Heartless

by Gena Showalter

  “A bright future indeed,” she said, her body singing for him. Yes, they could do this. They were learning each other, but they were also making room in their lives. As long as he remained motivated to succeed with her, she had something to work with.

  All right. Time to bring up the beating heart of the big bad.

  “Help me better understand your vengeance,” she said.

  He clasped her by the waist, lifted and turned her, then sat her on the rail. He fit his hips between her spread legs, putting her face above his, and linked his fingers under her backside. His strong arms kept her safe and steady, but she clung to him anyway.

  He was naked. Gloriously so. A proud, powerful—irresistible—sight. Disheveled hair made him appear boyish. Honestly, slumber had helped him shed two hundred and fifty years. At least.

  On his left shoulder was the birth control tattoo he’d given himself. Three black dots the size of pennies, and a stark reminder of the ruthlessness of his nature. He expected her to remain childless, even if she one day wanted kids, simply to satisfy a debt he could repay with a sword at any time.

  “What would you like to know?” he asked, wary.

  The storm charged the air. A flash of lightning illuminated a male with lost whiskey eyes. Her heart banged against her ribs. If those eyes were the window to his soul, Kaysar the Unhinged One desperately needed saving. He was a king currently drowning in tears he’d refused to shed.

  Cookie nearly looked away. As she held his gaze, silently offering a life raft, if only he would grab it, his expression softened into tenderness.

  Here goes. “You let the Frostlines live so you can torture them. What if King Hador harms other innocents in the meantime?”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I castrate him regularly, and I use a blade that makes his injuries more difficult to heal. Sometimes I take his eyes and his hands, too. I’m eager to show you my collection.”

  “And I’m eager to see it.” She chewed on her bottom lip as she toyed with his hair. “If I asked you to let Jareth go, you’d tell me...?”

  He reared back, but she held tight. Eventually he settled back against her, and she melted over him.

  “It’s just a question, Kaysar. I’m not actually asking you to do it.”

  “I’d tell you no, absolutely not,” he said, a little panicked.

  Yeah. She’d figured. “Jareth was as much a child as you were the day you lost your sister.” Tread carefully. “What if the king and his brother abused him the same way they abused you?”

  “No. The Frostlines lie. They’re kind in public and monsters in private. I watched from my window, my ire sharpening every time a servant or guest gazed upon them with adoration and admiration.”

  “But you never saw Jareth in private. You don’t know if he broke down every time he sealed himself in his bedroom.”

  “No!” A violent shake of his head as he attempted to step back again. “You don’t understand.” His volume rose with each word.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to discuss Jareth, young or old.” She petted his chest until he relaxed, then steered the conversation to the present. “What are you going to do about Micah and Hador? Will you leave the castle again?” Tomorrow?

  “Not without you. As to what I’ll do... I am unsure. I must think. My schemes require...adjusting.” He kneaded her backside, his touch almost bruising. “Earlier you told me you needed to be first. What if I can’t give you that? I can’t lose you, Chantel. But I can’t lose her, either.”

  “Her?”

  “Vengeance is Viori, and Viori is vengeance.”

  He spoke the words by rote. An internal chant, no doubt. He believed he’d failed his sister and sought to offer her reparation. The only thing he had to offer? The pain of those who had separated them.

  Win him from his vengeance, yeah, Cookie could probably do it. But win him from his sister? He might hate her for it. Forgiveness wasn’t something he knew how to offer.

  “I won’t ask you to give up your sister,” she promised. “Not now, not ever.” Maybe one day, he would freely—happily—let her go. Because Cookie wasn’t done fighting. “We’ve got time to figure this out, baby.”

  He released a shuddering breath, relaxing further.

  She pressed a soft kiss into his lips. “Sing me a song?”

  Minutes passed in silence, the storm pitter-pattering behind her. She assumed he refused her request. But, as he combed his fingers through her hair, he released the first note. A haunting melody she felt in every cell. Once again, she melted over him.

  He sang as he swept her against his chest and carried her to bed.

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU think of this, Kaysar?” Chantel stood before an erotic statue of a naked couple lost in the throes. “Beside the door or on the dais?”

  Kaysar remained nearby. Yesterday, she’d found a trunk full of mortal clothes and gadgets she’d claimed with a shouted, “Dibs!” This morning she’d washed the garments, then donned a “tank” top, “yoga” pants, and a hideous green “bath” robe. Curlers covered her head, keeping her hair in tight ringlets.

  “I’m taking today off from my royal duties and doing a little spring cleaning,” she’d told him, her gray-green eyes glittering with challenge. “The people will love the end results.”

  “An erotic statue looks spectacular anywhere, sweetling,” he told her now.

  “Oh, my gosh. You’re right.” She beamed at him and returned to her redecorating.

  He ensured the servants obeyed her without hesitation as she ordered them to place this here and that there. Items she’d discovered in the treasure trove. Framed maps. Marble statues. Paintings. Furnishings and vases.

  She’d requested a carpenter, and Kaysar had supplied her with the best. Someone able to make “kitty cities” and climbing posts for the royal feline, upon his arrival. The carpenter also built ramps for Pearl Jean’s “scooter.” Whatever that was.

  Three days had passed since the raid. Kaysar and his queen made love at all hours, whispered in the dark and slept curled together every night. Having tasted of their connection, he could settle for nothing less than an eternity with her. He cherished every minute in her presence. More than he’d ever cherished anything.

  The prince occupied his usual spot at the edge of the royal dais. Jareth stared at Chantel, his gaze intent.

  That wouldn’t do.

  Earlier, Kaysar did the unthinkable and showed the male a kindness. But then, this particular kindness had been for himself, as well. The prince had stunk, and Kaysar had allowed servants to bathe him.

  When Kaysar rotated on his heel to approach the prince, Chantel swung around and patted his butt. He stopped for a moment, a smile flashing and vanishing. The things she did. He shook his head and crossed to the prince, winding through piles of goods awaiting her decision for permanent relocation.

  “Look at my mistress, nesting,” he said to Jareth when he stood at the male’s side. “Creating a home for us.”

  “You’re a prick,” the prince snapped.

  “The great Frostline prince thinks poorly of me. However will I recover?”

  To his great annoyance, Jareth got smug. “Enjoy her while you can. She doesn’t need to remember Lulundria to flee you. You’ll drive her away all on your own. I saw her face when you flittered to my father. You didn’t—because you weren’t here. That’s her war line. Your days with her are numbered.”

  Rage. Unholy. Consuming. How dare the prince use his own fears against him. “You will not even speak of her.” Kaysar went low, grabbing and yanking Jareth’s ankles, smacking him to the floor. The crash shook the entire throne room.

  Jareth remained stretched out, grinning at the ceiling. “Worth it.”

  “Kaysar,” Chantel called, her gaze on a second statue, “be a dear and play with your toys
outside today.”

  Remove Jareth’s collar? Give the prince an opportunity to escape? How could she even suggest such a thing? But then, she’d made no secret of her desire to set the Frostline free. She’d softened for the prince.

  Kaysar balled his fists. His woman and his foe, working together to make him crazed. He—What was that? Familiar eyes stared at him from a trunk.

  Servants had dropped a beaten leather chest near Chantel’s feet, the lid falling off upon impact.

  His heart stopped. He stomped over and swiped up a doll. It couldn’t be the doll. It. Couldn’t. But he knew every scuff and crack on this porcelain face. Had seen them in his memories a myriad of times.

  Viori’s doll. Drendall. Kaysar clutched the little darling close. His sister had been here.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE NEXT SIX days lasted six thousand years or six seconds. One or the other, and nothing in between, passing too swiftly and too slowly at once. All because Kaysar had found his sister’s doll, Drendall.

  Forget being first or second place in Kaysar’s life. Cookie had been demoted to third.

  He hadn’t left the castle, at least. Instead, he’d constantly hounded Amber about visions. Where was Micah right now? Why couldn’t/hadn’t/wouldn’t Eye see Viori? Where had Viori been throughout the ages? For her incompetence, did Eye prefer to die swiftly or linger?

  Amber’s visions were currently on the fritz, and the oracle didn’t know why.

  Unfortunately, Cookie’s abilities were on the fritz, too. Since the doll’s discovery, her doormaking power had stopped charging and started draining. Her dream of fetching Pearl Jean and Sugars floated beyond her reach.

  Her life was topsy-turvy again. Because of a doll. She hated this. Kaysar made her feel things she’d never felt before. Wonderful, terrible, amazing, awful things. She’d fallen deeper. Too deep. And she was trying, trying so hard, to stop falling. She was doing everything in her power to hold a part of herself back. And he was helping her do it! But it didn’t matter. If they split, she’d...she’d...shatter.

  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Cookie back together again.

  She sometimes imagined marrying this man—without vomiting! She thought she might want to tweak his vengeance plan and start a family with him one day. They could be deliriously happy together. Kaysar at her side as she ruled the Dusklands. She might even help him lord over the Nightlands. But, deep down, he would be miserable the entire time. The hatred was eating him alive.

  He’d asked for a chance to fix her problems. Why wouldn’t he give her a chance to fix his?

  She knew she was special to Kaysar. Soon she thought he might do the impossible and...not forgive, but pardon Jareth for his part in their wretched past. The two had reached an uneasy accord. Oh, they swiped at each other, but they weren’t out for blood, either. They would never be friends, but they were almost done being enemies. No, the problem was Hador.

  King Hador was the one Kaysar had linked with Viori and his retribution on her behalf. As long as the royal breathed, he posed a threat to Kaysar’s happiness. Cookie’s, too. Pearl Jean and Suggy’s, as well. Not to mention the debt Cookie owned Lulundria—to live her best life.

  When Hador died, Kaysar’s hate would die with him. Finally, her dark king could heal.

  How can I help him want to heal? He didn’t realize—or didn’t accept—that killing Hador meant dealing with Viori’s loss.

  Cookie hurried toward the secret portal room she’d visited every day since unearthing it. Hadn’t taken her long to sniff out a second secret room, which had led to the discovery of another and another and another. Each room contained a mystical item—everything she’d hoped to find when they’d first entered the Dusklands.

  A coin-filled hot spring. A full-length, freestanding mirror. A glass coffin. A telescope slash spyglass. Most of which mystified her. What could they do?

  She’d also found an enchanted tree growing inside a pot. She knew because the branches dripped with elderseed. Had Kaysar done this with her bark? For her?

  A grin flashed and fell, and she sighed. What was she going to do about that man?

  Servants smiled, waved and bowed at her. Someone uttered “Our maddened queen” with affection.

  Cookie pursed her lips. Yesterday she’d pouted to Kaysar, “The servants don’t like me.” He must have...spoken with them, encouraging better behavior.

  Guess she would need to deliver another round of apology plants.

  Anytime she messed up with her people, she offered a bush, flower or tree of some kind. The fruit trees earned the best reactions—reverence and awe. For the trees, only the trees, but progress was progress.

  Cookie soared past the invisible veil that separated the maze of treasures from the rest of the castle. She’d expected Kaysar to be over the moon when she’d given him a gold star tour, but he’d been too distracted to care, patting her head, kissing her lips and moving on.

  As she bypassed the portal and navigated the winding hallway of mystical options, the skirt of her ball gown brushed the walls. On both sides. Today she’d selected the Glenda the Good-ish Witch dress. The pale pink fabric boasted embroidered roses across the bodice, with an accompaniment of razor-sharp leaves. Anyone dumb enough to grab her would receive quite the surprise.

  She’d almost chosen to be the Sugar Plum Fairy. A magnificent creation and an attempt to lure Kaysar to her side, ready to grant his every wish. To gain his attention and his touch. To reaffirm their undeniable connection. Once she’d talked herself out of that, she’d reached for the white dress. Its mysterious meaning had stayed her hand. Instead, she’d gone for the eternal optimist. Hoping...

  There’s no place like home.

  At last, she entered the room with the telescope. Her favorite! The massive piece of equipment stared at a crumbling wall, yet she could use it to peer anywhere in the Dusklands, the Forest of Many Names, and even the borders of the five courts. Once, she’d thought she caught sight of Kaysar’s palace in the Midnight Court. The Nightlands. Though she’d searched and searched, she’d failed to locate Micah and Hador here in the Dusklands.

  Maybe she’d luck out today.

  Let the search continue. In position at the spyglass, she searched the wooded areas in the mountain, where tree roots slithered like snakes, on the hunt for Micah or the Frostline king. Flowers had begun to bloom here and there. Pink. Blue. Yellow. Red. Purple. The petals shimmered in sunlight. Beyond the woods was a swampland that cut into a butterfly garden, which cut into a desert-like clearing.

  “Cookie! Guess what? I did it. I figured out how I’ve been seeing hundreds of random images of no importance, preventing me from seeing anything else.”

  Invader! With a yelp, Cookie whirled around and flung a handful of thorns. The intruder’s identity didn’t register until too late. Thankfully, Amber ducked and continued forward without a pause in her step. Or dying.

  “Well, don’t leave the rest of the class in suspense,” Cookie said, heart not yet ready to calm. “Tell me. How’s it happening? And how’d you get past your shadow?” Kaysar should be all over her, demanding information about this.

  “Oh, Kaysar was easy. I accessed a vision sure to keep him busy for hours.” The oracle stunned in a white Grecian gown, as graceful as a ballerina. “Micah and Hador are working with a seer of their own. One of the most powerful I’ve ever encountered. She’s sending me mental collages, preventing me from focusing on where the royals are hiding.”

  “Now that you know, can you block her?”

  “Mostly.”

  That was great. It really was. But, the return of her abilities put Kaysar’s preoccupation on steroids. Cookie’s shoulders drooped as she returned her attention to the spyglass. “I’ll find our opposition, don’t you worry. No one can hide from me for long.” Hopefully.

 
She aimed the end in different directions. A fluffy bush that resembled cotton candy hurled itself onto a rodent, blood spraying from the leaves. In a pond, a fish zoomed past the water’s surface and got snagged by a bird midflight. Another fish crawled from the water with a million feet to creep along the shore.

  With a huff of irritation, Cookie readjusted the angle of the spyglass and scrutinized the border of the Winter Court, home to King Hador and Prince Jareth. Snow and frost stretched forever, creating a sea of white broken only by a massive rock wall, where an army camped.

  Kaysar’s army. Or a part of it. How long had the men been in place? Tents and firepits abounded, smoke curling through frigid air. Some soldiers trained. Others crafted weapons or performed chores. A majority worked to breach the wall.

  He enjoyed being a constant thorn in Hador’s paw. And honestly, she couldn’t blame him. But since finding the doll, his obsession had amplified tenfold. It was hurting him and killing her.

  He skulked around and muttered under his breath constantly. When his sanity slipped, he cut his arms to make his maps. He’d made a lot of maps. Sometimes he stared at the crimson lines, as if he plotted a path to Viori, wherever she happened to be. If she happened to be. Had she survived?

  “You can absolutely find specific individuals with the spyglass,” Amber said. “If you have their blood.”

  Seriously? “How much?”

  “A single drop here.” She tapped the mysterious cylinder beneath the eyepiece. “There’s nowhere the person can hide. No power strong enough to shield them.”

  No wonder Cookie had fallen hardcore for the spyglass. It rocked. “Since I can’t thieve blood until I find the people, you’re up to bat. Have you seen Micah and Hador yet? One or the other? Hundreds of angry soldiers, perhaps?”