by A. K. Koonce
An energy courses through my veins and I’m shoving out of the hot blankets within seconds. I crawl over Darrio’s large frame, his legs tangling with mine as I stumble from the bed. Daxdyn sits up, probably awake from the commotion I’m causing. Squinting eyes follow my movements and he brushes his fingers across his beautiful but tired face.
My feet skim in a rush across the cold floor. Without embarrassment, I begin pulling on my torn jeans; my dress hides my ass for the most part. Daxdyn, Ryder, and Darrio don’t look away. There’s zero shame in the room and, apparently, none of us are afraid of my body. I face the wall as I tug the black dress over my head and begin buttoning up my vest with minimal privacy. My heavy boots are gathered up from the floor in an instant. I stumble a few times more as I tug them on and stagger toward the door.
“Are we fucking going or not?” I ask and they all three look at me like I’m a madwoman.
Daxdyn takes more time than I did to pull himself from the bed and dress. His wrinkled cotton shirt hugs his corded arms. I give him a small smile but he only stares blankly at me. There’s an emptiness in his bright eyes that cuts me deep.
Ryder watches his friend closely, his brows lowered with concern but he doesn’t say a word.
“Alright, let’s go.” Darrio nods to Ryder as he clasps his brother’s shoulder. Daxdyn’s lean body wanes under the impact of Darrio’s reassuring hand.
Ryder turns on his heels and looks down each hall before the four of us scurry from my room. The deeper into the castle we go, the more hesitant our steps become. When we hear footsteps, Ryder swing’s his arm out, pressing me to the wall as we wait for the heavy sound to fade away. He nods and, oddly, his hand wraps around mine as he pulls me along. Warmth fills me from his hand on mine, but it doesn’t stop my restless heart from trying to beat its way out of my chest.
We trail through the long, dark corridors on anxious steps for so long I begin to wonder if the former prince has forgotten his way through these halls.
He opens another door and the dense smell of smoke coats my lungs as the filtered morning sunlight warms my face.
The sun threatens the horizon but the cloudy smoke in the air veils its existence.
“Almost there,” Ryder whispers, pulling me closer to him as we scale the stone wall of the castle. Our backs press flat against it, my boots scuffing over the stone with each step I take. Muddy grass coats our steps and I realize how easy it would be to track us.
“Where are we going?”
“We need to go to the Hopeless realm. We’ll be safe there.” Darrio’s voice is only a whisper but it carries in the cool wind.
“Safer, you mean,” Daxdyn adds from over my shoulder.
My stomach twists at the sound of his words.
What does he mean safer? As if the Hopeless realm has its own dangers I should be worried about.
Am I ready to go to the Hopeless realm? To change everything I’ve ever known about myself? What if I am the one the Traveler prophesied about? What if I am destined for greatness or destruction?
People know when they’re important, don’t they?
I’d know if I were anything more than just a thief …
“What about my sword?” I ask in a quiet tone.
Ryder glances back at me, his brows lowering over his pale eyes.
“We can’t get your sword, Kara. Tristan has it.”
Ryder pulls his attention away from me to look around the corner of the castle.
“It was her father’s,” Daxdyn adds and it warms me in a strange way that he remembered that.
“Well do you want your sword, or do you want your freedom?” Ryder asks as if I’m being childish.
My shoulders square and annoyance stings through me.
“I want both,” I say, anger tingeing my voice.
Ryder cocks a brow at me, but doesn’t reply.
My jaw clenches shut as I realize these people have taken the last little piece of my father that I had left. Tristan is prancing around this kingdom with a sword he isn’t good enough to hold.
Freedom. That’s what I crave. I’ll follow these fae. I’ll claim my power, whatever power that might be, in the Hopeless realm.
And then I’ll return for the sword my father left me as he died in these streets at the hands of a terrible queen.
Freedom and vengeance go hand in hand, after all.
Chapter Seven
The Eminence
Freedom isn’t at all what we find when we turn the corner.
A tower reaches up high into the gray sky. Brick after brick is stacked until it shadows over our small bodies.
“What the hell is that?” Ryder asks.
Darrio runs his hand along the foundation. “Looks like their way of controlling the borders.”
“They built a wall around the realm?” The line between Ryder’s brows is severe as he stares in disgust at the soot staining the tan brick.
On careful steps, we trail the perimeter of the circular building. It isn’t very large at all; the size of a room, maybe. But, once again, I’m very aware of the deep prints we’re leaving behind us.
A single door faces the castle and I begin to turn on my heels to look up at the grand but deteriorating castle. Little black flags flap in the wind and I can almost make out a faded white emblem in the center of them. There are posts set up at every corner, but no guards are in sight.
“In or out, gentlemen. We can’t linger out here,” I tell them as my gaze searches manically for an unseen threat.
Ryder’s hand grips the doorknob and he slowly turns it.
With ease, the door pushes open. The three men look at one another with pure hesitancy in their tense frames.
The door to the tower surrounding the Hopeless realm is carelessly unlocked.
This is bad.
This is a set up.
“You ever feel like everything we’re doing is just one big shit show that someone else is directing?” I ask as my hand grips around the hilt of the knife at Darrio’s side. Without asking, I pull it from his leather belt.
The three of them glance back at me but don’t reply.
Darrio pushes at the side of the door and walks like a predator into a den. I can’t see around his large shoulders but bright light is shining past him. The golden color highlights his body as if he truly is a descendant of an angel.
A descendant of the God of War would be more accurate.
Ryder follows closely behind him and Daxdyn presses his warm hand to the small of my back. He seems to hover at my side, as if he’s more concerned about me than anything that might be in this tower.
The hard handle of the knife presses into my palm as my fingers tighten around it.
My eyes squint from the harsh lighting, and it takes me a minute to really assess my surroundings.
A curved room spirals up into sky and the morning light filters into the wide opening at the top. Six spotlights shine down on the brick floor and what rests at the center has my fullest attention.
Every scar on my arm burns, tingling to life. I stare wide-eyed at the inky pool of water that swirls in a perfect circle at Ryder’s feet.
He stares down at it, his head hung low. His shoulders sag a little as well.
All three of them seem to have their strength falling from them as the look down at the black iron bars that are firmly drilled into the cement. The bars cross over the swirling waters. It’s like a well that’s been covered up with prison bars.
“That’s it?”
That’s the entrance to the Hopeless City?
Ryder nods but he doesn’t look away from the imprisoned well. He kneels, his boots teetering against the bars. He shoves his hand through and it barely fits into the small square opening. His fingers cut through the waters and the black angles that scar his arm darken.
The mark of the Hopeless flares to life on contact with the water.
“They’ve closed it off from us? They knew we’d try to escape. They were just waiting f
or us to find this.” Daxdyn’s empty voice crawls through the room and I, too, feel my strength slip away from me.
There really isn’t any hope left in this world.
There certainly isn’t any for us.
***
“Did you know it’s rude to come late to a celebration held in your honor?” Tristan’s question holds pure condescending snark.
The four of us stand on the outskirts of a jostling room of people. Their flowing gowns dot the room in vibrant colors of red, green, blue, black and white. Each color is more lavish than the last.
And here I stand with torn jeans and fresh mud clinging to my scuffed boots.
Darrio led us here as quickly as possible.
We can’t leave. There’s nowhere for us to go. Ryder had told me, his warm hand tugged on mine, trying to lure me back into the castle we had just fled from.
And, like an idiot, I followed them. Because part of me knows they’re right.
I am fae. I am the Eminence.
Or, at least that’s what all these beautiful people want to believe.
A large woman in a tight dress leans into a man and holds her hand to her mouth as she whispers to him. Another person does the same. Then another, and another.
Until it’s an overbearing crowd of scuttling whispers.
The Eminence.
The rush of words turns into hissing sounds that sets my nerves on edge.
Daxdyn’s hand brushes over mine and he leans into me. “It’ll be okay,” he tells me, his head lowering close to mine, his soft brown hair skimming my forehead.
A faded feeling of calm pushes at the edges of my emotions but the anxiety out climbs it.
Tristan looks from Dax to me but I don’t give the judgmental king a second glance.
The whispers hush to a dull murmur as a shuffling figure appears on the oval stage at front of the room. Yellow lighting falls upon the figure, giving him a more sickly skin tone. The intricate golden trim of the room doesn’t catch the dim lighting. The grandeur of this castle is wasted with minimal lighting and dirty windows.
But the lighting doesn’t take away from the ominous presence of the Traveler. The ends of his dark cloak swish with every hobbling step he takes. Finally, his gnarled face looks sightlessly out at the horrified crowd who stares up at him.
“Our time has come, my children.” The Traveler’s voice crawls over us and I lean closer to Daxdyn’s calming warmth. “My Eminence, please join me.”
He can’t see a thing.
I have to remind myself that he cannot see a thing.
But it doesn’t stop him from skimming the crowd until his attention lands hard on me.
A chill scurries across my flesh, and I stiffen my spine against the fear that’s growing within me.
The long length of his curved fingers reaches out to me, cryptically inviting me to join him where he stands.
What kind of power resides within the Traveler? I felt it when we met. It’s a dark and chilling feeling that makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.
Two steps are all I manage to take before Daxdyn pulls me back to him. I look up at him, our eyes meeting as he searches my features.
Without a word, he kisses the top of my head before shoving me toward the stage.
I stagger, my boots scuffing the recently polished floor. The white tile gleams beneath my dirty boots and I wonder if I’m leaving a nice trail of mud behind me.
The mass of people part for me. My bare shoulders brush against theirs minimally and my fingers rake across expensive gown after expensive gown. I make sure to keep my head held obnoxiously high as I walk among the people of this kingdom. I meet a few of their gazes, looking into their eyes with a tightly held jaw and a hard purse of my lips.
No pleasantries are offered to them.
They think I’m a person of amplified strength.
And so I will be.
I walk with confidence up the few curving steps that lead to the hunched over figure at the center of the stage.
In a strange world of Travelers and Eminent beings, who holds the higher authority? I quickly consider which of us is more important.
I am.
I am the all-important, all-seeing, all-saving Eminence.
But their Traveler brought me here to my people.
With that thought, I give a swift nod of greeting before bowing ever so slightly. Loudly within my ears my heart pounds, but without hesitancy, I pick up the mangled hand he holds out to me. A tingling sensation courses into my fingers, hinting at the powers swirling within him. It’s an electric feeling but it isn’t as strong as it was when I first met him. It isn’t alive like it was before.
My lips pull into a hard line, pushing back the vomit I feel burning up my throat. My breath catches as I decide to make my mark on these watchful eyes.
His skin is like holding cold, wet leather in my palm. Slowly I press my lips to his knuckles, my lashes fluttering up to meet the scarred flesh that’s covering his eyes.
A collective gasp collides through the room and I smile to myself as I slowly rise from my position. Pure authority is all I hold in my swift movements.
“Traveler, thank you for bringing me to my people,” I say in an airy voice of true entitlement. I look proudly down at each of their faces. I look at them as if they all hold a special place in my heart.
A special place in hell is more like it.
I note a few women close their eyes as their lips begin moving. It only takes a moment for me to realize they’re praying. Their palms are held out to me, absorbing my presence, my words, and my unseen power.
I spot Darrio there in the crowd and he exchanges a smirking look with Ryder.
Did they doubt me for even an instant?
“Eminence, we’ve waited so long for you.” The Traveler grips my hand tightly as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear right from this stage.
“You were not ready, my sweet servant.” I’m summoning a goddess like persona. Suddenly my steps are lighter. Yes, my jeans are still tight and tattered but my goddess charisma is not.
From this distance, I can still see Ryder’s eyes rolling at my dramatic antics.
Oh, ye asshole of little faith.
Jealous is what he is.
“Have your king remove our bindings and I will show you just how ready you all are.” My voice carries over the crowd and I pause to meet Tristan’s gaze.
If he removes their iron cuffs, any one of them will have the strength to tear the bars off of the Hopeless well.
Tristan’s arms are folded across his black tuxedo. Not a crease or speck of ash blemishes his appearance. A charming smile pulls at his lips and slowly he lowers his power stance and makes his way toward the stage.
As he climbs the stairs, I extend my hand to him, inviting him into the shit show that I’m currently the main performer in.
His fingers lace through mine, and my skin crawls as he draws me closer to his feeble side. My thigh brushes against my father’s sword hanging from his hip and it takes everything in me not to pull it from his belt and gut him on this stage.
A beautiful smile is all I give him.
The mass of people begins to fall to their knees, one by one. Urgent and wanting whispers fan through the room, suffocating me with every prayer that’s spoken in my name. The forced happiness on my face falls slightly. A young woman walks slowly through the crowd and they part for her as if she, too, is of godly ranking.
She’s a little younger than me, maybe twenty at the most. Glossy black curls hang loosely around her heart shaped face.
When I see her come to the front, my smile slips away entirely into an honest look of fear.
In her small hands, she holds a large bowl and a short dagger. Unheard words skim across her full lips as she stares with intensity at me. That fear climbs through me, clawing up my lungs and throat as I hold her desperate gaze.
Without warning, she slices the blade across her palm. Droplets of dark blood bead into the bowl.
Her index and middle finger swipe across the pooling blood and she drags them down the center of her face as her breathless chanting words become faster.
One hand, the one with the deep slice severing through it, is held out to me while the other grips that dagger a little tighter.
“In the name of the Eminence,” she whispers like a vow just as she raises the dagger above her chest.
I fall hard to my knees, scuttling across the glossy floor until I’m on my hands and knees right in front of the young woman. My hand grips her shaking wrist as I hold her wild gaze. The bowl filled with her blood tips and a crimson color coats the stage like an extra layer of gloss. It slides warmly over my hand as I hold myself up in front of her.
“I am not a god,” I say loudly for all to hear.
The dagger falls with a clattering sound to the floor and I can’t bring myself to look away from the woman. I nod slowly at her until she mimics my nod of understanding.
“The Eminence is not a god,” I repeat for good measure. “Sacrifices are not to be made in the name of,” I pause, the words false prophet feeling thick on my tongue, “fae. Fae are not gods. Do you all understand?” It’s then that I pull my hard gaze to the mass of adoring mortals.
Their eyes hold a look of confusion but they nod anyway.
“My Eminence,” the Traveler says, pulling me from my dark thoughts. His feeble hand grips mine with a hum of magic tingling into me and he pulls me to my feet. His cold hand continues to hold mine as he brings it to his lips. Dry, cracking lips rake over my knuckles and that smile presses tighter against my teeth as I beam up at him with renewed, but waning, confidence. “We are ready for you, but you are not ready.”
That smile pulls from my face as his words sink in. Circling whispers grow through the crowd.
“Not today,” I say as if we’re both on the same page. Swiftly, I push that false happiness back into place. My hand clasps his as he still clings to my other.
“I am much too tired today.” I drop his hand and, without another word, I push past him.
He releases me with ease but I feel his attention burning a hole through my back. It only fuels my confidence as I take my place back by my men.