“You think someone is paying off one of the Thirteen?” Chroi asked disbelievingly. Roman could understand his skepticism. But magic didn’t lie.
“There’s no question,” he said softly. “However, I highly doubt money is involved. None of the Thirteen would be motivated by financial riches in any way, shape, or form.”
“What, then?” asked Chroi.
Roman took a deep breath. “That’s what we are attempting to determine now. We’ve exhausted our capabilities of narrowing the suspects down any further. Hence, we’ve decided to take a different route and figure out what the culprit’s motive may be. If we can determine that, we’ll be ten steps closer to our defector.”
“The only thing in the realms that any of those seven men truly want is a queen of their own,” Damon said bluntly. “And I can’t imagine anyone figuring out a way to promise such a thing to one of them. Women don’t work that way.”
“No, we don’t,” said Evie with a shake of her head. Then she frowned. “But maybe it’s not like that. Maybe the bad guys have some way of being able to tell where and when a queen will appear on the radar. Some method of determining the future? That might get a king’s attention.”
Roman raised a brow. “You may be onto something.”
“Gotta admit that would be a sweet carrot to dangle in front of them,” said Thanatos. “It just might be the case that our enemy’s figured out a way to jump the gun on queen location.”
Siobhan made a derisive sound and smiled, shaking her head. “Somehow, that just sounds so base.”
“I agree,” said Evie. “You make it sound like we’re something less than living, breathing beings.”
Thanatos shrugged. “Sorry,” he admitted sheepishly. “I spend most of my time with dead people.”
“Oh sure. Play the dead people card,” Chroi teased.
Imani Zareb, a powerful witch who’d apprenticed under Lalura and who was leader of her coven, cleared her throat. She’d had yet to speak up during the conversation; her attention had been on the table, as she’d been in the middle of casting a spell when Damon Chroi arrived. She seemed to be finishing it now, and she waved the others over without looking up. “I think I have something.”
“Where’s Danny? She could be helping you with this,” said Damon.
Imani shook her head distractedly. “She’s with her twins, and still recovering from her trip into the Duat.” She looked up now, focusing on him for just a second to add meaningfully, “and her return from said trip.”
Dannai Caige, called “Danny” by her friends, was a powerful witch herself, a known healer, and none other than the daughter of a pair of honest-to-goodness gods. She and Lalura Chantelle had recently ventured into the Duat, the Egyptian realm of the dead, to locate Danny’s father, the god Amon, and get a leg up on why the kings and their queens were under attack by Amon’s brother, Kamon. But they’d returned from their mysterious foray into that forbidden land to find their home on fire, and their family and friends under fierce attack.
The outcome of the battle against an army of rogue vampires had been devastating. There had been losses. Horrible ones.
Fortunately, warlocks were capable of bringing the dead back to life, and this is exactly what Jason Alberich and several other experienced warlocks had done, with the help of Diana Chroi, Danny, and as many magic users as could be spared.
In the end, every life had been safely returned to its mortal vessel. But the cost was extreme, and convalescing naturally needed to take place. The werewolf nation was in a state of stunned disbelief and wary confusion. Few could comprehend why the attack had taken place or what Kamon or Raphael D’Angelo could possibly have hoped to accomplish by making enemies of the werewolves. Many, Roman included, had begun to believe the vampires were in fact working under a different leader, perhaps a former Hunter. No one knew.
And that was the point. There was a lot to figure out. And Danny, in particular, had a lot to figure out. She’d been mum on the subject of her trip into the Duat. She simply hadn’t wanted to talk about it. When Lalura was questioned about what they’d seen, the old witch shook her head and stated, “In time, Dannai will share. She is not ready, and this story is not mine to tell.”
Imani looked back down at the table and gestured to the bowl of water. “Keep your eye on the image. Something is coming.”
Everyone around the table leaned in a little. Collectively, they held their breaths.
The bowl, not an average piece of dinner ware, was constructed of solid quartz crystal, and reflected rainbow colors from the window light at varying angles. The water inside was pure and clear, nearly appearing invisible. But as the room’s inhabitants looked on, the water began to mist up. Clouds formed like vapor, slowly billowing to fill the bowl’s contents. Little by little, those clouds took up a turning motion, swirling within its shallow depths, and then darkening like a building storm.
As the water went from clear to white to gray to black, an image blurred to life at the bowl’s center. It appeared as if upon a movie screen, three-dimensional and out of reach.
Roman frowned. “What exactly did you ask?”
“The question must always be vague,” said Imani. “However, I directed the magic to the traitor king.”
The image was one of fire, its flames flickering and all-encompassing. They could almost hear the roar and crackle, and Roman could swear the air above the bowl was heating up.
He thought of the men who occupied the thirteen seats around his table, and shook his head. “There is no fire king.”
“There is more than fire in the image,” said Lalura softly. “Look again.” Her bony finger rose from the depths of her cowl-like sleeve and pointed to something that was just now forming within the flames.
Roman waited, his gaze narrowing, his focus sharpening.
“What is that?” someone asked.
“It looks like….” Siobhan leaned in too, screwing up her face as she attempted to make heads or tails of what the image was showing them. From one angle, it resembled a smashed tin can, but from another, gems could be seen shattered amongst the metal rubble, and the metal itself had a very fine gleam to it. “Like a crown, maybe? One that’s been crushed?”
“And burned,” added Thane. “It’s been crushed and burned.” He shrugged. “It’s a dead crown.”
“A dead king?” asked Imani, at last looking up to give them all a questioning gaze.
One by one, they returned the look, but none of them spoke. The week had been a harsh one for revelations concerning the kings. If what Imani was deciphering from the image was correct, then one of them was a traitor, and one of them would soon be dead. Were the two one and the same? Or were the Thirteen about to become the Eleven?
Chapter Fourteen
She floated in a brume, as if she were caught in a jar of thick, sparkling water. She saw her hair, white as snow, pass like a mermaid’s mane before her dark, dark eyes. She heard voices in that muffled, sing-song manner that one heard sounds in dreams. Here, in this fourth dimension, there were rainbow colors and there was warmth. There was no pain, neither physical nor mental.
Time had passed, and she didn’t even think to wonder how much. There was no time here, in fact. There was only this wrap-around, multi-colored calm that cocooned her and stretched into the horizon, as far as her unconscious eyes could see.
At long last, Minerva was at peace. There were no regrets and there was no sense of loss. In fact, she was not fully even self-aware. For one like Minerva, this was the single path to serenity, for awareness at all came with its own kind of pain. Here, finally, she was free from the shackles of corporeal existence, and it was unlike anything anyone had ever attempted to describe.
Days swept by, or perhaps years or minutes. And she smiled in that floating, strings-cut, vapor of tranquility.
Until she wasn’t smiling, and the fog was lifting – and she was opening her eyes.
Lights from candles and sconces and what looked l
ike floating balls of fairy fire ebbed their gentle way into her vision, outlining a vast, luxurious room of epic, royal proportions. She was lying in a four-poster bed large enough for ten adults. Silken sheets and blankets of dark colors that blended in ombre, some shimmering as if they were encrusted with miniscule, glitter-sized gemstones, were draped across the bed and had wrapped around her legs as she’d moved restlessly in sleep.
She blinked, attempting to remember where the hell she was. This was unfamiliar to her. But the last few days felt like a blur of photographs, like one dream that melted into another. She could just be forgetting….
It was disconcerting to wake up and not know where you were, to not be able to remember how you got there. For a few strange seconds, she existed there, in that foggy, frightening uncertainty.
And then it all came back.
At once, Minerva sat up in the bed. Her breath caught in her chest when she smelled the familiar scent of the king’s cologne – it was in the sheets.
This was his bed.
Awareness moved through her like a tidal wave of fire-heated blood, tightening her chest, and widening her eyes. This was his chamber! “Oh my God.” In his castle! “Oh my God,” she said again, her voice cracking. Her throat was dry.
Across the room, the double doors to the chamber at once came open, swinging outward with regal leisure. Feeling like a deer in headlights, Minerva clutched the blankets to her chest, not even caring that she currently resembled some helpless maiden in a historical bodice ripper.
A small girl appeared between the double doors, no taller than three feet. Her slender arms were raised between the doors, but her palms didn’t seem to be making contact with them. Instead, there was a space of white light between them and her outstretched hands. She lowered her arms and looked up at Minerva, smiling broadly.
She was dressed in a small but intricate and extremely fine gown that reminded Minerva of a miniature version of the gown that Buttercup had worn to her ill-fated wedding with Prince Humperdink in The Princess Bride. The girl had very fair skin, extremely large pink-purple eyes, and a small mouth with perfect white teeth. She also sported very long and very thick hair the color of a cloudless sky. It trailed all the way to her knees in braids and thick, sparkling locks, as if tinsel had been meticulously woven into it. Long, pointed ears peeked delicately between these locks, adding to the waif-like sense of the girl.
Once the doors were open, the girl came inside the chamber and curtsied. “My lady,” she said softly, speaking with a beautiful voice that reminded Minerva of wind chimes. “I’ve brought you nourishment. Lord Caliban wishes that you would eat and drink until you are comfortable, and then I will help you dress.”
Minerva’s brow rose. “Oh?”
Though she was extremely taken with the girl… woman… elf… whatever, she had never in her life been one who catered to being given orders, even if those orders were phrased as “wishes.” Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, this massive chamber with its royal accoutrements felt a little too much like a gold gilded prison.
She shoved the covers aside and extracted herself from the bed. Her body instantly regretted it. The bed was warm and soft, and she felt tired, stiff, and sore. But she blinked, straightened her shoulders, and focused on the elf girl.
“What’s your name?” she asked plainly, trying not to allow too much of her irritation or discomfort to enter her tone.
The girl looked a little surprised at first, but then she, too, straightened and cocked her head to one side. “Well, the fates may just be right about you. You’re certainly not like the other women he’s had in here.”
Now it was Minerva’s turn to look surprised. Again.
She opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it, because quite frankly, she could think of nothing to say to that. She felt her hands go to her waist, where her nails then began clenching, leaving half-moon imprints in the skin on her hips.
Wait, she told herself firmly. Just hold up. Why do I flipping care?
She closed her eyes a moment, forced her arms down at her sides, and took a deep breath. Why was this bothering her? She opened her eyes and said, “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“It’s Titania,” said the girl lightly, smiling brightly again. “And you’re Minerva.” She put her hands behind her back and eased onto her heels, very pleased with herself. “Of course, that’s not your fae name. I know that name, too. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Minerva felt her legs go a little numb. A bunch of the knowledge that had slammed into her in Oxford came whittling back at her, buffeting her consciousness with its plethora of factoids. She tried to absorb it as best she could, feeling relieved when it at last settled down a bit and filtered for her just the information she needed.
“You’re a fairy,” she breathed.
The thing about the fae is that the term “fae” was more or less short for faerie. However, among the fae, there were various kinds of faerie folk. One of the most special, the most wonderful in fact, was the fairy. It was from fairies that fairy tales originated, that dreams of pixies and sprites and Tinkerbell-like imps flitting about on butterfly wings made their ways into child’s imaginations across the globe. Fairies were exceptionally special creatures.
The rather diminutive beings were always child-like. They remained this way throughout their entire existences, which as of yet, had to be marked by time. They were simply considered immortal, incapable of dying a natural death.
But the most special aspect to fairies was their ability to divine a fae’s real name – and never tell another living soul. They simply wouldn’t. They would die first. They would undergo torture. They would lose family members and all of their possessions and body parts. But they never, ever, ever revealed a fae’s true name. Their minds could not be read. There was no use in trying. Eventually, it was determined that they were simply as incapable of sharing the information as they were capable of learning it. Now no one bothered even attempting to get names from them any longer. It was truly pointless.
The fairy grinned proudly. “That I am!” She came further into the room and made her way to a small ornately carved table not far from the bed.
Minerva watched her in stunned silence as she waved her little hand over the table, and food and drink appeared atop it. There was even pastel layered rainbow cake.
Fairies were capable of a great many magical feats, some more amazing than others, such as that name reading ability. But most useful to the fae around them was their ability to “know” an individual’s personality, tastes, and dislikes. It was this ability that made fairies excellent personal assistants, handmaidens, and so forth. And these were positions the fairies took to with genuine glee, as it was in a fairy’s nature to want to please those around it.
Minerva could empathize with this. She had the same desire more often than not. Any time she’d had to attend a party for her school or coworkers, she’d spent incredible amounts of energy attempting to “read” the other attendants well enough to determine what they would want her to do or say. And then she’d done or said those exact things. Just to fit in. Just to be liked.
The sudden memory made Minerva feel inexplicably and deeply sad. It felt like she’d lost parts of herself in all of that pretending – parts that she would never be able to get back again.
The fairy looked up. “Now, now,” she said softly. “Come get some food and drink, my lady. You’ll feel much better once you do.”
Minerva hugged herself as a chill engulfed her. Maybe Titania was right. Maybe she needed some food. She did feel hungry. But what she really wanted was a –
“Cup of tea, my lady?” Titania turned away from the small table she’d been filling with food. In her hands was a delicate beautifully painted porcelain cup and saucer. In the cup was a steaming brew of what looked like perfectly milked and sweetened tea.
Minerva could even smell it.
“Okay, you’re really good at this,” she said as she
quickly approached the fairy and smiled a smile that was one hundred percent real gratitude. It was nice to smile for real for once.
Titania placed the cup and saucer in Minerva’s hands. “Why, thank you,” she said in her tinkling chime voice. “Now, drink up. You’ve got a chill in you, I could see that much even from across the room.”
“Minerva took a sip and felt the warm, creamy liquid heat her up from the inside as it slid down her throat and into her belly. It was marvelous. It was exactly what she had needed.
But something niggled at her. She took another three rather greedy gulps and then replaced the teacup in its saucer. “Titania?”
“Yes, my lady?” asked the fairy as she finished making the table look exorbitantly beautiful with its mass of food. She regarded Minerva and waited.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Calling you what, my lady?”
“That. ‘My lady.’ Why do you keep referring to me like that?”
Titania blinked, before she smiled what looked like an older, wiser smile, especially on a face as apparently young as hers. “Why, I know your true name, my lady. I know what it means. And so I know you are the future queen of the Unseelie Kingdom.”
Chapter Fifteen
Minerva moved from one bookshelf to the other, and as she stood at the foot of each one, she craned her neck and looked up. And up and up.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, running her hand over her face in bewilderment. She was so lost. She hadn’t been able to keep up with the twists and turns of the palace as Titania had walked her here. The castle was so vast, it was impossible. The gods only knew where the nearest bathroom was, should she need it. To top it off, the library itself, a tiny portion of the castle, was a maze of preposterous proportions in and of itself.
She dropped her hand and turned around in the room, taking it all in. The Unseelie Castle library was a parody of large libraries. She felt a little bit like Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, gazing up at the plethora of spines with their unreadable titles gilded in gold and other precious metals. There were even ladders. There were twelve of them, in fact, just in this room alone.
The Unseelie King (The Kings Book 6) Page 10
