“There’s something intoxicating about an evil woman,” said Luthen as he slithered his arms tight around her waist. “Perhaps that’s why I can’t keep my hands off you.”
She laughed, pulling him closer. “I’m sure you’ve said the same to your child queen.” Her words are bitter in her mouth. She hovered near his lips, tempted to kiss them. Disgusted, she pushed him away instead. No elf was going to make a fool of her.
“Crossing me is a very dangerous thing to do, Luthen,” she said, weighing the well-balanced scythe in her hands. Its deadly silver glinted in the Anvalin’s light, thirsty for the taste of blood and blackened souls. “It would be far too simple a thing for me to take from you what I have given.”
Luthen laughed, dismissing her threat with a wave of his slender hand. “Wilhelmina, my darling, I know far too well what you’re capable of… crossing you is the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Why do I doubt that,” she said, casting her eyes away from his handsome smile. Its warmth sickened her, making her clench her grip around her scythe all the tighter.
“Anya is only merely a single piece in our plan. She is needed—at the moment, anyway,” said Luthen. He brushed his fingers against her chin, turning her face toward his. In the pale light of the Anvalin, his eyes looked almost their natural blue. A slight glimmer revealed the hollow black beneath. The perfect shade to match his soul.
“How has your master been fairing, these days?” The question struck Wilhelmina off guard. Luthen smirked at her sudden slip of composure.
“Death has seen better days, but alas the poor bastard is still—well, for lack of a better word—alive. He has also grown quite suspicious. I can only hide this from him for so long…” her words trailed off into silence. She gripped her scythe hard, squeezing it until her hands burned. She could feel the buzzing of the souls it contained. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep them under control.”
“Just long enough to offset the balance, my darling. This city—Limra—I know it will be the one to tip us over the edge toward victory. Surely, Death must be growing weaker! He won’t be able to control his precious realm when we finally lay our fingers on the scale,” said Luthen. His smile stretched taunt across his porcelain face as he brushed his thick raven hair from his face. He was a sight of beauty tainted with pure madness.
Wilhelmina could sense he would bring her demise. Luthen was nothing more than a fireball raining down from the heavens, destined to destroy all in his path.
“Yes,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “He will grow weak and we will rule. Death will reign over the living, the dead, and everything that has ever been.”
Yes, she thought as she drew near to him, he will surely destroy me.
***
Astrid woke to a cold empty bed. The candles had died down to shallow stumps and the early morning air was still. The storm had ceased its battle, at least for the moment.
“Luka?” Her voice cracked, sounding weak in the darkness. A rustling of feathers brought her to her feet. She grasped her familiar table cloth and snatched it up around her nakedness.
“It’s time to go,” he said, slipping a bundle of slick leather garments into her arms.
“These aren’t mine—”
“They’re from Fryx. He feels you’ll look more the part dressed in black,” he said with a soft laugh. “He even found you a mask. He said something about it being your trademark.”
Astrid scoffed at the thought. “A mask? That wasn’t exactly the idea at the time… where are my things?”
“Shh… don’t worry. I have your knives. And this…” He held out the blossom in his hand. Astrid snatched it from his grasp, anxious to see it intact.
“You don’t seem like a flower type of girl,” he said, tossing her hunting knives onto the bed. “Of course, you don’t seem to be like a lot of girls—”
“—and what in the hell does that supposed to mean?” She threw the bundle of clothes down on the ground and pushed him toward the door. “For that remark, you may wait on the other side of the door.”
Astrid shoved his great mass of feathers through the door and shut it with a slam. She threw the latch down in a huff and tossed the rumpled table cloth aside.
How dare he—
She lit a lantern, snapping the fuel wide open to burn a tall, blue flame, and slammed it back down on its table. She could hear the stirrings of others both in the hall and neighboring rooms, but the groans and irritated shouts only fed her rage.
How dare he act like nothing happened! She struggled against the new under clothes, her skin uneasy against such soft material. How dare he cluck around, bringing me my clothes and criticizing my every more as if he were of those damned gobliness handmaidens!
Astrid tore loose the leather gear and jerked it onto her limbs. She cursed between gritted teeth at the foolish notions of love that had previously floated around her head.
How the hell did I let myself get tangled up in all this?
She spat at the disheveled bed, disgusted that she let herself be so easily charmed. She pulled her black silk blouse over her head with a harsh tug, not caring if it ripped to pieces. Her fist punched their way through the sleeves of the smooth leather jacket while her feet kicked their way into tall black boots. Her livid fingers slammed the silver fasteners shut with a deadly snap.
Astrid bent to scoop up the dreaded mask from the floor. She paused, gazing at its smooth exterior. Her eyes wandered upward to a mirror hanging shyly on the back wall.
She blinked several times before recognizing the figure standing before her.
For the first time in almost a decade, her hair was free of the red desert clay and was its natural smoky brown. It cascaded down her shoulders, a river of shimmering ink. The smooth black leather was suddenly recognizable—dragon’s hide. It was a garment suitable for only the finest of warriors. She ran her fingers over the hide, awestruck over such a gift.
A sharp rapping from the door broke her trance. “We need to leave,” said Luka, “now.”
Astrid rolled her eyes, trying hard to hide her smirk even behind the latched door. She wrapped her hair into a simple braid and coiled it into the hood of her jacket. Her eager hands brought the mask to her face. It covered the top portion, down to the tip of her nose—just enough to appear menacing in the face of an enemy. The mask slid perfectly onto her face, the silken ties slipping over her hair as if custom made. She lifted the cowl of the fine jacket and draped it over her brow.
“Astrid! I mean NOW.” The door creaked as Luka fought against the stubborn wood.
She snatched her knives from the bed and wrapped the matching black belt around her waist. In her rush, the small blossom flew from the where it clung onto her knives and twirled helplessly to the floor. Her heart stopped, fearing she had crushed it in her haste.
Astrid swooped down and plucked the gentle flower from between her boots. Its petals were wrinkled but still strong. She brought it to her lips, brushing its soft velvet against them in a gentle kiss. For luck, she thought as she tucked it into a well-guarded pocket inside her jacket.
“ASTRID!”
She ripped a silken rope from the tattered canopy of the bed and tested its strength in her hands. Good, she thought, a sand-spinner’s silk. There’ll be no cutting this. She then doused the lantern and blew out the candles with a quick breath of air. She crept to the door and slid the latch off with a dull click. The door swung open without a sound. Luka stood, open-mouthed, his eyes squinted as he gazed into the darkness.
Astrid hung above him, supporting herself between the heavy door frame and the ceiling. Luka stepped inside and lit the room with his rosy light. She swung her body on the door frame and guided herself to the floor.
In one swift movement, she slammed the door shut. She slipped the knotted rope over the handled and tied it tight around a large scrolled handle of the door across the hall.
As soon as she pulled the final knot tight
, the door erupted with a fury of Luka’s fists.
“ASTRID! Let me out! NOW!”
“It seems I’ll be on my way now,” she said, her voice musical with laughter.
The banging grew fiercer. She could feel the eyes peering at her from the darkest parts of the hall. Astrid shrugged, turned on her heel and sprinted down the hall. She was eager to be done with this place. The sooner she could do this final favor for Fryx, the better.
Astrid skidded into the main hall straight into Ethen. He looked frazzled and half-asleep, with the remnants of breakfast dangling from the scruff on his chin.
“Ah, just the Warrior I wanted to see,” she said as she grabbed him by the arm.
“Now just wait a bloody moment! Who the hell are you? And where the hell do you think—”
“—Relax, fair maiden, you and your bow are being recruited,” she said. She could see Fryx and his party of pinched-faced goblins waiting for her though the open entrance of the villa.
“Astrid? But where’s Luka?” He struggled against her grip but failed, tripping on his tired feet. “You could at least let me walk on my own!”
Fryx’s weary face lit up when he saw her. “Ah! You look quite deadly this morning! Hopefully enough to dissuade the bastard assailing Limra from trying to cross us… Where’s Luka?” He looked from her to Ethen as his face settled into a grimace. “This isn’t what we agreed.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to much of anything,” said Astrid, finally releasing her iron grip on Ethen’s arm. “From where I see it, you need me much more than I need you. And I need someone I can trust in case things don’t—go as planned. Your goblins may be armed to the teeth, but if things turn sour I don’t want to be stuck fighting alongside a stranger.”
Fryx’s expression darkened. “A stranger? After all he has done for you…” His voice, though soft, cut her to the bone. “Very well. Let us go.”
***
Merrick watched Ilsie with narrowed eyes as she laced the sharp black needles with poison. He snatched them from her and tucked them deep in his jacket.
“Do you have any idea where they are?” She said, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes,” he said. “At least Luka. The Grand Sage was able to track him to a merchant’s villa outside Limra.” He could see her defeat etched in the fine wrinkles on her face. “How is your arm?”
“It burns,” said Ilsie, clutching the afflicted arm to her chest. “The scales are spreading.”
Merrick nodded, empty of words.
“We should be going,” she said. She rose from the table and drifted out of the cottage, her movements lifeless like a ghost. Merrick followed her out and onto the rocky path that would lead them to Limra.
The clouds had broken up overhead and instead were gathered in a giant black cluster over Limra. Lightening illuminated tall, ghastly white towers hidden in the towering mass.
They walked in silence for an hour before seeing the peak of the merchant’s villa.
“Wait here,” said Merrick, stopping her with his hand. He leaned in, suddenly embracing her. “Please don’t follow me. I don’t want you to see this.”
“I don’t have to see it,” said Ilsie. She choked on her words as she drew away from his touch. “I’ll know.”
Merrick shook his head and walked away toward the villa. He walked closer but suddenly stopped when his eyes caught a glimmer of red further beyond near the sea. His legs steered him toward that glimmer, his hand clutching at the poisoned needles.
Luka was perched on a boulder, motionless and staring far out into the sea.
“Luka?”
The feathers on Luka’s head stood straight up. He turned and locked his icy gaze onto Merrick. “What do you want?” His voice was laced with bitterness.
“I want to talk,” said Merrick. He eased next to Luka and sat down next to him. He saw Luka’s wings tense, but he did not move.
“Make it quick,” he said, looking away. “I have little patience for you.”
Merrick nodded. “Luka… I want you to know I never meant for anything to happen to you. It was beyond my control.”
“I’m sure it was,” said Luka. He kept his eyes firmly rooted on the sea.
“Luka, we want to make peace. I want to make peace.” Merrick laid a hand on Luka’s arm. Though Luka flinched at his touch, he remained still.
“Pretending nothing happened won’t erase the past,” said Luka with a strained voice. “I can’t get those years back. I can’t even get my old self back. What good is your peace?”
“There are other ways, Luka,” said Merrick. He held his jaw firm, fearing he may say too much. This was his only opportunity to set everything right and he was not about to waste it.
“No, father. Not for us,” said Luka, tearing his heavy gaze from the horizon. His stare made Merrick’s hair on his neck stand on end. “I know our people. I will always be a monster to them… to you.”
Merrick drew his son close to him in an unexpected embrace. Luka did not struggle but he did not move to reciprocate. “There is a place and a time where one day we will be together. One day… me, you, your mother…” His voice stumbled in his throat. “Goodbye, my son.”
“Father—”
Merrick drove the needle into Luka’s back. Luka fell into the gritty sand, howling in pain. The poison would work its way toward his heart within seconds. Luka suddenly went rigid. His eyes stared daggers into Merrick as his breath gradually grew shallow.
Ilsie ran out over the rocky beach. She crouched beside Luka, her face blanched with horror. “Merrick, what have you done!” The black poison etched wicked lines in Luka’s bronze skin, circling his heart.
“You will pay for this…” Luka growled with his final gasp of air.
Merrick, his heart hollow, nodded. “I know.”
***
Fryx’s carriage rumbled along on the deserted streets of Limra. They had been instructed to travel to Governor Bastrick’s mansion, where they would be provided with transportation to the city. The foggy details of the situation set Astrid on edge.
The carriage soon approached, allowing the party to spill from its belly. They were rushed inside by guards wearing rain-slick black armor straight to the Governor’s Seat.
Bastrick was seated on his throne with one leg kicked over its scrolled arm. His greasy black hair was plaited against his sapphire blue scalp. He beckoned the party to come forward.
“It’s about damned time,” he said with air whistling through his nose. He picked at his ashen nails. “A lift has been sent for you… I see you have an escort, Fryx.” He paused his pruning to nod at Astrid.
Fryx shuffled his feet and nodded. “Yes, of course. The best.”
“You better be right, Fryx. I can’t afford for this to turn sour,” said Bastrick as he narrowed his glossy black eyes. “If these blasted wizards, or whatever the hell they are, don’t want to make a deal, then you know what needs to be done. No matter the cost.”
Fryx nodded again. “Yes, you have my word,” he said. “The city is in safe hands.”
Bastrick scoffed and beckoned the guard. “Take them to the lift.” He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Fryx!”
The party was led down a winding corridor and up a spiraling flight of stairs. They soon emerged on the roof of the mansion. A massive iron cage waited for them, its gate open like a gaping mouth.
“Why do I let you drag me into these situations?” Ethen’s whisper hissed at her ear.
“Think of it as an opportunity to become closer as a family,” said Astrid. Questions about what lay above them nagged at her from inside her skull.
Jagged white towers reared up before them, stabbing through the billowing black clouds. Astrid felt her mouth drift open in shock at the incredible size of the city.
The iron cage skidded to a stop against the top of the massive city wall. A swarm of armored hands tore open the cage’s top and thrust a ladder down into its belly.
Astrid watched the cowering goblins glance toward their master. Fryx waved his hand, urging them to ascend. One by one, the pinched-faced goblins crawled up the rungs of the splintering ladder. Fryx took his place behind them. Ethen gulped and followed Fryx. Astrid lingered at the tail of their company. Someone had to watch their backs.
High on the wall, Astrid could see the city sprawled out before them. Exquisite white stone villas stood silent in the midst of their lush gardens and sapphire ponds, guilty bystanders of the storm raging outside the city walls. A long stone road wound around the villas and climbed up to a gleaming white palace.
The pearly stone shone with an eerie resemblance of something Astrid had dreamt years ago. She shook the gauzy memories from her mind. Now was not the time to reminisce on childhood daydreams.
“This way,” said a nearby guard with a gruff, hollow voice. He bobbed his helmeted head and huffed at the air. Wicked horns curled from above his visor. He reeked of musky Phooka.
Twelve other menacing guards stood surrounding the company. They were armored head to hoof in bone white metal. Each carried an assortment of daggers and swords. The lead guard, however, had a hefty mace swinging from his belt. Astrid clenched her teeth as she eyed patches of dried blood decorating the guard’s gauntlets.
The company was ushered by the guards through the unflinching city. Astrid could feel hidden eyes watching them from the confines of the villas. She couldn’t help but think the inhabitants had seen this procession before.
They approached the palace much sooner than Astrid had wanted. Its heavy iron gate swung open with hissing hinges. The company spilled out into a courtyard full of blood red roses. The path leading to the palace’s entrance was lined with wicked iron spikes that stretched above their heads. Astrid’s eyes followed the spikes up—
“—Astrid! LOOK.” Ethen’s words fell from his mouth. His hand clenched at her forearm. She could feel him trembling.
Shadow Queen Page 7