Fae King's Vengeance (Court of Bones and Ash Book 4)

by Layla Harper

  Aelinor stomps toward me but stops several feet away, almost as if she doesn’t trust herself not to slit my throat if she steps any closer.

  Yeah, I really, really need to work on my delivery.

  “Put her in the cage,” she orders the fire creature closest to me.

  The male lifts me off the ground, surprisingly gentle for a seven-foot-tall enemy demon, and lowers me into the crate’s interior.

  I choke back the nausea squeezing the air from my throat and wisely keep my mouth shut. I’ve got to start acting more human than fae if I hope to make it out of this hellhole alive.

  “Not so haughty now, human? Not so proud, are you?” Aelinor’s chest heaves. Magic streams from her body in all directions, poisoning the air in a virulent spiral.

  I scuttle backward until the cage’s wall prevents me from going any farther.

  “Do you think yourself clever?” She folds her arms. “Twice now, my little rabble-rouser, you have flamed my ire. Do you know it took me days to realize your escape into Drengskador was actually a blessing from the gods and not a plan gone awry? Up until the moment he encountered you in the woods, my cousin had thwarted my every attempt to isolate him from his kingdom.

  “Now look at the mighty King Rogar, teetering on the precipice of defeat. Alone in a distant continent, his army out of reach, heartbroken over the loss of his second and surely my betrayal. His closest ally? A band of mercenaries whose loyalty he will undoubtably question after Magda’s defection. The male is days away from losing everything, whereas I am about to gain all I have ever wanted.

  “Because of you.”

  Me?

  Unease seeps into my gut.

  The demon returns with Ilearis and deposits her carefully beside me. He closes the gate, his partner watching silently from outside the opposite end of the cage. There’s no lock, of course. At least not one visible to human eyes, anyway.

  “Sleep well, human. If you can.” She smirks and then disappears through an opening behind the dais.

  The double doors to the throne room open, and fae begin streaming in.

  The chains attached to the cage grate against the pulley as the guards raise us ten or so feet into the air—just high enough to miss the long reach of a wayward demon’s arm. Once the chains are secured to the anchor embedded in the wall, the demon guards take two seats at the nearest table.

  Half-fae servants enter carrying huge trays of food, depositing two to three per table. Within minutes, the hall is full, and we’re trapped like two birds above a rowdy and raucous circus. While a trio of goblins plays music from one corner of the room, food and drink are consumed in large quantities.

  In no time, Aelinor’s mercenaries go from talking loudly to brawling to actively engaging in orgy-style sexual exploits that make this girl blush and reposition myself to shield my poor eyes from things no human should witness publicly.

  And horror of all horrors, the audio is ten times worse.

  Ilearis stirs.

  The cage sways as I attempt to drag my body over the few inches separating us. She opens her eyes and shoves into a sitting position.

  I reach out to her. “Did she hurt you? Are you okay?”

  Ilearis lifts a slim shoulder in a gesture I take to mean “I’m as good as I can be given our shitty circumstances” and then leans right to look past my shoulder.

  “No.” I wave her off. “What’s happening in this room is not appropriate for someone your age.” Or mine, apparently.

  Ilearis points to her temple.

  “Headache?”

  She shakes her head, twirls a forefinger between us, and then points to her temple again. Her hand moves to her mouth, gestures to mine, then sweeps up to her hairline.

  “I hate to tell you this, kid, but you’re stuck in a cage with a human who royally sucks at charades. And clearly I’m no mind reader either.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “What?” She gestures for me to go on. “Charades?” No. “Human.” Another no. “Mind reader?” Enthusiastic nod.

  I frown.

  What is she hinting at?

  On more than one occasion in the past, Rowena had warned of fae who “reap” minds. Could one be nearby?

  I scan the crowd, my gaze skipping over the many clusters of naked, fornicating fae, because there’s no way they could be doing that and trying to hack into my—

  I angle my head. Holy cow. Fae are… flexible.

  Ilearis tugs on my arm. The movement triggers a sharp pain in my side where I’d hit the metal grids earlier. Between my swollen knees and the bruises popping up everywhere else, sitting upright is challenging at best.

  “Are you telling me there’s a mind reader nearby?”

  She takes my hands. A trickle of power brushes my palm. I start to pull away, but Ilearis’s grip tightens.

  What is she trying to tell me?

  “Magic?”

  She nods.

  My gaze drops to the slim fingers clutching mine. “Magic between us?”

  She nods again and releases my hands.

  “So the—” I look around, then mouth, “vessel thing?” With the moans and groans and yells reaching ear-splitting levels, I doubt even enhanced fae hearing can detect our conversation, but I’m not taking any chances speaking that word out loud.

  Not here.

  Ilearis waves me off with a slightly horrified expression.

  “Whew.” I smile. “You had me worried there for a minute.”

  She folds her hands, tapping her fingertips against her thumb repetitively.

  “Talking? Like in a conversation?”

  Pointing and another nod.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. So talking.”

  Ilearis touches her temple and then wags a finger between us.

  Oh… “Oh. You want us to talk telepathically?”

  A relieved nod is my answer.

  I have zero psychic ability. “How?”

  Her hand hovers over mine, and when her magic skates over my skin, I fight the urge to pull away. “I don’t know.” My pulse skips. “Given what we are, it’s probably not a wise idea, Ilearis.”

  Shoulders slumped, she lowers her gaze, seeming to stare at the glass floor beneath us. When those expressionless brown orbs circle back to me, they shimmer with tears.

  I sigh. The sadness she can’t express suffocates the last of my protests. This poor kid. Reeling from possibly losing the only mother she’s ever known, then this nightmare, I can’t imagine how scared she must be. And my inability to communicate with her can’t be helping the situation any either.

  “Aelinor didn’t completely drain you of magic, did she?”

  Her lips form the word no. She points to the wall.

  “You”—wall, walled?—“shielded yourself from her?”

  She twists her hand in a so-so pattern. Leaning forward, she turns her head and bends the pointy tip of her right ear. A small tattoo lies hidden near her hairline. I’m guessing a protection spell of some sort. Rowena wouldn’t leave her child unprotected.

  “I won’t lie. The possibility of a repeat of what happened at the portal worries me.” I shift my weight with a groan and straighten my left leg, which seems to have taken the brunt of the fall. If I remember correctly, Ilearis responded to the magic I’d consumed, not the other way around. In Lithyr, I’d felt her power, but it’d made me sick and nothing more.

  I can’t deny that the ability to communicate with her is vital to our escape, and if we can do it secretly, hidden from Aelinor, all the better.

  The pros seem to outweigh the cons.

  “Okay,” I concede.

  Her face lights up.

  “But we have to do this quickly,” I warn. Below, several of the satiated fae are dressing while a few others make their way outside.

  Ilearis reaches for my right hand, turning it over so the slave mark faces up. She presses her thumbnail into the center of the tattoo, over the heart of the concentric circles, and pushes the tip int
o my flesh until blood oozes to the surface. Surprisingly, I don’t flinch, my pain sensors overridden by everything else currently wrong with my body.

  Using my blood, she draws symbols over my hand, lines and arrows and shapes I don’t recognize. Heat spreads, coating the tattoo with an icy fire.

  Ilearis closes her eyes. Creases form between her brows and along her forehead, and when her hand hovers over the bloody area, energy vibrates, pulsing over my skin and raising the hair over my entire body.

  The cool sensation that permeated the mark morphs into a blazing inferno, like someone just took a hot poker to my flesh. The center of the smallest circle fills completely with a red so dark it looks black.

  I grind my teeth. Fuck, that hurts.

  “The pain will lessen.”

  “Holy shit. Ilearis? Is that you?” Of course it’s her. Who else would it be? “You have such a sweet-sounding voice.” Oh my God… does this work both ways?

  “Can you hear me?”

  “I can.” She giggles. “You sound very different in my head.”

  “I hope that’s different in a good way and not like a chipmunk high on helium,” I tease.

  “Yes, good, but I do not understand heel-e-um.”

  “Helium is a gas.” This is so unbelievably cool. “Is this ability permanent?”

  “For the life of the rune, yes.” Ilearis glances to the door Aelinor passed through. “If she discovers our ruse, she will be angry.”

  “Let’s not worry about her right now. Can we get out of here?” The walls are seamless. I don’t see a single groove or point of weakness, and despite the transparency of the glass, I can’t see through to outside. “Is it breakable?” Maybe when the hall empties, we can tunnel a hole large enough for us to climb out.

  But then what?

  Sneak through an army of scary drunken fae warriors to scale a fifty-foot curtain wall into the desert?

  Ilearis shrugs. “Magic is woven into the building. I cannot break it.”

  “So we’ll have to escape the old-fashioned way.” I turn my attention to the two fire demons who’d raised the cage. They haven’t moved from the table, nor participated in any of the revelry happening around them. They eat silently, watching the proceedings while occasionally glancing up in our direction.

  If I can’t break through the physical walls Aelinor erected to lock us in, then I’ll need to search for the invisible barriers. Beginning with those two. The offer of sanctuary is a powerful motivator in Faerie, especially for two slaves who lost their freedom in one realm and are now forced into servitude in another.

  “Do you think my mother lives?”

  My heart stalls. “Rowena is one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. She’ll get through this. Rogar will do everything in his power to ensure she survives.”

  “I cannot feel her. She did not wish for her enemies to use a rune to find me if we became separated.”

  I turn myself around until we’re side to side, my back pressed against the metal bars, and wrap an arm around her slender shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I don’t know how, but it’s a promise I intend to keep.

  Ilearis rolls up her sleeve, exposing a small butterfly-shaped marking at her wrist. “This rune will protect against what happened at the portal. I—”

  She glances up, and somehow the same blank expression she wears every day seems filled with regret and shame. “I did not mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s over. Besides, neither of us were in control at the time.”

  She rubs a finger over the marking. “It is fresh. From this morning.” A tear slips down her cheek. “Without it, I would not have been able to shield myself from the wizard.”

  From Aelinor.

  “My barriers will weaken as her magic grows.”

  “Then we’ll figure a way out of here before that happens.”

  “How?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? But don’t worry. I might have a plan.” My gaze falls to the fire demons rising from the table.

  “She lied. Sersha is alive.”

  Then maybe Gauron wasn’t taken prisoner.

  Unless they’re both here?

  Could it be?

  “Are you linked to Sersha?”

  “Her life force is very weak, but she is not dead. Rowena feared one of the king’s advisors was working against the high queen. Sersha was to stay with Gauron—”

  “While your mom stuck to Rogar to observe Aelinor. And me?”

  “No. Not you. She said your heart was too soft for treachery.”

  “Too soft?” I guffaw and give Ilearis a tight squeeze. “I should be insulted, you know, but one day soon, the minstrels will sing of my ruthless heroics, and when that day comes, I will enjoy—no, I’ll savor the shock on your mother’s face when she’s forced to eat her words.”

  Ilearis giggles against my shoulder. “She will not give you the satisfaction you seek.”

  Smiling against her hair, I respond, “We’ll see about that, missy.”

  We’re silent for a moment or two, listening to the cacophony of sounds rising from below.

  “Her magic is very dark.” A shudder runs through her slim body. “Drawing upon a being’s life force is dangerous. It brings more than power. With it comes their fears, their unrealized potential, the events that have scarred their souls, and over time she will not be able to separate those memories from her own.”

  Making her one very powerful yet highly unstable adversary.

  Ilearis spreads her small fingers against the bottom of the cage. “The energy of the dead hangs heavy in this place.”

  “I know. I feel it too.” An oily ripple that leaves me feeling unclean.

  A laugh draws my gaze. The fire demons stand directly below, one at each corner of the crate. A group of mercenaries have gathered, neck’s craned, staring at the cage with a mix of hunger and lust. A goblin on the left side, bare chested with his shirt clasped in a gnarly hand, slithers behind his brethren, heading right, and then quickly pivots to the wall where the chain is anchored.

  The taller of the two demons thrusts his sword at the goblin’s neck, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

  The creature backs away without argument, but not before he catches my eye. His teeth flash in the semblance of a grin, nostrils flaring when he lifts his nose in the air.

  I hold Ilearis tighter. “Try to sleep. Tomorrow we formulate a plan to get us out of here, okay?”

  And soon, before Aelinor’s army steps over a boundary even she can’t fix.

  3

  Rogar

  For weeks, the promise of the high queen’s aid fueled my drive to the western hemisphere, and despite the obstacles thrown in our path, I charged ahead relentlessly, set on the hope that Queen Menora would remove Kyra’s mark and free her from the dark magic binding her to this plane.

  But now?

  Now the last thread of that hope has been stripped from my heart. I am…

  Broken.

  Raw.

  Flayed.

  Kyra is gone, taken from me. Gauron is most likely dead. My army is days away, if not more, and I have less than a fortnight to launch an attack against the one fae I have trusted for most of my life.

  Aelinor.

  I lift the jug of goblin brew to my lips and swallow its fiery contents. I look out to the quiet camp, embers all that remain of several homes in the distance. This is where faith led me.

  To destruction.

  I push off the bench set outside the makeshift shelter Frinhol insisted I take after we converted the large pavilion to an infirmary. My ancestors showed no mercy. They did not let elf politics into their ranks. They did not attempt to bridge the differences between our races. There was negotiation and justice. Nothing more. Orcs took. Conquered. Punished.

  I pause, guzzling more of the brew, the bitter taste rolling over my tongue. Orcs held to the notion that for a chieftain
to rule effectively, he should not feel. He should not allow himself to be ruled by emotion. By desire. By want.

  I—

  I have lost her.

  My mate. My càirdeil. My Kyra.

  I stumble, right myself, and squint, peering into the darkness. Aelinor’s magic left no trace Frinhol’s mage could track.

  But I know where she took my female. I know the justice she seeks.

  A soul for a soul.

  I itch to rage. To roar my anger and frustration. Instead, I push aside the flap to the infirmary and make my way to the chair beside Rowena’s cart. The norn’s injuries are substantial. Frinhol’s healer worked most of the day tending them.

  Now we wait.

  I lower myself into the chair beside her and swill more brew. “We were able to stop the fires from spreading. The damage was restricted to the outskirts of the camp.” I rub my sternum. “As were most of the injured and dead.” On the other side of my chair lies the greatest general of all time.

  Waur.

  I scrub my face with the hand not holding the jug. “We have sent for a healer specializing in the dark arts, but I hold no hope he will survive,” I tell Rowena. Or Waur. Perhaps both. “This is my cousin’s doing. I know it like I know my own hand. If Waur lives, it is because he clings to his oath to the queen.”

  A queen who may have betrayed us all.

  Cursed fates, when will this bloody brew numb the blasted hole in my chest?

  “I will invoke the Accord of Sannhet, offering myself in exchange for Kyra and your daughter. But I—”

  Cannot guarantee their safety.

  A fact that slays me.

  The amber liquid sloshing against the sides of the decanter does little to soothe the bitterness chaffing my throat.

  “Ceasg.”

  The word is spoken so softly it takes me a moment to register the sound.

  She’s awake?

  I gulp and cough, the brew spewing out of my mouth. I am not so drunk that I am hearing things, am I?