Wystwood

24. Makings of a pact

Ada had never considered herself particularly scary. Her siblings had joked that, as a child, she always took the role of the monster in their games. But to Ada, there was nothing horrifying about a make-believe dragon, even one with wings so large that it could level a village from its home upon the hillside.

It was Lucille who had played the hero armoured in mist and shadows, her weapons finding their marks under the cover of darkness. That was a far more terrifying concept to Ada; the darkness and its vast infinity. Games were things of daylight and mischief, and the evenings that came after seemed to dredge away young Ada's sleep into a misty consciousness filled with nightmares.

Rosamund pretended not to notice the candle stubs that went missing from her cottage; the ones that, in her childhood, Ada lit each night beneath her bedroom rafters. She would place them on her windowsill and then race to bed faster than the wick could reach its own of panned wax. Each night she prayed that sleep would take her faster than the darkness could.

Ada had never felt that emotion return to her quite so strongly as it did now. She could feel hot wax running rivulets down her spine and, one by one, she watched the lights in the three fae's eyes flicker out.

Armestrong spoke first, her cheerful hum long since lost as she choked out, "How could you bring such a thing here?"

There was no sign of the kindly woman who had bustled about Ada's room and brought her stew and gentle company. She only stared now as if Ada held a match and the room was soaked in oil.

Raeph was completely stoic, his cold fingers trapping Ada's hair in its tangles. She thought she might be holding her breath, though couldn't entirely tell as she listened for another thump of Lark's boots against the bar. But he, too, was sitting perfectly silent, as though forcing himself not to flinch back once more.

The scent of sweet honey had become sickly as Ada's shocked senses returned. With a swipe, she pushed against Raeph, his fingers snapping back as though she had burnt him, and Ada stumbled away.

She had expected Solen to recoil from the abrupt movement, but her previous gasp was the only evidence that she had ever been taken by surprise. Her face was now unwaveringly impassive, her lips sewn straight across as her eyes caught upon every aspect of Ada's being.

Ada tried to mask her frantic glances as she looked for an escape. If any sense of safety had once encompassed the room, it had abruptly fizzled away. These fae were like summer rains, their tones and tempers changing as quickly as the seconds could tick by.

The back door still swung open, though Ada would have to pass Lark and Armestrong to reach it, and, as she pivoted to glimpse the outside bushes, Raeph caught her eye. His head tilted slightly to the left; a dare for her to try and escape him.

"Human," Solen mused, the word coiling around her tongue.

Lark's breath huffed out of him at once, as though a fist had just descended into his lower gut. His eyes still refused to meet Ada's, and Armestrong began to desperately shake her head.

"That's why you've been in such a frenzy looking for her?" Solen continued, now turning to Raeph. "How much of it was actually for the knife?"

"You want to use her?" Lark gasped.

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not in the room with you," Ada said, her voice splintering past her lips.

Raeph had yet to even glance away from her face, so she met his gaze straight on. He was indeed still a young man, though his eyes were darkly aged with lines and furrows. But she did not flinch back towards the fireplace, even as he took a step towards her.