by Jenna Black
Hunter moved a little closer to the throne. He wasn’t quite in striking distance yet, but either his mother or Bane was bound to get suspicious if he stood too close. It was his usual habit to keep as much distance as possible between them.
“I have succeeded,” he confirmed. “The wench is pregnant, and I saw no further reason to remain in the mortal world.”
“But then, where is she?”
Hunter’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”
His mother rose from the throne and descended the dais. Bane hastily rose as well, following close at her heels, the wicked knife still unsheathed. Despite his earlier intentions to get closer to her so he could strike, Hunter had to fight an instinct to back away as she approached.
The Queen stood taller than he, so he had to look up slightly to meet her chilling gaze. “If you’ve seeded her with your child, then where is she? Surely you did not think I intended her to remain in the mortal world while she is breeding? Why, anything could happen!”
Hunter’s stomach lurched as he realized just how ugly this all would have been if he had followed his mother’s orders from the beginning. Kiera would have been brought to Faerie, where she would have spent her pregnancy imprisoned. And when she finally brought the child into the world, she would have been killed. Fury at what the Queen had almost made him do coiled in Hunter’s gut. It was all he could manage to keep that fury out of his expression, and his heart now drummed so loud he feared she would hear it.
The Queen was near enough now that he could reach her, but Bane was standing close by her side, watching Hunter with studied intensity. The goblin’s reflexes were blindingly quick, and the expression on his face suggested he suspected an attack was imminent. He’d said once that Hunter was destined to kill him, that the Queen had “foretold” it. Maybe that time was at hand, though if the Queen truly could see the future, Hunter’s quest had been doomed before it started.
Thinking he might never have a better opportunity, Hunter flicked his wrist, the hilt of his knife suddenly filling his palm. He drove forward, the long blade held out before him, aiming for the Queen’s heart.
But as he’d feared, Bane anticipated the attack. It was a close thing, even so. Hunter’s blade managed to nick the Queen’s ivory skin before Bane’s head plowed into his abdomen. The blow forced all the air out of Hunter’s lungs and he fell heavily backward onto the cold stone floor. He fought his body’s instinct to curl up around the pain in his gut, trying to scramble to his feet, but Bane’s body slammed into his again and he went down. Bane landed on top of him and shoved a knee right under his ribs. Hunter’s vision swam and he might have blacked out for a moment. The next thing he knew, his hand, still clutching the knife, was slammed brutally into the flagstones, and his fingers loosened their grip.
Bane had his own knife in hand and positioned the blade over Hunter’s right eye. The threat stilled his struggles, and Bane laughed.
“Fond of your eye, are you Boyo?” he asked. “Maybe Her Majesty doesn’t share your fondness?” He looked up at the Queen hopefully.
She stood by Hunter’s head, looking down at him with no particular expression on her face, though her fingers toyed with the spot of blood on her breast. “I would not see his pretty face marred,” she said. “You may let him up, but keep a firm hand on him.”
Bane shoved the knife into a sheath at his waist, then hauled Hunter to his feet, holding him by the wrist and then forcing that wrist up high behind his back. Hunter gritted his teeth and refused to make a sound as the Queen approached and put her hand against his cheek. The throne room was quickly filling with goblins.
“I’m afraid you have too much of your father in you, Hunter,” she said. “I thought when I disposed of him that I had purged you of his influence. It seems I was mistaken. You will follow in his footsteps, my dear boy. Bane has often confided in me his desire to hear you scream. I have long denied him the opportunity, for I didn’t want you broken. But now your mission is complete and your time is almost through. You will break before you die.”
She removed her hand from his cheek and stepped back. “Take him to the whipping posts and strip him,” she ordered her goblins. She turned her attention to Bane. “Give him one full hour to anticipate what is to come. Then you may begin.”
****
Kiera woke with the sun in her eyes. She groaned and turned away from the light that shone in through the slightly parted curtains. Her head ached, and she felt as though a great weight were sitting on her chest. She searched once more for the oblivion of sleep, but it remained out of reach and she couldn’t stop reality from creeping into her consciousness. Slowly, she sat up.
It didn’t seem like the things that had happened to her could possibly be real. Yesterday, all had been normal in her world. Well, as normal as it could be when she was dating the son of the Queen of Air and Darkness. Today, she was supposedly pregnant with a child that could take over all of Faerie, and Hunter had left for the Unseelie Court on a suicide mission.
Wishing she were waking from a bad dream, Kiera sat up and rubbed the grit from her eyes. The faint scent of frying bacon wafted up from downstairs, which meant if she didn’t drag herself out of bed soon, her mom would probably come knocking on her door. Kiera was in no hurry to be social—if she could have spent the day without seeing or speaking to another human being, she would have—but if she wanted to be a hermit, she was in the wrong place. With a sigh of resignation, she showered, dressed, and headed downstairs.
The tableau that met her eyes when she reached the kitchen stopped her in her tracks.
Her mother and Conan were sitting at the small kitchen table. Plates bearing the remainders of their breakfast had been pushed out of the way. Conan leaned an elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand as her mother smiled at him. He was holding her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in what could only be a lover’s caress.
Kiera cleared her throat and they jumped guiltily apart. Her mother actually blushed, and Kiera would have laughed if her heart weren’t so heavy. Conan turned in his chair to face her more fully. His hair was tousled from sleep and hung loose around his face. His eyes searched her face.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’m not going to faint or scream or anything.”
“Sit down,” her mother said with exaggerated cheer, “I’ll get you some breakfast.” She pushed away from the table and practically fled to the far side of the kitchen, where she started a new batch of eggs as if she were in a race for her life.
Kiera pulled out a chair and sat. Conan was looking toward her mother with an expression of fond amusement.
“So,” Kiera asked him, “how long has this been going on?”
He turned his attention to her. “Not long.”
She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She supposed he wasn’t the type to kiss and tell. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you hurt my mom, I will kick your ass, even if I have to hunt you down in Faerie to do it.”
He smiled. “Fair enough, child,” he said, putting a slight emphasis on the last word. Kiera wondered if she was supposed to feel insulted.
In short order, her mother laid a plate of bacon and eggs before her. Kiera murmured her thanks and took a sip from the accompanying glass of orange juice as her mother retook her seat.
They certainly made an odd-looking couple. Kiera’s mom had always looked about five years younger than she was, but she still looked old enough to be Conan’s mother. Wanting to return the needle he’d earlier given her, she looked at Conan and frowned.
“Aren’t you a little young for her?” she asked, jerking her chin in her mother’s direction.
Conan laughed. “Looks can be deceiving. I am far older than your mother, Kiera.”
The thought occurred to her that she had never asked Hunter how old he was. He could easily be older even than Conan, and yet he looked like he was Kiera’s age or younger. Her heart sank, and her face must have fallen as well, for Conan rea
ched over and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She didn’t know what he meant to reassure her of.
“Do you suppose he’s still alive?” she asked as a frog took up residence in her throat.
“I don’t know,” Conan said softly.
Tears blurred her vision. “He probably is. They won’t kill him quickly.” The last came out a sob, and soon both Conan and her mother were huddled close to her, murmuring soothing words that couldn’t possibly ease her pain.
She reined in the tears with difficulty. Without doubt, this was not the last time she’d fall apart, but it did no one any good and she was determined not to make more of a scene than necessary. A box of tissues appeared on the table as if by magic and she realized Conan had fetched them without her even noticing he’d left the table.
“Thanks,” she managed to choke out. She grabbed a handful of tissues, wiping her tears away and blowing her nose.
The doorbell rang, and all three of them jumped. Kiera looked from her mother’s face to Conan’s and saw grimness in both their features.
“Now it begins,” Conan muttered as he headed toward the door.
“Now what begins?” she asked her mother in an urgent whisper.
“The siege. The Queen will want you in Faerie, where she can keep an eye on you. This house is well warded, so the fey can’t get in, but they’ll surely try to flush you out.”
Her mother gave her a long, steady look. “Whatever they say, whatever they try, you are not leaving this house.”
Kiera might have objected to being ordered around, but not when the order was so sensible. She nodded and followed her mother to the window that looked out at the front of the house. Conan was stationed at the door, peering out the peephole.
“I count five goblins,” he hissed.
Kiera looked out the window and saw nothing more than a group of winos in ragged clothes. Four of them were sitting across the street, backs to the wall of the house across the way, passing a bottle back and forth amongst them. The fifth stood on the doorstep.
She raised an eyebrow at her mother. “Glamour, I suppose?”
Her mom nodded as the goblin at the door rang the bell about fifteen times in a row then banged with his fist for good measure.
“Come on, open up,” he growled. “We know you’re in there.”
“You are truly a paragon of intellect,” Conan said.
“You want to open the door and try insulting me again?”
“Not particularly.”
“Hand over the little lady and no one else has to get hurt.”
Conan snorted. “Your offer has little to recommend it.”
“There’s only so long you can hide in your hole before you’ll all starve to death. Why don’t you just end it now, nice and peaceful-like?”
“Perhaps I can avoid starvation by feeding on goblin flesh. It is considered a delicacy among my kind.” Although Conan was in his human form, the words came out as a vicious snarl that sent a chill down Kiera’s spine. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to have the same effect on the goblin.
“Phooka flesh is best eaten fresh from the bone. It’ll be interesting to see how much we can eat before you die.”
Kiera shuddered and huddled closer to her mother. Conan turned toward them, his face showing he was not particularly intimidated by the threat. His calm was contagious, and Kiera’s frantic pulse slowed. He moved away from the door without answering the goblin’s latest challenge.
“No point in talking to them,” he said as he gestured them back toward the kitchen. “They’ll just bluster and threaten.”
Kiera looked back over her shoulder. “So are they going to park outside our door forever?”
“I’d say for the foreseeable future, yes.”
She resumed her seat at the table. She’d eaten almost nothing, but she couldn’t move herself to eat the cold remains on her plate. “Could we call the police on them?”
“We could. The police might even be able to get the goblins to move on for a bit, if the goblins don’t feel like fighting it. But they’d just come back. And if the goblins got testy, we might find ourselves responsible for some dead policemen.”
Kiera lowered her head into her hands. “Then we have no chance? They’re going to starve us out?”
“Let’s take it one day at a time, honey,” her mother said.
The goblin started leaning on the doorbell again before Kiera had a chance to answer. Conan showed no inclination to go to the door. The goblin was not discouraged, keeping up a continuous ring.
“May I disable the doorbell?” Conan asked.
“Please do,” her mother agreed.
Conan slipped away from the table. For a few more minutes, the ringing continued. Then, it abruptly ceased. Kiera smiled at the beautiful silence, until Conan returned to the dining room and she saw the grim set of his face.
“What is it?” she cried.
He sat on a chair beside her, turning it to face her square on. “Hunter failed.” Kiera gasped in pain and shut her eyes tight to keep from crying yet again. “The goblins claim that if you give yourself up, they’ll let Hunter go. Supposedly, they’ll take you to Faerie until you give birth, then they’ll let both you and Hunter go and keep the child. It’s a patent lie, of course. One cannot make bargains with the Unseelie. And they won’t want to leave anyone alive who might tell Finvarra that he has a new grandchild on the way. They’ll want the child to grow into his or her power before Finvarra knows there’s a danger. Then, there will be a war the likes of which Faerie has never seen before.”
Kiera nodded numbly. Even if she had reason to believe the Unseelie would keep their end of the bargain, she knew she couldn’t take it. She could not sacrifice a helpless child to the Unseelie Court. Reflexively, she put a hand on her belly. It still didn’t feel real—it was almost impossible to believe that Hunter’s child was growing inside her. And yet the goblins outside the door were further proof.
Kiera frowned. “Excuse me if this is a dumb question, but why are you still here? You’re Finvarra’s spy, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you have run off to Faerie with the big news?”
Conan shifted uncomfortably, and he and her mother shared a look she couldn’t interpret.
“We . . . discussed the situation last night,” her mother said. “If Finvarra knew you were carrying this child, he’d insist on taking you to Faerie—whether you wanted to go or not. I’m sure he could keep both you and the baby physically safe there. But he would never let either of you go.”
Conan looked even more uncomfortable, with tight lines of displeasure at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Kiera felt sorry for him, stuck in the middle as he obviously was. She imagined Finvarra wouldn’t be at all happy with him if he ever learned about all of this.
“I don’t want the Queen or Finvarra within a hundred miles of me,” Kiera said. “We’re just going to have to find our own way out of this mess.” One that didn’t involve a lifetime of captivity for herself and the baby.
Her heart ached with a sudden yearning for Hunter. He had risked everything in an effort to save her, to undo the damage he had done. As hopeless as her own situation felt, at least she was in the mortal world, protected by friends and family, those who would love and support her no matter what. Hunter, on the other hand, faced a gruesome death at the hands of his enemies.
An idea sparked in Kiera’s mind. She had something the goblins and their Queen wanted more than anything. She might not have the foggiest notion how she could protect herself and her baby in the long run, but perhaps she could use the little bit of leverage she had to good advantage . . .
Chapter 16
Hunter had retreated deep inside himself. For the first fifteen minutes or so that he’d been tied to the whipping posts, Bane’s cruel goading had distracted him. Eventually, Hunter had figured out how to tune him out and had ceased to hear the words until the goblin’s voice became nothing but a muffled buzzing sound.
In his near-trance, Hunt
er had no sense of time passing, didn’t know how long he had before his torment was slated to begin. He knew from bitter experience that he would snap back into full consciousness at the first bite of the whip, but for the time being he was content to drift. When he was drifting, he didn’t have to worry about what would happen to Kiera and the baby. Would Cathy overcome her hatred of Finvarra and help Kiera get to Faerie, as Hunter had requested in his letter?
An explosive crack and a fiery trail of pain across his shoulder blades snapped Hunter back to the real world. It had begun.
He clamped his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth until his face ached with it as lash after lash bit into his back. He tried to will himself back into the trance, but it was no use. He could only put himself in that peaceful place when there was no pain—or when there was too much pain. He almost welcomed the continued lashes, in hopes that they would help him find his way to oblivion.
He thought he might almost be there when the blows suddenly stopped coming. He cursed foully as his back burned and his breath came in short gasps. Bane circled the posts until he stood in front of Hunter. Hunter saw spots of his own blood on Bane’s body. The goblin was grinning in sadistic pleasure.
“Can’t be letting you slip away like you’ve been known to do, can I?” Bane said.
Hunter’s mouth was almost completely dry, but he gathered what moisture he could and spit weakly at the goblin. He missed.
Bane crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Hunter with cocked head. “Quite a puzzle,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Looks for all the world like your time is almost through. And yet, I know you’re going to kill me.” He shook his head and sniffed. “Doesn’t seem quite possible.”
Hunter wondered if the goblin was trying to further torture him with false hope. And yet, Bane had made the same outlandish claim long before Hunter condemned himself. Whether Hunter believed in the Queen’s “prophecy” or not didn’t matter; Bane obviously did.