Prince of Air and Darkness

by Jenna Black

  Still struggling with the tears, Kiera hardly noticed being guided into her mother’s living room, or sitting on the sofa with Jackson beside her, or Phantom leaping up on the sofa on her other side and putting his head in her lap.

  Taking slow, deep breaths, she absently scratched behind the dog’s ears as her mother disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a cup of tea. Kiera took a sip, yearning for some warmth to thaw the ice that had formed in her chest and belly. Phantom sighed dramatically now that she was no longer scratching his ears, and that sound wrenched a part of her mind back into reality. She blinked and looked down at him, remembering that the head in her lap wasn’t really a dog’s.

  “So,” Jackson said, “that’s the, uh, phooka, right?”

  Kiera’s mother gave her a reproving look and another piece of her self seemed to snap back into place. “Jackson knows everything,” she said, then looked at Phantom once more. “Will you cut the lovable pooch act?”

  He sat up on the couch and gave her a doggie grin, though when she noted the expression in his eyes, she wondered how she could ever have mistaken him for a real dog. Kiera put her tea down and met Phantom’s intelligent gaze.

  “Any chance you can prove to Jackson that I haven’t gone entirely insane? He’s being awfully understanding about things, but I know he must have doubts.”

  Phantom raised one eyebrow—something she couldn’t ever remember seeing a dog do before—then turned a questioning gaze to her mother, who shrugged.

  “I can’t think of any reason why you shouldn’t,” she said, then turned her own questioning glance on Jackson. “You’re not going to faint dead away or anything, are you?”

  “I might,” he said cheerfully, looking a little wild-eyed. “But you can always revive me.”

  His eyes suddenly widened even more, and Kiera turned to see Conan sitting beside her. The phooka’s gaze was kindly compassionate as he looked at her.

  “Tell us what has happened,” he urged.

  By the time Kiera had spit out the whole story—her cheeks burning, for it was distinctly uncomfortable to talk about her sex life with her mother and two men—the look in the phooka’s eyes was anything but kindly.

  “He will die for this,” he said in a voice so cold it sent chills down her spine.

  Jackson cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. “Uh, I think maybe he’s not guilty.”

  Conan bared his teeth and glared, but Kiera put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. “Let him talk,” she insisted.

  Jackson rubbed his hands up and down his pants legs. “Here’s the thing: he called me and asked me to get Kiera safely here, where she’s, uh, protected by wards or something.”

  “Far too little, far too late,” Conan snarled.

  “But that’s not all.” Jackson reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of envelopes, one of which was unmarked, and one of which had Kiera’s name written across the front. “He gave me these, and he said I should open this one,” here he held up the unmarked envelope, “when Kiera was under the safety of your roof.”

  Kiera’s mother reached out and snatched the envelope neatly from Jackson’s hand, sliding her finger under the flap and tearing it open in two quick flicks. She pulled the letter out and read it, her eyes darting quickly across the page. Kiera held her breath and reached for Jackson’s hand, needing the anchor to reality. To her surprise, Conan took her other hand, his grip firm and sure.

  After an eternity, her mother refolded the letter and let her hands fall into her lap.

  “What is it?” Kiera cried, unable to keep silent any longer.

  “I think Jackson’s right and Hunter’s not guilty,” her mother said, and Kiera gasped. “He’s going back to Faerie tonight. Probably he’s gone already.” She gave Kiera a heartbreaking look. “He’s going to try to assassinate the Queen.”

  Kiera tried to shoot to her feet, but as both Conan and Jackson had hold of her hands she didn’t go anywhere. “What? Why?”

  “Remember what I told you about the Unseelie Queen?”

  Kiera groaned. “This is no time for a quiz, Mom. Just tell me.”

  “She’s an elemental being clothed in flesh. It was that flesh that gave birth to Hunter. If he kills her and forces her into a new body, he will no longer be her son by blood, and the child you carry will not be of the royal bloodline.” She held up the letter once more. “He says that if he destroys that blood link, the Queen will no longer want the child.”

  “But . . . but that’s crazy!” Kiera sputtered. “Surely it can’t be that easy to kill her. And even if he succeeds . . .” Her voice died, for she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.

  “Even he succeeds, he’ll be doing so in the depths of the Unseelie Court, and there will be no escape for him,” Conan finished for her.

  “We have to stop him.” She tried once more to rise, but Conan and Jackson both tightened their grips on her hands. “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “Kiera, sit down,” her mother said in a voice of quiet command, and the fight went out of her. “Even if you could have done something to stop him, it’s too late now. He’s arranged to give himself a head start we can’t overcome.”

  Kiera hadn’t thought she could possibly feel worse than she had earlier. She hadn’t for a moment allowed herself to consider the possibility that Hunter was telling the truth. True, the evidence had been damning, but she could at least have listened to him.

  But what could he have said that she would have believed? How could words have erased her fear that she’d acted like a starry-eyed fool?

  “I was so awful to him.”

  Jackson put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You had good cause to doubt him,” he soothed. “No one could possibly blame you for it.”

  “I can blame me,” she retorted. Logic might have told her Hunter had betrayed her, but her heart should have told her otherwise. She shouldn’t have needed him to undertake a quest that led to certain death to convince her to at least hear his side of the story.

  Jackson put the other letter into her hand, his voice barely making it through her consciousness. “Maybe you should read this now,” he said.

  She took the letter, staring at her neatly printed name with dread. “I don’t know if I can bear to read it,” she whispered.

  “He’s not angry with you, Kiera,” Jackson insisted. “He understands why you didn’t trust him. I’m confident that isn’t an angry letter you’re holding.”

  She didn’t answer. It wasn’t an angry letter she feared. Anger she would welcome, for it was her due. But she knew that wasn’t what she’d find in this letter, knew Hunter would shame her with his calm and steady acceptance of her behavior. She had thought herself betrayed; but it was she who betrayed him by not trusting him, by not at least giving him a chance to explain. Her hand clenched around the letter, crumpling the paper in the middle.

  “I need to be alone when I read this.”

  Three sets of eyes bored into her. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter, her eyes dry for the first time in hours. Hunter was knowingly subjecting himself to far more pain than she could imagine. Surely she could stand to subject herself to the pain of reading his final words to her.

  Her mother nodded and stood. “All right. Let’s get you settled in your room. I’ll bring you another cup of tea, and then Conan and I will strengthen the wards around all the doors and windows. If Hunter fails, we’re in for quite a siege.”

  In a daze, Kiera allowed her mother to guide her up the stairs to her bedroom, Jackson following behind with her suitcase in hand. She sat on her bed and waited until her mother brought her the promised cup of tea and retreated. Then, she opened the envelope.

  Chapter 15

  Hunter felt strangely calm as he strapped the silver knife once more to his arm and pulled down his sleeve to cover it. He tried an experimental flick of his wrist, and the knife slid smoothly into his palm. The blade gleamed silv
er in the light, except at the very tip, where a spot of blood dulled the shine. Hunter had realized he would never be able to get near the Queen with an iron blade—the full-blooded fey would sense the iron on him and take it away—but even the most lethal strike from the silver blade couldn’t kill the Queen. He needed something more, and it was possible the drop of mortal blood Jackson had so generously donated would do the trick. He’d have preferred something more certain, but it seemed possible was the best he could do.

  Returning the knife to its sheath, he swept his apartment with one final, regretful glance. He had been happy here. At least, as happy as he’d ever been in his life. Despite everything, he was glad to have known that brief span of almost-happiness. He only wished Kiera had not had to suffer so in order for him to experience it.

  Telling himself not to look back, he slipped out the door. His nerves were too raw to allow him to wait for the elevator, so he went down the emergency stairs instead. He wasn’t really afraid, not as he should be, considering the torment he would face whether he succeeded or failed. But the enormity of the stakes was enough to overawe even him, and doubt plagued him.

  The Queen of Air and Darkness was anything but a fool. She knew he hated her, had known it from the moment she’d forced him to watch his father’s first flogging. He would try his hardest to keep that hatred well and truly hidden, but if the Queen should see a hint of the fury that burned within him, she would have him disarmed before allowing him to get within striking distance.

  The cold snap that had seized the city during November had now taken up permanent residence, and when Hunter stepped out into the night, the air bit into his cheeks. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the cold as he strode briskly down the street. Perhaps it would be sensible to hail a nice, heated cab to take him to Logan Circle, but he balked at the idea of holding still so long. Better to suffer the cold and keep moving.

  When he reached the city’s unique circular square, his feet were numb from the cold, as were his ears and the tip of his nose. His breath frosted the air before him as he let out a deep sigh. Once he set foot in Faerie, his decision would be irreversible. But Kiera and the child she carried were worth everything he was about to go through.

  His resolve firm and his mind calm, Hunter began walking briskly counterclockwise around the circle. On his ninth circuit, the lights and noise and cold of the city shimmered and disappeared.

  ****

  The Faerie circle at Logan Circle connected with Faerie in Seelie territory, so Hunter unsheathed his knife when he came through. The transportation left him dizzy, and he had to take a moment to regain his equilibrium. When his head cleared, a brief survey convinced him he was alone, so he re-sheathed the knife and started jogging toward the Unseelie border.

  He drew up short when he reached his destination. The border between Seelie and Unseelie was impossible to miss. On the Seelie side, the ground was carpeted with grass and ferns, leafy and green and lush. The trees grew straight and noble, their orderly branches letting the light of the moon filter through to the forest floor.

  On the Unseelie side, the ground was covered with dried-up bracken and thorn bushes. The trees twisted as though in agony, limbs misshapen and bulging with rot like open sores. The branches wove together overhead, as though the trees clung to each other for support, creating a near-impenetrable murk.

  Hunter’s heart quailed, the fear he had been so successfully holding at bay suddenly taking hold and shaking him by the scruff of the neck. His mind filled with images of his father, tied to the whipping posts, his back laid open, his eyes glazed with agony. His own flesh remembered the fierce bite of the lash, and he saw his mother watching his punishment with a cruel smile upon her lips.

  Kiera. He had to hold her in his mind, his shield against the fear. He took a deep breath, remembering her sweet face, remembering the quick smile and sparkling eyes. She had been willing to forgive all his lies and deceptions, to give him a second chance when he hadn’t deserved it. He would face anything, endure anything, to protect her and their child from the taint of the Unseelie Court.

  Hunter plunged into the Unseelie forest. It didn’t take long to encounter the first goblin patrol. They came at him out of the shadows, momentarily thinking him a Seelie spy. For once, he thanked the goblin love of cruelty, for instead of dispatching him quickly with an efficient knife-thrust, they knocked him down and bound him, meaning to “play” with him before killing him. When they turned him over onto his back and saw his face, they hastened to untie him.

  The goblin patrol groveled at his feet, begging his forgiveness. Although his mother had no love for him, Hunter was sure she would inflict a terrible punishment on the goblins for attacking him. Probably they deserved it. They had meant to torture him, after all, and had inflicted similar tortures on other helpless captives. But Hunter didn’t have it in his heart to subject anyone to the Queen’s discipline. He offered forgiveness—for which the goblins, while grateful, looked at him askance. Mercy and forgiveness were unheard of in the Unseelie Court.

  And so Hunter returned to his mother’s hall, surrounded by an entourage of goblins. He held his back straight and tall, his nerves now steady and calm, all his doubts cast aside. He focused all his energies on his mission, the mission he must not fail.

  As soon as he entered the palace, he dismissed the goblins, making his way through the obsidian halls to his suite. There he washed away the evidence of his tussle with the goblins and changed into his court attire of black leather edged with silver. His hair he pulled back and secured with a leather thong. Then he donned the thin silver circlet that his mother insisted he wear as a badge of his status.

  Garbed now as a true prince of the Unseelie Court, he was ready to face his final challenge.

  ****

  Kiera sat cross-legged on her bed, the folded letter in her shaking hand. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting like this, trying to work up the courage to unfold the page. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she finally opened the letter and beheld Hunter’s strangely antiquated handwriting.

  Dearest Kiera,

  I would give everything I have, and everything I am, not to have caused you the pain I know I’ve caused. No amount of wishing or remorse can change what I’ve done, but I will do everything in my power to keep you and our child safe.

  I want you to know that I don’t blame you for thinking I did it on purpose. You had good cause to distrust me, and the man you first met would have been guilty. But knowing you has changed me. You have taught me that it is possible to break away from my upbringing. Strangely, in this time when I know I am doomed, I have more hope than I’ve ever known before. You have saved me, and I owe everything I now am to you.

  I wish that I didn’t have to cause you any more pain. But I have to try my best to keep you and the baby safe from the Queen’s clutches, and I can’t think of any way to do it other than to kill her. The memory of the time I’ve spent in your arms will give me the strength I need to endure.

  Take good care of our child. I wish I could be there to see whether it’s a boy or a girl, and I wish I could be there to be a father. But I know our child will be very lucky to have you as a mother.

  I love you. I never thought to say those words to anyone, nor even to truly know what they meant. I know now, and my life is richer for having had you in it. Thank you for everything.

  All my love,

  Hunter

  By the time Kiera finished reading the letter, her face was once more drenched with tears. She wanted to launch an invasion of the Unseelie Court to get Hunter back. She wanted to go back in time and tell him how wrong she was to assume his guilt. She wanted desperately to hold him in her arms just one more time.

  But it didn’t matter what she wanted. Hunter was now out of her reach and there was nothing she could do to save him.

  ****

  A pair of goblins threw open the massive doors to the throne room, and Hunter ste
pped through. When he was halfway to the throne, he bent in a courtly bow, waiting as protocol demanded for the Queen to invite him closer. The silver blade still strapped to his wrist felt cold against his skin.

  “Rise, my son,” the Queen commanded, her inflection making the last word sound like an insult.

  Hunter rose as ordered. His mother sat on the ebony throne, the mink coat she had worn in the mortal world draped ostentatiously across the back of the chair. Her hair cascaded over the armrests and pooled on the floor on both sides of her. Her coldly beautiful face held a hawk’s smile as she looked him up and down.

  At her feet sat Bane, using a wicked-looking knife to sharpen his claws while pretending to ignore Hunter’s presence.

  “The mortal world has not agreed with you,” the Queen said. “You have bags under your eyes, and your color is not good.”

  “I’ve had little sleep, being otherwise occupied during the nights,” Hunter answered, hoping his voice still held the callous tone that had once come so naturally to him.

  The Queen laughed. “I’m so happy to hear that!” she cried. “I had been led to believe you were not enjoying the kind of success I had hoped for.”

  Bane finally raised his head and bared his teeth at him, but if he thought the sight of goblin teeth would intimidate Hunter he was sorely mistaken.

  “Perhaps you should have sent a more reliable observer. As you know, Bane and I are not overfond of one another, and perhaps it was his pleasure to misrepresent my actions and my success.”

  The Queen reached down and patted Bane’s head as though he were a dog. He seemed not to mind the insult, his whole being focused on the glare he directed at Hunter.

  “I have always found Bane to be quite reliable,” the Queen said, “and I am sure he would not willfully have misled me. But come, what are you doing back in Faerie? Have you come to tell me you have succeeded?”