The king’s eyes twinkled with secrets – a split second before he moved forward, his strong arm snaked around her waist, and she was pulled hard against his chest.
The world tilted, she inhaled sharply, and colors blended together around her. Discombobulation followed, so she closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt solid ground beneath her feet, and sensed that the movement of her body through space and time had stopped.
She felt Caliban move against her, shifting slightly.
Then felt his lips at her ear. “You can open your eyes now, love.”
A shiver racked uncontrollably through her at the feel of his breath against her skin, and her instincts kicked in full-force. She realized her hands had curled into fists, and his dress shirt was bunched up tight in her grip. She released it, brought her hands up, pushed against his chest, and took a firm step back, pulling out of his embrace.
He let her go, but she caught a faint chuckle. She ignored him and focused on their surroundings.
It was a jewelry store. “Where are we?” she asked, thinking at once of alarms and police cars and jail cells.
“Florence, Italy.”
Her head whipped around. “What?”
His smile was back. He gestured to the plethora of glass cases with their jewelry inside. “I could think of no other place with as many rubies flagrantly on display. Finding them while they are still in the earth takes a little more work. This gives us easy access to their magic.”
Minerva’s eyes widened. “You want me to use wish spells on all of these?”
He shrugged. “Well, if you’re incapable, then just say so.”
His words hit her like a slap to the face, snowing over her other emotions with expert ease. The fury he’d been awakening inside her earlier at the illusory diner was back. “If I’m incapable? That’s not the issue! The issue is that this is stealing!”
Some of the amusement in Caliban’s gaze took a step back, and those eyes of his sharpened once more into multi-faceted stones. “Oh?” He moved to the nearest case, where several luxuriously expensive pieces were on display. One of the chokers boasted an emerald snake with two large rubies for eyes. An upper-arm cuff contained no fewer than fifty smaller rubies in the design of flower petals. But most impressive of all was the broach. It was a scarab beetle whose body and wings were three enormous, whole, and bright red-pink rubies.
“These stones were once black diamonds,” he said, gesturing to the rubies on the scarab. “But magic was taken from an unwilling fae victim, magic that once drained, could not be returned.” He dropped his hand. “The fae probably experienced pain. At the very least, extreme weakness. And now the sale of these rubies will bring some lucky mortal untold wealth.” He turned away from the rubies and zeroed in on her with a gaze of purple ice. “Who is the real thief here?”
Minerva looked from him to the stones in the glass. She thought about his words. And, as he’d no doubt counted on, the over-sensitive empathy demon inside her reared its head.
“Fine,” she said softly. “I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath and let it out with finality. “But you’re breaking the glass.”
Chapter Twelve
There had been no breaking glass involved after all. Caliban simply waved his hand over the glass case, and the jewelry inside left its nest of velvet to reappear on top of the glass within easy reach.
Minerva had promptly gotten to work with her wishing.
She had to be careful to make sure she worded the wishes just right. With the first wish, she accidentally wished the magic back to its original owner, by-passing Caliban altogether. Though he couldn’t say as much, because to do so would be admitting his selfishness, the outcome had obviously irked him. While it was right, in a manner of speaking, to return the fae magic to its rightful owner, that wasn’t why he’d brought her here. He was trying to “fill up,” so to speak. And in all honesty, she wanted him to as well. The stronger he was, the better he could protect her.
Plus, she could empathize with the desire to refuel. She was beginning to feel the need for it herself. She tried not to let it show; for some reason, she wanted to appear strong before the Unseelie King. Maybe it was pride. Maybe his sabre rattling had gotten to her more than she’d like to admit, and she had a terrible need to prove to him that she was indeed capable of casting these wishes.
Or maybe it was something else. It didn’t matter, though. Whatever the reason, she forced herself to concentrate a little more with every wish she cast, and each time, she found it more difficult.
She was starting to feel cold. She definitely felt tired. And she was unbelievably hungry, despite the cake she’d recently gorged herself on.
Somewhere out there were crazy powerful people who wanted her dead. How did she refill? How were Wishers supposed to regain their magic? She thought she knew how, somewhere inside her head, where instinct resided. It was probably part of that vast store of knowledge that hit her in Oxford…. Hell, her body was probably telling her exactly what she needed by making her hungry and tired.
Duh. I need sleep and food.
But there were quite a few rubies in the jewelry stores Caliban transported her to, and each time she stared down at one, she didn’t see a stone formed in the earth by time and pressure and chemicals. She saw magic – stolen. And the angel of vengeance in her wanted to free it. Give it back. If not to its original fae, who could be dead, for all she knew, then to the man who had ruled over them for countless generations.
Then at least he could protect her. Because she was feeling less and less capable of protecting herself.
At some point, Caliban willed the next set of ruby-encrusted jewelry to the glass tops, when darkness suddenly encroached upon her vision. It was speckled with exploding stars, and Minerva felt herself sway on her feet. She might have said something, maybe just under her breath, and then she fell.
She didn’t get far, and she never hit the ground. Caliban’s arms were around her as if he’d been expecting this. “There, now,” he said as those arms encircled her securely, like metal wrapped in velvet. With swift, deft skill, he lifted her off the ground and held her against his chest. His warmth at once infused her, sinking through her clothing and into her skin. She was so cold. He was hot with vital, ruby-red magic and power.
She closed her eyes; she lacked any further choice.
“I was wondering how long you would hold out,” he told her, his lips directly beside her ear. “You are incredibly tough to gauge, little Moonbeam. And ridiculously strong.”
Something about what he was saying to her was wrong. It was the kind of thing that maybe should have made warning bells sound in her head or should have released more of that adrenaline into her body that she seemed to love so much. But Minerva was more exhausted than she’d known, and it was coursing through her now like a sleep drug.
“I think it’s high time we took you home.”
Minerva felt the world move again, but this time it chased her down an oblivion hole. And she didn’t bother to try to chase it back up.
*****
“She’s resting peacefully.”
Caliban turned to face his advisor as the old man hobbled into the study. He waited while Drummar set aside his cane, slowly laid back in an oversized, plush chair, and closed his eyes.
“Comfy?”
“Shut up,” Drummar mumbled. “Like that little green man from Star Wars intimates, when you reach my age, you won’t look this good.”
“Your mortal references are getting better. I think you worded it wrong, but I actually recognized this one..”
“I’ve been practicing.” The old man opened his eyes and settled them like high beams on Caliban. “You, on the other hand, have been up to no good.”
Caliban had known this was coming. It couldn’t be avoided. Drummar was right.
“What of it?” he muttered casually as he slid his hands into his pockets in bored fashion and turned away to gaze out the window.
“Comin
g here was smart, I’ll give you that. It’s probably the last thing your enemy would expect you to do, jump from the frying pan into the fire. But that is where your wisdom ends.” His tone sharpened now. “You drained her nearly dry, Caliban. The last time you did that to a female fae was during your inauguration – fifteen thousand years ago.”
Caliban looked down at his fingernails, turning them over in purid nonchalance. “It was ten thousand years ago. And again, what of it?”
“Unlike the last time, which amounted to simple overindulgence by someone who hadn’t yet had enough practice, you did this one very much on purpose.”
Caliban felt a spike of fury, which he expertly tamped down as he turned to pin Drummar with hard eyes. “You’re right,” he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did it on purpose.” He shrugged. “I had my reasons.”
“Oh, I just bet you did.” Drummar laughed mirthlessly. “You were injured, you were being hounded by an enemy you couldn’t identify, and you’d been uncomfortably drained by black diamonds and parasitic magic. And that wasn’t all,” he continued as he tilted his aged head to the side and narrowed his gaze. “You suddenly found yourself faced with a woman who was more powerful than you, which in and of itself was a first. But she could have restored you to full strength and then some, and in a most pleasing manner, I might imagine,” he smiled winsomely, for a split-second, and then his serious expression was back. “Except that for the first time in your long life, you weren’t entirely certain you could charm the pants off someone.” He paused, no doubt for effect. “This particular female is different. And that scares you.”
Caliban shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like it when Drummar hit the nail so squarely on the head.
He didn’t say anything, not bothering to deny his advisor’s words. But he could feel a flame entering his eyes. They were heating up with emotion and power. It was always a little painful when they did.
“Hence, when you saw Minerva release magic from a ruby, you seized the opportunity, and somehow persuaded her to do the same with countless other rubies, filling you up with magic that wasn’t yours – just as you would have done if you’d taken the young Wisher to your bed.”
It was a bit ironic, that last bit. Seeing as how the young Wisher was in his bed at that very minute. But the message was relayed loud and clear.
“She didn’t take much persuading,” he insisted in defense. “The girl is determined to prove her capabilities. I needed only to challenge her.”
Drummar considered that in silence, but his eyes still glared. He was waiting for Caliban to admit his cruelties.
“What of it?” There was an edge to his tone when Caliban asked the question for the third time. It was his right as king to take magic when, and from whom, he wanted. In this case, it was not only his right, it was necessary. He was in danger, as was his queen.
Besides…. He was the Unseelie King. Expert manipulation was par for his course.
“She doesn’t even know she’s your queen, does she?”
The question came softly, but it sliced through his consciousness like a well-sharpened blade. He dropped his arms, uncrossing them from his chest.
And all at once, and quite suddenly, he felt overwhelmed. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the heat of his skin as if he had a fever. “There hasn’t been time to tell her.”
Drummar made a derisive sound. “What are you waiting for, Caliban? Violinists and a rose garden? You’re both running for your lives. You’d best tell her while you have the chance.”
Caliban pulled his gaze from the old Duwomm fae and glanced at the window, beyond which lay his beautiful, terrible lands. There was a pain in his chest when he looked at them now, a kind of emptiness. He couldn’t peer over his realm any longer without experiencing its piggy-backing yearning to rule over said realm with his fated queen.
The woman with hair like the full moon, and eyes like the dark. The woman who waited for him now in his bed. Only Minerva could fill that emptiness and stop that yearning from yawning completely open and ripping him in two from the inside out.
Drummar was right. He needed to tell her. For whatever reason, the fates had deemed it proper to magically “educate” Minerva on everything having to do with the fae realms except perhaps the single most important part. She was a fae realm queen. His queen.
He’d been a fool to wait as long as he had.
Caliban sighed, and said something he rarely said to anyone. “You’re right.” He moved away from the window and made his way to the large hearth that crackled invitingly across the study.
It was time to do a lot of filling-in. Before he confronted Minerva, he needed to make contact with his brother and let him know how things were progressing, and there was only one way he could think of doing so without unwittingly informing his enemy, whoever that was.
“Pi, are you there?” he asked softly as he braced his arms on the hearth and leaned closer to the flickering flames.
Pi was a fire elemental who had taken it upon himself to serve the Goblin King, Damon Chroi. Over the years, his enthusiasm and loyalty had become rather contagious for the other fae kings, and now Pi was allowed in any of their hearths. At the moment, Caliban was very much hoping the young elemental would be able to hear him through the layers of fire between him and wherever Pi happened to be residing at that moment.
He waited a few beats, and was about to send out a second call for him, when the fire suddenly danced, wavered a bit, and a taller red flame appeared at its center. A face appeared in that flame, the color switched to orange-yellow, and the face smiled.
“Hello, your majesty,” it crackle-garbled in its fire elemental way.
Caliban smiled back. “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise!”
“I was wondering whether you would take a message to Chroi for me. He’ll then need to relay it to my brother.”
“No problem! Fire away!” He laughed at his own turn of phrase. “Get it? Fire away?” He laughed again.
Caliban glanced over his shoulder to find Drummar chuckling. He tried not to roll his eyes.
A few minutes later, the full message had been relayed and repeated just to make sure Pi got it all right. Then Caliban asked, “What has transpired at the table of the Thirteen in my absence?”
Pi suddenly became very still, like a candle flame where there was no breeze. His expression turned somber. “It isn’t good,” he said finally.
Caliban straightened. “Oh?”
Pi looked up with big, yellow eyes. “No. There is a traitor among you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Roman glanced up at the door to the study when the air in the room took on a signature of familiar magic. He nodded to his companions, alerting them to their soon-to-be guest, and then made his way around the table they’d been working on. He waited in the center of the room as the air flashed, a swirling portal opened, and a man stepped through. Wind in the room ruffled everyone’s hair before the portal swirled shut, leaving the air once more still.
“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, Chroi, but it’s a rare visit we get from you,” said Lalura Chantelle, who peered at him through blue-blue eyes from where she stood hunched over the spell table at one end of the room. “Far too rare, if you ask me,” she continued, flirting openly with the Goblin King as she often shamelessly did.
Damon grinned at her. “I won’t disagree.” He nodded respectfully, then turned to Roman, who waited patiently, as he always did.
“Am I an uncle yet?” Roman asked bluntly, trying not to show how much he actually hoped the answer would be “yes,” and that three new fae royalty babies would be the reason for Chroi’s visit. Because he knew it wasn’t. He could sense it in the air and see it in the tightness around Damon’s eyes.
“Any second now,” Damon replied easily. “But that’s not the reason I’m here.”
I know, thought Roman.
Damon continued. “I received word from Caliban. H
e and Minerva have been under constant attack since the murder of the Trystaine couple. He was obviously unable to give many details about his whereabouts, especially once he was informed about the….” He trailed off, glanced at Lalura, and shrugged. What he’d been about to say was “traitor,” Roman knew. But the word left a foul taste on the tongue, and Damon obviously cared not to give it voice.
“The good news is,” said Roman, “we’ve narrowed down the leak.”
“Oh?”
Roman nodded and gestured to the table behind him. Damon followed him to it, and the men joined the others already waiting. Evelynne D’Angelo was there, as was Lalura Chantelle. Imani Zareb was also present, as were Siobhan Ashdown and her husband, the Phantom King, Thanatos.
Damon nodded at each of them in turn by way of greeting, then looked down at the objects on the table. A scrying bowl filled with water, a thin, square wooden plank with symbols burned into its surface, numerous candles, a divining crystal, and a map were laid out before them.
The map, Damon would recognize. It was a partial map of the realms, displaying fourteen of them in the only two-dimensional manner possible. Thirteen of the realms belonged to the thirteen kings. The other belonged to the mortals of Earth.
It was, of course, impossible to display these realms with any kind of accuracy, especially since so many of them were so elusive, intangible, and without true dimension. Realms such as shadow and time had no meaning that human maps would be able to translate.
However, this particular map needn’t be accurate. Its use was solely in labeling. The divining crystals simply needed a place to point to, and that was how the magic worked.
“We’ve been able to determine that our particular Judas resides amongst the kings who have yet to find their queen,” Roman said.
“It makes sense,” said Siobhan. She shrugged. “I mean, I guess they’re the ones who figure they have nothing to lose.”
“And who might also feel that they have nothing to gain,” said Lalura.
“If they have little faith they will ever find their own queen,” said Roman, “their motivation might be two-fold. One in outright jealousy of those men who have found their mates, the other in good old-fashioned gain.”
The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) Page 9