Serrik was dreamingof the past.
Dreaming of memories of which he wished he could rid himself.
“An eternity in exile.”
Serrik bit back a laugh, but could not hide his sneer. What pompous fools, these kings be. From where he was held in forced deference to the ground on six bent knees, he lifted his head, daring to cast his gaze to where Seelie King Dagda and Unseelie King Bres sat beside each other on their thrones.
Brothers. Doomed to betray each other, if Serrik were to wager upon it. For that was all his kind were good for—trickeryand blackmail, contracts and schemes. Whispered words that dripped from painted lips, adorned in silk and gold.
Treachery, lauded the same as honor.
Vile.
Contemptible.
Beasts.
He clenched his hands down at his sides but did not dare straighten himself from where he was still kept low. He still wished to leave this place with his life. “For what crime, my kings?”
Dagda looked the most bored in the room, though the expression was not uncommon. He propped an elbow up on his chair and rested a cheekbone on the back of curled knuckles. “That place you have made. We have warned you against filling it up with parchment, scribbling away forbidden things within its walls. Yet you persist in defying us. These books, these scrolls, those are human relics—it is against our nature. You are not of us, little arachnid. And you should wear the cost of it. You should forever be reminded of who you serve. And the cost of such defiance.”
Serrik felt the muscle in his jaw twitch. But he said nothing. Could he fell a king? Perhaps, but not in open conflict. And two? Surrounded by guards and courtiers? No, he would be dead in moments.
Nor could he count on any assistance. He would not bother praying to his dear mother for assistance. She would not answer, for she had already made it quite clear how little he was worth to her.
Bres spoke next. “We have decided you should be marked for your shame. Your magic is an abomination. You are not one of us. And all others should know this when they lay eyes upon you.”
The meaning was clear. He was to be disfigured. He had seen others—branded, or a limb taken—simply for displeasing the brother kings. He lowered his head to hide his disgust for them upon his features. But it seems he did not do so quickly enough.
“Hmm. It seems he is not grateful for our mercy.” Bres stood from his throne, his dark, swirling, nebula-like eyes glinting in cruelty. His pale features drew in a smile that made his brother’s seem jovial by comparison. “I think we should double our planned lesson in manners.”
“I believe you are right, dear brother.” Dagda suddenly seemed interested. The King in Green was twice the size of his brother. If the Unseelie King were the wolf, then the Seelie was the tree under which the wolf took shelter. “But we cannot kill him, mind. His mother would be quite cross.”
“I do not intend to kill him.” A flick of his wrist, and Bres summoned a wicked, jagged silver knife to his hand. “But I do have a question I think he can help us answer.”
“Oh?” Dagda looked intrigued.
Serrik felt something twist in his stomach. It was not fear. He could take pride in the fact that he was not afraid.
No, it was hatred.
King Bres approached, bare feet upon the stone steps that were ancient before any of them arrived. When he neared, the guards to either side of Serrik pushed him farther down, flattening him and his much larger body flat to the cold stone of the throne room.
Grunting in pain, he did not struggle.
There was no use.
He felt a foot press down on his back, just above where one of his middle legs joined his body. The Unseelie King’s voice was thick with sadistic enjoyment. “What does spider meat taste like, I wonder?”
Serrik did not know if he screamed.
All he could recall later was the sound of laughter.
He felt her presence. A brush against him in the darkness. As though his eyes were closed, and she was there. “Begone, Ava. These memories are not for you.” He was dreaming. And she had come to him.
“Didn’t—” Her voice broke. “Mean to?—”
She collapsed against him.
