“You’re not tying me up again,” I said.
“Lord Batarian has ordered you bound and brought before him,” Sakarian snarled.
“I will kill all of you and burn this place to the ground before I will submit any further,” I said.
As I said it, I knew it was true. I didn’t have to tolerate them.
“You cannot kill us all without incurring harm to yourself,” Sakarian said.
“Oh, yeah?” I said softly. A ball of flame appeared above my palm. “Who wants to try me?”
All of the fae stared in reluctant fascination at the fire floating above my hand. They had their own magic here, to be sure, but there was nothing like this that I had seen.
“How about you?” I asked Sakarian. “Do you think you can loose one of those arrows before I turn you into Korean barbecue?”
I was sure my reference went over his head, but my meaning was clear. I really hoped Litarian wouldn’t try to lasso me. I’d have to hurt him if he did, and if I had to hurt him, it would bother me. Something about him reminded me very strongly of Gabriel. But I would do it if I had to. I’d made the threat, and I would follow through.
The fae were frozen in place, obviously unsure what to do. I stepped back slightly so I could keep an eye on both Litarian and Sakarian.
“I will go with you to Batarian,” I said. “But you will not bind me.”
“You cannot be trusted,” Sakarian said. “Now that we know what you are capable of, we cannot allow you to appear before our lord unbound.”
“You’re afraid I’m going to kill him,” I said. “I could have done that already.”
There was a little flicker in Litarian’s eyes, as if he were acknowledging the truth of this.
“I could kill Batarian even if my hands were bound. And you, and anybody else I wanted.”
As I spoke, the flames rose higher, and with it, my temper. The air was filled with light, and it came from me. Forget trying to be the nice guy. They needed to know who they were dealing with.
“I will come, but it will be on my terms, not yours.”
The eyes of every fae were on me, and the majority appeared terrified. Sakarian was scared but trying very hard not to show it.
Something predatory awoke in me, something that recognized Sakarian was a weak link. It was a dark feeling, one that frightened me. I wanted to crush Sakarian because I could. I turned toward him. His eyes widened. Before I could find out what I would have done, I heard, “Wait.”
I looked over my shoulder at Litarian. He held my gaze, tossed the rope over the edge. Sakarian spoke to him in their own language, his voice furious. Litarian ignored him, focusing on me.
“There are children here,” he said.
I felt my fury dim a little, the light inside me easing down. “Then keep them safe.”
He nodded, then spoke loudly to the assembled warriors. The other fae left—most eagerly, a few reluctantly, but they all left—until I stood alone with Litarian and Sakarian.
Litarian held out his hand to me. “My lady,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Only a queen would have the strength you have,” he said in reply to my look.
Technically I was a queen. I was heir to Azazel’s court, and the fact that I had killed my father and blown my court to smithereens was neither here nor there. I might be monarch of a fallen court, but Litarian was correct. I was a queen.
I nodded at him, and allowed him to approach.
“Would you extinguish the flame? I will not attempt to harm you,” he said.
Sakarian spoke to Litarian again in their own language. I didn’t need a translator to know Sakarian wanted to know what the hell Litarian was doing. I doused the ball of fire, allowed Litarian to take my hand.
He spoke to Sakarian in a firm voice, and the other fae cursed angrily in response. I looked from one to the other, and realized something I should have sooner. As with Sakarian and Batarian, there was no physical resemblance, but still . . .
“You’re brothers.”
This time even Litarian’s face registered shock.
“Only a witch could know that,” Sakarian hissed. “We should kill her now.”
“Brothers,” I continued. “With different mothers.”
“How could you know such a thing?” Litarian said.
“The way you act toward one another gives you away. You’re older,” I said to Litarian. “But illegitimate.”
“Perhaps you are a witch,” Litarian said faintly.
For some reason Litarian was in the stronger power position. Sakarian, despite his protests, had been forced to submit to his brother’s decision regarding me. I wondered what family drama was at work here. It was clearly not widely known, if at all, that Litarian was Batarian’s son.
In my initial encounter with the king, the power dynamic seemed to indicate that Litarian was below Sakarian. Perhaps this was simply a performance, something that was used to deflect attention away from Litarian. No matter what, the information was obviously useful—and probably dangerous.
Litarian spoke in a low voice to Sakarian, then gave my hand a tug. “Lord Batarian awaits us,” he said.
As Litarian led me away, I was abruptly aware of my stinky, smelly clothes, my torn and bloodied jeans, my knotted hair. I thought of Amarantha on her throne, dressed and coiffed like a supermodel. I might be a queen, but I most definitely did not look like one.
Litarian led me into the main building. I expected to return to the room where I’d met the king earlier. Instead of going down two flights of stairs, we stayed on the present level.
At the end of the hallway was a large room, much more lushly appointed than the one I’d been in previously. There was more furniture, and all of it of a higher quality. Rugs and blankets woven of some soft- and fluffy-looking material were scattered on the floor or draped over the backs of chairs. The end of the room opened to a private verandah.
Batarian was there, his back to us, his shoulders hunched and tensed. As we entered, he turned on us, his face drawn in lines of fury. He strode toward me, his hands outstretched like he would strangle me.
I dropped Litarian’s hand and curled my fists. “Don’t even think about it. You’ll never get a chance to lay a finger on me,” I warned.
“Do not threaten the king unless you wish to meet an immediate death,” Sakarian barked.
Batarian stopped a few feet from me, his hands frozen, fingers curled into claws. He made a visible effort to calm himself, drawing air noisily through his flared nostrils.
“Just what in the name of all the gods that are and ever will be do you think you are doing?” Batarian said through gritted teeth. “And I thought I said she was to be brought here bound and under guard.”
“Litarian permitted her to come before you in this fashion,” Sakarian said snidely.
“It seemed wise to prevent further loss of life,” Litarian said, ignoring Sakarian’s tone.
“Did you threaten my men? After I showed you hospitality?” Batarian said.
“Hospitality?” I snorted. “Is that what you call it? Leaving me on that platform, ignored, exposed to the elements? Keeping my wings bound and forcing me to stay here when I have told you repeatedly I mean you no harm, that I only wish to leave? I’ve killed your enemies for you, for crying out loud. You would have lost that battle were it not for me.”
“We have lost the battle anyway,” Batarian said grimly. “You have no idea of the damage you have done.”
“Then why don’t you tell me,” I said. “I’d expected a little more gratitude, frankly.”
Batarian seemed to crumple suddenly. The anger that held him upright dissipated, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. He looked much older than he had a moment before, the weight of his cares hanging heavy upon him.
This is a true king, I thought. He obviously cared more for his people than for himself. That definitely made him a rarity in my book. Every other monarch I’d met thus far had b
een concerned only with their own whims, their own comforts.
“I do not know how to make you understand,” Batarian said.
“Try me,” I said.
5
“START WITH THOSE CREATURES,” I SAID. “WHAT ARE they, and where do they come from?”
“They are known among us as the Cimice. I do not know what they call themselves. As for where they came from, we do not know. Our people have lived in this place for thousands of years, in harmony with our surroundings, since Lucifer left this place and our borders were closed . . .”
Batarian trailed off, like he was lost in memory, and Litarian took up the story.
“Then, one day about a year ago, the creatures appeared in the forest. We kept our distance from them, as we did not know how they had arrived here, and if they were friend or foe.”
“Could they have arrived by boat, from across the ocean?” I asked.
The three of them stared at me blankly.
“You know, from the continent on the other side of the big water?” I said, gesturing to indicate a large body.
“There is no such thing,” Sakarian said derisively. “Ours is the only land on this world.”
“Uh, no,” I said. “I saw it with my magic when I was trying to find a way out of this place. There’s another land far across the ocean. If the Cimice suddenly appeared one day, they could have come from there.”
Batarian appeared stunned at this news, Litarian thoughtful, Sakarian disbelieving.
“We had assumed the borders were broken somehow,” Litarian said. “Especially after you arrived.”
“Yes,” Batarian said, frowning. “But if they come from this other place, that puts a different face on things.”
“It does not change the simple truth that she does not belong here,” Sakarian said. “Nor does it change the fact that she has done more harm than good by her actions.”
“But you still haven’t told me why,” I said, looking at them expectantly.
“Yes,” Litarian said when it became apparent that the king would not continue the narrative. Their leader appeared lost in thought. “As I was saying, when the Cimice first appeared, we avoided them and they avoided us. There did not seem to be many of them, and we were content to live in peace.”
“We did not realize they were such prolific breeders. If we had, we would have killed them on sight,” Sakarian said bitterly.
“What happened?” I asked.
Litarian continued. “The Cimice established a colony in the mountains on the other side of the forest. Our scouts told us that there were only about twenty or thirty of the creatures. After a month, there were a hundred. Within three months, three or four times that. Now there are thousands of them, a massive teeming horde, spilling forth from the mountain like an infection.”
Litarian’s description reminded me very strongly of the way I’d seen the vampires that had invaded Chicago. They, too, seemed like an infection, a disease that had spread so quickly there was no hope of stopping it. But I had stopped it. Maybe I could help the fae with their problem, too, and then they would see that I could be trusted. Then I could be given what I wanted most—my freedom.
“So you were all living in peace, even if there were a lot of these Cimice,” I prompted. “What changed?”
“Perhaps the Cimice realized they were too many for their resources and decided not to share the forest with us any longer. Perhaps they had intended to destroy us all along, but were simply waiting for superiority of numbers. In any event, it started as a series of small raids in which the Cimice would attack our hunters in the forest.”
“Those first attacks took us unawares,” Batarian said.
I didn’t need him to draw me a picture to know that they had suffered heavy losses.
Batarian continued. “After that, we were more cautious. However, we were also forced to be more daring. Meat was becoming very scarce. The Cimice, it seems, will eat anything. The area of the forest where they live is completely stripped.”
“Like locusts,” I murmured.
Litarian looked at me questioningly.
“They’re these little insects that descend on crops in massive hordes. They strip everything clean and then fly away to do it again somewhere else.”
“That sounds like the Cimice,” he said. “Except that they did not fly away. They stayed. And as time passed, they grew more aggressive. They began to attack the village, always in small numbers.”
“They were testing our defenses,” Sakarian said. “To see how much risk would be required to defeat us.”
“We have always managed to hold them off, to make them pay for these excursions,” Batarian said. “Enough to make them doubtful of their success if they attempted a full-scale attack.”
I stared at the king. “You’ve got to be kidding. If their numbers are as great as you say, then they could have overwhelmed you at any time. You are under a serious delusion if you think your fighting abilities affected them in any way. They’re feinting and retreating for some reason of their own.”
Realization and chagrin dawned in the eyes of all three. The arrogance of every fae I had ever met on any world was astounding. These guys had actually believed they had held off an enemy that outnumbered them simply by virtue of their skill.
“What reason would they have for doing such a thing?” Sakarian asked.
“Maybe they’re practicing for some other foe, and they’re using you to season their soldiers,” I said.
“They’re killing our people as part of some game?” Batarian asked, disgust showing on his face.
“Well, I don’t know for sure,” I said, backpedaling. Batarian seemed like he might shoot the messenger. “I’m just guessing.”
“But what other foe could they prepare for?” Litarian asked. “There are no other fae in this land, nor any other creatures like the Cimice.”
“Maybe they don’t plan on staying here,” I said. “Maybe they’re planning an assault somewhere else.”
And as I said this, my heart froze. I had killed a Cimice in Chicago, one who had warned me that it was merely one of many, one who said it was the advance of an assault that would cover the city. My legs wobbled a little.
“Not again,” I said. “Not again.”
“What is it?” Litarian asked.
“I know where they are going,” I said. “To my world, to my city.”
Maybe Nathaniel hadn’t meant me harm in sending me to this place, after all. But how could he have known that the Cimice were here? Was it really just a horrible coincidence?
I needed to stop worrying about Nathaniel and his motivations and deal with what was in front of me. I knew the Cimice were here. I knew they intended to attack Chicago. There was no reason for these monsters from another world to choose my home unless they were being directed by one of my enemies.
Which meant that 1) despite all evidence to the contrary, there must be a way to get on and off this world without going to that permanent portal on the other side of the ocean, and 2) while determining the identity of the Cimice’s puppet master was important, it wasn’t nearly as important as stopping the Cimice from descending on my city.
The people of Chicago had just survived an infestation of vampires. They could not survive another large-scale attack so soon. As it was, I was certain many people would not return. I couldn’t blame them. Once you knew the monster under the bed was real, it was hard to go back to your old life.
I became aware that Litarian was speaking to me but I didn’t register any of the words.
“Huh?” I said.
“Why do you believe the Cimice’s ultimate goal is your world?” Litarian asked.
Might as well put my cards on the table, I thought. It looked as though these fae and I had a common enemy.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen these creatures,” I said.
I quickly explained that I’d encountered one while acting in my capacity as an Agent, which of course they didn’t u
nderstand. Then I had to explain the purpose of the Agency.
“You collect dead souls?” Sakarian asked. “That is the province of Lucifer. You have lied to us about your connection with him.”
“Wow, you really haven’t seen Lucifer for a long time,” I said, deftly avoiding the accusation of lying. “He hasn’t collected a soul since before the fall.”
“What fall?” Sakarian asked.
“I am not going to get into the history of the fallen angels,” I said. “Suffice it to say that Lucifer had a disagreement with his previous employer and they don’t work together anymore. But you’re really missing the point here. The point is that we both have reason to want the Cimice gone. I can help you. I think I’ve proven that. Although you never did explain why my killing the Cimice was a bad thing.”
Batarian looked slightly embarrassed. “I believed that your display of power would frighten the surviving Cimice, and that they would return to their leader with tales of wonder. I thought that their fright would cause them to descend upon us with their full strength. However, in light of your belief that they could have done such a thing at any time, my anger with you seems foolish.”
I didn’t rub his face in it, although I was sorely tempted. I had been raised by Beezle, after all.
“Look,” I said. “I can’t let the Cimice attack Chicago. And your people are going to be wiped out sooner or later if you don’t take serious action.”
“Serious action?” Batarian repeated. “You mean attack the colony. No. I will not risk my people.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “You can risk me.”
“You will eliminate the entirety of the Cimice alone?” Batarian looked incredulous. “Even with powers such as yours, you could not do such a thing.”
I remembered rising above Soldier Field, filled to bursting with the feeling of vampires who had come at my call. I remembered the power of the Morningstar moving through me, exploding outward, eliminating the vampires so thoroughly that nothing remained, not even ash.
“Yes, I can.”
Sakarian and Batarian continued to look doubtful. Litarian, as always, appeared thoughtful.
Black Heart Page 7