by H. D. Gordon
“I don’t know what to say, Theo,” she said, her heart jack-hammering in her chest. It was as if the entire world were spinning out of focus, the picture blurring and the sound jumbling.
A half smile pulled up his lips. “That’s the first time in nearly a thousand years that you’ve called me by my given name,” he said.
Surah found that it was becoming harder to breathe. She swallowed and looked down at her hands, his stare somehow too much to hold.
“I don’t think I can give you what you want,” she whispered.
Theo’s hand came up and he gently lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“I’m just asking for a chance,” he said. “I want you to choose me over Charlie Redmine. Not for any other reason than that you want to. Just give me a chance at making you fall in love with me.”
Samson lifted his head, his eyes flicking between the two of them and narrowing, his ears swiveled toward the intimate exchange.
For Surah, the entire world seemed to have paused, as if the heavens and earth were holding their breath.
Her answer came before she could think about it, the word falling from her lips the way one falls off a ledge.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with a hope that was enough to make her insides twist.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter 8
Surah
Theo left her shortly thereafter, kissing her hand and bidding her good night.
Despite being wiped out both mentally and physically, Surah found that her mind would not stop turning over, her thoughts refusing to shut off even though her body desperately needed a good sleep.
Samson remained out on the balcony while she showered and donned fresh clothing. After brushing her hair and teeth, she climbed into her bed and snapped her fingers, the light in the room extinguishing with a last bit of magic that took way more effort than usual.
When Sam slipped into bed beside her, the enormous weight of him making the mattress dip deeply, she wrapped her arm around his neck and rubbed the soft, thick fur there.
She spoke aloud to him in the darkness, the way she had done for as long as they’d been together. “What’s bothering you, my love?” she whispered, her violet eyes staring into the amber of his, his lovely feline face close enough to kiss.
Sam’s large chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and his soothing voice sounded in her head. “I may have to leave you soon,” he said, “but I will return.”
For several heartbeats, Surah couldn’t respond. Her fingers tightened in his fur and she pulled herself closer to his warm, soft body, burying her head in his strong chest. His mitt-sized paw went around her, holding her in return.
When she spoke, her voice was much smaller than she would’ve allowed it to be with anyone else.
“Where will you be going?” she asked.
“Back to the jungles of my homeland.”
The way he said this made Surah’s heart ache, though she could not say why. The cat’s tone was somehow anguished, nostalgic, and resigned all at once.
“When will you return?”
“I’m not sure, love… Will you be all right in my absence?”
“If I say no, will you still leave?”
“Have I ever been able to deny you something you’ve asked of me?”
This brought a smile to her lips, but it was shadowed by the darkness surrounding them. “But you don’t want me to ask that of you,” she said. It was not a question. “You have to go do whatever it is you’re going to do.”
Samson’s warm, rough tongue licked Surah’s cheek. “I’m afraid I do.”
“Is it something you promised to do to be able to find me when Black Heart had me captive in that cave? Is it because of me?”
Sam said nothing to this, only breathed deeply the scent of his mistress. Surah cried herself to sleep that night, something she could not remember doing since she was a child, after she’d lost her mother and sister.
The thick fur of her tiger absorbed the tears, and though the road ahead was looking bleaker by the moment, she felt safe while the Great Cat held her, his heart beating just under her ear.
The thought of losing Samson, her best friend and most trusted ally, haunted her thoughts as they grew slower and thicker with approaching sleep. But the final thought to cross her mind before sleep took her fully was of Charlie Redmine.
It was a prayer, in fact, a hope that all was well wherever he was.
And that maybe, before all this mess was over, she’d get to see his face one more time.
Morning came the way mornings always do, as if by magic.
Surah opened her eyes to the golden glow of a new day, the sun shining down on her as she lie in her bed.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Sam said, nuzzling her face with his cool nose.
Surah sat up and stretched, yawning. “Good morning, Sam.”
When a knock sounded on the door, Surah let out a growl that made Sam’s mouth twitch in amusement.
“The duties of a queen never end.”
Some of her strength had returned during the night, the sleep doing its job and recharging her body. She had slept like a rock, and though her heart was as heavy as a boulder, Surah felt she could face the day, which would undoubtedly be a challenging one.
Today, she would lay her father to rest and take his place as ruler of the Sorcerer Kingdom, with all the people of Zadira bearing witness.
She told the caller to hold on for just a moment, and got dressed the old fashioned way, deciding a conservation of magic would be wise in the foreseeable future.
Better to be able to throw a powerful fireball in a dire situation than to be lazy and use up strength on the mundane tasks. Not having the magic had certainly increased her appreciation of it, as the absence of things is prone to do.
Sam retreated to the balcony, taking up perch on its stone ledge, as he was apt to do whenever their room received visitors. Surah felt her heart break anew when she remembered what her cat had told her last night; that he would be leaving her soon. He’d promised he would return, so why did the thought of it make her feel like crying?
She sighed and opened the door to her room… and was nearly tackled to the ground immediately after.
Her personal guard, Noelani, was not muted in her show of affection. She swept Surah up into a hug that was almost crushing under the female Hunter’s muscular arms. Surah hugged her in return, realizing how much it comforted her, and how much she’d needed it.
“You had us so damn worried,” Noelani whispered, and the sincerity in her tone brought a small smile to Surah’s face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Let her go before you turn her fragile bones to dust,” Lyonell said, standing behind his wife and rolling his eyes, making Surah’s smile grow wider.
“Who’re you calling ‘fragile bones’?” she teased.
Another voice spoke up, deep and chocolaty, and Surah peered around Lyonell to see Bassil.
“I believe he was referring to you, my dear,” said the Warlock, kissing her cheek as he also entered the room.
Surah shut the door behind him, feeling instantly better with just their presence. It was easy, in times of hardship and grief, to forget how many wonderful people she really did have in her life.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” she said.
Bassil took her hands into his large ones. “And we’re all very sorry about the loss of your father,” he said, his head bowing in respect. “King Syrian was a good and honorable man.”
Both Noelani and Lyonell nodded their agreement, heads bowing in respect.
“When would you like to hold the ceremonies?” Bassil asked.
“Today,” she said.
Bassil nodded, but Noelani and Lyonell exchanged a look.
“It doesn’t have to be so soon,” Noelani said gently. “You can have some time to mourn privately. You’re the qu
een now.”
Surah shook her head, exhibiting a strength she wasn’t sure she owned. “It needs to be today. I’m not the only one grieving, and there’s the important business of protecting the throne. The Fae’s attack can’t go unanswered.”
She swallowed hard, thinking of Charlie. Always thinking of Charlie. Sighing, she added, “None of what’s happened can go unanswered.”
Silence fell between them for a few moments. They knew Surah was right, and they knew they would mourn and commemorate over great deaths today, only to go out tomorrow and cause more of the same. Death after all, could only be paid for with death.
“Not true, dear one,” Sam spoke up in her mind, having slipped back into the room silently. “Only life can balance death.”
Surah sighed deeply. “You may be right, Sam, and yet…”
The Great Tiger brushed against her side as he went to stand beside her.
“And yet,” he agreed.
“Bassil, please schedule and prepare the ceremonies for this afternoon,” she said, and drew some strength from Samson, because she was fresh out. “Invite the entire kingdom. I want to send off anyone who’s lost someone during the Fae attacks along with my father. And after that’s done, we’ll hold my coronation, and I’ll address the people as their new queen.”
Another silence followed this, and this time it was Lyonell who spoke up. “We don’t know how smoothly any of that will go, my queen,” he said. “The people are frightened and angry. They want blood.”
The sound of these words, so plainly and truthfully spoken, made Surah want to cringe, but she bit back her grimace, and her voice was equally plain and truthful when she answered.
“And blood is exactly what I’m going to give them.”
Chapter 9
Charlie
When the Fae Queen came to see him, Charlie was sitting in much the same position he’d been sitting in for hours, his head resting in his hands and his handsome face impassive.
A silence preceded her arrival, the forest growing quiet and still in a way that made the hair on the back of Charlie’s neck stand on end. Her tinkling, almost childlike laughter reached him first, and then the strong floral scent of her as she drifted across the forest floor toward him, the light pink fog hovering near the ground parting in wisps as she approached.
Tristell the Fae Queen halted just out of reach before Charlie’s cage, looking down at him with a devious smile and slanted eyes. Her long, feathery dress shifted color as she did so, as if it were somehow alive. Her wings were larger than any Fae female he’d ever met, the feathers that composed them two feet long. Every once in a while, one would dislodge itself and float merrily down to the forest floor.
The devil in disguise, she was.
“Michael’s brother is a pretty one,” she said, her voice deceptively juvenile. “Prettier than Michael, even.”
Charlie said nothing to this, his lip curling slightly. This did not seem to faze the Fae Queen a bit. Her slanted eyes studied him for an uncomfortable moment, then they darted around the trees, as if she could see things there that he could not, and really, she probably could. The true power of the Fae rested in Mother Nature and all of its offerings.
“The Fae children like you, Michael’s brother,” Tristell said, revealing sharp teeth with a smile that was somehow both terrifying and beautiful. “The females have been hanging around, haven’t they?”
It was a question they both knew she already knew the answer to, so again, Charlie said nothing.
“You are pretty,” she repeated, eyes narrowing, “but what is so special about Michael’s brother that he can capture the heart of a Sorcerer princess as well as that of the Forest Children? I don’t see all the special they see, but yes, yes, Michael’s brother is pretty, indeed.”
“What do you want?” Charlie asked, growing tired of listening to the Fae Queen’s annoying ability to hold entire conversations with herself.
“It’s obviously not a great mind,” she said, “asking stupid questions all the time.”
“You’ve started a war,” growled Charlie. “The Hunters will come, and they’ll burn this whole forest to the ground.”
With those words, a switch seemed to flip within the Fae Queen. She threw her head back so far Charlie thought it might detach, and let out a screeching caw that sounded both birdlike and insect-like.
From her crouched position, her wings spread out to their full eight-foot span, and she shot up into the trees like a fairy rocket.
Tufts of pastel-colored, cottony leaves fell from above, and a host of exotic birds squawked angrily and took flight as well. Charlie watched in both shock and utter amazement as the Fae Queen bounced from tree to tree like the mad creature she was.
Only certain words were even intelligible, most of it spoken in the chirping language of the Fae people, but one did not need to speak Faevian to know that whatever was coming out of her mouth was surely curse words and angry proclamations.
After an indeterminable amount of time, she came crashing back down to the floor of the forest, the pink fog whooshing up in plumes around her clawed feet. She landed very close to Charlie’s cage now, her enraged face near enough to kiss.
“That was a terrible thing to say, Michael’s brother!” she exclaimed. “You will have to pay for that!”
She snapped her long-nailed fingers, and the thick, thorn-riddled vines enclosing him began to tighten in a way that made the plant appear almost intelligent.
Charlie’s heart picked up pace as the inch-long thorns drew nearer and nearer his skin, slowly, as if it knew the anticipation was terrifying.
As the vines made contact with his skin, the thorns tearing through the flesh as easily as would the teeth of a Wolf, Charlie had to bite down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood so as not to cry out in pain.
“There is no greater travesty than burning a forest, Michael’s brother!” the Fae Queen screeched. “To even speak of doing so is blasphemy! Why, you Sorcerers are no better than humans!”
With this, she snapped her fingers, and the vines yanked him to the ground, the thorns digging in so deep on the side on which he fell that this time he could do nothing to keep back the scream that tore up his throat.
He was bleeding from minor lacerations from neck-to-toe now, and the combination of all of them was somehow worse than the larger injuries he’d had in the past. Charlie spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, and it dribbled down his chin, his cheek pressed against the forest floor.
The earth absorbed the blood as though it were drinking it, and the very clear misfortune of his situation was brought home to him.
This land he was being held captive in was as foreign as they came, and if Surah were to bring an army here, he wasn’t entirely sure they wouldn’t be at a terrible disadvantage. Every leaf, tree and vine seemed to be under the intimate control of the mad queen.
One more swift kick to his midsection that knocked the last bit of remaining air out of him, and the Fae Queen turned on her heel and stomped haughtily off into the trees, the natural sounds of the forest returning gradually with her departure.
Charlie could not draw in a full breath of air, the thorny, green vines remaining as tight as she’d commanded them, the pain dizzying, making his mind and vision blurry.
He needed to get out of here, and fast, but he lie where he was, the lively green vines encasing him like an angry blanket, paralyzing and leaving him helpless.
Charlie had seen the type of crazy that reflected out of the Fae Queen’s slanted eyes, and he knew better than most that it would bring hell and havoc to everyone she crossed.
And, of course, before the pain of his circumstances pulled him under the dark veil of unconsciousness, his last thought was of Surah.
Chapter 10
Surah
She was numb, and glad for it.
Standing before the long mirror in her bedroom, staring at her reflection, Surah found that she felt nothing at all.
It was as if she were merely a body, floating from place to place, but void in a way that lacked something essential.
Dressed in black from head to toe, her violet eyes and hair the only color to speak of, she did not recognize herself. Who was that girl staring back at her, with the empty eyes and face free of feeling? A queen? A ruler?
Of this, she was not sure. And since she was no longer a daughter, a sister, a lover—or anything else, for that matter, she wasn’t truly sure she was anyone at all.
Samson brushed against her leg, unusually silent as she sorted through her thoughts. This incited the little bit of emotion Surah was able to feel just then, worrying her. Sam had said he would stay for the ceremony, but would need to take his leave shortly after, and he seemed to be so deep in his own thoughts that it made her stomach twist as though she might be sick.
Noelani and Lyonell came to retrieve her, knocking gently on her chamber door. They were also dressed in the customary all black, their faces long and their lack of words evident. After all, what does one say to someone who has outlived every member of their family? The answer is, nothing. Because in such situations, there is nothing to be said.
She trailed her two personal guards through the cold stone hallways of the castle, unable to look at the paintings of her lost loved ones adorning the walls for fear that she would lose the composure she needed to maintain.
Surah was no fool. She was aware that there were people who opposed her rule, and to show weakness—even in this appropriate setting—was not wise. As much as people would “understand” were she to break down, at the same time, they were afraid for their safety, and no one wants a blubbering leader in dark times.
They wanted a warrior. Which was fine with Surah, because she wanted blood.
