by H. D. Gordon
Arrol didn’t hop down from the windowsill. He stared down at the Sorcerer with cold silver eyes. “I do not run errands. I am repaying a debt. A debt I owe to my Queen.”
Gregory’s eyebrows went up, and he took another swig of his drink, emptying the glass. Again, Samson thought about how Gregory always looked like he was at a disadvantage, being a shorter man with a round belly and balding head, but unlike Theo, Arrol didn’t seem fooled by the appearance. The Fae was purposely keeping his distance.
“So you’ve come with word from Tristell? I have no business with her. No offense, but she’s kind of a crazy bitch.”
A crooked smile came over Arrol’s face. “No offense taken. But I am not here to discuss her, I am here to deliver her message, and since this will cover my recent unfortunate debt to her, I intend to do just that.”
Gregory sighed and waved a hand, telling the Fae to get on with it. Samson held his breath as Arrol’s eyes paused over his hiding spot, but if the Fae saw him, he didn’t say anything. “Your Magic is gone,” Arrol said. “My queen wanted me to ask you if you would like to have it back?”
Gregory scoffed a little. “That’s a ridiculous question,” he said. When Arrol just stared at him, he added, “Of course I want it back. We all do.”
Arrol nodded. “Then there’s something you must do before the sun sets on this day.”
“Hmm, and what is that?”
“You must spill the blood of your king.”
CHAPTER 26
SAMSON
Silence followed, during which Samson could hear only the sound of his heart beating in his chest. He could hardly process what he’d just heard, let alone make a decision what to do about it, and he was hardly an indecisive creature. The part of him that could never quite be tamed told him to just slip out of his hiding spot and kill both men for even uttering such treason. He did not feel about Surah’s father the way he felt about Surah, but Samson knew that if anything happened to the King, Surah would suffer greatly for it.
On the other hand, he knew he should hear where this was going. So as always, for her, he stayed put.
After a moment more of silence, Arrol made a move to leave, but Gregory stopped him. “Hold on just a minute,” he snapped. “That’s all? Spill Syrian’s blood and the Magic comes back?”
Arrol put a finger to his chin, and a sheepish smile worked its way across his face. “Oh, actually, I think she said all of his blood. You know, like a sacrifice. You’re a Sorcerer, you should be familiar with that.”
Gregory sputtered and reached into his night pants, pulling a small dagger out of his pocket and pointing it at Arrol, who looked as though he found this amusing. Gregory’s beady eyes were narrowed to slits. “You come here and tell me your queen says to kill my king or my kind will never regain their Magic. You’ve got some nerve, fairy, and a hell of an imagination.”
Now Arrol laughed outright, tossing his head back and making his silver hair ripple over his shoulders. “No need to name-call the messenger,” he said, and when his eyes found Gregory again, there was no trace of humor among the silver there. “And I don’t give two shits if you believe what I’ve told you, only that I’ve told you it.”
To his credit, Gregory didn’t take a step back. “Why would your queen tell me this? And how—even if it were true—would she have this knowledge to begin with… Unless she has something to do with the Magic being gone in the first place. If that’s so, things are worse off than I thought.”
“I have no interest in the state of things between the Fae and your kind, and I’ve told you all I know,” Arrol said, his eyes passing over the spot where Samson was once again, and then flicking back to Gregory. “But I suppose she gave you this message because you are in a position to do something about it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your kind are little more than human without your Magic, no?”
Gregory was breathing heavily now, his chest heaving up and down, the jowls around his face clenched tight in anger, his cheeks growing red as blood filled them. Apparently, he didn’t like being compared to humans any more than Arrol liked being called a fairy.
Arrol laughed at his expression and his wings peeled themselves free of his shoulders and back, flicking rapidly a few times. Then he stepped right off the window ledge and hung in the air for a moment outside the window, just outside the reach of Gregory’s dagger. His wings moved so fast now they were little more than a blur, making a small buzzing noise as they moved.
The Fae smiled widely at the Sorcerer, his white teeth shining out of his almost silver face. He shrugged once and gave another short laugh. “Hell, maybe my queen thought you’d like to play the hero, be the one to save the thing that makes your kind special, but if that’s so, I would wager all my marbles that she’s never made your acquaintance.”
Gregory was so angry now Samson could practically smell his rage on the air. He spoke between clenched teeth. “How do you know that?”
Arrol held up a finger, the smug smile on his face wider than ever. “One, because you told me as much earlier. I believe you said you heard she was ‘one crazy bitch’, which while accurate, implies you’ve never met her.” He held up another finger. “And two, because no one would peg you as the hero.”
Gregory reared back then and launched his empty brandy glass out the window, which Arrol dodged easily. “Get out of here you Gods damned fairy!” he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. “Come here again and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing and see that the punishment is your head mounted on my wall!”
“Have a good day, Lord Brightstar,” Arrol said.
Gregory slammed the window in his face and stalked out of the room. When he was gone, Samson slipped out from beneath the bed and went to the window, but no one was there. He stood there for a long moment, because he couldn’t be sure, but he thought that right after the Fae had told Gregory he was no hero, he’d looked at Samson and winked.
This did nothing but confuse the tiger. Two-Legs and their endless gestures and secret signals with their endless, secret meanings. Why did they insist on making everything so complicated? Weren’t things bad enough as it was? Why did they insist on bloodshed and betrayal? Then again, hadn’t he betrayed his own kind for Surah? Hadn’t he killed and maimed for her, and would do so thoughtlessly again? These questions annoyed him. Cats did not waste time worrying about such senseless things.
Besides that, he was finally at the point where if he didn’t rest soon, he would collapse wherever he stood. He certainly didn’t want that to be in Brightstar’s chambers, but he didn’t want to go back to Surah’s room, either. It was too empty without her there.
The best solution to the problem hit him, and he slipped out of the room and began heading toward King Syrian’s chambers. This way, he could kill two birds with one stone.
He could sleep, and he watch over her father. Because if he wasn’t already, King Syrian himself had just become a bird at least one man might decide to throw a stone at.
And his Surah wouldn’t like that. Not at all.
CHAPTER 27
SURAH
Surah woke up before the sun rose, her eyes peeling open slowly and more reluctantly than usual. She always arose early, as she felt the best part of the day was moments before light broke. Today, her body was warm under the covers and her stomach felt wonderfully settled, as if she could just lay here forever and—
Her eyes popped open fully and her head jerked to the right. Her heart sank when she saw the bed beside her was empty. She ran a hand over her head and sat up, replaying the events of last night. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a deep voice spoke from across the room.
“Mornin’,” Charlie said, his eyes falling down to her chest and coming up again, bringing one side of his mouth up as well. “You ought to put some clothes on, love. It’s distractin’ and we got things to do.”
Surah felt a slow, hot blush creep over her cheeks and looked down to see she was topless. She yanked the covers up and wra
pped them around her. Then she reconsidered and dropped the covers again.
Charlie was leaning back in the same chair he’d occupied last night, in the process of buttoning up his flannel shirt, but now he sat forward, his eyes going serious and... pained. Yes, that was it. His haunted look had come back. Last night had been the first time she’d ever seen it gone. She had no idea why, but its return made a small ache in her heart.
She slipped out of the bed, aware that she was totally bare before him but also not caring. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t explored all of her last night, and somehow it felt right to come to him this way. If last night was any indication, she helped to chase his demons away, and though she’d promised herself she would forget what she’d allowed to happen last night come morning, morning was here, and even in its light she could see that this was something that was never going to happen.
She realized then that she was not falling in love with Charlie Redmine, not anymore. She was already in love with him, and when he hurt, her heart felt it. The worst part was, she had a feeling that somehow it was she that was hurting him, that she was somehow the center of his pain, and had been, for a very long time.
“Tell me what’s ailing you, love,” she said, using his term for her. Her voice was low and sweet in the silence of the early morning, like soft music in a sleeping house.
He stood then and came to her, but stopped just short of touching her. She tilted her head back to look up at him, her hands coming up and resting on his warm chest, making warmth spiral in her own. He brought his hands up slowly and cupped her face, his fingers calloused but gentle. His eyes were a sight fit to mend a heart… or break one.
“Let’s get on the road, and then I’ll tell you everything that’s ailin’ me,” he said, and gave her that half smile that made her heart flip.
Surah got the feeling that he wanted to kiss her then. When he didn’t, she nodded and stepped slowly out of his arms. If he wanted to clear his conscience with her for some reason before taking it any further, she would let him. She just couldn’t figure out what he could have done that he would be afraid to share with her. He’d seen her cut out a tongue, for Gods’ sake. But no matter. He would tell her what was bothering him when he was ready, because he was right about getting on the road and having things to do.
She retrieved her clothes, which were scattered about the room. She could feel him watching her as she dressed, that heat radiating from his eyes and running over her skin. When she was clothed, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and fastened it at the neck, running her hands over the weapons inside and making sure all were accounted for.
They stepped into the living area and saw they were apparently the only ones awake. “I don’t want to wake Candace,” Surah whispered. “But I feel rude leaving without thanking her one last time.”
“You could leave her a note,” Charlie said, and shrugged. “Just let me grab my guitar from the other room and I’ll meet you outside.”
He headed back down the small hall, and Surah looked around the kitchen and found a notepad and pen hanging on the refrigerator. She scribbled out a quick thank you to Candace, and after a small hesitation and an inward sigh, decided to add CJ’s name as well. With that taken care of, she went to the front door and let herself out, taking a deep breath of the early morning air.
For the first time in what seemed like a long time, she took a moment to let herself be happy. Despite everything going on, she felt good this morning. At peace. It was hard not to be, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, streaks of soft oranges and pinks beginning to mark the sky, which was still mostly dark above. It was the time of day when the birds were just waking, calling out their morning greetings. She was sure the weather would heat up and be nearly uncomfortable by midday, but right now it was perfect, the kind of temperature you wished you could just carry around with you. In the distance, hills of yellow and green rolled on endlessly, huge pines and oaks decorating them and swaying in the slight breeze. Even the air smelled cleaner this morning.
For now, she would let the feelings of last night carry on. She would let herself believe everything was going to be okay.
Then her peace was broken, because an annoyingly familiar voice spoke behind her. “Gonna cut out without sayin’ goodbye, huh?”
She spun on her heel and forced her eyes not to roll as she saw CJ. Her lips wanted to twist up in disgust as she looked at the tangled mess of hair on top of the girl’s head, the scowl on her face, and the cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. About a hundred rude responses to this question went through Surah’s head, but because she was almost better at putting on masks than wearing her own face at this point, she opted for a courteous retort.
“I left a note,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “I didn’t want to wake you, but we really have to be on our way.”
CJ took a long drag of her cigarette and puffed it out in Surah’s direction, pushing some of her dirty blond hair out of her face. “A note? What good is that? Can’t me or my gram read.”
It took Surah a while to realize what CJ was saying. When she did, she was surprised and a little horrified. She’d thought everyone who was old enough to read in her father’s kingdom could do so. Before she’d been named Keeper she’d spent years developing an educational system that reached not only the Highborns, but the commoners as well, and helping to implement it. Until just now she’d thought those efforts had proved successful, and had been a big part of what she’d considered her contribution to her people. She liked making sure the people she would one day be ruling were taken care of, liked putting programs into place that made sure everyone had access to healthcare, food, and especially education, among other things. To say the least, this news was a disappointment, and felt oddly a little like a personal failure.
“I’m sorry,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say, and because she meant it.
True to character, CJ seemed to take this as an insult. “I ain’t stupid,” she snapped. “I just never learnt is all. Don’t see why I should.”
Charlie stepped out of the house then, and Surah breathed a silent sigh of relief. At first she had felt sympathetic to the girl, sorry (though it wasn’t her fault) that she obviously had a less privileged life. But now Surah was growing weary of CJ’s attitude, and the smoke she was purposely trying to blow her way.
Charlie gave Surah a small smile that said he knew just what she was thinking, and she took a deep breath and turned back to CJ. “Thank you for having us,” she said. “Please tell your grandmother we’re beyond grateful for her hospitality.”
CJ paid her no mind. Her eyes were only for Charlie. She ran them down to his feet and back up again, and Surah felt her anger rising with them. CJ pushed her lips out in a pout. “You leavin’ so soon, Charlie?” she asked. “You could ride into town with us.” Her eyes flicked to Surah and back. “I’m sure the princess could find her way back. We got a cousin with a cart that’s coming in ‘bout an hour to pick us up.” She took a step toward him, her voice lowering to a mock whisper. “Thought you might wanna finish what we started last night.”
CJ reached out to touch Charlie’s shoulder, and it seemed to Surah like she watched this in slow motion, like every millimeter that CJ moved closer to him was adding to her anger—which had come on sudden and heavy. The next thing Surah knew, she was standing beside Charlie and catching CJ’s reaching wrist in her hand. She forced herself to do so gently, but in hindsight, she supposed it hardly would’ve mattered.
CJ gave Surah one of the most hate-filled looks she’d ever seen and yanked her hand out of her grasp. Surah didn’t try to stop her. CJ’s face was going red, her pasty cheeks blooming like springtime roses. When her eyes narrowed down to slits and her jaw clenched hard enough to hear a small crack, Surah knew this was going to end badly.
She sighed and waited for the inevitable.
“Don’t you fuckin’ touch me,” CJ said, the words barely squeezing o
ut between her tight teeth. “I don’t give a fu—”
Surah stepped forward and slapped her hand hard over CJ’s mouth, her other hand coming up and clutching the girl’s throat, very effectively cutting off her words mid-curse. CJ’s eyes grew wide and she brought a hand up as if to strike. Surah leaned in close and spoke quickly and lowly. “I’d think about whether you really want to do that if I were you,” she said, her eyes flicking to CJ’s still-raised hand and back again. “Thus far, you’ve only insulted me verbally, and luckily for you, I have a policy about not punishing people for speaking their minds, sort of a way for me to keep my anger in check, make sure I won’t feel bad about something later. But I’m afraid my policy concerning physical insults is a little different.”
To her credit, CJ held Surah’s stare, but after a moment, she slowly lowered her hand. Surah gave her a tight smile for this wise choice. “Now, I’ll remove my hands from you,” Surah said, “if you promise no more foul things will come out of your mouth until my companion and I are well and gone. You think you can do that, CJ?”
After a long, tense moment, during which Surah’s hold on her throat tightened slightly, CJ nodded. Slowly, Surah released her and stepped back.
CJ coughed for a bit, and Surah and Charlie turned to go, but because the girl was obviously a slow learner, she spoke again. “Don’t you think you’re slummin’ just a bit?” she asked.
Charlie mumbled a small curse, but Surah barely heard him over the blood rushing in her ears. Was this girl determined to keep them here until she lost a body part? Surah sighed a little and turned back to face her. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was carefully controlled, her features deceptively impassive. Trying to keep her cool was apparently lending CJ balls of steel. That, or the girl just wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
“You’re fuckin’ him, ain’t you?” CJ asked, disgust dripping from her words. When Surah said nothing, she smiled smugly and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I know you two spent last night in the same room. I s’pose one of you was just sleepin’ on the floor, huh?” Her eyes flicked to Charlie and back to Surah again. “He’s a looker, sure, but ain’t he a little lowborn for a prissy prin—”
