Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

“I will admit, enchanters give me pause; power like that is dangerous in the wrong hands. I do, however, have reason to believe that you are the right sort of person to wield such magic, regardless of your base nature.”

  “As for the kidnapping, I cannot imagine enduring such a trial. Of course you are entitled to being confused and mistrustful. I don’t know who or what you saw, but I do believe you.”

  He places a hand on my shoulder, his eyes intense. The room darkens a touch, but Janus pretends not to notice.

  “Your mate and I already have a strong alliance between our kingdoms,” he says, his blue eyes burning bright, “but we’ve never had a friendship to strengthen that unity. Perhaps, starting today, that can change.”

  His fingers press into my shoulder. “I personally vow that should the need ever arise, I will lend you my sword and my assistance.”

  It’s not until Des and I are back in the Kingdom of Night that I’m truly able to breathe again.

  The moment we step off the ley line and the cool evening greets us, I feel myself relax.

  “God, I missed this place.”

  “Getting sentimental, are we?” Des says, tying his hair back into an itsy bitsy bun. I try not to stare at the action, but his black sleeves bunch around his biceps, and the whole thing looks really, really good.

  I lift a shoulder. “This place is growing on me,” I say in all honesty.

  It didn’t begin that way. Originally, I wanted nothing to do with the Otherworld. But then I got kidnapped and grew wings, and going back to earth just wasn’t an option.

  And now … well, let’s just say the Otherworld has its perks.

  The Bargainer’s eyes shine in that way they do when I say something that moves him.

  “You know, you’re really cute when you go soft on me,” I say.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, taking my hand and dragging me over to him. His eyes drop to my lips. “But you know what we should talk about? The fact that you got a king to swear his fealty to you.”

  I guffaw. “I apologized to him, that’s all.”

  “And in return he pledged you his loyalty—” Des stops speaking when he catches sight of a guard hustling over. He watches the man, face impassive.

  “Your Majesty,” the soldier says when he gets to us, nodding first to Des, then to me, “The sleeping soldiers, they’ve been talking nonstop since this morning.”

  Des’s features harden. “About what?”

  The guard’s eyes slide to me. “Your mate.”

  When Des and I enter the royal dungeon, the noise is nearly deafening. Dozens and dozens of voices are talking at once.

  “I want to speak with Callypso Lillis … I want to speak with Callypso Lillis …”

  “… speak with Callypso Lillis … I want to speak …”

  “Callypso Lillis.”

  The door slams shut behind us, and like a spell being broken, the voices quiet. In the silence that follows, my skin pricks.

  I begin to walk, Des at my heels. You could hear a pin drop in this place, it’s so quiet.

  As soon as we reach the first cells, I catch sight of the sleeping soldiers. They all stand at attention, their bodies rigid. Only their eyes move, following me as I pass by.

  That malignant magic tinges the air. I can smell the evil that's settled into these soldiers. It’s still taking up residence in them like a parasite.

  “Who wanted to speak with me?” I call out.

  From several cells down, a low voice says, “You know who.”

  A chill slides down my spine. There’s only one person who’s poisoned this lot.

  The already dark dungeon block darkens further with the Bargainer’s displeasure.

  “This guy’s got some brass balls,” he mutters under his breath.

  I step up to the cell the voice came from. Inside there are a dozen soldiers, all of them male. Their bodies are still covered in the gore they woke in … well, that and whatever blood splattered onto them during the battle.

  One of the sleeping soldiers steps forward. His skin is tawny, his eyes are hazel, and his plaited hair is dark brown.

  He smiles at me. “Hello, enchantress.”

  Chapter 18

  My siren claws at me, sensing how spooked I am.

  I step up to the bars, careful not to touch the iron. “What do you want?”

  The man begins to pace the length of the cell, his gaze never leaving mine. He doesn’t answer, just continues to pace back and forth, back and forth.

  I let out a breath. “Come on, Des, let’s go. The Thief is obviously too pussy to—”

  The entire dungeon begins speaking as one:

  Is life but to wake?

  And death but to sleep?

  I’d tell you, but then,

  This secret I’ll keep.

  I’m not real now,

  Nor was I last night,

  Or perhaps I’m wrong,

  Who’s to say what’s right?

  My blood runs cold.

  In front of me, the soldier who first spoke to me now smiles. He tilts his head.

  Are you having fun yet?

  This is our little game,

  You will lose soon enough,

  Then you’ll be mine to tame.

  My conversation with the Thief might have been a dream, but apparently it was real enough. That’s what this is, a reminder that a dream is never just a dream.

  My skin begins to glow very softly; it’s so at odds with my heart, which is racing, racing …

  I work my jaw.

  No one scares us.

  I step up to the cell and grab the iron bars, ignoring the pain as my skin begins to sizzle.

  “I’ve got a rhyme for you, fucker,” I say, my voice filling with glamour. “Stop hiding behind your puppets, you stupid piece of trash. Oh, and take your lame riddles and shove them up your a—”

  “Callie,” Des says, prying my hands off the bars. The room’s nearly pitch black. That’s the first I sense of the Bargainer’s dark mood.

  “Aren’t I a poet?” I taunt the soldier as Des drags me away. My hands are smoking, but I can barely feel them over my rising fury.

  Des pulls me away, and that’s about when I realize that my wings have come out, the tips of them now dragging along the cool floor as the Bargainer carts me back the way we came.

  “Not a poet,” says one of the soldiers we pass by, “a marked woman.”

  He’s barely gotten the words out when suddenly, the darkness closes in on him. In the next moment, Des vanishes from my side. I hear the sound of steel slicing flesh and a choked cry, then nothing more.

  By the time the shadows dissipate, Des is back at my side, his hand on my back.

  I stare at the spot where the fairy stood a moment before. Now he lays in a puddle of his own blood, his eyes glassy.

  Oh shit.

  The Bargainer lifts his chin, his own wings arching over his shoulders. “Not in my house, Thief. Not in my house.”

  Des wraps linen bandages around my hands, his own trembling as he does so. At his back, his wings are still out, and the room we sit in is mostly cast in shadow. His face is placid, but every so often his upper lip ticks.

  Down our bond I can feel his immense rage. This is about the time where the Bargainer begins breaking bones and making his victims beg for mercy.

  Only, the Thief is hiding somewhere not even Des, Lord of Secrets, knows.

  My own rage, by contrast, fled some time ago.

  I stare at my blistered fingertips. “Can’t I just heal these with my magic?” Expedited healing was supposed to be one of the perks of fae power.

  Des finishes wrapping one of my hands and sets it in my lap. “Iron doesn’t—” He takes a deep breath, then starts again. “Iron wounds take extra magic to heal. But you could.”

  “Will you show me how?” I ask.

  The Bargainer cups my injured hand between his. I can still feel him trembling with his anger.

 
“Close your eyes,” he says.

  “Is this—are you showing me how to—”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Reluctantly, mine flutter closed.

  “Now, breathe in and out. In and out.”

  My breath whooshes into my lungs, my chest expanding as I hold it in. Then I exhale, and the air rushes out of me.

  “Yes, just like that,” Des says.

  I sense him taking his own advice, his hands steadying as they hold mine.

  “Now,” he says, “quiet your thoughts and focus them inward.”

  I’m as introspective as the next person, but I’ve never done this, never searched for the source of my magic. It’s always just been there, and I’ve spent close to a decade trying to leash it, not to go hunting it down.

  “Where is your power?”

  It takes looking for my magic to truly notice where it lays within me.

  “It’s in the pit of my stomach.” My core really. It simmers there, right at my very center. This is where the siren slumbers when she’s not busy terrorizing the world. “And it’s in my heart.” Right where my connection to Des is anchored.

  “Focus on that magic,” Des says. “And now, pull on it. Pretend it’s a ball of yarn and you’re tugging a thread of it loose.”

  This is so weird.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Now, pull that thread up through your chest. Imagine it traveling past your ribcage and across your shoulders. Direct it down your arms and into your hands.”

  I do as he says, visualizing this power of mine as though it were a physical thing. I imagine it moving through me. When it gets to my hands, they heat like I’m holding them close to the fire.

  My eyes flutter open, even as I continue directing my magic to my palms. Des releases my hand and, unwinding the bandages, shows it to me. I stare at my fingertips. Before my eyes, the angry swelling diminishes.

  “Holy crap.” It’s working. I’m healing myself.

  As the pulsing pain of my wounds lessens, my energy drains away. My siren is still there, but trying to rouse her into action would be difficult.

  I release my magic, letting it retreat back to my core. The worst of my injuries have healed, but my palm is still red and angry.

  My gaze moves from my hand to the Bargainer. His wings are now hidden, and the shadows that cloaked the room have lifted. I glance around, surprised to see that we’re sitting on a veranda of sorts, a room that’s not quite inside and not quite out. A row of enormous archways look out over the city of Somnia.

  Des takes my hand once more. “You did good there, cherub,” he says, beginning to re-bandage it. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.”

  The Bargainer nods, wrapping the linen before tying it off. He brings my fingers to his lips, kissing the tip of each one. “Then we best get you to bed.”

  If the look in his eye is anything to go by, I’m not going to be doing much sleeping.

  Before I have a chance to drag him out of there so that he can properly tuck me in, chittering sounds come from beyond the archways.

  The pleasant night air blows in through them, and riding on the draft of wind are several pixies, all of them chattering away. They zip across the veranda on the gust of air, only stopping when they get to me and Des. One of them hovers right in front of Des. The others end up sitting on his shoulders … and mine, like they have front row seats to a show.

  “Evening, Aura,” he says to the little fae.

  She says something back to him, her voice high and sweet.

  “Is that right?” Des says, his eyes narrowing. “Where is he?”

  Aura chatters away, gesturing wildly.

  The Bargainer looks at me. “Temper and Malaki have found out where Galleghar is hiding.”

  Chapter 19

  I lean forward, even as the pixies on my shoulders begin playing in my hair. (Seriously, what is with these creatures and my hair?)

  “Where is he?”

  The Night King’s face is menacing. “Memnos.” He says the word like it tastes bad coming out.

  Memnos, the one island Des never took me to. The Land of Nightmares.

  “Wait,” I say, glancing at the pixie. “How does Aura—” She curtsies at the mention of her name, and I nod to her. “How does Aura know this?”

  The little pixies all begin chattering at once.

  “Pixies are my royal messengers,” Des says.

  One of the pixies playing in my hair stops and says something else, her little voice demanding.

  The Bargainer raises his eyebrows. “Forgive me—pixies are royal messengers and spies.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That sounds like an important job.”

  My words must’ve been the right ones because the pixies start to excitedly chitter. One of them flits in front of my face and studies my features before lovingly patting my cheek.

  Another one starts speaking animatedly to Des.

  “I’m not going to go to Memnos or Barbos right now. You can tell Malaki he’ll just have to wait.”

  Angry chittering.

  “My mate is tired.”

  Another pixie comes over and begins to inspect my eyes, as though looking for signs of my sleepiness.

  The other pixie, meanwhile, is still arguing with Des. Eventually, she simply grabs Des’s pointer finger and tugs, trying to rally him into action. It’s an adorably pitiful sight. I’m pretty sure my mate shares the sentiment because the corner of his mouth lifts.

  “Where does she want us to go?”

  “To Memnos to slaughter the hateful tyrant Galleghar Nyx, but short of that, Malaki has requested our presence in Barbos.”

  I really am tired, both from healing my wounds and from the long days we’ve endured, and I’ve been dreaming of Des’s bed for ages and ages. But there are two psychotic fae on the loose, and the sooner we deal with them, the sooner Des and I can get on with our lives.

  I stand, causing the pixies hanging onto me to squeal. “Then let’s go.”

  Des stares up at me, unconcerned that a pixie is still pulling at his finger. “Cherub, you need to rest.”

  “I’ll rest eventually.”

  The Bargainer’s eyes narrow. He stands, his chair scraping back. He steps in close, his large frame filling my vision. “You don’t want to go to Barbos,” he says. “You want a break from this madness, and I want to give that to you.” His eyes have gone soft. They search my face, like my unspoken thoughts are written there.

  “Des, if we wait, your father might slip away. I am tired, but I’ll rest soon enough.” I take Des’s hand in my bandaged ones. “If we catch your father, he might be able to tell us where the Thief of Souls is.”

  A muscle in the Night King’s jaw ticks. So tempting, his features seem to say. He glances away from me.

  I give his hand a squeeze. “Let’s end this.”

  His hand has started to tremble again. All that pent up rage is fighting for release, and Des is a dark enough creature that he can’t deny it forever. Better to use it on his father.

  Finally, he closes his eyes and nods. “We’ll go to Barbos. And we’ll deal with Galleghar Nyx.”

  Des and I soar through the clouds, the stars twinkling down on us.

  God, have I missed this. There’s no other sensation quite like flying.

  The pixies spin around us, laughing as they ride on the wind. Des and I are a touch more somber, the two of us outfitted for battle.

  These are, after all, violent times.

  I ignore the exhaustion creeping through my bones; I’m pretty sure that, like a noob, I spent too much energy trying to heal my burns, and now I’m paying the piper for it.

  Can’t believe how much energy that took. I’ve never actually experienced a deficit of magic. Ever. Yet healing two small burns has nearly tapped me of it.

  No wonder iron is so hated and feared among the fae. It’s painful and magically draining.

  My heart bleeds all over again for those soldiers Karnon
kept prisoner; they were shackled in the stuff.

  Seriously though, fuck the Thief and all his sick deeds.

  I can almost hear his laughter in my head.

  This is our little game …

  Only he would think of all these depravities as some sort of game.

  The longer I think on it, the more my mind twists and turns, leading me back to that last strange dream.

  Does the term small death mean anything to you? he asked me. It was the one question that seemed to be more than just posturing and scare tactics.

  And of course, now that I’m level-headed, the term does mean something to me. I’ve heard it all over the place. Somnia is the Land of Sleep and Small Death, Des used to be a member of the Angels of Small Death. And in another dream back in the Flora Kingdom, Galleghar Nyx had mentioned small death.

  Now that I look for it, it’s everywhere.

  I move in close to Des.

  “What’s small death?” I ask, shouting to be heard over the gusty air.

  I’ve never actually stopped to ask what the term means.

  “Sleep,” Des says, his voice amplified by his magic.

  I think he’s misheard me, but then he adds, “Fae consider the loss of consciousness—fainting, sleep, and so on—to be a brief taste of death. The individual is caught between worlds, and so we call this small death.”

  Huh. I guess that’s kind of cool. Unhelpful, but cool.

  “Why do you ask?”

  I glance over at Des. His eyes are too keen.

  Though he knows I’ve had nightmares about the Thief, I haven’t told him the specifics about my most recent dreams.

  I open my mouth to explain when a dark object manifests ahead of us. I catch a blur of white hair, hear the shrill cries of the pixies as they scatter, and then, next thing I know, the fae has me by the throat.

  I grab the fairy’s wrist, trying to pry their hand from my neck when I catch sight of the beautiful fae.

  Those eyes … just like his son’s.

  Galleghar Nyx grimaces at me, squeezing tighter, his upper lip curling in disgust. “I could snap your neck right now and be done with it, slave.”

  I drop a bandaged hand from his wrist, groping along my waist for one of my daggers.

  “To think you’ve been walking the halls of my palace—”