Fairy Queens: Books 1-4

by Amber Argyle

Dressed in clean robes, Rycus plopped down beside her. “I have to admit, clean is a better look for you than filthy.”

  She repressed a grin as she started weaving her hair into a braid. “Personally, I like you dirty. It hides your unsightly face.”

  He laughed and then sobered. “My favorite is your ceremonial attire.”

  Her head jerked up. She lost hold of a section of her hair and her braid came loose. “You were at the temple?” Had he known all along who she was? And how much did he know about what she was doing? Heat touched her cheeks. Her attire had been positively scandalous. And for some reason, his opinion of her mattered.

  Rycus only flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Saw you slip out of the public bethel after speaking with the king. Masterfully done.” She glared at him, and he held up his hands. “We had to make sure you weren’t followed.”

  Methodically, she sectioned her hair and began braiding it again. “What do you know?”

  He took his time answering. “You might think me just a smuggler, but I have my ethics. I don’t help murderers, I don’t transport opium, I don’t . . .” He hesitated as if searching for words. “Help bad people. And I had to make sure you weren’t one of them.”

  Nelay finished braiding her hair and tied off the end. “How much do you know?” she asked again.

  “All of it.”

  She studied him askance. “You risked angering the king by taking this job. Why?”

  Rycus cocked a lopsided grin. “I like angering kings. A little defiance keeps them humble.”

  They were silent for a while, and then she shook her head. “You’ve been watching me a long time, smuggler.”

  His easy expression slid away, replaced with something like regret. “I shouldn’t be.” Before Nelay could ask what he meant, he pushed himself up and dangled her necklace in front of her. “You forgot this.”

  Horrified at her own carelessness, she grabbed it and slipped it over her head. “Thank you.”

  “I’m getting some food,” Rycus said. “Bahar’s cooking.” Nelay’s mouth watered at the thought. “I’ll bring you some.”

  She watched him go. She didn’t bother putting on her headscarf—the breeze felt too good on her damp scalp.

  After they ate, the men passed around a bottle, laughing and joking with each other. When it was Nelay’s turn, Rycus held the bottle out to her. “A desert crossing must be marked—fire with fire.”

  She took a drink and choked, her tongue trying to escape her mouth. She passed the bottle to Delir as the heat spread all the way to her toes.

  He took a drink and snorted at the look on her face. And then choked. “It burns!” Tears streamed down his face and he blew his nose until Nelay though he might invert his face.

  “You’re supposed to drink it, not snuff it!” Cinab was laughing so hard he could barely speak.

  Nelay laughed until her ribs hurt. When they finally settled down, they passed around the orray and pipes and began to speak quietly among themselves.

  In less than a week, she would arrive at her family’s home. Every day she wondered what she would find there. Images of the house, ransacked and burning, flared in her mind.

  Unable to sit still, she crept outside the tent. The wind howled off the desert, the tavo in full force. It drove her into the cistern. She sat at the edge of the water, watching the faint light shining on the still surface.

  Worry for her family stole the warmth from the alcohol. Nelay started shivering in earnest but hesitated to go inside the tent. She was still sitting there when Rycus found her and draped a scratchy wool blanket around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

  “Of course.”

  He rubbed the back of his head. “It’s just . . . it’s freezing out here.”

  She sighed. “If this is really the Goddess of Fire’s realm, why do you suppose it’s always so cold at night?”

  He hesitated before sitting next to her. He gazed out over the water, his face obscured by shadows. “Have you ever held ice?”

  His face was turned toward hers, but she couldn’t make out his expression. “Yes,” she admitted. For some of their jubilations to the Goddess of Fire, the temple had ice packed in sawdust and carted all the way from the Razorback Mountains.

  “And did you notice its touch leaves you with the same sensation as fire? It burns. Fire and ice have much in common. They are opposite ends, like men and women. We fight, we love. But we are always better together than apart.”

  “The Balance.” Something the priestesses taught, about all things having an opposite. Light and dark. Mercy and vengeance. Women and men. Nelay took a deep breath of the sharp night air. “So tell me, are all Tribesmen descended from imbeciles?”

  Rycus chuckled. “You could ask nicely.”

  She pretended to consider it, then said, “No. No I couldn’t.”

  He shook his head. “I have seven brothers and one sister. About two hundred cousins—my armsmen.” He jerked his thumb toward the tent. “They are some of those cousins. Scand is actually our great-uncle.”

  Nelay raised her brows higher with every word. “Well, that explains the crotchetiness—it must be a family trait.”

  Rycus snorted. “There’s” —he tapped his fingers as if counting— “twenty aunts and uncles. And each of them has . . .” More tapping.

  Nelay held up her hand. “Really, two hundred cousins covers it.” Though secretly she was jealous.

  He leaned closer to her. “Your voice has that tone, like you’ve eaten something sour.”

  She hesitated, debating whether or not to tell him, but it wasn’t like he could use the information against her. “I was just thinking how wonderful it must be to have all those people looking out for one another.”

  “When they aren’t fighting.”

  And then he leaned toward Nelay, his fingers grazing her cheek where her tattoo began. He traced the curling pattern to the soft bristling of hair that had grown in, and ended at the base of her neck. The catch in her belly went to a hard tug and she found herself leaning toward his touch.

  “Why are you so sad?” Rycus asked softly.

  His hand spread out, cupping the back of her head. His gaze went to her lips and a thrill of anticipation leapt through her. “You have to stop,” he said, “or I’ll be forced to kiss you to make you happy.”

  He was giving her a chance to back away. There was nothing to gain from kissing him. And perhaps that’s why the idea was so appealing. There were no spies here—no one to report back to the temple. No political alliances to secure. No egos to stroke. She could do what she wanted. And Nelay found she very much wanted him to kiss her. She wet her lips. “I’m not sad,” she lied breathlessly.

  “Then prove it. Smile.”

  She tried. She really did, but her mouth simply would not cooperate. He leaned toward her. She felt his breath on her mouth and her eyes slipped closed.

  “You know better!” a voice said loudly. Rycus and Nelay quickly moved apart. Scand stood at the entrance, his face cast in shadows. “There’s a rule with chasing women—don’t start something you can’t finish. That girl will get you killed.”

  Rycus pushed himself to his feet. “Who’s in charge here, Scand?”

  “If you’re in charge, then act like it!”

  Nelay felt Rycus’s gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. Her face burned with embarrassment. What had happened—almost happened—was a mistake, a result of loneliness and worry. Nothing more.

  “Are you coming?” he finally asked.

  “In a little while,” she responded, her voice tight.

  He seemed to hesitate.

  “Rycus,” Scand said sharply.

  He stormed toward Scand. “You will remember your place, old man.”

  “I know my place. Now don’t forget yours!”

  Their voices faded along with their footsteps, leaving Nelay with only the lapping of the water. She had never seen Scand’s authority supersede Rycus’s. But tha
t was exactly what had just happened—over something as trivial as almost kissing her.

  She dropped her head in her hands. She couldn’t let something like that happen again—she was out here to save her family, not get distracted by some criminal. I don’t even like Rycus, she reminded herself. So why was the tug in her belly nearly painful at the thought of their almost kiss?

  Nelay dreamed about fairies again, only this time she couldn’t see them. She ran, trying to get away as their sharp claws and teeth sank into her flesh. They tore at her hair and clothes, scratching at her eyes. And then she wasn’t running away, but toward something. Her parents screamed, begging for help. Nelay finally emerged from the base of a gully choked with brush to see her parents being attacked by monsters who resembled men but had skin so translucent Nelay could see the blood and muscles beneath. But perhaps worst of all were the fairies, controlling the men with strings like marionettes.

  With a start she woke to a hand on her shoulder. Rycus looked down at her in the gray light, his expression hooded. “It’s time to get moving.” She rolled out of her warm blankets, buckled on her weapons, and stepped out of the tent. The landscape had grown hillier the closer they came to Idara, and she made her way around a little rise to relieve her water in private.

  As she reached for her trousers, a hand clamped down on her mouth. From behind, arms wrapped around her, pulling her back into an unyielding embrace. She tried to bite, but he was pushing so hard her jaw touched her neck. Two more men came forward in dark robes, headscarves obscuring all but their eyes. They bore ropes tied in loops.

  Nelay screamed, but the sound was so muffled she doubted Rycus and the others would hear. She kicked and twisted, throwing her head back and writhing to make it difficult to hold her. When that didn’t work, she peed on the man holding her. He hissed in annoyance but didn’t release her.

  They shoved her wrists and ankles in the loops and pulled them tight. They stripped off her weapons, leaving them where they fell. Other men jumped up from where they’d been hiding, urging their camels to stand as well. When her captors picked her up, Nelay kicked out with both heels, connecting with the man holding her feet. Then she twisted, bucking out of their arms. She fell to the ground. The man she’d peed on knelt on her neck, while the other two pulled her heels against her wet backside and tied them to her neck so that if she straightened her legs, she’d choke herself.

  They hoisted her in front of a man on a camel. The other men jumped on their own camels. Nelay managed to look back and see that Rycus still wasn’t coming. Idiot smuggler, couldn’t he hear the scuffle? She couldn’t make noise, but it was noise she needed. So she did the only thing she could think of—she bit the camel. She got a mouthful of camel fur, but it had the desired result, the camel jerked and when the men tried to hold it still, it nuzzed in dismay.

  Poor thing, but they had to hear that. Nelay looked back, waiting for them to round the bend. Her captors were already turning their camels and kicking them to full speed. She kept watching, silently willing Rycus to realize something was wrong.

  Cinab appeared a moment later. He took a few running steps as if to come after her before he seemed to change his mind and headed back to the others, shouting at the top of his lungs. Within seconds, Nelay saw Rycus on his camel and hoped it was as fast as he claimed. The others weren’t far behind him.

  The man holding her gave the order for two of his men to drop back and hold them off. Her captors pulled out their bows and started swinging around.

  Burn it, this was going to hurt. Nelay bucked, ripping herself out of the man’s grip. The way she was tied, it was impossible to land on her feet. The rope dug into her windpipe, making her face hot and bloated. She hit the ground hard, trying to roll, but she crashed through a bush, landed on a rock, and rolled over a cactus.

  She couldn’t get up and run away. All she could do was keep rolling until Rycus and the others slid in around her. He dropped from his camel and cut the rope around her ankles and the gag from her mouth. He hauled her to her feet and threw her belly first over his camel.

  “I’m not running!” she gasped. “Give me my weapons.”

  “I don’t have them,” Rycus said as he lighted up behind her. He turned his camel and headed back, while his men took out bows and began firing at the enemy.

  “Why didn’t you bring my weapons?” Nelay cried.

  “If I’d have known you were going to get yourself captured, I would have planned better!”

  They arrived back at the hill. Rycus cut her arms free and she pushed herself off the camel, wobbling as she hit the ground. She scooped up her baldrics and dropped them over her shoulder. Then she turned to assess the situation. Six men were fighting five Tribesmen. Three more men were headed their way.

  Rycus whipped out his bow and strung it in a second. Nelay already had her sling out and filled with a stone. She whirled around and let loose before Rycus had freed his first arrow. Her first stone hit a camel, and the animal cried out and dodged to the right. The rider couldn’t seem to get it under control again.

  Nelay and Rycus both took aim at the final two men. He missed. She would have gloated, but she missed too. And then there wasn’t time for more shots. She drew her swords and forced her bruised body into a defensive stance.

  The men charged in swinging, the high ground giving Nelay and Rycus an instant advantage. One man cut viciously at Rycus. The other kept trying to get inside Nelay’s guard, as if to take her down. Rycus was holding his own, but the third man, the one with the out-of-control camel, had jumped off and headed for them.

  Nelay twisted her wrists and feinted to the right, but uppercut from the left. She cut into the man, leaving him gasping. Guilt immediately tore through her. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The second man was on her—actually, judging by the shape, not a man at all but a woman. Nelay faded back, drawing the woman forward, then leapt, deflecting her opponent’s parry and sliding past her guard. The woman was dead before she fell.

  Nelay turned to help Rycus, but his man was already down. Her searching gaze found the rest of Rycus’s men, already running back towards them.

  Nelay stared at the dead woman at her feet. Something about her felt almost familiar.

  “Well?” Rycus said to his men.

  “Killed two of them, injured three. The rest ran off,” Scand answered.

  “Thieves?” Rycus asked.

  Nelay bent down beside the woman, removing her headscarf to reveal intricate tattoos across her scalp. Her breath caught in her throat. “She’s a priestess.”

  It was the first time Nelay had killed someone—and they were her own people. “They wouldn’t have hurt me. And I killed them.”

  Scand knelt beside another. “An Immortal.”

  Nelay turned abruptly and ran but only made it to the other side of her tent. There, she fell hard to her hands and knees, gasping for breath that would not come.

  She felt someone behind her. “You knew they were coming—that they would find us.”

  Rycus’s voice was soft, lacking any of the recrimination she had expected. She shook her head. “No. But I knew it was possible.”

  He knelt beside her. “How?”

  She closed her eyes. “That wasn’t a spider—it was a fairy.”

  His head came up. “It led them here?”

  Nelay nodded. “The woman—she must have had the Sight. She led the Immortals here.”

  He let out a long breath. “Nelay, you didn’t know who they were. And even if you did, you have a right to defend yourself.”

  The right to kill. Was there even such a thing? Ending a life that spread like the gossamer strand of a spider web, one strand touching thousands of others. And Nelay had cut two of them down.

  “Here, hold still. This is going to hurt.” Rycus yanked on the cactus spines sticking out of random places on her body. She winced, pretending the tears were from the pain instead of the heartache.

  “You hurt anywhere else?”
he asked when he had finished.

  She shook her head. “Just bruises.”

  He was silent a moment. “There are some things you never get over. After they happen, everything changes. But you can choose to change for the better.”

  She turned her tear-streaked face toward him. “How?”

  “By helping those who need it.”

  “Is that what you do, Rycus?”

  “You’re not the first person I’ve helped escape Zatal. And you won’t be the last.”

  He rested a hand on her sore shoulder, but she welcomed the pain as a distraction from the turmoil inside her. “You take what you’ve done this day,” he said, “and imagine yourself locking it up tight in a box. Then you bury it deep in the sand and you leave it there.”

  The others were already taking down the tent and loading the camels. After Nelay had washed herself and her clothing again, she joined the others and they rode out as the sun rose in the east.

  That evening, they ate supper in subdued silence. Nelay finished her food first, gathered up the sheepskins and blankets, and headed out of the tent.

  Rycus jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?”

  “To keep watch. I assume you are going to keep one tonight?”

  He nodded, seeming reluctant.

  “Good. I’ll wake someone in two hours.” She stepped into the cold night, the wind of the tavo tugging tears from her eyes, and chose the highest possible vantage point. She settled the sheepskin on the ground and wrapped up in a wool blanket.

  Not long after, Rycus came to sit beside her. After their almost-kiss the night before, she wondered what he wanted. “What will happen to them—the Immortals we chased off?” she asked.

  “Well, without someone to lead them to water, and with injuries, they won’t be able to come after us again. If they’re smart, they’ll head toward Idara and hope they find water or people before it’s too late.”

  Nelay mulled that over, her heart heavy in her chest.

  Rycus pointed to a bright star. “That is the tip of the Goddess Staff. If ever you are lost in the Great Desert, you can follow it to find my tribe’s permanent home.”