by Martha Carr
Grinning at the gathered raugs, he dipped his head and slipped through the door after Foltr.
Corian stepped away from the warriors and nodded before taking his leave. The raugs glared at him and then Maleshi when she followed Corian into the city.
Cheyenne nudged Lumil and muttered, “I’ll go get Ember.”
“Yeah. Get the chief-healing fae.” The goblin woman scoffed at the warriors and stomped off, rubbing her hand vigorously through her mop of yellow hair until it hung over her eyes. Byrd jumped and headed after her, looking between the open door and the raug warriors growling at him.
Weird to not be the center of everyone’s hatred, but I’ll take it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cheyenne headed quickly across the stone square toward Ember, who propped herself up on the ledge with her hands behind her and started coughing again.
“Hey.” Cheyenne stopped beside her friend and turned to eye the raugs again, folding her arms. “Looks like you did it.”
“Yeah, I did it.” Ember sucked in a wheezing breath.
“You okay?”
“No.” With another cough, Ember doubled over and shook her head. “I think I short-circuited my magic with that one.”
“What?”
The fae looked at Cheyenne with a fiery violet gaze. “You think I’m just sitting here without getting up to follow everyone else for fun?”
“Shit. No floating spell?”
“Nothing.” Ember snapped her fingers and opened her hands again. “Not even a spark.”
“Must’ve been some seriously intense healing.”
The fae girl scoffed. “He had the blight, Cheyenne. So yeah, it was pretty intense.”
Nothing personal. I’d be pissed too if I couldn’t walk after helping someone. Or float. Nodding slowly, Cheyenne sat beside her friend on the ledge and bumped her shoulder against Ember’s. “Two good things out of this, though.”
“Since when did you become the silver-lining drow?”
Cheyenne snorted. “Since the silver-lining fae went all dark and broody and could use a pep talk. Maybe.”
“Whatever. Go for it.”
The halfling watched the disgruntled raug warriors, who had gathered and were grumbling at each other, trying to find another outlet for their rage. “You saved a raug chief’s life, apparently. And we were clearly only getting inside this place with the approval of a chief who doesn’t want anything to do with Hangivol or the Crown.”
“You mean, you couldn’t have stormed the gates and blasted your way inside for another chat with a city leader?”
“Very funny.” Cheyenne rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “But we’re in, thanks to you.”
“No problem.” Ember rolled her eyes. “I’m not accepting donations. You know, ‘cause I can’t walk or float around anymore. This is as good as it gets again.”
“Nah. You still look like a fae. Your magic probably needs a reboot.”
“It better come back.”
“It will, Em. I still need you around, so you don’t have a choice.”
Ember snorted, and they both laughed softly. “Okay, so what’s the second good thing?”
“Now we know it’s possible to reverse the whole blight thing, at least when it’s starting to take over magicals.”
“Huh.” Ember tossed a hand in the air. “Hope for healing Ambar’ogúl, right? I’d honestly settle for healing my own legs and leave it at that.”
“You’ll get there.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Cheyenne slapped her thighs and leaned toward her friend. “If I know those guys in there, they’re probably not waiting for us to get started with their chief-to-chief chat, but I don’t wanna miss it.”
“By all means, drow.” Ember gestured at the open door in the gates. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not leaving you here. I was gonna offer to carry you with me. You know, drow strength and everything without having to worry about humans freaking out if they see it.”
Ember grimaced. “I’m not a fan of being carried.”
“Hey, I’m not a giant, bare-chested raug chief.”
“Oh, jeez.” The fae laughed and rolled her eyes. “That was one of the weirder things I’ve experienced. The guy’s got, like, sharkskin.”
Cheyenne snorted. “Sounds fun.”
“At least he wasn’t sweaty.” Ember shrugged. “Dammit, just carry me.”
“Yep.”
Cheyenne stood and bent over so Ember could hook her arm around her neck. Before she could scoop the fae girl into her arms, a raug guard whistled sharply from the open door and shouted something at them in French. Cheyenne straightened again and shook her head. “English.”
The guard frowned and banged the open door with another shout in French to someone up in the tower. “The healer’s not forgotten, drow. Don’t carry her. The Zokrí has a gift.”
“A gift.” Cheyenne turned toward Ember and raised her eyebrows. “From your hulking chief admirer.”
“Shut up.”
The grating creak and rumble of mechanisms turning in the huge metal gates echoed across the stone square, then a square section of metal at the base of the closest gate tower lifted like a garage door. The guard who’d called to them headed toward it and waited for a machine of black metal to fully emerge from the base of the tower.
“What the hell is that?” Ember muttered.
“I think that’s your gift, Em.”
“Oh, jeez.”
The raug guard reached into the center of the old-school O’gúl tech machine and tapped the controls. Eight legs unfolded from the undercarriage with a clang of metal on stone, and the main body lifted three feet off the ground. When the guard headed toward Cheyenne and Ember, the machine scuttled after him like a giant headless spider with a depression in its huge abdomen.
Ember grimaced. “No. Please, no.”
The guard stopped in front of them and offered Ember a sleek, two-inch bar of flattened black metal. “For you.”
The fae took it and turned the item over in her hand. “Looks like the barrettes I used to wear in grade school, without the clip.”
Cheyenne fought back a laugh and tapped behind her own ear. “Activator, Em.”
“Oh.” Ember lifted the piece of metal toward the raug and raised her eyebrows.
“Wear it.” The guard looked at Ember and Cheyenne, his thick brow flickering in and out of a confused frown as he tried to keep a straight face.
He’s gonna be wracking his brain forever, trying to figure out why a fae in Ambar’ogúl doesn’t know how to use an activator.
“Behind your ear,” she muttered.
“Yep.” Ember lifted the metal piece to the back of her ear and gasped when the tech synced with her vision and her magic. Her eyelids fluttered, and when her violet gaze fell on the black metal machine behind the raug, her mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God.”
The guard grunted. “Until the healer regains her strength.” Thumping a fist against his chest, he bowed and quickly spun to march back to the small door in the gate.
“This is insane.” Ember studied the old-tech machine, her eyes flickering back and forth as she took in all the information the activator fed her.
“Told you you’d love it.” Cheyenne folded her arms. “If that one came with the spider chair over there, I’m guessing it’s one of the older models.”
“I couldn’t care less.” Ember leaned over the edge of the rock ledge but caught herself before she fell off. “I totally get why you love yours.”
“You haven’t even tested it yet.”
“I don’t need to.”
Chuckling, Cheyenne reached toward her friend. “Want a boost?”
“That’s a seriously dumb question.” Ember draped her arm over Cheyenne’s shoulders and let the halfling pick her up and set her in the seat-shaped depression in the center of the machine. “Jeeze, getting in and out of your car would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if you could run
around freely like a superdrow.”
“Not an option back home, but yeah. Would’ve saved us a lot of time.” Cheyenne straightened and gave her friend time to shift around and get comfortable in the machine.
Ember’s gaze moved slowly across the smooth surface of the control panel at her fingertips. “I can’t believe this. It’s so easy.”
“That’s the point. Try it.”
The fae girl swiped the panel, and the machine’s legs lifted her higher off the ground before turning back toward the gate. Ember grinned, absorbed in the novelty of her first O’gúl activator.
Cheyenne snorted, tried to hold it back, then burst out laughing.
“What?”
“You.” The halfling doubled over and howled with laughter, stomping her feet. Every time she looked at her friend, she lost it all over again and had to turn away.
“All right, spit it out.” Ember folded her arms and chuckled despite trying to look fed up. “What, am I doing it wrong?”
“No,” Cheyenne squeaked through another laugh, waving her hand in front of her face. She sucked in a huge breath. “You’re rocking the Doc Ock look like a pro!” She barely got the last word out before she cracked up all over again.
“Oh, so we watch one Spiderman movie, and now you’re throwing around Marvel references?”
“I can’t help it.” Cheyenne wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes with the back of a hand and sniffed. “I totally blame you.”
“He called it a ‘crawler.’” Ember wrinkled her nose. “Does it really look like Doc Ock?”
Cheyenne pressed her lips together and nodded vigorously. Then she barked out another laugh. “Yeah, if he was sitting in a chair.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to get inside and be part of the meeting with the chief?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You’re wasting a lot of time laughing at me.” Ember rolled her eyes and turned the machine toward the gates. “It’s cooler than a wheelchair.”
The machine lifted again on its mechanical legs, and with a swipe of her finger across the controls, Ember took off in the scuttling contraption. Cheyenne tried not to laugh and ended up laughing anyway as she followed her friend toward the gates.
Six feet from the small open door, Ember stopped, the metal legs clinking against the stone. “Crap. How the hell am I supposed to get through there?”
Cheyenne fell into another fit of laughter, holding herself around the middle while Ember glared at her over her shoulder.
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m sorry, Em. Oh, man. I wish you could see what I’m seeing right now.”
A raug peered out of the open garage door in the base of the tower and whistled sharply. He waved them toward him, and Ember lifted her chin. “Always a way, Cheyenne.”
“Yeah, you have your own private entrance and everything.”
The fae tossed her head and steered the crawler toward the beckoning raug. Cheyenne followed and finally managed to pull it together. Just watch her head. Don’t look at the legs. Chuckling, she stepped into the base of the tower and pressed her lips together as the garage door groaned shut again behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cheyenne and Ember passed through the tower onto a wide stone walkway that ran around the perimeter of Hirúl Breach. The rest of the city was depressed into the canyon floor another ten feet, making the rising buildings of metal and stone even taller now that they could see their full height. The less-advanced metropolis was a quarter the size of Hangivol.
Most of the magicals here were raugs. The occasional goblin’s green skin stuck out against so many hulking gray bodies, and as Cheyenne and Ember traveled down the stairs at the end of the walkway, the sound of steel pounding on stone grew louder from almost every direction.
The raugs gave them passing glances, but none of them stared at either the girls or the crawler. This can’t be a normal sight around here.
The guard who’d brought Ember the crawler shouted from a doorway in the wall beneath the walkway. “Healer! This way.”
They followed him through the door, which was thankfully wide enough for the machine to get through with only the occasional scrape into the long hallway beyond it. Ember gritted her teeth as she tried to guide the crawler in a perfectly straight line, her head jerking sideways when the wide base of her seat got too close to the wall and knocked her away.
“You good?”
“I’m fine,” Ember hissed. “Still better than a wheelchair.”
Cheyenne focused on the back of Ember’s head.
The guard led them to another door on the left and stepped aside to let them enter. He had to press himself against the wall to avoid getting crushed by the scuttling crawler, but he nodded firmly at Cheyenne when she followed Ember into the room beyond and closed the door behind them.
The magicals sitting around an intricately carved stone table stopped the discussion when the clink and whir of Ember’s crawler echoed along the back wall. The meeting included all of Cheyenne’s party, the raug chief, and three older, skeptical-looking raugs taking up the chairs closest to their leader. Cazerel’s orange eyes lit up when he saw Ember, his pointed teeth flashing in a wide grin. “Healer! Join us.”
“Thanks.”
“How does the crawler suit you, eh? You won’t find the sniveling-fancy spark in Hirúl Breach like they have in Hangivol.”
“It’s great. Thanks.” Ember steered the machine toward the corner of the huge table and positioned herself between Lumil and Corian.
“Good. Good.” Cazerel nodded vigorously and took a moment to grin at the fae.
Cheyenne headed for the empty chair beside Maleshi, gauging the others’ reactions. Nobody else thinks it’s funny? Guess I’m the only asshole who laughs at a fae in a spider machine.
She slumped onto the thick cushion lining the heavy wooden chair and gazed around the table. “What did I miss?”
“Not much,” Maleshi muttered.
“Ah, yes.” Cazerel turned his orange gaze onto L’zar. “I still do not understand why you need our help, Weaver. She’s your kin.”
“She’s the worst part about me.” L’zar set his folded hands on the table and leaned toward the chief. “Why do you think I’ve spent so much time away from her?”
Cazerel stroked his chin, his long red claws rasping his gray flesh. “Indeed.”
“I know you lost all love for the drow when the last Cycle turned. K’laht did his part for you and Hirúl Breach in his time, did he not?”
“The Everbrite did more than his part.” Cazerel sat back in his chair. “He was and is our Crown.”
L’zar’s eyes widened. “Sounds like you hate my sister as much as I do.”
“I do not know the extent of your feelings, Cu’ón, but perhaps you are right.”
“One has to know their enemies as well as their friends to protect themselves from that enemy.” The drow spread his arms. “You’ve done well here in Hirúl Breach. I think you’ve also done well in drawing out as many dark truths about my sister as you possibly can. I need your help because I’m looking for the one thing that will make Cheyenne’s terms of secession impossible for the Crown to refuse. I’m looking for leverage.”
The chief’s orange eyes narrowed. “I find it hard to believe the Weaver thief does not already have leverage.”
“Oh, I have plenty, but it’s not enough. If you tell me what you have, we can compare notes.” L’zar grinned and sat back in his chair, feigning casual indifference despite how intently his golden eyes were fixed on the raug chief.
Cazerel studied the drow for a moment longer, then kept his gaze on L’zar as he turned his head toward one of the raug elders and muttered something in French. The elders shifted in their seats.
Cheyenne was acutely aware of the wary glances Maleshi and Corian exchanged across the table.
L’zar’s eyes widened. “What don’t I know?”
Cazerel growled and sat back
in his chair, shifting his shoulders as if scratching an itch on his back. “Ba’rael Verdys has a child.”
Cheyenne held her breath. Holy shit.
L’zar broke into a predatory grin and leaned forward. “Where?”
Corian shifted uncomfortably. “L’zar.”
The drow cut him off with a raised hand without looking away from the chief. “Tell me.”
“Somewhere not even the Cu’ón thief would find him,” Cazerel replied evenly. “I expected you to know.”
“Clearly I did not.” L’zar set a slender slate-gray hand on the table and raised his eyebrows. “If you want to barter for this information, Cazerel, name your price. Whatever it is, you know I can and will pay it.”
“Yes.” The chief glanced at Ember and nodded. “I believe you paid in advance. It is no small thing to keep a healer at your side.”
“I’m sure she’s very good,” L’zar muttered dismissively. “So, if the price has been paid, tell me where he is.”
Corian hissed softly. “Don’t you think the bigger issue is why we didn’t know about him?”
“Not at all.”
“If Ba’rael hears so much as a whisper about us going after her son, she won’t wait for the rest of the fortnight, L’zar.” Corian gripped the edge of the table. “She’ll break as many of the old laws as she can to get to him before we do if she hasn’t already.”
“She has not.” Cazerel dipped his head toward Corian and folded his arms. “And she will not. The child was sent away from her at birth. He has spent the first four hundred years of his life hidden, and not even his mother knows where to find him. On her own orders.”
“Damn,” Cheyenne muttered. “And I thought I had it bad growing up.”
Ember snorted but immediately wiped off her smile when Corian shot each of them a warning look.
“The Olforím look after him now, or perhaps he looks after them. Either way, he is impossible to find.” Cazerel’s thick gray lips twitched into a grim smile. “But not for us.”
A low chuckle rose from L’zar’s grinning mouth. “That will work beautifully, Zokrí.”
“What? No.” Cheyenne slapped her hands on the stone table and raised halfway out of her chair. “You are not gonna use her kid as bait or leverage.”
