by Cory Barclay
He was on Mythicus.
Annabel’s shriek had subsided. The blackguard struggled to his feet, trying to regain his equilibrium.
Aiden reached in his pocket and something flashed gold. He flicked his wrist and threw a coin as hard as he could—a metallic projectile whistling through the air.
The coin struck the rising blackguard in the neck, implanting itself in his carotid artery. For a moment, the blackguard looked annoyed at whatever had hit him. He reached for the coin and removed the annoyance from his neck . . .
Blood spurted from the wound immediately after. Within ten seconds he was writhing on the floor in a pool of his own gore.
“We must go,” Steve whispered to Annabel. He was still in a bit of a daze—they all were—but he knew enough to know they were in grave danger.
He didn’t expect Annabel’s next words:
“I have to make sure my parents are all right!”
Steve stuttered. He wanted to say, “Your parents? Since when do you care about them?! Do you know how long I’ve been trying to reach you? How will you escape them this time? I don’t know how many more jailbreaks I have in me!”
But he didn’t say any of that.
“Okay,” he said. He knew better than to argue with Bel once she got an idea in her mind. “We’ll go with you.”
“No,” she said. “Have you gone mental? You’ll be instantly recognized and jailed. Then I really don’t know how I’ll get you out.”
Steve tried to retort, but she cut him off. “Look, dear, you’re here now. You’re in Mythicus. You’ve made it. That means I’ll be able to find you, but I have something I need you to do for me.”
“What?”
“Escape into the woods and don’t get caught. Go to my house, where you’ll find Lig. Hopefully Geddon and Selestria will be there, too.”
“Why would I want to have anything to do with those fuckers?” Steve asked incredulously.
“Selestria never did anything to you, my—”
“Why would I want to have anything to do with that fucker, Geddon?” Steve amended.
“We have no time to argue. Every blackguard in the keep must have heard my wail.”
“That’s why you must come with us!” Steve argued. “You’ll be taken captive!”
Annabel shook her head. “Just do as I say, please, Steve. The moment I know my parents are safe, I’ll escape from here and meet you at the household. Plus, I don’t want the Overseer to know of my deeds up here.”
“What am I supposed to do with Geddon and Sela?”
“Keep them there. My father is going to use them for his mischievous plot to overthrow the Brethren.”
Aiden spoke for the first time. “Well, why didn’t you say that to begin with, lass? I’m game.”
Steve still didn’t like it, but now it was two against one. I can’t believe she’s being so . . . so . . . stubborn!
At the same time, Steve admired her tenacity. It was the most courageous and in control she’d ever acted. She was making the moves, not letting people make them for her. He respected that. So, he said, “I don’t like this, but I’ll do it. For you, Bel, I’ll do it.”
Annabel smiled. “Thank you, my love.” She embraced him and kissed him, then pushed him away. “Now go!”
“How do we get out of here?”
Annabel pointed behind them, at the Parallel Reflector.
“I think it only works from Ethereus,” Steve said. “I don’t want to chance it.”
Annabel’s finger moved to a window next to the reflector.
Steve sighed. He bent down and picked up the bloody gold coin Aiden had thrown. He tossed it to the leprechaun. Aiden caught it in midair with a snap of his wrist.
Steve nodded to the window.
Annabel stepped over the dead blackguard and left the room. She shut the half-broken door behind her.
Aiden cocked his arm back, preparing to throw the coin at the window. As he did, the blackguard’s blood began to flow underneath the door, into the hallway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What is the meaning of this, Jareth?” Overseer Malachite bellowed. He had regained his strength from the cut to his neck. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, but the wound had missed the mark: an inch in either direction and Nersi probably would have struck an artery. As it stood the flesh wound was now a blackened dot.
A few people in the crowd gasped at Malachite’s words, calling Lord Onyx “Jareth.” It was taboo to use a Council member’s real name in a formal setting with other Council members. Even something as informal as a party still dictated proper decorum.
Jareth, still naked as the day he was born, shrugged. He stood with his hands on his hips, his buttocks facing the crowd behind him.
“Step down, man,” Malachite added, standing up from his chair. He hobbled as the blood rushed to his head, and reached a hand out to grasp the arm of the chair. Then he stood, less than a foot from Jareth. He was a tallish man, taller than Jareth, but the senior lord didn’t seem intimidated.
“I’m afraid not, Malachite.” The fact he didn’t use his master’s own title of “Overseer” spoke volumes. He said, “I couldn’t let you die, but it is time for you to relinquish control over the Brethren. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”
“This is madness!” Malachite said through gritted teeth. His eyes lingered to his right and he saw a cat scampering into the ballroom, limping along. “Misty, why did you not warn me about this treasonous insurgence?”
The cat meowed.
“Lady Opal,” Jareth said, motioning for her.
Dosira walked to him. “You’re lucky I held onto it, husband, or else it would have burned in your fury . . . like the rest of your belongings.” She handed her husband a folded piece of parchment. She gave Jareth’s naked body a quick up-and-down look and a smirk showed on the corner of her lips.
Jareth unfolded the paper and cleared his throat. He showed Malachite the official letterhead of the Brethren Council as a header. He said, “What I have here, Malachite, is a Council vote. It decrees your immediate expulsion from leadership.” He turned the paper so it faced Malachite. “As you can see, it has seven signatures for ‘aye,’ and six signatures for ‘nay.’ The ‘aye’ vote wins, which in this case means the end of your Overseer career.”
Malachite sputtered, unable to believe what he was hearing and seeing. He snatched the paper from Jareth. For an instant, he considered the juvenile reaction of ripping it to shreds. He read each name on the ‘aye’ half of the page, committing the names to memory. He would have his vengeance . . .
Lord Obsidian and Lady Chalcedony, Lord Onyx and Lady Opal, Lord Constantin and Lady Mariana, and Lady Jade. They all voted to expel Malachite from his duties. In a moment of epiphany, the puzzle came together. He realized why Jareth Reynolds had been so adamant about continuing the marriage between his son and Constantin’s daughter. Without the votes of Lord Constantin and Lady Mariana, the ‘nay’ vote would have carried one more tally than the ‘aye’ vote. Jareth would have lost.
The marriage was Jareth’s way of solidifying the result he desired. But what could he have promised the Lees to get them to vote with him? Malachite wondered. They hate each other!
Maybe it was the position on the Council itself, and the power it brings.
Malachite seethed. He balled his hands into fists, crumpling the paper, watching as Jareth refused to show any worry on his face.
The tricky bastard is so smug . . .
“Everything on the form is legitimate, whether you rip up the contract or not,” Jareth said.
“I’ll have your head for this,” Malachite growled. His eyes snapped left and right. He noticed a few blackguards standing erect and idle, awaiting orders. “Guards, seize this buffoon and carry him off!” he shouted.
The blackguards didn’t move.
Malachite shook his fists with anger. He stomped away from Jareth and plopped onto his chair, unable to decide what to do with himself. Everyone in
the audience stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.
Malachite said, “It was your idea to interrogate Geddon and Selestria. Your idea to pursue the Kinsmen leaders.” He realized he was treading a thin line, speaking about things that were secrets to other Council members. He didn’t mention the word “assassinate,” but he didn’t need to.
The thing that angered him most was that he had confided in Jareth. He could now see it was all a ruse to foment rebellion, but how could he harbor such betrayal and deceit?
How could I be such a fool not to see it?
“Yes, those were my ideas,” Jareth said. Dosira came to his side with a black cloak in her hand, taken from one of the blackguards below. She threw it over her husband’s shoulders, so at least his ass wasn’t displayed for the entire gentry any longer.
Jareth gave his wife a nod and continued. “Yes, I helped you make those decisions. And if it weren’t for me, nothing would have come from them. You see, Malachite, that’s precisely why you must go. You are weak. It’s not your fault—you are human, after all. But you have no place leading the Brethren of Soreltris.”
“You helped me get to this position!” Malachite cried. His voice started wavering, the more he spoke. A few bystanders looked away, embarrassed for him.
Jareth nodded. “I know. It was my mistake, which is why I take responsibility in delivering you from the position now. You were a good mascot for a time, but no longer.”
After a short pause, Malachite said, “How am I weak, you bastard?”
“You lack the drive to rid yourself of your enemies,” Jareth said. He wrapped the cloak around his body, tired of the windy draft. “What have you done to dispatch the Vagrant Kinsmen? They are a threat to your rule, yet you keep their leaders locked away in your castle, imprisoned but out of danger. They’re on vacation. A more industrious ruler would have been rid of them by now. Eradicated them.”
Malachite’s face blanched. “They’ve already led us to multiple Vagrant leaders—”
“Which we could have found on our own, I’m sure.” Jareth squinted one eye at the frightened face of his former lord. There was something else eating away at that pale skin. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Jareth said, “why you’re keeping them alive. It isn’t to find the Vagrants . . .”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jareth scoffed and waved a hand nonchalantly. “Tell me, or I’ll have them brought into this room and executed this instant.”
“You don’t have the power.”
“But I do.”
Malachite gritted his teeth and brooded in silence. His fear turned to rage, but he had no one to direct that rage toward. After a moment, it simmered, and he realized with utter contempt that he’d lost.
Leaning forward in his chair, he murmured, “Geddon is still Bound with my son on Terrus. I use him and Selestria to keep track of Steve, hoping I might bring him to me some day.”
“Your care that much for your foolish, liar of a son? The same son who refused to join you?”
Malachite snarled and pointed past Jareth, toward Constantin and the pull-cart with his son’s body. “He wasn’t lying about that. You did kill Charles Lee. And, if I had believed him, maybe I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Jareth turned and faced Constantin, who had a stony, dark look on his face. Then he shrugged. “Charles Lee was killed, but not for sport. It was no accident we killed him—he had been eating my family’s livestock. It was not known to me at the time that he was a werewolf of some importance.”
The blue veins on Constantin’s neck bulged. He had to be held back by his wife. “You savage,” the vampire said, baring his teeth.
“So, what, you will become Overseer? You will usurp my rightful rule and become the monarch of the three regions?” Malachite asked, changing the subject and drawing Jareth’s attention back to him. He looked past Jareth, at the lords and ladies in the audience. He locked eyes with Lord Obsidian, but the dwarf maintained a stony expression. Moving onto Lady Jade, the beautiful, widowed yōkai demon, she averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
“You’ve all agreed to this? To allow this madman to rule you?” Malachite received no response. He was amazed at how easily they were folding and falling into line.
Then again, they had done the same thing when he had become Overseer. Maybe it was time to put the women back in charge, after all. This egotistical dick-measuring contest seemed to be tearing the Council apart.
“We’ve all agreed it is temporary,” Jareth said. “I will take the burden upon myself to make the decisions of the Overseer, day by day. And if I can lead the Brethren to prosperity, why not?”
Malachite said, “And what is prosperity, in your mind, Lord Onyx?”
“Terrus.” Jareth’s voice had a hard edge to it as he spat out the word.
Malachite stifled a chuckle. “What about Terrus? Tell me, you would invade the parallel plane?”
Jareth nodded.
“Ha! You are truly a madman. I believe in the commingling of humans and Mythics, like any good Brethren. But to force ourselves upon them will only result in vicious backlash. You will see, Jareth. You will see. All the work we’ve done to create relationships with the leaders of Terrus will fall away like dust in the wind.”
Jareth frowned. He was tired of being berated like a toddler. He said, “Kansas?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I know what is at stake, Malachite. And I will not ruin the relationships we’ve built over the years. I will make them stronger. Don’t you see? I’ll give them roots—blood bonds that can never be broken.”
“You’ll breed with the humans.”
“Why not?” Jareth said. “It’s already being done on a small scale. We will create more Seekers and Makers—”
“My people will dilute your people’s magical blood,” Malachite warned. “You’re making a grave mistake, all because you’re intrigued by humans. Like they’re your pets.”
Jareth smiled. “Once we have enough of them Bound to us, they will be just that, Malachite. I’m impressed at your awareness, despite your lack of it up until this point.”
Malachite frowned and slumped back in his chair. He was a defeated man, uncaring about the insults any longer. With a flat voice, he said, “What will you do with me now? Kill me? Will I at least be allowed to choose the manner of my death?”
Jareth’s smile grew wider. It was unnerving. “Don’t be foolish, Malachite . . . or should I call you Richard? You’re much too important to have killed. I have plans for you yet.”
“What do these plans involve?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Jareth snapped his fingers and two blackguards at the bottom of the steps came to attention. He said, “For now, I’ll have you share a room with your favorite prisoners. Guards, lead them up to Geddon and Selestria’s prison room.”
One of the blackguards bowed his head. “Y-Yes, my lord . . . Your Grace . . .” It was clear he didn’t know what to call Jareth, so he went to stand next to Malachite. “My lord, may I help you to your feet?”
Malachite slapped the blackguard’s hand away as he stood. With anger pulsing in his eyes, he said, “I know the way, buffoon. This is my castle.”
Malachite walked in front of the blackguards, down the steps, his dignity shot.
Jareth yelled out to him: “It won’t be yours for much longer, so you know!”
If the barb was meant to get a rise out of Malachite, it failed. The deposed Overseer waved a weary hand at Jareth and disappeared from the ballroom.
Once gone, a low murmur of voices carried through the room as the crowd started speaking to one other. The party was clearly over. The musicians began packing up their instruments.
“Jareth,” Constantin called from the corner of the room. His voice was cool and collected, but on the verge of righteous indignation. “You’ve just admitted to murdering my son in front of all these lords and ladies. What will yo
u do about the marriage between your son and my daughter?”
Jareth snorted in annoyance. “Yes, I did do that, didn’t I? Well, I’m afraid it’s too late for all that, my friend. The marriage will go on, since I have the capacity to say so. You two want to remain on the Council, don’t you? Don’t you wish to continue being important?”
Constantin said nothing. The disappointment was clear on his face. He’d lost a lot this day—his nemesis had started out more powerful than he had, but now he was exponentially entitled. There would be no convincing the Council to aid him now, not against a man as powerful as Jareth Reynolds . . .
Mariana stepped forward from her husband’s side. “As long as our daughter is safe in your son’s hands, we will allow it . . . for the time being.” She spoke as if she had a say in the matter.
Her words stung Tiberius, who was standing on the other side of the ballroom. He had been gawking at his father, astounded that his family had just gained so much power. Now he turned on Constantin and Mariana. “I do not treat her poorly, you saps, and even if I did, she is obligated to obey me, correct?”
Hushed voices came from the audience. Speaking about women in such a way, in a society that was recently run by women, was frowned upon. That was a wound that would sting the women in the Council. Even Jareth winced at his son’s foolishness.
“You do not have the temper of your father, you’re telling me?” Mariana asked, remaining calm despite the pain she felt inside her cold, dead heart.
Tiberius smirked. “I suppose only time will tell.”
Jareth tried to divert the attention away from his son. “And while we’re here,” he said, “at the Naming Day ceremony, why don’t we complete it?”
Constantin furrowed his brow.
“You will henceforth be known as . . .” Jareth trailed off and waved his finger around a bit, pointing near Constantin. “Lord Bloodstone,” he said. “And your wife will be Lady Tourmaline.” He paused for a while longer, then smiled. “And I suppose while we’re in the spirit of things . . . I will be Overseer Onyx.”
No one dared dispute the ruling. Not now. Not while a pile of ash and bones sat next to him, all that remained of the siren assassin, Nersi Magdalin. It was too soon to question the Ifrit’s motives or legitimacy.