Cast in Faefire: An Urban Fantasy Romance (The Mage Craft Series Book 3)

by SM Reine

  Marion’s smile slipped. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you at the wedding.” Violet patted her cheek and left.

  Her cheek was cold where the queen had touched her. Marion brushed her fingers over the spot.

  Was Konig worth fighting for?

  Heather stepped up onto the platform with Marion. “Warn me if you think you’re going to faint,” she said kindly. “I’ll catch you so you don’t fall on your own arrows.”

  “I’m not going to faint.”

  “Good, because it’s time to start walking.” Heather offered a hand to help Marion down to the floor.

  Marion was dressed. Mentally, she hadn’t been present for the process, but she hadn’t needed to be.

  She took a moment to survey her regal reflection. Queenly, indeed. A few touches of color had been added so she wouldn’t be so pale against the vivid Autumn Court—some emeralds, some sapphires—but she still looked like icy perfection.

  The spray of glittery jewels upon her hair almost made it seem like she’d died among the Winter Court’s snow and was freezing over.

  “If you’re looking for the diadem, you won’t be wearing it in the first pictures.” Nori had been managing all of the preparations and barely looked up from her clipboard. “You’ll get it right before the ceremony to surprise everyone.”

  Marion hadn’t been worried. She didn’t care.

  At least it didn’t feel like she was going to cry anymore.

  She took Heather’s hand and stepped down. Even the archer was dressed for the ceremony, though her idea of formal involved the Hound-hide breeches and a prettier bow than usual. Hers was still more utilitarian than Marion’s. There was no attempt to mask Heather’s function as killer-on-hand for the bride.

  Marion felt like she was drifting in slow motion on her way to take photographs. The wedding photographer was already present and must have been there the entire time she was dressing. The camera, heavily warded against the energy of the Middle Worlds, flashed as it snapped shots of her journey.

  What kind of images would it capture? A blushing bride waiting to meet her groom?

  It couldn’t capture any bruises. They were already gone.

  It couldn’t capture the tumult within her mind.

  In her mind.

  Seth had pressed his forehead to hers, urging her to read his mind. To see the truth.

  What truth? That he wouldn’t hurt her?

  That their feelings went far beyond what a god and the Voice should share?

  Marion was taken to the atrium. She was posed. She held the positions, and they took more photos.

  Seth would be going to the council now to give his speech.

  He was going to endorse Konig.

  He’d offered to take her away, anywhere she wanted—somewhere that she could be safe from Konig.

  But Marion shouldn’t have needed to be safe. She’d said it herself: Konig loved her, even if he had lied about Charity’s death. What else could he have been lying about? There was no way to know. She couldn’t read the mind of a sidhe prince without his permission.

  She recalled Seth pressing his forehead to hers again—and then when Ymir, the little frost giant, had pointed to his forehead in the Niflheimr dressing room.

  Ymir had witnessed Leliel’s attack. He’d been telling Marion to read his mind.

  “Nori,” Marion said abruptly.

  The photographer gave a cry of protest. “You ruined the shot!”

  “Wait for a few minutes.” Marion waved him off and searched her party for Nori. The other half-angel was standing in back, as if avoiding pictures. “Nori! Can I talk to you?”

  Uneasily, Nori edged over. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Forget about time.” Marion’s mind had kicked into high gear. “I need you to find Ymir for me. He was there when Leliel attacked the Winter Court.”

  “So was I. What about it?”

  “Did you see what happened to Charity?”

  “Charity Ballard? The revenant nurse?” Nori’s lips had gone colorless. “We told you, she died.”

  “But did you see her die? Because Seth says she’s not dead. He can feel her life out there.” Marion led Nori further away, behind the veil of vines hanging from the corner. It was bright, even there. The Autumn Court was a shining jewel at midday. “I want to talk to another witness of Leliel’s attack.”

  “Ymir hasn’t been talking,” Nori said. “I think the trauma, you know…it muted him.”

  “I don’t need him to talk with words.”

  Nori set her clipboard on the windowsill slowly. “It’ll take a few minutes for me to dig him out of Niflheimr and bring him over—he’s been hiding a lot lately, and—”

  “Just find him. I need to see him before I can walk down the aisle.” Before she swore her undying, eternal love to Konig.

  “This isn’t the time, Marion,” Nori said.

  “It’s the only time. Can you help me?”

  Nori took a long time to nod, but she did. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

  Marion could have cried from gratitude, but that would have gotten her in trouble with the makeup artists. She settled for giving Nori a quick hug.

  And then her cousin left to find Ymir.

  Marion didn’t immediately emerge from the vines. She leaned against the wall, shut her eyes, took a few deep breaths. She had been sleepwalking through everything since Seth had left her, and now it was time to stop and focus.

  “How are you holding up?” Heather asked, joining her.

  Marion was too emotionally blasted to be anything but honest. “I’ve been better.”

  “You’re right to be worried about Arawn,” Heather said. “You can trust that I won’t let anything happen. Look there, and there.” She pointed. Trees curved away from the windows outside. “Magically regrown to make sure the sun can reach all corners of Myrkheimr. And then look over there.” She pointed again.

  Marion’s eyes saw nothing when she focused on the wall that Heather indicated. Her senses felt something else. “New wards.”

  “Set to trigger physical attacks when tripped. We’ve got lights everywhere. Electricity too. We’ll be able to blast the shit out of any demon that tries to ruin your wedding, princess.”

  “That makes me feel better,” Marion lied, offering a tremulous smile to Heather.

  “It should,” Heather said. “Trust me when I say that nothing will stop this wedding from happening. Nothing.”

  Elsewhere in Myrkheimr, the members of the council gathered for the vote.

  The open-walled suite was at the base of a waterfall, which cast everything in a damp amber haze. A glittering river wrapped around the entire room like a moat, and Seth’s skin buzzed when he stepped over a bridge to enter. It let him pass, but not before sweeping every atom of his body.

  The glamour charm blinked at the ward’s sweep, bright enough that all the guards noticed.

  Every archer turned his way. A dozen of them. Their nocked arrows were anointed with something that gleamed toxic green.

  He heard one mutter to another, “It’s here.”

  The archers on the other side of the bridge stopped him.

  “Arms up, legs spread,” said a man.

  Seth did as ordered. They patted him down, found both guns, and checked the magazines. He hadn’t brought iron bullets. The sidhe gave both weapons back.

  “You’re good to go,” said the other archer.

  Once he had the attention of the security details, the council started looking his way, too. They were situated on low-slung wooden chairs and stone benches. Many of them already held glasses of wine, ready for unseelie festivities to come. Or perhaps drinking while wine was still offered, because it certainly would stop flowing if Konig’s title got stripped.

  Everyone in the room looked at Seth, one by one, and their expressions changed.

  Word had gotten out about Dana’s accusation. They all knew what he was purported to be.


  God, even Rylie looked at him differently. But that probably had less to do with his status and more to do with what he’d let slip about Marion.

  Konig wasn’t among the council yet. In fact, Seth recognized nobody except Rylie—and Lucifer, whose crimson eyes lit up at the sight of Seth. He was shrouded in a hooded sweater that was wholly inappropriate for a wedding, particularly one in a location as lush as the Autumn Court.

  Lucifer slithered through the crowd toward Seth. “Merry, meet Mr. Wilder.”

  “Not now,” Seth said through his teeth.

  “If not now, then when?” Lucifer fell into step alongside him. “When you came asking for my help, you neglected to mention that you’re a god.”

  “Leave me alone. Last warning.”

  “I wouldn’t talk to me like that if I were you,” Lucifer said. “I still have something you want, and now I realize its value is higher than I’d ever dreamed.”

  Of all the irritations that Seth was prepared to face at that moment, Lucifer’s was not among them. Endless life seemed trivial in the face of what he was supposed to do.

  “I got you what you want,” Seth said. “You owe me blood now.”

  “Now? Right now? How do you think you’ll prove what they’re claiming you are if I change you?” Lucifer clearly meant that to be a hypothetical, because he grinned when he said it. “On a more interesting note, the data’s decrypting. I see that you didn’t delete information on that ethereal dimension.”

  “I didn’t have time. Are you going to make me regret that?”

  “You can delete all you want when I drain your blood,” Lucifer said.

  There was something in his tone that screamed of lies. But this wasn’t Seth’s first deal with the devil. He’d get what he wanted from Lucifer.

  He just wasn’t sure that he still wanted to be changed.

  One woman broke away from the rest to stride toward Seth with fearless confidence. She thrust her hand toward him. “Deirdre Tombs. American Gaean Commission.”

  Seth already knew. He’d seen her shooting Rylie in the head. “Seth Wilder. God.”

  Lucifer laughed as he walked away.

  “That’s what I’ve heard.” Deirdre didn’t drop his hand. She squeezed as hard as he did. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I’m a phoenix. I’ve died a few times. I’ve seen the gods on the other side of life, and you weren’t with them.” Her fingers tightened until her nails dug into the back of his hand.

  “I’ve been AWOL,” Seth said.

  “What would motivate a guy to pretend to be a god, hypothetically speaking?” Deirdre asked.

  Seth dropped her hand first, and he could tell she thought that was a victory. “You’d have to ask a guy pretending to be god.”

  She leaned in to whisper to him, “Did you have a nice time alone with Marion last night?”

  He jerked back. “What do you want?”

  “I’ve heard you’re giving a speech to endorse the marriage today,” Deirdre said. “Because the words of gods should calm the nerves of a lot of voters. Right? As long as you’re a god, that is.”

  The mere mention of the endorsement he was meant to give flooded him with hot anger all over again.

  Seth had been trying not to visualize Marion’s bruising because it had a way of overwhelming him. But even when he wasn’t thinking about what Konig had done to her, he was still thinking about her crying in his arms, and the wet spots that had remained on his chest when he walked away.

  “Nothing to say to defend yourself?” Deirdre asked.

  “You haven’t made any accusations.” He brushed her off and walked to the edge of the central fire pit. Flame glimmered across the surface of crystals, generating just enough heat to offset the chill of the waterfall.

  It shocked him that Deirdre went to sit by Rylie. Even more shocking when the Alpha didn’t move away.

  Seth might have interceded if Prince ErlKonig of the Autumn Court hadn’t swaggered into the room at that moment, attended by another handful of Raven Knights.

  It was sickening that Konig could be drenched in charismatic confidence when Seth had left Marion crying in her room.

  The man was dressed for his wedding. White suit. Some leather things. Snowy patterns. He’d match Marion perfectly.

  Seth wanted to kill him.

  The intensity of the emotion was shocking. Seth’s brother used to tease him for how easily he backed down from fights, and now he was contemplating murder.

  Abel had never hit Rylie. Not once. And Abel was the biggest douchebag to saunter across the face of the Earth.

  “I haven’t missed anything, have I?” Konig asked, flopping on an empty couch and throwing his leg over the back of it.

  Seth was feeling so very vengeful at the moment.

  “Not yet,” Rylie said. Like always, she didn’t have to speak up in order to be heard. As soon as she started talking, people fell quiet in order to listen. “Everyone knows why we’re here, so I’ll spare us any speeches. I want to remind you all that we aren’t dealing with mere politics here. Our vote will shape the life of a pair of kids—young adults—who are very much in love.”

  She looked at Seth when she said that part.

  Who was she reminding? The council, or him?

  “I’d like to say something too.” This came from Deirdre Tombs. “The lives of a pair who are ‘very much in love’ are nothing compared to what’s at stake. This could impact the entire world.”

  “Possibly,” said Adàn Pedregon. Seth recognized him from the news. “It’ll only impact the whole world if their union stirs the gods to revenge.”

  And everyone looked at Seth again.

  This was where he was supposed to endorse Marion and Konig’s marriage.

  Seth had made a promise to Marion. He’d said he would do anything she wanted.

  Everyone was still looking at him, and he wasn’t talking, and he didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

  Seth took a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. He’d made a few notes on things he could say. Like Rylie, he didn’t come from a background involving leadership; unlike Rylie, he hadn’t spent the last twenty years developing those skills. His brain had a habit of going blank when the pressure was on. Werewolf hunter instincts couldn’t make him a man of words.

  At the moment, he couldn’t even read what he’d written down.

  When he looked at the page, all he saw was Marion’s bruised back and her tearful face.

  He crumpled the paper and tossed it in the fire.

  “You all know who I am,” Seth said. “And—”

  “Do we?” Deirdre interrupted.

  “He doesn’t look like much of a god.” That came from the man representing the Office of Preternatural Affairs. He was a tall, broad-shouldered human wearing a suit without a tie. The open collar gapped around the hollow of his throat. Blood flowed strong underneath his skin.

  Someone else whispered something like, “Avatar.”

  But people didn’t look more convinced.

  “Yes, I’m the avatar of the third god of the triad,” Seth said reluctantly. “The demon god who’s meant to rule death.”

  “You’re not Arawn,” said Ruelle Myön of the Allied Covens. Another face that Seth knew from the news. The last time that he’d seen her, she had been receiving oral favors from an unseelie waiter.

  “Arawn’s not the god of death. He’s just pretending to make himself look cool.” Konig yawned into his fist. “I beat the guy one-on-one. We don’t need to worry about him.”

  Arawn wasn’t the only one that had been beaten by Konig one-on-one.

  Seth ripped the glamour off, snapping the cord that held it around his neck.

  “I am Death,” he said.

  He tore his shirt from neck to hem and dropped it.

  With the glamour gone, there was nothing to keep the illusion of skin from vanishing, exposing his innards.

  The tearing had g
otten worse. His breastbone was exposed now, as well as the pounding heart behind it. Every single squeeze of the muscle made foggy, electric energy bloom from the wound.

  Seth didn’t fight it for once. He embraced the godly energy, letting it fill him, flow from his fingertips, burn in his veins. “I am Death,” he said again, turning to take in the whole room, fists clenched at his sides. “As a human avatar, I speak for myself and all the gods.”

  Nobody was arguing with him now.

  There was silence in the room, as though everyone held their breaths.

  Konig was smirking at Seth. His chin rested on his hand, legs crossed at the ankles. He was waiting for Seth to drop the bomb: the endorsement that would ensure Konig controlled Marion, the Winter Court, and the darknet for decades to come.

  “Our Voice said it at the summit, and I’ll say it again.” Seth towered over Konig, and he put to words what he couldn’t do with fists. “There will be no angels in the Winter Court and we’ll enforce it with blood. Vote to remove ErlKonig from the Autumn Court. Vote against the wedding.” He glared at Konig as the prince’s face drained of blood. “You will never touch Marion again.”

  20

  Konig had thought he’d known anger when Marion had been mouthing off at him the night before. It had felt as though the wine had been a dark spirit possessing him. Everything his parents had ever told him about how to treat a woman—all those words about consent, respect, love—had been gone.

  And he’d been strong.

  Konig knew how to make Marion respect him. He’d seen the change in her face when he’d lashed out with magic. He’d been angry, and it had been so righteous.

  There was nothing righteous about the anger he felt now.

  Seth Wilder towered over him looking every inch the god—so much more than Arawn had as an impotent demon king in Sheol.

  “You will never touch Marion again.”

  Konig had walked into the room with such confidence, sure he was on the brink of his wedding, and his coronation. The ascension from prince to king.

  Seth stole that from him with a handful of ugly words.

  Worse, Seth was telling Konig what he was allowed to do with Marion. His Marion. His woman, his bride, his princess.