by SM Reine
Konig surveyed her features—as symmetrical yet uniquely strange as those belonging to any sidhe.
She must have meant the darknet. It was the only thing that Konig knew to be associated with the Hardwicks, since the prominent unseelie couple had declined to be otherwise involved with the activities of royalty.
Jaycee had assumed that she’d gotten arrested over the darknet.
That meant the darknet had something worth arresting her over.
“I want access to the records on the defenses of each court,” Konig said smoothly, as if that was what he’d intended all along. As if capturing Jaycee hadn’t been Marion’s idea.
“Records on defenses?” Jaycee snorted. That snort had haunted Konig’s nightmares ever since the one time she’d babysat him as a child. She’d never found any of his antics endearing, or even tolerable. “It’s insulting to use me for access to records. Gods, Konig. You may as well have contracted a mundane white hat for that.”
“You think you’re too good to give me what I want?”
“In every sense of the sentiment.”
Konig’s shoulders prickled. “What else would I want from the darknet?”
“Anything,” Jaycee said. “Everything. Rage didn’t tell you what the darknet can do?”
There was a lot Rage hadn’t told Konig.
It would have been hard for Rage to tell him much, though. Konig wasn’t talking a lot to his father these days. Rage had lost his mate—Konig’s mother—to a bullet from Death’s gun, and with it had gone everything but Rage’s tenuous grip on sanity. His health was declining faster and faster. Rage seldom got out of bed, much less shared the wisdom of royalty.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Jaycee said.
“You’re my captive. You have nothing to offer,” Konig said.
“Even the darknet?”
“I’ve sold administrator access away and I can buy it back from the vampire who holds it.”
“The administrator owns all the front end of the darknet,” Jaycee said. “There’s much more to the back end of the darknet that you can’t dream of. I can tell you what it’s capable of. I can tell you how to get what you want.”
“In exchange for what?” Konig’s eyes narrowed. “Your freedom?”
“Pierce,” Jaycee said. “He’s hiding from me, most likely somewhere in the Middle Worlds. Find him, and I’ll tell you how to change the rule of the Middle Worlds from matriarchal to patriarchal. Are you interested?”
Konig’s heart stopped beating.
If he didn’t need to be married to Marion in order to rule, then…well, he wouldn’t need Marion at all, with all of her secrets, her attitude, her danger.
“I’m very interested,” Konig said.
The idea of visiting Rage had once been absurd to Konig. He lived with his parents, as a prince of the kingdom necessarily must; they ate together every night, rode horses together every day, and hunted lesser sidhe for fun on at least a weekly basis.
Everything changed once the Onyx Queen died. Rage had become increasingly less capable of leaving his bed. And as Rage became less mobile, Konig had his secretary, Theon, pencil a few hours in on Friday mornings. Konig would sit in the boring darkness of Rage’s bedroom while his father rested. Resting was all the king did anymore.
Rage and Konig’s next visit wasn’t scheduled for days to come, but after speaking with Jaycee, it was all that Konig could think about.
He arrived at Rage’s room on that Tuesday afternoon. The curtains were pulled back, the windows open, cool wind flowing through the room. Ravens were perched on the balcony outside, picking at tangled squash vines.
The former king was standing in front of his wardrobe. He turned to greet his son, surprise lighting his eyes. “You’re early.”
“You’re out of bed,” Konig said.
He wrapped his father in an embrace. Months of mourning had done no favors for Rage’s physique, which had once been among the best in the four kingdoms. He felt frail now. Even his tattoos seemed to have faded, losing color.
But he was standing. He was pushing through his clothes, looking for something to wear. He wasn’t just lying in bed staring at the roof.
“What are you doing?” Konig asked.
“I haven’t been to the gardens in ages,” Rage said. “I thought that I should feel sunlight, but it occurred to me that the gardens are public space, and…” And everyone would see Rage. They’d see how he’d become a shadow of the king he’d once been.
He wouldn’t want to be seen like that. It would worry the family, and the last thing the family needed in a time of war was more worry.
“This one,” Konig said, plucking a black silk shirt off of a padded hanger. “Give me your arm.”
Rage took the shirt away. “You won’t dress me like a child. I’ll put it on myself.”
He opened the door further so that he could see himself in the mirror. The angle swiveled wide, and Konig glimpsed something propped against the foot of his bed as it swung through the reflection.
Konig rounded on the electric guitar. “You’ve been playing again?” It was Rage’s favorite axe. There were photos of him playing it for sold-out stadiums before Genesis, seducing mortal women by the thousand even when he hadn’t been sidhe.
“Sometimes it helps to play,” Rage said.
Konig plucked a string. He’d never learned to play, even though his father had encouraged it. “Helps with what?”
“Everything. Dexterity of mind and fingers. Peace of mood.”
He kept his father in the corner of his eye as he strolled around the room, looking at what else Rage had pulled out of storage. Old awards, some albums printed on vinyl, even a few female costumes. “These belonged to Mom?”
“From the days we toured together,” Rage said.
“Bet you never thought you’d end up where you did.”
“There were prophecies. It wasn’t a complete surprise.”
Konig had gotten a few prophecies of his own. His favorite had come from Ariane Kavanagh—the prophecy that had said he would rule all of the Middle Worlds. “Were you excited to see what was coming in your future?”
“I’d have had to be crazy to be excited about how much shit was gonna get dumped on me,” Rage said.
A piece of jewelry caught Konig’s eye. It was a slender gold band with a polished rock set into it—literally a rock, not a diamond or other gemstone. He remembered his mother wearing it when he was a child. The piece was too plain for unseelie royalty, but he knew it had some kind of meaning for his mom. Not that Konig could ask her for the story anymore.
It would look perfect on Heather Cobweb’s finger. It was exactly her style.
Konig picked it up. “I’m going to take this, okay?”
“Marion would hate that ring.” Rage’s fingers inched up the buttons on the shirt. He left the top two undone, as well as the bottom button.
“Yes, thanks. I know my wife.”
“You do. Which makes me think that you don’t want it for her.”
He pocketed it. “That’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m here to talk about something a lot less personal, and a lot more…significant.”
“More significant than cheating on your wife again?”
“I am not,” Konig said, which was true. Marion had kept him thoroughly sated where sex was concerned. For the moment. His impressive libido didn’t need to wander when Marion spread her legs at the slightest indication of his desire.
“Good. You better not be cheating,” Rage said. “You’re obviously stronger than you’ve ever been, now that you and Marion are showing a united face. I’ve heard you’re hours from taking Alfheimr. I’d hate to find out that you’re doing something stupid that’ll fuck it up.”
The back of Konig’s neck prickled. “As if you care. You haven’t been helping with the invasion.”
“I care much more than you realize, kid.” Rage slithered into a pair of snug leather trousers, and then tied his hair b
ack. He didn’t look like a king, but he did look like the rockstar he used to be.
“If you cared, you’d be helping me.”
“If you wanted my help, you’d tell me what you’re doing. Why the Wilds are a wasteland. Why you’re basically committing acts of genocide against lesser sidhe native to our kingdom.”
Konig shrugged. “My attention’s on Alfheimr, not lesser sidhe. Forget about those guys. I’m rearranging the Middle Worlds in general. That’s why I’m here, in fact. I’ve got Jaycee Hardwick.”
Rage shut the wardrobe. “I know.”
“See? You know. You know. And you haven’t done anything to help me with her. She’s got the keys to the darknet and she’s trying to fucking barter with me over them.”
Unseelie magic breathed through the room, swirling on the breeze. A raven cawed. Rage shut his eyes for a moment as if listening to distant music. “Why do you want the darknet?”
“I want every single iota of its power. Jaycee won’t give it to me until I find her stupid mate, but I’ve put the word out, and nobody’s seen Pierce Hardwick in weeks.” Konig stepped up to the open window, gazing out at his kingdom. The Wilds wasn’t a wasteland. It was a fertile field that only grew steel blades.
“You’ll never find a Hardwick if he doesn’t want to be found. Did you know they were supposed to rule the Winter Court originally? They’ve got the power, just not the interest.”
“I know.” That was why it was such a prize to have Jaycee. He might as well have been sitting on the late Queen Ofelia herself. “If you don’t have any ideas for finding Pierce, then I need you to tell me Jaycee’s weak spot. I need to know how to pry information out of her without giving her mate back.”
Rage rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. “I’ll go talk to Jaycee.”
“Wait, what? Really?” The old man hadn’t gotten out of bed before that day, as far as Konig knew. There was no way he felt up to visiting Niflheimr’s dungeons.
“Yes, really. I’ll go talk to her. I know Jaycee better than anyone alive—almost as well as I know Pierce. I can get her to give you anything you want. Anything at all.”
Jaycee Hardwick was not cut out for boredom, and life at the bottom of an abattoir was as far from stimulating as she could imagine.
She found ways to occupy her time nonetheless. After throwing a fit that involved flooding the abattoir with icy water—which had led to having wards plastered everywhere so she couldn’t cast more magic—she’d been given a paper and pencil.
It wasn’t a palantír, nor was it a laptop with an internet connection that would have allowed her to check on her investments. But at least she could do something. Like plot the spells that she could use to shift who was ruling the Middle Worlds.
At the moment that Konig and Rage entered the abattoir, Jaycee was still drawing spells. She flipped her papers over so that they wouldn’t see her designs, though it was so dark in her miserable hole that she doubted they’d be able to see it anyway.
Jaycee’s nose wrinkled as she studied her visitors. “I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but that’s not Pierce. I told you to find Pierce, you snot.”
Konig went stiff all over. Hilarious.
Rage put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I wanted to talk to you, Jaycee. Can I come down?”
“Please do,” Jaycee said. “Your distraction will be such an enormous improvement to wasting my valuable skills at the bottom of a garbage can.”
Rage’s laugh was musical, like he was summoning sidhe magic with those tones. He descended on her. “You look like you haven’t aged a day, Frosty.”
“Whereas you’ve aged about fifty years.” Losing Rage’s mate hadn’t deprived him of sidhe magic, but it had deprived him of caring, and pain showed in the lines that were carved deeply into his face. “The look is good for you,” Jaycee admitted grudgingly. “You’re one of those assholes who have the nerve to age well.”
“I wonder how you’d age if you lost Pierce.”
Jaycee doubted that he was trying to threaten her. Rage loved Pierce as much as any of his old frat brothers. They would never say it aloud, of course, because even the physically affectionate sidhe were led by men who’d been raised human, with the stoic masculinity that went alongside it. But Rage did love Pierce. And vice versa.
“Pray we never have to find out how I’d age,” Jaycee said, “because I’m not giving your son the keys to the kingdom if I don’t get my mate. I’ll tear this place apart brick by crappy icy brick and kill us all in the process.”
“I never pegged you as the type to be so dependent on a man.”
“I didn’t used to be sidhe. It ruined us all.” Jaycee eyeballed Konig, who still waited at the top of the abattoir with the Raven Knights. He hadn’t even come down. Surely he wasn’t afraid of her? “Look at what turning into a sidhe did to your shit-stain of a child.”
“I love him,” Rage said seriously. “He’s a good kid. Maybe a little young to rule, but…good. He’ll be a great king someday.”
Jaycee seriously doubted that. He was toxic. A poison unto the Middle Worlds. One objective glance at the magic that flowed throughout the sidhe kingdoms made that obvious, but Jaycee had known how wretched Konig was from the moment his parents literally named him “king.”
There was no point in arguing with a father over the goodness of his child. Konig could have been dropping atomic bombs and Rage would have thought it was precious. Family Christmas card material.
“Is what he says true? That you can make changes to the darknet that will turn our society patriarchal?” Rage asked.
Jaycee cast a look up at Konig. The prick was smiling smugly and she wanted to kick him in the shins. “I could,” she said.
“Will you?” Rage asked.
The way that he was looking at her felt…odd.
She opened her magic to him, exhaling slowly. She heard the distant strains of cello. She felt warmed.
Rage exhaled too, and his magic opened in return. Their minds connected. She sensed the deceptive enormity of his power, and was surprised to find that he was weaker without Violet, but not weak.
It wasn’t loneliness that brought Jaycee into his arms, wrapping her fingertips in his ponytail, tilting her head back so that they could kiss.
Their tongues met, and their minds connected.
Rage’s grief was a black hole capable of destroying everything. But there were walls around it. Jaycee thought that she recognized those walls. The protective magic kept Rage alive, and also protected the unseelie words from the resulting chaos. It would have taken one smart architect to build such walls.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time she stepped back from kissing him. They were still holding hands, though.
Jaycee didn’t feel angry at Rage anymore.
That said a lot, because she’d never had a conversation with Rage that hadn’t ended in an argument, and occasionally slapping.
“I can reprogram the Middle Worlds.” The words lodged in Jaycee’s throat. “I’m too much a merry misandrist to stomach patriarchal rule, but I will change the darknet so that the rule in the Middle Worlds is gender-ambivalent.”
Rage glanced up at his son. “Did you hear that?”
Konig had. A happy king was a king who made the entire palace grow. The abattoir brightened, and fractal patterns of ice slithered up its walls.
For one gleaming moment, Jaycee’s drawn face was reflected between her feet.
“Where’s the darknet?” Konig asked. “How do I get into the chamber?”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her hands in surrender when he started to darken with anger again. “It moves. You’re king. Get back to me when you find it.”
Konig snapped to the Raven Knights. “Come with me.”
They left to search.
Rage did not.
Jaycee dug her fingernails into the back of Rage’s hand, glaring at him from inches away, reluctant to speak. Her eyes silently asked, Is it true?
They were swimming in magic and music and light. It made the abattoir so bright that Jaycee couldn’t see beyond the rim—and so that the lingering Raven Knights wouldn’t see inside either.
Rage waited until Konig had been gone for a solid five minutes before putting his free hand on the wall.
A door opened silently.
Pierce Hardwick stepped through the hallway that Rage had created, grinning at his wife. “Hey, Frosty.”
He’d been with Rage this whole time. He’d been protecting the king from the aftermath of grief. And he hadn’t told Jaycee any of it.
“Fuck you, asshole,” she said. “I want a divorce.”
“I missed you too.” Pierce kissed her deeply, and for the first time in weeks, Jaycee was whole.
“This is nice, but we’re nowhere secure,” Rage said. “My kid’s gonna find the darknet and come back. So who wants to take my son off the throne before he kills everyone we like?”
4
Time had taken on a strange quality for Leliel in recent months. As one of the oldest angels, she had already seen more of human history than any other living soul. She had been brought into the world by Eve’s loving hands centuries earlier. And she’d seen every year, every day, every moment between that birth and Genesis thousands of years later.
She had changed frequently in that time period. Once, she had been the wife of Adam’s best soldier. Once, she had ruled the last city of angels. Once, genuine wings had sprouted from her back, and they had been the most glorious that any angel possessed.
Now she was the last visionary in a dying race, with weak magical wings generated by graceless magecraft. She was indistinguishable from the woman she’d once been.
Yet time seemed to be a flat circle. In recent days, she had come back around to the beginning, when her life had been spent entirely in the nest underneath the tangled roots of the Tree of Life.
There was no Tree now. Not in Shamayim. But there was a shallow lake of fluid similar to that found within a womb, and there was the nest populated with oversized spheres.
