The Emperor of Evening Stars by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 5 Make War, Not Love

239 years ago

“This is your stupidest idea yet,” Malaki says as we land in Somnia.

I fold up my camouflaged wings and look around at the Night Kingdom’s capitol.

Malaki grimaces as a Night soldier passes us. “We shake these guys down, we don’t join them.”

It’s true. Over the years, the royal guard has become target practice for the Angels of Small Death. If we’re not doing away with them altogether, then we’re either buying information out of turncoats or persuading it out of loyalists.

“I’m not planning on keeping the king’s peace.” I say the last word like the farce it is.

Right now the king isn’t looking for soldiers willing to burn down villages that harbor traitors. He wants fairies willing to give their lives so that Night can claim a bit more territory.

“What about your face?” Malaki asks.

He means the striking resemblance I bear to the king.

“You never noticed my likeness until you knew who I was,” I say, glancing up the street. Fairies bustle along, and they all have a look to them, like they’re someone important. 

“Yeah, but I’m an unobservant fuck,” Malaki says. “These people aren’t.”

True, there are people here who have seen the king most days of their lives, but the thing is, no one expects me to exist. The common belief is that Galleghar Nyx is the last of his bloodline. And though my father might know of my existence, he has not made that public knowledge.

“What about our tattoos?” Malaki says.

I look heavenward. “Now you’re worried about our ink?” Technically, the Angels of Small Death have screwed the king over a time or two, but a sleeve of tattoos is hardly evidence of that.

Malaki makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Honest fae don’t sully their skin with tattoos.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve met an honest fae?”

He chuckles. “Aye, you got me there.”

We walk up the hill, towards the center of the island.

Towering above the shops is the palace. I frown as I stare up at it, my magic beginning to thrum. Galleghar could be in there right now, prime for killing. Every day I let him live, more fairies die. Some die on the battlefield, fighting a senseless war. Others die because he’s taxed the life out of them. And then there are those, like my mother—like me—whose continued existence is an affront to him.

“You sure you want to do this?” Malaki says, breaking me from my reverie.

I incline my head, still scowling. This is the one thing I am sure of these days.

He sighs.

“You don’t have to join me,” I say.

Malaki lowers his voice. “Because I’m going to let you take on the king by yourself.”

I glance over at him. His loyalty can’t be bought, yet somehow I’ve earned it.

My attention drifts away from Malaki when I hear an auctioneer calling out numbers. Ahead of us, a crowd’s gathered. Beyond them, standing on a podium, are nearly a dozen chained humans.

I come to a halt at the sight of them. Normally I do something about this. On good days, I simply let my darkness free the slaves’ chains. On bad days … the slaveholders pay with their lives.

“Eurion,” Malaki warns, using my fake name, “if you do something now, we’re going to have to leave.”

Freeing slaves does draw attention …

I work my jaw and reluctantly I continue up the street. It burns me deep to walk away from the slaves.

Can’t save them all.

“We don’t have to do this today,” Malaki says. “You could free those slaves, flee this place, and travel the realms to look for her.” He doesn’t need to clarify who he’s referring to.

My mortal mate.

“I don’t want to fall in love,” I say.

At least, not with her. A human.

And that’s my shame. I hate how fairies treat humans, but I don’t want one for my own.

Malaki gives me a disbelieving look. “She’s waiting for you somewhere out there. If you don’t search for her, you might never meet her.”

That would be for the best.

“When did you become a romantic sot?” I ask, eyeing a cluster of fae women and pretending like I don’t give two shits about this conversation.

He shakes his head at me. “You’re a fucking idiot. You have a mate—”

“A human one.”

There. I said it. My conscience feels heavier—not lighter—for it.

Malaki draws back. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t care about that.”

“You thought wrong.” Freeing slaves and loving them are two very different things.

He’s still staring at me, and I feel the judgment in his look. “You know it’s not a big deal,” he says. “Plenty of fae used to take humans for husbands and wives back in the old days.”

But these aren’t the old days.

“That’s easy for you to say that when you don’t have to be with one.”

That shuts him up.

I was high and mighty once too—saving slaves from serving terrible masters. I felt quite pleased with myself for my efforts. I was a liberator, a savior. And then I heard that damn prophecy, and it got a bit too personal. It’s fine to save slaves as long as you keep them at arm’s length. But to bed one—to be mated to one …

“If this is about their mortality,” Malaki presses, “there’s always lilac wine—”

I harden my features. “It’s about more than that.”

I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove that I’m more than just a poor, powerless dustback, but I can’t seem to crawl out of the hole I came from. Committing myself to a human will once again make me seem weak, vulnerable.

Up ahead I catch sight of the military recruitment center, where fairies can enlist—that is, if they don’t get drafted first. Not every Night fae gets called in for active duty, but those that do are often too poor or too weak to afford the spells that will remove their name from the pool of draftees.

It’s rare that a fairy will willingly recruit themselves, but that’s exactly what Malaki and I are doing.

Join the royal guard. Find your valor. What you seek lies on the other side of it. I can still hear the prophetess’s words in my head.

“I didn’t leave the Angels to hunt for a mate,” I say with finality, closing the subject.

I left to get my revenge, and by gods, I will have it.