I stare at them as they approach. “What are they?”
“Reaves,” says Galleghar with no little amount of distaste. “They are the overseers of the Pit, Oh Dark Queen Who Thinks I’m a Douchebucket of the Most Epic Proportions.”
“You can stop with the titles,” I say.
“He still better call me by mine,” Temper says.
“You can stop with all the titles except hers,” I amend, pointing to my friend.
Gallegher glowers.
The reaves approach us, the sight of them making the hairs along my arm stand on end.
I don’t know how they feel about me using their precious Pit to get to the Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth, but I doubt they’re going to be thrilled about it.
They stop when they get close to us, one of them scenting the air. God, they’re a hideous pair, their limbs gangly, their eyes beady, and their lips tight and bloodless.
One of them scents the air. “Our old king, a human, and … something halfway interesting,” one of them announces, its eyes landing on me. Around us, I feel that thick, cloying magic stir up.
Des’s father steps up from behind me. “As rightful heir—”
“Hold you breeches, buddy,” I say. “You’re not to talk to these two nice reaves.”
The nice reaves that look like they wouldn’t mind eating us all alive.
“The King of the Night is at the bottom of that pit,” I say to them, nodding to the hole. Strange, inhuman noises are coming from it.
Things live in that place, things that don’t necessarily belong to this world or the next. I’m going to have to face them.
“All the dead end up somewhere at the bottom of the Pit,” one of the reaves says from his twisted mouth.
“You misunderstand me,” I say slowly. “I’m telling you your king is down there not because he’s dead, but because I’m going into that hole and getting him back.”
“You can’t,” one of the reaves says. “It’s forbidden.”
The other reave’s nostrils flare; I get the impression he’s scenting the air again.
“I am,” I insist, “and neither you, nor anyone else will stop me,” I command, my voice harmonizing with itself, my glamour thick in the air.
“You can’t possibly navigate your way down,” the other reave says, even as he steps out of my way.
“You better hope I can,” I reply, “or else I’m dragging you down there with me.”
In the darkness, some creature hisses, and the noises from the Pit have ratcheted up with excitement.
“Fresh blood,” I seem to hear one of the voices say.
Yes, my siren purrs, there’s plenty of fresh blood for us to spill.
“Is that a threat?” the reave asks.
“Damn straight it is,” Temper says. “Have you not been listening?” The sorceress’s power is beginning to crackle.
We’re wasting time squabbling. With every moment that passes, Des is slipping farther from me.
I unleash the full force of my power, my flesh throbbing with the pulse of my magic. “I’m going into the Pit, and I’m coming out with your king. No one is to stop me, and no one is to do me or my human friend here any harm.”
“The white-haired fairy you can fuck with,” Temper adds darkly, earning her a glare from Galleghar.
In response to my commands, the reaves fall back, their eyes glittering with malice.
I glance at Temper. “This is where I leave you.”
“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” she asks accusingly.
“You will not follow me into the Pit,” I command.
Did she really think I’d let her enter the land of the dead?
“Don’t you dare leave me out here.” Temper’s magic begins to spark down her skin, a sure sign that she’s getting pissed. “That is not how this works.”
How this works is I’m not going to let my friend get killed.
“I love you, Temper, but this is my battle.” She wasn’t going to be dying today. “If I’m not back in a day, then you can come looking for me.”
God, please don’t make me eat my words.
“I’m not waiting a day,” she protests.
I grip her arms. “I have to do this, Temper.” I’m practically begging with her.
She stares at me for a beat, then pulls me into her arms and hugs me tight. “You keep yourself safe—the least you can do is promise me that.”
I squeeze her, holding her close. “I promise.” It’s a lie, but one we both need to hear.
“You kill that motherfucker,” she adds.
I nod into her shoulder. “I will.” Or at least, I’ll try. Not sure yet how I’m going to kill an undead thing.
Releasing her, I back up. Temper doesn’t try to stop me, though the broken expression on her face nearly makes me falter.
Beyond her, I catch sight of a retreating figure. Des’s father, trying to get away, that snake.
“Galleghar, stop,” I command.
He pauses midstride.
“Come back to me.”
Robotically, he returns, his steps halting as he fights my glamour.
They never figure out it’s useless.
I tilt my head when he stops in front of me. “Did you really think I’d let you leave?”
He snarls something incoherent.
“That’s cute,” I comment. My heart pangs when I realize it’s something Des would’ve said. “When I told you you’d be my guide, I meant you were leading me all the way down.”
He glares at me but obediently steps up to the edge of the Pit.
I follow after him, aware of the curious gazes of dozens of different fae, all of them watching what we’ll do next.
Des’s father stares down into the inky blackness.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Lead the way to the Thief’s kingdom.”
“You’re going to die for this,” he vows.
Before I can respond, Galleghar’s wings manifest. I feel something lodge in my throat at the sight of them. They’re dark and talon-tipped.
So similar to Des’s.
Galleghar steps off the ledge then, diving into the darkness.
I spare a final glance at Temper, whose skin is continuing to spark, her power barely under control. She looks devastated at being left behind.
I lift a hand to her, and then I step off the ledge.
My wings unfurl behind me, spreading out to control my fall as I spiral downwards.
I made a mistake, thinking Galleghar could lead the way. The darkness here seems to swallow everything up, including him. I’m the only thing illuminating this trench in the earth, and the glow from my skin is shedding light on the frightening fae that live here.
Hairless, naked creatures cling to the walls, their forms emaciated, the wings at their backs shriveled with disuse. One of them snarls at me as I pass, another sniffs the air, its mouth gaping open.
Truly, these fae are the things of nightmares.
Winged, pixie-like creatures with snapping teeth zip through the air, battering into me like bugs against a windshield, their forms drawn in by my light and my glamour.
“You are to let me pass unharmed,” I command. I have to repeat the order over and over again as I descend so that fae who were once out of earshot can hear my words and obey.
Down and down I descend, and there’s seemingly no end in sight. By all logic, the bottom of this pit should either bring me to the heart of the floating island … or it should cut straight through the island and empty out into the night sky below. Instead, this trench is supposedly going to spit us out in the Thief’s kingdom.
I’ll believe it when I see it.
The temperature dips, getting increasingly cold. The fae that live this far down are strange, sightless things, their bodies pale and fleshy, their eyes clouded over from disuse.
Eventually, the air grows still and I stop seeing fae at all. Every now and then I’ll hear a yowl or a piercing cry, but then those, too, die off.
All at once, the ground rises up beneath me.
I land hard on a pile of bones, the brittle remains crumbling beneath my weight. A plume of dust kicks up, unfurling slowly in the molasses-like air.
I dust myself off, taking in my surroundings. I can’t see much besides bones and bones and bones. There are skulls and femurs and ribs and so many other bits of anatomy that I can’t identify. The longer I look, the more I begin noticing the tarnished armor amongst the bones. A crescent moon is stamped onto a metal shield. Another helmet bears the same mark.
Night soldiers.
Shit.
“There you are.”
My head snaps up as Galleghar steps out from the darkness. He’s bloody and his clothes in tatters. All across his skin are bite marks and, in some areas, missing flesh. It’s healing over, but each wound is a grim reminder of what might’ve happened to me if I didn’t have my glamour to fend off all the fae living in the Pit.
I glance back down at the bones.
“Why are there Night soldiers down here?” I ask.
Galleghar kicks a bone uselessly aside.
“Long ago, I invaded the Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth.”
Horror dawns on me. All of these bones, they belonged to fairies Galleghar had brought down here—brought down here to die.
“Illuminate this place,” I command him.
Galleghar stares at me for several seconds. Then, extending his hand, a ball of light forms. As I watch, it grows bigger and brighter before lifting off of the fallen king’s palm and floating into the air above us.
Now I get a good look at our surroundings. As far as the eye can see, the ground is an ocean of bones. There must be … thousands of bodies.
“Why?” I ask, my eyes searching the remains.
“The Thief needed a realm to rule.”
I glance sharply at Galleghar. “What do you mean the Thief needed a realm to rule?”
Des’s father gives me a cryptic smile. “He was an invader.”
My eyes sweep over the graveyard. “And you helped him.”
Galleghar brought an army here to take over a kingdom. He allowed these soldiers to die, all so that he could insert the Thief onto a stolen throne.
Jesus.
Someone else used to rule this place. Someone presumably who now is under the rule of the Thief. I shiver to think what the afterlife must be like for them.
“I did.”
Galleghar moves away from me, the bones of his former soldiers crunching under his feet. He pays them no attention. And why should he? In his mind, fairies are only as good as their use.
“This way,” he says over his shoulder. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
We stride on, wading through the frightening graveyard. Among the dead soldiers are skeletons of monsters who lived and died in this place. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen something like this—or that I ever will again.
Galleghar’s earlier light bobs along above us, illuminating a massive stone archway ahead. On our side of it lay the bones of the dead, on the other side, thick, curling smoke obscures our view.
The fallen king passes under that archway without a backward glance, the smoke stirring as it swallows him up.
I hesitate.
I have no game plan, no grand knowledge that could be the Thief of Souls’ undoing. All I have is determination and a few weapons.
I hope that’s good enough.
Taking a deep breath, I pass under the archway and officially enter the Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth.
Chapter 41
I wasn’t expecting gardens. Gardens filled with plants that probably have names like Bloodroot and Devil’s Bane, but gardens nonetheless. They extend to either side of me, boarding the stone pathway I stand on.
Galleghar is twenty feet ahead of me, walking up the pathway, and he doesn’t even bother looking back. Far ahead of us a palace made from pale stone reaches up towards the night sky, its towers and spires looking like the bones of a monster. The castle sits perched at the edge of an ocean.
The afterlife has an ocean. My siren stirs at that.
The air is still icy and motionless, but this place, it looks like any other place in the Otherworld, with its manicured gardens and the night sky overhead. This is not at all how I’d imagine the afterlife.
I follow Galleghar up the stone path to the palace. The entire time we don’t see another soul.
The Thief is somewhere in this place. I can feel his dark magic pressing in on all sides, and I sense unseen eyes on me. But if he’s near, he’s not making himself known.
Galleghar steps up to two enormous doors. I stop alongside him.
“What now?” I ask.
In response, the massive double doors begin to groan open.
Galleghar gives me a chilling smile.
“After you,” he says, gesturing forward.
And have him at my back? I don’t think so.
“You lead the way,” I command.
The fallen king gives me a long look, then steps into the castle with me following at his back.
Inside, our footsteps echo. There’s an entryway, and side tables, tapestries, and strange plants growing up the castle’s walls. Basically, the kingdom of the dead’s castle looks like every other fae palace I’ve been to, which makes the whole experience frighteningly real.
I’ve never been more certain of my own mortality than this moment, stepping inside the palace of the King of Death and Deep Earth. It feels like I’ve moved too far from the land of the living.
But then, my heart throbs, my bond with Des giving a soft tug, and I nearly fall to my knees. Letting out a soft gasp, I press my hand to my chest.
I feel him. It’s weak, but I feel him.
My Bargainer. The world stopped turning the moment he disappeared. Now, I can imagine it moving once more.
Desperation like I’ve never known, takes over. Turning inward, I try to use the pull of our bond to track where my mate is.
I’ve done this once before and it didn’t work, but now I move with my instincts, leaving Galleghar’s side and wandering through the castle, unaware of the rooms I’m moving through, focusing on that magical tether that’s reawakened now that I’m in the Land of Death and Deep Earth.
Wonder of wonders, I can feel my connection to Des subtly strengthening.
I’m doing it. I’m actually tracking my mate through our bond. The thought nearly takes my breath away.
My footsteps echo around me. Getting closer. I can feel it.
The next room I enter is covered from floor to ceiling with shelves upon shelves, each one crammed with jars and potions, books with gilded titles and instruments whose use I couldn’t possibly guess. Right in the middle of the room is an intricately carved marble slab, and lying on a slab is—
“Des.” His name, unbidden, spills out from my lips.
Now I run.
He’s so still. Too still.
He can’t be dead. Not here, in the land of the dead. This is where fae get to spend their afterlife.
I stop when I get to that stone slab. My connection pulses once, as if to confirm that this isn’t some illusion.
I reach out, my hand trembling. I’m almost afraid to touch him. Something thick lodges in my throat.
I thought I’d be elated, finding Des. Instead, I feel like I’m losing him all over again.
His long eyelashes kiss the top of his cheeks, and his white hair is fanned around him. He looks like all those bespelled people in the fairy tales, sleeping some eternal sleep. He’s beautiful and heartbreaking to look at.
“Des,” I repeat, my voice pleading. With a shaky hand I touch his cheek; his skin is clammy and cold. “Wake up.”
He doesn’t move.
My fingers trail down his face, over his chin and past his neck, stopping at his hea
rt. I press my palm to it. Beneath my touch, his heart beats sluggishly.
He’s alive—whatever that means at this point.
I feel weak with relief for several seconds, until I remember that the sleeping soldiers were technically alive too, suspended in a state much like this.
A bit of me dies at the thought. My Night King reduced to this.
Behind me, a man clucks his tongue.
“You don’t belong here.”
My skin pricks at the familiar voice.
I turn, and it’s only now that I notice the flickering torch lights and candelabras beating back an unnatural darkness.
The Thief of Souls stands amongst it all, and he’s exactly as he’s appeared in my dreams. Inky hair and upturned, empty eyes. Pale skin and a mouth that’s far too soft for the rest of his face.
Finally the two of us meet in the flesh.
He begins to clap. “Well done, well done, enchantress. You figured out how to find me. And here I thought you were utterly useless at solving problems. I should’ve known you’d simply need the right”—his eyes slide to Des—“incentive.”
My skin is still glowing, but now I unleash the full force of my glamour.
“Wake my mate up,” I demand.
The Thief’s eyes shine with interest. He walks over to Des, staring down at the Night King for a moment. Lifting a hand, the Thief holds it over the Bargainer’s face. I sense dark magic gathering in his palm, but then he closes his hand and withdraws it.
“I don’t think I want to do that,” the Thief says.
How could he defy us?
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “You didn’t really think that was going to work on me now, did you?” The Thief’s eyes still spark, but he doesn’t have the look of a glamoured fairy.
He saunters over to me, and I watch him with angry eyes.
The Thief stops right in front of me. “Tell me, how do you plan on slaying me and reclaiming your mate?” With a finger, he lifts one of my holsters. “Surely not with these weapons? Were you hoping to use them against me?” The Thief’s mouth curves up. He pulls the blade out and tosses it aside. “I’m sorry to tell you that you can’t kill me with any of the little toys you brought.”
And … there goes what plans I did have.
Slowly, the Thief circles me, reaching out as he does so to remove various weapons. All the while he looks bored and unimpressed.
Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3) Page 31