Page 65 of Fae Tithe

The sooner this is done, the better. I can’t wait to get out of this tides-damn city. His lip curled at the third stop.

About halfway to the Manor, his sensitive hearing was met with the squeals of horses and the screams of people. He gritted his teeth and covered his ears from the noise. His sight was met with a pillar of nauseating green light, so bright it blocked out the stars.

Lance twisted his head away from the assault on his senses. His nostrils flared at the smoky scent on the breeze. It reeked of the fire magic he smelt on the Wisp coin. Unable to think as he was momentarily overwhelmed by it all, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head from side to side, forcing his eyes back open. “Get it together, Len did it and she needs you.”

The High Prince broke into a sprint, his long legs eating up the cobblestones beneath him as he closed the distance between them.

Eleanor sat upright, blinking away sleep, the King’s tethers tugging weakly at her chest and forehead. Her keen eyes surveyed the empty bedroom, noting her parents were absent.

Mum must be downstairs again and Lance is probably with her. She rolled her eyes. Gross, they can’t keep away from each other.

The Changeling pushed her hair back as the sweat from the King’s prickling hooks plastered it to her skin. She scooted forward on the sheets and reached for the braided leather ribbon on the nightstand. Eleanor swept her long waves up into a bun at the top of her head and secured it there. Her feet dropped to the rug as she stood from the bed. She smacked her lips, feeling thirsty. She made her way across the room, poured the remaining water from the jug into a cup and sipped it.

Eleanor’s pointed ears twitched. She closed her eyes as she focused on a peculiar noise.

Crackling, like a fireplace, the Changeling mused.

She remembered how the hearth back home sounded when her mother lit it over winter. Eleanor took a step over to the window, pulling back the cotton curtain. Her silver-blue eyes widened at what met them. The cup slipped from her grasp, smashing to the floor with a jolting shatter.

A pillar of green light, emanating from what she guessed was the ignited Wisp fire, blotted out the stars.

She gasped. “Mum!”

Helena dropped her shucking knife when the King’s huge hand slammed into her neck. She noted that his breathing seemed laboured. His chest heaved, golden blood pouring from his lower throat, leaving a wet path down his hardened chest.

She grinned smugly. I got him. He’ll take me with him, but I got him.

She clawed at Rian, her short, blunt nails managing to tear at the Fae’s flesh where her knife had cut. The Seelie King grabbed her attacking wrist with his free hand. His brown eyes flared crimson as he burnt her there, the magic of the Dragon Flame piercing her flesh. Helena gave a gurgling scream as the agonising, white-hot pain flashed through her. An ashen mark travelled down to her fingers and all the way up her arm, stopping at her shoulder. The King removed his hand and smirked at her as she writhed in agony.

“I am going to take my Queen back,” the King promised with a croak, as the carriage collapsed around him. “Die in torment from this curse! Know she will be enslaved to me for the rest of her very long life.”

Helena’s vision began to blacken. White-hot, searing agony shot through her. She held her trembling charcoal fingers in front of her fading sight as the air in her lungs depleted. Her skin was scorching. Her glance shifted to the tear she had left in Rian’s neck with her humble blade. Helena flung her body forward under the King’s grip, forcing his elbow to bend towards him.

She snapped her burning arm out. The red-hot surface of her skin pummelled its way through the bleeding hole she had left in Rian’s lower throat. The sound of sizzling and the stench of burning flesh invaded her senses. Helena forced her hand through. She gripped at something and tore. The scalding heat of her skin cut its way through the Seelie King’s windpipe as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Boiling hot blood sputtered from Rian’s wound and spattered into Helena’s left eye, scalding it. She snapped it shut. Her shadowing awareness registered that the King had loosened his grip on her neck. She narrowed her good eye at Rian and Helena saw he was choking. His eyes bulged as he clawed at the ruin of his throat. Her desperate attack had worked. He could not breathe.

The Seelie King’s red-brown gaze shot through with lines of gold. The glittering blood poured from his nose and trickled from the corners of Rian’s perfect lips. Helena watched as the King tried to gasp for breath. He finally dropped Helena to the scorched gravel where she fell with a heavy, cracked thud, her head spinning. Rian gurgled, his lips and face turning pale gold as he failed to take a breath.

Lance dashed forward. His horrified gaze focused on Rian and the Helena. He swept down, heart thundering, dragging her limp body away from the swirling Wisp fire. Lance watched with contempt as the King stumbled through the wreckage, grasping at his throat, and then collapsed face-down. He tried to crawl towards the couple, his bleeding arm reaching for them. The High Prince caught the flare of hatred in his bloodshot eyes.

“Choke on it, Seelie,” Lance snarled.

The Merman continued to watch as Rian rolled onto his back, gasping. His bare chest heaved as the Fae tried desperately to get air into his lungs. The laboured rise and fall of his chest slowed and eventually ceased with a final gurgle.

Lance fell to his knees and bundled Helena into his lap. She was gasping, lips pale. Her neck was swollen purple, a pattern of brutal finger marks across her skin. He took in her other injuries, his gaze travelling down her left shoulder to the tips of her fingers. Her sleeve had been burnt away, and her skin was the colour of ash. Cracks of glowing amber ran through it like veins. Lance’s stomach lurched. He had never seen such a wound before. She was also blistered all over, and tiny cuts littered her skin.

Helena’s remaining good eye squinted up at Lance. He cradled her shoulders, supporting her rolling head with the crook of his elbow. He placed his trembling free hand on her swollen neck. He dug deep into his dwindling reserves of magic, tugging it up from his internal depths. The High Prince’s healing water magic poured from his palm, flickering and faltering, onto her purple skin. He relieved just enough of the swelling so she could take a laboured breath, then let his failing magic fade away.

She gasped, her chest rising as she took in a deep breath. “Lance?” Helena croaked, barely audible. She reached up with her blackened fingers and gently brushed them along his exposed collar bone. “I did it.”

The High Prince recoiled at the brief, searing burn where Helena’s touch grazed his skin, hissing through his teeth. He glanced at the spot. A palm-sized mark appeared there, the same colour as her ashen arm.

“You did,” he agreed. Without me. He clenched his jaw.

“Look after El, okay? And Rose, and the boys…” Helena croaked, gripping the collar of his shirt.