Preview of Faerie Killer:
“You’ll have one chance to kill him, Ivy,” said the old man.
I swallowed and nodded, clutching the practise sword in my hands. Even now, holding a blade sometimes felt like I was rehearsing for a performance, pretending to be a fierce warrior. Back in my old life, I used to be in an amateur theatre group. Since I’d come here, my concept of theatre had taken a wild turn. The other week, Lord Avalin had decided to put on an amateur theatre production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. When it became clear nobody knew their lines, he’d started a fire.
Faeries. Even depraved ancient Sidhe lords acted like toddlers half the time, but an abundance of childish behaviour didn’t stop Lord Avalin from being all-powerful and immortal.
And despite all that, I planned to kill him.
Our two practise swords clashed. Gerry appeared to be at least seventy-five years old, but he moved like a much younger man, and it took everything I had to fend off each blow. I never did figure out why some people adapted well to Faerie and others withered and died overnight. Time acted strangely here. A week could pass in a second, while an hour could last a lifetime.
The practise sword flew from my hand, and the blunt tip of his blade pointed at my neck. “Again.”
I winced, rubbing my hands where the wooden sword had worn away at the skin. “We’ve been here for hours.”
“And we’ll stay here until you get it right. You’re the only one who can kill him.”
“No, I’m not,” I grumbled, picking the sword up again. There were fifty or so of us humans here—whenever a few died, Lord Avalin would go back into the mortal realm to grab some more victims—and there was nothing to make me superior to the rest. Inevitably, Faerie claimed us all. Those who didn’t fall victim to Avalin’s random fits of rage were chewed up by the nasty creatures living out there in the forest of the Grey Vale. There was no reason I’d survived other than pure luck.
Tomorrow, my lucky streak would end, one way or another.
Smack. There went my sword again. I picked it up, narrowing my eyes at Gerry. “You knew I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yes, because you’ll get exactly one chance, if you’re lucky.” His Scottish accent grew stronger when he was frustrated. “Lord Avalin never lets his guard down. You’ll have to be stealthy, and you’ll have to act fast when you have the upper hand.”
“Then stab him until he stops moving, I know.”
In theory, my plan sounded simple. Faeries had only one weakness deadly enough to kill them, and it couldn’t be found in this realm. That I had access to said weakness was my only edge. The sliver of iron was tucked inside my shoe, where it rubbed uncomfortably against my toes. I’d taken it from a boy who I’d found lying on the forest path by the castle, his body still warm and drenched in the smell of the hellhounds who’d ripped his throat out. His blood stained the rusted nail, its coppery tang lingering long after I’d removed it from his hand. A cynical part of me thought the kid had had a lucky escape. He’d lasted less than a day in Faerie. Most of us weren’t so fortunate.
“How long have you been here?” I’d asked the old man once.
He’d laughed, like I’d told a hilarious joke. “Too long. To the Sidhe, a mortal’s lifespan is nothing more than a blink. Decades pass in our world, but this place remains endless.”
Decades. I hoped he was referring to his time spent here, not mine. It had been three years and fifteen days. I knew. I’d counted every one of them, from the first time I’d stumbled down the shadowy path and found myself in front of a castle straight from a fairy tale.
This was a fairy tale, all right. Just not the pleasant, happily-ever-after type. The castle was a prison, isolated in the middle of a never-ending twilit forest, and its faerie prince owner a capricious despot whose biggest delight was torturing humans. From here, the window showed the backs of the trees—taller than any that grew in the mortal world, and older even than the most ancient Sidhe. This was a world where humans were prey, their lives as fleeting as the tiniest insect. Gerry flat-out refused to tell me his own story, but I’d gleaned that he’d been here the longest.
Thwack. Ouch. The sword flew from my hand.
“Concentrate, Ivy.”
“Right.” I picked the sword up and attempted a fancy twirling motion. The sword clattered to the ground again.
Gerry sighed. “You’re not focusing.”
“Can’t have anything to do with my upcoming duel to the death, can it?” I retrieved the sword, adjusting my grip. “Give me some credit. I’d never picked up a sword in my life before I came here.”
I’d given up trying to imagine what younger Ivy would think if she saw me now. I wasn’t that girl anymore, nor could I imagine ever being her again. Faerie had slid into my bones and warped me, turned me into someone who would give anything to survive another day, another hour, another minute.
Death wasn’t the worst fate I might meet if I lost my fight with Avalin.
The sword rattled free from my hands. Baring my teeth, I picked up the weapon, and in a sudden burst of movement, I launched myself at him.
Gerry met me in a clash of blades. Even with a practise sword, the jolting motion sent a shock through my whole body, wrenching my upper arms and shoulders. I gritted my teeth, my sweaty hands slipping.
You’re no match for a Sidhe, whispered a voice in the back of my head. Who are you kidding, thinking a single sliver of iron can give you an edge?
The sense of encroaching hopelessness prevailed. My grip broke, and once again, Gerry’s sword pointed at my neck.
I held up my hands in defeat. “This is a waste of time. If I can’t beat you, there’s no way I can beat a Sidhe. I don’t have a hundred years to practise.”
“I told you, you’ll have to trick him,” said Gerry. “Exploit his weaknesses. Everyone has them.”
“Not the Sidhe,” I muttered. “He has magic, and I can’t even see it.”
Only faeries had the Sight—the ability to see through glamour—and faerie magic itself was only visible when the faeries wanted it to be. I’d be relying on Avalin’s willingness to adhere to the Courts’ laws of combat. As Gerry had told me, custom dictated that we’d get to choose one weapon each, and between magic and his sword, he’d pick the blade. Moreover, the victor would gain one favour from the loser.
I needed that favour. Needed it to get home and escape this hellish place forever.
“He certainly does have weaknesses,” said Gerry. “He’s a vain fool, for one, like all the Sidhe. He’s oblivious to what’s in front of him. He’d never expect you to challenge him.”
“Because nobody ever has.” I spun the sword in my hands. “He’s killed another Sidhe lord, for god’s sake.”
“A long time ago,” said Gerry. “His power has diminished since he was exiled here.”
I frowned. “Diminished? How’d you know that?”
“Because the Sidhe are sustained by the magic inherent in their own realm. This place”—he indicated the stone walls—“is not their home. It’s as much a prison for them as it is for us. The only faeries with a good amount of magic left in here are the recent exiles and those who steal from others.”
“You’re telling me this now?” My voice shook as I remembered the last time I’d seen Avalin use magic. He’d waved a hand, and two of his unfortunate prisoners had dropped dead without him laying a hand on them. Hardly what I’d call ‘diminished’. “Avalin is no prisoner.”
“He’s a pretender.” His eyes were serious. “Ivy, the point I’m making is that you’re in no way his inferior. You ought to know by now the best way to survive here is to keep quiet and listen, but that doesn’t make you weak.”
True enough. Anyone who spoke out of line—or depending on Avalin’s mood, spoke at all—rarely lived long enough to regret it.
“I do keep quiet. Most of the time.” I shrugged. “But that’s going to fly out the window when I challenge him to his face, isn’t it?”
Gerry shook his head in mild frustration. “Regardless, you’re the opponent he least expects. Exploit that.”
“Right.” I wished I shared his confidence in me. I’d fantasised about standing over Avalin’s dead body a thousand times, but in the last few weeks where we’d come up with the plan, the dream had warped and twisted into a terrifying, insurmountable task. I could hardly sleep for fear I’d wake up and find cold hands locked around my throat. I didn’t dare breathe a word of the plan to the other captives in case they suffered the consequences and not me.
Gerry’s thin mouth quirked in a rare smile. “You’re good,” he said. “You’re fast, a quick improviser, and determined. I knew you were the one, as soon as I saw you…” He trailed off, his smile fading. “As soon as we met.”
My heart gave a quiver, and I fought to keep my hands steady. His words brought to mind our first encounter, after I’d nearly been killed by the Thorn Princess of the Vale during my first ill-fated attempt to escape. If not for Gerry’s quick actions, I’d have died. As it was, I’d walked away with a nice collection of scars and a hell of a grudge against roses.
“Better hope he doesn’t remember me.” I’d given Avalin no end of trouble for the first few weeks of my imprisonment, and if not for the beating I’d taken at the Thorn Princess’s hands, I might not have lasted out the week. After Gerry had smuggled me back into the castle, bruised and bleeding, he’d told me that Avalin would assume I’d died. He never bothered to keep a register of his captives, and he’d overlook me… as long as I kept my mouth shut from that point on.
Against my better instincts, I’d become someone else. Someone quiet, invisible, who tiptoed around the castle like a ghost. Three years had passed, and though I strained to break free from those chains, they’d saved my life.
“He won’t,” he reassured me. “He sees all humans as the same.”
“Breakable, weak, et cetera,” I rattled off. “Be realistic, though. I could be the world’s best athlete and still wouldn’t be able to outclass a Sidhe. He has centuries of experience in swordplay, he’s countless times faster than a regular human, and he has magic. Oh, and he can heal from any wound I inflict on him.”
“Except iron.”
“Yeah.” The nail burned against my foot. So much depended on that tiny metal sliver. Avalin’s healing ability meant that any damage I dealt would fade within minutes, if not seconds, but iron was the sole exception. I couldn’t allow him to see it before it made contact with his skin. “Not a gamble I’d take, if I were anyone else.”
“Some would bet on the underdog.”
“Is it worth the risk?” A pleading note entered my voice, as much as I tried to suppress it. “If I lose, I won’t see the dawn. I happen to like being alive.” I saw it as my personal mission to survive, actually. Avalin wanted us to willingly beg him to put us out of our misery. Sure, life here was grim, but I refused to give up on a brighter future. On the prospect of my parents waiting for me at home.
When I was awake, I did my best to avoid thinking about the destruction I’d seen on the day the faeries had come. The bodies in the streets. They couldn’t have stamped out all of humanity. We were persistent. We were survivors.
“Being here isn’t living,” Gerry said. “You deserve a real life, and to achieve that—”
“I need to kill him. Got it.” I rubbed my sore hands together. A real life. He’d stolen three years from me already.
“He wants your suffering.” His voice softened. “He needs it. Don’t give it to him.”
I blinked furiously, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, and swallowed. “I’ll try not to.”
“I know.” He laid down his sword. “That’s enough for now. You need to be rested for dawn. Offer your challenge when he comes back from hunting.”
“Got it.” I didn’t need a wakeup call. The baying of hellhounds would tell me when Avalin returned to the castle.
Gerry took the other practise sword from me. “Remember, Ivy. You’ll only get this one chance.”
“Why me?” I blurted out. “Why—why do you think I should be the one?”
Gerry looked me in the eyes. “Because you’re the only one with the will to fight back.”
