The Drow Grew Stronger (Goth Drow Book 4)

by Martha Carr

  “This is for fun. I know that goblin woman would say that about every battle, but this is what happens when O’gúl warriors open their bottles and get down to serious business.”

  “You mean, a staged fight in front of their friends is the O’gúleesh version of a drinking game?”

  Elarit cocked her head and set her drink on the table. “Sure. It’s evolved a little. Used to be the loser had to cut off a finger or a toe and hand it over as the victor’s prize.”

  “You’re screwing with me.”

  “As fun as that would be, Cheyenne, I’m not.”

  Not sure whether to grimace or laugh, Cheyenne watched Lumil and the orc circle each other in the ring, calling out ridiculous insults to the howling of laughter as the other magicals pushed them toward each other.

  Jara’ak and the swarming magical rose from their seats to watch the games, and Cheyenne took her chance. “You know, Persh’al wanted to be here.”

  Elarit turned slowly toward the halfling and raised her eyebrows. “I’m curious why you think now is the right time to bring up Persh’al. He’s safe and warm in his Earthside tech cubby, isn’t he?”

  Okay, so she’s a little bitter. I could’ve read that better.

  “Yeah. He’s still at the warehouse.”

  “Then I wouldn’t waste time at this celebration worrying about what he’s doing over there by himself.”

  “I’m not worried about anyone. I just thought you’d like to know he wanted to be here, and he didn’t come with us because of you.”

  The troll woman’s eyes narrowed. “Because of me.”

  “You know, so L’zar wouldn’t find some reason to kick you out or whatever.” This isn’t going the way I wanted.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I mean, with Persh’al here, and everyone else all crammed together celebrating this.”

  Elarit pushed herself up from the table, and Cheyenne found herself staring at the long bloody gash in the side of the troll woman’s tunic instead of her face. “I’m glad you enjoy the activator, Cheyenne. Don’t mention Persh’al Tenishi around me again.”

  “I was trying to help.”

  “Stick to revolutions and saving this world from itself.” Elarit snatched her drink off the table and stared across the chamber as she pushed in the chair with a metallic clink. “That’s what you’re good at.”

  Cheyenne stared after the troll woman as she stalked across the bunker. Elarit stopped once to refill her cup, then headed through one of the arched doors lining the room and disappeared. That went well. Jesus, the magicals over here are all insane.

  The table jolted beneath her hand when Maleshi stomped onto the opposite end of it, stepping precariously over the newly opened bottles and waving her silver skull. A round of cheers and bellowing laughter rose from the onlookers. “You all wanted to see General Maleshi Hi’et’s return, didn’t you?”

  “The Hand of the Night and Circle!”

  Maleshi spun around on the table and snarled. “The Hand of the Night and Circle can eat the deathflame torch, for all I care! But Blade of the Untouched Eye? The Blade is alive and well!”

  The rebels roared again, stomping their feet on the stone floor and pounding whatever metal they could find. The most readily available of that down here beneath the city was the table. Cheyenne pulled her hands away from the shuddering tabletop and caught Foltr picking up his tankard with a snarl of disgust before drinking for a long time.

  Maleshi let out a wild howl, her head thrown back as she staggered across the surface. Then she drank deeply from the silver skull and snarled, “I marched through the fires of Azercól and drank from deathflame bowls!”

  Cheyenne stared at the nightstalker woman stomping on the table in rhythm with her words, and the other rebels quickly took up the butchered tune. No way. She’s singing war songs on the table. At least she’s not slitting anyone’s throat.

  Barking a laugh, the halfling took a long pull from her goblet of Bloodshine and scrunched her nose at the bubbles that hadn’t calmed since she’d poured her one and only drink.

  Maleshi howled the ridiculously violent, bloodthirsty O’gúleesh song and thrust her fist at Corian when he walked alongside the table toward Cheyenne. Chuckling, he shook his head and waved the general’s antics off before taking the empty seat beside the halfling.

  “A part of me should’ve expected things to turn out like this tonight.” He practically tossed his half-empty drink onto the table and slumped in his chair. “And I’m still surprised.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “Because Maleshi isn’t usually the ‘get up and dance on the table’ type? Or because she is?”

  “Who knows?” When Corian turned to look at the halfling, his body moved with his head, swaying in his chair. “We might not have another chance to talk like this after tonight, depending on how things go in the next few days.”

  “Oh, good. So get your deep, philosophical time in now while you still can.”

  “No philosophy tonight, kid,” The nightstalker said, “I aim to drink myself into the depths of the abyss and fell-damn the rest.”

  “I can see that.”

  He chuckled and picked up his tankard again, pausing with it halfway to his lips. “I wanted to tell you I’m proud of you, Cheyenne. You did everything that was asked of you. Sure, you complained a little, but who wouldn’t?”

  She laughed. “You can stop the compliments right there, man. I get it.”

  “I’m serious. I’d stand behind a halfling who complains sometimes but follows through with everything she has any day. I do, and I will for as long as I can. It’s a hell of a lot better than trying to back someone who talks themselves up too much and can’t pull their own weight. Not saying you ever did that, by the way.”

  “I know. I’m not a big talker.”

  Corian hissed and bowed his head. “Am I crashing your private party over here?”

  Cheyenne sat back in her chair, watching Maleshi’s riotous, drunken march across the other end of the table as the rebels sang with her. “Nah, you’re good. For a wasted nightstalker.”

  “Tonight, that’s exactly what I am.”

  “Let me ask you something, though.”

  Corian lifted his head and shot her a crooked grin. “You picked a good time for it, kid. I’m an open book.”

  “Okay.” Chuckling, Cheyenne nodded across the chamber at L’zar, who’d propped himself up with a hand on the wall and was pumping his tankard to the rhythm of the song, grinning the whole time. “That promise you made to L’zar…”

  The nightstalker stuck a finger in the air. “The promise I kept.”

  “Right. The promise and the secret were the same thing, weren’t they?”

  Corian swiveled his head toward her and raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, halfling. That list stretches to eternity and back again.”

  “Of course it does.” Cheyenne grabbed the tankard from him and took a small sip of fellwine, squeezing her eyes shut as the green liquor burned down her throat and instantly into her veins. “Your promise to L’zar not to tell me who I really am. The daughter of an O’gúl prince. The Crown’s niece and heir to the throne. That was why you wouldn’t answer half my questions, wasn’t it?”

  Corian slowly took his drink back from her and managed to look sober enough to hold her gaze. “He didn’t want you to know because he didn’t want it to go to your head.”

  She leaned away from him with a dubious look. “Why would it?”

  “Ah.” The nightstalker lifted his tankard in L’zar’s general direction and hissed out a laugh. “Because he let it go to his head. And because the asshole loves surprises.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” They chuckled, and Cheyenne folded her arms. “That’s the most straightforward, honest answer you’ve given me since we met.”

  “In this world, kid, the truth isn’t the great equalizer all you humans seem to think it is. Well, not you. You’re obviously not human
.”

  “I get it.”

  He hissed out another laugh and set his cup in his lap. “The truth in Ambar’ogúl has to be earned. We all have a right to it, but not everyone deserves it. If anyone in this room deserves the truth tonight, it’s you.”

  “Damn straight it is.”

  Corian laughed and shook his head. “You earned it, plain and simple. It won’t set you free, either. Shit’s gonna get a lot more complicated after this.”

  “I can handle complicated.” The halfling cracked a smile as Maleshi thrust her silver skull in the air with a roar, raining fizzy green fellwine down on everything around her. The rebels started chanting something Cheyenne couldn’t understand and the general leaped off the table, caught by the outstretched arms of L’zar’s followers thumping her on the back and toasting General Hi’et’s return to Ambar’ogúl.

  Just as long as I don’t have to turn against what I believe in. Still not sure that isn’t part of the deal.

  Chapter Eight

  Cheyenne had no way to tell how long she sat at that table watching L’zar’s rebels drink themselves into a stupor, but by the time she started feeling tired, it couldn’t really be called a party anymore. Some of the magicals, like Nu’ek and Foltr, had removed themselves some time ago to turn in. Most of them, though, had drunk until they couldn’t drink anymore and sprawled on the table, the chairs, the floor, and in heaps on top of each other.

  L’zar filled his tankard one more time from the dregs of the last metal keg on the table, whistling to himself. He took a drink and raised his eyebrows, then walked down the table toward his daughter. Someone snorted and rolled over when he nudged them out of the way with the toe of his shoe. “Come on. I have no idea what time it is, not that it matters, but if you sit there any longer, you’ll end up just another passed-out magical who couldn’t pull it together long enough to find a bed.”

  Cheyenne rolled her shoulders and grimaced at the ache in her neck. “I think I fell asleep at some point already.”

  “It happens. The beds are better, I promise. Even all the way down here.” Chuckling, he stepped around a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the table and waved the halfling toward one of the archways in the wall.

  “Hey, Em.”

  “Yeah.” Ember looked up from her conversation with the magical made of swarming black specks and smiled tiredly.

  “I guess we get beds.”

  “That’s all you needed to say.” Ember excused herself from the conversation and floated across the chamber as Cheyenne pushed to her feet.

  “We’re following His Royal Highness.” The halfling gestured toward L’zar and let out a huge yawn as she went to collect her backpack. Somehow, it had lasted all night without being disturbed.

  The drow chuckled as he passed a hand over the door. It slid aside to reveal a passageway beyond. “Not as satisfying to crack jokes about my lineage now that you know how far it extends, is it?”

  “Oh, no, it’s still perfectly satisfying. We all know I’m not talking about myself.”

  He entered the dark passage and walked slowly enough for the tired halfling and the floating fae to keep up. “The best thing to do now is sleep it off. Which I’m hoping those other idiots can manage relatively well.”

  “I’m not drunk, L’zar.”

  His golden eyes flashed in the semi-darkness when he looked over his shoulder at her. “Not on fellwine and Bloodshine, maybe. Victory is just as intoxicating, in my experience.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cheyenne and Ember exchanged dubious glances, then the fae girl snorted and choked back a laugh.

  “Tomorrow’s a big day too. Different but big. We’ll take a walk around the city, huh?” L’zar pointed at each door they passed in the hall, counting them silently in his head. “You’ll get the grand tour of the grandest dump this world has to offer. What you and Persh’al saw the last time was like pulling up a picture of Greece on Google Images and trying to convince yourself you’ve been there.”

  Cheyenne snorted. “Not the comparison I would’ve picked, but okay.”

  “If my comparisons annoy you, I promise that’s at the bottom of my list of things to work on in the future. I want to show you the real Hangivol, Cheyenne. Give you a taste of what the capital and the O’gúleesh here are like when everyone’s not too chickenshit to be themselves, scared of being sucked up by the walls and spat out into a bowl of the Crown’s magic-sludge soup.”

  Cheyenne grinned at L’zar’s back and stuck her hands deep in the pockets of her black trenchcoat. Wasted L’zar sounds slightly more lucid than sober L’zar, and then he pulls out something like that.

  “And by ‘be themselves,’ I mean taking this city into their own hands again.”

  Ember’s eyes widened. “You mean, like riots?”

  “Of course. That’s expected of every coup, isn’t it?” He stopped at a door on the left, his finger frozen and pointing at it. “Let me tell you, there’s nothing like an O’gúl riot. Beauty in one of its purest forms. Here we are.”

  The door crackled with blue light before sliding aside into the stone wall. A soft glow illuminated the room beyond, mostly hidden by L’zar standing in the doorway and grinning at the two young magicals, his golden eyes half-concealed by heavy lids. “I hope neither of you has a problem with sharing quarters for the night.”

  “We already share an apartment.” Ember floated past Cheyenne into the room when L’zar stepped aside, her curiosity too great to ignore.

  “Then that’s settled.” L’zar nodded firmly and turned toward his daughter. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Oh. And just so I don’t spring it on you tomorrow, when we find the right time, I want to take you somewhere special. Just the two of us.”

  Cheyenne folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “If you say ‘father-daughter date,’ I’ll punch you again.”

  “You only tried to punch me last time.” He clasped his hands behind his back and scanned the walls of the hall before chuckling. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed it on a second attempt. I want you to go into tomorrow with an open mind. We’ll go cheer and fight the power with the citizens for a while, and then you and I will take a little detour. If I’m never coming back after this, I plan to make the most of my final hurrah in this world.”

  She stepped toward the open door and squinted at him. “Why do you need me for that?”

  “Because you’ll love it. Goodnight, Cheyenne.” With a small bow that looked oddly genuine, L’zar spun on his heel and marched farther down the hallway. His lilting whistle echoed behind him until the halfling advanced into the chamber and the door slid closed behind her.

  “Because I’ll love it.” She laughed and shook her head. “Probably not.”

  “Okay, maybe you can help me with this one.” Ember floated in the middle of the room, pointing at the massive bed along the far wall. It was draped in satin and finely embroidered velvet, and a mound of shimmering pillows covered half the bed from the center to the headboard. “What the hell size bed is that?”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. It’s like two California Kings smooshed together, but it’s not. It’s all one fucking mattress.” Ember drifted across the stone floor toward the bed and launched herself onto the pile of pillows. “Oh, my God.”

  Cheyenne laughed and slipped off her backpack before shrugging out of her trenchcoat. “You know what? I bet they call this an O’gúl Prince.”

  The fae girl snorted and sat up. “You’re stuck on this whole royalty thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m handling it fairly well.”

  “True.” Ember shrugged and flopped back onto the pillows, propping herself up with cushions beneath both arms. When Cheyenne dove onto the bed from the side, her outstretched arms didn’t even make it to the halfway mark. “Jesus, this bed is gigantic.”

  “Might as well have our own separate rooms.” Kicking off her black Vans, Cheyenne rolled onto the bed and sank into the pillows too. “I
can’t believe we did this, Em.”

  “I know. This whole day!” The fae cracked up. “And you! You’re a drow princess! What the hell is happening?”

  The halfling closed her eyes and sank even deeper into the pillows until they formed puffy, embroidered walls around her head. “Right now, we’re lying on a giant bed in a medieval-looking bunker for techless magicals talking about my not-so-imminent rule as the next O’gúl Crown.” This time, saying the words aloud did make her shudder. “That’s not anything close to what I wanted.”

  “I know.”

  “I wanted to stop that psycho on the throne from making things worse everywhere and bringing her screwed-up war to Earth.”

  “Yep.” Ember took a sharp breath and yawned, throwing her forearm over her eyes.

  “So many things make sense now. I mean, I thought this was L’zar’s attempt to overthrow a ruler and take everything for himself, but it’s… Shit, I don’t even know. It is about me, and I walked right into the middle of it, thinking I could drop a coin in a fucking bowl, go back home, and call it good. Ugh.” Cheyenne snatched the closest pillow and pressed it onto her face. She waited in the muffled darkness for Ember to make a remark that would pull the halfling out of her own head, as usual. It didn’t come. “Em?”

  Slowly pushing herself up, Cheyenne thumped the pillow down by her friend’s hand. Ember’s mouth popped open, and she let out a loud, rumbling snore.

  “Right. Apparently, I’m the only one who cares so much about what’s happening that it’s keeping me awake. Or I’m the only one who didn’t get shitfaced.”

  She had to crawl almost four feet toward the foot of the bed to grab the extra velvet blanket folded on top of the heavy quilt beneath them. She dragged it back with her and tossed half the blanket over Ember, then fell back into the mountain of pillows and closed her eyes.

  I’m the next drow heir. So what? It won’t change a thing about me as long as I make the right choice, whatever the hell that is.

  * * *

  The next morning, Ember and Cheyenne woke to the sound of hurried footsteps, shouted commands, laughter, and the smell of food cooking. The halfling sat up in the huge bed, ran a hand through her mussed hair, and quickly changed into fresh clothes before gathering everything up again and slinging her backpack over her shoulder.