Legends of Fire (A Dark Faerie Tale #7)

by Alexia Purdy

  “Why would you be waiting for us?” Benton asked. He still had his sword in hand but held it down so Rowan wouldn’t feel threatened. I hoped he wasn’t making a mistake, because I didn’t trust the faery woman one bit. Never trust a faery, especially an Ancient.

  “I knew you’d come here seeking information. I love going through the archives to read about all I’ve missed in slumber. I’ve been here since Shade’s wedding. It’s quiet and isolated, which is what I require to recover from my long illness.”

  “What were you sick with? You’re not withering.” Benton’s face contorted in confusion. I wore the same look.

  “No, I wasn’t withering, but I was failing to live. I let the darkness of the world envelope me in slumber and retreated into my own mind until there was almost nothing left of my soul. I was a shell of who I had been. I had to heal, and there are almost none alive who know how to heal an Ancient.”

  It all was fascinating. I had never known Ancients needed a special kind of healing.

  We arrived at a door set in a wall of stone. The rock itself looked like a boulder the size of a house, but there was no way there was any kind of archive room within it. Unless….

  She pressed a hand against the door, and her magic pushed it open. It moved quietly, almost artificially so, and I wondered if there was a spell on it to keep the hinges from squealing.

  Once the door was fully opened, I peered inside. I saw a spiraling staircase winding down into the rock and beyond, until the steps disappeared in the darkness.

  Rowan held her arm out and gave us a kind smile. “Welcome to the Archives of Worlen.”

  ***

  The room was nothing like I’d imagined. It was homey and warm, pleasant and rather plain. I was expecting it to be more like a library or something of the sort. Still, when I mentioned this, I was rightfully corrected. This wasn’t the only hall of the archives—this place was much bigger than it looked. It was also the hub of ancient magic in the land of Faerie. The original faeries had been born and raised there. It was composed of several stone caverns linked by a hall, like the spine and teeth of a comb. We were at the head of the comb, and the spine was the seemingly endless hall that ran the length of the island. It would take several lifetimes for anyone to go through every book, artifact, relic or script hidden here. Nope. This place was a million times bigger and badder than any library I’d ever seen. It made my mind reel to think about how of how much knowledge was in the place.

  “Wow,” was all I could say. “Who’s the caretaker of all this stuff?”

  Benton sneezed. His human allergies were kicking in, and he was fumbling through his bag for something to counter them. He pulled out a tiny pill and tossed it into his mouth. He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and downed almost half of it with a single swallow. He caught me looking at him curiously.

  “What?”

  “You still use human medicine to counter allergies? Why not fey magic?”

  “I try to avoid using faery magic. It does weird things to humans. It’s bad enough having to tread through Faerie. The land creeps me out. I’m not part faery like my sister, so I’m basically an anomaly here.”

  “True,” I snickered.

  He scowled back and put his bottle away. I often forgot he was full human. His magical elemental powers made him a true match against faeries. An ordinary human would be easy to enchant, but not Benton. His abilities usually kept the effects of Faerie from bothering him, and he could function quite well traveling through Faerie and even while living at the Scren Palace with his sister. Still, the effects of the land weren’t always avoidable. He’d already voiced his concern over the changes he could see in his family who were also human elementals. Anna and James hadn’t left Faerie for months, and their slow transition to immortality as they grew more ethereally beautiful was very apparent, especially to Benton. He had made a point to remain on the human side of the wards more often than not.

  We waited while Rowan took her sweet time dragging the caretaker out for us to question in the main room of the archives. I hoped this guy would cooperate. I didn’t feel like dealing with a stubborn faery. We’d already had to deal with steadfast fey who refused to have anything to do with humans. Prejudice was not only strong and alive in the human world, it ran deep in Faerie as well. My travels with Shade had only proven that.

  Right on cue, Rowan came rushing out of a side chamber we’d assumed belonged to the caretaker. A shadow followed behind her, scrambling to keep up. He was a fragile-looking old man with hunched shoulders and a sharp nose. His long white hair and matching beard were braided in a variety of thicknesses. His clothes were composed of soft linen, a dark tan color with grit stuck to the edges of his robe, which made me wonder if he ever took a bath. It was curious that he was old. Faeries normally didn’t age or grow old. It meant that he was something other than a faery, but what?

  “Willard is the caretaker of the Archives of Worlen. He’ll be happy to answer some questions, but he won’t answer all of them. Make sure you craft your questions carefully, for once he reaches his limit, he won’t speak again until the next visitor comes, which could take a millennium.”

  “He’s human,” Benton stated.

  The surprise on his face made me stare at Willard a bit more. It was hard to tell. He’d probably lived there in the archives for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. I couldn’t be sure. If he was human, why was he in this position anyway?

  “You are correct. Willard is human. He’s worked here in the archives ever since he was a child. He is over a thousand years old. I brought him here myself.” She pulled at her long dress, making it flare out into a puff as she turned to find a long settee awaiting her. It looked practically new with its dark blue velvet, sitting immaculate and waiting for her. She sat and pulled her legs up onto it. Leaning on the pillow at the head of it, she watched us with amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Poor thing was orphaned after a raid on his village.”

  “Why would Faerie keep a human to oversee the archives? Seems like a conflict of interest to me.” Benton frowned as he continued to stare at the old man, who was incessantly twisting some of the braids in his beard. The ends of it were tattered and stained from the constant meddling. The man was muttering under his breath and couldn’t seem to stand still, and he bounced from leg to leg ever so slightly. The guy had to be mad, living in isolation for all those years.

  “Willard sees all things and records them. Willard does a good job,” he mumbled. He was speaking about himself in the third person. That couldn’t be good.

  I glanced at Benton, whose uncertain grimace made me want to groan. Something told me questioning this man wasn’t going to be easy. His mind was more than half gone. It would be a miracle if he gave us anything useful.

  “Go on… ask him your questions,” Rowan urged, looking like she was about to watch a game show. She seemed almost giddy.

  Benton turned toward the Spring Ancient, and she waved him forward impatiently. Still hesitant, we both edged closer to the record keeper.

  “Okay… well. We came here in search of a cure for Trey, the brother of Queen Aluse of the Raven clan. He has a white feather in his possession and told us that the former Queen Lana of the Southern Realm, who died in a fire while exiled, had a key that could have helped him. We need to know what this key is, what the white feather means, and how to cure him. Can you tell us about any of that?”

  Benton was all business. He’d mentioned almost everything we need to know about, and I hoped the old man was intact enough to give us something we could use.

  Willard gave a throaty chuckle as he continued to fiddle with a braid. The ends of it looked like straw, but he kept at it. I figured it was either a nervous habit or he didn’t even know he was doing it. His thin frame was frightful to look at, and I wondered if he ever ate. Did he have to fend for himself, find his own food? Most humans in Faerie had overseers who were responsible for them. It made me wonder if Rowan was his caretaker, but she�
��d been imprisoned in a slumber for years. How had he taken care of himself without her?

  “You ask things most don’t know anything about. Especially things that no longer exist.” Willard added a tiny cackle that rattled in his chest until it began a coughing fit. He pulled out a dingy rag and spit into it before tucking it back into his robes.

  Gross.

  “White feathers of Nephilim who are extinct. But are they? There are some who believe they still exist, hidden from their origins in Faerie, deep in underbellies of the human world. Maybe they do, but they are wingless. Only a pair of Nephilim can lift such a curse. Can save them.”

  I glanced at Benton, who looked like he was etching every word into his brain. I wasn’t sure if this was of any use to us.

  “That can’t be all,” Benton muttered.

  Willard held a hand up and cleared his throat once more. “The fallen queen did have a key, but it wasn’t a key in a literal sense. The key was of flesh and bone, magic so fair, and a heart full of love. She is the key; her blood holds the cure to any fatal faery disease. But there are those of old who would take it all for themselves if they knew she has that kind of magic. A potion you must make. A sweet, life-giving elixir. You need blood and feathers of the twin Nephilim. One is a key, the other is the catalyst and holds their power. Add the poison made from a broken heart, and, finally, the tears of a Faerie halfling queen. No magic is more powerful than those three combined.”

  My eyes widened. Could he mean Shade was the Faerie halfling queen? That would be too easy. But the other two ingredients, where would we find them?

  “But,” Willard continued, “there are those who hunt the catalyst and the key. Only with the key and the catalyst can you truly save all those who hold the land of Faerie intact. You must save them, regardless of what wrong they’ve done, or….” He frowned, scratching the sparse hair on the very top of his head. “Or the Land of Faerie dies.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. I shook my head. There was no way Faerie was dying. “Who are the twin Nephilim… the key and catalyst? Why would Faerie be dying? It’s thriving!”

  Rowan was on her feet, standing next to the Willard and looking disturbed. Her face was full of shock and tinged with a reddening anger that made her look alarmingly bigger than the poor record keeper. He shrunk away from her, muttering under his breath. She turned to Willard, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them until the old man cowered and whimpered in fear.

  “You cannot say. You cannot tell them how to save them. The twins have to die.” Rowan jumped toward him.

  “But Faerie dies with them already. She who withers without the cure must pass her crown to the next before she ascends, or Faerie will fall regardless. The twins cannot stop her withering. They are so weak. So weak....” He was on his back, for Rowan had shoved him down with a screeching scream.

  “No! They all have to die. If Faerie falls, then so be it!” She kicked him in the stomach, and the poor old man began weeping as he fell to his knees and curled into a ball.

  “Please, Your Majesty, have mercy!”

  “Stop!” Benton intercepted her next kick as he came between the two. His sword flickered into flames in front of her, and her eyes widened as she stared hard at the fiery blade. “Hit him again, and I plunge this into your stomach.”

  Rowan’s features seem to waver as she stepped back, her nostrils flaring. Moments passed as they stared each other down, both unwilling to move.

  “Very well. He finishes answering your remaining questions, but do not ask any more about the catalyst and the key or who hunts them. He cannot tell you.” She spun and sat back down on her settee. This time she didn’t lay back to relax but remained erect, with her arms crossed.

  There was nothing like seeing an Ancient of Faerie pissed off.

  I wondered what had set her off. Something wasn’t sounding right about all of this, and knowing Benton, I was pretty sure he would finesse his way to the truth. He had the advantage being human and immune to Rowan’s powers. But I was a full-blooded faery. If she tried anything on me, I’d be helpless to do anything about it.

  I sighed. Sometimes it sucked being of Faerie.

  Chapter Seven

  Benton

  “All right, old man. Go ahead.”

  I kept my Empyrean blade out, full fire to make an impression on batshit crazy Rowan. All the Ancients were insane. I had thought she was the pretty nutty before, when she could barely speak in comprehensible sentences, but this topped it. She may have appeared more stable, but underneath that mask of beauty and poise, she was just as crazy as Kilara, the Summer Ancient Queen who almost had us killed by rubble when we’d taken the Unseelie palace to save Rowan. How ironic that she would now be threatening the one person who could help us on our mission. Some people were nothing but trouble.

  Willard shuffled from side to side, looking increasingly agitated, especially with Rowan fuming at him in the corner. I wanted to move to block her from his vision, but there was no way I was going to turn my back on her royal psychoness.

  “Well… um… what did you want to know again?”

  Shit, he was losing focus fast. I had to get answers.

  “What do the Nephilim have to do with Trey, and where can I find them? I need answers now.”

  I saw Rowan shift and pointed my sword toward her chest.

  “Move again and I will impale you. You forget I’m human and don’t give a shit about the customs of Faerie.”

  She sat back again, and I could feel the daggers she stared into me.

  “Go on.” I motioned to Willard.

  “Th—the Nephilim… yes… they are hidden all over the human realm. Most lived alongside them and blend in. They have children, live to old ages, and die. Their descendants still carry their blood but most have lost the ability to fly after living as humans; none remember how to call forth their wings.” He sucked in a ragged breath and began coughing again. Blood splattered from his lips, but he wiped it away as if it was commonplace, shaking where he stood. “But they can call them forth whenever they want to. They all can fly but don’t even know it.”

  I nodded but cringed at his agony. He seemed fine with it, but it wasn’t a pretty sight to see. Why would a human get sick in Faerie? There was something much more to all of this than I was being told, and I was pretty sure Rowan wasn’t the only culprit behind it. I kept one eye trained on her and one on the archivist. This was all kinds of wrong. I’d heard humans still aged in Faerie, but it took hundreds if not thousands of years for them to die. Some became immortal, like my sister Shade.

  “The key and the catalyst? Where would I find them?” I reminded Willard of my question. He’d already told us so much, but I didn’t want to end up with things half-answered while we had him in our clutches.

  “The key… catalyst….” He almost glanced toward Rowan, but I shook my head at him. “The key is a girl, and the catalyst is her twin, a male. Both are descendants of the Nephilim. Only she doesn’t know it. She is being hunted by an Unseelie bounty hunter named Lars even as we speak. He’s been hired by unknown forces to hunt the girl. I don’t know where the boy is. He’s never been seen. If Lars finds her, he will either take her to the person who hired him or kill her. If he kills her, Faerie dies with her. They both must live.”

  I shook my head. “How does Faerie fall with of one girl’s demise?” I asked, baffled. “Where is she, and how do I know who she is?”

  Willard shook violently, lifting a finger toward me. “You met her once. She is the one with the Sight.”

  Immediately, he collapsed and continued to violently shake. His convulsions grew more violent as I bent down and tried to protect his head from bashing into the stone floor. Blood spurted from his mouth, foaming as his breath escaped him. A moment later, his body stilled completely. His chest no longer moved, and none of my healing herbs or potions were working on him, no matter how quickly I administered them.

  “Dammit!” I slapped my hand on the ground, jerking m
y eyes up to find Soap looking solemn. The knowing look on his face told me we both knew who had killed Willard, even though neither of us knew why. It didn’t make any sense.

  We turned toward Rowan, who now sat back, relaxed on her settee, picking at her nails as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “Why did you kill him?”

  She laughed, tossing back her long mane of wavy blonde hair. She may have been beautiful and flawless, but the spirit underneath was marred and ugly, beyond saving. She was far different from when I’d first met her. I wondered if Kilara had control over her, like she’d wanted in the first place. If she did, Faerie was doomed.

  “I didn’t kill him. He’s been sick for a long time with some human ailment that I’m sure is quite common on the other side of the wards. He wanted to die. He told me he did. So I never healed him. He was tired of the isolation and the years without any companions. I just allowed him to follow his fate without any intervention. I only did what he asked.” She stood up and turned her cold blue eyes on us, tired of us already. “Never accuse a queen of Faerie of something you know nothing about.”

  I frowned. Her unwillingness to help us was grating on my nerves, but one other thing occupied my thoughts even more. Had Willard been talking about Zena? Did she have a twin she didn’t even know about?

  “Did you hire the bounty hunter?” I wanted to plunge my sword into her chest, whether she was responsible for hurting Willard or not. Someone had to be behind Zena’s family being on the run, and this sounded like a pretty darn good reason. She was Nephilim. Finally, something that explained a lot. I needed Zena, her twin, and Shade to cure Trey. If Rowan hadn’t interrupted us while questioning Willard, I’d be closer to the truth than I was now.

  “Me? Silly boy.” She ran a long, slender finger up through her locks and pulled out a tiny flower pin that had been holding back part of her hair. She held it out, smiling sweetly. “I don’t use such dark creatures. I am of the light, not the dark realms. I leave those things to my dear, long lost sister, Kilara. She was always the meddling type. Here.”