I realized quickly that my father had been wrong about the dark fae. He preached and taught to not only his children, but his courtiers, his guardsmen, and his people that all dark fae were the enemy. A vile race who must be treated as the villains that they were.
I realized quickly that my father had been wrong. The gods didn’t create a blessed fae race and a cursed one. They simply were borne of different gods—some had gifts of light and healing, while others had the gifts of power, to destroy and control.
Vix, an ancient god of the earth and his Mizrah—his blessed mate who was mortal—bore the children who would become the forefathers of the dark fae. The scholars’ texts of Morodon stated that these children were the demons of fire, earth, shadow, and beast. Those of fire were the wraith fae, many of whom were fire wielders like King Gollaya. The shadow and beast demons were of course the fae with the same name. The earth fae were cursed by Vix’s son Dagdal and banished from the world of the living.
As I continued deeper along the path, stepping over a particularly knotted root that jutted out of the dirt, I wondered at my own gift as a syrenskyn. It gave me the power to seduce and destroy an enemy. By all rights, I should be a dark fae, then. But I was not. I was kissed with a rare magick—so rare that no one among my people contained this power. Its existence was only known about because of the scholars’ texts. And even they had been wrong. My power wasn’t only for killing—it was for giving pleasure as well. I wondered about the goddess Nemia, patron of the sea, who had given me such a gift.
Why would she do so? What was my purpose?
Just as I wondered about these questions, a pulse of magick warmed my blood. It was as if Nemia herself were speaking to me, willing me to summon my power so she could show me what I was meant for.
The forest darkened as I grew closer to the center of the Wyken Woods. No animal made a sound as if all living creatures had fled this foul place. I realized why the naiads and dryads had forsaken it. This was a cursed woodland, and I didn’t have to guess why. The grimlocks’ presence would have tainted the air.I had not seen or heard any sign of them, but I couldfeeltheir vileness on every gust of the wind. If they weren’t here now, they were close.
On instinct, I began to hum an old ballad. One I’d heard my grandmother sing when we sunbathing by the Nemian Sea. She was the one light in my life next to Draydyn, but she died when I was very young. I don’t remember much beyond her tender smile, her loving touch, and this song she would sing to me and my sisters on those days at the white sand beach, though I always felt she sang it for me alone.
“Deep fathoms of the sea, whisper a beckoning to me, a longing to return to Nemia, our sweet mistress and queen.”
A gale rattled the bare branches as I came into a clearing. Redvyr had told me that once I reached the clearing, I was nearly there. I simply had to continue on the worn path—a game trail that had been abandoned when all the animals left these loathsome woods. It would take me to the old oak.
I continued singing, noting that my skin had already begun to glow white, my syrenskyn powers awakening to the melody and perhaps the nearness of danger.
“The waves call us home, from this land not our own, singing a sad, sad lament, for her children who roam.”
I walked along the path, thickened with the brush of magwort, its purple leaves darkening the ground. Turning the corner, I stepped out into another clearing, this one wider than the one I’d left. I gasped.
The old black oak was a monstrosity. His thick branches—wider than three beast fae—curved outward and dipped down toward the ground like spider’s legs. Some of the branches were so thick and heavy that they grew into the earth before reaching back out of the soil toward the sky. The trunk was massive and knotty, thicker than the one Tylok had built with his family.
No trees grew anywhere near the old oak. That’s why there was a clearing. He had forced the others to back away, likely because his roots extending above the ground and deep underneath devoured all the nutrients in a wide perimeter.
But that wasn’t what sent a frightening chill down my spine. It was the unnatural, black viscous threads that spread out web-like from the middle of the trunk, oozing from a circular mass. The webbing wrapped in tendrils around every branch, as if it were strangling the old tree, slowly suffocating it.
What was more, when I approached its center where the mass was thickest, it pulsed with dark magick. I shivered.
I didn’t see any sign of Redvyr or the four others who were somewhere nearby surrounding the great old tree, though I knew they were there. It was a different presence that prickled along my skin, raising gooseflesh.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I strolled in a semicircle in front of the old oak, continuing my song as if I hadn’t a care in the world.
“The sea goddess of the deep, tells the skald fae they must keep, all their promises and vows, or her wrath they will reap.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention to the right. I watched the darkened brush, two red eyes glistening, intent upon me. My pulse raced, but I kept my casual pace, wandering back and forth before the tree. All the while, I summoned my syrenskyn magick, now beaming bright. I didn’t have to look to see that my syren markings illuminated my skin with vibrant patterns of the palest white. The hum of power warmed me from the inside out. I kept singing, coming to the last verses which my grandmother had only ever sang to me, when my sisters and brother had wandered away, bored with her silly songs.
“There is one treasure of your kind. Centuries, you look but never find. When she comes to your shores, know she is light and dark entwined.”
I stopped pacing as the grimlock crept farther into the clearing, his appearance more arresting than the others I’d seen when they attacked us. More than that, an oppressive heaviness radiated from the creature, making my breath falter.
“For her gift of syrenskyn, can save all of your kin. Lest you abuse her with foul lies.”My voice vibrated with syren magick.“Then your dark ages will begin.”
My grandmother had cried when she sang the last verse, and now I knew that she bore the sight. She wasn’t simply entertaining the lonely granddaughter who didn’t fit in with her siblings. She was telling me that one day I would turn my back on my own kind, because they’d forced me to, that I would fight for the fae that were truly my own.
Focusing on breathing in and out, I watched the repulsive creature stalk into the clearing. That aura of gloom came with him, filling up the space between and around us.
He was much taller than the others, his red eyes gleaming with cunning and calculation. He was an amalgamation of faekind, like the others. His ears were pointed long like those of a dryad, his hair a mass of sticks and fungus sprouting in disarray. He had six black horns curling out of his skull. His grayish-green skin, more green than the other grimlocks, was scaled like a serpent’s. His fingers were twice as long as a normal fae, all spindly and bony, tipped with needle-long black claws.
He wore no clothing at all. The others hadn’t either, but I hadn’t noted it when they attacked us. I’d only seen their claws and wings and teeth diving at us, snatching away the children.
Now, I noted that this grimlock was easily as tall as Redvyr, though much thinner. Redvyr had thought they may not be equipped like other faekind, being more monster than male. Buthe was wrong. His chest was broad, his wings closer to that of a moon fae male—tall and wide, iridescent black. And between his legs hung a long cock.
“What are you doing here, she-fae?” His voice resonated more melodiously than the screeching cries of his minions. And still, a dark power emanated from him.
