Agent of the Fae (Dark Fae FBI Book 4)

by Alex Rivers

  My fear climbed up my throat, threatening to choke me.

  I tried to pretend Roan was just behind me, that I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t entirely working. The walls seemed to close in around me as I moved further into the stale air. It was unfortunate how much this tunnel smelled like my prison cell.

  I waved the flashlight around, focusing on the length of the tunnel. Plenty of room in here. Plenty of room.

  Rivulets of water trickled from small holes in the walls. The water grew higher around my calves, the current pulling me in deeper. Another minute later, and it reached my knees. A thick sludge covered the rocks here, and I had to walk carefully to avoid slipping in the muck. Darkness seemed to swallow up the light.

  Stumbling, I slipped over the slick rocks, yelping as I plunged into the water. Shocked by the icy current, I gasped, splashing. I couldn’t get back to my feet; the water seemed to pull me in again. There’s no light. Why isn’t there any light?

  Of course. The flashlight had fallen into the water. At last, I pushed myself to my feet again. I’d merely tripped over a rock. Trembling, I scrambled for my flashlight, searching around in the cold water for the plastic, my protection against the darkness.

  I couldn’t find it, and my mouth went dry. I had the feeling that the water had taken the light from me. I wasn’t getting it back.

  Here, in the river under the city, the darkness was absolute. My mind flashed with memories from my prison cell. The low ceiling, so I couldn’t stand up, the pen worn down to a nub as I tried to claw my way out. I never knew if it was day or night, if I’d ever see another person again.

  Disoriented, I stumbled back into the water. My limbs weren’t responding as I tried to stand again. I gasped for breath, but for some reason, the air wasn’t reaching my lungs. The air felt full of heavy soil, like the inside of the grave. I sat on the ground, water running around me. I put my head between my knees, trying to fight the rising dizziness. My blood roared in my ears.

  Maybe it was time to turn around—if I could just remember where I had come from. I slowly rose to my feet, fumbling around me. Walls everywhere. Four walls, surrounding me. Of course. The slime over the stone felt so familiar. I knew this sensation like I knew my own face in the mirror. This wasn’t a passageway. This was a… a…

  Cell. Stay still. If you remain really silent, the rats will come. You can eat the rats.

  The horrible truth began to take root in my mind. Of course I was in a cell—I’d never left. I’d been hallucinating the whole time, imagining conversations. All those memories—my escape from prison, the death of Ogmios, Roan professing his love for me—just the products of a febrile mind starved of human contact.

  I touched my face, certain my skin had aged. I leaned against the wall, cold and wet, waiting for the hallucinations to save me again. Water rushed over my legs.

  Water. Right. My prison cell didn’t have water. I lifted my hand to let the water trickle between my fingers from a hole in the wall. There were no holes in my cell. I cupped my hand and brought it to my lips, sipping. The water felt muddy, and cold, and real.

  Keep it together, Cassandra.

  I breathed deeply, clearing the fog from my mind. Terror had been clouding my thoughts, and I knew fear better than almost anyone. I fed on it every day.

  I crouched down, dipping my hand into the water, feeling the direction of its flow. I’d been walking against the current. If I wanted to get back to Roan, all I had to do was turn around and walk in the opposite direction.

  But as I mastered my fear, that presence pulled me in, stronger now. Of course she was. She’d manipulated my fear, then fed on it.

  She was close to me now, calling to me—an ancient and powerful spirit.

  I shuffled forward, tracing my hand over the damp wall. By now, I was shivering with cold, my teeth chattering.

  I moved forward, a moth drawn to the dark flame.

  I breathed a little sigh of relief as the walls seemed to widen, the ceiling getting taller. Now, the sound of rushing water grew stronger, the water racing around my legs. I’d moved into the Weala Broc itself, its power immense and ancient as the earth itself.

  I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel the shadowy spirit looming over me, the screams of millions of terrorized souls pulsing around me. The spirit of the river had fed on dread for centuries. For eons.

  “Scared, little one?” Her voice was all around me, vibrating in my skull, in my bones, in my teeth.

  I simply nodded.

  “Good.” I heard no satisfaction in her voice, nor pleasure. She only knew one thing: fear.

  “Who are you?” I stumbled over my words.

  “Who am I?” The voice stated my question as a fact. “I am the First.”

  “The First?”

  “Lilith had seven children, little one. I was the first.”

  “So you’re the first of the fae?”

  “Yes.”

  Something shifted in the darkness. I swallowed, certain that if I glimpsed this being, I would go insane.

  “When I first saw humans,” she continued, “they were primitive, mindless creatures. They had but one emotion, and I fed on it.”

  “One emotion?”

  “Fear.”

  The shadows moved again, shifting closer until a dim light appeared.

  I stared into her face. My face.

  The presence wore my skin, Cassandra as she saw me. Pale, wide blue eyes, mouth open in a soundless scream. Cassandra consumed by terror.

  I stumbled back, smacking my head on the wall behind me. The terrified Cassandra walked over to me, pulsing with dread.

  “Even you know that, little one. The most ancient and powerful emotion is fear. It feeds me. It feeds my sons and daughters, you included.”

  I swallowed hard. This thing had created the entire Weala Broc line.

  “You made a pact with me once, little one.”

  “I did what, now?”

  “You touched my altar. You asked me for power, and I gave it freely, like I gave it to your father.”

  “You mean the London Stone?”

  “Yes. The Stone. Once, humans worshiped me here. They sacrificed their own on the Stone. They sliced necks, skulls in water, gifts of terror. As the years went on, they came no more. They built their city around the altar, forgetting their Stone, and yet they still fed me with their terror.”

  “The Stone is gone,” I croaked.

  The sound of rushing water intensified. “Yes.”

  “The Seelie destroyed it.”

  “And you will make them pay.”

  Oh good. Me and the terrifying, ancient spirit are on the same page. I held out my hands. “That’s why I’m here. I need the Stone’s power.”

  “The Stone has no power, little one. The power flows from me.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Then I need your power.”

  There was a long moment of silence. “Then take it.”

  “Okay. So… how, exactly?”

  “You know what to do, little one. You know how to draw the power into you.”

  She was right. I’d done it before, when I’d connected with the London Stone. With trembling fingers, I pulled my stiletto knife free from my belt. I grasped the blade and pulled it upward in a swift motion, wincing as I felt it cut into my palm. Blood flowed between my fingers.

  I held out my bleeding hand to the other Cassandra, the one with her eyes wide-open in terror. In a mirror image, she held out her hand to me, touching her palm against mine.

  As we touched, the screams of countless souls filled my mind, a thousand times more powerful than the London stone. This was the pure, unmitigated terror of humans since the beginning of history. I lost myself in the horror.

  And it felt glorious.

  Chapter 32

  The screams filled my body like a delicious nectar.

  My eyes flicked open, and I tried to remember where I was. Above me, the dark ceiling of the passage under the Walbrook River curved over me.


  The Walbrook River, my ancient homeland.

  I was moving, somehow, carried along with the current, delirious with power. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t a current carrying me, but powerful arms. Roan’s arms, wrapped tightly around me. He looked down at me, and I could feel his relief through our bond as my eyes began to focus.

  His lips were moving as he spoke to me. And yet I could hear nothing but the screams fracturing my skull. They filled my mind, drowning everything else in a glorious symphony of horror.

  I’d met her. The first terror leech. The real Goddess of Dread. She’d given me her power, and I thought it might drive me insane.

  Roan moved his lips again. I whimpered, shutting my eyes, drowning in the howls of terror. For a moment, darkness claimed my mind. When I opened my eyes again, sun warmed my face. In the glaring sunlight, I blinked at the rubble, the open hatch door.

  “Roan,” I muttered. My voice just barely pierced the veil of screams.

  “Cassandra. What’s wrong?” Dimly, I heard his voice.

  “There’s screaming in my head.” It made sense, of course. Last time, when I’d touched the London Stone, I’d spiraled into a drunken stupor that had gone on for a week. This time, I couldn’t afford to fall apart.

  “I can take some of the pressure away.” Roan’s voice was faint, mingling with the keening wails. “We are bonded.”

  “No,” I mumbled, dropping my head into his chest. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Suddenly, the screams grew fainter. Not by much, but enough room in the torrent for my own thoughts to breathe.

  Roan’s eyes widened and he stumbled, nearly dropping me to the rocks. I gently released myself from his grip, lowering myself to the shore.

  He was staring vacantly ahead, eyes a deep amber, horns gleaming on his head. “Cassandra,” he choked. “What… how…”

  Ignoring my protests, he’d let the screams into his head. They were echoing in his mind, drowning everything. And Roan was even less equipped to deal with this than I was. Fear wasn’t his realm.

  Gently, I felt for our bond, pulling him closer to me. Without knowing how, I began to pull the screams back from him, his confusion and pain diminishing.

  But I couldn’t take it all from him. I needed just enough space in my brain to think.

  He’d have to help me carry this burden just a little.

  I studied Roan’s face, finding a faint sense of wonder in his gaze. He looked lucid, at least.

  “Is that…” His jaw was tense. “…what you’re suffering through?”

  I cleared my throat. “Some of it. But it’s different for me. I kind of like it. The mental confusion is just the price I have to pay.”

  “For what?”

  “For my dread powers.”

  Roan looked at me carefully. “Your powers of dread. Are they back?”

  I looked at him, then away, at London.

  Time slowed down.

  I could see them: hundreds… thousands of tendrils of fear, each belonging to one person. The fear of being fired, of being rejected, of men walking too close on the street. Fear of death thrummed from each of them, even though almost none of them realized it. Endless souls, each carrying around their own private dread.

  I beckoned one of the tendrils closer, and it flowed into my chest, even more smoothly than before. Now, no Stone lay between me and the First. She’d given me her power directly.

  When I pulled the fear into my chest, I let it swirl between my ribs. Like a child playing with clay, I toyed with it, smiling. I was the Mistress of Dread once more, and power flowed through me.

  “Oh yes.” I bared my teeth at Roan. “My power is back. We need to get to Cingeto’s Fortress.” I breathed deeply, body buzzing with the rage of the First. “The Seelie need to pay for what they did to the Stone.”

  “Before we go into battle, perhaps you should regain the ability to stand.”

  “Fine.” I rested my head on his chest, closing my eyes. “Let me sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning, we leave for Trinovantum. We’re going to get your land back, Roan.”

  “And yours,” he said quietly.

  Chapter 33

  On the parapet of Cingeto’s Fortress, the wind whipped at my hair. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at the castle, having rounded up our Unseelie forces from London. My thighs burned with the exertion of our earlier journey. I’d been forced to ride a horse, gripping onto its mane as if my life depended on it—which I guess it had. In any case, at least I’d regained the ability to stand after my blast from the First’s power. The dread magic seemed to have stabilized within my body.

  By Roan’s side, I gazed out onto the battlefield, surveying the enemy lines. Half a mile away, I could see the Seelie battlements: their ditches, the high stakes, the crudely erected watch posts. And beyond the front lines, the Seelie’s camp was in full view, their pale armor gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  My breath caught at the enormity of their forces. Hundreds of identical tents, standing in rows. The immense siege gear loomed over the Seelie forces, some of it still under construction: tall, sturdy siege towers; several catapults; three battering rams.

  Borvo, the Unseelie general, shouted over the wind, his pointed ears showing through a mane of midnight blue hair. “We estimate that in a week, they’ll be ready for an attack that would completely wipe out our defenses. Their forces are reinforced daily, while ours are dwindling.”

  “Any idea on their numbers?” Roan asked.

  “About seven thousand, sir. We number nine hundred and thirty-seven.”

  Wonderful. They outnumbered us nearly eight to one. Dread powers notwithstanding, if we led a charge out of the fort, they would massacre us.

  I shouted at Roan over the wind. “We’ll have to wait for them to come to us.”

  Borvo shook his head. “I don’t think that’s advisable, Mistress. Our spies report that one of the Seelie princes is leading a host of over ten thousand men over here. If we wait, our chances only get worse. In addition, most of our rations are gone. We’re starving here.”

  “What are our options, then?”

  Borvo squinted into the sun. “I can hold the fort with four hundred men. Enough time for you to organize a full-scale retreat. The Seelie want Trinovantum. They won’t chase our people overseas.”

  Before I got my dread powers back, I might have agreed with him. “General, I assure you that I can use my powers very effectively.”

  “All due respect, Dread Mistress, can you strike terror in four thousand men? Three thousand?”

  I actually had no idea. Probably not. It certainly wasn’t something I’d done before.

  “Two thousand?” He waited for an answer, but I wasn’t giving him one. “Then it is not enough. I appreciate that you came to lend a hand—we have to retreat.”

  I bit my lip. “What if they attack now?”

  “They wouldn’t. It would be too risky for them.”

  “But what if they did? Could they take the fort?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. They have Balor’s weapons, and their warriors are well trained. Unlike ours, they’re well fed. But Cingeto’s Fortress has never been breached before and we have the obvious tactical advantage of height. If they attacked now, their chances would be a lot worse than if they wait until the reinforcements arrive.”

  “We need to provoke them to attack,” Roan’s voice boomed.

  Borvo looked skeptical. “The Seelie aren’t fools, sir. Why would they attack now?”

  I smiled at Borvo. “Because I don’t need to manipulate three thousand men. Just one could be enough.”

  The large portcullis shut behind us, clanging loudly. I winced, despite myself. It was one thing watching the Seelie armor from the fortress’ battlements. It was a completely different thing to stand on the ground, staring out at their mass of forces.

  I clung to my horse’s mane, feigning comfort on the beast, a snorting mare named Etain. Alvin rode by my
side, carrying a white banner. Roan rode ahead of us, his broad shoulders rigid with tension. Four warriors rode behind us, their horses bony and frail. We’d chosen the four thinnest, palest warriors we could find, clearly starving. One of the warriors was coughing into his arm, barely keeping himself upright.

  A group of twenty Seelie were riding toward us, led by a huge warrior on a tall white horse. Their mounts raised a large cloud of dust behind them, shielding the battle lines from view. We halted our approach, waiting for them to come to us.

  They stopped less than fifteen yards away.

  Roan straightened. “I am Roan from the House of Taranis. We have come to negotiate a truce.”

  “And I am Cassandra of the Weala Broc.”

  The Seelie warrior sneered, his pale eyes gleaming. “I am Teyrnon Esus, general of the Seelie army. Did you come to offer us your surrender? It is high time.”

  My thighs clenched around the horse. “I’m sorry. I think we’re too far apart. You must have misheard. We said truce.”

  I spurred on Etain, and we moved forward. When they were twenty feet away, six of their men raised their crossbows, taking aim.

  Teyrnon’s silvery eyes gleamed. “Oh, I heard you. I’ve heard tell of Unseelie foolishness, but I had never grasped its extent. I suppose since your kind breed with the beasts, you’re unable to think clearly. Do you really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

  Roan said something, but I wasn’t listening. I had another role here, and I focused on Teyrnon.

  Time began to crawl, the Seelie General’s pale hair caught in a frozen breeze. I stared at the tendrils of fear emanating from his body.