Court of Rogues

by Ann Gimpel

  Her court, the Midnight Court, had been a centerpiece for combined magic. After Oberon ordered it disbanded, She and Titania had moved it…elsewhere. For a long while, she’d been certain Oberon would find out and put a stop to it, but he had a lazy streak a mile wide, and he’d never dug too deep. Nighttime festivals where everyone danced beneath twinkling stars flourished, until the land switched to perpetual daylight.

  She’d been certain it was Oberon’s backhanded way of punishing them, but Titania assured her that wasn’t it at all. They’d taken care to erase revelers’ memories of those enchanted gatherings, so a snitch in the crowd couldn’t have been the problem. Hell, they’d even silenced the nightingales. She hugged her arms tighter around her legs and smiled as pleasant recollections of warm, lazy nights buffeted her. Rather like a cross between Beltane and Lughnasadh, there’d been plenty of laughter and sex and trading of all sorts.

  Joy was a powerful motivator, a heady inspiration. How long could she live on memories? The question curled her lip into a sneer. Apparently, forever. Faery’s gates were no longer open to her, the Midnight Court long shuttered.

  A breathy sigh rocked her, followed by another. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t her style. She’d get over this rough patch. Soon. Nothing had changed except she’d allowed herself to long for the impossible.

  Everything that happened in this remote outpost occurred—or didn’t—because of things she did. Exercising that level of control should have been satisfying, but it wasn’t. Letting her daughter go—after endless arguments where she’d threatened to leave regardless—was one of the hardest things Auril had ever done. It meant she’d be alone forever, but what kind of life had she condemned Dariyah to? She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She’d done the best she could. Ensured the child lived and flourished, so the power within her could find its potential.

  More drill sergeant than Mother, she’d trained the girl’s magic. Taught her to harness her raw ability to protect herself. And she’d hidden her true name. Names have incalculable power. So long as Dariyah didn’t know hers, no one could wrest if from her and use it against her. Auril’s guts twisted into a physical ache. She’d followed her daughter, scrying her location and some of her activities over the eons they’d been separated. Each glimpse was a two-edged sword, mixing relief with a pervasive sorrow. She’d never lay eyes on her daughter again. She should have come to terms with that reality long since.

  Should have.

  Dariyah was alive. Knowing she’d survived should have been enough, but it wasn’t. Many a night Auril tossed and turned. Sleep was elusive because she longed to wrap her arms around her daughter and feel the beat of her heart. Seeing her in visions, in imagery that ebbed and flowed, wasn’t the same. Not even close.

  Pushing upright from the spot she’d been crouched near her favorite scrying pool, she strode toward a cave. She visited it every afternoon at just this time. It was one of the patterns she’d maintained no matter what else was going on. Not that anything ever happened to disturb her routine. Sometimes, she wished something would, and then she offered up prayers to the goddess and said she hadn’t meant it.

  Monotony and boredom were preferable to unknown elements infiltrating her tiny corner of the universe.

  Light flickered and flashed off the walls of a rounded cave studded with quartz formations. The lights came from the core of this world and bounced off the surface of a large, subterranean lake. Unlike Faery, this world wasn’t inclined to talk. Strange since she and it were the only sentient entities here. Auril had moved past lonely a few centuries ago, but the land endured. Silent, stoic, and ostensibly without needs of its own.

  She’d visited the cave so often, she’d worn a path in the rocky dirt. Following it, she walked to the spot she always sat. Energy converged just there and made her future-seeing easier. Not that she had to conserve power. Nothing to use it for here, but she was cautious by nature. Just because no one had breached the borders of her lair didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

  At least she was past the worst of her spate of self-pity. She reminded herself nothing had altered except her focus. Looking backward wasn’t productive. All it did was make her sad. She shook herself from head to toe before settling on her haunches on damp sand a handspan from the murky water. By all the gods and goddesses, she was still a queen and she damned well needed to act like one. Her title had been conferred by Danu herself in a joint ceremony with Titania.

  It had been very hush-hush, and Oberon hadn’t been invited. The old geezer had been livid when he broke through Danu’s barrier shielding the ritual from plain view. And even more outraged when the goddess sent him packing. The memory still brought a smile.

  Auril twisted her mouth into a grimace. How Titania had continued to stand by her consort after all his shenanigans was tough to comprehend, but it was a sore topic. She and her sister never discussed him, for obvious reasons. If she’d been the one shackled to Oberon, she’d have cut off his dick and muffled his smart mouth with spells long ago.

  The thought turned her grimace into a vicious grin. If she ever walked beneath Faery’s skies again, the first thing she’d do would be to hang Oberon in effigy in the Midnight Court. Voodoo borrowed a page from her court, and she’d make the noose feel so authentic, the king of Faery would go running for his spell book in search of an antidote.

  Sucking air to the very bottom of her lungs, she blew it out and then repeated the action a few times to center herself. A low hum began at the base of her spine and flowed upward, telling her the day’s scrying session was well in hand. She preferred the outdoor pond she’d been settled next to, but power resided within the cave, and it fueled her efforts. With her arms extended in front of her and power arcing from her fingertips, she shut her earth eyes and switched to her psychic view.

  The surface of the lake developed waves that swished back and forth before parting to form something that reminded her of a stage. At first it remained empty, it’s polished boards glistening gold in the odd light from the cave. Figures ebbed and flowed, not clear enough to make out beyond there being three of them. Auril waited. She’d been here before. The vision would speak to her in its own time.

  Keep breathing, she instructed, certain of her magic, of her innate ability. Out of all her skills, her seer ability had never failed. The edges of the vision started curling in on themselves. Her eyes widened as shock rattled her equanimity. She sprang to her feet, hands still outstretched and sent a jolt of enchantment dead center into the fading tableau.

  “Reveal,” she shouted. “I command you.”

  The vision should have shaped right up. It didn’t, but at least it stopped collapsing. “That’s right,” Auril crooned. “Show me your truth.”

  Naught about today was panning out as she’d expected. Why should this be any different? She’d anticipated a gradual unfolding of a series of images for her to decrypt. The messages that came to her this way were never clear-cut.

  Nothing slow and steady here, though. One minute, the perimeter circling the stage was about to implode, the next Titania, Dariyah, and a man who looked familiar burst into view. Heads together, the three of them were talking among themselves, their features carved into anxious expressions.

  Titania flinched, and then straightened and turned. If she’d been in the cave, she’d have been staring dead into Auril’s eyes. “Sister”—she tossed her head in a gesture so familiar, it smote Auril—"We shall be there soon.”

  The tableau burst from the inside outward in a blaze of reds and violets, leaving her staring at motes of light. Auril rubbed her eyes, not trusting anything. How had Titania sensed her across worlds and time? What was Dariyah doing with her sister?

  What in the unholy fuck had happened since she’d last seen Dariyah in a vision? Her daughter had been in some kind of arcade playing cards with cat hairs clinging to her clothing and a human in thrall.

  About the only answer that rose to the surface was the male Fae’s identity. He w
as Cynwrigg ap Llyr, first in line for Faery’s throne. Did his appearance with Titania mean Oberon was gone?

  “A queen can dream,” she muttered, breaking the silence stretching through the cavern. More truths marched across her mind. Dariyah must have told Titania where to find her. It was the only way her sister could have discovered this out-of-the-way realm.

  Titania had said “we.” Presumably, it meant all of them would arrive soon, the implication punched her in the guts. Her heart beat like a trip hammer; excitement raced through her. Dariyah would actually be here next to her, in her arms where she could pat her, touch her. Stroke hair out of her face and make all the maternal noises she’d avoided for fear of spoiling the child.

  She’s not a child anymore. Her implacable inner voice brought her up short. Better to love and accept the woman she’s grown into.

  Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. Grand advice. Who knew how it would play out? Dariyah’s magic existed in a class of its own. What had she done with her talents? Had the time come for her to stroll into Faery and take her rightful place amongst its leaders? Auril hadn’t disclosed that part of her future-seeing to her daughter. She’d told her to steer clear of Faery because her mixed blood could spell her death—until she came into her own and was strong enough to claim her birthright.

  Auril sank into a crouch, kneeling next to the dark waters of the lake. Its surface had quieted, but not for long. Once again, she extended her hands and bounced jolts of lightning off the water’s surface. “Show me the future,” she intoned. “Do it now. No more games.”

  Enchantment sheeted from her, marrying her mind to the universe. If her viewing of Titania had been true—and it almost had to be—worlds had shifted on their axes. She’d shed one skin when she left Faery. Maybe it was time to shed the one she’d worn ever since.

  Breath burst from her, and she didn’t make the slightest effort to mute her triumph. A celebration might be premature, but she was done pussyfooting around and playing nice with destiny. If the Queen of Air and Darkness was about to rise from her self-imposed crypt, she was more than ready to make it happen with her daughter and sister by her side.

  The three of them should be unbreakable. She’d seen it often enough in dreams and visions. “Not should be, will be. No more shoulds for me.” She breathed the words and turned her attention to her nascent spell twisting the lake’s dark water to her purposes.

  About the Author

  Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in many webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 80 books to date, with several more planned for 2020 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.

  Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com

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