Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2)

by Tameri Etherton

  “We’ll find a way to wake her, Your Majesty. I promise.” Acelyne’s cryptic message to Rori stuck in his mind. Dark magic.

  “Thank you.” Eirlys patted his hand, a wan smile on her face. “I fear our time is running short. Even now, I can feel Dorchmeir’s desperation to redeem himself. He failed Acelyne, yes, but he also failed himself. His part in this was nothing more than a wish to see Rori dead. Pitiful, really.”

  For a man to spend half his life plotting to kill someone simply because they were better at something was not just pitiful, but an utter waste of potential. Dorchmeir never saw his own promise, just his rage.

  Eirlys withdrew a glass vial from a pocket in her gown and uncorked it. She whispered several words, most of which Therron caught and made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Dorchmeir’s memories swirled into a funnel and whirled into the glass like a maelstrom. When the last of the images faded, Eirlys replaced the stopper and tucked the vial into the unseen pocket.

  “I suggest you look away,” Eirlys warned and Therron tilted his head.

  “Why, Your Majesty?”

  “Because what I’m about to do is unkind, but necessary.”

  Therron didn’t look away. He gave his consent by remaining where he was. Whatever the queen was to do, he would be complicit. This man had hunted Rori and sought to kill the only woman Therron would ever love. He deserved no less than what Eirlys was about to do.

  The queen pushed her sleeves to past her elbows and stretched her hands over the dead body. Dorchmeir’s body thrashed against the touch of her magic. She placed one hand on his forehead, and another above his heart. Black ooze dripped from his gaping mouth and also from the wound Rori’s dagger had made. The smell of burning flesh tore at his nostrils and Therron gagged.

  Dorchmeir flailed and lashed out with his arms. His legs kicked violently against the marble. Therron reached across to hold the man’s arms at his side. The dead man’s strength surprised him and he redoubled his grip. Beneath his fingertips, Dorchmeir’s veins rumbled and his skin warmed.

  The oily slickness slid off Therron’s arms and Dorchmeir’s tenuous hold on his mind snapped away. The dead man’s body calmed and his skin turned cold.

  Sweat ran down Eirlys’s brow to her cheeks and her lips moved in a fervent whisper.

  “Go now to the kingdom of the dead, where you shall pay penance for your crimes until the end of time.” Eirlys lifted her face to the ceiling. “Eiricanae vitrum desoloae.” The queen plunged her fist through Dorchmeir’s chest and jerked upward. His dead heart pulsed once in her hand, then she crushed it until there was only a rotted mess dripping from her fingers.

  Sourness swirled in Therron’s gut and bile inched toward his tongue. He understood her need to be certain the guard could never cause heartache again, but indeed, her actions were cruel. Perhaps not to the fae, but elves believed in a different fate for the deceased. For an elf, being resurrected as a strong elvenwood tree was the ultimate honor. Those who were damned at best could hope to avoid an eternity trapped in the oily blackness of the runyon tree. Having no heart was worse than any condemnation Dorchmeir might’ve received while living.

  It occurred to him that, as the queen’s only witness, should she suspect him of treachery, she wouldn’t hesitate to end him as easily as she ended the guard. For a mad moment, he wished he’d stayed above in the small antechamber. But he’d needed answers that only Dorchmeir could provide.

  Dorchmeir’s body caved in on itself and Eirlys released her hold over his corpse. She called out to the necromancer and a moment later, the door opened. He peered at the body, then at his queen, sadness in his eyes. It appeared even the man who dwelled with the dead understood the horrors Dorchmeir would encounter for all eternity.

  “I will see to his remains. Is there anyone to claim him?”

  Eirlys shook her head and wiped her hands on Dorchmeir’s trousers. “None. Bury him far from the palace, in an unmarked grave.”

  “A pauper’s burial, Your Majesty?”

  “He was a traitor to our throne. It’s the least he deserves.”

  The gaping hole in his chest would suggest he got what he deserved, but Therron held his tongue.

  They left the crypt and made their way up the endless stairs to the little room at ground level. Once there, Eirlys let out a breath and held her chest with both hands. For several minutes, she breathed in and out, her nostrils flaring with each inhale.

  Finally, she smoothed flyaway strands of hair and met Therron’s concerned gaze. “Speak of this to no one. Not even Rori.”

  “I promise, ma’am. No one will know of this from my lips.”

  “Good. Now, I need you to tell me all you learned from Acelyne.”

  They strolled across the grounds, two nobles taking in the fine day, and Therron told the queen all that Acelyne had shared. Through the hallways of her palace, Eirlys questioned him, testing his recounting of the events. At the door to her room, she hesitated.

  “I will write down all you’ve said, and that of what Dorchmeir told us. I’ll send Midna a copy when I’m finished. And I suppose you’d like one as well.” Eirlys opened her door and Therron touched her sleeve.

  “Your Majesty, in there, when I said the name Max, Dorchmeir replied, ‘She’s not worthy.’ Do you know what he meant?”

  Eirlys cocked her head toward her rooms and he entered behind the queen. She strode to a table and washed her hands in the porcelain basin. When finished, she dried them on a thick towel.

  “Maxine, or Maxx—with a double x—as she liked to be called, is Dorchmeir’s mother. She trained with Labhruinn and Hagan. They were thick as thieves. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “I used to call Labhruinn and Maxx the Gruesome Twosome. Those women would get up to all sorts of trouble. They usually dragged Hagan into the mix. Brilliant, the three of them. After their training at the Academy, Labhruinn chose to stay here, to be in my personal guard while Hagan and Maxx became intelligence officers.” Eirlys called for a servant to bring them tea and sandwiches.

  Therron’s stomach growled and he put a hand over his gut.

  Eirlys eyed him with suspicion. “Aren’t they feeding you at Midna’s place? For shame.” She leaned close and he tensed.

  “Your Majesty, I don’t wish a repeat of your behavior the last time I was in these rooms. It was an awkward situation I hope to never repeat.”

  Eirlys waved her hand, as if he were being idiotic. “Oh, posh. I had to try bedding you, didn’t I? I mean, before you and Rori consummated your love and you were lost to me forever.” She winked at him and grinned. “Don’t try to lie—I can see by the tension in your jaw, and the way you look like you’d murder anyone who spoke ill of Rori that you’ve bedded my spy. I won’t stop you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Eirlys sighed dramatically, even putting a hand to her forehead. “Rori could have been one of my greatest spies ever to grace this kingdom, but her destiny is now tied to yours.”

  The queen curled her legs around her in the great sofa and looked like a fragile child. For a moment, Therron’s heart seized with a need to protect the queen. Despite her being a fierce warrior herself, he saw the fragility in her, much the same as he saw in Midna. Yet both women strove to hide their vulnerability as though it were a flaw meant to be covered with a pretense of indifference. The startling realization that it was the same he was doing to Rori pained him. They did what they must to protect those they loved.

  Therron sat opposite the queen and took the teacup offered him by the servant. “You were telling me about Maxx.”

  “Yes, where was I? Oh, I recall. Time went on. Labhruinn and Hagan got married and had children. Maxx married and had Dorchmeir. His father was killed when he was no more than two and Dorchmeir’s nan raised him since Maxx’s duties often took her away from home. When Hagan died fifteen years ago, Maxx took it hard. They were never lovers, at least, I don’t believe so. Just good friends, and fierce competitors. It was
that spirit of rivalry that made them both excellent assassins.”

  “Where is Maxx now?”

  “Dead, for all I know. She disappeared about five years ago. On a mission in the human realm. One day she was alive; the next,” Eirlys snapped her fingers, “gone. I sent operatives to find her, but they came home empty-handed. It happens, not often, but enough that I’ve learned not to mourn when one of my favorites go missing or die.”

  Therron rubbed his chin and mulled over what Eirlys had told him. “Acelyne said Maxx was the courier. Either there’s another Maxx we don’t know about, or she’s alive and well.”

  He recalled Acelyne’s apparent wanderings from one village to another and the pubs she’d stopped in along the way. His mind was fitting the pieces together, but something was missing. Why would Maxx leave her child? Surely no mother could abandon their flesh and blood without cause? Except, she already had in a way, when she left Dorchmeir’s care to his nan. Still, to desert family and friends without a word would take a callous heart.

  “It’s not much, but I might have a clue how to find this mysterious courier. We need to sort out how they’re getting to and from the human realm without notice. Is there a list of all the doorways from Faerie to, well, anywhere?” Therron’s mind raced with improbable ideas and impossible solutions. He loved a good challenge.

  “Midna and I know of them all.”

  Therron leaned forward and met her gaze. “Can you risk the lives of your subjects, and your daughter, on that belief?” He knew she couldn’t, but had to know whether Eirlys would be completely honest with him.

  Eirlys held the teacup to her lips, not drinking. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. The queen didn’t like being challenged, but Therron didn’t care.

  “No,” she finally admitted.

  “Teach me how to use your doorways to go anywhere I please. Midna gave me the words to get here. Now I need you to give me access to them all.” Her finger tapped anxiously against the rim of her teacup and Therron added, “I’ll find their access point. I’ll find this missing Maxx for you.”

  He knew how to access every single doorway not only in Elvenwood, but Faerie’s portals, too. If Eirlys knew he had that knowledge, it wouldn’t serve his purposes. The fae believed the doorways were created by their ancestors, but that was a lie. The same faerie princess who cursed his family also stole elven sacred knowledge. His ancestors had let the fae believe the lie and kept their own counsel about the portals. The less the fae meddled with elves, the better.

  He needed Eirlys to believe having access to fae doorways would give him the means to track Maxx or even Acelyne’s past movements. Everyone who used a doorway left a scent, an invisible signature that could be traced. Fortunately for him, very few elves, let alone any fae, knew how to follow the trail.

  If he couldn’t be with Rori, the least he could do was help with her mission. He swore to himself he wasn’t abandoning Rori to her fate with Midna. He vowed he wasn’t running away.

  Then why did it feel like he was?

  16

  Nikala eased open the door of Cian’s building and turned right, in the opposite direction of his flat. The entry doors were at the corner, thankfully, giving her the option of not having to use the sidewalk where he might see her. The urge to glance up, to see whether he stood on his balcony, wrapped in a towel and still wet from his shower, was powerful. She turned up the collar of her coat and hurried up the street, away from the Thames.

  What kind of woman did he think she was? First, he took liberties with mending her wound, then he fucked her silly, then he offered to shower with her and later make dinner. As if. She didn’t need food.

  The loud grumble of her empty stomach proved her lie. Of the other claims, she ignored her part in them.

  “Fine, I’m hungry. I’ll get something on the way to the office.” She spoke to herself, shaking her head at the irrationality of her behavior. What had gotten into her? She was supposed to question him, then make him disappear. Her pace quickened and she unwrapped the bandage he’d put on her cut. The wound was almost entirely healed. She shoved the used wrappings in her pocket and ducked her head against the wind.

  A large garage door swung open to reveal an underground parking area and she slowed. A figure stepped out of the shadows, into her path.

  “Pardon me.” She moved to walk past him, but he grabbed her by the collar and shoved her against an internal wall. Shards of old concrete and uneven bricks cut against her coat. “Let go of me, asshole.”

  If he thought he’d found a quick rape for the night, he was sorely mistaken.

  He sniffed the air, like a hound on the scent of a fox, and glared at her. “Where is it?”

  Nikala didn’t have time for this. She was hangry and exhausted and smelled like—

  “Where’s what?” She kneed him in the groin, enjoying the flash of anger across his face.

  “It’s gone. But…” He dipped his head and inhaled from her chest to her lips. Then he made a dreamy sort of sound, as if someone showed him the most decadent chocolate cake and told him he could eat all of it by himself. Calorie- and guilt-free.

  Great. Now she wanted a chocolate cake. Her stomach gave a vicious jag and she took a calming breath to center herself.

  “I’ve had a long day, asshole. You don’t want to mess with me.”

  He wasn’t listening. His eyes had gone glassy and the whites showed where his irises should’ve been. An odd tickling started at her scalp and moved downward, over her forehead. The man’s mouth opened and a wispy kind of mist floated inside.

  “What the actual fuck?” Nikala pressed her arms up through his and pushed outward, breaking his hold on her coat.

  His shout was silenced by a punch to his jaw, followed by several more to his temple. He withdrew a knife and she blocked his clumsy attack by grabbing his wrist. In a swift movement, she twisted his hand and used the knife to stab him in the throat. His eyes widened with surprise and a choked gasp came from his lips.

  She shoved the blade farther against the bones of his neck. He slumped to the ground, gurgling and flailing his limbs. With practiced efficiency, she dragged him deeper into the garage doorway where he wouldn’t be found until, she hoped, much later. After a brief check to make sure he hadn’t grabbed any of her hair and that none of her fingerprints could be found on the weapon, she hurried out of the entryway and down a side street to the Tube station.

  What the hell had that been? Cian’s kiss in the subway and the man in Edinburgh came to mind. A scyver. She hadn’t believed him. Still didn’t believe him. But that man had done something to her. She put a hand to her forehead where her scalp still tingled. The underside of her wrist shimmered with an iridescence she’d never seen—at least not on herself. It reminded her of the pearly glisten on Cian’s forehead when he fucked her. Like glitter beneath their skin.

  Nikala shoved her hands into her pockets and sped up. She rushed past the Tube and walked the distance to Malcolm’s office. The crisp air helped clear her mind. Dinner was all but forgotten. Too many random events had happened in too small a time. She needed to make notes, to connect the dots, to find a pattern to the randomness. If there was one.

  At the entrance to the great glass building, she paused. If she used her keycard, he’d know she’d been there. Her stomach churned despite its emptiness. She didn’t want to see him right now, not after what had happened with Yash and Jude. She wasn’t ready to confront him about sending a team to trail her, and/or take her out. And for sure she didn’t want to tell him she hadn’t killed Cian, but murdered some psychopath in an alley.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  An office worker exited the building and Nikala smiled gratefully while he held the door for her. She recognized him from previous visits, and thankfully he let her through without making small talk. With a quick thanks, she shuffled to the lift reserved for restaurant guests and pressed the button. The front desk where visitors signed in sat empty. The secur
ity guard who worked the night shift must be doing his rounds, or whatever it was they did during the long hours when everyone was elsewhere. It was after seven and most of the employees of whatever businesses occupied the ridiculous building would be home with their families, or at the pub for a pint. She didn’t care where they were, just that they didn’t get in her way.

  A bank of lifts faced her, but she ignored those that would take her to offices on other floors. The lift she required pinged and Nikala held her breath. The doors opened to emptiness. She stepped in and pressed the only button available—for the restaurant two floors above Malcolm’s office. Another two floors beneath Malcolm’s was Hunter’s lab. The restaurant dominated the top floor, with breathtaking views of the city, but Nikala wasn’t in the mood for it tonight. She’d collect her bags and book a hotel nearby, then grab a kabab or something quick.

  The lift doors opened to a lobby with a friendly hostess waiting to help Nikala, but she veered left toward the toilets and stairs. She skipped down two flights of stairs to Malcolm’s floor and paused at the door. No sounds came to her from the other side and she carefully worked her lock pick in the tumbler until the door clicked open. She dared not use her keycard as it would record her entry time and when she left. The less Malcolm knew of her movements, the better.

  She peered in, relieved to see Malcolm’s reception area was dark. It was a rare night Malcolm let his staff go home before nine. He was either expecting her, or had an appointment elsewhere. She hoped for the latter. Nikala closed the exit door behind her and crept to the open area, avoiding Malcolm’s security cameras.

  A sense of unease rippled through her veins, but she shoved it aside. It might be a coincidence that the receptionist—Nikala didn’t even know the poor lass’s name—and the security staff downstairs weren’t around. She hated coincidences. Hairs rose on her arms and neck as Nikala hurried to her office and unlocked the door without a sound. No sense giving Malcolm warning she’d returned. If he was in his office, which she hoped he wasn’t. She opened her laptop and entered her password. As she waited for the ruddy thing, she nibbled on a fingernail, tearing it with her teeth. The screen came to life and she scanned the images from the cameras she’d placed in his office. Malcolm wasn’t there.