Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  Now that sinister smile is back. A minute ago, I could almost pretend he was civilized. I can’t now.

  “Whatever I please,” the Thief says.

  We’d like to see him try.

  “Yeah, I fucking get that, but what does that actually mean?”

  “Is the anticipation killing you, enchantress?” He touches a lock of my hair, his hand sliding down it. “It means that I’ll have you in all the most obvious ways you fear—I’ll fuck you, I’ll eat out that enchanting little pussy, I’ll make you go down on me. But that won’t be the end of it. There are many things you will do to please me, and there are many things I will do to you to please myself. It will go on and on like this until you can no longer do them.”

  Until my spirit is utterly broken, he means.

  “The true question will be how long you survive my … attentions. Your life is now measured in centuries, not decades. That mind of yours is more resilient than it was when you were human—and of course, your bond will keep you sane and keep your priorities right where I need them to be. I have a feeling you will last a long while.”

  The horrible truth is that even though we’re both aware the Thief’s using my bond against me, I’m still going to play right into his hand. Because seeing Des in pain and feeling him slip away from me, it makes me panicked.

  “You’re going to find that I’m not that fun of a captive.” I wasn’t when I was his prisoner before. I won’t be this time around either.

  “On the contrary, I think you’ll be exceedingly pleasing.”

  I can’t even fathom the future he intends for me. All those minutes, hours, days, years—centuries. All of it a sick, twisted horror show.

  Maybe this is hell. Maybe this is hell and I’m getting my first taste of it.

  I glance out at the sea, frowning. It stretches into the night, and it’s not clear what—if anything—lies beyond it.

  A pier juts out from the castle grounds. Tethered to it is a lone ship, its sails in tatters and its hull sunk deep in the water. It leans severely to one side, and the ship’s rigging dangles limply, and there isn’t a breeze to stir any of it.

  At once, I’m struck by the true oddness of this place.

  Why would the Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth have a palace right next to a strange ocean? Why would there be a ship? And why would that ship fall into disrepair?

  And speaking of hell and the afterlife—

  I glance around. “Where are all of the dead?”

  You’d think they’d be roaming these halls, either as specters or as full-blooded people, yet I haven’t seen a soul other than Des and Galleghar—and the Thief, of course.

  The Thief stares at me, his mind a mystery. “I’ll show them to you, shortly.”

  With that cryptic response, he takes my hand and placidly leads me back inside his palace, with its pale walls and the blood red vines that look like gashes.

  We pass through several rooms, each one looking a bit like the last, and this one should be no different, except it is. When we enter, I see someone I don’t recognize.

  The fairy is covered in iron shackles—his neck, his wrists, his ankles. Thick, iron chains link the manacles together.

  I suck in a breath at the sight of his blistering skin.

  The fairy is not alone, either. The woman at his side has an ethereal glow to her.

  She’s dead, I realize with shock.

  I hadn’t thought the Thief was going to show me the dead so soon after his cryptic response.

  If the dead look like that …

  Des isn’t dead. I hadn’t thought he was, but then I hadn’t been sure. This place bends reality.

  The shackled man ignores us entirely, leading the dead woman on.

  “Who is he?” I ask as we pass the two by.

  “Kharion, the ferryman.”

  The ferryman?

  “You mean the guy that transports the dead?” Back on earth we had human myths about that. I hadn’t realized that at least in the Otherworld, the afterlife really worked this way.

  “Just when I think your only redeeming quality is your face, you surprise me with your infinitesimal intellect,” the Thief says.

  My gaze thins.

  “Why is he shackled?” I ask.

  “We don’t see eye to eye.”

  Before I can ask any further questions, the Thief drags me out of the room, and onwards we go.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  I’m getting impatient. My siren is still whispering her dark deeds, and I’m not acting on any of them because I’m afraid that nothing will stop the Thief—nothing but patience and surprise.

  “I assumed you’d want to see where you were staying.”

  I’m not staying. I’m leaving here with Des as soon as I see a good opportunity to do so—or else Temper is coming down here for all our asses.

  The two of us arrive at a Gothic door, and I glance at the Thief, an eyebrow raised. In response, he flashes me a sly smile.

  With an ominous creak, the door opens.

  “Welcome to our rooms.”

  Our.

  My blood chills as my eyes sweep over the space. Even though I’m brave and angry, I still quake at the sight in front of me. The bed, with its crimson sheets, has iron cuffs and chains affixed to the four posts. It’s obvious they’re meant for me.

  There’s an iron maiden in the room, a human-sized cage hanging from the ceiling, and a breaking wheel. There are chains dangling from the walls and ceilings, and just about every surface has iron or leather braces affixed to it.

  It looks like a BDSM dungeon met the Inquisition and they had some fucked up kids together.

  My hand edges for my thigh holster.

  Kill him, kill him now before he can chain us.

  The Thief leaves my side and wanders over to the wheel. “Care to test this one out?”

  “That’s not my kink,” I say.

  Watching you die is.

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  Obviously not. I don’t dabble in light torture on the weekends.

  “What do you think?” I say tartly.

  “I think you won’t know what you enjoy until you’ve tried it.”

  “I didn’t realize my enjoyment mattered to you.”

  His hand leaves the wheel, and he walks over to me, stepping in close. “You better hope it matters to me, enchantress. Otherwise, the next two hundred years of your life could be very, very bleak.”

  I’m tense, waiting for the Thief to break this brief stretch of civility. It won’t last with him—it never does. And where better to begin than in this fucked up room?

  But it never comes. His hand grabs mine, and he leads me out of the room and down the hallway.

  If I thought this was the end of the palace tour, I thought wrong.

  “Do you know how the Kings of the Dead have made their way?” he asks causally as we walk.

  I have no idea what else he hopes to show me in this castle. The dungeons maybe? Even an asshole like him only has so many terrible surprises to share.

  “They—we—have to kidnap our brides,” he says. “This is nothing unusual for a fairy. In case you hadn’t noticed, we rather enjoy snatching away young men and maidens. It’s all part of the thrill.

  “But Death Kings—well, they’ve always done things a little different. When choosing brides and grooms, they would wear the skin of the dead and go topside. Invariably, there’s always one fae festival or another moving through the Otherworld. Those have always been a favorite hunting ground for the rulers of the dead.”

  My skin prickles as I think of Solstice. How the Green Man sought me out again and again.

  “Surprising, really, how many fairies love the mysterious stranger. Give them enough spirits and let them dance until they are drunk on magic and wine … It is so easy to whisper a few promises and lure a fairy away.”

  Understanding is dawning on me.

  “So the Death Kings would draw down their unwi
lling spouses to the Land of Death and Deep Earth. They would then baptize them in the Pool of Resurrection and bind their spouses to their side—forever.”

  The Thief’s hand drifts to my shoulder, his fingers digging in. “And then those brides and grooms lived here, just as you will.”

  Yeah, that’s not fucking happening.

  “Of course, skinwalking is useful for more than just snatching spouses. One can lure just about any fairy away by wearing the face of the beloved dead.”

  The sleeping soldiers, that’s what he’s referring to.

  “So I took fairy after fairy and I fucked them and breathed my magic into their bodies until, one by one, they fell prey.”

  I already know the lurid truth about the sleeping soldiers, but hearing the Thief of Souls recount it all makes my stomach roil.

  “The men I hid away. But the women … I took their babies and their bodies and had them delivered back where they came from.

  “They were my army, and I brought my darkness into the world above and watched it grow.” He rubs his lower lip with his thumb, then barks out a laugh. “To tell you the truth, it all became quite boring … until, of course, it was time to handle the Night King. That is how I discovered his oh-so-charming mate.

  “The shadows couldn’t stop talking about you. The prettiest human they’d ever seen. The cherished soulmate of the Night King. They’re real conversationalists, if you can get them to sing.”

  I stumble to a stop, the Thief’s hand slipping from my shoulder. “You can talk to the shadows?”

  Dear God.

  The Thief smiles slyly. “You thought your mate was the only one? He isn’t. The shadows whisper to me too.”

  That’s … really, really not good. It also happens to explain how the Thief knows so much. The shadows spy for him.

  He grips my shoulder once more and forces me to begin walking again.

  Suits of armor, displayed swords, soaring architecture; all of it barely registers as I pass it by.

  “They told me everything I need to know about you,” the Thief says. “I’ve heard all about your fucked up life, my pretty bird. I know your stepfather raped you, over and over. I know you killed him, and that our gallant Desmond Flynn swooped in and saved you. Did you know he had Daddy Dearest resurrected?”

  He did?

  Immediately, I doubt the Thief’s words. Des would’ve told me something like that.

  “Of course,” the Thief continues, “that was only so he could torture and kill the man all over again. I do appreciate a good killing. Too bad Desmond had to then go and try his hand at honor, all so that he’d keep himself from fucking you prematurely.”

  I distractedly notice that we’ve entered another room, our footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

  “I know that the Night King’s magic kept you two apart for seven years,” the Thief continues. “I know you made each other such ardent promises—the Night Kingdom really does know its way around romance. ‘Until darkness dies’ … Truly, that’s a sweet sentiment.”

  “You know, there’s only one problem with that phrase—

  He stops and turns to face me.

  “Me.”

  Chapter 43

  My brows furrow. “What are you talking about?” I glance around us as I ask.

  I’ve been here before, I realize.

  There’s those bonelike columns, the ceiling that gives way to the dark night beyond. There’s that unsettling pool, which hums with magic, and then there’s the Thief’s throne. This last one glints and flickers in the candlelight, its peaked spires looking especially sharp and deadly.

  The Death King’s throne room.

  Nothing good ever happens in these rooms.

  “I’m talking about who I am,” the Thief responds.

  He begins to circle me, and my skin burns brighter than ever.

  “You saw all those fallen soldiers at my doorway. We both know I was not born in this kingdom, that I invaded this place. That I have lived for centuries—that Galleghar used me to save his own life.”

  He finishes circling me, coming back to my front.

  “So who am I?” he says. “The question everyone wants to know.”

  The place is ominously still, and the only sound comes from the pool that stretches out on the other side of the room.

  “Not a conqueror,” he shakes his head, “not a king. I came from a time before such things.

  “You see, I am not a man. I’m a god.”

  A … god?

  “Don’t look so shocked, enchantress,” the Thief says. “A woman talks to the darkness—is she really so surprised when the darkness talks back?”

  I don’t have time to feel disbelief or to question the Thief’s claim. His body begins expanding before my eyes, his form darkening until he is nothing more than the shape of a man. Pinpricks of light—stars they seem to me—glitter from deep within that darkness. I can barely make out his features amongst it all.

  I take a step back as that still air begins to move and churn.

  Around us, candles flicker, and the hum from the pool seems to grow louder.

  “All this time, you’ve wanted to know who I am. Enchantress, I’m Euribios.” He breathes the name with a shiver of magic. It skitters across my skin. “I am what came before.”

  I feel that part of his magic then—not the wickedness of it, but the wildness.

  I stare up at him as he gets larger and larger. The room begins to darken, his form sucking away the light.

  Amongst all that darkness, I sense his smile, and it chills me to the core.

  “Once, Death and Night were the very same thing. Once, there was nothing else.”

  The room is giving way to shadow, and the Thief is losing his form.

  “Back then, when the world was young, before everything came into existence, I reigned supreme.”

  It comes to me then, where I heard the name Euribios. Janus had mentioned it in reference to some artwork.

  He’d been the primordial god of darkness.

  Fucking Methuselah. The Thief isn’t just a god; he’s one of the big ones.

  “I will reign again,” he continues. “Kingdom by kingdom, I will vanquish this world until nothing is left—no life, no afterlife. I will tear down the sun and consume the land.”

  My very bones quake at the thought.

  What he’s speaking of is annihilation.

  “But don’t fear, mortal, I will stretch the end out, for once this world is gone, there will be nothing to entertain me again.”

  We must end him. This is no longer about revenge. It’s about preservation.

  “That first evening of Solstice,” Euribios says, “do you remember what Mara said?”

  As he speaks, he continues to grow, his form expanding until his head touches the ceiling, his body becoming one with the darkness.

  “‘Deep from the womb of the night we were born, and deep into the night do our spirits return when the body has died and the flesh has cooled.’”

  With those words, the room goes dark.

  Euribios and I and everything else in this underworld are swallowed up by the void he’s created.

  “I am the beginning and the end,” he continues. “I am death and darkness, but I am infinitely more. I am what came before, and I am unending.”

  I feel … I feel as though I’m losing myself. The shadows are swallowing everything up. My body, my mind, my bond.

  Not losing that.

  The impasse is over. My patience is spent.

  I reach for the blade stashed in my thigh holster and another strapped to my calf, the ones the Thief was too cocky to remove.

  I stride toward that terrible darkness, weapons raised, my wings unfurling behind me. I can’t see Euribios, but I sense him, his body the epicenter of his magic.

  My wings beat, and with a leap, I rise into the air.

  Blinded by the darkness, I use my other senses to close in on Euribios. Smell, sound, and my ability to sense ma
gic.

  I draw close to him, my blades poised.

  In the instant before I strike, I feel my connection to Des stir, then … awaken.

  Des.

  It almost makes me pause. I want to believe that Des is responsible for the sensation, but it’s Euribios who’s the puppet master, Euribios who holds our bond hostage, Euribios who’s now taunting me with everything I have to lose.

  And with this one act I might lose it all.

  Don’t be frightened of yourself, cherub. You are exactly as you should be.

  With a single powerful stroke, I sink the blades into that terrible darkness. They hit something; I can feel the resistance. It’s not flesh, but it’s not just air either.

  I withdraw my weapons. Sink them into strange flesh again. My body glows the entire time, and I smile viciously, my siren filling me up.

  My connection to Des still burns brightly, and I should be frightened by that. This is exactly what the Thief wants—to make me understand what I have so that later I will feel the ache of its loss. But the sensation gives me perverse strength.

  We will defeat him.

  Amongst the darkness, Euribios laughs. A moment later, I feel him grab my daggers by their blades.

  “You still think you can kill me?” he asks, tilting his head. “I am a deity.”

  He jerks the weapons from my grip and tosses them aside.

  Heedless, I slash at him with my claws, my siren consuming me.

  Euribios doesn’t have flesh like I do. I’m not even sure what I’m tearing into, only that even in that darkness, he still has substance.

  The entire time, my bond pulses. I feel Des on the other end of my bond.

  “Enough,” Euribios says.

  The magic around me shifts, and I shift with it, fluidly evading the dark power.

  I swoop in again and collide with magic and flesh. Immediately, I sink my claws into the substance—whatever it is. I can’t see anything, except for the galaxies twinkling deep within his form, but it’s enough.

  Something like blood slips between my fingers as I tear into the Thief’s odd form.

  Behind me, I sense his magic closing in on me again. At once I release my hold, dropping to the ground just as his power moves overhead, stirring my hair. I hear a crack as the Thief’s magic strikes magic.