Wicked Enchantment

by Anya Bast

  She didn’t want his throne. If she ever saw his throne, she would spit on it. But, then again, she never would see it. Never get a chance to spit on it. Instead she’d be dead, her soul obliterated.

  IT was time.

  A few hours of rest and a little food and water had made Gabriel feel a million times better.

  While he’d rested, Ronan had chanted at him in Old Maejian and blown some bitter-smelling something in his face to prevent magickal tracking spells from gaining a grip. According to the mage, since Ronan and Bella’s flight through the city evading the Imperial Guard, Ronan had been working nonstop on a powerful countermeasure to block tracking spells. Now Gabriel was tracking spell-proof. Aislinn would be, too, with Ronan’s aid.

  Ronan, Aelfdane, Niall, and Aeric remained with him. Bran and Melia had left an hour earlier to scout for him. He pushed up into a sitting position and paused, nearly retching.

  Okay, maybe he only felt one or two times better, not a million.

  It would have to be enough. He couldn’t let any more time go by allowing Aislinn to be kept in the dungeon while the Shadow King’s minions did the gods only knew what to her. He pushed up again, this time all the way to a standing position.

  Across the room, Aeric, leaning against a wall, clapped. “Yes, I can see you’re certainly in a condition to mount a rescue from the depths of the dungeons of the Black Tower. Shall I call down now and tell them you’re coming or do you want to surprise them?”

  Gabriel growled at him. His knees buckled and he caught himself with a palm to the wall before he could fall back onto the cot he’d been resting on. “I have no choice. It’s a miracle she’s still alive now. Who knows if she’ll be breathing an hour from now?”

  Aelfdane regarded him with cool blue eyes in the light of the myriad candles that lit the bare room. “Why do you care so much?”

  Gabriel closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “I care because I’m responsible for her situation. I told her to come to the Unseelie. Without my persuasion, she never would have defected from the Rose.” He opened his eyes and found Ronan’s gaze. “I told her she’d be safe here.” He swallowed hard. “It’s my responsibility to make this right.”

  Ronan shook his head at him. “It’s partially guilt. I believe you on that score, Gabriel. But it’s more than that, too. You love Aislinn, don’t you?”

  “Gabriel?” Aeric snorted. “Gabriel in love?”

  “Why does that sound so impossible?” Gabriel challenged, leveling his gaze at his oldest friend. His voice came out a low, tortured rasp from the iron sickness.

  “It sounds impossible because I’ve known you for two hundred years and your brand of caring for a woman extends only until after the bedding, maybe until sunrise if she’s pretty enough.”

  “I know love when I see it,” answered Ronan, a small smile playing on his mouth. “You may have duped her, but in the process you fell for her, too.”

  He wasn’t sure what the knot of emotion in his stomach was exactly. Was it love? How could he know what love felt like when he hadn’t loved anyone—not really, truly, and deeply—since his mother had died? That had been some 358 years ago. Even for a Sídhe, that was a long time.

  Guilt, that was a new emotion. Now he knew what that felt like—shit. Guilt was definitely there in the knot, mixed up with other strange urges and desires—yearnings, really. For the scent of Aislinn’s hair and the sensation of her skin against his. For the sound of her voice in his ear, whispering, laughing, arguing. Whatever. He just yearned for her presence. Needed it.

  The Shadow King couldn’t have her.

  Aislinn was his to save, his to protect. His to kiss and talk to and tuck under the sheets and blankets of his bed. The thought of her gray eyes cold and dead, the idea that her voice might be silenced, her skin bloody and bruised—no.

  The thought of having to collect her soul one night and help her to the other side—out of his life forever. They were not images and thoughts he could hold in his mind’s eye and still hope to remain sane.

  “I’m not going to stand around and debate my capacity for love with any of you,” he snarled, pushing away from the wall. “I’m going to collect my woman, rub the king’s nose in his shit, and get out of here.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s in love, all right. You’re right, Ronan,” snorted Aelfdane.

  Gabriel stepped into the center of the small room and swung his head around to stab Aelfdane with a heavy stare of warning. “Does anyone know why the king is taking so long to kill her?”

  “The only thing I know from one of the dungeon guards, who is a friend of mine,” said Aeric, “is that the woman has been chained down there for almost a week, in charmed iron, while they debate methods to take her life.”

  “Debate methods to take her life?” echoed Aelfdane. “Why should it matter? Dead is dead.”

  “They don’t just want to kill her. They want to destroy her soul, so that there’s not even enough left for the Wild Hunt to collect. Destroy it so thoroughly that none of her remains, nothing to pass over to the Netherworld. It’s a fate no fae should have to endure. Worse, even, than the death itself. He’s denying her the afterlife and killing her soul.”

  “Why do they want to do that to her?” Aelfdane’s voice came out bewildered. “What possible threat could she be to him that he would want to destroy her very soul?”

  Aeric shrugged. “That’s all he knows. The woman lives for as long as they take to find a way to completely destroy her. The Shadow King is very afraid of her.”

  “I know why,” Gabriel ground out. He pushed a hand through his hair and told them what he knew about Aislinn, her bloodline and her necromancy. “Necromancers can come back from the Netherworld at will and harass their murderers. You can be sure that Brigid Fada Erinne O’Dubhuir, his mother, haunted him. That’s probably how he learned the lesson.”

  The entire room went into a shocked silence once Gabriel was done speaking.

  “Are you saying that Aodh murdered his own mother?” asked Aelfdane, finally.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Gabriel answered.

  The door opened with a whine and all the men in the room stiffened and readied themselves for what might come through it. It was only Melia and Bran.

  Melia nodded at Gabriel and went to stand next to her man. “Nice to see you up. Feeling better?”

  “Never mind that. What did you hear?” He staggered for the door and congratulated himself silently when he made it.

  “You’re welcome, Gabe. I love to stick my neck out for you and hope it doesn’t get lopped from my shoulders.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment. “I appreciate all you have done for me, all of you, more than I can say and even more than I can ever repay. Thank you.”

  “Gabriel says thank you and nearly admits he’s fallen in love all in one day. I think the world may be coming to an end,” Aeric said.

  Bran ignored them all. “We have good news. We spent the last hour spreading a rumor that you were seen fleeing through Piefferburg Square into the ceantar dubh. About twenty minutes ago a large dispatch of the Shadow Guard was sighted dispersing into that district of the city. I think the ruse worked. The king may now believe that you’ve left the Black Tower and are running for your life, leaving the woman behind.”

  “He’s got no reason to think you’d stay for her. It’s not exactly in your character,” Melia interjected.

  “True, such selfless behavior would hardly be expected from you. That impression is working in your favor right now,” Bran responded.

  Gabriel growled at them both.

  Melia’s voice lowered. “But there’s bad news, too.”

  He stiffened. “Tell me.”

  “According to Aeric’s friend, they’ve found a way to work the magick that will disperse her soul for eternity. Your time is limited.”

  He lurched for the door, fueled on a sudden burst of adrenaline.

  Aeric stopped him
with a hand to his chest. “You’re not going anywhere without us.”

  “No.” Gabriel shook his head. “Thank you, my friend, but I need to do this alone. Anyway, you and the rest of the host have to stay and lead the Wild Hunt in my absence. I can’t risk you all being killed.”

  “You need a plan,” Ronan said, coming up on his side.

  “I have a plan,” Gabriel snarled, picking up his bloody sword, which someone had propped by the door. “Go in, slaughter everyone, and take Aislinn out of there.”

  Ronan gave his head a sharp shake. “Not a good plan. Know any spells?”

  He looked at Ronan. “My magick is innate: sex and death. I’m not a mage like you or Niall.”

  “You can still do some rudimentary spell casting. I’ve already set a spell to prevent tracking on you, but Aislinn will need one, too.” He tucked a small bag and a slip of paper into Gabriel’s pocket. “I have one more thing for you, and I think you’ll like it. Once you get to the dungeon, say these words: Tae soelle en bailian. Soot mael hai illium. I’ve set everything else in place for you down there. It will help, you’ll see.”

  Ronan said the spell in Old Maejian three times, making Gabriel repeat it until he’d memorized all the words.

  “Okay, now you’re as prepared as you can be.” Ronan shook his head. “Aislinn is my wife’s dearest friend and you’re her only hope. We’ll do all we can to help you. If you need to contact us, use this.” He pressed a small disk into his hand. “Wet it and hold it up to the wind. Niall and I will know where to find you.”

  “Good luck,” said Melia, going up onto her tiptoes and laying a kiss on his cheek. There were tears in her eyes. “Gods willing, you’ll come back to us someday.”

  Aeric embraced him and clapped him on the back. “If you need me, call. You know how. Until then I’ll keep the Wild Hunt for you.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  Then he lunged out the door and almost fell down the stairs. Gods help him and especially Aislinn. He was an unlikely hero and she deserved better.

  He made his way down the narrow stairwell, into the bowels of the Black Tower. One of the benefits of being such an old fae was that he’d been a child when Piefferburg had been created and he’d lived in the Black Tower since he was eighteen years old. That meant he knew it well and could orient himself even in this secret space by glancing out the arrow-thin slits in the rock wall and glimpsing parts of the city beyond. He was in the northern section of the keep and if he kept making his way downward, eventually he would come upon the back entrance to the dungeons, exactly where he needed to be.

  Finally, a little bit of luck.

  Soon the slits became nonexistent, as did the meager bit of light. Rats scurried in the darkness, along with the scrape of claws of other even less savory fae creatures. He reached out his hands on either side, letting his fingers scrape the cold, naked rock, and stepped slowly down the stairs in the pitch blackness. It wouldn’t help Aislinn if he tripped now, broke his 365-year-old neck, and was gnawed to the bone by the tiny gruesome monsters that lived here.

  Finding one of the trip switches on the final landing that Melia had told him about, he pulled it and part of the wall opened. The light blinded him for a moment. When his pupils adjusted it was to find two astonished silver and black- clad Shadow Guards staring at him.

  Gabriel reached out, grabbed them both by the shoulder, and slammed their heads together. They collapsed to the ground and Gabriel stepped over their bodies, feeling pretty pleased with himself . . . only to find twenty more Shadow Guards staring at him.

  AISLINN lay on her side, gasping shallowly. Her eyes were wide open and unblinking as she watched water rivulets on the uneven stone wall seven feet from her face. It might be the last thing she ever saw. This scent of must, old blood, and sweat would probably be the last odors she ever smelled. Too bad it couldn’t be something nice like cinnamon or honey.

  The black mages had been swirling around her like a murder of crows all day, muttering to themselves. Their activity had taken on an urgency today that hadn’t been there before. Something had happened. Perhaps they’d found a solution to their problem—a way to destroy her soul.

  Aislinn was looking forward to an end to her misery, though a part of her still screamed for life. It was a tiny voice now, buried under the scrape of the charmed iron along her ice-cold skin, the rough rock of the slab she lay on, and the relentless battery of pain in her head and in her limbs.

  Images from her childhood passed through her mind now and again, as if her subconscious was reviewing and releasing memories before she kicked off into eternal black. Not the Netherworld. She was being denied even that much.

  She could see her father in her mind’s eye—her real one—throwing light blue and pink balls of illusion into the air on her seventh birthday. Now she remembered the low, harsh conversations her parents used to have in the kitchen or behind their closed bedroom door. Had her father known she didn’t carry his DNA? Had they been arguing about her mother’s unfaithfulness? Aislinn would never know. So many questions would die with her today.

  Perhaps that was the bitterest of all to swallow.

  Sounds of battle met Aislinn’s ear. It was far off, at the other end of the dank basement. A prisoner uprising, perhaps. They happened from time to time. Although this one seemed to give her captors pause. The crowlike mages paused in their muttering and their dark spell stirring. Their hooded heads bobbed up, faces turned toward the sound of yelling.

  Somewhere in the distance, a man bellowed strange words in Old Maejian.

  “Tae soelle en bailian! Soot mael hai illium!”

  The words of power were laced with a spell. They tightened like a noose around her throat. Her eyes popped open even wider and she gasped. Terrified, she fought it, her body convulsing on the slab beneath her.

  Oh, Danu, not yet! I’m not ready yet!

  The mages stiffened, panicked, and yelled spell-strung words back into the dungeon, but it was too late for countermeasures. Even in her iron-sick delirium she knew that. Whoever it was, he’d taken the mages unawares. One by one, clutching the invisible threads around their throats, they dropped to the dirty floor of the dungeon.

  She alone remained alive. Magick warred over her body, but the tendrils of the first spell were stuck tight around her neck, constricting harder and harder. Her will to live flared to brilliant life and she dredged up every tiny morsel of power she didn’t know she had to fight.

  His face appeared before her. His treacherous, lying lips formed her name but she couldn’t hear anything but the rush of death loud in her ears. How unfair that his face would be the last one she ever saw.

  Perfect, all-consuming rage was the last emotion she felt before every light inside her went out.

  FOURTEEN

  GABRIEL collapsed against a far wall and slumped to the floor, hand tangling in his long, unwashed hair. She lay on the bed, moonlight slanting across her body and bleaching her hair even paler than its natural color.

  The spell Ronan had given him had put all the occupants of the dungeon to sleep. The mage had laid the preparations beforehand somehow and given Gabriel the words to activate it. He’d even caught the Shadow King’s personal mages before they’d had time to mount countermeasures. Unfortunately, the spell had also put Aislinn to sleep.

  Maybe it was better that way. The look on her face when she’d seen him had not been a friendly one. That, coupled with the delirium of the iron sickness, probably would’ve had her fighting his rescue if she’d been conscious. He imagined she believed everything he’d said and done in the Rose had been a lie. He couldn’t blame her for thinking that. He had lied to her. He had intended to do her wrong. At least, at first.

  Not knowing how long everyone would stay asleep and not knowing when someone unaffected by the spell might enter the dungeon and raise an alarm, he’d ripped off the charmed iron chains as soon as he’d found a key and scooped her into his arms. Her body had been featherli
ght from almost a week of neglect and abuse. She’d been so cold it had given him pause—made him wonder for a moment if it was death and not sleep that she’d slipped into.

  Getting out of the Black Tower hadn’t been a picnic. He’d blown the antitracking spell into Aislinn’s face and said the words to trigger it first thing, then kept to the shadows, walked on cat paws, held his breath, and asked the gods and the goddess Danu to see them through.

  Once out, he’d taken them to a safe place, far from the Black Tower. He’d traveled on foot, walking in the alleys and the shadows, thankful that it was the dead of morning and almost no one but the guard had been out. Now he was exhausted, pushed way past what his iron-sick body could handle. His arms burned from carrying her because even though she was light and he was strong, he’d traveled a long way with no rest. The only thing that had kept him on his feet and moving was his will.

  Now he could draw a breath. Now he could rest. They were safe, at least for the time being.

  With his gaze, he traced her body in the moonlight. He’d covered her with as many blankets as he could find. Her dirty, tangled silver blond hair hung over the side of the mattress, trailing onto the floor. Her face was still as a statue’s, the light illuminating her dirt-smeared face. Despite the filth on her and the stress of her time in the dungeon, she looked peaceful, as though she could sense on some level that she was safe.

  As safe as one could be when hunted by the most powerful man in all of Piefferburg and every last member of his Shadow Guard and the goblin army.

  But he wasn’t ready to think about that yet. Instead, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  AISLINN woke slowly, wrapped in warmth and softness. After a moment of disorientation, the memories came flooding back along with the ache and the iron sickness. She blinked, coming more fully awake, and her gaze focused on a large cream-colored spill of sunlight in the center of a ceiling with crown molding. This was not a dungeon. She pushed up, wincing in pain, and the blankets fell down around her waist. Expensive, soft blankets.