by Unknown
She let out a breath with a sound that might have been amusement. “There are games in the winds, these many days.”
Hunter looked the virago in the eyes. “I assure you, that has never been my intent.”
The virago leaned close, towering over him. “She speaks of treachery and deceit, young chosen, which is not of your own.”
“You know who opened the gate,” Hunter said. “You know what Azral wants.”
“The kingsman is not why you called her, she thinks.”
Hunter nodded. “I have been poisoned. I was hoping you could return me to the king.”
“She will take you,” the virago said. “You will draw strength from the castle where they wait.”
Hunter’s chest tightened. “Thank you,” he said, moving toward the virago’s back.
Her head dropped, blocking his path. Her black eyes pinned him there, her voice low. “You will alter this destiny, young one. You will keep those bound by iron in the dying lands.”
“By my honor,” Hunter promised. “It is my burden to bear.”
She sniffed, tossing her head like a charger and losing all semblance of humanity as she drew her wing back for Hunter to climb on. He jumped cleanly astride, clinging to her as her body flexed and took to the air. He would be to the castle quickly enough, but he couldn’t help counting the minutes until they arrived.
The approach to the king’s hall gave Hunter time to think. It was time to plan, but not time to decide how to plead. There was no way of knowing what deceptions Azral had laid in place.
They rose over the city, the virago soaring low enough to keep their movement in sight. As Hunter scanned the city’s walls, he could only imagine what the scene would look like to a human. There was nothing earthly about it, it was nothing like a kingdom from her fairytales, a palace made of glass. It was dark, alien. It was ash and skeletons, constructed into broken shapes. It was sinister, despite the light that surrounded it.
In the center of the city, the power was strong. He could feel it on his skin, draw it into him like a breath. But where the power was strong, the light was a blur, no longer the whorls and color of the outer forests. Here was the gray heart of the dying lands. To Mackenzie, it would look like a forest of concrete and stone.
To Hunter, it was nothing but ash.
The Iron Bound grew thicker beneath their flight, some of them airborne but most on their feet, standing in groups among the pillars and borders of the city gates. They were gathering, growing anxious for action amid the looming day of reaping. A tangled fusion of sound floated up to them—laughter and music, the occasional clap or howl—suffused with mingling scents, unearthly and holding the trace of something foul. Masked revelers draped in robes and vine bunched near breaks in the stone where the energy swelled, circling around the cat-beasts to watch them brawl. And then Hunter saw a mass of them, hundreds of Iron Bound surrounding a platform before the castle grounds. He tensed, leaning forward to act, but the virago saw it too.
She swooped down, releasing a cry that scattered the crowd below. Dark blood spattered Hunter’s leg, thrown from a wound the beast’s talons had dealt to a man below. She slid through the revelers, her massive wings and claws breaking the crowd into a run. Iron Bound were falling, taking to the air, and rolling on the ground to escape her. Hunter felt the tautness in her shoulder, and had the prickling sense she was enjoying it. She shrieked, knocking three more men to the ground, and he had to tighten his grip as she swung to the side, widening her path and circling back for the platform at full speed.
The virago’s talons landed on the hardened ash, skidding forward to bring them to rest only inches before the king’s guard. The virago’s chest heaved, her breath the heavy purr of an earthbound stallion. A king’s guard bowed, sliding away with the gesture, and three more took to the air, never turning their backs on the beast.
Carac stood open-mouthed several yards beyond the others, the leather of Mackenzie’s jacket tight in his grip. Hunter couldn’t see much of her from his perch, and he jumped down, clearing the virago’s wing and at least four feet of space with each step. Azral watched from the edge of the platform, a smirk twisting his lips. But Hunter didn’t spare a second glance at him. He was only looking for one thing.
“She is for the king,” Hunter said, grabbing Mackenzie’s arm in a show of roughness. Carac was still stunned, his grip not coming free until Hunter pulled Mackenzie to the side. “The king,” Hunter repeated, giving the man a glare worthy of his rank. Carac opened his mouth to stutter a reply, but Hunter was gone, pushing past them to step down into a parting crowd.
It was eight hundred steps to the castle. Eight hundred steps to give Azral a chance to defy him. His power had been on a near-constant draw since they’d approached the city, but Hunter couldn’t allow himself to fall. Not now. Eight hundred steps. But it wasn’t important anymore, he reminded himself. He’d broken the code, betrayed their law. It was all just a matter of time.
And Mackenzie, gods, Mackenzie. She’d not even recognized him, not even realized when he’d grabbed her arm. She was in shock, staring blankly into the space beyond.
Hunter flew. He wrapped her in his arms, lifted her into the air, and soared toward the castle walls ahead.
Chapter Eighteen
Mackenzie didn’t come to until he touched her face. They were locked safely away in Hunter’s suite of rooms, the space that would most resemble her home, and he pressed a palm to her cheek, begging. “Please, Mackenzie, please.”
She took a shallow breath, blinked a couple of times, and then her eyes cleared. He wasn’t sure she remembered where she was, couldn’t tell if she knew what was in store, until she began to cry. Her shoulders rose in a long, shaky breath, and then started to shudder with sobs. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Hunter, and he held her while she cried, and cried, and cried.
“Mackenzie,” he whispered, running a hand over the mess of her hair. He wanted to tell her it was okay. But that would be a lie. So he just held her, patting her back and touching her skin, doing all the things he’d kept himself from doing before. Because it didn’t matter now.
“Wh-wh—” Mackenzie’s breaths stuttered, choking her words. She drew away from him, sucking in breath and wiping her face. Her lashes were dark with tears, the tip of her nose pink. It was the first time Hunter noticed the whisper of freckles across her cheeks.
He pulled a piece of cloth from the ripped hem of his shirt, away from the blood that still stained its side. “I’m sorry,” he offered, handing her the cloth, and she seemed to realize they were in a new space. She blinked, glancing around Hunter’s suite. It was the same pale stone, but he’d made it comfortable, bits and pieces of the things that would remind him of his other home. Things from the undying lands.
Mackenzie’s fingers dug into the cushion beneath her, fabric the likes of which she’d not have seen since she’d been dragged through the gateway. “Did you, did you bring this?”
Hunter shook his head, seeing the room again through her eyes. In their simplest terms: a couch, a chair, doorways to other rooms. But as different as they were from his father’s rooms, they were even further from her world. “No. Things from there do not last long. I’ve had to create them from the things on this side.”
There was a harrumph from across the room, and Mackenzie jumped. Hunter resisted the urge to pull her to his side. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
The small woman moved toward them, her willowy limbs covered in sheer fabric and hides. “Boy speaks of lies,” she said cheerfully, sidestepping a chair and coming to rest at Mackenzie’s side. “Krea makes room for him. Krea.” She pointed a finger at her chest, her dark, round eyes narrowing on Mackenzie as if to watch for her understanding of the words.
Mackenzie stared at the woman, open-mouthed. Krea was not so unusual among his kind, but less normal in Mackenzie’s eyes. Her face was circular and smooth, once olive skin a strange shade of green. But her hair was pulled back int
o a braid, only making her visage appear more alien, and she was exceedingly petite, barely coming to Hunter’s chest. The virago and Krea were older, had been on this plane longer, and so were more changed by the energy. More powerful and less human.
Krea blinked, the movement slow over lashless eyes, and it came to Hunter then why Mackenzie had been alarmed. She hadn’t understood a single word any of the others had said until Krea. She’d been trapped and alone in this strange world, and their taunts had been no more than terrifying noise.
He touched Mackenzie’s hand, sliding his fingers around hers. “This is Krea, Mackenzie. She is my…” He struggled for a usable word, then settled on, “Maid.” Krea bowed, billowing fabric over her slender frame making the movement more pronounced. “Krea is an expert with languages,” Hunter explained. “She remembers every word.”
Krea smiled, her strange, razor-sharp teeth crushing any chance the gesture would’ve had of encouraging Mackenzie’s trust.
Mackenzie’s fingers tightened in his and Hunter said, “I’m sure Krea is thrilled to have you here. She’s rarely able to use her talent.” He turned to Mackenzie, and his heart broke at the sight of her hope. Somehow, with Hunter there, she must have thought everything would be okay. “Krea will help you get cleaned up, Mackenzie. There’s going to be a trial.”
Mackenzie opened her mouth to speak, but the doors to the room burst open, sixteen guards rushing inside. Krea hissed. “Your king calls,” she said, using the human tongue, a language none among the king’s guard spoke easily.
Hunter forced himself to release Mackenzie’s grip, standing with as much ease as he could rouse. Azral stepped through the guards, crossing his arms over his chest and clicking what was left of that cursed raven claw. “You have been summoned by the king.”
When Hunter held out a hand to Mackenzie, Azral growled, “I will bring the girl.”
Instinct had Hunter moving forward, but Krea stopped him midstride. She grinned, a flash of sharpened teeth, and then leapt at Azral, landing in a crouch at the man’s feet. Azral jerked back, puffing out his wings, and Krea used her most lethal tone. The declaration in their own tongue equated to something like “the girl is mine” and various details about which parts of Azral’s anatomy the woman would sever and feed to the hounds. In that instant, Hunter was glad Mackenzie could not understand.
Azral narrowed his eyes, and Hunter glanced over his shoulder at Mackenzie behind them. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Krea is safe; she will bring you to me.”
“Hunter,” she whispered, and he pushed down the guilt.
“I’ve broken a law, Mackenzie. No one is to cross realms, not until the reaping.” And he hadn’t merely crossed. He had brought back a human girl.
It was a matter of moments before Hunter was brought before the king’s chair, though the throne was empty. Hundreds of Iron Bound lined the gray stone walls of the arena, thousands more spilling in through every door. It was a performance, Hunter reminded himself. Entertainment before the main event. The chosen was on trial, days before the reaping. Not something they would want to miss.
He wondered what had happened in the days he’d been absent, what turmoil the broken veil had caused on this side. He’d seen what it had done to Mackenzie’s world, he’d seen what had happened when the monsters were allowed to run wild. Azral had planned well. A few of them could have been handled. But somehow, Azral had managed much more. He’d brought them aboard, shown them the tear in the gateway, their way through.
If Hunter wasn’t freed now, he wasn’t certain how the gateway would close. He wasn’t certain the reaping would be complete, that their energy would be brought to this side.
If that didn’t happen, there could be only one outcome. The monsters would move to the undying lands. They would stay on that side.
Both realms would die.
Hunter stood in the center of so many of his kind, avoiding the remembered tale of that other reaper’s fate. Hunter had once been the Iron Bound’s savior, hope for their world. But that was before he’d started disappearing, before the rumors of his time over there. The king had made excuses, always certain to secure his own place. But as Malkyn stepped to the edge of a balcony, Hunter could feel the heat of his stare. The man had not forgiven him, despite what ends he’d taken to get the chosen under his control.
The noise of the surrounding Iron Bound did not hush upon the king’s appearance; that would wait until he’d taken his chair. So when Malkyn dropped from his perch to glide down to Hunter’s level and walk across the podium, no one heard their exchange.
The king had a massive frame, a full head taller than Hunter and twice as broad. His brow sat low and his features wide, his skin a golden fur so much like the villain in Mackenzie’s fable. Malkyn stopped in front of Hunter, his heavy black cape swinging wide over a bare torso, thickened bone-like ridges drawing attention to his chest. The king didn’t paint himself or bother with trimmings. He could hold his own among any man.
“Nightsbane,” Malkyn muttered. “What trouble have you caused us now?”
The words were not meant for reply, and Hunter didn’t answer. He stared straight forward, through the man instead of into those hostile blue eyes.
Malkyn’s thin lips sat in a constant grimace, as if he’d been born without the ability to find humor in anything. He pressed a golden palm against Hunter’s chest, running a claw down the ragged, bloody tee-shirt so that it fell open, too easily. “So dependent on your earthly trappings.” Malkyn’s talon raked Hunter’s skin as it tore the last bit of material, exposing the healed cut on Hunter’s side. “You are in our realm now, gatekeeper. You must remember our ways.”
Hunter clutched the cut shirt, tearing it free from his skin. His chest was bare, except for the small silver medallion that hung from a chain around his neck. A reminder. A warning.
But the king knew who Hunter was. The king knew exactly who he was. “You are a King’s Son, Nightsbane. You are here until you are chosen to lead.”
Hunter’s jaw clenched, despite every effort he made to avoid response, but the coliseum was filling up. Malkyn turned, lifting from the platform without another word. The rest would be spoken for show.
Across the empty space and well above where Hunter stood alone on the platform, the king’s chair waited. It was a chair of ash and tuffaceous stone, bones of the dead molded to Malkyn’s shape. The back rose high above him, mirroring the spikes of the castle’s seven spires. It was elevated above Azral and the kingsmen, though none were allowed a seat.
It was a position Hunter had never wanted to claim.
The crowd grew still as Malkyn approached his throne, but the king did not take his place. He spoke into the arena, gaze traveling the watching Iron Bound.
“As told by our ancestors before the dawn of time, into the dying lands was born a son. Upon this moon, he shall lead us into the inner realm where we might cull the spirits for the coming season, bring them home to become our own.” His words echoed with the surety of a wingbeat. “He is the key, he is the One. He will recall our soldiers and restore order among the realms for all time to come. This king among our kind might only surrender to his true successor. The son of a son.”
Malkyn’s gaze fell to Hunter at the same moment the crowd shifted.
The same moment Mackenzie—a human girl—was drawn onto the platform.
Chapter Nineteen
“Nightsbane,” the king said. “Son of a son, the key and the chosen, you have brought a soul unto this realm before their time has come.”
The king paused, allowing the Iron Bound to get their fill of Mackenzie, giving time for the murmur of unrest to spread through the crowd.
Hunter couldn’t have been the only one to notice Malkyn had not mentioned his years of going into the undying realm before the reaping, the others who’d gone after.
The thousands who lingered even now on the other side.
He might have led them to believe it was a hunting party, a group to
return Hunter to this side. But that wouldn’t account for how the gateway was opened, how the other Iron Bound got through.
Because the current king couldn’t have unlocked it. Hunter was the key. The one.
Hunter kept his eyes on the king. But he could feel Mackenzie’s presence beside him, where Krea had positioned her just out of arm’s reach. He had drawn every bit of power he could and energy rushed through him, lighting the marks on his skin. It was only a faint glow, but it was the single thing he’d had to hide in the other realm, all the human eye could perceive that marked him as different.
For the first time in his life, Hunter felt naked, exposed. It didn’t matter that she was only a girl, that he’d been without a shirt in front of her a half-dozen times already. The marks were there now, the patterns on his skin that named him Iron Bound.
“The girl wishes to know what happens,” Krea announced. Her words were directed at no one in particular, despite the gathered crowd. “I shall tell her.”
Hunter forced steady, even breaths, waiting for retribution. But the king disregarded the older woman’s voice entirely.
Krea leaned close to Mackenzie, whispering. “King says Nightsbane broke one law. King waits for Nightsbane’s defense.”
Mackenzie’s reply was no louder than a breath, and Hunter had to resist the urge to look at her, to see how terrified she would be in the face of this coliseum full of monsters. In the face of his king.
She had apparently asked Krea to repeat herself, because Krea said, “Nightsbane.” There was another whisper and Krea laughed. “He translates poorly.”
Mackenzie had not known the name this king had given him. He had never been Nightsbane to her, not a King’s Son, not a gatekeeper. Hunter imagined telling her, in those first few hours after she’d found him under Azral’s gaze. He’d woken from fever dreams, her face pressed against his chest as she slept, clearly having dreams of her own. Nightmares of the very creatures surrounding them. He couldn’t have told her, not then. Not once he’d allowed her to lock herself in a basement with him.
