Realm of Mirrors (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 3)

by Sonya Bateman

  “What have you done?” the Queen cried. “You weak, miserable abomination! What have you done to my love?”

  The light turned off, like a switch being thrown. And Daoin rose slowly, with sheer rage etched into every line of him. He turned to face the Queen in stiff, stilted jerks—like he was almost too angry to move.

  “You do not love. Highness.” He raised the pendant in front of him. “Calhaiom’nae solaas geahlí!”

  My mind whispered a translation. Sword of moonlight.

  The moonstone flashed a concentrated burst of light that solidified into a gleaming blue-white blade with a simple hilt. Daoin gripped the sword and reached the platform in a fluid leap, the light of his weapon leaving an ethereal trail in the air behind him.

  He drove it into the Queen, just below her ribcage.

  Her anguished cry was piercing enough to shatter glass. The force of the blow slammed her into the throne, and he shoved the sword all the way through until the end jutted between the bones of the throne, dripping with blood. A crimson stain bloomed on her white gown and spread quickly.

  Daoin wasn’t even breathing hard. “You killed the mother of one son, and exiled the other to her death. You murdered my oldest, most loyal friend. And you’d have had me slaughter my own sons,” he rasped. “I will not only destroy you. I will destroy the very idea of you, and Arcadia will never recall your existence.”

  With that he stepped back and drew his dagger, preparing to follow through on his threat.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Stay your hand, Lord Daoin.”

  The voice was Uriskel’s. I half-turned to find the rest of them free or moving—Levoran starting to stir, Sadie shivering and looking everywhere at once, and Taeral already headed for the platform. He didn’t even seem to have heard what Uriskel said.

  But Daoin did.

  “I know you,” he said. “The puppet of the Seelie Court. And I’ve no idea what you’re doing here, but this is not your concern.”

  The only sign that the insult bothered him was a slight twitch in his jaw. “It is very much my concern.” He started toward them, pulling his deck of cards as he walked.

  I grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

  He paused to glare at me, then shrugged me off and kept walking.

  I had to assume he knew what he was doing—and I should probably stay out of all this, anyway. So I went to Sadie, who grabbed my arm frantically and whispered, “I don’t know what to do first. They’re going to kill each other…and look at Reun, and Levoran…”

  “I think we should probably wait,” I said. “Just a minute, maybe.”

  She looked unconvinced, but she calmed down a little.

  Taeral reached the platform first. “Father,” he said, like he barely dared to breathe. “Are you truly restored?”

  He faced him with a genuine smile. “Aye. And once I’ve seen this wicked wraith destroyed, we will rejoice together.”

  “Why wait? Allow me to join you in her destruction.”

  “My son.” Daoin clapped him on the shoulder.

  Behind them, the Queen stirred and moaned on her bloody throne. Her eyes opened, glittering with wicked intent, and she raised a slender hand.

  Uriskel ran onto the platform and threw one of his cards at her. “Dhuunad sios’na draíohtae!”

  The card traveled like a rock. It struck her square in the chest and burst into smoke on impact.

  And her glamour fell away instantly.

  Her skin was true gold, gleaming like metal and tinged with a blush of blue. Delicate pointed ears, hair like blood-red vines with curling, feathered wisps that looked like leaves. Her narrow, heart-shaped face took on harsh angles and shadows, reflecting a promise of cruelty. And her long, triple-jointed fingers ended in sharpened ivory claws. Still beautiful, but in a predatory way—like a tiger, built to kill.

  She gritted her teeth and gestured at Uriskel. “Míilé lahn.”

  He failed to be struck by a thousand knives.

  He approached her with an awful grin. As Daoin and Taeral looked on in shock, he grabbed the hilt of the moon sword, pulled it free with a grisly tearing sound, and handed it back to its owner. “Your weapon, Lord Daoin,” he said.

  Daoin accepted it slowly. “Tuariis,” he said without taking his eyes from Uriskel. The sword collapsed into a pendant again.

  “This cannot be,” the Queen gasped. She tried to rise, and fell back on the throne. “Only a full royal can strip another Fae’s magic.”

  I’d heard that exact sentence before somewhere. Gee, I wondered where.

  “Well, then. I must be a full royal,” Uriskel drawled. “Do you not recognize me, Mother?”

  She shuddered and blanched almost as white as her gown. “Uriskel,” she said unevenly.

  “Aye. The child you cast off to die…and now, the only heir to your throne.” He took a step forward. “You ignored my existence and left me at the hands of my father. For two centuries. Have you any idea what cruelties the Seelie Court is capable of?” he spat. “Compared to them, your idea of torture is a pleasant massage.” His face twisted in disgust. “A thousand knives. Really. Can you do no better than that? Highness?”

  Taeral and Daoin glanced at each other, and backed slowly down the platform steps.

  “You cannot destroy me,” the Queen rasped. “I am your blood. Your mother.”

  Uriskel laughed. The absolute contempt in that sound made my skin crawl. “Perhaps Daoin could not destroy you completely, though his will might have given him the edge he’d need. But do not doubt that I could, if I so chose,” he said. “I’ll not do so now, but only because I’ve a worse fate in mind for you.”

  She stared at him. “What might that be?”

  “You will live, knowing that you can never touch those you’ve tried the hardest to tear down,” he said. “You will swear an oath, a binding promise never to harm nor command harm to my family and loved ones, nor Lord Daoin’s family and loved ones. Nor the Seelie noble.” He paused and clenched a tight fist. “Regarding him, you will restore his magic. You will clothe him. And you’ll erase the memories of every miserable courtesan who’s violated him—and his own as well, if he so chooses.”

  Something terrible in his voice suggested that he’d been through what Reun had.

  “And if I do not?” she said.

  “Then I will destroy you. And with the backing of my brother, I will take your pathetic throne, and shred every wicked value of your rule.”

  “Your brother,” she said flatly. “Who is…”

  “Braelan. King of the Summer Court.”

  The Queen shivered and closed her eyes. “Very well,” she whispered. “Restore me, and it shall be done.”

  “Swear it first. And then I will restore you.”

  She sent him a hateful glare. “I should not be surprised that my son is twisted as me.”

  “Oh no, Highness. I’m far more twisted than you.” His awful grin returned. “Now—”

  “Uriskel, wait,” I said, remembering when I’d asked Taeral if there was any way to cancel his promise. A royal pardon—something he insisted he’d never get. But right now we had the Unseelie Queen doing whatever we wanted. “I want her to pardon Taeral.”

  Taeral shot a glare at me. “Gideon, what are you talking about?”

  “Your promise to protect me.” I moved toward him. “You don’t need it,” I said. “I already know you’ll do everything you can to keep me safe. And I can’t stand knowing you’ll die if something does go wrong.”

  His angry expression melted into something else. “And you claimed not to be noble,” he said roughly. “Very well. But I’ll hold myself to that promise, consequences or not.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why you deserve to be free of it.”

  Uriskel cleared his throat. “Are we finished? I’ve a wicked wraith to ruin here, if you’d not mind terribly.”

  I grinned. “Ruin away.”

  “Thank you.” He turned back to the Queen. “Now,
swear it. All of it, including Lord Gideon’s request. And you will speak every one of their names, so there’s no chance of you weaseling out of your promise.”

  With a baleful expression, she started talking.

  It was a long list.

  Daoin watched for a moment, and then gripped Taeral wordlessly and headed for Levoran, who was at least conscious now—but still dead, and fading fast. “My dear friend,” he said heavily. “Let me help you down.”

  As he pulled the sword out, Levoran released a bark of air. “Do not be troubled, Lord,” he said as he slid down the stone column. “I cannot feel it.”

  “And yet I feel you slipping.” Daoin crouched in front of him. “Let us speak of better times, while we still can.”

  Levoran nodded carefully. Somehow, there were tears in his dead eyes.

  I looked away and found Taeral approaching Sadie and me. “It seems this promise will take some time,” he said. “I’ve a bit of spark remaining. Why don’t we go and release Reun from his bonds, at the least?”

  That sounded like a great idea to me.

  CHAPTER 39

  Outside the Unseelie palace, the moon blazed down on pristine silence. But this time, it didn’t feel threatening.

  We made our way to the gate without speaking, all of us whole and recovering—except Levoran. He stumbled along stiffly with Daoin and Taeral on either side of him for support. The binding spell was failing, because his body was in worse shape than before.

  And because he’d lost the will to keep it. He’d accomplished what he returned for.

  Beyond the gate, we headed for a clearing around a large, leafless tree, just outside the field of blue grass. Father and son settled Levoran at the base of the tree, and he leaned back against it with a sigh.

  “I shall miss this realm,” he said softly. “There is no moon where I’m going. But…there are stars. So many of them.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I could spend five lifetimes counting them and not be done with it. And now I’ve more time than that. Eternities of it. So I believe that is what I’ll do…rest, and count the stars.”

  Daoin knelt and took his hand. “There are no words, save these,” he said. “Is féider leis an éirí an bóthar leat.”

  “Aye. And someday far from now, may we meet again upon that road, my friend.” Levoran smiled, and his eyelids drooped down. He struggled to force them open. “DeathSpeaker…Gideon,” he slurred. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to release me.”

  I couldn’t speak. Instead I went to him and knelt at his other side, where I finally found the right words. “It would be my honor.”

  He nodded, and his eyes fluttered closed again.

  I knew it would be easier sending his soul back where it was trying to go, and it was. I laid a hand on his forehead, and his soul flowed into me. Within seconds I felt him in my head—and heard his voice, one last time.

  Should you ever need me, Lord Gideon, you’ve but to call. I will always answer.

  I smiled. “Thank you,” I said. “But I’ll try to leave you to your rest, and your stars.”

  And I released him.

  Daoin had insisted on burying Levoran immediately, and alone. No one had tried to stop him when he took hold of the body and vanished with it.

  Now the rest of us sat on the ground in a rough circle, letting the tension wear off as we waited for him. At the moment, most of my worry was for Reun. He’d accepted the clothes the Unseelie Queen gave him—winter blue pants and tunic, black boots, and a black coat. But he refused to have the memories of what happened to him erased.

  He said he’d lost enough when his wife took the better part of four centuries from him before she died, and he wanted to keep what was left intact.

  Still, he hadn’t said a word since we left the palace.

  Just when I decided to try talking to him, to make sure he was still in there, Reun stirred and looked around. “Well, I must say I regret missing your victory over Moirehna,” he said. “Tell me…how did you defeat her?”

  Uriskel flashed a smile. “With the ace of diamonds.”

  “The what, now?”

  “Long story,” I said. “Reun, are you sure you’re okay? I mean…” I didn’t want to elaborate. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, but I knew it was brutal.

  “Aye. At least, I will be.” A distant expression came over him, and a moment later he shook it away. “I am…humbled,” he said. “It’s an experience I’d not want to repeat. But I will not forget. Taking advantage of the powerless—nearly every noble has been guilty of this to some degree, including myself. Now I know exactly how devastating the receiving end can be.” His eyes gleamed briefly with rage. “And I will never engage in such behavior again.”

  “Reun. You’ve no need to punish yourself this way,” Taeral said. “You are no longer who you were. You’ve proven that many times over.”

  He nodded faintly. “Thank you. That means much to me, after what I’ve done to you,” he said. “But I’ll keep my pain, as you keep yours. And perhaps it will serve us both someday.”

  “I can attest that it will,” Uriskel said. “Obviously.”

  Sadie smirked. “Two hundred years and a deck of cards, and you can be a badass, too.”

  “Aye, perhaps. But you’ll never equal me.”

  “Have I mentioned how refreshingly modest you are?” She smiled—but then her gaze focused on something beyond him, in the grassy field, and her face fell. “Oh, shit,” she said. “What is that? Please tell me it’s not sprites.”

  A primal alert raced through me as I followed her stare and saw the distant cloud of motion rising from the grass. Heading straight for us.

  But something was different. The sprites were a gray mass of buzzing malevolence, and this cloud was a riot of colors and whispers and tiny flashes of light. The colors grew brighter as the cloud moved in.

  “They’re not sprites,” Uriskel whispered reverently.

  Taeral and Reun sat up straighter. “I’ve not seen so many in decades,” Taeral said, in the same awed tone.

  “So many what?” I said. “Do they have teeth?”

  Reun smiled. “They’ll not harm you.”

  My pounding heart eased, and then stopped in breathless wonder as the cloud engulfed us.

  Butterflies.

  I’d never seen one so big, let alone hundreds. Or maybe thousands. Their wingspans ranged from six inches to a full foot or more, and they were every vivid, brilliant color imaginable—delicate jeweled wings, swirled and spotted with a rainbow of beauty. They fluttered gently, almost curiously around us, alighting for brief seconds on the ground, or a leg, or the top of a head.

  I didn’t dare breathe. It was the most incredible sight I’d ever experienced, and I didn’t want it to end.

  Sadie lifted a trembling hand, and a butterfly landed on her outstretched fingers. One of the larger ones, with wings of dappled crimson and sun-bright yellow. There was a glowing white spot on its back like a small, cold flame.

  She drew her arm in slowly. The butterfly stayed in place, its wings wafting up and down like slow breaths. When it was close to her face, her eyes filled with startled tears. “It’s a person,” she whispered. “The glowing thing. There’s a tiny person riding the butterfly.”

  “Aye. They’d be pixies.” Uriskel crooked an arm, and two vibrant purple butterflies with glittering silver-trimmed wings landed there in near-perfect unison. “They sow magic throughout the realms, much as your bees spread pollen.”

  My throat clenched in sheer wonder. So there were some beautiful things in Arcadia, after all.

  I held a hand out the way Sadie had, and one of the butterflies alit almost instantly. It was big, about a foot and a half from wingtip to wingtip, but it weighed almost nothing. Its wings were sapphire blue and emerald green, each with a coin-sized spot of gold in the top center like blind eyes. The small white flame sat just above the wings.

  “Hello, there,” I whispered, drawing the butterfly closer u
ntil I could make out the pixie. It was a tiny person, about an inch tall, vaguely female and wreathed in flickering light—and with wings of her own. Six slender, teardrop-shaped wings arranged in three pairs. The top two overlapped and curved up, while the lower pair curved down.

  The pixie made a musical sound, like chimes on the wind. Suddenly she lifted from her mount and hovered in front of my face. Her wings moved so fast, they seemed to vanish in a blur of light.

  She leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose.

  The spot tingled pleasantly, and I was filled with soothing warmth. With another bright wind chime sound, the pixie flitted away and settled back on the butterfly, taking to the air again.

  The rest soon followed, meandering higher until the butterfly cloud gathered as one and veered away, back across the field.

  “You are blessed, brother,” Taeral said with a smile. “A pixie’s kiss brings good fortune and long life.”

  I figured it was blessing enough, just seeing them. It was a moment I’d never forget.

  CHAPTER 40

  Daoin reappeared in the same place he’d vanished, only without Levoran.

  Taeral stood and went to him right away. The rest of us took our time getting up by unspoken consent, giving them a few moments while they embraced without words.

  Though he’d lived with us for the past few months, it’d been a long time since Taeral had actually seen his father.

  Eventually they came over to the group. Looking at Daoin was disconcerting—I’d only known him as the frail, white-haired version who loved action movies and chocolate milk, and sometimes forgot his own name. This powerful warrior was a stranger to me.

  And he was wearing my pendant. I couldn’t help thinking of it that way, since I hadn’t taken it off once for almost twelve years straight.

  Would’ve been nice to know it was really a sword capable of crippling Fae royalty.