I try not to inhale too deeply at her supposition. The queen has yet to convince me that her fears are anything more than the anxieties of a person drowned in paranoia, but there is something unsettling about what she’s suggesting. “Any of them? How many magic-bearing humans do you think are out there?”
The queen sighs, and though she shakes her head, her slick hair remains unruffled. Not a strand out of place. “There’s a half-human girl in Avelea. The Red, they’re calling her in the streets. A horrid creature who steals children from their beds with the power granted to her by her magic. I almost had her at an auction, but she was taken by a male dressed in paldihv.”
At this point, I have no idea what the queen is talking about, but I don’t really have the energy to care about this Red character, awful as she sounds. Not before I figure out exactly how Abra’s suspicions affect Blaise.
“If you don’t wish to open the Rip, why extract the parasite from Blaise?” It’s a treacherous question, because I suppose Abra could twist it. Start thinking that perhaps she could keep Blaise here, never let her leave in the hopes that her parasite will never be used to open the Rip.
“Because, Farin. I can exhaust all my resources hunting down the humans who possess magic, but it will never be enough. Not when one could easily slip my notice.”
“Sounds to me like you’re paranoid,” I say, refusing to admit that even my chest is constricting at the notion. “What makes you think that the humans who possess magic have any idea the Rip is real, much less where it is? Or that they would even have the desire to open it?”
The words serve to comfort me as much as the queen.
The queen’s eyes go glassy. “Because I am not the only one searching for them. The Red I told you about: there’s another who placed a steep price on her. His name is Azrael, and he is not one to be underestimated.”
A knot forms in my stomach as I consider Blaise, the idea of this Azrael male purchasing her for her power to open the Rip.
“I need that parasite, Farin,” the queen says, “Alondria needs it. If I were to command it, the risk of a magic-infested human opening the Rip would be greatly decreased. I’m aware that you’re intent on opposing me, but surely we can agree on this one issue?”
I cross my arms and stare down the queen. “You believe the risk to Alondria would be lessened if you commanded the parasite, because even if the Rip was opened, you could always sew it back up.”
The queen’s shoulders slump, looking somewhat relieved. “Yes. Yes, exactly.”
“And how is this information supposed to help me?” I ask.
“I was rather hoping it would provide you the proper motivation,” she says. “That it might spur you on to know this is bigger than just the two of us.”
The two of us. As if anything I do is for her.
“I can’t say this world has ever been kind to me. I don’t know why you expect me to care for it,” I say, but we both know it’s a front. That the idea of someone dragging Blaise to that Rip and forcing her to open it, placing her at the juncture between this world and the one full of bloodthirsty Others, has me reeling.
The queen’s fingers twitch, and her long fingernails scrape against my skin as she draws near. “Do you know the stories of how the Old Magic freed itself of its original master?” she asks.
I cross my arms, refusing to be unsettled by her touch. “It seems that you’re about to tell me either way.”
“When the Rip was closed, it created a surge of power. A surge so intense, the Old Magic used it not only to free itself of its fae host, but to enact its revenge. To curse the words that fall from the fae’s lips.”
I frown. “The fae’s inability to lie.”
The queen nods, tilting her chin up so slightly, it’s almost imperceptible. “Do not think that I will not resort to using the Rip to cleave the parasite from Blaise if necessary.”
I huff, and it’s such a sharp exhale, it almost resembles a laugh. “Aren’t you noble? So convinced your Fates-ordained purpose is to protect the fidelity of the Rip, yet so willing to open it if it means you get what you want in the end.”
I expect the queen to shrug, to shed the mask of morality she so loves to adorn, but she only shakes her head. Her chest heaves as she purses her lips. When she finally speaks, I realize the pause is because she’s been grasping for the right words. “If Blaise were pierced with an arrow, and the head of it ran deep, would you not open up the wound further, that one day it might fully close, fully heal?”
“You would have to recruit the parasite to your cause to even attempt such a thing. From what I’ve heard, she’s not exactly the cooperative type.”
“No,” the queen says, this time pacing over to the door and leaning against it with an outstretched hand. “No, she’s not. Which is why she would need an incentive. Something irresistible.”
“Well, unless you can discover a way to free her from the moon—”
The rest of the sentence catches in my throat, and when I stare at the queen wide-eyed, the slightest of nods she returns to me is the only confirmation I need that her mind has already taken this path. “The surge of magic that would occur if the Rip were ever opened. It would be enough to free her from the curse that binds her to the moon.” Dread sprouts within my gut, twining into a cord of thorns that scrape at my insides. “So that’s your plan? Offer the parasite a means to free herself from the mooncycle curse if only she’ll take you on as a host? She’ll never agree. Not when it would be trading one set of shackles for another.”
For what might be the first time ever, the queen’s eyes fall to the floor. As if she’s ashamed, perhaps? Or possibly just terrified. “I would make it worth her while, should it ever come to that.”
My heart practically stops in my chest. And for the first time in my life, I realize there is knowledge I do not wish to possess. Like what the queen would bargain away to keep that Rip closed.
The legends of the Rip are terrifying, horrendous. Great beasts whose gluttony stole the land of its vegetation, its nutrients. Packs of predators who hunted fae for sport.
But the dread that sallows the queen’s cheeks is what has my knees shaking.
I realize then that it doesn’t matter if within the Rip lies the power to free Blaise of the parasite.
I’m not letting the queen take Blaise anywhere near it.
She must see the resolve in my posture, because the queen says, “You understand then, why this must be our last resort.”
It takes great effort not to inform the queen that this plan is not a resort at all. That it’s not happening, but I hold my tongue.
I simply nod.
“Very well,” she says, turning to go. Over her shoulder she nods toward the package and says, “Use it wisely. Gunter believed it was key to unlocking the chains that shackle the girl’s mind. Find a way, or I will.”
I sit on the chest at the foot of my bed for a long while, mostly because it’s easy to imagine Gunter’s still here with me, leaning forward, elbows pressed into his knees, his steady voice talking me through some complication with one of our theories.
Or explaining to me what’s inside this parcel.
I turn it over in my palms several times, as if I’m a child who’s stumbled upon his Winter Solstice gift and wishes to detect its contents without soiling the wrapping.
