The Immortal Queen

by Jennifer L. Hart

  Dripping wet, Aiden raises his new eye up to lock on Wardon’s. “I’m hers of my own free will. Better than any of your consorts can say.”

  The king smirks down at him. “Once I marry her, what belongs to her will belong to me. Perhaps I’ll pass you around the troll barracks like a party favor. See if she wants what’s left of you after that.”

  “Sire,” the healer approaches on Wardon’s left side. “We must go if we wish to be on time.”

  Wardon doesn’t acknowledge the man, his gaze intent on Aiden. “Mark me wolf, you are irrelevant. To her, to me, to the world. It would be a mercy to put you down now like the rabid dog you are. Now come and witness the dawn of a new era in whatever skin suits.”

  Aiden pushes to his feet, his glare on the king and shifts. He isn’t ashamed of his nakedness but it makes Nic uncomfortable and being the wolf gives him advantages of speed and strength over most of the fey and all trolls.

  “Good.” Without warning, Wardon snaps a collar around Aiden’s neck.

  His instinct is to struggle, he is no pet to be led about. But Nic is out there, waiting for him. So, he allows it and follows the king, all the while plotting the man’s death.

  Now

  I WATCH THEM LEAD AIDEN from his cell, Wardon and the long fingered fey who appears more tree than man. My hands clench into fists as I stand on the cliff that is to be our seaside meeting place as I observe the wolf. He’s walking, which I take as a good sign. He’s wearing some sort of collar, black and hardened like cool lava. I try to catch his eye but his gaze is focused down. Harmony’s words of prophesy haunt me.

  Neither will be as you remember them.

  Aiden has already endured so much in his life. The son of a fire deity, risen from the ashes of a golden life, cursed and yet somehow still able to give of himself. What would it take to alter him irrevocably?

  And Nahini. I have yet to catch sight of her. How badly did they hurt her that such a hard warrior will never be the same?

  Bard and Harmony are in place, standing with their backs to the rising sun. Though never one for prayers, I can’t help but send out a mental plea that I can trust my new allies not to betray me, that Aiden will have faith in me and not give the scheme away.

  And most of all, that clever, power hungry Wardon is arrogant enough not to see the deception coming.

  “The rest of my people?” Bard calls out, his voice a perfect echo of my own. It’s like looking in a mirror, even if the reflection moves independently of me. Not only is he wearing my skin, the shifter has my squared-shoulder, chin-up stance, my look of defiance. He wears the same set of jeans and hoodie that I’d had on earlier, claiming my scent still clinging to the fabric. He insists that will help him own his role. He even picked up my backpack on his way out of the door.

  I, in contrast, feel nothing like myself. Beneath the large gray cowl that hides my face, I curl a finger around one of the dyed locks. It’s a dark brown, almost mahogany, provided by the wardrobe. Between the color and the shapeless granite colored sack that passes for a religious robe worn by Wardon’s temple sworn witnesses, even the aunts wouldn’t recognize me.

  “They’re nearby.” Wardon stops a foot away from Bard and takes his—my—hand. “First, a question. You are, Nicneven, future Queen of the Unseelie Court and heir to the Shadow Throne?”

  I see him study my face—Bard’s face. He’s looking for a trick, some sort of double cross. I, the human girl, can tell a lie, but most any fey capable of taking on my form could not.

  “I am.” Bard says, voice clear and unwavering.

  He can do it because he has taken on my identity, has essentially become me, at least until the part is played out and he moves on to his next identity. According to Bard, even though many know what he and other entertainers can do, they didn’t know the why or how of it. A trick of the trade. One he had let us in on.

  A low growl rumbles from Aiden, but it cuts off in a high-pitched yelp of pain. Bard’s gaze shifts to the wolf. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “His new collar appears to be chafing.” Wardon puts a hand on the wolf’s head. Aiden ducks away but not before I see the bright red blood that streaks the king’s fingers.

  Did the collar do that? I try again to send a mental message to Aiden. He doesn’t so much as twitch.

  I see Bard’s hands clench into fists, an exact replica of my own beneath the long sleeves of the stolen robe. “Take it off him.”

  “And have him kill us all? I think not. For you see, my lovely, I know exactly who you’ve been bedding all these years. And there are those who would pay handsomely for him.”

  As though she’d been waiting for a cue, The Hag of the Ironwood opens a portal by his side and steps out as though stepping through a doorway.

  I hear Aden’s warning growl, but it is immediately cut off in another yelp of pain. As though the collar isn’t just restraining him, but disciplining him somehow.

  The giantess is once again pared down to a more standard size, though power radiates from her. She turns to Wardon with a raised eyebrow. “I specifically said he was not to be harmed.”

  “Apologies,” Wardon’s tone holds no regret. “But we had to take precautions. He’s a wanted criminal in Asgard, after all. How could a few fey cope with that sort of power?”

  The red-haired giantess stares down at the Seelie king like he’s something she scraped off the bottom of her boots.

  “What’s she doing here?” Bard asks. “You promised to turn Aiden and the others over to me.”

  “And I will, my sweet. Just as soon as you keep your end of the bargain and marry me.”

  Aiden lunges, murder in his leaf green eyes. But then collapses three feet from where he started.

  Right in front of me.

  I want to bend down, to place a hand on his neck, to rip that gods damned collar off, but I can’t. I signed on for the ruse and I need to see it through.

  “The lovely giantess here has agreed to keep an eye on your pet until after you pass the gauntlet. After you become my wife.”

  I don’t react outwardly, and neither does Bard. It is Harmony who speaks up.

  “That is a mistake, my king. The giantess has no intention of returning the son of the flame.”

  Wardon raises a cynical eyebrow as he turns on Angrboda. “I know. But she will swear a blood oath to me, as will my betrothed. I believe the terms of the oath are universal, for anything living can also die.”

  “I will do no such thing.” Angrboda chin lifts, her posture arrogant. “We had a deal. The wolf for your magic. I have upheld my end.”

  “That does present something of a conundrum.” Wardon circles the spot where Angrboda stands. The giantess doesn’t flinch, but turns her head to track the king’s movements. Suddenly water sprays upward from the cliff below us like a geyser erupting. It follows the circle Wardon made around the giantess, trapping her inside. I see her hands come up, her fists pound on the wet prison and a look of pure astonishment crosses her face when she doesn’t break free.

  He used her own magic against her. “Nicneven, if you will be so kind.”

  Oh no. I stare at Bard, who’s gone blank faced. Oh shit.

  “I beg your pardon?” The mimic raises a sardonic eyebrow. Good cover, though it won’t help him in the long run.

  “This creature wants to take my gift to you. Give her your own special kiss and send a message to all in Underhill that you are not to be crossed.”

  The performer’s eyes—my eyes—round. No matter how much he looks like me, how much he believes he has become me, Bard is not the Unseelie queen of the Shadow Throne. He does not possess the Goodnight Kiss. And as soon as Wardon realizes it, he will retaliate.

  “I have no quarrel with the giantess,” Bard tries. “What good will come from her death?”

  “She ruined your consort’s family. She wishes to take him away. That should be reason enough.” Wardon smirks, knowing he holds the winning hand. “But if not, here’s one mor
e. Either the giantess dies here and now, or I will gift her the wolf and slaughter all your other companions before your very eyes.”

  A test. He’s even more paranoid than I am. In the distance the waves start to churn. Then swirl, creating a whirlpool in the middle of the sea. The ocean splits, revealing a trench beneath and inside the trench are my missing souls.

  And Nahini.

  She coughs and chokes, trying to dispel water from her lungs. How is she even still alive?

  All eyes are on me, the fake me. I risk a step forward, brushing my toe against Aiden’s side. He doesn’t stir.

  “So, what will it be, Nicneven?” the Seelie king asks. “A small demonstration of your greatest power? Or should I trap your lost souls back in their watery prison until the seas dry up?”

  Bard sends me a fleeting look. Anyone other than Harmony would believe he’s staring at Aiden. I have no way to instruct him, there is no path I can set him on which will bring us all out safely on the other side.

  We are trapped.

  An Oath for an Oath

  “My patience grows thin,” Wardon’s face is like stone. “Make your choice. Or I will choose for you.”

  Bard takes a hesitant step forward, then another. I risk a quick glance around, but only Harmony is looking my way. Crouching down beside Aiden, I slip my fingers beneath the collar, its texture more like stone than leather or even synthetic. The fur of his ruff is matted with blood. I run my fingers around the edges of the collar, looking for a seam or a fastener. Something sharp pricks my skin. I pull my hand away to see my fingertips coated with blood. My blood. And on the back of my hands more blood, Aiden’s. The collar is full of glass shards. Wardon had been essentially bleeding him out before my eyes.

  If I can get him free of the retched thing and back on his feet we might stand a chance. But if he’s lost too much blood too quickly....

  Angrboda eyes grow wide as Bard approaches. Is that panic on her face? Does she believe her end is near?

  Her water prison recedes down to her waist, keeping her hands and legs bound while enabling Bard to reach her. A flash of triumph crosses Wardon’s expression as Bard stands up on tiptoes.

  Angrboda says something, too soft for me to hear and shakes her head, just once. Bard catches her face in a firm grip and then presses his lips—my lips—to hers.

  She sags against the restraints. Wardon throws back his head and laughs aloud.

  My lips—my actual lips—part as Bard steps back, hiding his shock.

  I switch my gaze to the spirit landscape, wondering if somehow, some way, Bard managed to snag my ability. Could it be possible that he not only killed her but to tether her soul to the Hunt? But I don’t see Angrboda’s soul floating free or drifting toward Nahini and the others trapped in the trench. No, it’s still where it belongs, inside her body.

  She’s faking it then. The question is, why?

  At my feet, Aiden stirs, a soft whimper escaping him.

  “Sash,” I say, partly to reassure him, partly so that he doesn’t wake up at the wrong time and ruin everything.

  “A deal is a deal,” the Seelie king waves a hand and a rush of wave surges toward Nahini and the souls of the Wild Hunt. I expect to see them disappear beneath the crush of water, but instead it lifts them up, carrying them to the shore as though they are riding a parade float.

  “And my wolf?” Bard asks. “I want that collar off.”

  “First the blood oath.” Wardon lifts his palm and a silver knife appears within it. “Repeat after me. I, Nicneven, will wed Wardon, Master of the Waves and ruler of the Gray Throne. I will do so as soon as I have reclaimed the Shadow Throne and established myself as monarch supreme of the Unseelie Court. I have agreed to this union of my own volition and will hold to it, upon penalty of death.”

  Bard repeats the words with the utmost sincerity and then Wardon cuts a line across his—my—palm, drawing blood.

  Wardon makes a cut in his own palm and vows an oath of his own. “I, Wardon, Master of the Waves, vow to release Aiden, Nahini, Harmony the seer and all the souls gifted to me by Queen Brigit into the custody of Nicneven, the one true queen of the Unseelie. I will do so immediately and without hesitation.”

  “And you will never capture or harm Unseelie subjects again.” Bard prompts.

  Wardon starts, but then, sensing no trap, adds the phrase before the penalty of death bit.

  Three drops of blood from each hand merge in a silver chalice. The liquid smokes and doubles, then doubles again until the cup overflows with red fog. Wardon extends it to Bard. “Ladies first.”

  Bard takes it and sips before returning it to the king.

  Wardon’s lips turn up as he lifts the chalice to his mouth. I can’t help holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong, someone to shout out a warning. But he merely tips the chalice back, draining it dry.

  Immediately I feel a surge of power, one I had been missing for months. It’s my missing members of the Wild Hunt, back under my control once more. I stare at the beach, urging the spirits to gather Nahini up. She’s drenched, seaweed clings to her clothing and her eyes are closed. At least she is breathing. I see her brother kneel beside her. Though unable to touch her, the spirits of the Hunt can influence the physical world in small ways. He reaches out a hand as though to cradle her head in his.

  I want to howl with triumph. It worked. The king just agreed to marry the shifter, even as he returned control of the souls of the Hunt back to me, to the real Nicneven.

  Serves you right, you bastard. I narrow my eyes on the Seelie king and make a silent promise. One day soon, I will make him pay for the suffering he has caused.

  “We’ll be going now.” Bard squares his shoulders, lifts his chin. “There’s much to do. Remove the collar from my companion.”

  “All business. I admire that about you.” Wardon snaps his fingers and the collar around Aiden’s neck vanishes. The wolf doesn’t stir, doesn’t even open an eyelid.

  I shake him gently, and he groans but doesn’t wake.

  “What’s been done to him?” Bard demands, the tone imperious.

  But before Wardon can answer, slim hands grasp him from behind, lifting him up off the ground.

  “You thought to betray me?” Angrboda’s eyes are like blue flames, her bloodred hair whipping about in an unholy wind. “Turned my own magic against me?”

  Wardon gargles, as though trying to speak. His gaze is on Bard though.

  I don’t wait to see what happens next. With the full strength of the dead of the Wild Hunt back in my grasp, I reach out to the souls I have claimed and bid them to obscure us from our enemy’s eyes.

  They fan out, a rolling fog of death. Trolls fall before it, twitching in pain as limbs are removed, hearts pierced. The witnesses to the blood oath scream and flee. Bard and Harmony dart down through the crowd as Nahini’s body drifts toward me on billows of vapor.

  Her face is bloodless, her beautiful jet hair streaked liberally with white as pure as new fallen snow. Extreme shock or terror can do that, leech all the pigment from a person. Her chest is rising and falling and there is a steady pulse in her neck. She’ll survive, if I can get her away from this wretched place.

  “We need to cross back to the mortal realm,” I tell them. “The souls can reach the tear in the veil, but I don’t see Nahini’s horse and Aiden is in no shape to float us up to it. Any other suggestions?”

  “Send a soul through the tear to alert the rest of your Hunt to your whereabouts,” The words come from Nahini’s brother. “Send me.”

  I look up into him, the murderer who my third had sacrificed her life to stay near. He may not care whether the rest of us live or die, but he would do anything for his sister. “Go quickly. We’ll head inland, away from Wardon’s territory. Tell Freda to meet us there.”

  He nods once and streaks into the sky like a comet going in reverse.

  The Valkyrie I bound comes forth. “They are all dead or fleeing, my queen. Less the giant an
d the king. They escaped through a portal.”

  I nod in acknowledgment then look about the blood-soaked beach. The fog has formed into ranks of the souls again, standing in perfectly ordered rows. Dead trolls and a few of the unluckier fey are scattered all around us. A shiver steals through me as I gaze upon the carnage. I ordered them to do this. Their blood is on my hands just as if I’d kill them myself.

  One look at Aiden’s slumped form, Nahini’s gauntness and my heart hardens. It was them or us and if I had to choose over again, I would still choose us.

  “We need to fashion some sort of sled, to carry them.” I nod to first Nahini, then Aiden.

  Bard, back in his powerful lidless resting form nods toward the cave. “There might be something in there we can use, a door or some rope.”

  “Help him,” I urge Harmony. She nods and then follows the shifter.

  The souls of my victims surround me as I crouch beside Nahini. I sense their worry. Nahini is their caretaker, the living being who commands them but who also watches out for them. Some of the stronger or newer spirits can speak directly to me, but most are trapped into silent service. Even the dead need someone to care for them.

  She is breathing, though I don’t like the greenish cast of her skin. Her pulse is light and quick and reminds me of a bird trapped in a cage, beating its wings in rapid succession. Aiden still isn’t waking up, still not responding to my mental probes. What had Wardon done to them?

  Bard and Harmony appear, a heavy driftwood door dragged between them. Bard also has rope the color and texture of seaweed slung over one arm.

  “Good to know Wardon stayed on theme even in his dungeon.” I quip and stand up before looking at Harmony. “Is it safe to move them?”

  She nods. “They won’t die on an inland journey.”

  I don’t like the way she phrases her response, but decided not to ask. Instead shifting my attention to the door. “That looks heavy.”

  “I can handle it.” Bard says. He drops my backpack at my feet and then changes.