Breaking Ties

by Vaughn R. Demont

  “Do I detect a hint of bigotry in there?” I smirk to myself. “Because right now I’m all you’ve got.”

  “Hardly,” he hmphs. “My lord will be along to free me, all in due time. And I do not take issue with those outside the court, I’m simply not as familiar as I’d like. I had heard rumor that the Riordan had taken an outsider as his consort. The individual was painted as a sort of trophy.”

  “Trophy? I wasn’t his damned…” My turn to grouch a bit. “Walked right into that.”

  “At least it is now clear why you are still alive. The consort of the Riordan makes for an excellent bargaining chip.”

  I roll my eyes. “To do what? Get him to step down? Tell a pretty story?”

  “Exactly. Those are stories told to Her Majesty, and her alone. A story told with adequate skill can sway one’s view of something, and the Riordan is the court’s finest storyteller, and has told tales to our monarchs for centuries. It is a story told by the Riordan that is responsible for the formation of the Cobalt Order.”

  “Wait, what?” Rourke is responsible for this? “Because of a story he told there’s now an order of bigots out butchering half-bloods and Dwarves?”

  “Indeed. His tale inspired Her Majesty to appoint a twin-blood as a liaison, and permitted the knighting of the same twin-blood to stand with her approval. The more conservative houses of the sidhe took it as a sign that her reign was faltering.”

  “And they’re killing Dwarves because so many of them have mixed heritage.”

  “Because they supply Her Majesty’s supporters with weapons, armor, artifacts. Their questionable heritage is simply additional satisfaction. I believe it to be an unwise action, however. There are rumors that the Lightning Rod himself shows favor to the Dwarven Clan. Nothing good comes of a Ra’keth involving himself in matters of the court.”

  I slump against the wall. James dating Ozzie is going to have repercussions, as if that wasn’t obvious from the beginning. Why can’t he have something normal for a change? Then again, I doubt a relationship with me would be all sunshine and roses, considering the temptation would always be there to pull an Emerald on him, and God knows James is aware of that.

  “So you don’t have any escape plans, I take it?” Ugh, my voice sounds a bit hoarse, but that’s to be expected, considering all the singing and sock-puppetry. “There has to be a way out of here. No place is impregnable.” That word’s worth eighteen points in Scrabble, by the way. “Besides, I’m sort of counting on someone to bust me out too. Doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around and wait for him to come, though. Besides, I doubt he knows I’m missing.”

  I walk to the door, and while there is a doorknob, it’s locked, and unlike my father, Fate feels that locks have every right to slow me down. The deadbolt doesn’t help matters. I jiggle it, no luck. The vent’s not nearly large enough for anything bigger than my hand.

  “Damn it.” I kick the wall. “There has to be some way out of here. How are you bound, by the way, handcuffs?”

  “Iron chain. It is very uncomfortable, though not having the effect they hoped it would. My wrists and ankles are also bound in manacles. As far as I can tell, they have me quite secured. You have been left unbound? Completely? I do not suppose that Coyotes possess the ability to open locks?”

  “My father does. My half-brother’s an escape artist. My other half-brother…I think he’s just an asshole.”

  “And you possess no knack in particular that might render aid?”

  “Seriously, man, who talks like that?” I bump my head against the wall a couple times in frustration. “I’m a Bard, but I doubt that—”

  “You are a Bard? And you have not freed us yet?”

  “How, exactly, am I supposed to do that? I doubt that speaking in tongues will get the attention of the guards.”

  He sighs loud enough to hear him through the vent. “Curse the locks, the walls, the doors, anything, to make them brittle enough to break with ease.”

  I understandably blink. “Wait, I can? Would that work?”

  “You believe curses are limited only to living beings? You’ve never once believed that an object of machinery could be cursed? A lock possesses many moving parts, a simple stroke of bad luck and—”

  “The lock is broken and the door opens easily.” How the hell have I never considered that? Wow, I could steal so much stuff now. “How do you know so much about curses?”

  “I believe that was rudimentary information. A better question would be how you know so little about curses if you claim to be a Bard.”

  “It’s not a common job for Coyotes. Do you know any Sigil? I need to hear some to get the Bard thing going.” Granted, my curses rarely need help, but I don’t want to misspeak, especially when it’s the language of magic we’re talking about. When it was called Lorus, it was generally stable and dependable. Now that it’s Sigil, it’s moody, which I guess could be a reflection on the guy who named it.

  “If there were some Sigil in front of me, I could read it aloud. Speaking it from memory is not a strength of twin-bloods. Sidhe heritage only carries so far.”

  Well, looks like I’ll be counting on luck, then, and even though luck may follow me around like a lovesick puppy, a Coyote must never count on luck. It’s like Murphy’s Law, you know?

  I tap the doorknob gently, reach back through my mind to remember the last time I heard Sigil. If it were TV, it’d be done through a flashback with a nifty sound effect to punctuate the beginning and end of it, maybe a hazy filter over the lens. These sorts of things have to be done properly, of course.

  “May your pins be as brittle as your maker’s reputation.”

  I turn the doorknob with a hard and sudden jerk. There’s resistance for a second, then a snapping sound from the mechanism and the knob turns partway. The door opens to reveal a dimly lit hallway and a musty smell that implies we’re underground. The hallway is wide enough for three people to stand abreast (abreast, I’ll admit I titter at that), but boxes and crates are stacked along the wall on both sides to make the path more serpentine (worth twelve points, by the way).

  I could always turn into a coyote and get a whiff of the place, but to be honest, I have no idea what those smells would mean, and I doubt it’ll aid the situation. Instead, I step lightly and make my way toward the “cell” my conversation partner occupies. The door is barred and latched, but no key is necessary, which is good since I don’t want to push my luck with those curses. I slide the bar, lift the latch and pull open the door.

  Which creaks and squeaks. Loudly.

  Nothing can ever be easy, can it?

  I wince and suck air through my teeth, regardless. There’s a protocol to follow, after all.

  It would seem that we’ve been left alone, which I know I should find suspicious, as no one down either end of the hall speaks up with “What was that?” or “Did you hear something?” or “Go check that out!” We can’t be considered so low-rate we don’t require any supervision, that’s just insulting.

  The room is identical to mine, except for the rings punched into the wall to secure the chain that binds the prisoner. He’s tall and definitely would be attractive if his face weren’t beat to hell; he has black hair, tanned skin. He’s dressed in ratty sweats, has thick iron manacles around his ankles and wrists, heavy chain wrapping his torso from his waist up to his neck. Strangely, there aren’t any locks securing the chain, only the rings on the wall. It’d be easy enough to take it off, even with his wrists and ankles bound.

  He looks to be in a bit of pain, so I take the chains off him. I probably should’ve checked them first to see if they were electrified or something, but it’s not really the sidekick’s job to think things through. Plus, I think I’ve covered Coyotes and foresight. The chain is relatively heavy, but it comes loose with enough effort, and a couple of muttered curses get the manacles off.

  Once f
reed from his bindings, he staggers outside and I hear heaving sounds that aren’t difficult to figure out. I follow once he’s done, since ralphing is kind of a private thing, and I assume we’ll both act like it didn’t happen. They probably wouldn’t even admit that a table has legs. Fae are rather proper, after all, and given how attractive the guy is, with a pair of dark-brown eyes, it’s not hard to peg him as half-sidhe. Hell, he doesn’t look half-sidhe. Must be some good genetics.

  “Feeling better?”

  He straightens up. “Much. Thank you.”

  “I thought only full Fae were hurt by iron.”

  He takes a few deep breaths. “Normally, yes, but sidhe are especially weak to the touch of iron, and it is often passed down to those such as I…” He sighs, hands tightening into fists. “Of course. You’re a Bard. I should stop speaking.”

  “Is it that well-known, what I am?”

  “A Bard born outside of the court? Outside of the Phouka? It is unheard of.”

  I decide not to tell him that I’m not the only Coyote Bard out there. He appears to be having enough trouble handling the idea of one.

  “All right, we need to prioritize. I don’t suppose you know where we are?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Maybe why we don’t have a guard? We’re both outside our cells, that usually raises a red flag.”

  I look both ways down the hall and find a couple more doors along the wall that open to similar rooms as ours, though these are empty. At this point, for ease of reference, I face the wall where I came out of my cell and decide that in front of me is north, behind me south, left is west, you can figure out the rest. At the east end, there’s a wall with some boxes stacked against it, and the west?

  A stairwell that leads up to a door. At least I know we’re in a basement. I curse it, the lock breaks, and the door opens to…

  I shove it a bit harder, and the door opens to…

  I kick the door a few times, shove against it with my shoulder, and the door opens to…

  “God damn it!” I kick the door again. And again. It won’t budge. “What’d they do, wall us in?” I sling a few curses at the door, and then actually curse the door. It falls backward, heavily, out of its frame, the hinges rusted and brittle. I have to react quickly to make it topple down the stairs rather than flatten me.

  And the door finally fucking opens to…

  A brick wall.

  “Ask a stupid question…”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ozzie

  December 20, 9:40 am

  “God, have you tried this?”

  He has an amazing smile, lights up his whole face. I reach for the slice, and he pulls it away with a laugh, grinning all the while. “Uh-uh. Get your own, this is mine.”

  “It’s some mom-’n-pop that I heard about.” I take a bite, and it’s heaven on a crust. I know it didn’t actually taste this good, but I push that feeling away, wanting to stay in this moment as long as I can. “You should try the garlic knots.”

  He manages a grumpy expression for a few seconds. “I was going to but someone ate them all.”

  “Probably the Coyote. They’re all thieves. Dirty, dirty thieves.”

  He rolls his eyes, but I rest my forehead against his, our eyes meeting. We kiss shortly afterward, everything blurring until we’re in my bedroom, sweat soaking our bodies. I’m moving inside him, slow and easy. I always take my time, make sure to get it right, hit all the right spots. I don’t think he’s used to slow and gentle, he always finishes before I do.

  “Oh God, it’s so warm.”

  I finished a couple seconds ago. I can’t manage more than a grunt muffled by my lips grazing over his spine. Everything’s perfect now, right, like it is every time, no matter who’s doing what or how we’ve contorted ourselves together.

  “Yep. Fresh from the smelter.” I wink, even though he can’t see it, but he laughs, relieved and exhausted. “James?”

  He wriggles against me, and I continue kissing along his back, the nape of his neck. “I love how you do that.” I wrap my arms around him, squeeze him. “I love how you make me feel safe. Like it’s just us.”

  “I love you, James.”

  “What?”

  I smile. “I love you, James.”

  There’s a few seconds’ pause, and he starts to pull away, making me gasp as I exit. “Okay, get off of me. Ugh.” He finally turns, and his face is one of incredulity. “Seriously? You love me? What, you thought I was going to say it back?”

  He gets off the bed, laughing as he does, dressing. “Sure, you’re a decent lay, but I’m the Ra’keth. You honestly think I’m going to settle for a half-breed Dwarf?”

  His laughter grows louder, almost to the point of hysteria and…no.

  No!

  James, don’t do this to—

  I gasp for breath, my heart pounding in my ears as my eyes open, every part of my body sore, and not just because I’m on a cheap futon. In my sightline is a large stack of books for Dungeons & Dragons, as well as a fair share of AC/DC posters on the wall, so at least I know I’m at James’s place. On the floor is a silk bag with the butt of a shotgun sticking out.

  How did I get here?

  “You’re up.” I rub my eyes, and Dave waddles his way into my view. “You owe me twenty bucks for the cab ride.”

  “Cab ride?” Why would I have called a cab? I feel like I got dragged behind a truck for a good mile. I pat my pockets, find my cell. Apparently I did call the diner. What happened before that? Why didn’t I just drive…?

  “Aw damn it, I wrecked the Benz.” I sit up, reviewing the other details, remembering.

  “You sounded drunk off your ass when you called.”

  “That was shock. I was in an accident. A…” I remember something big and red, “…dragon hit us.”

  “Us? Was James in the car with you? Where is he? That damned Azure has been tight-lipped ever since I found her up here.”

  “No, the Coyote was in the car with me.” That sonuvabitch, I knew I was right about him making moon-eyes at James and… “Aw shit, the Fae got him.”

  He went with them, so they’d spare me.

  Sonuvabitch.

  “This complicates things a mite.” I rub my temples, still a bit woozy as I get to my feet.

  “You sure you should be up and about?” The dragon nudges me back toward the futon, but I wave him off.

  “May only be half-blooded, but I’m still dreamblooded. I ate plenty while I was asleep.” He looks confused, so I continue. “Whole reason mortals ain’t supposed to eat Fae food is ’cause it’s made from dreams. Human dreams, really, and nothing will ever taste as good. Everything normal just gets tasteless, except for us Fae. We’re made of dreams, so dreams sustain and heal us. I won’t bounce back as well as my father would, but…” I take a deep breath, my ribs aching in protest, but I push through it. “I’ll get by.”

  “Need any help?”

  A dragon offering help to a Dwarf. These are truly crazy times.

  “I’ll give you a call. I might have to take you up on that offer. You said an Azure’s here?”

  “Popped out of nowhere and left soon after without a word. Wouldn’t answer any questions, but she muttered something about…” He snorts a bit of smoke. “Doesn’t really translate. Wasn’t a positive comment, that’s all I can say.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need to talk to a couple people. Try to head off a dragon hunt before it happens.”

  “A hunt?” Flame tandems with the snorted smoke this time.

  “The Ra’keth’s gone, the Cobalt Order’s getting help from a dragon, and the Riordan’s consort was taken by probably the same people. Her Majesty won’t stand for it, Dave. They’ll call for blood, and it’ll be open season on dragons.”

  “How’d they get the Rear don’s concert? Why
the hell does that matter?”

  I rub my face a couple minutes, remember how James likes to run his fingers through my beard, remember when he tied a bow into the braid and I had no idea until I got to work.

  “The Riordan. He’s Her Majesty’s storyteller, and his chosen consort is…well…” I shrug helplessly, “…the person he…you know…”

  The dragon shudders at the thought. I’ve been kind to him, never telling him what James and I do, and he and I have kept such things out of the game as well.

  “And that consort is the Coyote. I can’t imagine how he conned his way into that, but the Riordan needs to be informed of the circumstances, if he hasn’t been told already. It’s going to be difficult enough getting a meeting with Robert O’Rourke. I also have to be the one to deliver the bad news.” I glance at Dave as I steady myself. “There will be consequences for this, and it’s anyone’s guess who’ll pay the price. The court hasn’t had to worry about anything other than Fae matters for the last few decades. Now there’s an active Ra’keth, and vampires and hunters and tricksters and even twin-bloods are starting to get a little recognition. Hell, we’ve got a twin-blooded knight out there now, Sir Simaron Gray of the Benedict Shores. Times are changing, and sidhe hate change.”

  A few more breaths and I’ve got my feet. A good Dwarf is an immovable object if he plants his feet right. I would’ve been a hell of a lineman if my father had let me join the high school football team. Or go to high school instead of a bunch of tutors. Or been tall enough to join the team.

  “I’ll go set up the meeting. I’ll let you know if you need to close up the diner and go into hiding.” I leave without another word, taking what little I apparently brought with me, already aware that I’m going out in bloodstained and slightly scorched clothing, every limb giving me a talking-to, but still following orders.

  I head to the 65th-and-L station, since I’m without a car, and take a minute to dig my UTA pass out of my wallet, since I rarely use the thing. The Blue Line arrives after a few minutes, on time as always, and I find my seat in the front car, next to a circle that was carved in the floor. “Marvin?”