The King of Faerie (Stariel Book 4)

by AJ Lancaster

  Rakken spread his hands in easy surrender. “Then don’t pretend it is my lack of cooperation that is the hindrance in this. You’re the one whose logic is flawed, and I’m being generous in pointing it out, since it is not my desire to see you succeed in your stated goal.”

  “And don’t you pretend you’d be happy to compel people willy-nilly—because I know you’re not. You’ve been worried ever since the Maelstrom magnified your powers.” Marius knew Rakken’s compulsive and compulsive-adjacent abilities were now so strong that they disturbed even Rakken. Which was disturbing in and of itself because Rakken wasn’t someone who was easily disturbed even when he ought to have been. Oh, not that Rakken had admitted to any unease, but several times recently when someone had been fawning over him, Marius had seen Rakken’s eyes widen and the…allure or whatever it was contract, as if it had extended without Rakken quite intending it.

  Rakken’s eyes narrowed. “I can compel with sufficient precision for your purposes.”

  Marius crossed his arms. “I’m not letting you compel anyone, even for the purposes of scientific inquiry.”

  A brief flare in Rakken’s irises at the word ‘let’, and he lost his languor, becoming suddenly very icy indeed. “I think you forget who I am. I am not your tame creature, Marius Valstar; I do not act under your decree.”

  Marius threw up his hands. “Yes, yes, Your Highness. I know. Fine.”

  He pulled his satchel over his shoulder and straightened, heading out without stopping to see if Rakken was following. Rakken sometimes dogged his heels and sometimes not, mostly depending on how bored he was, Marius suspected. When Marius had pointed out that this wasn’t exactly model bodyguard behaviour, Rakken had said easily, “I will give you leave to use my name to summon me, if my sister appears without warning and I’m not already nearby.”

  Today, Rakken was apparently bored enough to follow Marius out of the college. Marius ignored him as he headed down to the towpath. It was a mild spring day, and the path had a fair amount of traffic, forcing both him and his shadow to make way whenever they met people coming the other way. None of the people they passed noticed Rakken’s feathers, which irritated Marius. Still, it was good to be out in the fresh air.

  The foot traffic lessened as he followed the path back to the wilder stretch of the river further from the centre of town, where he’d seen the fae swans. But the river was empty today.

  “Damn,” he cursed softly, staring at the dark water.

  Rakken came to a halt next to him. “You are persistent, little scholar, I’ll give you that.”

  Marius demonstrated heroic strength of character by refusing to rise to the bait. An idea struck him. “What if you, I don’t know, calibrate your glamour strength just above what I can see through? Is that possible? How finely can you tune it?”

  Rakken sighed and held out a hand. “Give me your latest concoction.”

  Marius eyed him warily. “I swear, if you’re planning to throw it in the river…”

  “Oh, please do continue. I’m interested to see what you plan to threaten me with.”

  “A watery grave,” Marius muttered before handing Rakken the modified quizzing glass and the vial containing his latest herb concoction.

  Rakken held up the quizzing glass to the light, turning it this way and that. “Tell me your hypothesis. Why this material?”

  “Quizzing glasses distort light so as to enable one to detect illusions.”

  “Mortal illusion is not fae glamour. Glamour has no physical presence.”

  “Yes, but quizzing glasses have symbolism, don’t they? A connection to the concept of seeing truly.”

  Rakken gave him a sharp look. “That isn’t how human magic works, as far as I know.”

  “It’s significant for fae magic though, isn’t it? Things that are like other things are connected, like resonances for your portals,” Marius said, thinking aloud. That was the pattern he kept seeing, in the magic Wyn used, in the stories from fairy tales that might or might not be true.

  Rakken’s expression went blank, his feathers absolutely still, which Marius knew now was a sign that he was thinking furiously.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Marius pressed.

  “And what would you do, if you could allow your people to puncture fae glamour at will? Would you give that knowledge to your mortal queen? To the same people who write lurid reports of wicked fae stealing sheep and seducing mortal women?”

  “You have seduced mortal women,” Marius felt bound to point out. Heat rose in his cheeks.

  A dagger-sharp grin. “I don’t need magic for that.”

  No, he supposed that was true, damn him.

  Rakken handed back the quizzing glass. “I will not help you build weapons against my people, Marius Valstar. I am greater fae, with many magics to draw on, but many of the lower and lesser fae have little more than glamour to protect themselves.”

  Marius slid him a sideways look. “Mortals get by without it.”

  Rakken shrugged, his feathers rustling as they rose and fell. “Mortals get by without a great many things, it seems.” He watched the river, the breeze rattling at the reeds. “Tell me…” He hesitated. “Is this where you consider yourself to belong, in this unclaimed land full of dead iron?”

  Marius blinked at him. Dead iron? “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I thought—well, to be honest, I never really thought much beyond my father’s lordship. But now he’s gone and Hetta’s lord and I…I suppose I’m still figuring out where I fit in this new world. What about you?”

  Rakken stiffened.

  “Oh, come on, it’s fair turnabout if you’re going to ask me personal questions without warning. And I’m not exactly the only one here who’s just gotten out from under his father’s shadow and also failed to inherit.”

  A dull ache in his temples as Rakken strongly refuted the assertion that there were any parallels at all between them.

  “Look, it’s not like I wanted to make the comparison, but it was a relatively obvious one,” Marius pointed out acidly. “And are you seriously going to argue that while ThousandSpire still stands unclaimed you haven’t actually yet failed to inherit? I’m amazed you can even say the words aloud, that’s such a technicality. You don’t really believe you could still be king there, do you?”

  Rakken was looking at him strangely, and the ache at his temples eased abruptly—thank the little gods. He expected Rakken to say something blistering and furious, but instead he simply gave his head a minute shake, his lips curving ruefully.

  “You are bad for my ego, Marius Valstar.”

  32

  The Sea Gate

  Wyn looked down at his feet, where the engagement ring nestled in a tangle of spell lines, and tried not to feel melancholy about the fact that the Gate spell would absorb it. Engagement rings weren’t even a fae tradition, he reminded himself. His primary motivation in making the ring had been so that Hetta could draw on Stariel’s power when she was outside the estate’s bounds. But it wasn’t the loss of the ring’s practical benefits that made him sulk; that was merely an additional blow. Having to destroy the symbol of his intent—was the universe trying to emphasise how much it disliked the idea of his and Hetta’s union?

  They had set up the spell on the ground floor of the atrium, partially because Irokoi thought the tiny mosaic representation of Stariel might help and partially because it was as far away as possible from the lake guardian. It still made him uneasy, looking up to the Gate so many stories above, even with Irokoi’s reassurances that Aroset couldn’t see them even if she were still waiting there. Wyn hadn’t caught a glimpse of her since they’d entered.

  “You can make me another one.” Hetta patted his arm, careful not to stand on any of the spell lines that criss-crossed the mosaic. “In fact, I insist.”

  She could read him so easily. Perhaps it was his fae form, which he’d worn now for the longest span since he’d first left Faerie. The time here had been a strange and dislocated
thing, a bubble containing only the three of them. Well, four, technically, he thought, sliding a glance at Hetta’s abdomen. There was no physical sign, but her personal magical signature burned more brightly than ever, steadily draining into Lamorkin’s gem at her throat. The gem’s colour glowed a pure iris blue. So dark so soon. He tried to calculate what that meant in terms of the spell’s decay rate, but he wasn’t sure exactly how long they’d been here for. The greenish light filtering through the dome never changed. Perhaps as long as three days, he thought.

  Hetta’s sharp prod to his ribs tumbled him out of his thoughts. “I’m fine,” she told him grumpily.

  “I did not ask.”

  “Yes, but I could hear you thinking it.” Her eyes widened at her own turn of phrase. “Gods, I hope Marius is safe. I never meant to be gone so long,” she said.

  It had taken them a frustrating amount of time to prepare the spell. The dusken rose had come with a Gate spell pre-coiled inside, and it had been made to connect one of the surface realms with Mortal. Constructing a Gate from scratch between Deeper Faerie and Mortal using a resonance point not designed for the task? Even Irokoi’s blithe confidence had frayed a little around the edges as the days passed. Thank the stormwinds we were at least wise enough to become trapped in Faerie’s most comprehensive library of magic.

  Wyn wound his hand with Hetta’s, pulling her against his side. Disquieting undersea bubble, patrolling leviathan sea creatures, and sleeping lake guardian aside, it was freeing to be able to show affection without a care for who might see or judge.

  “I believe Rake will do his best to keep Marius safe, if only because he dislikes being in your debt,” he said. “And perhaps Aroset is still perched above the island where we came in, hoping we re-emerge.” He imagined Aroset poised like a heron above a fish and hoped he was right and that she hadn’t returned to the Mortal Realm yet.

  Hetta made an unhappy noise, not disagreeing with his assessment but not liking it either. She shook her head briskly, peering into the gloom among the shelves.

  “Irokoi? Have you found the right combination to add to the arraxis cross?” She said the word like a child handling a sweet, relishing the syllables on her tongue. She’d always liked magic, and she was rapidly picking up both the theory behind Gate spells and spell terminology. He bent and kissed her, quick and intense, unable to resist the temptation. She let out a startled and then annoyed sound when the kiss ended before it had really begun, turning into him and going up on tip-toes to—

  “If you two smudge my spell lines, I shall be most irritated.” Irokoi emerged out of the stacks holding a pile of books. He gave Wyn a chiding look, his eyes suddenly old and tired. “Honestly, little brother, is this really the time?”

  They separated sheepishly, and some of Irokoi’s sobriety ebbed.

  “But as it happens, yes, Lord Valstar, I have found the solution. With this, I think we’re ready to activate the Gate.” He put the bulk of his pile into the satchel slung over his shoulder and opened the remaining volume until he found the page. “This diagram, I think.”

  Irokoi carefully painted the last spell line in, his magic just a hint of frost and darkness. They all paused to take in the intricate web, which spanned the entire floor, spiralling up to a makeshift arch they’d constructed in the room’s centre, which would give the Gate form. As Irokoi unhooked his magic, the spell shivered and…clicked, making the Gate a potential rather than an impossibility. Wyn let out a long sigh of relief.

  “You need to remain within the central circle while the spell activates,” Irokoi told Hetta. “We aren’t building this Gate in a normal way, so the key resonance point is you. The ring is merely an anchor for it. Think as strongly as possible of home.”

  Hetta nodded. Irokoi and Wyn took their respective places. Wyn’s role was primarily to feed magic to Irokoi. Irokoi had put him on the edge of the ground floor “so as to interfere as little as possible with the resonance. Your sympathies are too complicated, brother.”

  Wyn pretended not to know what that meant. He’d almost re-adjusted to the constant weight of wings at his back, to the point that it only occasionally threw him off balance now. His shoulder muscles hadn’t gotten such constant exercise in years.

  Irokoi triggered the spell, and it drew on Wyn’s magic in a sudden rush, like opening the door of a firebox. In the centre of the spell, he saw Hetta swallow, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  For a long, hollow moment the call rang out into nothingness, but then something caught, and the magic began to bloom. Stone tendrils grew from Hetta’s ring where it nestled amidst the spell lines. They slithered across the floor in tentacles the sparkling colour of star indigo. A faint, foreign hint of pine followed in their wake, and tiny, ghostly starflowers burst from them as the spell hummed to life, stone winding its way up the pillars. Yearning expanded in his chest. Home. It sang of home. Hetta’s eyes shone with the same longing.

  Beyond the walls of the atrium, something roared.

  The sound sent terror thrilling through him, and he spun, searching for the source. No. But his denial didn’t prevent something vast and serpentine from crashing into the library on the levels above, where the doors to the underwater garden connected. He caught a glimpse of glittering white scales before the lake guardian’s head appeared over the railing. The creature glared down at them, eyes glowing green with rage. It was hard to tell precisely how big it was from this distance, but it was certainly big enough.

  And it was staring straight at Hetta.

  It seemed to happen in slow motion. The lake guardian flung itself over the railing above, its long body spooling out like the coils of a snake. Power flared out of Wyn without conscious thought, lightning pulling all the way up from the soles of his feet and shivering out along his outstretched arms. It arced into the lake guardian, catching it mid-dive, and the force knocked it off course. Instead of landing directly on top of Hetta, it smashed into the far wall.

  So that’s what happens when I lose control, he thought dizzily. But he hadn’t killed it. The lake guardian shook its head, dazed but gathering strength with each second. And now Hetta stood between Wyn and the creature.

  Hetta had balled her hands into fists, urging the Gate spell on. Stone crawled up the support structure, nearly as tall as she was now.

  Time slowed as the lake guardian got to its webbed feet once again, its focus swinging back to Hetta. Teeth flashed, sharp and jagged as a shark. He could not draw lightning again, not with Hetta between him and the guardian. He was in the air without conscious thought, air magic as much as muscle, soaring over Hetta and the forming archway as the guardian leapt.

  He should have met the guardian in mid-air, but instead there was a wrenching shudder of stone, and he landed unobstructed and off-balance between Hetta and the creature. He tracked the distance between himself and the lake guardian, not comprehending why it had aborted its leap and why even now it was holding itself back rather than attacking. There were deep grooves carved into the floor from where it had halted its own momentum so abruptly, and its body bent at an unnatural angle from the effort. It flared out its ruff and hissed at him in displeasure.

  “Wyn!” He felt the Gate flare to life behind him.

  He didn’t question his good fortune, turning and sprinting for the Gate with the others, grabbing Hetta’s outstretched hand. The lake guardian cried out, its anger and sorrow thick as ice.

  The world spun, and he barely registered that they were in the Sesquipedalian Room in Stariel House before he reached to de-activate the Gate. The view of the High King’s library snapped out, and Wyn sank to the floor, shaking with adrenalin. He could still feel the lake guardian’s mournful cry, a vast, bitter rage that went deeper than sound. It vibrated in his bones, behind his teeth, jagged and magical and impossible—how could it follow them here?

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine, calm down!” Hetta told Stariel, which was clamouring at them in alarm.

  Wyn stared at the newly for
med Gate on the wall between two cabinets stuffed with seashells, heart thundering in his ears. Inactive, the Gate appeared as a pattern of waves and twining serpents on the wood panelling. It was closed. Closed. The lake guardian couldn’t reach them here, even if it knew how to activate the gate. Hetta was safe, even if there were now two permanent doors to foreign realms within the borders of Stariel. They were safe.

  So why could he still hear the guardian’s cry, cutting through his skull like a blade?

  Wyn scrabbled at the floor as an earthquake rolled along the leylines, as unbalanced as the deck of a ship in a storm.

  The world shifted, and the guardian’s cry cut off. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and when he checked the leylines, they were trembling with the impact. The impact of what, exactly?

  Hetta had got to her feet and was glaring down at him. “Are you staying on the floor or is there some other monster you plan to throw yourself in front of?” She didn’t seem disoriented—hadn’t she felt it? Had he imagined the way the guardian’s call had rearranged the leylines, like a tray of sand being sharply shaken?

  He blinked, so preoccupied with how the world had changed that it took him several long moments to comprehend, firstly, that she was angry at him and, secondly, why that might be the case. He mentally reviewed the last few minutes. Ah.

  “You cannot be annoyed that the guardian didn’t eat me, love.”

  Hetta gave him a level look. “That is not what I’m annoyed about, as you very well know.”

  He did, and he couldn’t blame her for her anger; had their positions been reversed, he would’ve felt the same way. Of course, Hetta probably wouldn’t have been quite so reckless as to leap in front of a charging fae beast with absolutely no plan as to how to stop it. Probably—she did have a temper when provoked and had, in fact, once confronted a drakken with nothing but her bare hands.