I jerked my arm, severing his head from his neck. His body toppled onto itself, and his head fell behind it, thumping off the stone.
I did it.
Aric, the Ancient who’d murdered my mother, was dead.
I did it.
Chest rising and falling heavily, I took a step back from his body. Violet-hued blood ran down my arms and over the stone as I stumbled back. Eyes wide, I watched it fill the crevices between the stones, branching off as the viscous liquid crept across the floor.
I looked down at myself. The front of the stunning gown was splattered with blood.
The dress was so ruined.
My lips parted, and I laughed as the dagger slipped from my blood-soaked grip. I laughed as my legs buckled and I folded like a paper sack.
And I laughed as the blood flowed.
Chapter 38
When a normal, run-of-the-mill fae is stabbed with iron, they’re sent back to the Otherworld instead of killed. Their bodies are sort of sucked into themselves and…poof, they’re gone. No mess. No cleanup. Same happens when you kill them. They just evaporate almost immediately.
The same cannot be said about Ancients.
When you kill them, their bodies remain, at least for a little while. They decompose like mortals, but it’s rapid in comparison.
I sat on the stone floor, watching Aric’s skin darken and start to flake, his stomach sinking in instead of bloating, and his body shrinking inside its clothes. That took minutes. The rest took hours. But on day forty-nine, the following day, he was nothing more than an oily, clumpy stain on the floor, and the seeping wound on my arm left behind by his bite had finally stopped bleeding. I had a feeling that it needed stitches, and would probably get massively, grossly infected without them and some antibiotics.
Unless there was a doctor hidden among the vines, there was nothing I could do about that.
There was nothing I could do about any of the pains or the weird, random waves of nausea that ended in another round of vomiting either.
But I waited.
My knuckles ached from how tightly I held onto the dagger, knowing that there was no way I could take two or three fae at once, even if they weren’t Ancients. But I refused to go out without a fight.
No one came.
Not the female fae who bathed me, or the male ones who carried the tub in and out of the room. There were at least three of them that had to be aware of where I was held, who I assumed would come looking for Aric at some point, especially since he appeared to be their leader.
Eventually, my attention shifted from the stain to the door. I imagined it wasn’t locked. Freedom was just a few feet from my reach, and I tried, stretching as far as I could. I did this for hours, and then I used the dagger, prying at the bolt in the floor and then the clasp that connected the chain to the band around my throat until I felt the blade about to break, and then I stopped. I couldn’t risk losing my only weapon if other fae did finally show.
But no one did.
Hours turned into another day, and that day slowly churned into more. I’d lost my grip on the dagger, letting it rest in my lap.
Hunger set in, overshadowing the aches and the nausea, and all I could think about were burgers and steaks, leafy salads, and chocolate cakes. I even fantasized about all-you-can-eat buffets, and then I stopped thinking about food. Either my body and mind had become used to the hunger, or I just no longer felt it. I no longer really felt the coldness or the throbbing either.
Bone-deep tiredness set in, a lethargy that wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, weighing down my limbs. I stopped tracking days after forty-eight, unable to rally the strength to pick up the shard of rock or use the dagger to scratch the mark into the stone. I didn’t know if it was the hunger or all the feedings or the wounds finally catching up to me, but I sleptwhere I sat, propped against the slab. And then I couldn’t sit up any longer.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but I only became aware of lying on my side when I opened my eyes again. The dagger had slipped from my lap, resting a few inches from me on the floor.
I needed to get it, keep it close, but I simply could not do it. And as I drifted off again, I told myself that it would be okay if I didn’t wake up. I’d killed Aric. I’d completed what I’d set out to do two years ago. I had honored my mother’s death. Dying in the stale, damp chamber didn’t matter. Not anymore.
But then I lost more than my grip on the dagger. I lost my grip on…everything.
I did wake up again. Or maybe I dreamed. Or I was awake and hallucinating. I wasn’t sure, but I saw people. My mother pacing in front of me, dressed in her pink housecoat flapping like wings behind her. She was speaking, but I couldn’t hear her, and when I called out to her, there was no response. And then she was gone. Later, it was a girl with curly, fiery red hair, and a man with wavy brown hair. I knew them. I thought I did, but their names were lost to me as the chamber faded and was replaced by a restaurant lit by warm, twinkling, white lights.
The group was talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about…Christmas mornings and hot cocoa and the good moments with my mother, times where she remembered where she was and—
