A Strange Hymn (The Bargainer Book 2)

by Laura Thalassa

  The more I read, the more I feel Callie the PI surge back to life. I’ve missed this—digging into cases, solving problems.

  It takes me only a little longer to stumble across what Des must’ve wanted me to.

  I tear my gaze away from the scroll. “All but two were sexually assaulted by Karnon,” I say.

  The two who escaped that fate hadn’t been sexually assaulted at all. This wasn’t due to the Fauna king having a change of heart; they just happened to be the two most recently abducted women. Karnon hadn’t had enough time to incapacitate them with his magic. He liked violating women when they couldn’t fight back.

  Des nods. “And?” he probes.

  I return my attention to the parchment. It takes only seconds for the rest of the pieces to fall into place.

  “And all but two confirmed they were pregnant,” I say.

  Seven women raped solely by Karnon, seven women end up pregnant.

  I meets Des’s gaze. “So Karnon is the casket children’s father?”

  Des leans back in his seat, his legs splayed out. One leg jiggles restlessly. “So it seems.”

  I want to pull my hair out.

  None of this makes sense.

  “But I thought …” I thought Des believed that Karnon wasn’t the father.

  Before I can finish the thought, someone knocks on the library’s doors.

  Des waves away the scroll, and it floats back onto the shelves. Another flick of his hand and the library doors open.

  In saunters Malaki, looking just as rakish as usual. He bows to the both of us, then straightens, focusing his attention on Des.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says by way of greeting, “but duty calls.”

  Des straightens in his seat. “What’s on the docket?”

  “There are Borderland issues to deal with, two fairies you’ll be honoring with war cuffs and brunch—oh, and a Solstice invite you need to respond to.”

  I’m already beginning to stand. I really need to figure out what I should do with my free time now that I’m marooned in the Otherworld.

  “Wait,” Des says to me.

  I turn to look at him.

  “Would you like to join me?”

  After what I saw yesterday in his throne room?

  I shake my head. “Have fun.”

  I head out of the room, leaving the King of the Night and his oldest friend to run the realm without me.

  Chapter 8

  I almost cloister myself away in Des’s chambers. Almost. But the prospect of hours and hours of boredom keeps me from getting too comfortable in Des’s rooms.

  So, changing into the most badass outfit I can find (leather pants, knee-high boots, and a wing-friendly corset top that I get hopelessly tangled up in because straps), I decide to actually explore the palace. I might not have my emotional armor back in place, but damn, a good outfit does half the job.

  Today’s stop: the Night Kingdom’s main library. After stumbling around asking for directions, I finally find it. Like the rest of Somnia, it’s made from the same distinctive white stone, its roof the green-blue of oxidized copper.

  I climb up the grand stairs leading to it, the pale stone glittering in the moonlight. The lamps that line the stairs spark with warm starbursts of light.

  And inside … oh, inside. The arched ceilings are lined with painted tile, copper chandeliers hanging between them. Everywhere I look in the cavernous room, beautiful fae objects are on display, from a huge tapestry that seems to shimmer different colors in the light, to a marble sculpture of two winged fairies locked in battle.

  Correction: a moving marble sculpture. The statues make grinding noises as their stone muscles move.

  I walk up to the sculpture and stare at it. Several seconds in, one of the statues turns its head, scowling at me.

  “They don’t like being stared at.”

  I nearly jump at the voice. A man stands at my side, gazing at me rather than the sculpture.

  “If they don’t like being stared at, why are they on display?” I ask.

  He presses his lips together, and for the life of me, I can’t tell if I’ve just irritated or amused him.

  “Do you need any help?” he asks.

  “Uh, no, just looking.”

  He bows his head. “Please find me if you need assistance, my lady, and welcome to the Night Kingdom Library.”

  I watch as the fairy walks away.

  That was … nice. He called me lady and didn’t ogle at my wings the way I feared he might.

  Tentatively, I pass the sculpture and move deeper into the library. Here there are rooms upon rooms and floors upon floors of books. Men and women sit at tables between them, flipping through volumes.

  Like the library I was in earlier, this one smells like old parchment, leather, and cedar.

  Choosing a room at random, I begin pacing the aisles. Out of sheer curiosity, I pull a book bound in light blue silk from the shelves, flipping it open.

  I don’t know what I expected to find, but another language wasn’t it. I skim through several pages, but they’re all written in the same archaic script.

  “It’s Old Fae.”

  I let out a squeak, nearly dropping the book.

  The fairy who greeted me earlier is back, lurking just over my shoulder.

  “Are you spying on me?” I accuse, my voice a whisper.

  He gives me a shrewd look, standing even taller. “The King of the Night has requested me to make myself indispensable to his mate.”

  Uh-huh.

  “He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

  Way to go, Callie. Tell your would-be stalker that no one knows where you are.

  He tilts his head. “But doesn’t he?”

  Fairies have this weird doublespeak I’m starting to get the hang of. This one is pretty clear.

  Translation: Better check your facts, bitch, because he totally does know where you are.

  So Des is keeping tabs on me, and he sent Would-Be Stalker here to help me.

  I reassess the fairy at my side. “Callie,” I finally say, holding out my hand.

  He stares at it for a beat before delicately clasping it in his own. “Jerome.” His gaze moves to the book in my other hand. “Are you looking for anything in particular to read?” he asks.

  “Just browsing,” I say. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  “Perhaps you’d enjoy a different section of our library—unless you’re worried about curses.”

  “Curses?” I repeat.

  Stoically, he says, “The book you’re looking at deals with curse-caused ailments—particularly those that cause hemorrhoids, unexpected bowel movements—”

  Jesus.

  I close the book and return it to its shelf.

  A thought comes to me. “Do you have any books on the king?”

  Several hours later I sit at one of the reading tables, a stack of biographies and histories of the realm next to me.

  Some of the books were originally written in English, the colloquial language of the Otherworld, but the book I currently have open was originally written in Old Fae. When he pulled it from the shelves Jerome spelled it to read in English. It’s a strange sight; every time I turn the page, Fae letters dance and morph into English ones.

  As for the content of the book … it is equally intriguing. I feel like a thief in the night, learning Des’s family history without his knowledge.

  He would’ve done the same thing had roles been reversed.

  My finger moves over the text. It describes yet another battle Des fought in. Like most of the others, this one took place on the Borderlands, the area where, according to this book, “day meets night.”

  And like all the other battles mentioned, the book discusses how swiftly Des cut down his opponents and how courageously he fought.

  I begin to skim over the battles. It’s not that I’m unimpressed, but after reading about the umpteenth person getting brained, the glory of the fight is a little lost on me.
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br />   Several pages later, I close the book. I’m not sure what I expected to find—perhaps some insight into who Des the Night King really is—but I should’ve known better. So far, all the books seem to be scrubbed of all interesting and relevant information.

  All I’ve really learned is that Des has been a revolutionary king, dragging the Kingdom of Night from the dark ages (pun unintended) to not just one of the leading realms, but also one of the most enlightened, a title that had traditionally belonged to the Kingdom of Day.

  I’ve also learned that before Des was a king, he was a soldier, as the last book so eloquently (re: graphically) described.

  Other than that, there’s precious little about my mate.

  I grab the next book from the pile, a small, worn volume that fits neatly in the palm of my hand.

  There’s something about this book, between the soft, faded leather cover and its humble size that makes me think this one will be different.

  As soon as I open it, I can tell I’m right.

  Chapter 1: Desmond Flynn, the Forgotten Child of Night

  The next line I come across, I have to read twice.

  Like most fae kings, Desmond Flynn was born from the royal harem.

  Harem?

  That one little word makes me go hot and cold all over. Kings have harems?

  Des never told me this. I find I care less that Des came from one, and more that this is a normal practice in the Otherworld.

  It’s unnaturally hard to concentrate after that, and I find that my eyes drift over most of the text.

  At some point, the atmosphere of the library changes. Where it was quiet before, now the place is deathly still. It’s like silence itself becomes muted. The hairs along my forearms rise.

  And then, from the silence, the sound of heavy footfalls.

  I glance up in time to see Des striding into the room, his body sinuous as it moves. He has eyes only for me, and it’s here in this grand setting that I realize just how much Des commands the space around him. I’m used to him moving amongst the shadows. Seeing him stride through this huge, cavernous room like he owns it (technically, he does), is sort of hot.

  And by sort of hot, I mean really fricking hot.

  Harem.

  The word slides its way into my mind, souring my sexy thoughts.

  Des disappears a moment later, reappearing on the table I sit at. He perches himself on the edge, tilting his head to read the spines of the books next to me.

  “Doing some light reading, cherub?”

  “Some.”

  Harem, my mind whispers. Harem. Harem. Harem.

  He lifts the cover of the top book and raises his eyebrows. “You want to know about the history of my kingdom?” His eyes go soft when he glances back at me.

  He’s making my intentions seem way too noble. He should know better—he must know better. But he looks sincere, and that’s enough to throw me off.

  “Do you have a harem?” The question just slips out, my voice hoarse with emotion.

  Des’s expression freezes in place. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Do you have a harem?” I repeat.

  A crease forms between his brows. “Why do you ask?”

  That’s not a no.

  My heart is in my throat, my pulse thundering in my ears.

  “One of the books mentions you were born into one.”

  His eyes flick to the open book.

  “I wasn’t,” he says smoothly.

  He lifts the small volume. “‘Desmond Flynn, The Forgotten Child of Night,’” he reads. His gaze moves to me. “So my inquisitive siren hasn’t just been reading about my kingdom after all.”

  “Do you have a harem?” I press.

  Around us, other fairies have fallen back into their books, either no longer interested in our spectacle, or—more likely—Des is using his magic to cloak our words.

  He leans forward, a lock of his white hair falling loose from the leather tie holding it back. “And if I did? What would you do?”

  I’m weak in so many ways, but not in this one.

  “I would leave you.” Even though it would ruin me, I would.

  Shadows begin to coil and twist at the edges of the room. Someone doesn’t like my answer.

  Des raps his knuckles against the table. “As you rightly should.”

  I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it’s not that.

  He straightens, sliding off the table. “Come.” He holds out his hand.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” I say, staring at his palm.

  He sighs. “No, Callie. I do not have a harem—I never have.”

  My body relaxes, and I take his hand.

  “Why not?” I ask as he leads me out.

  He glances down at me, a brow raised.

  “It’s an honest question.”

  “And one that has many answers,” he responds smoothly as we leave.

  “… Answers that you want to tell me,” I nudge.

  He smiles a bit. “I do …” he admits, “but at some other time.”

  We exit the library and cut across the palace grounds. Before we can so much as enter the castle proper, Des releases my hand and halts.

  I stop a few paces in front from him, turning to glance back over my shoulder.

  The look he wears … Des is no longer being playful or doting. He looks so very fae. Hungry for things that he wishes to possess. I know that sly, calculating look. It’s the same one he gets when he has something in mind that I might not entirely like.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You’ve been reading about me and my kingdom.” That does not at all explain his expression.

  His gaze cuts to my bracelet.

  I take a step back, the skin of my wrist prickling. Now I know that look. It’s the look he gets right before he has me repay a debt.

  “Don’t.” I give him a warning look. I have no idea where his mind is at, and that, more than anything, frightens me.

  He strolls forward, his heavy boots thudding against the stone. “Funny that after all I’ve demanded of you, cherub, you still think you can sway me with your protests.” Des steps in close. “You still owe me many, many favors.”

  Hundreds of them, I know.

  “Forcing me to do things against my will won’t make me like you more,” I say.

  He leans in close. “I’ve tricked, hurt, and killed men in front of you. I’m confident a few debts that you owe me won’t damage my chances.”

  I slit my eyes at him. What am I supposed to say? I do owe him favors, favors that I bought fair and square. And I am the sucker that loves Des even at his worst.

  “Let me see that pretty wrist,” Des coaxes.

  I don’t have time to react before his magic wraps around my arm, lifting it up. He steps in close, inspecting the remaining rows of beads.

  His eyes move from my bracelet to my face. “Several weeks ago you mentioned that you wanted to see my kingdom,” he says. “Were you being serious?”

  First he comments about me reading up on his kingdom, now this?

  I bite the inside of my lip, not sure where he’s going with this line of questioning. Eventually, I nod. I meant it; I do want to know everything there is to know about this man, including the kingdom he rules.

  “Good.” He looks all too pleased. “Then you and I are going on a little trip—”

  Should I be worried? A trip doesn’t sound too bad.

  “—and we’ll be flying there. Together.”

  Chapter 9

  I glare at Des for the millionth time as we step out onto the highest balcony of his castle, rubbing my arms against the slight chill. Right now, we’re out at the witching hour, stealing away in the night like criminals.

  I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

  Fly.

  Back on earth, flying means boarding a plane. Here it literally means flapping your wings, which—shocker—I’m not too thrilled about. I mean, even birds can screw up this flying
business, and I am no bird.

  I glance down at my bracelet, where two beads are missing, the cost of taking a trip with Des.

  Two. Beads.

  He catches me glaring at my bracelet and, capturing my jaw, steals a kiss that definitely wasn’t his to take. “Cheer up, love,” he says. “This will be fun.”

  Fun my ass. The only thing remotely pleasant about this experience is that Des is wearing an Iron Maiden shirt, his tattoos are on full display, and his leather pants are hugging the shit out of his backside.

  I mean, I can be mad at him and still enjoy the view.

  Over his shoulders, his wings expand, taking up a staggering expanse of the balcony on either side of him. They shimmer in the moonlight, his curved talons gleaming along their edges.

  “Stretch your wings,” he commands.

  “I’m still annoyed at you,” I say, even as I extend my wings.

  The sensation of them unfolding is both uncomfortably foreign and inexplicably satisfying—like taking off a bra at the end of the day. Since my wings appeared, I’ve kept them closely pressed to my back. I hadn’t realized until now how good stretching them would feel.

  “I’m aware of that,” Des says, his voice a silken caress.

  He disappears. Before I can so much as swing around to look for him, I feel his warm hand run over the upper ridge of my wings. He strokes them the same way he strokes the rest of my flesh, the touch oddly erotic.

  “They’re breathtaking, you know,” he says, his fingers skimming over my feathers. “Just one more tempting thing about my enchantress.”

  “Enchantress?” The question slips out before I remind myself that he’s supposed to be receiving my ire right now.

  “That’s what fairies have started to call you—an enchantress.”

  I can’t decide whether I’m more flattered or flustered by this particular detail.

  “We don’t have sirens here in the Otherworld,” Des continues, “but from time to time we do have magical beings—enchanters—who can enthrall others with their magic. It’s a very coveted power.”

  He circles back in front of me, his gaze moving to my wings. “Try beating your wings.”