Page 110 of A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic 2)
“Of course, accidents do happen.” That’s Allor. I meet Giles’s eyes—he has the same realization as I do.
“I’m going to kill her,” he says under his breath.
“You’re going to have to fight me for that honor.”
He gives a conspiratorial nod and motions for me to follow as he starts for a nearby tree. “Are you good at climbing?”
I stare up at the tree, thinking back to the roof. No climbing, Joyce had ingrained in me. No heights. Stay close to the ground…where I belonged.
“I’m actually really good at climbing,” I admit to myself and him. Because I still did even despite her, to repair the outer walls of the manor, or clean the molding that ran along the ceilings. Even after the fall, I never became afraid of heights. They always felt natural. Strange, how some of those skills are coming in handy when I least expect them.
“We can get a good look from up there, I think.” Giles points to one of the far-reaching branches of the oak tree and I follow him up. Sure enough, we can see the Butchers and the survivors of Dreamsong below while being shielded by the wide branches we now lie on and the leafy bough of the oak.
There are the remnants of a struggle on the ground—more bodies and blood. The survivors have been corralled into three different groups, each of them facing a small army of Butchers. Most of them stare at their feet or at nothing in particular with vacant, hollow eyes.
“Are they going to take them all back to the High Court?” I whisper.
“I can only assume so.”
“How many examples does one king need?” My question has the edge of a growl at its end. This is too much. Boltov is going too far. And yet, based on everything I’ve been told, this all is still just the tip of the horrors that this king has brought to the fae wilds.
“We’re going to move in groups,” the man who I presume is the lead Butcher says. “I strongly recommend that you listen to the instructions we give you, as failure to do so might resolve in further unpleasantness.”
The Butchers pass around small tokens made of what appears to be glass.
“What are those?” I glanced toward Giles. “More relics?”
“No. Those are shards of the crown—summonses from the king. It’s one of the many powers of the glass crown. Any fae who receives a summons must respond within the day or they’ll die.”
I wince. For as beautiful as this world is, it certainly has vicious undertones that I had overlooked for weeks. But now I see them. Now I see the darkness as clearly as I saw every glittering spark of magic light.
The head Butcher walks over to a group that’s mostly obscured by the trees. “As the leader of this rebellious group, you’ll show them how to return to our king’s loving embrace.”
“Loving.” Vena snorts. She’s alive. Relief floods through me. If Vena is alive then there’s hope. I’m not quite sure why I feel that way, perched in a tree, helpless to do anything to assist… But if anyone can concoct a way out of the situation she now finds herself in, I believe it to be Vena.
“We have shown you mercy.” The Butcher stalks closer to her and out of my view. “It is up to you to decide if that mercy continues, or if we exact our king’s vengeance here and now.”
There’s a long pause. I wonder what’s going through her mind. What if she’s thinking of Davien coming in to save the day? Maybe that’s what makes her say, “I heed my king’s summons.”
There’s a small flash of light. Some men and women in the other groups begin to weep quietly. They just watched their leader, their hope, go into the arms of the enemy. I see others bringing the tokens to their chest and repeating the same, vanishing with small sparks.
As I’m watching the group closest to the mountain, I see a thin trickle of rocks bouncing down the boulders at the mountain’s foot. I lean to get a better view of where those rocks came from—what might have knocked them loose. I had been hoping to see a horde of Acolytes ready to rain terror down from above on the Butchers. But instead, my eyes lock with a familiar lilac pair. I see the curve of horns I recognize attached to a small face peeking out from behind one of the high-up ledges.
Raph’s eyes widen slightly. I bring a finger to my lips. He nods and we both lean back into our hiding places.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m the only one who might have seen the rocks Raph knocked loose. As the groups of survivors slowly disappear one by one, the main Butcher barks an order. “Search the area, make sure there are no stragglers.”
“If we find any, what are your orders?” Allor asks.
“Kill them on sight. The king has enough executions on his hands already. We can have a bit of fun.”
The Butchers fan out with excited rumblings. Giles and I pull in our arms and legs as much as possible while still keeping our balance. I hold my breath, watching as two Butchers pass beneath us, searching. We wait for what feels like nearly an hour. An hour of tense muscles, shallow breathing, and the creeping dread that at any second I’m going to hear a shout that marks my death.
But it never comes. And instead the next thing I hear is a new order.
“Head back,” the man commands.
Giles and I remain in the tree for at least ten more minutes, not moving. We stare at each other, as if we’re waiting to see who’s going to take the responsibility of being the first one to speak. I surprise myself by rising to the occasion.
