Fury Convergence

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  The galleries murmured and laughed as well. Then somebody called, “She holds him, but does she truly control him?”

  Somebody else said, “Make him dance! I want to see the Destroyer dance!”

  Karst’s expression clouded. “That’s true. I have seen the bond, but the Artificer’s commitment to freedom is legend: Duke Tarn’s favorite tale. What good the bond if she won’t use it, Ruby?”

  The ruby knight didn’t reply. Branwyn said, “Tarn talks too much. Will you inform the Queen I’m here now?”

  Karst made another of those exaggerated facial movements, this time one of doubt. “Oh no. Not without knowing you truly control that one. Risking the Queen would be risking too much.”

  Branwyn glanced at Rhianna in case she had one of her bright ideas, but Rhianna only shrugged.

  Okay. They were in a large room full of not-very-nice faeries. If Branwyn didn’t finish the negotiation she’d implicitly started with the Queen by following the ruby knight, they’d come after her. She still needed to inquire after the stolen kids, too. She didn’t technically need the Queen for that part, but she strongly suspected the jerks in the galleries were a few steps lower than Tarn in the pecking order, which probably meant they had less information too.

  And she didn’t want to ask them anything. They were being cruel. Not just to Severin, who probably deserved it, but to her. It made her angry. Yet she guessed from the way they were settling in that she wasn’t moving forward until they got their demonstration.

  She glanced at Severin again. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his head low and his eyes black pits. She could feel that cracking in her chest. He was controlling himself of his own volition right now but that wouldn’t last long and she couldn’t really blame him. Maybe…

  I’m not going to fucking dance for them. Let’s just kill them all and keep going. I know, let’s go pick up Marley’s little darlings and bring them here to char their precious Faerie to its white bones. Do you think they’d give Charlie back then?

  Branwyn swayed under the buffet of frustrated rage. Stop, stop, stop! Severin. Her lips formed his name, but she tried to keep the rest of her words subvocal. I don’t want you to dance for them. She inhaled. I want you to scare the shit out of them.

  He lifted his head a fraction, and something glittered in his eyes. Ah.

  Branwyn straightened her shoulders, turning to the expectant audience. She pursed her lips. “You really want him to dance?”

  The courtiers cheered wildly. Karst leaned against the end of the gallery, visibly gratified.

  “Well… I’ll try. Let’s go over here, Rhianna, out of his way. All right, Severin. Go ahead.”

  It practically was a dance, although not the one they’d hoped for. After he’d spun and kicked, his unbelievable agility as he sprang away from the disarmed ruby knight dropped jaws. And when Severin stood over Karst with one foot on his chest and that lance, a faerie-killing weapon if ever there was one, descending towards the fae’s throat, the black needles of Severin’s aura looked like a curtain’s fall.

  Branwyn’s throat worked convulsively, too dry for her to speak. “Severin,” she mouthed, then “Severin!”

  It was barely audible in the rumble of courtiers scattering. But the black tip of the lance stopped as it pricked Karst’s throat. Then it clattered to the ground and Severin strolled back across the hall to where Branwyn stood, his aura gradually fading away.

  “As you see, he is under control,” Branwyn coldly told the galleries. “Please tell the Queen I’m here.”

  As a dead silence spread over the galleries once again, Karst eased himself up and the lance returned to its owner’s hand. Severin stepped behind Branwyn and seemed to instantly wrap himself around her: that pressure on her hips, his breath in her hair.

  Say it again, he said. Keep saying it, or I’m going back over there to finish the fucking job.

  “Severin,” she said breathlessly. “Severin. Severin.”

  Karst spoke loudly, the hitch in his voice more noticeable, “Ruby! How could you be so derelict as to allow yourself—”

  “Severin,” whispered Branwyn.

  “I had no reason to doubt the Artificer’s control,” said the ruby knight, his voice as icy as Branwyn’s had been.

  Karst touched the spot of crimson on his throat, then lowered his eyes. “I have informed The Queen of your arrival. Her handmaiden will escort you into her presence momentarily.” He slumped against his gallery and didn’t look up when the rest of the audience burst into cheers.

  Branwyn glanced at the galleries once, then looked away. She would have preferred any other response.

  Severin’s physical presence ebbed as they waited. When Branwyn glanced over her shoulder, he was leaning against the geode wall with his arms crossed, looking at her. Their eyes met, and she wondered if she could have come up with a better plan, one that hadn’t involved a ‘demonstration.’ But she’d been so annoyed.

  It really would have been a great time for one of Rhianna’s anger-deflecting tricks.

  Branwyn became aware of movement beside her. Rhianna was bouncing on her toes, with her hands clasped and her eyes shining. “Severin, that was wonderful. Would you please teach me? Especially the part where you just kind of zoomed across the hall. And then—”

  “Rhianna!” said Branwyn.

  Rhianna gave her a veiled pout. “What?”

  “Aren’t you more—” Branwyn waved a hand. “More tricky?”

  Rhianna’s wide-eyed innocent look switched on. “Oh, Branwyn. I know at least twelve ways to kill a man barehanded, and three more if I have a spoon. Just imagine the raise I could get if I moved like him!”

  “And a girl like you works for Umbriel,” murmured Severin.

  “What?” said Branwyn, glancing at Severin sharply. “She’s joking. Isn’t she? Tell me she’s joking.”

  “Excuse me, Artificer,” came a quiet, feminine voice. Branwyn turned to see a figure with long, pale hair and a stone visor wrapping around her head at eye-level. She had gorgeous platinum ear cuffs that Branwyn instantly coveted, and snug bronze bands around her upper arms and wrists, but otherwise she was dressed far more simply than the other courtiers in a plain long gown that matched her hair.

  “I am the Queen’s handmaiden. She does not choose to see her courtiers today. If you and your attendants would come with me, I will bring you to her.”

  9

  The Queen of Stone

  The handmaiden guided Branwyn and her companions through an archway that hadn’t been there before and down a corridor of polished golden tiger’s eye. The corridor led to a wide serpentine staircase that rose far too many flights into an aquamarine tower.

  The handmaiden’s steady pace never slackened, but at about the twelfth flight, Branwyn’s legs started to cramp. She was bitterly unsurprised to note that neither Rhianna nor Severin seemed fatigued, and decided if they could do it, so could she. What was a little pain and heavy breathing? She needed the workout. But at the sixteenth floor, she lost her footing, landed hard on one knee, and didn’t have the wind to get herself back up again.

  Rhianna crouched beside her, then called, “Wait, please.” Severin leaned against the inner wall of the staircase, crossing his arms. He wasn’t smiling, which was a small mercy.

  The handmaiden looked over her shoulder, then descended the stairs again.

  Branwyn caught her breath, then said, “Is there a reason we’re climbing a tower to see the Queen of Stone? Stone is in the ground.”

  The handmaiden lifted her head up to the heights. “She likes to be close to the sky sometimes. But, ah yes, this path is challenging for mortals inexperienced with heights. If you can complete this flight, I will take you to her elevator.” Her head turned to Severin. “If not, perhaps your attendant can carry you.”

  All it took was one tilt of the corner of Severin’s mouth and Branwyn shot to her feet, almost pulling down Rhianna in the process.

  “There you
go,” said Rhianna, patting her on the back. “There’s always a second wind.”

  “Enough to get me to an elevator, anyhow.” Branwyn hurled herself up the stairs, rushing past the handmaiden to the landing, where with a supreme effort of will she didn’t sprawl on her face.

  “This way,” said the handmaiden, clearly amused. She touched an unbroken plane of aquamarine and a moment later, it split in two horizontally. The elevator beyond was very large, and also transparent quartz.

  “Ooh, a glass elevator!” said Rhianna, and bounced in, going directly to the opposite wall to press her nose against the surface. Branwyn entered more cautiously, ready for the vertigo she’d experienced before in high places in Faerie.

  But this time it wasn’t terrible. At least, the ground and the sky were in the proper places relative to herself. The tower rose above a dark, rocky plain where only crystals grew, and several deep fissures cut through the earth. In the distance, the landscape assumed the patchwork look of Earth from high above: fields and lakes and forests and the glitter of structures.

  Though… some of the structures seemed to be walking, and a lake-like spot of blue suddenly rose into the sky to sail into the further distance. Off on one horizon, something vast and dark moved over the land on many legs.

  “What’s that?” Rhianna asked. “Uh. Sorry. Can you see through that?”

  “My eyes are not like human eyes, but I still perceive,” said the handmaiden, unruffled by the question. “That is Night, wandering in search of its kindred.”

  “Wow,” said Rhianna slowly. Branwyn, who already knew Night was a creature in Faerie, asked the next obvious-to-her question.

  “Does it have kindred?”

  “Oh yes: both the parents who abandoned it, and its cousin spirits. But it is rarely allowed to find them.”

  “What are its cousins?” Branwyn asked. The elevator had started moving smoothly, and she experienced a touch of vertigo.

  The handmaiden, her hand on the wall, hesitated, then lifted her hand. The elevator stopped. “Is this a casual inquiry, or something you will pursue with Her Majesty?”

  Startled, Branwyn said, “It’s not why we’re here.”

  “Oh? Then I would request you not mention the world-spirits, Night and its kin, to Her Majesty. It will only needlessly distress her.”

  “Of course not,” said Rhianna promptly. “Branwyn’s the soul of tact.”

  The handmaiden looked puzzled. “She is not. She is often very blunt.”

  “They’ve got my number, Rhianna,” said Branwyn. “I won’t, though.”

  “Well, I’m the soul of tact,” said Rhianna blithely. “And none of us want to distress the Queen.”

  The handmaiden tilted her head, her mouth twisting. “You keep lying, and in such obvious ways. I have no doubt the other one wishes very much to trouble the Queen.” Her head moved toward Severin.

  “That’s the tact,” said Rhianna confidingly. “He may want to, but he won’t, so it’s practically the same thing, and it sounds prettier.”

  “You sound like a courtier,” observed the handmaiden, and placed her palm on the wall again. The elevator silently rose once more. “But a clever one, at least. So I give you a warning: let the Artificer talk to the Queen, for she is weary of courtiers today.”

  The elevator stopped once again, and the door split apart at the top of the tower. Tall, sharply crenelated walls rose but there was no roof but the blue, blue sky. The wind across the cut walls howled and sang. In the chamber’s center, the Queen of Stone reclined in a chair similar to her throne in the hall. Several other attendants sat on cushions on the floor nearby, engaged in small handicrafts or games. Two of them flowed to their feet and adjusted the Queen’s chair back. The handmaiden waited beside Branwyn.

  “Hmm,” said Rhianna, and Branwyn glanced at her. Rhianna glanced back, a frown drawing her eyebrows together, but only shook her head.

  The Queen of Stone was even more like a statue than her knight or her handmaiden. Her face was scarred grey stone, and her hair was obsidian and basalt, falling free over her shoulder. She wore a gown of golden beryl, with copper pleats and a girdle of of twisted silver. Her head turned toward them ahead of her chair being rotated, and Branwyn was surprised. The Queen’s eyes had been dull stone on their previous meeting, but they were now translucent cabochons, glimmering in the sunlight.

  “You played a dangerous game in the belly of Death, Branwyn Lennox.”

  “Yes, I know. I thought maybe while I'm here, we could set up a better method of communication. Writing on the mirror hasn’t seemed to work.”

  The other attendants giggled at this, but the Queen’s impassive face didn’t change. “I will consider it. But this is not why you struck out into darkness and brought a monster who does not dance into our midst.” Or was that the faintest hint of a smile? Did a Queen tired of her courtiers appreciate the little show below? It was a fascinating thought. She certainly didn’t seem concerned by it.

  “One of your kind destroyed a mortal town, Your Majesty. Another faerie stole the town's children. We’re looking for them.”

  “One of mine?”

  Rhianna whispered, “Honeychord draws on Summer and Air, not Stone.”

  Hastily, Branwyn clarified. “Sorry, I meant only a faerie. It has nothing to do with the Court of Stone.”

  “Unless they stole the kids,” said Severin. “Then it has everything to do with them.” He cracked his knuckles and the attendants on the floor drew together, murmuring fearfully.

  “Stolen children…” mused the Queen. “Stolen children…” She tilted her head to the sky, and the handmaiden’s breath hissed between her teeth. But when the Queen spoke, her voice was almost friendly. “Why are you here, monster?”

  “Woof woof,” said Severin. “I go where the leash pulls me. I’m sure you noticed.”

  “Prevarication.” The Queen’s voice hardened as her gaze lowered. “Fool. Your inclusions may have been washed away, but that only makes the flaws in your nature easier to see. You are here for a child, though not a child of your own body. And you are here because you are weak and selfish. You are barely more than a child yourself.”

  There was a long pause, during which Branwyn tried not to blink. Clearly the Queen had a soft spot for stolen children. Why was Severin wasting this opportunity?

  “Woof woof,” repeated Severin, very softly.

  “Useless,” said the Queen, and her attendants quaked. Only the handmaiden beside Branwyn seemed unafraid, but she focused on the Queen with a sharp intensity.

  The Queen’s cabochon eyes were teal blue. “Branwyn Lennox, I will not offer you information on your quest. You could not now afford it. Let us turn to the service you owe me.”

  Branwyn balked, annoyed at both Severin and the Queen. “We can afford quite a bit. This isn’t a personal project, Your Majesty.”

  “That is not my concern. Your hellhound has decided I shall not advise you, and so I shall not.”

  “Come on, Your Majesty!” said Branwyn desperately. “Are you really going to let him make decisions for you? Believe me, I realize how tempting it is to punish him, but I’m sure if we work together, we can come up with something much more interesting. Something that doesn’t involve stealing some kids away from their whole world.”

  The floor attendants stared at Branwyn, open-mouthed, and the Queen was silent. Then the handmaiden laughed out loud. “No, there is no more interesting way. I apologize, Your Majesty. The moment overcame me.” And she chuckled again before covering her mouth.

  Branwyn couldn’t really say the Queen’s face softened, but once again, there was a hint of amusement around the mouth. Hopefully, she asked, “How about it?”

  The Queen’s head moved from side to side. “Alas, it is no true offer. You would no more punish him at my whim than you would make him dance. But hold! It does not matter. My judgement is absolute and already given.”

  Branwyn’s teeth clicked together, as she recalled h
er experience with Tarn: how he couldn’t lie in his own realm without damaging it, and how his doubts caused tiny earthquakes. Ultimately, second thoughts had torn most of his domain to shreds, though he’d preserved its heart.

  The Queen had already said she wouldn’t help them. There was nothing more to be said. Branwyn’s annoyance with Severin grew hotter, but she kept it in check. Later, after she’d learned out what body part the Queen wanted this time, she’d explain to him in excruciating detail exactly how he’d fucked up.

  Still trying to resign herself, she said, “Right. Well then. That service. Let’s hear it.”

  The Queen looked back at the sky again. “A journey for a journey….” After a moment of silence, she continued. “Soon, my handmaiden will make a journey to the Court of Summer to bring my son home from his holiday. Attend her there and present yourself to him before they depart.” Her head lowered and her cabochon eyes were amethysts now. “It is well for him to interact with other mortals now and then.”

  Branwyn frowned, ignoring Rhianna suddenly nudging her. “That seems… very fair, Your Majesty. How soon is soon, though? We’ve got our own deadlines.”

  The Queen tilted her head. “You may work that out with my handmaiden. Goodbye, Branwyn Lennox.”

  As the chair tuned away, the handmaiden and Rhianna both hustled Branwyn back into the elevator, leaving Severin to follow along or not.

  For a moment, it looked like he might not. He was giving the back of the Queen’s chair a worrying look. Then he looked down at the floor attendants and gave them his shark smile.

  Vividly remembering the fate of Tarn’s changeling attendants, Branwyn said, “Severin!” before she could stop herself.

  He looked over at her with glittering eyes, then strolled leisurely over to the elevator. “Starting to enjoy that leash already, I see.”

  Suddenly Branwyn was furious. She pulled him the rest of the way into the elevator and then hit him in the chest with her palm. “I’m doing this for you, you toxic worm. You’re the one losing your mind over a kid. I’m trying to help you find her, not get locked in a faerie prison for the next millennia. Can’t you ever think beyond your immediate gratification?”