by A. R. Kahler
The silence here is almost deafening, and there’s an openness I haven’t felt in a while. Here, so far from magic and the circus and faerie plots, I feel as if I could just lie down and let the world rush by. I don’t, though I do crouch down where the ley lines touch and begin sketching out a perfect circle. If I’m going to the Summer Kingdom, I’m not doing it alone. Not because I’m afraid, really. But because it helps to have some cannon fodder when going against the big guys.
And Eli is the best fodder I have. I don’t even feel guilty when he gets sent back to whatever astral plane he resides on; he’s annoying enough that I’d happily send him back there myself.
It’s hard to focus on what I’m doing. I can barely admit it to myself, but there’s a tug in my awareness, a hitch in my breath. I can feel my mother out there, beckoning like true north. I know she’s safer with Melody and the circus than she would be out here with me. Especially where I’m going next. But it still feels like negligence.
I try to convince myself it’s because I’m worried about the mission falling apart. The truth is, I’m worried about her. Every time I blink I see her, curled on the mat below the trapeze. Every solitary gust of wind is her scream. Even the silence haunts me—it reminds me of the moments when she looked at me as though she knew something secret, as though we were both in on the same thing, but unable to voice it.
Does she recognize me?
I force the question down. Today’s been a roller coaster of emotions I’m not supposed to feel. My mother recognizing me has nothing to do with my mission. It doesn’t change the outcome. All it changes is my guilt level after.
Once the circle and sigils are drawn, I stand up and step outside the ring, pulling a dagger from my coat and cutting a long line across my palm. I barely feel it, I’m so used to getting cut. Kind of screwed up.
There’s no invocation, not anymore. Just an offering of blood. I press my hand out and meet resistance along the circle’s perimeter. My blood drips down along the invisible wall, but it doesn’t fleck against the concrete. The drops get sucked into a vortex, dark blood turning to flames as they spin, creating a small inferno that rushes up into the night sky and becomes a pillar of silent fire. Eli: always so damn dramatic. At least this time he isn’t that hungry—normally he feeds off my blood and energy like a leech.
A few moments later his hand slaps against mine, and the flames get sucked into his body, revealing a tall, lithe Japanese man in a white suit. He looks like a rock star, with his sunglasses and choppy hair and cocky demeanor.
“Claire,” he says, his voice somehow both human and . . . not. There’s a gravelly tinge to it, as though his throat is full of embers. “Fancy seeing you again.”
“You haven’t changed,” I say, nodding to his current body. Normally, Eli switches skins like I’d switch underwear.
“You haven’t given me enough time.” He smiles. “You make a girl feel so wanted. You even chose white.”
I know it’s weird, but astral creatures can only appear in whatever colors they were summoned with. I hadn’t even noticed I picked out white chalk. It’s his favorite. He says it makes him feel angelic.
“So why am I here?” he asks. He looks up at the stars, the Milky Way glinting off his lenses. “Barely a day has passed since you last sent me home. That was quite rude, you know. You didn’t even let me say my good-byes.”
I’d sent him back right after Roxie betrayed me. His snarky questions were the last things I wanted to deal with. His palm is still pressed tight to mine, my blood making soft pats on the ground when it hits.
“You know the drill,” I say. The next words come out by rote: same contract, every time. “I need you to be my ally and follow without question. I need you to do exactly as I say and nothing more. You will be bound to me and only me, to serve as I command for as long as I need you and no longer. And I need you to not be a dick.”
The last line is less business and more for both our well-beings. He can be a prick without the clause.
“Someday, you’ll deviate from that, and I will never let you live it down.”
“Maybe. Your terms?”
“I’m tired,” he replies. I know it’s an outright lie—astral creatures don’t tire. “All of this back and forth. I grow weak . . .”
“What do you want?”
“Four.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s double our last rate.”
“Four. No more, no less. And yes, I’ll let you help pick.”
I open my mouth but he cuts me off.
“No children. I know.” He shakes his head. “Their souls are boring anyway.”
For a moment I seriously consider just how much I actually need Eli’s help in all this. Four human souls in exchange for his presence is hefty. But I can’t think of anyone else I trust to bring into Summer, and after the week we’ve had, I know I’ll need the extra firepower.
“Fine,” I say. “Deal.”
He pulls off his glasses with his free hand.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
Normally, this is the point where he would twine his fingers around mine to seal the deal. I try to do it for him, but the barrier is still in place—I can’t budge my grip past it. Which means I can’t blow past this interrogation.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
“You’re right.”
His eyes narrow. Everything else about him is human, save for the eyes. They glow blue azure in the night, almost brighter than the moon. You could see hell in those eyes if you looked deep enough.
“You’re still hung up on the girl,” he says. Then he pauses, his eyes searching mine. “No. It’s not that, is it? What has changed since I saw you last?”
“Parental issues.”
“Mab?”
“Just close the damn deal, okay?”
He chuckles. Because he’s not the one losing blood here. Or getting the second degree. But he doesn’t drag it out any longer. His fingers close around mine, and the familiar jolt of heat and pain and power flashes through me, from my heart to my toes. Then he releases my hand and wipes his on his coat, leaving a smear of red that fades quickly. I pull a rag from my jacket and wipe off the now-cauterized wound. I don’t speak and neither does he. Not for a while.
“So,” he says, “what’s new?”
I almost chuckle. Almost.
“We’re going to Summer. I’ll tell you on the way.”
“There we go,” he says. “I like it when you take charge.”
I can’t portal directly into the Summer Kingdom. It’s against the rules, and oh, do the two monarchs like playing to their made-up little rules. The portal instead leads us to the boundary between the kingdoms, to where the Wildness brushes up against Summer.
We stand at the base of a large tree. When I say large tree, I mean it—the thing is as thick as a house, its branches reaching hundreds of feet into the air. Runes and sigils are engraved in the trunk; I’m not the only traveler who’s marked this out for portals.
“So we’re here to stop the Summer King from killing your true mother,” Eli muses at my side. “Which you still might do. Accidentally or intentionally, depending on what’s necessary. Have you considered that maybe we should just let him have her?”
“Have you considered I could summon you missing certain appendages you prize?” I ask, looking to his crotch.
“I did not. Though you have my mind racing now.”
I shake my head and start walking forward. It’s easier not to get into emotional topics with Eli. He’s about as far removed from human as one can get—which, coming from me, is rather rich, seeing as I barely know what it takes to be human. With him, your best bet is to stay lighthearted and cocky. I’ve learned from much trial and error that astral creatures respond better to wit than anything remotely heartfelt.
“We need her,” I say. “Whatever powers she possessed, they’re the key to finding where the Pale Queen is.”
“
And we failed so spectacularly on our last mission,” he mumbles. “Why not try the same thing again?”
“Shut it. This time we actually have a lead. We just need to get her powers to manifest.”
“You still haven’t mentioned how we do this.”
“Because I still don’t know.”
Unlike Winter, the Summer Kingdom is one of the most inviting places I’ve ever set foot in. Rolling fields and forests as far as the eye can see, the scent of fresh grass and the song of birds in the air, everything caught in a perpetual sunrise. A cobbled path winds from the forest’s edge and into the heart of the kingdom and Oberon’s castle. Obviously, it sets me on edge immediately—anything this open-armed has to come with a price.
Eli follows close behind me. And, despite that whole “not being a dick” clause, he doesn’t shut up.
“Have you considered that perhaps finding the Pale Queen is not our best tactic?”
“What did I tell you about serving without question?”
He stops, which causes me to pause and look back at him.
“Think about it, Claire. Mab has us running headfirst to find the Pale Queen. But I’ve not been static while at home. There are ripples in the astral world, you know. The creature we unleashed has more power than you and me combined, and more hatred than any demon I’ve met. Even without an army, she is a force to be reckoned with. And I do not mean to be rude, at least not in this moment, but I don’t think you could take her.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That perhaps rushing in to confront Oberon is not the best tactic. The Pale Queen poses a threat to more than just Winter, and it will take more than Mab’s forces to take her.”
“So you think I should, what? Get Oberon to sign a peace treaty or something?”
“I think it would be better in the long run than a threat.”
“Mab would kill me if she thought I was trying to make peace behind her back. You know that.”
“Perhaps, but your Winter Queen is not so blind as to underestimate this threat. Perhaps she is already trying to work with Oberon.”
I shrug.
“Beyond my pay grade.”
“But you will admit I have a point.”
“I will only admit that it doesn’t matter.” I sigh. “Look, I’m not saying I get this, either. Mab wants me to get Vivienne’s powers to unleash. Supposedly to learn where the Pale Queen is. Do I believe that’s the only reason? Not for a second. But I can’t question. My contract prevents it.”
“I still think the irony of you signing a contract is hilarious.”
“Yeah, well.” I keep walking.
I’m not blind, either—Eli’s right. Mab has never been one to show her hand, and I have no doubt there are more reasons behind accessing Viv’s powers than simply finding the Pale Queen in the Wildness. Especially since the Pale Queen seems to have no problem seeking me out. And yes, she and Oberon should probably be working together to fight off this threat, rather than squabbling over a single person.
But I’m not a diplomat. I’m an assassin. And Mab’s already flung me on my course. I’m here to get Oberon to back off, and maybe reveal a bit more about the Oracle’s nature in the process. And tell me why he seems to think he owns my mother.
We walk in silence a bit longer, the fields around us dotted with copses of trees and glades of flowers.
“I know why we’re here,” Eli says after a while.
“I’d hope so, seeing as I already told you.”
“You already lied. We aren’t here just because of Oberon and your mother. We’re here because you’re trying to cope. It isn’t healthy, Claire.”
I glare at him, and I actually do laugh at him this time.
An astral creature who feeds off innocent souls telling me that I’m not coping properly?
“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” I say.
“Because you know I’m right.”
“Because you’re ridiculous,” I say. “I’m not coping.”
“Clearly.”
“Do you want to go back?”
He grins. “That would break our contract. And you know that’s not something you want to deal with right now.”
True. I already have one rogue astral creature to deal with. I don’t need another. Especially since, outside of the bounds of our contract, Eli could and probably would kill me without a second thought.
“You’re avoiding your problems,” he says softly. “And that will get us both in trouble before long.”
“I don’t need a counselor—I need an accomplice. So shut up and keep your eyes open. Oberon won’t be too happy when he finds out I’m here.”
I know Oberon already knows I’m in his kingdom. Like Mab, he can feel when magic is used on his turf, especially travel magic from a Winter denizen. Especially mine. He and I have never been on the best of terms. Probably because I’ve killed off so many of his spies and Dream scouts. By my count, I only have a few more minutes before the welcoming committee arrives and I’m either handcuffed and bagged or turned around.
I’m fine with either option. I could use a fight to get my mind off things.
Damn it. I hate it when Eli’s right.
More often than not, he is.
After a while, the fields turn to houses. The place has changed a lot over the years I’ve been trespassing here. When I was a kid, the houses were more like ramshackle huts, everything dilapidated and smelling faintly of shit. But the Trade has flourished in Summer, and the houses now rise above me like some sort of elfin wonderland—wooden huts dot rivers, and bungalows dangle from copses of trees, rope bridges spanning between everything in a beautiful maze. It surprised me when I first came here, the difference between the kingdoms. In Winter, everything is hidden behind the castle walls—to keep out the wild winds and the wilder creatures roaming in the woods. And that’s not to say the Summer Kingdom is unguarded—I can feel the runes and glyphs that glow on stones dotting the road, wards against true enemies, and runes probably hiding some dormant Fey beasts—but it’s definitely not as contained as Mab’s. Which has always made me wonder . . .
Which kingdom would be the easiest to overthrow? Mab’s, where everything is enclosed but could be taken out in one fell swoop? Or Oberon’s, whose citizens sprawl for miles in the open? Mab would topple the moment the walls were breached, which is an impossible feat. It would take ages to track down every citizen of Summer. Even if they are out here like sitting ducks.
Not that there are many Summer Fey left to track.
The last time I was here, even the outer reaches of Oberon’s kingdom were swarming with Fey. It was never as seedy as the brothels and bars of Winter—instead, there were sprites dancing in circles or dryads planting trees. It all looked like some pagan hippie love-fest.
But now the houses are empty. Just like in Winter, every place we pass is a shell, an open-air crypt. No rubble in the streets, no clothes hanging on lines. It’s not like some third-world disaster. The place is just empty. Like a museum exhibit without its mannequins, everything plastic and perfect and waiting.
“Are we missing a party somewhere?” Eli muses.
“Like I said, the kingdoms are dying. Fey are flocking in droves to the Pale Queen.”
“I wonder why. What could she promise that’s more appealing than this?”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic—his voice is perfectly dry as he says it. He knows what I know; he saw the ticket the Pale Queen had delivered to the denizens of Faerie, promising a life of untaxed Dream and no monarch supervision. But even that . . . I can’t say it feels like enough. I could understand Fey leaving Winter. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get out of that frozen hellhole, especially with the drought of Dream? But Summer was thriving. The Trade was lucrative. Why abandon a perfectly good ship?
We keep walking. The mound that is Oberon’s castle slowly rises from the landscape up ahead. The structure is squat and sprawling, with low earthen walls and turrets
and towers made from trees as large as redwoods. It’s simple in its elegance, understated and smooth. Mab might be all imposing angles, but Oberon is lush and organic. Earth tones everywhere.
Which, to my senses, is a clear sign that he’s packing a mean punch somewhere beneath it all. There’s no way he could run a kingdom on kindness alone. One must be ruthless to rule. Which explains the assassination party he’s sent after my mother.
My resolve tightens as the thought floats through my mind. I can imagine her, back in the circus. Is she being kept under close guard? Is Kingston with her right now, making sure that she’s comfortable even as her memories slowly burn through his magic? Or is he dueling it out with the mob of Summer Fey lingering on his doorstep?
I kind of wish I were there to see it go down. I’d love to see Kingston go all Alpha Male on some Fey assholes. Just as I’d love to see what the Shifters can do under pressure. Have the Summer Fey let the showgoers leave? Or is everyone trapped in the complex, like some carnie sleepover from hell?
I should be there, protecting her.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Eli asks.
I don’t answer, just nod toward the crowd on the horizon I know he felt coming long before I did.
“Ah, yes,” he says, his cane tap-tapping on the cobbles. My imagination, or did he just manifest that thing? It seems to be his weapon of choice, the ivory shaft capped with a golden figure of a screaming child. “Let the fun begin.”
Ten
Oberon is not pleased to see us.
I mean, he’s never pleased to see me, obviously, but this time he seems even less so. He sits on his throne of curving branches and lichen and stares down at us, his dark eyes burning. He is the antithesis of Mab: he is dark to her pale skin, his clothes light to her black. He wears pale-tan robes, his rusty hair curling around the antlers stretching from his head. And he hasn’t spoken. Not once. He just sits there with his hands clenched on the arms of his throne and his jaw tight.
I can’t exactly be the one to make the first move, though. Ropes bind my arms and mouth. Tastes like straw and manure. I would not be surprised if the guards picked these up from the floor of the stables before shoving them between my lips.