Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine Book 1), page 1
Nectar of the Wicked
Copyright © 2023 by Ella Fields
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, resold or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, without permission in writing from the author, except for brief quotations within a review.
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies
Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design
Cover design: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
For the hearts that once shined so bright
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
MORE FANTASY ROMANCE BY ELLA
They arrived at the same time every year.
Not a moment late and never a second early.
The clock in the town square struck seven with a screech. The moon sat full and high in the starless sky. Against it bobbed silhouettes—flapping wings and swaying caravans of the monsters descending toward the vast field of shivering wildflowers.
Businesses and homes locked up hours ago, but the streets were not empty.
In groups for presumed safety, townsfolk, farmers, the curious, and those from neighboring villages formed a crowd of more than one-hundred daring souls. All of us were headed toward the same destination.
Toward the most excitement we’d see until they returned.
It was my first time. Those under the age of twenty years were not permitted to conduct business with our yearly visitors. Many called them the traveling traders. Others, those who knew better, called them exactly what they were.
The Wild Hunt.
“Come on, Flea.” My guardian dug her fingers into my wrist and tugged. “If we get stuck too far back, we might miss our chance.”
I loathed the word. Guardian.
It implied the woman had raised me. Nurtured me. With the exception of indulging herself until she’d lost consciousness, Rolina nurtured nothing. One could argue that I’d spent a great portion of my life taking care of her.
I was never to call Rolina my mother, which she’d insisted as soon as I could begin to understand why. As soon as I could grasp that I wasn’t like her and never would be.
Cracked cobblestone soon gave way to grass. The overwhelming scents and heat of clustering bodies enveloped as we joined the awaiting and gathering citizens of Crustle in the field.
Why the hunt even bothered with the soggy river-flanked prison commonly referred to as the middle lands, I didn’t know. I was just grateful they did, or I might have remained trapped in this place of in-between forevermore.
Anticipation swelled. Together, we all slowly shuffled forward, careful to give our visitors room but unwilling to cease moving out of fear of losing our place in line.
My eyes glued to the night sky, my breath quickening as the advancing darkness of those silhouettes blocked out the moon. My attention returned to the ground when a boot squashed my slipper-encased foot.
My toe throbbed, making my whisper harsh. “Are you certain this will work?”
The question was redundant.
We weren’t leaving this field until Rolina seized the only thing she wanted more than wine and narcotics and opulence. It was my own desperate eagerness that had me seeking reassurance.
“Of course, it will,” Rolina snapped. “It has to.”
She’d had this planned for years. We both had. For so long, I’d almost begun to think this night would never come. For so long, it would seem I’d forgotten to be fearful of what awaited us.
I’d spent those years researching what to expect when everything I wanted finally arrived. Endless nights wasted to wondering over the evening I would be taken home. For although the middle lands were home to faerie and human and more, I’d always felt within my bones that it wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
Residents of Crustle consisted mostly of humans who’d been discarded from their homeland for unlawful and immoral conduct, and faeries. I’d never understood why any faerie would choose to leave Folkyn for this damp and miserable land that sat squashed between it and the human realm of Ordaylia.
Gane, the town librarian and my only friend, often reminded me that not all Fae chose to leave. Many had been forced to because they’d gone against one of the four ruling houses by breaking their archaic laws, or they’d done the unthinkable...
They’d fallen in love with a human.
Humans were not permitted in Folkyn. Somehow, many still slipped through the cracks in the warded veil that separated Faerie from the middle lands. That, or they’d been captured by faeries to be kept for various dark needs.
Then there were those who remained in Crustle because they’d been born here—their parents faerie, human, or even both.
I was none of the above.
I was a changeling.
Though I was certainly not the only creature who’d been dumped in the middle lands as a freshly born babe, I was still something of a rarity. For if there was one thing the Fae valued above nearly all else, it was family—especially their young.
A fact that only made my impatience to find answers all the more burning.
Rolina ceased rising onto her toes in an attempt to see past the group of burly men in front of us. My guardian tossed me a cold glance. “It’s worked before. There is no reason it won’t now.”
Indeed. If that were not true, we would not be so willing to believe we’d get what we both desired.
“It was hundreds of years ago,” I reminded her, and though I’d tried desperately to research it, we knew nothing of the circumstances of the changeling who’d returned to her home in Folkyn via a trading visit with the Wild Hunt.
An elbow jabbed into my ribs.
Not from the murmuring crowd awaiting the arrival of the growing mass of darkness above, but from Rolina. As with any touch from her, pain sparked, but I didn’t wince. I bit my tongue until it nearly bled and drew in a deep breath through my nose.
Incessantly, I’d had to remind myself that my guardian’s hatred of me was not my fault. That she’d spent twenty years in the type of pain that filled her heart with poisonous rot while longing for her true daughter. But her ire no longer burned as it used to. I’d long ceased desiring a scrap of affection from a woman who would only ever resent me.
“But it’s what is right. What is fair,” Rolina said with quiet venom. “Your ilk is many ghastly things, but they are always fair.”
Fair.
Such a word did not exist in this world of eternal gray.
Rolina should know that better than anyone. Yet so many souls held tight to the false security of right and wrong. I’d ceased believing any such security existed before knowing what the words meant.
No matter what realm you stood in, the expansive and diverse continent of Mythayla was cruel and unjust—perhaps far more than even the guardian I’d been stuck with.
Regardless, after years of being trapped, I was ready to embrace every inch of what awaited on the other side of that invisible veil. A veil I’d seen shine in the distance from the puddled rooftop of our apartment building, the only sign of its presence unless you dared to breach the wetlands and woods to approach it.
Supposedly, the vibration and heat of the wards were enough to repel humans from nearing, while those with faerie blood could walk right up to it. Some had even sworn they’d glimpsed the gigantic wolves and scaled beasts of Folkyn that roamed the ever-stretching forests and rivers on the other side.
The shuffled movement of huddled bodies came to a stop.
A hush descended over the field as both steed and monster alighted one by one.
Grass and flowers lurched. The very soil beneath our feet rippled. No one moved. I wondered if many had ceased breathing, and if they too felt it. The way the air grew colder—thicker—as if the horde of wild faeries had brought the night sky closer to land.
“Move,” Rolina snarled, nails curling into my skin once more.
I did, and right as someone stepped on my dress. I heard it tear and cringed. I loathed sewing, and Rolina would insist I mend it right away. I hoped I wouldn’t have to. Hoped I might never see our sewing kit again.
We stopped again, and over the many bobbing shoulders and heads before us, I tried to make out what awaited. I’d seen it before, but only from atop our apartment building. Never, ever so wonderfully close.
The horses were the first thing I glimpsed, jet black with wings and so tall their heads reached the top of the giant tent being erected. The dark material shimmered into place in slow rippling curls that could’ve been mistaken
A place of feigned privacy for trade.
Just as the crowd moved forward again, a roar split through the growing chill. It seemed to crack open gaps between time to freeze us all. Awaiting Crustle citizens cried out and covered their ears, including Rolina. All those who weren’t like me.
Rolina cursed and swung her eyes up at me, a glimmer of something that looked alarmingly like fear within.
Impossible.
The creature who’d ignored me at best, belittled and abused me at worst, cared nothing for me.
I’d lost count of all the times I’d imagined what life might look like if I’d been her human daughter rather than a faerie who’d been forced to take her place. Until I’d learned there were far better things to spend my time imagining. Things that might prove achievable.
I didn’t know who I belonged to, but not a day nor night could pass without Rolina making sure I knew it wasn’t her.
My heart dipped, then began to race. After all this time, I would receive the chance to find out exactly where and to whom I did belong.
As the growling and roaring of caged beasts settled, we again pushed forward. Two flames danced to life upon steel poles, signaling the entrance to the tent. No one would ever find it otherwise. Rumor stated there was no opening in the tent. No entering without a faerie guiding the way.
Rolina’s impatience returned. Muttering to the backs of the men in front of us about the selfishness and slowness of those already paying their way into the tent to trade, she fidgeted. She scratched at her arms and attempted to look ahead, but she was too short to see much.
I pressed my lips together.
My unseemly height was one of Rolina’s favorite things to insult. At six-foot, I didn’t believe I was tall by faerie standards, but of course, I would forever be anything but seemly to her.
Closer and closer, the tent of faeries loomed.
I supposed I should have been scared, and I was. But mostly, I was just anxious. Worry of failure unfurled into worry over the outburst that awaited if we were turned away and I was left to clean up the aftermath of irate Rolina while also choking on my own crushing disappointment. A disappointment that would surely break my heart.
Three people now remained in front of us.
I felt Rolina’s desperation. If this didn’t work, then that was it. Just like every other citizen of Crustle, I was as good as stuck here. There was always talk of those risking their lives to escape, but I’d heard nothing of real use that might help me do the same.
It wasn’t that I had a death wish. I knew people lived here both out of choice and necessity, and I knew of the horrors awaiting in the faerie lands of Folkyn.
But I also knew that I’d been dumped here in Crustle for a reason.
Whether that reason be wretched or plain stupid, all I wanted was to know what it was. Perhaps then, I would learn who I was. Perhaps then, I could join my family or find a home within a community that allowed me to live a life of my own choosing.
A life that didn’t involve saving myself from all the world had to offer to appear nurtured and protected and, therefore, easier swapped with the hunt. A life that did not involve serving a woman who made a mess of our apartment just to keep me away from my few enjoyments to clean it.
A life that was a life—not a waiting game within a pretty cell.
Sacks of coin encircled the large boots of a muscular faerie taking names and payment. Silver glinted from the weapons strapped to his woven belt, in his arched ears, and from a glimpse of his large nose.
Two men remained.
People leaving the tent pocketed the coin they’d exchanged their prized possessions for, and headed quickly toward the dim glow of town.
One lone man holding an armful of books stepped forward.
Before I could get a good look at the titles or the female who exited the tent to whisper something to the coin and name collector—a sword sheathed at her back between two dark braids—Rolina latched onto my wrist and burst forward.
The man before us had yet to enter the tent, but she didn’t care.
She dragged me with her and tossed our entry fee into an open sack at the faerie’s feet.
The clink created a silence that screamed.
The female who’d been in talk with the collector froze and eyed us with glowing moss-green eyes. Laughing silently, she shook her head and patted the male’s arm. Then she rounded the tent and disappeared.
The male sighed. “Name.”
She spoke as soon as he did. “Rolina.”
“And the...” The male finally looked up from the handful of walnuts he’d retrieved from a pocket in his tight leather pants. A sharp brow rose as he chewed and stared at me. “Faerie?”
Rolina shifted her short brown hair behind her ear. “Her name is Flea.”
I nearly snorted at the way she’d casually pronounced it, as though I hadn’t been named after an insect because the woman hadn’t cared to name me at all.
The male looked back and forth between us with gold-brown eyes and dark brows. One of them was also full of silver rings. “Flea?”
“It’s short for Fleanna,” Rolina said, exasperated.
I chomped down on my lips, tempted to say she was lying. The male’s amused assessment of us told me he’d already guessed as much as he extended his hand for mine.
Certain creatures could detect age. In this case, full maturity could be confirmed by touching a faerie’s pulse. My stomach tightened, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d reached twenty years during the full moon just last month.
“Fresh,” the male confirmed, a tilt to his lips as he gave me another—far slower—once-over.
Heat rose up my neck to fill my cheeks when his thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. Never had anyone touched me in such a way before, and though it was but a touch and expected, it still startled me.
I ducked my head, both ashamed and terrified and...
And something else.
Rolina snarled. “Eyes and paws off. We’ve important business to tend to.”
“I’ll bet you do,” the faerie muttered, but he released me and nodded to a bald female wearing an eye patch.
We walked toward her, and she eyed me curiously as she stepped aside to let us pass.
I felt it and almost gasped. A gap in the air right before the entry to the tent. The midnight material dissolved over our skin like water, cool and rushing.
Rolina shivered and made a low sound of disgust.
Another faerie with dark eyes stepped before us and gestured for us to wait. He then moved back to the shimmering wall of the tent.
Rolina huffed indignantly as we did as instructed.
Lining the large circular space were crates, sacks, and woven baskets, most already filled with wares. Numerous faeries sorted through them while others kept guard with weapons at their sides and backs.
It was then I began to understand why the Wild Hunt bothered with trade visits to Crustle.
At the tent’s center stood a dark metal table loaded with treasure and trinkets that glittered and gleamed. They spilled over it like stars reflected across a cloud-covered lake. As someone stepped away from the table, I glimpsed the embossed and worn spines of piles of books.
Faeries ushered some of the treasure aside, presumably what they considered high value, as we awaited permission to step forward.
I’d been too preoccupied with attempting to read the titles of the books to notice Rolina’s patience had run dry yet again.
I should have known it would. Regardless, shock seized me as she daringly crossed the grass floor of the tent to the creatures who sat at the trade table.
“Lady,” snapped the same male who’d halted us upon our entry. “You will wait to be called forth.”
My mouth opened and closed, fear and mortification keeping me frozen.
“I’ve waited long enough,” Rolina said. “Twenty years, to be exact.”
Unsure what to do, I gave the faerie what I hoped was an apologetic look and hesitantly trailed Rolina.
The male frowned. I feared he would throw us out when the creature who seemed to be in charge drawled in a cutting tone from his high-back chair behind the table, “Then, by all means, do show us what you’ve got that is of such importance.”
All kinds of folk lived in the middle lands.
But I’d never seen a being quite like this one.
