The cart lurched forward, and again the pain of being separated from his birthright stung him.
I will return, he repeated silently. I will return.
Twenty-One
T he healers’ art was masterful. Within the few hours they had attended Malachi, Ayla had watched him progress from broken wretch to recovering invalid, all the way to the state he stood in before her now.
“You can walk.” She felt the grin that spread across her face and knew she must be beaming like the moon.
He smiled, too, and it felt like the time they had shared in the strange Human’s workshop. She remembered the Human and wondered if he would look for Malachi. “Does Keller know where you are?”
Malachi’s smile faded, the happiness drained from his eyes with a flinch. “He is dead. The guards that captured me killed him.”
The thought of the Human, so fragile and unprotected, dying at the hands of Garret’s soldiers brought tears of anger to her eyes. She did not let them fall. “But you are alive. That is what matters.”
“Does it?” Malachi shook his head. “He helped you as he helped me. Do you have no feelings?”
This stung. “I have…feelings. I feel for you.”
He did not answer. Instead he went to his bed and sat in the tangle of bedclothes there. “You seem uneasy.”
She did not wish to speak to him further, but unreasonably, words came from her. “I am concerned.”
“What are your concerns?” Malachi patted the place beside himself, a gesture so Human and startling that Ayla froze in shock. She willed her legs to carry her forward and sat stiffly beside him.
How could she possibly communicate to him all the fears in her heart? That she would do nothing, and Garret would return to the throne. And, in that event, she would lose her life, and Malachi would lose his, as well.
Or, should she tell him that she might be forced to fight, possibly die, and he would be doomed then, as well?
It was better not to tell him anything at all, not until it was decided, so she shook her head and said, “It is nothing,” and laid her head in his lap and kept all of that fear inside, hoping he would not see it.
He put his hand on her hair, stroking the tresses before stilling his palm at the back of her neck, where it remained like a weight. “You do not care for me, or you would tell me.”
“I do not tell you because I wish to protect you.” Was that the correct word for it? It was so much more than a need to shield him from harm. She wanted to keep him from any fear of harm that could come.
More than anything, she regretted that Malachi had ever come into the Lightworld. It was strange and unsettling to have him with her, though it was the thing she’d wanted terribly before. He was the bridge between her life before and her life now that made the past so painful, and the present so unbearable.
Still, the thought of not having him tore at her heart in such a way that she could not bear to think of it at all.
“I do not need your protection.” He resumed his gentle stroking of her hair. “If it were not for you, I would never have come here. It is too late for you to protect me.”
She could not disagree with him. “Garret has challenged me. He wishes to kill me and take the throne.”
Malachi said nothing at first, but his body stilled. After a long silence, he asked, “Garret is the one who captured me?”
“Yes.” She twisted on his lap to look up at his face. “What do you remember from when he took you?”
A line creased Malachi’s forehead as he thought, and when his features relaxed, the ghost of it stayed behind. How strange mortals’ bodies were.
“We were approaching the Strip. That was when the soldiers took me. They wanted nothing with Keller, but they killed him. I do not understand why they killed him.”
“Garret is cruel.” It was the only explanation that she could give him, though it would not be satisfactory to him. It didn’t satisfy her, either. “You were not in the Lightworld when he took you?”
Malachi shook his head. “We were still in the Darkworld. I thought we were safe. Keller said the Strip was a neutral area, and that your soldiers did not enter the Darkworld.”
“They do not, under normal circumstances.” Such as when they had been ordered to go on a revenge mission by a power-crazed Faery who wished to be King. She closed her eyes and made a noise of frustration. “I must bring this information to my council. Will you be awake long tonight?”
Now, Malachi sounded frustrated. “You leave me in this room, I am not free to wander, there is nothing to occupy my time except for your visits and now you will leave again?”
She sat up and put both of her hands on the sides of his face. Though he tried to turn away, she held him there. “I keep you here for your safety. I still have enemies within the Palace, and my position is not secure.”
With a roar, he pushed her off of him and growled, “You keep me here for yourself!”
“I keep you here to protect you!” She rose onto her knees on the bed and watched him stalk across the room. “You could not survive in the Darkworld on your own!”
“I could make my own way!” He pounded his chest, so hard it must have hurt him. “I could have lived in Keller’s workshop, done what I had to do to survive! It would be preferable to being kept as your pet!”
She wished she could tell him that he was not just a possession to her, that she could not let him go because she feared what would happen to him, feared she would never see him again. But the words would not come. “You could not survive in the Darkworld, even when you were an immortal! It is only through my mercy that you lived, not just on our first meeting, but when I rescued you from that Demon. You owe your life to me, and I wish you to stay, so you will stay!”
She climbed to her feet, heart pounding, and left him in that lonely, bare room. She did not look back at him.
Life in exile was not as horrible as Garret had imagined it. It was worse.
The rooms that he’d secured in the Troll Quarter were barely sufficient. Dirty and covered with rock dust—the foodstuff of choice for the cave-dwellers—the fetid, disgusting chambers still reeked of the mortals aboveground.
All the more reason to mount a quick offensive and reclaim his place. But as his loyal council worked to maintain allies, he had nothing to do but wait. The waiting would drive him crazy.
“Bran!” He did not bother to wait and see if the Faery would respond. Though it was the middle of the night, and though his advisor would stumble, sleepy, from his makeshift bed, he would come. The hunger in his council to be restored to their places, as well, inspired the most disgusting loyalty.
“Your Majesty?” His hair was mussed from sleep, his face lined from too little of it. He looked almost…mortal. The exile took its toll on everyone.
Garret waited for the man to complete his bow. “I have something to ask of you. In the morning, seek help from the Dragons. Take as many of my guards with you as needed to appear impressive before them. They are fond of such displays. And take them something valuable, as a token of my friendship.”
“The Dragons, Your Majesty?” Bran repeated in a sleep-choked voice. “They will not be easy to win over. They have rarely allowed any of their number to become involved in the affairs of the Faery Court, or any other business of the Lightworld, for that matter.”
“And that is why it would be so beneficial to my cause if I had them.” Could none of the council think properly on their own? “Ayla will not have the sense to garner allies from such a venerable camp. And were the Dragons to side with me, the Court, the whole Lightworld, would fall in line. Out of respect for their ancient wisdom or fear for what they might do if angered.”
Bran hedged further. “The Faery Court does owe a hefty sum in gold and jewels to the Dragon King, Your Majesty. A debt run up by your sister, while still on the other side of the veil.”
Of course. Mabb would still muddle things for him, even in death. “Do not avoid the subject when
meeting with the Dragon ambassador. Be sure to let them know exactly who has possession of those treasures, and assure them that once she is removed from the throne, the debt will be repaid. Stress that I wish only good for the Lightworld, and that cooperation between all races within it is my solemn goal. This should appeal to their pacifist nature.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Bran bowed again and took a few steps back. Clearly he needed his bed as badly as Garret needed his own.
“One last thing, Bran.” Garret turned away and made for his own bed, not a thin tangle of blankets on the concrete, but the bed from his royal chamber, disassembled for the journey and reassembled at the farthest end of the cave. “If they are adamant in their refusal, remind them that a Darkling gained admittance to the Lightworld disguised as one of their Human servants. They do owe us something, in that respect.”
“So, Garret ordered his guard into the Darkworld?” Cedric paced the length of the long table in the council room, talking to himself as though two other Faeries did not sit in the room with him.
“He must have understood that this could be seen as an act of war.” Flidais was similarly lost in her own thoughts, and Ayla struggled to follow both meandering paths of thought at once.
Cedric’s pacing distracted her, as well. She ached to stand and mirror his movements, but forced herself to keep calm. Three minds in a room thinking independently of each other would not help as much as three working together. “Who would declare war? The Darkworld is disorganized and ungoverned. Isn’t it?” She looked to Flidais for confirmation, and her stomach tightened when the Faery shook her head.
“The Darkworld is largely ungoverned when compared to the Lightworld, it is true.” The antennae on Flidais’s head twitched as though accessing the knowledge themselves. “While each race here governs itself, there are factions running rampant in the Darkworld with no real government. The Gypsies have their own primitive codes of law, but no real leader, and there are some Humans living there who answer to no one. Only the Demons and the Calli have organized courts, but the Elves have an army.”
“Will they strike at us?” Ayla looked to Cedric. “And if they did, would we have anything to fear?”
Cedric stopped his pacing. “The Demon King has no interest in us. He wishes only to be away from mortals.”
“And the Calli? What is their King like?” In truth, Ayla knew little about their race, but she would not show her ignorance before Flidais. She did not know her enough to trust her fully, yet.
“Blind,” Cedric answered, resuming his pacing. “Like all of them, though some of them have regained their sight here in the Underground. He is old, losing his mind from captivity. The leader of the Elves, though, hates us. His son has taken on many of his responsibilities and is said to be a revolutionary. He circulated a pamphlet not long ago, calling for war against the Lightworld, but he has few supporters. Should word of Garret’s venture past their borders reach them, they might be able to rouse more interest in a war.”
“The Gypsies will never fight,” Flidais assured her calmly. “They will flee the Underground first, as likely will most of the Humans.”
“Then all we have to fear are the Elves, and any allies they might have.” Ayla tapped her fingers against her lips. “And Garret. I have heard rumors that he intends to rally the Dragons against me, that he has already sent an envoy.”
Flidais paled and turned to Cedric. “If he succeeds, all is lost.”
Raising his hand to silence Flidais, Cedric said calmly, “Remember, Your Majesty, that the Dragons are far wiser than Garret. He will appear to them as the arrogant, ineffectual schemer that he is, and they will remain neutral.”
“There is no chance of winning them to my side of the cause, then?” Though she had only now imagined the possibility, the loss of that hope stung her. Was she truly on her own, then?
“I would caution Your Majesty against it. The Dragons are, by nature, treasure hunters, and Mabb relieved them of a great deal of it during her reign. I am sure it would dishearten you as it would me to see the Fae Court added to their hoard to repay an old debt. They do not fight, and are content to stay Underground, so long as they can extort tributes from the rest of us.”
“Then there is no hope.” She covered her face with her hands, rubbing her tired skin. Resting her chin on her hands, she looked up at the mass of broken pipes clinging to the ceiling. “As long as Garret lives, he will try to raise up enemies against me. As the true and legitimate heir, he will find a way to curry favor, regardless of his crimes. I am Queene on borrowed time. When I lose favor with the Court, when my newness wears off, I will be back in the dungeon while Garret sits on the throne.”
“If Your Majesty will forgive my unsolicited advice, there is another way.” Flidais paused, as if unsure of whether or not to continue. “You could answer the King’s challenge.”
Cedric drew in a breath, while Ayla was unable to breathe at all.
Flidais continued. “You said before that he was your mentor, but that he has not fought in earnest in quite some time. If you are confident that you could best him, this might be the only way to safely secure your throne.”
“It is impossible,” Cedric said, his voice low. “The Queene is with child.”
“Ah.” It was all Flidais seemed able to manage.
“This must, of course, be kept confidential. It is known only to the three of us and Garret.” Cedric cast a sideways glance at Ayla. “Which is what makes his challenge all the more despicable.”
Ayla saw Flidais working the story out in her mind. The Faery was far too clever to believe that Garret would risk killing his own heir, especially one from a legitimate Queene, but she was also too clever to voice her suspicions. Instead she said, “If we are the only ones to know about the child, then what is to prevent her from fighting him?”
What was? She closed her eyes and laid a hand on her stomach where the babe grew, though the evidence could not be seen yet. Could she risk the life of her child in fighting Garret? Could she risk its life by not fighting, by not taking the only chance that had presented itself thus far?
She had believed it when she’d said her time was limited. As long as Garret was available to the Court as another alternative, a new, exciting change, they would consider him whenever she made a mistake or unpopular decision.
But could she kill her mentor? Though Garret had proved himself despicable, deceitful, a part of her still ached for her trusted friend and advisor. He had disappeared that night that she had agreed to become his mate, though, and even if she had never challenged his rule, even if they had received the throne of the Lightworld together, her teacher and friend would never have returned. The kindness Garret had shown her had been the lie, while the truth had lurked in him, waiting until he could take what he wanted.
“Flidais, will you excuse Cedric and I?” Ayla asked, and the Faery made her bow and left. When the door had closed behind her, Ayla turned to Cedric. “I will fight him.”
Cedric shook his head. “It is not possible. I cannot, in good conscience, let you endanger an heir to the throne.”
“The heir to the throne is no more royal than you or I.” She looked him in the eye, so he could see she was not ashamed. “You know that the child I carry was fathered by the Darkling.”
It took Cedric a long time to speak. From the agitated twitching of his antennae, she could see that he tried to work out what to say to argue with her. She could see, too, that he knew he would.
“And what about the babe’s father? Would you have him stand by while his child is put into danger? While you are put into danger?”
Now was the moment Ayla had dreaded since being with Malachi that morning. Something in her went dark, without her willing it to do so, something closed off in her as though it knew to protect her. “I will send him away.”
“Send him away?” Cedric’s voice was a hollow echo from him.
She did not need to try to keep her voice level, emotionless. It
happened without effort. “He never needs to know what has happened here, and he has already made it plain that he wishes to return to his world. It will be better for him, and for us, if he goes.”
Cedric’s voice told of his disbelief, his anger. “You risked your life by letting him come into the Lightworld. You were imprisoned for your…involvement with him. And now you act as though none of that matters.”
“Because it does not.” All that mattered now was that this silly game come to an end, that the waiting for death ceased, as it would whether she was victorious or not. “It hurts our cause more than helps it to have a Darkling kept in the Palace. If I were to bow to his will in this matter, I would end both of our lives.”
“And what is Your Majesty going to do? Throw him onto the Strip while he is injured?” To hear Cedric defend Malachi was too touching to bear. “If he tries to return, will you have him killed?”
Now, the rising anger in her threatened to upset her calm, and she forced it aside. “He is no longer injured to the point of incapacity. You will escort him to his lodgings in the Darkworld. Occasionally I might see fit to send him a small gift of coin for trade, but he has assured me that he can live on his own quite well. In the future, if he changes his mind, I will not keep him from returning. For now, until Garret is dead, it is best that he remain at a distance.”
“And you will keep him from his child.” Cedric spit the words at her as though she were not a Queene. Though she enjoyed being spoken to as an equal most of the time, this rankled her.
She drew up straighter in her chair. “I will do what I feel I must as Queene. And you will do what I order you to do.”
Mocking her with a bow, Cedric intoned, “As Your Majesty wishes,” before turning on his heel and leaving her alone in the council room.
Only when she was sure he would not return did she lay her head on her arms and weep.
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