Heartless

by Gena Showalter

  “I’ve seen a future event. Which is one of the reasons I sought you out.” Amber hesitated a moment. “There’s something I feel you should see.”

  Oh, crap. “No, thank you.” No need to ponder. She got being prepared. But when did a psychic vision become a self-fulfilling prophecy? “If I know what’s coming, I might change my behavior, might make wrong decisions, based on a supposition.”

  “Kaysar would disagree.” Amber flattened a palm on the rounded body of the spyglass, pushing it from Cookie’s range. “But I don’t want to show you what’s coming. I want to reveal something from his past.”

  “That would be a big no thanks, too. I’m not peeping into his business. Not without permission.” But she wanted to. Temptation had her number. What she wouldn’t give to see a slice of Kaysar’s life.

  No. She shouldn’t. Their relationship was strained enough already. Why add a potential bomb to the mix?

  “Do you wish for Pearl Jean and Sugars to live here?” Amber asked.

  The oracle planned to talk her around, didn’t she? “You know I do,” Cookie grumbled.

  “Do you want a future with Kaysar? Do you want to win him?”

  She flashed a scowl. “I do. But he doesn’t desire to be won.” When would he fight for her? Everything was so one-sided. He either showed her the world’s most seductive, attentive Prince Charming or the world’s coldest assassin, but never anything in between. “I’m a pretty amazing person,” she said, hating her whininess. “I protect those under my care, I’m world-changing in bed, and I’m sure I have other winning attributes, too.”

  “Do you want to win him?” Amber repeated.

  Temper rising, ready for a change of scenery and topics, Cookie clasped the oracle’s hand and flittered to the garden she’d cultivated outside her bedroom.

  Warm, dusty air became dry and smoky in an instant. Servants worked out here, smiling and laughing as they pulled weeds from a garden. Pride filled Cookie. She had created so many different kinds of plants and herbs for her prototype garden. She’d even begun experimenting and splicing. The bushes and foliage grew from the earth, thriving in the soil.

  The revitalization of the land brought her a sense of fulfillment as nothing else ever had.

  Grins widened as the servants spotted her.

  “They aren’t being nice to you because Kaysar demanded it. Though he did,” Amber told her, urging her forward. They walked along a dirt path, bushes of every kind flourishing all around. Connected to Cookie but not, exactly as Jareth had predicted. “They know you’re the one responsible for the thriving plant life. They are grateful.”

  “Oh. Well.” She cleared her throat. Because of the smoke, not embarrassment. Or need. “What am I going to do about Kaysar, Amber? Nothing is working.” So much for changing topics. “Before you answer, turn off your foresight and live in this moment, okay? So yes, I’m asking you to pretend you’re as dumb as the rest of us.”

  “Very well. Here’s something even a fool should know. To get what you want, you’ll have to fight and fall and stand and fight—and accept help when it’s offered.”

  Marched right into that one. See? Hadn’t taken long for the oracle to talk her around. “Fine. I’ll peer into Kaysar’s past. But if he protests about it, you’re getting full blame.” She fluttered a hand over her throat, pretending to be scandalized. “Kaysar, darling, Amber forced me to watch.”

  The oracle rolled her eyes. “As if you can do any wrong in his mind.”

  True. A definite mark for the pro column. “Why do you need to show me this, anyway?” Amber might be a gifted talk-arounder, but Cookie was an excellent staller.

  “Did I forget to tell you? King Hador and King Micah are on their way to the palace. They’ll arrive later this evening with thousands of trolls. That’s the bit of news that is currently occupying Kaysar.”

  “What?” She spun into the other woman with her skirt, then gripped her shoulders and shook. A habit she’d picked up from Kaysar. “Why didn’t you start with the headline, you exquisite nut? Tell me everything.”

  “I’ll give you the highlights of the future, so we can return to the business of the past. The two kings will arrive and seek an audience. They’ll offer a truce Kaysar will refuse.”

  “Shocker.”

  “This will mark a crucial moment in your relationship with him, and I want you prepared.”

  Crucial moment? Gulp. “Are you gearing up to tell me I...lose?”

  The seer gave her a pitying look. “That depends on you. And no pressure, but your actions with Hador and Micah this day will have eternity-long consequences.”

  No pressure. Right. “I swear you have five seconds to explain what—” Cookie went silent, her spine bowing, throwing back her head. A scream ripped from her.

  “Oh, yes,” Amber said with a sweet smile. “I probably should have warned you. Accepting an image or two is easy. Receiving an entire memory is not.”

  “You’re the meanest of us all, aren’t you?” she asked between wheezing breaths.

  The oracle’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling. “Probably.”

  A response lived and died within the same heartbeat, Cookie’s mind consumed with a virtual reality she couldn’t switch off. She watched a young boy lead a younger girl through the forest. They were the most beautiful children she’d ever beheld, with wavy jet-black hair and light brown eyes framed by ultra-long lashes.

  She didn’t have to ponder who they were. The knowledge came with the memory. This was Kaysar and his sister, Viori. The realization punched Cookie, and she flattened her hands on her stomach to ward off an oncoming ache. The siblings were so thin, so dirty, wearing rags and boots barely held together by string.

  Kaysar carried a large satchel on his back, stooped from its weight.

  “This,” Amber said, “is the day Kaysar lost her. Watch it. Watch his capture. And his escape.”

  Her heart squeezed painfully. This was going to tear her up inside, wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  MICAH AND HADOR. Here. Soon. Not soon enough.

  Kaysar poised at the edge of Chantel’s throne, vibrating with readiness, Drendall in his lap. A group of farmers had come to request his aid regarding some kind of swamp monster and offer bribes. He half listened, his mind too active.

  Did Micah know Viori? Had the usurper ever interacted with her? Had one of his people? Had someone simply found the doll? But why store it in a treasury? The lack of answers left him ragged.

  Failing Viori.

  Losing Chantel.

  More and more, his woman stared out windows, pensive. Anytime he inquired about her thoughts, she smiled the most heartbreakingly sad smile and changed the subject.

  They lived in the same castle, with her glorious plants budding around every doorway and window, yet he missed her as if they were separated by oceans. She kept a part of herself separate from him now. He felt the distance.

  They hadn’t made love again.

  Chantel had said she wouldn’t ask him to choose her over his sister, and she’d kept true to her word. Why did that disappoint him?

  She still hadn’t donned the claws, their team uniform. Her mouth often smiled at him, but the affection no longer sparkled so brightly in those big, beautiful eyes. Though he’d held her lush curves in his arms every night, they’d stopped whispering secrets to each other. She’d kissed him once, forever ago, but his guilt had prevented him from enjoying it, and she’d never tried again.

  The strain was starting to wear on him, his patience nonexistent with everyone but her—with effort. But he’d never been a calm individual, and he feared the inevitable snap. Would he only drive her away faster?

  But how could he enjoy his woman while his sister suffered a fate unknown? Did Viori need him? He didn’t know. Had she forged a life for herself? One filled with regrets?
Horrors? Was she happy? Dead?

  Kaysar pulled at hanks of his hair, the uncertainty increasing the likelihood of that emotional snap. He’d already used up the drops of satisfaction and contentment he’d gained during those too few times they’d made love. Nothing remained of them, and he desperately, fiercely yearned for more.

  Why couldn’t she accept the life he offered, as is? Why did she have to want more, too? He’d given her everything. New gifts. Weapons. Jewelry. Weapons made to look like jewelry. A framed map of the Dusklands, her kingdom. But she wanted what he couldn’t give. Unless he could.

  Part of him screamed to let go of his vengeance. To end the Frostlines at last. To say goodbye to Viori. But how could he? How, how, how?

  You know I’ll always protect you, yes?

  To break his promise to the little girl who owned his heart...to lie to the one who deserved his every truth...

  Until he knew what became of Viori, he could not, should not rest.

  “In case you were wondering, your most recent strike against me is truly diabolical,” Jareth said from his post on the dais. He popped a small croquette into his mouth. Croquettes were not on Kaysar’s approved menu for the captured prince. Obviously, someone was dying today. Or tomorrow, after he’d dealt with the upcoming visitation. “Letting me watch you self-destruct? I’m positively teeming with misery.”

  “When your opinion is wanted,” he grated, “I’ll rip it from your throat.” Where was Chantel? Still redecorating bedchambers?

  He scanned the “new and improved” throne room, loving the erotic statues positioned around the walls, like soldiers having sex in front of every occupant. The most sedate florals accompanied them, framed in gold at their sides. The whimsy of her eclectic tastes charmed him.

  “—majesty?” a farmer said. “I-is this gift satisfactory?”

  The fearful, hopeful question pulled him from his musings. He realized he’d been petting Chantel’s lock of hair over his forearm.

  He swept his gaze over the group who’d brought two chests of elven spices, cured in the marshes. “Perhaps you should tell me if this gift is satisfactory. You are the ones who selected it, after all. So, do it. Tell me. Did you choose an unsatisfactory gift for the queen you wish to act as your champion?”

  “I... You...” The farmer looked at his companions for support, who merely peered at the floor. “Your majesty—”

  “The gift is more than satisfactory,” Jareth announced. “The finest from your fields, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes, yes. The finest from our fields,” the man rushed to agree.

  Kaysar flicked his tongue over an incisor. Jareth kept doing this, kept interrupting and making a nuisance of himself. “You truly believe this?” he asked the prince. He didn’t wait for a response. “You will agree to receive their punishment or reward, whichever I decide is deserved.”

  “Agreed,” Jareth said with a nod. “I will take their punishment or reward.”

  The farmers shuddered with relief before filing out of the room as fast as their feet would carry them.

  Kaysar forced himself to relax. Stroking his chin, he told the prince, “How magnanimous of you. Once, you wouldn’t even speak up to save a servant girl you desired. Now you risk your life for strangers.”

  The royal flinched. “You want to discuss this here? Very well. I was as much a prisoner as you were. Do you think you were the only one abused? Do you think I hadn’t tried to escape and failed? Do you think, even for a moment, that I wasn’t saying and doing exactly what was expected of me as I worked to strengthen, hoping to break out? That day in the field, I hoped to save the girl from a fate worse than death. I knew my family would kill her regardless of what I did or said. I picked a more merciful path for her but—” He pressed his lips together and bowed his head, as if his shame weighed heavy on him.

  “Well. I didn’t know your intentions were so pure,” Kaysar sneered. Perhaps Jareth spoke true, perhaps he lied. Either way, it was done, and he deserved to suffer. “You despise Hador so much, yet you associate with him before your citizens. You laugh together.”

  “I never laugh with him. Not anymore.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Shall I pardon you for being a weak coward?”

  Another flinch. Then the prince met his gaze, exuding defiance. “Perhaps you should pardon yourself for it first?”

  Kaysar, a weak coward? How dare the prince? “I will have your tongue before the day’s end.”

  Jareth remained unfazed. “If my forced stay has taught me anything, it’s the truth of your nature. The big, bad Unhinged One fears losing everything he loves yet again. You wear an invisible collar, binding you to a prison of your own making, where time has no meaning and nothing ever changes. Then a beautiful princess comes along, offering you a key, and you pretend you can’t see it. You treat yourself worse than you’ve ever treated me. I think you like your misery—I know you deserve it.”

  I will gut him where he sits. Kaysar gripped the arms of the throne, barely able to hold himself back. “I told you to never speak of her.”

  “Would you welcome a revelation about her? Because I’m willing to admit she’s yours. That much is clear. Your insanity complements hers, and I wish you both the best. I have no desire to take her from you. I’d prefer to...help you. To make amends for what I failed to do as a child.”

  Help Kaysar? Fury churned deep, soon to erupt. “I need nothing from you. You cannot make amends.”

  The front doors swung open without warning. Eye rushed inside the room, calling, “Sorry to interrupt, my king, but Hador and Micah have arrived, and they are mere seconds behind me.”

  Finally. Every inhalation dagger-sharp, Kaysar lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. The prince was forgotten.

  As soon as Kaysar had received word from Eye, he’d called off his guards. Nothing would hinder this meeting.

  The oracle halted at the side of the throne, a fine glaze of perspiration glistening on her dark skin. “I would have gotten here sooner, but Cookie wished to change her clothes.” She winced. “My sincerest apologies for her latest choice, majesty.”

  What aspect of her magnificent personality had she chosen to emphasize for the coming battle?

  For the second time, the doors swung open. Excitement spun through him as King Hador Frostline and Micah marched in, their heads high. They’d forgone armor for the meeting, selecting tunics and leathers instead, as if they had no fear of Kaysar’s claws. Eight guards trailed them. Four fae, four trolls. The paltry number irritated him. Had he lost his edge? Were people getting comfortable around him?

  Only Chantel had the right!

  Hatred sharpened Kaysar’s focus as he met Hador’s ugly gaze. The urge to kill frothed inside him, reviled memories surging and crashing.

  Wandering, grasping hands. Ragged pants. Hot breath on his flesh.

  Growls brewed. Hurt him. Make him suffer. Yes. Kaysar would coat his skin in his enemy’s blood and dance to screams of his agony.

  “What a wonderful non-surprise.” Pasting on an indulgent smile, Kaysar motioned to Eye. “Shall I send my oracle for refreshments now or after you’ve screamed in pain for a bit?”

  “We won’t be staying long,” Micah replied. Either he read lips at this close range, or he’d taken the drug to deafen himself again. He dropped his gaze to the doll and blinked.

  A tell of recognition? Confusion? Which, which? Kaysar struggled to mask his anxiety.

  Hador pointed to Jareth. “I won’t leave without my son.”

  To his credit, the prince remained seated, appearing furious about his father’s arrival. “I am where you should be. Unless you’d like to switch places, I won’t be going anywhere.”

  The king narrowed his eyes but said nothing else.

  Though the byplay bothered Kaysar, he maintained his indulgent expression. Where was Chantel?r />
  “Leave the Dusklands of your own volition, King Kaysar.” Micah’s command boomed through the room. “I have no wish to destroy my kingdom and rebuild from the foundation up yet again. But I can and will do so if you force my hand. I won’t allow you to rule over innocent, hardworking people.”

  How to explain this in a way the male would understand? “If you strike at me or mine, even once, the kingdom will be destroyed. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Micah’s cheeks lost all color.

  “Now that pleasantries are over.” Careful. No hint of urgency. “Do you recognize little Drendall, Micah?” He set the doll on the throne’s arm, allowing her big eyes to stare at the intruders.

  The usurper’s gaze returned to Viori’s former companion, his brows drawing together. “Should I?”

  Genuine perplexity? Kaysar barely stopped himself from ripping at hanks of his hair. He’d known the possibility was minute. He’d desperately hoped otherwise. “The doll belonged to my sister, long ago. One way or another, I will ferret out the truth of her time in the Dusklands.” Best to be clear. “Any who harmed her will soon seek the sweet release of death. Those who lie about an association with her will never find it.”

  “Harm a child? A female?” Micah scoffed. “Never. The rules of my kingdom are simple.”

  Kaysar...believed him. But the unsatisfactory exchange stripped another layer of civility from him. “Your choice of teammate confuses me.”

  “Enough war,” Hador shouted. “I’m tired of fighting you, Kaysar, but I will help Micah oversee your defeat if I must.”

  “You’re tired of fighting?” The words left him as little more than a whisper. “Well, let’s give the child rapist what he wants.”

  Micah lurched with horror. “The what?”

  The king averted his gaze, his cheeks reddening. “You are more destructive than I ever was.”

  “Tsk-tsk,” Kaysar replied in a singsong voice, earning moans of pain. “You cannot make the monster, then complain when it bites you.”