“Approximately sixty, perhaps seventy,” Lyon replied. He had not been surprised at being summoned to Aon’s private library. The elaborate estate looked as though it had seen better days, however. Windows were in the midst of being repaired. Most of the books that had been carefully housed and sorted in the towering bookcases that extended well over two stories had been upended and lay in piles around the room.
The House of Shadows was quickly working to repair what must have been hundreds if not thousands of intricate details in the sprawling home, but such things took time, even with the aid of magic.
“And they came from where, precisely?” Aon leaned back in his chair at the table.
“Gioll. The world that I believe has been consumed by Under.”
“Hum.” Aon went silent for a long time, his head tilted slightly to one side. It meant the man was thinking, the gears in his head whirling in unpredictable and esoteric patterns.
Lyon had long since stopped attempting to predict how the other man’s mind worked. It always proved to be a useless endeavor.
“And what am I meant to do with them?” The warlock tapped his metal claws on the arm of his chair in a slow pattern.
Lyon glanced to Kamira, Ini, and Lydia. The ladies were standing on the other side of the table. Dtu had refused to go indoors and sent his elder instead.
Lydia sighed. “They’re mortals, Aon.”
“Yes, and?” The warlock gestured idly. “How is this my concern?”
“They have nowhere to go. Yej has been sacked, and we are bracing for war with an army of the dead, led by Rxa,” Lyon explained patiently. “If we leave them to their own ends, they will die.”
“I repeat—yes, and? How is this my concern?”
Lydia sighed heavily again and put her hand over her eyes. “Aon. They can all fit in the ballroom. You don’t need to put them up in suites. At least give them shelter and food until we can figure out a more permanent solution.”
“I have a permanent solution in mind,” the King of Shadows replied darkly. “One that will find them in due time regardless of whether or not I inconvenience myself with them. Mortals have a nasty habit of dying.”
“You took in a mortal once,” Ini reminded him.
“I remember. And since you seem to forget how those events transpired, allow me to remind you that she died. She was murdered by one of my so-called brethren, while the rest slumbered in their crypts, sent there by their own cowardice. Indeed, if it were not for the meddling of the Ancients, she would still be at the bottom of that damnable lake of blood.” Aon’s metal hand clenched into a fist. “Do not speak to me as if I am a child, Ini.”
The Queen of Dreams threw up her hands. “Then we take them south to my home.”
“That will take weeks of marching,” Kamira said from where she sat perched on the back of a chair. “I can cover that distance in two, but with a pack of slower moving mortals…it will give Rxa the perfect chance to attack.”
“Our greater concern is the army of the dead and their leader, not a wayward pack of unfortunates.” Aon’s hand relaxed slowly. “If what you say is true, Lyon, Rxa has returned with a taste for vengeance. He will be on his way here, I expect. As I am the one who put him in his grave, he will be eager to return the favor.”
“Can we stop him? I mean…there’s five of us here. We’re only missing Evie and Vjo. Five versus one, even without backup. And we should be able to handle zombies.” Lydia sat in the chair next to Aon, kicking her legs up over the wooden arm.
“I expect we will be able to repel his attack, yes. The question is…then what? We cannot kill him.” Aon began tapping his claws on the chair once more. “Restraining a royal is no easy accomplishment.”
“But it’s one you’ve done before. Twice,” Kamira pointed out.
“Yes. And both wore turquoise ink. The cage I built for Qta, and then repurposed for Lydia, was designed specifically to contain a dreamer. Not whatever Rxa has become.”
“Can you build a cage for him?” Lyon asked.
“If I had a sample of his blood, yes. I can distill ink from that and fashion a new series of spells to restrain him. But it would take time.” Aon stood from his chair and walked to the fireplace. He stood in front of the flames, casting a sharp silhouette against the orange glow. Aon always wore various layers of black. Combined with his long, dark hair and black metal mask, the man was nigh invisible in a dark room.
It was purely by design.
“Not to mention,” Aon continued, “there is another concern. The room I used to bind Qta and Lydia is too massive to build in anything short of a hundred years. I would need to use the original chamber, and it is…not here.”
“Where is it?” Lyon asked curiously.
Silence.
“Aon,” Lydia urged quietly. “Now’s not the time to guard your secrets.”
“Now is precisely the time. I enjoy having my cards to play.” He placed his hand on the mantel. “That said…very well. I will surrender this one. The chamber is not here. Keeping my prisoner in or around my own home would be foolish. It is deep beneath the Temple of Dreams.”
Lydia laughed. “You’re fucking kidding me. You built that room beneath Qta’s home?”
“Yes. No one looks for the abducted in their own residence. Why would they? I built it in secret without his notice. It made it so much easier to spring the trap on him when the time was right.” Aon hummed. “I’m quite proud of the accomplishment.”
“Can we stop talking about Qta’s demise?” Ini whined. “Please?”
“Very well.” Aon turned back to the table. “The chamber I require to hold Rxa is, as you have noted, Kamira, several weeks on foot from here. We may fly there faster. But the chamber will be useless without a sample of his blood. Even still, we will need to restrain our dear fallen angel long enough for me to complete the spells.”
Silence.
“You can see why I do not want to trouble myself with a pack of already doomed mortals.” The warlock folded his hands at his back. “I have enough problems to solve without them underfoot.”
The room went quiet.
“If anyone has any suggestions, by all means,” the King of Shadows said dryly, “I am all ears.”
Nothing.
The issue with Aon was never that his points or arguments were not valid, but that his method of delivery left much to be desired. Lyon shut his eyes as he thought over the situation carefully. Then he smiled sadly. He had a potential solution…but it was a costly one.
Everything always was.
“What if they could be of assistance in this coming confrontation?” Lyon opened his eyes to turn his attention back to Aon. He had long since been the warlock’s friend. After the Great War, their relationship had been strained by Aon’s murder of Qta. But since the events of the Rise, he found himself once more in the warlock’s confidence. If anyone stood a chance of convincing Aon to take pity on the pack of frightened, cold, and hungry mortals, it was Lyon.
He didn’t much appreciate the pressure, but he understood why it fell to him.
“Oh? As what, ammunition?” Aon chuckled. “I’m sure I could fashion a trebuchet in no time at all.”
“No.” Lyon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “One of them may be useful to you. She has spent her life hunting the hungry corpses. And she has had two interactions with Rxa and has escaped both times unharmed. She may have insight.”
“Then bring me her, and let the others wander back into the woods.”
“She is a guardian of her people. She will not agree to help us unless her kin are safe.” Lyon couldn’t guarantee that was true. In fact, Ember might be willing to help them regardless of the safety of the other survivors. It wasn’t an outright lie, merely a plausible one.
With every year that went by, he slowly became more accustomed to the art of manipulation. He detested every second of it, but what were kings and queens if not machines of politics?
Aon went quiet for a mom
ent. “No.”
Lyon felt his jaw twitch. He did not want to give away all his chips in the first round, but he did not know what else to do. “Her blood serves as an antivenom to the disease carried by the dead. I have seen it with my own eyes.”
“I knew you were holding something back.” Aon’s smile was audible. “You are learning, but you’re playing the master.”
“Okay, boys.” Lydia crumpled up a blank piece of paper and threw it at Aon. It bounced off his metal mask. “If you two are done measuring your dicks, can we move on?”
Kamira laughed.
“Yes, yes.” Aon gestured his hand idly. The crumpled ball of paper flew into the fire. “I know my library is already in quite a state. Please don’t make it worse by littering.”
“Will you take in the mortals?” Ini asked hopefully. “If Ember will talk to you?”
“I will shelter the mortals in my ballroom and provide them what they require if she speaks with me alone and agrees to allow me to study her.” Aon walked to his chair by the fire and sat, sinking into the cushions. “And only then.”
“When you say ‘study,’ do you mean ‘torture’?” Kamira sneered. “With you, nothing is painless.”
Aon sighed tiredly. “I am not going to kill her.”
“That didn’t answer my question, warlock.” Kamira swished her tail.
“It is of no consequence to you. She will not die. If you are intent on me sheltering the mortals for the time being, then this is the deal. I will be allowed to question and study this girl as I see fit.”
Lyon winced. “I will speak to Ember and see if she agrees. She should have a say in this.”
“As you wish.” Aon waved his hand at them. “You are all dismissed.”
Lydia stayed behind as Lyon, Kamira, and Ini made their way back outside. Lyon stood upon the steps leading into Aon’s estate and looked out at the stretch of grass in front of him. The mortal survivors, Dtu, and his shifters were all still standing by the tree line. Likely just in case they needed to run.
Dtu knew he was not welcome. There was no love lost between the King of Moons and the King of Shadows. With a heavy breath, Lyon began walking toward the group of people. Kamira fell in step beside him. “You are not really going to pawn her off on Aon, are you? He’ll cut her to ribbons.”
“I believe him when he says he will not kill her,” he replied, keeping the dread and uncertainty out of his voice. “He does not lie.”
“He does not need to. He’ll torture her until there isn’t anything left for her to do but die.” Kamira bared her teeth. “I like the little spitfire. She might actually be useful in a fight, unlike the rest of the frightened humans.”
“I am not sure what else to do. We cannot leave them lingering in the woods. It’s only a matter of time before Rxa and his army arrive, and you cannot defend yourselves and them at the same time.” He frowned. “It is up to Ember. I will be blunt and honest with the danger that Aon poses to her. It is her decision what becomes of her people.”
“She will sacrifice herself,” Ini interjected. “She would sacrifice herself for anyone. That is who she is. That is her fate.”
Lyon felt his heart fall. His shoulders slumped. “Yes. I’m afraid you’re right.”
Every second Ember had spent in Under had made her feel ridiculously out of place, but nothing compared to what she felt like walking through the estate of the “King of Shadows.”
It was a twisting, massive labyrinth of doors, mirrors, and long hallways. Every square inch of everything was covered in elaborate detail and carvings. Mirrors sat across from mirrors, creating seemingly infinite corridors in both directions. She suspected that they weren’t meant to be shattered. But something about the fractured images, casting a million little versions of herself and her surroundings, made it all the more unnerving.
She felt small.
She felt powerless.
She felt mortal.
For the first time, it really hit her. The past few days of her life had been a wild and confusing series of events. She hadn’t had time to process any of it. A world of monsters, of creatures with powers unlike anything she could have imagined. And all of them seemingly older than the whole of the history of society on Gioll.
What is my life worth compared to all of this?
Maybe that was why, when Lyon came to her and quietly explained to her what the King of Shadows had said, that she had accepted the terms of the deal without much hesitation. Whoever created a palace like this, with its asymmetrical and bizarre grandeur, was powerful enough to do what he liked, whether or not she said yes.
She knew Lyon was a king, and Ini a queen. Even the undead Varúlfur Dtu was royalty. But they didn’t carry themselves like it. Lyon certainly didn’t act much like a king, or seemingly think of himself as one.
Whoever lived here clearly did.
Maverick walked at her side, leading her through the winding hallways. She would have become uselessly lost without him. The Elder of Words was in a dour mood.
“You should not have agreed,” he said, keeping his voice low. It still carried easily in the huge, vaultlike hallways. The lush carpets and thick curtains didn’t seem to do much to dull the sound.
“I couldn’t leave my people standing around in a field, waiting to die. If Rxa is bringing an army of drengil here, they’re doomed. It’d be too easy to outflank them.” She shrugged. “And I’d die with them. Now, at least, they have a chance.”
“Aon is dangerous. He is…unkind.” It was clear Maverick was being very careful with his choice of words. It meant that someone was almost certainly listening to them.
“I don’t have a choice.” Ember reached for the strap of her spear and sighed, finding it gone. She had owned it for over a year and had become used to tucking her hands into the strap as she walked. Now with it gone, she had nothing to fidget with. She stuffed her hands in her pockets instead. “I’m not afraid of dying.”
“Oh, he won’t kill you. He’s given his word on that.”
They came to a large door. The woodwork was stained so dark it might as well have been painted black. Silver filigree accented the structure in lopsided, off-center curls and spirals. The whole place was, like all of Under, both sinister and beautiful at the same time.
“If he won’t kill me, what’s the problem?” She couldn’t help but marvel at the things around her, even if she felt like they were going to eat her whole. Every nook and cranny had something to see.
Maverick sighed as he placed his hand on the doorknob. “He’ll just make you wish he had.” He pushed the door open.
She had agreed to speak with the King of Shadows alone, after all. She cringed, nodded, and stepped inside. “Thanks, Maverick…”
“Don’t thank me.” He shut the door behind her without another word. The click of the handle made Ember jolt, even though she was expecting it.
It took every ounce of her willpower to not unsheathe the knife that Lyon had given her. She kept her hands balled in her pockets.
The room was enormous, much like the rest of the palace. Bookshelves, mostly empty, soared high overhead. Electric lights burned in sconces on the wall, their filaments glowing amber and casting soft rays of light that glinted on the varnish. Here and there, thick carpet with elaborate swirls accented the otherwise wood surface.
Piles of books, some neatly stacked, covered all the visible surfaces. Everyone seemed hard at work putting their home back together. The rest of the palace looked in better condition than this. Maybe his servants aren’t allowed in here?
Slowly, she walked in, scanning the space for anyone. There was a huge wooden table that spanned the center of the room. At the far end was a fireplace, the smell of woodsmoke and the crackle of wood adding just a hint of comfort to an otherwise intimidating space.
“Hello?”
No one answered her.
She frowned. What was she supposed to do? She had been brought here, and then…dumped off without anyone aro
und. Just don’t break anything, stupid. That would be all she’d need. Looking up, she let out a quiet “whoa” at what she saw. The whole of the ceiling was painted in an elaborate mural.
It looked like some kind of war. She recognized Ini and Dtu, but all the rest in the painting were strangers. A huge man in pointed, terrifying armor wielding a giant blade. A gigantic purple spider. A man in all black, commanding an army of skeletons. Another figure was a huge, turquoise winged snake, similar to the one she had seen but less ghostly. Its scales were made of jewel tones that seemed to sparkle even in the low light.
But the last figure made her pause. It seemed out of place from the rest. All the others were dark and terrifying in their own way. But the last figure seemed to almost glow in comparison. It was of a man in a white porcelain mask with long, blond hair and brilliant, glowing white wings that were spread out behind him. Golden chains draped from his fingers and wrists and looped around his bare chest. White ink, like that she had seen on Lyon, covered his bare chest. He wore a sash of fabric around his waist, and nothing else.
He was beautiful.
She found herself unable to look away. Something about the painting of the man caught her and refused to let her go.
That was until a voice came from behind her. “And you must be Ember.”
She screamed.
21
Ember pulled her knife and whirled to face the sound of the voice.
She found herself pointing the tip of the blade directly at the man’s face, barely two inches away. Or rather, at his mask. The first thing that struck her about him was the smooth, black, metal surface that robbed him of all features. Over one of his eyes was a perfect circular hole, and from the bottom of the circle was a line that bisected the cheek of the mask. But like all the other masks she had seen, only darkness was visible through the gaps.
Long black hair, accented with only a few gray hairs, flowed loose around his face and shoulders. He wore an elaborate suit of layered black fabrics. His hands were clasped behind his back.
If the man seemed bothered by her knife, he didn’t show it.
Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) Page 21
