by H. D. Gordon
Charlie twisted around and met the eyes of his older brother, Michael—or as he was more commonly known, Black Heart. He hated the feeling that stirred in his chest when he looked at him. Charlie had to crane his neck all the way back as Michael stared down at him, because the cage he was in was not tall enough for him to stand up.
“What is this?” Charlie asked, gesturing to the thorny vines that surrounded him. He was helpless to keep the sharpness out of his voice. “What am I doing here, Michael?”
As always, Michael was indifferent in the eye of the storm, Charlie clearly paying the price for his brother’s messes, as he seemed fated to continue doing.
“This is the Fae Forest,” Michael answered. “And you’re sitting in a cage on the floor of it.”
Charlie’s jaw clenched, making his brother smile. “I guess you figured that part out,” Michael continued, hiking his dark cloak up and crouching down so that he and Charlie were eye-level. “In short, you’re here because I just haven’t the heart to kill you.”
Charlie shook his head, eyes narrowed. “You haven’t a heart at all, brother,” he said.
This made the darkness that so filled Michael rear up behind his eyes, which were the same blue-green as Charlie’s. “How can you say that to me?” he snapped. “Tristell wants to kill you, and she’s right that I should. You’ve done nothing but try to sabotage me every step of the way, and have scoffed at every lifeline I’ve tried to throw you.”
Charlie stared at Michael in disbelief. All of a sudden, his anger bubbled up like hot liquid and spilled over. “I served three goddamned terms in Contrain for you!” Charlie shouted, gripping the vine-bars that separated him from his brother. The thorns bit deeply into his hands, but he could hardly feel the pain.
Michael had the gall to look a bit surprised. “That was ages ago, little brother,” he said, a touch unsure. “We’re blood. I thought that was water under the bridge.”
“That was a death sentence, and we both knew it,” Charlie said.
Michael spread his hands. “And here you are, alive and well. Thanks to me, I might add.”
“Three hundred years in hell, Michael. I spent three hundred years in hell for you, surrounded by demons. And that wasn’t enough. Now you’ve taken everything else from me as well.” Charlie paused, feeling his next words bubble up from somewhere deep in his stomach. “I hate you,” he said.
There was a flash of a moment where Michael looked genuinely hurt. Then, it was gone, overshadowed by the dark presence that had locked onto his soul, the one named Black Heart. He studied Charlie for a moment through the green confines of his cage, his face unreadable. “Careful, Charlie-boy,” Black Heart said. He looked at where Charlie’s hands were still gripping the thorny vines, and a humorless half smile pulled up his lips. “You’re bleeding. Those are Faevian Vines. They hate being touched by anything but Fae-born, so I’d keep my hands off them if I were you.”
With that, Black Heart stood, staring down at his brother for a long moment without an ounce of pity behind his eyes. Then he turned on his heel and strode off into the forest, his dark cloak rippling behind him.
Charlie let out a defeated breath, peeling his grip free of the vines he’d been holding, the holes the thorns had made stinging like the devil now that he was not too distracted to notice. Looking down at his bloody hands, his heart felt as heavy as a boulder in his chest.
Time passed, and he could do nothing but let it. His cage was as unbreakable as he was sure his brother and that crazy Fae Queen knew it to be, and his heart was as broken as broken could be.
After an undeterminable amount of time, the Fae children returned to stare at Charlie, their slanted eyes looking in at him, chattering among each other in the strange language they had. They slunk out of the vegetation and trees the way the shadows slink out of the night.
Charlie could hardly see them, his mind with the woman he had fallen in love with so long ago, that day at the lake when they were just children, and the Great War had been brought to their doorstep. The woman who he’d unknowingly betrayed by listening to his brother. The woman from whom his brother was trying to steal a kingdom.
Like it had several times over the centuries in their absence from one another, his mind reached out for her. Was this the way it would always be? Would he only ever get glimpses of her, glimpses that only served to deepen his ever-burning love? If so, it was a peculiar, and perhaps, one of the worst kinds of suffering Charlie Redmine could imagine. And Charlie was a man who had done his fair share of suffering.
He was sure she hated him now that she knew everything, but that knowledge did nothing to dampen his affections, and only served to deepen the pain that spread its way across his chest when he thought of her.
I may never see her again, he thought, and was crushed under a sadness that felt as heavy as a mountain. He’d felt this way before, in the first few months when he was in Contrain—Hell, the first few years, if he was being honest, he’d felt this way.
Charlie closed his eyes and breathed. There was nothing else to be done. One way or another, it would all be over soon. That much, he could feel in his bones.
And about that, he was very much right.
CHAPTER 4
SURAH
Theo held his peace until they were alone, for which Surah was grateful. Of course, they weren’t entirely alone; Samson sat near, his huge head resting on his paws, looking uninterested despite the fact that both Surah and Lord Gray knew they had the cat’s apt attention.
They were standing in the Transport Room, getting ready to go into town and attempt to bring order to things, when Theo pulled her to a gentle stop. Surah’s heart skipped a beat, but her face only showed mild curiosity, as if the fate of their people did not depend on the choices they made here.
Theo only stared at her for a moment, his silver eyes somehow deeper than Surah had ever seen them. She expected him to remind her of his marriage proposal, or to bring up Charlie and demand an explanation of their relationship. Or perhaps to mention her uncle and her father, and the circumstances that had led them to this point in time. She would have been less surprised if he would have started with a demand of vindication, but Theodine Gray did none of these things.
Instead, he took her gloved hands into his and kneeled before her, bowing his head in fealty. Reaching into his cloak, he removed her father’s piece of White Stone. It swung on the silver chain that held it, glowing in that translucent way that reflected the Magic it held.
Surah kept her eyes from narrowing, and managed to keep most of the accusation out of her voice as well. “Why do you have my father’s White Stone, Lord Gray?” she asked.
Theo raised his head, his face open and seemingly earnest. He remained on bended knee before her. “I removed it from your father’s body, for safe keeping.” He bowed his head once more. “I’m giving it to you now as your Head Hunter, my queen. I pledge to you my sword, my Magic, and my loyalty. I would be honored to serve you, if you will have me.”
Surah stood in shocked silence a moment, waiting for Sam to chime in, but the cat said nothing, only looked on with a glimmer in his amber eyes that was both disinterested and amused. Surah found she had to swallow before she could speak. In truth, other than her tiger, she had no idea who she could trust. She knew only that she was traveling in murky waters, and she needed to tread carefully.
Well, it was always easier to catch flies with honey, and keeping ones suspected enemies close wasn’t a bad idea, either. Also, if she were being one hundred percent honest, a piece of her wanted to be able to trust Theodine Gray. Somehow—probably during those awful moments following her father’s death—when Theo had held her while she’d cried tears that seemed would never cease, Surah’s heart had softened toward the Head Hunter. That didn’t mean she had any intention of marrying him, or even that she trusted or liked him… It just meant that her heart had… softened.
Now her tiger spoke up. Battered hearts are usually tender, my love,
Samson told her, his deep voice a welcome presence in her mind.
Surah nodded, releasing a slow breath. “I’m honored to have you by my side, Lord Gray,” she said, and found only as she said it that it was not a lie. He’d taken her father’s White Stone, yes, but he’d given it to her now. That certainly counted for something.
This made the Head Hunter’s face light up in a smile, and Surah caught a glimpse of the attractiveness that made Theodine Gray so popular among most ladies. He took her hands again as he found his feet, looking down at her from his taller height. “To the city?” he asked.
Surah nodded, resting her hand atop Samson’s back for comfort. “To the city,” she agreed.
***
Surah, Theo and Sam landed in a back alley near the courtyard where the kingdom-wide meeting had been held just the other day. The jump was not jarring, as all three travelers were seasoned at teleportation, but the abrupt change in atmosphere was enough to make all three take pause.
The sounds of the chaos were not muffled out here as they were within the castle walls, and the blaring of alarms and yelling voices, the crashes of breaking glass, and the somewhat thick smell of panic and adrenaline filled the air.
People ran by the mouth of the alley in which Surah and her companions stood. Some of them were swinging their cloaks over their heads, while others had wrapped fabric around the bottom halves of their faces to conceal their identities as they did unspeakable things.
Surah took a deep breath, her stomach twisting a bit as she took in the slightly apprehensive look on Theo’s face. There had not been riots in the Sorcerer City since just after The Great War, and the Hunters were not completely sure of how to deal with things, especially since some of them were no doubt questioning their loyalties as well, after the whole spectacle in the town square yesterday.
“They’re acting like humans,” Theo said, a small twist to his lips as he said that last word.
Surah pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked to the end of the alley, peering out at the madness taking place. Across the way a barbershop was on fire, and the bakery neighboring it had its front window smashed in. Looters were streaming in and out through the wreckage.
She turned back to face Theo and Samson, who was pacing slowly, his tail head low, no doubt on edge with all the commotion. Surah removed her hood and reached into her cloak, taking out her father’s piece of White Stone—the piece meant to be held by the ruler of Sorcerer Territory, the largest and most powerful piece of White Stone wielded by anyone in all the land—and placed the chain that held it around her neck, tucking it beneath her cloak, where it glowed warmly against her chest.
A surge of energy ran through her, a serving of hope that had been lost to her only moments ago. The same way that the Black Stone could affect the one holding it in a negative, dark way, the White Stone had the equal but opposite effect.
There was much to be done, and the road that led the way was littered with shattered glass, rusty nails, empty promises, and more than likely, broken hearts. But she would see it through to the end, and would do her best to maintain her morals while she was at it. She was pretty sure that was all anyone could ever do.
Perhaps the White Stone had had an effect on Theo as well, because Surah sensed something changed in him that she just couldn’t put her finger on. Coming to a decision at last, she removed her late sister’s piece of White Stone, and meeting his eyes and searching them, Surah handed it over to Theodine Gray.
“You start at the east end of the city,” she said, “and I’ll start at the west.”
Theo nodded, turning to go, but Surah stopped him by placing her hand on his arm.
“Yes, my queen?”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt, Lord Gray,” she said.
He was silent a moment before answering. “Neither do I,” he said, in a way that made her want to believe him.
But they both knew Charlie Redmine was an exception to that statement, and at some point, this divide between them would force its way closed.
CHAPTER 5
SURAH
Are you sure it was wise to give him that piece of White Stone? Samson asked, as soon as Theo had teleported out of sight. Doesn’t the Head Hunter already have a piece?
“Yes,” Surah replied silently, “the Head Hunter does have a piece, but the one I gave him is more powerful, and sending him into this fray without it could be dangerous.”
Sam was silent a moment, considering. What I wonder is whether or not giving it to him is dangerous for everyone else.
Surah didn’t disagree, but she was grasping at straws here. “I need allies, Sam. The kingdom is turning on itself. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Sorry, love. I’ve got more on my mind than any one cat would like.
For not the first time in the past couple days—ever since he’d returned from the jungles of his homeland while rescuing her from Black Heart, in fact—Surah felt that there was something Sam might not be telling her. And if he was worried about it, that meant it was something big. She’d been so busy fretting about her own mess that she hadn’t paused to ask him about how he’d found her in that cave, or about what he’d had to do to find her in that cave.
“Sam, is there something bothering you that I don’t know about?”
The tiger licked her hand, then nudged her back toward the open end of the alley. You’ve got enough troubles on your mind, love. Let’s settle this mess. Then we’ll have time to discuss things.
Surah wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but Sam was right; now was not the time or the place. She wrapped her fingers around the Stone at her neck, nodded to her tiger, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the alleyway and onto the street.
The view here was even worse. Standing in the street, unobstructed by the buildings, one could see signs of disaster everywhere. People were running around like maniacs, smashing and breaking things for what seemed like just the hell of it. Theo had not been wrong when he’d said they were behaving like humans, and Surah’s first instinct was to grab them all up by their collars and knock them upside their heads.
At first, everyone was so caught up in what they were doing that no one even noticed their queen standing on the street, watching their shameful ways. The first one to take notice of her was a woman with flaming red hair. When she saw Surah, she fell to her knees before her.
“Oh, please, your majesty,” the woman with the red hair cried, tears streaming down her cheeks and cutting paths in the black soot there. She gestured back at the bakery, which was just beginning to catch fire along with the barbershop beside it. “Help me save my shop. It’s all I have,” the woman pleaded.
Surah was more than happy to oblige. With a flick of her fingers, she extinguished the fire, striding over to the building as she did so. Inside the broken storefront windows, rough-looking Sorcerers were grabbing at anything of value, and smashing everything else. An ugly grin lit up the face of one of the larger men as he took sight of Surah.
“Well, lookie what we got here, gentlemen,” the man snarled. “It’s the traitorous princess.”
Surah’s face was free of emotion. She had to tilt her head back to do it, but she met the big man’s eyes and shook her head once. Her voice registered soft and even when she spoke.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she said. “I am your queen.”
The man spat at the floor of the bakery, making the other two men that were with him smirk. “You ain’t no queen of mine,” he said, but the last word came out a touch choked, and he took a few stumbling steps back.
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 eye
brow 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 red-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 knew that she 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 the King 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.
