by A. K. Koonce
Aisha’s face falls, shadows cast over her downturned face. In the darkness, her skin looks almost green.
“All that noise you hear outside, that is the sound of people fixing your mistakes. We’ll find out the truth.” I wrap my hands around two bars, pressing my face against them. “Or you could tell me now. I could persuade the court to give you a lesser punishment.” No. I won’t. “Right now, as it stands, you’ll have a very public, bloody execution. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Teeth rake against her lower lip, keeping it from trembling. “I would hate to bloody my dress.”
“It’s a bit dirty but a fine dress,” I murmur, waiting.
Then she clamps her lips shut, holding back her vicious, cutting smile. “But it’s so much fun to see the color drain from your face while you run around like a chicken with no head.” Her shoulders shake with laughter, and I send a prayer to Goddess Nature or Goddess Celeste, whoever happens to be listening, that her head shakes right off her shoulders.
I don’t need to wait here for an answer. Not when I can find the truth out for myself.
I won’t waste another second on Aisha Joveth, not while people are still suffering.
Fuck that bitch.
12
Fixing Failures
Syren
Having a mating bond can be really convenient. Bear waits for me, his hair curling oddly at the ends from the time he spent running his hands through it over and over again. He hadn’t been tired when I left him, but the news has brought some sort of exhaustion heavy down on his features. Dark circles sit under his somber brown eyes.
The royal carriage sits, the horses idle as the driver strokes their long snouts. As if in answer to our urgency, the wind whips through the air. Embers from the pile rise up and die in the melting snow around it. Black clouds gather in the sky. The air is thick with humidity from the oncoming storm.
We need to get to that fountain.
“This fountain wouldn’t happen to have an off switch by chance, would it?”
Bear swings my cloak over my shoulders, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy.”
He is right. It isn’t that easy, and it wouldn’t be that easy. Because even if we can turn the fountain off, all that poisoned water will be sitting in the plumbing in everyone's houses. Staling.
My hands grip my hood, holding it close to my face to keep the rough brush of wind from burning my cheeks. Though they are likely red anyway.
The careless, caressing breeze rushes over the carriage, crying out with a howl as we step in. Velvet seats cushion us. Our hands intertwine, Iri’s thumb stroking over my own. My head bumps the back wall as I lean back with a sigh.
“We’re gonna fix this, Syren. We are finally going to fix this.” Iri beams, triumph clear on his face.
I laugh, because he is right. Aisha is behind bars, we know what she’s using, and we know where she's distributing it. We solved the mystery. Damn, does that make me a detective now?
Water witch, queen, and detective. What a hard-earned little title.
Horses neigh before the carriage lurches forward. Despite the closed door and windows, the bite of winter still seeps into the car. Heat radiates off of Iri like he’s a hot skillet. I’ll pretend to be butter and slather myself all over him. With a whimsical smirk at my own thoughts, I lean into him, resting my head gently against his shoulder. The trembles from the cold settle as Iri’s heat travels through me. He presses his lips against my hairline, a happy hum vibrating there on my forehead.
The carriage slows. Rocks and dips in the road bounce us in exaggerated movements before we come to a stop. A window slides open, revealing the drivers strained face.
“My King, there is still a large group of citizens waiting outside the gates. Do you wish to proceed?”
“Do they look happy?”
The drive scrunches his nose. “They do not look happy, no.”
“Are they holding pitchforks and torches?”
I don’t pass a look toward Bear, but I can feel in my mind's eyes the playful lift of a brow and a sarcastic twist in his lips.
“No, they are just camping.”
“Okay, carry on then.”
The driver closes the window, his voice carrying as he shouts for the gates to be opened. Voices rise in a chorus, guards shout to guards, murmurs from the outside crowd rise, and our carriage lurches forward once more.
Fae stand, raising their hands in balled up fists, anger twisting their faces. This is a much different view than the waving crowd during the Cursebreaker festival. They don’t look at me like a savior anymore.
A guilty part of me misses that feeling. I’m no stranger to being rejected. My dad didn’t want me. My now husband banished me. But the people, they’ve always adored me. Adoration is far from their thoughts, if I had to guess. They look more like they want to string us both up by our toes. Which would explain the attempt on the castle. Maybe a public appearance isn’t such a good idea . . .
“We should have taken an alternative route,” I whisper like the waiting crowd can hear me through the carriage walls.
“I . . .” his lips part, closing then opening once more. “I was so focused on just getting out there to see what we can do. I thought the crowds would be fewer and calmer by now.” The muscles in his forearm cord as he grips my hand tighter.
Horses carrying armor-clad guards gallop around the carriage, attempting to push the crowd back. Their shining metal backs providing a minor relief from the view of upset citizens.
Thunder rumbles in the sky, the growling shouts of people growing near a replication of the noise. The horses shuffle closer. I hear the singing of a sword, the cry of someone cut down. Is it a guard, or is it one of the rioters?
My eyes search in what becomes chaos outside the windows. Iri’s arms reach over my body, pinning me behind him. Red embers singe the back of his shirt. People dart back and forth, a swaying storm of movement just out of our reach. Bear’s free hand lights with a brilliant orange flame just as the carriage door cracks open.
“King Iri, Princess Syren, you must flee now. More fae have appeared, joining the rioters, and we fear they can’t be held much longer. I will make a way for you, then you must return to the castle.” Rigs growls, his eyes passing over our faces then down to Bear’s burning hand. He breaks the gaze and turns his body to kick a heavy boot into the gut of a man who broke through the lines with a loud grunt. “It isn’t looking good. So, time is of the essence.”
We leave now. Stay close.
He doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t even need to think about it. I know what we have to do.
Rigs pulls his sword free from his belt. Guards became a wall around us, around the buggy. I feel small in comparison to the wild around us. I want to be even smaller so they can’t see us flee, can’t follow us or charge at us.
Iri wants to be smaller, too. His shoulders slump, his knees slightly bent like he could hide behind his men. To them, it probably looks like hiding or what they might think is cowering. To him, it is another way of protecting his people.
Should the crowd pinpoint us and rally against our nearest guards, should they break through, Iri won’t hesitate to unleash the wrath of his powers against them. I will not be harmed. But if that can be avoided, then we will try.
Bear wraps my hand in his, holding it gently enough not to hurt but hard enough for me to know better than to let go. Together, we slip through the cracked door following Rigs. Men weave in a line that waves against the beating the crowd presses into their shields.
Long strands of chestnut hair catch on my cloak as we try our best to escape and a horse’s tail flicks against me. Through the bond, Iri can feel every touch, the sensation of each other’s presence strong as the adrenaline and fear grow within us. Iri twists, throwing his hand between me and the horse. The strands flick away.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Keep going.”
He turns back, worry creasing his eyebrows as he nods. The i
ncoming clouds hide the sun, casting a mocking night over us. Lightning flashes as Rigs breaks through the crowd, creating a clear path.
Yelling breaks out on the other side of the carriage. A new group of villagers charging forward like they have been waiting for this moment for far too long.
Something in Rig’s expression sends a sting of pain through Iri’s and my bond, the feeling unidentifiable as his or my own as it tugs at my emotions so strongly. His gaze begging Iri to stop this, even as his body twists this way and that to defend his king.
Rigs knows what Iri could do. We all do.
A guard stumbles and falls into our path, clutching his bleeding side. Blood oozing between his fingers where someone has slipped a blade between his upper and lower armor. Rigs hooks his arms under the man's shoulders, whispering fiercely into his ear and lifts him back to his feet. The camaraderie between the two obvious as it propels them back into their tasks.
Old but well-managed buildings become the target. Black rock lining the small alleyway behind them. Lightning shatters the skyline, lighting up the shops. Wind violently rocks the wooden signs that tell of the store’s names.
The crowd's focus remains on the carriage. Rigs shoulders through the last few straggling people, leaving us space to pass by. He bows his head, turning to catch the few drifting eyes that follow us as we sprint away. His sword cuts through their voices before they can even dare to say a word about the location of their King and Princess.
Cold drops of rain begin to sprinkle down. A gentle warning of what is to come. It flattens my hair, slicking it against my forehead the harder I run. Every spike of noise gives me more adrenaline, pushing me to go faster.
The long wall of a shop passes, and I press myself against the back wall. Iri paces near me.
“Should I have stopped it? Should I stop it now?” Sparks ignite and fall away from his palms as he presses them together.
“If you kill all of your citizens, then you won’t have anyone to rule over,” I hiss.
Rain falls harder, my hand rising to wipe away the droplets running down my face. Iri shakes his head, watching me then watching as the crowd breaks through the guards and begins shaking the carriage.
“They’ll realize we aren’t there soon. We have to go.”
“You’re right.” I jog two feet, stopped only by Iri’s hand on my shoulder.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going to the fountain?”
Bear rakes his teeth over his lip. One open palm lifts from his side, his eyes closing, his mouth opening. Promptly, he closes his mouth and balls his fist.
“You don’t even need to think about this.” I grab both his hands, pulling him toward me. “You’ve been the Cruel King for long enough. Now, you’ll be the King who saves them.”
Large burnt-honey eyes fill with desire to fill that role. His thoughts echo a deep-seated doubt, which in turn combats the strength of his pride that says that he can. Bear rolls his shoulders and with a nod, takes off toward the fountain. I follow closely.
Buildings come and go beside us. Every so often, the gasp of a pedestrian startles us, as they see their King, glowing embers trailing behind him, and their Princess, now shoeless, running by. It doesn’t deter us.
The beautiful space where carnivals are held, where the Cursebreaker festival was held, is empty. Lights are dim in the storefronts. Some shops already closed in anticipation of the storm or boarded up as families have fled the city for fear of its curse.
My eyelashes feel heavy with water, each blink a bit harder than the last. Rain rolling down my cheeks like the tears that I should have cried. Fatigue tells me to slow down. The strained beat of my heart telling me I should have done more cardio and less fine dining. Now isn't the time to be thinking about going on a diet.
In a circle, large, important buildings loop around the fountain. Goddess Celeste’s statue pours into the water that feeds to the rest of the kingdom. Rain bounces off the surface, creating ripples that eat the drops and fill the fountain nearly to the rim.
We slow, Bear reaching the fountain first. He lowers himself, dropping his face toward the water and inhaling.
“I don’t smell anything.”
I step forward, dipping my hands into the chilling water. I want to feel the poison. I beg the water to tell me anything, to identify the poison within its composition.
The witch’s words echo in my mind. “Maybe you are not asking the right questions. Does the water tell you of every person it drowns? Does the water tell you of its story or simply the stories of others?”
The water is aiding in the deaths of thousands. She was right, water never told me of its downfalls. Desperately, I lift tendrils of water up into the air. They arc in dripping shapes like translucent trees sprouting from their roots. I beg my magic to separate the two.
Waves crash over the stone edges as the water falls with a loud slap. Nothing. No separation. I stare wide-eyed at Bear. His own desperation clear.
“I . . . I don’t know what to do. My magic doesn’t even feel the poison. The water isn’t sharing all of its secrets with me.” I glance down, unable to keep his gaze. This is my failure.
“There has to be something you can do.” His voice breaks, his confidence in me is so strong, even as my own wavers.
I shake my head. My hand drifts to settle against my racing heart. The tips of my fingers brush against the ridges of my necklace. A sentimental piece I hate that I kind of love. Sometimes love can make us weak, lessons I have learned one too many times.
“No, but I know someone who can.”
13
The Storm
Syren
Soggy clothing and rain-soaked hair clings to Iri’s form. His wide eyes desperate and pleading for an answer. The way the cloth clings to every inch of him takes away from his bulk. It makes him look unnervingly thin. Perhaps it is my imagination.
“I’m going,” I shout against the rumble of thunder.
Lantern lights flicker on around us as the storm overshadows the sun, and the haze of smoke from burnt bodies lingers. Each one with their steady sphere of light glowing until they flicker manically in the wind.
“To the witch? Will she even help us with this?”
“She has to. She’s my mother.” The words sound weak, even to me. “I have to do something.”
Iri steps forward, his movement stiff. I lift my hands, cupping his arms and squeezing his biceps in reassurance.
“I can’t let you go alone.” His words are a cry that catches in the wind.
“Goddess Nature will watch over me.” Standing on my tip toes, I press a kiss to his lips.
He wraps both arms around my shoulders, pulling me against him until our bodies align. Heat drives through the cold cloth, stilling my shivering body.
The tip of his nose nuzzles into my neck, the breath of his words tickling against my skin. “Goddess Celeste will watch over you. Meet me back at the castle. Do not return here alone.”
I nod, pulling away. “There is no better time than now. I need to go.” My hand cups the trinket at my neck.
“Are you sure you can even use it to get to her?” The end of his sentence lost to the storm, only saved by my ability to read his moving lips.
I smile, mustering every ounce of my courage. “I’m the daughter of a water witch. There has to be some dormant power waiting in here somewhere.”
Iri gives me an arch of his brow, a cynical look that says he needs me to prove him wrong.
And I will.
A retort forms on my lips, but the words never come. The orange glow of lamp lights, the black of the steel poles, the dark brown of Bear’s hair, and the nude pink of his lips . . . all of it becomes a blur. Streaks of color that swirl around me.
When I had fallen from that wall on the way to the witch, there had been a moment much the same as this. Everything was happening, and it all was happening to me, yet there wasn’t anything I could do. Now the world spins, slicing my vis
ion and spreading it like paint smeared roughly against the canvas. My body is weightless but falling at the same time. I am the weight.
Wind changes direction. Instead of breezing past me as it does while standing on the flat earth, it pulls my hair up above my head. My dress floats in the air around me, lifting from my legs. A strangled scream disgraces my lips as Iri’s image completely vanishes and my arms and legs wave through the air for purchase.
I expect to hit solid ground. I expect to feel the greeting with such a shatter of pain through my bones. Yet I don’t. The twisting lines of color slow, creeping to a halt. Curves of weathered rocks, clouds of white steam, and a moving wall of spiders.
Blinking, I recognize the hot spring. Even more so, I recognize the large pool of water, remembering the way it felt as it called to my magic just under my feet. My body hangs in the air for a moment longer. A stilled second for me to shout a profanity before I drop completely into its warmth.
Energy, warm like a sunny day and soft like a lover’s caress, travels from the tip of my toes up through my legs, then my torso, past my shoulders, and comes out in a gasp as my head breaks the surface. The scales on my neck tickle at the sensation, ready to breathe in the water like it’s my true home.
“I sensed I was needed.” The witch smiles with her rows of sharp fangs. Her tail flicks against the water, her body perched on the rock as I once had been before. “Would you like a hand out of the water?”
“And get cut by your five-inch nails?” I roll my eyes, kicking my feet until I reached the pool edge. “No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
Her lips scrunch together, violet-lined eyes watching me struggle for a grip against wet stone. Beads catch and scrape loudly as I pull myself up on my belly by the small ledge my fingers find to grasp. The movement isn’t graceful.
“How do I access this deep well of magic you say that I should have?” I fling wet hair off my face. “Quickly.”
