by Ana Calin
“You must have at least a hunch as to why.”
“Give me your theories first.” I keep my voice low, scanning our surroundings as I speak to him.
“They want us to walk through the Caledonian forest.”
There’s not a supernatural out there that hasn’t heard of the perils of the Flipside Caledonian forests. In the Flipside, this wild place not only survived, but also thrived. The forests are connected through an energy tunnel to the woods of Flipside Transylvania, and they draw on the same dark source.
But I don’t believe it’s the forests we should be wary of.
“I would completely agree with you if it wasn’t for this one detail.” I motion with my head in Kareim’s direction. Draven glances at him.
“His eyes are darting left and right as if he expects a cobra to strike any second now.” My nostrils flare as I breathe in deeply. “I can smell his fear. He expects a threat here, in Edinburgh.”
“A threat? That could be anything,” Draven says, still inspecting Kareim. “From an assassin in the crowd to an army of them, to the Grim Reaper himself waiting to have a go at us. But then again, if Kareim is in on it, why is he so afraid? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“He doesn’t mean shit to the people he’s serving. If somebody sent assassins, they won’t stay their hands on his account.”
“The people he’s serving? Bastard only serves himself.”
“Yes, but he secured powerful allies in order to get what he wants—great magical powers. Allies that don’t give a damn whether he makes it out of his own schemes alive or not.”
“Then the solution is simple. We don’t take any breaks, and we go straight for the northern forests, and the Palace.”
“We can’t decide on any solution until we know exactly what we’re up against. I say we do the contrary. We stay in Edinburgh for the night. Whatever the threat, better to catch it here than give it a chance to catch us in the Caledonian forests.”
Draven falls back to the rear of the group, where he can keep a closer eye on Kareim.
I round the corner, and lead us to what used to be my regular inn back in the old days—the very old days. I push the door open to the boisterous interior of the ground floor pub, the firelight casting a pleasant, cozy glow over the room. Edinburgh is permanently dark and often rainy, so one is always bound to find a fire burning in the hearth.
The place hasn’t changed at all. Not that I would have expected it to, not if the undercover fire fae McTarvish is still running it. The pub is packed not only with supernaturals but also parahumans—which is what Cerys is. As an energy channeling worker back when I met her, she didn’t quite fit in with the witches and warlocks. She was just a special parahuman, stronger than normal humans, the kind of people that usually serve supernaturals as scholars or merchants or through their crafts. Many of them provide the magical items that witches, warlocks, and mages need.
But now that Cerys has allowed her true powers to flow into her, she’s becoming a real witch. Whether she’ll turn out a dark witch or a white one depends on the choices she’ll make, which I’ll support no matter what.
Everybody falls silent as the doors fall shut behind us. Whatever threat is looming for us in Edinburgh, it couldn’t have expected us to come here. Which means we’ll have to keep our eyes on all those who enter this place after us. We advance among the tables to the counter, where we find a plump boy frozen with a cloth and a wooden pint in his hand, his mouth open, one eye twitching.
I lean on my elbows against the counter, the wood cracking under my weight. The shadow pouring off of me retreats into my skin, and the rivulets of fire dampen down, giving me a more or less normal look, at least compared to the creature of hell that I appeared to be until a moment ago.
“House blend whiskey for all of us. Unless the ladies would prefer something else.” As if on cue, Cerys takes a seat by my side. The way she hoists herself onto that bar stool, her succulent body wrapped in that leather catsuit, it makes my cock rage in my pants. I position myself in such a way against the bar that it shields my erection.
Marayke takes the seat next to her, while Draven invites Kareim to take the one on my left. He does it with a grin, enjoying the look of suppressed terror on the bastard’s face. If I’m the target of whatever is hunting us, he’s now directly in its range, too.
“If the King of Flames ordered house blend whiskey, then it must be quite something,” Cerys replies, eyes on the boy. “I’ll try it.”
Marayke goes for the same, and Zestari, now seated by her side, takes one as well. She bends over the counter, her eyes on me. It’s not like women haven’t given me bedroom eyes openly before, but no one since the entire world found out about Cerys. No matter what the situation is between us, we’re still bonded mates, and Zestari’s attentions are starting to get on my nerves.
“By the high realms. That really the King of Flames?” It’s McTarvish, the barrel-chested, red-bearded innkeeper, coming out of the back, carrying a box of bottles. He sets it down on the floor, and it looks like he’s going to throw himself over the counter and give me a hug, but no. He knows better than that. He bows, but his small dark eyes glimmer from under bushy, red eyebrows with all the knowledge he has about my past dealings. Hardly anyone in Edinburgh knows more about me than him- He and I go way back, but we both know better than to express too close kinship considering the circumstances.
“Yer Highness,” he greets, his voice hoarse and heavy. “Didnae think I’d see ye here in these troubled times. Big surprise.”
“It’s been too long, McTarvish.” I motion toward Cerys by my side. “So long that I got married in the meanwhile.” I try to sound bitter and hostile, which sends tension through Cerys’ body.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she says, her entire demeanor worthy of a queen who is keeping a steel grip over her feelings.
“Honored, Yer Highness.” McTarvish bows to her, barely daring to look her in the face. He redirects his attention to me as he straightens up, as if he were feeling more secure in the rapport, as if his lingering attention on my wife would offend me in some way. “But I’ve heard about the wedding. Everyone here has. Found yer faeted mate, ay?”
I look over my shoulder, taking in the wary, but intensely curious faces around us. Many are still frozen with pints in their hands, but some have started to move again, if only to make it look like they don’t have their entire attention trained on us.
“Yes, I suppose news travels fast.”
McTarvish leans slightly over the counter as he pours whiskey in glasses. “As did the news that you tried to take over all the realms, and that you created an army of Undead Fae. Many a fae last seen staggering into a dark alleyway on a Friday night in Edinburgh wasnae seen again.”
My eyes snap back to him as I pick up on it—the hint of reproach in his tone. He meets my eye, but fails to hold my gaze, letting it drop to the glasses. I can sense Draven’s attention set on them. Now that he’s instructed the guards to keep an inconspicuous eye on the door, and keep tabs on everyone coming in, he has shifted his focus to possible poisoning maneuvers.
“Things weren’t like that,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “McTarvish, you know me better than that. And to be honest, I’m getting sick and tired of all this. Until recently I didn’t give a fuck what people thought about me. The people that I sacrificed everything for to keep them safe from cosmic behemoths, they came to see my folk and me as monsters because of it. I had learned to live with the ungratefulness, and my people would repress their urge to hurt those they protected for the injustice more often than I should have asked them to. I never cared to set the record straight, but now I do. Now, something really big is at stake.”
I lean in closer, pinning McTarvish with my stare.
“I didn’t create the army of Undead by taking the lives of innocent fae. Those who’ve been transformed were dead fae, mostly fire fae that had died at the hands of the army of Chaos. Many
of them had been tortured and mutilated. It’s them that I brought back to life, and yes, the magic required is dark and dangerous.” I look over my shoulder, my eyes sweeping over the entire pub. “In the hands of a regular witch, warlock or even mage, that kind of magic would be deadly. Unfortunately, my High Mage, who helped me with the process, was killed during the wars with Lysander. Lysander banished me at the end of our war, but soon I recovered my powers, with the Queen’s help. In the process, I stepped on Samael’s toes, the Archangel of Death. He unleashed the entire Hell on us, but at the last moment we got support he didn’t expect.”
I return my eyes to McTarvish, who listens intently. “I trust you’ve heard about the developments after that. I hear it’s the new big headline out there.”
“Ay. Ye and the King of Frost are now allies.” I can tell he represses an incredulous scoff. “Everybody kens that, but no one kens how ye managed to secure such an alliance.”
I look at Cerys, and she returns my gaze, which is enough for McTarvish to understand. It feels good, giving her what she deserves—the credit for having achieved the impossible, for getting Lysander on our side.
“That is a long story, one for another time,” I say. “What matters is that this alliance meddled with Samael’s plans. He didn’t take the defeat lightly, and now he’s taken things to a new level.”
McTarvish’s eyes flick over to Cerys.
“I must warn you, Milord. People are blaming her for the turn things took. For the Council’s involvement, I mean. An extraordinary meeting always has dire consequences for the people. New laws are instituted, old laws harder enforced.”
“Well, people are wrong.” My fist tightens on the counter. “All this started because of me. I did something at the Cemetery of Doom that attracted Samael’s wrath.”
McTarvish and my guards step away from me. I realize that fire cracked my skin again, shadow rising from my body, and I can even feel the dark souls that Cerys channeled into me at the Cemetery of Doom start a whirl deep within me. I pull all of it back, my fist relaxing.
“But the Queen did betray—” Kareim starts.
“We’re not here to discuss old betrayals,” I cut him off. “We’d be wasting precious time. McTarvish, now that we’ve gotten your fears and second thoughts out of the way—I hope—let us discuss accommodation for the night.”
“Accommodation, Milord?” McTarvish raises his bushy eyebrows. “But, ye barely just started on yer quest. And if I remember correctly, ye don’t sleep much.”
“No, but the portal left us much farther away from the Palace of Realms than we expected, and my companions need to be well-rested for the journey.”
“Milord, the town is packed with companies from all the realms. It’s worse than in festival days. There’s not a room available in all of Edinburgh.”
It begins to dawn on me what he’s doing. “Are you refusing us accommodation?”
“I would never refuse ye anything, Milord.” His eyes meet mine and, in a moment, they manage to convey volumes. This is a covert warning. “I’m just telling ye—there are many here already, on their way to the Palace of Realms. Their portals brought them only as far as Edinburgh, too. Hotels and inns are full.”
Draven and I glance at each other. That means the threat could be coming from everywhere. It could even be the Grim Reaper. In the end, the Lord Protector of the human world was invited as well, and he’s the one the other realm leaders turn to whenever they want a powerful enemy struck down. Not to mention that the Grim Reaper is immediately subordinate to Samael, the Archangel of Death. He and I have crossed paths—and blades—before.
“I’m sure that, for good old times’ sakes, you’ll find a way to keep my people here for the night,” I say. “I don’t need to rest. I can stay here in the pub all night, Duke Draven can as well. But the Queen—”
“And the Queen remains his first concern despite her betrayal,” Zestari whispers close to Kareim. She migrated over to his side, thinking I wouldn’t notice, but I can hear every breath around us.
I can’t let her see that I’m still deeply devoted to Cerys. She and Kareim must remain convinced that she and I are separated, and that resentment and discord are aglow between us.
“The rest of our men will take the attic, if that’s all you have,” I conclude. “We’ll only need a proper room for the Queen and her companion, Marayke. As for Zestari.” I turn to the courtesan. “I may not need sleep, but I might find myself in the mood for a different kind of comfort tonight.” I walk over to her, watching her eyes grow big with each heavy step. I grip her chin and hold up her face to me. “The kind of comfort that you can provide.”
The courtesan is so stunned that she can’t speak, but even though I’m looking down at her face, I’m sharply aware of Cerys’ eyes boring holes into my back.
“I suppose I could offer you two rooms, but one of them is my own, and the other is the room I always keep for my daughter.” McTarvish says. “She’s rarely here. I can sleep in the attic with your people.”
“Very well then,” I reply. “The Queen and Marayke will take the room you keep for your daughter, and Zestari will take yours. Duke Draven and I will stay here. We need to plan for the journey ahead anyway.”
McTarvish shows us to a table in the corner by the fireplace where we’ll have privacy. Everybody’s attention is still on us, and the separate table won’t shield us from prying eyes, but it will make eavesdropping hard. The table is too close to the fire for anybody besides us to feel comfortable, plus the clinking and talking in the pub will make an effective buffer.
I watch Cerys being escorted up the stairs towards a room on the first floor. Her eyes meet mine as I sit down at the table, and she stops in front of the door.
“Funny that McTarvish should keep such a good room always free, on a chance that his daughter might appear,” Kareim says as he tries to settle into his seat at the table, which proves tricky because of his elaborate garment and the staff that he insists on keeping in his hand. “Considering that the city is filled to the brim with travelers from all realms spending the night.”
“McTarvish’s daughter is married to a lord of Tartarus,” Draven explains dispassionately. “Now she only visits one week a year, which could be any week. She never announces, so he never rents out the room.”
Draven waits for me to confirm what he just said, but my attention is fixed on Cerys. There’s a jealous promise in her eyes before she walks into the room, and the door falls shut behind her.
“I think it’s safe to rule out Lysander as the one who wants you dead,” Draven says as McTarvish makes his way over with food and more whiskey. “He is on our side now, and he seemed pretty honest in his declarations before he left the Fire Realm.”
“We can rule him out, but not his allies,” I counter. “There are those who don’t see our new alliance with fond eyes.”
I scowl at Kareim.
“If anyone should have a good idea who might want to have us killed before we get to the Palace of Realms, it’s our High Mage,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Me? Milord, I’m offended. In fact, we should probably ask Queen Cerys—”
“I’m not implying disloyalty. You are the High Mage. You could use your divination skills to help us see through this.”
He swallows hard, redirecting his attention to the food and drink. I grin to myself. This will keep him busy for the night. He doesn’t have the skills necessary for divination, but putting him in a difficult situation will keep him busy, and get his attention off of us. Besides, it means getting rid of him, and giving Draven and me the privacy we need. I’m going to let him in on my secret. I have to share with him the fact that Cerys is innocent, as he always suspected she was. He trusted her when even I didn’t.
“I know you need your peace and quiet for that process,” I press on with Kareim. “Take the attic with the guards, they’ll be quieter than the drunkards down here.”
He opens his mouth to protest,
but then changes his mind.
“As you wish, Milord,” he says uncomfortably, reaching out to the guards he always keeps around himself to help him up from his chair. One of them remains standing as the other escorts him to the stairs and up to the attic.
“Milord, with respect,” he says. “I don’t need to rest. I can to guard the Queen’s door. From there I can keep an eye on the pub entrance as well, and watch for anyone suspicious.”
“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary,” I reply softly, in a tone the guards aren’t used to hearing from me, but that I know does this man good right now. “Duke Draven and I will watch the Queen’s room, we have a good view from here. We’ll keep our eye on the entrance, too, we have the best possible angle. Besides, if anyone needs close watching, it’s the High Mage.”
He retreats with a bow, giving Draven and me much needed privacy.
“He won’t be able to divine anything, you know that, right?” Draven hisses. “Kareim Velduros doesn’t actually have magical powers. As your closest advisor I suggest that you revise the old laws that High Mages be succeeded by their offspring.”
“Our last High Mage lived for thousands of years, I never stopped to think what would happen in the eventuality of his death. One of the many things that I should have given more attention to, but the wars left little room for that.” I down the glass of whiskey, preparing to tell him the truth.
“Besides,” I continue. “This way Kareim will be forced to lead us in the right direction, even though he’d love to do just the opposite. He won’t have to use his magical powers, just his real knowledge.”
“What? I don’t understand,” Draven says with a frown.
“It’s Kareim Velduros that betrayed me to Samael. And he most probably knows exactly who is after us.”
“What?”
I tell him the story, all the while not looking at him, but at the entrance. A few fae and shifters come in, warlocks and witches, parahumans looking to unwind after a long day at their shops, but none of them emits the energy that it would take to harm even a hair on my head. I can’t sense murderous intent either, so they’re not the threat Kareim was desperately checking our surroundings for.