The Dark Queen (The Dark Queens Book 5)

by Jovee Winters

  Owiot framed her left cheek with his callused palm, and she cuddled into his touch, body growing hungry again for more of him.

  “Did she not want children?” she asked softly. Thinking of her own situation, and the potion she’d drunk when the Blue had revealed George’s plans to her. It wasn’t that Fable hadn’t wanted children, she just hadn’t wanted them with him, and now she was doomed to never have them at all.

  And it had never bothered her before meeting Owiot because there’d never been anyone she’d wanted children with. It was a terrible thought to bear, the burden of knowing he was the god of children, and she could never give him any.

  She frowned, but he still looked away and hadn’t noticed.

  At some point, she’d have to tell him. And though she worried he might not like it, might even decide she ultimately wasn’t worth the hassle, he deserved to know the truth.

  “No. She did not. Aiyana was vain and feared losing her beauty to childbirth. She began to resent my coming to her, and eventually refused to lie with me at all, fearing I’d trick her somehow. Though I vowed that was not my way, and I would never do anything to her she did not want, Mother Buffalo’s words haunted her till the day she died.”

  His hand had dropped and was now casually resting on her hip as his thumb rubbed idle circles on her flesh, making her tingle down low. But this conversation was important to her.

  “Do you like children?”

  He blinked, staring at her as though trying to understand the strange turn of her questions. Though he seemed clearly confused, he answered her anyway. “I suppose I do. They petition me frequently. What I like most about them is their innocence. Their laughter and verve. There is no deceit in a child; they simply are who they are. And that is refreshing.”

  She swallowed hard, feeling a knot of unease gathering in her belly. “Would it bother you if you could never have any?”

  Realizing that she was slyly trying to ask him a roundabout question, he sat part way up, resting his weight on his forearm. His eyes were thinned and looking at her with a question burning through their depths.

  “Darkness?” he asked softly.

  She was going to be sick. She knew he knew; he had to know. No woman asked a man if he wanted children, especially not after such a fun and fierce tussle, unless there was a reason for it.

  “Yes,” she squeaked, hearing her word echo through the canyon like a death knell to her heart.

  “Do you have a child already? One I do not—”

  Blowing out a relieved breath, because he hadn’t sounded so much terrified of her asking him those sorts of questions, as confused, she gave a bitter laugh.

  “No. Well, I mean...I don’t know. Maybe.” She tossed up her hands and then chuckled at the perplexed expression on his face. “Did I confuse you? Let me start over.”

  “A little,” he grinned. “And I’d like that. Do you or don’t you have a child?”

  “I do. And I don’t.” She shrugged, holding up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Let me get this out before you ask more questions. Otherwise, you’re liable to confuse me.” Taking a deep breath to steel her nerves with, she pressed on. “George and I never had any children.”

  At the mention of her husband’s name, Owiot’s jaw clenched tight. She’d known when he’d taken some of the demons from her soul that he’d seen her memories of George and Brunhilda. The only good thing that came of that was that she didn’t have to explain to him just what kind of a tyrant her husband had been.

  “I took a...potion”—she wet her lips in a nervous gesture—“to ensure I could never bear his children. Or anyone else’s...” She clenched her back teeth, hating how reed thin her voice had sounded just now.

  “Ah. I see.” Was all he said.

  Her heart squeezed like a fist in her chest at the thought that he might be disappointed that she was sterile and unable to give him children, no different than Aiyana choosing to do the same to him. Because ultimately Fable had chosen her fate.

  “But...but you have to understand,” she held up her hand, “he was a monster. A horrible, evil man who would have ruined our children the same way he ruined his Snow White.”

  “Snow White,” Owiot murmured, saying her name slowly. “The child who wishes you dead.”

  There was no censure in his words, but she flinched all the same.

  “Yes. Her.”

  Drawing a knee up, so that he could rest an arm over it, he sat in a casual pose, looking as regal and majestic nude as he did with his leggings on.

  “You love her still, don’t you?”

  She said nothing, only turned her face to the side and stared at the blades of grass curling like delicate stemmed jewels along her ankles. Mixed in with the hate was love still, he was right. But she couldn’t forget the fact that she’d also had every intention of ending Snow White’s life just a few days ago, so disgusted and heartsick over what the girl had done to her throughout the years—the lies, the constant threat of war and attacks on her person, not to mention the people under her employ, and worst of all...the death of Sterling—that at some point along the way all that love had turned to hate.

  His thumb brushed against her cheeks, wiping up the silent tears. “I saw the truth of it all when I tapped into your soul. You do still love her, though she’s wounded you deeply.”

  Closing her eyes, she leaned deeper into his touch. “Yes, but she hates me now. And blames me for the death of her father. She cannot see reason, cannot see beyond that night, refuses even to try and see things from my point of view.”

  “My darkness, I wonder if you’ve ever considered the fact that just as the witch cursed you, she too may have cursed the daughter.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “I have considered it, many times. Always hoping to find evidence of my suspicions. But I have studied her at length and have never noticed a cuff on—”

  He shook his head. “Fable, you should know better than most that magic can take on many forms.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, heart beating like thundering hooves in her chest. Was it possible that Snow White had not only been cursed by Brunhilda, but that she was even now still under the witch’s influence? Was it really possible that even in death Brunhilda haunted them?

  “I would have noticed. I would have—”

  Gathering her flailing wrists in his hands, he squeezed tight. Centering her thoughts back on him. His gaze was steady and sure.

  “We sometimes fail to see the truth of things closest to us. The daughter’s hatred has cut you deeply, far deeper than you might even suspect.”

  Her nostrils flared. “What do you mean?”

  “Fable, it was only the night of George’s death—the night that Snow saw you kill him—that caused your heart to turn dark.”

  “No.” She shook her head hard. “No. I was studying the black craft before that night. That’s when—”

  “No,” he said again, his voice steady. “No, learning the arcane arts does not make one’s soul dark. It is only the gleeful invocation of it that does it.”

  “I killed George and Brunhilda with a killing curse.”

  “To defend yourself. Again, you did not call upon the darkness with avarice.”

  Her brows dipped as she began to think back to when it first started for her. When she’d begun to employ the black arts with willful deliberation.

  Back, back, back her thoughts spun until the very moment of inception. The moment that dark seed sprouted deep in her soul, the moment she decided to step completely into the void and embrace her baser instincts.

  The moment she’d looked up at Snow and the girl’s eyes had burned with hate. It had been that precise moment that the small tether of Fable’s humanity had snapped. That had been the moment she’d decided that love was a weakness, a blight, and a disease of the soul. The moment she’d stepped away from the light and into the darkness.

  And all of that had happened because she’d lost the love of a little girl she’d care
d for as her own.

  She shook her head. “I’m a weak, selfish, awful person, aren’t I, Owiot.”

  Fable didn’t phrase it as a question because it wasn’t a question. She knew it was fact and she felt an emotion she’d not felt in a long, long time.

  Shame.

  But rather than fight it as was her instinctive reaction, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of it for the first time in her life and what she saw made her sick.

  Her breathing grew harsh. Her thoughts focused on all that she’d done, all she’d been about to do. It was never easy coming to grips with one’s ugliness, and it was doubly so for her because her sins were far greater than most.

  “Breathe, darkness. Breathe.” He was there, holding her face in his strong hands and she startled, looking at him as her beacon, her focus.

  He nodded. “Good. You’re going to be okay, my beauty. Simply breathe.”

  “But...but, I’m a—”

  “You were.”

  She shook her head, curling her fingers around his wrist. “And now I’m not? In just a matter of days, I’m not, is that what you’re telling me because we both know that’s nonsense. My sins are plenty; I’ve done so much. So much, how can I ever make this right? How can the scales of justice and balance ever be righted?”

  “The choice is yours, Fable. Whether to continue on this path or go back to the one you know. The familiar twisted one full of thorns and weeds. Alone and forever battling the weight of your own demons.”

  “How do I stop, Owiot? Here, I am a different woman because here no one cares who I am. But back there, in the Enchanted Forest, no would believe I’d turned over a new leaf. It’s impossible.”

  “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step,” he said gravely. “You are right; some may see you and not believe. But all it takes is one to light a spark of hope. You can make them see you’ve changed, you only have to be patient.”

  She bit her bottom lip, wishing she was brave enough to tell him that she didn’t want to do it alone, that she wanted him to be by her side through all of it. That he made her feel safe and not afraid to be vulnerable. But those words were far too heavy to be spoken so soon.

  “And Snow? Do you know what I was about to do to her before I was brought here?”

  He nodded. “I saw.”

  “You did?” She swallowed hard; saddened that he’d seen that side of her. Disgusted by her own actions, disgusted that she’d let her hatred of George destroy all that had been good within her.

  “But you didn’t kill her. In fact, you didn’t kill any of them. When you get back to your land—”

  “If I get back. You know the last ones in these games can’t leave.”

  His lips twitched like he knew a secret she didn’t yet. And the look made her feel warm to the tips of her toes.

  “You will get back, Fable. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt if you were the first to leave.”

  Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  That was impossible, right? True love, the kind that sonnets and poems were written about, it couldn’t possibly happen so quick.

  Could it?

  “When the time comes, you’ll know exactly what to do about Snow White.”

  She wished she could believe him. Wished she had as much faith in herself as he seemed to have in her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to change. She did. Even before she’d come here, she’d grown weary of the life she’d led, the lonely never-ending cycle of hate and war that had become her existence.

  It had been so easy to let it go here. But what would she do when she returned home? How would she act?

  Fable wanted to be a better person. And not because of him either, but because she was tired of being who she was never meant to be.

  Leaning over, he kissed her gently. But just that simple ghost of a touch was enough to ignite the embers of passion.

  “Mm,” she moaned, pressing her breasts tight against his chest. “I like that. Do it again.”

  His lips twitched. “You’re changing the subject.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, because I’m tired of thinking of all of that. I want to forget, help me to forget, Owiot. Please.”

  And he did. This time, when they came together, it wasn’t animalistic or rough, but sweet, gentle, and full of unspoken and heartfelt confessions.

  By the time they finally finished, Fable keenly felt the lapse of time and the knowledge that in a little while she was to face her first trial. A trial where she was given the freedom to not only wound but possibly even end her opponent.

  The child eater. She shuddered just thinking of the infamous Baba Yaga whose powers, it was said, came from the very devil himself.

  “In just a few hours I have to battle,” she whispered, cuddling in tight to his warm body.

  Laying with Owiot was a lot like snuggling against a hearth on a blustery winter’s night, he was so warm and wonderful feeling. He kissed the crown of her head.

  “I know. And I won’t leave your side, woman. I vow it.”

  Chapter 16

  Fable

  Waking up in the morning was exceedingly difficult to do. Today was the start of the “games.” It was also one of the rare times that she wanted to swear at her grandmother for creating something so dastardly.

  Stretching her arms high above her head, she became suddenly aware that Owiot watched her.

  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she smiled up at him. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” he said, as he tenderly brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes.

  He suddenly frowned.

  “What?” she snapped, instantly aware that something was wrong. Touching her face, wondering if she’d finally turned into the vision of the hag she’d seen in Mirror, she shook her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your eyes, Fable.”

  She blinked. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  Terrified that they were now milky white like a crone’s, or something else equally hideous, she called a looking glass to her.

  Instantly a small, pewter colored handheld mirror rested in her palm. Biting her bottom lip, she held the mirror up and then froze.

  Gasping.

  Because the eyes staring back at her were eyes she’d not seen in ages. They were the very same texture and color as that of her mother’s, Nimue. Aquamarine—like the cool glassy color of the Caribbean’s.

  “My eyes,” she whispered in awe as they filled with heat. “My eyes have changed. Why?”

  Owiot pushed her hand away, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “I can only assume it’s because you are changed, Fable.”

  “Is this permanent?” She touched the corner of her eyes.

  For so long her eyes had been bronze-gold that to see them so different now was beyond startling. Her heart raced in her chest at the sight of a woman she did not recognize. Oddly enough, though it scared her to see the blue, it also warmed her down to her very soul. Because it truly was like gazing upon the pretty, aquamarine eyes of her mother. Seeing them now fill with tears, it was easy enough to imagine that it was mother looking back at her.

  “What is this magic?” she asked with awe in her voice as she lightly danced her fingertips beneath her eyes and shook her head in wonder.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Only you can determine that. What it does mean is this. You are changing, Fable. You’ve begun to solve the riddle Button gave you—”

  “...Remember who you are,” they both said at once.

  Feeling sexually sated, and stupidly happy, she laughed. From deep in her belly, the type of laugh that was full of wonder and light and eased the anxiety she’d felt upon awakening.

  “My gods, you’re beautiful when you do that,” he said, and she grinned.

  “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

  He nodded. “Maybe you should.”

  Fable was just about to suggest that he come lay down beside he
r, and maybe they could get back to what they’d been doing all through the night when she spied a looming black shape winging in the distance.

  She groaned.

  Owiot, attuned to her own emotions, turned to glance over his shoulders. “The dragon returns,” he said.

  And immediately she sensed the light-hearted mood was gone. The time for war was now, and she was so not ready.

  Normally she’d prepare. Have spells ready. Would have an active plan of attack. But she’d been so consumed by her time with Owiot that she’d firmly shoved Baba Yaga to the very back of her mind.

  Well, now Baba was in the forefront in a very real way, and she knew she was in big trouble.

  Owiot stood. Button drew ever closer.

  Holding out his hand to her, he helped her to stand too.

  “Get us dressed, Fable,” he said quickly.

  And she obeyed without question. Waving a hand first over herself, then him, she willed clothing back upon their bodies. For Owiot, she wove a pair of leggings from supple tanned leather she’d had stored back in her true castle in the Enchanted Forest.

  For herself, she’d fashioned a gown built from her own innate ability to draw on shadow and smoke. The dress was a thing of beauty, curling like billowing fog around her long legs, and leaving her arms and chest-line bare for easier mobility.

  But it wasn’t simply a fashion statement. If say, grandmother transported them to a land of perpetual sunlight—like what Auntie Fiera’s home world was—then Fable would still be able to tap into the power of shadows and darkness by drawing on her dress.

  As far as plans went, there really wasn’t much of one. She was winging it and cringing and praying to the gods that she didn’t do something stupid, like get her and Owiot killed in the process.

  Knowing she’d screwed up so royally with her preparations made her anxious and that anxiety made her furious with herself.

  “She’s going to try and kill you, Owiot.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, Fable. I need you to focus on getting out of there alive.”

  Nothing more could be said, because that was the moment that Button decided to land. For such a massive creature, he could be exceedingly light on his feet when he wanted to be. The blooms barely stirred in his wake.