It was strange that he was smiling about it.
6
Lyon could not help but puzzle over the young woman walking at his side. Removed of her fear of him, she seemed much less on high alert. It helped to have someone to share the burden, perhaps. Someone she could trust.
And it was clear that she trusted little.
A shame it is a lie. He couldn’t imagine that Ember wouldn’t be terribly upset with him once he released her from his thrall. But he was losing time, and she was rightfully rather frightened of what had happened to her.
Being dropped into an altogether dangerous world as an unprepared mortal was unkind enough as it was before one considered the simple fact that she bore no mark labeling her as chosen by the Ancients for her fate.
It was not the first time an unmarked mortal had found themselves in Under.
But by the Ancients, he had sincerely hoped it had been the last. I can only pray that this goes more smoothly than Lydia’s journey. Yet, somehow, he sincerely suspected it wouldn’t.
Nothing in Under was ever so simple.
Nothing in Under was ever so merciful.
His mind was reeling, trying to make sense of all that had happened. Futile as it was, since he did not have enough information to piece together the puzzle that had been handed him, he shifted the pieces around this way and that in his mind.
A woman from another world. One that was not Earth.
That in and of itself was a revelation. While it was a common suspicion that there were other worlds besides Under and Earth, there stood confirmation on two legs. Had she come alone? He highly doubted she had brought with her just the statue in the cathedral.
There must be others.
Who else—what else—had come with her?
And how?
At least Ember had happened to land on his doorstep, and not someone else’s. He was far more patient with the fragility of mortals than most in Under.
At each approach of a stranger, she would reach for the hilt of her knife. Her posture was rigid and tense, and he wondered if she spent every moment locked in a perpetual fight or flight response. She had large, expressive dark eyes that darted this way and that as she examined every shadow, every alley, and every new person to determine if there was a threat.
The poor young thing.
She had enough dirt on her face that those who passed them might assume she bore a mark that was merely hidden. It was a stroke of luck that Lyon would take gladly. The last thing he wanted was for every curious soul to come poking at the mortal woman.
Most would simply be that—curious.
But some would be hungry.
I wonder if this is how Aon felt when Lydia was mortal.
How terrifying.
Someone dropped a door they were struggling to reset back into its jamb. It fell onto the cobblestones with a loud wham!
Ember yanked her knife out of her belt and held it aloft, her eyes wide, her stance rigid and ready to fight.
Lyon sighed.
“Sorry…sorry…” She tucked the knife back into her belt and shook her head. “I’m not used to being around a lot of people.”
“It’s quite all right. Come, we’re nearly to the Great Hall.” He did his best to smile reassuringly. It seemed to mostly work.
If he was lucky, the King of Shadows had a great deal of broken glass and mirrors to deal with in his estate, and he would not make an appearance at the Great Hall like he suspected all the others would quickly do.
They rounded the corner to the courtyard in front of the Great Hall. “Ah.” He paused in his steps to let Ember take in the whole of the building. Her mouth had fallen open, and she was gazing up at the huge, embellished structure in pure awe. He doubted she had ever seen anything like it. He couldn’t imagine there was much that resembled the Venetian gothic style of the Great Hall in her world.
He felt just a little bit proud of Under and the world around him. He did so much enjoy when Under was given new souls, even if by strange or uncomfortable means. “Here we are. Oh. And be prepared. Queen Ini can be a bit…much.”
Ember barely heard Lyon’s warning. It didn’t make much sense, anyway. She was too busy gaping at the building. Honestly, she couldn’t help it. There was too much detail to possibly see all at once. Why were all the buildings in Under so big? It was enormous, with a huge domed roof that rose above.
It resembled some of the old world “capitol buildings” she had seen in her travels, but those had all been burned out, collapsed, and decayed. This building very much was not. Statues and carvings covered every inch of the exterior. Strange creatures, monsters, and people all mixed together in frescos and depictions of war, of peace, and of everything in between. The whole of it was made out of marble that was veined in a deep, rich blue.
She felt her cheeks go warm at what a few of the figures were doing to each other. It wasn’t exactly violence, per se. She looked away from those statues as fast as possible.
Lyon touched her elbow, and she jumped, startled out of her reverie. He pulled his hand back.
“Sorry—sorry.” She smiled. “I’m not used to being around people. Anything touches me, it’s probably trying to kill me.”
“I cannot even fathom what your life has been like, Miss Ember. Come. Let’s go inside. I’m sure there are many people who would be very interested to meet you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not necessarily a good thing?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
He chuckled. “Because you seem wise.” He headed up the stairs and toward the gigantic arched doors. She had no other choice but to follow him. She felt so tiny—no, puny—in the shadow of such a structure. The column bases were almost taller than she was. She followed the lines of the gold flutes up so far she nearly fell over.
Lyon caught her arm again as she staggered.
He shook his head, smiling at her. Like how a parent might be amused at the antics of a child. I guess I am a kid to him. He’s twenty-three hundred years old.
The landing of the stairs gave way to an equally massive foyer. Paintings in gold frames decorated every wall. Statues venerating creatures and humans alike lurked in darkened alcoves or lit by arrays of candles. The building felt holy. “Is this another church?”
“No. It is dedicated to the House of Fate. Those who watch the world to understand the threads of the past and present and might use them to predict the future.” Lyon kept the same patient, unoffended tone as he answered yet another one of her questions. At least he didn’t seem to mind her pestering him.
She paused. “Wait.”
Something felt wrong.
Out of place.
She shook her head and then looked up at Lyon. Then, it hit her. “You bastard!” Her confusion was replaced immediately with anger. “You hypnotized me!”
“I, well…yes.” He cleared his throat. “You asked for a demonstration of how I could harm you if I wished, and that I was choosing not to. So I made exactly such a demonstration.”
“That isn’t what I meant!” She shoved him hard with both hands. She knocked him enough off balance that he took half a step back to catch himself. She was certain it was entirely out of shock and not because she was even remotely strong enough to budge him.
“You see, well—”
“I should stab you a second time!” She glared up at the King of Blood in annoyance. “Make you earn your bloody namesake.”
“And they call you the nice one,” a man said from the exit of the foyer into the main hall. Ember had been so focused on Lyon that she hadn’t noticed him at first.
He wore a long gray peacoat and a bowler hat. She hadn’t ever seen a suit like his that wasn’t tattered, in pieces, burnt, or bloodstained. The man wore a purple mask over half his face, etched in gray symbols. The style matched the ink on Lyon’s face, and in fact, all the ink she’d seen on people from Under. His expression was austere and aloof, and he watched Lyon and Ember. “What did you do to annoy your n
ew friend?”
Lyon stammered. “I—merely—it was a request on her part to prove a point, and—”
Ember shoved Lyon again. This time he swayed but didn’t budge. “Don’t you ever dare do that again.”
How an inhuman, freakishly tall, impossibly pale, immortal king of another world could possibly look sheepish was beyond her. “Duly noted, Miss Ember.”
“And who is your new friend, my king?” The man in gray arched his visible eyebrow at her. “Someone from the House of Flames has—” He paused. His expression became far more interested as he stepped closer to them. “Wait…where are your marks?”
Ember shrank back. She debated bolting. “I have none.”
“What?” The man took another step toward her. “No…that’s not possible.”
Before she could turn and run, Lyon stuck his arm behind her, stopping her from retreating any farther. “You are safe, Miss Ember. This is Maverick. He is no threat to you.”
“You say that like I’m going to believe you.” Ember tightened her grip on the handle of her knife. “Back away, both of you. Please.”
To her surprise, the two men obeyed. Maverick lifted his hands in a show of harmlessness and took one careful step back. “Forgive me. This simply makes little sense—although it seems logic has gone out the window today. I am Maverick, as Lyon has introduced me.” He bowed, folding one arm in front of his waist. “I am the Elder and regent of the House of Words. Who, might I ask, are you?”
“Ember. Just…Ember. From Gioll.” She kept her hand on her knife.
“Gioll?” Maverick glanced to Lyon. “Truly, what is happening?”
“I fear I came here to find out.” Lyon shook his head. “I came to consult Ini and the Orrery. To see if it might hold some answers to today’s…upheaval.”
Maverick narrowed his eyes up at the paler man. “What do you know, Priest?”
Lyon’s face betrayed nothing. “I do not know what you mean.”
The “Elder of Words”—whatever that means—rolled his visible, gold-irised eye. “Very well. Be obstinate.” He turned on his heel and strolled away into the Great Hall.
Only once the man in the gray suit had turned and left did the one in white crack a playful smirk.
Ember furrowed her brow. Strange.
Maverick snapped his fingers, calling to them from a good twenty feet away. “Come, my king. And bring the new one. Queen Ini will want to meet our unexpected guest.”
Lyon struck his arm out in front of him, as if inviting her to walk ahead of him. She wasn’t quite sure whether he was attempting to be noble, or if he was making sure she didn’t run away once he turned his back on her.
He wouldn’t have been wrong.
With a long sigh, she followed Maverick. “I dislike you,” she muttered under her breath at the pale blood-drinker behind her.
“No, I don’t believe that’s true,” Lyon replied, mirth thick in his voice. “But think what you like.”
She did her best not to stab him. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed that she managed to resist the urge. She hesitated, nearly tripping as they left the foyer into a space that was somehow impossibly even more detailed and decadent than the foyer.
The ceiling was painted—every inch elaborately covered in murals of creatures, terrifying monsters and beautiful ones in equal measure. She couldn’t begin to see it all. Lyon gently touched her shoulder, snapping her focus back down.
It was then that Ember noticed Maverick was standing in front of what appeared to be a giant pile of…rubble. Bent metal twisted at odd angles and broken glass decorated the floor, glittering like colored snow.
“By the Ancients…” Lyon froze in his tracks. She glanced up at him and saw fear on his face for the first time since they had met. “The Orrery—”
“Gone!” a woman wailed from somewhere.
Ember screamed as someone appeared right in front of her. One second, there was nobody. Then, all at once, there was a floating woman six inches in front of her face. She staggered back, fell flat on her ass with a pained grunt, and pulled her long knife out all in one movement.
The floating woman hovering over her had long, dark blue hair, the color of the ocean in the summer. It flowed around her just like it was caught in the water itself. Her skin was a pale blue, accented by the strange writing she had seen on Maverick, only in matching dark blue ink and traveling down her arms and legs in delicate spirals.
The woman was barefoot and nearly naked. A sheer dress draped from her frame, caught in the same flowing invisible water as her hair. Her face was obscured by a full mask. Gold and blue carved leaves decorated the surface in elegant, elaborate detail. Ember could see the sparkle of gemstones set into the surface.
The floating woman gasped, her hand covering the painted mouth of her mask. “Oh, you poor thing!”
“I’m all right—I’ve taken much harder hits than that.” She shoved her knife back in her belt. She figured it probably wasn’t much good against a woman who could float and appear out of thin air.
Climbing to her feet, she didn’t bother to brush herself off. She probably added more dirt to the floor by falling on it. It wasn’t until she was standing that she realized Lyon had been offering her a hand up. “Oh. Sorry. Used to being alone…”
He chuckled and lowered his hand. “Quite all r—”
She never heard the rest of his sentence. The floating blue woman was suddenly touching her. Her pale blue arms were locked around her shoulders. Ember squeaked and froze. Was this the moment she died? Was she about to be mauled?
It took several seconds of her heart pounding in her ears before she realized that the woman was hugging her. And she was talking at a mile a minute.
“You poor thing! I’m not talking about startling you. Oh, you’ve been so tired…so alone. What a weary world you’ve come from.” The floating woman pulled back an inch and placed her hand against Ember’s cheek. “Such death. Such blood. It puts even Under to shame.”
The scent of flowers and fresh rain washed over Ember. The feeling of sitting at the side of a stream and laughing with friends. She felt her fear disappear like the morning fog.
“Ssh, that’s it,” the woman murmured and stroked a hand over her hair. “Poor thing. So much death…so much horror. You’re so tired. Oh, Lyon, where did you find her?”
“I believe she found me. When the world dropped, she appeared in the sanctuary of the cathedral.”
Ember shut her eyes. She felt safe. She felt like everything was going to be okay. She had never, ever known what that was like. Tears of relief began to form.
But only briefly.
She shoved away from the woman and pulled her spear from her back. Grasping it tightly in both hands, she pointed it at the blue, floating creature. “Stop. All of you stop.”
Once more, shockingly, they did. The woman clasped her hands together at her breast and floated to the ground. When her bare feet touched the marble, her hair settled around her and stopped defying gravity.
“I’m not—” Ember gritted her teeth and forced her voice to stop shaking. “I am not from your world. I do not know your ways. So, excuse me if this is rude, but I must insist you stop dicking around in my head!”
Her holler echoed through the huge stone chamber. The ghost of her voice bounced off the smooth surfaces and played back her anger long enough for it to have faded, and her resolve to waver.
She had just shouted at three inhuman creatures. One of whom drank blood by his own easy admission. The other wore a full mask to hide what she could only assume were the marks that showed how powerful she was. And who floated. And was blue.
She had no idea what to make of Maverick yet.
“Forgive me. Please.” The woman in blue bowed. “My name is Ini. I am the Queen of Fate. I meant you no harm. I only sensed you in distress and sought to ease your nerves.”
“I wasn’t in any more distress than usual.” Ember took one careful step back but didn�
��t relax her grip on her spear.
“That is exactly the point.” Ini floated back up into the air, her hair and dress swirling around her as though suspended in water. “I am sorry that I intruded upon your mind. Most of those who are from this world are familiar with my ability. They know not to take it so…negatively.”
“Please just stay out of my head. All of you.”
“As you wish.” Ini bowed her head again.
“Oh, you’ll listen to her, but not the rest of us?” Maverick hummed. “I see, I see.”
“Oh, posh!” Ini swatted at Maverick’s shoulder playfully. “You have not complained in centuries.”
“I dislike wasting my breath. You know that.”
Ember couldn’t help but watch their banter as though she were the only sane one in a room of lunatics. She wanted to scream. She wanted to stab one of them. She wanted to run. Cry. Hide. She walked to a bench a dozen feet away and sat heavily on the padded wood surface. Her knees were going to give out on her otherwise.
She was tired and overwhelmed, to put it mildly. She put the end of her spear on the ground and rested her forehead on her hands. She deeply wanted to sleep, but knew it was likely not coming anytime soon.
Someone settled down onto the bench next to her. Looking up, she expected to tell Lyon not to fuss over her. Instead, she found the man in the gray suit and the purple mask watching her with that austere expression. As if he were trying to figure her out just by looking at her.
She knew the type.
“Scientist?” she asked.
His lips quirked in a brief smile. “Indeed.”
“Great.” She sighed and sat back on the bench. She leaned her spear against her shoulder but didn’t let go of it. “You remind me of a man who trained me in the citadel where I grew up.”
“I don’t suppose that’s a compliment.” Maverick adjusted one of his cufflinks idly.
“It isn’t.”
He smirked at her, and she couldn’t help but smirk back.
Lyon and Ini were over by the wreckage of metal that had apparently once been “the Orrery.” They were talking in hushed tones. Now and again, the blood-drinker’s eyes flicked to her. Either because she was a topic of conversation, or because he was concerned she would either run off, or stab the man in gray next to her.
Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) Page 6
