Page 2 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Tell me, little butterfly, what would you do for love?

CHAPTERONE

TISAANAH

He liked me.

But then, of course he did. I anticipated his every need, every discomfort, every desire. I never stopped listening. Never stopped watching. When I danced, I counted every footfall.

Months had passed and my magic remained, for the most part, painfully out of reach. Once, I had easily drawn from its deepest levels, making me a force of nature. Now, ever since the collapse at the Scar, I struggled to even use it at all. But I had learned that I didn’t need it to be the perfect slave. I had gotten so good at being exactly what men wanted me to be.

Lord Farimov smiled at me. It would have been a pleasant smile in any other context. He was not an unattractive man, with grey-streaked, sandy hair and a warm face. Perhaps if I was someone else—a different “someone else” than the someone I pretended to be now—I might have thought he was kind.

But I was not another someone. I was a slave. And Farimov perhaps seemed kind, but it was the sort of kindness that one bestowed upon a sweet dog. Even the kindest people corrected undesirable behavior in dogs. I never needed to be corrected, and that was why his smile was so pleasant as I placed the plate of berries at the table.

“Good, Roza,” he said.

Roza. My name, as it had been for the last two weeks. I gave him a demure nod as I straightened, pushing a sheet of smooth chestnut hair behind my ear. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the movement.

The face that stared back at me was unfamiliar, though if I looked closely, I could find traces of the one I had worn my entire life. No Fragmented skin, just smooth sandy tan. No silver hair, just deep chestnut. No scars. A slightly wider mouth, narrower nose, softer brow. Me, but… not. The only thing that remained was the eyes. One silver, one green. Eyes, Ishqa had said, were impossible to hide with any illusion, even with the advanced Fey potions he had taken from Ela’Dar.

But no illusion was perfect, and no illusion could last forever. I had been wearing this one for too long. Every time I looked at myself, I half expected to see my own Fragmented skin.

I was supposed to be out of here days ago. But each time the Fey’s visit to their Threllian allies was delayed, I thought to myself,I’ve stayed too long to give up now.I decided that the illusion would just need to hold up a little bit longer.

I had spent weeks here, monitoring the rhythm of the household, waiting for this meeting.

Farimov frowned down at the berries. The feast was something to behold—flowers and fruits and meats and cheeses. Maids flurried about the room, adjusting each detail of the display.

“Do you think that Fey even like fruit?” he mused, to no one in particular. “I heard once that they only eat living flesh. Perhaps I should have gotten something… alive.”

I imagined Ishqa chomping down on live creatures and almost laughed.Ishqa, who barely managed to hide his disgust at the very thought of eating something that had once been moving.

“How could they not be impressed?” I said. “It is magnificent. And so clever, to showcase the best of every region of the Threllian empire. A brilliant idea, and a feast worthy of royalty, my Lord.”

Farimov puffed slightly with pride. He liked that I noticed what he had done with the menu. Impossible not to. “The best of every region of the Threllian empire”really meant “the best of all Threll has stolen from the nations they conquered.”Nyzrenese blood apricots were right there in the middle of the table, next to a vase of Deralin cerulean blue blossoms.

My gaze lingered on the flowers a little too long. An unwelcome image flashed through my mind—Max holding those very flowers as the two of us sat alone at night in the Threllian plains. The night I kissed him for the first time. The night I let myself fall.

And now he was—

“My Lord.” A nervous-looking maid appeared at the door. “The Fey emissaries have arrived.”

* * *

I hadn’t seenthese Fey before. After months of war, one might think that I would have encountered more of them, but the Threllians and their slaves were far more common foes than the Fey. The two women were strangely, ethereally beautiful—as the Fey, I’d learned, usually were. One had dark hair that seemed to flash blue when the light hit it the right way, blunt to her shoulders. The other was taller, with sleek blond hair that reached her waist, sharp cheekbones, and a piercing stare of gold that triggered a wave of recognition.

Sometimes, I almost found it amusing to watch the dynamics between the Threllians and the Fey. The Threllian Lords were just so desperate to be seen as powerful—they loved the fact that the Fey came out of hundreds of years of hiding only to immediately propose an alliance. What was better validation of their egos than a race of near-immortals choosing them as their sole human partners? So foolish. Ishqa had told me plenty about the Fey king and his desire to destroy humanity. Sooner or later, once the Threllians outlived their usefulness to him, they would meet an end, too. But in the meantime, the Threllians would provide the scale and numbers that the Fey lacked, and they would stumble and blush over their Fey allies.

Farimov smiled and began to launch into a flowery greeting, but the blond Fey cut him off.

“This is my second, Nessiath Vareid.” She gestured to her dark-haired companion, then bowed her own head. “I am General Iajqa Sai’Ess. King Caduan has sent us. Forgive us if we have little time for pleasantries.”

Sai’Ess.

I kept my expression very still as I poured iced teas at the table.

No wonder she looked so familiar—she was a relative of Ishqa’s. A sister? A cousin?

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