Page 80 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“He may be a vampire, but you must know that I am utterly human,” I try, stepping forward. “I have no magic or fangs to threaten you with. Dante did kill the witch, I assure you, and…and I am very sorry for what happened to that fairy. We would have helped if we could. But the witch is gone now, and she’ll trouble your people no longer.”

When the fairies eye me doubtfully, Laelia insists, “They are pure of heart. They rescued me when I would have surely died.” Thankfully, she leaves out the fact that we only released her with urgency when her use became clear.

“You do not bear the witch’s sickly aura,” the green fairy admits, bowing his head. “We are indebted to you for killing her—and that debt is paid in full by allowing you to leave with your lives. Turn back, and count yourselves lucky.”

Dante scoffs. “We’ve indulged in this little game long enough. I’m not taking orders from a glorified moth.” He takes me by the arm and starts to tug me past the fairies.

“Then you can die here,” the violet fairy says matter-of-factly.

Dante laughs so hard that he’s nearly wheezing. “That’s adorable. And how exactly do you plan to do that? Tickle me to death?”

With a simple wave of her hand, the violet fairy casts a spell. The forest around us shivers, bending to her will. Before I can brace myself, Dante’s hand is torn from mine. A yelp escapes me as vines drag him backward. He grunts, digging his hands into the earth, gouging the dirt but finding no purchase. He’s slammed into a tree hard enough to crack the bark and wrench the breath from him.

“Alright,” he gasps, struggling against the vines as they pin him to the tree. One tendril closes slowly around his throat. “Point taken. Bitch.”

I dodge a vine that creeps toward me like a warning. “Please, you don’t need to do this!”

“His tone is unacceptable,” the violet one grits out, her fingers still coiled, keeping the vines taut around Dante’s prone form. He’s twisting, trying to grab for his dagger, but it’s pinned to his side.

“Ignore him, he talks like that to everyone. He’s an asshole, but he means you no harm. We have urgent business here to see Callistia.”

For a moment, I wonder if my comment will be the thing that ultimately kills us. The fairies grow even more agitated, turning their accusing stares onto me.

“What is your purpose with the Great Healer?” the blue fairy asks in a voice that says my answer could mean life or death.

“A… A request that’s for the greater good,” I say. “You can tell the difference between lies and truth, can’t you? We come with pure intentions.”

The fairies deliberate. I hold my breath, watching them drift closer overhead to speak in hushed tones. I steal a glance at Laelia, as though she might have a better read on what our fate will be. But she looks as hapless as me, her pitch-black eyes wide, ivy-colored lips parted.

We can’t have come all this way for nothing. We can’t.

Something breaks in their conversation, and the violet one pulls down to my eye level.

“You may follow us and request an audience.” She pauses, looking over my shoulder in Dante’s direction with a wrinkle of her nose. She waves her hand with an aggrieved sigh. The vines constricting him yield at her command, slithering back into the roiled earth. “Both of you, I suppose. But we will have a sacrifice in exchange for your safety. Nothing is free.”

Dusting himself free of moss and dirt, Dante comes to my side, rummaging in his pocket. At the scrape of coin, the fairy holds up her hands.

“Your money has no use to us,” she says. “It must be something precious, irreplaceable. It must contain the essence of a person.”

“Great. And what the hell does that mean, exactly?” Dante’s voice rises to a snap.

The fairy’s sharp eyes shift onto me again—at my neck. “That would do. I can feel the emotion imbued at its very core.”

My hand jumps to the glass-bead necklace resting over my collarbone. No. Not this. I wrack my brain for something else—anything else we could offer them—but I come up short. I doubted these delicate creatures would appreciate the day-old bread or flasks of holy water buried in my satchel.

A childish part of me wants to protest. But I promised I’d return it.

As my mind races with memories of Chiara, I feel as though these creatures are asking me to sever the final thread holding my heart together. Shortly after Charia first arrived at the Order, I’d taken the blame when she’d killed a patch of vervain through overwatering. I bore her punishment for her—halved meals for three days. Chiara never left my side since then, my shadow.

There is no one else who can share a simple look with me and understand what I’m thinking. No one else who bites back chortles of laughter during what should be the most monotonous lessons in the abbey.

To think she guarded this precious treasure all these years, even from me…

Precious and irreplaceable. A true sacrifice.

My heart aches horribly as I unfasten the necklace and hold it out, sending a silent apology to Chiara. Our friendship is built on far more than a single sentimental trinket, yet I feel the gaping distance between the two of us all the stronger in its absence. Still, I know that if she were here now, she’d fervently praise me for doing whatever was needed to survive.

A slender vine stretches up from the ground at my feet, coiling around my offering and whipping it up for the fairies’ inspection. The green one runs a hand over the pink and white glass beads, making an approving noise. The steady hum of their wingbeats fill the silence.