Page 81 of Sharpen Your Claws

“Sorrow Well is upset with all of us,” Evera explained while waving her fingers as if the dirt had burned her. “But I assured it that we’re working to make amends, so I suggest we keep moving. We wouldn’t want to make things worse.”

He thought he had made things worse. Evera witnessed his fear, saw clear as day what frightened him most. She should have used it against him, moved to hurt him, smiled knowing she became privy to information that should have been a secret. Instead, she continued on without mention of it.

“You have nothing to say?” he asked, perturbed that she hadn’t. It was more frightening.

“About?” she replied.

“What happened just now.”

Evera spun on her heel. “We do not have time to dawdle.”

“We can walk and talk at the same time. I must know what you plan to do.”

“Plan?” She crossed her arms. “Elaborate.”

“You know that I am,” he didn’t want to say it, but he forced it out, “scared of enclosed spaces. If you plan to use that against me, I want you to know you will regret it.”

Evera gawked, then blinked, then slapped him over the head. He yelped, confused, then ready for a fight that never came.

“I dislike you,” she said. “I dislike you because of what you remind me of, that damned deal, but I do not hate you and I have no interest in your fears. Now, may we continue?”

“We may,” he muttered, shocked and confused. He always thought Evera hated him. They couldn’t stand being in the same room for most of their years, but she was right. He didn’t know Evera well enough to say he hated her. He hated being around her for the same reason, a reminder. They were close to changing that, and so, that hatred for her dwindled.

After another sharp hallway, they came upon a warped door, damp and the doorknob bloodied. Evera entered, leading them to a large, albeit upturned, sitting area. Chairs and a table had been flipped, forgotten in a mess. The ceiling sunk in, roots slithered out and water dripped, soaking the moss crawling across the floor. An open archway led to a bed carved into the wall, more like a bird’s nest than anything else. Pillows and blankets overwhelmed the space, but did not hide Alvina’s pale and sweaty complexion.

The fae lord bundled in blood stained wrappings leaned against the soil. She had Amos’ white hair, pale as snow and cropped short. Her ashen gray skin had a sickly pallor to it, beading with sweat. A pair of eyes, black from side to side, peered at them from the darkness, little more than a glint in the light. Then she smiled, her teeth bloodied.

“Nicholas, what a surprise to see you,” she said. “Have you come to fulfill our bargain?”

“No,” he replied simply. Evera should do the talking. She knew Alvina best.

“You look unwell, Mother.” Evera sat on the edge of the bed. “As does Bloodbane.”

The walls groaned as if to agree or to lecture. Based on the state of her room, Sorrow Well didn’t appreciate what was happening and expected Alvina to fix it.

Alvina sighed. “I need rest, then I will tend to Bloodbane soil.”

More groaning, this time louder, angrier. Alvina pinched her eyes closed, then settled a hand against the wall. Water oozed over her fingertips, dirtying them.

“By the sounds of it, you do not have time to rest. Bloodbane is angry, and you wouldn’t want to lose your lordship, would you?” Evera grinned. “Who do you think Bloodbane will choose in your stead? Amos? Me?”

Alvina snorted. “I have been lord of Bloodbane before the oldest tree took root. It would not abandon me for something so trivial.”

But Sorrow Well shifted once more, its anger growing hot, making the ceiling sag and Nicholas’ feet sank. He retreated from the bed, fearful Sorrow Well would swallow Alvina whole, and them with her.

“This isn’t trivial. You’ve caused trouble, more than even you can handle. What is it?” Evera asked.

Alvina hissed when the walls shrank, threatening to enclose her. Sorrow Well was giving her a chance. Let Evera help or be lost. But the fae lord was proud. Her hesitation lasted long, agonizing moments where Nicholas retreated as the walls closed further around Alvina. Evera left the bed, watching it shrink until the walls pressed around Alvina.

“Fearworn!” she finally bellowed and Sorrow Well relented. The bedchamber cleaned itself, tables and chairs sitting upright, the ceiling flat and secure. The only mess left was Alvina, shaking in bed, holding the blanket over her abdomen where spots of red emerged along the fabric. “Fearworn,” she repeated, licking her lips.

“He’s dead. I killed him,” he said.

“Yes, and no,” Alvina replied. “I found his corpse, what remained of it. I wanted to study him, see if I could learn more about shades. However, after bringing him to Faerie, something went amiss. He latched onto us somehow. He started healing.”

She hesitated, and Evera laughed. Her words were sharp and accusatory. “And you let him, didn’t you? You didn’t bother to stop him?”

“I did not expect this to happen,” Alvina countered. “It was fascinating watching a body grow from a few fingers, but then I realized Bloodbane was dying. I attacked the corpse. However, things did not go according to plan. He wasn’t awake, still isn’t, but his body protected itself, and the shadowed disciples appeared, over a dozen of them.” She pointed accusingly at Nicholas. “Which you were meant to be rid of!”

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