by H. D. Gordon
What an incredibly shitty situation. How had things unraveled so quickly? Worse, he had a feeling they had just begun unraveling.
Black Heart sighed, wrapping an arm around his brother, who used great effort not to cringe at his touch. “It’s a lot to take in,” Black Heart said. “I know that, but I’ll need all the help I can get here, brother. It’s a…big task.”
Charlie swallowed. His mouth felt dry. “There must be some other way,” he said. “This can’t be the only way to go about it.”
Black Heart sighed again. “I wish there was, brother. How I wish there was. But consider this, how will you feel when another war between the races erupts, and your beloved royals are unwilling to use Black Magic to protect you?”
“What makes you so certain another Great War is on the horizon?”
Black Heart smiled now, that wide, white grin that was foreign and unpleasant to Charlie on his brother’s face. “I bet you didn’t know the King of Wolves and Vampires murdered the Keeper just last month, did you?”
Charlie watched his brother closely, but he could tell he was telling the truth. “The Vampire king killed Syris Stormsong? They told us it was an accident.”
Black Heart laughed. “Of course they did, brother. Why wouldn’t they? They lie about everything else. They know there’s trouble brewing between the races, but they don’t want us common folk to know that. Afraid we might start getting ideas, questioning things.”
Charlie wasn’t sure what he thought about that, but he knew murdering innocent women was not the way to go about it. It was a wonder to him how his brother couldn’t see how fanatical he sounded. He found himself wondering just what had happened in the past century that had made Michael so angry, because while he laughed and smiled, Charlie could see now that it was anger that laced his brother’s tone, what made it so sharp and hostile.
Charlie stared into Michael’s eyes, wishing he could take from him whatever pain had made him this way, because he had not always been this way. “What did they do to you, Mikey?” he asked, his voice low and cautious. “What has made you hate them so?”
The anger that flashed across Black Heart’s face was so abrupt that Charlie found himself leaning back, his heart jumping up in his throat. It was like watching a demon possess Michael’s features, twisting his thin lips into a snarl and drawing his eyes down to slits. “This isn’t about me,” he snarled, and Charlie could see that for the lie it was even if his brother couldn’t. “This is about protecting our people, about making sure there is equality among our kind. Can’t you see that? Or do they have you so brainwashed that you are blind?”
Charlie swallowed. Chose his words carefully. “What is it you plan to do, Mikey? Kill them all so you can allow Black Magic to be performed without monitoring? Give common men like Brad Milner a piece of the Black Stone so they can murder Highborn women, or anyone else you see fit? That’s a better life for the people?”
Black Heart rubbed his head, exasperated, regaining his composure. Charlie relaxed, but only a little. Then his brother looked back up at him, the grin on his face once more, and the tension flooded back into Charlie as though it had never left. “I have their attention now, Charlie Boy. That’s all I needed, and I don’t have to kill them all,” Black Heart said, and waited. He knew what Charlie would say next.
“Why is that?”
The grin grew, stretching across Black Heart’s face and revealing every one of his flat, white teeth. “Because King Syrian is sick and dying as we speak, and there is only one other person in line for the throne, and she’s going to walk right into our arms.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out the Black Stone, which was as big as a baseball and as shiny as a black diamond. It made Charlie’s stomach clench while looking at it. Goosebumps popped up on his skin, even though the night was warm. The thing just radiated darkness, glimmering with its black power.
“She will come for this,” Black Heart said, gazing at the stone with a fondness that made Charlie’s teeth clench. When his brother looked up at him, his face was smooth, but Charlie could still see the monster hidden behind his eyes, the one that had grown there. “Because she loves her father,” he continued, “and royals see no problem with using Black Magic to save one of their own. You’ll see. Bunch of fucking hypocrites, don’t you think?”
Charlie swallowed, nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “Buncha fuckin hypocrites.”
Charlie knew he had to tread carefully here. Whatever happened next, he had to tread very, very carefully here.
CHAPTER 23
There was a knock on her door. Samson raised his head from his paws. Surah shot him a look telling him to relax, then flicked her wrist and opened the door. Theodine Gray stood there. Her heart picked up in pace at the sight of him, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
And you tell me to relax, Samson said in her head, the smirk clear in his tone.
Surah bit back a response and offered the Head Hunter her best princess-smile. “Are you ready?” she asked.
Theo bowed to her, then nodded. “Yes, my lady. Whenever you are.”
Next Surah called her two personal guards into the room. Noelani entered first, her sharp, pretty face set into Hunter mode, making her look older than usual. She wore a black cloak, the hood covering aqua-colored hair that was cut short and close on both sides of her head. She bowed to Surah, offering a small smile. Lyonell followed on her heels, his expression as serious as his wife’s, his large shoulders just a little too tight, his mouth set into a grim line. Surah had already filled both of them in, and they were determined to protect her in her mission, though she thought she could move faster on this if she could work alone. But they were having none of that, not after the thing she had pulled when she went to avenge Syris, and after nearly a thousand years of having them as her protectors, she knew arguing would be futile.
Lyonell bowed to his princess as well. “We are ready when you are, my lady,” he said.
Surah nodded, wishing again that she could just take Samson and do this by herself. But her father’s life was on the line, and she wasn’t stupid enough to refuse the help. She took a deep breath and looked up at Bassil, who was standing next to her. “I need eagle’s blood to find the Black Stone,” she said, and the Shaman nodded at the others to confirm this. “I am normally opposed to the use of Black Magic,” she continued, “as it stands against the beliefs of our people, but certain circumstances call for certain actions. I do not want to find the Black Stone, I have to find it,” she paused. “And I will do whatever it takes.”
Everyone in the room nodded their agreement, as she knew they would. She didn’t like talking to them this way, could hear the challenge in her voice, but she was a princess after all, and she was used to giving orders. They needed to speak now or forever hold their peace, and no one was going to dare speak now.
She gave another nod, this one somehow more final, as if the show were just really about to begin. “All right, good,” she said. “Step one is acquiring some blood from a Great Eagle, because I will need it to perform a spell to locate the Black Stone.” Surah’s face was set hard as she looked at them. “You all understand what sort of task this is?”
Nods all around.
“Good. You also understand how urgent this task is?”
Immediate agreement. Surah offered her best smile. She brought her hands out of her robe and held them out to Noelani and Lyonell, who gripped her hands with unquestioning trust. Theo stood independently in front of her, gray eyes staring deep into hers.
Bassil touched her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him. Once again the look on the Shaman’s face made a chill walk down her spine. “You need at least a pint, Princess,” Bassil said, his deep rumbling voice as grave as the dead.
Surah nodded, silently steeling herself for what was ahead. Samson unfolded himself from his relaxed position by the window and moved lithely over to where his mistress stood, his head held low, amber eyes surveying the room. He slid in between Sur
ah and Lyonell, forcing the two of them to reach to maintain hold of each other’s hands.
The tiger’s huge head turned as he looked over at her, brushing against her side with his enormous body. Let’s go, love, he said. I am born of the Wildlands. Do not fear what waits there. I am the greatest when it comes to Great Beasts. The eagle’s blood will be yours.
Surah could barely hear him over the sound of her heart beating out of her chest, and the silent confession she gave just before zipping them out of the room surprised even her when it sounded in her head.
But I am scared, Sam. I am.
Samson brushed his head against the hood of her cloak, his warm breath caressing her face, coarse whiskers scratching her skin. I know, my love. I know.
***
It had been so long since she’d been here, a few centuries at least, but as soon as she felt the warm air against her skin, all the memories of the place came rushing back to her. The smell here was incredibly green, like flowers and thick grass and fresh rain. The jungle trees loomed overhead, casting millions of shadows around every curve, giving the place a late day hue, even though the sun wouldn’t set for another six hours. Tree branches rustled and birds called and water rushed somewhere in the distance. The Wildlands was a beautiful place, untouched by people and left to flourish under its own rules, but it was also a dangerous place, where the Beasts also lived under their own rules.
Noelani and Lyonell already had their swords at the ready, their stances relaxed but alert as they took in the scene all around them. Theo’s weapon was still concealed beneath his cloak, but Surah could see the tension in his shoulders no matter how much he tried to hide it. She could feel the tension in her own.
Samson moved forward first, his head raised as he tested the air. Surah moved right alongside him, gesturing the others behind her, where they would watch her back. They would need to move as a unit if they hoped to pass through the jungle without loss. The place held everything from Great Serpents to Great Primates, and wild didn’t even begin to explain some of their temperaments. They were called Beasts for a reason. Samson was the only one Surah knew of that lived peacefully outside of the jungles, and it would be a mistake to think that even he was tame.
The nests are too high to get a scent, Samson told her. You’ll have to perform the spell.
Surah had known this would probably be the case, though she was loathe to do such a thing. The spell would bring an eagle for sure, but it would also be pissed off when it arrived and found it to be a trap. She hadn’t done something like this since she rescued Samson as a cub, and that had been just pure luck. Then again she had been just a young girl then, and she was well seasoned with the Magic this time. She took a deep breath.
Gripping the stone around her neck in her right hand, her left resting on Samson’s back, where the powerful muscles in his shoulders were bunched and ready, Surah recited a Thread Spell to show them the way. A golden light as small as a pinprick appeared in front of her, and then it shot out ahead in a string of light that looked very much like the golden thread it was named for, revealing the location of the nearest eagle nest. Surah let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and looked around at the others.
“Stay together,” she said, and began to follow the thread, which slowly laced up and up through the canopy of green.
A tree branch cracked and rustled off to their right, much too loud to be a small creature’s movement, and all five of their heads whipped in that direction. They stopped for a moment, their bodies tense, blood flowing hot and hairs standing up on the backs of their necks. Samson let out a low growl that almost made Surah shiver. She swallowed, listened. When nothing else moved or sounded, she slowly pushed her group onward.
Her voice came out just above a whisper. “Move quickly,” she said, and was met with four looks that said, rather plainly, no shit. Oddly, she had to suppress the urge to laugh at this vulgar thought.
They followed the thread, moving as quickly and quietly as they could manage, the thick growth of the jungle floor a maze of vines and roots. Several times someone tripped, but they were standing so close that someone else always caught them before they fell. Finally, they reached a point where the thread angled directly up to the treetops. Surah craned her head back, searching for the nest, though she knew it was too high to see from the ground—even if it was probably the size of large bedroom. Surah swallowed at the image, hoping this was the home of a young eagle that hadn’t fully grown into its size.
Surah removed her sais from beneath her cloak, her heart thundering against her ribs. She looked at her companions, her eyes falling on Samson last and settling there. “Ready?” she whispered.
She took their silence as answer enough. Her fists were tight around her weapons. She licked her lips and began another spell. In front of her, the enormous pine, its trunk the width of a pitcher’s mound, began to shake and sway, its branches making a sound like pouring rain, thousands of green needles falling from the tree and showering over them in a storm of green. A minute later, they heard it, the outraged cry of a Great Eagle from hundreds of feet above their heads. The sound was a screech and caw that was so loud they had to resist the urge to cover their ears. Surah, though she knew this had to be done, immediately found herself wishing she hadn’t done it.
She pushed the thought away. There was her father’s health to consider. She had no choice here. She wondered briefly if she had ever had a choice.
The bird seemed to crash through the trees as if descending from heaven, its wide wings spread out to ease its fall. Its enormous talons were outstretched and snapping branches like twigs as it made its way toward earth to investigate who had disturbed its home. The eagle was even bigger than Surah had been expecting, its wingspan spreading some forty feet, its razor sharp talons terrifyingly large. Its eyes were huge golden orbs, its beak as menacing as Samson’s fangs. Surah had only time to breathe one short breath, see the eagle cock its head in that birdlike manner, hear it issue one more enraged screech into the air, and then the Beast attacked.
Surah’s group scattered like field mice, breaking apart just in time to avoid being plucked from the ground by the bird’s enormous claws. The jungle around them seemed to grow quiet, very quiet, as the Beast took to the air again. Surah knew she had to act fast. She had but seconds before the eagle swooped again. She wrapped her hand around the stone at her throat, closing her eyes and hoping like hell Samson would watch out for her.
I’m here, love. I’m here. Samson’s voice was hardly more than a growl in her head, the sound of his pumping blood almost audible in it. I will take the eagle’s blood. I will take it take it take it.
Surah tried to ignore the eagerness in her tiger’s tone and concentrate on the Holding Spell. It would take a lot of energy to subdue a creature of this size. And she could hear it coming now, couldn’t she? Sweeping through the air in another strike. Coming and coming.
Breathe deep. Just breathe deep and concentra—
She was ripped from the thought when something wrapped around her body in a vice grip. Her eyes flew open as her feet left the ground, and a moment of pure, hot panic seized her as she realized the eagle had seized her. For a split second she could think of nothing to do, of no way to save herself as awful panic took control of her mind and made the blood rush in her head. Then she gained control of herself, as her years had taught her to do, and managed to snap her fingers, which were pinned to her side, and teleport herself back to the ground and out of the bird’s death grip.
It was a clumsy transition, and she found herself tucking and rolling as she hit the ground, losing the sai still clutched in her left hand along with the other one that had flown free when the bird snatched her. Her shoulder ached where it struck the ground, but she found her feet swiftly, glad to be back on the earth, even if it was a rough landing. Her mind was clear and focused now, and she called her weapons back to her with her Magic. She caught them out of the air and spun around just i
n time to avoid being grabbed again by the bird. The eagle let out an enormous cry of rage, but this time, it didn’t take off again fast enough. Not fast enough to escape Samson, anyway.
The tiger leapt through the air and tackled the eagle to the ground, the two of them rolling in a heap of feathers and fur and talons and fangs. The bird tore at his back with its sharp beak, making sounds like that of an oversized, angry rooster, somehow much scarier than one would think. Samson snapped and ripped and clamped with his powerful jaws, roaring out at the injuries he was sustaining under the eagle’s strikes. Surah’s heart seemed to stop dead in her chest as she watched chunks of fur and huge feathers and red blood spray through the air. She gripped her stone, her concentration strong now for the worry over her tiger. When Samson hurt, she hurt.
She saw it when the spell worked, they all did, and her companions uttered a collective sigh as the eagle’s body went stiff, trapped in the Holding Spell. It seemed to take Samson a minute to realize the bird had stopped fighting—or maybe he just wasn’t done tasting its blood yet—and for a moment Surah felt fear for the bird. She was sure Samson was going to kill it.
He wanted to. She could read that as easily from him as if the desire were her own. The muscles in the tiger’s chest heaved and contracted as he stared down at the motionless bird, scarlet dripping from his formidable incisors. For a long moment the world seemed to pause, as if the earth itself were holding its breath; a moment where everything present was as unmoving as the eagle. Then Samson’s long tongue flicked out and licked the bloodstained fur around his mouth, the sound wet and thick.
His eyes didn’t leave the great bird, but his head tilted in Surah’s direction, and she knew the moment was over, that the eagle would more than likely live through this.
But she needed to move quickly. The jungle was silent around them, eerily so, even though the battle had surely ruffled some feathers. She found herself swallowing a laugh around this dry joke.
