by H. D. Gordon
Charlie stood where he was a moment, and couldn’t help but look over at Surah, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze. His voice was low and deep and sad when he spoke. There was so much he wanted to say, but was sure that none of it would even matter. She would never believe him now, and he couldn’t even say he blamed her. He had tried to help her, and he had only managed to make matters worse.
“I’m sorry, Princess.” It sounded as lame as it felt.
She looked at him now, her purple eyes so full of hatred that Charlie’s breath literally caught in his throat. “No,” she said. “Not yet, you aren’t.”
CHAPTER 32
Charlie exited the cave and stepped out onto the rocks, spotting his brother by the side of the lake. He hopped off the rocks and landed on the grass with a light thump, the anger he had been feeling since seeing Michael hit Surah returning to him in full force. He strode over to where his brother stood.
Black Heart smiled and spread his hands. “Sorry about this, little bro—”
Charlie punched him hard in the face, cutting Michael off mid-sentence. His head rocked back. Blood spurted from his nose and dribbled down his chin, his eyes went wide with surprise, a grunt of pain escaping his mouth. He looked at Charlie now and smiled through bloody teeth. “Okay, I guess I deserved—”
Charlie punched him again. Twice, then a third time. Michael’s head whipped from side to side, more scarlet flying from his face in thick droplets, more grunts of pain. He doubled over, his hands clutching at his midsection as he spat more blood onto the ground in thick globs. The Black Stone hanging around his neck pulsed hot and cold, and when he looked up at Charlie now, his eyes had changed.
Charlie stopped his next assault mid-throw. Black Heart was no longer smiling. “That’s enough, little brother,” he said, his voice nearly a growl, and Charlie thought again that his brother might just be capable of killing him. He supposed that made two of them.
“What the fuck, Michael?” he said, his voice raised in anger.
Black Heart stumbled back a little and sat down on the trunk of a large fallen tree, wiping at the blood on his face. “Sheesh Charlie Boy, I said I was sorry.”
Charlie just looked at him, thinking about what the princess had just told him. Not yet, you aren’t.
Black Heart smiled through bloody lips. “You still hit like a girl.”
Charlie clenched his teeth, barely able to stop himself from hitting Michael again.
“There was no other way,” Black Heart continued. “I told you, I need you on my side for what lies ahead. I’d hoped you understood that. You said you did. You should be apologizing to me. I gave you that piece of Black Stone so you could help me, not betray me by trying to help that little stubborn princess.”
“You set me up.”
“You set yourself up. Now I know you can’t be trusted.”
Charlie was silent a moment, listening to the way the darkness rode his brother’s tone. He felt very certain that the unspoken words there were something along the lines of now I’ll have to kill you, too. He couldn’t see any way out of this. The princess surely hated him, the king was dying, and his brother was bat-shit crazy. He knew he had to choose his next words wisely. It seemed that the princess was not the only one who was trapped.
“You can trust me,” he said, and it sounded true. Of course it did. Charlie wished it was true.
Black Heart stood. He came over to Charlie and placed both hands on his shoulders, his jade eyes deadly serious. “Is that so?” he asked.
Charlie nodded, consciously keeping the disgust and anger off his face.
“Alright. Prove it.”
Charlie’s throat tightened. “How?”
Black Heart was silent as he considered, his eyes locked on Charlie. “I have some things to do,” he said, speaking slowly. “Now that we have King’s Syrian’s attention, I want to make sure he understands who holds the cards. I need you to stay with the princess while I complete the rest of my…tasks.”
Charlie didn’t know what to say to this. It seemed too easy, and that was probably because it was. It had to be a trick. Another test. “And what’re those tasks?” he asked.
Black Heart smiled. Not the smile he used to give Charlie when they were younger, but the dark, malicious smile that matched the Stone hanging from his neck. The dark power that emanated from the thing was slowly poisoning his brother’s soul. Charlie could see it in his eyes. Even if the princess weren’t in need of saving, Michael obviously was. The only question was, could Charlie somehow manage to save them both?
“You think I would give you that information after what you just pulled?” Black Heart asked, his tone accusing. “I explained to you how important it was to remove the royals from their positions, told you that another Great War is coming, and what do you do? You go to the enemy and try to help her.” He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid you’ll have to prove yourself first, Charlie Boy.”
Charlie wished he would stop calling him by that name. For whatever reason, it made his heart hurt. “You really think a war between the races is coming?”
Black Heart smiled and squeezed Charlie’s shoulders gently. “No, little brother. I know a war is coming, and these royals have proved themselves to be inadequate at protecting our kind. I’m not the bad guy here, Charlie Boy. If you could look past your…infatuation, you would see that. You will see that. I promise.”
Charlie nodded once. “Then tell me what you want me to do.”
“It’s simple, really. I need people I can trust. I want to trust you. All you have to do is watch the princess until I return, not that she can escape anyway. But just watch her. I will be back as soon as I can.”
“How long?”
Black Heart’s eyes narrowed. “Not very.” He stepped back from Charlie and waved a hand in the air, which shimmered as something began to take shape. “And here, I brought you something to help you pass the time.”
It was Charlie’s guitar, the one that he thought had been left behind in the holding cell back in King Syrian’s castle. Charlie took it by the neck, feeling a little better being able to hold something so familiar. But not much.
“Thanks,” he said.
Black Heart nodded and smiled again, and this time, Charlie thought the look was genuine. “Of course.” He raised his hands, preparing to teleport out of there, but lowered them and looked at Charlie one last time. “I don’t have to remind you that this is your last chance, Charlie Boy, do I?”
Charlie shook his head. Black Heart patted his shoulder once more, and then he was gone.
Charlie thought, I’m pretty sure I got that part, loud ‘n clear.
CHAPTER 33
King Syrian was in bed when the message came. He had been bed-ridden for the past few hours, having told the servants to make sure no one bothered him. He didn’t want anyone to see him in the state he was in, which was, to say the least, terrible.
He was running a fever and all the muscles in his body hurt. It was as if he could feel the poison spreading through him, entering his bloodstream and making him weak. His head pounded, the dim light in the room making even his eyes ache. In all his years he couldn’t remember ever feeling so awful.
And it was just getting worse.
The clock was ticking. He could practically hear it counting down the seconds of his life in the silence of his bedroom. What was worse, Theo said that Surah was missing, and he hadn’t heard from her in several hours. He cursed his weakness as he lie there, wishing he was strong enough to go out and look for Surah himself. He wasn’t quite panicked yet. Surah was a smart girl, a great fighter and well-trained in the Magics. He took comfort in this, and knew she could probably look after herself. In fact, chances were that she was just out looking for a way to cure him, and he could just picture her raising her chin and giving him that sweet smile, so much like her mother’s, when he told her how worried he’d been.
Then the message came, and the fear and panic and dread came with it.
>
His eyes were closed when it happened, but he opened them when the world beyond his lids shadowed, like a cloud passing over the sun on a bright day. He lifted his head, then pulled himself into a painful sitting position, staring at the black smoke that was swirling in front of him, the source of the darkness that had fallen over the room. His eyes narrowed down to slits as he realized what it was.
A message, sent with Black Magic.
The smoke swirled and danced and finally settled into a black rectangle, like the frame of a picture. Then in the center of the frame, Black Heart’s face took stage. Syrian knew the message was recorded, and that Black Heart could not hear him, but he uttered a string of obscenities that burned his poor throat.
The face in the picture smiled. “King Syrian!” It began, the voice gleeful and menacing. “How are you, my king?” A deep laugh. “Not so well? Well, that’s most unfortunate. But I am so pleased to finally have your attention. I suppose I should have just gone after your precious Highborn ladies years ago. You wouldn’t have disregarded me then. But hey, that’s all in the past, right? There are more important matters to consider now, and I think you will be a wonderful listener this time. That is, if your old ears are still up to hearing.”
Another laugh. King Syrian tightened his hands into hard fists in his lap. It made his fingers ache.
The recorded message continued. “My demands are simple, and though I shouldn’t have to explain them to you, I will, because I am well aware that you can be a…slow learner. First, you will renounce the throne to the kingdom and name me, Michael Redmine, king.”
A pause. Now King Syrian laughed. It shook painfully in his chest.
“You will do these things for two reasons,” it continued. “The first one is because it is the right thing to do. You are old and weak. Your rein has run its course, and our people are in need of a capable leader in the dark times ahead. I will be that leader. I will protect those who you would disregard, the same way you disregarded them a thousand years ago in the Great War. The common people will stand behind me, and embrace the new way of life, because they too know you are weak.”
Another pause. King Syrian rolled his eyes a little. Black Heart had always been a fanatic, and he would get nothing. Except what all murderers and traitors to the kingdom got, and it certainly wasn’t the throne.
“And the second reason, in case you are not thus far convinced, my brave King, is because you are going to die anyway. No matter if you meet my demands or not. You will die. The only thing you can hope to do now is save your precious daughter from the same fate. She’s a lovely woman, by the way. Such manners!”
Now Syrian’s heart raced, his already sweaty back and neck springing fresh salt water from the pores, the room going instantly hot. Some of the pain rushed away from his body and he sprung up from the bed, exhilaration taking its place. Then the strength left him again, sliding away as though it had never been, and he fell forward again and landed back on the bed.
The recording continued on, as if it had been allowing for just such reaction. “I have her, Syrian. I have your daughter stashed away nice and cozy, but she won’t remain that way for long. You can waste what little time I am going to give you checking to see if I’m telling the truth, or you can just believe me and start contemplating your decision. As far as how much time she has…let’s just say it is even less than you do, my king, and in my experience, demon poison can be quite expedient. Have a good day, my Liege. It is, after all, your last.”
Then the smoke vanished, taking with it the face of the man who claimed to have his daughter. King Syrian was beside himself, unable to process what was happening. It was a terribly paralyzing moment, because he was usually such a self-controlled man. So much had happened over the years, so many that he loved gone, so much lost. He wasn’t sure he could bear to lose his last child, not his little Surah, too. It was unthinkable. It made him almost long for the death that was slowly taking him.
He fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, the pain of his condition coming back to him in full force. He couldn’t breathe. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, brushing away a single hot tear. He felt very common in that moment, not kingly or royal or even worthy. Then the anger came to him, his longtime enemy and savior, and it rushed through his body in a welcome wave.
He straightened himself up in bed with agonizing effort, gritting his teeth against groans of pain. When he was upright, he smoothed a hand through his hair and down his silk robe, brushing the moisture from his head with the sleeve of his arm. He snapped his fingers, and the door to his room swung open. One of the Hunters standing guard stepped around the corner.
“Yes, my Liege?”
Syrian suppressed a cough, cleared his throat. “Summon Theodine Gray,” he ordered, and rested his head back against the high headboard of the bed, swallowing to keep back more bloody coughs.
A few minutes later, the Head Hunter entered the room, sweeping in gracefully, his cloak flowing behind him. He bowed. “What can I do for you, my Liege?”
“My daughter, has she returned?”
Theo shook his head, gray eyes taking in Syrian’s condition. “No, my Liege.”
“How long has she been gone?”
Theo pulled up his sleeve a little and checked his watch. “Nearly three hours.”
Syrian met his eyes, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. “And you’ve looked for her, I assume.”
Theo nodded.
“Black Heart claims he has her.”
Syrian watched as Theo absorbed this information, saw the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists, glad to see that the Head Hunter cared for his daughter so much, since someone strong would be needed if they had a hope of finding her. He honestly couldn’t understand Surah’s hesitation over marrying Theodine Gray. He would make a good husband, a good king, which may be likely to be sooner than Syrian had planned for. And which was of no matter right now.
“He sent a message?” Theo asked, his tone low and angry.
Syrian nodded slowly, his neck aching, regarding Theo through blurry eyes. A cough racked his chest, a deep, nasty rattling that was unstoppable. He snatched a handkerchief from the bedside table, too weak to even use his Magic to summon one. It went to his mouth white and came away red.
When the fit passed, Syrian said, “You love my daughter, Hunter Gray, do you not?”
Theo’s response was immediate. “I do, my Liege.”
Syrian nodded once more. “Then find her.” He coughed again, this one lasting longer, his entire body jerking with the force. “Find her and save her. Kill this man who has dared to take her prisoner and threatened the kingdom. Kill Black Heart and his brother and anyone else who would stand beside them.” Syrian stared at him, and Theo couldn’t ever remember seeing his king as desperate as he was now.
“Do this for me, Theo,” he continued, “and you have my blessing to marry my daughter. I will make the announcement myself, assuming I am still able.”
Theodine Gray bowed low to his king, concealing the small, crooked smile on his face. “With pleasure, my Liege.”
CHAPTER 34
Surah crossed her legs beneath her, trying to find a way to sit that wouldn’t pain her wrists so much. Each time she shifted in the slightest, the dark bonds encircling her wrists tightened, and they were so constricted now that they pulsed. Her fingers were beginning to go numb.
The sound of the water rushing over the rocks was loud and constant and irritating, but did nothing to drown out the rapid beating of her heart. The moisture in the small cave was as thick as a sauna. She wished she could have removed her cloak, because the temperature seemed to be rising and rising as the day wore on.
Or maybe it was just that her panic and fear were starting to overtake her. She had to calm herself and think.
She looked all around the dark cavern, grateful that at least Black Heart had left the little Light Sphere ablaze for her to see by. She had no idea what she was looking
for, even though she knew she wouldn’t find it. It’s not like he would have left some magical key to the handcuffs lying around for her to find and slowly drag toward her with the heel of her boot. This thought made her laugh, but it sounded wrong and small and forced even to her own ears.
She didn’t hear his return, was too busy staring down at her bound hands and trying to gain control over her racing thoughts, but when she looked up again, he was there, and she breathed a mental sigh of relief to see that it was Charlie and not Black Heart, then chastised herself for doing so. Charlie Redmine was just as dangerous as his brother, probably more so. She would not make the mistake of forgetting that.
She stared at him a moment because there was nothing else to be done and because she couldn’t help it. He had his old guitar in his hand, holding it at his side by the neck. His handsome face was blank and guarded, but his jade eyes betrayed some inner roiling. Surah jerked her gaze away. Lying eyes, those were.
He said nothing as he entered the cave, just went over to the rock wall and leaned against it, sliding down to a seated position with his long legs sprawled out in front of him, gently positioning the guitar in his lap. Surah could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him again. He didn’t deserve her attention.
When his hands began to stroke the strings, soft soothing notes coming together to make a lulling rhythm, Surah did look up, and her anger came rushing back to her in a hot wave. “Stop that,” she snapped.
Charlie’s fingers halted at once and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Alright,” he said.
This response served only to anger her more. “How long have you and your brother been planning this?”
Charlie just looked at her, knowing that no matter what he said she wouldn’t believe him. Surah gritted her teeth, her usually sweet voice edged with anger. “So you’re just going to ignore me? You don’t think I deserve to at least know the answers to my questions before your brother murders me? Or is that what you’re here for?”
