by J. Kearston
Rising on my toes, I place a gentle kiss there, flicking my tongue over the corner to tease it into curling up. “One of my favorite pastimes, really.”
His lips twitch as I turn, pulling out my drawer and digging for some soft, leather pants and a tunic as black as the shadows the court is named for. “I’m serious.”
Raising an eyebrow, I glance at him over my shoulder. “So am I.” Before he can get annoyed, I start stripping and tugging on the fresh clothes. “Why you thought I planned to go alone is beyond me. She requested my presence. My presence just so happens to come with presents. I’m generous like that; the gift that keeps on giving.”
He rolls his eyes, following my lead and stripping. My mouth waters at the sight of solid muscle, but goes instantly dry at the scarring on his stomach and shoulder from what Victor did to him. Mine may have faded thanks to the changeling, my body even more of a tic-tac-toe board in the right light than it used to be, but Lucien’s are still upraised; angry slashes of red and pink against his flesh.
The scars mottling my skin have never bothered me before, save the ones on my back. Those, I think I’ll be self-conscious about until the day I die. But the ones on the people I love? Those hurt to see.
“Don’t give me that look,” he whispers, voice low. He pulls a similar outfit on, covering the evidence. Out of sight, out of mind, so we can pretend that everything’s fine and shove the nightmare into a dark corner to be forgotten.
But I’m getting really tired of pretending.
It’s all that kept me sane for decades, but it’s just not working anymore. I can find ways to cope with my own pain, but not how to manage that of everyone else’s around me.
“Though losing track of your humans was pretty neglectful.” My eyes snap up to his, mouth partially agape. “No better than forgetting your kids at the store and driving home. Maybe Achlys wants to meet with you because you’re losing custody.”
I just blink, dumbfounded, until he smirks. My grin splits my face as I see what he’s doing, and I throw my hair back into a quick ponytail. “You’re right; I am responsible for you three in Faerie.”
His smile softens. “And I’m responsible for the three of you on Earth. Just because we made that deal what seems like a lifetime ago, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hold. Magic or no.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rest my head beneath his chin, just for a minute. “The Fates’ know what a burden you all are, after all.”
He rests his cheek on the top of my head, fingers running a soft, soothing path over my spine. “The Victor mess was my fault, Cambria. Whether or not he was crazy, even if I didn’t know of his connection to Maddox, the two of us had been feuding for years. It was that hatred that escalated things so severely, beyond simple revenge or silent loathing, made it personal.”
I simply let myself breathe in his scent, giving him time to clear his mind of everything haunting him. Bringing him trigger happy in front of the person offering us our only safe haven will end catastrophically and he wouldn’t forgive himself anytime soon if he got us thrown out on our asses.
The poor guy has the emotional range of the universe, and all of the control of a toddler. He has a hell of a lot to learn to manage his newfound ability, and not a lot of time to master it before he causes himself to implode.
“As much as they’re going to be pissed, I think Dorian and Atlas should stay here to keep Azazel out of sight.”
He sighs. “They’re not going to like the idea any more than I would.”
I let my shoulders sag, matching his heavy exhale and absorbing his comfort. A minute, that’s all I allow myself before straightening. I’ve spent enough time at the mercy of everyone else, forced to be grateful for whatever freedom I was allowed. I’m not about to enslave myself to another queen with better motives, no matter how noble they may be.
Whether it’s from him projecting or my own revelation, when I face Luce, the low ember burning in my chest flickers to life. The small fire that’s kept me going swells until I feel alive, like me again, and I finally understand what they’ve been trying to get me to understand all of this time.
That I. Deserve. Better. We deserve better.
“No, but they’ll agree it’s a hell of a risk to bring a changeling directly in front of the queen that would rather see them slaughtered. Dorian loves the little bloodsucker, maybe even more than he does us at this point. He’ll understand.”
“And Atlas? You think he’ll do well with being left behind?” His tone isn’t cruel, but it hits its mark nonetheless.
Heading back to the kitchen, I wait until we’re back with the others before answering him. “No, but if it’s just the four of us against the world, how can we leave a man behind to face things alone?”
I update the others on our conversation and naturally it devolves into a mild argument. Biting the inside of my cheek, I wait until they all come to the same inevitable conclusion that I did. It sucks, it’s none of our first choice, but ultimately, likely the best one.
“An hour,” Atlas decrees, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. “If you two aren’t back, to hell with it, we’re meeting you there.”
Dorian rests his chin on his folded arms, leaning on the table. Azazel slithers onto his head like a coiled yamaka, and I just shake my head. “You were the one that pushed so hard to come here, remember?” he points out and Atlas simply shrugs.
“Yeah, because it was our best option at the time. Doesn’t mean I trust anyone here; it’s too culty for my liking. Though I’ll admit, I’ve never seen better behaved citizens.” As if a thought suddenly occurs to him, he jerks his head towards Lucien. “First sign she’s even trying to send out feelers to see if she can get through to either of you, pull out and we’ll leave.”
I sigh, but know he’s right. “Where would we go?”
Lucien takes my hand, kissing the back of it and leading me towards the front door with a nod of agreement to Atlas. “One thing at a time, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
With a small wave to the others, we head out, only to find the messenger leaning against the house across the street. She doesn’t say a word, just wears that bored, indifferent expression on her face. Without so much as a word, she turns on her heel to lead the way towards where Achlys’ is waiting, assuming we’ll follow.
And I hate her, just a little bit, for that arrogance. But I respect her for being one of the few people around here to have the backbone to pull it off.
Weaving between the buildings, we’re led to the heart of the city. I can’t even call it a mansion, much less a castle, and despite Achlys’ casual nature, I’m still surprised. Hewn from solid grey stone, the exterior is coated in more plants than any I’ve seen here thus far. The vines have various blooms sprouting as they intertwine to make a living net over the entire thing, as if attempting to mask the fact that it’s a home and not just another hill.
We’re led inside and I glance around, not quite sure what I expected to find. As opulent and ornate as I would expect of anyone in a position of power, but the rooms don’t resonate with residual terror, or even joy. Just a huge, gorgeous home that feels...empty. No spirit, no life, despite the dozen people I’ve already spotted. Servants, guards, and a solitary queen, currently lounging on a small couch off to our left.
Achlys takes a sip of her tea, the glowing tattoos coating her skin seeming to swirl before our eyes. They have a life of their own, shimmering like a living river of magical ink, ever restless. Her braid rests on her shoulder, the color so deep that it’s practically blue. And those dark eyes, lighting up as soon as she meets my gaze.
“I knew you’d be everything I imagined,” she purrs and Lucien goes rigid beside me.
“Is that why you refused to send anyone to search for them? It was just some sort of test to you?” His voice is deadly calm, and though the guards around Achlys narrow their eyes and drift closer to their queen, I’m relieved. This is the Lu
cien I know; dangerously calm and analytic.
Achlys simply watches, not getting to her feet, implicitly trusting everyone around her. That, or in her own hidden power. With the way her tattoos gleam against her dark skin, adding more shadows to the room, I’m under no delusions that the small bit of compulsion we’ve witnessed her use is the limit of her abilities. Birthright isn’t enough to hold a throne.
“Where would you have had me start?” she challenges, setting her cup down on the coffee table. “We were unsure of even the general direction she may have ended up in. And with as many light court soldiers as we’ve had testing the borders, I couldn’t spare the bodies without knowing where to retrieve her from.”
Yet Luce isn’t placated easily, and if there’s one thing he’s never been able to tolerate, it’s a condescending tone. “Don’t patronize me. I’d like to imagine a woman of your standing values respect that’s earned rather than demanded.”
You could hear a pin drop, it becomes so ominously quiet. I brush my fingers over the back of his hand, silently warning him to rein it back in a bit. It doesn’t have the same effect as it might have on the others, but as I withdraw, he follows. Capturing my hand, he interlocks our fingers before raising it to kiss my knuckles, moving towards the free couch.
It must kill him, but he sits down, lowering himself to her level and appearing as less of a threat. It puts us at a disadvantage, this position, but unless we want a fight, it’s the smart move.
He exhales a long breath before a feral smile transforms his face. “Apologies. These new abilities, you know.”
She nods, waving a hand and brushing the entire thing away. “Of course. You’ve not the years the rest of us have to master your...gifts.”
In a cooler tone that appears far more friendly, which actually leaves me more unnerved, he asks, “So then why when you were aware of where Cambria was, did you never bother to retrieve her? To save her from Elorie and inform her of the truth?”
It’s a saccharine insult, and honestly, if any of us in the room were built to navigate the treacherous dance of royalty, it’d be Lucien. Years of playing the political song and dance, of working his way up from the bottom with nothing short of cold determination.
Achlys’ lips press into a thin line. “It would have been a slaughter, sending my people into the heart of that viper’s nest.”
Lucien opens his mouth and I put a hand on his thigh, squeezing it in warning. I can practically hear the words he was about to spit. Yet you expect her to do it for you.
“I assume since you summoned me, there’s something you wished to discuss?”
Tongue in cheek, she composes herself. “Your consorts are a joy as always, Cambria.”
“Mates.” I don’t even hesitate, not where they’re concerned. “As I’ve said before, they aren’t beneath me.” I smirk to soften the bark of my tone. “Unless they wish to be.”
Achlys’ servants disperse without a word, and her three personal guards lean against the walls. Gone are the casual poses, as if they can feel the shift in the air. Thus far, things have been good where Achlys is concerned. She’s showered me with praise and anything I may need, gave me the answers I desperately wanted. But something has seemed off since I returned, like she’s hiding something behind that false smile. The guards can feel it too, though rather than blame their queen, they eye me like a threat, a necessary evil they’re forced to endure for the benefit of the realm.
Terrible things have been done in the name of the greater good, and I want my name as far away from the history books as I can get.
I’ve had more than enough blame lobbed my way; I don’t need any more. Let me live and die invisible, to be as forgotten in death as I want to be in life.
“Of course, my apologies,” Achlys smooths over.
Snapping her fingers, someone approaches without so much as a word, head dipped in greeting. Just painted smiles surrounding the gorgeous woman holding an enchanted brush, a web of an artist rather than a spider.
Instead of luring in her food, she keeps these people trapped simply for company. I imagine after several centuries, you either prefer solitude above all else, or can’t stand to be alone with your thoughts after witnessing countless horrors. If you’re alone to think, the memories might truly drive a person mad.
“I wished to speak with you and see if you’ve come up with a plan to get the changelings back to the prison. Because of your...condition,” she finishes lamely, attempting to soften the blow.
“Because my wings were severed, my back burned and mutilated beyond recognition.“ I watch her cheeks tint as she looks away. “If we’re going to bring up my ‘condition’, at least have the nerve not to gloss over it like it’s a broken finger or a petty inconvenience.”
I turn to Luce as my cheeks heat with annoyance, giving him a pointed look. With agonizing slowness, he withdraws his abilities, stops projecting his indignant rage onto me. Achlys watches the entire exchange, filing away the weakness, what it could mean for her to exploit, no doubt.
With another breath, I continue. “I was rather busy staying alive and finding a way back here. So no; I haven’t had time to commission a hot air balloon.”
She licks her lips, and one of her guards steps closer, not bothering to be discreet about it. The tension in the room seems to heat, all of our cheeks and necks stained red.
“Perhaps you might ask your mate to wait at the house so we may have a peaceful conversation?” Her voice is full of forced civility as she plasters yet another smile on her face.
Fake, fake, fake. Everything and everyone in Faerie; a polished mirror reflecting back only what they want to be seen.
“Now, your majesty, if you wanted to get me alone, I must warn you; I have expensive taste.”
She hesitates as she interprets my meaning before chuckling, and the suffocating tension starts to dissipate. “As delightful as always. I imagined that may be the case, so I’ve been reaching out to some people that owe me favors to see if anyone may be able to help.”
I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, legs spread casually as I face her. “Favors don’t come cheap.”
She shrugs, a glimmer of something in her eye that I can’t discern. “Some things are worth the cost.”
I can’t hate her for wanting to keep her people safe, or be willing to sacrifice one person for the sake of saving herself along with them. But Azazel changed things. He’s content so long as he isn’t hungry, hasn’t even attempted to hurt Atlas or Lucien after a stern word from Dorian and him seeing they weren’t a threat.
Which means that before their imprisonment, Achlys did something to bring their wrath down on her kingdom. So while I may have had some form of respect for the woman before, it’s been lost in the wasteland.
“And some things are worth sacrificing everything,” she continues. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
My eyes flick around the room, on the one woman with her hand resting on top of the hilt of her blade, of the white knuckles on one of the men’s tightly clenched fist. A flicker of panic courses through my chest.
I refuse to be locked up again. No, she wouldn’t risk it, not when she needs me. Unless she truly believes that her abilities can keep me in line as much as the fae around her, imprisoning me to only be brought out when the right time comes. But fuck, that’s a hell of a gamble on her part.
“Of course.” I shrug a single shoulder, like it’s a silly question with an obvious answer. “The changelings must be truly horrifying for you to be willing to give my mates and I a house, let alone keep us fed.”
Her expression is tight, and not for the first time, I wished I shared a similar form of telepathy with Lucien as he does with Dorian. The sort of communication that only comes from years of knowing a person so well that you can anticipate their every reaction, every thought. Nerves flood my system, but they feel like a cool wave of water. And shifting a hand to my stomach to combat the sudden rush that sends a wave of nausea through me, I real
ize for the second time in recent days that I need to be more careful what I wish for.
I can’t hear Luce, but I can feel him. I know what he’s thinking simply based on the foreign tug in my gut along with my own reservations.
“The least I can do, to ensure my people remain safe. Their wellbeing is my highest priority.” She grins, and a lurch of loathing replaces the anxiety, sending me on an emotional roller coaster. But I weather it, breathing slowly to give Luce a chance to rein in his temper.
“So did you get anywhere in your search?”
A wave of her hand, leaving it outstretched for a small card to be placed upon it by a silently summoned servant. She passes it to me and I narrow my eyes at the scrawled name and address, already knowing that I’m going to torch it the second we’re home.
“A man with the ability to manipulate vegetation may very well be able to accomplish the task of getting you up there.” Her self-satisfied grin showcases her pride in potentially figuring out an easy solution, but it falls at the deadpan expression on my face.
“Rickon is dead.”
She blinks; once, twice. “A pity.”
That’s it. No ‘how’, no ‘why’; just a cluck of her tongue, and he ceases to exist in her mind. I hated that man, more than I can say, but he died giving me a chance, showing me that everything wasn’t as it appeared.
He may have been an asshole, but even he doesn’t deserve her callous brush off. I’ll remember, the four of us always will, that the jackass did the best he could in a shitty situation, but wasn’t wholly evil like I’d once thought. Yet I bite my tongue, because going on a tangent to defend a dead man will only land the four of us in a worse position than we already are.
Faint shouts ring out and I tense, as does Lucien beside me. Fuck, did Azazel get loose? Atlas, Dorian; they have to be okay. We can’t have only just found each other to be torn apart again. My heart stutters in my chest as a more horrific thought rears its ugly head. Maybe this was all a distraction so that Achlys could imprison them to ensure that I continued to work for her, to protect her.