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“Because you already know what’s going to happen?”
“Why? Don’t you?”
Fucking fae. Even after all this time, I still thought it often when they pulled shit like this.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I frowned at her. “You said you were going to judge me. You said you’ll decide whether I’m still worthy of living.”
“And I will,” she answered demurely.
“I actually have a question about that,” I said tersely, trying not to glare at her. “Everyone says that the Higher Spirits don’t take fae life. So, what, am I the exception?”
“We don’t take fae life unless it is given.”
I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to stay calm. I no longer experienced those uncontrollable flashes of murderous rage, but I was still as hot-tempered as ever—something Lonan liked to tease me about.
“Look,” I said bluntly, “this might be the last conversation I ever have, so can we maybe just speak plainly for once? No riddles? No confusing, veiled statements I have to try and decipher?”
Gadleg hissed out a chuckle. “Alright, Oath Maker. We speak plainly.”
Slitted pupils flickering over me, she tightened and relaxed around the tower. “I will judge you, but in the face of my judgement, you will know whether you are worthy of keeping your life or giving it to me.”
“So… it’s my choice?” I asked slowly.
She laughed. “No. I told you, it’s mine.”
“But…” I scrubbed my eyes. “I don’t understand. If it’s your decision, why would I give you my life? If it’s your decision, you’d just be taking it.”
“As I told you, Oak King, we don’t take fae life.” Voice dark, she added, “But I can make you give me yours.”
A shiver rolled down my spine. “H-how?”
“Quite easily, I assure you. A simple compulsion, much like the one that forced you back here to face me.”
I clenched my jaw. “So what’s even the difference? You’re using a technicality. A loophole.”
She chuckled. “Of course I am. I am fae.”
Trying to control my temper, I tightly asked, “And how exactly do I give you my life?”
“Ah, well, in that, you will have a choice. Drink my venom or walk willingly down my throat. Both are equally painful, but digestion takes much longer. Consider the choice a mercy. Will you decide that you deserve an agonising but quick death, or a slow one that will make you suffer?”
I stared at her in horror. That was one of the most fucked up things I’d ever heard.
“Shall we begin?” she asked, hissing voice filled with sinister amusement.
My pulse leapt with unease. “Wait—”
“Hmm, where to start… Perhaps at age six, when you pushed that little boy in your class over for leaving you out of a game.”
I blinked in shock, then let out a little laugh of disbelief. “What? Are you joking?”
“Or when you were fourteen and you secretly kissed the girl your best friend was pining over.”
I was full-on laughing now as I shook my head. “Seriously, if those are the things you’re going to judge me for—”
“Or sixteen, when you shouted at your father and refused to speak to him for a week after he wouldn’t let you stay out late with your friends.”
My laughter cut off abruptly, a sharp stab of guilt making me flinch. “That… that’s not fair. I was a kid—”
