Wicked King

by Ana Calin

  CHAPTER V

  Cerys

  Warm light kisses my eyelids, and soon I register muffled voices outside. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, trying to fire up my brain, the soft, warm pillows still enticing me. Nazarean meows as if he just woke up, too, stretching his front paws and lifting his black tail in the air.

  When did Xerxes even leave? I remember him telling me not to worry, that he’d get out of here before anyone discovered us. Then nothing. Blank. High realms, how long have I slept?

  I put on slippers and head slowly towards the voices. Every step is a vivid reminder of my encounter with Xerxes, because I’m deliciously sore inside.

  But as I emerge into the main room the sight of Kariem sends jolts of shock through me. I step back, reaching for the doorframe for balance. The shrieking dark substance that he used to pin me down to the bathtub hits my memory in flashes. I only register Marayke, Draven and the guards marginally.

  “Cerys, you’re up.” Marayke heads over with a worried look on her face, grabbing my arm and my waist to guide me towards the group, but I resist. I point to Kareim.

  “What is he still doing here? You know what he tried to do yesterday? He tried to rape me!”

  “First of all, what happened between us didn’t happen yesterday,” he says, facing me in full. He even juts out his chin as if he were the wronged one. Cursed realms, how I want to slash the other side of his face with my own fingernails. Nazarean prowls between my feet, hissing in approval of the thought. “You’ve slept for two days straight after Xerxes brought you back to our suite.”

  “We still don’t know for a fact it was Xerxes,” Marayke intervenes. Her tone is tense, telling me this is some kind of trial.

  “He barged in on us and did this to me, Marayke,” Kareim says angrily, pulling down his collar to expose the ugly bruises on his neck. “When I came to, she wasn’t there anymore, but these were.” He tears more of his garment open to show the slashes on his chest. Nazarean hisses—it was him.

  “You assaulted me!” I cry.

  “The welcome committee had sent me to bring you downstairs at the banquet. They demanded that you attend.”

  “What?” Outrage sends pressure buzzing through my ears. “How can you...? What the fuck is this?” I yank myself from Marayke’s grip, turning to her. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “We were all downstairs at the banquet, but only Kareim sat close to the welcome committee. It is possible that they sent him for you. As for me, I, really, I wanted to wake you up myself when the servants announced we should get ready for the banquet but I, I just, I couldn’t bring myself to. You were exhausted, you’d fallen asleep in a reclining chair in the small room. I just didn’t want to disturb you unless I absolutely had to.”

  “You were so exhausted that you slept for two days,” Draven steps in, filling the space between Kareim and me, which is starting to shrink dangerously. Maybe he senses the dark power bubbling up inside of me, ready to shoot Tartarian shadows at Kareim. Realms, how I want to see those shadows tear him down, infiltrate his body through his mouth, wreak havoc inside this pervert.

  “Well, he came back from the banquet, alone, and he tried to force himself on me,” I growl.

  “Be careful with your accusations, Your Highness,” he mocks. “I only came to fetch you to the banquet. The welcome committee sent me, so I came back to wake you up. But I didn’t find you asleep, I found you in the bathtub. I told you to come join us at the banquet, but you said no, you’d be going to see your husband. When I insisted that you do as I say, since I am your custodian, you started calling Xerxes like a madwoman. You acted as if I was hurting you. I tried to calm you down, but Xerxes was in the other suite, getting ready for the banquet, and he heard you. When he barged in, of course he took the scene the wrong way, with me desperate to calm you down. He could get in a lot of trouble for what he did to me, you know? And all because of you.”

  I ball my fists, repressing the need to shoot shadows at him and watch him die in pain, twisting on the floor like the maggot he is. But can I risk taking this further? Who’s gonna believe me. I like the way Draven stares daggers at him, though, as if he could cut the bastard’s throat right here and right now for what he’s implying.

  I realize it might have been Draven himself who informed Xerxes that I was alone in the suite with Kareim. I’ve had the impression that, ever since we came here, he’d been lurking outside our door, even though I never really saw him. Or maybe it’s his inherent spy-like quality that puts these ideas in my head.

  “The King did for me what he would have done for any woman,” I say, dialing back on my anger. Everybody in this room believes me and not Kareim anyway, no point in trying to prove anything to them. But I do need to choke this bastard’s attempt to frame Xerxes and me again while it’s still in its crib. “But he doesn’t know exactly what he saw. He simply reacted on instinct. He took me to his suite to calm me down, but he called servants to take care of me. He left me there with them, despite my pleas. He...” I actually manage to sound hurt, looking down at my feet. “He left with another woman, one of the servants.”

  I cover my face with my hands, and run into the small room, locking the door behind me. High realms, I hope that my performance is enough to put Kareim’s suspicions to rest about the truth between Xerxes and me.

  Cerys

  “THEY WANT HIM TO WHAT?” I jump from the table. What’s left of the fruit and elven bread would fly out the window if Marayke didn’t catch it. “Go into the Mausoleum of the Great Smoke? Alone? That’s the first quest?”

  “He won’t be alone,” Marayke says.

  “No, he’ll be with Samael, what comfort.”

  I turn to the window, chewing on my fingernails, desperate for a solution.

  “This is madness,” I say against my knuckles. “One of them is gonna wind up dead, and I can’t let that be Xerxes.”

  “No one needs to die, Cerys,” Marayke says. “And I’m pretty sure the Council didn’t envision it that way either. The quest is dangerous, yes. Going into the Caledonian forests at night, entering the Mausoleum of the Great Smoke, and getting the golden key it guards, it’s an insane endeavor that no one in their right mind would set out to do unless compelled by higher powers—like Xerxes and Samael now. But that’s just the first of the three quests they have to accomplish, and if you freak out now, what are you going to do when you hear about the next one? It’s bound to be even more difficult.”

  “But if this one is already so dangerous, the next ones will ne next to impossible,” I react. “Not to mention that Samael sure won’t fight fair. He’s the Archangel of Death, practically Hell royalty.”

  “May I remind you that our King isn’t exactly candy and roses, either,” Draven puts in. “It was us, the fire fae, that have been protecting all the realms against cosmic behemoths for millennia. We can fight dirty, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “What I’m worried about, is why the Council would come up with such a game in the first place. I mean, why couldn’t they just have a trial, and settle this.”

  “Because there’s no way of deciding who’s in the right,” Marayke says, setting her elbows on the table and resting her head against her fists. I slept for two days, while she attended the banquet and the meeting, hoping to glimpse the Council and get a feel about who might be helping Kareim. But the Council wasn’t there. Just the welcoming committee, the two angel women and the demons.

  “One more thing you should know,” Draven says. “You can’t get involved in this matter either, come what may.”

  “What do you mean I can’t get involved?” I react. “Xerxes didn’t get into this mess alone, it was with me.”

  “It’s one of the game’s rules,” Marayke says. “It’s just Xerxes and Samael.”

  “Also,” Draven says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I share the suite with you starting tonight. After what happened with Kareim, Xerxes wants you protected at all times
.”

  That’s a relief, but it doesn’t help to ease the anguish about Xerxes’ upcoming quest.

  “I should have been there last night, when they made the announcement,” I say, starting to gather the dishes from the table just to do something with myself. “I would have said something. Maybe it would have prevented this madness.”

  “Your presence wouldn’t have changed anything,” Draven says. “The Council made the decision, but they weren’t there. The welcoming committee were only the messengers.”

  “Well, is there any way to get to the Council, make them see reason?” I bang the pile of dishes on the table, the cutlery clattering against porcelain. “If the following two quests are at least as hard as this one, they’re not even quests, they’re death sentences. Could be that neither Xerxes nor Samael make it out of them alive. And if—” My lips seal before I can even say it. The others stay silent, too, because we all know what the death of a fae lord, or an Archangel means.

  They are immortal creatures. If they’re mortally wounded, their body turns to ashes, and their energy dissipates into the worlds. They cease to exist as one entity, as mortals’ souls continue to do. As for me, I would be doomed to centuries of solitude, wandering the world with an unbearable sense of loss in my heart. And when my body decides to wither, shrink and dissipate, my soul would continue on living, for all eternity, in the highest realm but without my bonded soul.

  “Xerxes has been through worse,” Marayke argues softly, but I can’t even answer her. She deserves a reply, she’s been the best friend ever to me, but only imagining the possibility of Xerxes dying has a paralyzing hold on me.

  “I just can’t leave him alone in this,” I manage, my voice a mere whisper. “I need to talk to him before he goes on this suicidal mission.”

  Marayke and Draven glance at each other, and my pulse shoots off the orbit.

  “Cursed realms,” I breathe. “He’s already out there, isn’t he?”

  Xerxes

  HILLS UPON HILLS OF Caledonian forest spread out in front of me. I explore them, standing on top of the spire of the Palace of Realms, ready for my first mission—the Caledonian Mausoleum, retrieving the Great Smoke’s key to the underground tunnels.

  I crouch down, hand on the sharp tip of the tower, my feet planted on the slanted ceiling. There’s only one room under me—the bell room. When the bells ring, we start. I look to the side, to the twin tower where Samael stands. The Archangel of Death takes a different shape for every onlooker, every individual projecting their own image of death upon him. What I see is a swirling worm made of black slimy folds, no eyes, one huge snout full of razor-sharp teeth. I wonder what Cerys sees him as.

  I suppose it’s a good thing that he doesn’t have eyes in my version of him. That way we cannot connect—probably the very reason I have this image of him. Fae kings rarely die. Even in my last fight against Lysander, all he and the Sea Queen could do was banish me. But this right here is a whole new level of violence. The Council must have thought long and hard about how to make this as hard as possible on us.

  I can feel the vibration against the slanted ceiling under my feet before the sound of the bells fills the air. Samael turns his slimy snout to me one last time, snarling before he tenses his mollusk-like body, and leaps off the tower. I bare my teeth, all my senses zooming in on the task at hand—winning the Great Smoke’s key, no matter what.

  I leap off the tower, the air whipping past me as I fly down, landing on my feet between two ancient trees. The last reddish sunrays lick the ground, but the sun will disappear behind the hills in only a few moments. Then, we’ll be left at the mercy of the treacherous Caledonian mist. I wait it out. I close my eyes, my senses trained on every sound, every smell, every ripple of energy brushing past me. I open them only when cold black replaces the reddish warm light on my eyelids, now completely attuned to my surroundings.

  The sun has set. It’s dark.

  My senses blend in with the forest’s. I start moving, twigs cracking under my boots as I feel my way through the woods towards the Mausoleum’s location. The place can only be traced by sensing your way to it, which in this case means following the very faint taint of smoke in the air. It’s not the inviting smell of a campfire, but the smell of burning coals and chemicals.

  I make my way carefully through the trees toward the tomb, sensing the creatures and spirits lurking in the mist. They’re watching, but wary of approaching. I whip out a dented hunting knife from my thigh, one that can cause not only deadly damage, but also a serious amount of pain, should any of the creatures dare to attack. No doubt Kareim and the Council member that’s supporting him have had me spied on and tracked down, especially now, when I can’t use any of my fire powers—sure as fuck one of the reasons why the Council chose this quest for me. Fire would fuel the smoke, adding strength to it.

  The mist thickens as I approach the Mausoleum. It’s designed to conceal it, but since it’s not my sight I’m using to find it, it can’t stop me. A large stone blocks the entrance, a replica of the stone that once blocked the Holy Grave of the one humans know as Jesus Christ. I push it to the side, and when my muscles flex, rivulets of fire start cracking through my skin. The mist moves away, but as soon as the stone gives way, smoke crawls out.

  “Fuck.”

  I pull back the fire, closing my eyes and relaxing my body. Using physical strength often calls forth the fire in my veins, since my blood is made of it. I take a deep breath and adjust my focus, slipping into the darkness through the space created.

  It’s pitch black inside. Since I can’t use fire to light my way, I take out the luminous crystal Draven acquired last night at the banquet, while I pleasured Cerys in the secret corridor.

  Cerys. My heart pounds out of rhythm as I think about her, and fire starts in my groin. Cursed realms, I can’t allow a single thought of her if I want to stand a chance here. Memories of last night come at me, determined to pull me down with them to that place of unbridled lust.

  “Cerys,” I breathe. I can’t help but chase the memory of her coming in my hand, her skin flushed and her swollen lips parted. Her on her knees, sucking my cock like she belonged to me, me fucking her from behind and releasing my sap inside her, staking my claim on her.

  The fire inside threatens to become uncontrollable, and I force myself out of the vivid memory, but it feels like tearing off a piece of my flesh.

  I raise the crystal, examining the mausoleum with hawkish eyes. This sacred grave may look modest from the outside, but on the inside, it’s something else. It rises like a huge temple surrounded by a trench of smoke. I would have to walk through that smoke to get up to the columns and enter the actual chamber where the Great Smoke lies, but I know there’s more to that trench than meets the eye.

  I narrow my focus, and advance towards the trench of smoke. It stirs when I come too close, and when I touch it with the tip of my boot, small clusters of smoke rise and shriek like little minions of hell. The only way not to do this is jump over the trench. I take distance, bend my body for momentum, and jump to the other side.

  It seems that Samael hasn’t gotten here yet. Or maybe he took another route. As he only presents himself to people as their own projection of death, there’s no way of knowing what you’re really up against. Since I’m not able to use my fire power to fight the Great Smoke, my plans include Samael.

  I need to get up there, assess the situation and, if he’s not already here, hide, or blend into the background and wait for him to arrive. Wait for him to try and retrieve the sacred key, let him fight the Great Smoke.

  But as I prepare to jump up to the columns, something whips around my ankle. Curling smoke from the trench tries to drag me into the foamy blackness. Making noise wasn’t in the plan, but I don’t have a choice.

  I scrunch my eyes shut to keep the fire from flooding my irises, and reach deep down to the power that Cerys channeled into me at the Cemetery of Doom, which Samael thinks we stole from him. The power of
countless walking dead rises, ready for me to use it. Even though it’s for the first time, it feels natural, like it’s been a part of me forever. I lean my head back, my arms spread wide, my jaw opening to let out energy that feels and looks like a black serpent.

  The serpent spreads into dozens of ethereal spirits, their mouths gaping unnaturally as they go after the smoke, hungry for it. I control them, steering them to go after and consume the threat.

  But while they go after the trench, causing it to let go of me and struggle for its own survival, many also drown in the ring of smoke surrounding the monument. I can feel their energy disappearing from this world and forming back inside my inner arsenal of power, but it would take too much energy to bring them back to the surface.

  I use the smoke’s distraction to jump up to the columns, holding up the crystal to illuminate the place. It’s impressing with its elaborate altar above which the key I’m after glows. I scan the place for hidden threats or weaponry systems, like blades that might shoot from the walls if I try to approach the crystal box that holds the key, but there’s none of that.

  I suppose the Great Smoke doesn’t need the extras. In the end, whoever manages to get this far won’t be put off by further defense systems. I know it must be in there, the creature itself. Inside the tomb-like casing just beneath the crystal that holds the sacred key. If I try to take it, it will emerge, and the cursed dead won’t be enough to fight him.

  I step behind a column, reducing my breathing and vitals to make myself extremely hard to sense. By the time Samael gets here, I’ll be blending in with the stone, my heartbeat and my blood flow reduced to a minimum, my skin opaque. The only danger is the memory of Cerys, images and sensations of last night that might come at me with a vengeance, and stir my fire, so I go into a deep state of focus. I have millennia of experience with that, but there’s something about this bond that cuts even through that. It takes all I have to keep myself detached, but the only technique that works in the end is allowing the thoughts of her to take over, and the feelings to ebb and flow.