But the bad kind—magic meant to compel or force the natural into unnatural forms—that had a scent, too. And it filled my space, turning my stomach as quickly as the first time I’d come here.
I studied my room. In the time I was gone, someone had searched it. The mattress hung off the side of the frame, and my sheets were mussed. I’d been reading a book, something I’d read a thousand times and which offered me a little bit of comfort, but it was missing from its spot on my pillow.
My breath caught in my throat just before I could release it in a sigh, and I climbed onto my bed. Any voice would turn the collar on, and I’d learned the hard way sighs of self-pity got me zapped as surely as full-out screams.
And to scream was exactly what I wanted. No, needed. I had spent much of the past year formulating exactly what I’d say to the princes if I ever saw them again. I used to have notebooks to write down my thoughts. It had been good for me, getting out all the hurt and pain that built and built in my chest
But, then, the prison psychiatrist had seen them during one of her “well-checks,” and I heard her tell the guard my notebooks acted as my voice.
It wasn’t an hour later that guards arrived to take them.
So, now, there was no outlet for me. This wasn’t a place where I would be rehabbed and given a second chance. Nightmare Penitentiary was pure punishment. The more I hurt, the better job the warden was doing.
If I was giving out grades, I’d give him an A-plus for today. He’d managed to not only hurt me, but also humiliate me.
Covering my mouth with my hand so I could feel my lips, I mouthed the word, jerk.
“Why, Gen? How could you kill him?” I could hear Flynn’s voice in my head. I lifted my hands to my ears, covering them as if I could stop my mind from replaying that night. It didn’t work. The words went around and around on a loop. “Why? How could you?”
Like I had a choice.
Being a banshee wasn’t something I chose. I didn’t spend a thousand years thinking to myself, you know what would be really fun? Announcing death. Is there a place I can sign up for that?
Did they really think I wanted to awake, unable to speak, my eyes gritty and swollen from tears, and later discover I’d lamented some poor fairy child?
Did they think that made me feel good?
Or how about when I’d interrupted a wedding celebration by wailing for a sea raider? Other Fair Folk sang about his prowess and dark beauty. Me? I sang about his last moments under the water.
Apparently. I didn’t remember, but the angry naiad bride was happy to tell me about it.
Yeah. People were real excited when I showed up at their parties.
I put my hand over my mouth again and imagined saying just what I wanted to the princes. You suck.
That wasn’t what I really wanted to say, so I tried again. I hate you. I dropped my hand from my face. That wasn’t what I wanted to say either.
I didn’t hate them.
Don’t get me wrong, I was mad as a wet...I forgot the saying, but I was really mad.
Enraged.
But I didn’t hate them.
I just—I didn’t get it. How could they think I purposefully drove their father to kill himself? Banshees, we didn’t do that. We didn’t drive people mad with our laments. We were messengers.
Plain and simple.
I sucked in a breath and froze. The sour scent of bad magic had dissipated for a moment, replaced with morning dew. Sitting up, I studied my room. What had just happened?
The smell returned, almost stronger than before, and I lay back on my pillow and stared at the ceiling. Maybe the warden had a new goal. Perhaps, punishment wasn’t enough; perhaps, he wanted me to doubt my own sanity as well.
Now that would be a fitting punishment if I’d actually killed anyone. If I went slowly insane the way the king had.
I wondered if I’d be allowed another book. Reaching out a finger, I began to trace letters on the wall. I didn’t do it.
At least I thought I hadn’t.
Had it made Flynn, Killian, and Ronan feel better to see me like this? Did it warm their hearts to know I was in hell?
I bet it did.
If someone I cared about had been forced to suicide, I’d have wanted the culprit to suffer as well.
But you only cared about them.
I shut that voice down. Look what my caring had gotten me. Infinity in hell. Lucky me.
Music swelled around me, and Killian held me in his arms as we danced. All the Fair Folk of Tuatha danced and ate and laughed. And Killian’s father laughed the loudest.
At one particularly loud burst, the prince’s cheeks stained pink. He might have been a thousand years old, but he was still embarrassed by his father.
“Don’t look like that,” I chided, holding his gaze. He stared down at me, and I studied him, rapt. With brown, wavy hair cut short, perfect posture, high cheekbones and a dimpled chin, Killian was overwhelmingly handsome. Especially now, when he looked at me with twinkling blue eyes. Every so often, one of the lights reflected in his eyes and they glowed bright gold. “He’s just enjoying himself.”
Someone must have waved, because he nodded in greeting before lowering his head closer. “Yes, but must he enjoy himself so loudly?”
Everything his father did was loud and with gusto. That was why he was king. He fought the hardest, celebrated the most spectacularly. He did nothing by half-measures.
“Have you noticed Ronan’s glower tonight?” he asked as he spun me in a fast circle that made me dizzy.
I shrieked with laughter, earning a glare from the nearby Am Fear Liath Mòr, or Greyman, and I winced. If I was too loud, it made people uneasy. They were certain the next thing that would come from my mouth was the lament announcing their death.
“Don’t let them bother you.” Killian squeezed my hand and the spot on my waist where he held me. “They don’t know you.”
I heard his unspoken message. He knew my heart, and no matter what my role or title might be, he knew me. And he liked me.
Still… “They know enough.”
“Stop.” He used his “prince voice.” The one that commanded obedience. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re the only banshee in the kingdom, and you fill a vital role. Your song allows the kingdom to prepare for the inevitable.”
“It scares Folk so much they wet their pants,” I argued, looking away from him. Until I’d come into my powers, I’d loved to sing. Now, I was afraid to so much as hum ’N Sync in case anyone overheard me and thought “Bye Bye Bye” meant their time was up. “I don’t know why banshees even exist. My laments only cause anxiety and fear. I think this is a cruel, horrible power.”
There. I’d said it. This was what I had been thinking since the moment I’d woken from my first lament.
I didn’t want to be a banshee.
Staring up at him, I dared him to argue with me. He clenched his strong jaw, a muscle jumping near his ear as he stared back. He dropped his hand from my waist but only to take both my hands in his.
Opening his mouth to speak, he suddenly snapped it shut when a familiar, black-haired man with the devil in his smile appeared at his shoulder.
“Just tell her she’s pretty.” Flynn winked at me and cut between us. “Too slow. I’ve got her now.”