Speaker 1: A forest of earth and loud an Arcane Heart Studio
production created and written by Ainsley Bay. Chapter eighteen, The Uninvited.
The Fay are in the library. They've been there for
an hour. The door is closed, but I can hear sounds,
not voices. Sounds like wind chimes in a storm. Sounds
like heavy furniture moving on its own. Malcolm is in
the study with Kir. They're conferring. I'm in the kitchen
with KOI. He's sitting on the counter, swinging his legs.
He's eating a bowl of cereal, but he's not really
eating it, he's just stirring it. They're loud, he whispers
the Fay. I don't hear anything. I lie not with
your ears, he says, tapping his temple. In here, they're singing.
I stop scrubbing the counter singing. What about the trees,
he says, about how much they hate the walls. They
want to make them grow. I shudder each your serial coy.
The door to the kitchen swings open. Kir walks in.
He looks wrecked. His shirt is untucked, his hair is
a mess, and his eyes are wide like he's seen
a ghost. How is it going, I ask strange, he says,
grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. They went
to the grave first, Surchi's grave. Yes, the envoy touched
the stone and moss just erupted. If I'm honest, it
looks beautiful, but it also looks like it doesn't belong.
If that makes sense. It covered the whole marker in seconds.
And now they're arguing with father, what about Well, the
started by defining value, like the most basic thing, this
is worth X, and this is worth Why so your
father's negotiating. Yes, they made it clear there's a debt,
he says, rubbing his eyes. But they can't even agree
on what has value and what doesn't. I swear if
Dad offered them an orchid, they'd think it was the
most valuable thing in the world. Have they agreed on anything,
Koi asks, milk dripping into his beard. Kir looks at Koi.
A life for a life, but Father is not accepting
mat That's where the whole value discussion is happening. Father
is arguing that a life voluntarily given has different value
than one taken. They're looking for a sacrifice. No, Keer
says quickly, Look, it doesn't matter. We aren't giving them anyone. Suddenly,
the air in the kitchen changes. It doesn't get cold,
it gets bright. The overhead lights flare with a violet hue.
The basal plant on the windowsill suddenly shoots up six inches,
its leaves unfurling with a wet snap. The air smells
of ozon and crushing flowers. The kitchen door pushes open.
The envoy stands there. He's holding a glass of Malcolm's
Best whiskey, but he's holding it wrong by the rim
with two fingers. The alpha is boring me, he says.
He looks at me, you the ink girl. My name
is Viv. Viv. He tests the word short, sharp, like
the bark of one of them. He points at Kir.
He steps into the room. Kir instantly moves in front
of me. Get out of the kitchen. Kir growls. The
envoy ignores him. He looks past Kir, straight at Koi
and you. He says, the broken one, Why are you
hiding in the food room. I I was hungry, Koi stammers.
Hunger is good. The envoy nods, hunger is honest. He
puts the whisky glass down on the counter. The granite
beneath it blooms with a spider web of violet cracks,
not broken but infused with color. The Alpha offers us dirt.
The envoy says, we do not need dirt. It is
not in balance. He looks at me again, Then he
looks at Koi, then he looks at Kir. We are
generous and will not take your alpha, but we will take.
We will give you time, but you must choose. Choose what.
The Fae looks at me, and my knees go weak.
I feel like I'm smaller than the tiniest piece of infinity.
As his eyes pierce my soul. Choose the life, and
without saying more, he turns and fades. He simply disappears.
I look at Kir. When Malcolm stumbles in, he looks
weaker than he did during the Nadier. He is drawn
and struggling to hold himself up. He sees us, and
he knows the envoy talk to us. He knows what
they said. There is no agreement on terms, he says,
as if he's negotiating with a lumber company. But we
all know he's desperate and wrong, desperately wrong. I don't
know what the fee will do, but I know it
will be bad if an agreement isn't reached, catastrophically bad.
I look at kir, my beautiful, amazing, handsome and wonderful mate,
dragged into this when he did nothing wrong, and a
thought suddenly enters my head. A life voluntarily given has
different value than one taken. Malcolm spoke that, and he's right.
The shadow moves where the light one stood, sullenly whispers
in the until the wind did rise. It calls the
mind a fleeting acles signal marks chosen firs