by May Sage
She tried her luck anyway. "Why are we here?"
A question she hadn't bothered to ask Lessara. The woman wasn't interested in conversation.
Lyr's intense eyes locked on her. "Well, I don't see how telling you would hurt. You're in the regent's dungeon in the great kingdom of Iron. The Iron Circle, one of the seven lands of Sidhe. And you're here because our leader died, and the crown must pass to his direct heir. Only, the man had no legitimate children. He had, however, bastards born of mortal brides. About a thousand years ago in Earthen time, the king of this land banned the abduction of mortal women. And good thing too—it was rather barbaric, don't you think?"
She laughed. That was rich, coming from him. "So much for that rule."
Lyr smiled. "The laws of the king are unbreakable. But you see, they only protect human brides."
Ah. A loophole.
"The mortals on Sidhe at the time were offered a trip back to their original home. Some chose to stay. Others returned to their lands. And some were pregnant. Unfortunately, the regency of this realm is set up in a very traditional way. The oldest living heir to the regent will be considered our leader. We aren’t certain who that is, yet. Therefore, I sent my soldiers to collect anyone with the blood of Sidhe on Earth, Gaia, and Ertia, the three realms swarming with mortals."
Politics.
Somehow, she hadn't expected that.
Mel was glad she'd asked. That felt…reasonable. She hadn't been taken to be turned into a slave or anything like that. If it was just a matter of succession, maybe she could convince him to let her go.
She had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy, but she tried anyway.
"I'm only two hundred years old, not two thousand. And there's no mortal blood at all in my veins. My blood is gold."
Half-bloods were typically red-blooded.
Lyr sighed. "We ordered our knights to collect any darkling they found. And they took you for one of us. A better sentinel would have been able to tell you have no Sidhe blood. But your scent is rather intriguing, so I understand the confusion."
So it had been a mistake. Why was she still here?
Her stomach churn when she guessed. "The fae. Lessara's brother. You're keeping me here because I killed him."
A chuckle escaped her. She couldn’t help it.
“Did I miss a jest?” Lyr leaned in eagerly.
This whole thing was a joke as far as she was concerned. “I’m held captive because the incompetent fools you keep as knights attacked me by mistake, and I had to defend myself. I can either laugh my ass off or cry right now.”
And she wouldn’t cry in front of him.
Lyr tilted his head. “No chance for tears?” His tone was pleading.
She rolled her eyes. If she weren’t still scared of him, she also would have flipped him the bird. Although there was no saying whether he’d realize what that gesture meant.
The Aos Si shrugged. "I’m not saying it’s entirely fair. I’m just answering your question honestly. Truth is a curse I can’t escape, I’m afraid. A life for a life. That is our law. You've taken Iron blood and you will breathe at the pleasure of the Iron lords until the debt is paid."
Shit.
Her mind raced. Until the debt is paid? What did that mean? Until she died, or just until Lessara considered she’d suffered enough?
"Do not bother to beg. That would bore me."
She practically growled. "You will never hear me beg."
Lyr was delighted. "Good. In that case, I will give you one chance."
A Reception
His arrival had ruffled a few feathers, if Caim was to judge by the sea of irritated faces greeting him at the gates of Ferris, the capital of the Iron Circle. A regent showing up without warning was a clear insult, and their kind certainly enjoyed being outraged.
Caim tried to hide his amusement.
He’d purposely come with just three men. He wore plain traveling clothes and carried a single brown leather bag on his shoulder.
"By all the titans, I didn't expect such a welcome today." Caim held his hand to his heart and inclined his head toward the first lord approaching the gathering, Golris Fern, an acquaintance he had no reason to detest. Yet.
"No lord has ever stepped foot on this land without being given a fitting reception," the man replied, masking some of his indignation.
Caim scoffed. "You're busy, I’m sure, and I gave no warning. Don't mind me. I shall visit your blacksmith first thing on the morrow and be on my way after I've found a suitable sword for my coronation."
An excuse, of course. No one was fooled, but they relaxed after he announced he was only staying a day.
Caim saw a flash of white from the corner of his eye and did his best to conceal his irritation. Lyr's very presence was enough to irk him.
"Then you must let us entertain you tonight.” The flamboyant peacock spoke as though they were long-lost friends. "We're due for a feast. You will not leave our realm without tasting our finest wine, smelling blood and sweat, and tangling with our most beautiful dancers. Let us have a ball and a tourney for the new regent of our neighboring circle!"
Caim had hoped to avoid the ordeal. He’d announced his arrival hours before sailing, failing to give them any advance notice. But apparently, he was to put up with a ball regardless. He appreciated revels as much as any fae, but the whole point of a feast was to enjoy oneself, giving into all manner of indulgence, to drink more than what was reasonable and relish in pleasures of the flesh. Of all forms.
He couldn't afford to do any of that here, among foes.
“Your honor me, sir.” Being polite took all his might. “My knights and I will stay at the River Inn, if you wish to send invitations.”
Any other time, they would have been expected to take a room in the regent's keep, but with no one sitting on the throne, no one had the power to invite them.
"That won't be necessary. I'll be glad to accommodate you in the Tower of Guard,” Golris offered.
Accepting that offer would mean favoring one of the lords, when there were at least nine who could become regent. "I must decline, sir. The innkeeper has already been notified of our arrival. It wouldn't do to withdraw our patronage."
The noble inclined his head. "As you wish."
Caim stilled in front of Golris. "Am I right in recalling that there's an incredible display of armor in the Tower of Guard? I believe my uncle mentioned it."
The fae was all smiles. "Indeed. Antique iron-forged, along with divine instruments."
"I'd be glad to see them if you could spare the time on the morrow."
"Certainly, sir."
Caim took one step and, now standing in front of a pretty female, he lifted his hand to her jaw, noticing a bruise. "Oh, dear. I don't know many who can wound the legendary lady of Seina."
Lessara Seina was ruthless, trained in the art of war since she'd known how to walk, and also instructed by sorcerers in mind control. But for all her skills, the woman still blushed at the slight compliment. Caim had to admit, she amused him.
Lyr laughed. "Ah, yes. We have an interesting guest. Quite challenging. Perhaps we'll bring her upstairs so you may see her tonight."
Of course they would. The Ironers would pull out all the stops to impress him, dragging out everyone and everything they had available.
"I'm not sure I want to. What sort of a monster could hurt such a beautiful face?"
Beautiful, beet-red face. He stepped away from the girl before she lunged at him. A compliment or two was the done thing, but it wouldn't do to actually make her think he was even remotely interested.
"Dreida Torres.” He greeted the next familiar face. “I hope Rhedrek wasn’t making your life too difficult."
Red’s post used to be on the seashore, right in front of the Torres’ harbor. When there was a conflict between Silver and Iron, it always started with her lands.
He had a word of acknowledgement for all, and when he was done, Caim reluctantly turned to Lyr. They measured
each other in silence. Caim was the first to talk. “Let us try to behave for a night if we can, shall we?”
“If we can,” Lyr echoed with the warmest smile, his eyes remaining ice.
Caim did his best to smile back. It wouldn't do to start a war the first time he left Silver in his new capacity.
Finally, he could leave the nonsensical greetings behind, and head over to the inn where they’d spend the night.
Caim was familiar with the River Inn. He'd often traveled with his uncle, and as an irrelevant youth, he'd been left to his own devices when he wished, for a time.
He'd wandered into the establishment some two hundred years ago, on a cold winter day, when his nose had smelled a delicious mix of spices and fish.
"If it isn't the lordling!" the rail-thin, eerily beautiful, ageless nymph who owned the inn said as a greeting. "I hear you're regent, now?"
Caim granted her his first real smile today. "If you have seabroth ready, you don't need to curtsy."
The female scoffed. "Like I'd ever curtsy to the likes of you. Or fail to stew seabroth."
She and her sister dove to the very bottom of the river for the best crustaceans, and their magic made for soup the likes of which he'd never tasted anywhere else. In Silver, the richest land of Sidhe, he could import food from every corner of the land, get some croissants from Paris delivered, or ambrosia right from Olympus a few times a year. Nonetheless, while they did luxuries well enough, the chefs ruling over their kitchens weren't well versed in the art of the simple comfort foods of Sidhe.
Often, Caim preferred the luxuries. They sent the right message. But with no one except three knights with him, he didn't mind enjoying the simplicity of broth and sliced rye bread.
Besides, he should fill his belly while he could. He certainly wasn't going to consume anything in the Iron Court, home to so many who’d wish to kill him for sport, others who’d do it for gain, and a few, just for pleasure.
"You were right to come." Bass, captain of his guards, hadn’t said a word about their travel one way or another until now. "Might have made the lords uneasy, but I saw respect in their gazes. And fear. They'll think twice before crossing you."
Caim smiled, amused. "Why, thank for your approval. I'll expect you to say that when we get back and Rhedrek yells at me for being reckless."
Bass snorted. "Right. When Red asks, I'll say I tried to tie you to the throne. When you got away, I decided to follow to watch your back."
Mael nodded enthusiastically. "I'll support that story. Lord Rhedrek is terrifying."
Caim lifted a brow. "Is he now? I would have thought you'd fear me more than my general."
Mael and Bass exchanged a gaze. The new knight was the first to talk. "Well, in a dark forest, perhaps. And obviously, you have more power over our lands. But Lord Rhedrek…he looks like a corpse while putting up with the mundane routine. Then, when there's blood and suffering, he comes alive. Most of us are mischievous by nature. He's something else entirely."
Caim paused. That wasn't his take on his friend. Cassian better fit that description. But both Bass and Vlaryn were nodding their agreement.
Odd.
A matter he had to put aside for the time being.
"Let us talk of tonight. You will remain within view of my back at all time, lest someone plant a sharp object in it," he told Bass. "And Vlaryn, you'll watch from a distance. Keep the exits in your field of vision and watch for any guest acting suspiciously. As for you…"
Mael had pulled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest under his shining armor.
"You're to remain by my side, and take most of the drink they hand me."
The young man blinked. "What, that's it? I just have to get drunk in your stead?"
Caim shrugged. He had various reasons for this. Firstly, he needed a tester. But he also should see his new knight under the influence—see how well he held his alcohol, and whether he was still reliable after a drink or two.
Mael blinked in disbelief, then laughed. “What we do in the name of our country.”
A Dangerous Dance
Caim had to give it to them: the Ironers knew how to throw a party.
It wasn’t the first time he’d attended a revel in the Iron Circle. He’d accompanied his uncle to at least three such gatherings, but each time they’d been held in the dark castle towering over the city.
As the circle had no regent, the keep was closed. Instead of holding the celebrations in one of the surrounding residences, they set up the revels in the gardens—not the worst idea on a fair night. A thousand lanterns had been planted on the ground in a large circle around a clearing, and they'd placed wood and stone seats at its edge.
They'd been serious about holding a tournament for their entertainment, the arrangement of their tables made that clear. This was a makeshift arena.
A somewhat predictable development. The Ironers meant to show him their power. Their strength. Their ruthlessness. If this went like all of the previous festivities he’d attended here, blood would feed the forest ground tonight.
A few feet away, near the river, pixies were draping a rath in silks and taffetas so that they might dance once they were done gorging on violence and death.
Caim was given a throne of vines and poisonous blackflowers. He was glad to see Lyr take a seat on the other side of the clearing, as far away as possible from him.
To his right sat Lessara, and to his left, a young man Mael's age, perhaps a little younger. Something in the boy’s features seemed vaguely familiar.
The boy was grinning and sipping silver wine.
"In great spirits, I see,” he told the youth.
"For sure! I, for one, am glad you came.” The boy sighed dramatically. “Things have been so boring since old Echterion went to meet our ancestors."
"Now, now, Dreron.” Lessara was batting her long lashes. “Lord Caim is going to believe we don't know how to entertain ourselves."
"We do. Some more than others. I heard you keep a toy we aren't allowed to play with, Lessara." The boy pouted.
The woman’s smile was short-lived and somewhat forced. "Well, you'll see her tonight. Your father insisted."
His father…
Caim turned to the boy and observed him in more detail. He had dark hair, and brown eyes, not unlike him, but there was no mistaking his mouth and nose, or his arrogant bearing. "Are you Lyr's son?"
Dreron’s eyes danced with amusement. "His bastard—you can say it. Yes, I am. Father is most kind, and named me part of his house." The boy extended his hand. "Dreron Gaios. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Even though you hate my father. Perhaps because you hate my father."
The boy was all unseelie, Caim noted. Not just physically, with his darker traits, but there was something wicked in his grin. An intriguing mixture of lightheartedness and cunning, with a dash of innocence due to his youth. Caim doubted he’d seen his thirtieth year.
"Now, Lady Lessara, pray tell us of your toy. Father wouldn't say a thing."
"Nothing much to tell.” She tossed her long mane behind her shoulder in a gesture she no doubt meant to pass for indifference. “The woman owes me a blood debt and I am taking my time extracting her joy from her entrails."
Each word was said lightly, but Caim didn't fail to note how the warrioress's eyes darkened with wrath. Now, he was considerably more intrigued. That woman, whoever she was, had managed to get under the cunning lady’s skin. Not an easy feat.
Dreron chuckled. “Have you lost your touch? You've played with her for an entire month. You should have broken her mind by now.”
That seemed to cheer Lessara up somewhat: her features lightened as she laughed, pleasure coloring her tone. "Well, it's harder to break those who have never known happiness in the first place. She's so hollow, it's pathetic. Still, the witch took my brother's life with her tricks. I will see her suffer before I take hers."
Caim made no comment. He'd met all three of her brothers, and regardless of whichever one she spoke o
f, the world was a better place without him using up air.
The Iron Court's merrymaking started with a flare when Lyr clapped his hands to demand attention. All conversation stopped immediately. Caim narrowed his eyes. From what he saw, Lyr already had the crown. His authority was uncontested. Some disliked him, many feared him, but all respected him.
"Ladies and fools, lords and maidens, priestesses and sinners, if you please, I present you a unique form of entertainment tonight. As some of you know, our dungeons are overflowing, and it has come to our attention that there's a simple way to remedy this situation."
There was some laughter around the clearing. Caim could have yawned. He had little respect for posturing.
"We were unwilling to spill blood in the event that our beloved, long-lost regent may be among the darklings we found in the mortal realm. But four dozen have proven to be irrelevant bastards of no lineage, with no more than a drop of Sidhe blood. I give you the Earthen." He gestured to the south side of the clearing, where some twenty men and women bound at the wrists and feet were led into the circle, guards around them. "The Gaian," he added, gesturing left now. And finally, pointing north, he added, "The Ertian. Come forward, if you please."
The guards shoved the darklings at the center of the clearing.
"So here we are. You're the overflow. The rabble. None of you are who we are looking for. We checked. And that makes you a liability. It wouldn't do to release an enemy who might one day come back with ill intent. I, and the rest of the lords, discussed your fate at long length. Some would have you killed in your sleep. I say nay. I say, we do not spill valuable blood. I say, prove your worth, and you will be spared."
Lyr was showing exactly who he was: a true dark lord who enjoyed despair, and made his enemy tremble, all while he made his decision sound reasonable, generous even, in true seelie fashion. Hypocrites. Caim wasn’t against executing prisoners when he had to, but he didn’t attempt to turn it into a game.
Caim was biased, as always, where Lyr was concerned. More so today. There was a young boy among the prisoners. Younger than Dreron, by far. A teenager. He looked fae—tall, slender, and effeminate, with a halo of curls around his head. He was trembling like a leaf. Whatever Lyr had planned, the boy would not last a minute.
