Page 68 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I am really, really starting to dislike him.
Cressida rolls her eyes. “We’re staying down here until his nose touches the fucking floor. Tomorrow, we’ll work on calling them back from the Otherworld and commanding a crowd.”
Do I even want to know where she’s going to find a crowd of spirits?
It takes hours, and it doesn’t stop when I manage to make him bow. Cressida makes me force his true name from him, and once I have that—which was no easy feat—she makes me do the same with her nieces, and then command them all to dance.
Through it all, my heart aches for the dead warriors. They didn’t ask to die and become the plaything of a powerful—but clueless—Nicnevin. And Cressida is just using them without a hint of remorse.
When I ask her about it, she gives me a quelling glare. “The dead are dead. You are unable to hurt them, and they should be grateful to have something to do. If you’re going to be a worthwhile Nicnevin, you need to stop being so concerned for the feelings of others and start thinking about how they can be useful. Now, make them fight one another.”
I’m not convinced, but I shut up and do as she says. Watching the dead fight is weird. At one point, Cressida’s nephew takes his sister’s head, sword cleaving through her neck with a cloudy stroke, only for it to reform a second later, making her chuckle.
They truly are invulnerable.
“Is that it?” I ask, hating the traitorous droplet of sweat I can feel trickling down my back.
This is only three spirits. How many will I need to command to retake the Autumn Court? Why is this so hard?
Cressida throws back her head and laughs. “Oh no. You wanted to learn to ‘defend yourself,’ didn’t you?” Goddess, she doesn’t need to sound so derisory about it. “My soldiers have left us a sparring room for the afternoon. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you haven’t flown once since arriving here either, despite how many stairs there are in this tree. I have someone arriving tomorrow who can take over tutoring you in that, because I can’t spend every waking moment tutoring your ass. I have a war to fight. You have a lot to learn, Nicnevin. We haven’t even started calling spirits back from the Otherworld.”
I fall back onto my ass with a groan.
“What is your other gift?” Cressida asks a little later as I trudge behind her back up the stairs. “Tell me you’ve at least got a handle on that one.”
“It’s none of your concern,” Drystan responds.
Cressida stops, and I almost crash into her. “I am sworn to her, stupidly loyal to the ghost of her dead grandmother, and have thousands more years of experience than you at dealing with the powerful gifts of Nicnevins. Not telling me, nor letting me help, might just be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”
It’s the bluntest response, delivered with typical Cressida bitchiness, but it cements what I already know as I look her in the eyes and draw on Danu again. “Please take a step back.”
My words are syrupy sweet with charm.
Cressida’s eyebrows rise as she does exactly as I ask.
“Please don’t tell anyone else about this,” I add, before she can break eye contact.
“Charm.” She takes another step back, looking truly aghast for the first time. “You? Of all the Nicnevins. What makes you?—?”
“I don’t use it unless I have to. It’s more effective that way.” I sweep past her, enjoying having rendered her speechless for the first time. “And I can use it well enough. I think you’ll agree.”
Unfortunately, it doesn’t last.
“Unless you can use it to control an entire crowd of the living who are all actively shielding their minds against you, you can’t use it ‘well enough.’” Cressida shoves past me. “You’re very lucky you’re the best chance my court has, Nicnevin, or I would’ve?—”
She chokes off again, her threat muted by the vow. Goddess, I can practically hear her last nerve fraying from here.
Twenty-One
Rhoswyn
There are some benefits to being fae, I decide, as the maids help me dress the next morning. None of the soreness I felt when I tumbled into bed remains, and the bruises are long gone. Despite years of training to dodge with Maeve, and the few, more serious, lessons I’ve had since the fiasco at the Summer Court, nothing could’ve prepared me for Cressida’s training yesterday.
I was awful. More than once, I wanted to throw down my wooden sword and tell her where she could shove her orders. I almost did, but Drystan’s eyes were on my back the whole time, waiting for me to give in.
Is it terrible that I continued mostly to spite him? I just couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me quit.
Today we’re moving on to flying. I can only imagine how that’ll go. At least Drystan and Bree left early to help deal with the Fomorians in the north at Cressida’s consort’s request. Now I only have to worry about Caed, Jaro, and Lore judging my awful efforts to hover.
