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

by Layla Harper

After drying my hands, I lower myself onto the toilet seat to lace up my leather boots. My fingers curl around the portal stone, the cold weight heavy in my hand.

  I freeze.

  This is leverage.

  This is the solution I’ve been racking my brain over for the past half hour.

  Why didn’t I think of it before? I don’t have to convince Tirian of anything.

  I just have to guilt him.

  I drop the stone back into my boot and make my way out to the living room. There’s coffee waiting for me—thank you, Todd!—and two irate males staring at each other from across the coffee table.

  I sit beside Todd and sip the hot brew slowly. “God, I missed Dunkin.”

  Setting the mug down carefully so as to not damage Todd’s furniture, I retrieve the stone from my boot.

  “Recognize this?”

  Tirian sits forward. “You have my attention.”

  “You know how to activate the stone in order to return to Alfhemir, right?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “Good, because fuck your laws.”

  He starts to interrupt.

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “Rogar saved your life and lost his family in the process. I’d say we’re partially in this mess because of that debacle your queen had a hand in. Oh no.” I wave my forefinger back and forth. “I’m not done. Aelinor has Rogar. He’s in more peril than your queen. You own him a life debt, and as his mate, I’m calling you on it. You’re taking me back, and you’re helping me free my king.”

  I suck in a breath.

  No one says anything for a minute.

  Then Todd says, “Damn, girl. Can I be on your team?”

  I cock an eyebrow at Tirian. “Say no, you get no stone. I don’t care if you can freeze me to death. Use your magic against me to take what I am not willing to give you. Then you are as bad as Myrkur.”

  He flinches as if I’d physically slapped him.

  I don’t feel bad.

  Well, maybe just a tad.

  “Furthermore, say no, and you can get out of this apartment right now and walk the sixty or so miles to Boston. Good luck with that, by the way.”

  I won’t lie. I brace myself for the cold spell.

  But Tirian does the unexpected.

  He laughs.

  A freaking booming laugh that has Todd jumping off the couch and shushing the elf, muttering that his elderly landlady is going to kick his ass out onto the street if Tirian doesn’t shut the fuck up.

  The elf rises from the couch and gets down on his knee. He does the whole fist over heart thing that has Todd raising an eyebrow.

  “Kyra, mate of Rogar, king of the orcs, I accept your proposal.”

  19

  Kyra

  Snow falls amidst the rippling sound of the pond nearby. The leaves are bare, but in the summer this place is beautiful. It’s one of my favorite parks in the city. Hundreds of acres filled with hiking trails, biking paths, and of course the ponds.

  It was summer the last time we were all here. Sandy packed a picnic lunch because the woman never does anything half-assed, and while she attempted to deescalate a fight between her three kids over who would feed the last piece of bread to the quacking ducks, Todd and I clinked beer bottles and made a pact to never become parents.

  I’ll miss this place.

  And them.

  By the bittersweet look on Todd’s face, he’s thinking the same. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. “About Sandy—”

  “She can’t know about my situation. It’s not fair to her, and it isn’t fair for you to be the one to tell her.”

  Squinting, he looks over my shoulder to where Tirian awaits. “So, this is it?” His hazel eyes land on mine, and my heart hurts from the emotion caught in his features. “We’re never going to see you again. For real this time,” he adds with a smile.

  “Yeah,” I choke out and then rush forward to hug him.

  “I’m going to miss you, tall fry.”

  “And me you. Don’t worry about me, okay?” The words tumble out between sobs. I’m shedding tears all over his jacket. “Be happy. Live a great life.”

  “You too.” He pulls away, his eyes misty. He takes in the park surrounding us. “The next time I’m here with Sandy, we’ll think of you.” He touches my chin. “Stay safe and kick ass, Queen Kyra.”

  I watch him go.

  “We are not so different, are we?” Tirian muses.

  “No, we’re not.” I release a cleansing sigh and wipe my face before reaching into my boot and gripping the stone. “Let’s do this.”

  He gives me an amused look. “You fear I will break my word even after I gave you my oath?”

  Todd wasn’t kidding. Tirian’s face does look airbrushed. It should be a sin for any creature to have skin that flawless.

  “Color me cynical.” I shrug. “It’ll still work if I hold it, so what difference does it make?”

  “Touché.” He grins, takes my hand, and before I can brace myself, the bugger speaks the spell. And, as we’re hurtled between realms, I swear I hear him laugh.

  We’ll see who’s still laughing when I vomit on his boots.

  We land with a jolt, and hey, I don’t pass out. I do, however, fall to my knees and heave the MacNamara’s burger through a lung.

  Fuck.

  You’d think after what, five times now, my stomach would get on board with the program when it comes to portal travel.

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  I still, the threat in Tirian’s voice raising the hair on my arms. When I open my eyes, the reason becomes all too clear.

  We’re surrounded by eight guards with skin the color of pewter. Actually, everything about them is gray. Hair. Eyes. Armor.

  Shadows play off their skin.

  Shit.

  Night realm warriors.

  Well, this plan went south fast.

  On my feet, I slip the portal stone inside my boot for safekeeping. Tirian had told me before we left Todd’s that we’d be using an anchor inside the high queen fortress allocated to her closest advisors. Apparently sometime during his forced hiatus, his privileges were revoked.

  “Tirian?” a female voice calls out. “Prince Tirian, is that you?”

  The prince moves me away from the mess I made and whispers, “Kneel.”

  What?

  Two of the guards step aside to allow a woman through.

  Pressure on my arm forces me to my knees. “Bow,” Tirian grumbles in my ear.

  “Tirian, it is you.” The relief in her voice is obvious.

  “Queen Mother. I bear grave news for the high queen.”

  Sandaled feet approach. The pure white of her gown brings out the bronze sheen of her skin.

  “At ease,” she tells the guards, who immediately step back. “Rise, Prince Tirian. This is your home. And…”

  Oh boy. The pregnant pause can only mean she’s figured out what I am.

  “May I introduce Kyra, future queen of Drengskador.”

  I sense the woman’s hesitation. “Rogar’s mate?”

  I frown. Who else would I be?

  “Yes,” Tirian answers.

  “Welcome, Kyra.”

  And because I can’t think of a suitable substitution for “thank you,” I say nothing and get back to my feet.

  The elf assessing me with an odd glint to her gold eye is not only regal but gorgeous. She’s about an inch taller than me, slender, with honey blond hair twisted into a loose updo. But it’s her gaze that draws me. Sharp yet weighted, this woman has seen more than her share of sorrow.

  And survived.

  “Come, you must both be weary from your travels.”

  “Arwen, I must speak to Menora at once.”

  “I am afraid that is not possible, Tirian. My daughter is unable to speak. To anyone.”

  “She has been this way for three moon cycles. Shortly after your disappearance. We worried the same had befallen you.”

  The high queen lies in the center of a
massive bed, her jet-black hair fanned beneath her head. Her porcelain skin is pale and nearly the same shade of white as the soft sheets cushioning her body. She’s like a real-life Snow White, sans the glass coffin and seven dwarfs.

  “What happened to her?” I ask.

  “We do not know.” Arwen moves to the window and closes the drapes, insulating the room from the cool night air seeping through the glass panes. “She collapsed during a council meeting. By the time the healer arrived and Menora was brought to her chambers, the night army had descended upon the fortress.”

  “We are under siege?”

  Arwen shakes her head. “Quite the contrary, Tirian. They have contained the situation. Night realm mages wiped and rewrote memories and blocked communication from the council to their respective courts. Border wards deter visitation, and those who manage to cross are detained and sent home with no memory of their arrival.”

  The queen mother lowers herself onto one of the two chairs at the foot of the bed. Her gaze falls to her daughter. “Had word of her illness reached summer or spring, they would have converged upon us and killed your queen. The night realm saved Menora’s crown. But for how long?”

  She sighs. “Like all things fae, their magic comes with a cost. We have been shrouded in darkness, and I say that both figuratively and literally. The mist has hovered over the castle grounds since”—she gestures to the closed door to where a night realm guard stands watch on the other side—“they arrived. It snows, the suns fail to shine, and the air never warms. How I long to feel heat upon my skin.”

  Deep grooves form in the flawless skin above Tirian’s ice-blue eyes. “We have never been allied with the night court.”

  “We, no. Their allegiance is to Waur.”

  “Waur?” The fierce orc lying in the same catatonic state at Frinhol’s camp?

  That Waur?

  I glance at Tirian. The creases have deepened into yawning crevices.

  “I was told Waur served as a high general in the night court’s army before aligning with my daughter during the Reckoning. He earned the fealty of one of their kings. In the event Waur could not fulfill his duty to Menora, the night army pledged to carry out his oath until one of two conditions were met: Waur resumes his post, or, upon his death, another is sworn in his place.”

  Arwen stands and crosses her arms. Her right hand strokes her left bicep in a soothing pattern she probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing. “Waur is alive, but our locator spells fail to find him. And in our time of greatest need, our allies ignored our pleas for assistance. Both winter and Drengskador.”

  “Now that’s a lie,” I blurt at the same time Tirian says, “My father would do no such thing.”

  The coolness in Arwen’s gaze drops to arctic levels. “The orc king has repeatedly resisted the Furious Army’s appeals.”

  Are you freaking kidding me right now?

  “Because of your stupid laws.” I wear a hole in the marble floor with my pacing. “What would you do if it were your human mate? Risk a confrontation? Rogar has always been steadfast in his loyalty to the high queen. Always.”

  I tug my sweatshirt sleeve over my slave mark. I’m not giving this elf any more ammunition to use against Rogar. “Do have any idea what he’s sacrificed over the years for your daughter?”

  Again, she doesn’t answer.

  “Despite the rumors he heard about this place being under the night realm’s control—which, by the way, you might want to talk to your wraith-y friends about the bang-up job they’re doing containing rumors—he came here anyway to check things out for himself. Because he believes in her.” I gesture to the bed.

  “Oh? He came here? Had he presented himself at the gates, he would have been escorted inside without injury.”

  Suggesting A, I’m a liar, and B, Rogar’s a liar too.

  This has Aelinor written all over it.

  I suck in a breath and remind myself Arwen is a mother worried about her very sick daughter, but my brain struggles to listen to reason when I’m pissed.

  Tirian juts his chin in the queen mother’s direction. “Tell her.”

  Tell her?

  After the crap she just said?

  Arwen is silent, but she watches me with the same weird glint as before. Like she’s waiting for me to prove my worth.

  My gaze darts about the room before landing on the unconscious queen at the center of this drama.

  Queen Menora.

  Rogar believes in her.

  But is she worthy of his trust? Are any of these fae worthy of Rogar’s loyalty?

  Fuck, my head hurts.

  In the end, it doesn’t matter if they’re worthy or not. And it doesn’t matter if some royal fae’s words hurt my pride.

  All that matters is Rogar.

  I’m about to take another leap of faith. I cross my fingers and hope I don’t fall flat on my face.

  “Tell her,” Tirian prompts.

  “All of it?”

  “All of it.”

  So I do.

  Even the parts I’d left out before.

  20

  Kyra

  After my confession, Arwen freaks out. She grabs my hand and rushes out of Menora’s chamber, Tirian on our heels. We run—literally—from one room, to a tight hallway, and down not one but two narrow spiral staircases to a lower level of the castle.

  To a mage’s lab—er, chamber.

  “The room is warded,” she tells Tirian over my shoulder, because she’s still holding my hand. “We can speak without fear of being overheard.”

  At the end of a short hallway, she opens double doors into what I’m assuming is a suite. The main room is a work area with tables and shelves filled with books and glass jars that look remarkably like beakers.

  Herbs scent the air. Some are drying in clumps from the ceiling. Others are spread atop tables.

  Arwen drags us across the center of the room and up three steps to another large door. Still holding my hand, she uses her other to knock on the door.

  There’s shuffling, followed by a moan.

  No, more like a groan.

  I attempt to extricate my hand.

  The elf’s grip tightens. She pounds on the door with the flat side of her fist. “Tauriel, for the love of Ulda, show yourself.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I mouth to Tirian. I’m not embarrassed to admit I’m getting a little freaked out. I’d like my hand back, please.

  He shrugs. “I have never seen the queen mother so… spirited.”

  Spirited?

  That’s one way to describe whatever this is.

  The queen mother looks at me and then Tirian. “It should be Menora here.” She touches my face. “It should be my daughter speaking this truth. Come.” She leads us back into the main room.

  At a bench serving as a home for a number of miscellaneous papers and dried herbs, the queen mother swipes her hand over the surface, knocking everything to the ground. “Sit. We will wait for Tauriel here. She shall not be much longer.”

  The nervous smile she gives me sets off a hornet’s nest in my gut.

  Tirian and I watch Arwen pace.

  “Who’s Tauriel?” I ask him.

  “Menora’s mage.” He pauses. “And Arwen’s sister.”

  “She’s not going to turn me into a toad, is she?”

  Tirian laughs. “No. But bringing us here in light of what we have learned is rather peculiar.”

  “What is so important it cannot wait until morning?” a cranky voice asks, drawing my attention to the stairs.

  I do a double take.

  Not only is the voice identical to Arwen’s, but the face is too. But that’s where the similarities end. Where Arwen is graceful, Tauriel is a hot mess. Rumpled clothes, disheveled hair. Eyeglass marks on her nose and under her eyes like she fell asleep on her face with her glasses on.

  “Tauriel, this is Rogar’s mate, Kyra.”

  “Oh?” Tauriel turns to me and eyes me with the same weird glint her s
ister used earlier.

  “Sister, Kyra tells us Rogar is in the custody of a wizard, Aelinor of Regnir, who plans to raise Myrkur from the dead.”

  “The bones!”

  “We believe Aelinor has retrieved all but those hidden in Azgagh.” Tirian’s forehead furrows. “Arwen, why are we here and not issuing commands to fortify the fortress? If the wizard has in fact collected all the bones but those hidden in Azgagh, Queen Menora is in more danger than ever before. Only her blood can break the ward.”

  Arwen faces me, her expression a mix of anguish and relief. “Her blood, or the blood of her offspring. The king of Drengskador.”

  Rogar?

  Air whooshes from my lungs. “No.”

  Turns out Queen Menora shares a secret soul bond and a love child with her general.

  Secret because she couldn’t claim Waur as her husband publicly. As part of the delicate balance of power negotiated between the high crown and the seasonal courts, Menora agreed to allow the courts to choose her husband.

  Then she fell in love with Waur, who claimed a bond to her. The general petitioned the courts for Menora’s hand and was denied.

  Unbeknownst to even Arwen at the time, Menora accepted Waur’s claim and completed the bond. Afterward, they fought and defeated Myrkur, and when she unleashed the spell to eradicate the mate bond to protect orcs, it skipped over Waur, and later Rogar, because the magic recognized Menora. An elf can’t be hurt by the effects of his or her magic.

  Everything changed when she got pregnant. Her baby, the embodiment of the precious love she shared with her mate, would become a pawn.

  A means to control the crown.

  The instrument to break the blood ward and resurrect Alfhemir’s greatest enemy.

  And although most fae feared the dark wizard’s return, there were plenty of others who would think nothing of kidnapping an innocent child and selling him to the highest bidder.

  So Menora did what any mother would do—she protected her flesh and blood.

  Arwen recounted how Aelinor’s mother and aunt were close friends of Menora. All were pregnant at the same time, although Menora hid her pregnancy from her friends. While on an extended visit with the high queen, Aelinor’s aunt went into labor. She and the baby died in childbirth.