Luxe in Arms, page 7
“What if something had happened that prevented you from coming back?” Calix pressed, unwilling to let it go. Someone needed to hold Søren accountable. “The risk you took isn’t worth the potential consequences.”
The other male shook his head. “You know what? Fuck you, Calix. I didn’t have to tell you guys, but I did. I’m trying. You think I don’t know what you’re not telling me?” He breathed deeply in through his nose. “Seems like you had a better night than I did.”
Calix flinched inwardly. He hadn’t bathed after being with Luxe; he didn’t want to wash her off yet. He loved having her scent on him. But in the back of his mind, he had known this would be the consequence.
Luxe sounded bewildered. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
Alistair barked a laugh. “Søren can smell you on Calix, lass.”
Luxe’s face turned bright pink. “Oh.”
“I know what a rubber condom smells like, too,” Søren bit out. “I lived in that realm for half of the last decade.”
Calix met Søren’s accusatory glare. “You weren’t there.” He shrugged. “I’m not sorry, though, if you wondered. I did nothing wrong. I’m not the one who went back on my word.”
Søren stood, towering over Calix, who immediately scrambled to his feet. Their snarling faces were inches from each other. Calix recognized the continuance of their standoff in the Anjana territory, which had been cut short and left unresolved. The conflict was necessarily stowed away and ignored for a while, but he knew it wasn’t over.
Calix heard Luxe whisper something to Alistair, but he couldn’t make out her words over the pounding in his ears. His fists clenched and unclenched as he stared into Søren’s face, daring him to take the first swing. He might not know his way around a sword as well as the other male, but they weren’t all that unevenly matched hand to hand, and if he was honest with himself … he’d wanted to punch Søren in the face several times ever since the dance floor in Las Vegas.
He cared about Søren, but the male also drove him crazy. In fact, the effect was probably worse because he gave a shit.
Instead of making the first move, the snarl faded from Søren’s face. He took a step back, looking over at Luxe, who stood with her arms wrapped around herself, her expression tight with apprehension. Letting out a breath, he said, “I’m sorry, Princess. I…” He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.
She walked to him and cupped his face with her hands. He reached for her, pulling her to him and resting his forehead against hers.
Calix looked on, still vibrating with angry energy. He knew Søren was making the right choice, but damn it, he still really wanted to hit something. He stalked over to a tree and swung at the trunk hard once, then again. He felt the sting of skinned knuckles and kept swinging until someone grabbed his wrist to stop him. He realized it was Alistair.
“Sure, you’ll break your hands if you keep goin’,” the warrior murmured quietly. “Besides, the scent of your blood might draw the Bánánach.”
Calix wouldn’t mind tearing apart a few of the creepy bastards, but he nodded, pulling his arm from Alistair’s grip. “Alright. I’m done.” He was breathing hard.
He walked back toward Søren, who saw him and stepped away from Luxe, looking wary.
Calix stopped a foot away from the other male and opened his mouth to speak, but Søren beat him to it. “Is this laid to rest? Can we move on?”
Calix pressed his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “I’m not going to stop holding you accountable, so it depends.”
Søren nodded. “I know. It’s what friends do, I guess. Before you three these past few months … I haven’t had any real friends in a very long time, so I’m not used to it, is all.”
Calix regarded him for several moments, realizing how true that must be. They had all been through hell, but Søren had been entangled in this prophecy and rebellion for the longest by far.
He nodded once and held out his bloodied hand. Søren grasped it firmly, and Calix looked him in the eyes. “We’ve both made mistakes. Let’s help each other do better. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Søren gave Calix’s hand one shake and released it, absentmindedly wiping the blood on his pants.
They sat back down, taking their previous spots.
“So, do we have new allies?” Søren asked.
“Um, not exactly.” Luxe darted a glance between Alistair and Calix. “Our plans changed.”
Alistair gestured at Luxe. “She had another dream about her cousin.”
“Oh?” Søren raised his eyebrows. “The kind of dream where you could have a conversation?”
“Yeah.” Luxe sighed. “She’s not doing great. But it did help me come up with an idea, so we were figuring that out.”
They caught Søren up on their tentative rescue plan. “Well, I’m glad the Anjana agreed to help. But that locked door to her cell is the challenge now. What if Saoirse doesn’t have an answer for that?”
Luxe deflated a little. Calix patted her thigh. “Then we come up with another plan.” She gave him a nod, smiling gratefully.
Calix understood why it meant so much to Luxe to save her cousin. He would have done anything to be able to save his sister, his father. He also understood the reluctance he sensed from the other two, especially Søren, because he didn’t want Luxe to be in danger, ever.
But that wasn’t realistic, and Søren of all fae should know it. He was the one who brought her into their world and introduced her to the role her mother’s prophecy laid out—a role in a dangerous struggle for power in a magical realm. If Alistair and Søren thought they were going to keep her out of danger … well, good luck to them. Calix knew better. It made him all the more determined to stay by her side, no matter what.
“We can’t call my mother while we’re here,” Søren said grimly as he disappeared his blades. “Obviously.”
Alistair nudged Søren with his shoulder. “How’d it go with your dad?”
Søren grimaced. “As good as can be expected, I guess. He’s… He’s confused about what to make of it all, as am I.” He paused, glanced at Calix. “It seems he’s grown fond of Agatha. But knowing my mother is alive—he doesn’t know what to do, or how to feel.”
Calix’s mind went over their last visit, combing through his memories, and he concluded that his mother probably cared for Magnus as well. His heart sank. It made sense, he supposed. When Magnus and Agatha met, they were both widowed, as far as they knew. They were similar in age. And now one of their partners was back from the dead. What a fucked situation.
“But your mother doesn’t remember him,” Calix finally said. “He’s the one who said it—he doesn’t know Saoirse. They might as well be strangers, right?”
“He must be thinking there’s a possibility that she’ll get her memories back,” Luxe said softly.
Søren nodded, jaw clenched. “I mean, as long as she’s alive, there will always be that possibility. I don’t have high hopes myself, but my father…” He paused, raising and dropping a shoulder. “He doesn’t know what to do.”
“To remain loyal to a long-lost love who may forever be out of reach, or to move on with a new love, knowin’ his first may someday show up on his doorstep wantin’ him back,” Alistair murmured. “Fuck. Can’t blame him.”
“Poor Magnus,” Luxe whispered. “And poor Agatha, too.” Luxe reached out and squeezed Calix’s hand, being careful of his swollen knuckles.
“My mother’s in a shitty situation, too.” Søren’s hands clenched into fists. “And all of it is the queen’s fault.”
How can we fix this? Luxe said into Calix’s mind. Where’s the happy ending for all three of them? How do we get there?
Calix blinked tears out of his eyes. I don’t think there is one, Sabrina.
9
A Chance
Everything appeared normal when they entered the cabin, but the air was charged with tension.
Agatha immediately bustled over to greet them, although the smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes. They let her fuss over them and sat down so she could feed them, after she tended to Calix’s hands.
Søren hadn’t ended up talking to Magnus about Willa at all yet, which was understandable. Luxe finally broached the conversation with the older fae, who, after greeting them, had returned to staring into the hearth.
“Magnus, do you know anything about a cell under the queen’s quarters in the castle?”
He glanced over at her. “I know one exists. I never knew how to get to it. Why?”
“That’s where the queen is keeping my cousin prisoner.” Luxe’s shoulders sagged; she had hoped Magnus might know more.
He stared at her. “And you still plan to attempt to rescue her?” His voice portrayed the full range of his doubt and disbelief.
She nodded sharply. “Yes. We have a plan. But we need to figure out how to unlock the cell door.”
His brows rose nearly to his hairline, but he only shook his head and muttered something about “brash youth” that she ignored before he turned back to the fire.
Luxe turned back to the others as Agatha poured them tea and set the cups in front of them. She had to hope that Saoirse could help with that part, as well as being able to aid them in the timing to ensure the queen wasn’t present.
As they ate another of Agatha’s wonderful stews, they discussed the next step of their plan. They needed to summon Saoirse to meet with them, but they wanted to be far away from the cabin for the meeting.
“We may as well get back to findin’ allies,” Alistair said. “Somewhere far from here, which is easy enough. We can have her meet us wherever that is.”
Magnus chimed in at this point. “Oh, speaking of, I know now where you can find the Sabawaelnu.” He explained the location; it was plenty far away from the cabin, although not terribly far from the Lampeqinuwok territory.
“Perfect.” Luxe’s spoon clattered as she dropped it into the empty bowl. “Let’s go.”
Agatha insisted on stocking them with the spare bits of food she had available. She fussed over Calix especially, pulling his hood up and fastening his cloak. “It’s very cold where you’re going, you know.”
“Yes, Mama.” He brushed a kiss over the crown of her head.
They said goodbye to Magnus and went straight back to the portal. They ended up arriving through the same gateway they used when they met a Lampeqin, but now they would need to portal farther up the coast. Luxe checked the small, hastily sketched map that Magnus provided them.
“He said it’s about twenty miles up the coast.” She pointed at the scrap of paper. “Once we get there, maybe we can find a boat.”
“Let’s go then, while the tea is still workin’.” Alistair held out a hand. “I’ll guide you this time, mo chuisle. It’s a bit farther than you’re used to and it can be tricky to estimate distance like that.”
The four of them portaled, ending up in a spot not all that different from the one they departed. Luxe looked around at the barren yet starkly beautiful coast, shivering as the frigid wind bit through her.
“L-let’s get somewhere warmer before we summon Saoirse.” Her teeth chattered and the guys all nodded in agreement.
It didn’t take them long to find a road, but Magnus’s sketch didn’t indicate the nearest town because he didn’t have that knowledge. They walked for about two miles before Calix spotted a structure of some sort. Leaving the road, they walked through sparse woods to a stone hut. It looked abandoned; the door hung open, giving them a glimpse of a dark interior, and no one was around.
“Maybe a spot for travelers or hunters,” Søren said. “I’ll check it out first.”
He walked closer and called, “Ho, the house!” just in case. No one answered, so he went inside. He stuck his head out a moment later. “Empty. I think it’s a hunter’s spot. Come on.”
The three of them hurried to join him, eager to be out of the icy wind. The hut was very small, but well-sealed. They shut the door and Søren called a ball of light to penetrate the sudden blackness in the windowless room.
Other than a few small pieces of firewood and a bucket, it was empty. Alistair hurried to start a fire in the tiny hearth. With his magic, it didn’t take long.
Luxe rubbed her hands together in front of the flames. “We might as well summon Saoirse now. We still don’t know exactly how to get to the Sabawaelnu, and this is as good a spot for a meeting as any.”
At their nods and grunts of agreement, she dug the small bottle out of her pack, as well as a pen, which she made sure to grab from the last hotel just for this purpose.
They struggled to get the cork out; they weren’t sure if using magic to remove it would do something to the magic already held in the object and didn’t want to take the chance. Calix finally managed, his fingers being just slim enough to grasp it but still strong enough to pull it out.
Once it was open, the paper came out of its own accord, slipping through the narrow opening as soon as the cork was removed.
Luxe carefully copied an even smaller version of Magnus’s map and marked an X about where Alistair told her to for the hut. She added only a few words: Sabawaelnu coast, hunter’s shack, waiting for you.
She rolled up the paper and placed it back inside the bottle. When Calix re-corked it, the paper disappeared as promised. Now for the waiting.
They lounged against their bags in front of the diminutive fireplace, squished into the tiny hut meant to fit one or maybe two horizontal bodies at most. It warmed up quickly; they all shed their cloaks within thirty minutes.
Luxe leaned against Alistair’s side, her legs crossing over Calix’s lap and her boots resting on Søren’s thighs. “How long do you think she’ll take?”
She felt Alistair shrug. “Depends on what she’s doing and where when she gets the message, I guess. Could be an hour or a day.”
Luxe chewed her bottom lip. She hoped it was sooner than later. “We never even talked to her about the true name thing last time. Hers, I mean.”
“It might be kind of a sensitive topic,” Calix pointed out.
Søren barked a laugh. “Everything about this mess is sensitive.” He glanced at Luxe. “We should bring it up this time. If she isn’t interested, no loss.”
Alistair grunted his agreement and Luxe nodded. “Okay. I want to ask her about our plan to rescue Willa first, though.”
They fell into a comfortable silence and Luxe started to feel sleepy. She wanted to be alert when Saoirse arrived, though. She cleared her throat.
“So, like … if I actually become queen—”
Søren interrupted her. “When.” His voice was soft but firm.
She frowned. “Fine. When I become queen … what happens, exactly? We stick a crown on my head and voilà?” She squirmed a little at the thought.
“There’s a ceremony.” Søren stroked her calf absently as he spoke. “At least, according to my dad. The gods are called upon, and if they are in favor of you becoming monarch, they will transfer the queen’s mantle to you.”
“Wait.” Luxe sat up straight, pulling her legs to herself and crossing them. “You mean, we’ll ask the gods for approval, and they might say no?” She couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.
Søren chuckled softly. “In theory. But they won’t. It’s already foretold in the prophecy. I have to assume the gods are the powers that send those messages to seers.”
Luxe wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her fate or destiny being fixed, erasing her free will. She knew arguing with Søren about the prophecy was useless, though. “So, after they transfer this mantle—what is that, by the way?” Luxe pictured a cape, but that probably wasn’t right.
Alistair answered this time. “In this case, it means a gods-given authority, or duty, and the magic that comes along with it.”
“Oh. Okay, so after that … what happens? Am I queen for life?” She paused and something occurred to her. “If I’m given more magic, will my life be longer?” Part of her liked that idea, because knowing that the guys would all have a longer life span than she would bothered her.
“Typically, a monarch will serve for most of their life, until they pass the crown on to an heir,” Søren said, almost tentatively. “And yes, you’d probably live longer than the average human.”
“An heir,” Luxe echoed as her stomach bottomed out. “Right.” Children would be expected of her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children—but she also wasn’t sure if she did.
Søren reached across Calix and squeezed her shoulder; she raised her gaze to meet his and he smiled. “That’s the old tradition. But you’ll be queen. You will have the power to make changes happen.”
She smiled back at him, feeling a little better until Alistair huffed a laugh. “Sure, because the fae are so open to change, aye? Especially the high fae.”
Luxe’s smile dropped, and she was about to ask Alistair to elaborate, but she felt him tense. “Shh,” he warned them.
They fell quiet, and Luxe heard the crunching sound of footsteps on the icy ground. Moments later, a knock sounded. “It’s Saoirse,” a voice said.
They all scrambled to their feet, bumping into each other and tripping over their packs. Alistair was nearest the door, so he opened it and allowed the female to enter.
She stepped in, pulling her hood down to reveal her golden braid lying over one shoulder. She glanced around the hut. “Quaint,” she said, a corner of her mouth quirking. She settled herself gracefully on the floor with her back against a wall. “You called?”
Their packs now in a pile, they joined her, arranging themselves as best they could in the tight space.
“We have a plan, but it relies partially on your knowledge of two things,” Luxe said.
Saoirse inclined her head. “How may I be of service?”
Saoirse listened intently as Luxe explained the outline of how they would try to rescue Willa. “So, that cell door is the first challenge, and timing is the second.”
