"No, but she should have."
"Maybe," Angie conceded, "but the Concord stands. There is no war between human and Fey. Nor need there be."
"It's true," Tavi said. "Although I can speak only for the Brujas Fantasmas and the Democratic Republica Mexicana del Norte. There will always be—"
Queen Elenaril raised a hand to cut her off. "I appreciate your honesty, Octavia, but if the Concord fails anywhere within North America, it falls everywhere. It is intricately linked, each new human nation-state, each fiefdom, each kingdom. Only in the Aztalan Empire and the Kingdom of the Southern Cross is there no Concord between human and Fey. Only there are there so few of our kind. This is indeed dark news."
"Darker than you may realize," said Tavi sadly.
"Yes," Queen Elenaril said, her voice a whisper. "I see that in your face, young lady. Tell me what has passed. Tell me everything."
So they did, with Angie beginning, relating the events of the last week or so, from the Home Guard's betrayal of Rowan and his brothers to the Tzitzime kidnapping and attempted murder of Angie. Angie described how she and Erin had fled into the wilderness to seek refuge with Char and the involvement of Tec, who had been following them, hoping they could lead him to his enemy Rayan Zar Davi.
If Queen Elenaril was surprised to hear of the Aztalan cult of blood mages and the involvement of a were-jaguar, her face betrayed nothing. She must know about the dragons, Angie realized, the Twin Deaths, just as Char must have.
When Angie spoke of the demon Gouger of Faces, summoned to this world through the ritualistic murder of Lewis Seagrave, Queen Elenaril transfixed Rowan with a soulful gaze, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Rowan said nothing, his lips a tight gash.
Then Tavi took over, explaining the attack on the Norteno OP and how Morgan and Tec had departed to investigate. When Tavi spoke of the subsequent massacre at the fort, Queen Elenaril's face registered her abject horror. She shot out of her chair, standing straight up, her pale skin like ice. "You're certain of this?" she asked, her voice cracking, her posture leaning forward. All around her, her advisers stared at the queen in wonder. "Yet you did not discover her body—their bodies?"
"No," said Tavi. "But the only survivor insists they were killed."
"Then hope remains," Queen Elenaril said, "however tenuous it may be." She fell back onto her throne, leaned back, and closed her eyes before running her long fingers over her face.
She's taking the news of Constance Morgan hard, Angie realized. Even in Sanwa City, it was common knowledge that the famous leader of the Brujas, Constance Morgan, and Queen Elenaril had been close and that Morgan had been the queen's first human mage student. Time seemed to slow with the queen lost in her thoughts. The assembled elves stood like statues, waiting. Finally, Queen Elenaril opened her eyes. "What else has this survivor told you? What attacked this fort? What could take down a mage like Morgan and a warrior like the Jaguar Knight?"
"Giant wolves, or something like wolves, with long black spikes along their spines. That's ... all Shane, the survivor, has been able to say," Tavi said.
"You didn't see them?" Elenaril asked. "No carcasses?"
"Nothing," Rowan stated flatly. "And we should have. Given the soldiers in that fort, the spent casings. Something's very wrong here."
Tavi glanced at Rowan. "Some of my men think ... they think maybe a pack of werewolves."
The elvish advisers whispered nervously among themselves, a palpable undercurrent of fear sweeping through them.
"Werewolves?" Queen Elenaril repeated.
"That ... that's what my men think," Tavi said.
Queen Elenaril looked to Rowan, her purple eyes hard. "Yet you do not think so, do you, Rowan Seagrave? I can see your doubt."
"I don't," he admitted. "This just doesn't ... feel right to me. For one thing, whatever attacked that fort walked on four legs, not two. We don't do that. And if these are werewolves, they're shifting on their own without the full moon."
"Tec does it," Angie said.
Rowan shook his head. "Tec isn't a werewolf. I'll be honest, I don't know what the hell he really is, but he's not the same as my family and me."
Queen Elenaril inclined her head. "You are correct. The Jaguar Knight is ... unique. That is all I will say of him. But please, go on."
"Whatever killed those men did it for a reason other than feeding." He shook his head. "We don’t do that. Werewolves don't make planned attacks on armed camps. We find prey. We hunt prey. We kill that prey." He glanced at Angie and then looked down at his hands, his voice soft. "And we always ... always eat what we kill. Everything. It's not a condition. It's a curse."
Angie, hearing the shame in his voice, looked away.
"I see," Queen Elenaril said. "So, whatever attacked that base..."
"Weren’t werewolves," Rowan finished. "At least, not like us."
"Gods above and below," Elenaril said softly. "This is as much of a disaster as the attack on the Fresno Enclave and the murder of Chararah Succubus."
Wyn Renna addressed her queen. "I can lead a party and be on our way within the hour. If she lives, I will find her. I promise you, my queen."
"No," said Queen Elenaril quickly. "We can't risk it. We need to know more about this threat."
"There's this," Rowan said as he pulled the scrap of black fur from his pocket that he had taken from the razor wire.
One of the other elves, a young man, stepped out from the crowd of advisers. He was tall, with well-developed arms and shoulders and the same long black hair as Elenaril. He was, Angie guessed by his frame, another warrior. He wore a gauze-thin toga, his strong chest covered in tattoos, and held his hand out to Rowan. "May I?" he asked in English, although the request came across as more of a command.
"My son," Queen Elenaril said. "High Prince Kilyn Star-Sword. He speaks out of turn but is gifted in the knowledge of the hunt."
If the young prince took offence at the reprimand, his alien expression gave no clue. Rowan handed him the scrap of fur, and Kilyn brought it to his nose, holding it there and breathing, his eyes closed. When they opened again, he turned to his mother. "The barbed ones, mother, Nekomil. I guessed as much from the description of four-legged monsters with spikes running down their backs. They've come out of their caves in the southern badlands, but why? And why attack an armed camp? That makes no sense. Men are rarely their prey."
"I'm sorry," Tavi said, a look of bewilderment on her face. "Barbed ones, Nek ... Neko-what?"
"Nekomil," Queen Elenaril said. "But there's no reason you'd have ever heard that word. It's from High Elvish. You would know of these beasts as chupacabras."
Angie, Rowan, and Tavi stared in silence at the queen. Angie's eyes narrowed. "Chupacabras?" she repeated. "Goat drinkers? They're an urban myth."
A wan smile curled Queen Elenaril's thin lips, and she arched an eyebrow. "You lived in the same home as Ephix Lamia, and you speak of myths? Chupacabras—or goat-drinkers, as you call them—are as real as vampires. They have many other names—grunches, peuchens, sigbin. There are legends of these beasts from as far away as Russia and the Philippines. Normally—" She paused, licking her lower lip. "Normally, they live underground. There is more than enough subterranean prey to feed them, although in times of great need, they will come to the surface to hunt, usually to feed on livestock, cattle, vermin ... goats. They are beasts, very real beasts and very dangerous, but beasts nonetheless. My son is correct. This behavior is ... abhorrent. They do not kill without cause. They certainly do not attack fortified camps, although they easily could. They are very hard to kill. What did your people do in the Sonoran Desert to drive them to such lengths?"
"Do?" asked Tavi, surprise in her voice. "Nothing. I mean …" She lowered her voice. "We didn't do anything to anyone, at least as far as I know. We had no idea they even existed."
"More curious yet," said Elenaril. "Some hidden hand is involved, I fear."
"The Tzitzime," said Tavi. "It has to be the Children of the
Star-Eater."
"I suspect you are correct, Octavia."
Tavi's shoulders slumped. "What should we do? We need Mago Commandante Morgan. I … I'm a poor replacement. Especially now. She believed the Aztalans were mobilizing for war. I ... I don't know what to do."
"Even the very old and very wise rarely know what to do, Octavia. I wish we had the counsel of the Jaguar Knight. For so long now, he has stymied the machinations of the Tzitzime. His loss is almost as keenly felt as Constance Morgan's."
"He's one man," Angie said.
"With a very powerful master," Queen Elenaril corrected her.
"Char thought the same. She didn't want to anger this master. Do you know who it is?"
"Who? Not exactly, no. Our Teccizcoatl was a man of many secrets."
Just like elves, Angie thought but kept her mouth shut.
Tavi stepped forward. "Constance, the Mago Commandante, told me once he served a powerful Fey lord. She didn't know his name, but she referred to him—and it was a him—as Q."
"Just Q?" asked Rowan, his eyes narrow.
Tavi shook her head. "That's all she ever said. Q." She turned to Queen Elenaril. "Do you know who this is?"
"I do not. But I do know that our Jaguar Knight kept a hidden lair to the northeast of Canyon City. Mount Laguna, the very summit. You could always start there. He may have left a clue."
"A hidden lair?" Angie asked, wincing a moment later at the open skepticism in her voice.
"That is what I said," the elven queen repeated, perhaps a tad curtly.
"I was hoping for more," Tavi said. "Particularly with the threat of Aztalan invasion."
"Trust me, Octavia. If I could save Constance Morgan, I would. But we cannot fight for you. If the Aztalans invade your country and we interfere, they will burn this enclave down. My responsibility is to my own people. I'm sorry. We can do nothing more for you. Now, I am sorry, but there are other matters to which I must attend."
The Phoenix Guard warriors moved closer, the message clear: the meeting was over. Angie and the others bowed and then left, escorted back to the helicopter by the Phoenix Guard. This time, Lance Commander Wyn Renna did not accompany them. As they left the chamber, Angie saw her engaged in a heated discussion with Queen Elenaril and her son, Kilyn Star-Sword.
The moment Angie stepped out of the old hotel, she felt as if the world had changed. She froze, staring in surprise at what had to be a sunset. But that couldn't be. The sun had been rising when they had entered the palace. At best, they had been speaking to the queen for no more than an hour, but there was no denying the setting sun. She stared at her father's watch: five p.m. Angie turned to Tavi, her mouth open.
"It happens sometimes," the young woman said. "When I was a student with her, I lost entire days while reading a book. Time just ... acts differently around the elves. I can't explain it."
"We need to go," Rowan said, clearly unhappy.
Minutes later, the helicopter rose into the air and sped east toward Canyon City.
When they landed outside the city less than twenty minutes later, it was growing dark. The same Norteno officer that had tried to put them all in handcuffs earlier rushed forward to meet Tavi the moment she stepped off the aircraft, his face agitated. Angie watched him, her nerves on edge. Something's happened, she thought.
"What is it?" Tavi asked.
"Presidente Carter is in the city." His eyes darted suspiciously at Angie, Rowan, and Casey as they disembarked. "She's brought her entire cabinet. I've been ordered to bring you—and them—the moment you returned." A squad of Norteno soldiers with assault rifles moved up behind him, their faces betraying their nervousness.
"What is this?" Tavi demanded, her tone sharp.
"I'm sorry, Mago Diputado," the officer said. "I'm under orders. I'm told if they refuse to come, I am to arrest them."
Casey snorted and glared down at the man as if daring him to try. Rowan put a hand on his brother's shoulder.
Tavi's eyes narrowed, but she motioned for the officer to lead the way. "Let's not keep the presidente waiting."
The officer hesitated, glancing at Nightfall on Angie's hip. "I'm sorry, Mago Diputado, but my orders were specific. She can't—"
Tavi rounded on him, anger flashing in her eyes. "This woman is a mage and has been granted permission to bear her weapon by Mago Commandante Morgan herself. Who are you to countermand her orders?"
He took a step back, his eyes darting about. "I'm sorry. General Gálvez gave the order personally."
General Ramón Gálvez. Angie knew all too well he was the ultimate commander of the Nortenos' military forces, answerable only to the presidente. So he’s here as well. Tavi opened her mouth to protest, but Angie began to unbuckle her sword belt. "It's okay. You hold it for me."
Casey spat on the ground, his eyes brimming with hostility.
Tavi hesitated for a moment but then took the hexed side-sword from Angie. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Chapter 11
Tec suffered in darkness.
They had shackled him sitting to a stone wall with huge iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles; he could sit but not lie down. The cuffs had been inscribed with silver runes and powerful spells bonded with his own blood so that he couldn't break free even if he shifted to his were-jaguar form—which was the one thing he refused to do. Rayan Zar Davi wanted him to shift. She'd gain much more power if she cut his heart out while he was a were-jaguar, and he'd rather suffer than give her anything she wanted. He'd die, but he'd die as a man. The torture would start soon, he knew. Yet all Rayan Zar Davi had done so far was burn his eyes out, just as she had done to the Seagraves.
He accepted his fate with stoicism; after all, he had tempted it for so many years, and now death was inevitable. It felt like he had been waging his war for an eternity, and it would be good to rest, to put down his hatred. His only real regret was that he wouldn't be able to send Rayan to the underworld first, but he could still spit in her face.
It would have to be enough.
Time had lost all meaning. He might have been held here for hours, days, or weeks. There were guards. There were always guards. But they didn't speak, made no attempt to interact with him in any way. Rayan's doing, no doubt. Not that he could do anything to them, bound as he was. Sometimes they brought food and water but never enough and always in silence, scurrying away quickly. He could smell their terror whenever they came close; it was his only satisfaction.
Then soft footsteps announced her arrival.
"So, witch," he said, his throat raw. "Will the torture begin now? I'm surprised you waited this long."
Her response was only an exasperated sigh. Then he felt cold water splash over his face and eye wounds. Moments later, his burns healed. His eyes grew back and with them his sight, blurry for a moment, but then his vision snapped back with crystal clarity. He was in a dark stone chamber, an ancient building of some type, lit only by a fluttering torch in a wall sconce. As expected, Rayan Zar Davi stood before him, one of his water bottles in her hands.
She wore traditional Pashtun robes with several brightly colored silk scarves wrapped around her bony neck. Her long, dark hair was piled atop her head in elaborate braided loops. Gems and other valuables hung about her neck, with priceless rings upon her fingers. She wore her hexed scimitar, her pulwar, on her hip. To his very great surprise, the expression on her face wasn't one of gleeful satisfaction but resignation.
"I always thought," she said in her husky, accented voice, "that this moment would be different, that I'd feel more satisfaction, more pleasure. I don't, Teccizcoatl. I feel only ... a sense of melancholy." Her lips curled in a partial smile, and she shook her head. Then she sat cross-legged before him, at eye level. The stone floor was filthy, but she gave it no notice. "We have danced together so long now, have we not, old enemy? I never thought I'd miss it."
"Unchain me. I have strength enough for one last waltz."
Her dark eyes flashed in amusement, her smile slightly
more pronounced. "I shall miss this."
They remained like that, each watching the other for long moments, almost like a long-married couple comfortable in silence. When she spoke again, she did so in soft tones, describing her youth, growing up in the Registan desert. He, to his very great surprise, found himself listening intently. He still hated her, of course, as she did him, but when she was done, he began to tell her of the jungle, of the years in which he was lost as a beast, neither man nor jaguar.
"Were you happy?" she asked.
"I was ... satisfied. At least for a time."
"I was never satisfied. I always knew there'd be more for me one day, a special destiny."
"They're lying to you. You do realize that?"
"Everybody—everything—lies. We tell ourselves lies every day. But there is truth behind their lies. The world will be reborn, and I shall be their emissary, first among the survivors."
He laughed, a scorn-filled chuckle. "No, no, you won't. There's a reason they named him World-Eater. Think about it. When have they ever joined on a common cause before? Only twice, and both times were to save the world. Once for him, the other for the Awakening. Don't fool yourself, Rayan. If he's ever freed, you'll be first over nothing but charred bones."
She sighed wearily, unperturbed. "You know nothing and never have. You think them evil but dance to the tune of your own master readily enough. No, Jaguar Knight, when the blood sun peaks in a few days’ time, I will sacrifice the Haanal X'ib and use her blood to free Memnog. And you ... you will change form and give your beast to my obsidian knife. My people are very good at pain, Jaguar Knight. You will lose yourself in agony and change, and then I will cut out your heart. Your sacrifice, Teccizcoatl, will make me powerful. Fitting, I believe, for all the hardship you have caused me."
"Erin Seagrave is safe."
Rayan chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling in the torchlight. "You really don't know, do you? And you say I've been lied to."
"What are you talking about?"
When she told him, a series of sensations washed through him, each one stronger than the one before: surprise, disbelief, anger. And finally, one he hadn't felt in many years.
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