by Jayne Faith
My knees began to tremble, and about ten seconds later, I sagged, my ass sinking into the water. The cold sea immediately soaked through my jeans and began wicking up my shirt. Jasper was losing the battle against gravity, too. Somehow, the goo on the spears was penetrating through our armor and getting into our bloodstreams.
I lost my hold on my magic, and the violet flames sputtered out. The hand gripping Mort was spasming, and it took all my effort to keep my fingers wrapped around my broadsword. My rock armor began to dissipate.
The barrage from above had stopped, and the fish men were just watching us, making soft hisses that were almost soothing.
My muscles were succumbing to the effects of the toxic slime, and I slumped against the sandy wall. I was already listing to one side. If I faceplanted in the water, I wouldn’t be able to lift my head. That really pissed me off. I didn’t want to die in a watery pit, aware the whole time that it was happening and unable to do anything about it. What a dumb way to go.
I tried to push Mort into the ground to use the sword as a kickstand to keep me from falling in and drowning, but I didn’t have the angle quite right. I was slowly sagging, and I didn’t even have enough muscle control to move my head to see how Jasper was faring. But unless he’d been faking before, odds were he was just as badly off as I was.
My lids were getting heavy. Shit. Maybe I’d pass out before I drowned after all. I tipped another couple of inches toward the puddle that was going to kill me.
The world had become foggy, and my body almost pleasantly numb, when the noises above changed. The hissing became more agitated, and there was shuffling. Sand fell down from above, raining onto the water. Then there were angry hisses and a few cowering whimpers. More shuffling and sprinkles of sand.
An authoritative female voice spoke in a language I couldn’t understand. My vision was gone. All I could do was listen.
Then I became aware of my body shifting. Grunts of effort. Air moving across my face. A slight temperature change.
I was being rescued. Or maybe carried off to get fileted into snacks for the fish men. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do about it. At least I wasn’t drowning.
There was the rock of motion and the shuffle of boots. More words in the language I didn’t know. I wanted to call out to Jasper, to see if he was being carried away, too, but my vocal chords and lips refused to work. All that came out was a broken-sounding grunt.
The motion seemed to go on for a very long time. Eventually I felt the jostling and impact of being put down. The smell of dung hung in the air.
A sudden spray of water combined with a prickly wash of magic hit me in the face, and my sightless eyes reflexively squeezed closed. My face was tingling, but not with numbness—feeling was starting to return. I was pretty sure I was being hosed down, and it seemed to be helping with the toxin. The shower of water continued, and though it was freezing, I was grateful to have any sensation at all.
I tried to speak again, but it came out as incoherent mumbles.
But then I realized I was looking down at my own hand. Yay, sight!
The tingling spread, intensifying into a needling sensation that was on the edge of torturous. But I wasn’t going to complain—my control of my body was returning. I jerked my head up and swung my still-spotted gaze around clumsily. Feeling as though my body had gone off and gotten drunk without me, I tipped my head back, taking in the figure standing about ten feet away with her arms at her sides and her chin lifted. She looked at me from under hooded lids.
I was outside, and the afternoon gloom was giving way to the dark of evening. But the weak light did nothing to dim the woman who stood before me. Her hair was pushed back from her forehead with a simple crown of gold that was studded with pearls. The strands of her aqua-streaked blond hair seemed to move slightly around her, as if floating gently on a current. Her skin had an effervescent quality by virtue of the fine scales that covered it. In spite of the cold, she wore a sleeveless dress of many shades of green that was belted at the waist with a simple rope. Her exposed arms were so muscled they almost looked manly. She wore no shoes. Dressed simply, but with a carriage that declared her royalty.
I gazed upon the Undine Queen Doineann. She was flanked by a dozen trident-carrying men who were bare-chested, dressed only in loose-fitting pants of the same green fabric that she wore. My eyes flicked to the one on her left. He was holding Mort.
Agitation snaked through me. I hated it when someone else touched my sword.
“State your name and sovereign,” she said, her accent a combination of an Irish lilt and some other influence I couldn’t place.
“Petwa Mageer,” I slurred, tearing my eyes away from Mort. “Sworn to Leedy Mursel Lothlurn of th’ Stone Erder.”
Her gaze moved to my left. “And you?”
I managed to turn my head, and I found Jasper slouched and soaked about three feet away.
He gave a similarly mangled response, but Queen Doineann seemed to gain the information she needed. She gave a slight smile, but when her lips curled back to reveal pointed teeth like the fish men’s, I tried not to cringe. It was a small thing—in most other respects she looked quite humanoid—but those teeth were nightmare-worthy. They spoke of the viciousness that lurked underneath her beauty. For Doineann wasn’t just the queen of the Undine. Before she’d been crowned, she’d been the leader of the Mermaid Tribe, a crew of female shifters who were as brutal as they were beautiful. She’d retained both positions, which made her the most powerful Unseelie Fae of the sea realms.
“Why have you come unbidden into the kingdom of the Undine?” she demanded.
“We come to speak to King Finvarra, your majesty,” Jasper said, his words a little crisper than a moment before.
Her eyes, the painfully beautiful aqua of a tropical sea, darkened to storm blue. She bared her pointed teeth.
“Who told you King Finvarra was here?” she demanded.
If I weren’t already propped up against a wall, I would have drawn back. Her eyes somehow seemed inhuman—a bit too round and flat, like those of a fish. I’d heard stories of how, in a rage, she would attack and tear flesh in a frenzy like a shark who’d caught the scent of blood.
“I have ravens, your majesty,” Jasper said.
“You dared send your feathered spies into my kingdom?” Her voice rose in pitch.
“Not to spy,” he said, taking on his signature mild tone instead of letting her agitation escalate his response.
She cocked her head, peering at Jasper and seeming suddenly interested in him. “Is that so?” Her voice had softened to a purr.
“Yes, your majesty,” he said. “I mean no harm. We simply need to speak to the High King about an important matter that concerns all of Faerie.”
She moved closer to him with a slow, swaying stride, and then stopped and folded her arms.
“Which is?” She drew out the words with an unhurried drawl.
“The servitors that have been attacking the realms,” Jasper said. “I believe they are originating from King Finvarra, and I want to ask him why.”
“Hmm,” she said, as if our quest were suddenly quite interesting indeed.
Her lips were closed, and the corners of her mouth widened in a smile that was nearly friendly. With her pointed teeth hidden, she looked almost like a humanoid, land-dwelling woman. And she was breathtaking. You didn’t become the leader of the Mermaid Tribe without exceptional beauty, and as I stared up at her, I realized she rivaled even Titania.
I also suddenly remembered something other than violence that she was known for. She kept harems of both sexes, and her sexual appetite was as legendary as her viciousness.
And in that moment she was looking at Jasper as if she intended to make him her next conquest. One of her hands reached up to touch the spot on her neck just below her ear. Her fingers trailed down her neck, traced her collarbone, and then drew down between her breasts. She crossed her arms again. But now, her folded arms seemed to be accen
tuating her breasts. Same posture as before, but conveying something very different.
Unexpected jealousy spiked through me, slicing through my unease about being the Undine Queen’s captive. I shifted, itching to jump to my feet, snatch Mort from the trident man who was holding my broadsword, and—what? Attack the Undine Queen because she was looking lasciviously at the man who’d kissed me? That would be an asinine move.
I blinked hard, pulling my focus back to the situation at hand. It wasn’t easy, though, because Jasper was smiling up at Doineann. I knew that look. He was peering at her the way he’d looked at me a number of times. My right hand tightened into a fist. I forced it to loosen.
Queen Doineann tapped her lower lip with one white-painted nail. Her fingernails were filed into points reminiscent of her teeth, the tips of which showed just a bit when her lips parted.
“And tell me, Jasper of the Duergar, why would Finvarra want to see you?” Her aggressive demeanor had faded, the violence overshadowed by something much sultrier.
Jasper blinked. “This is vitally important to all realms, your majesty,” he said.
“Not ours,” she said. “No one dares attack the Undine.”
Well, Finvarra was hiding out there, so it wasn’t so surprising that he hadn’t sent servitors into the realm. I was tempted to point that out but knew it would inflame her temper. My eyes flicked to my broadsword, and my fingers itched to clutch it.
“But you’re no king,” Doineann pressed. “Why you?”
“I’m the son of a king.” Clever. It was the truth in more than once sense. He tipped his head at me. “And Petra is on the Stone Order’s Council. She’s the Order’s champion. We both hold position in our respective realms.”
His attempt to include me in the discussion was met with complete disinterest. She didn’t even flick a glance my way.
“I can think of a few positions you can hold,” she said with a slow smile.
He swallowed, and his expression faltered for a split second—slipping into something that was close to revulsion. I knew then that it was an act. Stupid relief floated through me. Damn, I felt like an idiot for it, but there it was. At least I could stop thinking about whether Jasper Glasgow liked Queen Doineann more than me. He didn’t. Score one for me and my childish emotions.
“What do you want in exchange for taking us to Finvarra?” I asked a little louder than was probably necessary.
The Undine Queen looked at me, refocusing for a moment as if she’d literally forgotten I’d been there. Irritation flashed briefly in her eyes.
“I want him,” she said, turning her attention back to Jasper. Her mouth widened into a pointy smile. “Tonight.”
Jasper’s jaw flexed, but he returned her smile. He inclined his head. “Anything you wish, your majesty,” he said, his voice mild but his eyes intent when he raised his head and their gazes locked again.
I squinted at him. Well, I’d thought he was faking his interest in her for the sake of saving our asses. Maybe I’d been wrong. Whatever. It didn’t matter. We needed to get on with this ill-conceived little trip and try not to die in this gods-forsaken watery realm.
“Yes,” she said. “I do get anything I wish.”
She flipped her fingers at her trident men, and four of them moved forward, two of them to me and two to Jasper. They pulled us to our feet and kept a hold of us. It was probably good because I wasn’t sure I could have stood under my own power.
“But business before pleasure,” Jasper said.
I made a soft gagging noise. He shot me a glare.
“We must speak with King Finvarra first,” he said. “It’s a matter of urgency. Then we can turn our attention to . . . other things.” His voice grew heavy with implication.
She peered at him for a long moment. “Fine,” she said finally.
Ugh. I’d find a way to escape after we met with the Unseelie High King. I sure as hell wasn’t going to hang around while Jasper boinked the Undine Queen, if that’s what he really intended.
I’d been unable to see much from where I sat in a puddle against a wall. But as we were escorted away, I discovered we’d been at the foot of the Undine castle, in a stall used for parking pack animals, by the snuffles and whinnies and aroma of dung. The castle was perched on a high cliff. I vaguely remembered from my Faerie history lessons that it was situated so that modern accommodations such as accessibility by car weren’t possible because the paths leading up to the structure were much too steep and narrow.
The stronghold itself was like something out of a fairy tale. It literally looked like a full-scale elaborate sand castle from a human sand sculpture competition. It had turrets, walkways, battlements, and flags flying from the highest points. Legend said the sea god Lir formed the castle with his bare hands, using only materials from the ocean and beach. As we walked, I spotted shells embedded into the walls and walkways and even a couple of preserved starfish and seahorses.
It seemed odd that Doineann had descended clear to the animal stalls to interrogate us. But then, I wouldn’t claim to know anything of the customs in the shadow kingdoms.
I shivered, and not just because my clothes were soaking wet. Jasper and I were in a foreign land, more so than any I’d ever been to before. My eyes kept slipping to Mort, still carried by one of the trident men. Another of the men held Jasper’s short sword.
Jasper and I locked gazes for a moment, and then I looked ahead at the Undine Queen’s back. Would she really allow us to see Finvarra, or had we been rescued from the fish men only to be tossed into some other trap?
We were approaching the castle’s outer gatehouse, which was accessed by a bridge over a moat. I couldn’t imagine how that volume of water didn’t erode away the foundation of the structure and the cliff that supported it, but if the castle really was built by the sea god, maybe the usual logic didn’t apply.
Queen Doineann stopped and turned, going to the trident man who carried Mort. She spoke to him in the language of the Undine and then continued through the gate alone while the men steered us around to the right.
I watched the Undine Queen disappear through the gate. It was strange to see a Faerie ruler walk around her castle without an entourage or any fanfare. Without shoes, even. That would never happen in any of the Seelie or even most of the Unseelie kingdoms I knew. Perhaps these details were evidence that the shadow kingdoms had not fully left behind their wild ways when Finvarra had united the Unseelie.
The trident men took us around to a side entrance, and servants stood aside to let us go in. Leading us through service corridors, we wound deeper into the castle. The sand-formed walls made me slightly claustrophobic. I knew the structure had stood for many hundreds of years. But in my imagination, they were insubstantial and might at any moment be crushed from above by a giant child’s fist.
We were taken into what appeared to be a larger thoroughfare in the castle, where the usual servants and nobles moved about. None of the people we encountered looked like the fish men who’d trapped us. Here, they all appeared more human, with some showing signs of mixed blood. Perhaps the fish men were Doineann’s early warning system on the beach.
The trident bearers stopped abruptly at a door. I heard the sounds of conversation and a high-pitched giggle from the room beyond. The man holding Mort knocked sharply twice and then opened the door.
Inside, there appeared to be a party in progress. At first glance, anyway. A closer look showed that some of the women were naked. Amorous noises drifted from behind a nearly-sheer curtain that revealed the silhouettes of two figures locked in an embrace.
And upon a wide sofa situated on a dais lounged a bare-chested man with white hair and eyes such a pale ice-blue they were almost colorless.
The Unseelie High King Finvarra.
Chapter 18
SEVERAL SCANTILY CLAD Undine women hovered nearby Finvarra, but he seemed to be a bit apart from the hedonism that surrounded him. Even though his posture appeared casual and relaxed, his gaze was
sharp, and if he’d indulged in drink, it seemed it hadn’t affected him. His pale eyes looked as ancient as glaciers. They locked on me and then Jasper as the trident men escorted us through the room toward the Unseelie High King.
King Finvarra didn’t move as the trident bearers and Jasper all dropped to one knee. I sank into the deepest curtsy of my life—not an easy thing when you’re wearing water-logged, skintight jeans. I waited until I saw the men rise before lifting my head.
The lead trident man stepped forward. “These are the travelers who are here to see you, your majesty. Lady Petra Maguire and Lord Jasper Glasgow.” His accent matched his queen’s.
The fish men must have informed Doineann and she had forewarned Finvarra that we’d come for audience with him. Her questioning had, perhaps, been partly just to play with us.
Jasper took a step. “Your majesty.” He bowed at the waist.
Finvarra had been lounging on his side, propped on one elbow. His white hair and old eyes marked him ancient by mortal Fae standards, but his skin was exceptionally taut and his body firmly muscled for a man of his age. He slowly pushed up to a sitting position, swinging his boots to the floor and resting his hands atop his thighs.
“You’ve gone to some trouble to reach me,” he said to Jasper.
“No trouble, your majesty,” Jasper said. “We’re honored that you would receive us.”
Finvarra’s eyes flicked to me. He wasn’t an overly large man—not any taller than Jasper and a bit less broad in the shoulder—but the way he looked so coolly at me, Jasper, the trident bearers, and everyone else in the room left no doubt. He was the ruler of anyone and everything that existed in Faerie—at least in his own mind.
It was widely known that the Unseelie High King believed he was above even the Old Ones like Oberon. He saw the Old Ones as relics left from a time long gone. He saw himself the rightful ruler of the modern era in Faerie. Oberon’s power and connections had been the only thing to keep Finvarra from attempting to seize the High Court the past several decades.
Only an idiot would think it coincidence that Finvarra had emerged from wherever he’d been for the past many years just after Oberon had disappeared.