardan, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.
Instead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, Jude,” he said.
She could feel herself turning an even deeper shade of red. “Um—hi,” she stuttered, her tongue feeling awkward in her mouth. “I’m—I’m glad you’re back.” She studied a particularly interesting spot on the stone wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.
That didn’t last long. Cardan began to sway as the light around him faded. Instinctively, Jude reached out to steady him. He fell against her.
“Jude,” he said again, insistent as his voice started to slur with sleep. “You need to know….”
Then he passed out.
~ ~ ~
Pellia watched as Jude hurtled across the room to Cardan's side. It had been difficult for her to intentionally allow the girl to believe she had killed Cardan. After all, Pellia knew firsthand what it was like to have someone important stolen from right under your nose—the feelings of helplessness and despair and anger that it provoked. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been a quick affair, just long enough to force Balekin to remove the ring that bound the spell.
Pellia wiped sanguineberry juice from the assassin's dagger before sheathing it at her hip. Her body ached, protesting its recent treatment, and she knew it would only get worse as the adrenaline faded. She wished she had thought to save some of those blessed painkilling berries, instead of putting them all into the poison vial hidden in the dagger's hilt.
“Pell?”
The pixie girl spun toward the voice. It came from the main doorway, where a slight figure stood, shrouded in shadow. Pellia swallowed.
“Amber?”
“PELLIA!” Amber exclaimed. She rushed forward, tackling her older sister in a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down her face.
“Can’t breathe—” Pellia winced at the pain in her ribs but held on just as tight. She pulled back for a moment to fervently check her sister’s face. Amber was pale, her cheeks sunken and eyes haunted, but it was her.
Pellia took a breath that morphed into a sob. She'd done it. Amber was here. She was real and solid and alive, and she was here.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pellia whispered., burying her face in her sister's hair as they sank to the floor.
Amber held on tighter. Her tears turned to sobs as the two girls clung to each other, neither wanting to let go. “I—I thought I was—" she hiccuped and started again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”
Pellia's heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry.”
The younger girl shook her head, her face still buried in Pellia’s shoulder. “You were right,” she admitted. Her voice cracked, and she clutched at Pellia's clothes, holding on as tightly as she could. “It’s scary here.”
Pellia’s heart broke in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home.”
***
A/N: That wasn't that bad, right? Happy ending? For everyone except dear Balekin? Also, I know this started mainly with Jude and Cardan. I'm sorry to anyone who is disappointed about the copious amounts of Pellia screentime. I haven't read FotA in like three years and I don't remember enough to write them in-character. So yeah, Pellia took over.
Theoretically, there is one more chapter to be written. Will I actually write it? Who knows. (Probably, but it'll take A Bit.) (I've learned my lesson about posting as I write... So much respect to people who are dedicated and organized enough to do that. You really gotta have the plot figured out first. Anyway. Lesson learned. If I ever write anything else, I will finish the story before posting.)
It’s you friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:
I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.
Summary: Jude, Cardan, and Pellia head to Hollow Hall, where they encounter a few surprises—including a betrayal that could end everything. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 9168
Rating: T
Warnings: Violence, death.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER SEVEN
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
A/N: I barely edited/proofread this. What's that one meme? "No beta. We die like men." Something like that. Yeah.
Also, about what happens in this chapter...? I'm sorry in advance.
***
By the time Jude made her way back to her room, the pixie had helped herself to her host’s brushes and hair ties and rooted through her drawers looking for creams and cosmetics.
Cardan couldn’t blame her for the frustration she’d shown upon finding absolutely nothing; he had already decided that once he was turned back into himself, whether they were enemies or not—and truly, he wasn’t certain where they would stand—he would have to talk with Jude about her dismal lack of reverence for her poor skin.
Pellia had also taken it upon herself to loot the makeshift armoury beneath the bed and had found a sleek, curved knife—an assassin’s blade, she’d said, pointing out the hidden poison compartment in its hilt—which was now thrust through her belt. She’d also liberated a whetstone and was now sharpening the blade of the stolen guard’s sword, with no small amount of cursing as her shaky hands made the task more difficult.
Cardan didn’t miss the way Pellia flinched and froze momentarily at the creak of the door when Jude entered, balancing a tray of food on one hand and a steaming teapot in the other. He headbutted the door closed as she brought the tray to her vanity.
“Dinner rolls, vegetable and chicken soup, fruit—and tea, to help with the pain,” Jude announced.
“Chicken soup?”
Jude gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My sister likes to bring us human things sometimes. Here.” She nudged the tray toward Pellia. “And stop going through my stuff.”
The pixie smiled sweetly at the last part, fluttering ruby lashes at the mortal girl as if to say, Who, me? But she didn’t comment as she moved from the bed to the vanity. Cardan envied her ability to remain insolent in the face of Jude’s sharp-enough-to-cut-glass glare.
Pellia didn’t even flinch, just lifted the teapot one-handed, swore as she nearly dropped it, adjusted her grip, and poured, sloshing tea over the sides of her cup as she did. She set the pot down with a clunk and a grimace.
“What’s in it?” Pellia’s teacup was only half full, droplets running down the porcelain sides. She watched through the steam as Jude listed off a handful of herbs on her hands. Those ruby brows went up, an expression she seemed to make often.
“Girl, that’s not painkilling; that’s, like, all-sensation-in-my-entire-body killing.”
“If you don't want it—”
“No, I absolutely do. Please,” she added with a wince as Jude gripped the pot’s handle. Cardan wasn’t certain whether that wince had been borne of pain or out of the mere fact that she’d said please so genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm. He got the feeling it was both in equal measures.
As Pellia ate, Cardan joined Jude at her wardrobe to save her from committing egregious fashion sins. He hissed his disapproval to veto the tunic she was reaching for—grey on grey was not the look, especially when the leggings were a cool shade while the tunic carried warm undertones—and nosed the one beside it.
“Jude,” Pellia said quietly from her spot at the vanity. “We need to find Balekin as soon as possible. I read the letter to Madoc, and—hold on. Did you just take fashion advice from a cat? I wish I had that on video.”
Jude’s cheeks warmed slightly and Cardan meowed indignantly. I may be a cat but I still know how to dress! he wanted to shoot back.
At the same time, Jude demanded, “Why were you going through my stuff?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Her tone was, somehow, both genuinely confused and unbearably haughty, but before Jude could respond, Pellia waved it off and pointed out, “Anyway, you know cats can’t see the same colours we can, right?”
Cardan would have protested, but he had noticed colours were different, especially in the beginning. He was mostly used to it now, though, and he knew some of Jude’s wardrobe from memory anyway. This top in particular was a desaturated dark blue with green undertones, long sleeves, and a deep V-neck that she had first worn about a year ago. He knew that because the image of her in that shirt, the way it hugged her waist just right, had blazed in his mind every time he’d closed his eyes for a solid week afterward. He knew good fashion when he saw it.
“Stop changing the subject,” Jude snapped.
“I wasn’t, I just thought you should be aware that you are taking fashion advice from the equivalent of a half-blind—”
Cardan’s angry growl cut her off.
“Okay, alright, sorry,” she retreated. “Don’t get your tail in a twist, kitty.”
“The letter,” Jude demanded.
“Right, yes. The deal I made with our favourite prince was that he wouldn’t harm my sister so long as I did what he wanted. But if Balekin thinks I’m dead, then there’s no more deal. There’s no one holding him accountable.” Her hands curled into fists on the hem of her borrowed tunic. “I don’t want to think about what he might do to her then.”
“You—”
“Should have thought the deal through more and made him promise to release her once I’d caught Catboy over here?” she snapped. “Yeah, I know. I was a bit panicked, considering my fourteen-year-old human sister was kidnapped by Elfhame’s soggiest piece of toast.”
“I—what?”
“Haven’t you ever, like, spilled water on your toast? And then it gets all gross and mushy? It’s literally the worst.”
Jude shook her head. “I can’t say I have. But regardless, I wasn’t trying to blame you for it. I was just going to say, you don’t look like you’re in the best shape to go tonight. Maybe we should wait a day.”
“No.” Pellia’s tone was sharp, her eyes flinty, her mouth set in a determined line. “I can do what I have to. I don’t care about myself; I just need Amber to get home safe.” More quietly, she added, “Please.”
Jude breathed deeply, then sighed. Slowly, she nodded. “Fine. I can tell I won’t be able to convince you otherwise, so we’ll go tonight. But for now, rest.”
Pellia nodded, one corner of her mouth tweaking upward in an almost-smile. “Thank you,” she said, and the gratitude in the pixie’s red eyes was the nicest emotion Cardan had seen yet. It almost made her seem approachable.
“Try to eat something,” Jude instructed, heading into her small bathing room. “I’ll be back.”
Pellia gave a distracted wave of assent and mumbled something that could have been, “Try to stop me,” through a mouthful of soft bread. She ate quietly for a while, supplementing the meal with sips of tea.
“This stuff’s strong,” she remarked with a nod of approval toward the teapot. “Painkilling, indeed.”
Cardan would have missed the next thing she said, breathed into her teacup as she sipped, had he not been bestowed the lovely gift of heightened cat hearing: “Maybe if I drink enough it’ll kill my emotions, too.”
He twitched his ears, letting out a short mrrow of laughter. The pixie glanced at him and huffed, something between a smirk and a wry smile crossing her lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought the same thing. You want some?”
In previous times, Cardan might have said yes. Yes, tea to fix the ache in his heart. Yes, tea to let him drink away the piercing, twisting blade in his gut each time his father overlooked him or his brother tossed an insult his way. Yes, because he was empty and miserable and he loathed it, loathed himself, loathed everything about this world and his place in it.
But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.
Pellia, apparently, hadn’t missed a single one of the thoughts or feelings flickering across his face. She hummed, setting her cup down to take a spoonful of soup.
“Perhaps I did you a favour then, dear prince.”
Cardan flattened his ears at that. Certainly he had been more content in these weeks with Jude than he had been—perhaps ever in his entire life—but he wouldn’t go so far as to say she was deserving of his thanks.
“Or not.” Again, Pellia had read his thoughts on his face.
The hair along his spine puffed up involuntarily. It was unnerving—how she could read him so easily, even in this form, even having never known him.
“Don’t worry, kitty,” she smirked. “I won’t tell her how much you’ve enjoyed being her pet. It can be our little secret.” She punctuated the statement with a wink. In response, Cardan gave her an eyeroll of epic proportions.
It only served to make her laugh, which seemed to cause her pain, judging by her wince and the way she downed the remaining tea in her cup. Despite himself, Cardan felt a small amount of smug satisfaction at that fact.
It didn’t last long. Her eyes fixed on his in a way he just knew was meant to be antagonistic. Then she dipped a corner of her bread in the soup and proceeded to chew with her mouth open. He glared back, ears flattened, and hissed his most menacing hiss. He wished Jude would hurry up with her bath. At least she wasn’t annoying on purpose, unlike Pellia, who seemed to delight in getting the last word.
Rather than sit here with the pixie, Cardan headed for the balcony door, which Jude always left slightly ajar for him. But as he slipped outside, he heard Pellia call, “Don’t you want to stay and supervise me? Make sure I don’t get into trouble or steal her prized possessions or something?”
He turned back with a grumble because, damnit, she was right. If he left, nothing was stopping her from putting her grubby little hands all over everything in Jude’s room. Not that he would be much help if she did decide that was what she wanted to do—he was a cat and she was clearly trained in combat and treachery—but at least he would know she had done something. He could tell Jude, and Jude could end the pixie’s whole career with one punch. He’d seen her training, knew how fast she could move and what strength was hidden in her mortal bones. Jude was beautiful and deadly, and Pellia was roughly five feet tall and had just spilled tea on the desk while trying to pour herself another cup.
So Cardan stayed, and Pellia continued to be dreadful by the mere fact of her existence and without even doing anything at all.
They were quiet for a long while, Pellia staring across the room to the window as she ate small portions at a time, and Cardan shifting awkwardly every now and then. Pellia turned her unnatural gaze toward him, considering. His skin prickled. He wasn’t fond of the way she seemed to be sizing him up, fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her head, manipulating him into some undoubtedly terrifying plan as though he were a pawn at her disposal. He fought the twitching whiskers that were the cat equivalent of a laugh. She noticed regardless, and her own lips quirked up in a tiny, barely-there smile that didn’t match the hollow, aching look in her eyes.
She glanced away, blinking. When she looked back again, Cardan almost couldn’t see that depth hidden behind her bravado. Almost.
“Listen, kitty,” she began. Her mouth opened slightly, and she floundered a moment before she was able to force the next words through her lips on a quivering breath. “No matter how we prepare, this isn’t going to go how we plan it. Guaranteed.”
She set her tea down and wiped her hands on Jude’s borrowed clothes. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the dagger in her belt, following its curves, tracing the seam around the top of its hilt. She nodded to herself, as if confirming something, before her eyes flicked up to meet his own again.
“We need to plan for betrayal. From all sides.” Cardan's skin prickled under the intensity of her eyes boring into his. Slowly, he nodded, flicking his ears forward.
I’m listening, the gesture said.
A grim, determined smile played across the pixie’s face. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking…”
~ ~ ~
Jude towel-dried and braided her wet hair after her bath. She had taken her time to soak and wash as she sorted through everything that was unfolding. Pellia’s explanation of why she was here in the first place, as well as confirming Balekin as the mastermind behind it all, had helped, but it didn’t solve things completely.
Neither Jude nor the pixie knew why Balekin had bothered with Cardan’s cat-metamorphosis in the first place, instead of just killing him the way Jude suspected he’d had done to Dain. Although, she supposed, considering Dain was widely thought to be the most popular contender for the next High King, it would make sense that Balekin might want him out of the way. And Cardan—pre–cat era, of course—was cruel and a menace, and would have presented less of a threat.
“Still seems like it would have been simpler to just kill him,” Jude mumbled to herself, then immediately felt bad for entertaining the thought.
She dressed quickly before leaving the bathroom, a habit she had gotten into since discovering her feline friend was actually the missing faerie prince.
In her room, she found that Pellia had finished eating and passed out on the bed, curled on top of the sheets. Her dishes were arranged neatly on the vanity.
Cardan chirped softly in greeting from his spot by the window.
“Has she been out long?” Jude whispered.
Cardan flicked his tail and stood for a long, languid stretch.
Jude sighed. “You could at least try to communicate with me.”
The annoyance that flared in response to Cardan’s answering yawn was quickly dampened as he twined between her feet, demanding to be picked up. She obliged.
“By tomorrow, you’ll be yourself again,” she told him, scratching the soft fur on his jaw. He purred at her touch, and she tried to pretend it didn’t make her heart ache. She wasn’t sure when she had grown so fond of him. Maybe, after this was over, she would get a cat. It wouldn’t be the same, though.
A sudden apprehension struck her. “Either that, or we’ll all be dead.”
Cardan’s purring halted abruptly at the words, and he twisted in her arms to meet her gaze, his amber eyes steady and determined. Softly, he rested one fuzzy front paw over Jude’s heart, giving her a slow blink.
There was something in his gaze, an emotion that took Jude a moment to decipher: trust. A small, hesitant smile fought its way onto her lips, and Cardan chirped softly, stretching out to poke her nose with his own.
Then he flopped bonelessly back into her arms, lifting his chin so she could scratch his favourite spot.
Jude rolled her eyes and released her grip on him. “Oops.”
He scrambled as he tumbled from her arms, somehow still managing to land gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he strutted away, nose in the air.
She didn’t bother trying to hide her smile as she began gathering the supplies they would need to confront Balekin, leaving the cat prince of Elfhame to sulk.
~ ~ ~
The moon was sinking low in the ever-lightening sky as the trio made their way toward Hollow Hall once more. Pellia set the pace, a steady march, while Jude brought up the rear with the lithe black form of Cardan riding fluidly on her shoulder. She had quickly discovered that walking behind her was the only way she could reliably keep track of the pixie’s movements. The red-haired girl moved so quietly, her steps often syncing with Jude’s own. Despite their truce, Jude didn’t entirely trust the other girl at her back.
They walked in silence for the first half of the journey, the only sounds coming from their soft footfalls on the leaf-littered floor and the whisper of wind through the Milkweeds. Then Pellia stopped abruptly, and Jude promptly collided with the other girl’s back. Cardan meowed in alarm, scrambling to keep his place on Jude’s shoulder. His claws dug through her shirt and into her skin.
“Thanks for the warning,” Jude quipped, as equally annoyed at the cat prince as at Pellia.
“Ow,” Pellia accused. “That was rude.”
“You just stopped with no warning.”
“My bad. I didn’t realise I needed your permission to stop walking.”
“You—”
“Look,” Pellia interrupted, pointing at a low bush a few steps into the underbrush. Its dark leaves were glossy and adorned with sharp points. There was some kind of black berry clinging to the stems. The pixie crouched next to the bush and began picking the fruit.
“You’re hungry?” Jude didn’t know Pellia very well, but after the way she’d refused to wait any longer to go after her sister, she was a little taken aback by the pixie’s apparent lack of focus. Then again, stopping for a picnic was certainly unexpected, and nothing about Pellia had been predictable so far.
Jude stepped forward to take a closer look. The berries, which she’d thought were black, actually appeared to be a deep red in colour and were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were clustered in twos and threes, but Pellia twisted them off the plant one at a time.
“Never heard of it.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to.” The redhead shrugged. “Most people think it’s mildly poisonous—stomach cramps, excessive sweating, maybe vomiting a bit of blood for a day or two if you’re really unlucky—so it isn’t really gathered much. But actually—” she unsheathed the assassin’s dagger and pierced the flesh of a particularly large berry—“it’s a powerful analgesic.”
Pellia brought the punctured berry to her lips and sucked the juice out. It deflated like a juiced orange.
“Pellia!” Jude exclaimed, trying to grab the fruit from the pixie’s hand. She was too late. The pixie had already swallowed it, leaving the skin slightly deflated. Jude’s hands curled into fists. “I really don’t think vomiting blood is something you need to add to your condition right now.”
The pixie just laughed. “Do you actually think I’d eat something that I just told you was poisonous?”
“It is a distinct possibility.” From his spot on her shoulder, Cardan made a sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.
“Shut it, catboy,” Pellia rolled her eyes. “It’s only the skin that you can’t eat. Look.” She peeled the skin back to reveal a pulpy red interior. It looked like a warfield. “The juice is safe to ingest—and, like I said, it’s a great painkiller.” She grinned a seemingly-bloody smile, her teeth stained from the sanguineberry juice. “If you eat the skin though, then it’s a pain causer.”
“Ha ha,” Jude deadpanned. She was about done with this conversation. “Time’s ticking. We need to go.”
Pellia nodded, suddenly serious. “I just need to collect some of these first.”
At Jude’s slight frown, the pixie smirked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all part of the plan.”
~ ~ ~
“Where did you come from?!”
The guard on patrol outside Hollow Hall was easy to sneak up on and easier to dispatch. Pellia had barely finished quipping, “Your mom’s house,” by the time Jude had the guard on the ground, face in the dirt. He was thrashing, demanding to know about his mother and whether she was safe.
“My humour is lost on you,” the pixie sighed.
“That was supposed to be funny?” It seemed more like psychological warfare than humour to Jude, but then, maybe that was what Pellia found humorous.
“At least he gets it,” Pellia shrugged, gesturing to Cardan, whose whiskers were twitching in a cat’s smile.
They left the guard—incapacitated but alive—behind and headed for the door. They halted at the sound of a voice.
“Alas returns the lost prince,” it said.
Cardan growled. Jude’s hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. Pellia let out an impressive string of curses at the sight of the enchanted door and its inhuman face. Her dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.
“I thought you’d been here before,” Jude said. “This seems like a pretty difficult thing to miss.”
“I didn’t use the front door that time,” Pellia said, scowling at the enchanted face. “I’d heard about this thing but what the hell—who dreamed you up?”
“What would your mother think of that vocabulary?” the door chided. “Or that nursemaid of hers, for that matter? What was her name—Annie? No: Angela! I’m assuming she’s the one who raised you? Spirited you away so you couldn’t follow in your mother’s footsteps?”
“How do you—actually, nevermind. You’re creepy and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Pellia moved to shove the door open, but it spoke again.
“Ah, ah. Tell me where you’ve been hiding all of these years?” it rasped. “It mustn't have been on the Isles, or I would have known.”
Pellia gritted her teeth so hard that Jude could have sworn she heard them creaking. Her grip on the dagger’s hilt was turning her knuckles white. “One more word and I dig the point of this into your eye,” she threatened.
The door swung open.
With a last glare at the enchanted door, Pellia dragged Jude and Cardan inside. She led them out of sight of the entrance and its magical guardian before turning to face Jude.
“From here on, we split up,” she said.
Jude nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to find your sister while I go after Balekin?”
Pellia gave the other girl a half-smile. “I’m sure,” she said. Jude’s frown deepened as the pixie added, “I need you to promise me something.”
“What…?”
“I need you to promise that, no matter what you see, you won’t interfere. Balekin is my fight. I just need you to find my sister.” Pellia’s eyes were blazing once again with that same determination. It sent a chill down Jude’s spine.
After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed. “Okay. You get Balekin. I’ll find Amber.”
“Thank you. And good luck.”
“You too.”
Pellia turned her ruby gaze on Cardan, and they locked eyes. “Ready, catboy?”
Mrrroow, he responded.
Pellia smiled then slipped away, practically melting into the shadows.
~ ~ ~
“She’s kind of annoying, but I hope she doesn’t get herself killed,” Jude said. She was following Cardan through the crooked stone walls of his one-time home.
Was it still? He wasn’t so sure. Although he could never say so, when he closed his eyes and thought about home, the image he found was starting to look less like Hollow Hall or the Palace and more like whitewashed walls, wooden beams, and smoky windows. It was starting to look like the arms of a mortal girl who had dedicated so much time and effort into returning his sorry self to fey form.
Cardan turned into a small room—a closet, really, and scratched at the carpeted floor. Jude got the hint, running her fingers over the rug until she found the catch in one corner where it didn’t quite fit so snugly against the wall. She drew it back to reveal a trap door and, beneath that, a ladder extending into the darkness.
“Fantastic,” she muttered. “I hope I’m not about to lower myself into a hole in the ground for no good reason.”
Cardan was half-amused and half-insulted by the implication in her words. She’ll be there, he wanted to say, but he could only chirp reassuringly.
Jude scratched under his chin with one finger before inviting him to climb up onto her shoulder.
Happily, he purred.
At the bottom of the ladder, the tunnel ran out to either side. He kept watch to make sure no one was coming, his feline eyes comfortable in the dim light. When they reached the bottom, Cardan gave a soft mrrow and gestured to the rightmost path.
The tunnel was wide but low. Had he been in his own body, Cardan would have had to hunch slightly to avoid scraping his head against the earthen ceiling. As it was, Jude had a couple of inches to spare, even at the lowest points, and Cardan was able to cling to her shoulder as she walked. This suited him just fine—he didn’t find the damp, earthy scent particularly appealing, and he didn’t want it all over his paws, thank you very much.
The tunnel began to slope downward and continued like that for another hundred metres or so. Amber’s makeshift cell was at the bottom of that slope.
The rooms beneath Hollow Hall weren’t meant to house prisoners—not really. They were a safety precaution and a way to sneak around, known only by Balekin, Cardan, and a small handful of Balekin’s inner circle.
Amber was being held in the hastily blocked off back half of an alcove that Cardan distinctly remembered as having been used to store unopened wine casks at some point. On a hook set into the hard-packed earthen wall was a key, dangling alone on a large keyring. The metal bars of the cell looked like they had been repurposed from a fence or a gate somewhere. A bucket in the corner served as a chamberpot, and a few cushions and a blanket was her bed.
All in all, it was better than Cardan had expected, considering his brother’s habitual treatment of humans.
“Amber?” Jude asked, stepping into the alcove. The girl at the back of the cell looked up. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Her mousey brown hair was tattered, her brown eyes wide and cautious as they took in the girl and cat before her. A smatter of freckles stood out against sickly skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks.
The girl sat up a little straighter. “The others weren’t. The servants. They’re like zombies.”
Cardan could hear Jude swallow. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way her brow furrowed, her jaw tightening.
“I’m awake,” she promised. “I’m Jude. I’m a friend of your sister’s.”
That got the girl’s attention. Amber’s whole face lit up and she was suddenly on her feet. Cardan couldn’t imagine feeling that much excitement toward any of his siblings, even the not-so-bad ones.
“Pellia’s here?” Hope was blossoming on Amber’s features, brightening her eyes and bringing her back to life.
“She is,” Jude said, grabbing the key to the cell door. “We’re getting you out.”
With a metallic click and an aching groan, the door to the cell swung out, and Amber followed, throwing her arms around Jude. The young girl’s relief was palpable. When her eyes started to water, it sent a pang through Cardan’s heart, so strong he had to look away.
That was why he was the first to see the figure that loomed out of the dark tunnel: Madoc.
“I was hoping it would not come to this,” the Redcap’s voice rumbled off the walls. Jude spun around, shoving the girl behind her.
“Madoc,” she said. Cardan knew her well enough by now to recognise the slight tilt of unease on her mouth, the way her breathing sped up ever-so-slightly when she was surprised, just for a heartbeat, before she steadied it again. He felt the hair along his back stand straighter in response to Jude’s emotions.
Apparently Madoc could read her too. “You think I was unaware all this time that you were sneaking around with that?” He jerked his chin in Cardan’s direction, a disdainful sneer curling his lips.
“A cat?” Jude said, eyes narrowing.
Cardan hissed, half at Madoc and half at Jude for acting like he was some common stray—he knew her angle, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“You are too intelligent to think I would believe that you have not figured out who that is. You broke into my office, stole my correspondence, and expected that I would not notice? Unlikely.”
Jude shrugged. “Worth a shot.” She was edging away from the open cell and toward the freedom of the alcove, nudging Amber along with her.
“Not really.” Madoc rested a hand on his sword hilt, a subtle threat. “Stop shuffling and put the girl back in the cell.”
Jude’s hand found the hilt of her own sword. “No.”
The identical shiiiing! of two swords being unsheathed simultaneously sang into the damp earthen tunnels. Cardan leaped to grab hold of Amber, trying to drag her out of harm’s way as Jude and her foster father faced off.
There was no escape with Madoc blocking the alcove entrance, so Cardan nudged the mortal girl toward the wall, where she could slip behind the open door. That way, Madoc wouldn’t be able to corral them back into the cell. A quick glance up showed him a wide-eyed, white-faced Amber. He clambered up to her shoulder and leaned in, forcing a purr in an effort to comfort her.
As steel rang against steel, Cardan tried to figure out if the trembling he was feeling was Amber’s or his own. Probably both.
He flattened his ears as Madoc slid his blade down the length of Jude’s, bringing him inside her guard. She tried to shove him back but he disengaged with a quick twist and sent her stumbling back. As she fell, the sachet of protective herbs she kept on a cord around her neck slipped from under her tunic. Madoc lashed out with one green clawed hand, snapping it from her neck.
Cardan could feel the magic tingling in the air as the Redcap opened his mouth to speak.
He couldn’t let Madoc glamour Jude.
That was the only thought on the cat prince’s mind as launched himself, all claws and teeth and feline fury—straight onto Madoc’s face. Hissing and spitting, Cardan clung to the older fey, raking his nails across green skin until blood oozed from various wounds.
Madoc screamed—in pain and anger, deep and earth-rumbling and vicious. His sword fell from his grip, hitting the dirt floor with a dull thud. He clawed at the cat whose nails were so deeply embedded in his skin, howling the whole time. His hands were bruising, grasping Cardan around the chest and neck, and try as he might, the prince couldn’t fight him off.
Thankfully, there was no need: Jude, recovering her feet and her weapon, saw the opportunity as it presented itself. She planted one foot against the wild, reeling Redcap’s hip and shoved.
Her foster father stumbled back, arms cartwheeling as he tried to keep his balance. Cardan sprang away as he fell into the cell. Amber, still behind the door, slammed it shut, and the lock engaged with a loud click!
No one spoke. Jude pocketed the key, and she and Madoc stared at each other for a long time, their panting breaths—one tired, one angry—the only sounds in the subterranean room. Slowly, Jude picked up the sachet of herbs from where it had fallen. She re-knotted the broken cord and strung it over Amber’s neck.
“To keep you safe from glamours,” she explained, but her voice seemed quiet and far away, as though it had been swallowed by the earth.
Blood roared in Cardan’s ears. He tried to take stock of his body—was everything intact? He twitched his tail, his ears, then did a full-body shake. Nothing hurt too badly. His ribs and neck were a little sore from where Madoc had grabbed him, but nothing was broken, no blood drawn.
Not mine, at least, he thought, flexing blood-sticky claws. He shuddered. There was no way he was cleaning that off the cat way.
A hand brushed his shoulder and he looked up into walnut eyes. Jude. He climbed into the proffered arms. She felt warm and solid, and Cardan could almost feel the tension of the past few minutes drain from his body.
“Thank you,” Jude whispered.
She cast one more glance at her foster father, whose hands were wrapped around the metal bars, before taking the Amber’s hand and leading her out of the alcove.
“Let’s go get your sister.”
~ ~ ~
The silver-eyed prince was in his room when she found him.
The heavy wooden door was cracked open, a sliver of wavering torchlight spilling out into the hallway. An invitation, taunting. Apparently, Balekin was expecting her.
So much for the element of surprise. She almost wanted to laugh, to release the nervous energy that was curling in her stomach, rendering her body electric with anticipation.
This is it. She was either going to free Cardan and save her sister… or die trying. Hopefully the first option, but still, her mind spun. Everything felt so similar to the first time—when she’d arrived in Faerie to confront Balekin, furious and fear-filled—and look how badly that had gone, her mind insisted.
She shook her head, as though doing so could dislodge the thoughts from her brain. She’d been stupid that time, rushing in with no plan, wielding weapons and white-hot rage as her tools of revenge. This time, she was ready. This time, she had a plan and allies and she knew what she was facing. This time, she was writing the rules.
Pellia drew her sword, the one she’d stolen from the Palace guard what felt like aeons ago. Raising it to deflect a surprise attack, she pushed the door open with one foot and stepped inside.
The centre of the room was empty except for the large area rug covering the flagstones, the furniture pushed back against the walls. In a large armchair at the far side of the room, his loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway to expose his bare chest, sat Balekin.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming in,” he sneered. He held a goblet in one hand, swirling its contents idly. A naked sword was propped against the armrest next to him. “Where’s your entourage?”
Pellia said nothing, just moved farther into the room.
“Nothing to say today? No witty remarks?”
She stopped at the edge of the rug and Balekin tsked. “Boring,” he said. “I thought you’d be more interesting now, not less. Maybe your sister’s life on the line is taking its toll, hm?”
“And whose fault is that?” Pellia responded, red eyes meeting silver.
The prince smirked. “She would have been safe if you had upheld your end of the bargain.”
“I did my part!” The words slipped from her mouth without any forethought. Her sword point was aimed at Balekin’s chest, like he wasn’t half a room away. Pellia gritted her teeth, calming her voice. “I did my part,” she repeated. “I was working for you. I was following your orders. I couldn’t have done anything else.”
Balekin hummed noncommittally. “I must say, I thought you would be a little more difficult to catch. You disappointed me, Nerium.”
“You’d know about disappointments,” she said acidly. “And can we talk about the whole ordering-to-kill-me thing, ‘cause that wasn’t part of the deal! They fucking tortured me, and I didn’t talk, but you couldn’t even do a little thing like not order my death?!”
“You were a liability.”
“Fuck off.”
“And so the teeth come out,” he chuckled. “Does that not feel better?”
“Things will be ‘better’ when I have my sister, and you’re six feet under,” Pellia snapped.
Balekin smirked. “Bold words, considering you’re the reason she’s in this situation in the first place.”
“Respectfully,” Pellia said, trying hard to keep a leash on her temper, “if one more dumbfuck sentence like that comes out of your mouth, I am going to violate the Geneva Convention.”
When Balekin’s face flickered with confusion, she said, “War crimes. I’m going to commit war crimes.”
The dark prince smirked. “You plan to fight me? In that state?” He laughed, a full-belly laugh that made Pellia want to throttle him.
She knew it wasn’t the best plan. She knew she was weak, still unhealed from her injuries and recovering from torture and starvation. But she had no other choice. She would fight, and maybe she would even get in a few good cuts before he took her down. She just had to keep him occupied long enough for Jude and Cardan to free her sister.
“Are you scared?” she taunted.
Balekin chuckled again, recognising the bait for what it was. “I am not the one who should be afraid,” he said, draining the contents of his goblet and trading the cup for his sword. He rose to his feet. “Try not to bleed all over my carpet.”
Torchlight flickered off live steel as they circled, each tracking the other’s every move. Their feet shuffled across the rug. The fireplace crackled in the background.
Maybe, if she was lucky, Pellia could get the first hit—incapacitate him early and end the fight before he could take advantage of her injured state.
Fast as a snake, she struck, aiming for the muscle between his neck and shoulder with an overhead slash. Balekin met her attack, deflecting her sword and shoving his own point-first toward her throat.
She swayed out of the way just in time, though his blade did catch the side of her neck. Blood welled from the scratch. Pellia ignored it, stepping into him in an attempt to catch him off guard. Steel screamed against steel as her blade slid down the length of his. They were locked toe-to-toe. She gritted her teeth as the prince pressed down harder. This may not have been her brightest idea, and she knew he recognised it too.
“Bad choice,” he said and hooked her ankle with one foot. Pellia went down. Her back hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs. She had just enough sense to roll out of the way before Balekin’s sword plunged down, piercing the rug where she had been a heartbeat before.
Pellia scrambled to her feet, eyes wide, and brought her sword back to the guard position. She was moving on autopilot, her muscles taking over while her dazed mind caught up. Balekin let her rise, smirking.
They circled again, the prince’s movements smooth and predatory while Pellia was still trying to catch her breath. Her fractured rib burned, but she pushed the pain aside, blinking rapidly. She just had to keep him occupied until Cardan found them.
This time, Balekin attacked first. He went low, slashing for her thighs, and Pellia brought her own sword down to meet him. The clash of their weapons rang off the stone walls.
She disengaged, knocking his blade away, and that was when she saw the opening. With all her strength, Pellia lunged forward, her swordpoint thrusting for his heart—
Balekin’s smile was that of a predator, baring its teeth as it moved in for the kill. He swayed out of harm’s way, caught her wrist in one hand, and threw her across the room.
Pellia soared.
During the brief moment she was in the air, she found herself hoping that Cardan wouldn’t be too angry with her for failing. She hoped he and Jude would find Amber and help her get home. She hoped her sister would be okay without her.
Then Pellia slammed into the ground.
~ ~ ~
Jude followed close on Cardan’s heels as he led the way through the stone corridors of Hollow Hall. She held her sword ready in one hand, holding onto Amber’s wrist with the other. She tried not to be frustrated at the slow but steady pace they were setting—it wasn’t fair to expect Amber to keep up after having been locked in a cell for who knows how long.
Still, she worried about Pellia facing Balekin alone when she was already injured. She would need to be one hell of a fighter to have a shot at winning that match up, and while she carried herself like someone who was capable, Jude didn’t get the sense that Pellia knew when to back down.
Which is why, despite her promise not to interfere, Jude wanted to be there to step in if it looked like Balekin had the upper hand. But first, she had to get there.
The sound of clashing steel rang out in the next corridor. Jude slowed as she rounded the corner. Halfway down the hall was an open door that spilled light from within and, about ten feet earlier, a shallow alcove. The trio stopped before it.
“Stay here,” Jude said to Amber, tucking her into the space. “And hang onto this—just in case.” Jude unsheathed the long dagger at her hip, handing it to the girl.
“Is Pellia in—” Amber started, brown eyes wide. She was craning her neck to see past Jude to the open door.
“Yes,” Jude said, pushing the girl back gently and forcing her to meet her eyes. “And I’m going to help her but you need to stay here, got it? I can’t help Pellia and watch out for you.”
Swallowing, Amber nodded, taking the weapon.
It was confirmation enough for Jude. She headed for the open doorway, Cardan racing at her heels—and stopped just inside the threshold, in time to see Pellia crash into the rug-covered floor.
Jude winced, stepping farther into the room, sword raised. Cardan hurtled past her to stand between the downed pixie and the menacing form of his older brother. Balekin regarded the cat calmly, spun his own sword, and glanced sideways at Jude.
“Oh, look: your friends have come to your rescue,” he taunted as Cardan hissed, hair puffed and claws out.
Pellia was on her back, eyes closed and chest heaving as she tried to recover the air that had been forced from her lungs. Cardan put one soft black paw on her shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she coughed.
Balekin looked almost annoyed. “Having others fight your battles for you, Nerium?” he said. “I thought you had more pride than that.”
Still breathless, Pellia struggled to sit up. “I do,” she said, swaying and blinking hard. She looked at the mortal girl, red eyes meeting walnut. “Jude, you promised.”
Jude’s lips thinned, displaying her scepticism. She searched the other girl’s face, trying to find something to indicate the pixie was okay, but Pellia was pale and swaying unsteadily.
Yes, she had promised not to step in. But if she didn’t, the chances of Pellia being alive to take her sister home at the end of this were slim. Jude tightened her grip on her weapon.
“Pellia—” Jude started, but the pixie cut her off.
“No,” she snapped. “This is my fight.”
Balekin laughed. “Stubborn to the end. Will you still feel that way when I run you through?”
Pellia smiled back, cold and ruthless. “Violence isn’t the only way to do battle, Balekin. You’re playing my game now; maybe next time you should read the rules.”
She grabbed Cardan by the scruff of his neck, hauling the cat toward her and climbing to her feet. He scrambled as she lifted him into the air, flailing against her hold until she drew her stolen dagger. She placed its tip against the delicate skin of Cardan’s throat, and he stopped struggling.
She’s going to kill him, Jude thought, stunned. She could feel the blood draining from her face. After everything, she’s going to kill him. And she’s going to use my knife to do it.
Balekin was less stunned. “You won’t kill him,” he chuckled.
“No?” Pellia gritted her teeth, adjusting her grip on the hilt. “And why's that?”
“What would you gain? Killing him won't get you your sister back.” Disdain coloured the prince’s voice, but there was something else, something other—the slightest tinge of uncertainty hiding in the space between his words.
Pellia nodded, considering. “Maybe not. But what do you really know about me?” Her breathing was heavy and pained. Her eyes bore into Balekin's with a fury so hot it could have started a wildfire. “Killing him might not get me my sister back, but it sure as hell will cause you some issues,” she spat.
The fey prince was quiet for a long moment, calculating. Jude’s heart dropped all the way to her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth, from Pellia to Balekin, from hot, wild rage to cool, quiet calculation. Then Balekin straightened, an ugly half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“I do not think you have an accurate read on my relationship with my little brother,” he explained. The words were oily smooth and indifferent. Jude wanted to scratch them off her skin. “I would not cry if he were gone. I do not care for him the way you care for that mortal brat.”
The reference to Amber caused the pixie to flinch. "I didn’t say you cared," she snapped back. “I don’t think for a moment that you'd be sad over his loss—you’d have to have a heart for that.” She held Cardan higher and stepped closer to Balekin. “I just think it would cause you some problems. How can you be his benevolent saviour if he's dead? How can you manipulate someone who owes you nothing?”
Balekin opened his mouth to speak, but Pellia shook the cat, pressing the knife closer. Cardan squawked in alarm, and his brother fell silent.
“Isn't that your plan?” she ranted, voice rising. “Isn’t it?! Massacre your family, but keep him—” she nodded to the cat hanging uncomfortably by his scruff “—safe, so you can play the saviour? So he’ll be indebted when you find the antidote to the spell that made him this way? I’m not done,” she snapped as Balekin drew breath to speak.
Veins were pulsing in the dark fey prince’s forehead, his eyes a rage-filled inferno. His jaw was so tight Jude could almost hear his teeth creaking under the strain. Any moment now, he would erupt.
“You don’t care about Cardan,” Pellia continued, “only his royal lineage. You just need someone to put the crown on your head. Well, news flash, buddy,” she scoffed, “it won’t be him.”
Balekin lunged for Pellia with an inarticulate roar. She must have seen it coming as Jude had, though, and a quick sidestep carried her out of harm’s way. The fey prince’s momentum carried him forward to trip over Pellia’s extended ankle and he skidded across the floor to stop at Jude's feet.
Jude, who jumped backward to avoid a collision. Jude, who looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. Jude, who couldn’t hide her look of complete and utter horror at the sight before her. Her heart felt as though it had stopped, and also as though it were trying to beat out of her chest. Her body was numb. She stared.
Balekin turned, too, his sword falling from his grip as he beheld the scene taking place.
“You bitch—” he snarled.
Across the room, Pellia crouched to lay the still body of Cardan on the floor. Darkness coated his cat's chest, a red stain seeping into the carpet beneath him. Jude’s dagger in her hand ran red from hilt to tip.
When she spoke, the pixie’s voice was quiet. Flat.
“What's your plan now, Balekin?”
Jude could barely tear her gaze away to see the prince’s reaction. His face contorted with fury, a hate so black it nearly seeped the light from the room. Balekin screamed and charged for Pellia—then stopped.
He looked down. The silver point of Jude’s sword protruded from his stomach. The anger fell from his face as she tried to figure out what it meant, what had happened. When Jude yanked her blade from his body with a slight squelch, he swayed, stumbled forward, then fell at Pellia's feet.
Jude barely noticed. She was halfway to Cardan, scrambling, the floor feeling oddly immaterial beneath her feet, when Pellia’s voice rang out, laced thick with glamour:
“Stop,” she commanded, and Jude felt her feet freeze beneath her.
Those stupid herbs. In trying to uphold her end of the deal, in trying to help Amber before all else, she had given up the one thing that had protected her against the glamour. She threw herself against the magic restraining her, but still her feet remained locked to the ground.
Panic began to creep through Jude’s veins and hot tears burned her eyes.
“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in Pellia’s magical hold. "Let me see him!"
The pixie looked taken aback for a moment. “I’m sorry for the pain this has caused you, Jude,” she said. She sounded sincere. It meant nothing.
“Fuck you!” Jude’s voice broke over the words. Her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “How could you?! He did nothing! You were supposed to help him—you're a liar!”
Pellia shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, then, glamour lacing her voice again, she ordered, "Please, be quiet."
The air rushed from Jude's lungs. No matter how much she screamed and sobbed, no sound came out. With silent tears streaming down her face, she collapsed to her knees.
Pellia turned back to Balekin. Panting from the pain of his wound, he had struggled his way onto all fours and drawn a knife. It was a simple matter to knock one hand from under him, sending the prince crashing face-first into the carpeted floor. Pellia lowered herself to a crouch beside him and laid the edge of her dagger under his jaw.
“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “Let's not do that, shall we? You lost. Now tell me: what did you use to bind the cat spell?”
“What does it matter?” Balekin snarled. “You’ve already killed him.”
“Humour me.” Pellia’s voice was sweet and deadly, dripping honey over a razor sharp blade. “I’m ever so curious.”
When he still refused, she applied pressure to the weapon at his throat. A thin line of blood sprang up where the blade met flesh, and the prince flinched.
“The ring,” he spat, voice dripping with contempt. “The match to the one you put on him.”
Pellia smiled, cold and sharp, giving him some space to move. "Remove it for me." Balekin's fingers trembled as he did, though with rage or fear Jude couldn’t be certain. The stone set into the band was the same warm orange as the cat's eyes. Jude’s heart ached at the thought of never seeing those eyes again. As Balekin dropped the ring into Pellia's hand, the air in the room seemed to crackle. Through wet eyes, Jude looked to Cardan; shimmering white light glowed over the cat's changing body.
“Thank you,” Pellia said from her spot with Balekin. Neither she nor the prince seemed to have noticed Cardan’s transformation.
“Would that misfortune follow you, any path you take,” the injured prince spat—an ancient curse.
Pellia raised her eyebrows at him, unphased. “Go stick your dick in a toaster, fucknugget.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the naked-but-very-much-fey body of Cardan now lay.
“It’s over, Catboy. You’re good now.”
Jude didn’t understand what she meant at first. Her confusion was answered a moment later as Cardan sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. Then it hit her full force as she realised—Cardan had just sat up, graceful as ever and uninjured. The shock of it was enough to stop the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Jude,” Pellia said, “I release you, as long as you promise not to stab me.”
Still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, the girl nodded, and the glamour broke. She hurled herself across the room at the newly-returned fey prince and dipped to her knees beside him, hands hovering, unsure whether to hug him or hold his hand or die of embarrassment over the sheer amount of relief she was feeling—or over the fact that he was sitting there, fully nude and still glowing with the effects of the spell, which she was just processing now. Jude felt her cheeks flame at the realisation. Cardan, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.
Instead, he gave her a crooked smile. “Hello, Jude,” he said.
She could feel herself turning an even deeper shade of red. “Um—hi,” she stuttered, her tongue feeling awkward in her mouth. “I’m—I’m glad you’re back.” She studied a particularly interesting spot on the stone wall behind him, refusing to meet his eyes.
That didn’t last long. Cardan began to sway as the light around him faded. Instinctively, Jude reached out to steady him. He fell against her.
“Jude,” he said again, insistent as his voice started to slur with sleep. “You need to know….”
Then he passed out.
~ ~ ~
Pellia watched as Jude hurtled across the room to Cardan's side. It had been difficult for her to intentionally allow the girl to believe she had killed Cardan. After all, Pellia knew firsthand what it was like to have someone important stolen from right under your nose—the feelings of helplessness and despair and anger that it provoked. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it had been a quick affair, just long enough to force Balekin to remove the ring that bound the spell.
Pellia wiped sanguineberry juice from the assassin's dagger before sheathing it at her hip. Her body ached, protesting its recent treatment, and she knew it would only get worse as the adrenaline faded. She wished she had thought to save some of those blessed painkilling berries, instead of putting them all into the poison vial hidden in the dagger's hilt.
“Pell?”
The pixie girl spun toward the voice. It came from the main doorway, where a slight figure stood, shrouded in shadow. Pellia swallowed.
“Amber?”
“PELLIA!” Amber exclaimed. She rushed forward, tackling her older sister in a bone-crushing hug, tears streaming down her face.
“Can’t breathe—” Pellia winced at the pain in her ribs but held on just as tight. She pulled back for a moment to fervently check her sister’s face. Amber was pale, her cheeks sunken and eyes haunted, but it was her.
Pellia took a breath that morphed into a sob. She'd done it. Amber was here. She was real and solid and alive, and she was here.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Pellia whispered., burying her face in her sister's hair as they sank to the floor.
Amber held on tighter. Her tears turned to sobs as the two girls clung to each other, neither wanting to let go. “I—I thought I was—" she hiccuped and started again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again.”
Pellia's heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “You’re safe now. I’m so sorry.”
The younger girl shook her head, her face still buried in Pellia’s shoulder. “You were right,” she admitted. Her voice cracked, and she clutched at Pellia's clothes, holding on as tightly as she could. “It’s scary here.”
Pellia’s heart broke in her chest. “I know,” she whispered, stroking her sister's hair. “But it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take you home.”
***
A/N: That wasn't that bad, right? Happy ending? For everyone except dear Balekin? Also, I know this started mainly with Jude and Cardan. I'm sorry to anyone who is disappointed about the copious amounts of Pellia screentime. I haven't read FotA in like three years and I don't remember enough to write them in-character. So yeah, Pellia took over.
Theoretically, there is one more chapter to be written. Will I actually write it? Who knows. (Probably, but it'll take A Bit.) (I've learned my lesson about posting as I write... So much respect to people who are dedicated and organized enough to do that. You really gotta have the plot figured out first. Anyway. Lesson learned. If I ever write anything else, I will finish the story before posting.)
Summary: The story of how Amber went missing. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 3328
Rating: T
Warnings: Kidnapping and one teeny tiny mention of blood.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER SIX
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
A/N: Hi guys, it’s me. Let’s pretend it hasn’t been like nearly two years since I updated, okay?
***
Naïve was not a word Pellia liked to use to describe herself. Surely, she’d seen enough, known enough, not to find herself so susceptible, so likely to fall prey to the false lull of innocence.
And yet, as she stood in her own living room facing none other than the Faerie prince Balekin Greenbriar, she found herself wondering why she hadn’t expected the consequences of her threats.
Naive, she thought. Overconfident and naive. Still, vexed as she was with herself for not having thought Balekin would follow through, vexed as she was for not having prepared herself better, Pellia Nerium was not afraid. She had never cowered in the face of power, try as its wielders might to force her to bend. She was not about to start now.
Summary: The story of how Amber went missing. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 3328
Rating: T
Warnings: Kidnapping and one teeny tiny mention of blood.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER SIX
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
A/N: Hi guys, it’s me. Let’s pretend it hasn’t been like nearly two years since I updated, okay?
***
Naïve was not a word Pellia liked to use to describe herself. Surely, she’d seen enough, known enough, not to find herself so susceptible, so likely to fall prey to the false lull of innocence.
And yet, as she stood in her own living room facing none other than the Faerie prince Balekin Greenbriar, she found herself wondering why she hadn’t expected the consequences of her threats.
Naive, she thought. Overconfident and naive. Still, vexed as she was with herself for not having thought Balekin would follow through, vexed as she was for not having prepared herself better, Pellia Nerium was not afraid. She had never cowered in the face of power, try as its wielders might to force her to bend. She was not about to start now.
“Please, have a seat,” Balekin graciously offered, gesturing toward the love seat opposite him. His voice was just this side of too kind, wholly aware of his own perceived advantage. Pellia saw straight past it to the sharp edge beneath. She met his cold, silver eyes, allowing the hold she had on her glamour to slide through her mental grasp and spiral into oblivion. She stood fast, rooted to the ground as her own unsettling red eyes and fire-bright hair were revealed.
She caught the slightest sign of annoyance at her delay as Balekin’s jaw muscles tensed for barely a blink, there and then gone. She allowed her own mouth to twitch into a subtle smirk, just so he knew that she had seen. Then she sat.
In a proper court, it would be up to him to begin any conversation between the two of them. He stared at her, drawing out the silence. She allowed him to do so, an expression of plain disinterest on her face. Though he clearly wished it, she refused to be discomforted.
The seconds ticked by, and still Pellia waited, not for Balekin to speak, but for—there: that slightly longer intake of breath cuing his plan to speak. She beat him to it.
“How did you get through the locks?”
Balekin looked amused. “Your tricks might keep out mortals, and even the common fey, but you’ll have to do better to deter me. Those spells were weak.”
Pellia pursed her lips. “Thanks for the feedback, oh great princeliness. Now what do you want?”
Pellia didn’t miss the tightening skin around Balekin’s eyes, as though he could scorch her with a look and was barely refraining from doing just that. Oh, how quickly his feigned veil of benevolence fell away.
“The proper term of address for me is your highness,” he stated in a tone that Pellia thought could passably be considered cool—if you squinted and tilted your head at just the right angle, that is. “Though I might have expected the orphaned child of a traitor not to know proper etiquette.”
A sharp thrill stung in Pellia’s chest, the air suddenly thick in her lungs, but she choked past it. She couldn’t let him get to her.
“My mother was not a traitor simply because she did not serve you.”
“Was. My point remains.”
Pellia shoved the anger at the fey prince’s disdain down deep, allowing it to simmer under the surface. She switched tact. “I may not have your degree of knowledge on stuffy ceremony but I know seven different ways to skin a person. Without killing them.” In a quiet, menacing aside, she added, “Care for a demonstration?”
Balekin smiled, unperturbed.
So goes the battle of wit, the pixie thought to herself. Perhaps she had underestimated him.
“I would be glad to discuss these matters with you—they play an integral part in my visit to your quite humble abode, actually.”
“Oh, and such an unexpected guest you are to have deigned to grace us with your presence,” she shot back. “Tell me, then.”
Her utter lack of ceremony clearly irked the prince, but he contained his annoyance well.
“I have need of someone with the skills your late mother possessed.”
“How unfortunate, considering that, as you have so kindly pointed out, my mother is dead.”
“Perhaps she herself has passed,” Balekin conceded, “but her legacy has not.”
“There are plenty of spies in Faerie.”
“Ah. But they are all oath-bound to serve other courts. You, my dear—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“Don’t ever call me by those stupid pet names.”
“Or what, love?”
Pellia’s lip curled. “The last man to call me a pet name lost his tongue. I’ll let you add up that equation.”
Balekin’s eyes narrowed. “My apologies, then, Pellia Nerium. As I was saying, you are in a rather unique position, unbound as you are, and with the skills that you allegedly have.”
Despite herself, Pellia found his phrasing of the sentence to be rather insulting.
“Allegedly?”
A smile twisted at the corners of Balekin’s mouth. He had baited her and she had bitten.
“Well, one can never be too certain of the validity of a rumour without verifying it oneself.”
“Of course.” Pellia suspected it was much more than a rumour—likely an official report from Balekin’s own spies, in fact. His next words confirmed it.
“Your skills in hand-to-hand combat are proficient, as shown by the ease with which you dispatched my agent. Well done, by the way. I would have sent someone actually worthwhile had I known all your training in that little gym was for more than show.”
“You sent someone easy on purpose?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s just insulting.”
“As I said, had I known…” Balekin trailed off meaningfully before continuing to list other likely-creepily-obtained facts. “Your habits around collecting plants and herbs hint strongly that you are practiced in the art of poisons. I’ve yet to receive a full report on your weapons knowledge, but judging by the state of the blades I found hidden around this room alone, it appears you—or someone in this household—knows which end to keep sharp.”
Pellia couldn’t stop herself. She leaned down to feel for the slit she had long ago cut into the underside of the couch, where a small throwing knife was hidden. It was empty.
Across the room, Balekin held the blade up tauntingly. “That one was particularly difficult to find. The one on the wall behind that lovely picture—is it the servant’s daughter?—that one was easy. Shame, girl.”
Pellia gritted her teeth. “None of this is any of your business.”
“Everything is my business. Especially concerning the people I want on my side.”
“Well, I’m not interested.”
Balekin raised a brow. The frustration in his eyes was there and gone. He was getting a handle on his emotions, and all the while Pellia could feel hers slipping, slowly being swallowed by the simmering anger she was holding at bay.
“Pellia,” Balekin said, the tone of his voice falsely reasonable, “everyone in my service came to be there by choice. I think you might find it to be the best option.”
“My choice is no. This conversation is done, Balekin.”
“You may find that you’d like to rethink that decision.”
Pellia didn’t deign to respond to the threat. She needed to get back in control of the interaction. “The door is that way. Show yourself out.”
“I will give you one more chance to do this simply,” Balekin near-growled. His eyes, previously so cold, burned white-hot now. “Trust me, this is not the kind of decision on which you want to be wrong.”
Pellia smiled—a syrupy sweet, utterly insincere smile—as she watched the playing field tip in her favour. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, prince.”
Beneath his forced, calm facade, the fey prince was seething. The mixed thrill of terror and triumph rang in Pellia’s bones as she watched the muscles in his jaw tick. Once, twice. Three times.
“You’re making a dangerous enemy.” The warning note in his tone was low. His eyes bore into hers. She glared right back.
“And you’re making me annoyed. Now get your overdramatic royal ass out of my house.”
Balekin’s shoulders stiffened, his expression darkening. He stood, striding forward to loom over the smaller fey girl. She rose to meet him, stepping directly into his space and forcing him to stop, abruptly and awkwardly, so as to avoid colliding with her.
“One day,” he growled. “One day you will beg for the place I have offered you. You will be at my mercy, and—”
“Oh my gosh, shut up,” Pellia snapped, slapping a hand over his mouth. “I don’t wanna hear your evil villain monologue, Balekin. I have homework to do and it’s my night to make dinner, so—” she herded him forcefully toward the door, but before she could open it he caught her wrist.
Pellia froze, every muscle tensed, her heart suddenly pounding very fast. Logic told her that a strategic retreat would be wise right then, but every instinct she had went against the idea of simply allowing someone else to win. She held his eyes as he glared down at her, ignoring the urge to pull back as his breath fanned across her face.
“You will regret this.”
She crowded closer, relishing the slight twitch of his brow that belayed his surprise. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
Balekin’s eyes were cold. “Is there much difference?” His grip tightened and her wrist stung at the places where his nails dug into her flesh. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to hold his gaze.
Two breaths passed.
Three.
His grip tightened again and this time she couldn’t stifle the gasp that rose in her throat. His smile was cruel and humorless and cutting. When he at last released her, Pellia snatched her arm away, cradling it to her chest. His nails were tipped in crimson.
She watched, aware of each crescent mark he had left in her skin, and the little pools of blood that grew swollen and heavy and slid down toward her elbow.
She cursed him under her breath as he exited.
~ ~ ~
A week passed with no incident.
Then two.
By the third week, Pellia had finally started to think that perhaps Balekin’s retribution would not come. Perhaps she had won that battle afterall and he had run home to Faerie with his metaphorical tail between his legs. Maybe that would be the end of it.
Week four rolled around, and still there was nothing from Balekin, no threats, no warnings—not even a sign of his presence.
Pellia let her guard down. That was when it happened.
The series of events was burned into her mind: the slow-mounting feeling of cold dread in her stomach, the gut-wrenching panic, the searing brand of anger and shame like she’d never felt before when she realised what had happened. And all of it—every awful moment—preceded by a normal, mundane afternoon.
She’d walked home from school alone that day after staying late to work on a group project. She had her earbuds in, playing music to fill the empty space that Amber usually filled with chatter.
When she turned onto her street, Pellia saw that the driveway was empty. Angela must still be at work then.
Pellia climbed the porch steps, digging in her bag for her key with one hand while her other reached out to jiggle the door handle. It was a habit, a little ritual she had done ever since she and Angela and the then-infant Amber had fled to the human world.
Always check that the door is locked, Angela had drilled into Pellia’s head. Check when you leave, so nothing gets in, and check when you return, so you know nothing’s waiting for you.
The two-step routine lived so deep in her bones that Pellia could never not do it. Check when you leave, check when you come back. And always lock the door, whether you’re in or out.
She froze as the door clicked open. It had been unlocked.
Feeling cold, the pixie stepped inside, gingerly setting her bag and earbuds to one side. Without the music playing, she could hear the low murmur of the TV floating to her from the living room. Maybe Amber had been distracted and simply forgotten to lock the door. Pellia wanted to convince herself that was the case, but Amber hadn’t forgotten in years, not since Angela had finally broken and told her exactly why their little family had to be so careful—exactly why her older sister was a pointy-eared pixie with a penchant for weapons and poisons and sneaking around.
Pellia moved quietly through the kitchen and into the TV room, hoping beyond hope that she would find her sister on the couch, curled up with her favourite show and an assignment she was clearly not doing.
But the couch was empty, just a cocoon of blankets where Amber must have been earlier in the day. Her backpack was tossed haphazardly in the middle of the living room floor. A bowl of cereal was growing soggy on the coffee table, next to an open can of Coke. There was only one thing in the world Amber hated more than soggy cereal. Pellia lifted the can carefully. It was still three-quarters full, and—she took a small sip—slightly flat. It had likely been sitting out for at least an hour.
A sick something was starting to churn in Pellia’s stomach now, creeping its way up into her chest to claw at her in quick bursts of panic.
No, no. She had to stay calm, had to think. There had to be a regular, mundane reason for why her sister wasn’t here. Like—there was a cold going around at school. Maybe Amber had felt sick and decided to take a nap. Pellia would go upstairs and Amber would be in her room, fast asleep and safe. She would be safe.
Pellia swallowed the building feeling of dread as she took the stairs two at a time and threw open Amber’s door. It was dark inside, the curtains still drawn, because Amber’s window faced east and she hated being awoken by the sun coming in her window in the morning. The blankets on the double bed in the corner were fluffed up so that Pellia couldn’t see if her sister was there. She would be, she promised herself. She would be, and then Pellia would reach out and brush a lock of hair out of Amber’s face and laugh at herself for jumping to such ridiculous conclusions, and Amber would wake up and laugh too when Pellia told her how she had panicked, and then they would laugh together and everything would be alright and—
Pellia crossed the room.
The bed was empty. She threw back the covers, even though she knew Amber wouldn’t be hidden beneath them. She was right.
Everything was spinning, her mind reeling, so Pellia stumbled to sit at the edge of the bed and stared, listless, at the brightly painted wall.
“Amber.” Pellia’s voice was tiny, the question of a child afraid, who knows their parent will offer no comfort. “Where are you?”
The silence that answered was terrifyingly loud.
Breathe. The mental instruction was an anchor to Pellia’s whirling mind, and she obeyed, inhaling deeply and focusing on the feeling of the air filling her lungs.
First thing’s first, she told herself as she stood, barely holding onto her forced composure. She had to look around again, with as clear a head as she could manage. There would be something to hint where Amber had gone, and it was probably something stupid, like a note on the fridge to say she’d gone out to buy ice cream.
Pellia desperately tried to convince herself, to believe that the feeling of dread knotted in her gut was wrong and Amber was fine and she would be home any second. But as she stalked slowly through the house, checking every nook and cranny, categorizing every dust mote that had been unsettled, the hollowness inside her grew.
A solid thunk from the front door set Pellia’s heart pounding. She moved quickly to the entryway, avoiding the windows, and peered through the peephole.
No one.
She threw the door open, stepping back to avoid a potential blow from any would-be attackers—but there was nothing. No one on the street, no cars driving by.
Pellia eyed the culprit of that sound, the only evidence that someone had been here and Amber’s disappearance wasn’t simply an innocent, unfortunately timed decision to go for a walk.
She pulled the heavy arrow from the door and released the length of cord tying the parchment to its shaft. It tried to curl into itself as she unrolled it. The petals of a wildflower fell out, faded now that they had been separated from the glamoured crown. The single sentence message was pressed deep—dark ink bleeding starkly against pale paper:
Now you shall beg.
Pellia's fingers shook as she dialed her mother's cell, heart in her throat. Angela answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” The rumble of the car filled the background.
“Amber—” Pellia started before choking on her own words.
“Pellia? Is everything all right, sweetheart?”
“I stayed late at school. I let her come home alone.”
“Pellia, what happened?” Angela’s voice was soothing, and if Pellia hadn’t known her so well, she may have missed the fear that clipped at the edges of the mortal woman’s words.
“I’m sorry.”
“Pellia,” Angela repeated, demanding an answer. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.” Pellia could barely choke out the words as she fought the threat of tears. “I thought I could handle it but—I’m so sorry. He wanted me but I said no. So he took her instead.”
Angela didn’t say anything for a long while, and when at last she spoke, her voice was strained. “Who.”
Guilt tightened like a noose around Pellia's throat. It took seven breaths before she could force the name from her tongue and shove it, hoarse and croaking, into the tense not-quite-silence of the phone call.
“Balekin. Some of his people.” Her whole body was trembling. “Him.”
On the other end of the phone, the car engine revved. “I'll be home in twenty minutes,” Angela said. “Stay there.”
~ ~ ~
Pellia's cold shock shattered to reveal a seething rage underneath.
Stupid. She'd been stupid to think that Balekin's presence at her house that day had been the end of things. Stupid to think he would give up so easily after he left. Stupid to think he had left on her terms. Balekin never did anything on anyone's terms but his own.
She could see that now. But it was already too late.
Pellia cursed herself for a fool. Stupid and cocky and naïve. Thoughts of everything she should have done bombarded her, feeding the guilt.
She should have been with Amber, instead of working on some meaningless group project. Should have expected Balekin's retaliation and protected her little sister better. Should have taken every warning Angela had told her growing up about keeping hidden from the courts.
Should have, should have, should have. The thoughts echoed, chasing each other around in her mind until the maelstrom of guilt and regret was all-encompassing.
Pellia stared at that note for a long time, proof of her carelessness. Her fist clenched around the arrow shaft before she hurled it point-first to land in the lawn. A sound that was part growl, part scream, and pure fear-fuelled fury wrenched its way up from deep in her gut.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the open windows of the house across the street close, the woman who lived there giving Pellia a strange look as she shut the blinds as well.
Carefully, Pellia folded the thick parchment. She tucked it into her pocket as her mind raced and her heartbeat sped to catch it.
If Balekin wanted to bring her to her knees, fine. She would kneel.
And then she would topple his throne from the ground up.
***
A/N: I absolutely understand if y'all have forgotten the entire plot to this story, because honestly, so have I. If any of you have stuck around long enough to read this, thank you. I appreciate you. Gonna overshare a bit for a moment and say that it’s been a rough two years. I’ve had some big struggles with my mental health, and between that, work, and an absolutely awful experience at university, I couldn’t give this fic the attention it deserves. I still don’t know when I’m going to update it next, but I know how it’s going to end and I want to see it through. It just may take another couple of years :’) (I am only half-joking about that one, unfortunately)
I know it’s been A While, so let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list.
Summary: Jude navigates her discovery of Cardan’s curse. She and Pellia make a deal. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 5198
Rating: T
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, injuries, and a panic attack.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER FIVE
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
Send me an ask!
***
Jude woke buried beneath the blankets with Cardan asleep in the hollow of her curled body.
She watched him for a long moment, the rise and fall of his sides as he breathed, and wondered what on earth she was doing. In wake of her nightmare, the biggest concern her confused, sleep-addled mind had come up with was that Cat Cardan had been around while she was changing (which, while mildly mortifying, she could get over).
But she had fallen asleep before actually processing the gravity of the discovery, and now… Well, now Jude had time to think.
Once he was back in his faerie body, what would happen? What would he do? say? He knew so much of her, her family, the way she thought and lived and felt—
All she could do was hope he wouldn’t use any of it against her if they managed to turn him back.
Summary: In a world of faeries and magic, Jude Duarte has always done everything she can to make up for her humanity. She’s been successful, she thinks, until one night she is reminded of her biggest secrets.
Genre: Angst, Hurt
Words: 1392
Rating: T
Warnings: Non-consensual touching
Links:
Read part two: Virtues & Vices
Read it on AO3
Masterlist
Send me an ask!
A/N: I wrote this at 5 AM after a night of no sleep and I haven’t proofed it so uhh sorry in advance for any errors.
***
The night is still. Peaceful. Jude tilts her face up to the star-speckled sky, closing her eyes, basking in it. The wind whispers across her skin and she welcomes it, savours its touch, inhales its warm, floral scent. It is unusual for her to have a moment such as this, when she can sit out on the rail of her balcony, can seek respite from the endless pit of vipers that is the Faerie court. Can let herself indulge, just for a heartbeat, in a carefully crafted story, in which this land is her home and this world where she belongs.
listen. l i s t e n. listen. kudos does not equal quality. popularity does not equal quality. i have read some “fandom classics” that i could barely fathom how boring or terrible i - personally - found them, and i have stumbled across some absolute gems that didn’t even break 100 kudos.
what is good doesn’t always get the recognition it deserves. it’s sad, but true. just because you haven’t - or possibly never take - off in fandom doesn’t mean your work isn’t astounding and beautiful, it doesn’t mean you should stop writing; it just means that a very select corner of the internet missed the diamond in the rough.
fanfiction is flooded with content, there are so many of us out there producing it these days, and having a fic that takes off is almost as much about luck as it is about talent. never let a few artificial numbers on the internet dictate to you what is and isn’t worthy writing.
additionally, you don’t have to read or enjoy fics just bcs they’re big. i cannot count the amount of times i’ve read the first paragraph of something fandom adores and immediatly exited out of it.
just… do what makes you happy. write what you wanna write, read what you wanna read. understand that while we all want recognition - and some deserve it more than others - we did not get into fanfiction for that recognition.
recognition is good, but sometimes we get all tangled up chasing it and stop enjoying writing and reading and fandom as a whole along the way. be careful of that, please, or you’ll burn yourself out.
Summary: Kaz braids Inej’s hair (and finally admits to himself just how much she means to him) a.k.a. 1.6k words of Ketterdam’s most notorious crimelord being a fool in love.
Genre: Fluff-ish? It’s real soft, I just don’t think it’s conventional fluff.
Words: 1647
Rating: GA
Links:
Read it on AO3
Masterlist
Send me an ask!
A/N: I wasn’t sure who’d be interested in this so I stalked the accounts on my usual taglist to see who had SoC content on their blog just took a wild guess. I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to see this, please don’t feel any pressure to read it!
***
Inej’s second favourite place in all of Ketterdam is the windowsill in Kaz’s room at the Slat. Kaz knows this for a fact, because she had told him so three days ago while sitting with her legs dangling out the window, unbothered and undaunted by the multi-storey drop below.
Now, she is perched in that very same spot, one hand loosely holding to the wooden window frame as she leans forward, basking in the warm light of day’s end. Her long black locks are loose around her shoulders, dancing idly in the soft breeze edging its way into the room.
Kaz observes this from his place at his desk, opposite the window, the empty parchment paper and drying quill before him long forgotten.
Summary: Kaz braids Inej’s hair (and finally admits to himself just how much she means to him) a.k.a. 1.6k words of Ketterdam’s most notorious crimelord being a fool in love.
Genre: Fluff-ish? It’s real soft, I just don’t think it’s conventional fluff.
Words: 1647
Rating: GA
Links:
Read it on AO3
Masterlist
Send me an ask!
A/N: I wasn’t sure who’d be interested in this so I stalked the accounts on my usual taglist to see who had SoC content on their blog just took a wild guess. I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to see this, please don’t feel any pressure to read it!
***
Inej’s second favourite place in all of Ketterdam is the windowsill in Kaz’s room at the Slat. Kaz knows this for a fact, because she had told him so three days ago while sitting with her legs dangling out the window, unbothered and undaunted by the multi-storey drop below.
Now, she is perched in that very same spot, one hand loosely holding to the wooden window frame as she leans forward, basking in the warm light of day’s end. Her long black locks are loose around her shoulders, dancing idly in the soft breeze edging its way into the room.
Kaz observes this from his place at his desk, opposite the window, the empty parchment paper and drying quill before him long forgotten.
Summary: Kaz braids Inej’s hair (and finally admits to himself just how much she means to him) a.k.a. 1.6k words of Ketterdam’s most notorious crimelord being a fool in love.
Genre: Fluff-ish? It’s real soft, I just don’t think it’s conventional fluff.
Words: 1647
Rating: GA
Links:
Read it on AO3
Masterlist
Send me an ask!
A/N: I wasn’t sure who’d be interested in this so I stalked the accounts on my usual taglist to see who had SoC content on their blog just took a wild guess. I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to see this, please don’t feel any pressure to read it!
***
Inej’s second favourite place in all of Ketterdam is the windowsill in Kaz’s room at the Slat. Kaz knows this for a fact, because she had told him so three days ago while sitting with her legs dangling out the window, unbothered and undaunted by the multi-storey drop below.
Now, she is perched in that very same spot, one hand loosely holding to the wooden window frame as she leans forward, basking in the warm light of day’s end. Her long black locks are loose around her shoulders, dancing idly in the soft breeze edging its way into the room.
Kaz observes this from his place at his desk, opposite the window, the empty parchment paper and drying quill before him long forgotten.
Summary: Kaz braids Inej's hair (and finally admits to himself just how much she means to him) a.k.a. 1.6k words of Ketterdam's most notorious crimelord being a fool in love.
Genre: Fluff-ish? It’s real soft, I just don’t think it’s conventional fluff.
Words: 1647
Rating: GA
Links:
Read it on AO3
Masterlist
Send me an ask!
A/N: I wasn’t sure who’d be interested in this so I stalked the accounts on my usual taglist to see who had SoC content on their blog just took a wild guess. I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to see this, please don’t feel any pressure to read it!
***
Inej's second favourite place in all of Ketterdam is the windowsill in Kaz's room at the Slat. Kaz knows this for a fact, because she had told him so three days ago while sitting with her legs dangling out the window, unbothered and undaunted by the multi-storey drop below.
Now, she is perched in that very same spot, one hand loosely holding to the wooden window frame as she leans forward, basking in the warm light of day's end. Her long black locks are loose around her shoulders, dancing idly in the soft breeze edging its way into the room.
Kaz observes this from his place at his desk, opposite the window, the empty parchment paper and drying quill before him long forgotten.
She's beautiful.
The thought catches him off guard and he presses his lips together, his brow furrowing. It's not that he hasn't noticed before, it's just that, in all of his prior noticing, he'd never put a word to it. He had never specified to himself that it was beauty he saw in the slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones, the coffee-dark brown of her eyes that lit like honeyed gold in the light. Never allowed himself to acknowledge the way his heart ached, just a little, when she wasn't there, or the way he could be in a room full of people and still, his eyes would be drawn to her.
Kaz watches, mesmerised, as Inej plays idly with her hair, watches her slender fingers dance through the long strands. He imagines his own fingers in her hair instead and is confused to find it isn't dread that pools in his stomach, but something… different. Warmer, somehow. Softer.
"Can I braid it?" The words come out before he can think about them and the shock on Inej's face when she glances back at him is enough to jerk him back to himself. He stays utterly still for a moment as he lets sink in what he's just done.
"If you like," she says.
Kaz evaluates his options and finds that, short of backing out, his only other path forward is to face this head on. And Kaz Brekker has never been one to back down from a challenge, so, jaw clenched in determination, he stands and crosses the room, the space between him and the Wraith growing smaller with each pace until he is but a foot away.
She gives him a smile as she gathers her hair from in front of her shoulder, pulling it behind her to fall in sheets down her back. Kaz is starting to realise just how very much he didn't think this through.
He reminds himself to breathe as reaches out with one gloved hand to touch the flowing tresses. He tells himself that it isn't actually shaking, that it's just the uncertain light making it hard to see. But Inej has her eyes closed against the bright sun and Kaz knows he isn't fooling anyone. He steels himself against the instincts that are screaming to absolutely not make contact, and slides his gloved hands into her hair.
His touch is careful, near painful in its hesitancy as he begins working out the knots, as though he is afraid he might hurt her. Inej has her eyes closed, her quiet breath and his pounding heart the only sounds.
He's seen Inej braid her own hair enough times to have an idea of how it works, and he separates the long strands into three sections. It is thick and heavy and it slides between his gloves when he tries to grasp it, elusive as the wraith for which she is named. He wrestles, gently, with the strands, trying to gather them all in his gloved fingers, until he realizes that this isn't going to work; he can't braid her hair if it keeps slipping from his hold.
Kaz lets it fall from his grasp and stares at the gloves over his hands: they'll have to go. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
His eyes flick to Inej, to her face, tilted to the sky, basking in the gentle breeze and the warmth of the setting sun. Her tranquility is a steady, tangible thing, and he latches onto it, latches onto the calm that radiates from her, his own shaky inhales falling in sync with hers, like maybe if he breathes in time he might absorb some of her peace.
He so desperately wants her peace.
Slowly, eyes closed, he pulls the glove from his left hand. The gentle wind through the window is tepid on his bare skin and his chest tightens suddenly. He focuses all his attention on Inej's steady breathing as he loosens the fingers of his right glove and slowly, slowly, slides it off. The leather is still warm and he doesn't look at them as he reaches around Inej, always maintaining what little space is between them as he does.
He can almost feel the way she resists watching as he sets the gloves down next to her on the windowsill. He isn't sure if he is grateful... or disappointed. He also isn't sure what he expected to feel, if anything, but the ambiguous weight that settles in his stomach is certainly not it.
He shakes the uncertainty off. This is not what he is supposed to be thinking about, certainly not at this moment, as he mentally prepares himself to brush a bare fingertip to the loose strands of her hair, forcing himself not to flinch. It is soft, swaying at his touch, and warm with the gentle heat of her body and the setting sun.
He steadies himself with another slow inhale, and then carefully gathers the length of her hair into his hands. A jolt runs through his body at the brush of his finger against her neck, and Kaz stands frozen for a moment, waiting while his heart settles to a steady pounding instead of a plunging gallop.
To her credit, Inej doesn't react to the accidental touch, or his sudden lack of movement—or at least, if she does she doesn't show it.
When he is able to continue, Kaz lifts the hair a little farther from her body and twists the strands together. Some fall away from the rest, and he does his best to gather them again, guiding them back into the loose plait he has created.
When finally he ties it off, letting go a shaky breath as he lowers it cautiously to settle on her back again, his hands are trembling too much for him to deny, even to himself. He balls them into fists as Inej pulls the braid over one shoulder to inspect his work, then turns to give him a small smile.
"Not bad," she tells him. He wants to return her smile, but all he can manage is the slightest twitch of the corner of his mouth.
She understands anyway. Inej always understands.
Her eyes drop to the gloves on the sill next to him, and she gathers them almost reverently, staring at them for a long moment before her eyes once again find his. She holds them up to him—those gloves; his defense against the corpses that lurk in his past, the things which all at once give him strength and reveal his greatest weakness.
Kaz doesn't try to hide the bareness of his skin from her as he reaches out to take hold of his gloves, but once again he feels that strange mix of relief and disappointment when her gaze stays fixed to his face.
He holds her gaze, and she gives him the tiniest of nods as he lifts the leather pieces from her grasp, before she returns to looking out the window, while he slides them onto his hands. The feel of the well-worn material around his fingers is familiar and comforting, and the pain that has been sitting in his chest begins to lessen as his heartbeat settles.
He still doesn't move away, though, and he isn't sure why, until Inej slides to one side of the big window in silent invitation.
A heartbeat passes before he sits, stepping one foot over the sill and then the other, a scant couple feet separating him from Inej's quiet presence. The wind is gentle and warm, and Kaz watches as the people of Ketterdam roam the streets below, finishing their errands and heading home before the sun finishes setting. When he looks over, Inej has her eyes closed again, face tilted up to meet the day's last rays of sunlight.
He clears his throat. "Um. Thank—you," he says, but the words catch in his throat, his mouth dry.
"What for?" Inej casts a sidelong glance at him, her eyes turning to liquid honey as they catch the dusk light.
For the invitation to sit with you, he thinks. For handing me my gloves. For letting me braid your hair. He isn't quite sure. For being the one person I can trust with anything, he thinks, and his chest tightens at the revelation. For being YOU.
But Kaz says precisely none of these things. He presses his lips into a thin line.
Inej turns her face to him fully, her eyes holding an emotion he's not sure he recognizes.
She watches him for a mere heartbeat, holds him under her gaze for infinite eternities, and when she finally looks away, his stomach feels tight and he has to remind himself to breathe.
"For what, Kaz?" she says again, and he opens his mouth like maybe that will make the words come to him.
The silence stretches as she stares out at the far away horizon, and he studies the familiar lines of her face; the slope of her nose, the rise of her cheekbones. Her coffee-and-honey eyes.
Finally, Kaz says, "For everything, Inej. For everything."
***
A/N: I hate writing summaries because I never know how to summarise my fics. Like, yeah, I wrote it, but what do you mean I'm supposed to know what's in it? Anyway, I hope you got what you were expecting from this fic and aren't reaching the end and realising I totally mis-sold this (which is very possible tbh). And, as always, thank you ever so much for reading! Please consider leaving kudos and/or a comment to let me know what you thought! This is a bit different from what I usually post, both in content and style, so definitely tell me if you like this kinda thing! I treasure all the feedback I get from you all, truly! Your support is so valued. <3
Also, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any future Grishaverse fics! (Or, if I did tag you, if you want to continue to be tagged in Grishaverse content or not!)
Summary: Jude navigates her discovery of Cardan’s curse. She and Pellia make a deal. || Inspired by this prompt by @newblood-freya
Words: 5198
Rating: T
Warnings: Descriptions of violence, injuries, and a panic attack.
Links:
Fic Masterlist
CHAPTER FIVE
Prompt by newblood-freya
Read it on AO3
Writing Masterlist
Send me an ask!
***
Jude woke buried beneath the blankets with Cardan asleep in the hollow of her curled body.
She watched him for a long moment, the rise and fall of his sides as he breathed, and wondered what on earth she was doing. In wake of her nightmare, the biggest concern her confused, sleep-addled mind had come up with was that Cat Cardan had been around while she was changing (which, while mildly mortifying, she could get over).
But she had fallen asleep before actually processing the gravity of the discovery, and now… Well, now Jude had time to think.
Once he was back in his faerie body, what would happen? What would he do? say? He knew so much of her, her family, the way she thought and lived and felt—
All she could do was hope he wouldn’t use any of it against her if they managed to turn him back.
