by JL Madore
Terran tilted his head. “Who? Balor?”
I moved to the rectangular window at the front of the house and glanced out at the shops across the way. “Being a breeder is a bit of a big deal, right? So why risk defying the Queen to keep me, just to turn around and give me away?”
A small boy, probably ten or eleven years old, carried a package out of one of the shops across the street. He had the same mint green skin that Stitch and Terran had and I wondered if that was an identifier of an Earth Attalosean . . . Attalosi?
Standing too long in one position had me stretching my back from side to side. There was no help for the ache that was now my constant companion. I knew almost nothing about my life, and standing in this empty townhouse wouldn’t change that. “Forget it Terran. Let’s go. We’re not—”
The creak of a floorboard in the back of the house had me reaching under my skirt and drawing steel. Terran heard it too and jogged to my side, his nightstick out and humming. He must have activated something within the baton, because the rune designs that covered its surface glowed white against the black cylinder. With quick hands, he signaled for me to stay put while he moved toward the back hall.
Yeah. He had a lot to learn if he thought that would work. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to be wearing my leather gear instead of floor-length silk and heels.
Faint footsteps had us aimed at a partially closed door at the back of the house. I eased the door open. The blinds were raised and mid-afternoon light filled the space.
“Come out,” I said, ready and steady. “Don’t do anything stupid. We’re armed.” The shadow of movement passed behind the open crack of the door and I adjusted my grip.
“Armed, Gracie girl? Well, I guess his plan worked then.”
It took a second for the words to sink in, but when my mind caught up, the woman from my vision stood directly in front of me. She looked different—focused, angry, drunker—though there was no question it was the same woman I’d seen.
“Now stand still.” She reached forward and for some reason, I did as I was told. Her finger touched my forehead and a tingle seeped into my skull and stung my eyes. “Give it a minute.”
Standing face to face, forgotten images flickered at the edge of my mind. Teasing. Flirting with my consciousness like a clouded dream in the waking hours. I knew her. I studied her more closely. What appeared to be dark brown hair in the shadows of her haunted hollow was actually a deep auburn laced with the silver-grey of rising age.
Fire Fae. How did I know that?
“Who are you?” I lowered the point of my blade to rest against my thigh.
“I am Sera.”
“And how did you get in here? Surely Tasso and his men didn’t let you in.”
The coy smile that spread across her features softened her appearance. “No. I waited until those bastards left. I want to speak with you. Alone.” Her cold stare raked over Terran and I stepped between them.
The woman shrugged. “The Queen has spies everywhere, Princess. Not a word in front of your soldier friend.”
It went against my every instinct not to defend Terran, but I needed answers and what she said was true. I’d only known him since I woke up this morning. The woman was important. The Fates were manipulative bitches, but what I saw in my visions always meant something.
I cast an apologetic glace to Terran. “Hang back so we can have some girl talk time.”
It was surprising, in the short time of knowing one another, how well the two of us could have a silent conversation of looks and head shakes. It reminded me of how Galan and Nyssa knew exactly what was going on in the other’s head without a word spoken.
After a heated argument of furrowed brows and tense glares, Terran had expressed just how much he disagreed with stepping back and leaving me alone, and I had reminded him I could take care of myself.
Terran threw his hands up and eased back to the far wall. It warmed my heart, how he kept his weapon ready and his mossy-green stare locked on our Fire-Fae visitor. Sweet.
“Now then,” I said, stepping closer to the woman, “what do you have to tell me?”
The woman turned and without a word pivoted back into the bedroom. Crossing the room, she ducked into the closet and disappeared behind the sliding door.
I followed, dagger ready, peering inside the dark space to where a hidden panel in the floor lay exposed. A run of twenty or so steep steps led below and as I started to descend, Terran’s hand caught my shoulder.
“It’s all right,” I assured him. “Wait here. If I’m not back in half an hour, come find me.”
I didn’t wait for his response but heard the jumbled attempt at modern world cursing as I left the bedroom behind. I giggled to myself. I’d have to help him with that.
At the bottom of the stairs, an earthen tunnel lit with multi-colored firelight stretched outward. Flames danced from six strange stoneware bowls fastened to the wood supports of an underground passageway.
“Giving you up nearly killed him. You should know that.” The voice of the woman drew me farther down the length of the tunnel toward two framed doorways opposite one another. “The Queen’s breeding program is meant to wipe out any lingering Earth, Wind and Fire genes in the noble families. Balor was Water as far back as time. His genetics are . . . were the strongest I’ve ever seen.”
I followed the voice and stepped over the packed-earth threshold through the doorway on my right. The fire in the sconces increased the lighting, illuminating a charming, comfortably decorated underground studio apartment. It was homey, from the soft white-washed walls to the oversized sofas, to the iron bed in the back. “He loved you very much.”
“You knew him well.” It wasn’t a question. Bits and pieces of memories fluttered together in my mind. My gaze swept over the mementos of a life shared: pictures, candles burned low, books, a child’s quilted throw framed on the wall over the small table. “I remember this.” I stroked the velvet symbol embroidered in the center panel. “This was mine.”
The look of disillusioned loss I’d seen in my vision returned. “Years ago, it was.” She took a picture frame down from the top of a bookshelf and held it out to me.
“You spent time with us. You played with me.”
“Sort of. Balor always turned my visits into a game but they were much more important.”
I eased closer and accepted the picture she offered. In the framed photo, I stared into the same kind eyes I’d seen last night on that horrible stage. What it would have been like to get here a week ago . . . a month . . . what about a year?
“I’ve lost my chance to know him. I came back to find my family and now all I have is this Breeder-Eligible-sister-wife crap. It’s really fucked up, if you ask me.”
She nodded and ran her fingers along the back of the cushy, white club chair.
“And that is the crux of everything you are, child.” She fingered my hair and eyed me top to bottom. “Everything we made you.”
A smile softened her expression as her gaze focused on something beyond the windowless room we were in. “He walked into my apothecary in the outer ring shortly after the fortnight of conception six cycles past. He knew he carried twins and had it all worked out, how he would present one child and keep the second, hide her from the corruption of the nobility, groom her to value justice and diversity.”
“So why come to you?”
“My family’s reputation for magic is know in some of the oldest circles of citizens. Balor wanted my help to protect the elemental diversity that makes Attalos unique.”
Sera moved toward the open door and gestured me to follow. “When the Queen declared that all Breeders be pure-blood Water Fae, Breeders of all other elements were slain. She boasts of purifying the race for the longevity of all.”
“How very Aryan of her.”
Sera lifted the latch on the door across the hall and stepped into the same apothecary shop I’d seen this morning. “Your father believed otherwise and hired me to equip you with wha
t you would need to unite all four elements of the citizenry.”
“Equip me how?”
CHAPTER TEN
“What happened down there?” Terran asked for the fifth time in as many minutes. His long, loping strides kept up with mine even though I was pretty much bolting through the grittier areas of Attalos market shops. “Did that woman do something to you? Are you hurt?”
“Do I look hurt, Terran?” I whirled on him, fighting the urge to slap him. It wasn’t his fault. I knew that. I did. It wasn’t his fault that I was some kind of Franken-Faery, but really. “Can I have a minute to myself without you nagging? What Sera told me is my business. My life. Do you mind?”
The edge in my voice astonished even me.
The warmth leached out of Terran’s expression. “Forgive me, Princess, I overstepped.” With that, Terran fell behind me, straightened his stride, and assumed a soldier persona.
Shit. I really could be a bitch at times, but could a girl catch her breath between one catastrophe and another? We walked on, the afternoon waning into evening. The blue sky above and beyond the iridescent field glittered in brilliant gold and fuchsia swirls.
Red sky at night, sailors delight. Yeah right.
The scent of coal smoke mixing with the salty sea air had me searching for an exhaust chimney. The k’tang, k’tang of hammer falling upon metal echoed from a distance. “Terran, there’s a blacksmith shop around here. Do you know where?”
The reservation in his normally warm gaze stole my breath. “Yes, Princess, follow me if you will.”
“Terran, wait . . . Terran, stop.” I jogged behind him, but his long legs propelled him along the streets, around one corner and the next. Straight backed and stiff shouldered, he didn’t turn nor give me the chance to apologize.
“There.” He pointed, then clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention.
He’d led us to another of those futuristic bronze buildings with sweeping arcs and ornate scrollwork details. The one-story structure had huge wall panels folded back on three of the four sides. It gave the impression of an open-air building. The exhaust from the forge vented straight up from the chimney in the center of the building and out the hole in the roof. It rose in a swirl of charcoal smoke toward, but not nearly high enough to reach, the arch of the dome above.
As we closed the distance, I checked out the solid back wall. Covered in cut stone, it was cluttered with forge tools and a stunning array of custom weapons. There was something indescribably sexy about the sharp edges, spikes and barbs of new weapons. Having never been swung or struck, the line of the metal and the slice of the cutting edge remained perfectly unmarred.
With the walls open, the scorching heat crept along the paved street and met us like a cloying blanket. The forger, his back to us, set down his hammer, rose from his stool and stepped away from the flames. Pulling on the tie of the heavy leather apron he wore, he stripped off the protective layer and then his shirt. As he strode to the workbench on the back wall, he wiped his skin with the balled-up fabric.
Oh. Wow. The muscles on his back glistened and pulled as he retrieved a bottle and uncorked the neck. His shoulders and lats were thick in all the right places and tapered to a glorious ass cradled in a tight pair of jeans. At the small of his back, a silver buckle fastened the worn pair of leather chaps that protected his legs from flaring embers.
Heaven.
I swallowed hard as he tipped the bottle back and drank deep. Firelight danced along the smooth surface of the glass bottle and he turned to lean against the bench. My eyes were glued to the sweat-glistening definition of his abs. They plunged me into chiaroscuro bliss and the way his jeans hung low on his hips . . . yummm.
“Slumming it, Princess?” The low, velvet amusement in the voice snapped me out of my haze.
I abandoned the sightseeing sexpedition and met Rowan’s smug stare. His gaze stayed locked on mine, the intensity of those shadowed hazels warming me inside and out. I prayed to Castian and his dim-witted nieces that it was dark enough to hide the flush of my cheeks as I straightened. “I . . . uh, what are you doing?”
“Being ogled?”
I stepped toward the forge and examined the billet he’d been working on. He was in the beginning stages of tapering the edges. Without touching the glowing metal, I let my hand hover above it and traced its length. The tingling in my palm climbed over my skin as it had twice already today. “You’re using orichalcum for the flexibility within the core?”
“You know smithing?”
“A bit. Mostly I know swords. And I teach Spathology.”
His mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “An Attalosean Eligible who thinks beyond the color of her nails and gown? Who could have guessed.”
I pulled my hand from the singeing heat and stepped back. Sweat glistened on my own forehead and my lavender gown was starting to cling. “I’ve been misjudged before and, no doubt, will be again. I thought you were a doctor.”
“Surgeon, actually. You could say I work with blades of all sizes.” My skepticism must have shown because he cast me an impatient glance.
“Did you study medicine in the Modern Realm?”
Rowan kicked up his chin a notch. “Believe it or not, Attalos has a strong and modern infrastructure of its own. Whatever the shortcomings of our government, everyone, including the Noble Council and the Queen, work to ensure Attalos thrives.”
“Considering the Nobles and Queen think arranged marriages and systematically eliminating cultural diversity is a good thing . . . well, friends can disagree.”
A look of hostility crossed his face. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. We’re not friends.”
His tone stung. The truth of those words was as solid as the scowl etched on Terran’s face. Bruin always said we worked better in a pack than as lone wolves, but apparently, no one in Attalos wanted to join my pack.
“My mistake.” I eyed the showcase of weapons hanging on the stone wall. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
I turned to leave and almost tripped over a child. The boy looked up at me with the darkest pair of eyes I’d ever seen. Maybe it was my sense of isolation or maybe the effect of the firelight on his dirty little face, but Zale’s servant boy had the haunted look of someone who’d lived through far too much. And he couldn’t have been more than eight years old.
“Hello again,” I said, accepting the note he handed me. “What’s this?”
The child plunged his hands deep into his torn pockets.
“The boy doesn’t speak, Princess.” Terran growled. “He can hear. He just can’t speak.”
“Oh,” I said, my voice catching. “Well, don’t let that slow you down, hon. I have a friend who can’t speak either. He’s the fiercest warrior I’ve ever fought with, other than my father. No one messes with Savage. Voice or not, he’s a respected warrior and many of us would die for him in battle.”
“Truth or tease?” Terran moved forward, starting to thaw in the heat.
“Truth, I swear.” The little guy listened intently, a million questions swirling in his eyes. “Would you like to hear stories about Savage some time?” A mass of matted, ginger hair bounced as he nodded. “Good. Then let’s do that.”
Before I could say any more, he nudged my hand and pointed at the letter.
“Oh, right, and what’s your name, buddy?”
His round little face blanked out as his coal black eyes filled with anxiety. I looked up to Terran. “What did I say?”
“He hasn’t got a name. He’s a fire orphan and indentured servant. He probably was born into it. Many Fire were taken as slaves after the uprising.”
“What?” No wonder the poor bugger looked lost and alone in the world. I knew what that felt like. I’d be damned if I let this boy feel tossed away and unwanted. “Well, everyone needs a name. I’ll give you one . . . if that’s all right.”
The surprise in those dark eyes made my chest tighten. “Coal. I’d call you Coal. You’re a Fire Faery and you
r eyes are dark black. Do you like it? I’ll think of something else—”
He shook his head, his tiny hand patting his chest and then pointing to his eyes.
“You like it?”
He nodded.
“Okay then, Coal, let’s see what you brought me?” I angled the linen letterhead toward the light of the fire and smiled. Jade was the one born with the Rosetta Stone embedded in her cranium. I was the one who copied off her tests. Yet, since Sera had touched my forehead, memories of Balor and my childhood had started coming back.
I could read Attalosean. Freaky.
Princess Grace
Her Majesty requests your immediate presence in her private study. Your refusal regarding your allocation to be my bride has been deemed an unfortunate miscommunication due to a lack of understanding of Attalosean tradition.
In anticipation of a new understanding between the three of us, she has arranged for a gift of betrothal which she believes will clarify any further miscommunication.
Yours in affection,
Lir-Zale
Son of the seventh house.
I snorted and tossed the letter into the fire. “Yeah, like a crystal punch bowl is going to convince me to marry that polygamist worm.” Coal stared up at me, his eyes far too glossy in the firelight. “Gods, I’m sorry, Coal. I shouldn’t say rude things about your master.”
He shook his head, picked up my hand and after a sequence of frustrating charades, I finally understood. “You want me to marry him? Why on earth would I do that?”
He looked thoroughly deflated and pointed first from himself to me and back to himself.
“Married or not, I’m your friend, honey. And one thing you should know about me is that I’m a very loyal and trustworthy friend. We don’t need your master’s permission for that. Now, I suppose we should go and get this over with.”
“You’re out of your depths, Princess,” Rowan scoffed. The copper in his brown hair caught the glow of the fire as he shook his head. “You spit in the face of the Queen’s plans and expect to just get it over with? That’s naivety talking.”
