by Zoe Parker
No more innocent victims.
I lift my gaze to meet the contempt-filled one of the lingire. With a wave of my hand, the chair appears. The wave is purely to make fun of her. I run a clawed finger up the arm of the throne, watching it change and come alive. Turning into swirling ebony bones. Dragon bones.
Walking slowly around the throne I watch the emotions chase themselves across the woman’s face. Disgust, envy, anger and a flash of fear.
I like the last one.
“You are a no one. Some mutt who thinks herself important,” she accuses.
I shrug at the words. Maybe I am a mutt, a no one. But these folks that chose to be here are someones. And I’ll make sure people know that.
“Here is the throne, my lady.” Gesturing towards the chair, I bow mockingly.
The woman raises her head again. And I latch onto the contempt in her eyes.
“At least you have the manners to address me accordingly, mutt.” With those biting words, she turns and attempts to sit.
Once again, the chair vanishes. And once more, she ends up on her ass on the floor.
“Do you have a good view from down there, my lady?” I bare my teeth in an imitation of a smile.
“I will have you all beaten to death and mount your heads on stakes to rot outside these walls!” the woman screams, climbing to her feet.
Having grown bored of playing with her, I move so fast it’s a flicker and stand nose to nose with her.
“Try it,” I whisper.
Magiks stir and a curse that should’ve knocked me unconscious hits me. My Magiks pulse and simply eat it. This time the woman’s face does go pale. Fear is bright in her eyes. I grab the front of the fancy dress.
There’s the emotion I like from her.
“I didn’t want this, but I took it. Creatures like you leave me no choice.” A sharp tug on my hair brings my head around. The plump Imp’s hand is buried in my hair pulling with all her might.
My hair doesn’t like it.
Grabbing it, she signs her death warrant. Hissing, the little monsters make themselves known and sink their teeth into the flesh of her hand. Screaming, she falls to her knees, her skin decaying rapidly while she still draws breath.
There’s no pity for her in me. In fact, all I feel is power. The power that’s still new to me—that I usually hold at bay—circles inside and around me, triumphant.
“Release the Lady or this little bastard loses his head.” At the guard’s threat everything inside the room stills.
Even the screams of the dying woman fade into the background as I turn to the guard holding a knife to Knox’s throat. Eyes still on him, I grab the twat lingire by the hair and drag her towards them. The man sweats out his fear in waves. My eyes flick to Knox who stands bravely, a little smile on his lips. Faith in his eyes.
Faith in me.
Some of my glamour drops. I can feel the stares as they see a glimpse of what I am. A face I show very few. I know my eyes are black as night. I know my hair waves around my head like the serpents they are. A growl passes my lips as the power rises, as all the power around me rises. The guard explodes like an overripe fruit.
This is my hoard!
Chapter Seventeen
Iza
I sling the lingire woman towards the rest of her party, who stand there gaping at me. No one catches her, and she hits the table with a thud and another cringing screech.
She climbs to her feet, her crown lost somewhere in the room, her once perfectly coiffed hair a rat’s nest around her head. Calling forth curse after curse, she hurls them at me. Crossing my arms, I stand there while my Magiks null each one of them out.
No Dark Magiks in existence can hurt me. So, I let her exhaust herself. It helps that she looks like she’s throwing a big old tantrum. Sporadic giggles are a background noise to her screaming. They think she’s funny too.
“I am pure blood! I am the ruler here! How dare any of you let a mutt treat me this way! He told me you would be weak!” Her screams continue even as people began to move away, some bored and some are trying to distance themselves from her.
Her people are leaving her to her fate like rats abandoning a sinking ship.
When she finally runs out of steam and stands there glaring at me, I speak. “I think they lied to you.”
Walking towards her leisurely, I make sure my glamour is once again firmly in place.
“He said that you held no power!” she starts screaming again.
He, huh? “Who is this he?” I stop less than a foot from the hem of the fancy dress that now has some kind of brown gravy caking the front of it.
She isn’t loyal to the Dark, but she is born to it, and I can see into the heart of this woman, Mirelle. Can see the greed and malice and pettiness. Can see that she isn’t and has ever been loyal to anything but herself. I lean forward just enough to put my face in hers.
“Who is this he?” I ask, for the last time. Her eyes widen, and she visibly swallows.
“You cannot harm me. I am… Feyrie,” she sputters.
I smile and wait. My gaze never once wavers.
“It was a dragon, Romney or whatever his name is.” The confidence she displayed during her tantrum is gone. She is seeing me for what I am, for the very first time—just as I see her for exactly what she is. The notes of the Sidhe flare in my brain.
“How many did you betray to hold your wealth?” I ask quietly, leaning back to study a claw.
The wealth came from somewhere. The schoth took all that belonged to the dark king and his loyal vassals. So, it stands to reason that her family should be poor.
Not dining on golden dishes.
“My lady?” The quiet voice reaches me through the loud murmuring of the people in the room. I turn to look over my shoulder at the imp who stands hat in hand. It’s one of Mirelle’s former servants. Easily, I find his name.
This one is completely loyal.
“Yes, Val?” He casts a nervous glance to Mirelle and then squares his shoulders and raises his eyes once again to me.
“She sold my wife and youngest child to the blood locks.” The silence is deafening.
Everyone knows what happens to those the locks take, or in this case given. I point at Mirelle. “This woman?”
He nods.
“It’s how she bought—” His eyes water, but he fights them back. “—she sold them for a bloody carriage.”
“They were servants. Mine to do with as I saw fit! I needed a new carriage…” Mirelle defends, her voice tapering off with the last sentence.
“Mercy?” I turn and ask the Feyrie that are now all gathered in the room.
The answer is silence. They want no mercy for her. As I’m about to turn and do what I decided to do the minute I heard the words blood locks, someone speaks up.
“My lady! Mercy!” Jaw clenching, I watch Jake, a newly arrived shifter, makes his way to the front. I open my mouth to speak.
“Why should we show mercy to one who hasn’t shown mercy themselves?” It’s Knox who speaks.
My mouth snaps shut, and I wave my hands to encourage him to continue. He has a valid point, and can probably say it better than I can.
Jake looks down at him only once before dismissing him. He turns to me instead. What a putz.
“Answer his question, Jake.” It’s not a request.
“A good leader leads by example. Sparing her, you demonstrate that you are a kind, just leader.” My eyes narrow on Jake.
A kind, just leader? This guy doesn’t know me at all.
Awareness pulls at me, and I swing to face the door as Kael strolls in, Romiel in tow.
Now I have the he.
I remember Romiel—not well, but I remember him. He’s a gray dragon who has in his head he’s a silver dragon and was always an arrogant little shit about it.
“He has a point, Iza. The Feyrie need an experienced, strong leader. Someone, who can guide them until the King becomes known. Someone strong to lead them out of the darkne
ss. To work together with the schoth to form a lasting peace,” Kael says, plastering on his best salesman face.
Kael is someone I remember from before, too. He’s my uncle, after all. A red dragon who always had a temper and a heavy hand towards people. Now he’s the self-proclaimed Dragon King. The throne didn’t choose him.
There are no fond memories of him in the fog of my childhood. When I was a child, he creeped me out, and I mostly avoided him. But my mother loved him and because of that love for him she was blinded to his true disposition.
My eyes narrow.
Since when do schoth and peace go in the same sentence together? And why in the world would Feyrie want to move out from the darkness? It’s our birthright. I chew my lip thoughtfully and study my uncle.
I’m pretty sure that Kael is the plotter.
He’s betting on causing dissension with his little lingire pet and his grandiose speech. Romiel, he’s not too big of a concern. His own ego makes people dislike him. Jake is apparently in on it too, which is annoying, but no one really likes him either.
Wanting to gauge Kael’s effect on the crowd, I cast a quick glance around the room at the faces of the Feyrie that are here. Some are still healing from atrocities committed against them. My eyes land on Alagard and the long scar dissecting his once handsome face. In some cases, those atrocities are committed by their own kind.
Anger stirs in my stomach.
“Do you think that’s you, Uncle? Experienced and strong?” I ask out loud. Wanting to end his little tangent.
Pushing Knox behind me, I move in front of him protectively. There won’t be a repeat of earlier. I wipe my hand down my pants to remove the goop transferred from his shirt. Pretty sure there are some guts on him. Lots of guts.
I’ll worry about that in a minute.
“I am too old for such an endeavor but Romiel here—” He waves a hand at Romiel. “—At Mirelle’s side can do just that. A dragon’s strength is sure to give the people exactly what they need.”
A dragon’s strength got my mother murdered. Something I think Kael knows a lot about. He’s definitely the plotter. But this time, it’s simpler, his ‘grand’ plan is that through Romiel, Kael can rule. If they wrote it on a piece of paper, it can’t be any more obvious.
Do they think I’m a complete moron?
I look at the way he’s looking at me. The smug expression that’s hiding underneath the false friendly on top. Oh yeah, he thinks I’m a total moron.
That’s the reason he’s trying such a silly thing.
He really should’ve taken some time to get to know the type of person I am now. I’m no longer a five-year-old girl that loves her mother too much to tell on him for being a creep and for smacking her a time or two.
None of the Feyrie—loyal to the people—want a kind, just leader to make peace with the schoth. They don’t want the schoth period. None of the Feyrie here want Romiel or his puppet master Kael leading either. Half of Kael’s dragons abandoned his rule and came to the Sidhe with Nika and Alagard.
Kael moves forward, his face all smiles and fake kindness. It’s thick enough now I’m torn between laughing at him or throwing the table at his head.
Maybe I should laugh while I throw the table at his head?
“What you have done here is a wonderful thing.” He sweeps his arms out to indicate the Feyrie who are staring at him like he smells bad. “Pulling these Feyrie together wasn’t easy, and you did it. But they are not soldiers. They cannot fight a war. No one can under such an inexperienced girl.” There goes that smug smile again as he continues blathering.
“Peace with them is the only way. The peace that you will never be able to see past your prejudices to negotiate,” Kael continues, looking around the room to try and beseech support from the gathered Feyrie.
His smile starts to fade when their faces don’t change. They won’t accept him or his puppets. Which I think he’s starting to see—he isn’t blind.
The Magiks won’t accept them, either. It chose me for a reason, whether I’m reluctant or not. And until I die, it’s a done deal.
Darkness steps to my side. I flick a glance to him, tasting his glamour in the air. Phobe’s up to something; the glamour around him is him thicker than normal. That’s a sign of intent for sure.
‘Repeat what I say, word for word,’ Phobe’s voice whispers through my mind.
Phobe has a plan, and I trust him. There’s going to be so much shit in the future that I don’t mind making it a little less cluttered, anti-climactic or not. So, I do as bid. As his voice floats through my head, I repeat it word for word.
“Peace, you say? Does that peace include the wingless children you gave to the humans as payment for your anonymity? Or the deal you have with the schoth to keep your own pockets lined with gold so your hoard stays full?” I ask as I let the disgust show on my face.
There are gasps of shock from several people in the crowd. Phobe’s words are enlightening to all of us. I know Kael is a dick but the fact that he did it for money won’t go over well with his own kind. It doesn’t go over well with me either.
Kael’s connection with the Dark is so spelled that I can’t feel much about him. Spell after spell is woven around him, protecting him from my inner gaze. It’s then that the worst suspicion swirling in my head solidifies. He betrayed my mother. I know it down to my core.
Why hide so thoroughly if you’re not guilty of something?
The smile on his face falls, and he looks at me with his real emotions. Contempt and anger, mixed with a little bit of hatred.
“I do what I must to protect my people.” As he speaks, he smiles again. It’s not a nice smile this time.
Phobe’s next words make my hands shake, and I tuck them into my pocket to try and look nonchalant as I accuse, “You do what you must to protect yourself, Uncle. Like you did when you trapped my mother, Magikless, to be slain by the fucking schoth king.”
“I did what my foolish sister would not! I saved our people from extinction at the hands of the schoth! I kept them safe and comfortable for years after her silly romance almost cost us everything! She deserved what she received!” Kael bellows, his voice is deepening as his dragon swims close to the surface.
His red hair glints in the lights of the room, his green eyes that are so like my mother’s lighten.
Hate, I fill with hate.
I grit my teeth and continue saying Phobe’s words carefully. “Finally, you admit you are a pawn to the schoth, Kael.” The rage and pain courses through me at his admission. To be betrayed by one so close to you, by your sibling. My poor mother.
“I am no one’s pawn, little girl. I am a king, and you will show me respect!”
“Respect? On your knees, bawling like the pussy you are, you begged the schoth king to spare your life. In place of yours, you offered my mother’s. So yes, you are a pawn, Kael.” My voice is thick with amusement. Not the nice kind either.
‘Dad, you need to be here,’ I call out into the nether of existence. In a cold blast of air, he appears behind the false dragon king. His eyes black and shiny in the light of the room. His eyes are black and shiny in the light of the room, and his rage so profound it coats my skin like a blanket.
‘Can you kill him, Dad?’ I ask quietly in my mind.
His black eyes meet my own. ‘Not unless he admits to killing her directly, Dove,’ he answers, his voice sounding like he is speaking through gritted teeth.
Kael isn’t dumb enough to do that. My Dad blows me a kiss and gives one final look of death to Kael.
“There is nothing you can do about it, you insolent brat. Only the strong can rule and—” Kael ‘s speech cuts off, his finger pointing at me accusingly. I just smile.
“You are no longer welcome here. Remove him.” My words echo as the room begins to shake and rumble.
Kael stares at me angrily as he starts to change, but it’s too late. A bubble of Magiks surrounds him, trapping him within them. With a should of surprise, h
e is gone, leaving only a spattering of ash.
“What in the hell was that?” Romiel demands, turning with his shiny glowing sword in hand.
“That was Kael getting kicked out.” My heart is heavy as I answer.
“She is the Shepherd, you stupid lizard. The Sidhe reacts to her will alone,” Jameson pipes up from somewhere in the crowd.
There is a single chuckle, followed by another and then another until everyone follows suit. Well, everyone but Romiel and his group.
Romiel is standing there frowning, his long gray hair swinging around him in a way that the girl I hide deep inside of me envies. He’s looking around like he just lost his keys instead of realizing they’re laughing at him.
My Magiks try to touch him, only to be instantly repelled. Light Magiks suffuse him. He’s coated in it. Just like Kael if, not more so.
Maybe everything isn’t as cut and dried as it seems?
“I’m not sure where the Sidhe dumped him so you might wanna go look.” I comment.
He stops spinning in place to look for Kael and puffs up like a rooster. What is up with men mimicking poultry?
“His wish is for Mirelle and me to take over as the Feyrie rulers. It is best for everyone involved. We have experience with servants and negotiations with the schoth, whereas your experience is limited to the unclean.” It’s entirely possible he’s as stupid as I first thought, but some people can fool anyone. I truly hope he doesn’t pass those genes on to any mini-dummies, either way.
If nothing else, he’s an arrogant shit. He’s just as “unclean” as the rest of us, the moron.
“There is only one way to try and take her place, hatchling. Trial by combat,” Phobe says, speaking out loud for the first time.
The sneaky bastard planned that all along. Phobe’s also lying, because winning combat will not pass on the power.
“That’s acceptable. I am the best swordsman in the kingdom, so whoever is pitted against me will lose. Who shall you name as champion from the rabble assembled, half-breed?” He looks around him as he speaks. His eyes full of arrogance as they skim right over Phobe.