Rise From The Embers (Lightness Saga Book 4)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “Margo,” her voice broke, barely audible, but hatred contorted Fionna’s features.

  “Holy shit,” Ryker and Croygen both said, open-mouthed.

  “Shite,” Garrett scoffed, shaking his head, a strange chuckle coming from him.

  My head snapped around, and I wiggled until I could see the figure standing in the entry.

  My eyes ran over the woman. Her hair was cut in a black bob with hints of the true violet shining under the light. Her trim figure was dressed in black jeans, boots, and a formfitting sweater, with a constant cruel smile on her face. A sword hung from her waist.

  Holy hell.

  “Amara?” I blinked as every moment the goblin metal eased off my throat, making it easier to talk.

  Her malevolent grin curved higher on her mouth. She rocked her hips as she strutted into the room, her eyes glowing with delight.

  “Oh, Zoey. It’s been a while. Can I say how much I haven’t missed you?” She walked past Garrett and me and moved straight to Ryker, placing her hand on his chest. “You, I’ve really missed.”

  “Shocker,” Garrett muttered. Croygen rolled his eyes.

  “Funny, because I’ve dreamed about strangling you to death,” Ryker snarled, his shoulders tensing.

  “Well, we did prefer it kinky.” She winked, rubbing her hand over his torso, moving lower. “And maybe you shouldn’t tell Zoey you’re still dreaming of me.”

  “Get your fucking hands off me, Amara,” he snapped at her, also trying to free himself of the strighoul’s hold.

  “What a waste you have become. You were magnificent. You could have been a legend. Now you change diapers. Pathetic, Ryker. Half demon, half wanderer and you play house with humans.”

  “Guess I’ll have to bear my failings.”

  “Wait.” Fionna’s brows drew down, still hoarse. “How do you know Margo?”

  “Margo?” My eyebrow went up. “Is that what you go by now? What was wrong with deceiving, lying, malicious bitch?”

  “I couldn’t get that all on a business card.” She looked at me, but her body remained pointed at Ryker. Then her attention moved to the man next to him. “Croygen, good to see you’re still sniffing around Zoey, hoping for a handout.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You tried. Over and over, remember?”

  The muscles around Croygen’s neck strained, coiling with rage.

  “Garrett. It’s never been a pleasure.” She waved off the Irishman next to me. “Always someone’s bitch.”

  “Better than spreading my legs and being a hussy to the top bidder,” Garrett shot back. It looked as though he finally learned his lesson with her as well. It took Croygen long enough.

  She glared at Garrett, spreading her distaste onto Cadoc next. He didn’t react to her.

  I twisted my face to Fionna. “Let’s just say we all go way back,” I replied to her question. “She’s like an STD that won’t go away.” The woman had plenty of enemies in this room. By Fionna’s daggered scowl, it appeared the list was getting longer.

  My astonishment at seeing her quickly evaporated. I was only shocked I’d been surprised at all. This was exactly something Amara would do—keep attaching herself to power, moving up the ladder, going for the top rung. It was who she was: a deceiver. She would lie, cheat, and manipulate to get what she wanted.

  “Missed your chance,” Fionna gulped, pushing through her pain. Her voice became stronger. “The stone’s gone, Margo, Amara, whoever the hell you are.”

  Of course. The stone. “Seriously?” My head dipped back. “You are still trying to get it? Girl, give it up. It’s just not that into you.”

  She swung around, glaring at me. “Why, Zoey? You took everything else from me. I am owed that.”

  “As I told you before, you can’t take something which was never truly yours,” I snarled. Ryker. This always came back to him.

  Her mouth opened to speak again, but Stavros strolled into the room, and we all went still. Amara became an afterthought. My eyes tracked his every step. I hated to give him props, but the goblin-metal smoke bombs had crippled us, even after the blast. It had covered us in its poisoned ashes, keeping all of us as threatening as kittens.

  “Welcome! I am so happy to have you all.” Stavros pulled his hands to his chest in false sincerity. He moved to Goran. “You lived…well, sort of.”

  Goran’s face stayed blank, as though he didn’t even notice Stavros.

  “You’re a cheery one. Happy to be alive, huh?” Stavros tapped his face. Only Goran’s irises moved, looking through Stavros.

  The King snorted, walking back to the middle of the room. “I have a few house rules for all of you, you understand.” He looked at Amara. “My lovely, can you show my guests what they will lose if they try to attack me?”

  “Gladly.” She leered at me and Fionna, moving past us with smug intensity. She reached for a set of switches on the wall.

  “No. No…this isn’t happening again,” Fionna whimpered to herself, understanding what was going to occur far more than I did.

  “Oh, did Lars do this before?” Stavros snapped his fingers. “Dammit. I thought I was being original.” He put his hands on his hips, sighing deeply. “I guess I’ll have to try and be more creative then.”

  With that, Amara flicked the switch, lighting up the room behind the glass.

  A cry broke out next to me, but my gaze was locked on the figures behind the glass.

  My world.

  Everything.

  Collapsed.

  I lurched forward, a shrill scream breaking from my tender throat. “Wyatt!”

  Kate sat in a chair holding him, but she looked drugged, her eyes rolled back into her head, the baby fussing on her lap. Oh gods. What did I do? I thought I was protecting them.

  Desperation to get to Wyatt vaporized all logic, my limbs whipping around like a feral animal. A dozen hands pinned me in place, preventing me from moving, the goblin metal coating my skin, working deeper the more I fought against their hold.

  A roar broke from the other side of the room, Ryker shoved through the strighoul like a linebacker, making them screech and howl in excitement, biting him. He crumpled to the floor but still tried to crawl forward, reaching for his son.

  “Nic!” Ember screamed.

  Fionna fought next to me, screaming the name “Piper” over and over.

  My gaze breaking from Wyatt for a moment, I noticed the little brown-haired girl with bright blue eyes in the room next to Wyatt. Piper. She couldn’t be more than four or five. A gorgeous man, presumably Nic, wore an eyepatch over one eye was chained to a chair next to Piper, sweat pouring down his pain-etched face. His eye was on the girl, his mouth muttering words I could not hear.

  “Silence!” Stavros yelled. “Or I cause more pain to them.”

  The room went still, our labored breaths the only sound in the space.

  “I have placed goblin-metal bombs in the air ducts above them. You all experienced how agonizingly painful it is. Even if they’re not fae, breathing in metal slivers will cause internal bleeding. Even the little Druid will not be able to heal herself fast enough. Behave and I won’t have to use them.”

  Kate was human; she couldn’t heal herself at all. And a baby? His powers to heal or do anything wouldn’t kick in until he was much older. Wyatt would die along with Kate. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “You wondered, queenie, what I would do if you didn’t willingly bend your knee to me.” He waved back at his hostages. “How I could collect you all and have you work for me without question?”

  “You fucking bollocks,” Fionna seethed.

  “Uh-uh.” Stavros wiggled his finger. “Watch your mouth, Fionna. You’re speaking to the King.”

  “King?” Ember’s face was damp with perspiration, her bruised eye drooping and swollen, but she still wrestled against the strighoul’s hold. With the constant exposure to the metal and the lack of magic in the room, none of us could truly heal. “Is this what you think
a King does? You aren’t even near the same realm as a true King.”

  “No. Lars was soft and weak. You all got comfortable and entitled. Benign. He was too lenient and indolent. People like false freedoms. They want someone telling them what to do, providing the illusion they are free. But humans take it too far, get big ideas and try to fight against us. I respect what Aneira was trying to do. The humans will know their place again. And so will all of you.”

  He stared at us for a beat before he let out a howling laugh, goosebumps rippling down my arms.

  “You should see all your faces.” His green eyes danced. “Wow! It’s as though I kicked your puppy or something.”

  Oh. Hell. He is crazy.

  “You guys are going to be so much fun to have around.” He motioned at our group, his chuckles petering out. “Okay, I’m sure you’re all tired and want to rest up for the day’s activities. First day at camp is always the most difficult. Exhausting.” His humor died away in an instant as he turned to the strighoul. “Show them to their rooms.”

  This was not unlike when I’d been taken by that gang in Seattle that my instincts sprouted like weeds. If they locked us up, probably separate, it was game over.

  “No! No!” Fionna bellowed hoarsely. She rammed herself forward, trying to get to the glass. Thrashing, she wormed away from the strighoul’s hold, falling on her knees in front of her daughter. “Piper!”

  “Mummy. No.” The little girl put her hand to the glass, as if she could see and hear us. “Don’t fight. He will hurt you.”

  Fionna whimpered, leaning her head toward her child’s hand.

  “I’m supposed to be here. I can’t leave yet. I will protect him. He needs me.”

  The strighoul wrenched Fionna back to her feet and hauled her toward the door.

  My focus landed on my son and the white-haired woman who had become my family and his grandma. I would not lose either of them. Or anyone in this room. Yet each of us were powerless. There were a dozen strighoul for each of us. My hands flexed in back of me, my thumb running over the scar in my palm.

  Fuck, Zoey, you really can’t be thinking of doing this.

  Yet at the sight of my weakened comrades around the room, the children and loved ones tortured and held as leverage…I knew I had no other choice.

  There was a good possibility it wouldn’t even work. I was going to try anything. For Wyatt, Kate, Piper, and Nic, at least.

  Hands pushed me to move, but I stood my ground, shutting my eyes, and directed all the energy I had left into the two symbols carved into my hand.

  Stone! I screamed in my head. Come for me. You want me. Come get me!

  Silence, but I thought I felt a tingle in my hand.

  You get us out of here, I paused, terrified I was making an even worse decision, and I will go with you.

  Again, nothing. Shit.

  I crumpled to the floor, succumbing to the crushing defeat. Stavros had us squarely in his hands. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect Wyatt.

  Sickness like thick, chunky soup swirled in my stomach. I fought so long to never be a victim again, no matter what happened to me. But if anything happened to Wyatt…there would be no coming back from that.

  The strighoul shuffled us to the other side of the underground quarters, pointing us toward a different area of the dungeon where we had found Garrett and Cadoc.

  A line of metal doors led down the hallway almost stacking up against each other, but each one of these were built into the foundation of the ground. They were tiny, dark cells with heavy bolted doors.

  “For you, my dear.” Stavros opened the first one, waving Kennedy to enter. Goblin metal and something else I couldn’t put my finger on coated the door and room. Shit. Once they put us in, the chances of escaping were nearly impossible.

  “What is this?” Kennedy shoved back into the monsters holding her. She glanced briefly at Fionna. “How are you doing this? Blocking our magic?”

  Fae could not usually control Druid magic, which was one of the reasons fae feared and targeted them.

  “I learned a thing or two in South America from the Kalku,” Stavros replied.

  My stomach dropped. Living in South America, I knew of the Kalku of Chile. Kalku were malevolent sorceresses who used black magic and spirits to wreak havoc. People talked about them in hushed tones and with heavy doses of fear. They believed that even a word about them would guide their evil eye in your direction. They were supposed to be more of a superstition. Fantastical. But similar to all superstitions and fantasies in the fae world, folktales were real and none were sweet fairy tales.

  “Black magic.” I cringed, nodding in understanding. “Kalku perform black magic.”

  “Very good. Someone here studied.” Stavros clapped his hands. “Druids aren’t the only ones who dabble or are extremely proficient in it. It is pathetic that over centuries fae have failed to find ways of controlling Druids. But leave it to me to be the first to realize how to do it.”

  Experimenting in dark magic always came with a price. The precise talent Druids had adapted to protect could also hurt them.

  “After Scotland, I brought a Kalku sorceress here. She did all the enhancing. My encounter with dear, sweet Fionna here,” he winked at her, “prepared me. I hadn’t taken Druids very seriously before. So, Queenie, you should thank your sister for your accommodations and limited powers. Our meeting in Scotland opened my eyes to my shortcomings.” Stavros glanced over at Fionna. “Also, Lars had a few spells already in place against Druid powers, didn’t he, Fi-Fi? Your so-called great leader also wanted to muzzle you Druids.”

  Fionna tipped her head back, staring at the new King, ignoring Kennedy’s wild gaze on her.

  “Fi?”

  “You think I would have stayed imprisoned here if he didn’t safeguard my cell?” Fionna snapped to her sister. “Don’t be naïve. He was King, and I was his prisoner.”

  “As you are all mine.” Stavros nodded at the thing behind Kennedy. It shoved her forward, her heels digging into the stone, her tiny frame sliding across the barrier, the door closing on her.

  Booooom!

  A blast from above jarred me from the top of my head to my toes. We all tumbled to the ground like dominos. The house shook, moaning, the joints and hinges creaking and breaking under the force. Dust and debris sprinkled down as our bodies scattered, the taste of magic bitter on my tongue.

  Then a pause. We had only a moment before our only chance would be gone.

  “Get up, imbeciles!” Stavros yelled at the strighoul as he climbed to his feet.

  Goran, Ryker, and Croygen jumped up, leaping for Stavros, but a handful of the flesh-eaters sprang up as a wall between, snapping their teeth at them.

  Chaos broke around us like putting a bunch of cats in a bathtub. My fight instincts kicked in, hungry for action. I may not have had my powers, but I was still a bad-ass fighter. Summoning the Avenging Angel, I swung my arms out at the patchy-skinned freaks. Spinning, kicking, and jabbing my fists into flesh, the world beyond a four-foot perimeter disappeared as my muscles zinged to life.

  Strighoul were easy to read. They weren’t especially smart. Unlike a lot of people I had fought in my time, I didn’t need to gauge their habits or fighting cues.

  Daggered teeth snapped at me, and nails dug into my clothes. Spinning, my knuckles smashed into the gut of one beast, my boot making contact with its groin, where it dropped it to the ground, but three more climbed over it and came for me.

  Cadoc slammed his shoulder into them, dumping them onto the ground.

  “Thanks.”

  Cadoc nodded and returned to fighting. Wow, I never thought one day Cadoc would not only help me, but we’d be on the same side of a fight.

  Circling around, a strighoul carrying the knife which had been procured from my harness earlier, came for me. I dropped down and swept my leg out in an arc, the creature crashing onto its back.

  “This is mine.” I snagged my dagger back between my clasped w
rists, slicing its throat without pause, blood spewing up over my face. Its howl stabbed my eardrums. I’d grown up in a brutal world where everything came down to survival. You didn’t hesitate. If you did, you were as good as dead. There was a reason I had lived this long. This was only an extreme version of it.

  “Enough!” Stavros bellowed. Pressure slammed into my head. With a scream, my knees buckled, striking the floor. Pain froze my muscles, locking the air in my lungs. Cries and high-pitched squeals echoed around me as the commotion of the room quickly silenced.

  I could feel it—a thumping of magic from outside the walls.

  “You,” he yelled. I peered at him as he pointed at a group of his men. Everyone, including his toadies, were crumpled on the floor except for Goran. He didn’t appear in any kind of pain. He bent his head, but his expression looked bored, his finger idly rubbing at a bloodstain on his jeans.

  With the focus on the other side of the room, I slipped the knife in my hand into my boot, though even that slight movement seemed to aggravate my brain matter.

  “Go check what is going on. Why have your idiot brethren not already killed those dwellers?”

  Still holding their heads and whimpering, the group rose and limped from the room. Stavros watched them for a while, his nose flaring.

  “Did some of you already forget?” Stavros held up his arms, sending another wave of magic through the room. I groaned, bending over farther, clutching my head against the pain. He strolled between us, working his way through the room. “I am immune to all fae weakness. Goblin metal does nothing. I will always overpower you. I am a demon. The King! The more you fight, the more I hurt your loved ones, and the worse jobs I will force you to do.” He clutched the back of Ember’s head, yanking her ponytail, forcing her face to look at him. “Your dwellers were a nuisance before. A tiny distraction. But now?” He growled, getting close to her face. “How did they have the power to break through my barriers?”

  Is that what happened? Did the bombs created by Fionna and Kennedy break through the shield? With Druid power, it was possible, but something in my gut said what we felt was far more powerful than a bomb.