by H. D. Gordon
Surah rubbed at Sam’s ears for comfort, pausing before stepping out into the courtyard, where the royal families were no doubt gathered in the best of their black clothing. She found it more difficult than it should have been to step into the rectangle of golden sunlight that was cast upon the floor in the open doorway.
“You don’t have to go out,” Lyonell whispered to her.
Surah shook her head. “Thank you,” she said, “but, yes, I do.”
One last deep breath, and she stepped out. She held her chin high as she walked through the courtyard, and the people bowed to her as she passed. They offered their condolences, and Surah accepted them with nods and gracious thanks, but she was on edge, and could not pinpoint why.
Perhaps it was because every time there was a gathering of a lot of her people lately, the crap seemed to hit the fan. Or maybe it was because there were those present who wanted to see her off the throne. Maybe it was both.
“I almost want one of them to take a go at you,” Samson told her in his silent way. “They all reek of fear, and it’s had me on edge for days. Trust those instincts of yours. They’re almost catlike.”
“But I can’t hide. Not right now,” was her silent response. “I need them to see my strength.”
Sam’s watchful, amber eyes flicked up to hers. “I’m happy to show them mine.”
“Sam, what will I do without you?”
“You will do just fine, dear one. That’s what you will do.”
Surah crossed the courtyard in a daze, hanging on to Sam’s words. This place was the same as always; filled with fountains and exotic flowers that crawled up the stone walls, giving the place a pleasant perfume. But, somehow, it all felt different now, as if the glow it had once carried had died along with her father.
She thought she would find comfort in stepping out of the walls of the courtyard, and in a sense, she did. As she stood overlooking Zadira, on the edge of the hill her castle sat on, she saw that thousands of people had turned up for the ceremonies today, and it made her chest ache to see this.
More Hunters fell into stride around her small party. When she reached the bottom of the hill, she found Theo waiting for her, his gray eyes filled with a sympathy she’d thought he was incapable of, and was still not sure she trusted.
When Theo held his arm out to her, it snapped her out of these thoughts, and she slipped her arm through his without hesitation. She may not be entirely sure she could trust the Head Hunter, but a show of solidarity might not be unwise.
Overhead, the sun shined with a cheery indifference to the darkness that hung over the people below. The day was warm, bright, only a few wispy clouds lazing their way across the sky.
There had to be nearly ten thousand people lining the streets of Zadira, but for all those in attendance, a silence hung over the place like a blanket.
Arm in arm, Theo began to lead her through the city. The people, all donning dark clothing and heavy hearts, bowed as the two of them passed.
She would never be able to do this with Charlie, not after all that had passed, and the random, unwelcome thought made a dull ache in her numb chest. After all that had transpired, they could never do something as simple as walk through the capital city of her kingdom arm in arm. The prospect made her sadder than she wished it would.
Passing through the city this way, with her tiger and the Head Hunter at her side, along with the rest of the Royal Hunter Guard, felt surreal.
It took nearly twenty minutes to reach their destination, but it felt both longer and shorter to Surah. She seemed to be dragging lead in her feet.
Then, it was as if she blinked, and Bassil was standing before her and the dark waters of the Lake of the Lost Ones stretched out beyond his back.
Unlike humans—and a select few of the other supernatural creatures, like the Fae—Sorcerers did not bury their dead. They built a pyre and set them to sail on a body of water.
The Lake of the Lost Ones was the equivalent of the largest cemetery in their Territory. Over the centuries, hundreds of thousands of Sorcerers and Sorceresses had been set to rest here.
Today, it would be her father.
Someday after, it would be her.
But not before she killed the people responsible for this.
Of that, she was damn sure.
Chapter 11
Surah
Bassil’s face was filled with sympathy.
She could tell the Warlock wanted to hug her, but was thankful when he didn’t. With all these people looking on, she wanted to be a comfort to them, not for them to think she was the one in need of comfort.
Standing by the edge of the Lake of the Lost Ones, the memories of the times she’d stood in this very spot before came flooding back to her.
For a small moment, she could see herself as a child, dressed in black from head-to-toe, her small cloak a rich velvet that she wore like a brick wall between her and the world. Her violet hair had been set into curls by Noelani earlier on that long ago morning.
The Hunter had held her as she cried, the only female left in the world whom she felt close to since her sister and mother were dead. Noelani had only hugged her, her harsh face softer than Surah had ever seen it, the same way it had been just this morning when she and Lyonell came to retrieve her.
Surah’s brother and father had stood beside her that day, their backs straight and their heads held nobly high. Even back then, despite thinking this was the greatest amount of pain she would ever go through, despite the hollowness in her chest and the fracture in her heart, she’d stood silent and strong like the princess she was.
These memories floated away on the breeze, which smelled faintly of lilies, as the white flower grew in long stalks all around the lake’s shoreline, like tombstones for all those these waters had sent away.
Next came the memory of her not so long ago, one of only a few months back, though it seemed like an eternity between then and now. Her father, King Syrian, had stood beside her, his last child, as they set her brother Syris sailing. Again, she had thought that day that she was feeling the most pain she would ever know.
Surah was given a slight nudge by Samson, and this brought her back to the now. She realized that Bassil must have already spoken, and saw that it was time for her to approach the pyre atop which her father’s body lie, and say her final goodbye.
It was as if she were walking through a dream, or perhaps, a nightmare. Her movements felt slow and heavy.
It took every ounce of strength she possessed to look down at her father for the last time. Her eyes began to burn, and she stared out over the water, taking a deep breath and gaining control over herself.
Finally, she looked down at the lost king, at her fallen father, and into her soul. It was there that she saw that she did not want a war, and why her father had always tried so hard to avoid it.
Where Surah had always wanted to take swift justice, to strike back when struck, King Syrian had insisted on trying every method of diplomacy first. It was a quality of his she’d never quite understood until just now.
Looking to her left, she saw the mother she’d attempted to console in the city yesterday, the one who’d been holding her fallen darling in her arms, the one to whom she’d promised revenge.
The mourning mother stood beside her son’s pyre, which was half the size of that of Surah’s father. She stared back at Surah, her eyes filled with grief and a burning need for vengeance. Surah knew the look well. She’d seen it in the mirror more often than she’d like to admit.
Surah wished she could tell the mother that killing all the Fae in all the realms would not bring her baby back, and all of the death and destruction in the underworld could never fill the hole she’d forever carry inside her.
But Surah knew she could say no such thing to the poor mother. She could say no such thing to her people, either. There was a time for diplomacy, but there was also a line, and that line had been crossed.
Beyond the grieving mother, others stood ato
p the long wooden docks that led into the lake, their lost loved ones silent and still before them. Turning her head to the left revealed more of the same.
She had yet to receive the official count of how many had been lost, but she could see that there were dozens, if not hundreds. The Fae Warriors had torn through the unsuspecting crowd and towns like the mongrels they were.
There were thousands of eyes on her. She could feel them from all around the way one can feel the weather. She could also feel the divide among her people. Some of them truly did love the Stormsong family enough to know that Surah wanted what was best for the kingdom, and others among them were just here for the show.
But the ones whose gazes she could feel on her cloak as though they were a second skin had a fiery distrust, obviously thinking she wasn’t suitable to sit on the throne. Or worse, they blamed her for all the misfortune that had befallen Sorcerer kind as of late. Or both.
Surah was as lost as all those who ever burned atop the dark waters of the lake. A single tear fell down her face, and she did not wipe it away.
To love was not weakness, but strength. For love, she would face whatever and whoever dare threaten the peace of her people. For love, she would fight, she would kill, and if need be, she would die.
Bassil handed her a torch ablaze with a violet flame, the fire as brilliant as a star in the dark night. All along the edge of the shoreline, more violet flames sprang to life, dotting the perimeter of the lake like a ring of purple diamonds.
Only the insects spoke into the shadows, the rest of the souls present holding silent in respect. It was as if they were collectively holding their breath, pausing the beating of their hearts.
With a final exhale, Surah placed the torch atop her father’s chest, where the substance that covered the pyre and body made the flame spread and cover its entirety in a matter of seconds.
Placing her black boot on the edge of the pyre, she shoved it out into the lake, where the ever-shifting violet blaze grew brighter and brighter.
All around the lake, pyres large and small, depending on the size of their occupant, were set aflame and afloat, and soon, the night was glowing bright with the fire of all the Lost Ones, the lake’s dark surface reflecting the glow like a mirror.
It was in this brilliant purple light that the shadow of the first Demon appeared, and then the screeches of dozens of the denizens of darkness were filling the dark sky.
Someone in the crowd screamed, and a palpable terror filled the air.
Fire filled her, and Surah reached behind her and removed her two silver sais, letting her cloak fall into a puddle at her feet.
A grin that held no humor pulled up one side of her mouth, and she spun the weapons around in her hands, her heart picking up pace in anticipation of battle, the tiny hairs on her neck standing on end.
Screams and screeches filled the scene, hell descending from above as the chains of vengeance slowly wound tighter around the new queen’s battered and hardened heart.
Chapter 12
Surah
They’d picked the wrong person, the wrong day.
A sort of slow motion overcame Surah, a tunnel-like focus. She thought if Alexa Montgomery—the brave young Sun Warrior who was fiercer than any creature in all the Territories—could see her now, she would give Surah a crooked smile and a nod of approval.
Surah was going to kill them all, and she was going to do it by herself, for all to see. Or she was going to die trying.
Sais gripped loosely and comfortably in her hands, in all the panic that was on the edge of erupting, Surah turned to the Warlock and held his dark eyes for a stolen moment.
“Cast a barrier spell to protect the people,” she told him, slipping her queen’s piece of White Stone from around her neck and handing it to him. “And then freeze the people in place below the barrier. I don’t want them running. I want them to watch what happens next. I want their full attention.”
Bassil hesitated only a moment, a look of both concern and newfound respect for her passing behind his eyes. What she was telling him to do was crazy, and would take an enormous amount of magic from both the Warlock and the stone.
Also, it would leave her to fight the Demons solo—without the help of magic. She had not brought the Black Stone with her for the ceremony, as the presence of her grief was dark enough.
The Warlock took the stone into his large hand, meeting her gaze steadily. “Kill them all, my queen,” he told her, and then braced himself, closed his eyes, and cast the spell.
The barrier spell took effect just in time, the move both risky and clever on her part. Surah watched as it blanketed the people like an invisible ceiling, the dozens of Demons rebounding off it in a way that was almost comical.
Almost, because nothing about this would be funny. No matter what happened in the rapid moments that would follow, nothing would be funny at all.
The Demons were intimidating physically, with their scaly, black, and winged bodies, long horns atop their ugly heads, and sharp claws on their hands and feet. They would scare the daylights out of most people. But Surah was not most people, and as far as intelligence went, these dark creatures left much to be desired.
Slowly, the Demons began to recognize that they could not reach the people below, who were now under the binding spell Bassil was casting, and could not move but for their eyes, which were as wide as disks.
A Demon noticed Surah still standing atop the dock with that crazed smile on her face, and came soaring at her, flashing sharp teeth and long-clawed feet outstretched for the kill.
Surah spun her sais, waiting, but before the creature could reach her, Samson tackled it out of the air, his enormous blue and black body moving faster than one would think possible.
Surah charged, her black leather boots moving atop the invisible barrier Bassil was impressively maintaining as if she were running on air. She reached the first Demon a heartbeat later, and skewered it the way one might meat on a stick.
The creature let out a screech of pain that could be heard in the heavens.
Spinning gracefully, she skewered another Demon on her opposite side, the sharp, silver points of her sais going through the creature’s neck, spraying black and sticky blood into the air and across Surah’s face.
Below her, the frozen people of her kingdom looked on, Hunters, royals and common folks alike, watching her deliver death above them as if a war had erupted among the stars. The barrier blocked the spilling and spurting black blood of the Demons from the people, but it splashed against it the way mud would on glass.
Samson also leapt atop the barrier, fighting alongside his mistress with a grace and penchant for killing that only true beasts could ever obtain. The hisses and feline sounds that issued from his belly as he tore through Demon bodies with teeth and claw were the only things louder than the screeches of the Demons, which was pain-filled music to Surah’s ears.
She killed two more, ducking out of the way of the swipe of a Demon’s sharp claws just in time and skewering him from below, right into its gut, spraying herself with more of the icky blood.
Time was moving both fast and slow. She killed one Demon after another, receiving scrapes and a few deep gashes on her arms and legs that went unnoticed for all the adrenaline that was running through her.
“I wish these creatures tasted better,” Samson’s voice spoke in her head at the same time as he tackled another Demon swooping at Surah from above.
Sam gripped the thing by its scaly throat. Its claws were digging into him, trying to free itself, so he whipped his huge head to the side, ripping out its throat and flinging the piece of tough, gamey meat to the side.
It hit the magical barrier below them the way an insect smashes into glass, and the people beneath did not have to have control of their movements for Surah to know they’d just cringed internally.
Surah shook her head, her face streaked with the black blood, making the smile she gave her cat eerie, to say the least.
�
��What?” Sam asked. “You wanted to put on a show, did you not?”
In answer, Surah stuck her sais deep into the stomach of another Demon, which lashed out and scratched her deep enough to scar above her eyebrow, mixing her red blood with that of the black gore that covered her.
Climbing up the Demon’s tall, lanky body as if it were a ladder, she set her boots on its shoulders, tucking her sais into their leather holders on her back, and snapped the Demon’s neck with her bare hands.
The rotten bones there cracked as loud as thunder, and the Demon, blood spilling from its gut, and neck creased at an unusual angle, fell dead beneath her.
Rolling to her feet, Surah slipped the long knife from its holster on her thigh and ran up the back of another Demon, which she realized was the last one still alive. There was a mess atop the barrier that Bassil was still holding between Surah and the people like a glass ceiling.
Demon bodies and bits lay strewn all around in the way that only battle can achieve; careless and haphazard. Blood obscured the invisible glass of the barrier, but the people below had not been spared the sounds.
Samson sat on his haunches atop the barrier, licking the black blood around his mouth and sticking out his tongue in distaste.
Surah gripped the horn of the last Demon, yanking its head back and exposing its throat, her long knife gripped tight in her right hand. She slashed at the bony part that held its wings to its back, disabling the creature’s flight.
They both fell to the barrier, Surah maintaining her advantageous position. Its claws scraped at the air above its head, and it screeched like a bat out of hell, but Surah knew that Demons were like crustaceans; if you gripped them in the right place, you had nothing to worry about.
She held her blade to its throat now, looking down at all the people standing below her, meeting the eyes of as many as she could. She wanted them to see her face. She wanted them to see what was behind the mask she’d worn for as long as she could remember, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t care whether it scared them.