by Martha Carr
“Of course it is.” Maleshi’s smile had vanished. “That’s an important piece of information we all deserved to know the second you stepped through those doors.”
The drow chugged the rest of his drink and slammed the tankard on the table, shaking his head. “This is a celebration. And no, I don’t feel bad about this, either. How you choose to feel about what’s happened is on each of you, not me. When I make the crossing again, I’ll be happy never to return. I fell in love with the other side on the very first trip, and since we’re all being honest and fucking open with each other, I despise what this side has become. I always have, and this has been a phenomenal reminder of why I stayed away as long as I did.”
With that, the drow prince lurched from his chair, sending it flying away behind him and clattering across the stone floor. He swayed a little and steadied himself by pressing the tips of his slender fingers on the black tabletop. “I’ll take this as being excused from the conversation.”
“Stop.” Foltr stretched a long, gnarled claw at L’zar.
“Say what you have to say, Grandfather, but make it quick.”
The wizened raug pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and peered into L’zar’s drunken eyes. Faster than his gnarled body seemed capable of moving, Foltr swung his walking stick back in both hands and cracked the hard knob against the side of L’zar Verdys’ head.
The deafening sound drowned out the noises of dozens of other conversations around the bunker as every magical turned to see what had happened. L’zar stumbled sideways, his white hair flying around his face beneath the force of the blow. When he finally caught his balance and straightened, he smoothed his hair back with both hands and took a deep breath through his nose.
Foltr thumped his cane on the floor. “Now you are excused.”
L’zar whirled and stalked across the chamber toward one of the dozen archways leading into branching tunnels. He waved a hand behind him and shouted, “Don’t even think about stopping now, you ingrates. I’m just takin’ a piss!”
Someone raised their drink in the air and cheered as L’zar opened the door with a motion of his hand and stumbled through.
Foltr groaned as he lowered himself into his chair and grabbed his drink. “He’s a fell-damn ingrate.”
Corian burst out laughing, that crazed, animalistic grin sharpening his features. Jara’ak, Elarit, and Maleshi joined him. The booming voice of the flickering dark magical rose above it all. Then he whisked away in a burst of black specks and materialized in front of the Bloodshine keg to refill his drink.
Cheyenne and Ember stared at each other. “That went well.”
Ember snorted. “You gotta admit neither of us has any idea of what a fucked-up family really is.”
“Can’t argue with you there, Em.” The halfling raised her goblet to her lips and took a small sip. “I’ll take Bianca Summerlin over this any day of the week.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Catching Corian’s gaze across the table, Cheyenne tilted her head. “He doesn’t hate this whole world, does he?”
The nightstalker kept laughing. “You mean, you can’t tell?”
“It’s not like he gives anyone or anything special treatment.”
Foltr laughed, propping his hands on his cane and shaking his head.
“L’zar had less to do with the way things turned out in our world than you might think. Sure, he hasn’t done much to improve the situation.”
“No, he went in the opposite direction.” Elarit stared at the arch where L’zar had disappeared.
Corian glanced at the troll woman. “Until you, Cheyenne.”
“I haven’t improved anything, either.”
“You have. More than you know. And things will continue to improve.”
Cheyenne shrugged and stared at her drink. “Only after the Crown steps down in two weeks.”
The nightstalker wrinkled his nose. “If she steps down.”
“What?” The halfling’s glowing golden gaze cut toward him again. “Nobody told me there was a loophole to our loophole.”
“In two weeks, you’ll bring her your terms. Once we’ve hashed out the details, of course. But she has the option not to accept them.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Cheyenne turned to Maleshi, not having to lean forward since Ember sat stiffly back in her chair in disbelief. “What happens if she doesn’t accept?”
With her elbow propped on the table, Maleshi lifted a finger from around the silver skull and extended one slicing, glinting four-inch claw from the tip. “You get to fight again. Alone.”
“I have to fight her again,” Cheyenne said. “Great.”
“To the death,” Jara’ak added with a sneer.
“Oh, even better.”
“Which is why we’ll be focusing on arranging the terms in a way Ba’rael Verdys can’t possibly refuse.” Corian stared at Maleshi’s extended claw until she retracted it with a sharp sound. “A fight for the Crown isn’t an option any of us are willing to entertain, but know that it exists.”
“And you’d win,” Maleshi added before burying her face in the silver skull and chugging noisily.
Ember snorted. “Sounds like someone’s entertaining the option.”
“After the Crown steps down,” Corian continued, “we’ll turn our resources to washing out all the O’gúl filth lining Hangivol’s streets. Things will change around here, but now that I’ve seen what’s going on, it’ll probably take us as long to clean up Ba’rael’s mess as it took her to shit all over everything. Or longer.”
“Wonderful visual. Thanks.” Cheyenne raised her eyebrows and stared at the table. I haven’t had nearly as much to drink as the rest of these warmongers. Why am I so dizzy? She felt Ember’s gaze on the side of her face but couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone.
“Okay, if Cheyenne’s not gonna ask it, I will.” The fae girl took another long drink of her Bloodshine. “Say we go back in, the Crown accepts the terms and steps down, and Cheyenne doesn’t want to take her place?”
The halfling grimaced but didn’t stop her friend.
Corian took a deep breath. “Then someone else will take it.”
Cheyenne looked at him. “Someone like L’zar?”
The table burst into raucous laughter again. Maleshi pounded the metal surface so hard her fellwine sloshed all over her other hand, the edge of the table, and her lap. “No fucking way, kid. The last thing that drow thief wants is to sit on a dead O’gúl throne.”
“Right.” The halfling let herself grin as the howling laughter grew around her. “Because he could’ve taken it if he wanted to.” So why the hell did he need me for any of this?
Foltr leaned toward her and cleared his throat. “If you do not want the rule the of new Cycle for your own, Aranél, there is a way to hand it off to someone else.”
“What? You mean I can give someone the throne and say ‘Here, have fun?’”
“There is a bit more involved, but yes.”
“Of course there is.” Cheyenne ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her chair. “Does it have to be a drow?”
Maleshi shrugged and stared thoughtfully at the tabletop. “Nothing in the old laws says a thing about who the Crown should be.”
Corian laughed. “But show me a drow who doesn’t want all the power and control for themselves, eh? You can’t.” When he turned his silver eyes on Cheyenne, Ember pointed at the drow halfling and cocked her head. “Oh. Your circumstances are a little different, kid.”
“Why? Because I’m not full drow?”
“Probably.”
Cheyenne tossed a hand toward him. “Fine. What about you then, Corian? Why don’t you be the nightstalker to defy ages of drow rule and sit on that throne your own damn self?”
“Hmm. Tempting. Also, no.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”
“I go where L’zar goes, Cheyenne. You understand that a lot better now with your own Nós Aní sitting beside you.�
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Ember raised both hands in front of her and shook her head. “I didn’t tell her to give you the throne.”
“Trust me, that wouldn’t have made a difference.” He fixed the fae girl with a tight-lipped smile and drank from his tankard.
“Then who the hell am I supposed to shuck this whole Crown thing onto, huh? Seriously.” Cheyenne leaned over the table and raised her voice. “Who here wants to sit on the throne of Ambar’ogúl as the Crown of the new Cycle? Anyone? Speak up now. I’m making a list!”
“To the Aranél!” Sakrit bellowed.
“The Aranél!” The other rebels took up the cry, swinging toward the table with sloshing tankards and cheering Cheyenne, daughter of L’zar Verdys.
Beside her, Foltr snorted into his tankard.
Cheyenne slumped back in her chair again and shook her head. “I don’t want it. This is ridiculous.”
“For now, this is what you have to work with, kid.” Corian shrugged. “Besides, even if you promised to abdicate right now, it doesn’t mean shit until we sit down with Ba’rael and turn the new Cycle officially. The old laws don’t include promises made at a drinking party underground.”
“Ha!” Jara’ak pounded the table. “Maybe they should!”
“Feel free to rewrite them to suit your needs, orc.” Foltr narrowed his eyes at the orc with the black bands around his tusks. “You wouldn’t make it past the first two words.”
“Bah.” Jara’ak guzzled his drink noisily and reached for the nearly empty bottle of fellwine before emptying the rest of it into his tankard.
Chapter Seven
Cheyenne frowned at the few empty seats left at the table, then turned to scan the drunken magicals around them. Two of them didn’t make it. Why didn’t I put this together sooner? “Where’s Nu’ek?”
Corian blinked heavily and leaned far back in his chair, scanning the chamber. “I know she was with us.”
The halfling caught Maleshi’s gaze, and the general shook her head. “Wasn’t the Golra, kid. You can relax.”
Corian asked, “How the hell do we lose one of our own that size? She was right.”
A furious bellow burst into the chamber, followed by a laughing L’zar being thrown across the room through one of the open arches. Thunderous footsteps followed as the drow scrambled to his feet and smoothed back his hair. Nu’ek’s broad shoulders tufted with red fur squeezed through the archway, followed by her massive head and the two horns protruding from her long red hair. She snorted and stomped toward L’zar, fists clenched at her sides. The bat-like wings that looked so strange on a creature her size stretched to their full span, sending a buffeting wind across the bunker’s main room that spilled as many drinks as the rebels had been tossing all over themselves.
“I’m just playing, you overgrown bat.” Grinning, L’zar stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I’d tell you to work on your anger issues, but you’ve already made considerable improvement.”
“You are my anger issue, drow.” Nu’ek loomed over him and stabbed a huge, claw-tipped finger into his chest. “My quarters are off-limits, and I don’t care if I’m lying dead in them. Got it?”
“Well, now I do.” Laughing, L’zar turned back toward the table, his mischievous air back in full swing. “Touchy.”
“What the hell is that?” Ember muttered, staring at Nu’ek’s hulking form as the Golra brushed dirt, plaster, metal parts, and dried blood off the front of her leather vest.
Cheyenne grinned and pushed herself up from the table. “Come on. I like this Golra, and I’m pretty sure she likes me. I’ll introduce you.”
“Pretty sure?” Ember floated out of her chair and moved hesitantly behind the halfling.
“Yeah. I mean, hey. Compared to L’zar, I’m like the tame drow everybody appreciates.”
Ember snorted. “Wonderful.”
Nu’ek saw them approaching and jerked her chin at Cheyenne. Folding her wings behind her back, she gazed across the chamber and scowled. “Sakrit! You said you were prepared.”
“I am!” The ogre laughed and headed for his secret pantry of O’gúl alcohol. “You take so damn long doing whatever it is you do after a fight. I never know when you’re ready to show up.”
“The only thing you need to know is that I’m here and need a drink.” Nu’ek glared at the ogre until he shot her a rude gesture. Then she laughed and turned her attention to Cheyenne. “Well done, halfling. You returned to do the impossible.”
“I didn’t do it all by myself.” Cheyenne smiled up at the huge Golra and stuck a thumb out toward Ember. “This is Ember.”
“A pleasure. Not many fae come down into these tunnels.”
Ember’s eyes widened, and she chuckled in disbelief. “Yeah, I’m not sure many fae become a drow’s Nós Aní and suddenly have the magic they thought they were born without, so it’s a day of firsts for everyone.”
Nu’ek laughed deeply and nodded. “A good day. Excuse me. I think Sakrit needs a good reminder of how easy it would be for me to rip his head off his shoulders if he doesn’t hurry up with my refreshments.” The Golra stomped toward the ogre, pretending to ignore the cheers from the other rebels she passed.
“That is one seriously gigantic magical,” Ember whispered.
“Not even the biggest I’ve seen on this side, Em, but yeah. She’s pretty big.”
L’zar stepped up behind his daughter and the fae girl and bent toward the space between them to mutter, “And a thousand times more reliable than the scurrying little bastards you can’t keep tabs on no matter how hard you try.”
Cheyenne stepped away from him and shot him a deadpan stare. “Were you planning on telling me I might have to fight your sister if she refuses our so-called terms?”
“Oh. Not necessarily.”
“Come on, L’zar. Can we cut through all this bullshit of what not to tell Cheyenne unless she calls everyone out on it?” His daughter frowned at him.
He laughed and shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “There are so many other immediate things to think about right now, it honestly slipped my mind.”
“Oh, yeah? It slipped your mind that I might have to fight her to the death, and if I end up losing, the rest of you are screwed?”
“That won’t happen.” L’zar grinned and set a hand on her shoulder, squeezing tightly. “My daughter slapped her coin down on that altar without lifting a finger. She’s got a hell of a lot more up her sleeve.”
“She also thinks it’s stupid to talk about her in the third person.”
Chuckling, he let go of her shoulder and gestured around. “Just in case anyone else was listening.”
“I doubt it. Me almost getting my ass handed to me in that courtyard is hardly as exciting as all the drinking going on.”
L’zar’s smile faded. “The forces that met you when you threw yourself over the edge of that balcony into the Heart did not belong to Ba’rael. Not her magic. That was everyone she’s been feeding off of for centuries. If you end up having to fight, it’ll be your power against hers. Only hers. You could take her with one hand tied behind your back.”
“And you can’t?”
“That’s not how this works, Cheyenne. My time has passed. I’m freely handing it all over to you, and I will find that perfect combination of offer and pressure to make my sister step down off her decomposing pedestal. She can’t do anything for two weeks. That’s more than enough time to find her weak spot.”
“You say that like you know she has one.”
“Everyone does. Even you.” L’zar spread his arms and shot her a mocking wink as he turned away to join the raucous party again. “Even me.”
“It better not take longer than two weeks.”
“You might not believe it, but I work best under pressure.” He snatched his empty tankard from the head of the table and walked casually across the bunker, raising his cup at every toast thrown his way until he reached the new bottles of alcohol.
Ember leaned toward Che
yenne and muttered, “That kinda sounded like he was challenging you to find his weak spot.”
“Yep. I’m sure if he had to pick one, he’d say it’s me.” The halfling shook her head and watched her father celebrating with the others like all their hard work was over and none of them had anything to worry about anymore. “I doubt he even knows what it is.”
Ember glanced down at her tankard and shrugged. “I’m outta booze.”
“Go for it, Em. Drink the night away with these weirdos. Who knows? Maybe all your magic will help you keep up.”
“I am not trying to drink anyone under the table.” Ember pointed at her friend as she floated toward the new keg spouting sparkling gold Bloodshine into empty cups. “Especially not Nu’ek.”
The Golra held another keg in both gigantic hands, laughing at some crude joke before she upended the spigot into her mouth and drank right from the metal barrel.
Cheyenne snorted and shook her head, content to watch everyone else celebrate their first victory. Then her gaze fell on Elarit again, still sitting at the table and occasionally rolling her eyes at something Jara’ak said to the magical made of swarming black specks. Corian was now on the other side of the chamber, shaking his head as L’zar pointed at him and continued his story.
Probably an account of all the horrible things they did together in the name of chaos. Laughing, Cheyenne headed toward Corian’s empty seat and sat down beside Elarit. “Hey.”
The troll woman lifted her goblet to her lips. “Cheyenne.”
“Thanks again for the activator.”
“Oh, sure.” Elarit chuckled. “Didn’t take you long to learn to use it. That last message today was from you, right?”
“Yeah. Kinda came as second-nature, I guess.” Cheyenne leaned back in the chair and watched the other revelers. “What the hell are they doing?”
The troll woman stared at the small ring of magicals gathered at the far end of the chamber. Lumil stepped into the center with a fist held in front of her, leering at an orc, who quickly drank the rest of his fellwine before crouching in a ready stance. “Looks like a fight.”
“We just got done fighting.”
