It turned out she needn’t have worried, because light suddenly filled the passageway in a rich orange rectangle that widened before them to the accompanying sound of stone scraping heavily against stone. At the very end of the passageway, two stone panels disappeared to either side to reveal a room beyond, bigger than Emma could ever have expected, almost too big after the cramped space of the stairwell. The maidens continued to march forward into the honeyed light, and after a moment’s combined hesitation, Emma and Ricky followed, Anton and Telly still flanking them.
If the wide open space of the stone chamber had inspired any thoughts of making an escape or taking a stand against Kal and the black haired man and the maidens, then the thirty odd guards fanned out before them in a huge semi circle pretty much destroyed that idea. They weren’t your standard heavies, either; they held themselves with the economical grace of contained, controlled violence. Almost half of the armed guards were women; tawny skin and black hair predominated, and a few had that square, Aztec look about them that Kal did, like they’d stepped straight out of the ancient past.
Some were pierced, most were tattooed. Fewer than half of them carried guns — that Emma could see, anyway. The rest were covered in knives and daggers and short swords, spears with darkly gleaming points and other things just as sharp and wicked-looking, things Emma could not identify. All of them bristled and sparkled and rustled, weapons clinking together as the guards spread themselves out, eyes trained on the entering group.
It was enough to distract Emma from the grandeur of the chamber, but only for a moment. When it became clear they weren’t going to advance on her and the men and rip them all to pieces, she couldn’t help but look past them.
The chamber was roughly square and ballroom sized, with a ceiling just as high, but the walls were raw rock in most places. Where they were not, they were smoothed in big worn patches, as though some kind of mural had once covered the surface of the walls but long since crumbled away. Here and there she could see a ghost of blue or green pigment; smudges suggested outlines, but none whole enough to make a picture. Broken mosaic tiles covered the floor, their surfaces a faded rainbow of reds and oranges, blues and greens. Flames danced in massive wall sconces and cast a thick orange glow over everything. The scent of oil rode the air, and the air itself wavered with heat and unsteady light.
Emma wondered how the guards could stand it; warmth seethed in the chamber despite its cavernous space. She glanced back to see Kal and the skinny black haired guy — she’d forgotten his name — stepping through the opening. The two stone doors slid shut behind the men.
“So,” she said, looking around at the bristling guards. “Somebody show me to a restroom?”
The sound of stone squealing against stone answered her. On the opposite side of the room, another of those panels of sliding stone started its grinding, scraping way open. Which meant somebody important was about to make an appearance.
Fantastic , Emma thought tiredly. Maybe she’d finally get to meet the king responsible for ruining her day, her week, possibly her life. Maybe he’d show her to the ladies’ room. She found herself once again sandwiched by Ricky, Anton and Telly — and she opened her mouth to tell them to step off, but the complaint died in her throat.
She suddenly knew with utter certainty there was something very bad coming through the opposite entrance. She felt it like a soft breeze against her skin, felt it in her head like the first breath of a dream gone nightmare. Her skin crawled. Her pulse lurched. Her knees seemed to turn to water.
The dog growled, his hackles springing up around Emma’s hand where she tangled her fingers in his fur, and she parted her lips to mutter soothing nonsense to him but her voice refused to come. Anton’s breath came out in a rush, ruffled her hair. His arms circled her, crushed her to his chest in a now familiar prison, but she didn’t care. They could crowd her all they wanted. They could crush her and squash her out of sight, and she would gladly draw their bodies around her like a kid with a blanket in the dark because she was suddenly more scared than she’d ever been in her whole life.
Something pinched Emma’s ribs, hard.
She tore her eyes from the doorway and looked at Telly. His gray eyes were narrow and all for her; it took a few seconds, but they captured her, and the fear receded just a little.
It wasn’t until she felt it lift a fraction that she realized it wasn’t natural fear: it was magic.
She’d never have known it wasn’t genuine, if Telly hadn’t pinched her. She could breathe a little easier. The sight of him didn’t comfort her, but he was hard and living and real, and he almost banished the cold skitter that crept up her spine.
“Don’t let it,” he whispered to her, his changeable face solemn and grave and captivating. “Don’t let it hold you. You have to fight, kiddo, he’s not even trying.”
“Who?” Emma watched that soft, evil breeze shift strands of pale blond hair across Telly’s eyes, brushing his high cheekbone. A slightly pointed tip of ear poked through the thick sandy mass. Fear sharpened every line and shadow. Her vision swam. Knowing it wasn’t real, not her own fear, didn’t make it go away.
Telly didn’t get a chance to answer her, because footsteps clattered against the stone paving of the chamber floor, and a wind that came from nowhere gusted against them like a cold hand.
Two male guards came through the wide entrance, and two more of the golden ocelot maidens followed at their heels, these maidens dressed not in soft hides but in strings upon strings of black and ivory beads that clicked and sang with their every step. Their hair fell in sheets to their knees, and swung as they turned in unison and knelt either side of the entrance, one knee on the ground, one knee up near their faces, heads bowed, hair sliding all around them. They were in positions of obeisance, but Emma could see the face of one as her hair tumbled forward from behind her ear to cut an opening in the curtain of it. She gazed at the floor and blazed with silent, potent fury.
A man stepped through the entrance to the chamber, and Emma forgot all about the maiden.
The air of the chamber went still. So still even the flames in their sconces seemed to stop flickering. Too still to breathe. Bruce’s growl cut off; he whined, almost too high pitched for Emma to hear. He put one heavy paw on her foot, claws clicking against the mosaic floor. Emma felt her throat closing up, and then Telly pinched her again, and she could breathe. The skin below her left breast hurt, but she could breathe, well enough to focus on the source of the thing that wanted to steal the oxygen out of the very air.
The man was tall and slender, and his lean, deepset features didn’t seem to match the silvery paleness of his skin. His creamy linen shirt was unbuttoned, exposing a long line of smooth white skin down his front. A dark braid snaked over his shoulder and down his chest, fell below the waistline of his deep green slacks, and ended just short of his knees; loose strands of hair brushed either side of his face, framing it but somehow doing nothing to lessen its severity.
Handsome, even beautiful in an arrogant kind of way, but the eyes ruined it. Pale, reptilian yellow. The pupil was round and human sized, but the color was not human, not even warm-blooded. The white skin and the yellow eyes made him look like something dead, or at least like something that had lain too long underground.
He walked into the room with coiled, efficient grace, bare feet slapping the mosaic tiles, and a wave of cool, suffocating power rode the air before him. It pushed at Emma like a phantom wind, and she dug fingernails into her palms, but it wasn’t enough; she tried to suck air into her lungs, and couldn’t. The dog whined again, less in fear than in warning, wrapping himself around her legs. She swallowed against the panic.
Fight , she told herself.
It wasn’t enough.
13
He came to a halt less than ten feet from where Emma stood huddled between Anton, Ricky and Telly, and his eyes found her face and stopped. He cocked his lean head to the side. His nostrils flared, taking in a deep exploratory d
raught of air, and it was as if he stole the very breath Emma tried so hard to take.
Bruce thrummed with silent snarls. Emma’s right hand convulsed around Ricky’s, her left clutched a fistful of the dog’s pelt; she couldn’t breathe, but she’d be damned if she let Bruce run out and get himself killed defending her.
Pain bit into her arm, and her lungs could work again. She looked down. Telly had her forearm in a crushing grip, blunt nails pressed into her skin.
It hurt, but it was pain she could handle, and better than the alternative. So much better. She tried to gulp air without being too obvious about it, and she prayed Telly’s touch now was enough to keep her breathing, because if he squeezed any harder her arm would break.
The newcomer’s cool gaze flickered over Emma and the men. “Let go of her, both of you.” His voice was mild and unremarkable, save for a hint of an accent that might’ve been German, but his flat voice leeched it of any richness it might have had.
Telly’s fingernails bit deeper. “You first, Alexi. Get your power out of her face.”
Alexi narrowed yellow eyes at Telly, some cruel expression that never came close to a smile curling one corner of his grim, hard mouth. His gaze flicked back to Emma. “What, can she not handle it? The king will be disappointed indeed. If she is who she is supposed to be, surely she can handle a little power thrown her way.” He looked her down and then up, and it was not an appreciative look. There was disdain, plain on his face, but something deeper there, too. Something old and bitter.
So he was not the king. That was very bad, because Emma didn’t know if she could handle anything scarier than him.
“Do you doubt her?” Telly asked mildly.
“Doubt her?” Alexi sniffed, turning his head from side to side like he was scenting the air. “She is human. She is nothing to me and mine.”
Telly chuckled, not the sanest sound Emma ever heard. “So the priesthood still rejects the prophecy.”
Alexi cocked his head to the side again and advanced, the sea of golden maidens parting before him and scattering like stones to the outer circle of guards so nothing stood between him and Emma. Anton’s arms flexed against her chest, and he took a shuffling step back. She nearly stumbled over Bruce’s back legs as the dog moved with her.
Alexi spoke to Telly, ignoring Anton’s efforts completely. “The prophecy is a dead thing.” His voice was a low thread of iron. “The gods have turned their backs on us. They do not give gifts to those who destroy what they are given. This girl is the king’s wishful thinking, nothing more — and she is weak. I can smell it.” Alexi took a step towards Emma, and the air physically tightened around her.
She swallowed and resisted the urge to squirm.
“Maybe I am weak,” she said, her voice level and resonant in the wide space of the chamber. “But if I’m a weak little girl, then I guess that makes you a weak little man, bullying somebody so lesser than yourself.” She added a disdainful sniff at the end, just for good measure, and watched Alexi’s face go gray with anger.
He stalked straight up to her, fists flexing and releasing, and stopped a foot short of her. He glared down into her face like he wanted to know what her insides might look like, ignoring Anton and Ricky and Telly completely. It occurred to her that he must be very sure of himself to come so close to three men who had to be chased down and subdued with heavy fire power. Or perhaps he was just very sure in the knowledge they couldn’t hurt him here. Either way, the arrogance was staggering.
“What’s your name, little girl?” he said, severe mouth curled in a sneer. His lips were a bruised almost-blue, like crushed lilacs. She stared very hard at his mouth, because his eyes were too much, too close. She had a feeling that looking into those eyes so close was a very bad idea.
She shifted under the weight of Anton’s arms, still clamped around her shoulders like a heavy living shawl. “Emmalina Alexandra Chase,” she answered, giving him the full name she hated, that nobody called her. Then she gave in to the traitorous urge to look him in the eye.
Her pulse sped with a sickening thud, but she didn’t drop dead, and that was the main thing. Either Telly’s hand on her arm truly worked like a charm to keep Alexi’s power out of her head, or Alexi was toning it down.
Probably not the latter.
This close, she could see the texture of his iris, the creamy yellow shot through with cobweb veins of green.
“You’re a snake, aren’t you?” Her voice sounded calm and normal; such an achievement. She’d congratulate herself later maybe — if she lived.
His nostrils flared as he sucked in air, deciding how angry he was going to be. Emma watched that anger slide across his face; for such an arrogant prick, he wasn’t very good at schooling his facial expressions.
Good at looking arrogant, though. Something about those flaring nostrils meant his face could probably never look humble no matter how he tried.
“Not just a snake, little girl,” he said. He took a step forward. Their noses would have touched if he wasn’t almost a foot taller than her. She had to crane her neck, pressing the back of her head into Anton’s chest. Immovable Anton, trying so hard to shield her, and failing.
Alexi went to speak again, but Telly’s voice echoed deliberately throughout the cavernous chamber. “Not just a snake, but a serpent priest.” Telly’s eyes flicked to Emma for a second, and then narrowed on Alexi’s face. Was he trying to distract Alexi from her? She stared hard at Telly but his eyes were all for Alexi, and there was hatred in them.
“What are you doing running errands for the jaguar king, Alexi? Isn’t that sort of thing beneath you?” Telly laughed, the sound low and infectious, the thick laugh of someone who knows they’ve just cracked a really good joke and just can’t play it straight. His eyes sparkled and his shoulders shook. Emma didn’t get the punch line, but she had to bite the sides of her tongue to stop from joining him — which made no sense.
“I see you’re still playing the fool, Telly,” said Alexi, his voice too loud, his wide nostrils flaring. Emma heard somebody snort softly somewhere behind her, muffled. She stole a glance across the crowd of guards and maidens surrounding them, and saw faces stiff with the effort of staying blank. It made her want to laugh even more, but damn, it just was not that funny. What had Telly done? Just when she was beginning to think of Telly as vaguely normal, he went and reminded her that he was actually stark raving nuts — and not the least human, to boot.
Alexi growled, and there was a sibilant edge to it, something wet like a hiss. Emma hadn’t known snakes could growl. There, she thought to herself with a hysterical mental giggle, you learn something new every day.
Alexi turned slowly to Emma. His yellow eyes burned at her. “So Telly is not the only fool here this night.”
Her mouth went dry. “Um. I didn’t say anything.” Her voice sounded very small to her own ears.
Alexi cocked his head to the side, Telly and his laughter momentarily forgotten. “You didn’t need to,” he hissed, eyes narrowing. He stared at her, and as she watched him, she sensed more than saw his fury bubble up, and power rippled along his body like something invisible and boneless moving inside of him. Like heat off hot tarmac. Terror flared cold and bright in her stomach.
Fight , she told herself.
She licked her lips, breath shallow. “I’ve made you angry somehow,” she said thinly. “Not that I mind, but I’d rather be doing it on purpose.”
Telly cracked up all over again; apparently that really tickled him. He laughed and laughed, his eyes wet and gleaming with mirth, his sharp teeth very white. Alexi’s face hardened with a fierce hatred, like living steel.
Ricky’s hand tightened on Emma’s, reminding her he was still there, right beside her, and she’d all but forgotten him. “She didn’t say anything,” said Ricky, the sound of his throat working audible beneath Telly’s raucous laughter. Alexi barely glanced at Ricky; obviously he, like Anton, didn’t merit the attention. It was Telly who Alexi turned to focus on
now.
Telly howled with laughter, and it filled the room like water, like a drug, palpable and inescapable. People clenched their jaws, sucked their cheeks in, looked anywhere but at Telly; their shoulders shook, weapons clinked. It seemed to intoxicate everyone — except for Alexi. He was well and truly sober. Was he just angry, or just the only one in the room strong enough to withstand the pull of Telly’s magic?
“ENOUGH!” Alexi roared, the sound crashing against the walls of the chamber. Telly’s power died in the air as if the wings of thousands of birds stopped beating all at once. Well, that answered that question: Alexi was angry and powerful enough to withstand Telly’s magic. Not comforting.
“Enough of your tricks, Telly. It has been a long time since you were court jester.” Scorn drenched the words, and Telly’s face darkened, the laughter gone.
When Telly answered, his voice was soft and dangerous and dry as dust.
“Trickster I may be, but jester I have never been. Not at this court nor any other.”
Trickster? Jester? What on Earth were they talking about now? Emma felt like she’d walked onto the set of the wrong TV show. She also felt like her left arm was about to fall off if Telly didn’t let go, but she feared what Alexi could do to her without the anchoring touch.
Alexi looked suddenly tired. He shook his head, laughed mirthlessly under his breath, and shrugged. The gesture looked strange on him, and it sent his braid slithering over his shoulder to disappear down his back. The hair gleamed in the firelight, shining and alive, in stark contrast to the flat, dead paleness of his face.
He snorted, and it made him seem almost human for a moment. “You may never have been court jester, Telly, just as I am not running errands for the jaguar king. It is all the same. Let go of the girl’s arm before it drops off, I won’t harm her here and now.”
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