When my gaze meets Typhus’s, the devil is in his eyes.
“Alright,” I say, “enough of this.” I use my sweet, cajoling voice, and the king seems to relax at the sound of it.
I can practically hear his thoughts—almost over.
“Oh,” I say, mock surprised, “did you think I was through with you? Oh, Typhus, no, no, no.” I’m shaking my head, my voice pitying.
Through my connection I can feel a whisper of Des. The sensation is so faint that it’s hard to place what emotion of his slipped across our bond, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was awe. And I realize, this is the first time he’s truly seen me use my magic. Stopping the sleeping soldiers was one thing, but playing with a man’s free will? Toying with him and drawing it out as I savor the kill?
This is new territory for him. And judging by his reaction, my twisted king approves.
“No one in this room is leaving without their powers,” I say.
In response, Typhus’s face goes red, and another wave of his power fills the air. He’s still bound by my glamour, however, to only answer my questions.
I watch him for several seconds, letting his mighty magic fight mine. It’s useless. I have absolute control over him right now.
But I will indulge him.
“Go ahead,” I say, “tell me what’s on your mind.”
“What you’re asking for is impossible!” he gasps out. “I would have to break every single oath; some fairies aren’t even conscious enough to agree to that.”
My voice goes ice cold. “Or they could just simply kill you. Dead men, after all, can’t uphold oaths.” I stare down Typhus, every bit the heartless creature our lore has made me out to be. “I’m sure the lot of you will figure something out.”
I back up from him, a nefarious smile spreading across my face. “Typhus Henbane,” I say, my skin lit, my glamour thickening the air, “I command you to return every single bit of magic you’ve stolen within two days’ time.” Much longer than that, and my glamour might wear off.
Typhus gives me a look like I’ve brought the axe down upon his neck.
I’m not even done.
“You will never again exchange power for your betterment.” My eyes flick around us. “May your people have mercy upon you.”
I walk away from him towards Des, my footsteps echoing throughout the throne room. I touch the crown that still perches on my head and pause. I swivel one last time to face Typhus.
“Oh, and I’m keeping this.”
Chapter 13
Water—check, dark room—check, forehead massage—check.
I’ve done everything within my (limited) power to kick this migraine in the nuts. Nothing’s working.
I rub my temples yet again, my head pounding. “Why does everything hurt so much?” I whine. My tongue feels swollen and my lips, parched. Even my teeth seem to ache.
Desmond comes over to where I stand in his chambers. Around us, the soft lamplight has been dimmed to the point of near darkness. It’s still not enough. “It’s one of the unwelcome side effects of visiting the Banished Lands.”
He holds out his closed hand. His fingers unfurl, revealing what looks like a piece of candy, if candy were iridescent. “This might help more than the massage.”
“What is it?” I take the strange lozenge from his palm.
“Believe it or not, fairies have medicine, just like humans do.”
I let out a crazy laugh. “This is fae aspirin?”
“Close enough,” he says.
“What do you want in return?” I ask, placing the pill on my tongue. I mean, this migraine is bad enough that I’d happily sell the Bargainer one of my appendages for it … but I do still want to know what it’ll cost me.
For a moment, the avarice in his expression falls away and he looks a little sad. “Callie, you don’t owe me. Not for something like this. I’m … sorry I gave you that impression.”
My features soften. “Thank you—for the magical aspirin.” I say it with a lisp as the pill sits between my tongue and my teeth.
It’s not bitter like human medicine, nor is it sweet like the hard candy it looks like. Instead it tastes like honeysuckle melting on my tongue.
Des kisses my forehead, then his eyes drift up. He touches the crown I’m still wearing. “And here I thought you didn’t want to be a queen,” he says, eyeing the thing.
I reach for it possessively. “It’s my war prize.” … Even if it looks like something a blind man made while drunk.
“I must admit, you are delightfully cruel when you want to be.”
It was beautiful nightmare before, and now it’s delightfully cruel. I should be mortified by these compliments, and maybe the socially acceptable part of me is, but the part of me that wants to feast on men’s hearts and bathe in their dying breaths is covetously collecting them, one by one.
Des’s gaze is heavy and hungry when it drops to me. “Do you take war prizes from all your victims?”
I shiver a little. “They’re not my victims.”
“Hmm.”
“They’re not.”
“Are you going to answer the question?”
I take the crown off my head and study it. It truly is ugly.
“Only the really bad ones,” I say. “The ones who like to break people.” They are the ones I enjoy twisting to my every whim. “I take mementos from them.”
Back at my house I have a box full of these mementos I’ve lifted over the years. On particularly bad days, days when not even Johnnie or Jack or Jose could numb my pain away, I’d steal away to my guest room, where I kept that box, and I’d sit there for hours, taking out item after item, holding each in my palm. And I would remember how I broke a few of the great villains of the world.
If my confession freaks Des out, he doesn’t show it. In fact, his expression has gotten hungrier. The fae side of him is positively delighted to hear this perversion of mine.
“I … learned about that box one of the times I visited your house,” Des admits.
My brow wrinkles. He knew? I think I’m alarmed.
“Then why did you ask?” I say.
Des begins to back me up, directing me with his body to his chamber’s balcony. “I wanted to hear you say it.”
Behind me, the cool evening breeze stirs my hair. I turn and step outside, my skin pebbling.
Unlike the Banished Lands, Somnia is awash in magic. It radiates from every night blooming flower, every pixie that zips around like gusts of wind. It laces each decadent cloud plume, and it drips down like rain from the heavens. And now I’m a part of it, from my fae magic to the bond that connects me to this white-haired king.
I stare at Des as I take a seat on the stone floor of the balcony.
He has no idea just how in love with him I am. It would be impossible for him to understand.
I must be making a strange face because he says, “What is it, cherub?”
This is the point in the conversation where we barter for secrets. He gives me something I want, and I confess some coveted truth. You know, our typical give and take.
I remember Des’s sad eyes. Callie, you don’t owe me. Not for something like this.
He doesn’t owe me for something like this, either.
I shake my head. “I love you so much. You’ll never really know.”
His features sharpen and the look in his eyes intensifies. “The way fairies love … it’s the same way we live. It’s immortal, violent, irrational and unbendable.
“I understand your words, cherub, because there are aspects of my love for you that are, simply put, unfathomable.”
My heart begins to gallop as we stare at each other, our connection singing to me. I can feel Des beneath my sternum, even as I stare at him. He’s always in me, always a part of me. It’s the most uncanny sensation.
Never breaking eye contact, Des lifts a hand. From deep in his chambers, a bottle of something pink and bubbly floats into his open palm. A few seconds later two elaborate flu
tes slip into his other hand.
The Bargainer settles himself next to me, his back leaning against the wall. He sets the items down, and a moment later the bottle uncorks itself and begins pouring.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, watching the rosy liquid foam as it fills the flutes.
“My soulmate survived a day in the Banished Lands—and managed to walk away with the kingdom’s crown. I’d say that’s an occasion worth celebrating.”
Something warm blooms low in my stomach. Something that feels a lot like happy, stupid love—and maybe a little pride too. I helped chip away at the mystery of Galleghar’s awakening.
When the champagne flutes are filled, one floats over to me.
I take it and peer into the drink. “This is safe to drink, right?” I ask. “It isn’t like the rosé version of lilac wine?”
“You caught me, love. I’m hoping to grow you a set of pointy ears,” Des says, taking his own glass.
I stare down at my drink, swirl it, wonder if I should drink it after having a migraine, then a magical pill with who knows what side effects.
Des doesn’t look over at me when he says, “I wouldn’t let you drink that if I thought I was putting you at risk.”
I glance sharply at him. “H—”
“Please tell me you’re not asking how I knew that. I’m not entirely sure my ego would recover from that sort of slight.”
Heaven forbid I wonder how Des knows an unknowable thing.
“Your ego could probably use being knocked down a peg or two,” I say.
He presses a finger to my mouth. “Sssh, cherub. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nip at his finger. In response, Des’s eyes become like sultry little sluts.
“Fae wine doesn’t interact quite the same way human wine does,” he says distractedly. “Now do that again.”
If I do that again, I’ll be in serious threat of turning this into a bangfest (which is always fun). Right now, though, I kinda sorta just want to savor this thing between us. It’s our friendship aged eight years—with a little bit of sex thrown in.
I draw his finger away and bring the wine to my mouth. “So.”
“So,” he repeats, his gaze trained to my lips.
He’s excruciating to look at, with his pale eyes and even paler hair. I’m going to cave and let him carry me inside so I can have my way with him if I keep drinking him in.
I gather my legs up to me and look out over his kingdom, desperate to hold on to this moment.
“I never thought I’d be here,” I say, taking a steadying breath as my gaze sweeps over Somnia. “All those years ago. I mean, I had always hoped you’d take me, but I never really thought I’d be here one day.”
Des’s gaze falls heavy on me. I did, it seems to say.
After several moments, he turns his attention to the night. “I never imagined it would be under these circumstances.”
My wing roots prick at his words, drawing my attention away from the ominous note in his voice to the fact that I am a part of this world, with all its horror and injustice, and I fit in here as I never have on earth. I have scales and wings and claws and fae power running through my veins. I feel … suitably magical for this place.
“Think Typhus is still alive?” I ask, changing the subject.
The Bargainer huffs out a laugh. “Unlikely.”
Is that a pang of guilt I feel?
“Callie, don’t feel bad for the man.”
I make a face into my wine (the shit is super good). “Ugh, you’re like a mind reader tonight.”
“I’m serious.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve been making people disappear for decades.” I’ve seen it firsthand.
Des looks at me like I’m cute and odd and exasperating all at the same time. “Have you forgotten all the terrible things that the fairy admitted to?”
Things like rape and coercion and murder and twenty minutes of other terrible deeds.
I take a drink and shake my head.
“And you still feel bad?”
Nod. The rim of the champagne flute rattles between my teeth as I play with it. “No—yes. Maybe?”
I killed fairies only a couple of nights ago; dooming a man to death definitely doesn’t top that. So it’s ridiculous to feel bad for this when I haven’t shed a tear for the poor souls I killed not so long ago …
I don’t know why I feel this way. Nothing makes much sense anymore.
Des leans his head against the wall, staring up at the stars. “The devil is in the details, you know. Those teeth and bones Typhus wore, he took each of them from his victims—some while they were still living, some shortly after they’d died.”
If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. My soulmate has pulled plenty of teeth of his own. He’s a bad man too. It doesn’t make him deserving of death—at least, not in my book.
“And all that borrowed magic?” Des continues. “The process is called cobinding, and though Typhus made it sound cavalier and impersonal, it’s not like that,” Des says.
I stare down at my fae wine. “Then how is it?”
“Remember those horcruxes in Harry Potter?”
I begin to smile in spite of myself. “Are you seriously dropping an HP reference right here, right now?” I ask, glancing over at Des.
“I have your undivided attention, don’t I?”
“And all my love.”
I mean, I knew he was soulmate material before, but this pretty much just sealed the deal.
Des’s face grows serious. “Essentially, when you exchange magic, you’re transferring more than raw energy. You’re moving a piece of yourself as well.”
That’s massively creepy.
“It’s not to be taken lightly. Most fairies, if they decide to do to such a thing, spend centuries picking out the right individual—even then, it’s a tricky business. Lovers quarrel, families divide, friends deceive. It happens. You can never fully guarantee that the person you share magic with will always be your ally.
“For a fairy to give away their power to a stranger—and in the Banished Lands, where the earth itself drains away a fairy’s magic shockingly fast—such an exchange is akin to suicide.
“Typhus did that to everyone there. By forcing him to return the magic he coerced from those fairies, you helped right a wrong.”
I take a ponderous sip of my wine. “Have you ever done it?” I ask. “Have you ever … cobound yourself to someone?”
The Bargainer gives me a look that should melt the panties from my body. “I bound myself to my soulmate. Would you say that counts?”
I smile into my drink. “Are you admitting that I have a piece of your soul?”
His eyes dip to my curving lips. “More than a piece, cherub.”
“Hey bitch, have a nice trip?” Temper asks the next day when she waltzes into the library where Des and I have spent the morning.
As soon as she enters, a dozen different paint brushes drift away from the enormous canvas Des is working on. He’s not nearly finished with it, but I already know what image he’s bringing to life. There’s the Flora Kingdom’s ballroom, decorated with a thousand blooming plants, and among it all, there I am, my black wings folded behind me, my hair twinkling with the night sky. I’m looking directly out at the viewer, my dark eyes looking troubled and impish all at once.
He’s capturing the night he put the stars in my hair.
I don’t tell the Bargainer that I get a little thrill looking at the painting, that for once I look like I belong somewhere.
“It was interesting,” I say, taking a sip from my mug of coffee. “Have fun in my absence?”
“I got by,” Temper says, her fingers running over a nearby shelf of books. “I went back to that tailor to get more fae outfits.” She smooths a hand down her outfit, and holy shit, why am I only now noticing what she’s wearing?
The gown—yes, my best friend chose to put on a gown before noon—looks like
woven rainwater, each individual droplet glistening as she moves. Cascading down the skirt are what look like water lilies, the flowers artfully placed so that they hide all her incriminating bits. The neckline of the dress is so low that it plunges down to her navel.
It’s extra as fuck.
“Did you threaten the tailor again?” I ask. Last time we’d gotten fitted for outfits, she’d been a little huffy.
Temper clears her throat. “I call it incentivizing.”
Oh geez.
Temper’s eyes move to the painting, and she whistles. “Damn, Desmond, I didn’t know you painted.”
He lifts a shoulder. “When I’m restless.”
Malaki comes in right then, his imposing frame filling the doorway. Immediately, my eyes hone in on the hickeys ringing his neck. He could’ve removed them—it would only take a pinch of magic—and yet, there they are. In fact, not only did Malaki not remove the hickeys, he’s also pulled his hair into one of those girlie little buns, further displaying them.
Someone should tell him hickies were only cool in middle school.
When Temper catches me staring, she waggles her eyebrows.
I bite my lower lip to keep my laugh in check. Joke’s on her because every day she strings this fairy along, he’s less likely to let her slip through his clutches. And Temper does not do commitment.
“So?” Malaki says, taking a seat next to Des, his bronze eyepatch catching the light. “How was your visit to the Banished Lands?”
Temper sits down next to me. The sleeve of her dress brushes against my arm, dampening a patch of my clothes.
“All the tomb’s enchantments are still in place, there’s no sign of forced entry, and yet the body is gone,” Des says.
I suppress a shiver at the memory of that empty tomb. For the last month, Galleghar Nyx has been gallivanting about.
“How is that possible?” Malaki asks.
Des rolls a paintbrush between his fingers. “The best information we got was that a shadow retrieved him.”
Malaki’s brows furrow. “A shadow? Is this the Thief we’re dealing with?”
“Probably,” I say.
He curses. “Of course the two worst fairies in the world have decided to team up.” He shakes his head and rubs a hand over his eyes. “How the hell did this happen?”
Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3) Page 10
