Saoirse's blood dances with iron and trickery, a secret that is no longer sheathed, nor hers to keep.
When Saoirse's cunning and charade is torn asunder by her very own hands, she finds herself in a precarious peril, fighting to salvage her life an...
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Chapter Two
"DO TELL ME, what has happened in the moon I have been away in the dungeons?" Saoirse demanded on a purr, jostling and sluicing her bathwater as she extended a leg from the moonstone tub.
Tatterleaf sat by Saoirse's side, weaving a comb with a trembling hand through the thick, lush mass of Saoirse's hair that tumbled over the side of the tub and upon the bejeweled floors. The gentle Mundane faery have been given the fright of her centuries-long life when Sorcha had hastened to the kitchens after depositing Saoirse in new chambers, asking after someone to tend to Saoirse. Apparently there had been much scuffle and shout over the matter, as every last goblin and pixie watched to pick the mind of the iron faery they had once deemed friend, but was now foe. Tatterfleaf, unsurprisingly, had volunteered for the task.
"Well," Tatterleaf began, voice carrying a note of disbelief. "I-There-" Her voice faltered.
"The sun." She gulped. "The sun has not risen in Elfhame in the two months you have resided in the dungeons. The Alder King's wrath is so mighty that night plagues us without relief."
"Ah," Saoirse's voice was a feathery rasp. Gingerly, she began to scrub at her leg. Rose-scented water sloshed, and she found her fingers atremble. "He is quite angry, I gather?"
"Yes." Tatterleaf's voice held an odd note. "Though, I suppose not so much if he has freed you."
Saoirse smirked. "He didn't free me, dear. I did."
Tatterleaf's comb fell to the ground with a sudden clatter. It struck the ground resoundingly, echoed only by Tatterleaf's choked inhale. Saoirse imagined the faery to look much like a fish in that moment, gaping with wide eyes.
"Oh," Saoirse clicked her tongue against her teeth, amusement lurking in her voice. "No need to be quite so frightened. I shall not eat you alive."
At that, Tatterleaf went stiff. "But—but what will happen to you once he learns you have escaped the dungeons? What-what will be done to you, and his sister, and me for aiding you?"
"Nothing." Saoirse braced her hands against the tub, slender fingers curling around the moonstone edges. "I shall not implicate you in this mess at all."
Saoirse'd had sennights to collect her thoughts, and perfect her plans. She already knew how The Alder King would react, and sought a way to subside his reaction. She would have to prove to him that she wanted to Spring eviscerated, just as much as she. She had to now prove that she also favored his side. What a predicament. But, if she hadn't outed herself, she would have had to betray him completely and risk being forever hunted down by his guards. In this way, she could make amends and double-cross the Spring.
A grin ticked Saoirse's mouth, and she reclined further in the tub, relishing in an exquisite luxury she hadn't known in months. It was strange to be back in such luxuries. Sorcha, thankfully, hadn't taken Saoirse to her former chambers—where everything would have been too reminiscent of her namesake. It also signified her new start.
