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I run to the doorway, but the scene that greets me makes me want to reel back in horror. Fiona’s kneeling on the floor, the back of her dress flayed open, blood running down her pale skin to soak into the fabric at her waistline, blooming like crimson flowers. Lady Rivera stands over her, a belt in her hand, and I see that the leather is braided for decoration, making it thin and ridged––perfect for torturing your servants and slicing open their flesh.
Before I can take another step forward, the red-haired fae swings her arm down once more. Even more skin on Fiona’s back splits open before my eyes, a fresh stream of blood flowing forth. She releases a wild, agonized shriek that sounds like something from a slaughterhouse.
That’s what this place is, I think, as the blood splashes onto a pile of exquisitely embroidered blankets on the floor: a place of beauty and butchery.
“Don’t!” I shout, but Rivera ignores me.
“You asked for this,” she says to Fiona instead, swinging the belt once more.
I rush forward, putting myself between the human and fae, blocking the arm holding her weapon. I notice now it’s the hand wearing a ring—my ring, which I made and sold to Lady Rivera. I feel sick at the thought of my creation sitting on her hateful body.
Lady Rivera fixes me with a poisonous look, baring her teeth at me, but she lowers the belt, throwing it to the floor where it smears a bloody streak across the flagstones.
“You should mind your own business, human,” she hisses. I stand up straighter, defiant. I’m actually surprised she hasn’t struck me by now, but the explanation comes when she next speaks.
“You should count yourself lucky to be the prince’s favored pet,” she says, looking me over with a sneer. “It means you can do stupid things like talking back to a lady of the Seelie Court and get away with it. For now.”
She gathers her gown—red, to match her hair and the wounds she’s ripped into Fiona’s back—and strides towards the exit.
“You can help her sort out this mess,” Lady Rivera snaps, kicking aside the pile of blood-spattered blankets before she leaves.
Energy courses through me from the speed and ferocity of the encounter. How could I have been happily beautifying the orchard with Kaline just minutes ago, and now be facing down such brutality?
I drop down beside Fiona, who’s shaking. I’m worried about her freezing up in the way some people do after serious accidents, so I keep my movements slow and careful as I reach out. When she doesn’t jerk away, I rub her arms as she whimpers.
“Shhh,” I gently soothe her, automatically copying what my mom used to do with her patients.
“That hurt more than I thought,” she whispers, still staring at the floor, tears creating wet tracks on her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” I say, even though nothing about this is. “We’ll clean the wounds and bandage them up. Come on, let me take you back to my workshop. I can help you there.”
Her eyes widen. “What about this?” She gestures to the room around us.
I hate that she’s more worried about the scattered blankets and the stains than herself, but I try to keep her calm.
“We can fix it when we get back. I promise, I’ll be quick.”
I’m true to my word, working fast in the workshop to wash out the wounds while still remaining as gentle as I can. Still, Fiona hisses and curses through it.
“Just a little more,” I say, “then it will be over. You’re doing great.”
The wounds are painful to look at, stark red and angry, but I’m pleased to discover when I’ve cleaned some of the blood away that they’re not as deep as I thought. I apply a balm, then have Kaline bring me fabric for bandages—I figure I can’t get in trouble for that. All the while, I chatter mindlessly, trying to keep Fiona distracted, until at last I begin dressing the cuts. As I cover them up, I can feel myself shifting out of healer mode, growing angrier at the thought of what caused them.
“Has she done this to you before?” I ask, and feel Fiona’s body stiffen under my hands.
“Nothing like this. Today was special,” she says grimly. “She wanted everything just right for her guests before the ball.”
“And because of that—one small mistake—she did this to you?” I can’t keep the appalled tone from my voice, even though I know it won’t help my friend.
Fiona is quiet for a little, then speaks softly.
“Mistakes can be costly in a place like this.”
I know this, of course, but it doesn’t dull my outrage.
“We need to do something about her,” I say.
Fiona suddenly twists around, in a move that must be painful, and grabs my hand. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she begs. “It’ll only bring me more trouble.”
