He nods to the wall behind the desks, where pictures of all shapes and sizes hang. I step closer, fascinated by what I see. Drawings of families, of starry night skies, of mountains and rivers and flowers. But the ones I can’t stop staring at are of monsters—drawings of eyeless and sharp-toothed beasts that are rudimentary yet also look like they’re emerging from the paper.
“This is Abriella,” Misha says, and I force myself to look away from the art and turn to greet her.
The woman steps forward and offers a hand. “It’s always lovely to meet a friend of Misha’s.”
“She’s not just a friend,” Misha says. “She’s the one who killed Mordeus.”
The teacher’s eyes go big. “Oh gods! I didn’t realize . . .” She drops to one knee, still clinging to my hand, and brings my knuckles to her forehead. “This is such an honor. Thank you, thank you. You have no idea what you’ve done for my people. We are so indebted to you. Please tell me how I can honor you on this day and each day ahead.”
“I . . .” I look to Misha, unsure what to say. I thought Leta’s greeting was uncomfortable, but this . .
.
Misha shrugs, as if he’s not personally responsible for putting me in this awkward situation.
“Please stand,” I say. “You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you everything. Mordeus killed my parents, my brothers, my bonded partner, and my . . .”
She chokes on the word, but I already know it without her saying. Mordeus isn’t just the reason she had to leave her home. He killed her child.
Would she be kneeling if she knew that more unrest was coming? Would she thank me if she understood that by taking the path that allows me to stand here, I’ve doomed her people to more of the same? Perhaps the villain will be different this time around, but without anyone on the Throne of Shadows, the Unseelie Court doesn’t stand a chance against the queen.
“He was a monster,” she whispers.
“There are many monsters in this world,” I say, thinking of the creatures under those mountains, of the queen. “I killed only one, and while I’m glad he’s dead, he’s not the last. Please stand.”
She obeys, reluctantly, but her head remains bowed. “The prophecy told us you would come, but I wasn’t sure I’d live to see it.”
I cut my gaze to Misha. What prophecy?
I’m not sure what she’s referring to. Could be a distorted version of several different tales about mortals born to slay wicked kings.
Huh. Misha’s magic may be creepy, but it’s convenient.
Isn’t it? Misha’s deep voice asks in my head.
Amira steps into the schoolhouse and smiles when she spots us. “There you are.”
“Is everything okay?” Misha asks his wife.
Amira nods, and when the silence stretches, I realize they’re having a silent conversation of their own.
Della finally releases my hand and steps back, her head still bowed.
“Do you ever need help?” I shift awkwardly, unsure what I’m offering.
Della finally lifts her head. “Help with . . . what do you mean, milady?”
Misha and Amira are staring at me now, and I feel foolish, but I continue. “In the classroom. If you ever needed someone to read with the children or—”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Della says at the same time Misha says, “That would be amazing, Abriella. Why don’t you return tomorrow?”
Della’s cheeks are bright red, but she nods. “It would be an honor.”
“Come, Abriella,” Amira says, leading me from the building. “Allow us to show you the rest of the settlement.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I call over my shoulder to Della.
“The pleasure was mine, milady.”
I hustle away as fast as I can.
“They always need help in the classroom,” Misha says, joining us outside.
The three of us walk together, and I try to breathe, but the more I think, the smaller my lungs become. The sky is colored by the vibrant rainbow of pastels that trails in the wake of the setting sun, but as beautiful as it is, I wish night were here. I wish I could see the stars.
“She thinks I saved her,” I blurt when we’ve walked a good distance from the school. “But it’s my fault they can’t go home yet. It’s my fault their throne—their whole damn kingdom is broken.”
Amira stops in front of me, turns, and takes my hand. “Abriella,” she says, and with her voice, her touch, my anger and self-loathing washes away, replaced by warmth and . . . peace.