The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2)

by K. C. Lannon

  The door to the room blocked all sound, so when Kallista went to see him, she knelt on the floor and talked to him—more like she ranted. Perhaps Puck’s torment was not that his magic was bound and he was trapped in the Master’s house and treated worse than a dog but that he had to listen to Kallista’s troubles. Once, she had even cried.

  Her tears had long since dried, replaced with numbness.

  Until today.

  As she entered, he was whistling, a sound more like a pennywhistle than anything else. He was often whistling when she came to visit. Most often there were wild, lively, lonely tunes she’d never heard before, which always sent a chill through her and made her feel restless. They were hard to listen to, hard to even hear a few notes of but not because they were unpleasant or even necessarily eerie. She never could place why they unsettled her so.

  But every now and then, there were tamer melodies, ones that she knew, often songs she heard growing up. He was whistling one such song today; while she could not remember the name or where she’d heard it, it reminded her of her own mother.

  “I’ve brought you something,” Kallista announced as she neared the cage, an iron box on the floor of the small, almost water-closet-type room with blank walls. The box was too cramped for even a person of his squat stature to comfortably sit, so he had to crouch or bend in some way to reach the opening that fell just above her waist in height directly at the center of the front of the cage.

  The floor was littered with rotting fruit, making Kallista’s head spin at the smell.

  Puck stopped whistling as Kallista carefully dropped the food into the opening and into Puck’s waiting hands. She suspected that he did not need to eat, as he always threw the faery fruit back out whenever Vera brought it to him (often hitting the girl smartly in her midsection), but that did not stop Kallista from bringing him meals. She knew a decent meal could make anyone feel better, even a Noble Faery.

  “Ah.” Puck’s musical voice sounded through the opening, echoing oddly. “Food is not the only thing you’ve brought with you today. You have an air of determination, a wish to change fate. How human.”

  Kallista made a face, finding his tone condescending. “It is human hands that have brought you human decency. And it is a human mouth that is about to scold you!”

  Puck chuckled. “You mistake my respect for you for superiority in myself. This reckless mortal determination, it is something immortals like myself cannot possess. It is a merciless driver, lashing you forward, determined but desperate. It’s always life and death with your kind, for good or ill.” He paused. “I wonder which you are bound for? We could place bets on it.”

  Staring at the ground, Kallista twisted her hands together. “I may not come to see you again after today… and that is not because of your sass.”

  “I thought as much.” Puck sighed. “Whatever will I do without your care?”

  Kallista snorted, thinking he was just as helpless as some human men without someone to look after him. “You’ll manage.”

  “I shall. Truly, I could survive eons without a scrap of food. But I will be starved of good company, which is worse.”

  Smiling faintly, Kallista nodded.

  “You have made up your mind to do something, haven’t you, milady?”

  Her mouth went dry. “My sons are in danger.”

  “As I said, always life and death.” Puck tilted his head down so that he could glimpse her through the metal slit. His green eyes shone. “However, the Summer Court is in a less common sort of danger, I fear. The Winter Court makes ready to strike with the aid of your husband… If you were to tell Oberon where I was…”

  Kallista flinched at the mention of Alan and hated herself for it. She loathed every thought of him that entered her mind because it made her frightened, and she hated being frightened. Her hands clenched by her sides.

  “I-I cannot help you,” Kallista managed. “My sons need me.”

  “Is this some new information?” Before she could chide him, he raised his hands, shrugging. “May good fortune accompany your endeavors, however fleeting and mortal they may be.”

  “They aren’t fleeting to me. They are everything.”

  With that, she left the room; he began whistling again, an unfamiliar tune, as fast and as heedless as driving wind and rain. She shut it out as she closed the door behind her. In the private darkness of the hallway, she reached up and wiped her eyes, then she hid her sorrow again and walked with all the mortal determination she had.

  Dead flowers wilted in their neglected flower boxes. A dry brown hedge maze stretched across the garden behind the manor, a parched stone fountain in the center. Kallista followed along behind Vera, who merrily brushed her fingers over the plants as if they were soft and blooming rather than choked.

  “This is my favorite place, you know!” Vera twisted around to smile at her. “I often imagine that I’m just a little mouse that lives in one of the flowerpots. You could bring me tiny crumpets! Wouldn’t that be darling?”

  Kallista agreed uncertainly.

  The garden shed was just down the path. It looked more like a mausoleum than a shed, built of marble rather than wood, but that it was called regardless. Unlike the front gate or any other metal on the property, this gate was made at least partly of iron.

  “No peeking!” Vera ordered.

  Kallista pretended to cover her eyes.

  Vera waltzed up to the gate and produced the key from her pocket. As she held the key in her palm, the metal changed shape almost too quickly to see. Then she fixed it in the lock and pushed the gate open.

  Vera performed the same ritual on the door to the shed. After a moment, she turned back to Kallista and beckoned her inside.

  “I think I like this room so much because there are just so many stories here!” Vera explained, beaming. She stood to one side while Kallista entered the building and pointed her to the section with the dried herbs.

  “What do you mean?” Kallista asked distractedly.

  She realized how difficult even finding a weapon would be.

  The room really did look like a mausoleum inside as well. Only, instead of coffins or urns, the walls were lined with shelves and shelves of items and trinkets. Some items were piled on the floor—tattered books, clothes, spyglasses, a globe. On the walls, dried plants and herbs were hanging from strings. It was all a clutter of different colors and shapes.

  “Well, every object here has a story attached to it!” Vera stepped over a tea tray that was fully assembled with cups, saucers, and even old, mummified biscuits. She pointed to a line of glass jars filled with murky, dark liquid. “All these jars, for example, contain body parts!”

  “Is that so?” As long as Vera was yammering on, Kallista could look around unnoticed. “Which ones are your favorites?”

  Vera cackled. “What an odd question! Which body parts are my favorites?”

  “What story is your favorite?”

  “Ah!” Vera tapped her fingernails against one of the jars. This one was not murky and did not contain liquid. Instead, the jar seemed to suspend whatever was inside—she could only see two round shapes—with glowing magic that made it hard to make out what it was. “The Master is always collecting ingredients for his spells, you see. This one is a rare find: half-elf eyes. He won them off some half-elf girl. They’re young eyes too, which is even better for spells because—”

  As Vera went on, Kallista scoured the room for anything useful. She managed to pocket some dried marigold that she knew to ward away magic and faeries. She was investigating something glinting in a pile of nails and animal bones that might be something sharp enough, when she noticed something.

  My heart must be beating so fast and loud I can hear it!

  But she did not feel anxious. Reaching up, she placed her hand to her chest, feeling the beating within it. The timing did not match up at all. Her heartbeat was slow and steady.

  Curious, she followed the sound until she found a red velvet pouch lying sol
itary on a small table across from the door. She hesitated a moment with her fingers hovering over it before scooping it up in her hand.

  It was heavy, shaped like a heart and weighing the same as one too. Gasping, she jolted like it had sent a shock through her. It pulsed faster against her touch as if excited by it. In her alarm, she dropped the bag on the floor with a solid thunk.

  Frantically Kallista bent over and picked it up, fumbling and trembling as a chill rolled down her back.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. You can’t break it.” Vera smirked from beside her, having snuck up on her. “It once belonged to a strange creature, but it’s the Master’s to keep now.”

  “What on earth is that? It cannot be a real heart, can it?”

  “It is not a real heart but a representation of one. Like a poppet.”

  “Like a what?” Kallista almost laughed. She had heard the term before but only as a term of endearment or love.

  Vera giggled. “It’s an object used for rituals. See for yourself.”

  When Kallista pulled the drawstring and opened the pouch, she only found a smooth, clear crystal inside. The crystal did not beat in her hand but did so when it was closed away in the bag again. She placed it back on the table, forgetting about it almost instantly.

  “You keep mentioning rituals and spells,” Kallista realized, her hope rising. “Does that mean that the Master’s magic is not innate?”

  She had apparently said something wrong or figured out too much, as Vera’s expression darkened. Grabbing Kallista by the wrist, she tugged her toward the door. “I oughtn’t have brought you here, Mother. We should leave.”

  “Wait!” Kallista pulled back. “The herbs!”

  As Vera let her go for a moment to gather the herbs, Kallista brushed past the place she’d seen the glint of something sharp. It was an antique letter opener. She grabbed it, sliding into the sleeve of her sweater. Then she grabbed a handful of random herbs from the wall.

  “I am prepared now,” Kallista said, darting past Vera quickly and out the door. “Thank you for showing this to me. I am certain it will be helpful.”

  When they entered the manor, Kallista sensed that the Master had returned from his nightly excursions on the moors where he participated in every kind of debauchery—or so he bragged. He always tracked mud back into the house, and the fires were always lit and crackling when he was around. She knew he would be ready for a rest, and his usual place was in the parlor on his favorite chair.

  Kallista handed the herbs to Vera, saying, “Could you please take these to the kitchen for me? I’ll prepare them for the healing solution once I speak to the Master.”

  Vera nodded and set off without a thought.

  The Master was lounging in his chair in front of the fire, his tattered, coattailed jacket thrown carelessly on the floor along with his buckled shoes and cravat. He heard her enter and mused without looking at her, “I do not imagine you’re here to serve me tea, are you, Mother?”

  Kallista felt the weight of the knife in her sleeve. She slipped it into her hand and hid it behind her back. In her other hand, she held the iron cross. “Vera tells me you’ve seen my son.”

  “Indeed I have. Both of them, in fact! Of course, I only glimpsed them secondhand through a thrall transmuted into a cat, but I didn’t dislike what I saw. You ought to be proud.”

  “I am very proud.” Kallista walked slowly across the room, each step deliberate, toward the side of the Master’s chair. He was slung over it like a cat, his legs hanging over one side and his head lolling over the other.

  He leaned back to look at her, smiling like a child who had just made a mess and was proud of it. “That James is a clever one, somehow finding my name somewhere! Of course, he won’t be able to read it—I’ve cursed it, you see, so that no one can read it, and so saying it is discouraged. But I admire his attempts!”

  Her voice shook, despite her best efforts, when she reminded him, “We made a bargain that you would not go near him.”

  “Did I?” The Master tilted his head. “As I recall, I said that you would take your son’s place in Alan’s contract. I never said I could stay away from the boy. And I think I could easily trick him into a fresh deal—my goodness, is that boy desperate to prove himself!”

  The skin on her face grew taut with angry tears. “You snake! We had a deal. You’re not being fair—”

  “Magic never plays fair, darling.” The Master leaped up from his chair to face her. He reached out to her, moving closer. He was about to entrap her mind, she knew. “Now, thrall, how about you calm down and—”

  Before his command could affect her, Kallista let out a cry and lunged forward with the cross, hoping to stun him. She reached up and pressed it hard against his exposed chest.

  “Oh gods, it burns!” The Master stumbled backward for one moment in seeming agony. The cross fell from his chest and onto the floor. Then he straightened back up with a laugh, asking, “Did I fool you?”

  Kallista looked to the cross on the floor, confused.

  The Master was calm, waiting for her to act. “Whatever will she try next?” The Master grinned. “It’s a mystery!”

  With a grunt, Kallista reached into her skirt pocket and produced a handful of dried marigold, holding it out in front of her in warning.

  “Flowers and a cross, Mother? How feminine of you.” He reached out and snatched her wrist, squeezing tightly, and yanked her toward him. “But silly iron and weeds don’t work on me. Neither does your symbol. I bet your boy would be smart enough to work that out.”

  Kallista let out a cry of alarm, shoving against him. But he was stronger than he appeared. And his eyes caught the light, the gold color striking.

  His voice, soothing and calm, rang out: “Thrall, Mother mine, you will forget—”

  Don’t let him enthrall you! Don’t let him touch you!

  She still had the knife in her hand.

  Without a word, without a single sound, Kallista threw her arm back and plunged the letter opener into the Master’s chest. It sank in with little effort. She staggered backward, nearly falling, horrified at what she’d done.

  The Master’s gold eyes flickered to his chest. He reached up, gripping the knife, and pulled it out. “You can’t kill me, you stupid—”

  Kallista looked away, knowing he’d unleashed a torrent of blood. She could hear it dripping on the floor. Then she heard the clatter of the knife followed by a thump as his body crumpled to the floor.

  Her chest heaved. She stared wide-eyed at the unmoving form of the Master. Dark stains spread across the floor.

  Oh God, help me…

  He’s dead.

  Kallista sobbed in what felt like relief mixed with sorrow, collapsing on the ground. She had done it. If the Master was dead, then surely his hold on her was broken and her son was finally safe. Her years of toil and humiliation meant something. She only wished she could return home—wished she could see her sons again, back before all this.

  She heard Vera running down the hall, heard the girl unleash a horrified cry. Kallista stood as Vera rushed over to the Master and cradled him in her arms. She brushed his long brown hair from his pallid face.

  “Why have you done this?” Vera cried.

  “He was your captor, you foolish girl!” Kallista snapped.

  The Master began to stir in Vera’s lap. She gasped and gripped him tighter. It wasn’t as if he were waking. Waking would be gentle, and his eyes might flutter open. It was as if something inside him was clawing to get out, was pushing against his flesh. A chilling yowl sounded from the master, though his lips no longer moved.

  Vera let out a yelp of a laugh, then carefully removed herself from the Master’s twitching body and rose to her feet. She leveled Kallista with a bright, knowing stare, blowing the loose strands of hair from her tearstained face.

  The shape of her master began to twist and morph into something horrific. Something inhuman. Something animalistic.

  Kallista tur
ned to bolt to the door, but before she could take a step, she saw Vera darting toward her out of the corner of her eye. She heard Vera speaking, but it was not in a language Kallista recognized. As the girl spoke, the air seemed to charge with static. It was a spell.

  “Vera, please don’t—!” Kallista slapped her hands over her ears, as if not hearing the curse would save her from it.

  “I’m doing this to save you, Mother! Brother will be very cross with you otherwise!” Vera called after her. “But you must run! He’ll come after you and tear you to shreds! I’m transmuting you into—”

  Kallista ran. She ran to the door, wrenched it open, and threw herself out onto the moors. Nothing but hills of wild grass and craggy cliffs stretched before her under a gray sky. Wind lashed against her, whipping her scarf from her head and unleashing her dark hair. Her feet slapped against the rain-soaked ground, propelling her off springy moss.

  She heard something following, something huge and lithe. It would have been completely silent, save for the ragged breathing that nearly matched her own. She did not dare look back, knowing that what followed her was the Moorland Beast of legend.

  Suddenly she felt the curse pass through her like being struck in the back with something heavy, winding her, Vera’s spell complete. Kallista stifled a cry as she fell forward onto the wet ground, tasting blood as she bit into her tongue. But she had to get back up. She had to keep going. And so she dragged herself across the ground, grabbing on to weeds and foliage until the curse took full effect and she lost herself to its power.

  Her vision went dark.

  Then she could see more clearly than ever before. Instead of darkness, she saw shapes almost as clearly as if it were day. And she had slipped out of her clothes, not needing their warmth anymore. She ran farther and faster than she thought possible, the ground flying under her as she sprang across it lithely, with four paws.

  She had to find her boys. She had to warn them.

  Final Words

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