Ryatt levels me with a stare that probably rivals my own. “Do you really want to talk of sacrifices, brother? Because I’ve given up my whole identity to serve yours.”
Sometimes, the chasm between us feels insurmountable. Like now, when we’re so at odds, the distance from his side to mine can’t be crossed.
“Have you even gone to visit?” he demands.
My spine locks up tight. “Don’t ask questions that you already know the answers to. The sound of your voice isn’t that soothing.”
He ignores my jab. “Should’ve known.”
“I’ve been a little busy, Ryatt.”
“Right.” Disdain drips down as he heaves to his feet. “Well, perhaps try to fit it into your schedule, Your Majesty.” He bends at the waist into a mocking bow before striding off.
With ugliness buried in my chest, I watch him walk away, back stiff, steps carrying the weight of his anger.
It’s hard to correlate the sight of him like this when my eyes also hold another time—of when he was more than a foot shorter than me, a scrawny little thing with wild black hair and jam smeared on his lips.
There was no walking away then. He always followed behind me or tried to clutch onto my arm, tethering us together with a mischievous smile. There were no angry glares aimed my way. We sought games and adventure instead of avoiding each other as we do now.
My anger expels with my exhale, dissipating in the cold air.
I lean back against the cave wall, feeling the threat of my spikes pushing against the inside of my arms.
Like my memories are too close to the surface, an old condemning voice rings clear in my head. “Control, Slade. Are you some common fae to lose it so easily? Or are you going to be worthy of the blood in your rotted veins? Pull those spikes back, or I’ll pin them to the estate wall and let you hang there till you learn.”
Maybe it’s muscle memory of the countless days I spent under commands like that, but my spikes sink back below, the skin on my arms no longer bulging with the threat of their presence.
Control.
It was the first thing drilled in my head since the moment I started to change. Most fae are around fifteen or sixteen when their magic comes in.
I wasn’t afforded that much time.
I still remember the itch. The way I raked my nails over the backs of my forearms, or tried to reach along my spine. I felt like a bear in the woods needing to scratch against the bark of a tree. Every time my spikes stabbed out of me, they ripped my skin to shreds, blood gaping from the gashes they cut.
For a year, they would bleed every time they came out—until crimson soaked every sleeve, the back of every shirt dotted with a perfect row, while more drops of blood dripped down into my eyebrows.
Worse still was the look I got—and that cutting voice. I learned how to suppress my spikes, learned how to only draw them out when I wanted them to come. I even stopped flinching when they stabbed through my skin. And soon, I even stopped bleeding. As if even my blood was afraid to show itself to my father.
“There you are.”
I glance up at Lu as she flits inside, though she’s not alone. There’s a messenger hawk gripping her shoulder, and neither of them look very pleased about it.
“This asshole just showed up. Flew right to the front door and started beating on it like its beak was a knocker.” She tips her head at it, but when it pecks at her head, she bats it away. “She won’t let anyone get the message. Wouldn’t even trade for it,” Lu says, holding out her palm where a handful of dried jerky waits. The hawk makes a noise of scorn, the hoarse sound accompanying a sharp dig of its talons into Lu’s shoulder.
She winces, giving it a glare. “See what I mean?”
I stand up and walk over, and the bird immediately jumps from her shoulder to land on my arm, and holds out its leg. “Good girl,” I croon, drawing a finger down the side of her neck. She clicks her beak together, eyes blinking at me as I take hold of the silver vial attached to her leg and remove the rolled parchment within.
My eyes flick over the words, and I’ve only made it halfway through when my fingers start to tighten over the paper. By the time I get to the end, I’m crumpling it, my entire body gone taut.
“What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, I pass Lu the letter, and I watch as her expression goes through the same emotions as my own. “Son of a bitch.”
Her hand drops, crinkled letter still clutched as she looks at me. “Queen Kaila certainly didn’t waste any time.”
“No. She didn’t.”