Kings: Chaos Book 5.5

by Claire Farrell

  Eira spat on the floor. “Formorians.”

  The elder woman patted her arm. “Not necessarily.” She nodded at Brendan. “We will give you some of the trees, enable you to take them with you should your ship return.”

  “You would let them take the trees?” the young girl said, aghast.

  “If they can reach them, they deserve to take them. Perhaps this is part of the true path, my dear.”

  “We don’t want to take all of your trees,” Brendan said. “Just enough to heal our land.”

  “I will agree to this as long as you permit me to go with the trees. I will tend to them in your land as I have in mine.”

  “You want to come with us?” Brendan glanced at the others. “Our land is dying. We might be too late, even if the ship returns for us.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance. I wish to find out what became of our ancestors. Our histories need to be reconnected. So much has obviously been lost over the years. We have books, old stories, lore, predictions. I can take many useful items with me.”

  “We do need information,” Bran said. “Especially after Yvette’s library turned out to be a complete bust.”

  “Where are the trees?” Brendan asked.

  “Too far for you to find alone,” the old woman said. “And you’ll need our help distracting the giants.” She waved a hand. “But you’ve come a long way. You’ll want to eat and rest. In the morning, you can tell us your decision.”

  Thanking the old woman, Brendan followed the young girl out if the hut.

  “You’ll have to split up,” Eira said.

  “We’d rather stay together,” Brendan said.

  She tutted. “There’s no room big enough.”

  “Then we’ll sleep outside or above ground,” Brendan said.

  “I’ll figure something out,” she said grumpily.

  “I’m sorry we’re not who you were expecting,” Brendan added, sensing the source of her disgruntlement.

  She shrugged. “I suppose it’s not your fault.”

  She led them in the direction of a delicious scent. A man was standing on top of one of the huts, using a cooking apparatus that was partly through the ground.

  “Food for another four,” she called out. “We have visitors.”

  He looked down at them all. “Are they…?”

  “No. They’re not. But they’re staying here tonight. Where shall I put them? They refuse to split up.”

  “They can have my place,” he said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but they’re small.”

  Brendan bristled. He was at least as tall as the man on the hut.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Follow me,” she added gruffly to Brendan and his men.

  They followed her to a stone hut. “It’s so strange, being part of the earth like this,” Bran said, touching the wall.

  The girl looked surprised. “You don’t live like this.”

  “People generally live above ground where we’re from,” Brendan said.

  “We live in a castle,” Bran boasted.

  The girl’s eyes lit up. “A real castle? I thought they were just in stories. You must tell me about it. I’ll get your food. Wait… wait there.”

  She ran off.

  “She seems hyper,” Bran said.

  “She’s young,” Alyss said. “Poor thing was probably born underground.”

  “Are you really thinking of taking that woman with us?” Pól said doubtfully. “We can’t trust them.”

  “We can’t trust anyone but ourselves,” Brendan said. “But sometimes, we have to have a little faith. We don’t know this land, and that woman had a lot of information.”

  “They worship crows,” Pól said with a snort. “They’re either crazy or foolish.” He glanced around the small room. “I’d say both if they choose to live like this.”

  “They don’t choose it,” Brendan said. “You saw those boulders like the rest of us. Whatever threw them was powerful, more powerful than us. And we’re desperate for those trees. If it takes a new travelling companion, then that’s a tiny price to pay.”

  “What if it’s not the right tree?” Alyss asked.

  “They know about blights,” Brendan said. “They knew exactly what we meant by a tree that could cleanse the earth.”

  “The Darkside is full of crows,” Bran said slowly. “Do you think—?”

  “No,” Brendan said firmly. “These people have stories, that’s all. It’s fancy and legend, nothing at all to do with anyone back home.”

  “What if the ship doesn’t come back?” Bran asked.

  Brendan made an effort to look relaxed. “Then we’ll build our own ship.”

  Bran laughed. “I have no ship building skills, I’m afraid.”

  “These people sent their ancestors off in a boat. If they’re so knowledgeable, then I’m sure they still have some shipwright skills.”

  “You never give up,” Pól said in awe. “Sometimes I feel as though you can do anything.”

  Brendan unsheathed his sword and held it up. It gleamed green. “This was a gift from the Chaos Queen. It’s one of the legendary treasures.”

  “The sword of victory,” Alyss whispered.

  “Exactly,” Brendan said. “Whoever wields the sword of victory can never fail. We have this on our side. We’ve already beaten the odds just by arriving here. We’ve made peace with the indigenous race who are willing to give us the trees.”

  Pól looked terrified. “But—”

  Brendan made sure his smile was full of confidence. “I escaped from the Fade twice. We’re in possession of legendary treasures. We were meant to succeed.”

  And as he gazed back at those trusting faces, he prayed he wasn’t leading them to their deaths. He gripped the sword a little tighter. They needed a big victory if they were to save everyone back home.

  Chapter Six

  Drake

  A sharp rap at his bedroom door disturbed Drake from his breakfast. He wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, then answered the door. A servant he had noticed being enthralled by Donella’s stories on more than one occasion stood at the door, his red-rimmed eyes insolent and sullen.

  His slouched stance immediately sent Drake on edge. “Did you want something?” he barked.

  “You’re wanted by that healer.” The servant sniffed. “It’s important.”

  “Get back to work,” Drake snapped, slamming the door shut. He had only spoken to the Miacha earlier that morning. If Blue Eyes wanted to see him again already, it had to mean bad news.

  He strapped a sword to his waist and hid daggers in a number of places. The casual clothing styles worn in the other courts were more comfortable, but the pretentious, formal modes of dress his court preferred made it easier for him to conceal his weapons. His hand hovered over a dagger; easier for an assassin, too.

  Fully armed, he left his room to visit his wife’s quarters in the next hallway.

  He nodded at his male bodyguard, a large daoine sídhe whom Dymphna enthusiastically vouched for. Dymphna herself had vowed to spend as long as it took looking for the culprit. Painting a bloody X on the bedroom door of one’s sovereign wasn’t a pledge of loyalty. Drake sighed as he realised he would have to put yet another subject to death. Perhaps the sacrifice would give Sorcha some vitality. He could have sworn her eyes looked brighter after the old man was hanged two weeks previously.

  The halls were conspicuously empty. The absence of staff made Drake nervous. He changed his mind, instead intending to make one other stop before he reached Sorcha’s quarters. He hesitated outside Donella’s room. The smart choice would be to bed her and convince her of his loyalty to her. The smart choice would be to allow her to remove Sorcha so she could step into the queen’s throne, and he would keep his own.

  He had never been smart.

  He didn’t knock. He violently pushed open the door. Donella, sitting at a dressing table in just a corset, turned to look at him. Her hands were stained as she smeared crimson liqui
d from a jug onto her skin.

  Shocked, he almost took a step back. “Is that blood?”

  She gestured toward the jug. “Is Sorcha in need of a skincare treatment?”

  “Sorcha doesn’t need anything you’re selling.”

  She let out a scoffing laugh and turned back to her mirror. “That’s not what I hear.”

  “Maybe stop listening to gossip and start considering your precarious position in his court,” he said coldly. “If there’s one more incident, you’re gone, Donella. I won’t tolerate anything else from you.”

  “You’d banish me?” Her voice was mocking. “Whatever would my friends do?” She turned in her seat and sucked her thumb clean. “I suppose they could always come with me.”

  “Last chance,” he spat before leaving and slamming the door behind him. Dealing with Donella left his skin crawling on a regular basis. And his daughter was descended from her line. That was about as worrying as Scarlet being descended from his own demented father.

  He strode angrily toward his wife’s quarters, wishing he had never stopped by Donella’s room at all. Blue Eyes was waiting for him outside Sorcha’s room, politely chatting to the broad daoine sídhe guarding the door until she noticed the king approach.

  She took him aside. “We must speak,” she whispered urgently. “Time is of the essence.”

  “What is it? Is she ailing still?”

  Blue Eyes gazed up at him as if judging him. “I’ve already spoken to her about this, but I feel compelled to speak to you, too.”

  “Well? What is it?” His anxiety burned in his throat like bile. What was going on?

  “This pregnancy is not safe for Sorcha,” the woman said. “This castle isn’t safe either, for that matter. There’s no fire in her room, and the food that arrives for her is unappetising at best. She needs better care than this, Drake.”

  “I understand.” He bit down on his fury.

  “You should send her to one of the other courts,” she began.

  “No,” he snapped. “I can take care of my own wife. I’ll do something about the servants.”

  She hesitated. “Even that may not be enough. Her body is rejecting this pregnancy.”

  “The baby?”

  “The baby is surviving, but that’s the problem. It’s time to consider ending this pregnancy.”

  His fingers curled into fists. “End it? Did she suggest this?” He knew that sacrificing royal blood gave great power, but he didn’t think she would stoop so low as to destroy her own child for it.

  “No. In fact, she’s refusing to end the pregnancy. Even if she survives, she will be weakened for a long time. She may never recover. I’m asking you to persuade her to stop this before it’s too late. I’m very concerned.”

  “But what’s the problem?” Cara hadn’t had problems with Scarlet, and she was human. Surely a fae, a follower of a god, would be stronger.

  “She’s a banshee. She stands for death. She’s not supposed to give life. Not like this.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Then maybe you should discuss this with her.” She glanced at the daoine sídhe. “Are all of these bodyguards truly necessary?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “And I’d advise you not to wander the castle alone either. This is a bad time.”

  “I see.” She shook her head. “It’s of no matter. I’ll stay in her quarters and make sure she’s being cared for properly. The other banshees don’t appear to be very… caring, do they? You could send for Anya. She may be a pixie, but she has experience with—”

  “No,” he said abruptly. He didn’t want news of Sorcha’s illness to spread any farther than it already had.

  “Will you at least speak to Sorcha?”

  “I will,” he said. “Immediately.”

  “Good. I’ll busy myself getting the fire going.” She reached up to pat his arm. “We’ll save her.”

  If Sorcha died, he would be free. And what would happen then? He thought of Cara and Scarlet, of joining two courts to make one large, strong kingdom. And then he remembered bloody X’s and shuddered. He could never bring Scarlet or her mother near the place. Not like that.

  And without Sorcha, he would be lost. She helped him when the pressure of the fae depending on him grew too heavy. She took his sins and made them hers to lighten his load. Only she understood the toll the crown was taking on him. A solitary half-breed was never meant to hold so much power. So why wasn’t Cara suffering, too?

  He went inside and almost recoiled. The room smelled fetid. He moved to the darkened windows and pulled open the curtains. The banshees kept closing them, preferring to keep the room stuffy and dark. He pushed the windows wide open then went to a set of drawers to find an extra blanket for Sorcha.

  Three banshees looked on disapprovingly. He ignored them and the pair of daoine sídhe standing on the inside of the door. Sorcha was awake, watching him with dull eyes. He pulled the extra blanket over her, making sure she was warm, but the tips of her fingers looked blue and lifeless.

  “The Miacha spoke to me.”

  To his surprise, Sorcha set her jaw stubbornly and tried to roll over.

  “Stop,” he said, gently preventing her from turning away. “We should at least talk about this.”

  “Not in front of them all,” she murmured.

  Understanding, he sent everyone outside the room. “Now, we’re alone. We can speak freely.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on. Why are the daoine sídhe always here?”

  “Because I don’t trust Donella,” he admitted. “I embarrassed her, and she somehow knows about the baby. I think it’s best if we take precautions until she calms down.”

  “What happened?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, I don’t want to know.” A tear dripped from the corner of one eye and ran down the side of her face and behind her ear.

  “Nothing happened,” he said, worried. She rarely showed such emotion, even when they were alone. “And Donella’s not important. The Miacha believes you should end the pregnancy, Sorcha.”

  “She’s wrong,” Sorcha said.

  He barely recognised her. Not because of her appearance, but because of how defensive she was of the pregnancy.

  “You don’t have anything to prove,” he said.

  “I’m not trying to. I just believe that the child will be born safely.”

  “At a cost to you.”

  “I don’t care. This child will be born.”

  “But it’s a risk to you,” he said. “Don’t you understand?”

  “You’ll be free of me then,” she said, pouting like a child.

  “Stop that.”

  “I don’t want to let go of this,” she admitted. “It’s a boy, Drake. A son. That’s why it’s so much trouble for me. Banshees only ever birth daughters.”

  A boy. What kind of son could he raise? “Then a daughter may come in the future. End this before it’s too late.”

  “No,” she said stubbornly.

  “I don’t understand why. Children are distasteful to you.”

  “Other people’s children are distasteful,” she said coldly. “I can feel this one, and it’s changing me. I don’t know why, but there’s something about being linked to another being by blood, a being who doesn’t know anything about power or loyalty. It just is. It’s alive. It’s… different. He’s ours.”

  “Would a sacrifice help you?” he asked.

  “I don’t want Death near him,” she said, sounding panicky.

  “I don’t understand you anymore,” he said. “Are you trying to be contrary?”

  She stared upward then finally nodded. “A sacrifice may help me. Death will boost me, but it may not last long.”

  “Good,” he said. “I need you back on your feet before Donella causes even more damage.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you be.”

  She gripped his hand before he could walk away. “Can’t you love me? Even a little? Can’t you want me to live because you can’t bear
the thought of me dead?”

  He flinched. She had never spoken those words before. He could even imagine that she still detested him. Not anymore. Not when she spoke like that.

  “Don’t,” he said. “You knew my heart was already taken when we made a deal to marry.”

  “Was it?” Her voice grew unsteady. “Or are you just saying that to give yourself an excuse to shut yourself off?”

  He met her gaze. “You understood how it had to be. Besides, husbands and wives who love one another don’t make good kings and queens. You’re the one who told me that.”

  “I didn’t force you to marry me,” she whispered.

  “You may as well have,” he said bitterly. “I warned you that I wouldn’t let you forget the things you had done.”

  “Accept your side,” she said. “I know you. I see through you. You sent Cara away because you feared you had already lost her to Brendan. You wanted him to lose, to punish them both because you saw how they were together. You knew you couldn’t compete.”

  “Stop it.”

  “We all saw her falling for him. You couldn’t bear to watch her love him, so you sent her from everything she wanted. I’m not the cruel one here. I’m not—”

  He made a sound of disgust and tried to leave, but she clung on to him, desperation in her eyes.

  “Drake, please. I’m the one who gave you everything I had. I haven’t given up on you once. I saw something in you, a strength Brendan didn’t possess, and I… And Cara… Everyone knows she’s moved on. Why can’t you?”

  “I said, stop!” he bellowed, his voice full of pain and rage.

  She shrank back against her pillow, dropping his hand. “All right.”

  He felt disgusting, like a monster, an animal, but he walked away and left her there anyway. “Get back inside,” he ordered the group who were waiting patiently beyond the door. “You,” he said, addressing his bodyguard. “It’s time for court. Be on your guard.”

  And as he walked away, he fervently prayed for his fingers to stop trembling.

  ***

  The court was full. It seemed as though everyone in the castle had bundled into that one, large hall to watch him avoid glancing at the empty throne on the other side of the room. He and his wife had begun their marriage divided, and the entire court had followed suit. Even now, pressed against each wall, two factions grew apparent.