I swallow and nod. “Okay,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He sets me down. I’m dripping luminous water all over the floor.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, my voice raw.
I know nothing about being a queen.
The soldier’s gaze travels over me.
“Rule. Rule and save us.”
The royal guard leaves soon after that. I don’t know how I manage to convince him that I’m alright. I’m not, and I probably shouldn’t be alone, even though I can’t bear the thought of sharing this grief with anyone else. It feels strangely personal.
I ring out my hair and then begin the laborious task of unpeeling my clothes and dressing in something dry. Even after I do, my wet hair drips onto the clothes.
Right about now Des would’ve dried my hair for me. He does weird, considerate things like that all the time.
Did.
I sit down heavily on my bed—our bed—a piece of paper rustling beneath me. The violent, breathless pain of my grief is slipping like poison through my veins.
I cover my eyes. Ugly, aching sobs rack my body.
I let it out, I let it all out until I feel drained dry of the last of my tears. Placing my hands on my thighs, I take a deep breath.
That’s about when I finally notice the unassuming piece of parchment that I’m sitting on, the paper crinkling every time I shift. It rests there, like Des just carelessly left it on the bed. But Des doesn’t do anything carelessly.
I pull it out from under me. It’s actually two pieces of paper, one a formal-looking document and a smaller note written by a familiar hand. I have to put the back of my palm to my mouth to stop another round of sobs.
Don’t be frightened of yourself, cherub. You are exactly as you should be. From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, I am yours always. Till darkness dies.
~Your Bargainer
Des knew he was going to die.
That’s what this is—a post-mortem love note.
Suddenly I’m angry, brutally, grievously angry at him.
My hand shakes, the paper crinkling.
That bastard. How dare he leave me.
I almost don’t read the other piece of paper, I’m so furious. But then, this is all I have left of him. A short note and another piece of parchment.
Grimacing, I smooth out the paper, my eyes trailing over the words written in formal stanzas.
The Prophecy of Galleghar Nyx
Mighty Nyx came,
Mighty Nyx sought,
All that he could,
Of his dark lot.
In the deep night,
His kingdom rose,
Beware, great king,
Of that which grows.
Easy to conquer,
Easy to crown,
But even the strongest,
Can be cut down.
Raised in the shadows,
Reared in the night,
Your child will come,
And ascend by might.
And you, the slain,
Shall wait and see,
What other things,
A soul can be.
A body to curse,
A body to blame,
A body the earth,
Will not yet claim.
Beware the mortal,
Beneath your sky,
Crush the human,
Who’ll see you die.
Twice you’ll rise,
Twice you’ll fall,
Lest you can,
Change it all.
Or perish by day,
Perish by dawn,
The world believes,
You’re already gone.
So darken your heart,
My shadow king,
And let us see,
What war will bring.
I stare at the words for a long time. Horror, fear, and fury all churn within me. My emotions feel like a roulette table, spinning round and round. I’m not sure which emotion will win out.
Is this supposed to mean something to me? Because it doesn’t.
I set the parchment aside, my emotions spinning, spinning until eventually, they land on something like grim determination.
I will finish this. I will find the Thief, I will kill him and Galleghar along with him, and then I will scour the underworld for my lost mate. I won’t stop until Des is mine again.
Nothing else will do.
A knock on the door jerks me from my thoughts.
“Your Majesty?” The soldier who left me not so very long ago now calls out from the hallway. I guess he doesn’t trust me enough after all to leave me alone.
“Come in,” I call. I almost don’t recognize my voice. It’s cool and collected, like my world hasn’t just been upended.
Des is not here. Oh God, he’s not here and I have to still function.
You’ve functioned without him once before, back when you thought you’d never see him again. You’re an old hand at this.
But back then I at least knew that the Bargainer was out there somewhere in the vast universe, sipping espressos out of tiny cups and making deals with desperate men.
The heart might in fact be the shittiest organ out there because it can feel love and love is a terrible thing.
Hate is a much better emotion.
I have plenty of hate.
I let it heat up my veins as I get up and open the door.
“Your Majesty,” the guard says from the hallway, “the Queen of Flora is here, and she’s seeking sanctuary.”
Chapter 37
Mara Verdana is alive—alive and here in Somnia.
For a moment, I’m so shocked I forget about my own issues.
I can picture the Flora Queen so clearly in my mind’s eye. Her flame-red hair, those flowers twisted in her fiery locks. Her beautiful, poisonous smile.
Brazen, wicked Mara. By the end of my stay in her kingdom, she became a tragic figure. Like me, she watched her soulmate die. And also like me, she survived the ordeal.
“Get Temper,” I command one of the guards as I’m led to the throne room.
I might not have wanted the sorceress’s company as I fell apart, but I want her by my side for everything else.
The soldiers lead me to the throne room, and my throat bobs a little when I notice the single chair waiting for me. Someone discreetly removed the second one.
I take a seat, ignoring the room full of nobles and officials, here for one reason or another. My hands squeeze the armrests.
I’m barely breathing; I have no clue how I’m supposed to rule when I can hardly hold myself together.
The doors at the other end of the room are thrown open, and a retinue carries an ornate, velvet chair on slats. Sitting in it is the Flora Queen.
Her cheeks are gaunt, her flaming red hair has dulled, and the flowers growing in them are wilted, the edges of them browned.
The sight of her withering away, is sobering. Yet her chin is still raised in that haughty defiance I remember.
The retinue comes to a stop, their final footfalls echoing throughout the room, and the fairies carrying her cart now set it down.
In the silence that follows, one of the Flora guards trailing behind the procession steps forward.
“Her Majesty,” he announces, “Our Lady of Life, Mistress of the Harvest, Queen of the Flora Kingdom and All that Grows, Mara Verdana.”
Mara’s gaze falls to me. Even her eyes, which were once so strikingly green, have now lost their luster.
If she’s surprised or offended to see me—a human—sitting on a fae throne, she doesn’t show it.
“I came as soon as I heard the news about Desmond,” she says.
I frown at her, my claws pricking into the velvet armrests.
Word gets around fast.
One of the side doors opens, and a Night soldier escorts Temper into the throne room, depositing her a few yards away from me. When she glances at me, her brows pinch together with concern. Then her gaze sweeps to Mara.
Sh
e whistles. “Never thought I’d see you again.” Temper eyes Mara up and down. “You look like you tried meth one too many times.”
Mara ignores Temper, and instead she struggles to stand. I rise from the throne.
She puts a hand out. “I’m fine.”
It takes the Flora Queen an agonizing minute to get to her feet. Once she does, her eyes flick around the room, and her gaze still has that razor sharpness that I remember. Eventually her attention moves to me.
“A moment alone?” she says.
I raise my eyebrows. “One of the last times you and I shared space, you had me whipped within an inch of my life—”
Around me some of the Night fae hiss. The sound constricts my heart. They’re defensive of me. I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t expected their acceptance at all.
“I believe, when it comes to discussing the fates of our mates,” Mara says smoothly, “you’d prefer a little discretion.”
My eyes narrow on her. I’ll give it to the Flora Queen, she has some brass balls, parading in here like some kind of rock star then demanding a private meeting.
I glance over at Temper, who’s empathically shaking her head and mouthing, “Not today, Satan.”
My eyes drift back to Mara, who looks exhausted but patient. She understands what I’m feeling. Right now, she might be the only one who understands.
Staring at her a moment longer, I finally nod. “Could you please give us a moment alone?” I ask the room.
In response, it empties. Temper glowers on her way out, muttering about how useless it was for me to drag her here if I wasn’t going to listen to her advice.
The last fairy leaves, and the doors bang closed, the sound reverberating along the walls.
I stare down at Mara.
Is this what I’m going to become? A shell of myself?
I get up and drag a nearby chair over to the velvet one Mara entered in.
“Show’s over,” I say, gesturing to her elaborate chair. “You can sit.”
She moves over to it and all but collapses into the seat, wheezing a little.
“I know he killed your mate,” she begins.
I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about.
She runs her index finger over the arm rest. “I first turned to other men ten years ago. I can remember the exact day.”
This is … not how I imagined the conversation going.
Mara continues, “I looked at the Green Man and suddenly, he didn’t pull me in the way he once did. In fact, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’d say I was repulsed by him, though seemingly nothing had changed.
“I couldn’t understand why, and of course, I was ashamed of it. Never had I heard of a fairy who was disgusted by their soulmate.
“I don’t know how the Thief did it, how he managed to scoop out the Green Man’s spirit and insert his own.” She covers her eyes for a moment. “I’ve only ever seen magic like that once before.”
My brows knit. I rest my forearms on my thighs and lean in closer.
“Back when I was young and my parents ruled the Kingdom of Flora, I met a man like you—an enchanter. Lazaret.” Mara breathes his name. “He came to our court as a minstrel, there to entertain my family and the lesser nobility.”
The Flora Queen already told me this story back when I visited her kingdom. Does she remember that, or has her mind withered along with her body?
Her eyes grow distant. “Gods, was he stunning. Golden skin, eyes like emeralds.”
I try not to roll my eyes. Mara might be tragic, but she’s still vapid.
“However, it was my sister,” Mara says, “Thalia, who claimed his heart. I envied her then, to have the attention of such a beautiful man.
“But the longer she was around Lazaret, the weaker she became. She was convinced they were mates, even though it was ridiculous—fairies can sense that sort of magic, and it wasn’t present with my sister or Lazaret. But Thalia wouldn’t be swayed. She pledged her life and her heart to the enchanter … and her power.
“My parents told her to undo what she had done, that her magic belonged to the realm, not some pretty fairy, but she wouldn’t listen to them.
“Even as Thalia weakened, Lazaret was having increasing sway amongst our people. He’d spin songs and mesmerize the audience in ways that were … unnatural.” She sighs out a breath. “And the more familiar he and I became, the more he unsettled me. It was just a conversation that turned awry somewhere along the way, or an inappropriate reaction to a situation.”
My skin pimples. I know too well what she’s talking about.
“But at the time,” she continues, “we were all under his spell. Everyone but my parents, who saw him for what he truly was—a thief.”
That word is like a cool breath against my neck.
“They called him into court one spring morning to entertain the nobles. But it was a trap. Before he could so much as open his mouth, the court’s executioner sliced off his head.”
She rubs her eyes. “My sister … she didn’t survive long enough to see the next moon cycle. Her power was hers again, but her heart wasn’t. She took my father’s sword and took her life.”
Mara frowns, her hand curling into a fist. She takes a deep breath. “I was never my sister. I never wielded the same staggering magic she did. I was supposed to marry well and enjoy the fruits of court life. Instead, she died and I inherited the throne.
“I wasn’t powerful, but the land of Flora is kind; when I was most uncertain about my kingdom’s future, it gave me my king.
“I found the Green Man, deep in the Arcane Forest. He was borne of the trees themselves; I saw it with my own eyes, the way the tree trunk’s flesh parted and a fully formed man stepped forth from it.”
Her words remind me of all those bloody soldiers curled up in trees. The Thief must’ve used the Green Man’s power to put them there.
“In that instant, our bond snapped in place. Only the greatest rulers are given this sort of gift from the land itself. The Green Man was strange and magnificent, the way wild things are, but he was no normal fairy. He was a blessing, and he was mine.”
She shudders out a breath. “I loved him. So much.” Her eyes flick to me. “I know you probably question that, but the man you saw—”
“—was the Thief,” I finish for her.
She flinches a little, her wilted flowers shifting in her hair. “How could I have missed it? I ask myself that all the time these days. I don’t have any answers. I thought that perhaps the Green Man’s strangeness was a sign that the earth was calling him home. And when the trees started … rotting … I thought my magic had betrayed me.”
The darkness will betray you, the seer had told Des.
I didn’t know magic could betray its wielder, but I of all people should know better. Des’s magic tricked him into a bargain that kept us apart for seven years.
Magic is sentient.
“I was angry and jaded at my power,” Mara says, “and at the mate who had begun to act odd and distant and spent long hours among my sacred oaks. I should’ve known. There were times when my mate seemed sinister to me.
“And then, when the sleeping women began returning to us in caskets, and we began laying them out in the greenhouses, the Green Man would often visit them. I mistook his fascination for concern, never once guessing he was resp—” her voice breaks, “—responsible.
“And so I buried my jaded emotions in warm bodies and beautiful celebrations. Even as my oaks died and my people went missing and my mate slipped farther from my reach, I pretended everything was fine.
“I became cruel.”
Her gaze holds mine captive. “And this is how my great and unlikely story ends—my soulmate dead, my lands poisoned, and an imposter in my bed who seeded his undead army in my sacred wood.” She shakes her head. “Blasphemous,” she hisses under her breath.
Grimacing, she adds, “I lived with him for ten years.”
I try not to shiver at that. She spent the las
t decade alongside a creature who raped thousands of women and killed who knows how many more. She called him her mate.
“Are you going after him?” she asks me.
We will hunt him down and carve up his flesh.
I nod. Even now my vengeance surges.
“He took my sister from me,” Mara says. “He took my soulmate from me. If I could kill him myself, I would, but alas, I’m dying.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. Her eyes blaze. “Find that thing, and end him, once and for all.”
I walk away from the throne room even as my audience streams back inside. Someone calls out to me, and I’m sure I’m making a mess of royal protocol.
Considering the day I’ve had, I think I’m entitled to give responsibilities the middle finger.
My emotions are hard to unravel. I didn’t think I had it in me to like Mara Verdana after everything she put me through, but I was wrong. I do like her when it’s too late for us to ever be friends.
Like a ghost, I slip towards my chambers.
Once I’m inside, the door, firmly shut behind me, I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed.
It’s another one of those Hail Mary days, only this time, there’s no Bargainer to drive my pain away.
Tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my entire body heavy. I don’t think I could move if I tried.
Never want to leave.
It takes no more than ten minutes for Temper to find me. I hear her bang about as she enters the room. She sets something aside then crawls onto the bed, sliding beneath the sheets.
Her arms snake around me, and she holds me close.
“It’s alright, babe,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s not.”
Temper exhales. “You’re right. It’s not. But you’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you.”
That makes a tear slip out. “Des promised me the same thing.”
The liar.
My best friend brushes my hair back, leaning over me to get a good look at my face.
“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me,” she says, “but you and I both know my ass is too evil to kill.”
A laugh slips out, and she joins in.
“I think mine might be too,” I admit.
Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3) Page 28