by Clara Martin
Kingdom of the Northern Sun
Copyright © 2019 Clara Martin
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
Cover Art by JD&J
Cover Layout: Melissa K. Thomas
Luminare Press
442 Charnelton St.
Eugene, OR 97401
www.luminarepress.com
LCCN: 2019941768
ISBN: 978-1-64388-145-4
Dedication
To my brother, Josiah, and
my mother, Beth
Acknowledgements
With many thanks to Brittany Morgan, poet and writer (check her out on Instagram at @blndechick23)
and
Michelle Malatek, amazing friend
Bergen Nelson, friend and editor
Maureen Rutkowski, amazing friend
Chapter 1
I was dreaming, again. Somewhere I knew it; somewhere, I could feel my body struggling to wake up. But all I could focus on was the angry, warped face; the body lying across the pavement; the pain burning across my head. I screamed, bringing my hands to my face. I woke, then, feeling the imprint of my hands on my face, my pulse racing, the scream caught in my throat.
You’ll never be alone, Sheldon whispered in my head. We’re here.
Yes, Joe agreed. We’re here.
“Go away,” I rasped, raising my head gingerly. My muscles were cramped. I lifted my hand to my forehead again, half expecting to feel blood. There was nothing there. In my head, Joe sniggered. You’ll never be alone, he murmured.
“Go away,” I snapped. I glanced at my cell phone. It was two hours before I was supposed to wake, but I knew there’d be no more sleep tonight. Groaning, I swung myself out of bed. I might as well prepare for my interview
Later, I strode down the streets of Washington, DC, after nearly giving up my soul for parking. My resume crinkled as I readjusted my grip, trying to keep my sweaty palms from touching the expensive paper. This interview was the one—I could feel it.
The day was beautiful, and I tried to appreciate it as I walked down the street. This was a less congested part of Washington. While the areas closer to the Beltway were crowded with cars, there were more horse-drawn carriages to be seen here. They drove by slowly, coats of arms proudly displayed on the carriage doors, horses bedecked in their house colors. I looked at the stores as I passed, noting the names. Fine Alchemy. Siobhan’s Finery for Ladies and Gentlemen. Divine Tastes, a small sweets shop. Each store was small and upscale, clearly catering to the politicians who swarmed Washington—and the fae nobles who ventured from their plantations in the South and the Midwest.
I stopped at a small, standalone red building. It was unmarred by store signs, the only mark on it a street address. I pulled out my iPhone and double-checked the confirmation email. Yes. This was McConnell Consultants, and I was right on time for my interview. Swallowing, I squared my shoulders and walked up to the door. When I turned the knob the door glowed blue for a moment, and I groaned. I tapped on the door instead, sighing. This was not the way I’d hoped my interview would start.
The door opened, and an older man, perhaps fifty or sixty, peered out. He had a hooked nose, a full head of grey hair, and somber brown eyes. “Ms. O’Donnell?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, smiling desperately.
He looked at me, head cocked to the side. “You can’t open a simple door ward, Ms. O’Donnell?”
I sighed. “No, sir. I had an accident when I was in the US Army. Magic is completely inaccessible to me.”
He raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “I’m sorry to hear it, Ms. O’Donnell. If you’re hired, we will of course make allowances for that. Please, do come in.” He opened the door wider and gestured.
“Thank you, sir.” I stepped in and found myself in an opulently appointed waiting room. “We’ll be in my office,” the man said, leading me to one of four heavy oaken doors. “Please, sit.”
I sat, looking around the office. The chair I was in was comfortable leather. A heavy oaken desk sat between us. A small globe filled with fae lights danced on the desk—it was being used to hold down several embossed leather folders.
“Ms. O’Donnell.” The man took a seat behind his desk and folded his hands. “I am Mr. McConnell. If this interview proves fruitful, it would be my pleasure to hire you as an associate with McConnell Consultants.” He paused. “Do you have your resume?”
I swallowed and handed it to him. He nodded once and glanced at it, turning the page.
“I see you were an officer in the US Army,” he said. “What was your branch?”
“I was an ordnance officer, sir.”
He frowned. “You say you cannot do magic, but I see you received a certificate from the Army’s Basic Officer Leadership Course—does that not include basic tactical magic?”
“It does, sir. I had an accident about three years into my commission.” I folded my hands together, desperately attempting to present a normal facade. “I have been unable to use magic since.”
“I see.” He looked at my resume again. “You do have a great deal of experience in leadership and teamwork. You were honorably discharged for medical reasons about six months ago. What have you done with your time?”
“Mostly interviewed for jobs, sir.” I kept my hands folded tightly. I needed this job—the money the VA had awarded me for my injury was running out. I just desperately hoped he wouldn’t inquire too closely about my six-month gap.
He smiled tightly. “So what attracts you to my company, Ms. O’Donnell?”
I took a deep breath. “I admire high-quality organizations and would like to think critically and use the skills I developed in the army,” I replied.
“Let me explain, Ms. O’Donnell, that my company does work with fae. In fact, they’re some of our major clients. Does that present a problem?”
“No, sir. It doesn’t.”
He gave another tight smile. “Well then. You certainly have an excellent resume, and these letters of recommendation are quite strong. I’ll have to call them, of course, and I see one is overseas so I suppose I’ll have to do a Sending—but shall we say you’re provisionally hired?”
I barely stopped myself from whooping with joy. Finally—a job!
“I’m honored to accept, sir,” I said quietly.
“Excellent,” Mr. McConnell said, standing. “My secretary will contact you with the particulars.”
I walked out into the waiting room, restraining my broad grin, and then stopped dead. A desperate face was peering through the window.
The face was a woman’s, young, thoroughly beaten; both her eyes were black, and I could see scars around her neck. She held a baby, not more than a month old, wrapped in rags. When she saw me, she held the baby up and pointed to the door. Please, she mouthed.
In a single stride, I crossed to the door and opened it. The woman ran in, clutching the baby tightly to her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Help me.” She shivered and hunched over the baby as if to protect it.
“What’s wrong? What do you need?”
“He can’t find me,” she whispered again. “Please. Hide me. He’s almost here.”
Quickly, I shoved her behind one of the sofas. “Stay down,” I whispered. I looked to Mr. McConnell’s office. I couldn’t leave the woman, but I desperately hoped tha
t this would not lose me my job on the day I got it.
The woman mewled, a wordless noise of anguish. “Quiet,” I whispered frantically, cursing my inability to do magic. For what I suspected was coming, I would have felt better with a few combat spells at the ready.
Outside the window, I could see a fae carriage slow, then stop. This one was black, with a red coat of arms on the door—a screaming eagle, clutching a bleeding snake in its talons. The door opened. Two fae men sprang from the carriage.
They were both handsome, as fae are wont to be—tall, well-muscled, with an air of unshakeable confidence I could sense through the window. They wore black armor, embossed with the same seal as on the carriage—but one, I noted, feeling faint, had a crown above it.
A royal. This couldn’t possibly get better.
The royal had black hair, black eyes, and swarthy skin. His eyes scanned the street, hands held in battle-magic position. Unerringly, he marched straight to the office. I bowed my head. I could feel the power of the Word he used to open the door from where I stood.
He stood framed in the door, eyes traveling dismissively over the office. “I am in search,” he said, his voice a deep, silken tone that chilled me to my toes, “of a woman. A slave. Where is she?”
I cleared my throat, pulling my shoulders back. “There is no one here, my lord.”
His eyes snapped to me, and his eyebrows lifted mockingly. “No one?” he asked, voice turning dry. He stepped through the door.
“There’s definitely someone here,” a voice behind him said. I glanced behind the royal and cursed myself. I’d completely forgotten about the second fae.
“Myself and my employer,” I said curtly.
“It is difficult to distinguish between human life forces,” the royal said. “You do, I admit, form a blob in my sensing magic. But no, my dear. The slave is here.”
I crossed my arms. “You do not have permission to search this office.”
The second fae laughed. “We don’t need it. The slave has been missing for under a year. The sanctuary law does not apply.” He snapped his fingers dismissively.
The royal was watching me, his eyebrows creased. “I am Faolain, prince of Northern Sun,” he said abruptly. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
That was unexpected. I drew myself taller, feeling as though my spine might snap from the rigidity. “I am Eileen O’Donnell.” I caught myself before giving my rank. I no longer held that right.
Prince Faolain frowned, staring at me still more intensely. Suddenly, he crossed the room in a single stride and grasped my wrist.
It burned. By the Lady of the Lake did it burn. I breathed sharply through my nose, unwilling to scream. I felt heat rush through me, from head to toe; I felt it touch my heart and explode. Then suddenly, it seemed to withdraw, straight back into Prince Faolain. He released me slowly, then lifted his hand. It began to glow blue, and a lancet of fire appeared on his fingers.
“Witch,” he whispered. The lancet began to grow, sparking ominously. “What did you do, human witch?”
“I did nothing,” I snapped, quickly moving into fight stance. I wouldn’t be able to fight him magically, but I could at least get in a good punch before he took me down.
Prince Faolain looked at me, eyes furious. The fae behind him stared at me, eyes wide. I lifted my hands to my face, hands spread, waiting, thanking the Lord above for my time spent in Muay Thai class.
The lancet sparked again and arched off his fingers, gathering strength as it drove toward me. I wove, feeling my muscles wake as the adrenaline flowed through me. Coming back up, I drove my fist straight at Prince Faolain’s nose, then snapped a kick at his stomach. He folded forward with a grunt and rose, slowly, hand sparking again.
“Witch,” he hissed, “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done.”
Not replying, I snapped another kick at him, then rushed in closer, aiming for his neck. Prince Faolain’s hand rose again and the lancet rushed toward me; I leaned to the side, allowing it to pass harmlessly. I jumped, grabbing his neck; Prince Faolain roared in rage, bringing his hand up again as I drove his face down, straight into my knee.
“My lord!” The second fae sounded terrified. “Please, my lord—if you kill her, you’ll die as well!”
I smirked. “First he’s got to get in a shot,” I taunted, using my leg to tumble him to the floor. I aimed a low kick at his stomach but missed, as a sparkling barrier rose up between us. Prince Faolain rose slowly, one arm cradling his stomach, eyes narrowed.
“You’re on my list, witch,” he said, voice now very cold and even. “I’ll remember what you did to me.” He pointed at me, and I felt a sharp pain on my shoulder. “You should’ve left well enough alone,” he snapped.
I heard a door open behind me. “My lord!” Mr. McConnell sounded harassed. “My lord, are you all right?”
Prince Faolain’s eyes swept to him. “I am fine,” he said coldly. He gestured at me. “A small misunderstanding.” He turned around, gesturing at the second fae. “Move,” he snapped. Striding to the door, he raised his hand, pushing it outward in a sharp motion. The door flew open with a bang.
I turned around, eyeing the sofa. There was no noise. I looked at Mr. McConnell, sighing. “Sir,” I said politely.
His face was red, his hands clenched. “Prince Faolain,” he said coldly, “is one of our best clients. Whatever your personal differences, that performance was simply abominable. I’m afraid we won’t be able to work together.” His office door swung shut with a sharp click.
I sighed, clenching my hands together. That was the only interview I’d gotten after sending out my application to well over twenty businesses. If only I still had my last job.
Shaking aside the bitter lane my thoughts were going down, I walked to the sofa and peered behind. The woman was lying there, absolutely still, eyes wide. One hand was clamped over the baby’s mouth, the other holding a knife at her own throat. She saw me and shivered, releasing the knife. It fell to the ground with a thump.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, staring at me. “Who are you?”
I extended my hand to her, pulling her up. The baby sighed, moving in her grasp.
“My name is Eileen O’Donnell,” I said shortly. “What’s yours?”
“Sarah,” she said slowly. “Sarah of Northern Sun.” She shifted the baby. “This is Tara.” She looked at me, eyes still wide, shaking slightly. “What now?”
“Now,” I said, voice firm, “now we go somewhere safe. Let’s go.”
We walked out the destroyed door and down the street. Sarah twitched every time a carriage drove by, shrinking into my shadow.
“Walk slowly,” I instructed her gently. “Stay with me. We’re just two people going out on a walk.” I looked at her and sighed. She was conspicuous, with her blackened eyes and scarred neck. I pulled off my coat and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
Sarah quickly pulled it on, refusing to let go of the baby. I held my arms out in a silent offer; she shook her head, moving the baby from arm to arm as she pulled my coat on. The baby bore this silently. Once Sarah got the coat on, I pointed across the street. “That’s my car,” I said. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t linger here.”
We got to my car and buckled in. I pulled out the keys and started it, praying. Fortunately it started up on the first try and I pulled out of the parking lot. I glanced over at Sarah. She had one hand, white-knuckled, on the handle on the ceiling. The other clutched Tara tightly.
“First time in a car?” I asked quietly. Sarah looked at me, eyes slightly wild.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly. She paused. “Why did you help me?”
I grunted. “You were a slave?” I asked
“Yes. I was born on Northern Sun. When they sent me to the embassy here in Washington, I tried to escape.”
I glanced at her again
. “So you had no help?”
“No.” Her grip on her baby tightened. I nodded, guiding the car through an intersection.
“When did you escape?” I asked gently.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Yesterday,” she said, voice catching. “I’ve almost been caught three times. I can’t use my magic—they’ll find me.”
I nodded. “Let’s go get some coffee”, I said, voice still gentle. “I know a safe place where we can go.”
We drove in silence for forty-five minutes. I relaxed once I got to the Beltway—the fae rarely drove in cars, and the speed was too fast to allow for horse-drawn carriages. Once we got to Woodbridge, I slowed down, checking my mirrors again. No one had followed us. Just to be sure, I drove for twenty more minutes, taking random turns. Finally, I drove to the exit to Manassas.
“We’re not being followed,” I assured Sarah. She looked at me, eyes full of doubt.
“He has more than one way of following me,” she whispered.
“There’s a powerful blocking spell where we’re going,” I assured her. “You’ll be safe there, for a while.”
I took the Manassas exit, watching the trees flash by as we picked up speed. I was careful to drive only five above the speed limit—the last thing we needed was the police involved. After about ten minutes, I stopped at a light. When it turned green, I roared across two lanes of traffic and turned right, not bothering with my blinker. I smiled. That was always the best part of the trip. I looked at Sarah again; her grip had tightened on the handle.
We drove two blocks down a residential street. Finally, I stopped at a small house, set well back from the road. “We’re here,” I said, trying to make my voice sound confident. “Let’s go.”
Sarah looked at me again, eyes still wide. “Where are we?” she asked, voice soft.
“We’re at the Unity Shelter,” I told her, gesturing at the house. “It’s a safe place for domestic violence victims.”
Sarah frowned. “What’s domestic violence?”
“It’s when someone commits violence against someone else in the home,” I explained, heart breaking. This was one of the worst parts of the business.
