Page 93 of The Blood Queen

But I can’t find even a scrap of regret in me. And that’s why I’ve been keeping myself from thinking about what I did: because I don’t regret it. Not for one second. I’m not sorry, I’m not sad, and I’d carry right on with my life if not for this gaping chasm of knowing I should feel bad.

That’s the Red Cap in me, ain’t it? That’s the monstrosity in my blood. Lack of emotion. It’ll swallow me up.

The Green Lady’s face softens. I think she’d smile if she seemed the type, but her lips just flicker. “Was it a bad thing,” she repeats, “or are you looking at it from someone else’s point of view? My kind and I would be monsters if I let the opinions of others carry more weight than my own. Should I do that? Should I condemn us based on how others see us?”

“But I am a—” I catch myself, throat swelling, tears threatening to burst out. “I’m a—”

“Do monsters bring a woman back to a place where they know they’ll be imprisoned, if only to get that woman help?” the Green Lady cuts me off.

“She needed help,” I say simply. “Where else could we have gone? That doesn’t change what I am, what I—”

“Do monsters worry so very much about being monsters?”

Her question hits me like a dagger, so hard I feel the piercing straight through my soul.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I scrub it away, releasing a tight, short breath.

The Green Lady pats my shoulder. “You are one of us, Samson Calthorpe. And that means you are perfect exactly as you are.”

She walks away, leaving me reeling. My chest still aches from her questions, and I rub it absently, focus drifting back to Alyth at the table. Their group’s still going, probably will be for a while. I’m not sure of the time. Past supper? Servants put out food earlier, but it’s lost its appeal now, and the noise of the Great Hall suddenly grows, or maybe I’m just more aware of it.

Of Kitty and the brownies, laughing as they topple over each other.

Of the Green Lady and her glaistigs, their hooves tapping on the stone floor as they work through fighting stances.

Of the pixies tittering and giggling to each other as one steals a pastry from a tray and another tugs at a lady’s hair.

Of all these magical, vibrant creatures here.

And I’m one of ’em.

I’m one of them.

I shove off the wall, duck through the door, and burst out into the corridor. It’s quiet, everyone in the Great Hall or elsewhere, and I find an alcove to lean against, eyes squishing shut.

It was easier to think of myself as only a monster. Because that’s the end that something terrible deserves, yeah? To die brutally. I’ll save Alyth because I love her and because it’s what I deserve, not her.

But what if I’m not awful? What if I’m not a beast? What if I’m just a Red Cap, and I’m no more deserving of pain and death than anyone else?

Briefly, I imagine what it might look like. If both Alyth and I survive what’s to come.

The two of us living in Stirling, fielding the human world and the fae creatures. Helping them all. Living with brownies and glaistigs and all manner of fantastic creatures. Being open and accepted, no flinching or fear. Having a family.

I choke down a whimper. The image fades, leaving behind just Alyth living that life, having that family.

I know my end. I know my fate.

But maybe now, I’ll go into that final battle, face the loom and the High Blade’s thread, knowing I’m giving my life to end hers not because I deserve it on some level but because it’s the right thing to do.

That’s not at all monstrous, is it?

“Samson?”

I spin around. Alyth’s in the hall, one hand reaching out.

I dive toward her immediately. She links her arms around my shoulders and nestles her face in the crook of my neck.

“Are you all right?” she whispers into me.