King of Ruin: A Fantasy Romance (Lords of Sidhe Book 1)

by May Sage

  Sidhe was land of the Aos Si, and like them, it was cruel. The water running between the circles and feeding the tree of life was poison. The most beautiful plants could wrap their branches around their necks and squeeze. The woods made any wanderer roam until they collapsed face first into bright pink moss and their rotting corpse fed the roots. Everything here was made to kill in the worst possible way. No less the fair folk.

  Sylphs, salamanders, goblins, dryads, pixies, dwarves. They were all vicious and wicked. Some might just slit throats and crack necks but most preferred to take their time extracting every delicious ounce of hope and love from their victims before taking a life.

  It was just fine. Caim didn't intend to attempt to alter the nature of the Aos Si. What he aimed to eradicate were the petty quarrels that prevented them from taking what belonged to them.

  The Seven Circles, together, were a force beyond reckoning, an army that would make the gods tremble. And they remained stuck on their artificial moon because of a spell embedded in their veins.

  There was one true enemy. Not the other fae. Not the Iron Circle. Not even whoever had blasted the seven rulers a week prior.

  The tree of life, tool of the gods controlling their destiny.

  He wanted to break the spells that forced his kind to remain close to it or perish. They'd get to leave this accursed place hovering over Tartarus. Go where they wished. That so many fae had to remained clustered together on a ten-thousand-mile platform was as infuriating as it was dangerous. It was a miracle they hadn't yet completely destroyed each other.

  His chest rose and fell deeply. The outcome of this fight was crucial. Regent used to be an honorary term used for the local authorities, who acted under the aegis of the high queen—or king—of Sidhe, but since there was no monarch commanding them, they were the one true leader of each circle.

  Caim had analyze the world tree, planted on the eighth’s circle, right at the middle of Sidhe. He’d studied the spells in their blood. Yet each time he'd gotten anywhere, he'd hit a wall. Confidential information only revealed at the leisure of the regent. And the regent had always refused to grant him access.

  If Cassian won today, Caim would likely be kept from the knowledge he needed to free their people. Cassian would father or name heirs, and Caim would have lost his own shot at reaching out for this power.

  He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

  Caim brought his iron blade to his lips and bowed to his cousin, who smiled pleasantly.

  "Who would have known that we'd meet again so soon, cousin?" Cassian asked.

  Who, indeed?

  Whoever had blown up their predecessor.

  "Not I. Did you?" Caim wondered.

  Cassian laughed. "Careful now. That sounded like an accusation. And we both know I'm not the type to work that hard. Now, you, on the other hand…"

  That was definitely an accusation. Caim knew better than to attempt to exonerate himself. He was the ideal suspect. And he didn't mind being seen as a mad man who'd do anything to grasp power.

  "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

  "Yes, let's."

  But instead of bowing back and starting their duel, Cassian turned to the stands watching them with rapture.

  "Today," he said, his voice resonating loud and clear through the arena, "is not a good day to die. It's cold, cloudy, and miserable. So I say, Silvers." Cassian returned to face Caim, his eyes dancing. He went to one knee and dipped his head low. Lifting it again, he told the crowd, "Bow to your lord."

  Caim watched him like a predator in the middle of a hunt, trying to read him, to understand the meaning of this.

  Cassian had a real chance against him. He could have had the circle, or at least tried. So, why had he served it to him this way?

  It wasn't out of friendship or loyalty. They could barely stand each other. Caim felt like he was watching a larger plot unfold. If Cassian relinquished his right to fight for the throne now, it was for a reason.

  And Caim needed to find out before he was the one who exploded.

  He was crowned that very day as night fell over the world. Tartarus hid the sun for thirty hours at a time, then in the light seasons, day lasted for another twelve hours before Sidhe reached a position where it returned to darkness. Forty-five universal hours a day, ten days per week, a hundred weeks in a year, divided into seven seasons.

  And for all that, Caim never had enough time.

  He walked the path from the arena to the regent's keep slowly, stopping before each tribe assembled on the way.

  The priestess of the waters blessed him with a drop of golden poison on the tip of his tongue, and the fire fae of the mountains came down with an offering of spelled silver cloaks. The lake nymphs kissed his cheeks and covered him in black lilies that would have drained a lesser man. Even the dwarves came. Their forged offering was well received. Caim's iron sword had come to him from his father, but as Red had mentioned, it was ill suited unless he truly desired to slaughter everyone in his path.

  "I don't think I've ever held a finer blade," he told the stocky man two heads shorter and twice as wide as he.

  The dwarf nodded. "Doubt you have. We do not give such to a stranger lightly, Regent."

  "And I do not receive lightly."

  No fae ever did. Their present today had a price. It said they accepted his rule as long as he saw to their interests. If Caim betrayed them, the dwarves would respond in kind. And use that sword to slit his throat, no doubt.

  But they expected little of him, after so many rulers without vision or purpose. Little wasn't his intent.

  Finally, Caim reached the gates to the keep, barred by two dozen gentry. His uncle's advisors and knights and friends. They all watched him warily, not without cause. If they believed him responsible for Theron's death, no doubt they wondered which of them would be next.

  Cassian was in front, their uncle's crown in hand. It was a circlet of silver with a heart shaped stone, red as blood at its center.

  "Now, cousin. Your turn to kneel."

  Indeed it was. Having to be vulnerable in front of Cassian went against all of his instincts, but he did so anyway, bringing both knees to the ground and then lowering his head.

  Caim didn't know whether to expect a crown or a sword atop his head.

  Cassian crowned him, and the crowd cautiously clapped.

  He watched them, eyeing all those whom he considered potential enemies.

  A week ago, it had been a few of them. Those who coveted his role at his uncle's side. Those who disliked his way. Those who whispered about his bloodthirsty, ruthless parents.

  Now, it was everyone.

  Weakness

  Her eyes flew open the moment she passed the doors. She breathed in, and then out. What the hell? Then in again, inhaling deeper, basking in the sweetest, cleanest air she'd ever smelled. Though the sky was darkening in the distance, it smelled like a hot summer day, with exotic floral scents that made her crave another breath. The air itself was so exquisite breathing felt like eating a tub of pistachio gelato.

  They'd arrived at a platform surrounded by the strange water that didn't resonate with Mel's power. She inched toward the surface.

  "Don't." Throyn's voice had seemed either bored or exasperated before. Now, it was sharp.

  She turned to him.

  "These waters are poisonous. A drop would be enough to take half your energy. Ten would knock you out. Drink a glass, you're dead."

  Damn.

  "Thanks," she replied, returning in line.

  But her eyes remained affixed on the water.

  It was different, yes. But poisonous? Her eyes could see movement deep under the golden surface. There was life in there, at the bottom. She felt it as surely as she felt Throyn next to her.

  Mel gently turned her fingers, slowly, her movement minute and discreet Anyone seeing her would have thought she was just stretching her hand. But she tried to call to those waters. Converse with them. Introduce herself, say hi
, so to speak.

  There was no reply. Not a whisper came from the surface reflecting the spaceship.

  Unless Mel was mistaken, the silence felt purposeful. The water didn’t feel dead, dormant, or absent to her. No, it was…cautious. It was as if the deep water was watching, gauging her.

  Learning the theories of magic before she got to use it had given her an understanding of the nature of magic users. Callie would have gone for the textbook answer and said they were people able to manipulate energy around them—with a specific affinity often defined by their bloodline. But it was more than that. Magic was communication. Whether they talked to the shadows of their bygone ancestors, to the elements, or to the gods themselves, they were asking another entity to let them borrow their strength for a little while. Or ordering it to surrender.

  The water on Earth had to do Mel's bidding. When she called, it answered. This one wasn't bound to follow when she led.

  Still, it listened. That reassured her, somehow. Mel had been so vulnerable since she’d failed to sense her element around her. Now she wasn’t as weak.

  She stored the information at the back of her mind as the soldiers herded them away from the seas at mace-point. Mel was reluctant to leave the waterfront, feeling herself diminish the farther they went.

  There was no running now. As well as one armored soldier for each of them, Mel could see her abductors—what was left of them—closing the line behind her.

  And him. The predator.

  There were fifty Aos Si all in all, and she wasn't familiar with the territory. She wouldn't make it far.

  The spaceship had landed at the edge of one of the seven circles, close to the sea, and they walked over a beach of red sand, before reaching the edge of a thick rainforest. Here, perhaps. She could run here. There was enough coverage for her to get away. But the fact that she had no clue where to go soon chased that notion away.

  Mel reluctantly admired her surroundings. The unfamiliar indolent trees with purple, black, and yellow branches burrowing deep into the ground and climbing back up like serpents. The large white birds with long sapphire beaks. Their cries seemed to carry a message she couldn't understand. And the heady smell only grew thicker as they reached the woods.

  The moment the first soldier stepped under the shade of the trees, a path appeared before them. The trees had curved to let them pass.

  It was a beautiful world. She would have loved to visit it as a tourist. Less so as a prisoner.

  She scrutinized the vegetation. They obviously had a mind of their own, but Mel had no way of communicating with them. Deep in the ground, she could feel the strange water from this world, faint but present. Still silent and sullen.

  A longing clutched her chest. If Uri had been here, she might have been able to talk to those trees. Coax them into letting them run and hide. She didn’t think she’d ever been so homesick.

  Her guard pushed into her back with the head of his mace, zapping her.

  "Walk."

  She kept going.

  By the time the walk through the forest ended, Mel was sweaty, tired, and depleted. She needed water. Her water. Not to drink; it would be a while before she was parched. But she needed to feel it, and let it revive her. How long had it been since she'd rested? She couldn't tell. Mel had no way of knowing how long she'd been zoned out during the journey. The walk could have lasted a couple of hours, or three, or four. She'd lost track.

  "Hey, is your watch working?" she asked, seeing a prisoner with a wristwatch right behind her.

  The young boy. It was a rather silly watch, with yellow monsters over it.

  He nodded. "It says it's…noon."

  Noon. That was something. On what day, though? She'd been taken on Tuesday. It was probably Wednesday now. Maybe Thursday. She’d passed out and she had no idea how long her slumber had lasted.

  Mel turned to her guard next. "Any chance you'll tell me the date and time?"

  She didn't expect an answer, but it came. "It's the seventeenth hour on Kronday the forty-third."

  Oh. Yeah. Aliens. She'd forgotten.

  Strange that she could forget something like that. She put it down to exhaustion.

  "What does that mean? You know, in Earth terms."

  She would have sworn he laughed, although the sound was too low to tell for sure.

  Mel was surprised the soldier replied. "It means that whatever you think you know doesn't matter now. Go on. And shut up. You don't want to bring attention to yourself."

  After a second, Mel decided that he was right. She really didn't. Not with the predator at the back and a woman who'd literally asked for her heart not far behind. She truly was out of her element, out of her depth, and she needed a plan before this whole thing exploded in her face.

  At the end of the path, there was a large white stone edifice carved under a hill, and they were led directly downstairs as soon as they entered it. The predator and abductors left, but more soldiers with maces, swords, and bows joined them, rendering all thought of escape as unlikely as before.

  The tunnels were a maze she tried to keep track of as they moved lower and lower down under the keep. Three rights, one left, forward at a five-way intersection, then left again.

  There were thousands and thousands of cells, all occupied. The prisoners had hollow eyes and their expressions were masks of horror as they saw the guards. All crawled to the back of their cells.

  Not good. Not good at all. Shit, what was going on—and more importantly, how could she get out of it in one piece?

  Finally, they seemed to have reached their destination. The soldiers stopped, and the first opened an empty cell, forcing one prisoner inside.

  The boy with the watch grabbed on to Mel's hand—instinctively, she believed—as he stepped closer to her.

  Her heart constricted.

  She would have loved to be the kind of person who could plant herself firmly between a young child and harm. A protector. A hero.

  She was the opposite.

  "Kid, trust me when I tell you, I can't help you."

  Throyn glanced at her, obviously unimpressed.

  Let them think her a coward. But she actually literally couldn't.

  Fifty-three years ago

  * * *

  Melpomene watched as the group of boys kicked the teenager over and over. Her lip curled over her teeth. They were just human, but she wanted to attack nonetheless. Let them have a taste of their own medicine.

  And she couldn't. Her feet froze into place, refusing to let her take one step now that her intention was causing harm.

  She groaned, and told herself she wouldn't do a thing against them. Forced herself to believe it, changing her intention. Eventually, she could move.

  She advanced toward the boys.

  "That's courageous. Four against one."

  "Mind your business, bitch."

  "Yeah. This fag ain't worth your time."

  Homophobic. They were absolutely charming, weren't they?

  "You know, I read that most of the bullies ganging up against homosexual guys are actually closeted gays themselves. Maybe you should use up your energy in a better way and just screw each other instead."

  The biggest and dumbest of the lot stepped in front of her and drew his fist back, visibly intending to punch her.

  She smiled.

  Those boys had survived. She didn't murder humans as a rule. But they all had to go on a liquid diet for the rest of the year.

  Mel couldn't—wasn't physically able to—protect anyone other than herself. She'd never been able to. Part of her wondered if she'd been hexed when she was too young to remember it, but Callie had told her that sometimes, curses like that ran through their bloodlines.

  They said fae couldn't lie. Some shifters couldn't help themselves from turning on a full moon. And she couldn't protect. It was just who she was. She'd learned to live with that. And in time, she’d learned to manipulate it. In general, it was easy enough to direct the attention of attackers to
her, force them to make the first move. Then, it became self-defense, and she was free to do as she pleased. But she doubted the Aos Si would fall for it. If they reached for the boy, there was nothing she could do or say to make them take her instead.

  He should find himself another shield.

  In the Dungeons

  Melpomene had never truly known herself, her limits, what she was capable of. As a child, she'd believed whatever Calliope, leader of her people, said. Calliope was no liar. When she didn't wish to share her knowledge, she simply kept her mouth shut.

  Calliope had told her she needed to sleep at least four hours per day, and eat a little. Calliope had said using too much magic would deplete her. Calliope had warned she needed to celebrate the solstices with the rest of her people, to replenish her energy.

  With time, Mel had grown to understand the rules of the muses didn't exactly apply to her. It didn't mean her body didn't obey laws. They were just different.

  Mel liked to sleep, especially on a rainy Sunday morning. But she'd remained awake for weeks at a time without feeling any weaker for it. She loved food, but as a terrible cook, she'd found herself skipping a few meals, only to realize four or five days later that no sustenance had crossed her lips. The solstice didn't call to her; it had been decades since she'd so much as lit a candle during the most sacred time of her tribe.

  Fifty years ago, Mel had found a pretty pendant and taken it in her palm. The dark blue stone had burned her skin on contact, rendered her feeble. She had slept then, for a day and a night.

  Kyanite. Why it weakened her, she didn't know, but the experience led her to try to define her weaknesses.

  She'd found few on Earth.

  Here…she didn't know how or why, but Mel was exhausted. Weaker than she'd been after the kyanite. Hungry. No one came to feed them for an extended period. Hours, days. What did it even mean?

  Her cell was bare but for a corner with a hole in the floor—apparently, her abductors didn't like messes—and a thin blanket. All the walls were electrified—she'd tried to push them.