by AJ Lancaster
He pointed at the trees lining the meadow. Their foliage ran through riotous shades of purple, from palest lilac to deepest indigo. Hetta found herself carefully committing the sight to memory; it would make a splendid backdrop. Yes, for all those plays you find yourself regularly putting on now.
She gave herself a shake and let the illusionary ballgown and accoutrements drop, finding comfort in the sight of her sturdy walking boots. “Lead the way, then.”
She tried not to step on the fried insects as they walked, but it was impossible; there were too many. Wyn didn’t look at the ground as the dead bodies crunched underfoot, obscenely loud in the now-silent meadow. She shuddered. Butterflies beautiful as jewels with a thirst for blood. Once this is done, I never want to come to Faerie ever again.
22
The Greenhouse
Marius paused and frowned at the seed in his palm as the scent of citrus rolled around the greenhouse. He knew every plant here, and tangerines didn’t feature, despite what his nose was currently telling him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Putting the seed carefully aside, he’d just turned to investigate when the opposite side of the greenhouse rippled.
He stepped backwards, his back smacking hard into the workbench. Portal, it was a portal. Aroset’s fingers around his throat; the acrid reek of lightning-cracked pavement. Something. He should do something. Was there anything here he could use as a weapon? Iron inhibited fae magic—was there any iron here? There was a spade by the door, but what use would a spade be against a psychopathic fae princess? She had lightning! Running would be better. He should run. But he hadn’t scrambled free of his paralysis by the time the familiar figure stepped out of the portal.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, sagging against the bench. And a damned good thing too, given my apparently amazing self-preservation instincts! What exactly had he been planning to do if it had been Aroset—faint at her?
Rakken raised an eyebrow. “Not the reaction I anticipated, Marius Valstar.” He was in his fae form, and behind him Marius caught a glimpse of a familiar workbench in Stariel’s greenhouse before the portal snapped shut.
After a swift scan of his surroundings, Rakken dismissed the rows of unassuming plants as not a threat and returned his attention to Marius. Marius’s fingers tightened on the bench behind him, ebbing adrenalin and relief giving way to something much more awkward. He’d forgotten how bloody intense Rakken’s presence was, filling the greenhouse like humidity. Or, well, not forgotten, but he’d thought—hoped—perhaps he’d misremembered. Sadly not, because here the aggravating fae prince was, impossibly vibrant even when softened by Marius’s lack of spectacles. Rakken’s wings—presumably glamoured since they appeared whole—glittered in the bands of sunlight coming through the glass.
“What are you doing here? And how did you build a portal from my greenhouse at Stariel? I thought Hetta and Wyn had set wards against that?” Marius suppressed the urge to fidget, conscious of his inelegant appearance, since he wore a potting apron over rolled-up shirtsleeves. Rakken, of course, looked like he’d just stepped from a tailor’s shop—a human tailor, since despite his wings he wore a Prydinian suit.
Rakken raised an eyebrow at him, silently emoting you do know I’m not required to give you answers for the mere asking of them?
“Well?” Marius prompted. He peeled off his gloves and reached for his glasses case. He didn’t usually wear his spectacles at the workbench, not needing them for close work, but now their absence made him feel curiously vulnerable. But when he put them on, he immediately regretted it. Why had he thought bringing Rakken into sharp focus would be an improvement?
Rakken’s eyes were an impossible green, greener than anything in nature, but Marius couldn’t stop shuffling through comparisons anyway. The dark gloss of camellia leaves, shaded with the new growth of maidenhair ferns? Algae, he told himself firmly. Pond scum.
Those impossible eyes gleamed even as Rakken relented. “I came here looking for you, Marius Valstar. I’m interested in meeting this earl of yours.”
Marius frowned. “That appointment isn’t for ages, and the earl didn’t invite you, Mouse.”
Rakken’s eyes flashed at the use of his sister’s pet name. “I have not given you leave to call me that. As I have previously explained, the correct address is ‘Your Highness’.”
“I’ll call you by your title if you stop with the ‘Marius Valstar’ nonsense. Wyn told me that in Faerie, using people’s full names is a, a fae posturing thing.” Besides which, it felt decidedly odd to be so formally addressed with such frequency.
“You asked him about me, did you?” Rakken shifted closer, sleek and menacing as a panther.
Was there suddenly less air in the greenhouse? Rakken grinned, dagger swift; he was doing it on purpose, this, this looming. The bronze horns only magnified the looming effect, catching the light and glittering in his dark hair.
Marius focused firmly on the wall over Rakken’s shoulder. “Look, you can stop trying to bait me. It’s childish, and I know why you’re really here in any case.”
That drew Rakken up short. “What am I really here for, then, Marius Valstar?” He emphasised the name, the timbre of his voice low and rich as whiskey. It sounded like sex, and Marius hastily shoved that comparison into the darkest cupboard of his mind and slammed the door. Dammit, he wasn’t a bloody teenager. Why did Rakken have this effect on him?
He took a damn hold of himself. I’m not letting my desires rule me. Not again. He’d had quite enough of amoral, manipulative men. Even if Rakken was interested. Which he probably wasn’t. Wyn had told him the fae were more open about such things, but Marius was fairly certain all this, this…innuendo was merely Rakken amusing himself. Or maybe it wasn’t even intentional—maybe Rakken was so imbued with sensuality it dripped off everywhere sort of accidentally, like an invasive slime-mould. He did manage to seduce the Duchess of Callasham in under half an hour, after all.
“Wyn told me that Ar—your most murderous sister isn’t trapped in the Spires,” Marius said, cutting off from saying Aroset’s name aloud. Last time that was how she’d latched onto people’s locations. “And if you’re making portals from Stariel, that means you have Hetta’s permission to do it. Which means she strong-armed you into coming here in case your sister decides to target me or Gregory.” He sighed. Of course he was worried about Aroset, but it was still lowering to be sent a nursemaid by one’s younger sister.
Rakken canted his head. “You seem very certain I’m here at your sister’s bidding.” He smirked, showing teeth. “What if I came for a different purpose? What if I am merely bored of waiting and seeking…diversion?”
Okay, so the innuendo most definitely isn’t accidental, then. Marius swallowed. Everything was too tight and too hot, but anger overrode the sharp and desperately unwanted arousal. How dare Rakken try to wind him up for his own amusement? He wasn’t a damn toy!
“Then you can help me prepare anctulus seeds, or you can get out, Your Highness. I’m not playing your games,” he said flatly. He took a few steps sideways, towards the sink, putting much-needed space between them.
Rakken made no attempt to follow, but his eyes gleamed as he looked him up and down, deliberately. “Are you sure you don’t wish to play my games, Marius Valstar?”
Marius grabbed for the seedpods of anctulus that were currently soaking in the sink; soft, fleshy things. “Get”—he threw a pod for emphasis—“out!” He threw another.
Rakken dodged the first pod, but water droplets still flicked out across his chest. The second one hit him square in the stomach and burst. A large quantity of reddish juice bloomed, soaking into the white fabric. Rakken peered down at his abdomen with a faintly incredulous expression.
“It does wash out; it won’t stain,” Marius said after wrestling with his conscience, both appalled and impressed with himself. The seed-throwing had only been half temper; he’d wanted to see if it would actually affect the man. Which he shouldn’t have done.
The Ethics Committee would never have approved experimenting on unwilling subjects. Although the Ethics Committee had never met Rakken; surely they’d have made an exception?
Rakken threw his head back and laughed. It wasn’t fair that anyone had a laugh like that, or that anyone should look so perfectly composed after being spattered with cold water. “How reassuring to know. I must admit this is my first experience of having soggy mortal plant matter thrown at me.”
“Keep being an ass and you can help me with my yarrow experiments,” Marius said grimly. Yarrow was one of the plants he knew definitely had anti-fae properties. He frowned at the reddish stain on Rakken’s shirt, which didn’t appear to be causing any discomfort. “I suppose I can cross anctulus off the list of plants with potential anti-fae properties. Unless you want to report otherwise?”
Rakken canted his head to the side. “Are you experimenting on me?” He pressed an idle finger to the wet patch on his shirt. The water had made the fabric slightly translucent, and it clung to the planes of his abdomen. Which Marius did not notice.
Marius turned hurriedly back to the potting bench. Plants. Nice safe plants. Rakken hadn’t even been here five minutes and already Marius felt like setting something on fire—Rakken, himself, the greenhouse. The entire town of Knoxbridge. He hadn’t been this fiercely irritated by anyone since he’d come of age, and it would’ve felt like a childish regression except it really, really didn’t make him feel like a child at all and that was the entire problem.
“Maybe the flowers will have anti-fae properties, even if the seeds don’t. Do you know if that’s the case for other plants? Does any part of yarrow affect you, or only the flower?” he babbled.
A huff behind him. “Do you truly expect me to tell you?”
“Well, I haven’t lost anything by asking,” he pointed out, pulling the rest of the seed pods out of the water and piling them onto a tray next to the sink. “Although since you don’t know the Prydinian names for most plants, I suppose it wouldn’t matter even if you did want to be helpful.”
Rakken picked up one of the anctulus seeds and inspected it. “Tell me, does your mortal institute support this line of research, or is this a personal project?”
Marius knew he wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity. “Don’t worry, no one’s officially researching weapons of war yet, though I’m sure someone will be if things keep going as they are. You should see what’s been in the papers lately.”
“I have seen them,” Rakken said softly. “I am not here only to discharge a debt to Lord Valstar.”
The warning throb of a headache pulsed at the base of his skull. “I’m not sure how you think talking to the earl will help your cause. He hates the fae in general and Wyn specifically, so he’s hardly going to embrace Wyn’s older brother as some kind of fae ambassador. Also, and as previously stated, you weren’t invited.”
Rakken shrugged. “I can be very charming.”
“If you think I’m going to stand by and let you compel the earl—”
But Rakken was already shaking his head. “Save your threats; I have no intention of compelling your earl.” Any virtue in this statement was swiftly undone by his next words: “It’s an inefficient long-term solution. Besides, I don’t need magic to charm people, Marius Valstar.”
“I’ve yet to see any evidence of that. And you can stop doing that name-thing. I’m not impressed by it.”
Rakken smirked. “Ah, but I’m not doing it for your benefit.”
“I’m amazed neither Hetta nor Wyn has strangled you yet.” Marius took the tray over to the other workbench away from Rakken so he didn’t give in to the temptation either. “How did you even know I was going to be in here this afternoon, anyway?”
“I did not. Don’t let my sister’s facility with portals fool you into thinking they can be made wherever one likes. They’re a tricky magic that depends greatly on resonance and the portal-maker’s familiarity with the destination. I’ve been in this location before, and this building shares a strong resonance with the similar one at FallingStar.”
Marius tried to pretend he wasn’t fascinated by the information as he began to sort out pots and soil. “What about when you came through from the Spires into the main library in Knoxbridge?”
Rakken shrugged. “I took a calculated risk. My need was great, and I felt confident we could handle whatever we encountered in the Mortal Realm, regardless of where the portal emerged—and whoever we encountered.” He gave Marius a meaningful look, his lips curving. “And I was right.”
But the weak attempt at provoking him didn’t hide the melancholy in Rakken’s eyes at the oblique reference to his twin. Maybe that’s why he was being so deliberately abrasive. If one of Marius’s siblings had been trapped somewhere… His chest tightened with unwilling sympathy, and he reached out to pat Rakken’s shoulder.
“Wyn and Hetta will find your brother, and he’ll know how to free ThousandSpire. Won’t he?” That was what Marius had gathered from the conversation with Wyn. It all seemed a bit tenuous, but he trusted Wyn.
Rakken looked down at Marius’s hand with an inscrutable expression, and Marius became excruciatingly aware of the heat and muscle under his fingers, of the faint scent of him—not the smell of his magic, but a more mundane one of soap, skin, clothing, and something Marius had come to associate with feathers. He hastily removed his hand. Rakken raised an eyebrow but—thank all the little gods for small mercies—said nothing.
Marius put his gardening gloves back on and began to pot anctulus, his shoulder blades itching with the weight of Rakken’s gaze.
Rakken leaned back against the opposite workbench and watched. “Does Hollow know about your experiments?”
“He’s not here to hear or see you, so I don’t know why you insist on calling him that, or why you’ve come in your fae form. There’s no point in reminding me he isn’t human—I’m hardly likely to forget.” Marius frowned at the tips of Rakken’s wings, trying and failing to see through the glamour that hid the sheared-off feathers. Intuition flooded him. “Oh. It’s not just to remind Wyn of his heritage, is it? You heal faster in fae form. You’re trying to speed up your recovery as much as possible, and you don’t like appearing weak while you do so, so you’re glamouring to disguise it. Er. Aren’t you?”
Marius flushed at the dry look Rakken gave him, filled with a need to dig a hole right here in the greenhouse floor and bury himself in it. Instead, he swallowed and went back to potting seeds.
“Your complete lack of self-preservation instinct continues to astound me. You should be grateful your sister called in her debt on your behalf.”
“So that is why you’re here. To play guard-dog.” And Hetta had blackmailed him into it. Splendid. Exactly how one wanted to acquire an unwanted and probably unneeded bodyguard. He sighed. “Do you have any reason to believe your sister will target me or Greg?” After all, why would Aroset come to Knoxbridge, half a country away from Stariel? Oh, he’d no doubt Aroset would try to kill him again if she got the chance, but that wasn’t the same as actively hunting for him. He wasn’t in any real danger, and so he’d told Hetta. Why she’d seen fit to lump him with Prince Difficult—
“I do. I hope I’m wrong.”
“What?!”
Rakken’s lips curved. “That was more the reaction I anticipated upon my arrival.”
“But—why? Why would she target me? I was just conveniently there last time, and she doesn’t know where I am now. I have no particular value to her.”
Rakken shrugged. “My sister dislikes being thwarted.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Marius had spent enough time with fae now to tell when they were being deceptive, stating truths designed to mislead. He had no doubt that Aroset did hate being thwarted; she’d seemed like that sort of person. Equally, Marius knew that wasn’t why Rakken thought him at risk.
Rakken sighed and lost his languid air. “If my sister chooses to target you, it will be partly my fault. I told her something that, i
n hindsight, would have been better left unsaid.” His lips quirked. “Something that I will not tell you, Marius Valstar. In any case, I accept the obligation caused by my own miscalculation.”
He met and held Marius’s gaze, a challenge Marius didn’t understand in their depths. Sometimes, Marius understood subtext and could piece together secrets with piercing certainty. Other times—like now—it was like staring at a high, smooth wall upon which he could get no purchase. The headache that had been slowly building went quiet with a suddenness that made him exhale sharply in relief.
Rakken tilted his head. “And I do wish to speak to your earl.”
Marius was already dreading the interview, and Rakken’s presence seemed unlikely to make it go any better. Though if he took Rakken with him, at least he wouldn’t be the sole recipient of the earl’s disapproval, and he couldn’t imagine Rakken being intimidated.
“I haven’t said you can come. And what are you planning to do if Set appears, anyway? You and Cat together weren’t powerful enough to confront her last time. And why is she so powerful anyway? I know the Maelstrom is supposed to grant you extra powers, but didn’t you go into it as well? Shouldn’t you and her be evenly matched now?”
Something dark flickered in Rakken’s expression, but the emotion was there and gone in an instant. “Wherever did you come by the conviction that I will answer whatever scatter-shot of questions you throw at me?”
“If I have to put up with you dogging my footsteps, I think it’s well within my rights to question whether you’ll be of any use.”
Rakken chuckled, but to Marius’s astonishment, he leaned back against the bench and answered quite reasonably.
“Set is older, and age confers power, generally. If she does make an appearance, I would suggest a hasty and tactical retreat to the nearest resonance location to return to FallingStar.”
This was strangely reassuring; much easier to trust Rakken to act to save his own neck rather than believe him to be planning sacrificial heroics.