“Not good, asshole.” I dug my boots into the horse’s flank. It snorted in annoyance, but sped up.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. Harcourt came to me first.”
“Don’t even start,” I said, shaking my head fiercely.
“But how can I defend myself if—”
I whipped my head back, focusing on his blue eyes like a homing beacon. “I waited for four hours.”
“It’s my brother, Ruby.” He took the reins of his steed and coaxed the beast to go a little faster. “I thought you’d understand.”
“See, you said that before, and it didn’t work.”
“You spent twenty years trying to get revenge for Pearl.”
“And that got me nowhere. I thought you’d understand that.”
Roark averted his eyes, choosing instead to stare out at the depressing plains. Between here and the capital lay nothing but gray space and dead grass.
After our ambush in the forest, I was wary of other Fae causing problems. My intuition hovered in a state of lax alert, the wisps assuming a blueish-yellow tinge. Feeling antsy I removed the Realmpiece from my jacket. The dial spun uselessly, never settling on a symbol for longer than half a second. Pocketing the ancient compass, I settled back into the journey.
A few minutes later, Roark said, “Solon’s right about you, you know.”
“Better choose your next words carefully, buddy.”
“A thousand lions doesn’t begin to describe it.” Roark adjusted his hair, which was still wet from the storm. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Your loss.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t the one waiting with a thong in my ass for four hours.”
Roark stifled an ill-advised snort. “You were mad because you had to dress up?”
“I’m glad the thought of me dressed up is so funny,” I said, flushing slightly at the ears.
“You always look good, Ruby,” he said softly. “You’d look good in anything.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but rather annoyingly found nothing to say. Two hundred years should’ve produced some witty comebacks. But emotions had a funny way of fogging the brain, making you do or say things that wouldn’t come out otherwise.
Sometimes that randomness resulted in elegance.
Other times—well, we all made choices we regretted. Did Roark regret his?
The wisps suggested no. And that rankled me more than anything. We could’ve headed out together. Instead, he hadn’t trusted me enough to ask for help.
Roark said, “You look like you ate a lemon.”
“Life feels that way sometimes,” I said, staring at the approaching Fae capital. The air was already thickening, the faint taste of oil hovering on the back of my tongue.
“On that, we agree.” Roark cleared his throat and drew his pistol. “You see that?”
I scanned the flat landscape. A mile or two ahead, an outer gate to the towering industrial city loomed. Solon had slipped us a couple passes to travel through safely. I couldn’t see any imminent threat.
I reached for the shotgun. “See what?”
“Nothing,” Roark said, shaking his head. “I thought I—”
His words were devoured by a roiling explosion on the horizon. One of the enormous smokestacks teetered and then crumbled, surrounded by plumes of orange fire. I quickly traced the smoke trail back to the west.
I saw it now: an approaching army. The wisps went bananas, turning the same shade of red that they had when Odessa had attacked us in the desert.
She was here.
And this time, she’d really brought an army.
18
Warning sirens blared from the Fae capital, loud enough to be heard even at the outer gates. I double-checked Harcourt’s map, and saw why the main city was under siege: the entrance to the Tributary supposedly ran beneath the royal palace, in the ancient catacombs.
Long ago, the royal castle had been built there to draw upon the energy of the magical source itself. Judging from the landscape, which now resembled a charcoal painting punctuated with streaks of fiery orange, that effort had been largely unsuccessful.
Somewhere along the line, the knowledge of the Tributary must have been lost, turning into legend. But Harcourt had somehow uncovered the truth between chaotic binges. It left a taste fouler than the Plains themselves that he was acting as my Sherpa from beyond the grave.
But Roark’s words from the time loop echoed in my brain.
Sometimes catching bad people requires doing bad things.
Or, in this case, listening to bad people. And besides, the world wasn’t all heroes and villains. Everything was as gray as this smoggy dump of a Realm.
The horses panted nervously as we approached the towering stone gate. Chunks of masonry littered the dying grass—not from the recent attack, but simply from disrepair. I guess the current prince wasn’t big on infrastructure investment.
Maybe that was why Solon wanted his damn throne back so badly.
A loud, amplified voice rumbled from the gate’s core tower. “This is an emergency. Turn back now.”
I reached into the saddlebag and pulled out the passes. “I have these emissary travel cards. I’m from Earth.”
“Earth?”
“Yes,” I replied, trying to concoct a plausible lie on the spot. “We’re investigating the recent spate of breaches into your Realm. We believe this current attack is related to these security threats.”
There was a little pause before the speaker crackled. “A little late, aren’t you?”
“Do you not want Earth’s assistance?” I asked. “The foremost expert on Supernatural Realm Defense rides before me.”
I pointed to Roark, who waved at the stone tower.
“Let me check with my Field Commander.”
“Better hurry. There won’t be anything to secure if you wait much longer.”
Roark glanced back at me, eyebrow slightly raised.
The massive gate blocked our view of the capital, but the sounds of war painted a pretty clear picture. Odessa’s army was charging hard—and she was playing to win. Made sense. Harcourt had broadcast the time limit to everyone, so she had nothing to lose by making an all-out assault. But how she’d gotten through to the Plains was a mystery.
Actually, it wasn’t. Probably the same way we’d entered: through one of the front doors, using a citizen as a free ticket. Basic, elegant, and unstoppable.
The only reason the Fae usually didn’t have to worry about security breaches was because no one wanted to vacation in a place that cut ten years off your life expectancy with each breath. I could almost feel my brain cells choking from the oxygen-starved air.
“Odessa’s really pulling out all the stops,” I said to Roark.
He stroked his handsome jaw thoughtfully, his lean muscles tense. “I don’t think it’s the demoness.”
“You think she gave up?”
“No,” he said, cool voice unwavering, “but those explosions look like they’re being launched from artillery.”
“You mean—”
“My father.”
I didn’t know if Roark was right, but the thought of MagiTekk launching a military barrage sent a chill racing down my spine. If Harcourt had wanted chaos, then the next hour would represent the pinnacle of artistry: a clusterfuck of twisted bone and sinew.
We needed to get to the Tributary first.
Finally, the guard called down. “You can pass through.” There was a pause. “You’re to see the prince right away.”
I almost stumbled over my words because of the good fortune, but managed to say, “Thank you,” before the gate groaned open, ushering us into the capital.
And one step closer to reaching the Tributary.
If the clock didn’t run out first.
19
Almost Hour 12
A royal guard accompanied us to the decrepit palace, escorting us directly into the prince’s quarters. I checked my watch, silently cursing the dwind
ling time. Fortunately, the Fae Plains were a cozy sort of Realm, so it hadn’t taken us long to get from the outer gate to the capital.
Still, less than half an hour didn’t give us much wiggle room.
“I assume you have somewhere to be.” The voice caught me off-guard. I whirled toward its source at the back of the long, narrow throne room. A man—taller than most Fae—emerged from behind the weathered throne.
He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had lived through difficult times to reach his current station in life. Striding toward us unafraid, he seemed not to care that we might present a threat to his mortality.
The prince extended his hand first to me, then to Roark. The consummate politician, down to the finely maintained businessman’s cut. Although the flowing robes were a little hippie-ish for his general vibe. His handshake was strong and assured, his hands rougher than I expected for a prince.
Maybe he was more than just a figurehead.
“I’m Martin,” he said.
“It’s an honor, Prince Martin,” I said.
“Please, first names only.”
“That was my father’s name,” I said. “It’s a good one.”
“Then hopefully we already have found common ground, Miss Callaway.” At my look of surprise, he smiled. “It pays to know who is afoot in your Realm. Harcourt Leblanc has sung your legend far and wide. The strength of a thousand lions does you little justice.”
“That’s what I keep telling her,” Roark said. “She’s not buying it.”
“It is always hard to see your own brilliance. Especially if it can be so blinding.” Here I’d come to execute with half a mind to forcibly depose the guy—depending on the time, of course, and whether I thought Solon would honor some part of his bargain—and I’d already struck the idea from my mind.
“Solon wants to get rid of you,” I said. “Just so you know.”
“Yes. Well, he’s not fond of usurpers. Nor outsiders.”
With a start, I realized that Prince Martin wasn’t Fae.
“You’re human.”
“Yes,” he said with a knowing nod. “I am not Fae.”
“But…how?”
He clasped his strong hands together and nodded. “It is unusual. But the Fae Plains are no stranger to political strife and civil war.”
“I’m aware,” I said.
“The passes you flashed to my men at the gate have been flagged,” Martin said, turning around and walking toward the throne. Roark and I took this as a cue to follow. We passed once-gilded statues that had been stripped of their precious metals, statues that had been chopped away for their marble. “I knew they belonged to Solon.”
“So you knew why we were coming.”
“I did.”
“Then…why take the risk at all?”
“Faith.” Martin glanced back, looking hopeful that this would be enough for me. “You have many questions, but little time. For the Tributary is about to close.”
“I need to know a little more.” I needed to know whether the legends were true, or if I was just chasing ghosts. I stopped before the throne, tapping my foot along the frayed carpet.
“Very well. I’ll tell you what I can.” Martin glanced between the two of us. “Long ago, prior to Ragnarök, the worlds were connected.” He adjusted his robes. “You are familiar with Ragnarök?”
“The gods battled, killing each other.”
“Indeed.”
“It was rumored that the Realms were once connected by Yggdrasil, the world tree,” I said. “All nine were easily traversable. Without being a Realmfarer or using alternative means.”
“Indeed,” Martin said, nodding to show that I was on the right path. “But the world tree burned down in the fight, its roots turned to char. The passageways that once connected the worlds caved in. The ones that survived were corrupted by a magical energy making them impassable by everyone except Realmfarers.”
“Tell me things I might not know.”
“Very well,” Martin said, patting down a stray hair. “In the beginning, there was but one world. The city of the gods—what we now call the Tributary. From there, the rest of the worlds were built, using the energy from its source. For many years, this progress continued until a beautiful civilization flourished. But it is said, during Ragnarök, that the once tranquil landscape was so awash with blood that it turned the placid streams crimson.”
“Nice picture,” I said.
“They called it the Blood River.” Martin shrugged, his robes bunching around his shoulders. “Or so the surviving legends claim.”
“Must’ve been some battle.”
“The gods agreed to leave the Realm behind. Some took it upon themselves to seal it off so that no one could ever become a god again. They were the ones who burned the tree and sealed off the other entrances.”
“There are other entrances?” I asked.
“There is always more than one way to scale a mountain,” Martin said. “The Realm Rift beneath this castle is but one point of entry into the world.”
“And the others?”
“Lost to the sands of time, unfortunately.”
“I thought no one survived Ragnarök.”
“They didn’t. The battle continued in other Realms, until all the gods lay dying or dead.”
“Why leave the Tributary at all?” I asked. “Surely they could draw upon the power to aid them in their fight.”
“Because sometimes a dying man thinks beyond his self-interest.” Martin looked at me stoically. “That is what being a god is, is it not? The ability to rise above your humanity and do what must be done.”
“There are other words that come to mind,” I said.
“In any event, it was foretold, long in the past, that the lost Realm would become accessible once more when its power became necessary. The Tributary’s source has the power to fulfill any wish. Its power can be channeled toward any purpose. Such power would be required when the fate of the surviving worlds hung in the balance.” Martin gestured toward the crumbling walls. “I believe that time has come for us all.”
“Speak for yourself, buddy.” But I couldn’t disagree: Earth was quickly trending toward the crapper, what with MagiTekk’s onerous titanium fist rule gripped tightly around everyone’s throat.
I noticed that the throne had been painted gold to hide bronze alloy below. That about summed up the state of affairs in these parts. Martin ducked through the doorway from which he’d entered. I ducked beneath the threshold and took it all in.
The watch beeped, telling me we had twenty minutes remaining. The castle shuddered from another artillery barrage.
“What do you think, Ruby?” Prince Martin gestured toward the display in the back room.
“Not what I expected.” I circled the table, examining the well-lit model of the Fae Plains. Not as they currently were—but what they could become. Lush trees lined Solon’s Woods, the grass between the forest and the capital a rich shade of green. The mountains in the distance were golden brown, capped with perfect snow.
“The Realm is about the size of Vermont,” Martin said. I gave him a funny look, and by way of explanation he added, “I’m a New Englander.”
“Ah, that’s the accent,” Roark said.
“I stumbled upon this Realm by accident as a younger man. Searching for what lay beyond the pale. I fell in love.” Martin shrugged his shoulders wistfully, like that was how things went. “They welcomed me. And this is why you must go to the Tributary. For us all.”
“You think this is actually possible?” I stared at the idyllic, pastoral landscape. Transforming the Fae Plains into a working Realm was one matter; changing it into Eden was another.
“All things are possible, my friends. Should man move heaven and earth to achieve them.” Martin settled down before the model, where a wooden wheel jutted of the ground. His hands flipped the turnstile.
The lush green model disappeared as the castle shook from the siege. Within seconds, the
Fae Plains had been transformed into a sludgy hell.
“And what’s that?” I asked, examining the post-apocalyptic wasteland.
“That is if Solon retakes the throne.” Martin gently stopped the wheel and walked around the table to join my side. “Merely a projection, of course. But it’s easy enough to see where the chips will fall. You’ve met the man.”
“His eyes.”
“From drinking the run off from the factories.” Martin shook his head. “It gives the people a tremendous buzz. But the polluted essence corrupts their organs and mind.”
“You could shut down the factories.”
“There are only so many times you can attempt change at the end of a knife.” Martin shook his head, world weary creases briefly forming around his eyes. “No, this must come from a different source.”
His eyes locked in on me.
“Let me guess.”
“I was going to travel to the Tributary myself, but you are far better equipped, Ruby Callaway. In fact, you are the only person capable.”
The Realm Rift was a major complicating factor for other would-be adventurers. But MagiTekk had studied me, and blitzed their way into the Fae Plains using whatever they’d learned. I had little doubt they were working on a solution to that pesky problem. Maybe even pursuing one of the alternative entrances Martin had mentioned in passing.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said. “You banished a Prince to the woods.”
Martin flashed a mirthless smile. “Our worlds hang on a string, and time grows short.”
“Solon has our allies.” I crossed my arms. “One has demon bloodlust.”
Martin stroked his clean-shaven face and paced around the model. I wished he would flip it back to the more appealing side. But this was clearly still out for effect, to weigh upon my conscience. One more stray kitten to scoop up and save along the way.
But you made the deals necessary to survive. That was always how my life had worked—one small negotiation at a time. Session to session, never getting ahead of yourself. The end of the road was often not what it seemed, the moving parts unclear.
If you moved too quickly, you could miss them. And that had a cost.
Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3) Page 9
