Crown of Salt, page 11
part #4 of Faerie Lords Series
“Percy,” she said suddenly. “You don’t know what you’re doin’—”
“I know quite well what I’m doing,” Percy assured her quietly. He cast the salt into the water before them, and a horrible feeling of déjà vu assaulted her all at once.
“The devil asks for you, and I shall deliver.”
Valentine took a fearful step back before she could stop herself. Dizzying panic closed in on her lungs, binding her chest like a leaden weight.
Percy’s hand closed on her arm, steadying her. But Valentine jerked away, unable to stomach it. He grasped her by the face, forcing her eyes up to his.
“Trust me, please,” he begged her softly.
Black, brackish water pooled up from the depths like spilled ink. All at once, Valentine felt the weight of her lord’s presence pressing down upon her, striking at the center of her soul like a rung bell.
The Drowned Lord rose from the depths, loathsome and ragged and unimaginably powerful. His black eyes fixed upon Percy, who released Valentine to step forward between them.
“Why have you summoned me, mortal?” he rasped. “And why in the company of my warlock?” The weight of his mantle bore down upon them both, near-smothering in its intensity… but Percy smiled pleasantly, to all appearances entirely unruffled.
“How good of you to show!” Percy said. “Very prompt, I must say. I do appreciate the care. I was hoping to discuss matters of business with you, in fact.”
Inky water slid slowly down the Drowned Lord’s pale face, lingering on the awful, rotten spots that ate away at him. “Business?” he hissed. Valentine heard the note of pleasure in his voice, and she flinched. One of the few things the Drowned Lord still appreciated in life was the opportunity to bargain — mostly because he always ended up on the better side of any deal he made. “What business do you intend with me, mortal?”
“Quite simple,” Percy assured him. “We’ll be done in no time, I’m sure. I would like to purchase Valentine’s contract.”
The Drowned Lord’s eyes narrowed a fraction at that.
Valentine grabbed at Percy’s shoulder. “Don’t!” she hissed at him. “Whatever you think you’re doin’, Percy, you can’t come out ahead—”
The Drowned Lord’s eyes flickered toward her contemptuously, and her voice choked off on a cough. Vile water rose from her lungs, clawing at her throat — she staggered and gasped instinctively for breath. She hit the wood of the marina on her hands and knees. Percy took one careful step away from her, leaving her there. The cold gesture surprised and pained her… but as she managed to catch a glimpse of him, she saw the tightness in his jaw and the helpless anger smoldering behind his suddenly-red eyes.
The Drowned Lord will ask a higher price if he knows Percy cares, she thought dimly. The realization gave her the strength to quiet her gasps, silencing her sudden agony. Percy was about to do the unthinkable. Valentine couldn’t stop him now… but she would be damned if she made the doing any harder than it already was.
“Not mortal, then,” the Drowned Lord observed in a low tone. His eyes fixed upon Percy’s, and a new sense of intrigue colored his voice. “And whom do I address, who has dared to ask such a valuable treasure of me?”
Percy forced a pleasant expression onto his face. “My name is Percival Atheling,” he said. “And I assure you, I am quite capable of paying a fair price, even for such a treasure.”
Fear cut through the desperate pain in Valentine’s chest.
The Drowned Lord hissed in delight. “Atheling,” he breathed. “Yes. Let us speak further, then. For what purpose do you wish my warlock?”
Percy laughed. “For my own purpose,” he said. “Which I shall keep to myself, of course.”
“And what do you offer in return?” the Drowned Lord demanded. He took a step over the water, closer to the boardwalk. There was a hungry interest in his posture, just as Valentine had anticipated.
“For something so priceless, another priceless item must be offered,” Percy said. “Charlemagne’s sword, Joyeuse, sits in my family vault. Such a beautiful sword moldering away unused strikes me as a terrible shame.”
The Drowned Lord considered him with dead eyes. “Unique, yes,” he murmured. “And valuable, as well. But Joyeuse shall not seek out my foes on its own, nor shall it weep with such sweetness when I strangle it.”
Percy’s posture tightened like a wire. Valentine wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have caught a soft, dark growl from him. If so, he somehow managed to keep the fury from his face. “Of course,” he said. “If it is service that you require, then I can offer no greater treasure than the royal touch itself. For the price of Valentine’s contract, I will pledge to use it ten times on your behalf, to heal any ailment you see fit. If you parlayed it well enough, you could well ensnare ten new warlocks into your service.”
The Drowned Lord’s eyes glittered at the possibility, and Valentine knew then that Percival had never intended him to accept the sword. He had somehow accurately identified the Drowned Lord’s love for games and bargains. Joyeuse would indeed have laid at the bottom of the Deeps, rusting away… but Percy’s talent held the possibility of more, rather than the certainty. And if there was one thing the Drowned Lord found hard to resist, it was a gamble.
“Only ten times?” the Drowned Lord rasped. “But my current warlock shall serve me forever. That does not seem a proportional offer, Atheling.”
Percy took a long, slow breath. Don’t let him bait you, Valentine wanted to beg him. He’s trying to see how desperate you are.
“…quite right,” Percy said finally. “In the interest of not insulting your august personage — in exchange for Valentine’s contract, I will employ the royal touch for you twenty times. But I really cannot offer more than that, or I am certain that my family will be cross with me.”
“No indeed, Atheling,” the Drowned Lord said softly. He stepped onto the boardwalk proper, dripping rancid water where he walked. He moved toward Valentine — but Percy stepped in his way, and the Drowned Lord smiled a too-broad smile, showing his sharpened teeth. “You presume much,” the faerie lord continued. “I see your desperation, though you try to hide it. For whatever reason you require my warlock’s service, I shall make you pay commensurate to your need.”
Percy’s smile fell away abruptly. Valentine closed her eyes in despair. Walk away, she thought. Just walk away from him, please.
“…and what do you believe measures equal to my need?” Percy asked softly.
“You will wager yourself against her,” the Drowned Lord said. “If you win, I shall give you Valentine’s contract, to do with as you please. But if you lose, I shall have you as my warlock as well — and you shall no doubt put your royal touch to use a hundred different ways, whenever I so please.”
Valentine tried to push to her knees, but her body convulsed on another lungful of seawater. She grasped instead at Percy’s ankle, desperate. He glanced back toward her sharply, and she shook her head minutely.
Percy looked away from her, back toward the Drowned Lord. “What would be the terms of the wager?” he asked quietly.
The Drowned Lord considered this. There was a relish in his features now, as he realized that the newest game had begun. “If you can find the ring that binds Valentine to my service, and take it into your possession,” he said, “I will give you her contract. But if you are unable to produce that ring after a year and a day have passed, then you will give me your true name and swear yourself to my service.”
Percy swallowed hard. “…there would have to be provisions,” he said. “I must have a true chance at success. The ring must be here — in the real world — and it must stay here. And you must produce Valentine in turn, in proper condition. If she is crippled or dead, or if you cannot otherwise give her to me, I will consider you in violation of your part.”
The Drowned Lord narrowed his eyes. Percy had already found his first loophole. But he smiled that sharp-toothed smile again, and Valentine knew that it didn’t matter. The Drowned Lord had never lost a wager, as long as she had served him. “That is reasonable,” the faerie lord said. “But I shall set conditions of my own, in return. Until such time as our wager concludes, you shall neither see nor speak to my warlock… and if she helps you in any way, you shall forfeit your side.”
He offered out one pale, rotted hand. Percy’s eyes flickered down toward it, hesitant.
“Shall we agree then, Atheling?”
I won’t let this happen.
Valentine reached into her pocket with shaking fingers, and closed them around the crucifix there. She drew on every last shred of misery inside it, summoning the emotion up into her veins. She lashed out at Percy with it, curling it around his throat and sinking it deeply into his blood. He choked on a gasp, staggering back with wide, horrified eyes. The charming, distracted look that he so often kept on his face disappeared abruptly, replaced by such an unspeakably grief-stricken expression that Valentine found herself sobbing through broken gasps.
The Drowned Lord’s power slammed down upon her with an awful, final weight. Valentine’s vision blacked out for a moment, and she lost her grasp on the magic.
“Stop!” Percy choked out. “Please, stop.”
The weight lifted from her minutely. As black spots cleared from her vision, Valentine saw Percy staring down at her, his anguish clear upon his features. He knelt down to grasp her hands with pity in his eyes, and she knew with a horrible, sinking feeling that she had accomplished the exact opposite of her intent.
His fingers brushed against her cheek. He forced a smile. “Don’t worry, my dear Valentine,” he whispered. “I shall see you soon, one way or another.”
He squeezed her fingers, and rose to grasp the Drowned Lord’s hand in his own.
“I accept your wager,” Percy said.
The words rang with a deep, heavy finality. Valentine felt the power of the Deeps reach out for him, twining itself around his form and digging into his soul.
“Then when the sun next rises,” said the Drowned Lord, “it shall begin.”
Valentine struggled to her knees. A hundred furious deprecations pressed against the water in her throat, choked beneath the Drowned Lord’s yoke. But she might not have had the strength to say them to Percy regardless — the knowledge that she wouldn’t see him again until the day he inevitably gave himself up to the Drowned Lord stole her anger away, replacing it only with a dull, hideous despair.
“It is time for my warlock to depart,” the Drowned Lord rasped. Percy still stood between Valentine and the faerie lord, however, and he did not move. “…unless you wish to forfeit your wager already, Atheling?” the Drowned Lord asked, bemused.
Slowly — with great reluctance — Percy stepped aside.
Rotting seaweed slithered up from the black water behind Valentine’s lord, winding itself around her body. It was all unnecessary theatrics — she was bound to go where he willed her anyway — but she suspected that the Drowned Lord was watching Percy’s reactions more closely now, probing to uncover his motivations.
Valentine expected Percy to look away, as the tendrils dragged her down into the water. But he kept his eyes on hers the whole time, before the Deeps finally claimed her entirely.
“An Atheling. How strange, Valentine.”
Valentine didn’t trust herself to respond.
Now free from Percy’s view, in the embrace of his own domain, the Drowned Lord didn’t bother putting on displays. He descended deeper into the darkness, his black eyes trained ahead of him — fully assured that Valentine would trail obediently behind him.
“He must need you for something quite specific,” the Drowned Lord observed. “Tell me what it is. Surely, you know.”
His will pressed upon her mind. Valentine shuddered.
“I don’t know… specifically,” she said. It was technically true, but only by a hair. What Percy intended her life to look like after she was theoretically freed was a mystery to her.
The Drowned Lord paused, and turned to regard her. She felt his displeasure brush warningly against her soul.
“Why does he want you, Valentine?” the faerie lord asked calmly.
The pressure of his will intensified. Valentine set her jaw.
“He enjoys the taste of my blood,” she said. “Perhaps that’s enough, for a spoiled Atheling.”
“Enough to trade Joyeuse, perhaps,” the Drowned Lord said slowly. “But to wager his soul? I think not.” His black eyes bored into her, deep and merciless. “You are evading my questions, Valentine. I am not pleased… but I am curious. What has he promised you, if he should win your contract? A looser leash, perhaps? The comforts of a life as an Atheling servant?”
Valentine choked down the pressing need to speak, though his will ground against her soul.
“…perhaps vengeance on the one who sold you?” the Drowned Lord murmured.
Sidney is alive, then.
The suggestion made Valentine’s eyes widen a fraction. The Drowned Lord smiled, misinterpreting her reaction as a confirmation that he had found the truth.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “For the Atheling will not win. You know this as well as I do. I will see to it that your ring finds its way to the deepest, darkest crevice in any mortal ocean. Even if he somehow discovers its location, he will have no way to retrieve it.”
Valentine kept her silence, though she knew he was right. Percy had bargained well… but not nearly well enough.
I have to get him out of this. But I can’t help him win the wager.
Her mind raced ahead, searching for a solution.
“Regardless,” the Drowned Lord said, unaware of her thoughts, “I must ensure my part. For the space of a year and a day, you shall not leave the Deeps.”
Valentine came back to herself sharply.
The Drowned Lord had led them to a yawning cave within one of the sheer cliffs that dotted the Deeps. A horrible bolt of familiarity struck her as she looked upon it.
My prison. From when I first came here.
Valentine turned toward him, shaking her head quickly. “No,” she pleaded. “You don’t need to do this.”
The Drowned Lord remained unmoved, as he always did. His matte black eyes watched her impassively. “I can think of no better way to ensure your safety,” he observed.
Rotten seaweed curled around her limbs once more. Valentine thrashed wildly against them, prying at them with her magic — but there was no overpowering the Drowned Lord in his own realm, and certainly not with his own magic.
“I shall see you again when it is time to claim my prize,” the Drowned Lord informed her.
She tried to cry out a protest — but the weeds closed around her throat, and no sound escaped.
The Drowned Lord turned away from her, and disappeared back into the murky darkness of the Deeps.
Chapter 10
She wasn’t drowning this time, at least. But the darkness — the silence — the utter abandonment all pried at Valentine’s mind. She struggled against the seaweed that constrained her body, but it held like steel bonds. She drew upon the shard of the Deeps in her soul, railing against the realm itself, to absolutely no avail.
Her complete impotence made her want to scream.
It was one thing, Valentine had realized, to be tortured and left to rot. But it was another thing entirely — a much worse fate, in fact — to count down precious seconds, knowing that each one brought someone else that much closer to their doom.
Slowly, her desperate anger faded away into defeated exhaustion. Time slipped away from her, no matter how she tried to keep track. And what did it matter, anyway? Time in Arcadia passed differently than in the Lower World. For all she knew, the year might nearly be up already.
Valentine closed her eyes against the thought. Her crucifix burned in her pocket. It was so tempting to give away her despair again, to bury it deep within the ivory. But she held stubbornly onto those bleak feelings, knowing that this time she deserved them.
I fell in love with him. I let him fall in love with me… or whatever silly impulse that was. I knew this was where it would end, but I let it happen anyway.
Crying in the Deeps was very unsatisfying, Valentine thought dimly. Tears just joined the rest of the brackish water, impassively swallowed up by the rest of the realm. She found herself crying anyway.
No use, she thought dully. Being upset won’t change anything. I need to leave. It’s impossible, but I still need to do it somehow.
When she was much younger, and freshly-captured, Valentine had flailed about with her magic over and over, searching in vain for a way to loosen her bonds. Now that she was older and more experienced, she suspected that Capricorn magic held few possibilities toward her freedom. There was plenty of salt surrounding her to use as an anchor, but the Deeps were full of death and decay by their very nature — the weeds around her would only devour her magic hungrily if she tried to wither them.
That left the Deeps themselves.
Valentine summoned up the shard of Arcadia inside her — slowly now, and with great deliberation. This time, she felt for the dark tendril that connected to her soul, following it passively to let her awareness seep out into the waters surrounding her.
As long as she didn’t struggle, the Deeps were content to let her touch them. In fact, there was something oddly loving about the realm’s smothering embrace, for all the suffering that it had forced upon her. Faerie realms did not know human emotion — they simply were. But Valentine was familiar to the Deeps, and the place had burrowed its way so deeply inside her that it welcomed her presence in any sort of capacity.
The Deeps were broad, and black, and impossibly vast. Valentine still remembered staring out over the ocean from Hull, wondering how something could possibly be so large and so unknown. But if a mortal ocean had seemed large and alien to her, then the Deeps were something else altogether — sometimes, she suspected they were literally endless.
She swallowed, and tried to calm herself. It felt impossible… but she had far too much time to waste on the concept, and she’d worn herself down so far that her tired body helped the process somewhat.
