Heir Of Doom

by Jina S Bazzar

  “Yes, it is,” I nodded. Pathetically enough, it was.

  With that disaster avoided, Lee turned and resumed walking. I followed, no longer seeing the land as something so beautiful as to be unreal, but as a place full of mines – bombs ready to detonate the moment I stepped out of line.

  The palace doors were open, a huge square entrance with dark-wood double doors pushed to either side in invitation. No guards stood at attention, no one poked out a head to check who'd entered. Inside, the floor was made of thick marble, with green and gold and bright gleaming white veins running throughout. The scents of vanilla and lemon verbena hung fresh in the air.

  The interior was as bright as the outside, the entryway wide and airy. To one side, unlit torches hung on the walls between intervals, to the other, tall, arched windows overlooked a cheerful, colorful garden. The ceiling was made of glass, letting in the sunlight and beauty of a vivid blue sky, with the occasional fat pink cloud.

  Paintings hung between the torches, huge watercolors that depicted a land full of life and vibrancy, of two-headed animals that stared straight at me. I blinked, almost sure the animals' second head had moved.

  I hurried after Lee, about to round a corner and disappear from sight. I caught up at the entrance to a huge room with a domed glass ceiling, an empty dais opposite where I emerged. Rich thick carpets covered the floor here and there, flowing tapestries covered some of the walls from top to bottom.

  A table sat in the middle of the room, long and dark, with tall upholstered straight-back cushioned chairs surrounding it. It could seat at least thirty, with Natural lights above illuminating it like a precious museum piece. It was laden with succulent food and fresh fruits and desserts that had my mouth watering. The aromas hit me, fragrant and spicy and sweet and yummy, enticing me in a way I'd never been before. With a strong effort of will that should have been nothing but a small, unconscious command of my brain – but was actually painful – I looked away, focusing on Lee. I tried to think about something else, anything that didn't include gorging on all that food.

  Lee motioned to the right with a slender hand, and I followed, keeping my eyes averted.

  That was when I noticed the others, sitting on huge, brightly colored stuffed cushions arranged in a semi-circle, facing us, their eyes watching. To their left stood a dais, an elaborate throne of carved white marble. Empty.

  On the cushions sat a man and two dark-haired women, their auras shining silver, just like Lee's.

  I could sense their anticipation, their sense of triumph, a combination that had dread flooding my stomach.

  Lee stopped in front of the man and bowed her head with deference.

  “Roxanne Fosch, my lord.” She stepped aside, giving him a clearer view.

  The man remained seated, looking up, but it didn't make him look any less. In fact, I was the one who felt weak, the lowly subject, inferior.

  He was lean of built, with dark musty brown hair curling around the ears, a face full of edges and angles, eyes so brown they seemed black at first glance. He wore a green tunic tucked neatly inside brown trousers and leather boots. His coloring was ordinary, but the man was anything but. The gleam in those eyes alone should give one pause. He studied me, his expression calm, nonchalant.

  I stayed quiet, waiting to be addressed. He cocked his head, as if he couldn't quite understand what he saw. “So you are the daughter of Fosch, the prize I was denied.”

  Jolting, I took an involuntary step back. Oberon. This was Oberon. I lowered my eyes, unsure if I was to answer. I'd expected to meet a man larger than life, a Viking, perhaps someone dressed in nothing but a loincloth and a spear.

  Certainly not this , an ordinary looking man seated atop cushions scattered on the floor.

  He stood with a fluid, liquid motion, and I took another step back. He was shorter than me by a few inches, though not so much that he had to look up. He moved around me, studying me, completing the 360-degree without a word.

  When he stood in front of me again, he did the last thing I would have expected: he leaned forward and sniffed.

  Had Zantry not warned me to not speak unless spoken to, had he not told me to show respect and fear without groveling, I'd have made a rude comment, if not outright snapped at him.

  Oberon stepped back, motioning to a bright cushion. “You will sit,” he said, ordered.

  I sat as he indicated, glancing at the two women across from me. I blinked once, twice. They were identical, with identical flat expressions, identical moles atop their lips.

  Between us sat a big ornate platter brimming with fruits and cheeses and pastries, some of which I recognized, most I didn't. At the edge of the platter were vivid drawings, carvings of winged beasts and horned animals, some carrying weapons, others mounted by men.

  “Would you share our feast?” Oberon asked, standing beside me.

  I reached for a fat grape, my mouth watering. Then I paused, hesitating, and glanced back at Oberon.

  “Am I under your Hospitality Code?” I asked.

  Oberon's brown eyes twinkled. He inclined his head once, the motion regal. “Roxanne Fosch, daughter of my enemy Yoncey Fosch, the denied promised one, you are under this court's Code of Hospitality for as long as you remain a guest in this land. None from the court shall harm you as long as this code is held. Anyone who defies it shall be dealt with accordingly.”

  I was frozen to the spot. Hadn't this been one of Zantry's first instructions?

  …Have Leon offer you the Hospitality Code the moment you arrive… He'd told me.

  I glanced at the grape, unsure if I wanted it anymore. But hadn't Zantry also said it was an insult to refuse an offer of food if I was under the Hospitality Code?

  Oberon sat with a hand propped atop a raised knee, watching me debate with myself. His expression seemed to say “go ahead”, yet he watched me like a predator about to pounce on a tasty morsel.

  I chose a fat grape as big as a baby's fist, and took a small bite. The pulp was juicy and sweet, tasting like no grape I'd ever tasted before. Before I knew it, I was licking my thumb and forefinger. I didn't reach for a second, and looked instead at the two silent women watching me.

  “Drozelle and Crozelle.” Oberon introduced and both Seelie lowered their heads a fraction.

  With a nod, I lowered my eyes. No eye contact. It wasn't as easy a task as I'd imagined.

  The cushion threads I was seated upon shifted and changed colors – from green to yellow, to blue, then white and purple. It was quite intriguing, and I decided I was safer staring down at it. And then I remembered Zantry's other instructions: give them your full attention.

  God, I was going to get killed on trivia.

  The buzz of small wings broke the silence. I'd brought Frizz with me, but ordered him to stay unseen, and Frizz had always obeyed. At first, I couldn't find the source of the buzzing, but that was because I was looking for something Frizz's size. A small winged creature appeared in front of Oberon, screeching in an annoying high pitched sound that set my teeth on edge.

  A pixie, like the images I'd seen in the guidebook. It was about twelve inches tall, hovering a foot or so from Oberon's face. It spoke fast, the words running over each other in a garbled sentence, unrecognizable – at least to my ears. No one else seemed to have trouble understanding it.

  Oberon nodded once to the twins and they stood, their motion as fluid as water, and followed after the sparkling dust the pixie left behind – to the far wall, where a shadowed entrance was half-hidden beside a long tapestry of flowing caricatures. Once the three disappeared through, Oberon stood, his motion as fluid as that of the twins and said to me, “Follow me.”

  Standing, I glanced sideways at Lee. She inclined her head towards Oberon and I trailed behind him, my heart drumming hard.

  “We have been waiting for you for a long time, Roxanne Fosch,” Oberon commented, his words hitting something primordial within me.

  Not for the first time I wondered what had I gotten myself
into. If leaving the Low Lands was worth whatever waited for me around the corner.

  He waited for me to draw level with him, hands laced behind his back in a non-threatening gesture, then kept his steps equal to mine. Here, near the back of the room, the marble was pink-and-gold-veined and caused our footsteps to echo.

  “You were supposed to be nurtured here, by our people, in our way.”

  Was I? I gave him a sideways glance, registering his almost friendly expression. What would it have been like, being raised here, away from Elizabeth and the PSS? Had my father known what his sacrifice would cost me? Would he have stepped back when the council decided to let the PSS take me? Would I have been happy here?

  “Why? What purpose would I have served?” I asked as we reached the doorway. From this close, it wasn't dark at all, as it had appeared from far away. It was lit by several torches, the flames a muted blue that turned white at the edges, the polished stone walls reflecting the light.

  “Had Fosch not reneged on his word, things would have been different. For everyone.”

  Not what I meant, but I was afraid to repeat the question with an explanation and risk insulting him, so I said nothing.

  Halfway through the hallway Lee appeared, and I jerked back, startled and spooked. She gave me a cold, laser-sharp glance, motioned Oberon forward and murmured something. When she finished, Oberon glanced my way and nodded at her.

  She turned and fell into step beside him, and I followed , noting that her heals were about four inches tall. Her boots looked like they belonged to some expensive brand, and I checked out her jeans, CK, and wondered where she did her shopping. Not the shirt, no human could replicate the shifting colors. Not yet anyway.

  They paused by a torch and, silently, I waited for them to say something or start moving again. In those heels, Lee was almost a foot taller than Oberon, her demeanor more alert, meaner, and if I didn't know better, I'd have taken him for the weaker of the two.

  “For millennia,” Oberon said, his eyes a weird shade of brown and blue, “The Sidhe land stood between your planet, the dimensional galaxy and whatever entities dwell there.”

  I started to nod, then remembered something. “Wait, I thought the Low Lands was the next closest thing to earth?”

  Oberon inclined his head. “The land of the low creatures is a planet island, orbiting around the Sidhe land. I believe your people call it a satellite. A moon.”

  I nodded and he went on, “Every leeway that leads to earth has to pass through our land to reach your world,” he explained.

  A sinking feeling started hollowing the pit of my stomach.

  “Without the Sidhe here,” Oberon shook his head once, opened both palms wide and finished with an earnest expression, “we are what the humans call a buffer between you and what lives out there. No one, nothing, passes through to earth and beyond without our knowledge.”

  I nodded again when he paused, my mind gone curiously blank. That bone deep fear, however, grew with every heart beat, as if the drumming fueled it somehow.

  “If by happenstance the Sidhe land can no longer provide earth with a barrier, if we encounter demanding tasks to keep us occupied beyond our duties, your world would suffer as it never has before.”

  I swallowed, sensing a threat underlying those words, an impending sense of doom hanging in the air. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I am going to show you something, Roxanne Fosch, and you will pay great attention to it.” He motion with a hand in front of him, and the ground yawned opened; a staircase leading into darkness.

  He stepped down first, his descent quiet, his shadow a darker impression against the black pit.

  Despite not being forced, I didn't think I had any choice but to follow, so down I went, with Lee behind.

  A few stairs down, the opening behind closed, sealing us in complete darkness. My steps faltered, and I had to brace a hand on the damp wall beside me. I kept moving, following the sound of Oberon's steps. I felt Lee brush by, and fear of remaining behind had me feeling my way down faster, listening for the footsteps ahead for reassurance that I wasn't being left behind.

  Down and down we went, the dense rock wall to the left shifting from damp and smooth to rough, dry and jagged. There was a certain muskiness in the air usually associated with closed, mildewed places.

  Ahead, I could see a pinprick of light, and was able to make out silhouettes on the steps below. Still we moved, down and down, until the air became stifling, my breathing gasping pants for oxygen. I stumbled when I found no more steps, and felt sticky spider webs all over me. I brushed my hands over my face and arms, my lungs constricting, and stumbled another step. And the sensation vanished. I gulped air like a drowning woman, realizing I had just crossed a ward.

  Shivering, I focused on the pinprick of light and made my way toward it, my hand bracing my progress on the rough hewn rock wall. Footsteps sounded far ahead, and sometimes a silhouette would block the light from view, a sign that I wasn't alone in this dark place, and the knowledge kept me from outright panic.

  When I bumped onto something hard and warm, I shrieked with terror, jumped back, talons out. But a part of my brain that still clung to common sense had me lowering my talons before striking, and with a chill, Oberon's face came into view, his profile obscured by the faint backlight.

  I glanced around us, at the uneven ground, the rough-cut walls. Everything was made of rock, grey and rough, with a few drawings carved on it – like – like hieroglyphs or strange runes or something with a more sinister meaning.

  Oberon glanced sideways, and Drozelle or Crozelle came into view, looking nothing more than a shadow. She stepped forward to the carvings, her hands holding an oblong rock of undecipherable color. Suddenly lee was beside me, dressed in what looked like armor and chainmail, though it looked soft and very flexible. When did she have time to change? On her hip was an axe, the head glowing faintly, offering no outward illumination. The boots were replaced by sensible leather shoes.

  I swallowed all the questions I wanted to ask and flinched when the rock beside me rumbled and began moving apart, revealing a dark, yawning hole. A chill went down my spine, filling my veins with ice. My heart rattled and shook inside my chest like a caged beast wanting out. I took back a step, then another.

  “We cannot keep the cell open for long.” Crozelle – or Drozelle cautioned.

  Cell? A dark cell in a cold, silent place. This was what hell must be like. I backed again, peeking into the darkness ahead, but I couldn't make anything out. No walls, no ceiling, no ground. Just darkness. Then something moved. A black shape against the black. Crozelle – or Drozelle – opened both arms wide, one palm open toward the dark interior, the other clutching the oblong stone, thumb and pinkie pointing down at the ground. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could feel a strange currant coming off from her, and it must have been something powerful for the ground beneath us to start rumbling.

  “What's she doing?” I asked no one in particular.

  “Shielding his presence from the ether.” Oberon explained.

  I glanced at him, and upon seeing confusion among my fear, light illuminated the small space. A keening came from the dark hole, a horrible sound that was painful to hear, even if it wasn't loud.

  I shielded my eyes from the glare, and when I adjusted, I finally saw it.

  A creature, about four feet tall, curled – no not a creature, but a person, a guy, curled into himself so thoroughly, no head or legs showed, just a broad, hunched back, the elbows sticking out as he tried to cover his head and eyes from the glare. The cell was about twelve by twelve, a square, empty hole with nothing, no bed, no pot, no bowls, no insects or rodents for company.

  Everyone was watching me, but I had no idea what they were expecting. Did I know that person?

  I inched closer to see better, and lee's warning stance stopped me. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. The guy in the cell shifted like a lizard, coming closer to the opening, his head lowe
red against the glare.

  He wore filthy clothes, torn and stained, and the stench of unwashed body hit me, making me wrinkle my nose.

  The light dimmed some, the earth tremored, and Crozelle – or Drozelle – shook once. The keening sound came again, and I whimpered, the sound so horrible to my senses. That's when that thing, for it was no man, hurtled for Crozelle – or Drozelle – with a ferocious velocity that belied any weakness. I stumbled back, falling down on my ass, but no one else moved. Not even Crozelle – or Drozelle – her arms still open to both sides.

  The guy, just a boy in his late teens, had some scruff on his cheeks, a pale complexion that was either the result of illness or the lack of sunlight, stood with his hands clawed in the air, less than a foot away from the dark haired Seelie. The thing's aura, a solid, glowing black line that pulsated with power, looked like nothing I had ever seen, or felt, before, but his eyes, green that kept shifting to black as if he couldn't decide which color to keep, that was something I've seen before.

  Alien, wrong. Something not of this world – my world.

  Something glinted above his eyebrow, a piercing, I think, and my stomach clenched. His eyes shifted to green and stayed as if the darkness had lost the battle, and he lowered his hands, shook his head, a crooked grin forming on his lips. If it weren't for the cold, malicious glint in his eyes, that boyish, crooked smile would have fooled me. There was a dark shape to the side of his chin, just under the corner of his lip, and I knew, I knew it resembled a heart. Recognition slapped me on the face, had bile rising in my throat.

  Fin, the boy on the photo from Vincent's office. Or at least, what remained of the boy. For what stood there, eyes as cold as an iceberg, hands clenched into tight fists, was not the boy with sharp green eyes that glinted with mischief. I could tell that with certainty, even if I'd never met the boy before.

  I stood slowly, taking back a step, my hand covering my mouth at the horror.

  Then I took another. Then another, then another. My heart beat so fast, so hard, I was struggling for breath. My hands shook, my legs felt weak.