The Immortal Queen

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” Harmony’s eyes round as I don my androgynous ensemble.

  I sit down to pull on thick woolen socks. “Who am I trying to impress? Certainly not you, technicolor Barbie.” I lace up the hiking boots.

  She snorts. “Not that I’d have anything to do with a scrawny murderess like you regardless of what you wear.”

  Oddly, her genuine bitchiness toward me reassures me. With both Aiden and Wardon, she’d been a simpering flirt. If she were leading me into a trap, I doubted she’d bicker with me beforehand.

  Sporting clothes much more my speed, I close the wardrobe, picture what I want and then open the doors once more to reveal a replica of my beat-up backpack. The weight is decent and I don’t have to look to know that the magic closet has provided all the supplies I requested. First aid kit, matches, toothbrush and toothpaste, hairbrush and deodorant, change of clothes, refillable metal water bottles, and a week’s worth of protein bars for me, or a meal for Aiden. A very handy gadget, this wardrobe.

  “If you’re done, your majesty,” Harmony says with a sneer in her voice.

  I turn to look at her. “Where are your supplies?”

  She quirks a perfectly sculpted black eyebrow. “Immortal, remember? Besides, I actually ate at dinner. Figured it would be the last hot meal I got for some time.”

  I ignore her barb and brush past her into the hall, backpack over one shoulder. “Which way?”

  “Left,” she holds her hand aloft. At first, it appears as if she’s holding a torch of some kind, but then I realize the red gold flame dances in her naked palm.

  She catches me staring. “My father was once a contender for the Fire Throne.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you were a seer?”

  “I am. The ability to see the future is earned, not bestowed.”

  “Earned how?”

  “Crossing into the underworld and returning,” She casts me a level look. “You have to die to earn it.”

  “Mind if I ask how?”

  “I drowned as a child.” Her tone is flat, indicating the subject is closed. “The fire wielding abilities are more...active though not so powerful as some. I can manipulate fire, but I cannot conjure it.”

  We descend a spiral staircase, much less grand, dark and pokey compared to the main set that leads to the entry hall. Servant stairs, I guess.

  “Aren’t you worried we’ll run into someone?” I ask.

  “Not at this time of night. The only beings still awake are the trolls and we’ll hear them coming a mile away.”

  We reach the bottom of the stairs and abruptly Harmony’s torch winks out and she throws an arm across my chest, shoving me into the stone wall.

  “What is it?” I hiss.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Then I hear the footsteps, steady and coming closer. See the flicker of another torch on the wall ahead. So much for no one being awake.

  “It’s him.” Harmony’s voice is full of fear. “The king.”

  I don’t bother to ask how she knows. Whether it’s because she recognizes the sound of his footfalls or has one of her future visions doesn’t matter. I believe her.

  A quick glance around. No convenient alcoves or tapestries to duck behind. “Let’s go back up the way we came.” Doubtful the king will see fit to use the servant’s stairs.

  I start inching in that direction when a second set of footsteps, light and barely audible come down the sandstone steps.

  We’re trapped.

  Through the Man’s Eyes

  Six Hours Earlier...

  Aiden runs along the beach in his human form. His mind churning and restless as the sea. He wants to kill Wardon, craves tearing the bastard’s innards out with his teeth. The Seelie king’s blood would slide down the back of his throat, sweeter than any wine. And then he would lay the severed head at his queen’s feet and she would smile in that way she did that never fails to send sparks through his veins, ramping his body up to bed her.

  He runs faster, away from the castle, needing to burn his need down before he sees her again. It seemed so easy, back when she told him she had no desire for sex. No desire for him. Though he missed the physical intimacy, he would rather have her, hale and healthy. Content with herself and with him.

  But she isn’t content. Her need spices the air, pheromones charging him up until he feels like he will explode. And when he’d touched her earlier her pleasure had been so intense, her taut body so responsive, he thought he might go over with her.

  Then afterword she’d been on the verge of panic. Damn Underhill and her wiles. He had no way of telling what had been honest desire and what was an overload of hormones. Nic treats her desires as if they are unnatural. And maybe for her, they are. She’d never experienced sexual pleasure before, he knows that much. And the two times she had let her guard down, there had been magical interference.

  Maybe he should have stayed away from her, not awakened her body, not let her know with every breath that he wants her, craves her. Better he be denied that for Nic to believe herself to be flawed. That she is broken to crave release. He wants to help her, to ease her body as well as her mind. The way she does for him.

  Usually.

  What wouldn’t I give to truly know her? The more time he spends in her company, the less he understands. She’s so different than her previous incarnation. Nicneven of the Unseelie Court of Alba was cold, as though her heart had been coated with permafrost. And while Nic can be icy too, he senses a lurking fire beneath the layers of frost. A fire she shares with no one. An inferno he wants to throw himself into until it consumes him.

  Earlier though she’d infuriated him. First with believing he would spurn her for another and then by considering the Seelie king’s outrageous offer. Doesn’t she see what the bastard was trying to do? Lay claim to the entirety of Underhill without lifting a finger. He knows from past experience that Wardon is dangerous and not to be trusted. Only a fool trusts a fey, court be damned. All his instincts scream for him to pluck her from the castle and run. A Seelie king who used trolls as hired thugs to keep his subjects in line is not an ally worth having, regardless of the magic he possesses.

  Aiden slows to a stop, turning on his heel and scenting the air for any hint of Nahini, the souls of the Hunt, anything that will help them accomplish their mission so they could return to the mortal realm. Nic doesn’t have much time to prepare for the gauntlet and every day that passes here is one day less that she can train.

  Nothing on the wind. Not the rich jasmine and lavender that belongs to Nahini, not spirits of the Hunt who to him smelled of dried blood and musty air, not even her horse. Where could she have gone?

  He’s all but abandoned the hope of talking Nic out of the gauntlet. The stubborn female feels it her duty to become forever young and reclaim the Shadow Throne, to throw away the gift of a mortal life and responsibility only to herself. What worries him most is that obligation isn’t enough to compel one through the gauntlet, not if the forever young humans are to be believed. Many who attempt the immortal challenge die, others vanish into the mists. He’s been asking around the camp, trying to find out as much about the process as he can. Freda’s lust for power and Nahini’s need to stay with her brother had gotten them through. What could Nic desire enough to save her?

  Aiden tips his head back, letting the sun beat down on his face. If only he could do it for her. It doesn’t matter what the challenge would be, he would overcome anything to return to her. If only she felt the same for him, he wouldn’t be so unsettled.

  He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales. The briny sea air expands his lungs but even at a distance, he picks up traces of her own unique feminine heat. His mate. He could follow her winter apple scent across Underhill, beyond the Veil, through the very marrow of the world itself if he must. Perhaps he could go through the gauntlet with her....

  The sound of thundering feet breaks into his musings. That’s odd, no sign of trolls. He
should have smelled them in any case. Maybe he is imagining it. He whirls in time to see a portal open not six feet away. Only beings of great power could travel by portal. He makes to shift—he’s faster on his feet as the wolf—but a series of small projectiles erupt from the swirl of broken time.

  Elf darts. One strikes him in the shoulder, another in his side. He grips the serrated shafts and pull. Muscles tear, skin shreds but creatures that used elf darts typically poison the arrow heads. Better to have a few extra gashes. With the small arrows free, he throws himself to the side to avoid a second volley. His intention is to hit the ground and roll, but his limbs are sluggish and don’t respond. He collapses face first onto a dune.

  Get up. His wolf snarls at him. The beast senses danger, its instincts not something he can reason control. Get up or I’ll take over.

  Aiden doesn’t bother responding, conserving all his strength in the attempt to rise. He can’t though he manages to roll onto one side. The poison is spreading, every beat of his heart pushing it through his bloodstream, circulating it throughout his body. It doesn’t matter what sort of poison coats the arrows, his rapid metabolism will burn through it, given enough time.

  Time, however isn’t on his side. Two trolls bound through the portal, each swinging a barbed chain above its head. The chains ended in three wicked looking claws. His heart thunders at the sight and he commands his body to get up, to shift.

  Let me, the beast within him growls. Let me out and I’ll devour them whole.

  It’s no idol threat.

  Neither are those whirling chains. But no matter what they have in mind for him, Aiden still fears the beast he carries within himself more. He struggles to a sitting position, though his left arm, the one below where the elf dart had struck him, feels dead.

  Let me protect her, the creature beseeches him. She is my mate.

  Yes, but who will protect her from you?

  The chains fly through the air. The claws sink into his back as the heavy iron manacles wrap around him, pinning his arms to his side. He doesn’t cry out, the pain is tolerable, all his focus on keeping the wolf at bay. It claws him from within, desperate to rend his flesh and anything else that stands between it and Nicneven.

  “Got ya,” The troll draws up beside him, the other one a pace behind. “I expected more of a fight out of you.”

  He recognizes the creature as the one who’d shoved the shellfish seller, the cruelty in his flat black eyes is unmistakable.

  Aiden doesn’t answer or ask why they are doing this to him. He doesn’t need to. The trolls may have been given carte blanche when it came to the Seelie fey, but he’s a visiting emissary from the Unseelie. That they are coming after him with such drastic force means Wardon had condoned it.

  Nic, he thinks although she’s too far away to hear his mental projections. Be careful.

  THE TROLLS BRING HIM to a cave on a spit of land some distance from the castle. He recognizes the area, it is one they’d passed by in the darkness. He’d marked it as they’d passed as a potential hiding place in case he and Nic needed a place nearby to hide.

  The cave is damp, the waterline from the most recent high tide wetting the sand several steps within. The place smells foul, dank like mildew and rotting sea life as well as hints of despair. From his vantage, dangling between the trolls he can see more iron chains hanging from the ceiling. A large meat hook sways ominously over an open pit. The cave has a single clear purpose.

  Torture.

  The trolls drop him like a sack of meat onto the stone floor. He grunts, his teeth clattering on impact.

  “You’re pretty tough for a shifter.” The troll leans down, narrowing its coal black eyes on him.

  Aiden doesn’t respond or correct them on their assumption that his wolf is merely another form.

  The troll rights itself until it’s looming above him like a pile of boulders. “Don’t worry, we’ll break you. Even if it means we gotta drag your little blonde companion in here and hang her from that hook.”

  “No,” the protest slips out before Aiden can stifle it. Must not rise to his bait.

  “Too easy, Dav.” the other troll grunts. The thickness in his voice makes him sound even more stupid than the other one. But just because they are dumb, doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. “I thought he’d be a challenge.”

  “Don’t worry, shifter, that’s only a last resort. Plenty of steps between here and there. Strip him.”

  The chains are removed from Aiden’s legs first. He tries to kick but his muscles barely respond. It’s as though the limbs have gone numb. Soon though, soon he will have enough strength back to kill these fuckers.

  If they didn’t poison him again first, of course.

  The leader, Dav the other one called him, takes a curved knife to the inner seam of his trousers. The blade goes slowly as though in anticipation, the tip brushing over his skin. It moves up his leg in a sick sort of caress, leaving a thin red line in its wake, a bloody reminder.

  Aiden swallows hard as he recognizes the light in the troll’s eyes, the dark desire there. He isn’t just following orders, he truly wants to hurt Aiden. And the more pain, the more he, Dav will enjoy it.

  He sucks in a breath when the blade reaches his crotch, coming close enough to shave the hair off his balls. The troll smiles, satisfaction radiating from him like a sun. “Oh yes, I’ll break you. I can almost hear the snap.”

  Aiden affects a bored tone, casting his gaze to the troll’s own reproductive equipment. “Jealous, are you?”

  The second one laughs, but Dav’s eyes darken. “You’re no better hung than a mortal. I’ll show you a real—”

  “Get on with it.” The other grunts impatiently. “He’ll be here any minute.”

  Dav’s lip pulls up but he continues down the other leg, his movements more efficient. Aiden’s mouth is dry, he’s afraid to breathe and truly considers letting his wolf loose. Sexual violation or castration isn’t something his wolf will endure. The change will burn the rest of the poison from his system, of that he is sure. Would it be better to give over to the beast now?

  Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. How many lives will he obliterate before he regains control?

  They remove his pants—the mocking of his body and man-sized equipment constant—before rechaining his knees. They don’t bother removing the shirt, just cut it off above and below the wrapped chains. Aiden calls on his fire magic, intending for it to radiate out from his skin and burn the sadistic bastards to ash. Nothing, not even a spark. Whoever made that poison concoction knew their business, knew just how to take him down, make him helpless.

  Angrboda. The Valkyries said it was her who gave them the glamour. The treacherous giantess was one of very few who knew enough about Aiden’s curse to subdue him. Even though they had been uneasy allies for millennia, he harbors no doubt that she will turn on him, for the right price.

  Footsteps sound, not the stomping that would indicate a troll but the steady thud of boots on stone. Whoever the he is, it appeared his arrival was imminent.

  He had expected the king or at least a familiar face, but instead a large fey he doesn’t recognize strides around the corner. A yellow orange skin fey, almost seven feet tall. No clothing, though judging by the healthy amount of flesh on his bones that is his preferred state rather than due to lack of magic. His hairless dome gleams in the torchlight. He had no eyebrows or even eyelids, his golden stare unblinking.

  “You’re late,” Dav snapped.

  The fey looked at the troll in obvious distaste and when he speaks it’s in a clipped, accent-less manner. “I haven’t agreed to do this, yet.”

  Theirs is obviously an uneasy alliance. Perhaps he can use that to his advantage.

  “Oh, you’ll do it.” The second troll responds. “Your king wills it.”

  “The king has access to similar powers. Tell him to do it himself.”

  “The king has more important obligations.” Dav tosses a small bag. It lands with the
obvious clink of coin at the fey’s feet. “He’s paying good money for your services.”

  The fey bends down, scoops up the bag and opens it. “I want double this.”

  Dav hisses but the second fey holds out an arm. “That is more than you would earn in a year as a court entertainer.”

  Aiden blinks. A court entertainer is a member of no particular court, obligated to no throne. Like the Wild Hunt, they are autonomous wanderers who travel the lands in search of stories and songs in both Underhill and the human realm. They have photographic recall and were sometimes used in criminal cases as well. Their shape changing abilities allow them to blend in with the mortal population and do what amounted to a one-man theater troop able to reenact any event perfectly. What in all the worlds could a being like this have to do with Aiden’s abduction?

  The fey tosses the bag nonchalantly back to the troll. “This job is beneath me and I am under no obligation to accept, king or no. Unlike yourselves, I am not some thug for hire. Double the price or find yourself another thespian.”

  Dav exchanges looks with the other troll. “Don’t do it, Rok.”

  “Do you want to tell the king we failed?” Rok snaps. He lobs the bag back to the fey. “Half now, half when the Ice Bitch agrees to wed King Wardon.”

  The wolf surges within him and for once, Aiden is in total agreement with the beast. His magic surges, then extinguishes, like a match lit in gale force winds. He tries again, and again.

  “Dose him again,” Rok commands.

  They don’t bother with the elf darts. Dav simply grabs a fistful of his hair, forcing his head back at an unnatural angle until his lips part. The troll pours a bitter liquid down his throat. It isn’t hot but it burns the delicate tissues of his esophagus on the way down. Aiden chokes, trying to force the brew back up, but gravity is against him.

  Dav releases him. He sags in his chains. The entertainer steps forward, reaches out a hand to touch Aiden’s face.

  “Don’t do this.” Aiden’s speech is slurred. “Please.”

  The fey doesn’t respond, doesn’t indicate he even heard Aiden’s cry. The lidless golden eyes are cold and flat as they scan him.