Blood of Stone: A Shattered Magic Novel (Stone Blood Book 1)

by Jayne Faith

  I didn’t like getting all made up, and within the hour I’d probably be itching to wash my face and throw my hair into a ponytail, but I could appreciate anyone who excelled at their chosen craft, regardless of what that craft was.

  “Wow,” I said appreciatively. “You people are magicians.”

  The stylists left, and the wardrobe ladies returned to get me into my blue dress, some matching shoes with heels that were only about two inches, thank Oberon, and some opal jewelry that complemented the dress.

  When one of the assistants came at me with a mister bottle of perfume, I held up a hand to stop her.

  “Sorry, I have to draw the line there,” I said. “I can’t stand the smell of that stuff.”

  She inclined her head, giving in. “I’ll add it to your trunk in case you change your mind later.”

  As if he’d been waiting for a signal, a young page came in from a side doorway with a large piece of luggage, which he set down near the main door. When the stylist tipped back the lid of the trunk to add the perfume bottle to the toiletry tray that sat on top, I caught a glimpse of the clothing carefully folded within it.

  “At least one pair of riding pants in there?” I asked, craning my neck.

  “Khaki and navy,” Vera confirmed.

  “Boots?”

  Vera nodded. “Riding boots to match.”

  As I took a few steps to test out the high heels, I tried to console myself with the prospect of being able to change clothes and shoes later.

  I got the sense the ladies were waiting for me to dismiss them.

  “Your services were performed with skill,” I said. I winked at Vera. “I’m sure my impression in court will be a worthy one.”

  I didn’t even want to think about how much the services that had just been performed and the items packed in the trunk had cost, but as part of Maxen’s royal contingent, I wouldn’t have to foot the bill.

  The ladies filed out through one of the doorways into one of the side rooms, and the page opened the door that led into the hallway.

  “My lady.” He swept out one arm, indicating I should go ahead, and he bent to lift the trunk.

  I retrieved Mort and put the scabbard on over my dress, not caring at all how it looked with my outfit.

  Emmaline was waiting for me. She’d changed into a simple silver-gray gown, but still wore her navy page’s vest over it, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a businesslike bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes popped, and her mouth fell open when she saw me.

  “You look incredible!” she said. “Like royalty.”

  “Very kind of you to say so.” I gave her a wry side-eye with one brow raised. “Okay, what torture awaits next?”

  “We join the rest of the traveling party in one of the reception halls for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.”

  “A party before the dinner that will be followed by another party,” I said under my breath, followed by a tortured sigh and a look skyward.

  She gave a small smile. “I’ll take you to the hall now.”

  She led me to one of the upper floors of the fortress, to a large room I’d been to before. But last time, it was to be honored along with my class for our graduation from advanced weapons training. My clothes had been a hell of a lot more sensible for that event.

  The walls of the reception hall were decorated with enormous geode slices that served as natural artwork. There were granite pillars interrupting the marble floor at evenly-spaced intervals. Swoops of velvet softened the right angles where the walls met the ceiling—decorative touches that were cleverly disguised echo dampeners.

  There were already about two dozen guests gathered, and at least that many servers and attendants like Emmaline. Pages in black serving attire and white aprons circulated with trays of some pinkish bubbly cocktail in tall glasses. My stomach grumbled loudly, and I looked past the drink servers for any with food platters.

  “I’ll bring you a small plate,” Emmaline said. She lifted her chin, her eyes cast across the room. “It looks like you’re being summoned.”

  I followed her gaze to find Marisol with her arm lifted toward me. She flicked her fingers, beckoning me in a way that set my teeth on edge. There was nothing specifically condescending in her gesture—it was inviting, if anything—but standing around at a formal reception making polite talk with the New Gargoyle matriarch was not my idea of a good time. I just wanted to get to the Duergar palace and on with my mission.

  Fat chance of that. This was only the beginning of the night’s painful formalities. My best hope was to slip away after dinner. It should be easy to sneak out once everyone had been drinking a while and the dancing started.

  But at the moment, duty was literally calling to me, so I strode across the marble floor to join Marisol. As I approached, people shifted, revealing Maxen standing in the small crowd surrounding his mother. In a split-second, he took me in from head to foot. One corner of his mouth crooked up almost imperceptibly, and he gave me a subtle nod. I knew he was trying to play the stoic New Gargoyle prince. But I also knew him well enough to read his small changes in expression, and he was quite pleased by what he saw. I channeled Penelope and shot him a sultry little smile while Marisol’s attention was elsewhere. The quirk of his lips bloomed into a full grin, and he gave a tiny shake of his head. He knew I was just playing with him.

  “Lady Lothlorien,” I said with a deferential inclination of my head as I approached Marisol and dredged up what I could remember of formal etiquette. “Lord Lothlorien. Ladies, gentlemen.”

  I couldn’t look directly at Maxen, or I would have busted up laughing. I knew it was juvenile of me, but calling him “Lord” gave me a case of the giggles.

  I recognized a few of the New Gargoyle political figures milling around Marisol and Maxen, if not by name at least by face. Seeming to sense that Marisol wanted to speak to me without an audience, they all drifted away except Maxen.

  “I wanted to express my appreciation for your willingness to accompany the attaché to the Duergar palace,” Marisol said. “I know it’s not your usual scene. But we need our changeling to come home.”

  Ah, Marisol and her dependable bluntness. She wore it easily, like an invisible crown she’d been born to. The leader of the New Gargoyles was the very definition of regal, standing rod-straight in a crystal-white dress that somehow made her sapphire eyes even more blue.

  Maxen shifted his weight next to her, outside her field of vision. I knew he was confused about why Marisol hadn’t told him about Nicole earlier and probably wondered why I was being sent after the changeling. I was barely a member of the Stone Order, and my involvement had to seem strange.

  “I can’t say I’m disappointed you’ll be by Maxen’s side,” Marisol said. “He’s extremely capable, of course, but backup never hurts.”

  I pulled back slightly in surprise before I could control my reaction. Marisol had to be aware of her son’s long-standing interest in me, and we all knew she had absolutely no intention of letting him make such an un-strategic match. That she’d admit she was glad I was traipsing off to court with Maxen was a bit of a shock. She must have been more worried about King Periclase than she let on.

  Emmaline appeared at my side, offering me a little plate piled with finger foods, which saved me from having to come up with a suitable reply to Marisol and gave the New Gargoyle ruler an easy out. She excused herself to speak to some new arrivals.

  I glanced at Maxen before stuffing two cubes of cheese and an olive in my mouth. I was amped up, antsy from standing around and thinking of the mission ahead, and with no means to expend my energy, I just wanted to eat. He was drilling me with his blue eyes.

  “I want to know why you’re really going,” he said, tipping his head down to look at me from under his brows. “You of all possible people.”

  I shrugged. “Did you ask Marisol?”

  His blue eyes remained intent on me. “Must be something dire if you’re willing to put on a dress and go to court,” he sa
id, ignoring my question.

  I gave a short laugh.

  “I’m glad you’ll be there.”

  “You don’t really think you’ll need backup, like Marisol said?”

  “The thought crossed my mind. It’s often occurred me to ask you to join in some of our missions. But I never would have expected you to say yes to an invitation,” he said.

  I looked away again. I knew what he was implying—that I wasn’t likely to be a dutiful New Gargoyle. He didn’t expect he could depend on me for things such as backup in a foreign kingdom. I had to admit, it stung a little. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about him or the Stone Order—I did. But my work kept me mostly outside of Faerie and almost completely isolated from the matters of the Order. I couldn’t do both—be fully active in the Order’s affairs and hunt down vamps.

  “I guess you never know what the answer will be if you never ask,” I said mildly, my gaze still fixed across the room. I was trying not to sound defensive, but he probably saw through it.

  “On that, you are correct,” he said, his voice soft.

  I shifted my weight and shoved a few grapes in my mouth. I didn’t like what was hanging in the air between us—some vague sense of disappointment on his part but confusingly mixed with what almost seemed like a hint of apology.

  I swallowed and wiped my lips with the little napkin Emmaline had tucked into my hand when she’d brought the plate.

  “Well, I somehow ended up with Marisol’s approval,” I said with a light tone. “Temporary, I’m sure, but still, this is an historic occasion.”

  I swiped a glass from a passing server, clinked it against Maxen’s, and took a long drink of the pink liquid. I recognized fizzy, flowery rose amrita. He chuckled and sipped, too, allowing the tension to dissipate.

  The rest of the reception passed relatively painlessly, despite the fact that I only allowed myself the single glass of bubbly. Soon Marisol and the others who weren’t going to the Duergar palace departed, and Emmaline was coming at me holding a jacket that was really more of a cape.

  “Seriously?” I said as she settled the garment around my shoulders.

  “It’s tradition and protocol to cover the shoulders when you arrive in a foreign court,” was all she replied.

  The envoy, including Maxen, began moving out of the reception hall. Emmaline walked beside me with her ever-present tablet.

  “So how do we travel there?” I asked. “Horse-drawn carriage?”

  She snorted a laugh at my sarcasm. “You haven’t been part of many diplomatic parties, have you?”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “We’ll be traveling by doorway,” she said. “In fact, the porters have already gone through with all of the luggage.”

  She told me the sigils to trace to go to the destination doorway, which she said was near a road leading to the Duergar palace. I’d been in the Duergar kingdom before, of course—Morven’s pub was located there—but never to the palace.

  A little sliver of ice crept up my spine as I remembered the wraith trying to kill me in the netherwhere. I shook it off. That wraith was dust. It still irked me that my mark was at large, but I’d told Oliver I’d rescue Nicole, and of course I had to. Even if she weren’t my sister, I couldn’t leave a New Gargoyle changeling in Duergar hands—in spite of what Maxen believed about my lack of duty to my people.

  Emmaline and I followed the others through the corridors of the fortress and out into a small, circular courtyard that was ringed with what appeared to be a solid wall. But in the sculpture of the wall were several arches, designs that would catch any Fae eye. Doorways.

  The man who seemed to be the head attendant, the one who was personal servant to Maxen, was leading the party. He took us to one of the arches that looked the same as the rest, until the page began drawing sigils in the air. The area under the arch shimmered, as if inviting us through.

  I waited my turn while others entered the doorway, and then I stepped into the void of the netherwhere.

  It was time to find my twin.

  Chapter 12

  COMING OUT OF the netherwhere, the first thing to greet me was the bright, upbeat music of the Duergar royal buglers. The second was Lochlyn.

  Because she wasn’t New Garg, she’d had to take a different doorway and meet us here rather than travel with the official party from the fortress. Dressed in a blue gown so pale it was nearly white, the bodice and hem embellished with crystals, she looked like a fairy-tale princess. She skipped up to me, clapping her hands under her chin.

  “You look like royalty,” she said with a pleased little giggle.

  “That’s what my assistant said,” I groused. “Where did you get that dress?”

  “Oh, this old thing? One of my gig dresses.” She swished the skirts and then twirled, letting them flare gently.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said, letting my mood warm a little under the influence of Lochlyn’s excitement.

  I drew a slow breath and looked around, taking in the pomp and the setting. We stood in a clearing of a wooded area and overhead the branches of very old trees had interwoven to form a natural canopy. Wildflowers edged the clearing, and birds chirped and swooped overhead, competing with the trumpet flourishes. A hard-packed dirt road bordered by ancient hawthorn trees led away from our gathering place toward the Duergar palace, just visible in the distance. Performers dressed in leotards and body paint of Duergar colors—pine green and pale orange—danced around the spot where the clearing turned into the road, ready to lead the party. Even my crusty, court-hating heart recognized that the scene was quite beautiful.

  King Periclase himself stood to one side with his hands clasped in front of him, flanked by six hulking guards dressed in full body armor and outfitted with a sword and two daggers each. On one side of the king stood a man I recognized as his brother—Darion, a formidable Duergar soldier. On Periclase’s other side was his wife, Queen Courtney, casting her chalcedony-blue eyes aloofly over the heads of the crowd.

  I tilted my gaze upward and spotted a few crossbowmen and women among the trees surrounding the clearing, and if that many were visible, I’d have bet there were at least twofold more out of sight.

  In contrast to the festive atmosphere, the Duergar king’s face was hard enough to rival my stoic father’s. Periclase was an oddity of the Cataclysm. He’d spontaneously become part-New Gargoyle, but something had gone wrong with the transformation. Periclase’s change had left him with a face that was stone across the temple next to his left eye, over the cheekbone, and along the jawline on that side. He also had one hand that was curled into an immobile stone fist. It was as if stone armor had permanently taken over those areas of his face and body. In a strange twist of the Cataclysm, despite the areas of stone skin he couldn’t summon full rock armor. But even if he’d been able to prove sufficient New Garg blood, he’d have had no real reason to join up with Marisol. The Duergar kingdom was one of the larger Unseelie realms, and he’d been in line to rule it since the day he was born.

  I’d heard that Periclase was a formidable-looking figure even before his transformation. With his half-stone face and stone fist, he was downright fearsome.

  Maxen was striding across the clearing toward the Duergar king with half a dozen New Garg politicos following him. They stopped and bowed before the king, and Periclase gave them a slight nod of acknowledgement. Maxen straightened and spoke a few words to Periclase, who responded briefly. I wasn’t near enough to hear any of it.

  Maxen took a position opposite Periclase, so he and the Duergar king each stood to one side of the road. The rest of the New Garg party formed a loose line to pay their respects to Periclase and Courtney. Lochlyn and I joined the queue with Emmaline behind us. When it was our turn, Lochlyn and I stood side by side before the King and Queen.

  “Petra Maguire,” I said.

  “Lochlyn Tisdale,” my roommate said.

  In unison, Lochlyn and I curtsied deeply, with Emmaline doing the same a few feet b
ack. Protocol dictated that attendants did not announce their names.

  I lifted my head and found Periclase’s eyes boring into mine. The Duergar king’s jaw flexed, though the bunching of muscles was only visible on the fleshy side of his face. His eyes flicked to Mort’s handle, visible over my right shoulder.

  “Oliver’s daughter,” he said, his voice almost unnaturally deep.

  I blinked, automatically guarded at the recognition. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  He dipped his chin almost imperceptibly. The calculating look in his hard eyes made my stomach tighten.

  Not knowing what else to say and wanting to avoid drawing any further attention from Periclase, I gave another, smaller curtsy, and then scooted away with Lochlyn and Emmaline.

  When I glanced back, the next diplomats in line were bowing, but Periclase’s eyes were still on me.

  “He’s kind of hot in an evil overlord way,” Lochlyn said in my ear, drawing my attention away from the Duergar king. “I mean, that stone. It’s badass.”

  I shot her a warning look. “He’s dangerous, Lochlyn. Don’t let his stoicism fool you.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” she said sincerely. “But he only had eyes for you.”

  I snorted, finally cracking a smile. “Trust me, he’s not interested in that way.”

  “Don’t be so sure. He doesn’t come off as passionate, but I’ve heard he really makes the rounds,” Lochlyn said, but she jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, and I knew she was mostly teasing.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “But we’re in Unseelie territory. Please be careful.”

  She linked her arm with mine in a gesture that I probably wouldn’t indulge from anyone else in the world.

  “I will,” she said.

  We walked slowly to the loose queue of people gathering at the head of the road that led deeper into the Duergar realm. While we were waiting, Emmaline briefed me on what would come next. After the procession to the palace, we’d be shown to our rooms for a brief freshen-up period before we’d be expected at the welcome reception. The reception would lead directly into a four-course dinner, which as I’d expected would be followed by dessert, drinking, music, and dancing.