by Nikki Hunter
“How dare you leave me alone with him? He is lucky I don’t cut out his tongue for the lies he has told.” Kade folded his arms over his chest.
Yehven chuckled, amused. “You think you could even get ahold of my tongue? Only way you could harm me was if I let you.”
Kade let out a frustrated scream, the birds lifting from the trees around them. Zayn rolled his eyes. They were so dramatic. But the drama didn’t stop there, Kade yanked the wood out of Zayn’s hands that had been lit and threw it Yehven’s direction. Yehven easily sidestepped the burning stick.
“So that’s what we are doing?” Yehven growled.
Oh no. Zayn thought. Why, oh, why did he have to be the one stuck with these too? He really wanted Lance back to manage their stupidity. He was supposed to be the wild one, the one that got away with being an idiot. Kade was seriously losing his mind now.
With one easy lift, Yehven ripped up the log they had been using as a bench and chucked it over his head at Kade. Kade’s image rippled and appeared in front of Yehven. With two hands, Kade grabbed Yehven’s face. The log crashing and breaking loudly against the base of a tree.
“But you’re just too tired to fight,” Kade whispered, his magic flowing around their former friend. Yehven blinked, his head falling against Kade’s palms and his body going limp. Kade dropped him to the ground, turning back to Zayn with a smirk. “I could take his tongue if I wanted too.”
“Sure you could.” Zayn nodded. Kade was just lucky Yehven hadn’t gotten a chance to use all that power he had bottled up in him for so long. That and the fact that Yehven was utterly convinced that their years together under the command of Queen Katrice was enough to keep them from harming him. Still Zayn continued to fret.
Kade hadn’t used his magic like that in quite a while either. Kade didn’t like putting people to sleep, because he never knew if or when they would wake up.
Chapter Six
Disgraced
“Bekket, how’s the duck?” Queen Katrice asked, her hands neatly folded under her chin as she watched her nephew amused.
Bekket couldn’t hardly stand to look at her, couldn’t hardly stand to look away from Camila’s now limp body. It was just him this time, no Lance. A strategy to break him, he was sure. He wanted to pretend like watching Camila cry out in agony each time the girl pulled magic from her didn’t affect him.
Showing that kind of emotion would only show his aunt she was winning. She couldn’t win, he wouldn’t allow it.
The atmosphere during this dinner was strained. Not one soul wished to be here. Well, maybe with the exception of the demon twins. Yes, Bekket thought to himself, demons really were real and they had ruined his family. They had ruined this kingdom and unless he stopped it they might ruin the whole realm.
Bekket was scared. He didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to even take the time to acknowledge it but it was there nonetheless. Hesitantly, he looked away from Camila and gave his attention to his aunt. “I don’t like duck. You know that.”
Katrice lips parted in a slow sneer. “Oh, that’s right.”
He couldn’t bear to give her one more second of his attention and turned back toward Camila to look over his untouched plate. Bekket stared hard, counting each time Camila’s chest rose and fell with a breath.
“Isn’t Jasmine doing so well?” Katrice continued. “Though maybe you could give her some pointers, Bekket. You are really much more experienced. I could give you your old job back if you like. Camila here seems to be quite the puzzle. The magic bearing puzzle.” Blue flame danced at her fingertips as she played with some of Camila’s magic she had stolen. She wanted it all and she wasn’t going to stop until she had it.
Bekket ran his hand over his face and looked down at the table in attempt to hold his tongue. There was little he could do here. He was always outnumbered. He was a prisoner. A prisoner in his own home. A thought that would always pain him more than he would let on.
All the fleeting memories of joy he had here in this castle were being replaced by this manic queen he called his aunt. Bekket wished his uncle was well, well enough to do something. He knew deep down that was never going to happen. His uncle was going to die, nobody’s efforts would do anything to help him. No matter how much power the queen attempted to possess she could never save her husband. No amount of magic could do that. But she lived on in denial. A maddening, chaotic, denial.
Camila stirred. Bekket hoped she wouldn’t wake for he knew if she did the torture would begin all over again. One more second of her pain and Bekket would opt for stabbing out his eyes with the fork on his untouched plate.
“You used me,” Bekket whispered. He had to say it, wanted to say it. Was there therapy in getting the words out even if it didn’t change a thing?
“Excuse me?” Katrice said loudly.
This time he met her dark gaze. “You used me.”
“Oh, my naive nephew. It was a job, a job to better you and this kingdom. Get over it.” Katrice waved her hands nonchalantly. Nothing ever affected her like it did everyone else. With that much power she couldn’t be bothered by anything, of course.
“Don’t lie. I’m so sick of you lying to my face. Don’t pretend like you take anyone else, including this kingdom, into consideration before you do anything. You’re selfish. You’re selfish and you’re ruining this kingdom.” The words slithered from Bekket’s mouth like an angry viper ready to strike remorse into his aunt.
“Bekket! You’re family and I always take that into consideration. Was it selfish of me to spare your life?” Katrice leaned back in her chair, watching him carefully.
“I don’t know. Did you not just ask me to continue sucking the powers out of any and all fae you come across so you could gain more power? Did you not save me just to see if I would take the opportunity to do just that? Or do you have other motives?”
The room was silent. No one at the table was eating any longer. The demon twins both grinned at each other, revelling in the chaos he was sure. Vargan though looked the most uncomfortable.
Katrice snorted. With one hand she began drumming her fingertips against the table in thought, the other hand picked up her wine glass with which she drank heavily from.
“You know nothing of my motives. Or my plans, boy. I have lived hundreds of years before you and have seen the wicked things this world has done to our kingdom, to this very family.” Though her voice was soft it was lined with something feral. “You are nothing but a dumb lad. One who clearly can not see the endgame.”
“Oh, I see the endgame.” Bekket smiled. “It just doesn’t include you living to see it.”
His aunt didn’t look shocked by his words. Almost didn’t even seem to care. Her gaze, though, drifted from him across the table. Bekket’s gut churned. He followed her attention and prayed that the smile that graced her lips was for anything other than what he dreaded.
Camila blinked at him, barely able to hold her head up from the chair. Her stare was empty. Bekket saw this look on her everytime she was here and it killed him. The only way she survived it all was to curl into some deep safe place inside her mind, the only place that could keep her sane.
Fear washed over him leaving him pale. Katrice cackled. Camila pulled herself forward with a small grunt, sitting up as best she could in the restraints. A small flash of joy played over her features and reared her head back and spat towards the queen.
That’s my girl, Bekket thought. She’s in pain but she hasn’t broken yet.
“Realm Renegade, I’m glad you’re awake.” The queen snapped her fingers, her eyes never breaking Camila’s glare.
Behind Bekket a loud thump and a couple clatters had everyone twisting in their seats. Crouched low to the ground, two swords on either side of him, Lance breathed heavily. His eyes scanned the room.
Bekket shivered from the adrenaline that pumped threw him for he knew what was coming and he new what he was going to do. Wood scrapped loudly against tile as Bekket pushed his chair back
and stood.
“My Queen, might I suggest another alternative,” Vargan implored, his hands folded together on the table as he leaned forward.
“No, you may not.” Katrice snapped again, a gag covering Vargan’s mouth, chains tying him his chair. “And you may not ever suggest so again. You’re either on my side or theirs and if you are the latter, well, you’ll find it won't end well for you.”
Vargan didn’t make any attempt to move or pull against the bindings the queen had placed on him. He only wearily watched Camila as she tried to keep her mouth from falling open.
Bekket took his place in front of Lance, picking up the sword at his feet. He motioned for Lance to do the same. Lance shook his head. Bekket gritted his teeth and pointed the sword at Katrice, her guards inching closer.
“This is what you want? Truly?” He let his voice boom as he spoke.
“Fight to the death,” she drawled.
“Pick up your sword.” Bekket gritted out at Lance.
Lance made no move to do so. So Bekket walked forward, grabbing the weapon, and held it out to Lance. Finally, their gazes met and Lance grasped the hilt. A small smile tugged one side of Bekket’s lips up into a crooked grin.
“You’re too strong to let her win,” Bekket whispered to Lance, letting Lance take full hold of the sword and carefully stroking his hand down Lance’s jawline. “You’re too smart to let her be the end of you.”
As Bekket stepped away, Lance pointed the blade to the ground, still unwilling to fight. Bekket didn’t want it this way either. Hated the thought of even laying a single finger on Lance. They had done this before and only managed to escape it because Camila couldn’t bear her magic being pulled from her being any longer and passed out. The queen wouldn’t let that be an option this time.
“Fight, NOW!” Katrice bellowed.
When Bekket lifted his sword again and Lance only watched the ground with a deep sadness and anger, the queen snapped her fingers once more. Camila’s screams echoed through the room. Her body rigid as long lines of blood began running down her arms and soaking through her clothes. Katrice was using her magic to shred her skin to pieces.
Lance didn’t utter a word but instead lunged forward. The singing of their swords meeting ended Camila’s cries when the queen was pleased. Bekket let them put on a show. Let it appear as if he might win as he nicked Lance here and there. He let Lance pick at him too until blood dripped from the cut against his hairline into his eyes.
He had grown used to Lance’s style, familiar with the way he moved in many fashions. So when Lance went to meet Bekket’s sword he dropped the weapon and let blade meet flesh. Bekket didn’t feel the pain at first, nor did he notice the searing fire that burned within his chest as he tried to inhale. No, it was the surprised look on Lance’s face.
Lance let go of the sword but it still stuck out of Bekket’s chest at an odd angle. Blood oozed out of the wound and panic gripped Lance.
“No, no, no,” Lance cried.
Behind them Camila let out a whimper and looked away. Katrice stood from the table the chair behind her clatter to the floor. “You moron! I’m glad you won’t be around to inherit the throne. You’re a disgrace to our family.”
The queen’s words were lost on Bekket, he only smiled and grunted as he ripped the weapon from his body. Around him, the world spun and he let himself fall to his knees then to his side where crimson stained the ground around him.
Lance met him on the ground. “Why did you do that? I was supposed to die. You were supposed to kill me.” His eyes were instantly round and red rimmed with tears that hadn’t yet fallen to his cheeks.
Air wheezed out of Bekket as he tried to speak, tried to tell Lance that this was his plan all along. He could never truly be the king that Treteauh needed. With him gone the queen had nothing left to hold over them. Without him his knowledge of how to control and manipulate his powers and powers like his would be lost.
Bekket smiled as his vision blurred. The queen wouldn’t win. He wouldn’t allow it. Bekket closed his eyes as a snap of Katrice’s fingers had Lance instantly returned to his room.
A loud sob was the last thing Bekket heard from Camila as the guards picked up his limp body and tossed him out with the trash.
Chapter Seven
Blessed and Warned
Layla missed Char. Why didn’t she bring him with? They had been together long enough it felt like he was a part of her. Now she was far away, alone, and clueless and her whole body ached from the distance. Char would know how to calm her down, how to help her find a way.
So far she had stumbled from one store to the next, crossed many busy roads, and managed to step in some sort of pink colored tar that made her shoe stick the ground with each step. Now she found herself in the first bit of greenery this human city seemed to offer. Layla passed contraptions that children climbed and played on and followed a thin weaving path through the sparse trees.
The wind picked up stirring rapidly around her, strands of hair falling loose from her ponytail. Leaves from the brush nearby danced around her until the wind became too much and she closed her quickly drying eyes.
“Layla, you have a mission,” her mother’s voice called out.
Layla’s palms began to sweat. Gingerly, she cracked an eye to peek out at the goddess who had formed before her. No, not a goddess but a fate.
“Layla, you must tell Camila.” Hands made from twigs and fallen leaves lifted up towards her face, caressing her in an almost threatening way. “You’re running out of time.”
She wanted to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat but if she tried she feared she might throw up. With a nervous tick, she glanced around the human world so quiet and still in the distance passed the tornado of wind that encircled her now.
“I’m trying.” She called out, the wind catching her words and running away with her voice. Could this fate even hear her? “I tried.”
The fate’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “Fae girl, you must try harder.”
Fumbling against the breeze, Layla reached in her pocket for the picture. “I’m trying to find this home. Can you help me? It’s the only way to help Camila.”
Octavia snatched the picture from her hands, the image shredding against the sticks she used as bones. A hiss escaped the fate. “You run a fool's errand. Camila will not win anything unless she succumbs to her full potential. Return to your lands immediately before the other fates take notice of your presence, I can only keep you hidden for so long.”
Layla tried not to gasp as the pieces of the only image that could help her get to the location of Camila’s watch floated around her. She couldn’t let Camila down. No matter what Octavia thought, she had to do something to help her brother.
“I…,” she started, the words lost on her lips as the vegetation that had formed the fate dispersed into the violent tornado. Against the painful wind she held up her hands to cover her face, her ponytail falling completely sending her hair in disarray.
“You’re running out of time. Go home now. You’re running out of time.” The words were screamed over the shrieking wind and echoed in Layla’s worried mind.
The flurry quickly died down in the absence of the fate. Layla gazed ahead in confusion. She no longer stood amongst the small woods of the city. No, the fate had given her a gift. Perhaps, a warning too.
Atop the hill that she now stood at the bottom of was the beautiful beautiful grey home. The place she needed to be all along.
She didn’t take the time to worry why the fate was helping her as she sprinted for the top. But the looming dread of her warning was immensely heavy as she stomped closer to the entrance. The wood of the door was splintered and shards of it hung from the hinges and was scattered against what was clearly once very well kept tile.
You’re running out of time. She would find the watch.
Plainly she could see the living and kitchen area, it was mediocre at best. Layla frantically opened drawers, cabin
ets, looking through bags and other things left about.
Go home now. She wouldn’t let Lance down.
Behind her cushions of the lush furniture were tossed, the whole couch shoved quickly to the side with nothing of importance under it. She twisted around, unsure of where to go to next. The house could only have so many hiding spots.
You’re running out of time. It would be over her dead body that she didn’t complete this mission.
A large staircase led upstairs and hastily she took them two at a time.
Chapter Eight
Beautiful Fool
Finally back through the tear, Layla patted her pocket where the device Camila needed was safely tucked away. She was already making her way through the halls of the castle. Her palms felt clammy and her hands shook but she wiped them against her uniform as if she could wipe away her nerves.
If anyone asked, she was running an errand for the king. The poor man.
Layla knew she should go and visit him tonight, bring him to his nephew to see him before his time was up. The king was looking more sick and brittle every day.
Two guards stood before Camila’s room. Layla stood straighter, squaring her jaw so they would know she would be worth more trouble than they wanted should they try and mess with her. As one of the few women in the guard, you had to be tough. Be tough or they would chew you up.
“The king has asked me to relay some information to the prisoners.”
The guards watched her for a second. She raised her eyebrows and spoke again, “Well are you fools going to let me in or should I return to his majesty and explain that a couple of thick headed waste of space guards where in my way.”
The one on the left, Layla thought his name was Edward, cleared his throat. “The queen has asked that no one be let in or out unless it was her command.”
Layla scoffed. “Is it the queen you are most loyal too then?” It was the unspoken thing amongst every person in the watch. The queen was undoubtedly wicked and evil, but the king still held the hearts of everyone in this land. He was the thread that kept them from rebellion. That and pure fear of the queen’s ever growing power.