by Dani Smith
“You are trusted to me, Snow, but don’t you dare patronize me.”
Snow chuckled, shrugging. “But I’m right, am I not? If you over-abuse that girl, or kill her, you won’t ever know where that bauble ended up. She’s your last connection to it. Plus, she’s the only one who can show you how to use the damn thing!”
Drake grumbled and sat down in his throne; his ember eyes scanned the immense round room. Snow could almost see the wheels turning in the chief’s head, ticking away between rage and consideration. He sheathed his knife and strolled over, walking slowly around Drake’s seat as he spoke.
“What do you know about the girl? You know she possesses great power, and you know she is learned. You need to tempt her with something that sparks her interest, her very core. Say…books!”
Drake raised a bushy black eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Books, eh? There is my mother’s library … ”
Snow grinned, shooting Drake a dirty wink. “And there we have it. Let’s go find us that bauble, the real bauble … and when we return, get back into her good graces with a gift … the library you mentioned. Let her read a few dusty tomes, refrain from raping her blind for a few weeks, and the knowledge of how to use that crystal is as good as yours.”
Drake sat back in his seat, pondering. Slowly, a grin snuck onto his face, stretching wide. There was no kindness in that grin, no real happiness, it was something that would have badly frightened any others who happened to be present. Snow saw the grin and was immediately pleased.
Chapter 5
The moons drifted on a scrim of clouds like silent galleons on a sea of mist. Below their strange glow, in the massive Doomhand garages, beastly war machines stood like silent sentinels, their glossy black metal skin shimmering mellowly. The satyr clans may have seen their magic run out generations ago, but when it came to the workings of gears, steel, and oil, they were masters of their trade. These machines were no exception: built as smooth-surfaced, sharp-edged creatures, long-limbed and graceful and utterly deadly.
Joshi, Drake’s head mechanic, squatted beneath the abdomen of a monstrous robotic spider, fiddling with the long black cords that hung there like strands of thick rubberized silk. He whistled cheerfully to himself as he tinkered and clanked. Occasionally, he raised one grimy hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, leaving a black smudge across his skin.
Footsteps clopped across the oil-stained concrete floor. Joshi looked up at the tall, lean shadow standing behind him and nodded in greeting.
“Snow.”
“Are we set?” Snow asked tersely, strolling around the massive machine. His body was wiry and sharp, and he moved with a feline grace that made the mechanic a bit uncomfortable.
“Every gear oiled and screw tightened,” Joshi said, standing up with a wince. His knees crackled and he rubbed at one absently as he tossed a wrench into the big toolbox at his feet. “Drake should have no problem reducing whatever is left of that Kit village to rubble.”
Snow strolled between the huge, blade-tipped legs, brushing his gloved fingers across the smooth metal, gazing at his warped reflection there.
“Good. The master wishes to march at daybreak.”
“Is it proper for a man to ask what Drake wants to snag that he doesn’t already have?”
Snow grinned mirthlessly, an expression not of humor or good-naturedness, but slimy, insufferable greed. He patted the giant mechanical leg before him.
“A trinket, of sorts. Something that could help bring what Drake wishes for our clan to final glorious fruition.”
“I thought Drake was supposed to snag that glammer when he nabbed that Kit girl from Yellowseed!”
Snow’s mouth twisted. “He thought he had. She brought him a fake.”
Joshi shook his head slowly. “Foolish, that one. She’s lucky she still lives. I wonder how he will convince her to reveal the real crystal?”
Snow grinned, slapping the mechanic on the shoulder. “We won’t need to convince her of anything. There’s more than one way to skin a fox.”
As dawn began to creep in rosy lines across the sky and the light of the stars faded away, Snow stalked out of the garage, his head lowered. He crunched across the gravel yard beyond, his head bent, his mind all in a flurry. He saw no likelihood that Joshi was the wild card of which Aura had spoken, but every face he looked into he had begun to question, and it was beginning to drive him a bit mad.
You’d better keep a sharp eye on those who surround you, Drake my old friend, he thought. You’d just better.
Chapter 6
“Ashe! Ashe, up and ready, boy!”
Ashe was dreaming of home, of the green mountains. It was festival time, and one of his Twinglader brethren was coming to the center of the town with the beer jug. Ashe could see him, striding proudly up the hill, his skin and horns smeared with ceremonial war paint, the massive vessel perched on one lean, muscular shoulder. The drink would flow, and the Twinglader tribe would celebrate with ferocity.
“Ashe, you piece of shit, where are you?”
Ashe blinked awake, coming blearily aware of where he lay. He smelled skunked beer, whiskey, and the salt of a strange woman’s skin.
The door to the whore’s crib flew open with a crash and in tramped Thorn, the big blond satyr that had stood at the compound doors with his lance the night before. Like all Horned, he wore the spiked patched vest that designated him a Doomhand. Despite still being fuzzy with sleep and drink, Ashe briefly took note of his own vest, tossed across a chair opposite the bed, and the Doomhand patch on the back that designated him the same. His mouth twisted.
The fey tramp sat bolt upright, shoving Ashe away from where he had been drowsing with his head on her belly. She began to shout, snatching some object—a perfume bottle—from her bedside and hurling it at the intruder. Thorn knocked it away with ease and it smashed across the floor in a spray of glittering shards, soaking the shabby rug in fragrance. The tiny room was instantly overpowered by the sickly sweetness of gardenia and honeysuckle.
“What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing?” the girl screeched. “You can’t be coming in here like—”
The golden-maned guard drew a pistol from his trousers and aimed it at her, his dark blue eyes narrowing to cerulean slits. “Leave now, slut, or there’ll be one hell of a mess for the housekeepers!”
The whore gathered a blanket around herself and darted from the bed, her iridescent wings fluttering behind her as she went. Quinn, peeking through the door, jumped back as the frightened woman blew by him.
Ashe had snapped awake when the whore broke the perfume bottle, and he jumped out of bed with the regained reflexes of a cat. His kukri lay on the seat of the chair holding his vest, and he drew it in one fluid movement, holding it aloft toward the interloper.
“You have big balls to be coming at me this way, Thorn,” he hissed. “I thought a man was due his privacy!”
Thorn chuckled and spat on the perfume-stained floor; the pistol still levered in Ashe’s direction. “Not when Drake wants you up and ready to ride, friend. That fox bitch he snagged apparently failed to bring along Drake’s wedding present. Something he wants more than anything.”
Ashe’s hand wavered at the mention of Iona. Slowly, he lowered his blade.
“What … what is it? What does he want?”
“Some trinket that needs to be brought back, post-haste. Get dressed in a hurry there, Goat Boy. There’ll be plenty more pussy for you when we come back triumphant again.”
Thorn turned and left the room, swatting Quinn on the shoulder as he went. “Shake the crabs out of your pubes and the booze out of your pricks, boys, and get a move on back to the compound. No time to dawdle.”
Quinn walked in as Ashe was grabbing for his clothing. He looked far more alert than he had the night before when he and Ashe had parted ways to follow their respective ladies of the night into separate cribs, their brains fuzzy with drink. Far more awake and excited.
“He
wants us to come this time,” Quinn breathed. “Not just guard the compound. And they are taking three of the war machines! Do you know what this means for us?”
Ashe yanked his vest on, the spikes and buckles clinking softly. He looked down at his bandaged hand, his mouth twisting.
“It means that we will be witness to the slaughter of whatever is left of that Kit tribe,” he said quietly. “If Drake wants something, he’ll do anything to acquire it. This is screwed … and I don’t mean proper screwed.”
“I don’t know about you, but I got proper screwed from stem to stern last night, Goat Boy.”
“Not now, Quinn,” Ashe mumbled. “There are more serious matters at hand this morning.”
Quinn squinted at him, his mouth twisting into a smirk. His hazel eyes twinkled. “There’s something odd with you and Drake’s new bride.”
“As you suggested in the hall last night, Ass,” Ashe groused.
He turned and walked out of the whore’s crib. Quinn followed him down the rickety stairs to the dusty bar below. One of the faerie whores flicked a handful of glitter at them, blowing a flamboyant kiss.
“Come back any time, boys! It’s always a pleasure.”
Quinn paused to pull her close, kissing her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth as if checking for cavities. He smacked her soundly on her ass and she flitted away, giggling, her iridescent pink and blue wings fluttering delicately in the dusty air. Ashe shot him a disgusted look and tramped out the door.
“No looking at me like that, there, friend!” Quinn called, hurrying after him. “I saw you sucking face with that redheaded lass last night like the world was ending!”
Quinn jogged ahead of Ashe and did a silly little pompous jig in the middle of the street, drawing looks from passers-by.
“I’m Ashe, the most proper cockerel of them all!” he jibed in a wobbling, aristocratic pantomime. Ashe folded his arms, cocking an eyebrow.
“Really? That’s the best you can come up with, Ass? You Pucas are outright buffoons.”
“And proud of it!” Quinn shouted jovially to the golden morning air. They trudged up a hill, past leaning tenement buildings, shoddy storefronts, and street vendors hawking questionable wares, their boots kicking aside blowing trash and discarded beer bottles.
“Seriously, though,” Quinn went on. “I saw you looking at that fox girl like I’ve never seen you look at any woman.”
“She’s beautiful,” Ashe mumbled. “So what? Everyone was looking at her like that.”
“Wrong. You were looking at her—”
He paused, launching once more into one of his silly farces, clenching his hands dramatically against his chest, gazing skyward with a wistful expression.
“—as if you were looking into the face of love itself.”
“You are an idiot,” Ashe grunted, swatting at his friend. Quinn giggled and slung an arm around Ashe’s shoulders and the two trekked back to Bargsea, shaking the previous night off as they went.
“I may play the fool, but I’m right, friend,” Quinn said softly as they trudged along. “And you’d best be careful, or it’s your funeral.”
Chapter 7
There’s something odd with you and Drake’s new bride.
Quinn had hit the nail on the proverbial head, and Ashe had to acknowledge that fact as he tramped back into the compound with Quinn in tow. There was no denying it. He wanted to see her again, wanted to ask her what it was that Drake was so desperate to find. If he knew, he could help.
You don’t just want to help, an unwanted voice whispered in the back of his mind as he walked across the courtyard. You want to look at her, to see her in that bedroom, and imagine yourself in the bed with her.
“Oi, Ashe! Quinn! Over here, now!”
Snow’s voice was like a knife in the bright light of day. Quinn grunted, running his fingers through the stiff bristles of his hair. “Gods, his voice is like a kick to the skull … ”
Ashe and Quinn gathered inside the Doomhand garage where Snow and Thorn were standing next to Joshi’s worktable. Lying on the work surface was a long copper tray lined with the syringes that Aura had sent, each one filled with the mysterious purple fluid.
“Pay very close attention to what I give you, and follow my instructions exactly,” Snow hissed. “What we seek in Yellowseed is powerful—more powerful than any magical item yet possessed in Shale City, and possibly beyond. It will bring enormous clout to our clan … but it’s dangerous, as well. The old nag down by the sea, the one that Drake’s family has heeded since time immemorial, has prepared a concoction for all of us. We used it in the first raid, and if you two are going to run with us this time, you’ll need a dose.”
He handed out the syringes. Quinn took his and wrinkled his nose, his lip curling. “Injectables?” he muttered.
“Yes, and you’ll do well to stick yourself quick. What is in these vials will protect you from that bauble’s power.”
“Should we not just drag the little Kit bitch along for the ride?” Thorn asked, cocking a bushy blond eyebrow.
“No. Drake doesn’t want her near that bauble when we go to take it. We will force that nine-tailed Mother Superior who raised her to hand it over, instead. Safer all around. Now go on, get ready! I expect you all back within an hour’s time.”
The little knot of Horned dispersed. Ashe held the glass syringe up to the light, watching the weird lilac-colored liquid shimmer eerily inside the glass tube. Quinn wasted no time in removing the stopper from his needle.
“What the hell. Might be a cure for hangover. Here, Ashe, help me.”
Slowly, Ashe took Quinn’s syringe and poked it into the meat of his friend’s shoulder. Quinn winced, making a face as the plunger sank downward, pushing the potion into his tissues. Ashe withdrew the needle and tossed it into an oil barrel nearby where it shattered with a glassy pop as it hit the bottom of the metal container.
“Ugh, that burns a little. You next?” Quinn asked, reaching for Ashe’s syringe. Ashe drew back a little, shaking his head.
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
Quinn chuckled, shaking his head. “Suit yourself, Goat Boy. See you shortly, then? I need to go splash some water on my face and find some hair o’ the dog that bit me.”
“Yeah.”
Ashe pocketed the syringe inside his vest and hurried back into the heart of Bargsea, hurrying up the staircase leading to Drake’s private quarters.
The door to the chamber where he had left Iona the night before was shut, and as he neared it, he heard two voices murmuring to each other. Ashe crouched down beside the door, one hand pressed against the rough wood, his goat ears twitching.
Her voice came so softly that he had to press his cheek against the door to hear her. He closed his eyes, breathing deep, and remembered the fantasy that he had drowned in the night before while in the arms of some nameless woman. He listened close, his fingers unconsciously stroking the wood.
Through one ear, he could hear Iona and Omnia speaking quietly to each other, revealing much more in private than either would have before their mate and master. Through the other ear, he could hear the shouts outside, and the whine of gears as war machines tramped out into the blazing summer sunlight.
He would have to hurry, because Drake was ready.
“If you hid the Jade cleverly, then you have defeated Drake already, in one way at least,” he heard Omnia say, “I’ll share in that joy with you.”
Ashe listened as the women rustled about. A wardrobe door creaked open, then closed. The sound of liquid being poured into a glass, and Omnia instructing Iona to drink.
“I wouldn’t have asked the queen to serve me,” he heard Iona say in a sleepy voice.
“Nonsense. We are in this together, my fellow queen.”
“Will he … will he come back?” Iona murmured.
“Drake? No. He is leaving the compound again, likely to seek your Jade. We will both get a respite from him, at least for a day or two.”
; “No, not him. The other one, the faun boy.”
Ashe gasped softly, his belly clenching. He had not expected such emotion, but here it was. You were right, Quinn, he thought. Damn your eyes, you were right.
“Ashe?” he heard Omnia say.
“He was kind to me.”
There was a pause. Then, “Yes,” Omnia said softly. “He is kind. He is much like us.”
“A slave?”
“In a way, yes,” Omnia answered, and Ashe thought it sounded like she was trying to skirt the subject. “Tell me, does this Jade do anything else?”
Iona sounded sad. “Isn’t what I told you enough?”
“Iona, what else can it do?”
“One can see the future … up to a point.” Iona fell dismally silent.
“You saw them coming, didn’t you? Before they raided,” Omnia said quietly.
When Iona answered, Ashe could tell that she was on the verge of crying. “Yes. And it was still too late to stop them. We are peaceful, we had no way to defend ourselves.”
“Iona, where did you hide it?”
“You won’t tell him? You won’t tell Drake?”
Iona’s voice was hard, suspicious. Ashe winced to hear her speak to Omnia in such a way, but he could hardly blame her. He chewed at his thumbnail, straining to hear Omnia’s reaction.
Instead, there was silence. He heard Iona speak again. “Forgive me, sister.”
She began to cry, a low, despairing wail that made Ashe’s heart clench.
“Sleep,” Omnia murmured, “and dream of lighthearted things. Leave the burden of this place behind you. Forgive me for asking so much of you. Rest.”
Shortly, Iona’s sobs quieted. Ashe heard Omnia humming some gentle tune, and his admiration for the unicorn maid blossomed. Omnia had been through hell herself, and yet here she was, lending more comfort than could have been afforded her.
“The prayer fount,” Iona sighed in a floating, dreamy voice. “It’s hidden there. None will find it.”