by SM Reine
“Firearms aren’t reliable in the Middle Worlds. Our magic mucks with the mechanical parts.” Konig led her to a wall hung with bows. “This is what you prefer to use.”
Marion picked up a bow and warmed the stave in her hands. Once she held the bow, she knew what else she needed to do. She selected a string on instinct. The more she thought about it, the less things made sense to her; it seemed better to let her fingers find the best length of cord, and better still to loop it on one end of the bow with eyes closed.
Yes. The motions were very familiar. These were things she had once done.
“Archer,” she whispered to herself.
Marion was an archer.
Joy radiated from the core of her heart to the tingling tips of her fingers, wrapped around the stave.
“Let’s shoot,” she said.
Konig laughed as he offered her a quiver. “Most women can’t even bend one of our bows. I think you’re just pretending to have lost your memory.”
“I’m a very convincing actress, aren’t I?”
He bent to brush his lips over her shoulder. “Very.”
The bow was still far from the most familiar thing about this setting.
Hesitantly, Marion looped the fingers of her free hand through Konig’s. Yes. That was very familiar. Yet it didn’t stir memories the way that touching Luke Flynn did, and she was disappointed by how little she felt in the gesture.
She banished those thoughts.
The archery range was occupied by several other sidhe, including the braided guard who had met them outside the gates of Myrkheimr. “I’m Heather,” she said, shaking Marion’s hand. “Heather Cobweb.”
Marion couldn’t help but giggle. “Cobweb?”
“She’s a transfer from the Summer Court,” Konig said, as though it explained everything.
Heather picked up on Marion’s confusion. “The Summer Court is big on traditional faerie names. Everyone chooses something Shakespearean, mythological, or a name that sounds convincingly archaic. The king and queen call themselves Oberon and Titania, and Cobweb was one of Titania’s attendants in a play.”
“So it isn’t your real name?” Marion asked.
“I like it better than the name I was given as a human,” Heather said. “That’s quite the bow you’re holding. Do you even know what to do with that?”
“Not a clue,” Marion said with a laugh.
“I taught her personally,” Konig said. “She’ll be fine.”
Marion peered down the range. Heather had landed a tight cluster of arrows in the bull’s-eye, which had a human figure hung over a dense wall of hay.
“May I?” Marion asked.
Heather stepped aside. “By all means. I can’t wait to see this.”
Konig wrapped his arms around Marion to position her for the shot. The heat of his body was much more distracting than helpful, and she fell easily into the stance. Arm straight out, lifted high, aiming down her wrist.
“Don’t shoot if you don’t think you can do it,” Heather said.
“She’s fine,” Konig said again.
Marion was fine.
She nocked an arrow and drew the fletchings smoothly to her cheek, letting all the air from her lungs. She relaxed into it.
The world narrowed to the pinpoint of the bull’s-eye.
Marion released.
She didn’t watch where the arrow landed. She took a second arrow from the quiver and shot it in smooth, practiced motions, following with a third just as quickly.
Her body was filled with the white light of magic.
Knowledge.
She was nourished by this—the taste of something she had been taught. Success in a skill made her muscles warm and her skin buzz. Her heart was filled with song.
It took several moments for her to realize that she heard nothing because the range was utterly silent, not because she had gone deaf.
Marion lowered the bow and looked around. Heather was staring. Konig looked smug. And everyone else had stopped shooting to watch.
“Was that okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” Heather said. “It was okay.”
Marion finally checked the target. All three of her white-shafted arrows were clustered at the center, even tighter than Heather’s.
“I said she was fine.” Konig yanked her against his chest, a hand plundering her curls, a possessive gleam in his eyes. “Aren’t you?”
He kissed her with as much confidence. Giddy with victory, she bowed herself against him.
Archer.
Marion knew something new about herself. Many new things.
She also knew that she enjoyed the way that the guards were cheering—whether at her skilled shooting or the prince’s kiss, she neither knew nor cared. She’d impressed them. They were accepting her presence.
Even so, kissing Konig, though a pleasant distraction, was still not nearly as much fun as shooting. “I want more arrows,” Marion said as soon as they broke apart.
“You can have all the arrows you want.” Konig gestured to a servant to bring her another quiver.
Marion spent an hour shooting, pleased to find that her muscles responded positively to the stimulus. It felt like she was finally, truly waking up since being found in the forest outside of Ransom Falls.
She only stopped when she realized someone was watching her who wasn’t a sidhe.
Luke stood at the edge of the range, thumbs hooked in his pockets, watching her with a faint, lopsided grin.
“Did you see that?” Marion set the bow down and leaped to Luke. “I hit the bull’s-eye every time!”
“I saw,” he said with a laugh that was wearier than hers. He took a step back when Marion tried to jump on him. His withdrawal was a splash of cold water on her enthusiasm.
She hung her head. “Sorry. I got excited.”
“No, that’s great,” Luke said. “Looks like you’re settling in great.”
“And you’re not?”
He only shrugged, which was explanation enough. He was a human, mundane, and no matter how extraordinary Marion found him, he didn’t belong in the surreal Middle Worlds.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Marion asked.
“Seems you’ve picked up mind-reading skills along with archery.”
Marion had known it was coming ever since he’d agreed to take her home. It wasn’t like Luke had said he was going to stick around forever. She still struggled to hide her disappointment, swallowing it down and stashing it in a dark corner of her heart. “I’m sure that Konig will be happy to take you back if you’re ready.”
“I am,” Luke said.
On impulse, Marion embraced him tightly. She pressed her cheek against the shoulder of his jacket to keep their skin from touching, but she dug her fingers into his back and clung to him, and she was satisfied when he held her back almost as tightly.
“I want a phone number from you,” Marion said without releasing him. “I’m going to call you once things are sorted out. I’m rich and famous so I’m going to throw you the biggest thank-you party for taking care of me.”
“Ah, Marion,” he sighed.
“You would hate a party, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s nice of you to offer.”
“Maybe just dinner then,” she said. “You and me, nobody else. But a nice dinner. None of that horrible clam chowder.”
“Sure,” Luke said.
She suspected he was only trying to appease her.
The cold presence of Prince Konig appeared at Marion’s back. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you want to go home. Ready to leave, Dr. Flynn?”
“More than ready,” Luke said, releasing Marion.
“I’ll take you to the nearest ley line juncture,” Konig said.
Marion itched to grab Luke, or Konig—either or both. “And leave me alone?”
“Heather will stay with you,” Konig said. “I’ll only be a minute. Come on, Doctor.” He strode up the path.
Luke didn’t take
a step after Konig yet, though. He was still watching Marion.
She managed to smile. She also waved.
Luke followed the prince up the hill, and, within moments, he was gone.
* * *
Guards were waiting to receive Luke at the back door of Myrkheimr, radiating with danger. They weren’t armed, but that was the thing about sidhe. They didn’t need to carry weapons in order to kill. Their magic was most potent of all the gaean species.
The glow of warmth in Konig’s violet eyes had faded as soon as he’d left Marion at the range. Now he glared at Luke with open mistrust. “Make sure the doctor gets home safely,” the prince said to his guards. “All the way home, far from the ley lines.”
“Yeah, you never know when I might suddenly acquire the sidhe power of being able to jump ley lines,” Luke said. “You’d better blindfold me and spin me in a circle three times before pushing me through, too.”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
Luke knew better than to poke at him. But there was a pretty significant difference between “knowing better” and “being capable of resisting.”
“You’ll have to ask Marion what she thinks of me,” Luke said.
Konig went very, very still, as though he’d turned into one of the numerous portraits hanging in the halls of Myrkheimr.
“It’s strange,” he said. “I feel like I should recognize you. It’s as though we’ve met before.”
“I’ve got one of those faces. And you were in my hospital hunting down Marion. But it’s probably a ‘one of those faces’ kind of thing.”
“Hunting her down. You say that like we’re among her assassins.”
Luke just looked at him. He wanted to ask, Are you?
Konig plucked at Luke’s collar, arranging it over his shoulder. “How do I know you’re not responsible for Marion’s loss of memory? Seems weird that someone she just met—a total stranger—would go to such lengths to protect her. Weirder still that you’d go into the Middle Worlds with her.”
“You’ve met Marion before, right?” Luke asked. “She’s convincing.”
“Men tend to find her incredibly charming.” He bit the words out.
Luke had to laugh at the obvious jealousy. He wasn’t interested in fighting over Marion or anyone else—not that Konig was likely to believe Luke if he tried to say that. “Trust me, I just want to get back to life,” Luke said. “You don’t have to get me away from the ley lines. I’d settle for being escorted back to my pickup. Hopefully I won’t ever have to bother you again.”
“Hopefully?” Konig stepped forward until his chest almost bumped Luke’s.
The prince was much taller than the doctor; he had to tilt his head down to glare at Luke. But Konig wasn’t as tall as Luke’s brother. Luke had grown up fighting men well over six feet tall, and he wasn’t intimidated by the idea of fighting another one.
Even a sidhe prince.
Especially if it turned out that Oliver Machado’s magic had, in fact, come from the Autumn Court.
“If I see you again,” Konig said in a low voice, “I’ll make sure that it happens when there are no witnesses. I won’t let you hurt Marion.” He stepped back and raised his voice. “Take him away.”
The guards didn’t need to manhandle Luke. He dutifully followed them toward a gazebo positioned near the edge of the property, where shimmering light indicated access to the ley lines.
One thing was obvious to Luke: Konig was not a nice person. And Luke didn’t want to leave him with Marion.
“Damn,” he muttered.
The urge to fight off the guards and return to Marion was disturbingly strong.
Even if the Myrkheimr was filled with assassins—of which Luke had thus far seen no sign—she would be fine without him for a short time. The Autumn Court clearly wanted Marion alive for the time being.
But if Luke found out that Konig wasn’t what he seemed…well, Luke had sworn an oath when he’d become a doctor. Do no harm and all that.
He wasn’t going to leave Marion to the wolves.
* * *
Despite worrying about Konig’s men trying to ditch him in some remote wilderness, the sidhe only took Luke to his pickup in Port Angeles before vanishing.
His truck still smelled like Marion.
Twelve hours back to Ransom Falls. Twelve hours before he could talk to Charity Ballard.
Luke didn’t linger.
He made a quick sweep of the hotel room to pick up his bag and a few toiletries. The autobiography that Marion had been reading was still on the coffee table. Luke reluctantly tossed it into his bag, too.
Once all signs of their all-too-brief residence of the hotel were gone, he paid the check and returned to his pickup.
It was raining. A veritable downpour.
Yet someone was standing beside his pickup, outside without shelter.
Luke stopped at the end of the parking lot. He hadn’t been spotted yet because the woman was staring anxiously in the wrong direction. The yellow hair cut in sloppy, asymmetrical lines didn’t ring any bells for Luke, nor did her petite figure. She didn’t look like an assassin, though.
The sound of his footsteps made her turn. Once he saw her face, he realized that he had seen her before. It was the servant who had escorted Luke to his room in Myrkheimr.
“What are you doing here?” He rested a hand on his gun.
She lifted her hands toward him, palms forward, showing that she was unarmed. “I followed the Raven Knights to talk to you.”
“The what?”
“ErlKonig’s guards,” she said.
Their name explained the feathery black armor. Luke didn’t release the butt of his gun. “You went a long way for a chat.”
“We couldn’t speak at the Autumn Court without being overheard,” she said. “I was there when Marion lost her memory. I know what happened. And I know that the Autumn Court is trying to kill her.”
12
“Open your eyes, princess.”
Marion let her hands fall away from her eyes.
She gasped.
Konig had fetched Marion from the range with promise of a surprise so good that she wouldn’t mind having Heather Cobweb’s archery lessons interrupted. Now that Marion saw where he had taken her, she had to agree. The surprise was more than worth it.
He had taken her to a bedroom furnished with many bookshelves, like the used bookstore in Oregon multiplied a hundredfold. That alone would have been enough to make her swoon. But it got better than that. The bedroom had a walk-in closet with its doors open to expose a wealth of couture: both modern clothes, similar to the outfit she’d picked out in Port Angeles, and more formal dresses that would have made her match the queen.
“Is this…?” Marion couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“It’s your room.” Konig’s hands skimmed over her shoulders. He stood behind her, radiating simultaneous cold and heat. “My parents acquiesced when we demanded that you have space within the castle, as part of your delegate position, but they wouldn’t allow your rooms to be attached to mine. We had to settle for…this.”
All of the clothes and books were hers.
“Delegate,” Marion echoed. “Delegate to what faction?”
“None. As the Voice of God, you move freely among all factions. If you imagine reality as a giant multifaceted chessboard, you’re a queen without a single pawn, rook, knight…or king, for the moment.” He gazed closely at her face. “Are you wearing your contacts?”
“Contacts? No. I don’t have contacts.”
“You have spare contacts and glasses in your closet…along with a full wardrobe.”
Marion’s vision wasn’t quite bad enough that she ran for the contact lens case, but it was a relief to hear it. The forests of the Autumn Court were too beautiful for her to suffer them being blurry. Plus, she could stop squinting at things, which must have made her look stupid.
“You should change into something else while you’re putting in yo
ur eyes,” Konig said. “A jewel such as yourself shouldn’t be wearing such…” He plucked at the shoulder of the scrubs. “I don’t have words for this.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” Marion said. She slid into the closet, suppressing a squeal as she ran her hands over all the clothes. Many of the dresses were indeed fit for a princess. Marion gravitated toward a filmy dress with decorative gems spilling over both shoulders. The cloth would wrap around her torso to form a bodice, then drape over her hips in filmy ribbons. It was semi-transparent, sexy but modest, classy but revealing.
“You also have access to any of my stylists you might want,” Konig said, hanging outside the closet.
She shot a delighted smile at him over her shoulder. “You have stylists?”
“I couldn’t make official appearances without them. There’d be an uproar at the sidhe prince showing up wearing sweatpants and t-shirts.”
She giggled as she pulled the bejeweled dress off of its hanger. “I’d love to see the reactions to that.”
“I know you would. As I said—you’re a tempest. My little force of chaos.”
“I’m not sure I’ll need help of a stylist today.” Marion measured the dress against herself by holding it to her chest. It appeared to be a bit too large. She hadn’t been eating much lately.
Konig watched her twirl with heat in his eyes. “You may want to have your hair and makeup done before dinner with the court.”
Her smile slipped off of her lips. “The court? The entire court?”
“It won’t be the first time,” Konig said.
But the first time she remembered.
She tried to shake off the apprehension. “I can do my own styling for the night. How formal?”
“Formal,” he said. “There will be dancing and wine. Most likely an orgy, too.”
Marion laughed at his joke.
But then she realized he wasn’t joking.
She stuttered. “An orgy?”
“The sidhe do much of our magic through sex,” Konig said. “You’ve seen it before.”
Marion felt queasy. “Oh. Do I…?”
“Minors aren’t allowed to participate, and you haven’t attended one without me since you became an adult. So no. As far as I know, you haven’t joined in.”