Daughter of the Dark Moon: Book 3 of the Twin Moons Saga

by Holly Bargo

  She nodded again, wringing her hands.

  “Listen to the wind. It will bring you word of me.”

  “And I will reply via return current,” she vowed.

  He smiled, giving her one of those rare expressions of love and joy. “You are stronger and more powerful than you realize. I am already proud of you and I know that you will make me prouder still.”

  “I love you, Uberon,” she whispered, unable to control her voice beyond that without dissolving into tears.

  “I love you, too.”

  “How very touching,” a cool comment interrupted.

  Uberon spun on his heel to confront whoever interrupted their private moment. Corinne peered around him and gasped.

  “I know you.”

  The ebony unicorn nodded, its black spiral horn bobbing. The pearl unicorn walked up and took its place beside it.

  “You didn’t think we’d allow you to save the world without ensuring you had something to come back to, did you?”

  “You’re a bit far from your forest,” Uberon responded in a dry tone.

  “If you succeed, the Great Forest will extend even here.”

  “The forest goes where you go,” Corinne murmured with sudden insight, seeing the reciprocity. The Quol consumed, the Great Forest nurtured.

  “Clever girl, isn’t she?” the white unicorn commented.

  “If you must impose upon my hospitality, then see to it that you guard those whom I hold dear,” Uberon said.

  The midnight swift snorted with derision. “Presumptuous fae. We unlocked her power after you transformed her. We will not harm her.”

  The fae king’s eyes narrowed. “I know you will not harm her, because I’d kill you if you did. You both know that I’m one of three who could succeed in that attempt.”

  “Your power has limits, fae.”

  “So does yours, beast.”

  “Quit!” Corinne snapped and stamped her foot like a child. “Stop bickering!”

  The fae king and the two swifts turned to look at her with incredulous expressions.

  She pushed at Uberon. “Go, before I refuse to let you leave and save the world.”

  She glared at the unicorns. “I will consider your words, but remember this is my kingdom and I rule here.”

  For the second time that day, Uberon smiled. And then he laughed at the swifts’ stunned silence.

  It was a wonderful image by which Corinne could remember Uberon as he walked up the gangplank and boarded the ship that would take him to the westernmost shores of the Seelie Court. From there he would travel to the vast region or lahn formerly held and governed by House Ursai, one of the most powerful houses in all the Seelie Court. There, he would meet both the archivist and anyone else Master Enders deemed important and suitable for beating back the ravenous Quoli and the dangerous jungle they left in their wake.

  With Golsat standing protectively beside her, she watched the ship disappear over the horizon.

  I am with you, came the whispered reassurance on a playful current of wind.

  I will wait for you. Always.

  CHAPTER 27

  Years passed.

  Corinne ruled Quoliálfur, tempering Golsat’s cold, hard logic and pragmatism with mercy and compassion. She relied upon him, learned the customs and the traditions of the many peoples who populated Quoliálfur as well as the laws that Uberon had established during his reign. She repealed those she saw fit to eliminate and decreed those she deemed appropriate, using her own common sense as a gauge.

  She founded a school, fulfilling one goal to see girls as well as boys educated and trained for useful careers. She lured guildmasters and scholars with gold and bludgeoned them with sweetness and threats until they relented and acceded to her demands to accept female students. To ensure that parents allowed their children to attend, she dug into the kingdom’s deep coffers to pay the tuition of all students and recompense parents for the loss of wages contributed through child labor. After a couple of decades, the citizenry grew accustomed to seeing the country’s youth make their way to school rather than to work. The educated populace then found their knowledge and skills in demand and took advantage of the expanded and often lucrative employment opportunities that came their way.

  Messages from Uberon came sporadically, always on a current of wind and always short, sweet, and too damned vague to be reassuring. She replied each time, using skill taught and power liberated by the dawn and midnight swifts. She found it fascinating that neither of the unicorns understood how Uberon had carved his kingdom from the Quol or how he managed to keep it.

  She rather liked that they did not know. It proved them something less than omnipotent or omniscient.

  She watched as Han’al grew up and celebrated the claiming ceremony when Golsat officially proclaimed her his mate and merged his soul with hers, granting his flesh and blood mate the eternal youth enjoyed by many fae species. She enjoyed visits from Sin’halissar and Hibr and, eventually, their six children. She watched Samuel and Ari’valia grow old and produce a passel of children who then produced grandchildren. Sin’clannad followed her warrior husband back to Nymmur and never returned to Quoliálfur, although ships sometimes brought bundles of chatty letters. Ari’dongharad bore her djinni mate two children and perished in the attempt to deliver a third.

  Corinne, like the fabled Penelope, wife of Odysseus of ancient Greek legend, found herself beset by suitors seeking to take the fae queen to wife and to rule over a wealthy, thriving kingdom. With Golsat at her side and confidence in her ability to protect herself, she did not fear abduction. Nonetheless, the princes and noblemen who vied for her hand annoyed her.

  “I’d like to boot them into the ocean. Maybe a kraken would find them tasty,” she griped one evening while dining with Samuel, Ari’valia and their adult children and three grandchildren. Uberon had been absent for almost thirty years.

  “You know you can’t do that,” Samuel replied as he spooned a cold soup into his mouth. It reminded him somewhat of gazpacho, but without the tomato base. “That would be tantamount to declaring war on those countries.”

  “I know. That’s the only reason that frog-faced jerk from Buleen still has his hand.”

  “You mean the fellow wearing the heavy bandage on his right hand?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “What did he do?”

  Corinne’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a gesture reminiscent of her mate and which made her seem purely fae. It never failed to startle her brother, whose shoulder-length hair now sported streaks of gray. That she did not age also convinced him that his sister had long since left humanity behind.

  She grimaced. “What do you think that lecher did?”

  Samuel sighed. “What did you do to him?”

  “Let’s just say that he’ll have scars.”

  He fixed her with a stare that she returned without remorse. “You burned him, didn’t you?”

  “Third degree, Brother. He squealed like a stuck pig.”

  Samuel shook his head at his sister’s bloodthirstiness, but could not say that he regretted her action. He would have chopped the man’s hand off. She might be immortal, but she was still his sister.

  When they finished supper, Corinne set her napkin aside and rose as she did every evening except during severe weather. “I’m headed to the wharf.”

  Samuel nodded, rose from his seat, kissed his wife, and accompanied the queen. It was his turn. The next night, Golsat had the honor of walking through the city to the wharf where Corinne would listen for word from Uberon.

  “You haven’t heard from him in weeks, Corinne,” he pointed out. “Perhaps he—”

  “No.” She cut him off.

  “You can’t be sure he’s still alive.”

  “Actually, I can,” she said, voice firm with conviction.

  “How?”

  She ran her fingertips over the silver filigree and black diamonds adorning her neck and collar bones. She smoothed the skirt of h
er dress. Without Uberon present, she’d had to hire a seamstress to maintain her wardrobe. “The mate bond remains intact. Nothing but death will sever it.”

  When they reached the end of the pier that stretched the furthest into the bay, she stood still. Gulls shrieked overhead. Water slapped at wooden posts and hulls. Canvas sails and banners snapped in the wind. Raucous shouts and laughter rose above the din of loud conversation and fiddles playing sea shanties back on shore. The twin moons, Dennae and Fata, hid behind a thick layer of cloud cover. The smell of fish, tar, and other less savory odors hung on the air. Corinne waited, listening.

  I am with you.

  I wait for you. Always.

  Her shoulders sagged with relief. She knew Uberon lived, but she did not know whether he thrived.

  Watching his sister with concern, Samuel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and asked, “Is everything all right?”

  She nodded. “He lives.”

  The former Navy SEAL wished he had sufficient reason—as well as strength and skill—to give his sister’s husband a well-deserved whupping, but he understood the call of duty. An ugly suspicion presented itself to him, not for the first time.

  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing by waiting for him? It’s been a long, long time. Perhaps he—”

  “No.” Again she cut him off. She took a moment to compose herself, compelling herself to understand that humans did not have the certainty of the fae. “Fae are true to their mates. They cannot be otherwise.”

  Samuel suspected otherwise, but nodded and humored his sister.

  They walked back to the castle. Samuel escorted her to her chambers, briefly conferred with the guards stationed at the entrance to the royal quarters, and then made his way to the large suite of rooms he shared with Ari’valia. She looked up from her embroidery and gave him a placid smile in greeting which did not quite conceal her worry.

  “She pines for him,” Ari’valia commented.

  “Aye.” He paced the room. “She’s certain he’s alive and faithful to her, certain he will return. But how can she be? Men are fickle. I did three tours of duty and infidelity was rampant. He’s been over there for, what, thirty years—no way he kept his dick to himself.”

  “Have you been faithful to me all these years?” Ari’valia inquired, laying her embroidery in her lap.

  “Of course, I have. I love you.”

  She sighed. “After all this time, you still do not understand. The fae are not like us. They are immortal. Thirty years is but a blink of an eye to an immortal. The king is at least a hundred thousand years old, perhaps two or three times that. The histories do not say because they are lost to us. Unlike we who are human and short-lived, he will not regard this time away from Corinne as extensive.”

  “Corinne’s younger than I,” he pointed out.

  “By counting years, yes. But she will live thousands of years and she knows that. She sees the evidence of it every time she looks into her mirror.”

  “All right. But how can she be certain he’s faithful to her?”

  “Ari’dongharad once explained it to me like this: they share a soul which means they almost share a mind. They are connected in ways that time and space cannot affect. The king would no sooner hurt his queen than he would cut off his own leg with a rusty knife.”

  “It still seems strange.”

  “Aye, to humans it does. But they are not human. Uberon never was and Corinne barely remembers being so.”

  “What should we do? I don’t like seeing her just fade away.”

  “We will find out where Uberon is and send a message. No doubt she assures him she is in fine health so as not to disturb him or distract him from his duties.”

  Samuel nodded. “I’ll canvass the ships’ crews tomorrow. Will you help me write letters? We’ll need to send a letter with each ship.”

  “Gladly. She convinced the king to save me and my sisters; I am happy to save her.”

  With Golsat standing guard over the queen the next day as she entertained the daily audience of petitioners, claimants, plaintiffs, defendants, and suitors, Samuel handed the captain of each ship moored at the wharf a letter and a pouch of coins to pay for delivery. Those captains who flew the double crescent of Quoliálfur and prospered, vowed to deliver their letters should they come within a day’s journey of the king’s location. Those foreign captains who were less honorable or dependent upon Quoliálfur for their trade took the gold with little intent of seeking out the king who could beat back the Quol. Perhaps if they stumbled upon him while walking to a tavern, they might hand over the letters in their possession.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait. If Corinne suspected her brother’s activities, she gave no indication of it. Every evening she still made the trek to the end of the furthest pier jutting from the wharf to listen to the wind. Experienced seamen knew better than to accost the queen on her daily excursion. Those who ignored the warnings of their wiser colleagues either died or suffered injury, for no male—human or otherwise—dared insult the queen more than once.

  Golsat, Han’al, Ari’valia, and Samuel worried as she slowly faded. Each year she took less and less interest in ruling the kingdom, in her family, in anything beyond the daily walk to the end of the pier. She began taking long strolls through the city, not searching for anything in particular, which puzzled Samuel and the guards he assigned to shadow her. Finally admitting to the infirmity of age, Samuel relinquished that duty to those who had youth, energy, and strength. Corinne made no attempt to evade their watch; she simply wandered. She entered no shops and spoke to no one.

  “She’s gradually making her way to the border,” a guard said, having pieced together the puzzle of the queen’s seemingly aimless wandering.

  “The border?” Golsat echoed in surprise and not a little worry.

  “Perhaps you could ask her about it?” The guard cast a worried glance over his shoulder as the queen paid only desultory attention to the latest petitioner’s request.

  “Aye. I’ll accompany her tomorrow.”

  The guard nodded, relieved to relinquish her protection to the nearly indestructible gargoyle.

  Golsat wondered if the Quoli had somehow managed to connect with the queen, perhaps beckoned to her, summoned her to the border where where she could fall into their clutches and succumb to their hunger. Had they grown so strong in the king’s absence? Had the king’s magic weakened?

  The next day Golsat followed her after she concluded the daily audience early. She walked without haste, seemingly in no particular direction, although the guard had correctly determined that her footsteps gradually drew her toward the jungle lurking to the east. She appeared not to realize where her feet drew her.

  Curious, Golsat watched as she approached the border, which appeared to have crept forward overnight. Had the Quol taken advantage of Uberon’s extended absence to encroach upon his kingdom? His eyes bulged as a thick plane of air appeared to solidify and warp and bulge. Eerie cries, howls, screams, and other less pleasant sounds emanated through the straining ward.

  The queen advanced the ward and raised her arms. Power like waves of heat rippled from the earth and air, coalescing around her and tightening into a glowing ball of energy around her closed fists. The constant breeze blowing off the ocean ceased, adding its might to the draw of power. Golsat’s jaw dropped in awe and fear as she took the final steps toward the flimsy border and punched it with those glowing fists. With a hiss and roar, the wards flared as though infused with lightning. The screaming and howling behind the border rose in an ear-splitting crescendo that made even the gargoyle wince in pain.

  “Help me,” Corinne whispered.

  Golsat looked around and realized she did not speak to him.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  The guard strained to hear the king’s response, but heard nothing. The power she channeled pulsed, a heavy beat of deadly power that both strengthened and pushed the border backward. She walked slowly, visibly t
rembling, her thin leather shoes sinking into putrid puddles as clean, fresh air, unfiltered sunlight, and fae power corroded and dissolved the malicious, poisonous, jungle flora exposed by the retreating border. Her foot crunched the brittle skeleton of some animal, a sapling withered to a slimy mess, the caustic decay ate at the hems of her skirts.

  The trembling of her body changed from thrumming with power to a desperate attempt to remain upright. Her hands fell to her sides and her spine and shoulders bowed beneath the weight of exhaustion.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, dizzy with the exercise of power.

  She took another step forward.

  “My lady, you should go no further,” Golsat warned, daring to restrain her by placing his hand upon her arm.

  She looked up in surprise, startled at the touch. She glanced down at her arm and Golsat snatched his hand back.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since someone touched me?” she whispered, her voice melancholy as she stared toward the eastern horizon. “None dares touch the queen.”

  “It’s a lonely existence,” Golsat agreed.

  A single tear trickled down her cheek, the first he had seen. “I miss him.”

  “I know.”

  The tear hardened and fell to the reclaimed soil. “Why won’t he come back?”

  Golsat figured the question was rhetorical and needed no response from him. Instead, he kept his voice gentle and said, “Come, my lady. You should return to the castle.”

  She looked up at him again. “Can you contact him?”

  Golsat shook his head, regretting the inability. He quite liked the queen. “Were you not speaking with the king?”

  “No, the swifts. They do not know how to push back the Quol, but they do know how to restore a failing ward.” She glanced skyward and squinted at the sun. “They promised me a price to pay for power. I have but made a small deposit. They say the soul bond will supply Uberon with access to my strength as he needs it.”

  She sighed and turned back toward the castle. Golsat blinked, realizing that the queen did indeed look diminished, the drain on her strength and energy constant. The gargoyle wondered if he might, however, get word to the Erlking or the archivist or even the unicorns. Surely, they would assist in reuniting Uberon with his mate. After returning to the castle and seeing Corinne to her chambers, he summoned the few gargoyles living in Quoliálfur.