He slowly fastened up the row of small, golden buttons that ran up the frilled placket of the white shirt. Picking up the matching larger cuff links, he cradled them in his hand, his eye caught by the torches being lit along the keep walls. He’d heard the horns, his mother and her entourage had arrived. Once she’d been successful with sucking him dry, and he was an empty husk, would she turn Agrona on another man? Take his powers? With his own powers and his mother’s insanity, what would stop her from taking over all of Underhill?
Why had he started this? Somehow now, it all seemed useless. Too many good fae dead. Bryanna as good as lost. What good had his rebellion done but spur the queen to fresh atrocities?
And now? He’d never really cared beyond his immediate circle of friends, but now he could see how wide the pool of her maleficence could spread.
He looked into the blurred reflection in the rippled surface of the polished, bronze shield that was all Agrona had left him for a mirror and tied the gold bow tie. White pants and a glittery tux jacket with purple shit-brown trim. Where the hell had she gotten this disaster of a tux? His mother would never have picked this out. This had to be Agrona’s bad taste. She was dressing him for her pleasure, and he had no doubt that tonight would be an evening of torture.
She’d laughed at him when she’d brought in the ridiculous outfit. “Here you are, my little golden prince. I couldn’t resist reminding your mother of my little secret. It will drive her crazy.”
Was Oberon, King of the Gold Court, his father. Could it be true?
Could he have Golden Court blood running through his veins?
Staring into the surface of the polished bronze, he used the skills he’d acquired over fifteen years of patiently trying witch spell after witch spell and failing. He closed his eyes and centered, something the fae never had to do, and he reached deep within himself as Bryanna did. His Gift was blocked, he couldn’t see his aura, couldn’t see what colors made it up, but he knew what it looked like. The bold, purple glow, tinged with black, glinting with the facets of a black diamond.
But was there something else. Or at least, as Gift-blind as he was, he imagined there was another Gift shining under the black. Something hidden and in need of a polish. In his imagination, and using all of his hard-won skills, he pulled the magic out and held it lightly in his palms. He opened his eyes, and there, reflected in the bronze mirror lying on his palms was a rich cord of gold, shining with a purple light. He looked down and saw nothing. Then back up into the mirror.
It was still there. His Gift from his father shining gold in his palms.
Fierce elation rose inside him and he shook so hard he had to shut his eyes and will himself to keep from falling apart.
He had magic. Unseen by his cursed senses and untouched by his mother’s magic. And he could access it. Best of all, his mother had no idea.
There was a knock on the door. “Oh, lover boy... Are you ready for me?”
His concentration shattered, and the strange, golden magic reflection fled. But his excitement remained. He was not weaponless in this fight.
Bryanna huddled in one of the shadows left by the sparse torchlight flickering on the courtyard walls. She squeezed the pommel of her sword and focused on getting air into tight lungs as she tried to decide when she should make her move. Full dark had descended and yet another group of troll-kin were passing by her hiding place on their way down to the wedding tents set up outside the outer defenses.
She tried to make herself even smaller and fit closer into the shadow.
“Hurry up, I want to get a good spot.” A soldier stopped, only a few feet from where she hid, shifting his feet impatiently. She stifled her stomach’s nervous flutter, got a better grip on her sword, and waited for them to pass.
“We’re coming.” The other two men caught up.
“I’ve never seen the queen, have you?”
“I wonder which aspect she’ll be in, I’m hoping for one of the young, sexy ones, I’ve heard the crone will ruin a party.”
Bryanna’s breath rushed out. The queen was here? Already?
“What was that? Did you hear something?” The last soldier paused and looked around, his hand hovering near his sheathed sword.
Bryanna stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped thinking about anything except holding as still as the grave.
“Come on! We’ll miss everything at the rate you’re going.”
The soldier examined the wide open courtyard and took a deep sniff of the evening air. He was so close Bryanna could see his nostrils flare and the way his bushy eyebrows came nearly together in a solid row on his wide squat forehead. She’d been lucky, so far. Most of the men had left for the wedding celebrations and the sounds of the party had drawn the few guards left to the outer walls.
He shook his head and crossed to his companions. “I thought I heard something...and there’s a strange scent in the air.” He sniffed. “Flowers—I think.”
“The Tuathan brought flowers and plants with them, they’re all over the tents, and there are many of the tiny ones flitting from blossom to blossom,” the heavier middle soldier said. He took a few more steps toward the exit. “They look like bright lights floating through the air.”
“How do you know?” The first one turned and punched him in the arm. “You didn’t go down without us, did you? You were supposed to be on duty guarding the wall.”
“I could see them setting up from my post. Now I want to see it all up close.” Another group passed by, laughing and pushing each other. He pulled on the first soldier’s sleeve and headed for the gate. “Let’s go, or we won’t have time to look at everything before the ceremony starts.” They left, the last one still scrunching up his wide nose and sniffing suspiciously at the air.
The sounds of partying from the fields below grew louder and the early evening shadows grew deep. Bryanna double-checked the locket. It showed her running across the wide, torch-lit courtyard and heading into the iron-bound door 30 feet away. Her stomach roiled.
She swallowed her nerves down and wiped off her sweat-slicked palms on her pants. She could do this. She’d nearly cured Kian, she’d saved Trina, and she’d brought a near-dead magical being back to life. What were a few ugly troll-men and a venomous faery queen next to knowing she could have saved Kian and hadn’t tried?
They were nothing.
There hadn’t been any more soldiers for a while. She had to go now. If she didn’t, the wedding would start and Kian would be inside the massive amount of people gathering in the tents below. She gripped her weapon in one hand, the locket in the other, and darted across. Heart jack-in-the-boxing inside her chest, she pulled the heavy door open, and slipped inside.
And nearly passed out at the realization that the huge, shadowy great room was completely deserted.
So far, so good. It looked like everyone had left for the party. She checked her personal compass. It directed her to a set of stone steps tucked into an alcove that wound up the wall and disappeared into the next floor. She sidled along the wall, keeping close to the shadows, and started up the narrow stairs.
There was no handrail, only a steep drop to the hard floor. Pressing against the cold stones and trying not to look into the gaping hole next to her, she worked her way up two more floors until she was on the topmost level of the tower, her nervous sweat making the sword slick and difficult to hold.
There was only one door here, and it was ajar. No guards. Maybe he was gone. Maybe she was too late. She leaned the sword against the wall and dried her palms on her pants before checking the locket. The scene showed her opening the door and slipping inside, but it didn’t go any further than that. She’d have to enter the room to see what it contained.
She tucked the locket into her pocket and swapped it for one of Trina’s spell grenades.
Her Gift pressed against her senses. She reached for it, but got nothing more than a jolt of energy that pushed her nerves to the breaking point.
She wasn’t a seer.
She was a healer and her magic wasn’t giving her anything more than anxiety. And that she could do herself. Something felt off, she was sure of it, but she’d come this far. There was no place left to go unless she wanted to abandon Kian.
And that wasn’t happening.
Picking up the sword she crept forward and peered around the door-frame. Inside, Kian stood by the window, dressed in a flashy white and gold tux with ugly purple-brown trim.
Her heart stuttered.
Despite the disco suit, despite the weariness etched in his face and the deep slump to his shoulders, he was still the sexiest man she’d ever met. But that wasn’t why she paused. No, it wasn’t his physicality. It was because she now understood why she’d been unable to abandon him. She didn’t owe him, hadn’t failed him, didn’t even feel sorry for him. She didn’t have any reason to be here rescuing him at all. Except that she loved him.
Her chest constricted so tightly it felt like she’d never be able to take another full breath.
Bryanna MacElvy loved Kian, Prince of the Black Court. How ironic.
She hadn’t known until this moment how she’d been fighting herself. Making him the bad guy had been easy. Realizing he was essential to her being alive was far too hard.
She stepped inside the room, all her focus on running to him and telling him she’d been wrong to try to leave. That now, once her family was safe, she’d stay forever.
“Oh, what have we here?”
Too late, Bryanna turned. Agrona lunged at her from behind the door, the skirt of her long, white and gold wedding dress flared out. Bryanna darted back and threw her grenade left-handed, missing the surprisingly quick Agrona. The missile hit the wall and exploded in a bright, yellow-green cloud of magic and flared into a puff of fire. The acrid smell of sulfur filled the air.
Agrona’s fingers curled into claws. “Back off, bitch.” Her wedding dress dragged across the floor behind her as she lunged for Bryanna.
“Look out!” Kian intercepted his bride, clamping his hands onto her arms.
Bryanna slid the sword in its scabbard and readied another spell grenade, but Agrona and Kian were grappling too close for her to risk throwing it. “Kian, we have to get you out of here.”
“I can’t leave Logan, she’ll hand him over to my mother, and I won’t be responsible for another man going into that dungeon.”
“I’ll do more than that, lover.”
They wrestled together, moving in an awkward knot across the room. They twisted, knocking into a metal tub and sending it skidding across the floor. Agrona fell on the floor, carrying Kian down with her. He landed on top of her with a grunt.
“If you don’t marry me I’ll string your man up by his balls and take a whip to him myself.” Her grey-green skin flushed a mottled dark red. “The Huntsman will suffer,” she said, trying to roll on top of her opponent.
Kian pushed her back and used the wall to pull himself to his feet. Blood oozed through his shirt and his pants, staining the white a bright red.
“He’s safe, Logan’s safe,” Bryanna said. “Or he will be soon.” Kian was hurt, she had to help him. Her fingers dug into the soft spell bag as she looked for an opening, any opening, but Agrona moved too fast, lurching to her feet and tackling Kian, a fat, golden bow dangling from her loosening bundle of hair.
“Is he safe or not?” Kian grunted. Agrona pummeled him with her fist, hitting his shoulder over and over again, and instead of hitting her back, he curved his shoulder over and took the blows on the wide part of his arm. “Bryanna! I need to know.”
“They’re getting him out right now.” She was sure Solanum wouldn’t leave Logan.
“If Logan is safe, then screw you, my dear.” Kian straightened up. His eyes gleamed and he blocked Agrona’s arm, stopping her mid-punch. “I’ll be leaving with my witch instead.” He shoved Agrona back and she stumbled, her arms wheeling.
Bryanna raised her arm, but they were still too close for the grenade. She might hit him.
Agrona righted herself, pushing her toppled hairdo off of her forehead and running for Kian. She wrapped her wide fingers around his throat. Kian seized her wrists and fought for air.
“She’s not your fiancée, I am. I’m supposed to be the princess. Me!” Under her dress her massive biceps bulged, and there was the sound of the white silk tearing as she choked Kian. “Do you love her?”
Kian gasped. “I sure as hell never loved you.”
Bryanna switched the grenade into her left hand and pulled her sword with her right. She couldn’t risk throwing it, not with them so close. She wasn’t an expert with a blade, but she might distract her, maybe do some damage.
She gritted her teeth and stabbed deep into Agrona’s thigh. “He’s not yours. Leave him alone.” Blood gushed, spraying onto her hand and blooming into crimson flowers all over the white dress.
Agrona screamed. She let go of Kian and fell back. “You...you...you.” Her arms flailed. “I’ll make you pay for that, bitch.”
Kian touched his throat and took a huge rasping breath. “It’s witch, not bitch. Get it right, for once.” Large purple welts were already forming on his skin.
Bryanna held her sword up, unsure of what to do next.
“Hah!” Agrona laughed. She spit out a stray lock of hair and brushed it off of her face. “She’s no swords-woman. Look at her stance. Is this all you have to rescue you, one pitiful human?”
“Let her go,” Kian said. “If Logan is freed, you have no hold over me.”
“No hold?” Agrona’s voice cracked. “I’ll ask you again, my betrothed, do you love her?”
For a moment, Bryanna saw under the aggressive woman to the ugly girl beneath. The sad, lonely half-breed who never fit in. Never got a date, let alone a handsome prince.
Bryanna held her breath.
“Why do you even care?” Kian rubbed his throat. “Will it make a difference to you, you selfish bitch?”
Agrona growled. “She’s nothing, just a human witch. Do you love her? ”
“Yes, I love her. Take that, and shove it deep inside. I hope it burns you up for the rest of your miserable life.”
Excitement fired along Bryanna’s skin, and she forgot about the angry woman standing between them. Kian loved her. Prince, witch...their differences didn’t matter. They’d work it all out. But first, she had to get him out of here.
Agrona’s face twitched. Anguish crawled across her features before slithering away and leaving nothing but rage. “She can’t have you,” she hissed. “You’re mine!” She spread her arms wide and assumed a wrestler’s crouch.
“It’s over, Agrona. Leave her alone.”
Bryanna faced the woman, and they circled. Agrona was bigger, stronger and meaner. Through the tattered remains of the wedding dress her rough green skin covered ropes of muscles. But Bryanna had determination, maybe desperation, on her side. Agrona lunged and grabbed Bryanna’s grenade.
Bryanna fell back, scrambling to get out of the way as Agrona raised her arm and threw the grenade. Bryanna’s hand rose to cover her eyes and before she could protest Kian thrust himself forward and shoved her out of the way. The grenade flew past, missing Kian, but hitting the wall next to him. A yellow-green cloud burst out and touched his arm.
It flared into flame. He screamed, the sound cutting deep into Bryanna’s heart. Sulfuric smoke billowed. He waved his arm, the fire licking along the gold lamé of his jacket.
“No!” Bryanna reached for power to put the spell out, but Agrona knocked her down. Bryanna’s hand hit the floor and the sword spun across the room, leaving her defenseless.
“Now, you slutty witch, I’ll kill you and marry Kian. I’ll be the princess, and everyone will love me!”
Bryanna groped in the bag feeling for a grenade, hoping she’d counted right and there were at least two left. Her hand touched something soft. She pulled it out and launched it at Agrona, sending a quick prayer the missile would hit its mark.
It flew true, hitting the middle
of Agrona’s chest, exploding and hurling her to the floor. Great bursts of stinking, green flame erupted and the silk of her wedding dress caught fire.
The room filled with the pitiful siren sound of someone dying horribly.
Kian had grabbed his plaid from the bed and smothered his arm, putting the fire out. “Let’s go.” He helped Bryanna to her feet and handed her her sword.
She sheathed, it, but couldn’t leave. “Kian, we have to put it out. No one should die that way.” For a moment she thought he would argue. He was a son of the Black Court, she couldn’t even imagine the deaths he’d seen. “I’m a healer, I can’t let her die like that,” she said. She took the plaid and turned. Agrona was on her feet, her ear-shattering shrieks echoing off the walls as the magical flames ate her skin.
“Fuck,” he said and took the other end of the plaid, hobbling around one side he helped her wrap the blanket around the thrashing woman and suffocate the flames.
The screams died to whimpers and Kian pulled the plaid away.
One side of Agrona was fine, her brush of brown hair was a tangled, drooping mess, but the other had been burned away. The left side was destroyed, her skin and dress nothing but burned and shredded black tatters hanging on red, peeled flesh.
“All I wanted was to be a princess. To have everyone love me,” Agrona rasped out. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and her breath stopped.
Bryanna tried for power, but she couldn’t center over the shaking. She finally found a small trickle of pale blue and washed it toward Agrona. But it didn’t seem to help. She dropped her side of the plaid. “I think she’s dead.”
“Good riddance.” Kian winced, his arm and shoulder were a mass of oozy, red burns, blood had soaked his shirt and pants, and his face was strained and pale.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, great.” He said. He stumbled to the wall and slid down to the bottom, leaning against it and cradling his arm in his lap. “You shouldn’t be here. My mother’s outside the gate. If she discovers a MacElvy here, she’ll lose it. She’ll burn this place to the ground to get to you.”
Cursed: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 2) Page 26