A Strange Hymn (The Bargainer Book 2)

by Laura Thalassa

  “No.”

  Malaki takes a step forward, presumably to join me.

  Mara’s hand snaps up to stop him. “Ah-ah,” she says. As she speaks, the vines on the wall behind Malaki slither up and around him, shackling him in place. It’s the first real sign that I’ve pissed off the Flora Queen. “If Callypso is to be a ruler one day,” Mara says, her gaze returning to me, “then she can fight her own battles. Can’t you, enchantress?”

  Both Mara and the Green Man watch me with fevered expressions, lapping up my anger, waiting for me to react.

  I stare at her, regretful that I didn’t rip out her throat when I had a chance.

  “Anyone who hurts this woman will have to go through me,” I say to the room.

  Mara grins, the expression malevolent. “So be it.” She flicks her wrist. “Headsman, carry out the punishment.”

  Behind me, the headsman shifts nervously. I hear the slick sound of the whip unraveling, and the startled gasps of the audience.

  Smoldering anger burns low in my belly as I drop to my knees, my hands going to the woman’s shackles. She stares at me with wide, red-rimmed eyes as I work at the locks.

  Fuck, I need a key.

  The headsman takes position behind me, giving a few practice cracks of the whip.

  I quake when I realize that I’m not going to be able to release this woman in time. These chains need a key, and the key is in the pockets of soldiers too far away and too unwilling to help. My only ally, Malaki, is being restrained. I’m on my own, and if I leave this woman, she will be whipped.

  There’s fire in my soul and poison in my veins.

  If my glamour worked, I would make every last fairy who stood idly by pay. But all I have is my body and my beliefs.

  Making a split second decision, I drape myself over the woman, my winged back now exposed to the headsman.

  She’s shaking with her fear; it only fuels my vengeance.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I whisper, my voice ethereal.

  I hear the headsman step back. Beyond him, Malaki is shouting.

  I look up at Mara, my wrath in my eyes.

  You will pay.

  I’m still staring at her when the snap of the whip echoes throughout the room. I feel the laceration a split second later.

  With a sickening crunch, the delicate bones of my wings break under the blow. I gasp as pain floods my system. I can barely see through it.

  Several bloody feathers float to the floor.

  I have to tighten my grip on the shaking woman beneath me to keep myself between her and the headsman when I hear him draw back his arm again.

  Beneath me, the servant is still shaking.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, glamour thick in my voice. I’m not going to let them get to her.

  I hear the whip hiss through the air once more. This time, when it splits my flesh and crushes bone, I can’t hold back my scream, the sound horrifyingly harmonic.

  I feel warm blood drip down my back as more feathers fall to the floor.

  Twenty lashes. Eighteen more to endure.

  At this rate, I will have no wings by the time the headsman is done with me.

  Through my pain, I begin to laugh, feeling the horrified gazes of the crowd around me.

  Isn’t that what I wanted? To be rid of my wings?

  Suddenly, the once brightly lit room darkens. Leaves curl up and vines retreat, as though they’re repelled by the shadows. Darker and darker the room grows. The vines binding Malaki now dry up and waste away, allowing him to break his bonds.

  The crowd was silent before, but now they’re quiet the way dead things are.

  I hear the whip hiss through the air a third time.

  It snaps as it strikes flesh, and I flinch, waiting for the pain. It never comes.

  I glance up, and there Des is, the end of the whip in his fist, a line of blood sliding from his palm and down his wrist. He yanks the weapon out of the headman’s hand, tossing it aside.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he says, his voice deceptively engaging. He spins in a circle, looking about the crowd. His power is filling the room, the space growing darker by the second, and the once blooming plants are now shriveling and dying.

  I slide off of the human woman’s body, slumping to the side. I can’t move either of my wings; it feels like they’re one giant, open wound.

  “What grand fun you all have been having while I’ve been away,” Des says to the room, his gaze lingering on Mara and the Green Man, both who are still seated on their thrones, “allowing my mate to be flayed alive.”

  He is my vengeance. He is my violence. He is winged death come to deliver all these fairies to their fates. I nearly smile.

  “Malaki,” he says, “take stock of who’s here. Make sure the Lord of Nightmares sends them his regards.”

  “Gladly,” Malaki replies, shucking off the last of the dead vines that once bound him.

  “And you—” Des turns to the headsman, his footfalls echoing ominously in the room as he approaches him, “you stupid fool. What were you thinking? Surely you know the rules: an injury deliberately inflicted on a fairy can be avenged by their mate.”

  Des grabs the man’s arm, twisting it behind his back. He leans in close. “And I’m avenging.”

  It doesn’t matter that it’s Solstice and there’s a neutrality agreement. The Bargainer is out for blood.

  For the third time in that many minutes I hear the sickening snap of breaking bones as Des shatters the headsman’s arm. He doesn’t stop there, either. He breaks both of the man’s arms, and then his legs. In between blows, he whispers things into the headsman’s ear, and they must be horrible, for the fairy cries louder in response to them than he does the pain.

  Just then, the double doors open, and a man with pointed ears is led inside by two Flora guards. Unlike the human woman dragged in earlier, this fae wears no cuffs.

  All three of their steps falter at the sight in front of them—me with my bloody, broken wings, the mangled headsman, and ruthless Des, who looms over the fairy. And then there’s the captive room that neither speaks nor moves as they watch everything unfold.

  “Who is this?” Des asks, peering at the fae man being escorted in.

  My voice is entirely human when I respond, “That’s the man who abused this woman.” At least, I’m pretty sure that’s who it is. They said they were bringing him in.

  Desmond glances at me for several seconds, and I can see how hard it is for him to make eye contact. Every moment he takes me in like this, with my wings bashed in, his fury and hatred seem to double. His gaze goes to the shackled woman next to me, and he must understand a little of what's going on, though he missed the trial itself.

  Finally his eyes cut to the fairy being escorted in.

  There are few beings that hate crimes against women as much as I do, but Des might be one of them.

  The Bargainer stalks forward and grabs the man by the neck. The guards around Des protest, their gazes darting to Mara. But if they think she’ll intercede, they are sorely mistaken. The Flora Queen looks content to let the events play out as they will.

  Des pulls the fairy in close, again whispering something into his latest target’s ear. Whatever Des says has a sobering effect on the man. Even dozens of feet away and distracted by pain, I notice the fairy’s eyes widen and his face pale at whatever my mate is saying.

  And then Des begins dragging him past the guards and towards the dais. The Bargainer all but throws the fairy to the floor in front of Mara’s throne.

  “Tell your queen what you intend,” he demands.

  The fairy mumbles something, his head bowed.

  “Louder.”

  “I will take the slave’s remaining lashes as punishment,” he says.

  Mara leans forward and places her chin in her hand. “As punishment for what precisely?”

  I’m not sure whether Mara’s confused about what this man did to the woman, or if she�
��s just toying with him.

  “For slee—” The fairy chokes, his words cutting off. I’ve experienced the sensation enough to know just what—or rather who—is behind it.

  I glance at Des, who stands over him, his arms crossed and his jaw locked. Dangerous beauty—that’s what he is.

  The fairy tries again. “For having se—” He begins to stutter, avoiding the one word he’s going to be forced to say.

  Five seconds later, he gives up the fight. “For … raping her.”

  The previously silent room now breaks out into scandalized whispers.

  Mara raises her hand. “Silence!” she says, quieting the room.

  Darkness sweeps across the hall, snuffing out candles, choking the life out of the plants growing along the walls.

  Des levels his attention on Mara. “The only thing—the only thing—saving you from death is our oath,” he says, his voice quiet.

  With those final words, Des stalks back to me, his wings fanning out behind him menacingly. With his heavy boots and massive frame, he looks like some dark prince that crawled out of the abyss.

  Oh so carefully he scoops me up and strides down the aisle and out of the room with me in his arms.

  Chapter 39

  Des is silent as we leave the throne room, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous halls. The two of us are cloaked in his shadows. With every step he takes, the candles nearby him snuff out, and Mara’s precious plants wither away.

  “What happened.” He doesn’t ask it.

  I can feel him shaking with anger, fighting some impulse to rip and render and destroy. His body practically hums with the need.

  “They were going to punish that human woman. She’d been raped.” I have to steady myself for several seconds through the pain in my back before I continue. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

  His eyes, his stormy, tormented eyes move down to me, and I see that a big part of him is fighting to stay mad. That if he doesn’t keep his anger right where he can see it, then he’ll have to let in all those other pesky emotions.

  “So you took the punishment instead.” His words have no intonation, so I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  I nod, and his mood continues to blacken.

  Des carries me out of the castle, crossing the palace gardens as he heads towards our guest suite. The darkness he’s been dragging along with him now shadows the palace grounds, dimming the sky and choking the life out of the plants it touches.

  Fairies stop what they’re doing to watch us, the wrathful Night King and his mate, the latter who is dripping blood along the stone pathways.

  My sight’s becoming a little unfocused, spurred on by either pain or blood loss, and damn but my wings hurt.

  As soon as I near the giant cedar that houses our rooms, we catch the attention of several Night soldiers who man its perimeter. Once they see us, they come running.

  “Get a healer,” the Bargainer orders them.

  As quickly as they arrive, they dash off.

  Des storms up the staircase that winds around the tree. When he reaches our rooms, he kicks open our guest house’s front door, splintering the wood frame. Inside, he heads to the bed, laying me out on my stomach, his touch gentle.

  “We’re going to heal you, love,” he promises me, moving some of my hair away from my face.

  I nod to him, swallowing down my emotions. I feel shattered and vulnerable, and I’m so unused to being taken care of. I’d forgotten how nice it was to matter to someone, and how tender the ferocious Bargainer could be.

  He straightens, and a moment later I hear him curse under his breath, presumably after getting a peek at the damage to my wings. And then his hands are on me, smoothing down my skin. I feel his magic soak into me, dulling the sharp bite of my injuries.

  I sigh out my relief, the churning in my stomach settling now that the throbbing of my wounds has been dulled.

  “This will numb the pain, cherub,” he says, “but I do not have an affinity for healing.” He crouches next to me, taking my hand. “What you did …” He searches my face, “no one will forget it. Not that woman you protected, not the room full of fairies, not the Flora Queen and her consort—and not me. Mara might wear a crown, but everyone in that room saw who the true queen was today.”

  My throat tightens. He’s going to make me cry.

  “I couldn’t just stand by while—”

  He silences me with a kiss.

  “I know.”

  Just then, someone knocks on the remnants of our door. A moment later I hear several footfalls as soldiers file into our suite, bringing with them a fae healer.

  Des slides away from me to speak with the group. For a minute, all I hear is low murmuring, then the Bargainer and the healer come back over to me.

  “But she’s a human,” the healer protests when she sees me.

  The shadows in the room deepen. “She is.” Des says it like a challenge.

  “Surely you know our magic doesn’t work on—”

  “Heal her, or consider your life forfeit,” he orders the woman.

  The room is quiet for several seconds, then I hear a shaky exhalation of breath. “I’ll do my best, Your Majesty.”

  Des comes to my side a moment later.

  “Stop picking on innocent fairies,” I breathe.

  “No one here is innocent,” he says darkly.

  I shiver a little, my skin chilled. I don’t know if it’s heavy blood loss I’m experiencing or just shock. Des rubs my arm, and his magic is at work once again, trying to warm me up.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” he whispers, threading his fingers through mine.

  “Always,” I whisper back. I don’t mention the fact that we’re in a room full of fairies. Knowing my mate, what he’s about to tell me is either no great secret, or else he’s muted the world to our conversation.

  “Before my mother was a scribe, before she was even a concubine, she was a spy,” Des admits, smoothing my hair back as he talks.

  I know he’s only trying to distract me, but it works. I settle in for the story as the fae healer begins to lightly run her hands down my wings. I can tell she’s straightening the bones out, but Des’s magic is so potent that what should be agonizing is merely uncomfortable. And I can ignore that discomfort while Des holds my attention captive.

  “How did she go from a spy to a concubine?” I ask, my voice soft.

  “She thwarted a conspiracy against the king.” He stares at our entwined hands.

  I can still feel his ungodly anger in his trembling grasp and I see it in the dimness of the room, but I don’t say anything. The King of the Night might be frightening to the rest of the world, but he isn’t to me.

  “I sometimes wonder just how badly she later regretted doing her job that particular day,” he says.

  “My father called her into his throne room to personally thank her for saving his life. Whatever words were exchanged is a mystery, but he must’ve been quite taken with her because by the end of the encounter, he had her removed from her post and placed in his royal harem.”

  That has me raising my eyebrows. “And she was okay with that?”

  Des lets out a breathy chuckle. “No. Not in the least. She was what you’d call an unwilling concubine. But at that time in my kingdom, things were different, and my father … he was a very different ruler than me.”

  The more I learn about my mate’s mother, the more I wish I knew her. And the more I learn about his father, the more I dislike the man.

  “After she died, I never imagined I’d come across another woman like her,” Des says. “Someone who’d lived through much and still inherently knew right from wrong. Someone strong and brave.”

  His hand squeezes mine. “And then I met you.”

  I blink my eyes several times, my throat thick.

  Des sobers up, his grip on my hand tightening. “When I saw you laying there, your wings broken …” he shakes his head, “it brought back memories from that night in Karnon
’s throne room, and that night … that night brought back memories of my mother’s death.”

  I had … no idea.

  No wonder he’s so fierce about punishing those that prey on women; he’s been sculpted by his experiences.

  Story time ends shortly after that, and by a half hour later, Des has left my side, his heavy footfalls pacing up and down the opposite end of the room.

  His boots come to a halt. “Well?” he finally demands.

  The healer hovering over me straightens, throwing yet another bloody rag into a washbasin.

  “That’s the best I can do,” she says. She’s managed to fuse my wing bones back together and partly seal up the split skin of my wing, but it’s obvious that the injury isn’t close to being healed.

  The shadows in the room shift and thicken. Today is really taking Des’s mood to task.

  I don’t know how empty Des’s earlier threat was when he ordered the fairy to heal me earlier, but she’s done her best. It’s not her fault that fae and human magic aren’t terribly compatible.

  “Temper,” I murmur.

  Des comes over to me. “What was that, cherub?”

  “Get Temper. She can help.”

  You wouldn’t believe that a sorceress as inclined to evil as Temper is would be good at healing, but she is. Proof that the Fates are ironic bitches.

  As it turns out, we don’t have to tell Temper at all; the already broken door to our guest house blows off its hinges before Des has so much as left my side.

  “Callie.” Power rides Temper’s voice.

  Gingerly, I raise one of my hands and wave it weakly.

  She storms inside the room, her eyes wild. “Who do I got to kill?”

  Des folds his arms. “You’re going to have to get in line for that.”

  She comes to my side, her eyes landing on my back.

  She inhales sharply. “Girl, what happened?” Her voice changes from anger to panic. It’s never a good sign when Temper goes soft on you. I must look worse than I think I do for Temper to have that kind of reaction.

  Des comes up behind her. “I need you to heal her.” And now he, too, has an edge of panic in his voice.

  “No shit,” she says, laying her hands on my wings. She closes her eyes, humming low under her breath.