A Stranger Sort of Fairy Tale, page 28
“Welcome home, niece,” she said.
“Where is my lord uncle?” She wasted no time; she charged up the steps, into the shade of the entryway. “I’ve brought him a little gift.” She grinned, then turned away in a swirl of fabric.
Tullia stared after her, then looked to the line. Her breath caught; sorrow filled her eyes. “Quin—”
“Sister,” he started.
“Come away!” Amira cried. “Don’t waste your breath on traitors!”
Tullia paused. Then she grabbed up her skirts and dashed up the stairs. Tarquin glanced at Viridian, then to Tanaquil.
The albino succubus hesitated. “Wait,” she said, then darted up the stairs.
The line tugged forward. He met Viridian’s gaze again. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he assured the redhead, even though he didn’t feel it in his heart at all.
x
The throne room was cavernous and sweeping. The doors banged open as they entered. Ephraim was seated upon the throne, the crown tilted on his head. Tarquin gritted his teeth at the sight.
“Well, well, well,” the dragon drawled, “what do we have here?” He rose to his feet. “A traitor, a coward! A man who abandoned his throne, his duty to his people at the first sign of trouble! Rus asked him to turn over the jewel of the desert, and he did so without second thought!”
“Shut your treacherous mouth!” Tarquin cried. “I won’t hear this slander!”
“Shut your own mouth!” Ephraim retorted. “You’re no longer king here! The people hate you, they spit upon you and your yellow heart.”
“There’s nothing but lies on your poisonous tongue, lizard!”
One of the guards jammed the butt of his spear into Tarquin’s head. Luckily for him, the guard only caught his horns. Nonetheless, he crumpled to the floor, allowing Viridian to shuffle to his side.
“And there you are!” Ephraim cried, pointing the scepter at them. “The little whore Rus sent from abroad to turn Arubio into a puppet state!”
Viridian glanced at the dragon, then turned back to Tarquin.
“Don’t you ignore me!” the dragon roared. “Take the bug out of his fine clothes, reveal his deceitful nature! He can’t even tell the truth about what he is, he can’t be true to his own nature! How can we expect him to tell the truth about his intentions?”
Viridian was hauled to his feet. “You scarce understand me, dragon,” he said.
“I don’t care to understand you,” Ephraim sneered. “I’ve seen enough of your kind—lying little bastards, playing at being saints and martyrs, the champions of the people, all while you kill and lie and cheat and steal!”
“Oh!”
“Do with him as you will.” Ephraim shifted his golden gaze to Tarquin. “Leave the false king alive for now.”
Someone shoved a blade to Tarquin’s back. “On your feet,” one of the guards grunted.
He stumbled to standing. Someone smacked him again. “Bow before your king!”
Tarquin heaved a breath or two, then glanced up, locking eyes with Ephraim. He straightened as much as he could. He spat viciously. “I’ll never bow to you,” he snarled.
Ephraim snapped his fingers. The guards smashed their weapons into his knees. He cried out as he collapsed.
“Won’t you now!” the dragon chortled. “Take him away—he amuses me no longer. We have a coronation to prepare. Tell me, have you found that little rat from Rus?”
“Not yet, Sire.”
They dragged Tarquin out of the audience chamber. He glanced up. Domitian winked at him, then pulled his helm a little lower. “Make way!” he cried, lowering his voice as he charged down the hall. “Make way—dangerous criminals here!”
x
Twilight came on so slowly. Tarquin could scarcely see it from his perch in the tower, shackled to the wall. The shadows grew longer, until they threatened to swallow the orangey light filtering through the room.
A bird lighted on the windowsill, then took wing again. Tarquin glanced at the stick it had left—a yew. Aleks had received the message; he would meet them at the temple.
There was a click. The door swung open, as though guided by an invisible hand. Cautiously, Tarquin wriggled his way out of his bonds. They’d forgotten to bind his head, so he’d been able to saw through one of the weaker links with his horns. It certainly hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed it.
He picked the lock on his other hand, then freed himself of both manacles. Then he unlocked the shackles about his ankles and slithered across the floor.
He crept outside, glancing left then right surreptitiously, before he began the slow descent of the stairs. Round and round he curled like a shadow, a whisper of what his people had once been.
He stole into the garden below, sticking to the shadows, blending with them like the nightmare he was. He darted across the lawn, to come at last to the castle doors which stood ajar to the fragrant evening garden.
He stepped inside, careful not to make a sound, glancing over his shoulder—
Strong arms wrapped around him; a hand clapped over his mouth, and he was lifted clear of the ground. Ephraim stood before him, his eyes half-lidded, like he was bored already.
“Really. You didn’t think I’d expect this from you? You’re more of an idiot than I thought.”
Tarquin gritted his teeth. He’d purposefully allowed him to escape then, the scaly old bastard.
“Honestly,” Ephraim sneered, “you think you’re clever. You and my niece and that ridiculous bug you’ve taken to calling your bride—”
He spat in Tarquin’s face. “You’re all degenerates,” he sneered. “Even Amira—I’m ashamed to admit she’s related to me. That she’d ever choose to side with a bunch of inbred demi-demons who can’t find their own fangs half the time—”
“What have you done with her?” Tarquin tugged on the arms binding him, but they only constricted more. He squeezed his eyes shut as it became harder to breathe.
Speaking of serpents …
Ephraim snapped his fingers, and Tarquin was released suddenly. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
Ephraim’s foot slammed into his ribs, knocking him onto his back. All he could do was stare up at the dragon as he loomed over him.
“It’s really none of your business. In fact, you’ve no right to demand anything from me ever again.” Satisfaction crossed the dragon’s face. “All these years of listening to your petulant command, the sniveling demands of your uncle in Rus, the fey in the north—you’ll all bow to me.”
His face split with the breadth of his grin. “And soon enough, you’ll all be dead—you, your hussy bride, your sniveling quim of a sister—”
Ephraim fell to the floor suddenly, and Tullia smashed her foot into his face, driving with the pointed heel. Energy seemed to crackle around her as she balled her fists.
“So nice to finally know what you really think of me, husband,” she snarled. She jammed her foot against his chest, stomping between his ribs.
“Tullia!”
Tarquin grimaced when he looked at her again. Her eyes were bright red, her horns lengthening. She was losing her grip, threatening to transform. “All these years,” she spat, her voice quaking. “All these years, and this is what you think of us?! You simpering, lying lizard—”
Ephraim struggled to sit up, but she knocked him back again. “Stay down,” she growled.
“Tullia,” he begged, “how can you betray me like this? It wasn’t you of whom I spoke—”
“Silence! You declared yourself king, but you’ve no right here! You’re nothing more than a consort! If Quin dies, I will be queen!”
“Tully—”
She kicked him harder this time, enough to send him careening into the wall. Even Tarquin grimaced. He glanced at the two boa constrictor demons, then scrambled across the way to where she was standing.
She unpinned her cape and handed it to him. Then she advanced on Ephraim, who had just now sat up, coughing and wheezing.
He held out a hand, as though full of fright. “Tullia!” he cried. “Please, my love, no—”
The ground trembled like thunder renting the sky. Tarquin noted the dust rising from the floor, the crumbled bricks of the wall.
Ephraim laughed. He grabbed Tullia around the waist and spun her about. Then he released her, allowing her to crash into a wall. He clapped his hands to his face. “Oh no! Whatever shall I do, the little succubus is mad at me!”
He tossed his head back in raucous laughter. Tarquin recoiled, watching as Ephraim’s skin shimmered in the twilight, his scales coming to more prominent relief, his snout lengthening, and those eyes, oh those wicked eyes …
“Don’t you dare,” Tarquin ordered, but the dragon just went on laughing, even as he grew taller and taller, his monstrous form smashing into the walls, cracking through the rafters.
His wings erupted, crashing through the arch of the doorway, the ancient stones pulverized into dust, floating on the air as the giant lizard landed on his claw-tipped feet, his tongue snaking between his lips, sliding over gleaming fangs.
His expression was even more manic now, his pupils pulled into tiny slits, his brows lifted. “And what are you going to do about it?” he chortled, the sound vibrating through the floor. “Little pest, you’re hardly worth my time.”
Tarquin inhaled. “I didn’t want to do this, brother.”
“Do what?” the dragon snorted, flames shooting from his nostrils. Tarquin darted back. “Order me about like the petulant child you are? You can do nothing, do you understand? You’re puny, pathetic—your people desert you!”
He flicked Tarquin across the room. The incubus skidded into the stairs, then rolled over, back to his hands and knees. He wiped blood from the corner of his lip.
“You have no power here,” Ephraim preened.
“You’ve gone mad,” Tarquin spat.
“You’re the madman! To think you have any chance! What can you do? Call on Rus for aid—and a lot of good that will do you in Arubio! You’ll only prove what I’ve been telling them all along.”
“You’ve been lying to them!” Tarquin roared. “You know damn well you sent me to Karakorum, you meant to kill me! You’ve been scheming in the shadows this whole time!” He hauled himself to his feet, shoving up his sleeves.
“Now you do sound mad.” Ephraim crouched down, as though waiting to pounce. “What are you going to do, boy?” he drawled, boredom dripping from his tone. “You think you’ll intimidate me? Hardly.”
Tarquin pricked his own skin with his claws, ignoring the pain. “The only thing on my mind is ridding my kingdom of your foul carcass.”
“As though you could!” He gave a mighty flap of his wings as he lunged forward, swiping at the incubus with his claws. Tarquin tumbled through the air again, even as Ephraim snapped at him, heat flickering at the edge of Tarquin’s clothes as he passed the lizard’s gaping maw.
He twisted as best he could, reaching up, embedding his claws in the dragon’s throat. The scales were softer there, he knew, but it still took all his effort to jam his talons into the flesh beneath. He cried out; he felt like his fingers were going to snap clean off.
Ephraim’s surprised trumpet drowned him out. The dragon reared back like a sarsok. He shook his head furiously as Tarquin began drawing energy him.
“What are you doing?!” His talons clenched around Tarquin, then dragged him free.
“Wretch,” he snarled as he held Tarquin out before him. The incubus wriggled in his grip. “You really think I’ll give you time to draw all the energy out of me?”
Tarquin winced at the heat of his laughter.
“You won’t have the chance.”
Tarquin grimaced, but jammed his fangs into Ephraim’s paw, striking at the nerves there, bursting the blood vessels.
The dragon’s foot spasmed, and Tarquin dropped to the ground.
It wasn’t the best plan he’d ever had, he thought ruefully as Ephraim lowered his head, stalking toward him now, tongue testing the air.
Tarquin scrambled back to the staircase. “You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish,” the dragon growled, the noise like crashing thunder.
Tarquin tumbled up another step.
“Wars,” Ephraim sneered, “rebellions. Reigns. Insurrections—”
“You’re the one who started the insurrection!”
Ephraim tilted his head up, opening his mouth wide. From the top of the staircase, Tarquin could see all those teeth and then, deeper, the growing orange glow.
He glanced down the hall, then back at the dragon. Ephraim’s eyes rolled back in his head; the glow was still growing, flames licking at the top of the dragon’s throat.
Tarquin scrabbled at the last step, tried to regain his feet. He rolled out of the way as the first flames shot by him, blasting through the ceiling. Chunks of burning timber plummeted to the ground below.
He peered over the edge of what had been the staircase, only to dodge another blast of flame.
“Ah-ha!” Ephraim thundered. “Found you, you little imp! Trying to run away! Some king you are!”
He smashed his tail into the wall with enough force that the frame shuddered. Tarquin clutched at the ledge, felt it crumbling beneath his claws.
If he leapt at the right time and angled his descent—
A grip on his shoulder stayed him. He glanced back over his shoulder, half-expecting to see the boa constrictor demons.
Malachite nodded at him. “We’ll take it from here,” she said.
His brow knitted together. “We’ll?”
A low drone filled his ears, and he whirled about just in time to see the first of the Silver Horde pass by the window. The giant wasps dwarfed their fey riders, and both rider and steed were fitted to the teeth for war—helms and shields and blades all around.
Malachite gestured down the hall. “The grand prince’s forces are storming the north. We’ve gained the west, but we need all the help we can get. Find Viridian and Amira.”
“No.”
She stopped at the edge of the precipice and turned back to him, her expression sheer confusion.
“I am the king. I made this monster. Now I’ll finish him.” He locked eyes with her. “It’s not right of me to ask that you sacrifice your people.”
“You’ll get killed!” she snapped. “He’s a dragon, you’re an incubus! What are you going to do against him?”
She gestured to where Ephraim was decimating the first wave of the Silver Horde, spinning himself around in a circle. Those who weren’t incinerated by his flame were unceremoniously swatted out of the air by his tail.
“I don’t know much about fey,” he told her. “But I suspect you don’t know much about incubi. Here. Hold this.”
He shoved his kaftan at her, then dived off the precipice.
Something grabbed him from above. He craned his neck to look at her. She glowered at him. “Do I look like a bloody coat rack?” she sniffed.
“I—”
“If you want to land on the dragon’s back, don’t you think it would be easier if you could, I don’t know, steer?”
He clapped his mouth shut. She had a point.
She peered at the remains of the wall on the other side of the room. “I’m going to release you now.”
He started to drop the second she said it, her fingers slipping away from him, allowing him to free fall. He readied his claws as those shimmering red scales drew closer.
He cried out as his claws sank deep under Ephraim’s skin. The dragon roared and reared back in pain. He spun about uselessly, his head zig-zagging in front of Tarquin’s eyes, his tail waggling behind them.
He was trying to dislodge him. All around, the air was filled with his bellowing, the crash of his tail into stone, the droning of five thousand enormous wasps, their cries as they were batted aside.
Tarquin glanced at the dragon’s head. He’d be able to draw more energy there.
He tore his claws free, gritting his teeth against the ache in them. Ephraim zagged again. The incubus lurched to the side, scrabbled at the scales to find purchase.
“You gnats!” Ephraim roared, then turned and exhaled flame into the midst of the Silver Horde.
Tarquin bit back bile; the stench of burning bodies filled his nostrils; the acrid smoke stung his eyes.
He crawled along, inch by precious inch, pausing whenever Ephraim wheeled. He seemed to have forgotten something had punctured his skin—perhaps he thought it had been one of the wasps.
At any rate, he didn’t seem to have noticed Tarquin on his back, effectively scaling him.
He peered up the steep slope of the dragon’s neck. It was a long shot, but even the neck was a better spot.
Honestly, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Malachite probably could have dropped him on Ephraim’s snout.
He started the long climb up. It was even slower as Ephraim swayed and lurched, now breathing fire, now rearing back and roaring.
Tarquin exhaled. He glanced down at the ground, so dizzingly far away.
There was a grunt. One of Ephraim’s great, golden eyes rolled back toward him, slitted pupil all the more reptilian, evil at this proximity.
“You,” he snarled. “I should have guessed.”
He must have sighed in the dragon’s ear.
He reached back and plucked Tarquin off his neck, as though he were nothing more than a burr. Tarquin glanced down at the ground again as he floated above it, suspended only by Ephraim’s claws.
“Now,” the dragon began, his teeth snapping at the air just inches from Tarquin’s face, “let’s put you out of your misery.”
He spun about slowly, the fabric of his tunic twisting in Ephraim’s grip. The dragon smirked. “How does it feel, little imp? To know you’re about to die, that there’s nothing you can do about it?”
His eyes flashed brightly. “You never were much suited for kingship.” His lips curled back in a sneer. “Always so concerned about the people, about emotion, reading the room—never much thinking about yourself.”
“That’s what a king’s supposed to do,” Tarquin spat.
