Page 2 of Sharpen Your Claws

Evera and Nicholas were bound to each other as children through deals struck between their parents. They were to sire three children and let Evera’s mother, Alvina Bloodbane, experiment on them to determine if children could inherit the abilities of a shade parent, or if that caused any effects on the offspring. Evera and Nicholas never got along after that, always at each other’s throats since they couldn’t be at their parent’s.

He didn’t understand his father’s reasoning at first, but Laurent claimed if Alvina learned about shades, perhaps they could stop another Fearworn from being born. While Nicholas agreed a world without another Fearworn was nice, he hated the prospect of shades being treated as nothing more than experiments. He felt much like one himself, forced to bear children, to waste his time with Evera, to do Laurent’s bidding out of fear, being forced down one path after the other without any say in where he wanted to go.

He continued crossing the flower stalks while imagining bringing William here. They would lie in the field together. William would read his books and drink his tea. Nicholas would worship him, his God to revere, and if any stood in his way, he would rid the world of them.

Unfortunately, it was not William who knelt beside him. Evera, with her ashen gray skin and blue tinted fingers, pinched a letter between her nails. Her long blue hair had been plaited in silver, tucked behind her sharp ears, covered in silver and jewels. Eyes of a storm, dying gray, showed no emotion, but her tone carried a devious sound.

“Why are you out here when your father works diligently to throw a revel for you? One I hear that will be so grand it will last a month,” she asked.

“Because I have no interest in his revels. Let him waste his time.” Nicholas twisted a stem too tight, and it snapped. “Is there a reason you are here? Last I heard, you didn’t wish to see me unless absolutely necessary.”

“You have made my visit necessary by being so elusive. You return home after years and hardly leave the castle.”

“Does that not please you?”

“Not when you are missing an opportunity for the both of us.” Evera slapped his cheek with the letter, earning herself a narrowed glare. “You haven’t read this.”

“Obviously. What more could the mortals want from me?” He recognized the insignia on the envelope belonging to the king of Heign. William would be at the capital, Alogan. He spoke rarely of his home, but Nicholas remembered Alogan had a library William got lost in frequently as a child. He spoke fondly during the night when the two of them whispered, as if they feared the wind would carry their secrets. Nicholas hadn’t forgotten a single conversation. He cherished every moment, ensuring William’s words carved themselves into his mind.

“The mortal kings and fae lords wish to throw a ball for you,” Evera said.

“They have thrown plenty of those already, and I shouldn’t have to tell you it is rude to read someone’s mail,” he countered.

“You refuse to read it, so someone has to keep an eye on things.”

“This one excites you, then.”

She smiled cruelly, like an executioner waiting at the block. “Read it and see for yourself.”

He snatched the paper from her and scanned the letter, uncaring about the promises of drink and a good meal. Nothing truly satiated his appetite anymore, but then he caught the last few lines expressing how grateful the mortals were to him, how they owed him. The kings promised a ball to celebrate Nicholas and his accomplishments because, without him, Fearworn would have torn their worlds asunder, and so they would grant him anything he desired.

“Owed,” he whispered. “Owed,” he laughed.

“Do you understand the meaning of this?” Evera twirled blades of grass around her fingers. “Tell me your rattled mind isn’t beyond basic comprehension.”

Words were important in Faerie. One shouldn’t thank a fae, it implies they are owed. They shouldn’t say they owe a fae anything either. The written word was equally powerful, but to make sure, he dug a hole. His teeth pierced his palm. He bled on the page, then laid the letter to rest. The mortal kings had no power, but their words would. He deserved a gift worthy of saving two realms. Faerie would ensure the deal met because Faerie never broke an oath.

He understood what the letter meant perfectly, but his plans were not what Evera yearned for. She proved as such with her following words, “This is the best chance to end our arrangement. Laurent received word too, but according to his gossiping, the letter differed from yours. It omitted the kings wanting to bestow a gift upon you, so he is unaware. With this, you can break us free from our parents.”

He broke into a smile that stretched the skin far along his cheeks and made his eyes crinkle into crescent moons. “Yes, I could.”

It would free him from Laurent, and finally, he would see William again. Nicholas’ phantom, his heart, his all-consuming thoughts, his world, his everything, finally within his grasp. They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t exchanged so much as a letter because of Laurent.

The most he could do was watch and learn from afar. He called in a favor or two, ensuring a fae kept eyes on William to guarantee his safety and feed Nicholas in the only way he could be. He knew where William was, what he was doing, and who he spent his time with, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to be with William, to learn about the last two years through his lips, to catch his hand and never let go. If they could merge, if they could become one for all eternity, he would never ask for more.

“When the kings speak to you, remind them you are owed. We don’t want to miss this opportunity,” Evera said.

“Do not treat me as if I understand nothing. I know what to do,” he snapped.

“Do you?” She snatched the crown from his grasp. A fierce wind ripped through the field, forcing the flowers to bend. His fingers twitched, wishing to wrap around Evera’s throat and snap. Break. Crush. Pulverize her being, her very essence, into nothing because she was nothing.

“Return the crown to me. It does not belong to you,” he whispered, fingers flexing unnaturally, as if the bones hadn’t been set right.

“Swear to end our engagement,” she demanded, but her voice didn’t hold the same ferocity it once did.

The only person who spoke to him the same since Fearworn’s demise was his father. Others saw him, the hue of his eyes, and they recalled all Fearworn had done, all he could potentially do now. He tasted their fear, a sweet aroma making his blood curl, and on the rare occasion, desire or jealousy.

Holding out his hand, he said, “I will do as I please, Evera.”

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