by Jayne Faith
I tried not to shift under Finvarra’s gaze. “Uh, yes, your majesty, very honored,” I said after a couple seconds of awkward silence while his eyes drilled into mine.
Then all at once, Finvarra’s cold demeanor seemed to give way to something else. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his face relaxed into a smile. His expression softened. He propped one hand on the top of his thigh and beckoned to someone behind us with his other hand.
“Bring our new guests some refreshments,” he said to a servant, his voice resonant and warm. He turned to me and Jasper and gestured at the dais. “Sit. Don’t be shy. Come. We will talk.”
My brows rose slightly as I tried to process the sudden change. Which was the real Finvarra? The chilly man with the glacial blue eyes? Or this smiling host waving us over to join him and calling for food and drink? Maybe Jasper, being Unseelie, would know more than I did about the High King.
I couldn’t help peering at Finvarra as I perched on the edge of the dais. He hadn’t invited us up to his couch, and so Jasper and I were seated below him, forced to tip our heads back to look up at him. Probably deliberate on Finvarra’s part. I watched Jasper watching the High King. Was Jasper wondering how the man would react if he knew his son sat before him? Perhaps Jasper was searching Finvarra’s face for any family resemblance. Beyond similar statures, I didn’t see any. As he’d said before, he seemed to take after his mother.
A servant brought me and Jasper crystal goblets of sweet-smelling wine and set a plate of fruit, nuts, and cheeses in between us.
Finvarra lifted his own goblet. “Cheers,” he said and then took a pull of wine.
I raised my glass and then sipped from it, and Jasper did the same.
“Your hospitality is much appreciated, your majesty,” Jasper said.
The High King shook his head deferentially and waved one hand. “It’s nothing. Now, satisfy my curiosity. Tell me how two who might be considered enemies came to join together to seek me.”
I nearly let out a little laugh. People sure seemed fixated on the fact that a Duergar and a New Gargoyle shouldn’t be friendly with each other these days.
“We’re trying to keep communication open between our two realms in a time of tension,” Jasper said. “While it’s true that Petra defeated my uncle in the battle of champions, she also fought alongside me to defend the Duergar palace against a servitor attack. I know she is trustworthy.”
Damn, Jasper had gone straight to the heart of the matter, bringing up the servitors right away.
Finvarra’s face sobered. “Yes, the servitors,” he said thoughtfully. His tone was on the somber side of neutral. “This is why you’ve come.”
Jasper nodded. “Aye, your majesty. Seelie and Unseelie alike have suffered. Some have died.”
He didn’t ask a question, but the feel of one hung in the air for several seconds while the Unseelie High King regarded Jasper with cool eyes.
Finvarra leaned back and crossed his arms, his face still thoughtful.
“When I united the Unseelie tribes, formalizing them into proper kingdoms under a single ruler and unifying their interests, it was not one smooth, bloodless transition,” he said. “People died. Some tribes vanished completely, either killed or absorbed by others who were more powerful. Force, discomfort, violence—these are necessary components of transitioning to a higher state of existence. This is the price of our evolution.”
My pulse seemed to stop for the briefest of moments. His tone was mild, but there was something so foreboding behind it.
“You sent the servitors as part of a grand plan, my lord?” I asked. I refused to call him “majesty.” I wasn’t Unseelie. He wasn’t my High King. “Your aim is . . . a transition?”
He inclined his head.
I glanced at Jasper. His golden eyes shone with trepidation.
“Do you know what my nickname through the ages has been?” Finvarra asked.
“The Great Uniter,” I said carefully. Some used the title derisively when speaking of Finvarra. I vaguely remembered from history lessons there was speculation he’d created the nickname for himself and had an entire propaganda campaign around it. I didn’t know if it was true.
“Whatever else people may say about me, I managed to do what many thought could never be done,” he said. He lifted a hand in a gesture that took in the entire room. “I took tribes such as the Undine, who were barely more than animals, and I civilized them. I took warring nations of near-beasts, and I untied them.”
I kept my face studiously neutral, but I was taken aback at how he spoke of the Undine and the other Unseelie realms. He used subtle but significant terminology when he referred to them as tribes before his time and kingdoms since he’d become their High King. That could perhaps be overlooked. But if I were Unseelie, I would have bristled at his claim that they were “animals” before he’d come along to supposedly enlighten them.
“So you sent the servitors to punish us?” I ventured.
His mouth stretched into a smile, and he let out an amused laugh that reminded me exactly of Jasper’s. A cool shiver ran down my back. It seemed wrong to hear that warm sound from the Unseelie High King.
“Not to punish,” Finvarra said. “To infiltrate. To hasten the breakdown of weaknesses so that something stronger may be built up.”
Anger lit in my chest, and I fought to tamp it down. Who the hell did he think he was?
“Oberon has had the upper hand for too long,” Finvarra continued. “He’s made Faerie weak, soft, and bloated with bureaucracy. The eternal summer has made the Fae kingdoms quarrelsome and self-indulgent. Why do you think the Tuatha are planning to ride against us?”
My eyes widened, and my gaze darted to Jasper. His lips had parted, but he couldn’t seem to come up with a response.
Finvarra leaned forward, his former chill returning. “Oberon will not save you. He doesn’t know how. I am Faerie’s only hope. I’m the only one who can ease what’s coming. That’s why I’m aiding the gods.”
Either the Unseelie High King was a deranged megalomaniac bent on usurping Oberon and thought he was helping the Tuatha De Danann or he really did have a connection to the Tuatha, and the servitors were part of their plan. Maybe both. Either way, he’d admitted to sending the attacks.
For one childish moment, all I wanted was to squeeze my eyes shut and then open them to magically find myself on the Earthly side of the hedge. Back in my mundane life as a Guild merc scraping together a living, where I didn’t have to think about the gods, crazy kings, bloodlines, or coming battles. But no, there I was hearing things I really, really didn’t want to hear. Fricking Faerie.
“You would break us before the Tuatha get the chance?” Jasper asked, his words heated with uncharacteristic force. “I don’t understand your game.”
“This is no game,” Finvarra said, his voice low and harsh. “I’m Faerie’s best hope at placating the Tuatha. I’ve seen the way forward, and I’m doing what must be done.”
I narrowed my eyes, scrutinizing the Unseelie High King.
“Are you saying you have prophetic visions?” I asked. I set my goblet down abruptly, and wine splashed over the rim.
“I don’t need prophecy,” he snapped at me. I didn’t flinch, and that seemed to irritate him. “Visions come only occasionally and randomly. What use is that?” He tapped his temple with his forefinger hard enough I almost winced. “I see it all with my own eyes.”
Yep, megalomaniac. Great. How the hell did I keep getting myself into these insane situations? The memory of fighting ogres amidst children’s toys rushed back, and with it my resentment.
“So you’re just going to keep sending servitors who grow larger and more violent with each attack,” I spat, not trying to rein in my anger.
He sat back, suddenly calmer. “You don’t see it. You don’t understand.” There was no accusation in his statement. It was simply an observation.
“No, I don’t understand why you’re sending assassins into the middle o
f family residences, right where our children play,” I said. Any respectful tone I’d managed up to that point was gone.
“The servitors aren’t sent to kill, but sometimes they do develop a bit too much independence,” Finvarra said, his brows lowering slightly. “The small ones with the poisoned knives were too much, I later realized.”
It was all I could do to keep calm as he spoke so casually of his servitors, his creations who’d already killed several Fae. The fury I’d felt while battling his servitors while children of the Order hid in their quarters surged through me. I gripped the tops of my thighs, digging my nails in. I knew exactly where Mort was. If I were very quick, I might be able to snatch my broadsword. I was much faster and stronger than I looked. Maybe, with the element of surprise—
Jasper shifted, interrupting my thoughts.
“If you will not stop your attacks on our kingdoms, you are declaring yourself our enemy, your majesty,” he said. He spread his hands. “In fact, you’ve already done so. How do you expect us, our people, and all the other kingdoms to react to this?”
“If you were people of vision, I would expect you to understand,” Finvarra said. His tone was growing clipped. “But most aren’t. You aren’t. This is why the Tuatha are coming to raze Faerie.”
“You?” Jasper echoed. “Not us? Do you not count yourself among us?”
“In theory, but in these days not in practice.” Finvarra shifted his gaze to the trident bearers and raised his chin slightly.
Before I could get to my feet, four of the men had lunged, jabbing their tridents at us. The weapons lit up as if charged with electricity, and the magic crackled off the ends like lightning.
I stiffened as the magic ripped through me. It was like being stunned with a magi-zapper, but ten times worse, as the electric magic seemed to make every cell spasm and scream. I lasted maybe a couple of seconds before I fell over.
The last thing I saw was Jasper collapsing to the floor, smacking the side of his head hard on the edge of the dais.
Chapter 19
WHEN I CAME to, my first thought was that I was glad to be in one piece and able to move my limbs under my own command. Finvarra hadn’t handed us over to the fish men. Not fish food, that was a good thing. Also good: I wasn’t cuffed or tied up. I was in some kind of cell or holding room. The door looked substantial, and the only windows were small, open holes about ten feet up. And I wasn’t alone.
“Jasper,” I whispered, not wanting to alert any guards who might be nearby.
I crawled over to where he lay in a heap. Pain pierced my head and lightning seemed to streak up and down my spine. After-effects of the trident blasts.
I grasped his shoulder and jiggled it back and forth, trying to rouse him. He didn’t respond at all. My pulse jumped in alarm when I took in how still he was. Just as I was leaning over to see if he was breathing, his eyes cracked open and he groaned.
“Morning, sunshine,” I said as relief rushed through me.
He groaned again and then slowly sat up and passed his hand over his eyes.
“Where are we?” he asked, his voice hoarse and strained. The trident magic seemed to have affected him worse than it had me. Or maybe it was the crack to the head when he’d fallen against Finvarra’s dais.
“Undine jail, if I had to guess,” I said. “We need to get our damn weapons.”
It was just about killing me to not know where Mort was. There was a small viewing slit in the door. I went to it and looked through. I couldn’t see anything but the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, but I heard voices—sounded like men chatting casually. Our trident-bearing guards perhaps.
I drew magic and sent it through my right arm as if I held Mort. Then I let it flow off the end of my hand and outward, searching for the connection with my broadsword. Exhaustion thumped in my temples, but I tried to ignore it. There, to the left down the hallway, maybe twenty or thirty feet away. I let out a relieved breath. Much farther, and I probably wouldn’t have been able to sense its location with any precision.
When I turned, Jasper had pushed to his feet, but he had one hand on the wall for support.
“My sword’s out there,” I whispered. “I bet yours is nearby, too.”
I slipped my hand down into my boot, feeling for my spare karambit, a curved, claw-like knife. It was there. The guards had taken an identical knife from my scabbard, which I still wore, but hadn’t done a great job with their search, as they’d missed the other karambit.
I went to the door. There was no interior handle. I stuck the point of the knife in between the door and the jamb, but the space was tight. I wouldn’t be able to jimmy it open from the inside. I stuck the knife back in its sheath and tucked it into my boot.
“Any bright ideas?” I asked Jasper. I turned a slow circle, looking for any other possible way out.
“Once we’re out, I can call a couple of Great Ravens to pick us up, but the birds aren’t going to help us get free,” he said.
“Shit,” I muttered. I looked around one more time, but there wasn’t even a vent to try to escape through. The windows were too small to fit through. I reached for my knife again. “Think I’m going to have to use the spellblade. I hope the sight of a lot of blood isn’t going to bother you.”
I started pushing up the sleeve of my jacket.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Jasper strode to me and tried to snatch the karambit away.
“Getting us out of here,” I said. “Mort is a shadowsteel spellblade imbued with my blood and magic. If I bleed enough, it’ll come to me through just about any barrier.”
He covered my hand with his. “Don’t do that.”
“Believe me, it’s not my first choice,” I said. “But your pops is a fucking psycho, I’m sorry to say. And the Undine Queen isn’t much better. We have to get the hell out of here.”
His jaw tightened, but he finally pulled his hand back. “How much will you have to bleed, Petra?”
“Not enough to kill me,” I said. “But I may lose consciousness. You’re going to have to carry me out. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course,” he said, his voice low and his gold eyes shimmering.
“Ready?” I said.
He nodded. I braced myself. This was going to be unpleasant for both of us.
I’d only invoked my blood connection with Mort this way a few times before. It was a dangerous thing to do on my own because it left me weak and powerless at best and half-dead at worst.
I took a couple of steps back, angled away from Jasper, and began peeling back the still-damp sleeve of my jacket and shirt. I’d never done this in front of anyone, and it felt strangely intimate. I didn’t look to see if he’d turned away. If he had the stomach to watch, he was welcome to it.
I sucked in a breath, held it, and pressed the blade against my skin. Grinding my teeth, I sliced. It would take quite a bit of blood to call Mort to me. That was the really fun part—waiting to bleed enough to activate the spellblade’s magic.
Letting my arm hang at my side, I tried not to focus on the warm wetness dripping down my hand and the faint splatting noises on the floor. Instead, I peered at Jasper.
“You might want to move to the side about five feet,” I said, tipping my head to the left. “Mort will take a straight path to me and go through anything that’s in between.”
Jasper’s eyes widened, and he quickly strode to the wall.
I glanced down once and shifted my feet so I wouldn’t be standing in the puddle. From then on, I planned to keep my gaze lifted.
“So, what’d you think of your pops?” I asked with a forced conversational tone.
Jasper snorted at my attempt to sound casual, but then his face tensed. “Not much of an improvement over my first father,” he said wryly.
I couldn’t help a ghost of a wry grin. “Yeah, quite a shock.” Then I sobered as I recalled what I’d learned about my own bloodline. It was still a blow, knowing that Oliver wasn’t my blood father. The worse blow
was finding out it was Periclase.
“Uniting the Unseelie was quite a feat,” he said. “But I’m afraid only the madness of ego drives him. That’s not good for Faerie. He’s very dangerous.”
“I’m not too proud to say he just about scares me shitless,” I whispered. It wasn’t the type of thing I’d usually say out loud. Or even think to myself. Maybe it was the lightheadedness from blood loss. “What magic gives him the power to call servitors?”
Jasper frowned. “Maybe it comes from his Daoine Sidhe blood. Or maybe not. Perhaps he has someone else doing it for him. He implied that he was doing it himself, but I honestly don’t know if he’s powerful enough on his own to do such a thing.”
I swayed a little and braced my knees in response. Jasper took a step toward me.
“Don’t,” I said, and he stopped. “Seriously, you do not want to get between me and Mortimer. You’ll end up with a sword-shaped hole through you.”
I nearly giggled at the cartoonish idea of Jasper with a Mort cutout through his middle, as if someone had stamped his torso with a broadsword cookie cutter. I was definitely suffering from the blood loss.
There was a twinge at the base of my skull. Mort was waking up to the call of my blood.
“Almost,” I grunted.
Damn, but this was unpleasant. I felt sick to my stomach, and the dizziness was growing more intense. I closed my eyes, turning my focus inward and concentrating on staying upright. I really didn’t want to collapse in my own blood.
I couldn’t say how long I stood there in silence. Maybe another minute. At one point I realized that Jasper had moved behind me. He wasn’t touching me, but he was there, ready.
Then I felt a flash of pain at the base of my skull, and my vision went white. This was it.
There was an impact that shook the walls. Then an awful grinding noise that made me want to slam my hands over my ears. Mort had awakened. My sword was literally drilling through the walls toward me. I wasn’t sure how the sand-castle walls would react. I hoped Mort didn’t bring down the whole floor on top of us. The grinding rose in pitch. There were shouts. Jasper’s hand on the small of my back. Then the sensation of him winding fabric around my sliced arm. Ah, a bandage. That was nice.