Pain Seeker (The New Orleans Shade Book 1)

by D. N. Hoxa

  “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

  “Please, Ulana is fine. Mace, is it?” Her lips popped when she said my name. I didn’t like it.

  “Yes, it is. Beautiful party.”

  “Thank you. It is more beautiful because of the people here,” she said, and for a second, looked at the fae around us, dancing, as if she were in awe.

  I looked, too. I just didn’t see any beauty where she did.

  “It certainly is,” I said because saying otherwise would have been rude. And I didn’t want to be rude to the Autumn princess. My father would be hearing about it.

  “You know what intrigues me, Mace?” she said, crossing her legs before she put her hand under her chin, batting her lashes at me. Her eyes analyzed every inch of me, and though she was a very beautiful woman, I didn’t feel the need to do the same.

  “What is that, Ulana?”

  “Your appearance,” she said, looking down at my midnight-colored shirt and black trousers. “You’re the only one here not dressed for celebration.”

  Maybe because I didn’t have anything to celebrate. “I’m a simple man. Fur and velvet make me uncomfortable.”

  She laughed as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world. Then, she stood up. “Walk with me, Mace. Let me show you the beauty of our castle.”

  I wanted to refuse with every fiber in me, but, of course, to do so would be rude. So, I swallowed my anger, put down the glass of wine, and stood up. Immediately, Ulana laced her arm in mine and pulled me to the side. All I could do was follow.

  Ulana took me all around the hall, and she seemed to think I was interested in who every single one of the Autumn fae were. Her uncles and aunts, cousins, mother’s side, father’s side—it was dizzying just to find everyone she pointed at with my eyes, let alone remember who they were. I indulged her, always keeping a smile on my face, always being respectful. Her father, the King, looked at us every once in a while, as we walked all around the huge hall, but her mother never looked away. There was a smile on her face, as cold as my mother’s, and every time our eyes met, it grew wider.

  Once we were done with the hall and all the people in it, I was going to go back to my table, say my goodnights, and retreat to my quarters, but Ulana had other plans. She took me through a hallway outside of the hall doors, and the deeper we went, the more distant the voices became, the fewer the people around us, until there was nobody else there.

  I knew what she wanted from me. She was a beautiful woman, and once upon a time, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now…things were different. Nothing had been the same for a long time now. I couldn’t bring myself to want her, despite her looks, and it filled me with guilt.

  “This is my favorite room in this castle,” she said when we entered a door at the left of the hallway, half hidden by a golden vase that was taller than even me. The door was narrow and barely fit my shoulders, but the inside was wide and dark, and it smelled almost better than first snow.

  The only light came from the middle of the room where the ceiling opened into a circle and the light of the moon fell on the tree that twisted its way up from the ground in a way I had never seen before. The trunk was a spiral that leaned slightly more to the left as it went up, and the bright orange leaves on the branches almost looked like flames. Behind it was the statue of a man, easily a hundred feet tall. He was crouching, his back pressed to the ceiling as if he were the only thing holding it up. His huge hand extended toward the tree, like he was inviting it to him. It was one of the most beautiful statues I had ever seen. Every line on his body, even the pupils of his eyes, was carved perfectly.

  “What is this place?” The way the silver light of the moon fell on the tree from the side made it look like a fantasy rather than real.

  “This is the worry room,” Ulana said, proud at the look of awe on my face. I didn’t even try to hide it.

  There wasn’t much else in there, except the tree, and the man reaching for it, and the paintings on the walls. The trunk of the tree and the hole in the ceiling were divided by four heart-shaped archways, as if to make it stand out more. On the walls around it were the paintings—eight of them that I could see, each more beautiful than the last.

  “And what is the worry room?” Ulana made me ask, when she kept smiling and looking at me, waiting for the question. We slipped under an archway and stopped right in front of the tree trunk. The stone floor rose up a bit, encircling the soil in which the tree grew, exactly as wide as the round hole in the ceiling. The air was colder there, more peaceful, like we were standing outside in an open field.

  “This tree is an Excerticus. It is said that if it sheds its leaves for you, it sheds your worries for you, too. Like this,” she whispered and raised her hand toward the tree, closing her eyes. Her Autumn magic spread around her hand, into the air, and toward the tree.

  Autumn magic was the closest thing to Spring magic the fae had. Spring magic had been calming, peaceful, inviting, and Autumn could do that, too. But it wasn’t so inviting. It wasn’t so forgiving. It wasn’t as hopeful as Spring magic. Instead, it was determined. It was patient—just like the Autumn fae. Nobody understood the concept of patience quite like them. Out of all fae kinds, they were the hardest workers, the most prepared, and the most paranoid. They always expected the worst to come. Their soldiers were the most skilled out of all. They didn’t have the brute force of the Winter fae, or the grace of Summer, but they had technique, formation, patience. They were a handful to deal with in a battle.

  Moments later, while Ulana’s magic filled the room with a kind of calm that knew it was coming to an end, a few leaves on the tree began to slowly fall to the ground. They took their time, slowly, spiraling in the air, floating from one side to the other, gently touching the ground as if they were afraid they might hurt it.

  Ulana opened her eyes and smiled brighter. “It always sheds for me,” she said, so excited her eyes sparkled. “Try it. Maybe it will shed your worries for you, too.” She grabbed my hand in hers and turned it toward the tree.

  Shedding worries. I had never heard of it, nor did I believe in it, but what was the harm in trying? It wasn’t going to hurt me nor waste time that wasn’t already being wasted. So, I released my magic into the air and aimed it at the trunk of the tree. When in battle, I focused on speed, accuracy, potency. Here, I let the energy out in waves, allowed it to spread freely, focusing on connecting rather than causing damage.

  Then, I thought about my worry.

  The elf woman in my room. Was she even there anymore? Had she already run away?

  My biggest worry was her life. I didn’t want her blood on my hands. I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted her to live. Somehow, in some way—I wanted her to live beyond the confinement of my room, of the Shade, of the war. I wanted her to not regret that she didn’t hate me, despise me. I wanted to prove her right—that I wasn’t a monster just because of my nature.

  Silly things.

  “Look!” Ulana said, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the leaves falling, twice as many as the first time, a lot faster, like they were heavier. Like they couldn’t wait to reach the ground now.

  Ulana laughed. I lowered my hand and watched the fallen leaves.

  “Your magic is so…cold,” she said, rubbing her naked arms, pushing the wide sleeves of her yellow dress up. “Warm me, prince. I order you.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around my torso, pulling me to her. I was a head taller than her, but she rose on her tiptoes and looked up at me, adoration filling her eyes.

  Why? What did she adore? She didn’t know me at all, nor I, her.

  “What worries did you want the tree to shed? It’s about war, isn’t it? That’s what all you men think about. War, war, war,” she whispered, looking at my lips, coming closer. “But life is more than just war, isn’t it?” Her lips pressed onto mine and I felt…nothing.

  I didn’t recognize the man I’d become, but even so, I couldn’t bring myself to want a change right now. I had too much on m
y mind, and I blamed it on that.

  I put my hands on her face and pushed her away, just a bit. “My apologies, princess. I can’t.”

  Her eyes filled with sadness so instantly, I knew it was fake. “You don’t want me?” she asked in a breath.

  “It’s not that. But I could never disrespect your father like that,” I said, and stepped away, forcing her to let go of me. “He trusts me to be here, in his home, alone with his daughter. I will not betray that trust.” It was only half the truth.

  The other half was that I didn’t want to be there at all. I’d rather be in the Shade, in my room, looking at silver eyes, trying to get the stubborn elf to talk to me.

  Ulana suddenly smiled. Again, the change was so immediate, it was like she was following a script. “Aren't you full of surprises, Prince Mace,” she cooed, touching my cheek with her fingertips.

  “Please, allow me to walk you back to the party.” I took her hand in mine and laced it to my arm. She didn’t refuse.

  But before I turned, I saw a painting on the wall, one I hadn't noticed before. It was half hidden by the statue’s arm, but it was one of the most beautiful images I had ever seen.

  “What is that?” I asked Ulana, walking closer to see it better. Every line on the canvas, every color looked familiar, like I had seen this exact same image before, though I hadn’t.

  “It’s a painting,” Ulana said. “Isn’t it beautiful? Look at the colors.”

  The greens and oranges and reds were striking. The painting told the story of a man, barely standing on his feet, next to a well. The look in his eyes gave so much hope. The tears on his cheeks were tears of pure joy. He’d gone through a lot in the painting, but now, as he looked at the well, to him it had all been worth it.

  “Who made this?” I asked her, but I already knew.

  I had a painting like this one, too, and I could swear on my life that the same person had created it. My painting wasn’t in this realm at all—it was in my apartment on Earth, but the colors, the lines, the tone of the story it told were identical.

  “I don't know. Probably an Autumn fae. The colors give it away,” she said with a laugh.

  But it wasn’t an Autumn fae who’d made that painting. It was an elf—Ulana just didn't know it. The King would never tell where he got it—just like I wouldn’t. They only sold things like this in the black market that was a carriage made of wood, which traveled across the kingdoms, searching for and selling forbidden riches.

  The elf who made this painting remained anonymous. Nobody among the fae knew who he was or what House he came from, but the fae still kept his work in their homes, in secret or out in the open. Art was the only thing I had found so far that slipped through the walls war had built between our kinds.

  “I’m bored,” Ulana said. “If you’re done staring at it, we should get back. Let’s go dance, my prince. You owe me that much, at least.” And she pulled me away from the painting by the arm. I reluctantly followed, but the painting remained in my mind, and it made me wonder. Maybe the Autumn King wasn’t the man I thought he was, if he allowed an elf painting in his home.

  Too bad I could never talk to him about it. Too bad I would never find out.

  Chapter 14

  The window to my side showed me the most beautiful garden I had ever seen. The colors seemed to have come out of a dream, both the bright oranges and reds, and the pale yellows and greens. The orchard shaded the Autumn fae from the noon sun as they picked flowers and took care of their plants with their magic. Everyone knew their job and they moved in perfect harmony, like they were being guided by invisible arrows.

  “Prince Mace?” the Autumn King said, calling my eyes to the center of the room. Everyone in there turned to me.

  “I agree, King Aurant,” I said with a nod. “The only way to make sure that the elves don’t attack you when you’re underprepared is to make an attack impossible for them. Spring is coming, and both yours and our strength will be limited.”

  “Ours won’t,” one of the representatives of the Summer Court said.

  “It will. Summer is still months away.” He opened his mouth to speak again, but I had no patience to listen to what he had to say because he hadn’t said anything smart all morning. “None of us should rely on our magic for the coming months. You don’t need to be stronger than the elf army right now, my King. You only need to outsmart them.”

  The King smiled, as if he were pleased with the words that had come out of my mouth. What had he thought—that I wasn’t listening because I was looking out the window? Had he no idea who my father was? My mind was trained to separate senses and connect them with thoughts simultaneously. I had no trouble thinking about what I was looking at and what I could hear at the same time.

  “And we do that by building a fort over Kanda.” He dragged his long pointing stick toward the blue river drawn by hand over the square table. “The territory is rough. The elves will not be able to attack more than a hundred men at a time, and the fort will be designed to withstand three times that number.”

  “I say it is cowardice,” my brother Ethonas said, his strong voice echoing in the meeting hall. It was a big room, unnecessarily big. Less than half of it would have sufficed for the twenty of us sitting around the King’s table and the five Autumn soldiers behind his back. “Build walls to hide behind—from elves? What would those who’ve spilled their blood for this land say?”

  The room erupted into whispers. Most of the fae around me, including Chastin, my second-in-command, agreed with him. Of course, they did. Their lives’ mission was to take as many elf lives as possible before death.

  Building a wall—even though it was costly and would take time and work—was the only solution which guaranteed less blood be spilled. Naturally, most would be in opposition to it, but ultimately the decision would be made by King Aurant. I looked at him, at his narrowed brows, concern marring his strong features. He was uncertain—which was why he’d called this meeting in the first place. He wanted other opinions before he put his people to work and put himself in debt to the other Courts for using their battalions as protection. He had a good portion of his own Autumn army with him, but most of his men were stationed on the other side of his Kingdom, on the other side of the world where elflands met faelands.

  If he didn’t build that fort on the River Kanda, elves would die, but so would fae. And he knew it. In winter, he and his people were a lot stronger than in spring. Just like I would be a lot stronger in spring than I would be in summer. Calling out to my magic would become more difficult as the months went by. It would be the same for all his men.

  He was trying to avoid losing lives. Losing land. He knew he was right—this was the best solution, but he also was a king. He had an even stricter reputation to maintain than me. What he did here today was his face tomorrow to the other Courts. And he wanted to take everything into account before he risked losing the respect of his fellow kings.

  “Protecting lives and land is an act of the brave,” I said the words my father had planted in me since I was a boy. The context had been a lot different—he called attacking and killing elves protection, but I felt it would serve to piss off my brother in this particular situation.

  “Cowering behind walls is not the fae way,” one of the Summer representatives said. “We will stand, and we will fight beside you, my King, but we refuse to hide.”

  “You call it hiding. I call it prevention. I didn’t rule my Court for a hundred and fifty years by being a fool. Picking battles is as important as winning them, for the second can’t come true without the first,” the King roared. “Their numbers here are greater, and I need most of my army on the western borders. Our magic evens the field during autumn and during winter, but spring is not a fruitful time for my people.”

  “That is why we stand united,” said Ethonas. “The Winter Court will stand beside you in battle, my King.”

  “And I appreciate it,” the King said, and he looked at me again. “However, I w
on’t need more than a battalion from the Winter army and one from the Summer army, if I were to move forth with the fort. Prince Mace, the Shade is only hours away from my castle. How well would you be able to handle managing half your battalion from afar?”

  “Beg your pardon, my King?” I asked, a bit confused, but only for a second.

  “I would like for you to command the protection unit of the Autumn fae,” he said.

  No. “It would be my greatest honor, my King.” I gave him a curt nod. On the inside, I burned. I didn’t want to command more men, especially men who weren’t mine. I didn’t want to be part of this at all.

  “No,” Ethonas said, and for the moment, I could not have been more grateful that he was here. “The Winter King will not allow it. My brother commands his battalion and is in protection of the Winter Shade. I don’t need to tell you how important it is that the Shade remains in fae hands,” he spit.

  There was no respect in his heated words. Only belittlement. The only man he respected was our father, and that, too, would fade, once he convinced himself that he was better, more worthy of being a king.

  “I shall speak to your father, Prince Ethonas. But your input is appreciated,” the King said. “I have not yet come to a decision about the fort, but you have all helped provide questions I need to answer first. For now, please enjoy the stay in my castle. Your every need will be met, and I shall call you back here soon.”

  The King fell back in his golden chair, a hand over his forehead, as the rest of us bowed before him and turned for the door.

  “Prince Mace, a moment of your time?”

  I hadn’t even reached the door when the king spoke again. I stopped in my tracks, and so did my brother Ethonas. Arin, by his side, looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “Alone,” the King said, and Ethonas’s eyes on mine wanted me to think that my hours were numbered. We both knew he couldn’t best me in a fight, but from him I expected anything. The only thing that kept him in check was the fear of my father’s wrath.