Wicked Court: A Noblesse Oblige Duet Book One

by Sage, May

  Throwing myself in the middle of a fight is no strategy at all.

  We need an exit, and there’s only one place to go.

  “Not bad, for a gentry!”

  I spin around, finding a small, round fae surrounded by a ring of fire.

  I laugh in relief. Khia. I could have kissed her.

  “Not bad for a salamander,” I echo, screaming to be heard over the mess. “I need to call that favor.”

  Khia’s beady eyes widen. “Now! You want a favor, now?”

  I parry the blow of a man and swing my sword down—then, spotting the four closing in, stomp my foot hard on the ground, letting go of some of my energy.

  I turn back to Khia, rather than watch them fall. “I need your fire, on either side of this path, from the drawbridge to the town square. Keep it going as long as you can. We can defend the entry point, and only let the folk pass through.”

  She seems stunned—shocked that I’d asked for something that wouldn’t just benefit me, I think. But she shakes her head.

  “The gates are closed. We’d have nowhere to go, and they could blow the bridge with their catapults.”

  Of course, Morgana had left Hardrock completely defenseless.

  Coward.

  I try to think. The gates predate Morgana—they predate the Wicked Court; they’d been in place in Nyx’s days. I doubt she could have controlled their magic. If she’s disabled anything, it’s the manned gates on the right; those the people who want to beg for an audience use.

  “I’ll get you through the gates,” I say, letting no doubt into my voice.

  God, I hope I’m right.

  “Just blaze a path.”

  She nods, done arguing.

  Her hands lift above her head, and I leap to her side, blocking a sword meant for her, pushing her back through the wall of fire she’s erected.

  As I hoped, the humans scream and rush out of the way. No one much likes the idea of being burned alive, but the folk can survive a burn or two. I slice my way through the soldiers, to reach the start of Khia’s blazing corridor. To my surprise, three boys and two girls are already in place, their weapons in hand. They let the folk walk in, and throw arrows or daggers at any human getting close.

  This might just work—as long as I can get the people inside the castle once they’re on the bridge.

  I raise the sword that doesn’t feel so awkward now, ready to strike any soldiers who get too close.

  “We’re good here!” The imp who screams at me can’t be much older than a boy. “Go get the others to safety!”

  I hesitate, because if we don’t hold the entry, there’s no point trying to siphon our people through.

  “My wife’s on the bridge. And my ma. And other folk’s mas and sweethearts. Go!”

  I nod. He’s right; I can’t be in two places at once, and the only thing no one else can do is open the gates. “Hold this entry,” I tell him.

  No need to spell out what will happen if he doesn’t.

  I run up the scorched path. It’s less than half a mile long, but by the end, I realize how tired I am. Drained.

  My kind isn’t meant for long battles. Duels? Yes. We can fight, and win. But pixies aren’t known for their endurance.

  At the bridge, and out of the fire, I will myself to regain speed. Now isn’t the time for weakness. Any weakness.

  Tomorrow, I can think about the thousand times when I could have failed, the million ways I could have fallen. Tonight, I have to ignore the odds, and think of nothing but the next step toward safety.

  Toward home.

  I am home.

  I belong here.

  I am of this court, and these are my people.

  Open.

  Open, open, open.

  Let us through.

  I pass the left gate first, not letting myself doubt my right to be here, my right to bring the entire city through the gate.

  I turn back, seeing a little girl walk in first. Her wings are out, and folded behind her—moth wings, brown and droopy, but not unlike mine.

  Let. Her. Through.

  Yes, mistress.

  I hadn’t realized what was talking to me when I’d been in the carriage, begging the gate to let Drusk and his footman through. Now, outside, I feel it.

  The wind.

  The young fae steps forward and comes out the other side of the gate unharmed.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

  This is working. Good.

  I take the next step, knowing the night is far from over.

  We’ve left our attackers, and entered the home of my enemy.

  The halls are dark and silent, when just yesterday, they were lit with thousands of fae and candles, alive with music and laughter.

  “Where’s ev—?”

  I shush the speaker with one move of my hand.

  I could have assumed the court had evacuated, by air or boat, but this is no mere absence. I feel them. I feel the aura, the essence of the entire court—all the gentry, advisors, artists, dancers, servants who belonged here.

  They are still within these walls.

  And at the same time, not at all.

  If this weren’t a sufficient indication of what occurred here, the stench of blood would have been enough.

  I take a torch on the right wall and light it against the cavernous stone. “Keep going right ahead,” I whisper. “Through each hall, never turn. You’ll reach the sea, on the other side.”

  I’m not speaking to anyone in particular. There are hundreds behind me—let one of them hear it. Let all of them hear it.

  I don’t tell them what they can do at the sea. I don’t mention that our assailants could have come that way—their ships might still be docked there.

  And thankfully, no one asks.

  “What are you going to do?” someone asks—a child, I think.

  Another answer I don’t want to give, but at least I have one. With some effort, I force it out, turning back. “I have to lead.”

  As long as I can.

  We advance through the dark hall, and then the hall of crowns. It isn’t until we’ve reached the hall of revels that we’re forced to stop. The great white stone doors that had been wide-open yesterday are closed, and barricaded.

  I don’t have time to ask for help; half a dozen lads—a troll, I think, four imps, and a brownie—push them. The troll takes one side himself and the other five manage to move the other.

  My stomach sinks as soon as the doors are ajar. By the time they’ve managed to push them open, I’m gagging, hand over my mouth to stop myself from vomiting.

  I see the little girl who’s almost my height step forward, and I grab her hand, pushing her back to the rest of the crowd.

  No child should see this. No one should see this.

  In the hall of revels, the entire court has been slaughtered, sliced through and bled like common game after a hunt.

  At least a hundred gentry—most of our nobles. Above all, on a raised dais where the queen oversees her parties, she, her daughters, and her sons are standing all together, held in a mockery of a formal presentation. They’re all scorched black, burned alive by an enchantment.

  As I watch the ashes of the woman who’s terrorized me my entire life, I am too stunned to move, or think, or feel.

  Dead, dead, dead.

  Morgana is dead.

  Her heirs are dead.

  And I would have been dead too, if she’d favored me.

  Perhaps I’ll be dead soon. It would be foolish to assume that I can fend off a thing that could have torn through the court.

  “Run.” The first time I say it, it’s barely a whisper, but I clear my throat, and I say it again. “Run. Now. Before they sense us.”

  They don’t question me. I’ve led them this far.

  I allow myself to take the time to concentrate, sensing the presences around me. I barely scratched the surface earlier, because I didn’t have the time or inclination to define just what was
here with us—and how many of it.

  I’m not stunned to feel immortals. Not the folk; the descendants of the gods.

  Though we’d only faced humans, I would never have thought Mithgarth capable of attacking us—and reaching the heart of our kingdom—not by themselves. Of course, there are plenty of humans in Álfheimr. That they’d be used as soldiers to slaughter the common fae while the immortals took our court—our courts—made sense.

  I refuse to think of my parents. They could take care of themselves, and unlike me, they had a Meda to defend them.

  Seeing that I haven’t moved, the troll turns to me and growls, questioning.

  I wince at the noise. “The invaders are upstairs.” What were they doing upstairs? The court and the queen’s quarters are all on the same floor. On the higher levels of the keep, there is nothing but stone, to my knowledge. “They’re…focused, but if they feel us here, they’ll kill us. Run.”

  The troll doesn’t like that idea, I can tell. It tilts its heavy jaw toward me. Then I get it. It’s asking what I’m doing.

  Fair question.

  I’m being insane. Stupid. Dangerously arrogant.

  Rather than attempting a response, I kneel on the smooth floor, drenching my nightgown in fae blood. Sweat and mud and blood. The garment is having a hell of a night.

  I hold my arms to my sides, palms facing up, and let go of the energy left in me. Not my own—I have little of that. The energy I’ve stolen. The strength and lives of the hundred humans I took on the bridge. I release it. I direct it. I force it to enter the broken bodies of the folk at my feet.

  Then I sense it crawling to the dais. Crawling to the queen.

  I call it back, and redirect it where I want it.

  I will save her court. They’re folk. They’re the gentry of our people, and if we’re at war, I’ll need every single one of them. The old and wise, the strange and cruel, the young and brave.

  But not her.

  Never her.

  She can rot until I am broken and join her in hell.

  Part of me thinks about the others on the dais. The aunts I don’t know. The cousins I’ve never spoken to. I don’t know if I can help them—not as they are, burned to a crisp, and if I could, it would take too much from me.

  Before I’ve made a conscious decision, I find that I’m empty.

  Void.

  The energy I’ve taken has been given again.

  And the court rises.

  They’re stunned, confused, shocked. All of them are looking right at me. I can tell, they know that whatever happened, I caused it. I did this. For better or worse, we are linked together in a chain of power and obligation none of us understand.

  I get to my feet, clearing my throat. “The people are heading to the summer palace. Go. I won’t be long.”

  I’m not done here; I can feel it.

  The Queen’s Plans

  I don't know what forces pushed me to walk through the castle room after room, despite the danger, despite the fact that the people, in dire need of help, are making their way down unfamiliar halls, to an uncertain future, but I refuse to question it.

  I'm no more familiar with the court than any of them; I've never even stepped upstairs before.

  I find studies littered with books and maps, laboratories with potions still cooking up. It seems I've entered the functional, military part of the court—where the leadership sleeps, eats, and works for the queen.

  In one of the larger rooms, there's even a chair grand enough to pass for a throne. In front of it, a table carved in oak wood is painted with the largest map of Álfheimr I've ever seen. Various figures on the board—an eagle, a wolf, a sun, among others—make me think of a child's game; I had figures of wood just like these growing up.

  Upon closer inspection, I understand this is a game, all right. One not meant for children at all.

  Feeling I'm alone, I risk taking a moment to myself to approach a table. I know nothing of war; a glimpse at my grandmother's plans might enlighten me—or give me an idea as to what I can do next.

  The sun is at the heart of the seelie kingdom, right on the spot where the Court of Sunlight should be, from what I remember of my lessons. The wolf is in the wilderness. On the forbidden mountains to the north, there's a white crown. I remember the legends of a prince cursed to sleep forever, right there.

  Tenebris has far more figures than the other kingdoms. On the Wicked Court, there's another crown—black, with a green stone. I've seen it on many of Nyx's illustrations; I glean it represents the queen. A flame for the Court of Ashes, a snowflake for the Court of Storm, a sword for the Court of Ichor, an ax on the Court of Silt, and a rock on the Court of Stone.

  The Court of Mist has two effigies; one is a star, and the other, the only character I see on the entire board. The others are symbols meant to represent the courts, but this is just a girl.

  That tiny doll-like model seems to have been carved in a different wood as the rest of them. Maybe at a different time. Stunned, I realize it's me.

  I don't have time for this. I don't understand any of it anyway.

  Just as I'm about to move, I pause, my eye catching the shine of a thin blue line running right through the court on the map.

  It's not water; the sinuous river running from the ocean to the heart of Tenebris is south of Hardrock.

  My fingers trace the line; it's minute and discreet, but I can feel it underneath my fingertips. It stops on a familiar point. My eyes widen, taking it in.

  Whitecroft; my old school. It's the ley line—one of those Nyx built to connect the courts.

  My mind rushes in a thousand different directions, calculating, analyzing, remembering details.

  I know I have to make time for this. I have to understand it. I have to use it.

  I let my mind widen again, though I'm playing with fire. If I can sense the intruders, there's a chance that they might sense me right back, but I need to know if they're close.

  I feel something else. Someone else.

  My head snaps to my left, out of the room.

  Drusk. He's here, I can tell. And he isn't alone.

  Has he betrayed us? Is he with the invaders? That would explain how he alone survived the fight at the borders.

  I'm torn between the map and getting to Drusk.

  I'm always inclined to believe the worst of him. There's a chance he isn't against me, and if so, I need him by my side. Drusk is a better defense for our people than a dusty old map could ever be.

  A curse escapes my lips. I turn back to the map, memorizing every single detail I can commit to memory one last time, before getting out of the room.

  Friend or foe, Drusk is a key element I cannot afford to ignore.

  Silent as I can, following shadows, I let my subconscious lead me to him.

  I reach heavy golden doors and sense him right on the other side. Drusk, and three others. Fae, from what I can decipher. Tensing, prepared for a trap, I push against the cumbersome owl-faced knob.

  On the other side, Drusk grips his sword in a defensive stance, holding his wounded left side, hand thick with blood. At his flank, two other knights mirror his position. I'm so relieved, it takes me a second to see they're protecting something on the floor.

  Alven's bleeding out on the polished marble, a dagger in his chest. I don't ask why it hasn't been removed—it would have killed him instantly.

  I can't help chuckling, walking into the light. "Looks like I won't have to kill you," I say casually.

  The knights have lowered their weapons, but Drusk hasn't moved an inch, his intense gaze biting into me.

  I ignore him, circling him to kneel next to my grandfather. My hand presses against his chest.

  Alven groans, protesting against my ministration. "No. The stone. Take—"

  "Shush." He can tell me all about stones after I heal him.

  I've used up all of my stolen energy downstairs, but there's still enough of me to help him. I feel my palms tremble, and I wince as pai
n slices through my chest, right where he's been stabbed. I pull the dagger out, stifling a scream.

  My heart beats fast in my chest, as if stunned it survived the pain.

  I can wonder about it tomorrow, and the day after.

  I rise and extend my hand to help Alven up. "I can't heal you all the way through."

  I don't elaborate on why. He winces, but gets to his feet anyway.

  "We have to go. Those who killed the court are—"

  "Upstairs." Alven tilts his head toward the ceiling. "Sealed for now, but that won't last long. We had them chase us to the dungeons, and locked the keep down. They'll find a way out, though." His gaze cuts through me. "You've seen the court?"

  "I helped those I could." I'm not answering the question he hasn't asked. He wants to know about his wife, his children. His family. He wants to know if I've helped them.

  And when I tell him I haven't, he'll hate me.

  I don't let guilt weigh me down. I rush out of the room and return to the war chamber; if I have a few moments while the enemies are in the dungeons, I need to use them to study this map.

  "Wait." Catching up with me, Alven hands me a flat rock. "You need this."

  I nod, pocketing it without sparing it a glance. What I need is a plan. "Do you know if the army came from the coast?"

  One of the two knights I don't know, a tall gentry with silken white braids knotted to her back, points to the northern borders of Tenebris, right next to the Murkwood.

  "No, they attacked from the north—I think they entered through the seelie kingdom, staying close enough to the borders to avoid their scouts or ours."

  I nod. "Then we can evacuate the city by boat."

  "Not without help." Alven shakes his head. "We only have two ships."

  "Let me worry about help." I point to Whitecroft. "Tell me about this. Tell me about the ley lines."

  My grandfather frowns, perplexed, but he answers all the same. "They were built as a way to control the minor courts. The strength of the courts—their lands and burrows, their lakes and rivers—is harnessed by its lord, hence why the kings and queens of the lower courts are more powerful than their subjects. Holding the position is enough to be able to draw from their court's strength. Nyx's ley lines limit the strength at the core of the court, and redirect it through the lines."