I draw back from her, searching immediately for the threat. Has she hired one of these addicted thugs to attack me?
But no, she is still talking and there is no other threat. “The locket’s a means of revenge. Kept by me these long years, but now my life is fading, and it is time. It’s a simple thing. Put your life’s blood in it and speak the words of binding over it and this locket will take not just your life but the life of all who have your blood in them. It will contain your days to be spent by the wearer of the heart as they wish.”
“What are you saying?” I ask with a trembling voice. This is no benediction, but a curse.
“I want revenge. And you must want it, too.” Her eyes are hard, and I realize I have read the Seer’s visions wrong after all. I have chosen the wrong path. The heart is not what I thought it was.
“I want to say goodbye. To tell you I have missed you.” I say carefully. These are not fae sentiments.
“Weakness,” she hisses. “Do you think you are part mortal, spewing foolishness like a puling child? But you do not know who you are, do you? You do not know whose whelp you were. You knew I was consort to the King of Iceheim and your father was unknown. A pretty lie. Your father was my lover – king of our court. And you are a by-blow of the great King Rohan of Iceheim.” Her tone mocks and her lip curls. “And you shall get my revenge on him and your own revenge, too. Both of our blood runs in your veins. His and mine. Stab your dagger through your heart and put your life’s blood into the trinket and bearer will have not just all your days, but all your father’s and all of mine as well.”
“You want me to kill myself? You’re mad.”
“Only a little,” she chokes out. “And what is death compared with revenge? I will give my days to the same cause.”
“You have few, I would think,” I say and now my voice is cold again. She has not called me here out of familial love. There is no loyalty or affection to be found. Instead, she wants my life. “And why have you waited until you are nearly gone to ask this of me? Was it, perhaps, that you did not want to spend your own days on this, but are happy to spend mine? This is a poor gift.”
“The fae do not give gifts,” she snaps. “Your weakness is showing, false son of a false father. You do not deserve our name and blood.” I shrink back as if she has slapped me. “This is no gift. It is a bargain. Take it from my home and that is your commitment that you will use it. And if you do not use it before I die, its power will fade with me.”
I look at her as if trying to gauge how much time she has left and she scowls.
“I have hours at most. I didn’t think I raised a coward. Either do it or do not.”
I look from her to the tiny thing in my palm. The thing I saw in my seer’s vision. In that sight, I clutched in my lifeless hand, laying on the black rocks before her. I could still use it as I planned. I could give it to her – the last piece in her wedding riddle – and free her from her cage. I wonder if she even realizes how close we are to completing the recipe.
But will I get there in time? I must, for this is the path I chose.
I swallow and stand and without turning back to the black-hearted thing I thought I loved, I walk out of her den with the heart in my hand and the certainty that I must get the best I can out of this dread bargain.
I know I should act at once if I am going to act, but I am aghast at the evil that bore me. I am horrified by the life that bids me sacrifice my own for her revenge.
I leap from the platform and let my mayfly wings fly me as far and fast as I can go. I make it as far as the dark sands of the northern sea before I land. I must be close enough for the mayflies to find me. I must be close enough for them to bring my offering to her if I cannot fly myself.
I kneel on the black sand and I call to the mayflies even as I ready my dagger. I must take my own heart’s blood for the locket before my mother perishes.
I’m running out of time.
But I never once question what I’m about to do.
I never hesitate.
The mother who raised me is heartless and cold. The father who sired me has tortured me to the breaking point. The kin I claimed as mine, have only ever seen me a as a tool.
But not Elkhana. Not her.
She has stayed with me in my dreams through the long years. She’s nudged me along and drawn me after her and comforted my soul. She’s been balm under the sear of the hot sun and water to a thirsty man and if anyone deserves to spend my days as she pleases, it’s the Mayfly Seer – who will be mayfly no longer. I’ll make her my bride and steal her from the cage and give her my heart to wear in her hair, even though it will be the last thing I’ll do.
I barely even feel the bite of my knife as it sinks into my chest and I draw out the drop to seal the magic and trap it in the tiny heart.
Pain floods across me after. Pain and a little panic. I must get to her before I die, or this will not work. She cannot marry a dead man.
But I saw the way to her, so I spread my wings and I fly, and I trust the mayflies who are already gathering around me to carry me home. Home to my mayfly seer.
