by H. D. Gordon
Surah did not have to turn around to know that Samson had stepped up behind her.
After that, the men nearly tripped over themselves trying to get out of the building. Samson lunged at the big one who had spoken out of turn to Surah, making the coward nearly fall flat on his face and squeal like a pig as he scurried away.
Surah could not help a smile at Samson’s antics, though she raised an amused eyebrow at him.
“What?” he asked. “I was just inviting him to pick on someone his own size.”
“Sam, no one is your own size,” she replied with a laugh.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was going to use a lot of magic today, and it would take its toll on her. Her hands flew through the air, spells pouring rapidly from her lips as she used her magic to set the bakery to rights.
It only took a few minutes to repair and reset everything, but by the time Surah was done, a sweat had broken out over her brow.
“There,” she said, nodding at her work.
The ginger-haired woman came in through the now-fixed front door of her shop, her eyes wide and still filled with tears. Once again, she fell to her knees before Surah. It was something Surah would never get used to, nor enjoy, but she accepted the gesture graciously.
The woman grabbed Surah’s gloved hand and kissed it what seemed like a million times. “Oh, thank you so much, my queen,” the woman said. “Thank you so much!”
Surah took the hold of the woman’s hands and pulled her to her feet. She rolled her wrist and summoned a handkerchief that was the same shade of red as the woman’s hair. It appeared in her hand like the magic it was. Surah gently swiped away the woman’s tears with it.
“What’s your name, my lady?” Surah asked.
The woman looked so startled at the question that she had to swallow twice before she could get the words out.
“Gertrude Baker, my queen,” she said, holding out the sides of her skirt in a curtsy.
Surah nodded, her face soft and lovely despite the turmoil turning within her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gertrude,” Surah said. “It was an honor to help you, and I want you to know that the accusations against me are false, and as your queen, I will protect you from whatever comes next.”
The hope and faith that passed behind Gertrude Baker’s eyes then was enough to make Surah’s breath catch in her throat.
“Does that mean King Syrian has passed on, then?” she asked.
Surah swallowed hard, wondering how many times she was going to be asked that question on this day that was shaping up to be endless.
Each time it was asked, the scene of her father’s death came back to the forefront of her mind, the pain tightened its rough grip around her heart.
She nodded, because she did not trust herself to speak. At this, her tiger’s deep voice spoke up in her head.
“Sometimes it’s beneficial to show a little vulnerability among those whose loyalty you seek, my love. If they think you incapable of suffering, they surely believe you cannot relate to their lives.”
“My entire existence is made of suffering, Sam.”
“I know… but so is that of everyone else. It is the one thing all two-legs seem to have in common.”
“How’d you get so smart?”
“I’m a cat. I was born that way.”
A single tear escaped Surah’s eye, and Gertrude took her gloved hands once more and squeezed them tight. The pain Surah felt was reflected in the gaze of the other woman, whom Surah had never met, and whom likely had never met her father, either.
Gertrude Baker hesitated only a moment before pulling Surah into a tight hug, the motherly, warm smell of the older woman somehow comforting. Surah had not felt the likes of it in years.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, your majesty,” Gertrude told her.
Surah let the woman hold her for a moment before pulling back and giving a genuine smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to set things to rights, but until then, close up your shop and lay low, and tell your neighbors to do the same, please.”
Gertrude Baker nodded, and Surah turned to go, opening the bakery door manually in an effort to conserve magic. Samson slipped out first, but before Surah could do the same, Gertrude called out to her.
“Your majesty?”
Surah turned back to face her, eyebrows raised.
“I believe you,” said Gertrude. “You’re going to make a wonderful queen, and the Sorcerer people are lucky to have you.”
With a small smile, Surah nodded, thanking the kind woman before slipping back out onto the chaotic street with her tiger.
Samson stood with his tail tucked low, his ears swiveling and amber eyes sweeping.
“And that is how you win back a kingdom,” he told her.
“It’s not really the winning it over I’m worried about, Sam. It’s the keeping it.”
Sam fell into stride beside his mistress as she strolled down the street, her hands freezing wrongdoers in their tracks with magic and fixing broken things one by one.
The Great Tiger was more than enough incentive for the people to take notice of their queen, and to fall to their knees as she passed by, some of them looking ashamed, others shocked, and others still, angry.
“One step at a time, dear one,” Sam said.
Chapter 6
Surah
It took several draining hours, shared tears, and a whole lot of magic, but by the time the sun began to sink behind the buildings in Zadira, order had been restored.
Surah had hugged and cried and reassured more people than she could ever remember doing in one day in all her long life.
The loss of King Syrian really did have an impact on the people. As word of his death spread, sadness seemed to grow thicker in the air, and by nightfall, a sort of eerie silence had fallen over the place.
The mourning was evident on the faces of everyone she met, the sympathy and commemoration enough to choke Surah up to a point that was nearly overwhelming. It was both heart wrenching and incredible to see how much her father had meant to so many.
Stranger after stranger told her stories of encounters with him, of how he had impacted their lives or helped them in some way, and Surah could only hope that at the end of her life, people would say things half as wonderful.
She was biting back yawns, exhaustion weighing heavy on her, listening to yet another tale involving her father. The banker who was telling her was on the portly side, with sideburns that were as wide and hairy as the rest of him.
“I wouldn’t be what I am today if not for King Syrian’s mercy,” the banker said, plucking a stray thread from his fine cloak and pushing up the spectacles atop his nose.
He launched into a story that Surah had heard a similar version of all day. The banker had found himself is some sort of trouble, and while her father had no other agenda, no obligation to help, help he did.
In a matter of hours, her respect for him as a king grew beyond a measure she had anticipated. And her love for him as a father kept hold on her heart.
She was just about to thank the banker for his kind words and condolences when a commotion near the road that led into the city grabbed her attention. A woman was screaming for help in a tone of voice that Surah recognized instantly. It was the kind of cry one makes when they’ve just lost someone they love.
Her fractured heart sank down in her chest, skipping beats as it did so. She quickly thanked the banker, jumping atop Samson’s back as the Great Tiger crouched so that she could do so.
Portaling to the commotion would have been quicker, but Surah had used enough magic today to knock out the strongest of users, and her tiger knew this.
She rode atop his back, gripping the black and blue fur around his neck for balance and hopping down with a nearly feline-like grace when they reached the crying woman.
The small crowd of people gathered parted to let her pass, and Surah had to lock her knees so that they didn’t give
out beneath her when she got a look at what all the fuss was about.
A young woman was sitting on the ground in the middle of the dirt road leading into Zadira. Her mousy brown hair was disheveled and stuck to her dirty forehead with sweat.
Her eyes, the same brown as her hair, were red and filled with tears, and exhaustion and grief colored her features the way the dark paints the night.
And on the young woman’s lap, lying atop her tan gingham dress was the body of a lifeless child—a little boy who could be no older than six. The boy’s eyes were closed, his chest still, his face void of the light that only life can carry.
Surah crouched before the woman, her own violet eyes filling with tears over the loss of a life so young, so innocent to the horrors of their world.
When the young woman looked up and met her eyes, Surah couldn’t help but cringe under the fiery hate emanating from them. She found she could not breathe, either, could only wait until the young woman spoke.
She half expected a lashing, but after several seconds of silence, the woman’s shoulders slumped in a way that suggested being crushed under the weight of the universe, and her voice came out low and choked. It was a voice Surah could relate to more than she wished she could, the voice of someone who has been consumed with loss.
“They killed my baby,” the young woman told her. “They killed my little Kai.” She stroked the lost child’s hair, wrenching Surah’s heart with every beat. “They burned the whole town… the houses, the fields… all of it… gone.” She screamed her next words, jolting the crowd collectively that had formed around them. “They killed my baby!” she screamed, the high-pitched, broken sound of her words scraping across Surah’s soul.
She took the woman by the shoulders, wary of being slapped or blamed for this, which Surah was sure she would ponder later, but the woman only looked at her as if she were lost, as if she’d stumbled into someone else’s nightmare, and only wanted to return home.
“Who killed him?” Surah asked, her voice low and soft, as gentle as she could manage.
She supposed she knew the answer, but a part of her needed to hear it. Once she heard it, she felt as though whatever she did next, no matter how brutal it may be to her enemies, it was justified.
“Those fucking fairies!” shouted the young woman. Her voice fell to a whisper again, her brown eyes turning back to the lost child in her arms. “They killed my little Kai.”
It took effort on Surah’s part to ignore the murmur that ran through the gathered crowd, which seemed to be thickening by the moment. She concentrated on the woman before her, pulling her into an embrace that she half expected to be rejected, the child between them. But the young woman fell into her arms like a child herself, sobbing into the expensive fabric of Surah’s cloak.
Samson stood silently close by, huge head and tail held low, keeping a careful eye over the unfolding situation.
Something settled deep in Surah’s chest, like a heavy stone shifting place in her soul, and she knew that after today, there could be no avoiding it.
War was coming, and it was going to do what wars did—tear apart families and break hearts.
She stroked the young woman’s hair, whispering gentle words. Eventually, she got the young mother to release her dear child, and had the gravediggers come and take the body away, preparing it on the royal dime.
The tears in her violet eyes now could not have been stopped even with all the composure training in the world, and when Surah spoke, it was the voice of a queen that came out of her.
“Your Kai will be set to sea with my father, my lady, if you will allow it,” Surah said.
The young woman could only nod, and Surah lifted her chin with her fingers so that she could look in her eyes as she said her next words.
“And I’m going to kill the Fae Queen and everyone who follows her. I’m going to make them pay for Kai’s death. You have my word.”
The grieving young mother gripped Surah’s hands hard enough to hurt. “That won’t bring him back,” she said, before allowing herself to be led off by some of the other Sorceresses who’d gathered.
Surah had used her magic to send a message to all of the innkeepers whose hotels she had just repaired, telling them to let anyone who needed a place to stay to do so on the royal tab. She felt it was the least she could do.
She watched the woman go, her words playing and replaying on a loop in her head.
That won’t bring him back.
No, it would not bring the little boy back, and it would not bring her father back for that matter, either.
But it would make Surah feel a lot better to spill some Fae blood, and that was just what she intended to do.
Chapter 7
Surah
More people began streaming back into the city, having returned to their homes in the various towns and cities dotting the Sorcerer Territory to find that their houses had been burned, and those they’d left behind had been killed.
Others still had been injured and killed during the attack at Zadira Square, where Surah’s uncle had accused her of treason in front of a good portion of the kingdom’s citizens.
Surah’s damage control had worked to a certain extent. Theo had done a good job restoring the places in the city he’d visited, and was as visibly exhausted as Surah. Both of them had used an incredible amount of Magic for one day, and it had taken its toll.
Now they sat on the balcony outside of what used to be her father’s office, the glittering stars hanging over their heads in the clear night sky.
Samson was perched on the stone ledge of the balcony, overlooking Zadira below, with its neon lights and fine architecture. He had not spoken a word since their return to the castle, and the look in his amber eyes was far-off.
Surah was anxious to get this discussion with Theo over with, so that she could see what was so upsetting her tiger.
Theo swirled a drink in his hand, his eyes also distant. “The Fae burned every border town in the Territory before leaving,” he said. “People are still streaming into the city now with no where else to go, and terrified that we can’t protect them.”
“That’s why we have to send the Hunters to the towns and cities, as well as patrolling the roads. We need them to be anywhere there are our people. Their presence alone will offer comfort,” she said.
Theo was silent a moment. He turned in his chair, facing Surah until she looked up and met his gray eyes. “That’s just not wise, my queen,” he told her. “We need the Hunters here. Protecting the castle. Protecting you.”
Surah waved a hand at this. “I don’t need their protection. The people do. Besides, I’m not going to be here, anyway. There are matters to attend to.”
Theo blinked at her. “Forgive me,” he said, “but you’re queen now, the last of the Stormsong line. You have to rule. You can’t just go charging into the battle like you used to.”
“The best rulers are the ones who stand beside their men on the battlefield,” she said. “I would not send them to die over something I’m not willing to die for myself. That’s a coward’s way of doing things.”
Theo seemed to accept this, if reluctantly, though it was obvious they were in disagreement.
“We’ll need to name a new Head of Council since your uncle is gone, and a new Keeper also… unless you intend to hold that position as well.”
Surah did not miss the slight snap to his tone, and after the day she’d had, it pissed her off more than it probably should have.
“If you’ve got something on your mind, Hunter Gray, just say it. We’ve both been drained physically and emotionally today, and if we’re going to work together to save this kingdom, we need to clear the air, anyway. So say what you’ve got to say already, and let’s be done with it.”
There was no façade to her demeanor, no royal composure to speak of. Theo sat up a bit straighter, his face becoming as serious as the grave.
“Fine,” he said. “Do you love him?”
Though she pro
bably should not have been, Surah was taken off-guard by this question. There was no need to ask to whom he was referring, because they both knew very well.
“I don’t know,” she lied.
She waited for him to say something, but Theo was silent for so long that Surah had to steal a glance at him to try and read his reaction.
The Head Hunter stared out at the city below, the profile of his handsome face all fine lines and edges, a picture of introspection. It was a side of him she had never seen before, though she’d known him for most of forever.
Just when Surah was getting ready to say something else, the silence somehow too much for her to bear, Theo released a heavy sigh and surprised her by turning toward her on the bench the two were sharing and taking her hands into his.
She had removed her gloves after they’d returned to the castle, her fingers nearly on fire after all the magic that had flowed out of them, and she was surprised to find Theo’s hands were pleasantly cool, if a touch rough.
He met her eyes with a sincerity that nearly took her aback. “Your father offered me your hand in marriage before he passed,” he said.
And like that, Surah was pissed off again. She opened her mouth to protest, but Theo smiled, speaking again before she could.
“I don’t want you to marry me because your father agreed to it,” he said, his voice lower and more apprehensive than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve loved you since we were children, Surah. I used to try so hard to get your attention.” He laughed, his eyes going distant again.
“I was always climbing trees or doing flips or attempting dangerous spells, in hopes that you would just look my way. I forced myself to date other women, thinking maybe you would get jealous and realize my affections.” He shook his head. “I was a fool.”
For the life of her, Surah did not know what to say to this. Her mouth fell open, but once more, Theo beat her to the punch.
“I know now that I need to earn your love and trust. I want to stand by you in this dark time, and prove to you that I can be worthy of you.” His hand came up and rested on her cheek, and Surah did not push it away.
