Sing me to sleep, p.20
Sing Me to Sleep, page 20
The back wall of Haraya has a huge, circular stained glass window with hands on the inside and outside, creating a double-sided clock.
The hands move, closer and closer to ten. With each tick, the sweet anticipation of the room builds until it’s so intense, my mouth feels dry.
When the clock strikes ten, a hush falls over the crowd, and Haraya blinks into darkness.
A few startled gasps.
The torches flicker to life. Anarin Arkin stands onstage. As always, she wears navy and gold for Keirdre, but she’s not in uniform. She wears a long black dress, a navy headscarf, and heavy-looking golden jewelry.
She’s radiant, but my eyes skirt past her.
Sitting behind her is a human. He’s small, drenched in sweat, and shivering from something other than cold. He looks barely older than me. Skin and bone with sunken-in brown eyes.
“Aris Milner.” Anarin’s voice shatters the stillness that’s fallen over the hall. She’s addressing the human, but this is a show for Vanihailians, so she doesn’t look away from her enraptured audience. “You’re charged with being in possession of lairic beads.” Anarin paces across the stage, and the eyes of the fae track her movements, drinking in her authority like a cordial. “Do you deny it?”
Aris mumbles in reply, too quiet to hear.
Anarin’s expression darkens. “Speak up.”
“I don’t deny it.” His voice strains from the effort and still, I barely hear him.
“Are you aware humans are forbidden from using magic?”
The crowd leans forward, hanging on Anarin’s every word.
I poke my tongue against my keil bead. A sense of foreboding twists my stomach into a knot.
“Yes,” Aris shouts in response.
“Were you aware that lairic beads are a form of magic?” asks Anarin.
“Yes.”
Anarin stops moving. “Aris Milner, you have been found guilty of practicing magic as a human. Do you know the punishment for that crime?”
His chin drops to his chest. “Yes.”
The excitement of the fae surrounding me floods my mouth like rainwater in a river. I try to swallow it, but it lodges itself in my throat.
Death.
The price of humans using magic.
Anarin doesn’t say it. Not yet. She hasn’t finished her show.
“If you like,” Anarin says, “we can make a deal.”
His head jerks up, eyes wide with hope. “A deal?”
“Yes. Lairic beads are used for communicating. Tell me who you were communicating with and your life will be spared.”
The hope drains from his eyes, and his shoulders slump.
Of course. A trap. It’s all too common for human families to be split apart. One parent dragged off to work in Vanihail, another sent to a different sector. Most likely, this human has family he needs lairic beads to talk to. And if he loves them enough to risk death to stay in contact, he won’t turn them in and risk them receiving the same fate.
He hangs his head and doesn’t answer.
Anarin smirks, satisfaction evident in her violet eyes. She never expected him to give a name; she just wanted to build the tension of the moment.
“If you refuse to answer, you are sentenced to death.”
I want to look away, but my eyes are peeled. Aris is so young—too young. There’s someone out there he loves. Someone who will, in the near future, attempt to Dreamweave into the mind of someone who no longer exists.
Anarin circles around Aris’s chair. He’s bound, so he can’t move. His fingers twitch against the arms of the chair in terror.
Anarin yanks a knife from a sheath at her waist. I flinch as she slices the blade down.
To my surprise, the ropes fall off Aris.
For a split tick, my shoulders ease—
She slices the dagger again, drawing it horizontally across his neck.
His mouth opens in a silent scream as blood spurts from his throat.
I see now why she cut his bindings. To make the scene more brutally dramatic.
His freed hands fly to his neck, and he tumbles from the chair, convulsing as blood gurgles in his throat.
A few twitches later, his body stills, and the tiny, shriveling human is dead.
Anarin is smiling. Not a shred of remorse. Her black dress is stained red, but she doesn’t appear to notice.
The crowd roars in approval around me.
I’m frozen. Silent. Horrified.
Three weeks ago, I wanted to be Anarin. I wanted an assignment that would set me on track to be an Enforcer. I thought claiming the title would prove how far I could rise, ikatus and all.
Turns out, the title is a thin veil to disguise yet another monster.
I’m nauseous as I leave Haraya. Not from the blood but from the sickness of Anarin’s sadistic spectacle.
A hand touches my elbow.
I twist around, hand flying to strike my assailant—and stop.
The man is tall and wearing a hood that hangs so low, it flops over his eyes and nose, leaving only his lips visible. A keil bead hangs around his neck, plainly evident. He wants me to see it. To know that the sliver of his face I’m seeing now isn’t his.
My blackmailer in the flesh.
“You know who I am?” His voice is gruff. Also disguised by a keil bead.
I think about singing. He stands before me, in person, the author of the notes that threaten to expose my sister. But he’s not working alone. If something happens to him, those he works with will punish Rain.
I hold in the song and say, “Yes.”
“Good.” He pulls me away from the passing flow of fae leaving Haraya and into the shadows.
My arm burns where he grips me, yearning to shove him off and scrub myself clean of his touch, but I don’t put up a fight.
He stops and leans back, putting distance between us. “Tell me about the creature cullings.”
I fold my arms. “There used to be other creatures in Keirdre. King Larster killed them all.”
He doesn’t react. “And Szeiryna?”
“It was a sector. It used to be—”
“I know what it is.” My blackmailer sounds impatient. “Tell me where it is.”
There’s a pit in my stomach. From his reaction, it’s clear Szeiryna is what he’s really interested in. More specifically—what happened to the barrier.
I have to tell him. The threat in the silver envelopes means refusing isn’t an option. The problem—
I promise.
Two words. So simple, but so, so heavy.
Hayes swore me to secrecy. Of course, at the time, I knew it was a promise I couldn’t keep. But it feels worse now. Like a betrayal.
I must take too long, because my blackmailer says, “Do I need to remind you what happens if you refuse to answer?”
Rain.
My resistance crumbles.
Anything for you.
I steel myself. “Szeiryna is on the other side of the barrier.”
He presses closer. “How is that possible?”
“The barrier isn’t permanent.” I hang my head. “It’s tied to the Royals. As long as they live, so does the barrier.”
I taste his eagerness at my words. “And if they were to die?”
He already knows the answer, but the tension in his stance dares me to refuse him.
“So would the barrier,” I say.
He doesn’t stick around for pleasantries. With a half nod, he walks away, leaving me in the shadow of Haraya Hall, alone with my thoughts and overwhelming guilt.
The Raze is already using me in a plot against the Royals. And now I’ve given the Resistance a new target as well:
Hayes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Child’s Play
The sight of roasted ham, stewed yams, collard greens, and pans of slightly charred cornbread is enough to make my empty stomach rumble in discontent. But the real torture is the smell.
I smell the hickory smoke drifting from the ham; the cinnamon-honeyed scent of the candied yams; the rich, fatty aroma wafting from the bacon grease the greens are cooked in; and the warm, buttery smell of the cornbread.
I haven’t eaten since before last night’s kill. The sensation of their scents combined makes my legs weak, but I can’t enjoy any of it.
Anarin sits in the dining hall, at the table. She glanced at me when she strolled in, but I looked away before I could see the flicker of recognition.
Yesterday, I aspired to be her.
Today, she makes my stomach twist in disgust.
The table is full today. With the King, Prince, and eight of Keirdre’s Enforcers.
Guards line the walls, humans serve, and the guests at the table pretend we don’t exist.
Except for Hayes. He catches my eye and grins. He raises his glass of sickly-sweet wine toward me in a silent toast.
The sight of him rips me in half. I’m furious at him. And terrified for him. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two.
I think of the humans left to clean up the aftermath of the storm last night. Of the water shortage and how the only ones affected will be families like mine. Of the man—boy, really—sentenced to death a few hours ago. And here Hayes sits, Crown Prince, stuffing his face, drinking wine, and smiling at me.
Cue anger.
But then I remember him confiding in me about the barrier. Making me promise to never tell. And how I traded the information away to someone who wants him dead.
Cue fear.
I look away.
This meeting is to select the next Enforcer of Serington. Each person at the table has a vote, and King Larster can reject the majority.
So far, this so-called meeting has been Enforcers bickering like children. It’s expected. Fae hate witches, witches hate fae, and none of them give a sheep’s skull what the humans think.
The result: endless spats over petty drivel.
The chair at the head of the table scrapes against the floor as the King stands. The instant he rises, conversation dies, and all eyes fix on him.
“Wren Fleming, Enforcer of Serington, has lost his son. He has asked to step down from his position. Before we commence this meeting, any objections to Enforcer Fleming’s resignation?”
An earth fae raises his hand. “I have no objection, Your Majesty, however I must ask: What is being done in response to Felix’s death? From what I understand, he was murdered. Is it true that there’s an assassin running loose in Keirdre? I have children, Your Majesty. Is this woman targeting Enforcers?”
“We are not even sure if this woman is the killer,” says the King.
The air fae Enforcer, Xeris, frowns. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, we’ve all seen posters of this woman in our sectors. Why search for a woman who isn’t the killer?”
The King nods to Hayes. “Ask my son. He has Keirdre panicking over a pretty face. I have allowed him to attempt an investigation until his birthday. But as soon as my son turns eighteen and relinquishes his delusions, my own team will find the real culprit. Spektryl. A man.”
The Enforcers look to Hayes expectantly.
He takes a long drink of his too-sweet wine and slams the glass on the table with a clinking rattle. “Lovely introduction, Father,” he mutters. He raises his voice, addressing the room. “You all may think I’m foolish for sending the kingdom after a woman, but can anyone here tell me what Spektryl looks like?”
Silence.
“Can anyone tell me how old he is? Or even what kind of fae he is?”
More silence.
“We don’t know anything about Spektryl, but we do know what this woman looks like. She could be our killer, but even if she’s not, she can lead us to him. I wish my father luck in his hunt for a phantom, but my team and I—” He meets my eyes with a smile I can only describe as fond. “We pursue flesh and blood. Mock all you want—we’ll catch our girl.”
I’ve become accustomed to Hayes shirking formality. It’s disarming—pleasantly so—to see him take control in a room of the most powerful people in Keirdre.
When I arrived at the Palace, I dismissed Hayes as childish—and maybe he is—but authority suits him. So well, I wonder why he doesn’t do this more often.
“And in the meantime?” Carston, the Phydian Enforcer, challenges. “How do you propose we protect our families if the guards the Barracks assigns aren’t effective?”
“Last I checked, you have daughters and sisters,” says Hayes. “The Raze has only ever killed men.”
“Might I remind you all that we are not here to discuss a woman,” the King cuts in. He’s scowling, but I get the feeling that his irritation has less to do with the conversation topic and more to do with the fact that Hayes is the one leading the conversation. “We are here to discuss the next Enforcer of Serington.”
“Does anyone have any suggestions for the replacement?” Issabex, the witch Enforcer of Ketzal, asks. In a room of mostly fae, she stands out. Bright silver curls, skin darker than my father’s, and amber eyes flecked with dark green. She’s as beautiful as she is out of place.
Carston glowers at her. “None from you, witch. Serington is a fae sector.”
Her eyes darken. “As if I’d wish to subject a witch Enforcer to a fae sector. You speak as if there is not a fae assassin running around murdering you in your own sectors.”
“Even with an assassin, fae sectors are safer than witch sectors,” says Carston.
“How would you know?” Issabex demands. “When was the last time you entered a witch sector for anything other than a raid?”
“We wouldn’t conduct so many raids if you witches did your jobs and confiscated contraband.”
Issabex rolls her eyes. “You love to scoff at enchanted objects, but I see none of you take issue with asking witches to rune chaeliss lights for your ballrooms or keil beads for your daughters.”
“Chaeliss stones and keil beads aren’t illegal,” says Carston.
“Of course not,” says Issabex. “You decide what’s legal based on what’s useful to you.”
“Listen here, witch—”
“Enough!” The King slams a fist on the table with enough force, the Enforcers immediately duck their heads, chastened.
“Excuse us, Your Majesty,” the eight of them murmur at once.
“Do any fae have a suggestion for a new Enforcer?” The King’s tone remains scolding.
“Might I suggest Rienna Kasselton?” says Anarin.
My brows furrow. Rienna?
Xeris sneers. “Didn’t she lose the Ranking to an ikatus?”
Hayes glances at me, fitting together the pieces.
Rienna is an odd choice for an Enforcer. She’s barely eighteen. Enforcer positions are for life. It seems strange that such an important position would be selected so early. Before she’s had a chance to earn it.
“Her training instructor says she’s brilliant,” says Anarin.
“Doesn’t matter,” says Xeris. “She lost to a runt.”
“I have an alternative,” says Carston. “A guard at the Vanihailian Barracks.”
“He was given nursemaid’s duty after graduation?” says Xeris dismissively. “Absolutely not.”
“He never graduated. He was ejected at fourteen but was so talented, they didn’t want to waste him. The fact that he was assigned nursemaid’s duty is a testament to his aptitude.”
My ears perk. I know this story—it’s Carrik’s.
I’m not sure what face I make, but Hayes looks over at me like he always does and tilts his head in an obvious question: How do I know Carrik?
My eyes drop to the floor before my face can give anything else away. I’m torn.
Do I want Carrik to gain the recognition he deserves? Of course.
Do I want him to spend his days treating humans the way his mother was treated? Sentencing them to death and reveling in it, the way Anarin does? Absolutely not.
I calm myself. Carrik’s half-human. Fae hate humans. He’s safe from this. He has to be.
“I remember hearing about this,” says Anarin slowly. “Carrik Solwey. He was expelled when it was revealed his mother was human—”
Sounds of distaste around the table.
“A human?” says Xeris. “You want us to turn a human into an Enforcer? Carston, you’re usually more sensible than this.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
All heads whip toward Hayes, jaws unhinged.
“Sir?” Xeris looks horrified. “Did you hear—he’s human.”
“Only half. And he was the best in his year. Don’t you think we should determine qualifications based on ability?”
“Son.” The King glowers at him. “He’s human.”
“Half. If he was fully human, he wouldn’t have an affinity. The way I see it, we have two options: the one who ranked second behind an ikatus or the one who ranked first of them all. It’s an easy choice. Do we not want the best leading our sectors?”
Silence. The contemplative kind.
My tongue plays with my keil bead, but I keep my face still.
“Why don’t we vote?” Hayes stands. “Option A—the best—or Option B—second. Behind an ikatus.”
One by one, Enforcers cast their votes. Of eight Enforcers, seven vote in favor of Carrik.
“Any objections, Your Majesty?” asks Anarin.
The King is silent.
Hope rises in my chest. The King hates humans more than anything. Surely—
The King smiles cruelly. “I have no objection.”
My heart sinks.
“So long as my son takes responsibility for putting a human over a sector,” the King continues. “When this ends poorly—and it will—the brunt of the blame falls solely on my son’s shoulders. Are we in agreement?”
Hayes’s gaze flickers to me once more before he nods. “Agreed.”
“Then I have no objection.”
“Excellent.” Anarin nods. “We’ll start preparations to groom Carrik Solwey to be the next Enforcer of Serington.”
Hayes tries to catch my eye for the rest of the meeting, but I pick a spot on the wall and stare at it.
