by A. R. Kahler
“As I was saying,” I continue. “We need to get the book fast. So we split up.”
“That’s your plan?” Kingston asks. Of all the times for him to come to his senses . . .
“Yes. Do you have a better one?”
“It’s suicide, even for the immortal,” he says.
“So was rushing into a lake to save my dead mother,” I respond. He flinches, but my bullshit capacity has hit its limit. “Everything about this entire fucking mission is suicidal. I kind of figured you knew that when you signed on.”
“There’s a difference between dying for a cause and just dying,” he says.
“Says the man searching for the lady in the lake,” Eli interrupts.
“Would the two of you please just shut the hell up?” I ask. Okay, maybe it’s more of a yell, and maybe I have a dagger in my hand and flourish it at their necks when I say it. I can’t help myself. It’s the Dream intoxication. Makes everything funky. “Listen, we don’t have time for this. I know it’s stupid and I know we need a better plan, but we don’t have time for that. Penelope should be distracted—that’s all we have to rely on right now, because there’s no way any of our petty magic will keep us hidden in here. We have to act fast.”
“I could conceal us,” Kingston muses.
“It wouldn’t work, magician,” Eli retorts. “I could smell you anywhere, cloaked or not. Penelope would have even less trouble than I.”
“So we go in and root around in her castle and hope we A) don’t run into her and B) don’t run into any guards. Oh, and also C) hope that it’s actually, you know, in there?” Kingston actually sounds like he’s going off the rails here. Maybe he’s just as affected by the Dream. Maybe the kelpie knocked something loose.
I stare at him with a blank expression on my face, watching his chest heave. His eyes look dilated. Maybe I shouldn’t let him wander on his own. Finally, when he’s somewhat calmed himself down, I answer simply, “Yes.”
“What do we do if we find her?” Pan whispers. He sounds more frightened of tipping Kingston over the edge than of our quest. Good man, faun.
“Hide,” I reply. “Or run. That’s why you have him.” I nod to Kingston. “He can magic you out if it gets rough.”
Pan makes a face, as though he’d much rather be with anyone besides the man he just saved from his own stupidity. But I don’t trust Eli alone in a corridor with Kingston. Actually I don’t trust Eli with anyone else. Especially after Penelope took him from me, I’m not letting him out of my sight. I don’t want to risk it happening again.
“I still say this is insane,” Kingston growls.
“And no one’s denying it,” Eli says. He claps Kingston on the back. “But really, you shouldn’t have expected anything else.”
“Come on,” I say.
Despite the fact that we stay just within the edge of the forest, traipsing as silently as possible through the underbrush (Kingston, not so much), it quickly becomes clear that stealth isn’t necessary. Huts and houses sprawl throughout the meadow, right up to the edge of the forest, each of them more ornate than the next and just as impossible in their scale and styling. Tree houses twine above frozen shrubbery, huts of jagged ice pierce through verdant glades while flurries of snow drift soundlessly over hot springs dotted with blossoming cherry trees. Every hut and every faerie ring is abandoned; it almost feels as empty as Winter in its final days. No faeries playing instruments or pin-the-tail-on-the-human, no frolicking of any stripe. Just the distant sound of music and a landscape that seems to have forgotten the laws of nature.
“Are we missing the masquerade?” Eli mutters.
I can tell he’s being facetious, but he might actually be on to something. Faeries love their parties. Especially if they involve dressing up and dancing.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“This isn’t right,” Kingston mutters to himself. He looks over the new city with a strange expression on his face, as though he wants to hate it but deep down doesn’t. The rest of him is impressed. It’s hard not to be. Centuries of feuding between Winter and Summer have been washed away, millennia of bloodshed and hatred forgotten. As I watch the buildings, I can’t help but think that this really does feel like the dawn of a new age. If only the worlds could actually support it. All of this, I know, will soon fall into chaos.
“They’re probably out pillaging the kingdoms,” I say. “But at least that means we won’t be interrupted.” Though, as I say it, I struggle to force down images of Summer Fey ransacking the Lewd Unicorn. I know Mab’s castle is enchanted to ward off attackers; I wonder if it’s still valiantly fighting as Fey roam its halls? Good thing I set fire to my room. No one is going through my stuff.
The field changes the closer we get to the castle, becomes more urban, more congested. Elaborate houses and nautical-themed apartments rise up alongside multistoried tree houses and palaces of ice, grass has been churned to muddy promenades with makeshift statues and frozen ponds, and flowers bloom on every surface. Well, every surface that isn’t coated in snow.
When the castle comes into focus, I actually gasp.
I’ve lived as royalty for my entire remembered life. But the castle that stretches before us wasn’t made to instill fear or fend off attacks. It was crafted to inspire awe.
It’s a few city blocks wide, every inch of it made of the palest white marble capped with blue. Towers rise from waves of balustrades; arched windows glitter in teal and aquamarine. Mermaids cap every turret and dance amidst the curling ivory waves, their scales pale seafoam, their willowy limbs extended in delight. It looks organic, almost, like a seashore frozen in a moment of perfect stillness—at any moment I expect the figures to burst into life, for the waves to crash against the towers in flurries of water. The structure I’d seen in the visions was nothing compared to it. Penelope has been busy. And, looking at it, for a moment I wonder if I’m still fighting for the right side; it’s hard to imagine that someone who created such beauty could be so evil.
A breeze flutters over the expansive gardens surrounding the palace. A breeze carrying the distinct tang of salt water. Has she brought the ocean here as well? Has she seriously terraformed the Wildness just so she can get her seaside escape? Apparently she’s still transfixed by her past—discarded for her abilities, and then lauded for them. And, inevitably, trapped by them as well. Mermaids in the mortal world are pretty rare.
Maybe she isn’t so much evil, then. Maybe she’s just a misunderstood orphan with a grudge against those who wronged her.
The thought makes me chuckle.
If that’s the case, we have a lot more in common than she thought. I’ll have to chat with her about it. When I’m delivering the killing blow.
“I still can’t believe this is your master plan,” Kingston mutters when we near the castle.
“Just shut up and go along with it,” I reply.
There are seriously no defenses out here—at least, none that I can see, and none that Eli or Kingston can detect. The castle sits atop a small hill, and the grass surrounding it is lush and open. Flower gardens spiral across the landscape, and the boulevard leading to the front gate is lined with more mermaid statues. The gate itself is wide open.
If this doesn’t scream trap, nothing does.
“You’re sure you don’t sense anything?” I ask Eli. His demonic nature means he can sense things others can’t. Kingston’s magic could do the same, but he did just run after a kelpie; I think I’m over trusting his magical prowess, until he’s proven otherwise.
“Nothing,” Eli replies. “There’s no magic at work, and only a few creatures inside.” He shrugs. “She still believes she has no more adversaries.”
“I can’t believe she’d be that stupid. She’s a queen. The ruling class will always have adversaries.”
Eli just shrugs and stares at the castle.
“She hasn’t been queen for long. And her delusions tell her she is all-powerful. Which, I should remind you, she is. So we s
hould probably get our asses in gear before she returns.”
“Suicide,” Kingston mutters again. He looks at us. “But if we’re going in, we should at least look the part.”
He waves his hand in the air as if he’s dismissing us, but the runes along my spine go hot; he transforms before my eyes, his skin turning sallow, his ears pulling up to points, his hair sprouting red oak leaves.
“That was supposed to work on the two of you as well,” he says, his anime-large eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, well,” I say. I don’t want to explain the runes, so I leave it at that.
“Don’t worry about us,” Eli says. “Just stick to the plan. Get in, get the book. In all cases, get out.” He winks at Kingston. “I think you need to get over your ex. I’d love to help you with that on the other side of all this.”
I shake my head, then grab Eli’s hand and leave the relative safety of the forest. We spring toward the castle. Every footstep feels as though I’m about to touch a land mine.
The fact that we make it all the way to the glimmering castle wall without raising any sort of alarm makes it worse. But Eli’s right—she thinks she has no enemies. She’s wicked strong. She just toppled the unbreakable King and Queen of Faerie.
Penelope doesn’t need a guard. She needs a party-planning committee.
We sneak in through a side entrance, a smaller door made of pale wood that looks as if it was pulled from the beach, complete with barnacles and tiny crab shells. The interior of the castle is just as stunning and beachy as the exterior. Light drifts down from crystalline chandeliers and wall sconces shaped like mermaids holding illuminated conchs. Every surface is stucco and tile, crashing waves and fairy-tale beach scenes. Somehow, it’s not as tasteless as I feel it should be, and that makes me hate it all just a little bit more. Unless she has shell-shaped soap in the bathrooms. That would be a step too far.
Kingston and Pan silently trot off down the hall, disappearing into the first room they find. I watch them for a moment, feeling like I should be babysitting them. Then Eli elbows me in the arm and gestures to a staircase. Not that the stair is hidden by any measure—it may not be the grand stairwell, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a sweeping construction of wood and marble and, yes, mermaid-topped banisters. Don’t get yourself killed, I think to Kingston and Pan, and then follow Eli up the steps.
The upstairs is all exposed wood and vistas overlooking the grounds, everything glittering with stained glass mosaics, the thick carpets awash with colors. It feels like being in a very large, very oceanic church. If we had more time, I think I’d probably take a moment to admire it all—the organic nature of the architecture, the way one room seems to flow into the next, the hall more like an idea than a structure. I can only imagine how insanely awesome the bathrooms are. And the indoor pool . . . she has to have an indoor pool. And Jacuzzi. Oh, the parties I could throw here.
You know, for when I overthrow Penelope and take the place for my own.
But that’s the future, and I try to stay focused even amidst all the distractions. Knowing that Penelope isn’t here makes it really difficult not to ransack her stuff. As I said—even if I don’t kill her this time, I will come back. I will be the biggest thorn in her side. And screwing with her things feels like a good place to start.
But really, I’d rather just kill her and get it over with.
The first room we enter is a guest room, complete with massive bed with a glittering canopy and views of that damned ocean. No book. And the bathroom isn’t as cool as mine.
She does have shell-shaped soap. Which is hard to pronounce even in my mind.
The next room is a library. My heart falls to my feet when I look around at the leather-bound tomes. Any of them could be Mab’s contracts. But then I close my eyes and hold out my hand and think, I summon thee. Nothing moves. I don’t know if it’s an ability I possess, summoning the book, but it damn well looks like something Mab would do, and since it doesn’t work and we don’t have time to browse, I have to hope that my gut is right: Penelope wouldn’t hide Mab’s prized book away. She would flaunt it like a trophy.
The next room is a study with a fireplace the size of an SUV.
The next is filled with lush plants, sunlight dripping through a skylight of colored glass and gemstones.
“I feel like this is akin to entering her sex dungeon,” Eli mutters. Because in the center of the room is a huge glass tank filled with water. There’s no chintzy sand castle at the bottom, but there are large fronds of seaweed, and the pebbles glitter ruby and gold. There are even benches along the outside.
Definitely a mermaid fetish. Funny that she was pissed at Mab for being flaunted as a mermaidlike Shifter, yet it’s become so intimately tied to her sense of self that she built herself her own cage.
I wonder if she plans on having her subjects come in and gawk at her? Just so she can taste the limelight again.
But I’m not here to psychoanalyze a psychopath. I’m here to bring her down.
“Come on,” I say. “Before you get ideas.”
When we enter the next room, all thoughts of aquatic sex dungeons are flushed from my mind. I’m ready to kill.
She sits in an alcove at the window, staring out at an endless expanse of sparkling water. A book lies open in her lap, the pages forgotten as her fingers lazily tap out a rhythm on the paper. I’d know that book anywhere. I nearly lunge for her right then.
It’s the changeling.
I haven’t seen her since the circus, since she whisked my mother away to Tír na nÓg and set all this shit in motion. I figured she’d just run off, that I’d never get the chance to make her feel the pain I’ve been reliving since I first met her. But here she sits, as though she’s been waiting for me all along. It’s definitely a trap. But it finally feels like my luck is improving.
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she says, not looking from the window. The door clicks shut behind us, followed by a series of clicks. A few dozen locks. And, judging from the shivers that curl over my skin, a few enchantments as well.
Eli and I exchange a glance. I grin. We’re locked in here with her.
Or, rather, she’s locked in here with us.
I know Eli could stroll over there and kill her without breaking a sweat—after all, there’s the book of contracts, there’s our goal—but he’s showing restraint. He understands the necessity of a revenge kill. Especially in a case like this.
“I was starting to worry our paths wouldn’t cross again,” she says. “Especially with so much unfinished business.”
“You were the one who ran off with my mother,” I say.
She looks at me then, and despite everything she’s still wearing her old skin. The bland facial features, the limp blonde hair, the unassuming curves. Faeries are normally loath to hide themselves as mortals for long—I hear it feels claustrophobic. The fact that she isn’t in her native form speaks volumes.
“Our mother,” she says, with more than a touch of vehemence. “I was more a daughter than you ever were.”
“You’ve said that a hundred times already. I thought emotions like that were impossible for a faerie. Maybe you suck at being Fey as much as you suck at being an interesting conversationalist.”
I take a step forward and gesture to her disguise.
“What’s the matter? Starting to get sentimental on me? Or have you forgotten what you look like under all that shitty glamour?”
Despite the slight wince, her glare remains constant.
“I thought it would be fitting for our reunion,” she says coldly. “A reminder of everything you’ve thrown away. And continue to throw away.”
She closes the book and places it beside her.
“Does Penelope know you have that?” I ask. “I doubt she likes you playing with her things. Unless this was her grand idea.”
“She thinks you’re dead,” the changeling says. “But I knew better. You’re like a bad smell—you tend to linger when you aren’t wanted.
”
I shake my head and take a few steps closer. I’ve already mentally cataloged every weapon I’m packing and decided on some stiletto blades hidden up my sleeves. They’re enchanted against Fey, edged with just enough iron to cause instant paralysis. Then I can play with her.
Quickly, I guess. Because we’re still frolicking in the labyrinth, and the minotaur could be home at any minute.
“You spend two decades in the mortal world, and that’s the best colloquialism you can come up with?” I sigh. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Her eyes narrow. It’s only when she stands that the cracks in her guise are apparent; her legs are longer, and they bend backward. And her hands are cracked with grey, her fingers extended and curved into claws. She looks like she’s possessed by some demon.
“You are one to speak of shame,” she hisses. “You betrayed your own mother.”
“Says the creature who dragged her to the enemy.”
“I was protecting her!”
The force of her statement makes me pause.
“You stole her away—”
“From you,” she interjects. “I stole her away from you. Because she deserved to live. She deserved to live more than you do.”
Before, that might have made the fire inside wink out. But I’ve come to terms with what I’ve had to do, with how Penelope played me. So many of my actions have been from someone else’s orders. But this is my turn to play. And damn it, I’m not going to let a bitch like this ruin my fun.
I will have revenge. I will make everyone who hurt me pay for what they’ve done, and what they made me do.
It starts here.
“You went against your orders, changeling,” I say, dropping my voice to the cold timbre of Mab’s. It comes more easily than I expected. “You broke your contract. For that alone, you deserve death. But for what you did to me. What you took away. That deserves an eternity of torture.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have that long,” Eli says.
“Stay out of this, demon,” the changeling replies. “You have no place here.”
